#rusty's prattles

[rustyvanburace]

Awhile ago, I found sprite rips of nearly the whole cast and NPCs in SMT IV (on Sprite Database). Since I had noticed that the sprites have different heights, and was so enamored by their attentive detail, I decided to make a little height chart for fun and for my own purposes. I even went a step further by slightly rotating bits so the sprites would be standing a little straighter and be slightly more accurate. This was what I had when I posted it (barring Flynn since he wasn't on the sprite sheet):

You'd think something like this would be pretty cut-and-dry. But at the time, I was messaged by someone who was actually bothered to see Jonathan taller than Walter. Their argument was that Jonathan's sprite has noticeably bigger proportions, as though appearing closer, and thus couldn't be an accurate representation of his height. And that since Walter is slouched, he would appear shorter than he really is (which I already did try to correct anyway).

Those are fair assessments and I noticed too that Jonathan's sprite is off compared to everyone else. I was told that I should downscale Jonathan a little to around Walter's shoulders, which I did. But to be perfectly honest -- and I mean this with respect to differing opinions and personal preference -- I wasn't too convinced by their argument and it actually bothered me being approached like that and told how the sprites should be. As though I had made the sprites. They're Atlus's own sprites.

And truthfully, that still bothers me even now. Everyone is of course entitled to their own personal preference and interpretations of characters -- I am hugely supportive of that. But it never sat well with me being told that Jonathan *has* to be shorter and that the game's own sprites were wrong, when I never even asked for their input. It actually left me feeling pressured to portray the characters a certain way in my work.

I don't believe that person actually meant any hostility and I'll ask to please don't bother anyone about this. However, as this did leave a negative impact on me, I would just like to break down my own observations and interpretations of the cast for my own sake.

First, I should add that the in-game sprites were probably not made from scratch, but are most likely downscaled versions of Masayuki Doi's artwork (with some minor edits to give them more natural poses). So of course, the first place to look would be Doi's own artwork.

A lot of this person's argument centered around the characters' proportions, particularly how even Doi's artwork has skewed proportions and are not accurate to scale. Their assertion was that Jonathan's artwork is disproportionately larger and that, when properly measured, he would actually be shorter than Walter.

So I looked into it myself. I took some incredibly high-res artwork of the Samurai -- these are likely press release assets and are the closest I can possibly get to having the unaltered originals. (You can find these on the Fandom MegaTen Wiki.) These are of equal resolution. I lined them up to compare:

(Pro tip: Paint.NET can open WebP files if you wanna compare these yourself. Or just use a site to convert them.)

I asked a couple other people to look at these with me. And we agreed: with all due respect to Doi as a professional artist, the proportions in the artwork ARE weird and (to my eyes at least) are not even equally proportionate to the characters themselves. Others have pointed out that Walter's upper half looks disproportionately smaller to his lower half, and I partly suspect that Jonathan's head is bigger than the rest of his body (even when considering the size of his hair).

Nonetheless, I tried my best to measure the artwork with the 8 heads rule. I even opted to measure a version where I tried to fix Walter's slouching. Granted, not perfectly.

I will fully admit that my attempts at measuring are far from perfect and have issues, as can be seen by the uneven feet measurements (though I partly suspect that may be on Doi). I've also tried measuring these with fixed proportions and found those were even more uneven. If anyone else could take a better shot at this, go right ahead.

But if my measurements can be trusted, then it would appear that they are approximately of equal height. Or at the very least, there wouldn't be a very big difference. Walter could be a bit taller if he straightened up, but I honestly do not think he is slouching too terribly where the difference would be huge if he wasn't.

But also to be frank, these are awful images to measure from lmao. The 8 heads rule really only works for figures that are front or side facing and standing perfectly straight, neither of which applies to these. The angles, poses, and even the uniforms make these very difficult to properly measure and gauge. I honestly don't believe that the artwork are reliable to work with. As I and others have observed, Doi's proportions vary and the artwork may not even have been drawn to scale. This is not at all indicative of Doi being a "bad artist", especially when the proportions seem more purposely stylized for visual effect. I am sure I would find the same thing in Kaneko's own work as well. But aside from this being a good exercise in general art study, my take away from all this is that the artwork just cannot be relied on for a conclusive scale.

All that said, I'm honestly not too bothered by the measurements not working out. Because, when looking at everything else, it's actually clear to me that Atlus had very deliberate intentions in the portrayals of their characters.

As I mentioned earlier, the sprites are doubtlessly shrunken down versions of Doi's artwork. And the sprites actually have some really diverse heights when you look at and compare them all, like Kaga being so small and Skins and Infernal Akira being incredibly tall. Now yes, all of these suffer from the same issues as the artwork in that their proportions vary or their poses would be hard to measure -- but that isn't even the point. The point is that the sprites' heights still vary next to each other and are not all exactly the same. That convinces me that Atlus did take careful consideration in scaling the sprites and had specific intentions for how the cast should be depicted. They're not perfect, but these are hardly what I'd call careless or sloppy.

Yes it can still be argued that Jonathan's sprite proportions are off, because they are. But that doesn't mean that there is no merit to his sprite or that it is inaccurate to what Atlus *intended* for him. The fact they made his sprite as tall as it is tells me that this is the height they intended for him, irrespective of his proportions.

What of Walter then? I do think Atlus actually did take his slouching into account when scaling his sprite (they did for Navarre's sidequest sprite). In that case then, if he straightened up, he would still just be about equal height to Jonathan.

And if so, that would actually align with the game's illustrated cutscenes:

Walter's slouching is a lot more noticeable in the second image, but as already mentioned, I still don't think he'd be much taller than Jonathan or even Flynn if he wasn't.

Since it may as well be brought up, there is also the official side-by-side promotional image as well. This one isn't as good since everyone is in a vaguely triangle-like formation, but this gets thrown around a lot too in debates, so may as well include it for what it's worth.

Now of course, it also needs to be said that Atlus aren't always consistent themselves and there's been instances of character heights varying in other media. Yet regardless, there is a recurring trend that can be observed in the sprites, the cutscenes, and the artwork if my measurements are at all accurate. As far as my own observations are concerned, Jonathan is either of equal height or just a little bit taller than Walter. And to be utterly frank -- I am much more inclined to believe the parent company's own portrayals over someone else's preference.

At the very end of all this, none of this really matters. Fans can portray a fictional character any way they want and there is nothing wrong with that. And -- unless Atlus were to release a book giving the cast's exact heights or were to make a full 3D remake that clearly shows this (both extremely unlikely) -- then who are we to really say what their heights truly are?

No, not even I. Despite my observations made here, I am not going to insist that any of this is true or canon, because I simply do not have the cast's exact canon heights in numbers lmao. This is not meant to tell people how they should portray Jonathan or Walter or anyone else, but merely my own observation. I am not going to tell people how they should portray, draw, or write them. Jonathan or Walter can be short, tall, or in the middle however anyone pleases in their own portrayal and headcanons. That is the beauty of fanworks and personal interpretation of a fictional work.

