#if it were entirely up to me all three of em would form a little wasteland polycule

[ahfuckaghoulie]

What would your ideal canon progression of ghoulcy be in S2 and beyond?

oh man, thank u for asking

ideally they should fuck nasty style!!!!! that's the thing I'd die to see in S2+! my fantasy has a lot of arguing and building up tension, culminating in a physical fight that swerves right into fuckin hard 😏

I dunno how the Feelings and Relationship ought to develop. as it stands, they're curious about each other. Lucy obviously has a lot she wants to know from him, and the ghoul's worldview was rocked a bit by her. now they're gonna go on a journey together, and there are sooooo many ways they could go from here. i have no clue what the best route is like emotionally, my body just says they have to beat each other up and fuck about it which is 😳 but that can't be the whole narrative

[goldfades]

𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "paige x iowa!reader (pre-relationship) on game day where maybe r is mic'd up the whole time so fans hear how they flirt, joke around, etc so they start shipping them? the other uconn/iowa girlies always tease them abt it and one night they all go out to a bar tg and someones on live and accidentally catches p and r against a wall kissing or smthn 🫣" for my lovely disco nonnie!

─ word count | 2.6k

─ warnings | teasing, lots and LOTS of teasing, mention of injuries, so much flirting, teasing, slightly suggestive, kissing.... oh and did i mention teasing????

─ taglist | guys idk why my taglist isn't working pls help me and lmk

─ ev's notes | okay so i want to know if yall like the little comment section i put in some of the posts, because i love doing them and i wanna know what ur thoughts are.

"OKAY, HEY LADIES and gents. It's your favorite, me. Y/N L/N," you tried to whisper into the mic secretively as you looked around. Before you could continue talking, you felt Caitlin grab your shoulders and shake you, eliciting a yelp from you.

You sent her a glare as she giggled and walked away, causing you to roll your eyes. "Anyways, sorry for that stupid interruption. It's game day here at Iowa and we're going against... I don't even remember their names."

You were obviously joking, you had plenty of friends on the UConn basketball team and it was running joke that you didn't like them. You smirked into the camera, knowing full well that your faux ignorance would rile up some competition.

"But hey, who needs names when we've got game, am I right?" You grinned, your enthusiasm showing. "So, while we prepare to show those other guys what real basketball looks like, let's talk strategy."

Leaning in closer to the microphone, you adopted a more serious tone, though the mischievous glint in your eye remained. "First off, we gotta dominate the boards. Rebounds win games, folks. Then, we'll run those fast breaks like there's no tomorrow. Speed kills, baby."

You paused for dramatic effect, pretending to adjust an imaginary headset. "And of course, let's not forget about defense. Lock 'em down, make 'em work for every shot. That's how we do it here at Iowa."

You turned around to see some of your teammates giggling at you, causing you to roll your eyes. "I'm getting bullied again, guys. Remember amazing, hot and very cool players have feelings too, okay?"

"Can you shut the hell up and come stretch with us?" You heard Caitlin shout from the court, causing you to sigh dramatically.

With a playful wink at the camera, you turned away, joining your teammates on the court for the pre-game warm-up. As you stretched and bantered with them, you saw the opponents walk in. You couldn't help but bit your lower lip as you averted your gaze from a particular blonde whom you've gotten close to these last couple of months.

After last year's game, Paige followed you on Instagram and you began talking more. However when you two got injured around the same time, it caused you two to talk more and form a closer bond. Eventually, it turned into Paige texting and calling you every single day and now, it's like you two have known each other your entire lives despite you guys seeing each other face to face three times.

You couldn't help but steal glances at her as you stretched, a small smile playing on your lips whenever your eyes met. The familiar banter and teasing between your teams seemed to fade into the background as you found yourself drawn to her presence.

But amidst the closeness, there lingered an unspoken tension ─ a delicate balance between friendship and something more. You couldn't deny the flutter in your stomach whenever Paige's eyes met yours, or the way your heart raced whenever she flashed you a smile.

Caitlin's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. "Yo, Y/N! Focus up, we've got a game to win!"

"Oh my gosh, look it's serious Caitlin I'm so scared," you spoke into the mic quietly, hoping that she wouldn't hear you. Unfortunately, she did and she got up, holding up her hand as you put your hands over your head. "No, I'm sorry!"

Caitlin laughed at your antics, her laughter infectious as she waved off your dramatic apology. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today, Y/N," she teased, giving you a playful shove before turning back to the team. "But seriously, let's focus up. We've got a game to win, and I don't plan on losing to those guys."

"Yeah, me neither." She helped you get up from the floor as you walked to the bench. "Thanks, Cait," you said with a grin, falling into step beside her as you made your way to the bench.

As you settled onto the bench, you took a moment to mentally prepare yourself for the game ahead. The familiar sounds of sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, the echoing noise of the crowd, and the anticipation building in the air all served to fuel your determination.

You rose to your feet, eyes fixed on the court ahead. With a quick glance at the UConn's lineup, you immediately spotted Paige among their starting players. Your heart rate quickened slightly as you realized the task at hand — you needed to guard Paige and shut down her scoring opportunities.

In any other situation, it would be easy. Even if the person you were guarding was someone you were friends with, you always made sure to stay professional but this was slightly different. Paige had been the theoretical shoulder you'd been crying on for the last year about your injury that you'd just healed from.

As you stepped onto the court, Caitlin's words from earlier echoed in your mind. You couldn't afford to let Paige get the better of you, not today. You made your way toward Paige and as she met your eyes, she gave you a small smile. You could still talk to her, right? She held out her hand for a quick dap-up and you accepted it gratefully.

"Bro, me and Nika were just talking about how your hair is probably gonna be perfect. You have the best game day hair," Paige spoke finally as you laughed nervously, your gaze momentarily averting to the floor then back to her.

You felt yourself blush under her gaze as you playfully brushed off the compliment. "Oh, you think so, huh?" you smiled, trying to keep the mood light despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Well, what can I say? Gotta look good for the cameras,"

Paige smirked in response. "Oh, trust me, you always do," she teased, her words laced with a playful flirtation that made your heart skip a beat.

You looked into Paige's eyes, you couldn't shake the feeling of warmth that washed over you. There was something about her presence, her easy smile, that made you feel at ease, even in the midst of a game.

"Says you, with your cute braids. You gotta teach me how to do those one day, you know." You playfully nudged Paige's shoulder, a smile spreading across your face."Now you're just showing off," you teased, your tone light and playful as you admired the braids that framed Paige's face.

Paige chuckled, a soft sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Or I can just do them for you once you actually visit Connecticut, like you promised."

You just realized that you were mic'd up, as you glanced down at the mic. You laughed nervously, shaking your head. "Alright, alright, you've got yourself a deal," you replied with a playful wink.

You then felt Kate's hand tap on your shoulder, motioning for you to come to the bench with her. Paige gave you a small smile as she did the same, your heart fluttering at the sight of her smile. With one last glance at Paige, filled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation, you followed Kate to the bench.

"Are you gonna lock in, Y/N?" Caitlin's voice rang out as you glanced up at the tall brunette. You saw the slight smirk on her lips as she gazed at you, teasing you without saying anything. She was practically screaming "you're whipped!" as she did.

"Yeah, I'm locked in," you responded as you averted your gaze, laughter echoing in between your teammates as a blush covered your cheeks.

"You know, cus if you're not, I can guard Paige while you go shoot-"

"Oh shut up, Caitlin I hate you." You groaned, causing her to laugh along with the rest of the team. Caitlin's teasing banter was a familiar part of the pre-game ritual, and despite your protest, you couldn't help but smile at her antics.

"Hey, just looking out for you, Y/N," she teased, her tone lighthearted as she flashed you a grin.

As the referee's whistle blew, signaling the start of the game, you shook off any lingering distractions and locked into the moment. This was it the moment you had been waiting for. With a deep breath, you blocked out the noise of the crowd and zeroed in on the game plan.

At one point, as you and Paige push for position under the basket, you couldn't help but let out a laugh as Paige jokingly accused you of stealing her post moves. "Hey, imitation is a form of flattery, right?" you quipped, earning a playful shove from Paige in response.

But perhaps the most memorable moment came when you and Paige found yourselves face-to-face during a heated confrontation for the ball. With the game hanging in the balance, you couldn't help but exchange a playful smirk with Paige, feeling a slight warmth on your cheeks.

Iowa had ultimately won the game but there was no bad blood between the two teams (thankfully), players from both teams exchanged handshakes and congratulatory words, acknowledging the hard-fought battle that had unfolded on the court.

Sure, some of the players were a little hurt but it wasn't like it was the end of the world. However, you knew at some point the two teams would have to play against each other during play-offs but you didn't let yourself get too worried right now. Right now, it was important to savor the moment, to celebrate the hard-fought victory with your teammates and bask in the camaraderie of the game.

──

"You looked good," Paige spoke as she leaned against the wall of the bar. Some of the girls on the team wanted to go out and celebrate and the UConn girls wanted to join. And that was how you found yourself standing next to Paige, a little tipsy as you leaned against the wall beside her, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks at her compliment.

"Thanks, you too," you replied, unable to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. You felt yourself shy away from her gaze, a stark contrast to how you usually were ─ teasing and outgoing.

Paige noticed that quickly, a small smirk appearing on her lips as she took a tip of her drink. "Aw, look at you, all flustered," she teased, her tone light and teasing as she nudged your shoulder gently.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," you replied, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. "Gotta stay humble, right?"

Paige laughed, the sound sweet and infectious as she leaned closer to you. "Don't worry, I think you can handle it," she said with a smirk, her words sending a shiver down your spine.

She gazed at you for a little longer as you looked away, only for her to grab your chin and hold it so that you kept looking at her. With a soft chuckle, Paige leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, "You're cute when you're flustered,"

"I never thought that you could be shy, you know... with all that shit-talking on and off the court." Paige remarked as she let go of your chin, her gaze still heavy on you. "It's kinda giving me an ego boost,"

"Oh shut up," you mumbled as you took a sip from your own drink, Paige's gaze following your lips. There was something about the way she looked at you, the way her eyes seemed to linger on your lips, that made your heart race.

As you lowered your drink, you met Paige's gaze once more, a playful glint in your eyes. "You're not so bad yourself, you know," you replied with a smirk.

Paige chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears as she leaned in closer, the warmth of her breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I know," she teased, her voice low and teasing as she leaned back slightly, a playful twinkle in her eye.

She wasn't usually ever this cocky, sure she's had her moments but never to this extent ─ she didn't know if it was the alcohol or just you. There was something about her self-assured demeanor that was both enticing and captivating, drawing you in with each exchanged word and shared laugh.

"Well, aren't you just full of yourself tonight?" you teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you leaned in closer to her.

"Can you blame me?" Paige replied with a grin, her confidence unwavering as she met your gaze. "I mean, if you had a pretty girl getting flustered over every word you say, even after her beat team yours, you'd be feeling pretty confident too," she continued, her playful tone tinged with a hint of desire as she leaned in closer, the warmth of her breath grazing your skin.

"Well, I guess I can't argue with that," you replied with a grin, your tone light and teasing as you leaned back slightly, a playful twinkle in your eye. "But just remember, I'm not one to stay flustered for long."

With a playful smile, she leaned in closer to you. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to enjoy a challenge."

Her eyes kept flickering down to your lips as she downed her drink, putting it down on the table next to you. She leaned in closer, as if to test the water, grazing her lips against yours as your breath hitched.

She took your reaction as a yes, her hands finding your hips as she pushed you against the wall. She pushed her lips into yours in a hurried kiss, the intensity of her touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through you.

You responded eagerly, your hands finding their way to her shoulders as you pulled her closer, the world around you fading away as you lost yourself in the moment. With a sense of urgency, Paige deepened the kiss, her hands exploring the contours of your body with hunger.

The taste of her lips was intoxicating, a heady mix of alcohol and longing that left you breathless. You forgot all about your teammates and who might see this and recognize the two of you, because neither of you really cared anymore.

Jada drank her water as she kept skimming through the comments of the live, reading them and chuckling at every remark toward you and Paige. Kate was behind her, momentarily blocking from everyone seeing what you two were currently up to.

Kate heard someone call her name as she quickly got up from her spot, turning to respond to the voice. As she moved away, the brief obstruction she provided from prying eyes was gone, leaving you and Paige momentarily exposed.

As Jada's gaze flickered to the screen, she froze, her eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected sight before her. "Oh shit- I mean, shoot." She quickly moved her phone as she glanced at the sight, giving the camera a shocked look as she thought about what she should do.

She had basically just outed the two of you but to be completely fair, it was on you two for making out in a very public bar. "Guys, don't worry that wasn't Paige that was just some other blonde. Sorry guys, you know how Y/N has a thing for blondes."

She sighed as she locked eyes with Kate, who gave her a shocked expression as she looked down at her phone. Kate gave her a look before Jada looked down at her phone, laughing as she waved.

"Looks like we are gonna have to end the live, sorry guys. Love you, bye, mwah mwah."

Paige finally broke the kiss, leaving the both of you to catch your breath. She smiled as her finger swiped your bottom lip, tracing the outline of it gently. You couldn't help but catch your breath, the taste of her lingering on your lips like a sweet memory.

"You're fucking beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur as she leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips again.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[rapturously]

Dwayne or David facesitting. Period. Like, vampires don't need to breathe! Hell, let em stay down there for hours. Also, am I too gross or crazy to think about having fun during that time of the month? 🩸

blood moon.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | dwayne (the lost boys) x fem!reader

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | drabble — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 3.7K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT (mdni), dubious consent (mild coercion) cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), reader is on their period, bloodplay (lots of it, he’s a vampire), facesitting, biting, hair-pulling, pet names (mama, girl, sweet girl), dwayne is hungry and he’s nasty, kissing, vampire antics, possessive dwayne, Dwayne is a little selfish in this

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | wow ,,, a fic three days in a row ??? you can tell I’m hyperfixated because I’ll produce a ton of content very rapidly. Also, I love dwayne so much, he’s my daddy. ALSO — please keep sending me horny requests for the lost boys, I’m being fed !!! also, hello to all of my new followers & tlb fellows :)) love y’all and hope you enjoy!

A blood moon — it was a humorous term that your mother used to use for your menstrual cycle, something that you’d grown to despise with every fiber of your being. It was another unfortunate shackle of humanity, a reminder that you were still flesh and blood. Whenever your time of the month came about, you were always tempted to beg David for a sip of that forbidden wine.

The oppressive heat of the cavernous labyrinth that the boys dwelled within had felt somewhat comforting to you as you curled up on Dwayne’s makeshift bed, form contorted into the fetal position. A slow, agonizing pain spread throughout your lower abdomen, making your muscles feel weak and useless.

Sunset was just upon the horizon as you struggled to endure the suffering that you were forced into with each passing month. The mattress felt cool and smooth underneath your cheek, having abandoned the scattered pillows in favor of awaiting your demise. You wanted to sob, biting at the inside of your cheek, teeth scraping against flesh as your fists balled into the blanket.

Everything hurt — what began as a dull ache soon manifested into a pain that gripped your entire body. Your back was sore, head throbbing, and your insides felt as if they were being stirred around by the hand of another. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to move from your spot, anchored to your slice of space.

