#and in return he allows bean to be themselves

[local-soda-can]

me: omg beetlejuice rp w/ my friend :3???? yeah! why not :3

[frudoo]

Just an itty bitty teeny tiny thought about biker 141 finding themselves the sweetest little pretty thing.... Most people are terrified of them for good reason, Price as the club president, Ghost as his VP, Gaz and Soap are two of their top guys. It's a sight to see them on or off their motorcycles but then there's you. The sweet little thing who runs across the boys somehow and instead of showing an ounce of fear, you give them a brilliant smile and talk sweetly to them. The boys decide then that you'll be their shared old lady.

Idk something about Biker!141 traveling through the states and meeting a pretty lil southern waitress with a heart of gold <3

Warnings: Reader's coworkers + most townfolk are prejudiced assholes. Mentions of food, and getting way too friendly with strangers (this is fiction, stay safe irl please)

The diner falls silent the second everyone hears the roar of the motorcycles’ engines coming to a halt in the front parking lot. The cooks start cussing, the parents start pulling their children closer, the busboys go to hide in the back. But you, a sweet, naive waitress on your first week, are completely unbothered. You greet the four huge, rugged men clad in leather jackets and dirt-covered jeans as they walk through the door, telling them to sit wherever they’d like.

     Your boss, wide-eyed and baffled, grabs the back of your apron and drags you into the kitchen. You brush her off with an exasperated huff, eyebrows furrowed at the middle-aged woman.

     “Steer clear of those men. I’m gonna tell ‘em to beat it,” she tells you matter-of-factly, wrinkled arms crossed over her chest.

     “Don’t be ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, retying your apron and shoving past her, out of the kitchen.

     You’re surprised to see that most of the patrons have left the diner, wads of cash left on their half-empty tables to cover their bills. All of this just because of some men that look a little different than them? It doesn’t sit right with you. You pull out your little notepad as you approach the table they chose, putting on your kindest smile. They all smile back—even the one with the weird mask has crinkles around his eyes, giving him away.

     “I’m so sorry about that wait. What can I start y’all off with to drink?” 

     “Waters all around, sweetheart,” the one with the mutton chops hums, closing his menu. 

     “Alright… and have y'all decided on food?” You begin scribbling on your little tablet of paper, nodding between each of their orders.

     The meatloaf special for mutton chops, extra potatoes, no green beans. A cheeseburger for the one with the mohawk, onion rings instead of fries. Fried catfish for the last two, with fries (because they have taste, according to the pretty one with the scar on his cheek).

     “I’ll have that right out for y’all,” you smile, giving them all a little wink before returning to the kitchen and putting their ticket on the line. 

     The cooks all give you glares, and your boss even gives you the cold shoulder, but you pay it no mind as you fill up four glasses with water and arrange them on a tray. As you balance the platter on your fingertips and make your way back to your table, one of the busboys sticks his foot out and trips you, sending both you and the waters sliding across the floor. You’re absolutely humiliated, pushing yourself up on your sore knees and dusting off your uniform as tears stream down your face.

     The one with the mask hurries over, offering his hand to help you back onto your feet. Your bottom lip trembles as you look up at him, a pitiful little whimper escaping your throat.

     “I-I’m so sorry about that, I’ll go get you new ones right now,” you sniffle, expecting him to chew you out.

     Instead, he cups your round cheeks in his gloved palms and thumbs away your tears, shushing you softly. Despite not even knowing him, you allow yourself to melt into his touch.

     “No apologizin’, lovie,” he grunts, “No’ your fault. Tha’ fucker always givin’ you trouble?” 

     “Hm? Oh, n-no, not usually,” you explain, carefully pulling away to clean up the mess on the floor. “Thank you- um…”

     “Simon,” he introduces himself, giving you a nod before going to sit back down with his mates.

     You mutter his name under your breath to remember it as you drop the broken glass in the garbage, drying off the tray and placing four new fresh glasses of water onto it. This time, the journey to the table is successful, and you hand each man their drink with a polite smile, still slightly embarrassed. They all make it a point to thank you with more enthusiasm than is needed, and the ones you don’t know introduce themselves as John, Kyle, and Johnny. 

     When the bell dings, signaling that their food is ready, you suck in a deep breath and place their dishes onto your tray, praying that this one won’t get dropped. Thankfully, you make it back with fully-intact plates, thanking the heavens that the cooks had sense enough not to burn the guys’ meals. You’re about to turn and allow them to enjoy their food, but John spreads his legs and taps one wide thigh, signaling for you to take a seat. You’re not entirely sure why you do it, but you comply, and he wraps an arm around your waist as he eats and converses with the group. 

     They’re all good company, constantly telling jokes that get you giggling, or pushing flirty little remarks your way. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention, but eventually your boss comes over to snatch you off of John’s lap. You can practically see the steam coming out of her ears as she drags you into the kitchen once again, face red and eyes wild with rage.

     “You’re fired,” she grits her teeth, forcefully undoing your apron and pulling it off of your body.

     “Go to hell,” you retort. "You'll fit right in."

     You don’t let her see, but your eyes are blurry with tears as you grab your purse from your locker and shove your way out the front door. You’d forgotten how chilly it was outside and now you’re shivering as you pull out your phone to order an Uber. When you hear the little bell on the door jingle, you flinch, half-expecting it to be your old boss coming out to hit you with a broom. Instead, a warm leather jacket is placed over your shoulders and a strong arm pulls you against a firm body.

     “Jus’ me, dove,” Kyle grins, rubbing your arm with his hand in an attempt to warm you up quicker. “The lads’re takin’ care o’the bill. Be out any second.”

     You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, protesting only half-heartedly when he takes your phone from your hands and cancels your Uber. 

     After a few moments, the other three men pile out of the diner, adjusting their gloves and wiping sweat off their brow. John sniffs and smiles at you warmly, pointing towards where their bikes are parked. Kyle helps you put his jacket on properly as he walks you over, and all four of them line up next to their respective rides. You shyly sway in place as they look at you expectantly.

     “Well, hen? Take yer pick.”

[after-witch]

The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret. 

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful. 

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s  immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled. 

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves. 

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war. 

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol. 

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games. 

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win. 

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could. 

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes. 

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs. 

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you. 

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it? 

Her smile grew wider. 

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze. 

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue. 

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.” 

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else. 

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone 

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples. 

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you. 

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead,  you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned. 

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

--

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think  you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors. 

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash. 

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats. 

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom. 

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about 

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked. 

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it. 

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.  

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?” 

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm. 

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father. 

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

--

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets. 

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there,  unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated. 

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it. 

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl. 

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little.  You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not. 

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

--

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up. 

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans. 

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door. 

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.” 

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.” 

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home. 

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University. 

--

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment.  You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber. 

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy. 

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject. 

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?” 

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t. 

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.” 

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested. 

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

--

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone. 

There was an Avox in the room. 

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married. 

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic. 

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now. 

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered. 

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did. 

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home. 

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home. 

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

--

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1. 

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls?  I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No.  You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world. 

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.” 

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

--

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you.  You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father. 

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in? 

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette. 

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real? 

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick. 

“Good.” 

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year. 

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow. 

Of course you would. 

Your life depended on it. 

[suugarbabe]

Lover

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: ~1.5k

Warning: mutual pining, fluff

AN: this idea came from @annaisabookworm so thank you love for the idea 🤭

You were sat at your house table, leg bouncing uncontrollably as your headmaster discussed the N.E.W.T level classes your year was due to start next week. It was the first dinner and you were already a nervous wreck. A sudden hand on your knee stopped your shaking, “You’re gonna churn the pudding with how hard your leg is jumping, y/n/n.” You turned to face the hands owner, “Sorry, Matty. S’just, these new classes this year have me a bit shook.” Mattheo smiled at you, “You’re like, the smartest Slytherin there ever was. You put too much pressure on yourself.”

You scoffed a little at his compliment, “Come of it, am not.” You ignored his latter comment, choosing to suddenly be very interested in the bowl of potatoes in front of you, scooping half onto your plate. Theo and Enzo stopped eating in front of you, eyes growing a bit large. You glared at them, “Something to say?” They looked at each other, then back to you, shaking their heads. The headmaster announced curfew for the night, encouraging all the students to indulge in the food in front of them, which most everyone did. You pushed the potatoes around your plate, barely eating. “If yer just playing wiff ‘em can I ‘ake a few,” Enzo held his fork over your plate, cheeks stuffed to the brim with chicken and beans. You rolled your eyes, pushing your plate towards him.

Blaise leaned in from your other side, “Ya sure your good, y/n/n?” You nodded, standing up, “I think I’m just gonna go back to the common room and chill out for a bit. See you guys there?” Your friends all mumbled forms of goodbye. You looked to Mattheo, who just gave you sympathetic eyes. You returned the look before turning back towards the doors and making your way to the common room.

“Ya gonna go ‘fter ‘er mate?” Enzo looked up from his plate towards Mattheo. “You know it’s vile when you talk with food in your mouth,” Mattheo didn’t even look in his direction, still staring at the doors of the great hall you had just walked through. “You know he’s right, cousin,” Draco piped up for the first time of the evening, “watching you pine after her for years is right boring at this point.” Mattheo turned his head then, “I do not pine after y/n. She’s my best friend, all of our friend mind you. I’m just worried about her. Sure, she gets anxious but it seems a little different today. I just care.”

Blaise groaned, rolling his eyes, “Come now, bruv.” Mattheo finished his meal in silence, refusing to respond to any more of his friends' teasing. He walked back to the common room in a daze, mind filled with thoughts of you. You’d been part of the group since everyone’s first ride into Hogwarts. Mattheo had known Theo, Enzo and Blaise nearly his entire life, their parents either being death eaters for his father or a loyal follower and Draco, well, he was Mattheo’s cousin so he was forced to know him his entire life. The five boys nearly missed the first train because they were goofing off on the platform, causing them to not find an empty compartment for themselves. Theo had suggested the one you were sitting in, saying you were cute. He immediately tried to hit on you like he’d seen older boys do with girls, but you had whipped out your wand and bound him. It was highly impressive for a first year, and Mattheo was obsessed. Theo apologized, you ignored him, and then you allowed the rest of the group to join you nonetheless.

Mattheo wasn’t exactly sure when the lines blurred from best friend to full on heart wrenching in love with you. It was always sort of there in his mind, that you were special…different. If he had to put a timeline on when he actually recognized a change in his feelings it would be about three summers ago, when you had asked everyone to come to your parents house for two weeks during the holiday. Mattheo had only ever interacted with you at school, in the castle. You weren’t old enough to go to Hogsmead until the following year so he never really got to see you in a non-school environment. And it was…nice, different. Something that he could see himself enjoying often. The next school year after that nearly all the boys noticed a difference in how Mattheo responded to and acted towards you. You, however, appeared to remain clueless. Mattheo almost preferred it that way, until he could really know how you felt towards him, if it were the same as himself.

When the boys entered the common room, it appeared completely empty. That was, except for a cloud of smoke rising from one of the back couches, followed quickly by a row of rough coughs coming from deep in your throat. Mattheo was by your side quicker than Draco on a snitch, ripping the cigarette from between your fingers, “What the bloody hell are you doing with one of these?” You remained laying on the couch, catching your breath, “Okay, one: that was rude of you to just snatch that from me like that. Two: nearly all of you guys do it. You always tell me it helps you relax, so…I stole some from Teddy’s nightstand.”