But just as much as I cannot tell someone they cannot have a short Jonathan, it is also equally not right for someone to tell me that I (or anyone else) cannot have a tall Jonathan. What bothered me about all this was not the person's own personal preference, which is theirs to own and I respect that. But the unsolicited insistence that Jonathan *must* be short, that this is canon, and positioning themselves as right while throwing shade on people who headcanon Jonathan as tall. I frankly found it all very arrogant.

Maybe I am no different by making this post though. But at least I have been able to express my *own* thoughts on the matter when I couldn't before, irrespective of what anyone thinks. Again I must stress to please don't go bother anyone about this. None of this really matters in the end and people are entitled to their own personal interpretation.

And if Atlus does come out and finally gives us canon heights for the cast, then I will happily accept that and be thrilled for new info about my favorite game. But until then or if ever, none of these characters have truly definitive heights and we simply cannot make that call. None of us are "right" or "wrong".

#again this is for my own sake in being able to express myself openly #shin megami tensei iv #smt4 #megaten #rusty's prattles

[green-socks]

Teenage Dream

Pairing: Willard Hewitt (2011 version) x f!reader

Summary: Moving back home turns out more exciting than you'd thought when you run into Willard, your crush from way back.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: rated M: car sex but not explicit, only mentioned. Aged up Willard so he's mid to late 20s in this!! They're at a bar but no one's actually drunk.

Notes: I don't know if anyone but me is into this but I just wanted to hear it for the boy. Give the boy a hand!! I love him so. Much love, as always, to @a-reader-and-a-writer for betaing and for putting up with my booty-calling ass at all times <3

If you've seen the video of Miles dancing to footloose while driving, that's 100% grown up Willard, just so you know.

Moving back to Bomont didn't feel nearly as bad as you once had thought it would. Getting out for a few years felt good, sure, and seeing more of the world even better. But now it just felt nice to return home and be closer to your family. Besides, your work allowed a remote position, so it didn't much matter where in the world you were as long as the job got done. And Bomont allegedly had great internet these days, so you figured why not.

Your friend Iris from school had also moved back two years ago, so you knew there was at least one good friend there waiting for you already. It would be nice to catch up with her and be closer again.

And what better way to catch up than go out to the closest bar (which was in the next town) where the clientele wasn't exclusively well over 55. It was a good bar. They had great cocktails and gave discounts to anyone who sang karaoke, so the people were generally in great spirits.

Around midnight, after a couple of drinks that provided an unnecessarily vivid throwback to your teenage years and a powerful duet of I Will Survive, you were on the hunt for some water.

Stumbling right into the solid chest of an actual tall drink of water wasn't on your mission plan but you were willing to roll with the punches. Only before you even had the chance to raise your head and see who the chest belonged to, the man happily shouted out your name.

"Wait– Willard?"

(It really shouldn't have surprised you that in this corner of the world you always had a chance of running into someone you knew.)

That face you recognized. That face hadn't changed basically at all in the nearly ten years that it had been since you last saw him. The rest of his body was what didn't compute. The Willard from school had been tall too, obviously, but also kind of lanky with long flailing limbs. The Willard in front of you now was huge, with broad, strong shoulders and biceps that– okay yeah you were staring. But seriously, that t-shirt had to be a size or two too small.

The man himself fortunately seemed oblivious to your gawking, and instead wrapped you in a quick but enthusiastic hug.

"Great to see you! I heard you were back but didn't expect to run into you just yet. What's it been, nearly ten years? Man, time flies," he prattled on, releasing you and looking you over as if he was cataloging if anything had changed.

"Good to see you too," you finally managed, looking up at him. "Yeah, I moved back just three days ago. But you never left, did you?"

"Hey, I went to college!" He pouted in mock offense. "But yeah, then I came straight back. Big cities freak me out." This time he pretends to shiver. "If I need to experience the wild world for a weekend I go stay with Rusty, but otherwise I'm good here."

"Oh, how is she doing? I haven't seen her in years either."

"She's doing great! She lives with her girlfriend Annie now, and they have a really cute dog," Willard said excitedly.

You knew that Rusty had a girlfriend through Iris who was the one in the loop for all gossip and followed everyone on social media, still keeping up with everything. You hadn't bothered with that so much, but it was still nice to hear these updates. You hadn't been that close with Willard or his gang, but you had some classes together and became friendly enough that way.

"How about you?" you asked. "You and Ren still going strong? Still do everything together?" You smiled a little teasingly because this one you already knew the answer to. You had heard that they had mostly taken over Ren's Uncle Wes's car shop, and apparently business was going so great people came there from out of town in search of better service.

"I accidentally put on his shirt tonight because our laundry keeps getting mixed up. Does that answer your question?" he deadpanned, making you laugh.

"That explains it. I thought your arms looked about ready to burst out of that shirt."

You immediately snapped your mouth shut, feeling embarrassed. Why would you point that out?? He brought up the shirt and your mind immediately went there again, but you didn't need to say it for crying out loud.

Thankfully Willard only laughed. "I know right? I don't understand how it keeps happening, it's not like we even have the same size most of the time. You should have seen one time I put on his sweatpants to run to the store, I thought I was gonna get arrested for public indecency or something!"

You choked a little bit on your water at that mental image.

"I'm sure the old ladies at the market were quite delighted," you chuckled.

Willard snorted. "Yeah, I got some looks alright, though I wasn't sure if they were into it or if they thought I needed Jesus."

The two of you continued catching up, moving farther to the edge of the dancefloor where you could talk without having to shout. You had no idea how much time had passed until Iris came to knock on your shoulder. After greeting Willard, she turned back to you, pulling you aside to talk a little more privately.

"How would you feel about me staying here in town for the night? We can totally head home together, but I have a chance to get laid if I stay here. Maybe you could get a ride with Willard?"

"You wanna go and have a sleepover with Alex?" you teased her. You knew Alex was her regular companion here, that she was kind of hoping would turn into something more, so you couldn't begrudge her.

"Could I?" she tried a half apologetic, half pleading smile. "You and Willard seem to be hitting it off." Her eyes were pointedly looking in the man's direction, who was still hovering a few feet behind you.

"Speaking of which. You didn't warn me he looks like that now!" you hissed. She was the one who was supposed to relay all the interesting knowledge to you!

"Well, I mean, he doesn't do anything for me. I didn't think it was important," she shrugged.

"But you know I was super into him in school, obviously he does it for me!"

"That was ages ago! I'm barely into people I liked two years ago let alone in school!"

"But it's Willard," you gesticulated broadly with your hands, hoping to emphasize the point.

"Alright, fine, I understand. But we're getting off track here." And with that Iris side-stepped you to talk to the man himself. "Hey Willard, could you take her home tonight? I'm staying in town, but I trust you to keep her safe," she smiled sweetly, playing all innocent.

You noted three things. One, she used the words take her home, and you were definitely going to kick her for that later. Two, Willard didn't even need to be buttered up, because of course he would help an old friend. And three, he honest to god puffed out his chest at Iris telling him he was trustworthy. Even tipped his hat, giving her his word that he'd take care of you.

Goodness gracious, you might not survive this night.

"Are you sure it's not too much trouble? And that you're good to drive?" you wanted to check.