Once dusk fell, the vampires you’d been living with came to life, no longer hanging from the rafters of some dark, damp alcove. You could heat Marko and Paul’s guffaws and laughter, accompanied by David’s stern, tempered remarks. It all served as idle background noise, prompting you to close your eyes.

The noise dissipated — it was too quick for your liking. Silence settled in, save for the faint rustling of ambience within the cave, combined with something rattling around out in the remnants of the old lobby.

As much as you didn’t want to move, you sluggishly rolled out of bed, discomforted by the sensation of sloshing liquid rushing between your legs. It was the worst part of your cycle — the unpleasant sensations, the feeling of being wholly unclean. You draped a blanket around you, hobbling from Dwayne’s roost.

Strong, veined hands were buried within the grease-laden guts of a motorcycle, dismantling a variety of components. The vehicle was partially dismantled, stripped down to the metal underbelly. Dwayne’s dark tresses were disheveled from slumber, parts of scrap scattered around him. An elongated, metal screw was lodged between his teeth as he concentrated on his work.

He could smell you long before you’d crept into the lobby, but he hadn’t expected to see you in such a downtrodden state. Dwayne was often respectful of your space, especially during your cycle. It wasn’t something he would ever endure, but watching you writhe and suffer wasn’t entirely enjoyable, either.

“Dwayne?” You croaked, awkwardly shuffling across outcroppings of debris and dirt, draped in your shoddy sheet as you spotted your boyfriend. There was something beautiful about him, particularly when he practiced his hobby of playing mechanic. Specks of black oil lined his forearms and fingertips.

Without missing a beat, Dwayne turned to look at you, hazel hues drinking you in with reverence and concern. Dark brows furrowed together as he abandoned his current project, grabbing at the tattered, red cloth that rode around within his back pocket. “Hey,” That familiar baritone held a subtle warmth to it. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

You knew that he knew, but he still asked you nonetheless. As he swiped away at the oil and pungent grease, Dwayne stepped closer toward you, stooping down to press a kiss against the top of your head. You smelled wonderful, natural sweetness intermingled with that of your menses.

“Everything,” You exhaled, shuddering when his large palm splayed out across your back, rubbing soothing circles into your sore flesh. “Where are the others?” Admittedly, it was a bit unusual to see Dwayne alone without the company of the pack.

“Hunting,” Dwayne confirmed, and without hesitation, he hooked a strong, taut arm underneath your legs, hoisting you up as he carried you like a blushing bride. Cradling you against his chiseled chest, he made sure you were back in bed, where you belonged. “I was worried about you.” He confessed, laying you back against the mattress.

His throat was burning — a fire so intense that he wanted to scream, but Dwayne was rather talented at smothering his hunger for the good of another. His thirst would be extinguished soon enough, whenever he could leave the cave to find unsuspecting tourists. He sat down along the edge of the bed, hand massaging into your thigh.

Guilt rippled through you, knowing that Dwayne had abandoned the hunt to tend to you, this fragile human. His brows furrowed together — he must’ve been reading your thoughts. “I’m sorry. You should go feed.” You encouraged him, despite keening into the comforting chill of his hand.

Dwayne’s mind had gone elsewhere — there was a way that he could feed without having to abandon you. Of course, it was purely self-gratifying and your best interests were secondary to his starvation, which crawled across his stomach, burning a hole through him. He kept quiet, gingerly massaging your leg with his hand, which drifted towards the swell of your hips.

He didn’t like seeing you this way, agonized and letting yourself sit in the suffering. “If there was something that I could do to help, would you let me?” Dwayne asked, gazing down at you with an incendiary look. It was distinct, reminding you of the plethora of times he’d seduced you. Your stomach lurched, insides feeling as if they were withering away.

Your expression was somewhat quizzical, lips parting slightly as you reached for his arm. He was so much bigger than you — the strongest of the pack, urging you closer until his fingers could sweep away the hair framing your visage. That thick, coppery swarm of blood invaded his nostrils, singing his throat yet again.

“What do you have in-mind?” You asked, somewhat hesitant as he caged you in between his arms, bending down to press a hungry kiss to your lips. Sex was the furthest thing on your mind, but you relented, moaning into his mouth as you reached for his dark tresses.

Dwayne was a phenomenal kisser — passionate and slow, as if he were savoring every second of it. Though, he had a tendency to let it whirlwind into something ravenous and primal, fitting for the quiet, stoic vampire. He exhaled, kissing you with a thinly-veiled desire, hand moving to cup your jaw.

“Could take the pain away.” He uttered, withdrawing from your lips with an indiscernible expression. Dwayne was always difficult to read — endlessly complex, an enigma that you wanted to unravel. His mystique was always present, but you knew him better than most.

To you, it was an act of generosity — you were gullible, naive to Dwayne’s true intentions of feeding from you whilst making the ache fade away. Your heart fluttered within your chest, causing you to wet your lower lip. Dwayne’s thumb rubbed along your jawline.

“How?” With a soft gulp, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, feeling his lips graze your jugular. His natural musk was enticing, often intermingled with the twang of stale copper and machinery oil. Dwayne shrugged his jacket off, bulky musculature engulfing you.

His shadow eclipsed any sliver of torchlight as he bathed you in darkness, gaze dusky as he gave you another deliberate kiss. Dwayne was silent, adjusting himself until he knelt at the foot of the bed, partially on top of you. His hand pushed against the inside of your knee, and that’s when you stopped him.

“N—No,” Your protest was weak, embarrassment rippling through your voice. There was something that felt inherently dirty to you, if Dwayne intended to follow through on whatever it was he planned on doing. “Dwayne, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” A shrewdness crept into your tone.

He read your mind — you thought he wanted sex. If you weren’t in so much pain, he would’ve been fucking you within an inch of your life by now. Dwayne’s chest rumbled with a brief chuckle, lips curling into a faint smile, pearlescent teeth glimmering against his caramel skin and stubble-coated visage. “Not like that,” He exhaled. “Something else. Help us both.” He murmured, stroking along your leg.

So that’s what he wanted.

Admittedly, you were a little nervous about the idea. He’d never insisted on feeding from you before, and certainly not in this manner. It sounded so crude and messy in your head. He’d bitten you, but never enough to cause any lasting harm. “I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling another sharp, dagger-like jolt course through the pit of your stomach.

“It’ll make the pain go away,” Dwayne was gorgeous — like a chiseled god, crouched between your legs as he sought your consent. Of course, it was somewhat swayed through consistent persuasion, but there was something mutually beneficial to be found in this. “Let me.” His voice dropped to a husked octave, dripping with something amorous.

You were still hesitant, heart beating like a fluttering of a hummingbird, swift and constant, pounding just above your breast. Goosebumps coalesced along the length of your spine, crawling across your flesh like a tidal wave as he pressed a series of kisses against the inside of your thigh, face dangerously close to swarming forward.

“Okay, just — Just go slow.” Molten heat sloshed within your belly as Dwayne stalked forward, musculature parting your legs. He was so broad and strong, smooth underneath your fingertips as they brushed against his taut, veined forearms. He bracketed you in, arms like a cage as he kept you close.

Dwayne felt that blistering itch within his throat, the urge to feed, to savor the sanguine heat between your legs. He had no intention of being slow. Once the feeding commenced, it was difficult to stop. “‘Course, girl.” He nodded, dark eyes glued to your features as he flattened down against the mattress.

Sinewy hands curled into the waistband of your panties, slipping beneath the shirt you wore, one that didn’t happen to be covered in age-old blood. You were flustered, beginning to squirm as Dwayne peeled it all aside, menstrual pad included.

He rucked your shirt up, propped up on his elbows as his palms gripped at your hips so hard that it was sure to leave bruises. That smell of blood hit him immediately, scorching his throat and insides until it was all ash and dust. Dwayne was silent, broad tongue parting past until it drew along the length of your cunt.

Blood wept from your core, which felt uncomfortable for you, initially. You huffed, nearly sinking down into the mattress in a heap as Dwayne began to openly lap at your slit, drinking you in as if you were the most delicious thing he’d tasted. Your cunt clenched, nerves set ablaze as his nose bumped against your clit.

You tasted saccharine — coppery and vitriolic, but it was his sort of feast. Dwayne let out a grunt, lapping at the blood that oozed from your cunt, letting it linger upon his lips, invading his senses. Once he heard your sweet moans from above, he tugged you forward, a growl ripping through his chest.

Those aches and pains were sluggishly beginning to ebb away, soothed by the vampire who drank from between your thighs. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, but it was enough, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt as the pleasure unfurled within your stomach.

“Dwayne,” A blissful sigh escaped you, back beginning to arch off of the bed and toward his mouth. Your fingers clamored to hold on, finding their purchase amongst his tousled mane of jet-black hair. He’d eaten you out before, but not like this. There was the added element of blood involved. “D—Dwayne, don’t stop.” You whimpered.

Within the dim light of the alcove, those orange flickers of light from the small array of candles made his skin look like velvet. Those dark eyes never left you, pinning you in-place as he drank freely from your cunt. Your menses stained his mouth with red, tongue occasionally drifting from your entrance to your clit.

A burnished, golden sheen glistened within his eyes, hunger somewhat dissipating. He wasn’t satisfied nor satiated, intending to drink his fill — as for you, he suspected you’d have to endure his constant lapping and sucking until you were nothing more than a sobbing mess.

Your poor legs were quivering, wobbling on either side of his face as he steadied you, hands clamping down to keep you still. He idly massaged into the pliant flesh of your thighs, tongue assaulting your cunt with a viciousness to it. Crimson dribbled down his chin, but your flow was beginning to taper off from your prone state.

A myriad of throaty, wanton mewls escaped you, toes curling in delight as he gingerly suckled at your clit. The sensation was temporary, fleeting as his attention drifted elsewhere, tongue lapping at another slow-trickling rivulet of blood. Dwayne hummed, deep and gravelly, stubble tickling the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

It was only when he withdrew that you were babbling and stammering, wanting to know why he’d suddenly stopped. “W—Wait,” You whimpered, pitiful as ever, cunt aching something awful as he licked at his lips. Seeing Dwayne’s mouth and chin drenched in a darker shade of scarlet made you feel hot, heat creeping through your belly. “Please.”

His hearty chuckle made you irritated, but it was short-lived. You watched as Dwayne settled himself onto the mattress beside you, hues a vibrant gold, his countenance stained in your menstrual gore. “I’m not finished, pretty girl. Still hungry.” He reassured you, and plucked you up with two strong hands.

You were eternally grateful for Dwayne in that moment, who placed you on his chest. Without missing a beat, he bumped you forward, and you were gazing down at Santa Carla’s most stoic, vicious predator. An endless hunger danced within his eyes, soon to be quelled by the delicious blood that pooled between your legs.

Dwayne could tell that you weren’t expecting this, and it certainly made it all the more enticing for him. You were so smitten, his sweet little human. He’d fantasized about having you sit on his face until you were nearly unconscious, but this was all the more sweeter. Embarrassment flooded through you, but Dwayne seemed entirely unphased.

Initially, you were scared of hurting him, a notion that Dwayne found to be a little too innocuous. He could hear your heartbeat pounding away beneath your collarbone, thrumming like the beat of a drum as he lowered you back onto his mouth.

Your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, dark tresses splayed out like a halo. With this newfound angle, you were staring at Dwayne — or more like, he was gazing at you. His tongue quickly invaded your throbbing cunt, blood catching on his lips. It was messier this time, making you tremble beneath his hold.

A liquid heat coursed throughout your body, pooling heavy within your stomach. Cruor oozed from your throbbing cunt, and now that you weren’t lying on your back, Dwayne was getting another taste. He continued to dutifully lap at your slit, ensuring that he didn’t miss a single drop of blood.

It sat thick and heavy upon his tongue, beginning to bring some semblance of relief to that raging fire that scorched within his throat. His pain was relinquished, and so was yours — a mutual exchange. Even then, he wanted more, digits digging into your haunches as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again.

There was something disgustingly entrancing about the way he greedily lapped at your core, face buried deep within your cunt, hungry for your menses. If he wasn’t a creature of the night, you might’ve been somewhat indifferent to all of this, but he was bringing you such a wave of relief.

You wiggled your hips, accidentally grinding yourself onto his face, and Dwayne indulged you. As he lapped at another stream of crimson ichor, you moaned, chest heaving with heavy pants and wanton mewls, hands perched along the rickety, half-torn headboard.

“S—Shit,” You exhaled, tears stinging your eyes as you began to make that steady climb toward your climax. Dwayne didn’t stop, never relenting or slowing any movement as he lapped at your cunt, broad tongue swiping over every inch of your slit. The pleasure began to outweigh any pain you felt, muscles spasming. “Dwayne!” A whine left you, head rolling forward.

A deep, guttural growl emanated from Dwayne as it rumbled throughout his wide chest. It was mesmerizing to watch him from above, your hands splaying themselves along his bronze shoulders. His mouth drifted toward your inner thigh, and he looked to you, seeking approval before he bit you.

With a messy, lazy nod, your cunt throbbed and pulsated with molten heat, causing your nails to dig into Dwayne’s skin, hard enough to leave behind crescent-shaped imprints. Golden, crimson-ringed irises flashed in your direction as his countenance contorted into something inhuman, monstrously beautiful in your eyes.

Pearlescent fangs and pretty teeth sought out the pliant, soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he bit down — hard. It left behind the angry-red marks of unusual teeth as ringlets of a sanguine color trickled down your leg. Dwayne licked his lips, appraising you with an incendiary stare as he hastily collected every scrap of your lifeblood.

“M’close,” You whimpered, shuddering when he pressed a kiss atop the freshly-formed bite. His face promptly nestled back to the cleft between your legs, drawing another stream of your menses into his mouth before seeking your clit. “Close.” You said again, breathless and drunk with desire.

Dwayne felt his cock twitch within his jeans, able to smell your arousal through the haze of blood. The siren’s song of cruor was far more powerful, but even then, he could savor both with a feeling of sheer delight. His hunger steadily dwindled, fed by your saccharine cycle — if only you were like this all the time.

His lips formed a tight seal as he began to suck, causing you to nearly double over. “Don’t stop, Dwayne,” Perspiration began to break out along your body, coalescing along the length of your spine, dewy beneath the shirt you wore. “Please, please.” You were desperate, wanting to feel that white-hot explosion of a release.

Exhaustion settled in, your energy having been expended by keeping yourself aloft atop his face. Your cunt tasted sweeter than anything he’d had before in his centuries of existence. Dwayne considered you to be his fountain — a very captivating fountain. His touch screamed with amorousness as he rocked you into his tongue.

At last, your body began to quiver, muscles twitching and spasmodic as you climbed toward your orgasm. Dwayne could feel your weight fall a little heavier atop him, and he happily supported you, so long as you were bleeding. He added that edge of teeth, letting them graze over your clit with a feather-light pressure.

It sent you careening over the edge, cumming onto his mouth with enough mewls and moans to last him for days. It echoed throughout the alcove, and you were on the verge of sobbing, having gained some sliver of relief in the end.

Dwayne lapped at your cunt through it all, consumed by the shadow of greed and possessiveness. He could hear the rest of the boys clamoring throughout the cavern, which soured his mood just a little. They had a poor habit of acting up whenever you were enduring your menstrual cycle — understandable, of course, but an annoyance for Dwayne.