“Heeyy…that’s my emergency stash,” Theo was pouting, now sitting under the end of your legs. You sighed, rubbing your temples, “This is an emergency, Teddy…I’m buggin. Stressed out of m’fucking mind.” Mattheo threw the cig in the fireplace going behind him, Theo’s opened his mouth to complain again but the look on Mattheo’s face made him sink back into the sofa silently. Mattheo turned to you, holding his hand out palm up, “C’mon, grumpy, come with me.” You looked up at him, grabbing his hand, “Where we goin’?” His dimpled popped with his smile, “You know where.” You sat up now, swinging your legs down and placing your feet on the ground, “Carry me?”

He turned around, squatting down in front of you. He hooked his elbows over your thighs and around your knees while you wrapped your arms around his chest, resting your face in the crook of his neck. You giggled as he hiked you up higher and got a better grip on your thighs. Behind you Draco made a gagging face before Blaise playfully shoved his shoulder. The boys’ voices slowly drowned out as Mattheo carried you through the portrait hole, down the corridors and through the courtyard, all the way to the edge of what you both had designated as your spot: the black lake.

When he finally let you down from his back, you took your wand out, transfiguring a patch of grass into a quilt for you both to sit comfortably. Mattheo sits down first, beckoning you to follow suit. You settle between his legs, your elbows resting on his bent knees while he leaned back on his hands. You looked over the lake, it was your favorite to do at night, especially when stressed or anxious. You loved seeing the stars reflected on the water, dancing with the shifts and ripples from the creatures.

You felt Mattheo’s arms wrap around your middle, his chest now pressed against your back as he rested his chin on your shoulders, “Feeling less grumpy?” His tone was slightly teasing, but you knew he was curious about your real answer. That’s how Mattheo was, hiding his true feelings behind teasing and sarcasm. It was frustrating sometimes, made him hard to read, but right now you were thankful for it.

“A little less grumpy, yes,” you smiled into your answer, eyes still on the lake in front of you. “How’d you know this would help, hmm?” Mattheo held you a bit tighter, “Cause I know you, y/n/n. You’re my best friend.”

Friend. The word made you want to vomit. But instead of reacting you just settled further into him. “Why were you trying to smoke earlier?” You sighed, “I told you, I was just trying to relax.” You felt Mattheo shake his head, “You really shouldn’t smoke. It’s terrible for you, ruins your lungs.” You scoff, “Rich comin’ from you don’t ya think?” You felt his laugh against your back, “Yeah, but you’re better than me. Always have been. Don’t start stooping to my level now.”

You shook your head, “Don’t talk bad about yourself, Matty. I’ll make you sit out here and listen to me go on and on about all the good things about you and get all sappy just like you hate.” He laughed against you again, you both falling into a comfortable silence. Mattheo wanted to hear everything you had to say, what good things you could come up with. In his mind the list was short. You were leaning into him now. He shut his mind off, focusing just on the water in front of him.

You two sat there for a while, until you started to shiver and Mattheo convinced you to go back inside. He carried you back like before, except this time you rested your head on his back, trying your best not to fall asleep wishing you meant more to him than just a friend.

[anamelessfool]

A Naming

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid Anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU

CW: Underage Drinking

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin🎃 I’m on AO3 with all my other fics but Tumblr gets mad at me when I post links

Part One (of 5)

Oct 31, 2017

The Leider residence was the only one on the cheery suburban block that was bare of decoration. The house year round was neat, sensible; a single floor ranch with the occasional hearse out front. Neighbors thought the lack of decoration, especially during Halloween, was a choice made out of propriety. One would hope the family responsible for interring your loved ones would have a sober outlook on the macabre. Their entire modus seemed to be one of complete disregard for any happenings outside their own home. Unavailable, discreet, out of the way. A little fortress meant only for its occupants.

And in a way, it was. Its unassuming nature was by design. The patriarch of the house, known to his neighbors as Michael Leider, was a severe man in appearance and temper. His entire family was full of noise and cheer and life but he himself preferred to stay out of the way. The only completely peculiar thing about him was each morning just after sunrise he’d step out onto his back concrete patio and scowl at the sky. A journal would come out, he’d scrawl a few lines, and then return to his kitchen to make that morning’s coffee.

What his neighbors didn’t know was that the man had journaled daily about the weather for fifteen thousand one hundred and seventy-eight days so far, give or take a few due to illness or inconvenience. It wasn’t that neighbors didn’t know, it was more what they have not seen. Or were allowed to see. Mr. Leider’s life was carefully constructed, like the life of any true magician. He had been once the hub of arcane power as Papa Emeritus II, known as Secondo; master magician and the spiritual leader of the Satanic Church of the Void. The Void itself was closer to a true hell than any suburbanite could ever comprehend, but it had been a large part of most of his previous life. For over forty years Secondo had balanced this world and beyond this world. Spirits called to him, demons obeyed his commands. Now all that was left was the old practicum of documenting the weather, but this ordinariness was his choice.

Because a seasoned magician knows of the dangers of attracting attention.

“Yesterday…” Eden Leider’s eyes got wide. The half-nibbled pizza was abandoned on her plate as the eight year old regaled a tale slowly and with great reverence. “Yesterday…there was a kid…at my school…at recess…”

She was surrounded by her family, as always, in the kitchen strewn with handmade Halloween art projects. She had hurried home with her younger brother Sam from the bus and immediately wanted to try on her costume, only to be met with the torture of having to eat before she went out tonight. Pizza AND the green beans. If she was going to be doused in sugar later that night then at least some half-attempt at healthy food was a requirement. Her father Secondo had insisted on it.

“Oh I saw this!” hissed her younger brother Sam. “I saw this!”

“No you didn't you were in gym,” snapped Eden.

“No I saw, I saw the ambulance!”

“He fell…and his arm? His arm was like this!” Eden held out her arm crooked, a primal little grin stretching across her face. “There was his bone sticking out.”

“Bone sticking out?” Their mother Sandra lowered her pizza slice, her eyes wide in amused interest. There was nothing more she enjoyed than encouraging her younger children’s odd sense of wonder. It was like watching kittens attempt to navigate themselves out of a paper bag.

“His bone! Was sticking! Out!” shouted Sam.

The eldest brother Paul let out a too aggressive sigh, subtly glancing down at his phone on his lap. There was another message. He disguised his gasp as a cough.

Dana: u coming

Paul L: trying

Paul nervously cycled through his apps, arriving at Dana’s photo again. A perfect face, a winning smile adorned a photo of her in a theatrical costume. Below, her favorite quote that Paul recently decided was evidence of her profound understanding of reality: Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world! Let your soul take you where you long to be!

I will, Paul always thought.

His father didn’t even have to make a noise for Paul to know he was watching him. Paul looked up and met the Eye embedded in his father Secondo’s skull, white and shark-like. It was usually concealed behind a colored lens but still burned through all the same. Paul was not normally afraid of it, but in this circumstance he swore it could read his mind. It was something that existed beyond his father, an interloper perched on the man’s broad shoulder. The human eye beside it had its normal expression of cool assessment. While his father’s left eye expressed an understanding of the beyond, the rest of the body was that of an intelligent stoic. Someone not interested in seeing their son look at their phone at the dinner table. Paul smiled thinly back.

“We can't even have a jack-o'-lantern?” Eden’s whines came into focus once more. “Not even one?”

“I'm not encouraging anything or anyone to enter this house,” Secondo reminded her stiffly, releasing Paul from his gaze. “Our home is our domain and I keep it well tended.”

Secondo, known in the past as Papa Emeritus II and leader of the Satanic Church of the Void, had always been a serious man. Serious, but never humorless. His wife Sandra has gifted him a bright orange shirt that said “This is My Halloween Costume” and he wore it now as he cut his pizza slice with the grace of some sort of aristocrat. His younger children had dumped tribute drawings around him: scrawled images of him as a skeleton man surrounded by assortments of demons and pools of blood. Eden idolized him, and his youngest idolized his sister and so the two of them had become his most loyal cultists whether he liked it or not.

Paul took the chance to answer Dana back.

Paul L: my dad is

Dana: yeah

ill ask

Dana:🙂

“If you’ll excuse me,” Secondo muttered with a regal bow of his head. He unhooked his forearm crutch from the back of his chair and maneuvered himself to his feet, politely grabbing empty dishes to deliver them delicately to the sink as he left the kitchen.

Paul turned quickly to his mother. “There’s a party tonight and…”

Sandra smiled wryly. “I’m always happy when you want to be social. But your dad will have to drive you.”

Right. Secondo had retired to his study for an hour before taking the younger kids out. In Paul’s experience of suburban fathers, there was a seasonal quality to all of their domestic obsessions. Some dads fretted over lawns, or snowfall, or their collection of vehicles in various states of disrepair. Secondo’s special interest at this time of year was obscure arcane protections. Paul had never once experienced any sort of supernatural event in their home, but as he grew up he suddenly became responsible for helping his father with his weird chores. Burying recycled jars filled with nails and rat bones. Standing on ladders to hand specifically colored yarns around the outside perimeter of the house while Secondo commented on ideal placement. Collecting perfectly good specimens of mullein or rue from the side of the road with the shovel Secondo always kept in the backseat of the truck. In his mind’s eye Paul wondered what strangers thought of the impromptu highway gardening, or the digging, or all the rock arrangement. Maybe they assumed the teen was enduring some old time tough love father-son punishment.

Honestly that would be far less embarrassing.

Paul found Secondo in his office. The room was dimly lit, with scarves draped across the computer and all of his work things. There were more books and journals than wall space, and so some were stacked neatly in piles besides the shelves that went right to the ceiling. Said ceiling was stained with areas of candle soot, the walls doubly so. Secondo stood in the far corner of the room, the doors to an old TV hutch open to reveal the magical seat of his home: his altar place.

“Dad, can I go out tonight?”

Paul saw the familiar diagrams and charts taped on the inside walls, along with some twig and twine poppets right out of a horror film. Deeper into the hutch lay even more oddities: deer jawbones, rocks of Significance. Some desiccated bundles of herbs. A mason jar of old buttons.

Secondo was whispering something into a waterclear crystal skull. He lowered it and stared into Paul, the white Infernal Eye settling in to regard the teen like an old crow. “Hm?”

“Yeah uh…a party. It’s everyone from theater club. Tonight.”

“Parents will be there?”

Shit. Paul wrung his hands. “Uh…I think so?”

Secondo let out a puff of air through his nose, a wordless sign of him mulling over facts. He didn’t speak much, but his elegant movements and subtle expressions spoke more than any words could. He gently replaced the skull on his altar and closed the doors, tying a red ribbon across the knobs. Paul waited with bated breath.

“All your homework done?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“I—” The two little ones bounded into the office. Sam launched himself at his brother’s knees and squeezed.

“Put our facepaint on, Paul!” said his sister.

“Yes, please,” Sam added. Paul looked up to meet his father’s eyes once again.

Secondo was smiling.

“What did Daddy’s face look like? I want it to look like that,” Eden insisted. In the bathroom Paul applied the white makeup to the entirety of her face while she frowned and got into character.

“I dunno, some kinda…skull or something.” Paul was deeply indifferent to their father’s past life. He didn't remember the pageantry, or the tours he was dragged on as a young child. He barely understood nor cared that his father was someone who wandered the space between two worlds, who channeled dark powers through his body, who captivated thousands with twisted tales of death and demons.