"I've only had one beer tonight, I'm cool. And it's no trouble at all, I promise," he smiled.

With that, Iris took her leave, but not before giving you a hug, demanding you check in later, and threateningly muttering something about crushed testicles to Willard. He looked appropriately nauseated.

Clearing his throat a couple of times, Willard turned to you again. "Uh.. uhm, do you want to go home right now or, uh, do you wanna dance for a bit?"

"I could dance for a bit, yeah!" You were so proud of yourself for sounding totally cool and normal.

The dance floor was unfortunately packed because the night was at that point where everyone had had just the right amount of liquid courage to let loose.

But no one let loose like Willard.

You had never before danced with a guy, or anyone really, who was so willing to absolutely tear up the dance floor with no regard to how it looked. Of course, Willard looked fantastic – Ren was a great teacher after all – but more important was the fact that he was genuinely having fun with it.

It was infectious. Not just to you, but to the people around you as well, though it seemed Willard was unaware of the effect he had.

You were breathless with laughter, and sweaty as hell, but you didn't mind. That is until the song switched to something slower and sensual, and Willard held you so close you knew he could feel your sweat-soaked back. What had started as an overexaggerated "sexy" grind making you laugh wasn't that funny anymore. It had morphed from a joke into something actually hot, and you were breathless for a whole different reason.

Before you could get too in your head about it, the song changed again, this time to an upbeat rock song. You continued dancing, but the energy from before was gone and the crowd on the dancefloor was thinning, so you noticed another need taking over.

"I'm kind of hungry, would it be okay to leave now?" you asked, shouting up to Willard.

"Sure, what did you have in mind?"

You wanted a burger. So that's what Willard got you.

The night air felt exceptionally lovely after the sweaty bar. You ate your burgers on the bed of Willard's truck, because he was surprisingly strict about not getting a mess inside the car.

On the drive home, you talked more about what both of you had been up to in the last almost decade, while still jamming along to the radio. There was no stopping Willard.

"In college Ren dragged me to cheerleading tryouts. He had that gymnastics background and thought it would be fun, but, honestly, back then I thought that cheer was just for girls. I obviously don't think that anymore." He rolled his eyes – you did too. "Anyway, I got sucked into it. Now I coach two teams, so that's a lot of my free time spent with that. It's gotten pretty popular in Bomont lately!" he gushed.

"I don't doubt that, with you coaching," you chuckled.

"What do you mean?" He glanced at you.

"You know, 'cause you're so likable. You're the kind of person who gets others excited too, and I'm sure you're a really great coach."

"Oh. Thanks."

Willard was trying to hide his smile, but there was no hiding that blush. You thought it looked adorable.

As the conversation went on, you moved from trading stories to light flirting and playful banter, the mood in the truck relaxed but cheerful. At one point you made Willard laugh so hard he had to pull over to an empty lot not too far from home to avoid crashing. After the last giggles subsided into quiet hiccups, you just continued talking. It took you nearly thirty minutes of conversation to realize that a) Willard never started the car again and you had just been standing still in that same spot where he pulled over, and b) you two had drifted closer to each other while talking, so much so that Willard's face was mere inches from yours.

Which made you realize your gaze kept dropping to his lips a whole lot. They just looked so.. kissable. You'd always thought so. His lips looked so soft and plump, his smiles so warm, that you desperately wanted to lean in and get a taste.

It was nearing two am but you were wide awake, nerves alight with excitement from Willard's proximity.

And unless you were much mistaken, his pupils were fairly dilated, looking at you just now.

"In my experience, if someone looks at your lips a lot it means they want to kiss you," Willard murmured quietly.

You couldn't even bother to pretend to be embarrassed about getting caught.

"Yeah, I think that's true," you breathed, looking into his eyes that were now boring into yours.

"Do you think it's true or is it true?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, I want to kiss you."

"Oh thank god," Willard groaned and cupped your cheek, pulling you in the rest of the way.

-

2:24 am

"Should we stop? You said you don't want your truck to get messy," you panted.

"I've had a shift in priorities. I no longer give a shit about my truck," he murmured into your neck without even stopping the movement of his hips.

-

Your text to Iris at 2:59 am:

I may have just lived a teenage dream of mine and fucked Willard Hewitt in his truck. Now home ok. Talk tomorrow❤️

You fell asleep immediately, and let the responding reaction gifs and exclamation points be tomorrow's problem.

#willard hewitt #footloose 2011 #willard hewitt x reader #let's hear it for the boy #i accidentally wrote something #miles teller fic

[sincerelyamee]

[How I imagine Gojo teaching 5-year-old Megumi about his Ten Shadows technique aka recipe for disaster]

Most sorcerers with flashy innate techniques typically awake their powers around five or six years old - right around the same magnificent age they discover crayons are wonderfully effective for decorating more than just coloring books (RIP white walls everywhere).

Innate techniques in particular have a mind of their own, essentially “calling” to their user like an overly eager pet begging for treats and attention. One day, baby sorcerers just wake up, and bam - suddenly shadows are tugging at their skin or flames are sparking from their fingers, no warning or parental consent form required.

Little Megumi has been feeling the very first stirrings of his Ten Shadows for weeks now. Random surges of cursed energy that are definitely not just from sneaking extra pudding cups. Mysterious but insistent tugging sensations from the shadows, like ghostly hands trying to initiate a game of tag.

So, it’s time he gets some pointers on it, right? At least, that’s what Gojo decided.

On one peaceful morning, Gojo whisks out a whiteboard and markers from… somewhere. With such theatrical showmanship, one would think he was auditioning for Broadway itself. Yet the children serve as the ultimate tough crowd, responding only with raised eyebrows and curious glances.

Still, Gojo strikes a scholarly pose.

“Alright, my star pupil - Today’s lesson is on your badass upcoming technique!” Gojo announces, gesturing for Megumi to sit front and center.

As Megumi hesitantly takes his place, Nanako leans over to Mimiko. “How come he just happens to have a random whiteboard ready? Where does that even come from?” She whispers. Mimiko just shakes her head, too busy stuffing her mouth with chips.

“To start, your very first summons will be these adorable Divine Dogs!” Gojo proclaims enthusiastically. “Though at first, they’re more like Divine Pups…”

His marker zig-zags wildly as he tries sketching two majestic wolves. Emphasis on tries. The end results look something akin to a pair of mutant chickens wearing tutus. That elicits poorly contained giggles from the girls. Megumi simply stares, somehow experiencing all seven stages of grief simultaneously.

“Those are some weird chickens, nii-chan.” Tsumiki blurts out with all the sophistication of a future art critic.

“They look like they survived a nuclear blast,” Nanako adds.

Why does she even know what a nuclear blast is? Kids these days. Gojo makes a mental note to berate Geto later for letting the devil’s spawns watch too much TV. But since he’s Gojo, he forgets about it immediately. For now, he blinks down at his drawings, then back at the giggling, unimpressed kids.

“Clearly you heathens lack the artistic vision to appreciate my creative genius.” Gojo huffs before erasing his previous attempts in stunned outrage.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up easily, or ever.