With a grunt, he gently nudged you back onto the taut, musculed expanse of his chest. His mesomorphic stature felt so solid underneath your pliant body, and your hands brazenly felt along his sternum. There was no heartbeat, forever frozen by immortality. His countenance was one of sheer satisfaction, lips and chin smattered in your blood as he licked at his mouth.

“Feel better, don’t you?” Dwayne mused, unable to withhold that little twinge of amusement in his voice. His large hand rubbed and massaged along your thigh, drifting up towards your hips, and then back down again on a continuous loop.

You nodded, feeling all warm when his body shook with a brief tremor of laughter. Dwayne sat up just a little bit, palm grasping at the back of your neck as he brought you forward for a very intimate kiss. A startled gasp tore through your throat, but he held you there, letting you taste yourself — ichor and all.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your entire physique hummed and buzzed with satisfaction. Of course, the ache of your cycle never fully dissipated, but Dwayne had certainly done his part in quelling the pain, for now.

Dwayne gingerly patted the swell of your ass, copping a feel in the process before pressing another string of kisses against your neck. He grabbed at the hem of your shirt, rucking it up a-ways. He was quiet, and you were fine with that, eyes widening as he wiped his mouth off with the remnants of your nightshirt.

Jesus — you knew better than to tempt fate, arousal stinging at your core again. You huffed, taking a moment to compose yourself as you attempted to reach for your panties. He intercepted you, snatching your wrist before your fingertips could even reach the lace trim.

“Not tonight, girl,” Dwayne uttered, placing you right beside him, bulky arm curling around your frame. He made you feel so safe — a glaring juxtaposition to his ravenous hunger and vampiric state.

You felt a pair of fangs tauntingly scrape over your jugular, able to feel the chill of his bare chest nudging into your back. “Might get hungry later.” He rumbled, pressing a chaste kiss against the back of your shoulder.

[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.

[leo-muscle]

I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic fics by ...

- p h d m a m a -

[1]

“Mom, he’s the only man I’ve ever loved. I’m not sure I can love anyone else the way I loved him, and no one has ever loved me better, at least, not while it was good.”

“No one’s ever hurt you that badly either, Harry,” his mother reminds him gently.

“I know. But when it was good, it was really good. I know we were young, but it was true love, Mom. It was real. And maybe, it could be that way again.”

“Kintsugi,” says Greg from the doorway, where he’s holding the squirming puppy.

All three heads in the kitchen whip around to look at him.

“What?” asks Gemma, getting up to grab the pup and give him a kiss.

“Kintsugi, it’s a traditional Japanese art form. When a piece of pottery was broken, they’d repair it with gold, to make something beautiful out of the broken pieces.” He shrugs. “Sounds like what Harry’s talking about.”

[2]

“Manscaping, you bloom ‘em, we groom ‘em. How can I help you?”

“Oh, uh,” Harry stutters, caught completely off-guard. “Oh shit, sorry, I was expecting a voicemail.”

“Well, you caught me between clients, man. How can I help? Got some hedges running wild?”

Oh my. Harry hadn’t expected that the groomer would be quite so...straight forward, but he supposes that when you’re in the business, you become very comfortable with tackling things head on, as it were.

“Uh yeah, very unruly,” he says ruefully, picturing the disaster scene he’d scrubbed down that morning.

“Is this an emergency?” The voice asks, “Like, the in-laws coming tomorrow sort of thing?”

Harry frowns. “Oh no, nothing like that,” he says finally, wondering what sort of marital relationship this gentleman has. “I’m just, you know, getting back out on the scene, want everything to be nice and neat.”

“Of course,” the voice says approvingly, “Don’t we all.”

[3]

“That’s a beautiful wand, Harry,” Liam chimes in and Harry flushes.

He’d seen Liam’s wand earlier, and it’s as magnificent as Zayn’s, made of teak, Liam had mentioned, inlaid with a mother-of-pearl floral motif, and with a huge, grass-green, clear emerald at the tip. Harry fears his own serviceable carved oak pales in comparison, but smiles his thanks.

“It’s served me well over the years,” he says, “I got it all polished up for the trip.”

He hears Louis choke on his wine a little, who then says, “Oh, really? Got it all polished, nice and special?”

Harry frowns, “Yeah, there’s a guy in Harvard Square I go to, he always does a good job,” and when Louis snickers into his drink, Harry realizes what he’s insinuating.

“Really? Wand polishing jokes? What are you, twelve?” And with that, the entire table, minus Harry, bursts out laughing while Harry sulks into his wine.

[4]

He mindlessly clicks through, sending friend requests to Zayn’s dad and sister, Liam’s mom, Cal’s mom (who’s known him since he was in diapers), and Mrs. Anderson, his old music teacher from middle school. Then the profile of a guy named Ed Twist pops up. Louis frowns, staring at the ceiling, wondering who this is. He assumes they’ve got some sort of connection, otherwise Facebook wouldn’t have offered him to Louis, and with a name like that, he’s probably an old dude. Maybe he’s a friend of Mrs. Anderson? His profile is pretty locked down, when Louis goes to look, all his photos are on private. The guy’s profile picture is of a henna tattooed hand playing the guitar, his banner is a rainbow flag, and there are a few generic posts supporting liberal causes. Huh. So maybe he’s gay, maybe he’s into music, and apparently he’s a liberal. Louis likes all those things, being gay and making music and supporting liberal causes, so without overthinking it, he clicks the “send a friend request” button.

Answers below...

[1] Feels Like Coming Home

The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.

This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.

[2] On the Go

From this post because I could not resist:

ok so i saw a truck today and i thought it said MANSCAPE but it actually said MAINSCAPE and it was a landscaping company. but then i thought LARRY AU. where louis owns a landscaping company called MANSCAPE and harry thinks it’s some sort of in-home pubic hair grooming company, so he calls to make an appointment, there’s some discussion of whether he wants his bushes trimmed as well, and then when it’s time for the appointment, harry’s like half-naked waiting around in a robe or something and louis shows up with lawnmowers. 

[3] It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along)

When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days. He's got it all planned - there's going to be shore excursions, lounging by the pool on the deck of the luxurious cruise ship, not to mention margaritas. What he does not plan for are the new friends, new bonds, or the mystery from his past that comes back to haunt him, and he certainly hasn't planned for Louis.

[4] Friend Request

This was written for Kassio as a pinch hit for the HL Summer Exchange, from the prompt: " Louis is bored on Facebook and in the “People you may know” suggestions, he sees the name Harry Styles. The profile picture doesn't show the person. He thinks it's an old family friend who he misses – maybe a middle-aged or elderly former neighbor or babysitter who he was fond of as a child - and sends a friend request. Turns out it's not old man Harry from their old neighborhood, it's hot young Harry (who he's never met before) who accepts his friend request..."

[canmom]

Music Theory Notes (for science bitches) 1: chords & such

This is one of these series where I use my blog as a kind of study blog type thing. If you're knowledgeable about music theory, it will be very basic. But that's kind of the problem, I've really struggled to absorb those basics!

When I was a teenager I learned to play violin and played in orchestras. I could read music, and play decently enough, but I didn't really understand music. I just read what was on the page, and played the scales I had to play for exams.

Lately I've been trying to learn music again. This time my instruments are zhonghu, voice, and DAWs. At some point I might get my violin back too. But really, I'm a total beginner again, and this time I want to do it properly.

For a long time when I tried to learn about music I would get overwhelmed with terminology and jargon and conventions. I might watch videos on composition and they'd be interesting but a lot of it would just fly over my head, I'd just have to nod along because I had no idea what all the different types of chord and such were. I tried to learn from sites like musictheory.net, but I found it hard to figure out the logical structure to fit it all into.

I feel like I'm finally making a bit of headway, so it's time to take some notes. The idea here is not just to answer the what, but also to give some sense of why, a motivation. So in a sense this is a first attempt at writing the introduction to music theory I wish I'd had. This is going to assume you know a little bit about physics, but basically nothing about music.

What is music? From first principles.

This is impossible to answer in full generality, especially since as certain people would be quick to remind me, there's a whole corner of avant-garde composers who will cook up counterexamples to whatever claim you make. So let's narrow our focus: I'm talking about the 'most common' type of music in the society I inhabit, which is called 'tonal music'. (However some observations may be relevant to other types of music such as noise or purely rhythmic music.)

Music is generally an art form involving arranging sound waves in time into patterns (in the sense that illustration is about creating patterns on a 2D surface with light, animation is arranging illustrations in time, etc.).

Physically, sound is a pressure wave propagating through a medium, primarily air. As sound waves propagate, they will reflect off surfaces and go into superposition, and depending on the materials around, certain frequencies might be attenuated or amplified. So the way sound waves propagate in a space is very complicated!

But in general we've found we can pretty decently approximate the experience of listening to something using one or two 'audio tracks', which are played back at just one or two points. So for the sake of making headway, we will make an approximation: rather than worry about the entire sound field, we're going to talk about a one-dimensional function of time, namely the pressure at the idealised audio source. This is what gets displayed inside an audio editor. For example, here's me playing the zhonghu, recorded on a mic, as seen inside Audacity.

A wrinkle that is not relevant for this discussion: The idealised 'pressure wave' is a continuous real function of the reals (time to pressure). By contrast, computer audio is quantised in both the pressure level and time, and this is used to reconstruct a continuous pressure wave by convolution at playback time. (Just like a pixel is not a little square, an audio sample is not a constant pressure!) But I'm going to talk about real numbers until quantisation becomes relevant.

When the human eye receives light, the cone cells in the eye respond to the frequencies of EM radiation, creating just three different neural signals, but with incredibly high sensitivity to direction. By contrast, when the human ear receives sound, it is directed into an organ called the cochlea which is kind of like a cone rolled up into a spiral...

Inside this organ, the sound wave moves around the spiral, which has a fascinatingly complex structure that means different frequencies of wave will excite tiny hairs at different points along the tube. In effect, the cochlea performs a short-time Fourier transform of the incoming sound wave. Information about the direction of the incoming wave is given by the way it reflects off the shape of the ear, the difference between ears, and the movement of our head.

So! In contrast to light, where the brain receives a huge amount of information about directions of incoming light but only limited information of the frequency spectrum, with sound we receive a huge amount of information about the frequency spectrum but only quite limited information about its direction.

Music thus generally involves creating patterns with vibration frequencies in the sound wave. More than this, it's also generally about creating repeating patterns on a longer timescale, which is known as rhythm. This has something to do with the way neurons respond to signals but that's something I'm not well-versed in, and in any case it is heavily culturally mediated.

All right, so, this is the medium we have to play with. When we analyse an audio signal that represents music, we chop it up into small windows, and use a Fourier transform to find out the 'frequencies that are present in the signal'.

Most musical instruments are designed to make sounds that are combinations of certain frequencies at integer ratios. For example here is a plot of the [discrete] Fourier transform of a note played on the zhonghu:

The intensity of the signal is written in decibels, so it's actually a logarithmic scale despite looking linear. The frequency of the wave is written in Hertz, and plotted logarithmically as well. A pure sine wave would look like a thin vertical line; a slightly wider spike means it's a combination of a bunch of sine waves of very close frequencies.

The signal consists of one strong peak at 397Hz and nearby frequencies, and a series of peaks at (roughly) integer multiples of this frequency. In this case the second and third peaks are measured at 786Hz, and 1176Hz. Exact integer ratios would give us 794Hz and 1191Hz, but because the first peak is quite wide we'd expect there to be some error.

Some terminology: The first peak is called the fundamental, and the remaining peaks are known as overtones. The frequency of the fundamental is what defines this signal as a particular musical note, and the intensities of the overtone and widths of the peaks define the quality of the note - the thing that makes a flute and a violin playing the same fundamental frequency sound different when we listen to them. If you played two different notes at the same time, you'd get the spectrums of both notes added together - each note has its own fundamental and overtones.

OK, so far that's just basic audio analysis, nothing is specific to music. To go further we need to start imposing some kind of logical structure on the sound, defining relationships between the different notes.

The twelve-tone music system

There are many ways to do this, but in the West, one specific system has evolved as a kind of 'common language' that the vast majority of music is written in. As a language, it gives names to the notes, and defines a space of emotional connotations. We unconsciously learn this language as we go through the process of socialisation, just as we learn to interpret pictures, watch films, etc.

The system I'm about to outline is known as 12-tone equal temperament or "12TET". It was first cooked up in the 16th century almost simultaneously in China and Europe, but it truly became the standard tuning in the West around the 18th century, distilled from a hodgepodge of musical systems in use previously. In the 20th century, classical composers became rather bored of it and started experimenting with other systems of tonality. Nevertheless, it's the system used for the vast majority of popular music, film and game soundtracks, etc.

Other systems exist, just as complex. Western music tends to create scales of seven notes in an octave, but there are variants that use other amounts, like 6. And for example classical Indian music uses its own variant of a seven-note scale; there are also nuances within Western music such as 'just intonation' which we'll discuss in a bit; really, everything in music is really fucking complicated!

I'll be primarily discussing 12TET because 1. it's hard enough to understand just one system and this one is the most accessible; 2. this has a very nice mathematical structure which tickles my autismbrain. However, along the way we'll visit some variants, such as 'Pythagorean intervals'.

The goal is to try and not just say 'this is what the notation means' but explain why we might construct music this way. Since a lot of musical stuff is kept around for historical reasons, that will require some detours into history.

Octaves

So, what's the big idea here? Well, let's start with the idea of an octave. If you have two notes, let's call then M and N, and the frequency of N is twice the frequency of M... well, to the human ear, they sound very very closely related. In fact N is the first overtone of M - if you play M on almost any instrument, you're also hearing N.

Harmony, which we'll talk about in a minute, is the idea that two notes sound especially pleasant together - but this goes even further. So in many many music systems around the world, these two notes with frequency ratio of 2 are actually identified - they are in some sense 'the same note', and they're given the same name. This also means that further powers of 2, of e.g. 4, 8, 16, and so on, are also 'the same note'. We call the relationship between M and N an octave - we say if two notes are 'an octave apart', one has twice the frequency of the other.

For example, a note whose fundamental frequency is 261.626Hz is known as 'C' in the convention of 'concert pitch'. This implies an infinite series of other Cs, but since the human ear has a limited range of frequencies, in practice you have Cs from 8.176Hz up through 16744.036. These are given a series of numbers by convention, so 261.626Hz is called C4, often 'middle C'. 523.251Hz is C5, 1046.502Hz is C6, and so on. However, a lot of the time it doesn't matter which C you're talking about, so you just say 'C'.

But the identification of "C" with 261.626Hz * 2^N is just a convention (known as 'concert pitch'). Nothing is stopping you tuning to any other frequency: to build up the rest of the structure you just need some note to start with, and the rest unfolds using ratios.

Harmony and intervals

Music is less about individual notes, and more about the relationship between notes - either notes played at the same time, or in succession.

Between any two notes we have something called an interval determined by the ratio of their fundamental frequencies. We've already seen one interval: the octave, which has ratio 2.

The next interval to bring up is the 'fifth'. There are a few different variants of this idea, but generally speaking if two notes have a ratio of 1.5, they sound really really nice together. Why is this called a 'fifth'? Historical reasons, there is no way to shake this terminology, we're stuck with it. Just bear with me here, it will become semi-clear in a minute.