All Paul really remembered was seeing his father decline. He saw his father have days of extreme pain he chose to conceal, watched his mother help her husband as good as any nurse or wife could. As the Void wracked his body Secondo couldn't do much anymore. Couldn't play with Paul or carry him or do anything more than preserve himself for when he was on stage. So Paul was indifferent to Papa Emeritus II. In some way his earliest thoughts were of happiness now that his father could be around.

And they could finally all be somewhat normal.

Paul darked the hollows of her eyes with black face paint and added long lines across her mouth to simulate snagged teeth. He recalled the exaggerated lines across the jaw. Satisfied, he turned his sister around to show her in the mirror. She nearly jumped out of her skin the moment she saw the face that was no longer hers. But then she laughed wickedly.

“Oh I want to be a skull now!” crowed Sam, tugging at Paul’s clothes. “Make me a skull face!”

“No you're not allowed,” Eden said. “Pumpkin Skull? I'm the skull. Paul tell him I'm the skull!”

“Wouldn't make sense on you, Sammy,” Paul explained. “I'll give you a jack-o'-lantern face.”

“Yeah okay but make it scary,” Sam muttered.

Eden had worked for days on her costume. It was of course an homage to the towering glory of her father’s previous life, in miniature form. She had fashioned a cereal box into a decent miter. Secondo had coaxed her out of applying true upsidedown crucifixes to her outfit, and so wrathful skull heads scowled down the pillowcase chasuble and bats adorned the miter. “I'm a…Hell Priest.”

“She made it herself.” Sandra shrugged. “Turn around, honey, you're the cutest little hell priest I've ever seen since your father.”

Sam extended his little arms and wiggled his fingers, grinning. “And I'm a…Hell. Pumpkin.”

“My adorable little freaks,” said Sandra of her children, nudging Secondo next to her on the couch. Secondo had his usual severe frown as he watched the little ones scurry around the carpet and howl. Sandra addressed Paul. “And you're wearing that? To a Halloween party?”

Paul looked down at his jeans and band tee, old ratty hoodie and sneakers. “Halloween’s for kids, mom.”

“At least the shirt’s clean,” said Secondo.

“You two are really boring, you know that?” Sandra ribbed over the rim of her coffee mug. “But have fun? Extra fun for me.” Out of all of them she loved Halloween the most. It was a love of the macabre that drove her to join a Satanic Church, after all. Sandra held the work phone for the memorial home in her hand as her family got ready to leave for the night. She had selflessly volunteered to be on call so her brothers and husband could bring all their kids around the neighborhood. Then again, watching the goriest horror films at home without the prying eyes of her children was a decent consolation prize.

Sandra caught her youngest in her arms and brought his little body into a hug. “You know, you can die… but no one really stays dead on Halloween.” She immediately pretended to bite him all over, and Sam screamed and laughed.

“You're deeply unprofessional, dear,” muttered Secondo, yet a small rare smile hovered across his face. He gave his wife a peck on the cheek and pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s go. Paul, help me get your siblings in the car.” The younger ones let out shrill shrieks and jumped towards the door, grabbing their candy pails while already whining.

Sandra gave a soft chuckle, then reached out to gently touch her eldest son's hand. “Paul, have fun alright? You need it.”

Paul smiled faintly and returned her affection with a hug. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. I hope you…don't have to work tonight.”

“Same,” replied his mother. “But you got to take everything as it comes, right? Be always ready.”

“Paul,” said Secondo.

“Hm?” Paul had been staring out the window as they drove across town. Behind them in the backseat the younger kids were chatting wildly about all the candy they were going to eat later. By this time in his life Paul was used to drowning it out. Ever since Sam could talk, Paul finally got a break and Eden got a perfect little peon to hang on to her every word.

Secondo had both hands on the wheel as he drove sensibly. He never looked up from his task but he never had to do more than slight gestures or certain tones of his voice for Paul to know what came next. “Name it,” he said.

Secondo was talking about the feelings rolling around in Paul’s insides. From a young age this was a common ritual he shared with all of his children. Paul realized more and more that Secondo now didn’t demand a vocal response to this request anymore the way he did of the younger ones. After years of this, Paul had an automatic cool response to any sort of restlessness in his mind.

Paul let out a soft breath, imagining himself holding the feeling in his hands, like always. It felt prickly, hot. Torn right from his chest and squirming like an impatient puppy. So he looked down and named it. Apprehension. Worry.

The little feeling stopped jostling him. But there was something else tugging at him, gripping its sharp little teeth into his pant leg and pulling. Dana’s picture on his phone came to mind. He swallowed.

Crush.

The truck stopped, Secondo put it in park. High school kids idled out on the front porch of a large house cheerfully decorated with pumpkins and the warm glow of string lights. The little demons of feeling that tugged at him skittered away to wait in the shadows. Paul gave a weak goodbye utterance to his family and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Secondo spoke. “And Paul.”

“Yeah?”

The intensity of the whitened eye in his father’s skull never ceased, even when freed for an instant as he blinked. “You are a person of integrity.”

Paul gave a half-hearted nod, slamming the door. He watched the red lights of the truck veer slowly away and occasionally stop to avoid throngs of trick-or-treaters. Now before the house, before this strange new world, his nerves began to circle.

Like it? Reblog it! Thanks so much, see you in Part 2…..

Next chapter link in comments!

[tparker48]

Lionfield looked through shorts on the media as their fans sent them videos of people eating food, known for their reactions as they both stared at the screen. The heinous were instantaneous, videos of italian cuisine succumbed to the carelessness of commoners. Have they no shame for showing their traditional dishes in such a way. It wouldn’t stand. The two fumed at the videos as their inbox continued to flow, folders leading to pizzas as others led to spaghetti. But an idea popped into their heads: if they want to besmirch italian foods with such humiliation, then why shouldn’t they do the same?

That following weekend, invitation were mailed out to all of people in the videos. The size wasn’t as much as the thousands of submissions, but they believed it was enough to get the point across. Picking them up from the airport, their escorts.brought their hometown to a house just a few blocks away from the city, the two waiting for them at the door with big smiles upon their faces. They guided them through the hallways, bringing them to the yoga room where they told them to wait.

"We'll fetch ya in a few, we just gotta get things ready" Matteo said, him and Emiliano entering another set of doors while the rest of their guests waited in the room.

They made their way through the corridors, entering a room where a screen window lead to the yoga room. Looks like they got quite the size for their game, they thought to themselves, Matteo flicking at a monitor as they pressed a button. The light in the yoga room flickered, confusion building among the crowd as they raced to the doors. The floor began to glow, illuminating the dark space before members began to vanish, turning into small dots along the yoga mats. When the glow vanished, the two entered back into the room and gazed at the floor. The people were now the size of a thumbtack, no more bigger than their toes as the two smirked at each other. Scooping them into sacks, the two carried them into a controlled vent along the wall, dumping them inside as they all fell into the basement.

**********************************************

The day was spent filling in the participants, sending them to their designated spots in the basement where cameras watched over them. They were to act like they were having normal lives, if they passed the weekend, they were allowed to return to civilization with their sizes intact. They were nothing if not fair for shrinking, it allowed them more time to enjoy the fun while the little guests scurried through the structures like ants. Italian food was the start of the issue, so not make things more tempting than for them to dine on it. Chef rush was already in town, he would be the perfect cook to set them astray.

And a valiant obstacle he was. By Saturday afternoon, several tinies failed the game, extracted from the basement and into their palms. They weren’t getting their sizes back, but there was something else they would receive, a good weekend trip to the very meatballs that swung between their legs, added with a dab of secret sauce for pleasure. They jammed them into their cocks, huffing as lumps slid through their organs to their low hangers below. To think shoving them inside would turn out to be so thrilling, their scrotums hopping around like jumping beans as they laughed and ate at their dismay. It was a blissful feeling, but it unfortunately fell limp as the tinies inside grew tired. Within those hours, their eyes glued to the screen, scanning for anymore that would crack.

"How many do we have now?" Matteo asked, flicking at the cameras to check in on them.

Emiliano sat along the sofa, his shaft in hand as he stroked against the girth of his flesh. He pinched at the piss slit, bringing a tiny action to the center as his head clamped over it. "About twenty last I checked."

"Nah, you would think they'd be panicking by now, but not a single one has broken the Italian code since this morning."

Emiliano stalked the stiff legs like a shark in water, stomping onto their behind with a flick of his tip as it bobbed inside. He fondled his balls, his testicles plonking over one another as muffled yells came from them. He sighed lightly, flexing as seed coated the action figure.

They pouted, glaring at his own sack that laid still. “Come on you bunch’a peas, wiggle for papa Matteo."

"It's not their fault you tired them out. Shaking your balls like a bag of fish.." Emiliano said, swirling his swollen testicle.. "You should’ve taken it nice and slow. Like fresh pasta."

"Don't remind me, I swear if I see another grape pasta i'm gonna..oop,"

He zoomed into the camera in section one of the basement, a dining room table set just along the miniature boxes where tinies scattered around the tables. Amongst the line, A female caught his eye, standing near the pastas as she scooped the noodles onto her plate, but didn't put any sauce as she returned to her table. Matteo's finger fiddled at the handle on the monitor, a tube floating over the tiny household like a saucer as it floated toward the tiny. The small female was yanked from the group, pulled through the gray funnel before landing in his waiting palm.

"Pasta without sauce, what are ya basic?" He said. The tiny pounded at his fist, prying at his thumb that pinned her down. He placed a palm at their cheek, listening to their wails. "What a horrible way to use that siren voice of yours."

He flipped them to the bottom of his palm, jamming them into his urethra with a sickening squelch. Muffles vibrated hid cockhead, gumming its way to her shoulders as they slipped to her elbow. He flexed the slit around her ankles, leaving nothing behind while a bulge formed beneath its underbelly. Swallowing its meal, the orifice sucked air to aid in their prey's descent, his left nut swelling in his pants to accomodate for the added load.

"That's what I'm talking about." Matteo said, rubbing along his skinny jeans. Watery screams reached his ears, startling for a moment before he scooped them into his crotch. It didn't last long, before a flex hushed them, their prison tossed around while he spun against their chair.

"Glad to see your having fun now." Emiliano said.

"Oh I'm just getting started, let's see if we can catch some more."

The two of them scrolled through the cameras to the cardboard houses below, the digital feedback flashing with each click as they surveyed the room. They caught 10 in those splitting moments, insulting an Italian styled pizza with pineapples on top. They couldn't stomach such a sully of tradition, slamming upon the button as the tubes scooped every one of them. But they supposed they should thank them for their misdeeds, they were going to make their balls juicy and fat. By the evening, they both had a hefty catch. Emiliano resting along the sofa, a leg over the edge to let their balls sag into the gaps of the couch. Matteo sat along the computer chair, their skinny jeans stripped to spread their own legs, their balls sagging over the edge like a pendulum.

"And that's 18, 18 I've stashed in there.." Matteo said. He fondled at the swollen nuts between his legs, hand and footprints bulging beneath the soft skin for freedom. "How many do we got in there now."

"5, they're all huddling together inside a box." Emiliano said. "Should we move them?"

"Nah, let them be for now, my nuts are as full as it is. Mmm, all their squirmers are getting me riled up." He messaged at his balls like a sponge full of water, squishing against the tender testicles to tease the unfortunate tinies inside. Their faint screams were decent, but dull as they absorbed into his clammed skin. Though he supposed it was for the best.

He grabbed a tube from the corner table, shoving his cock inside while he turned it on. Wet suctions filled the corner of the room, the tube milking his cock as if it were an utter to retrieve the seed inside. His balls lifted towards his crotch, lumps traveling up the lengths of his scrotum before they dragged through his thin shaft. Extracted, seed spilled into a plastic bag along a crease in a wall, tinies squeezing milky pools inside before a zip tie sealed it. Matteo Smiled,holding one of the bags in his palm.