Like a runaway freight train, Gojo charges full steam ahead. His Louvre-worthy artistic visions expand stranger the longer the ridiculous lesson continues. With each stroke of the marker, Gojo’s illustrations venture further into worlds unknown by man or beast. Eldritch creatures populate the poor whiteboard as head scratching and sideways glances spread among the children.

Megumi watches in dismay as the hours tick painfully on, the squeaking hamster powering his brain throwing itself from the rusty wheel. The last of his sanity packs its bags and flees into the abyss rather than witnessing more of Gojo’s artistic assaults against nature. At the rate this is going, he half expects his first summon to be a potato with Gojo’s face haphazardly drawn on it.

A glaring oversight dawns on the boy - for all Gojo’s useless prattling and monstrous drawings, explaining the actual summoning process appears a mere afterthought, if the man is even capable of actual thoughts at all. When asked, he simply waves off the question with a dodgy uh-huh. Just as effective as inquiring an orange tabby on quantum physics.

“It’s not that hard.” Gojo shrugs dismissively. “You’ll figure it out.”

Megumi rubs his temples, contemplating if it’s too late to grab Tsumiki and flee this madhouse, perhaps taking the twins as well. No one deserves such ruthless torture. Gojo may be well on his way to becoming another villain overlord with questionable artistic skills, but this? This right here marks Fushiguro Megumi’s very own villain origin story.

Staring blankly ahead in post-traumatic shock, Megumi knows one truth with the certainty of death itself - never, ever again will he make the fatal error of taking a lesson from Gojo. No, he must figure out this Ten Shadows technique solo going forward. Though now Megumi ponders whether deliberately summoning all those nightmarish abominations is something best avoided altogether.

read the whole thing here on Ao3: A Family of Villains - A wacky villain origin story/Kinda a slice-of-life fic exploring the logistics of 18-year-old sashisu being the greatest villains in the jujutsu world while on the run and raising 4 kids. Mostly fluff and humor of course.

#gojo x megumi #platonic relationships #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #gojo fluff #megumi fluff #megumi fanfic #megumi fushiguro #jjk fushiguro

[adore-laur]

THE WAY OF LOVE

— brandy meets a mysterious boy who gives her the best night of her life 🪩

——

LONG BEACH, 1972

Tizzy heels teetering like a playground seesaw.  

Fizzy soda bubbling like a carbonated jacuzzi. 

Dizzy vision warping like a kaleidoscopic mirror. 

The Pike Amusement Park holds the key to all these buzzing delights. With striking colors and candy smoke, whirling rides and drunken carnies, electrified screams and chic ensembles, Brandy has been stung by the metaphorical buzz. She feels like she's stumbled into a thrill-seeking utopia or a timeless rotunda of adrenaline. Her focus blurs as she waits in line for the Ferris wheel. The red, blue, and yellow gondolas spin around, almost making her nauseous on top of the pungent scent of powdered funnel cakes and greasy cheese fries wafting throughout the summer air.  

When the wheel stops with a rusty creak, a group of rowdy boys scramble out and usher themselves through the maze of metal bars to go for another ride. They flock behind her and laugh obnoxiously. They can hoot and holler all they want, but Brandy finds boys her age annoying. They're always arrogant and talk like they're taller than the trees.  

The unoccupied red gondola awaits the next passenger, and before Brandy can take a step forward, she's pulled into it by her older sister, Shannon. They set their woven purses under the seats and then sit down. The wheel moves up one spot to let the boys on, and Brandy peeks over the edge to find them jokingly rocking their gondola to mess with their friend, who's still stepping on. She scowls at their immature antics. They're creating such a ruckus! All she wants is a quiet and peaceful ride to the top to admire the fair from a bird's-eye view.  

"I just downed a slushy in record time, so I might vomit," Shannon informs through a hiccup. 

Brandy twists back around. "What flavor was it again?" 

"Cherry. I swear they spiked it with something." 

"Hey, at least it'll match the color of our gondola. Just make sure to vomit in your purse and not on my new sneakers, please."  

She'll be livid if her spotless Nike Blazers that took literally months to save up for get ruined. 

Shannon rolls her eyes, but they quickly widen when the wheel jolts and starts up again. Brandy grips the edge behind her and looks down at the ground, which slowly becomes farther away. She can just barely see the boys doing the same thing.

She peers out at the fair when it comes to a standstill at the very top. Rides swoop, people parade around, and food trucks sparkle in the sun. She's appreciating all the excitement when suddenly an object faintly hits her shoulder. Something falls next to her thigh, and she picks it up with a confused dip to her eyebrows. It appears to be a piece of caramel corn. Is there a hole in the gondola above them? Is she hallucinating from all the vivid colors? Is it raining caramel corn? 

Her ears tune into quiet snickering and hushing coming from below. Of course, it was those ratty boys, Brandy thinks to herself. She grumbles under her breath and moves to sit directly next to Shannon so she's out of their aim. 

The wheel begins to spin again, putting the boys above them. They're prattling on and gesturing wildly about some sports game they desperately need to catch on television tonight. Brandy can hear athletes' names and statistics spewing out of their mouths, but she can't understand anything. Sports genuinely bore her to death. 

Brandy and Shannon get stopped at the bottom after only two rotations. They both huff in disappointment, mutually hating how this Ferris wheel rips people off. Grabbing her purse, Brandy follows Shannon out and carefully watches her step so she doesn't trip in front of anyone. They walk through the exit gate, and Shannon strolls ahead to throw away her empty slushy cup in a nearby garbage can. A sharp whistle makes Brandy stop and look for where the noise came from. It conducts her vision up to the yellow gondola.  

Great. She could've guessed that they were catcallers. 

She just scoffs and continues walking. God forbid her shoulders are showing! All she's wearing is a dandelion-colored jumpsuit that's not even terribly revealing. She went thrifting a while ago to find something that looked like an outfit Cher, her inspiration, wore on television a month ago. It's not an uncanny resemblance, but it makes her proud. 

"Hey!" 

Brandy halts again at the deeply spoken exclamation. She closes her eyes and mentally prepares herself for what one of them will say to her. She's gotten used to hearing strange and creepy comments, especially since she lives in a tourist city, and she usually chooses to ignore them. She doesn't know why she's about to entertain this certain circumstance. 

Rolling back her shoulders, she turns to face the dreaded gondola again. She's surprised at what her eyes land on. A boy is leaning over the edge and looking at her. He has long, curly hair flowing down to his collar bones, and he wears a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A few buttons are undone, revealing two gold necklaces glimmering against his sun-kissed chest. Black sunglasses sit atop his head to hold his lion mane back. With a sharp jawline, pink lips, salient cheekbones, hypnotically green eyes, and a dimpled smile with pearly bunny teeth, Brandy thinks his face must have been sculpted by Michelangelo. He appears to be a rich boy who dresses like he's running late to a casual business meeting. What could he possibly want other than to bug her? 

Crossing her arms, Brandy waits for stupidity to leave his alluring mouth. Her gaze is locked onto his so she doesn't become entranced by his pillowy lips, the near exact color of the strawberry taffy that vendors are pulling by hand down at the beach.