In the same vein, other ratios of small integers tend to sound 'harmonious'. They're satisfying to hear together. Ratios of larger integers, by contrast, feel unsatisfying. But this creates an idea of 'tension' and 'resolution'. If you play two notes together that don't harmonise as nicely, you create a feeling of expectation and tension; when you you play some notes that harmonise really well, that 'resolves' the tension and creates a sense of relief.

Building a scale - just intonation

The exact 3:2 integer ratio used in two tuning systems called 'Pythagorean tuning' and 'just intonation'. Using these kinds of integer ratios, you can unfold out a whole series of other notes, and that's how the Europeans generally did things before 12TET came along. For example, in 'just intonation', you might start with some frequency, and then procede in the ratios 9/8, 5/4, 4/3, 3/2, 5/3, 15/8, and at last 2 (the octave). These would be given a series of letters, creating a 'scale'.

What is a scale? A scale is something like the 'colour palette' for a piece of music. It's a set of notes you use. You might use notes from outside the scale but only very occasionally. Different scales are associated with different feelings - for example, the 'major scale' generally feels happy and triumphant, while a 'minor scale' tends to feel sad and forlorn. We'll talk a lot more about scales soon.

In the European musical tradition, a 'scale' consists of seven notes in each octave, so the notes are named by the first seven notes of the alphabet, i.e. A B C D E F G. A scale has a 'base note', and then you'd unfold the other frequencies using the ratios. An instrument such as a piano would be tuned to play a particular scale. The ratios above are one definition of a 'major scale', and starting with C as the base note, the resulting set of notes is called 'C Major'.

All these nice small-number ratios tend to sound really good together. But it becomes rather tricky if you want to play multiple scales on the same instrument. For example, say your piano is tuned in just intonation to C Major. This means, assuming you have a starting frequency we'll call C, you have the following notes available in a given octave:

C, D=(9/8)C, E=(5/4)C, F=(4/3)C, G=(3/2)C [the fifth!], A=(5/3)C, B=(15/8)C, and 2C [the start of the next octave].

Note: the interval we named the 'fifth' is the fifth note in this scale. It's actually the fifth note in the various minor scales too.

But now suppose you want to play with some different notes - let's say a scale we'll call 'A major', which has the same frequency ratios starting on the note we previously called A. Does our piano have the right keys to play this scale?

Well, the next note up from A would be (9/8)A, which would be (9/8)(5/3)C=(15/8)C - that's our B key, so far so good. Then (5/4)A=(5/4)(5/3)C=(25/12)C and... uh oh! We don't have a (25/12)C key, we have 2C, so if we start at A and go up two keys, we have a note that is slightly lower frequency than the one we're looking for.

What this means is that, depending on your tuning, you could only approximate the pretty integer ratios for any scale besides C major. (25/12) is pretty close to 2, so that might not seem so bad, but sometimes we'd land right in between two notes. We can approximate these notes by adding some more 'in between' piano keys. How should we work out what 'extra' keys to include? Well, there were multiple conventions, but we'll see there is some logic to it...

[You might ask, why are you spending so long on this historical system that is now considered obsolete? Well, intervals and their harmonious qualities are still really important in modern music, and it makes most sense to introduce them with the idea of 'small-integer ratios'.]

The semitone

We've seen if we build the 'major scale' using a bunch of 'nice' ratios, we have trouble playing other scales. The gap above may look rather haphazard and arbitrary, but hold on, we're working in exponential space here - shouldn't we be using a logarithmic scale? If I switch to a logarithmic x-axis, we suddenly get a rather appealing pattern...

All the gaps between successive notes are about the same size, except for the gap between E and F, and B and C, which are about half that size. If you try to work that out exactly, you run into the problems we saw above, where C to D is 9/8 or 1.125, but D to E is 10/9 or 1.11111... Even so, you can imagine how people who were playing around with sounds might notice, damn, these are nice even steps we have here. Though you might also notice places where, in this scheme, it's not completely even - for example G to A (ratio 10/9) is noticeably smaller than A to B (ratio 9/8).

We've obliquely approached the idea of dividing the octave up into 12 steps, where each step is about the size of the gap between E and F or B and C. We call each of these steps a 'semitone'. Two semitones make a 'whole tone'. We might fill in all the missing semitones in our scale here using whole-number ratios, which gives you the black keys on the piano. There are multiple schemes for doing this, and the ratios tend to get a bit uglier. In the system we've outlined so far, a 'semitone' is not a fixed ratio, even though it's always somewhere around 1.06.

The set of 12 semitones is called the 'chromatic scale'. It is something like the 'colour space' for Western music. When you compose a piece, you select some subset of the 12 semitones as your 'palette' - the 'scale of' a piece of music.

But we still have a problem here, which is the unevenness of the gaps we discussed above. This could be considered a feature, not a bug, since each scale would have its own 'character' - it's defined by a slightly different set of ratios. But it does add a lot of complication when moving between scales.

So let's say we take all this irregularity as a bug, and try to fix it. The solution is 'equal temperament', which is the idea that the semitone should always be the exact same ratio, allowing the instrument to play any scale you please without difficulty.

Posed like this, it's easy to work out what that ratio should be: if you want 12 equal steps to be an octave, each step must be the 12th root of 2. Which is an irrational number that is about 1.05946...

At this point you say, wait, Bryn, didn't you just start this all off by saying that the human ear likes to hear nice simple integer ratios of frequencies? And now you're telling me that we should actually use an irrational number, which can't be represented by any integer ratio? What gives? But it turns out the human ear isn't quite that picky. If you have a ratio of 7 semitones, or a ratio of 2^(7/12)=1.4983..., that's close enough to 1.5 to feel almost as good. And this brings a lot of huge advantages: you can easily move ('transpose') between different scales of the same type, and trust that all the relevant ratios will be the same.

Equal temperament was the eventual standard, but there was a gradual process of approaching it called stuff like 'well-tempered' or 'good temperament'. One of the major steps along the way was Bach's collection 'the well-tempered klavier', showing how a keyboard instrument with a suitable tuning could play music in every single established scale. Here's one of those pieces:

Although we're using these irrational numbers, inside the scale are certain intervals that are considered to have certain meanings - some that are 'consonant' and some that are 'dissonant'. We've already mentioned the 'fifth', which is the 'most consonant' ratio. The fifth consists of 7 semitones and it's roughly a 1.5 ratio in equal temperament. Its close cousin is the 'fourth', which consists of 5 semitones. Because it's so nice, the fifth is kind of 'neutral' - it's just there but it doesn't mean a lot on its own.

For the other important intervals we've got to introduce different types of scale.

The scale zoo

So, up above we introduced the 'major' scale. In semitones, the major scale is intervals of 2, 2, 1, 2, 2, 2, 1. This is also called a 'mode', specifically the 'Ionian mode'. There are seven different 'modes', representing different permutations of these intervals, which all have funky Greek names.

The major scale generally connotes "upbeat, happy, triumphant". There are 12 different major scales, taking the 12 different notes of the chromatic scale as the starting point for each one.

Next is the minor scale, which tends to feel more sad or mysterious. Actually there are a few different minor scales. The 'natural minor' goes 2, 1, 2, 2, 1, 2, 2. You might notice this is a cyclic permutation of the major scale! So in fact a natural minor scale is the same set of notes as a major scale. What makes it different?

Well, remember when we talked about tension and resolution? It's about how the notes are organised. Our starting note is the 'root' note of the scale, usually established early on in the piece of music - quite often the very first note of the piece. The way you move around that root note determines whether the piece 'feels' major or minor. So every major scale has a companion natural minor scale, and vice versa. The set of notes in a piece is enough to narrow it down to one minor and one major, but you have to look closer to figure out which one is most relevant.

The 'harmonic minor' is almost the same, but it raises the second-last note (the 7th) a semitone. So its semitone intervals are 2, 1, 2, 2, 1, 3, 1.

The 'melodic minor' raises both the 6th and 7th by one semitone, (edit: but usually only on the way up). So its semitone intervals are 2, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 1. (edit: When you come back down you tend to use the natural minor.)

If you talk about a 'minor scale' unqualified, you mean the natural minor. It's also the 'Aeolian mode' in that system of funky Greek names I mentioned earlier.

So that leads to a set of 24 scales, a major and minor scale for every semitone. These are the most common scale types that almost all Western tonal music is written in.

But we ain't done. Because remember I said there were all those other "modes"? These are actually just cyclic permutations of the major scale. There's a really nerdy Youtube channel called '8-bit music theory' that has a bunch of videos analysing them in the context of videogame music which I'm going to watch at some point now I finally have enough background to understand wtf he's talking about.

And of top of that you have all sorts of other variants that come from shifting a note up or down a semitone.

The cast of intervals

OK, so we've established the idea of scales. Now let's talk intervals. As you might guess from the 'fifth', the intervals are named after their position in the scale.

Let me repeat the two most common scale modes, in terms of number of semitones relative to the root note:

position: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 major: 0, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11, 12 minor: 0, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 12

So you can see the fourth and fifth are the same in both. But there's a difference in three places: the third, the sixth, and the seventh. In each case, the minor is down a semitone from the major.

The interval names are... not quite as simple as 'place in the scale', but that's mostly how it works. e.g. the 'major third' is four semitones and the 'minor third' is three.

The fourth and fifth, which are dual to each other (meaning going up a fifth takes you to the same note as going down a fourth, and vice versa) are called 'perfect'. The note right in between them, an interval of 6 semitones, is called the 'tritone'.

(You can also refer to these intervals as 'augmented' or 'diminished' versions of adjacent intervals. Just in case there wasn't enough terminology in the air. See the table for the names of every interval.)

So, with these names, what's the significance of each one? The thirds, sixths and sevenths are important, because they tell us whether we're in minor or major land when we're building chords. (More on that soon.)

The fifth and the octave are super consonant, as we've said. But the notes that are close to them, like the seventh, the second and even more so the tritone, are quite dissonant - they're near to a nice thing and ironically that leads to awkward ratios which feel uncomfy to our ears. So generally speaking, you use them to build tension and anticipation and set up for a resolution later. (Or don't, and deliberately leave them hanging.)

Of course all of these positions in the scale also have funky Latin names that describe their function.

There's a lot more complicated nuances that make the meaning of a particular interval very contextual, and I certainly couldn't claim to really understand in much depth, but that's basically what I understand about intervals so far.

Our goofy-ass musical notation system

So if semitones are the building block of everything, naturally the musical notation system we use in the modern 12TET era spaces everything out neatly in terms of semitones, right?

Right...?

Lmao no. Actually sheet music is written so that each row of the stave (or staff, the five lines you write notes on) represents a note of the C major scale. All the notes that aren't on the C major scale are represented with special symbols, namely ♯ (read 'sharp') which means 'go up a semitone', and ♭ (read 'flat') which means 'go down a semitone'. That means the same note can be notated in two different ways: A♯ and B♭ are the same note.

The above image shows the chromatic scale, notated in two different ways. Every step is exactly one semitone.

Since a given scale might end up using one of these 'in between' notes that has to be marked sharp or flat, and you don't want to do that for every single time that note appears. Luckily, it turns out that each major/minor scale pair ends up defining a unique set of notes to be adjusted up or down a semitone, called the 'key signature'. So you can write the key signature at the beginning of the piece, and it lasts until you change key signature. For example, the key of 'A♭ major' ends up having four sharps:

There is a formula you can use to work out the set of sharps or flats to write for a given key. (That's about the point I checked out on musictheory.net.)

There is some advantage to this system, which is that it very clearly tells you when the composer intends to shift into a different scale, and it saves space since with the usual scales there are no wasted lines. But it's also annoyingly arbitrary. You just have to remember that B to C is only a semitone, and the same for E to F.

What are those weird squiggly symbols? Those are 'clefs'. Each one assigns notes to specific lines. The first one 𝄞 is the 'treble clef', the second one 𝄢 is the 'bass clef'. Well, actually these are the 'G-clef' and the 'F-clef', and where they go on the stave determines note assignment, but thankfully this has been standardised and you will only ever see them in one place. The treble clef declares the lines to be E G B D F and the bass clef G B D F A.

There is also a rarer 'C-clef' which looks like 𝄡. This is usually used as the 'Alto clef' which means F A C E G.

This notation system seems needlessly convoluted, but we're rather stuck with it, because most of the music has been written in it already. It's not uncommon for people to come up with alternative notations, though, such as 'tabs' for a stringed instrument which indicate which position should be played on each string. Nowadays on computers, a lot of DAWs will instead use a 'piano roll' presentation which is organised by semitone.

And then there's chords.

Chords! And arpeggios!

A chord is when you play 3 or more notes at the same time.

Simple enough right? But if you wanna talk about it, you gotta have a way to give them names. And that's where things get fucking nuts.

But the basic chord type is a 'triad', consisting of three notes, separated by certain intervals. There are two standard types, which you basically assemble by taking every other note of a scale. In terms of semitones, these are:

Major triad: 0 - 4 - 7 Minor triad: 0 - 3 - 7

Then there's a bunch of variations, for example:

Augmented: 0 - 4 - 8 Diminished: 0 - 3 - 6 Suspended: 0 - 2 - 7 (sus2) or 0 - 5 - 7 (sus4) Dominant seventh: 0 - 4 - 7 - 10 Power: 0 - 7

There is a notation scheme for chords in pop, jazz, rock, etc., which starts with a root note and then adds a bunch of superscripts to tell you about any special features of a chord. So 'C' means the C Major triad (namely C,E,G) and 'Cm' or 'c' means the C Minor triad (namely C,E♭,G).

In musical composition, you usually tend to surround the melody (single voice) with a 'chord progression' that both harmonises and creates a sense of 'movement' from one chord to another. Some instruments like guitar and piano are really good at playing chords. On instruments that can't play chords, they can still play 'arpeggios', which is what happens if you take a chord and unroll it into a sequence of notes. Or you play in an ensemble and harmonise with the other players to create a chord together. Awww.

Given a scale, you can construct a series of seven triad chords, starting from each note of the scale. These are generally given scale-specific Roman numerals corresponding to the position in the scale, and they're used to analyse the progression of chords in a song. I pretty much learned about this today while writing this post, so I can't tell you much more than that.

Right now, that's about as far as I've gotten with chords. On a violin, you can play just two strings at the same time after all - I never had much need to learn about them so it remains a huge hole in my understanding of music. I can't recognise chords by ear at all. So I gotta learn more about them.

As much as I wrote this for my own benefit... if you found this post interesting, let me know. I might write more if people find this style of presentation appealing. ^^'

[gothicknightz]

bloodline pt. 2 | ethan landry

notes: PART TWO TO BLOODLINES, A FAMILY LINES PREQUAL. PART ONE OF THE BLOODLINES HERE, AND FAMILY LINES PART TWO AND ONE HERE. SCREAM 6 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT.

A beer was in (y/n)’s hands as she danced with Chad in the middle of the frat party, with the latter being dressed up as a cowboy and an angel, the two syncing to the beat of the music that was blaring in a section of the house.

As Tara arrived, a small smile formed on (y/n)’s lips as he watched Chad’s eyes follow her, unable to remove them, as they were stuck like glue.