"Pfft, it's like holding a goldfish" He said, see-sawing the bag with his wrist as tides dragged the unfortunate littles around the plastic space. It was a sight to behold as they spun around the bag. He'd fill it with more just to entertain himself, but he didn't want to risk their return home to come with lawsuits. At least not from the country of course.

More tinies filled the bags, deposited into a tray that stacked them on top of each other. Looking at the one in hand, Matteo winked before tossing them into the pile, a trolly pulling from the wall as the tinies disappeared behind it. He slumped into his chair moaning as the tube around him plucked more from his balls.

"Why do they always feel so.good when I send them inside, but sour when I have to let them out?" He said.

"Sounds like you're getting attached to the tinies."

"Them? Nahh, I'd say it's the concept that really gets me going, like a good egg "

Emiliano snorted, "You mean meatballs."

"Not just any meatballs, spicy hot meatballs." He Cupped his balls in one hand.

The last of the tinies were extracted, pulled to the final bag as it wrapped its lining along it. They pulled the dripping tube off their shafts, tossing it to the floor before they stood to the window. "On one thing, I sympathize with what you're saying, it does feel hard when it comes to letting them go. Like a part of yourself leaving.

"True, though I suppose it has its merits, makes for a good jerk off session."

A bell rung from the alarm in the room, the two looking to the cameras where activity began to rise. The cardboard boxes lifted from along the walls, revealing the remaining tinies that huddled together. Amongst their confusing stares, the floor began to glow, filling the room as a pulse ran through the lining of the mats. With each beat, an inch of their size was returned, restoring them to their full height as they stood bare. They began to cheer, Matteo and Emiliano looking into the window as the participants celebrated.

"Huh, they survived the weekend." Matteo said.

"Bummer, I was looking forward to more. I suppose we should reward them for enduring." Emiliano hit a button along the door, a a padded lock opening as it presented to the people in the room. They grabbed their clothes, scampering out the door where a Microphone hovered in the next room.

"Congratulations you lucky few that survived, you get your size back and a VIP ride home back to your countries."

The participants looked at each other, grabbing brochures as they scurried to the vans awaiting for them.

"Say, now that I think about it, shouldn't we get the shrunkees a prize too? Like a loser's compensation?"

"You got a point there. Hmm, give them a cook book, perhaps then they'll learn to appreciate the cuisine of italian food."

[devildomsoup]

Hey, I have a request. Can you make a oneshot of Levi comforting an MC with a strict parent.

If it's possible, of course.

Room to Breathe

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Character: Leviathan

Type: Oneshot

MC: gender neutral they/them

Warnings: Mentions of strict parents.

MC was beyond upset when they entered Leviathan's room. They were tired even exhausted. MC had just gotten back from visiting their parents’ place in the human realm, and it did not go well at all. During their stay in the Devildom, MC had forgotten just how strict their parents were.

It was suffocating.

It felt like no matter what they did, they always did something wrong. It felt like they would forever be stuck under their parents' thumb and it hurt to think about it.

MC just could not grasp why in the world their parents acted the way they did. For ages, they had tried to convince themself that it was because their parents loved them, that MC's parents just wanted what was best for them. But it was getting harder and harder to convince themself that it was true. 

Every time they visited their parents, they would return home feeling drained and sad. It hurt that they treated MC the way they did. Why could they not trust MC more? MC could take care of themselves; they had proven that on multiple occasions. Yet their parents still treated them like they were 5. It was frustrating beyond belief. It almost felt condescending at times. 

Honestly, MC’s parents were starting to sound ridiculous with all their demands and rules. It was getting out of hand. No, colouring your hair, no shoes with heels, no sugary snacks, no food after 8, and the list went on. What was the most devastating thing was the fact that MC’s parents still managed to push their strict agenda onto them even when MC was not living with them. It felt like there was no escape.

With a sigh, MC flopped down on the bean bag chair in Leviathan’s room. Covering their face with their hands, MC tried not to think about how disastrous it had been to visit their parents. 

Leviathan paused the game he was playing and took his headphones off. He was quiet for a bit, not completely sure what the best course of action would be right now. It was clear to him that MC was not doing well, but he was unsure of how to approach it. Would it be best to just leave them be, or should he try to talk to them about it? Would they even want to talk to him? He was just a yucky- No, he was not going to let his self-esteem issues stop him from comforting MC. Not this time. Leviathan took a shaky breath and approached MC, sitting down on the floor beside them.

“Hey uh MC… What's wrong?” Leviathan asked.

There was not an immediate response, and Levithan could only bite the insides of his cheek anxiously as he waited. Had he been too direct? Did they not want to talk? Leviathan shook his, trying to get those thoughts out of his head. He had to take this slow and let MC lead the conversation.

“It’s just…. It’s just really suffocating to be around my parents,” MC finally said with a tired sigh.  

“I don’t know why they keep doing what they do. When I tell them to stop, we just end up arguing. It’s so tiring. At this point, all I’m asking them is to let me breathe. I can’t do this anymore. It's too much, it's too many rules, too many demands. I can’t keep up with it.”

Leviathan nods silently, letting MC say what they need to say.

“It feels like I’m drowning. No matter what I do or say, we always end up in some sort of argument because they think they are allowed to control my life or something. It is frustrating beyond belief. All I want is for them to recognize that I can take care of myself. They treat me like I’m a stupid 5-year-old kid. I am not. I don't even know why they do it!” MC huffed, frustrated by how their parents were acting.

“Am I being petty? Am I ungrateful for asking them to be less strict? Am I acting spoiled? Am I being spoiled?” MC asked.

Leviathan was quiet for a bit, putting his answer together inside his head. He nodded a bit before answering.

“I don’t think you are any of that MC. You are not wrong for being frustrated, and you are not petty or selfish or ungrateful for setting boundaries or saying that the way your parents are treating you isn’t okay. Honestly, from what I have heard, they make Lucifer look mild.” 

MC chuckled a bit a the last comment, Levithan smiled bashfully as he heard MC chuckle. He was glad that MC was at least a little less upset.

“But honestly, MC, you are not wrong for feeling the way you feel. Your parents sound way too strict. Even my brothers agree, and it’s rare for us all to agree on something. I don't think you should beat yourself up over feeling like this. Your parents sound like insanely strict normies. If they were my parents, I would have summoned Lotan on them so you are handling it way better than I could,” Leviathan said, looking at the floor. 

MC gave him a small smile. They felt way better after talking with Levithan.

“Thanks, Levi. It means a lot.”

Leviathan looked at MC who was still sprawled across the beanbag. They had moved so they were on their stomach with their face buried in the bean bag. The bean bag was big enough for 2 people and MC looked like they needed to be held. Maybe Levithan should give them a hug. No, no way, why would MC want to be held by him? He was a total loser and- 

Leviathan bit the inside of his cheek as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to stop himself from slipping into his self-deprecating mindset. He did not want to think like that, not right now. He wanted to be there for MC. 

He got up from the floor and slowly sat down on the bean bag beside MC. His face was going red as he tried to muster up the courage to speak, His eyes were darting around the room looking anywhere but MC.

“H-hey MC… would… would you, you know like a h-hug or something? Of course, if you don’t want to hug a yucky loser like me, that's fine. I'm not going to get angry or anything if you say no,” the last part of the sentence was said almost too fast for MC to register what he was saying.   

MC moved their head so they could look at Levithan. 

“Yeah… a hug sounds nice…”

After hearing MC’s answer, Leviathan shakily wrapped his arms around MC. It was hard for him to believe he was doing it. In the beginning, MC could barely feel Leviathan's arms, but after a bit of time, it seemed like the Avatar of Envy finally managed to gather the courage to hold them tight. It was nice, it was really, really nice. It felt like MC could finally breathe like the normal suffocating feeling their parents usually left them with was gone. While in Leviathan’s embrace, nothing bad could touch MC.

“This was just what I needed, Levi, thank you.”

“No problem… I-it’s nice for me too, you know.”

Leviathan was noticeably less nervous now. He had gotten used to holding MC, so it did not seem so scary anymore. He actually found himself wondering why in the world he had been so scared of doing it to begin with. 

“MC if you ever feel suffocated by your parents, you can always come to me. I don’t mind, I’m willing to listen no matter how small it might be… You always listen to me when I need to ramble, so I want to return the favour.”

MC smiled it was rare for Levithan to get out of his shell like this they knew it took a lot of energy for him to do so. The fact that he used the energy to make MC feel better was heartwarming.  MC turned around in Levithan’s arms, so they were facing him and gently used their finger to put a lock of Levithan’s hair behind his ear.

“Thank you, Levi, it means the world.

[tineeericeee]

What Waits Off the Coast Of Santa Barbara

Chapter two: Stupid Fucking Net

Notes: Soooo I may or may not have gone a little crazy on the details writing this… and it got so long I had to split it again. So now instead of three parts it’s four. So uh. Yeah. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT 😭

Anyways, enjoy!

Thank you @arrowheadedbitch for beta reading!

Shawn felt himself slowly come to, and cracked his eyes open delicately. He immediately shut them again. Everything was bright, so much brighter than the deep ocean, where things were darker and much softer in terms of color saturation.

He hadn’t been to the surface in… what, ten years? Time was difficult to keep track of down in the deep.

Had things changed much since he��d been gone? Were there flying cars and hoverboards like ‘Back to the Future 2’ said there would be? Maybe he could get one!

As his eyes adjusted, he saw he was staring straight up at the sky, a sky that was full of hundreds of twinkling lights. Stars, he remembered. It had been years since he saw those.

Shawn tried moving an arm to shield his eyes, but quickly stopped as his whole right side erupted into shocks of pain. He let out a low hiss as miniscule threads dug into his skin. He stopped trying to free himself and lay still, the stabbing ache slowly lessening to a dull throb.

Of course this happened to Shawn. It was just his luck he got into some kind of mess on the same night he decided to return to the surface. He could practically hear his dad berating him.

He tried to think back to how he got into this mess. It was a haze, but little pieces started stringing themselves together into a clearer and clearer memory.

He’d been on his way back when he swam into a school of fish, which had disoriented him enough to get tangled in a net that’d obviously been discarded.

His brain had gone into panic mode, and he thrashed around, blindly bumping into rocks and coral.

He remembered dozens of tiny fish flitting around his flailing body as he tried to gain control before hitting his head on a particularly large boulder, knocking him out cold.

Stupid, polluting humans. Shawn hated fisherman that discarded their old nets into the water instead of taking them back on land.

Whatever. He was awake and alert now, of course. Although the ‘alert’ part was still up for debate.

‘Okay, moving my right arm is a no go…’ He tried moving his left arm and neck to see if those had gotten injured as well. Thankfully, they just felt slightly sore. He began testing it further, cracking the joints in his neck, flexing his fingers and wrist, relieving minuscule amounts of tension. He raised his head to look down at his right side, where the pain was, to assess the damage done.

Sure enough, his entire right arm, along with his torso and tail, was wrapped in tiny yet sturdy threads of netting. Just looking at it made his wounds ache twice as much.

‘Okay, don’t panic. Just take in your surroundings.’ He looked further to his right, and saw nothing but beach and a lone plastic bottle rolling around in the wind.

He looked to his left, and…

Dammit.