The mysterious boy folds his arms along the edge, placing his chin on them as if mockingly teasing her impatient stance. Standing under direct sunlight, she's starting to swelter. Or is it his intense stare and unreadable smirk that's making her sweat? She hastily gestures her hand to get him to say something so she can leave. 

Two of his fingers curl back to beckon her closer. She puts her hands on her hips and begrudgingly marches towards him, tilting her head even more to maintain eye contact. He licks the right crease of his quirked lips and circles his pointer finger. "Are you perhaps a fan of Cher?" 

"Yes... why?" Brandy asks cautiously. If he even attempts to talk negatively of Cher, she'll have to climb up the wheel and kick his perfect teeth in. 

"Your outfit just looks like something she wore recently, that's all," he says while tossing some caramel corn in his mouth. Was he the one who threw it? "I really dig it." 

She rubs the back of her neck, feeling foolish for thinking he'd be another one of those arrogant boys she refuses to waste her time on. "Oh, thanks. She's my idol. Her fashion sense is unreal." 

He nods his head as he chews. "She's far out. Do you watch The Sonny and Cher Show?" 

"Every Sunday night on CBS. I always make sure I have no plans so I don't miss it." 

A dimple indents his face. "They're hilarious, aren't they? They make my belly ache from laughing so hard." 

"Totally." She steps closer when the wheel moves up one spot, raising her voice over the surrounding noises. "When Cher sings at the end, the entire world stops!" 

"Exactly!" His palm cradles his cheek. "Hey, can I ask you something kind of random? I have two—" 

"Let's go, Brandy, it's hot!" Shannon calls out.  

She whips her head around to find her sister tapping an impatient foot and miserably fanning her face with her purse.

"Coming!" Brandy shouts. She smiles and waves to the boy before she begins walking backward. A peace sign and a wink are thrown her way. The last thing she sees before she turns around is his lips mouthing the syllables of her name. 

She speeds up to join Shannon, who has a knowing look on her face as they head toward the gate to leave the fair. Brandy just elbows her waist. She'll never hear the end of it if she reveals the conversation that was exchanged. 

On her way home, she realizes she doesn't know the boy's name. It doesn't really matter; she probably won't ever see him again. 

—— 

Later That Night  

It's nearing midnight when Brandy and Shannon arrive at Ruby's Roller Disco. Brandy is fond of partaking in the disco scene, but this is the first time she's been to this place. Shannon had told her it's where everyone goes nowadays. However, she prefers what she's used to, which is the old, rundown nightclub in West Hollywood that she's sure is going out of business soon because their only customers are her and elderly couples. 

Striding through the open doorway, strobe lights and sequined fabrics immediately set the lively tone. The dance floor is packed with bodies roller-skating and grooving to the music under the spinning disco ball. Brandy has changed into skintight bell bottoms and a front-knot floral blouse so she's comfortable while skating. As she glances around, she can't help but notice how different the energy is here from the place she usually goes to. There are more people her age and much more space to move. Also, better music, she hates to admit. They play "Hey Jude" about three times a night at the other disco. And yes, they play the entire seven minutes of it. It doesn't take long for her to develop a migraine by the time she leaves. She's positive she'll be going home with a migraine here as well since a smoking lounge is to her right, the smell of weed and cigarette smoke penetrating the enclosed area.  

Shannon has jetted off somewhere to rent skates for them both. Brandy sees people either making out to the slow song playing or passing joints around even though they're supposed to be doing that strictly in the lounge. Everyone seems to be minding their own business in their own dome of happiness despite the raging world outside, polluted with protests and violence. If anything, dancing with strangers is an escape.  

Her sister returns, holding two pairs of skates, and hands the pastel pink ones to Brandy. They quickly tie them and then roll out onto the dance floor as a sultry song ends. A guitar riff kicks in, and "Strange Kind of Woman" by Deep Purple booms through the speakers. The skaters begin coasting mid-tempo, finding a partner on the floor or dancing alone. Brandy's not a fan of rock songs, so she moves to the edge of the floor and waits for the next one. On the other hand, Shannon has already found a man to grind with. She looks like she just fell in love with him. 

Just as Brandy starts swaying her hips to the chorus, two hands land on her shoulders from behind. She's about to turn around and smack whoever did it, but the warm palms leave just as fast as they came. Suddenly, a tall boy is standing before her. Not just any boy, though. It's the one from the fair. He's chewing bubblegum with a beaming smile like he just won the lottery. He's sporting a blue, sparkly two-piece outfit made of denim. The trousers are tight against his legs, and the matching long-sleeved shirt is tucked into them with only one button clasped out of the four. Flecks of glitter are spread on his exposed chest. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, and a few curly strands are left out to frame his face. 

"You're the caramel corn boy," Brandy blurts over the music.  

"And you're the girl with the bangin' fashion. I love a pair of bell bottoms." His eyes trail up and down her body. He then snaps his fingers twice as his face twists in thought. "It's Brandy, right?" 

She smiles, watching the lights dance across his face. "Yes. I didn't catch your name at the fair." 

"Harry Styles," he says while tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "I've never seen you around here before." 

"This is my first time here, actually. I usually go to the Slug Bug nightclub in West Hollywood." 

His nose wrinkles with a teasing grin. "Slug Bug? Isn't that where old people go?" 

"No!" She scoffs. "Well, yes. It's just calmer there, you know? I really vibe with the place." 

"I'm just pulling your leg." His hands rest on his hips as he looks around. "You here with anyone?"  

He smacks his gum and raises his eyebrows like the smuggest man Brandy has ever seen. She usually hates people like that, but she finds it somehow attractive when he does it.  

"I'm with my sister. She's probably making out with a guy she just met." 

"Wow," he says with a laugh before glancing behind him. "Wanna dance with me? I can show you some stellar moves." 

As the words leave his mouth, "Love Is Life" by Earth, Wind & Fire begins playing. Everyone starts skating slower as the lights turn from cool to warm tones. 

"You don't have skates on, so dancing with me might be a little difficult." 

"You underestimate me, Brandy," he drawls, leaning closer. "You're looking at the smoothest cat at Ruby's. Ask anyone." 

Brandy juts her hip out and crosses her arms. "You talk a big game, Harry Styles. Show me what you got." 

He blows a perfect bubble with his gum until it pops. "Turn your pretty self around, then."  

Biting her lip, she spins around on her skates so her back is facing him. Harry puts his hands on her shoulders and guides her to the dance floor. He stops amid the dancing crowd, touching her waist and swaying her to the groovy bassline. Brandy uses the toe stop on one of her skates to keep from straying. 

"Weak moves!" she tells him. 

Harry's mouth lingers next to her ear. "Oh yeah? Stay here. I'll be right back."  

Brandy feels the absence of his touch and looks behind her to see him striding over to the DJ booth. She decides to skate a lap around the floor as she waits. She peeks a glance at Shannon, and her assumptions are correct: her tongue is down a man's throat. Good for her.

Moments later, she hears the familiar opening of a song she can never escape — "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass. The song came out a couple of months ago and has been at the top of the charts, playing on the radio constantly. Hearing her name in a hit song is a blessing and a curse. It's a great song, but she always gets teased whenever she mentions her name. 