“You should go get ‘em, partner.” She joked as Chad rolled his eyes and smiled.

“What? I’m serious! You two have been making eyes at each other all semester. When are you finally gonna make a move?”

“I should say the same for you and Ethan,” He retorted, as (y/n) choked on her beer, “He’s been eyeing you up like a whole snack. Should get him out of that shell.”

She gave Chad the finger as she glanced at Ethan, who gave her a small wave, “I’ll go talk to Ethan when you finally work up the courage to talk to little miss independent over there.”

“Fuck you.”

“You are welcome.” She laughed, before slapping her hand on his back, “I’m gonna get more beer. Be right back.”

Anika and Mindy were relaxing on a couch, beers in both hands, with Anika asking how it doesn’t bother Mindy that people dress up as Ghostface, who had attacked her and her friends a year prior.

“Being at a house party, after you and your friends almost got brutally murdered at a house party?”

“No,” Mindy readjusted herself in the couch seat, “I see it as being struck by lightning; the odds of it happening twice to the same person are extremely low.”

“Hm,” Anika hummed, “Guess I should stay close to you, then.” She said while putting her legs over Mindy’s.

On the other side, Tara stumbled over herself as she made her way to the keg, looking for more to drink she ran into Frankie, to who she introduced herself.

Frankie mentioned how there might be more beers in the kitchen, as the two went there together, to also find out that there was also no beer in the fridge, so, in the end, Frankie mentioned that there was a bottle of Fireball up in his room, and the two made their way together.

Anika saw the pair and didn’t like this idea, Tara reassured her she was fine and continued on her way before Frankie had the smart idea to drag Tara up the stairs, which didn’t sit well with Anika and Mindy, who decided to call her brother over.

Chad was over on the other side, with Ethan, attempting to hype him up as he was dressed in a handmade ‘knight in shining armor’ costume.

“Alright, alright, alright.” Chad paused, as he raised a shot glass, “Cheers to the dynamic duo; four-tenths tower, third floor, room three-one-five!” He exclaimed, before clinking his plastic shot glass with Ethan’s, who ended up spitting out his shot back into the cup.

“You gotta start making moves, man,” Chad said as he saw (y/n) beaming a big smile at the stranger she was partying with before glancing at the duo and giving a thumbs up.

“I’ve seen that look you give (y/n), Landry.” He chuckled, as his roommate seemed a bit flustered at the mention of her, “You’re not fooling anyone.”

A big smile was on Ethan’s face as he rolled his eyes, “What if she doesn’t like me back?”

“Dude.” Chad placed an arm on his friend’s shoulder, “Who wouldn’t like you, man?” He said, adjusting his costume, “You are a snack; practically an entire meal on your own!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You’re Ethan Landry!”

A big grin was on Chad’s face as he called (y/n) over, “Hey, (y/n)!” Who turned around to look at the duo, for Chad to make a ‘come here’ motion as she smiled and rolled her eyes.

“What’s up, Meeks?”

Chad cleared his throat before placing an arm on Ethan’s shoulder, “I need you to vouch for my man Ethan here. This gentleman of a guy couldn’t keep his eyes off of you all night, and I would love to know your opinion of him.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes and smiled, “You really like playing matchmaker tonight, Chad.” She paused, picking up a nearby beer and taking a swig out of it, “He’s cute.” She sent a smile at Ethan before placing a hand on Chad’s shoulder, whispering an ‘I hate you’ to him before walking off.

“See?”

It was only a matter of seconds before Chad was called by his sister, and the rest of the events of the night unfolded, with Sam making an unwanted appearance by Tara, and the group leaving the party subsequently afterward.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

(y/n) sat beside Tara on the couch as they and the rest of the gang were gathered around the television, watching the nightly news reporting on the identities of the two bodies found at a nearby apartment.

The bodies were identified as Jason Carvey and Greg Bruckner, who were two Blackmore students, with Jason being in a class with Tara, which the original Woodsboro survivors classified as technically hitting close to home.

As the sisters argued, Sam’s phone started ringing, to which everyone stopped what they were doing, and stared at the phone in anxious silence.

“Why did everyone just freak out when the phone rang?” Ethan had asked, unaware of the Carpenter and Meeks-Martin siblings’ past.

“You gotta keep up, man,” Anika noted before Quinn handed her phone over to Sam, saying that her dad wanted to talk to her; her I.D. was found at the scene of the crime, which meant she had to visit the Detective at the station.

As Sam made her way to the station, Tara followed her sister out of the apartment complex, which Sam was against. Tara proved a strong argument against her sister’s statement, so they continued to the station together.

As the sisters were walking to the station, they had gotten a call from Ghostface, who mentioned that they were going to pay for what they had done, and to watch their backs, in which Tara was subsequently attacked from behind by the masked killer himself.

The two were able to get away, but not without Ghostface following them into a bodega, where he attacked two guys in line, and shot the bodega owner with his own shotgun. 

Meanwhile, the sisters were crawling on their hands and knees on the far end of the bodega by the freezers, trying not to make a sound, and when they did, Sam had pushed a shelf over, knocking Ghostface down, abling the sisters to make a run for it as the cops showed up.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

The following day, Mindy had gathered the gang, including Sam, to the courtyard of Blackmore, as she laid down and aired out the suspect list, going on about rules and regulations, as well as sequels and requels.

“Okay, nerds!” She clapped to get their attention, “As terrifying as this is, I’m glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time.”

“The way I see it is that someone is out there to make a sequel, to the requel.”

Anika was confused, as she asked, “What’s a requel?”

“Anika,” Mindy paused, “You’re beautiful sweetie; let’s hold all questions until the end.”

Sam noted that Stab one took place in Woodsboro and that Stab two took place in college, to which Tara added that someone is trying to copy the movies. 

“That is a possibility; heroes now in college, check, suspicious new characters to round out the suspect list,” Mindy said as she pointed to Ethan, “And or body count,” As she nodded to Anika. 

Mindy goes on about how the group is not just in a sequel, but rather a franchise, and that there are certain rules to a franchise. 

She notes that the budgets and everything are bigger, and everything expected from the last film will not be reused in this current ‘requel’ and that no one is safe, which meant that even main and legacy characters could and would be killed off.

Ethan then questions everything; even the main characters, if he was part of the main friend group, and if he was going to die a virgin.

Mindy notes how that was a weird overshare, and continues to her suspect list.

“Ethan; the shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

Ethan asks why he’s on the suspect list, about whether or not it was based randomly because he was Chad’s roommate, to which Mindy rebuttals that the roommate lottery can be juked. 

“Quinn; the slutty roommate,” She pauses, to give a chef’s kiss, “A horror movie classic.”

“Sex positive. But, thank you?”

She asks Quinn how she got to be Tara and Sam’s roommate, to which she responded about an anonymous ad, which Mindy stopped her as she implicated herself enough. 

“Now, to my dear roommate, (y/n). You have been as clean as a germophobe, but there’s no human without flaws. What are your intentions for this friend group and Blackmore in general?”

(y/n) leaned back in her seat on the bench, and shrugged, “We’re both movie buffs, Mindy. I enrolled in Blackmore after hearing about their film programs, and they roomed me with you because we have similar majors. The rest was on you.”

“A solid truth, but I guess we’ll find out in act three, huh?”

“Guess we will.”

Mindy finally turned to Anika, in which she mentioned the most major rules in a horror franchise; never trust the love interest.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

(y/n) was on her way to Tara and Sam’s shared apartment, leaving her dorm hall as Mindy was already over with the Carpenter sisters. 

She was on the top floor, and when it got to the floor below, Ethan walked into the elevator, to which (y/n) played it off for the cameras with a confused smile and arched brow.

“What are you doing here, Landry?”

As soon as the door closed, Ethan instantly pushed (y/n) up against the elevator wall and kissed her passionately, to which she pushed him away subsequently after.

“Ethan,” She whispered as she scolded him, “What the hell are you doing? Do you want to get caught?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.” He admitted, getting close to her again, “Six months.” He mumbled, “Six months I’ve waited to do anything to you. Six months of staring at you from afar, having Chad beg me to make a move. Six months of playing it off seeing you with other guys.”

Ethan attempted to run a hand through his hair, with his fingers getting stuck in his own curls, “Fuck,” He muttered, “I can’t even see you in that pretty ring I got you.”

“Don’t worry.” She gave him a quick kiss before retreating to the other side of the elevator.

“It should be over soon.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for ghosting someone in RP?

This is a very chronically online problem, I'm aware, but I could use Tumblr's input. This is kinda long, so tl;Dr at the end.

So I (ftm), Z (nb), and O (f) (ages unimportant, but we're all adults) have a server for a shared fandom of ours. There are other people on the server too, but they're relatively unimportant to the problem.

One of the major channels to note was an rp channel. Things started off peachy keen! Everyone was having a grand old time! However, little problems started to pop up. O began introducing some ocs to the rp group chat, which, while outlandish for the setting (her ocs were ghosts from 1500's Minecraft Germany or whatever? I'm still not entirely clear since she's bad at continuity). And while I'm not against more out there ocs, the issue was how she used them, constantly trying to solve problems instantly. They felt more like MacGuffin's than characters. But whatever, she's our friend so we didn't really care.

Then, the racism incident happened.

It's a cool name, but sorta makes it sound more important than it was. Basically O had "monster form" at the end of each of her characters names, since apparently they had human forms too. Well, in an argument, a character referred to the group of ocs as monsters (since, how else would you refer to all of em at once?), and in one of her ocs replies they said smth like "oh btw thanks for the racist remark".

IMMEDIATELY in the ooc chat, Z and I both go "hey man, we're not playing the racism game", which... caused O to leave the server temporarily. Fun.

The relevance of the racism incident is to show why we can't just talk to her ooc about the upcoming issues.

((Very offhandedly she also keeps trying to pressure Z specifically into rping? Even though Z has made it clear many times this month that they are busy with the holidays??))

Anyways, time passes and O keeps wanting to tack on useless shit to her characters (both canon and ocs) for literally no reason. From "Bruno esk powers" to "shapeshifting genitals", it just felt like feature creep.

Eventually this comes to a head when she asks if her 32 year old character could be a WWII veteran.

You know. In the text chat based rp where characters use hashtags and emotes and talk about Twitter.

After a small back and forth between Z and O in the ooc chat, Z just kinda, gave up. Part of the reason they made the server was to transfer their previous rp writings to a server they own, so they don't have to worry about it getting deleted. (Before anyone assumes Z is just being strict, trust me. Z had been very accommodating with letting me and O make inputs and have our characters make an impact. This wasn't an issue of O's lack of control, but rather lack of care about the setting.)

Z admitted in a group chat with just me and their partner that they basically are just going to give up on their previous rp, and just let O do whatever she wants.

This really, and I mean REALLY, ticked me off.

Now, I will not start a ruckus about it on the server itself since I know Z hates confrontation, but now I've just settled on to give O the cold shoulder in rp, not replying to her ocs, barely interacting with her canon characters, etc.

I feel like in character I have a valid reason to ignore her (her ocs made one of my ocs upset, and my other characters are upset for him), but I can't tell if this would be too mean?

ALSO quick little note I forgot to mention above, but it's basically just the three of us in the rp chat, so with Z busy for the holidays, I'm the only other person who O would be able to rp with, if that impacts the vote.

TL;DR - Someone in a rp server is being a right ass and we cannot talk to her about it without potentially starting a huge fight, now I want to ignore her in rp. WIBTA

What are these acronyms?

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

howdy there! was wondering if you could do a mewtwo!reader that manages to wound up in paldea after escaping team rocket back in kanto as they experimented on the poor reader for GOD knows how long and they eventually encouter our beloved trio (nemona, arven & penny) and are put on EXTREMELY high alert because the reader is still convinced that everyone is out for them but the trio manage to calm the genetic psychic pokemon's savage nature and at least allow them to rest up and let their wounds heal? (bonus points if the reader trusts em enough to allow to be captured but thats entirely up to you)

At some point, you realized that no place in Kanto was safe anymore...as Team Rocket was searching for you far and wide.

All just for the chance to recapture you and subject you to even more cruel experiments.

You've dealt with them since the moment you were born, those damned scientists determined to push past the limits of your powers to further their own agenda.

How many more scars must they leave on your body? How much more of your psychic energy will be drained until they're satisfied??

You've had enough.

The only thing left to do was leave the safety of Cerulean Cave..but of course, the organization wasn't about to let you walk out without a fight.

They anticipated your escape, cornering you with their strongest bug, dark, and ghost types.

The lead grunt even illegally manufactured a master ball, hoping to catch you without fail.

Yet you unleashed your fury in the form of a massive psychic wave, not only destroying that, but also causing every Pokémon and human to collapse. Then you made your escape as the cave began crumbling.

You didn't care if they made it out alive or not....this world was better off without human scum like them.

And their Pokémon? They were nothing but traitors to their kind.

Eventually, you arrived in Paldea and took shelter near some ruins, your psychic energy spent from teleporting all the way here and your wounds not fully healing yet-

"Dios mio!! Is that a Mewtwo????"

Aaaaand you're on high alert once again, barely able to get a moment's rest.

You could see three young human trainers approaching, two in what looked like school uniforms and the other with a hoodie and some kind of Eevee on her back.

Despite your exhaustion, you refused to let them see you in such a vulnerable state, staring them down as your eyes glowed with what little psychic energy you had left.

All humans were out to get you. If not a scientist who wanted to experiment on you...it would be a trainer who wanted to show you off like some trophy--either way, both wanted to use you as a weapon.

"I will only ask you once...leave me alone, or I will destroy you all." You warn.

Nemona confused on who's speaking at first, but quickly realizes it's you and tries to calm you down.

However, your focus shifts to Arven's Mabosstiff and you try attacking him....yet you're barely able to lift him off the ground before your strength wanes once again, dropping him.

Arven's furious, ready to go over and punch you (like Ash Ketchum in the first movie), but while he's held back by the two girls...you wondered why he reacted that way.

"How curious...you'd rather throw yourself in front of your own Pokémon instead of sending him after me? Why is that, Arven?"

"B-Because the last time I made him fight a powerful Pokémon I never met before, he was...he...." He doesn't finish, but you understood.

And in that moment, your eyes opened a little bit more, finally gaining some clarity as you gaze at his companion.

"Your Mabosstiff was mortally wounded in the past, but he was cured...and neither of you wish to live through that pain again."

"Wha....how did you know?"

"He told me." You gestured to the dark type with a small smile, hearing his woof of agreement. "I see he is your best friend, not some tool. Perhaps I was wrong to think all humans are selfish monsters.."

"I mean, we did save Paldea's ecosystem from being wrecked!" Nemona added cheerfully.

"It's true," Penny nodded. "But look, uh...Mewtwo..we're not your enemy. Obviously you're still hurt. You don't have to keep fighting like this. We can help you out, but..only if you let us."

You'd tell her you can manage, but the fact you couldn't even stand back up without great pain proved her point.

So in the end, you allow the trio to heal you with some potions and give you the chance to rest, reassuring you that Team Rocket can't follow you here.

You refused to be taken to any Pokémon Center as to not be seen by too many humans.

However, you'll stick around the three whenever they venture out into Paldea, teleporting into their dorms sometimes just to see what they're up to, protecting them from harm, etc.