Apparently, someone had seen him. Great. Fantastic. Life had 100% fucked him over, getting him stuck in some stupid net and also given him a possible concussion. And now on top of it all, Shawn had been seen in his mer form. Although, the person — who he had identified as Mr. Bean lookalike, wearing what seemed to be one part of a two-piece work suit— didn’t seem to be moving, simply lying in a heap. He probably fainted when he saw him.

‘Maybe I could just…’

Shawn shifted to the right an inch and immediately regretted it, pain blooming all over his injured body once more. Sand dug into the millions of tiny cuts sprinkled around him, sharp and stinging.

He stopped and sat still once more, allowing his body to settle down again.

Shawn could try to shrink to his human form, but the netting tangled around him made him nervous about attempting that. He normally wasn’t ever this cautious, but when it came to possible deformity he was extra careful.

His transformation wasn’t really like what was shown in movies. Thanks to the large size difference between this form and his human form, the process was a lot like a lizard shedding old skin, pieces of him flaking away until he was the size of an average person.

Shawn moved his left arm, and examined his claws. Maybe he could tear through the net with those?…

No, they were only good for ripping and digging into flesh, not for cutting fine threads of fishing net.

Shawn looked down to his left again, taking a closer look at the man, contemplating another plan.

‘What if I-’

He shook his head and tried to say out loud ‘No, that’s a bad idea,’ but was stopped short when his tongue wasn’t cooperating with him. It had been so long since he spoke actual words. He had almost completely forgotten how to, which was something he’d have to work on.

As he tried coming up with a different idea, he took in more details of the man. He was small, and — dare he say — cute.

Shawn had only ever seen two humans while in his mer form: his dad, and Gus. They had both definitely seemed small to him in comparison, but he had never thought of them as cute. But, there was just something about this one…

Shawn continued to take in more of the guy.

His button up was untucked on one side, and slightly rumpled. Legs and arms lay askew, slightly thin and dangly. ‘Scarecrow’, Shawn’s brain said.

Shawn squinted, trying to take in the minuscule details of the guy’s face. Lines and creases dispersed around his temple. Maybe he scrunched his face a lot in confusion. Or maybe he just got annoyed often. All of this together looked… really good, surprisingly.

Never in Shawn’s life would he have thought of someone with those features to be attractive. He had seen people with those features and thought they looked like an asshole.

And yet…

This guy somehow managed to pull it all off. And very nicely, if Shawn had to say.

He was cut off from his thoughts when his body gave another throb of pain.

Oh screw it. He’d already been seen by the guy, what was the worst that could happen now?

Shawn delicately reached out, bending his arm at an awkward angle to try and poke the unconscious guy awake. He marveled at the difference in size for second, before gently poking the man.

‘This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.’

…

‘But I really don’t have a better idea.’

—————

ao3 link

[penelopedreadful]

These two are probably one of my favourite sets of characters I've ever made, and definitely my favourite to work on.

Meet Pennetech Nyst (I am considering changing her name to Penjack or Pentrix or something else, at the time Pennetech "Penny" Nyst just sounded good), and her Guardian, Socket.

Guardianship is a magic that exists solely in the city of Neo-Shanblister. Legends say that the gods of light and darkness made themselves guardians, the sun, Solace, and the moon, Crater, to fight for the universe, and Earth was made as a battlefield for their guardians to fight. After both guardians beheaded one-another, making the sun and moon, the gods both died of broken hearts, and the spot the guardians died in eventually became Shanblister, then Neo-Shanblister.

The magic itself allows an individual's attachment to an item or creature to cultivate and grow a guardian soul. In the case of an item, that soul can enter them at any time, and takes a small part of the guarded's soul with them to finish it. In the case of a creature, after the creature passes, its soul mingles with the guardian soul and returns to the creature's body. In either case, the item gains powers based on its nature and its meaning to the guarded who brought them to life. The threat this magic could pose has led to the government of Neo-Shanblister walling off the city to stop those from outside who may want to use the magic for their own purposes.

Socket was a plush made by Penny's grandmother, the only member of her family she was close to due to neglect and poor treatment from her parents. Her grandma passed before finishing Socket, never able to complete his mouth, but Penny loved him regardless, and in the absence of anyone else who seemed to care for her, she took him on as her best friend, which became all the more literal when he gained life.

As a plushie, Socket gained a lot of fitting powers, such as the ability to manipulate threads and fabric, and the ability to take infinite amounts of impact without harm. Due to Penny's grandmother teaching her how to knit and sew, he can also summon different needles, scissors and other useful contraptions. He can change his stuffing for different means, adding weight to be used as a weapon or beans to be fired out like pellets, can negate gravity to simulate games he and Penny played before he gained sentience, and he can store items inside himself by opening his seams.

Penny's grandmother also left all her money to Penny after her passing, allowing Penny to leave her parents behind and move into her own apartment. She and Socket now spend their days hanging around in parks and on the rooftops of Neo-Shanblister, enjoying the everlasting night of the walled-off city... and investigating the many strange happenings that go on, almost always leading them to someone else's guardian in the process.

This is my third design for these two, and while Socket never really changes much because he's perfect, Penny's had some fairly significant design changes, and I think I like how this one turned out. I wanted to capture the slightly sci-fi vibes of her environment, not super futuristic but a bit neon, and in lieu of actual neon colours, I think the patterns and inventive aspects to her outfit really sell that.

Hope you guys like it, I really like how it turned out.

Edit: Changed the text colour to something that will stand out on light or dark mode, since I realised it was blending into the white on my screen.

[changingplumbob]

Chopra Household: Chapter 6, Part 5

Time for the nanny from hell to meet the Chopra toddlers. What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?

CW: Mean nanny

If Viola is attempting to say something it will be in brackets, otherwise you can assume it's just trying out sounds Mercedes has a speech delay and may get words wrong, correct wording will be in brackets if that is the case Savannah aka Honeybee Mercedes aka Little Ladybug Viola aka Green Bean

Cassandra and Rahul have their own psychiatrist appointments so Savannah and Mercedes are left in the charge of nanny Alana. Mercedes feels this is most unfair and can’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to go with mama. Mama loves her, why couldn’t Mercedes stay with mama?

Alana: Stop sulking, you’re supposed to be five. Grow up and act like it

Mercedes: *sniffles*

Alana: Look they’ll be back eventually. Until then, behave

If you’ve been paying attention you can probably guess that my girls are not going to behave themselves. Savannah has found some paint who knows where and decides to decorate the kitchen for her papa. Mercedes is trying to find her favourite book and is tearing the bookshelf apart looking.

Alana: What the heck is this? Where did you get paint

Savannah: I make pretty for papa, he be happy. He love mama and she pretty

Alana: Oh I don’t think so

Mercedes: *insulted* What say mama (bitch what did you say about my mother)

Alana: *scoffs* I can’t even understand you. Look, your parents won’t find this pretty

Savannah looks sadly at Mercedes then at the paint in her hands.

Mercedes: NO!

Alana: No what

Mercedes: You WRONG. Mama pretty! Savannah make PRETTY. You not know pretty

To emphasise her point Mercedes kicks Alana’s shin as hard as she can while Savannah giggles and returns to her masterpiece.

Alana: What the hell? Why are you so aggressive

Mercedes: I right. Mama PRETTY. Savannah MAKE PRETTY

Alana: Listen here you little spoiled ship! Violence is never okay. How would you like it if I kicked you?

Mercedes: *darkly* try

Alana: so much for toddlers being sweet

Alana: All three of you are nightmares

Savannah: *laughing to herself while spilling paint*

Mercedes: Good

Alana: It’s not good, it’s terrible. You thank your lucky stars your mother is loaded because your money is all you will ever have going for you

Rahul: What did you just say to my daughter?

Alana: You’re back? Thank the watcher! I hate to break it to you, actually no I don't. Your kids are spoiled little-

Rahul: Don’t even think about finishing that sentence!

Rahul: My daughters are not the best behaved girls but they don’t have to be, they’re still toddlers! They are learning. As a nanny you should have learned but it would appear you are still missing some manners

Alana: You can’t talk to me like that! I’m older than you

Rahul: You insulted my kids when you were supposed to look after them. I’m reporting your behaviour to the agency, you will not be coming to my home again

Alana: Let’s not be hasty

Rahul: Hasty? You think we don’t have baby monitors? I heard how you treated my infant and with what I just heard here you should be glad I’m not calling the cops

Alana: Fine! Have your brats! I’m leaving

Cassandra: But... big guy we don’t have baby monitors

Rahul: You know that and I know that but clearly my suspicions were right. She didn’t deny treating Viola like she did our twins. If she had treated Viola well she would have denied that a monitor could hear anything. Is Viola okay

Cassandra: Sound asleep, I went straight there when we heard that woman yelling

Breathing a sigh of relief Rahul turns his sights to an innocent looking toddler amidst paint spatter.

Rahul: Now honeybee, can you explain what happened here

Savannah: I… make pretty?

Rahul: Why did you make pretty Savannah

Savannah: Papa… love pretty. You always tell mama. I want to make pretty so you love house

Rahul: Oh Savannah, I love you and the house, I promise. But it’s not good to spill paint everywhere

Savannah: But… why? I make pretty! I being nice

Rahul: I can see it’s pretty but it’s also a tricky mess

Savannah: *confused* Why?

Rahul: Paint, I don’t even know where you found paint, can be very hard to clean. If it stays on our floor and our rugs it can make the house look messy. We’ll have to clean it up later

Savannah: Later?

Rahul: Yes honeybee. Remember what the doctor said? We have to work on your movement so…

Savannah’s little face lights up as she begins to understand.

Savannah: Playtime papa?

Rahul: Yes, playtime. Come here you little rugrat

Savannah bursts into giggles and jumps up and down excitedly.

As soon as Cassandra finishes pumping a giggling Mercedes runs into her arms.

Mercedes: Mama I… I…

Cassandra: Take your time little ladybug. I'm listening

At the psychiatrist Mercedes communicated she sometimes tries to rush her words so that her parents will listen before Viola cries. It was agreed that if she's talking it's best for Rahul and Cassandra to let her know they're listening for as long as she needs, at least at this age while her speech is still developing. Also Mercedes depiction of a speech delay is one that will be visible when reading, I'm not saying everyone with a speech delay has her particular issue with words.

Mercedes: I… dear friend (defend) Savannah from mean nanny

Cassandra: Did you do that? What a big brave girl

Mercedes: *whispers* I kick her and yell

Cassandra: *sighs* We’re not meant to kick people Mercedes. In time you’ll be able to use your words, I promise

Mercedes: *whispers* I try best

Cassandra: I’m sure you did Mercedes and I’m proud of you for sticking up for your sister. We just have to think of ways to deal with your anger

Brilliant news! With some guidance both twins reach level 3 potty skill, they’ll be able to go by themselves. Since it’s new year’s eve the girls have afternoon naps as they want to see how late they can stay up. While Rahul goes to tend the garden Cassandra happily goes to check her animals. She throws feed around the coop and calls out. An alert Cluckton runs around the corner and up to her (it was so cute, I nearly died).

Cassandra: Mr Cluckton! I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with the humans, I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you

Cluckton: *clucks* You’re forgiven mama

Cassandra: You have been doing such a good job defending the property haven’t you? Your papa has ordered you a special medal to go on your hutch so everyone can know of your bravery

Cluckton: *clucks* as they should

After a big hug session Cassandra returns Cluckton to the ground. As she tends to the coop he does his duty. He sounds the food is here call, and rounds up his wife and daughters, making sure everyone is eating. Rahul is tending the garden when he gets great news. He is now level 10 in gardening! His ambition is to be level 8 in 6 skills so he may have to divert his attentions elsewhere for a while.