Brandy parks herself back in her spot and sees Harry shimmy over to her, making jazz hands with a grin plastered on his face that the turquoise lights motion over. He leans back and rolls his shoulders, singing along as he grooves to the horns.  

He spreads his arms out when he reaches her and says, "I just bribed the DJ with a nifty fifty. Please tell me no one has done that for you before." 

"How many other girls do you know named Brandy? This happens round the clock." She grimaces. "Well, not the bribing part. And did you say fifty dollars? Are you joshing me right now?"

Harry clicks his tongue. "Damn, I thought I was being clever. And yeah, fifty dollars. No biggie." 

Brandy shakes her head in disbelief. "Okay, so your name is Harry. Has anyone ever played you "Harry Braff" by the Bee Gees?"  

His arms drape over her shoulders as he sways with her. "My last name's not Braff."  

"My name's Brandy, but I'm not a fine girl." 

"I beg to differ," he says with no hesitation. He twirls her before asking, "What other artists do you listen to, Brandy?" 

She squints one eye as she thinks. "Cher, obviously. Diana Ross, Barbara Streisand, Aretha Franklin... any female powerhouse, really." 

"I think you're the love of my life." 

"Oh, shut it." Brandy holds her palm to her warm cheek. "Why, do you like them too? Shannon, my sister, only listens to Tony Bennett, so I have no choice but to be the sibling with good taste in music." 

"Is she sixty years old?" he teases with a laugh. 

"That's what I say! She's trying to get me to see him at some opera house, and I keep making excuses not to go." 

"My heart goes out to you in this challenging time. But to answer your question, yes, I listen to all those women. They're sick, so how could anyone not?" 

"A lot of men are scared of successful women, especially in the music industry." Brandy shrugs and moves closer to him. "They're just talking a bunch of jive." 

Harry nods. "Personally, I think Cher could kick them all to the curb. Men don't like that she knows what she wants." 

"How have I not met you before? I think you might be the love of my life too." 

His lips tick upwards. "What's your favorite Cher song?" 

She grasps where her heart is at the impossible question. "Gosh, probably "Do You Believe in Magic" from her Backstage album. It's a cover, but it's way better than the original. What about you?" 

He plays with the ends of her hair and replies, "Mine is "Lay Baby Lay." That one is so groovy." 

"That's such a good one. I love the—" Brandy is cut off when someone suddenly gropes her ass as they fly past on skates. She freezes, blood rushing to her ears. The music drowns out as she tries to determine if what happened was real. She feels like she's underwater. The only sound is her heartbeat on high alert. She slowly looks at Harry, seeing his nostrils flare and his darkened eyes gaze over her shoulder with spine-chilling intensity. Seconds or minutes pass by, Brandy doesn't know for sure, before she witnesses his posture straighten and jaw tense. 

When the man flies past again, Harry quickly brushes past her and grabs the collar of his shirt to stop him. The force is enough for him to stumble on his skates and tumble to the floor.  

Harry crouches and sizes him up. "You have a death wish or something?" he threatens, chewing his gum faster. 

"Chill out, dude," says the man as he tries to unleash himself from the tight grip. "You're acting crazy." 

"Go take a look in a fuckin' mirror, you bogue piece of shit," Harry spits before standing back up and kicking the man's calf.  

Brandy's hand is swiftly taken in his grasp as he leads her out the door of the disco. Her skates are still on, so she lets go and moves in front of him to glide backward on the pavement.

"I could've handled it," she mutters, letting the fresh air cool her skin. 

Harry doesn't say anything as he pulls out his car keys. A beep echos, and Brandy turns her head to see the headlights of a yellow Ferrari flash. As he opens the passenger door for her, he asks, "Do you smoke?" 

"Um, only weed. No cigarettes or anything like that." 

He hums and gets in the driver's seat. "Wanna share a joint?" 

She's thankful that what just happened isn't being dwelled on. She'd rather obliterate it from her mind. However, there's palpable tension severely present. 

"Sure," Brandy says, getting in his car. "Wait, I have to return my skates before I forget." 

Harry laughs to himself. "You really think they'll notice they're gone? Everyone who works there is higher than a kite." 

"Oh," she breathes out. "Sorry." 

He starts the car and rolls the windows down. "Want the first hit?" 

"Is it laced?"  

Shannon had taught her to always ask that. His eyebrows scrunch as he shakes his head genuinely. Brandy watches him lift his butt up on the seat, taking out a bronze lighter from his back pocket. The streetlights reflect off the metallic shine of the case as he opens it. He then opens the glovebox and shuffles through junk before finding a container of pre-rolled joints. His nimble fingers pick one up, bringing it to Brandy's lips. She holds it while Harry lights it, never breaking eye contact. She inhales and rolls her eyes back from the addictive smoke filtering through her body, letting it ooze down to her lungs before exhaling it out the window. Harry's eyes are now transfixed on her lips. 

Brandy passes it to him and says, "This is a really nice car." 

"Thanks, I stole it," he mumbles around the joint. 

"What?!" she exclaims with a cough. 

"Psyche. Relax, yeah? I bought this bad boy a couple of months ago." 

"Don't tease me like that." 

"How would you prefer me to tease you, then?" 

"You're a chump!" She takes another hit before passing it to him again. "Listen, I should check on Shannon. If that guy who groped me is any telltale sign of the type of boys in there, I don't want her to be alone." 

"Did you both drive here?" he asks before hollowing his cheeks and inhaling more smoke.  

"No, we walked from our house. We live together on Brayton Avenue." 

"I'll drive you guys home. I'm not letting you walk around past midnight." 

Brandy stares at him. "You're not a serial killer, are you?" 

Harry smirks, spreading his legs more comfortably. "If that were the case, I think they'd have my face plastered in every newspaper." 

"Not unless you're clever," she mumbles under her breath. "I just met you, so I have a right to be cautious." 

"I know, Brandy," he says with a laugh. "I respect that. Now go, I'll find some tunes to play." 

She takes one last hit before she gets out of his car and skates toward the disco entrance. She feels the weed take effect rather quickly; Harry must get the good stuff.  

Sliding across the dance floor, she quickly spots Shannon in her neon pink top. Brandy coasts up to her and takes her hand. "We're leaving!"

"What?!" Shannon replies with a frown. "Why? We just got here!" 

"I don't feel safe. The boys in here are all weirdos." 

"Did something happen?"  

"No," Brandy lies. "C'mon, I'll go to that stupid Tony Bennett concert if we can just leave." 

Shannon inhales deeply. "Fine. But Brandy Jean, you better keep your word, or else I'll kick you out of the house." 

"I pinky promise. That boy from the fair earlier is going to drive us home. And before you say anything, I trust him." 

"He's here?" 

"Yes, Shannon, for goodness' sake. He's very kind." Brandy leads her away from the dance floor and toward the exit. "Also, don't worry about your skates. They won't notice." 

They grab their shoes and skate out the door to Harry's awaiting car. His front door and the back one are open, and she can see him fiddling with the radio dial while holding the joint between his teeth. 

Brandy shoves her sister in the backseat. "Harry, Shannon. Shannon, Harry," she introduces promptly.  