Nemona hoped to capture you, though she respects your wishes to live freely. It's what you deserve after all you've been through.

[mybelovednick]

Crimson and Clover, Honey (Chapter 1)

Main Page

Nick Sturniolo x Male!character

Summary Nick Sturniolo is a Bookstore owner in a small town in Northern Italy. Vayu Arora is an elementary school teacher who is a frequent customer at Nick's Store. Both of them meet and they are suppose to fall in love like faith intended. But what happens when one of them is unable to let go of their past selves?

Nick x male!character Angst Fluff/comfort Hurt/comfort

TW: Too corny ig

******

1

The people we meet in our lives are just stories. Some are more haunting than others. It is one of life's gifts, I suppose. I am a story, so are you and so was the man with the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

The words we exchange, the touch we share, the emotions we experience, the way we live and love, the way we hate - it all comes together to form our stories. The man with the beautiful blue eyes and a magnificent smile had a story intertwined with mine, it was not all the bad parts, and there were parts that I am grateful for. These stories make us who we are, shape our thoughts and in turn, merge with the universe itself when we are gone.

I remember when I first saw him. He was sitting all alone in his beautiful bookstore. He seemed unreal at first. The honeycomb rays of sunlight split through the cracks of the clouds and flowed like a yellow stream of jellyfish into the room, through that slightly cracked window just past him. The dark room was dimly lit and you could barely make out that he was there sitting in silence.

    The room was filled with posters of vintage films, and 80’s rock bands, along with pictures of Saints, and wooden artefacts that looked like they were carved by the Gods, even. In the backdrop, he was immersed in his small, emerald-gold book, in his own little world.

    He was so still, it was uncanny. If it wasn’t for the sun, the dark room would have gobbled him up. It would seem like he was one of the wooden statues himself. Carved by the angels. But his blue eyes gave away the fact that he was not a part of that inanimate silence, rather something living and breathing within the same intimate space. His eyes were as blue as the ocean that Italy herself shared her beautiful beaches with.

“Do you mind?”  The boy’s voice echoed in the dimly-lit room. The tone was unwelcoming, his voice wasn’t ‘smooth as honey’ like the poets usually describe of beautiful men in their lovely poems; it was husky and sharp like a knife- similar to a thunder rolling down the dark clouds. “Hello? Back to earth pretty boy. Aren’t you going to buy something?”.

That made me fluster. I hastily grabbed the nearest book that my hand could reach. In the process, I knocked down a few books and winced as they fell on the ground with a loud ‘thud’ that made one of the window panes rattle. I was about pick them up.

“Leave it be.” The young man said. “I’ll pick ‘em up later.”

“Uh- okay.” I stupidly mumbled and practically sprinted towards the counter. “These books please.” I winced for a second time as I unintentionally placed the books too loudly on the table top for him to check.

I wanted to crawl into a cave and die.

But then I heard a soft chuckle. It was then when I first saw him smile. I caught myself smiling back at him. I loved his nose ring, I loved his freckled cheek, I loved how the sun seemed to give him a faint touch of blush, I loved how red his lips were, I lov-

“Should I give you a carry bag?” His voice once again forced me to snap back into reality.

I simply nodded and handed him a few Euros. “Uhm, I am Vayu… by the way.”

As I extended my right hand for a handshake, He picked up my bag and placed it on my hand, “Nice to meet you. Have a good day.” Why had I expected him to return the favour by providing his name as well?  I knew his smile was forced but I would never admit that to myself. Embarrassed with the entire chain of events, I nodded awkwardly and walked away from the store.

That was three months ago.

~~~

“Damn dude! So you went to the bookstore, saw an average white guy with fake blonde hair which could be his wig. Threw all the books on the ground and practically destroyed his counter top. And he ghosted you right to your face?” Nathan burst out laughing.

“That was a stretch but yes, thank you for summarising my own tragedy to me, Nate.” I rolled my eyes and sat back with my arms tucked close to my chest.

Nathan, Tara and I taught at the same school, St. Maria Elementary. It was a small school in practically nowhere of Northern Italy. I moved into this town, about six months ago. I was born and brought up in Delhi, India. But things changed when I decided to come out to my family. My parents were not okay with the fact that their only son was doomed to not having a child of his own to continue the legacy of the Arora family just because he could never love a woman. I never blamed them, though. I did understand their perspective and respected their wishes. But it was suffocating for me to stay there. I needed to leave and so I did. I had my masters in Zoology and Bachelors degree in Education from some of the most prestigious universities in the country. I could go to the US or the UK or any other place with my own expenditure. But I decided to apply to somewhere safe and peaceful. And the faiths brought me here, in this town.

And I was happy then. I had bought myself a small two storied bungalow down the ‘Via del Canto’ street. The house was dirty and filthy when I bought it but I did do my best to make it feel like home. I knew it was the one from the moment I saw the beautiful backyard which I always dreamed of having. The street was not a very well-known one. It was a chore to ride uphill with a bicycle but I loved my own space. You could even see the ocean from the veranda of my bedroom.

I have always been a practical man. Once I reached here, I immediately had an established job and a place to stay. My aunt, Irani, who lived in Milan, helped me a lot throughout this process. “But you are over-qualified to be a biology teacher in a small school like this, Vayu.” She would say, “You are a talented young man and with a few more years of training, you could be a reputed professor in some of the most prestigious Universities in the world! Why waste your talent?”. And she was right. Why waste my years in a middle of fucking nowhere? I didn’t know the exact answer for this but for once I wanted to listen to my heart. Ever since my childhood I did whatever my parents asked me to do, whatever was expected of me from society. All these twenty-eight years of people-pleasing culminated to me getting abandoned by people I thought were my own. So what was the point?

Nevertheless here I was, all alone in a foreign country. That was until I met Nathan, the English teacher and Tara, the art teacher in the same school I worked in as a Biology teacher; and I felt like I found a place in this world. They were some of the best people I ever met and I will always be grateful to be a part of their lives.  

            As usual, the three of us sat down at our table in the teachers’ cafeteria during recess time. We shared all our stories of our past selves. I talked about almost everything with them and they knew about me liking other men. It was a secret between our trio because Tara was a ‘raging’ (her words) bisexual and Nate was apparently bi-curious and still not sure of any labels. I mean kudos to each of us.

The conversation continued.

“Stop laughing like a fucking hyena Nate.” Tara snapped. Nathan stifled his laughter while wiping off tears from his eyes after all that laughter. “So Vayu.” Tara turned towards me, leaning in closely to engage in the conversation, “You said he smiled too right?”

I nodded like a child about to be given some hope in the form of candy.

“Hey! That does mean he liked your goofy-ass.” Tara boasted proudly.

“I mean I think so.” I whispered, mostly to myself in hopes of self-consolidation.

“That’s great. By the way, what did you buy?” Nathan asked mid bite while chomping on his sandwich.

“Uhh…” I couldn’t say it and my ears were starting to turn red.

“What’s the matter? Say it” Tara was curious too.

“Okay fine I accidentally bought porno magazine along with Shakespeare’s Hamlet. I don’t even like Hamle-..”

Nathan was almost choking on his sandwich. And Tara looked at me like a disappointed mom about to beat his son’s ass.

“You guys, hear me out-..” I was begging for my dearest dignity, “I was in a hurry okay? And the guy was truly very pretty. I got distracted and..”

“And what?” Nathan cut me off while he was gasping for air, “Bought a fucking Playboy and showed him the horny-ass motherfucker that you really are? I can’t. I need air, Tara! Get me some fucking air right now.”

“Nate you are sweating and you look redder than the tomato in your sandwich. Get a grip, man.” Tara said.

“Vayu look,” Tara was serious now, “Don’t be so anxious about such trivial matters. It was just an infatuation. Right? Right?”

“Right.” I lowered my gaze.

“It is not like you have to see him every day.”

“I suppose you are not wrong.” I replied and Tara smiled.\

“And get a bottle of water for Nate. Dying from choking on a sandwich is not a sexy way to go.” Tara ordered.

I really did love my friends. And maybe Tara was right. Maybe it was a onetime thing. Although, I would love to see that smile once again, someday maybe.

**********

Next Chapter

A/N : This is my first ever fanfic series for the Sturniolo fandom. I used to write a lot during my 1D days. I know there is not much nick content right now. Because I want to introduce Vayu to the readers first. More to come, hopefully. Please do comment your honest opinion. <3

Tag: @ohmtoff @loud-sturniolos @matty-bear2 @maria4mari @solarsturniolo @freshloveforthefit @darl1ngdr1sta @tkhzs @thenickgirl @soursturniolo @certifiednatelover

(pls let me know if you feel uncomfortable if tagged)

[banabiohazard]

(DDLC four hearts au, Sayori, Yuri, Monika, Natsuki, old friend, jealousy.)

*cw for MC’s entire character being lifted from the game grumps ddlc playthrough, ik a lot of folks don’t like them, and valid! But it’s how I experienced ddlc for the first time and it’s special to me. Also sexual topics*

Sayori bounced on her toes with excitement as she waited for her partners to show up. she had sent the group chat a simple message:

‘I’ve got a surprise for you guys, someone I want you to meet! Come meet me at the park down the street from my house if you can!!’

And she quickly received replies of confirmation. When she saw Yuri and Monika’s cars pull up and park she was practically jumping up and down. When they reached her she knocked on the tree behind her and out walked a guy their age, his brown hair would be down past his chin where it not tied up in a knot at the back of his head, his chin was fuzzed with a light shadow of a beard. He shifted his legs to stand properly as he stared back at the girls with his Hazel eyes trapped behind wireframe glasses. “Guys, this is Emcie! He was my bestest friend when we were kids!” He nodded his head as a lazy bow.

“He moved away not long before we all met, but he’s back for the week to see me and he expressed interest in meeting you all!” He laughed a little,

“You brought it up, and practically begged me to meet them! Not like I woulda said no anyhow.”

Monika struggled not to cringe at his voice, he sounded drunk, like he couldn’t control his volume or tone, but he showed no outward signs of inebriation. Sayori pouted playfully as he held out a hand to Yuri first, “Sayori tells my she’s dating one of you, I’d lik-“ he started as he shook Yuri’s hand but Sayori cut him off, “All of them actually!” He turned to her and then back to Yuri and the others, “Oh sorry, well hey! You didn’t communicate that dummy!” He playfully smacked Sayori’s arm with the back of his hand, “I Know, I wanted to see your face!” She giggled, he huffed a laugh through his nose and shook his head. “Well,” he lowered his voice and stage whispered to Sayori, “Great fucking job man, bagging three tens, I didn’t think you had it in you!” Sayori pushed him, “Shut up!!”

Natsuki stepped forward and took charge,

“Nice to finally meet you, I’m Natsuki, Say talked about you a lot a few years back.”

She held out her fist and he quickly knocked his against it. Yuri followed,

“I am Yuri, it is pleasant to make your acquaintance.”

“Woah, you got a deep voice for a woman!” He exclaimed with wonder, only for Sayori to punch him in the shoulder. “Ow! Hey what did I do!” Yuri waved to dismiss it, “It’s quite alright I get that a lot.” She played absentmindedly with her hair as Sayori glared at Emcie, “Uh, I’m sorry anyway.” He said as he looked back at Sayori apologetically before making his way over to Monika.

“Hello. It’s always nice to meet a friend of Sayori.”

He nodded, “You’re Monika right?” Her brow rose, “Yes I am, have we met before?” He nodded, “We shared a couple classes in high school.” Monika waited to recognize him but simply did not. “I am sorry I do not remember you.” He waved it off, “Don’t worry about it, would y’all like to get something to eat? My treat! We can all get all to know each other and stuff.” They all agreed and off they went.

The restaurant was very cozy, a little place Sayori had taken them all to before. While everyone was making small talk Yuri glanced at Emcie’s plate, “That’s an awful lot of potato’s.” She said with an inquisitive tone, it was true, everything on the plate had at least a little potato. “Oh yeah,” he started, “I love em! In any form, ask Say I ate them raw when we were kids.” Sayori had a giggle fit across the table, struggling her words out. “He carried a few around in his backpack!” She laughed harder, “He slowly put one in my mouth to make me shut up once!” He shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth and nodded as Natsuki laughed hysterically with Sayori and Yuri and Monika exchanged looks.

After the meal they found themselves laughing and talking into the evening as they walked the city streets. Yuri wasn’t sure why, but she found herself placing herself between Sayori and Emcie, trying to take part in their conversations, and generally putting herself closer to Sayori than him. After a long time of this song and dance Sayori pulled her aside while Nat wrapped Monika and Emcie in an unwinnable hypothetical. “Is everything okay? You are acting a little weird.” Yuri couldn’t bring herself to meet Sayori’s eyes, “I am fine dear.” Sayori pouted, “Come on my night lily, something is clearly getting to you.” She took Yuri’s hand in hers. Yuri sighed hard and it caught in her throat, “I uh, I don’t know… I’m jealous I suppose. You have a lot of chemistry with him, and history.” She took a sudden interest in staring a hole through her shoes.

Sayori took Yuri’s cheek in her hand and Yuri leaned into it. “Yuri, my sweet girl. I don’t like men. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, he’s like my brother, and I’m like 80% sure he likes dudes.” Yuri chuckled a little under her breath before Sayori surprised her with a small kiss, “Do you want to go home? To my house I mean, I have all week to catch up with him, I want you to have peace of mind.” Yuri nodded guiltily. Sayori squeezed her hand before she pulled away, “Let me go excuse us okay?” Yuri nodded again, running her fingers there her hair.

Sayori came speed walking back up to the group and interrupted Monika trying to get Natsuki to explain why there would be alligators in a crashing plane, “Hey guys, Yuri’s a little overwhelmed so I’m gonna take her home alright?” Monika and Natsuki looked immediately concerned but Sayori quelled it by glancing from them to Emcie and shooting them a look that said ‘I’ll text you about it’ and as she tried to leave Emcie spoke up, “Did I do something wrong?” Sayori sighed and turned back around, “No Emcie, she’s just not wanting to be out right now. You didn’t do a thing, I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” He gave a nod and off she went.

On the walk home Yuri kept her eyes down as they walked hand in hand, “Yuri?” Sayori asked, “mhm?” Yuri responded quietly, “Please don’t be upset, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Yuri nodded, Sayori thought for the next few steps, she grinned wide and kissed Yuri’s cheek, “How about, when we get home I make you forget alll about it.” Yuri turned red as she met Sayori’s eyes, “Okaaay?” Yuri nodded again faster this time, “You’re adorable.” Sayori said as they reached her doorstep. “I- I’m not.” Yuri responded on their way through the front door, and upstairs “No lying.” Sayori shot back, leading Yuri by the arm into her bedroom.

[skylarmoon71]

Leonardo (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) - Oneshot

"Vincent said they'll be operating here. There's a couple inns located in the general area. So it's unsuspecting. "

Donnie went over the layout of the mountain getaway.

"You have to admit it's pretty smart. It's secluded and Christmas break. They just need to find a few people that look like they're on a family vacation. Moving merchandise would be easy." You state.

"That's why we gotta beat em at their own game." Raph slipped a toothpick between his lips.

"Vincent gave us a little spot of our own. We just need two partners to volunteer to go up there and study the place while Donnie works with Vincent to cover the rest. " Raph adds.

"That sounds like a great plan. Who's going?"

When three of them look at you, it becomes clear. Leo is sitting directly opposite you, and he can already see the wheels turning in their heads.

"Looks like our fearless leader has been nominated." Raph looks way too smug when he says it, and you can't stop the flush of your cheeks. Leo just lets out a soft breath.

"Fine." He doesn't sound too happy, but he knows arguing would do no good.

"It's time to get busy, secret agent style, good luck." Mikey rises, and the rest of them follow, laughing all the way down. You and Leo are the last ones there.

"I guess we're partners."

You send him a smile, but his face gives very little away.

"You should start packing. Make sure you're ready to leave at ten tomorrow." No other words are exchanged, and you're left staring at his retreating form.

When Vincent said it would be a cabin, you thought she was bluffing somehow. This entire situation felt cliche. Two partners staking out criminals in a cabin up in the snowy mountains. Pretty predictable. But it was legit. The interior was beautiful. It had the homey feel that just resonated with the holiday season.

It was crazy.

You never thought you'd be freelancing with the NYPD. In the past the cops were always on the other side of this. Being a vigilante tended to do that. But now you are helping. Making a difference. It felt great. Especially with perks like this.

"I'll be setting up in the room. Make sure the entrances and exits are secured. "

Right, you almost forgot about your absolute ray of sunshine.

Leonardo.

Truth is, maybe this particular situation was set up.

Let's have a replay.

~Earlier~

"Vincent said that she only needed the two of us to scope out from the cabin. That means the rest of us can get by with the busy work. Ya know I aint about to be stuck in a cabin watching snow fall off trees." Raph explained.

"Short attention span." Mikey interjected.

"My abilities would be better utilized devising something essential for combat." Donnie inputs.

"Then is it just me!" You complain. Raph smirks.

"See we know Mr. uptight is good at this stakeout thing. Plus ya get to spend an entire week with him alone."

Your cheeks color immediately.

"W-Why the h-hell would I want that!"

"Come on, we know you got the hots for Leo." Mikey teased.

"This way ya get to hang out with him, and we avoid all the boring stuff. It's a win all around." Raph states.

Donnie nods.

"Exactly. There is also a high probability for success on your part. It's proven when placed in an enclosed space with an individual you admire, certain feelings have an easier time of surfacing. The chemicals in our brains trigger-"

Raph smacks Donnie.

"What Einstein is trying to say is ya got a real shot. Just talk to the scmuck and you'll be fine."

You fidget.

"D-Do you really think so?"

"Definitely. Even Leo isn't dumb enough to pass up a babe like you." Mikey says it with a straight face, and you can't help but laugh. You pull them all into a hug, and their laughter follows.

"I love you guys."

"Love ya too dumbnut." Raph ruffles your hair as you giggle.

This is what has led you to your current predicament. The plan had worked exactly as you hoped.

Leo was focused, you expected as much, so maybe you just needed to try harder to get him to realize your feelings.

Piece of cake.

You got busy setting up in your room. You'd packed just enough to be comfortable. Sorting your clothes, and sliding on a more comfortable black shirt. You tied your shoes. You would need it if you were about to start scoping out the scene. When you'd gotten everything set up, you gave a little stretch. Heading for your door. You closed it, and as you turned, you'd almost run into Leo.

"W-Woah, sorry about that!"

You smile as he steadies you. He gives you a once over, saying nothing and you tilt your head. When he pulls away, his face is back to its usual stoic nature.

"We should get to work."

That's all he says. On the ride over you'd gone over the sections you needed to cover. Today you would take the south end and Leo was scouting the east. He placed your radio on the table, turning to you.

"We need to be thorough. Vincent already informed us what hours they operate. That's why we're doing surveillance right now. You're just taking pictures and reporting back. Don't engage."

You frown.

"I'm not some newbie Leo. I'm training to work for the FBI." You were a criminology student for goodness sake. You understood how stakeouts work.

"I'm just being careful."

You were used to being treated like a child. But this was different. You walk past him, taking up the radio a bit angrily. Your hand doesn't even touch the door, it just flies open and slams shut. Leo's eyes watch you walk down the short staircase, and he sighs.

"I'm being too tough on her."

He knew that, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Because his mind was still reeling from this current situation.

Leo gripped his own radio, heading out.

"I need to stay focused."

That would be a task in itself.