Cassandra cleans and shears Seven, making sure to compliment her cloud like appearance. Then she cleans and milks Turtle who is happily snoozing in the prairie grass. After a short while Mr Cluckton alerts everyone to the special arrival.  A medal for bravery has arrived and been placed on his coop to let all know he is the best property defender around!

Previous ... Next

[liviavanrouge]

Twst x Food Fantasy

King Crab ran through the orchard, his hair flying behind him. He skidded to a stop, Silver appearing from behind a tree in front of him. He turned to go the other way but Sebek ran up behind him with Vex on his right side and Nex on his left. The four boys closed in on the food soul, King Crab staring at them taking each of them in. "Master Lilia wishes to remove the contract you've made with her ladyship!"Sebek glared his arms crossed over his chest. "You are much too strong and dangerous for my sister"Silver says stepping closer cautiously. "So come nicely-"Vex starts glaring at him. "-or take us right here"Nex finishes his eyes narrowed. King Crab sighed, looking disapproving. "Does mere mages think they can handle me right here and now?"King Crab asks touching the crown of his head. "Yes!" He lowered his hand, taking the four boys in once again. A first year. A second year. Two third years. "I see...."King Crab mumbles. He leaped skyward, and landed on a branch taking off. "GET HIM!!!"

~~~~~~

Livia sat underneath a tree, working on her classwork, Bean sitting beside her holding an open book up as her other food souls ran about with each other. "Don't your arms hurt?"Livia asks reaching to take the book. "Not at all Master Attendant!"Bean laughs getting an amused smile from her. She perked up, noticing Silver running past with Sebek, Nex and Vex right behind him. "What are they doing?"Bean blinked looking surprised to see them all moving so fast through the halls. Ddeokbokki sang not far, showing off for Cappuccino and Mousse, the two boys applauding her when she finished. "Hey little sis." Livia looked up and smiled, finding Maria standing there with Kimchi. "Hi sis!"Livia beamed. Kimchi went over to the other food souls, watching Ddeokbokki sing. "Master Attendant's friend!" A food soul with blond like hair and strange clothes ran over. "I am Qatayef, and Master Attendant Kalim wants to see YOU!"The food soul greets.

"We can talk later, Livia, Riddle will have my head if I'm late"Maria chuckled rubbing the back of her neck. Livia's ears started to twitch, picking up the note of fear in her elder sisters voice. "Okay"Livia nods looking curious about Riddle now. Kimchi returned to Maria's side, the duo walking away towards the school, making her curious about where they were heading off to. "Ddeokbokki, Cappuccino and Mousse! Return!"Livia orders. The three food souls glowed, turning into charms and darting over, clipping themselves to her bracelet. Qatayef led the way, a goofy smile on his face as they walked to the mirror room. "Who's Kalim, Master Attendant"Bean asks looking up at her curiously, holding her hand. "He's-"Livia starts. She bumped into someone, and stumbled backwards startled. "H-Huh!"Bean stared alarmed. A red haired male glared at Livia, accompanied by a blond haired food soul. "Riddle!"The males food soul gasped. "I'm fine, Fruit Tart"Riddle huffs looking annoyed.

"You should watch where you're doing, and not a single apology came from you"Riddle scolds narrowing his eyes. "S-Sorry.."Livia says surprised. Riddle looked her up and down, raising a brow when he eyed Bean then the charms on her bracelet. "You're childish, and prefer to run around playing rather than allow yourself to remain couped up inside all day, you also enjoy singing and dancing with those you love and cherish but can become fiercely protective of them when they find themselves in danger"Riddle says. She perked up, looking surprised that he knew all of that. "You're honest and sincere with your words but can get lost in your own world at times..you'd rather have a friend than a servant, willing to befriend anyone you come across and give them a second chance, you at times fall quiet and decide to busy yourself with other things, not to mention you love rough housing with loved ones whenever you can"Riddle continues looking her over again.

"How-"Livia starts stunned. She stopped when he held his hand up, continuing to analyze her. "If I have to say, the next time you summon a food soul, you'd end up summoning two accidentally, which are Lotus root with sticky rice and Ganache"Riddle guesses looking her up and down once more. He checked the time when Fruit Tart tapped his shoulder and flinched at the sight. "I'm two minutes late to meet Maria, I can't believe this!"Riddle sighs shaking his head. He gave her a look, confusing her. Wasn't he the one who started rambling on and on about her, figuring out her entire personality with just one look. "Food souls are summoned using a beings personality or their favorite food, I hope to see you with more mature food souls who won't baby you like your current ones!"Riddle frowned crossing his arms over his chest. Her eyes watched as he passed by her with Fruit Tart right behind him, wondering what his deal was with her already. "Master Attendant's friend!" She hurried over, quickly passing through Scarabia's Mirror.