He removes the joint and puts it out while glancing at the rear-view mirror. "How's it hangin'?" 

"Hi! You must be the guy my sister is in love with." 

Brandy twists back in the passenger seat and pinches Shannon's knee with the full intention of having it hurt. She then makes a gesture of cutting her throat before turning back around. 

"Is that so?" Harry asks smugly.  

"Ignore her. Pretend she isn't here. She's a hologram." 

He just laughs and begins driving down the street. On the way, "Someday We'll Be Together" by Diana Ross & The Supremes plays on the radio. The windows are down, and the California breeze whips their hair around. 

Eventually, he parks in their driveway after being given directions. Shannon pats his back as a thank you, then hops out of the car and stumbles through the front door, not even bothering to take off her stolen skates. The door shuts, and she turns on what seems like every single light in the house. She's high out of her mind. 

Brandy faces Harry and says, "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate you not killing us." 

She's joking, but crime in California has been at an all-time high lately, so she's technically not. She won't tell him that, though. 

"'Course," he replies, taking his bun out and messing with his untamed hair. "Look, I'm sorry about that guy tonight. He shouldn't have touched you." 

She sighs dejectedly. "Obviously, he shouldn't have touched me. It's fine. I'm glad you knocked some sense into him." 

"It's not fine, Brandy," he insists with sincerity. "Don't downplay it. The prick should be in jail." 

"I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay, we won't," he says gently. A few beats of silence pass before he raises his finger and takes something out of his pocket. "Change of topic. Remember at the fair when I was going to ask you a question, but your sister interrupted?" 

Brandy squints at the small pieces of paper in his hand. "Yeah. Go ahead and ask me." 

"So, here's the lowdown. The reason I talked to you in the first place was because I noticed your killer outfit. Then, when you said Cher was your inspiration, I remembered something I had bought a while ago. It's a crazy coincidence." He holds out two paper stubs before continuing, "I have tickets. I was so bummed when I thought I'd never see you again, but fate must be working its magic today." 

"Tickets?" Brandy's eyebrows furrow. "For what?" 

"For the best night of your life," he says with a boyish grin. "Would you like to come to The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour with me in Hollywood tomorrow night? None of my friends want to go with me because they think it's lame, but—" 

"I thought those sold out in less than a day!" she interrupts, her mouth open in shock. "If you're razzing, Harry, it isn't funny." 

"Brandy Baby. Hush for a second, yeah?" 

Her heart skips a beat. "Don't fake me out, please. I would do almost anything to see her in person."

"Shh..." He rests his pointer finger against her lips. "I wouldn't joke about Cher, sunshine. The ticket is yours if you want it. Unless you want me to sit all by my lonesome." 

She whispers, "You're serious?"  

"Cross my heart," he says, making the gesture. 

"I-I would love to, Harry. That's so thoughtful of you to ask. For you to ask me out of all people, I mean... I'm honored." 

He plays with her moon pendant, looking up at her through his eyelashes. "You've got this energy about you—enigmatic, tantalizing. I think we'll have a wonderful time together." 

"You think so? I might faint when I see her." 

"I think it'll be life-changing, Brandy." 

She can't reply because his palm places itself on her cheek, rendering her speechless. Before she can process his touch, his lips pucker and slowly meet with her opposite cheek. They're damp and cold but somehow spark a flame inside her body.  

Harry leans back and stares at her parted mouth. It feels like minutes pass as she waits for his next move. His hand moves down to the side of her neck. He leans forward slightly and leaves the softest kiss to her pulse point. Butterflies break out in her stomach, her breathing becomes shallow, and her skin grows hot. Her knees almost give out when his teeth nip the spot he just planted his affection on. 

"All right, I gotta skitty," he says, like nothing just happened. "I'll be waiting out here tomorrow at six-thirty on the dot. If you're not ready, you'll be in trouble. Time doesn't wait for Cher." 

Brandy has to blink several times to bring herself back to reality. "Okay. Sounds good. Gosh, I'm so stoked. Wait, what do we wear? I need to plan an outfit. Agh!"

Harry looks her up and down. "Something foxy." 

She smiles shyly and fidgets with the knot of her blouse. "I'll try my best. We both need sleep for tomorrow, so I'm going to go inside. Get home safe, Harry." 

"Always do," he says while twirling his keys. "Peace out, Brandy. Dream with me tonight."  

"I don't think I'll be able to fall asleep. And I expect you to wear something foxy as well." 

He runs his tongue across his teeth with a wide smile before kissing two fingers and holding them out in a peace sign as he retreats to his car. He revs the engine and reverses out of the driveway, speeding off into the night. 

Brandy can't help but agree that fate really has worked its magic today. 

—— 

Tomorrow Evening 

Brown silk and pearls galore. If Harry wants foxy, Brandy is giving it to him tenfold. 

She carefully adjusts the thin straps of her mid-thigh dress in her vanity mirror. The single layer of ruffle that dips into her cleavage is tight against her shimmering skin. The long pearl necklace wraps twice around her neck and then drips down to her navel. White platform heels heighten her generously, and a matching leather purse completes her accessories for the evening.  

She peeks at the Kit-Cat Klock on her bedroom wall--only one minute until Harry is supposed to arrive. She exhales a nervous breath and makes sure she looks presentable. 

Bold mascara on top and bottom eyelashes—check. Glossy lips from her sister's coconut balm—check. Beige eyeshadow with winged eyeliner—check. Lacy black lingerie—check and check again.  

She's gambling with her luck, but from what she's seen, Harry oozes sex appeal, and it'd be a shame if nothing happened tonight. 

She hears a honk from outside her window as she sprays her citrus Dior perfume all over her body. He's here. Shutting off the lights, she practically skips down the staircase to open the front door. Shannon isn't home tonight, so she doesn't have to worry about her big sister's protectiveness about where she's going and who she's with. She walks down the concrete steps and toward his car. She hasn't even looked up yet, too focused on each step so she doesn't humiliate herself and trip over her clunky heels. 

The sound of keys jingling has Brandy eventually gazing up at him, and she almost trips at the sight. There Harry stands, leaning against the door of his yellow Ferrari with his ankles crossed over one another. His hair is let loose, and the curls seem more defined than before. He wears a geometric-patterned suit with plum and olive colors, the pristine blazer left open over a black button-up. On his feet are dress shoes that are polished to the nines. However, the most noticeable part of his outfit is a single strand of pearls around his neck. 

He must notice her staring because he laughs at the coincidence. "Seems like I've got a copycat on my hands," he says. 

"I wouldn't have taken you for a man who owns pearls," Brandy admits as she stops in front of him. "My mistake." 

He hums deeply. "I wouldn't have taken you for a woman that could just about drop me to my knees. My fuckin' mistake." 

She smooths her palms over the lapels of his blazer. "You look very handsome, Harry. This suit could put Sonny to shame." 

"Quite the compliment, doll. Dare I say that Cher has nothing on you tonight?" 

She narrows her eyes at him. "You don't mean that. No one can look as good as Cher, and you know it." 