~~~

"Just take pictures, report back." You mocked.

"Who the hell does he think he is!!"

After two hours of trudging through the snow and snapping the necessary shots, you were back at the cabin. A wind blows, and you shiver gritting your teeth.

"Damn it!"

In your rage you'd forgotten to layer up. You only realized halfway across your path. Your rage at the situation had you venting for a while. As you make your way back up the stairs, almost sprinting through the door. Leo turns when he hears it slammed. He's standing by the fire. You could have been wrong, but you were certain you'd spotted relief on his face.

"You told me you were just a few minutes out on the radio. I was a little worried that something happened." The worry he shows almost makes you forget why you were even angry.

"I'm fine. " You grumble, heading straight for the fire. You reach your hands out to warm up your body. Leo takes in the way your body seems to shiver, and guilt hits him. He turns, grabbing the blanket from the couch. When he walks back over, he drapes it on your shoulders, and you look back as he kneels down next to you.

"I forget sometimes that we're not built the same. "

His eyes are fixated on the fire, and you just stare at him. As long as you've known Leo, he's always treated you as an equal. Even before he found out about your powers. You hug the cloth to your body, diverting your gaze. It's things like this that irritate you.

One minute he's a drill sergeant then the next he's so sweet. You deflate. You aren't sure if he notices, but he finally looks your way, the very same time you turn to inform him of the photos you got. Your eyes connect, and you're quite literally breathless. He's closer than you expected, and the dim glow of the flame adds to the allure of his beautiful gems.

"You should tell him."

It's that little voice at the back of your head. So you swallow any doubts, ready to spill your guts.

"Leo I-"

"You should get some rest. Make sure and change into warm clothes so you don't catch a cold." He stands abruptly. You can no longer get the words out. Because he's already heading for his room.

This was going to be a long week.

[wixhing0nastar]

About the Yang Xiao Long Abuse post.

Something occurred to me; Qrow may have also contributed to the abuse.

Back in Volume 3, when Yang was framed by Emerald?

Qrow accused her of either lying or being crazy.

Yang sought one of her family figures for validation, and Qrow called her crazy.

Then Qrow told her that Raven didn't care for her.

Would what Qrow did be considered abusive as well?

There's a lot in Volume 4 I dislike, which is why its my least favorite volume, and the Patch Scenes were among them.

But I feel that the way Qrow treated Yang was also a factor in Yang's mental/emotional state.

Also, regarding Yang's prosthetic. It appears Tai had planned to "call in some favors, pull a few strings" in order to get Yang her new arm, which shows that while Tai is emotionally insensitive to a degree, he is still caring about others and willing to help.

Ruby did say that Taiyang does love them both and is overprotective.

But a person can be loving and yet at the same time emotionally harmful to a degree.

Its strange, given the character we see of Qrow and Tai in RWBY Chibi, both being loving family members.

How would you, if you could make suggestions to the writing team, made ideas on how to improve things in V4?

Beyond just Yang, it feels there was too much in need of a revision here or there.

So to start with the question about Qrow, those instances wouldn’t count as abuse. For something to be abuse there has to be a pattern of this stuff happening, so the single comment about the Vytal Festival isn’t abuse, just a really messed up thing to say to her.

As for the comment about Raven, while it’s a little too blunt, it’s not something she shouldn’t hear. Especially since Qrow gave her the information to find her and knows Yang’ll be meeting her in the near future and he wants to prepare her for that.

Like as much as she was saying she was just looking for answers, you know deep down she’d been hoping for years if she found her, Raven would care enough about her to take care of her and Ruby.

That being said, in V6 when Yang and Ruby find him passed out drunk, their reaction does indicate he was doing this regularly at some point in their lives and they know how to handle it… and taking care of a passed out drunk adult isn’t the job of a kid(s) and is also a form of parentification. So likely he contributed in some regard when Yang was younger.

However, Qrow acknowledges that he has an issue and does try (successfully!) to work on himself to be a better uncle/mentor both to Yang and Ruby but also their friends as well, which is important to acknowledge.

And yes, I never meant to imply Tai doesn’t love them both. He clearly does, it’s just that love alone isn’t enough when you’ve got a couple of very young grieving children at home, and then a traumatized teenager with fairly severe PTSD. (And tbh I wouldn’t ever put much weight into the characterization in RWBY “cake butler” Chibi, lol).

As for V4, I think that the biggest issue the volume had overall was that they were trying to follow too many different storylines in too many different locations. Like they had to balance:

RNJR + Qrow’s trip across Mistral

Weiss escaping from her father

Blake and the Faunus Civil War

Yang and her PTSD/Recovery

Introducing Oscar and all the world stuff that comes with the reincarnation story

Introducing Salem and Team WTCH

I’d suggest combining at least a couple of these earlier on to give themselves more breathing room. Tbh Yang’s entire recovery arc barely happened (it was like three, 5ish minute scenes across the whole volume, which was also almost every scene she had) and Weiss’s arc was also fairly short and a bit underwhelming for how much it was built up, so I’d try to fold them into other storylines.

Honestly, I’d specifically suggest combining Yang and Oscar’s stories (they both are dealing with huge, unexpected changes in their lives they don’t know how to navigate) and Blake and Weiss’s (Weiss could go through a very similar emotional journey as she did in canon but from the opposite side by witnessing how Ghira and Kali treat her and Blake compared to her father), with Yang and Oscar catching up to RNJR at some point in the later part of the volume.

If they specifically wanted to write Tai as a good parent now (while also not retconning anything from V1-V3), one of the first things he’d need to do is admit that he was in the wrong in the past (like Qrow did in V7) and was not there for her. And then make it clear he is now and then ask after and follow her lead in terms of what she needs to heal instead of assuming he knows best.

[theimperiumchronicles]

Happy New Year! How are your characters celebrating? Do they even care? Are they still hungover? Is there a completely different celebration for the passing of time? 🎆

Happy New Year, sweet Tori!! <3

I'll answer for a few of my WIPs below the cut

@theimperiumchronicles - those who are topside celebrate in whatever city they are in. In Imperium, the Horsemen throw a huge masquerade party in the Palace for all of their friends. After the events of The Horsemen's Ball (Book 1 out this year), they are NOT going to celebrate topside EVER again. *snorts*

Uffern - Uffern is not on the same calendar as the Earthly realm and Imperium. Kellen hosts a massive ball as well and invites deities from other realms as well as the aristocracy of Uffern. This can cause some issues as not everyone he invites gets along with one another.

@devil-in-the-details-ay - Depending on which Pantheon you are referring to, the dawn of a New Year takes place at different times of the year. Some of the Pantheons are on lunar calendars. For those who celebrate on January 1, some feasts and festivities would seem relatively familiar to anyone on Earth. Astaroth and Yara celebrate on their private island with two other special people. Who those are? Well, keep reading to figure it out. *winks*

@behindthesemasks - There is a massive celebration at the plantation home with all of Melania's friends. There are rituals and offerings to the ancestors. Thanks are given for the previous year and prayers are offered for blessings to be bestowed in the year to come.

@inopinatus-ea - While Emery and Adelia will soon be forming their own traditions, currently Branoc hosts a huge bonfire at the Palace for his entire family and aristocracy of the Kingdom of Annisgwyl. There are ceremonies that take place involving both Raiden and Emery. It is a joyous time with plenty of food and drink, most people being passed out drunk long before midnight arrives.

@magical-mistakes-vm - Ceremonies are held in the great woods that surround the Nachtnebel estate. Offerings are given to the gods and the ancestors. Elmar of course calls upon the animals to take part as well. It is a high holiday for the Dunkelheit Coven. Festivities go long into the night.

@mystsoftime - Due to their ages, Dante and Trevarius long ago stopped celebrating the New Year. The turning of a new year is a bittersweet time for Renata. For the most part, Dante and Trev try to distract her from thinking about the year passing and all they have lost in the past year, and how long it has been since she lost her family and the man she loved, although her new love with Dante has been a huge balm to that ache. It may just be that this next year, they will have something extra special to celebrate *winks*

@princess-of-thieves-id - Both Inara and Diyan's families had huge celebrations at their palaces for the turning of the new year. However, now that they, and Arik, are aboard the vessel, a new celebration will have to be formed. What that will be? Not even I know, but I'm sure these three will come up with something. They are full of surprises for each other and me, after all.

@tapperhet-em - When Meeri's father was King, the Palace would hold a huge ball to celebrate the passing of one year, and the beginning of the next. There were fireworks, dancing, drinking, and feasting into the wee hours of the morning. Now, with the five friends being on the run, there will be no celebration this year. Once they are able to find a location where they are able to relax, that may change, but they have little to celebrate this year. There will probably be a fire in the fireplace and some animal the men hunted roasted over it. Also, thanks given to the gods that they have made it to the end of the year alive.

@whileyouwait-dm - When you are as old as creation itself, the passing of years has little meaning to you. Now, however, Djall has Miriana in his life and his realm. This puts a new spin on things. His Overseers and his Generals also have taken a general liking to her, so they are going to want to make her happy. As she is adjusting to life in a hell realm, a little party might be in order, one will have to see. *grin*

I hope this is what you were looking for <3

[dickens-daily]

CHAPTER V—THE BROKER’S MAN

The excitement of the late election has subsided, and our parish being once again restored to a state of comparative tranquillity, we are enabled to devote our attention to those parishioners who take little share in our party contests or in the turmoil and bustle of public life. And we feel sincere pleasure in acknowledging here, that in collecting materials for this task we have been greatly assisted by Mr. Bung himself, who has imposed on us a debt of obligation which we fear we can never repay. The life of this gentleman has been one of a very chequered description: he has undergone transitions—not from grave to gay, for he never was grave—not from lively to severe, for severity forms no part of his disposition; his fluctuations have been between poverty in the extreme, and poverty modified, or, to use his own emphatic language, ‘between nothing to eat and just half enough.’ He is not, as he forcibly remarks, ‘one of those fortunate men who, if they were to dive under one side of a barge stark-naked, would come up on the other with a new suit of clothes on, and a ticket for soup in the waistcoat-pocket:’ neither is he one of those, whose spirit has been broken beyond redemption by misfortune and want. He is just one of the careless, good-for-nothing, happy fellows, who float, cork-like, on the surface, for the world to play at hockey with: knocked here, and there, and everywhere: now to the right, then to the left, again up in the air, and anon to the bottom, but always reappearing and bounding with the stream buoyantly and merrily along. Some few months before he was prevailed upon to stand a contested election for the office of beadle, necessity attached him to the service of a broker; and on the opportunities he here acquired of ascertaining the condition of most of the poorer inhabitants of the parish, his patron, the captain, first grounded his claims to public support. Chance threw the man in our way a short time since. We were, in the first instance, attracted by his prepossessing impudence at the election; we were not surprised, on further acquaintance, to find him a shrewd, knowing fellow, with no inconsiderable power of observation; and, after conversing with him a little, were somewhat struck (as we dare say our readers have frequently been in other cases) with the power some men seem to have, not only of sympathising with, but to all appearance of understanding feelings to which they themselves are entire strangers. We had been expressing to the new functionary our surprise that he should ever have served in the capacity to which we have just adverted, when we gradually led him into one or two professional anecdotes. As we are induced to think, on reflection, that they will tell better in nearly his own words, than with any attempted embellishments of ours, we will at once entitle them.