~~~~

"LIVIA!" Kalim tackle hugged her, the two laughing as they crashed into the sandy ground. "It's great to see you again, Livia"Jamil smiled giving her a friendly nod. Five Snake Soup stared silently, his cheeks heating up when Livia beamed. "Nice to see you again too Jamil!"Livia giggled her eyes sparkling. Five snake soup turned and walked away. "Snake?"Jamil frowned looking after him. "I'm gonna go check on the curry"Five snake soup says. "Crap! THE CURRY! I FORGOT!"Jamil yells rushing away. "Thanks for coming, Liv!"Kalim beamed patting her shoulder happily. "Anytime, anyplace, anywhere! No matter what!"Livia giggled beaming right back at him. "Come on, Liv! Jamil's curry is the absolute best!"Kalim beamed pulling her after him. "Yeah!"Livia nods her eyes sparkling. Bean smiled slightly as she pulled him after her, Qatayef following right behind them. The four of them ran to Scarabia, wide smiles on their faces as they laughed, hurrying to try Jamil's famous curry.

~~~~

Riddle sat beside Maria, coaching her through her studies, a stern look on his face as he watched her. "Very good"Riddle nods when he saw she got the answer correct. He frowned, unable to get the girl he bumped into out if his head for some apparent reason and he didn't like that she kept distracting him from tutoring one of his dormmates. "Do you know a girl with black hair and blue eyes, she has a child food soul with her?"Riddle demands frowning. "Livia? She's my baby sister"Maria blinked looking at him surprised. "You're siblings?"Riddle questions suspicious. "Her Papa adopted me into his family, along with a few others, three of my siblings attend somewhere else and ones a king in a wolf kingdom"Maria explains looking reluctant to really elaborate on this further. Riddle frowned, looking curious. "I see.."Riddle says looking down at his book. "I actually have a few questions for her, I wonder if I should court her"Riddle mutters. She stared at him with wide eyes, wondering what in the name of the seven was he on about.

@anxious-twisted-vampire @yukii0nna @writing-heiresss @zexal-club @marrondrawsalot @yumeko2sevilla @abyssthing198

[scalproie]

Im in writing mood but i dont think i could work that into a story so.

In the tekken hades au, Hell Embodied IS Kazumi but not really or more accurately, not anymore:

Quick lore/mechanic recap: during a run, Jin has a chance to go meet Azazel via ominous purple crystals randomly spawning and get the optional boss fight Devil Jin, which during the first encounter unlock the devil fighting style, and the next encounters allow Jin to get or level up devil style moves. Other than that, Azazel has a story sidequest involving "Kazumi" (basically the Chaos and Nyx equivalent).

Basically during that story sidequest, we get Hell Embodied/"Kazumi" backstory and lore. It was originally a place that came to be because of Azazel's influence but it was slightly closer to the surface than where Azazel, a primordial entity older than most gods, resides (Alex is also from where Azazel is from and that's why theyre both reptilian looking but that's another story).

Eventually it developped a curiosity for what was above and assumed a corporeal form to wander up there (and that's when it added she/her to its pronouns)

She attracted the attention of the new God King Heihachi that just finished usurping his father's throne and he eventually asked to wed her. Initially she intended to use him to gain power and control over this surface world but down the line she developped real feelings for him. And they had a son :)

Eventually Heihachi found out the truth about her nature and, feeling betrayed and wholly believing she did not in fact, love him, he stripped her of her corporeal form and status of goddess and drove her back to her "real" place, aka the middle ground between the primordial dark and the surface world, aka Hell, where she would be utterly incapable of leaving, not even getting the chance to stay a few moments up there like its son and grandson (And Heihachi could do that since his status of God King gave him the authority to do so.)

So that was one way to permanently "kill" a god: by forcefully making everyone forget about them, they are no longer a person. So as far as Heihachi and everyone else was concerned, Kazumi was officially dead.

(Another way is to keep a god in a constant state of dying, so to speak, because leaving a god for dead will only insure they return eventually. Not having the authority of the God King, thats what Lars, Lee and Kazuya did to Heihachi: after Kaz defeated him, they put him at the center of the earth, letting the deadly magma of the place do the job, and bind him there so he could not escape. Lars feels bad about it but it needed to be done for the good of everyone, Lee was like "Oh No! Anyway..." at that, and Kazuya would've thrown a party if it was smth he did. And was all too happy to let the memory of his father be buried forever and to never talk about him again.)

(Young gods can die permanently bc they didnt get enough time to cement themselves into the world. Smth smth if a chick cannot break its egg's shell it will die without being born. Wink wink)

Heihachi kept their child around initially for the same reason Kazuya will keep Jin eons later: he reminded him of his mother. And for the same reason Kazuya will treat Jin, Heihachi came to resent Kazuya: he installed a legacy of parricide by "killing" Jinpachi the Sky God, reducing him to a concept, so to secure his throne (but lying to himself as him making sure his son is a worthy heir), Heihachi did the whole heaven cliff tossing to Kazuya.

"Kazumi" found the body of its/her son and yknow the rest.

As for the reason Kazuya doesnt recognize her, well, for starters, the corporeal form of Kazumi was her human design, but Hell Embodied (who it/she just is now) looks more like a ethereal ghostly version of devil Kazumi. Another reason is that Kaz is a stubborn man who adamently refuses to aknowledge his past pain, be it losing his mother or his father in general.

If Jin confront "Kazumi" after Azazel spilled the beans, it will make Jin promise to not reveal anything to Kazuya, for a multitudes of reasons.

Jin relunctantly agrees but he does call Hell Embodied "grandma" when he's on his own, and he does feel closer to her now.

[burningthrucelluloid]

Christmas Carol-cember, Day 16

In 2008, comedians Henry Lewis, Jonathan Sayer and Henry Shields formed Mischief Theatre, a British Theatre company that specializes in comedy slapstick routines where the punchline is usually baked in the illusion of failure.

Actors forget their lines or have personal squabbles with each other that come out during the performance, a prop breaks or does not work as intended, the set falls apart, doors either fall off the hinges or don’t open at all and all of this happening while stage hands walk on to try to resolve them, much to the awkwardness to realize they are being seen.

This ethos of failure is the cornerstone to their comedy and it’s why they have become successful in bringing their premiere production, “The Play That Goes Wrong,” to Broadway in 2019.

But before their theatrical success, they performed a Christmas special titled “Peter Pan Goes Wrong" for the BBC in 2016, garnering rave reviews for their comic timing, stunt choreography and playfulness to engage the audience with the joke. The strength of this success allowed them to return a year later with a follow-up production, “A Christmas Carol Goes Wrong.” This special starred Shakespearean actors Diana Rigg and Derek Jacobi alongside the Mischief troupe as their performance garnered an audience of nearly 5 million viewers, similar praise that allowed them to create “The Goes Wrong Show” for the BBC in 2019.

So with a style of humor that borders on the wacky and self-deprecating, how does it hold up with carrying the theme of Dickens?

Having been blacklisted for the chaos of their Peter Pan performance, the Cornley Polytechnic Drama Society decide to hijack the BBC’s live broadcast of “A Christmas Carol” and insert themselves into the set and costumes while trying to keep it’s original star, Derek Jacobi, out of the way. Trouble brews immediately when actor Robert Grove (Henry Lewis) is frustrated that he is not permitted to play Scrooge while Cornley’s director Chris Bean (Henry Shields) takes over the lead role. Upon hearing that Chris would have to become incapacitated for Robert to take over, Robert schemes throughout the show to take the lead role, much to the painful chagrin of his co-stars on the receiving end.

Meanwhile, Dennis Hyde (Jonathan Sayer) struggles to remember his lines so the crew has them written across the set to help him out to mixed results, cast members Sandra Wilkinson (Charlie Russell) and Max Bennett (Dave Hearn) have a slight falling out when an assumed affair is exposed between them and then there’s the matter of the BBC trying to take back control of their studio set.

All while things fall off the walls, the green screen fails to work properly, doors won’t open, actors struggle with the costumes or the crew keep getting seen in the background trying to stay out of sight to less success.

The slapstick may be hit or miss for people. Some people find it repetitive that comedy has to involve hurting other people to get a laugh, but for this acting troupe, it’s a complex game of timing and set up.

The pratfalls and slapstick are planned out, from a fake coffin landing on an actress to a fall someone takes down a hole in the floor. Yet one way this special keeps itself from growing stale is in how it spreads out its humorous scenes with establishing the set up to their jokes.

Take for instance Dennis’ inability to remember his lines. All around certain locations he’s put in, his words are written out for him to read them and they are not subtle at all. From literally putting them on walls to giving him a pair of glasses reading “Bless you” that he reads backwards to reading every single grape on a table to read off his lines. It’s a joke that pays off and showcases his comic timing to seem inept until the moment where he suddenly remembers the lines intended for Scrooge.

Another running joke involves a cast member Annie (Nancy Zamit) picks up a prop gun with glue on it and finds she cannot remove the gun from her hand. Throughout the show, even when she dons multiple costumes, the gun is still in her hand. Near the special's end as the cast go to a corner mart to pick up some deli goose meat, the sales clerk thinks he's being mugged cause of the prop gun in her hand.

There’s an art to coming off as inept or making mistakes and Mischief Theatre has this nailed down. Crew mates who are trying to repair sets around them stand out and quickly attempt to escape the shot. There’s a scene where they mess up on the green screen that accidentally shows unflattering video of a wrap party where Chris insults his co-workers and an alleged affair between him and Sandra creates friction. For as much work as they put into coming off as inept, there’s a lot of creativity behind that. Take for instance the backgrounds when Scrooge sees a vision of the future, behind Scrooge and the Ghost of the Future, you can clearly see Scrooge’s counting house has been boarded up with flyers over it.

That’s not accidental. You can’t make a mistake on a detail like that as much as you pretend to be.

But for all the jokes, it’s what it has to say about the bonds they make that makes it special.

Sure, Robert is constantly trying to sabotage the lead actor throughout the show, but by the special’s climax, Chris giving Scrooge’s big “I will honor Christmas in my heart” speech when he starts to alter the dialogue to reflect on himself and his failures. His speech becomes an open apology to his cast mates and he willingly steps down to allow Robert to be Scrooge, much to Robert’s own surprise.

Even though they’re all acting, I think there’s something to say about the nature of surrendering your ego for others. To give up the chance of success, even when you have footage admitting that you think so little of the people around you. That's certainly more meaningful than a series of pratfalls would lead you to believe.

It’s funny, it’s heartfelt at times and it’s clear their humor is all about timing, Mischief Theatre takes the themes of A Christmas Carol and makes a story about egos clashing. For that, it’s certainly worth recommendation not just for fans of comedy but also fans of the holiday season.

“A Christmas Carol Goes Wrong” can be watched for free on YouTube.

Next time, Scrooge’s being haunted by ghosts, so you ya gonna call?

[manawari]

Winter |

"Winter paused long enough to feel the shiver of trees, the stars and the breeze, the marvel of nature in pure harmony." (Angie Weiland-Crosby.)

Characters: Choi Jong-in, Cha Hae-in, Sung Jin-woo, Woo Jin-chul, Eun-seok, Lee Ju-hee, & Min Byung-gyu.

~ ❆ ~

Choi Jong-in

• He wondered if he could ever get cold. The soft freezing wind, nibbling on one's skin, always turned into warmth when it touched his own. Snowflakes melted in his palms and had not lasted a few seconds in his hand. Jong-in used to be fascinated with the cold season, wondering how it formed and fell from the sky, but now that he was an adult, winter was rather a passing hello. A hello to the frozen waters, a hello to the desire to feel the heat, a hello to the powdery white snow in the streets. Nonetheless, Jong-in liked watching the snowflakes, tiny particles waltzing in the air until they gracefully touched the ground, dissolving out of plain sight; he reached his hand out and waited for the single snowflake to slowly descend on his hand. He smiled when it finally did, feeling as if the snow had kissed his fingertip. He might not be able to completely experience the winter's wonder, but he always felt the winter's magic.

Cha Hae-in

• For once, she felt at ease; the icy blues of the sky and the tiny specks of snowfall drifting gradually in the air, they made her enamored, drawn in a spell that she could never take her eyes off. There was something about the winter that soothed her soul like a lullaby. Today, she woke up past her usual time, which only meant that winter had arrived. The season allowed her to sleep longer until her body was satisfied. Hae-in made herself hot chocolate milk, added with marshmallows, she stirred her mug and sat on the bean bag next to the broad glass window. She dragged a fur blanket over her lap as she glanced at the city outside of her condominium, the sky was clear and clouds were like cotton, utterly white that there were no trace of a bad weather in them. The streets were engulfed with snow and some areas might be slippery. Hae-in's mind ran over various of ways she could spend her day as the first day of snow. Sure, winter would stay for quite some time, but Hae-in hoped she wouldn't miss a thing. Winter had brought the inner child of her which she never expected it was still there.

Sung Jin-woo

• Inhaling the frigid air, it reminded him of the coziness brought by the heater as he and his sister were wrapped under the comforters, watching the movie their father had chosen. His mother would return from the market and prepare the most delicious stew. Jin-woo tugged on the collar of his jacket, burying his hands into his pockets to feel a tad warmth. Tank and the other bears were rolling around the snow, whining tenderly, their pleasant mood was palpable for Jin-woo to stay longer outside in the empty field where no other person could see them. Kaisel crawled under the snow and sprung up, sending fragments of snow everywhere, flapping its wings in delight. The ants were oddly curious of their surroundings, sniffing and even eating the snow, while Beru and others had found themselves forming shapes out of snow. Whether he admit it or not, he liked what he was witnessing, rather than a bloodshed battle. With his shadows happy, he was happy too. Seeing their other side was enough for Jin-woo to feel as though he had not lost that part of him either. Perhaps he could drag his sister out to play later on. Make snow angels and throw snow balls at each other. But now, Jin-woo chose to relish in the happiness radiating from his soldiers.

Woo Jin-chul

• The barista placed the cup of coffee on the counter. Jin-chul muttered his 'thank you' and grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips to take a sip on the creamy, chocolatey coffee. He pushed the door on his way out and the temperature immediately changed. From the warm and cozy ambiance of the café to the icy and tough atmosphere of the winter. His breaths came in small clusters of mist, the tips of his ears turned into a soft taint of red, though he did not shiver and continued his stroll. Usually, most would do the best out of snow, but for Jin-chul, he'd rather stay in the background and watch the lives of people and the way they coped with the cold. It was him and his hot coffee against the breezy winter, shrouding the whole city — country — into pale white.

Eun-seok

• He had a dream. . . The shivering wind gyrating around his hand, the softness of snow beneath his feet, and the tender warmth from the fire. He wished to feel it again. In his grandfather's home, where it was him and his cousins, curled on the ondol floor, sprawling their bodies as they waited for the old man to finish the oyster stew. Winter had been the happiest season in his life, he loved each day of it more than the rest of the seasons. He couldn't wait to hold a mug contained with hot chocolate and a movie waiting for him in his living room. Eun-seok cracked a smile, staring at the clear blue sky, imagining the things he wanted to do. . . Things he still wanted to do. As his life came short, falling into the deadly hands of the vicious ants, devouring every inch of his dear life, he hoped that if the afterlife existed, he would wake up in winter's embrace, surrounded by endless snow.