MR BUNG’S NARRATIVE

‘It’s very true, as you say, sir,’ Mr. Bung commenced, ‘that a broker’s man’s is not a life to be envied; and in course you know as well as I do, though you don’t say it, that people hate and scout ’em because they’re the ministers of wretchedness, like, to poor people. But what could I do, sir? The thing was no worse because I did it, instead of somebody else; and if putting me in possession of a house would put me in possession of three and sixpence a day, and levying a distress on another man’s goods would relieve my distress and that of my family, it can’t be expected but what I’d take the job and go through with it. I never liked it, God knows; I always looked out for something else, and the moment I got other work to do, I left it. If there is anything wrong in being the agent in such matters—not the principal, mind you—I’m sure the business, to a beginner like I was, at all events, carries its own punishment along with it. I wished again and again that the people would only blow me up, or pitch into me—that I wouldn’t have minded, it’s all in my way; but it’s the being shut up by yourself in one room for five days, without so much as an old newspaper to look at, or anything to see out o’ the winder but the roofs and chimneys at the back of the house, or anything to listen to, but the ticking, perhaps, of an old Dutch clock, the sobbing of the missis, now and then, the low talking of friends in the next room, who speak in whispers, lest “the man” should overhear them, or perhaps the occasional opening of the door, as a child peeps in to look at you, and then runs half-frightened away—it’s all this, that makes you feel sneaking somehow, and ashamed of yourself; and then, if it’s wintertime, they just give you fire enough to make you think you’d like more, and bring in your grub as if they wished it ’ud choke you—as I dare say they do, for the matter of that, most heartily. If they’re very civil, they make you up a bed in the room at night, and if they don’t, your master sends one in for you; but there you are, without being washed or shaved all the time, shunned by everybody, and spoken to by no one, unless some one comes in at dinner-time, and asks you whether you want any more, in a tone as much to say, “I hope you don’t,” or, in the evening, to inquire whether you wouldn’t rather have a candle, after you’ve been sitting in the dark half the night. When I was left in this way, I used to sit, think, think, thinking, till I felt as lonesome as a kitten in a wash-house copper with the lid on; but I believe the old brokers’ men who are regularly trained to it, never think at all. I have heard some on ’em say, indeed, that they don’t know how!

‘I put in a good many distresses in my time (continued Mr. Bung), and in course I wasn’t long in finding, that some people are not as much to be pitied as others are, and that people with good incomes who get into difficulties, which they keep patching up day after day and week after week, get so used to these sort of things in time, that at last they come scarcely to feel them at all. I remember the very first place I was put in possession of, was a gentleman’s house in this parish here, that everybody would suppose couldn’t help having money if he tried. I went with old Fixem, my old master, ’bout half arter eight in the morning; rang the area-bell; servant in livery opened the door:

“Governor at home?”—

“Yes, he is,” says the man; “but he’s breakfasting just now.”

“Never mind,” says Fixem, “just you tell him there’s a gentleman here, as wants to speak to him partickler.”

So the servant he opens his eyes, and stares about him all ways—looking for the gentleman, as it struck me, for I don’t think anybody but a man as was stone-blind would mistake Fixem for one; and as for me, I was as seedy as a cheap cowcumber. Hows’ever, he turns round, and goes to the breakfast-parlour, which was a little snug sort of room at the end of the passage, and Fixem (as we always did in that profession), without waiting to be announced, walks in arter him, and before the servant could get out,

“Please, sir, here’s a man as wants to speak to you,” looks in at the door as familiar and pleasant as may be.

“Who the devil are you, and how dare you walk into a gentleman’s house without leave?” says the master, as fierce as a bull in fits.

“My name,” says Fixem, winking to the master to send the servant away, and putting the warrant into his hands folded up like a note, “My name’s Smith,” says he, “and I called from Johnson’s about that business of Thompson’s.”—

“Oh,” says the other, quite down on him directly, “How is Thompson?” says he; “Pray sit down, Mr. Smith: John, leave the room.”

Out went the servant; and the gentleman and Fixem looked at one another till they couldn’t look any longer, and then they varied the amusements by looking at me, who had been standing on the mat all this time. “Hundred and fifty pounds, I see,” said the gentleman at last.

“Hundred and fifty pound,” said Fixem, “besides cost of levy, sheriff’s poundage, and all other incidental expenses.”—

“Um,” says the gentleman, “I shan’t be able to settle this before to-morrow afternoon.”—

“Very sorry; but I shall be obliged to leave my man here till then,” replies Fixem, pretending to look very miserable over it.

“That’s very unfort’nate,” says the gentleman, “for I have got a large party here to-night, and I’m ruined if those fellows of mine get an inkling of the matter—just step here, Mr. Smith,” says he, after a short pause.

So Fixem walks with him up to the window, and after a good deal of whispering, and a little chinking of suverins, and looking at me, he comes back and says, “Bung, you’re a handy fellow, and very honest I know. This gentleman wants an assistant to clean the plate and wait at table to-day, and if you’re not particularly engaged,” says old Fixem, grinning like mad, and shoving a couple of suverins into my hand, “he’ll be very glad to avail himself of your services.” Well, I laughed: and the gentleman laughed, and we all laughed; and I went home and cleaned myself, leaving Fixem there, and when I went back, Fixem went away, and I polished up the plate, and waited at table, and gammoned the servants, and nobody had the least idea I was in possession, though it very nearly came out after all; for one of the last gentlemen who remained, came down-stairs into the hall where I was sitting pretty late at night, and putting half-a-crown into my hand, says, “Here, my man,” says he, “run and get me a coach, will you?”

I thought it was a do, to get me out of the house, and was just going to say so, sulkily enough, when the gentleman (who was up to everything) came running down-stairs, as if he was in great anxiety. “Bung,” says he, pretending to be in a consuming passion. “Sir,” says I. “Why the devil an’t you looking after that plate?”—“I was just going to send him for a coach for me,” says the other gentleman. “And I was just a-going to say,” says I—“Anybody else, my dear fellow,” interrupts the master of the house, pushing me down the passage to get out of the way—“anybody else; but I have put this man in possession of all the plate and valuables, and I cannot allow him on any consideration whatever, to leave the house. Bung, you scoundrel, go and count those forks in the breakfast-parlour instantly.” You may be sure I went laughing pretty hearty when I found it was all right. The money was paid next day, with the addition of something else for myself, and that was the best job that I (and I suspect old Fixem too) ever got in that line.

‘But this is the bright side of the picture, sir, after all,’ resumed Mr. Bung, laying aside the knowing look and flash air, with which he had repeated the previous anecdote—‘and I’m sorry to say, it’s the side one sees very, very seldom, in comparison with the dark one. The civility which money will purchase, is rarely extended to those who have none; and there’s a consolation even in being able to patch up one difficulty, to make way for another, to which very poor people are strangers. I was once put into a house down George’s-yard—that little dirty court at the back of the gas-works; and I never shall forget the misery of them people, dear me! It was a distress for half a year’s rent—two pound ten, I think. There was only two rooms in the house, and as there was no passage, the lodgers up-stairs always went through the room of the people of the house, as they passed in and out; and every time they did so—which, on the average, was about four times every quarter of an hour—they blowed up quite frightful: for their things had been seized too, and included in the inventory.

There was a little piece of enclosed dust in front of the house, with a cinder-path leading up to the door, and an open rain-water butt on one side. A dirty striped curtain, on a very slack string, hung in the window, and a little triangular bit of broken looking-glass rested on the sill inside. I suppose it was meant for the people’s use, but their appearance was so wretched, and so miserable, that I’m certain they never could have plucked up courage to look themselves in the face a second time, if they survived the fright of doing so once. There was two or three chairs, that might have been worth, in their best days, from eightpence to a shilling a-piece; a small deal table, an old corner cupboard with nothing in it, and one of those bedsteads which turn up half way, and leave the bottom legs sticking out for you to knock your head against, or hang your hat upon; no bed, no bedding. There was an old sack, by way of rug, before the fireplace, and four or five children were grovelling about, among the sand on the floor. The execution was only put in, to get ’em out of the house, for there was nothing to take to pay the expenses; and here I stopped for three days, though that was a mere form too: for, in course, I knew, and we all knew, they could never pay the money. In one of the chairs, by the side of the place where the fire ought to have been, was an old ’ooman—the ugliest and dirtiest I ever see—who sat rocking herself backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, without once stopping, except for an instant now and then, to clasp together the withered hands which, with these exceptions, she kept constantly rubbing upon her knees, just raising and depressing her fingers convulsively, in time to the rocking of the chair. On the other side sat the mother with an infant in her arms, which cried till it cried itself to sleep, and when it ’woke, cried till it cried itself off again. The old ’ooman’s voice I never heard: she seemed completely stupefied; and as to the mother’s, it would have been better if she had been so too, for misery had changed her to a devil. If you had heard how she cursed the little naked children as was rolling on the floor, and seen how savagely she struck the infant when it cried with hunger, you’d have shuddered as much as I did. There they remained all the time: the children ate a morsel of bread once or twice, and I gave ’em best part of the dinners my missis brought me, but the woman ate nothing; they never even laid on the bedstead, nor was the room swept or cleaned all the time. The neighbours were all too poor themselves to take any notice of ’em, but from what I could make out from the abuse of the woman up-stairs, it seemed the husband had been transported a few weeks before. When the time was up, the landlord and old Fixem too, got rather frightened about the family, and so they made a stir about it, and had ’em taken to the workhouse. They sent the sick couch for the old ’ooman, and Simmons took the children away at night. The old ’ooman went into the infirmary, and very soon died. The children are all in the house to this day, and very comfortable they are in comparison. As to the mother, there was no taming her at all. She had been a quiet, hard-working woman, I believe, but her misery had actually drove her wild; so after she had been sent to the house of correction half-a-dozen times, for throwing inkstands at the overseers, blaspheming the churchwardens, and smashing everybody as come near her, she burst a blood-vessel one mornin’, and died too; and a happy release it was, both for herself and the old paupers, male and female, which she used to tip over in all directions, as if they were so many skittles, and she the ball.

‘Now this was bad enough,’ resumed Mr. Bung, taking a half-step towards the door, as if to intimate that he had nearly concluded. ‘This was bad enough, but there was a sort of quiet misery—if you understand what I mean by that, sir—about a lady at one house I was put into, as touched me a good deal more. It doesn’t matter where it was exactly: indeed, I’d rather not say, but it was the same sort o’ job. I went with Fixem in the usual way—there was a year’s rent in arrear; a very small servant-girl opened the door, and three or four fine-looking little children was in the front parlour we were shown into, which was very clean, but very scantily furnished, much like the children themselves. “Bung,” says Fixem to me, in a low voice, when we were left alone for a minute, “I know something about this here family, and my opinion is, it’s no go.” “Do you think they can’t settle?” says I, quite anxiously; for I liked the looks of them children. Fixem shook his head, and was just about to reply, when the door opened, and in come a lady, as white as ever I see any one in my days, except about the eyes, which were red with crying. She walked in, as firm as I could have done; shut the door carefully after her, and sat herself down with a face as composed as if it was made of stone. “What is the matter, gentlemen?” says she, in a surprisin’ steady voice. “Is this an execution?” “It is, mum,” says Fixem. The lady looked at him as steady as ever: she didn’t seem to have understood him. “It is, mum,” says Fixem again; “this is my warrant of distress, mum,” says he, handing it over as polite as if it was a newspaper which had been bespoke arter the next gentleman.

‘The lady’s lip trembled as she took the printed paper. She cast her eye over it, and old Fixem began to explain the form, but saw she wasn’t reading it, plain enough, poor thing. “Oh, my God!” says she, suddenly a-bursting out crying, letting the warrant fall, and hiding her face in her hands. “Oh, my God! what will become of us!” The noise she made, brought in a young lady of about nineteen or twenty, who, I suppose, had been a-listening at the door, and who had got a little boy in her arms: she sat him down in the lady’s lap, without speaking, and she hugged the poor little fellow to her bosom, and cried over him, till even old Fixem put on his blue spectacles to hide the two tears, that was a-trickling down, one on each side of his dirty face. “Now, dear ma,” says the young lady, “you know how much you have borne. For all our sakes—for pa’s sake,” says she, “don’t give way to this!”—“No, no, I won’t!” says the lady, gathering herself up, hastily, and drying her eyes; “I am very foolish, but I’m better now—much better.” And then she roused herself up, went with us into every room while we took the inventory, opened all the drawers of her own accord, sorted the children’s little clothes to make the work easier; and, except doing everything in a strange sort of hurry, seemed as calm and composed as if nothing had happened. When we came down-stairs again, she hesitated a minute or two, and at last says, “Gentlemen,” says she, “I am afraid I have done wrong, and perhaps it may bring you into trouble. I secreted just now,” she says, “the only trinket I have left in the world—here it is.” So she lays down on the table a little miniature mounted in gold. “It’s a miniature,” she says, “of my poor dear father! I little thought once, that I should ever thank God for depriving me of the original, but I do, and have done for years back, most fervently. Take it away, sir,” she says, “it’s a face that never turned from me in sickness and distress, and I can hardly bear to turn from it now, when, God knows, I suffer both in no ordinary degree.” I couldn’t say nothing, but I raised my head from the inventory which I was filling up, and looked at Fixem; the old fellow nodded to me significantly, so I ran my pen through the “Mini” I had just written, and left the miniature on the table.

‘Well, sir, to make short of a long story, I was left in possession, and in possession I remained; and though I was an ignorant man, and the master of the house a clever one, I saw what he never did, but what he would give worlds now (if he had ’em) to have seen in time. I saw, sir, that his wife was wasting away, beneath cares of which she never complained, and griefs she never told. I saw that she was dying before his eyes; I knew that one exertion from him might have saved her, but he never made it. I don’t blame him: I don’t think he could rouse himself. She had so long anticipated all his wishes, and acted for him, that he was a lost man when left to himself. I used to think when I caught sight of her, in the clothes she used to wear, which looked shabby even upon her, and would have been scarcely decent on any one else, that if I was a gentleman it would wring my very heart to see the woman that was a smart and merry girl when I courted her, so altered through her love for me. Bitter cold and damp weather it was, yet, though her dress was thin, and her shoes none of the best, during the whole three days, from morning to night, she was out of doors running about to try and raise the money. The money was raised and the execution was paid out. The whole family crowded into the room where I was, when the money arrived. The father was quite happy as the inconvenience was removed—I dare say he didn’t know how; the children looked merry and cheerful again; the eldest girl was bustling about, making preparations for the first comfortable meal they had had since the distress was put in; and the mother looked pleased to see them all so. But if ever I saw death in a woman’s face, I saw it in hers that night.

‘I was right, sir,’ continued Mr. Bung, hurriedly passing his coat-sleeve over his face; ‘the family grew more prosperous, and good fortune arrived. But it was too late. Those children are motherless now, and their father would give up all he has since gained—house, home, goods, money: all that he has, or ever can have, to restore the wife he has lost.’

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