Lee Ju-hee

• She was not a big fan of the cold. Lee Ju-hee already missed the beaming shine of sunlight, radiating across the city. Bright and lively. Now, she had woken up to the streets covered in white, so rather than making breakfast, she dressed herself in layers of clothing to keep herself warm and a pair of mittens to protect her hands from touching anything that had been grasped by the harsh atmosphere. She returned to the comfort of her home once she was done, along with the purple petunia that she had picked up after noticing how it was not coping well with the snow, she placed it next to the window where it had the most sunlight. Ju-hee gently caressed the petals with her bare hand, feeling the softness beneath her skin; she smiled, glad how it did not easily waver in the freezing wind. Just like her. Winter had not been her favorite season, but she learned how tender things could be, thus must be held in the warmest hands.

Min Byung-gyu

• Children were always rhapsodic no matter what season it was. Whether it was the embracing winter or the beaming summer, Byung-gyu lived to see those smiles on their faces as if the world they stood upon was a paradise. Laughter echoed in the wind across the neighborhood, kids threw snowballs at one another, Byung-gyu watched with a broad grin; he used his arms to shield his face from being hit by the snowballs and turned to his back on the playful children as he gathered a cluster of snow, pressing it into a ball, then he launched it at one of the kids. He guffawed when he heard them squeal. Unfortunately, it was all when he heard a cry among them. A little boy was sniffling after being hit in the head, so knowing what he must do, Byung-gyu placed his hand on the boy's head to ease the pain; everything returned to the way it was in an instant. Byung-gyu wished to maintain the happiness amidst the cold climate, as well as keeping everyone from pain.

[archoniluthradanar]

You can't be dead if you're alive

You can't be dead if you're alive

Vampires believe themselves to be dead. One mate will try to change their view.

Aro del Volturi x First Person POV

oooooooooooooooooooo

I am a human who lives in the Volturi castle. When I was found just outside the garden walls, sick and in need of help, a Volturi guard picked me up and carried me inside. His name was Felix. He was huge and strong, yet gentle as a lamb with me. I was cared for by a woman named Chelsea in a room she said was mine. It was beautifully appointed, and I spent time there, recovering. When I was almost well, a man visited me, a face I didn't know. He was not as tall as Felix, but had pale skin, shiny black hair that hung below his shoulders, and red eyes. He was dressed in an expensive-looking black suit and said his name was Aro, and that he was in charge around here.

I never questioned Felix's nor Chelsea's red eyes. I was afraid to. But they were kind to me, so what did it matter.

Aro sat on the side of the bed to my left while I sat up against the headboard.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" he asked.

"Much better, thanks to you and your family."

He smiled when I said that. Then he began to ask me about myself. Where was I from? Were my family still alive, and would anyone miss me if I never returned home. That question I found odd.

While I regaled Aro with my life history, I found myself unable to take my eyes away from his. They were mesmerizing, beautiful, and seemed to look into my very soul. When Felix brought in my supper on literally a silver tray, he looked to Aro who gave him a very slight nod and rose from the bed. He took my hand and kissed the inner wrist.

"Enjoy your meal, my dear. We will talk again." With that, he left me alone with Felix, who set up the tray and allowed me a glance at it. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked me. I looked over the tray, seeing beef tips in a rich gravy next to a mound of buttery mashed potatoes. Sauteed string beans completed the supper. There was a small green salad and what looked like a pudding parfait in a tall glass. At the upper right of the tray sat a glass of red wine.

"No, Felix, this is plenty. Please thank the chef for me."

"I will. Enjoy your meal." He started to leave when he stopped and turned around. "I think Master Aro likes you, miss." He gave me a smile and left.

I dug into the salad when I really wanted to start off with the parfait first. Everything was so delicious. I had fainted outside the castle walls, but not from hunger. Chelsea had told me a doctor had been sent for and that he said my vitals were fine. He advised them to keep an eye on me, which they were, in spades. I was barely ever left alone. But when Aro came to see me the first time, I found I wanted more visits from him. He had me completely entranced. When he smiled at me, it went to those red eyes of his and I melted inside. And then Felix tells me Aro likes me? Likes in what way.

I set the tray at the bottom of the bed, then sat back against the headboard. How long was I supposed to remain here. No one seemed in a hurry to see me gone, yet I didn't want to impose on them for long. I had to get back home in any case.

I guess the Volturi had other ideas about this.

Over the next few days, Aro would visit me often, when he was free. We would talk in my bedroom about everything under the sun, until one day, I felt well enough to venture outside. He took me to a garden where a gazebo stood. We went inside and sat on the marble benches.

"It's lovely here, and smells so good," I said, looking at all the flowers. When I glanced over at Aro, he was staring at me. I felt my cheeks go hot, but I stared back. "What's wrong?"

"I want you to stay here, with me, in Volterra."

Well, that was to the point. "Stay here? With you? In what capacity?"

Aro let out a laugh, an odd laugh. He took my hands in his, cold as they were. Red eyes, cold hands. My mind had begun questioning a few days into my stay here, but I hadn't asked them aloud to anyone. Now I had no choice.

"Aro, tell me first. What are you?"

He looked at me, as if conflicted. Then he said it.

"I'm a vampire. One who loves you.'

I heard his answer, but my mind chose to focus on 'One who loves you'.

"You...love me?"

"Yes, I do, and I want you to remain here in Volterra, forever, as my mate."

Forever. Now I understood. He was a vampire who wanted a vampire mate. Meaning I would have to allow him to turn me into one. I wanted to say no never, I need time to think about it, maybe. Instead, I said yes. He stood and picked me up in his arms, easily swinging me around. When he leaned in to kiss me, I accepted it with pleasure and more.

From then on, I was treated like anyone else in the coven, a word I found out they used to describe themselves as a group. Aro moved me to his chambers, and would eventually change me, so he said.

One afternoon, I was alone and bored. Marcus was in the garden, gardening alone as he preferred. Caius was upstairs with Athenodora. The guards were goofing off in the training room. I went in search of Aro and found him in his office, working on some papers. He looked up at me and smiled.

"My dear, what are you doing here?" He swept a hand toward the sofa, so I went to it and sat down.

"Everyone is busy, Aro, and I have to admit, I'm bored. When will you be done, my love?" I crossed my legs to try and get his attention. He favoured my legs, he'd told me once. He glanced over at me, smiled and went back to work. "Five minutes, my dear, and I will be all yours."

I had wanted to watch a TV show I used to watch in the states. The Walking Dead. The longer I remained here with these so-not-like-Dracula vampires, the more I found out about them. I was shocked to find out they believed themselves dead. Dead and soulless. I was going to get Aro to watch an episode with me to show him the difference between dead people who still "live", and their kind.

Finally, true to his word, Aro slipped everything into the top drawer of his desk and stood, taking my hand and leading me from the office. "Now, my dear, what have you in mind for us this afternoon?"

"I have a show I'd like to watch with you. If that's alright. I've seen it in America, but I'd like to share it with you." Aro wasn't one for watching TV, but he would acquiesce for me on occasion.

Once we were in our bedroom, I turned on the channel I knew The Walking Dead was being shown. It would be in Italian, but I knew the general plot line and had learned some Italian too.

We lay back on the bed, comfortable with each other. Once the show started, Aro tried to distract me by pulling my shirt sleeve down and kissing my shoulder. Then he headed for my neck, his favourite place to nuzzle me since it was my favourite place to be nuzzled. I was not ready to give in yet.

"Aro, now watch this scene. These dead people are called Walkers. See how they pretty much stumble around like they don't know what they're doing. It's just instinct. You, however, are so graceful. It's like you float on air when you walk." My mate didn't stop caressing me as I tried to explain further. "Aro, I have never seen one scene in this show where a zombie was able to do what you're doing now. They can't feel love. They can't feel desire. Hell, they can't even get it up, while you have no problem with that."

Aro laughed. "I suppose you are right, my love. But our hearts do not beat. Justify that if you will."

I had no idea what to say to that. But did a beating heart mean someone was alive. Machines could keep medical patients alive, but once removed from the machine, the body would die. So was it correct to say a body with a heart that beat only when hooked up to a machine was still alive? Aro was now the one who had nothing to say.

"What if this venom you talked about was more like a virus that infects the human body when bitten, transforming it into something different, something superior to humans. A new lifeform."

He seemed to consider my words, before going back to nuzzling my neck. I could hear him inhaling my scent, something we both enjoyed. Aro had a scent that was spicy and herbal and all too delicious to my nose. I could assume the Walkers from the show did not smell nice at all, while Aro, Marcus, Caius and the guards each had their own unique physical scent that was both pleasant and an attractant. "Aro, Walkers stink like rotting flesh. None of you do. You all smell so..." He was making it difficult for me to think straight. "The dead can't learn, and you all are very into...oh god, Aro...um...continual education." I was about to stop talking and let him take me.

"Yes, my dear," he said knowingly, his hands now touching me in the way that blinds me to anything around us. All I wanted was his hands on me, and his cock inside me. That cock that had no problem making itself known.

"Walkers are truly dead. You are not," I managed to say, before he silenced me with his cold but loving lips. I think he finally was able to agree with me. My mate was beautiful and intelligent, loved art and the sciences, and was capable of turning me into a mass of pleasured nerves.

"Dear one, I am convinced. I can't wait for you to see how right you are. Please, name the day."

I pushed Aro onto his back and straddled him. Now it was my turn to distract him. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, ready to prove to my mate just how similar to his old human life he still was. I said, "Our next discussion, you're not a soulless monster.", then kissed him until he wrapped me in his arms and shut me up for good.

[mediaevalmusereads]

The Earl Who Isn't. By Courtney Milan. 2024.

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Genre: historical romance

Series: Wedgeford Trials #3

Summary: Nobody knows that Andrew Uchida is the rightful heir of an earl. Not his friends, not his neighbors, not even the yard-long beans growing in his experimental garden. If the truth of his existence became public, the blue-blooded side of his family would stop at nothing to make him (and anyone connected with him) disappear. He shared one passionate night with the woman he loved…and allowed himself that only because she was leaving for Hong Kong the next morning.

Then Lily Bei returns, armed with a printing press, her irrepressible spirit, and a sheaf of inconvenient documents that prove the very thing Andrew wants that he is actually the legitimate, first born son of the Earl of Arsell.

What’s Andrew to do, when the woman he’s always desired promises him everything he’s never wanted? Andrew’s track record of saying no to Lily is nonexistent. The only way he can avert impending disaster is by stealing the evidence… while trying desperately not to fall in love (again) with the woman he shouldn’t let into his life.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, use of abortifacients, reference to attempted murder/forced miscarriage, racism

OVERVIEW: I'm a Courtney Milan fan, so when this book was announced, I pre-ordered it and then read it within 24 hours of release. I can't help it.

That being said, I don't think this is among my favorites of Milan's works. It's not that the characters and plot are uninteresting; personally, what barred me from enjoying this book fully was that I think it tried to do too much. Between commenting on women's suffrage, being enough, feeling at home, etc, I felt like my attention was being pulled in multiple directions, so for that reason, this book gets 3.5 stars from me.

WRITING: At a sentence level, Milan's prose is fairly smooth and flows well, balancing showing and telling in a way that is appropriate for the genre.

I do think, however, that there were some aspects to this book specifically that I didn't quite vibe with. For example, I thought the main plot took a while to get going. The pace felt slow up until the 30% mark, and then the action and driving conflict kicked off, no problem.

But by far the thing that bothered me the most was the feeling that Milan was trying to cover too much. Thematically, this book was spread pretty thin; a good chunk was about feminism and freedom, another chunk was about protection, another about feeling like one was enough. While I do think a lot of these themes play off one another well, I also felt like they didn't quite come together coherently in this story. As a result, I often felt like my attention was being pulled in a few different directions and the themes themselves weren't explored as well as I've seen in Milan's other works. This isn't to say that the themes are uninteresting; it's just that it felt like too much for one story.

PLOT: The non-romance plot of this book follows Andrew Uchida, one of the residents of Wedgeford, as he attempts to avoid being named the heir to an earldom. Andrew is the legitimate son of a powerful earl, but his father's relatives did everything in their power to bury the record of his father's marriage to a Japanese mother. Now that Amdrew's half-brother, Alan, is set to inherit, the stakes are high when it turns out Alan wants nothing to do with the estate or the family.

On top of all that, Andrew's quiet life is disrupted by the sudden return of Lily Bei - his childhood best friend who has been gone for 7 years. Lily returns with the last remaining proof that Andrew's mother is the true Countess, and Andrew must do everything he can to avoid drawing the attention of his dangerous relatives.

Overall, I thought the plot of this book was fine. The secret identity storyline was fun and had sufficient stakes, and I was particularly intrigued by the tension it created between Andrew and Lily (re: trust). As I stated above, I do think there was a lot going on, so much so that I don't think the narrative came together in a thematically coherent way, but the threads were there and I could see what Milan was doing.

CHARACTERS: Lily, our heroine, was sympathetic in that she was always struggling with navigating social situations. I don't know if she was meant to be neurodivergent, but at the very least, she was very confused by social etiquette and figurative speaking, so she read as someone with a lot of insecurity. I liked that a bug part of her arc involved making real connections with people and also learning to see herself as worthy.

Andrew, our hero, is also sympathetic in that he desperately wants to protect his life in Wedgeford. I admired the way he tried to protect his mother and half brother, and I respected him for stepping up to do the right thing, even when it threatened his own happiness.

Supporting characters were fine, though some of them might hold more significance for the reader if they've read the other books in the series. I did like how supportive Amdrew's mother was and how she encouraged her son to put his happiness first. Alan, Amdrew's half brother, was ok, though he read a little younger than he was. He also tended to comedically and conveniently pop up in improbable situations, but I'm chalking that up to humor.

TL;DR: The Earl Who Isn't is a solid Milan romance with interesting characters; it just isn't one of my favorites because it seemed to have too much going on.

ROMANCE: The romance between Andrew and Lily was fine. It didn't necessarily blow me away, but it had all the hallmarks of a Milan romance that I enjoyed. I loved the way our two leads supported one another and saw each other as worthy, even if they themselves didn't think so. The biggest thing that made the romance a little lackluster for me was the tedious attitude that Andrew had of keeping Lily at arm's length out of some vague sense of duty to protect her in the event that he had to flee Wedgeford.