"Doesn't matter because we" — he attempts to slide across the hood of his car but only gets halfway before he stumbles off slightly — "are going to have the best night of our lives. Got a cassette tape ready and some Cola for the drive there." 

Brandy amusedly watches him open the door for her with a dramatic bow. She maneuvers around the car and sits in the plush passenger seat. He closes the door before jogging over to his side, but not before tugging up his pants, adjusting his collar, and teasing his hair in the side mirror. She laughs at his antics and gets comfortable in the leather seat of his Ferrari. 

Once he's in, he turns the key in the ignition and presses a button on the radio to fast-forward the cassette tape already in the slot. He places a hand on the back of her headrest to reverse out and begins driving down Brayton Avenue toward Hollywood. It's about a thirty-minute drive to the CBS Television City venue where the show is being held. The seating time is at seven, so they should arrive on time.  

The cassette stops at "Sentimental Lady" by Fleetwood Mac. Brandy grins at his choice.  

"Know this one?" Harry asks while turning it up. 

"I do." 

He flicks his blinker on and smoothly merges onto the interstate. "Sing with me. Don't go shy on me now." 

She brings her knees up on the seat. "I'll only sing if you do." 

"Deal." 

They drive down the boulevard and past the palm trees, singing along to the voice of Bob Welch the entire way there and drinking ice-cold bottles of Cola. Before they know it, the building comes into view, which is a black and white structure with a large parking lot in front that's packed. There's orange tape surrounding it for the show being held tonight, and hordes of cars coming in are being directed by security. 

Brandy can feel the excitement and the buzz. It's something she wants to experience all the time. 

"You ready for the night of your fuckin' life?" Harry asks, fixing his hair in the rear-view mirror. 

"Fuck yes," Brandy says. 

"Atta girl." He nudges her side. "You should swear more often. Life's more fun that way." 

They eventually get out of the car and begin following the crowd, tickets in hands and heels clicking on the pavement. When they reach the door, they show their tickets and are ushered to the room where the show will be held. Brandy assumes they'll be part of the live studio audience tonight. She's never gone to a variety show before, and it's exhilarating.

Once they're situated in their seats, which are far back from the stage — but it doesn't matter since she's about to see Cher fucking Sarkisian — they wait for the show to start. 

"Gonna faint yet?" Harry teases from beside her. 

"I genuinely might." 

"I'll pretend to also faint so it's not as embarrassing for you." 

"Gee, thanks," Brandy mutters with a crooked smile. 

Over the next half hour, they converse about what songs they think will be sung tonight or what they will joke about. Brandy can't get over how handsome Harry looks in a suit. She notices his eyes keep gazing down at her pearls, burning her cheeks. She feels so comfortable around him. There are no awkward pauses in conversation since they have so much in common. 

When they're in the middle of talking about what the best flavor of soda is, the lights suddenly go down, making everyone gasp. It's starting! 

A spotlight shines on the stage, music starts, and the screen lifts as Sonny and Cher walk out. The crowd goes wild, whooping and hollering for America's power couple. 

Brandy could cry. Her idol is in front of her, dressed in a white dress with pastel polka dots of pink, orange, blue, and red. Sonny wears a matching button-up under his white suit as they take center stage, holding hands. They sing a short opening song and then introduce themselves before getting right into the jokes. 

Throughout the show, Brandy and Harry laugh until their stomachs hurt. The dynamic between Sonny and Cher is unlike anything she's ever seen. The timing of the jokes, the chemistry, and the love are so magical to witness in real-time. After a hilarious and dirty joke, Brandy looks at Harry and sees him slap his knees in laughter, eye crinkles, and dimples on his gleeful face. It makes her swoon. The venue is cracking up, an infectious joy that only a room full of people gathered for the same thing could bring. 

At the intermission, some people leave their seats to go out and smoke or talk to others. Brandy is admiring the stage when Harry's hand suddenly nudges hers on the armrest. His pinky strokes the back of her hand. Her eyes are glued forward, but she feels it. It's the only thing she can focus on. 

His palm slowly wiggles under hers, and he interlaces their fingers together. They stay in that position until they have to clap when Sonny and Cher come back out. 

At the end of the show, Cher comes out by herself to sing a song to close the night. The golden spotlight behind her sets the intimate ambiance. She walks to the middle of the stage, and Brandy is blown away by her ethereal beauty. She wears a pink, frilly dress and a matching flower clip in her sleek black hair. 

"The Way of Love" starts, causing the room to go completely silent as she sings the bittersweet tune. Everyone's eyes are on her. Everything is still. It's like it's just her in the room.

During the song's crescendo, Brandy can feel Harry's gaze on hers as Cher's powerful voice belts for the audience. She doesn't want to look away, but when she feels him lean in, his musky cologne invades her senses as he squeezes her hand. A kiss to her temple is planted, blooming into heat that spreads over Brandy's face. She turns her head and whispers, "What was that for?" 

His green eyes glimmer in the low light. "You just look really pretty," he whispers back. "And happy."

She smiles giddily and continues watching the performance. When the song ends, everyone gives a standing ovation as Cher bows and exits the stage. The cheers continue long after she's gone, and Brandy looks around the room in awe. She feels like she's in a dream. It went by so fast. 

"Let's skitty," Harry says in her ear while clapping. "The traffic will be terrible getting out." Brandy nods and grabs her purse. Harry intertwines their fingers together and leads her towards the exit. 

It's dark when they reach outside. People are talking loudly about the show and smoking by their vehicles. Harry starts his car once they're both in, turning the headlights on and tapping his finger along the steering wheel. A whole minute passes, and he still hasn't started driving. His eyes are zoned out on the dashboard. 

Brandy waves a hand in front of his face. "You okay?" 

He looks over at her almost shyly. "Would you want to stay at my place tonight? I've got plenty of room for us to chill." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," he says. "I'd regret saying goodnight to you so soon." 

Brandy contemplates the offer. She hasn't stayed at a boy's house in a while but trusts Harry. She's had such an enjoyable time tonight that she'd hate herself if she just went home. 

So, she says, "I'll stay with you. Do you have a phone? I'd need to call my sister before she calls the fuzz and they show up at your house." 

"I have a wall phone in the shape of a heart if that's what you're asking." 

"I wasn't, but that's cool," she replies, mesmerized by how his lips form around certain words. "You know what else is the shape of a heart?"  

His elbow leans on her headrest. "Sock it to me." 

Brandy smiles and places her forearm on the console. "Your lips." 

Harry swallows, then asks, "What else about my lips?" 

"They're the color of strawberry taffy. Not sure if they would taste like it, though." 

"You know what they say, right?" He glimpses at her mouth. "There's only one way to find out." 

Brandy doesn't know whose lips crash into whose first, but it doesn't matter because they taste better than any sweet in a candy shop. Their lips part with a wet pop, and Harry mimics the noise with his mouth. Brandy giggles and kisses his bottom lip hungrily. 

"Coconut," he murmurs, twirling a strand of her hair around his pointer finger. "Far out." 

Some glossiness from her lips has transferred to his own, so Brandy wipes it off with her thumb. "Let's head back before it ends up in other places," she suggests boldly.

Harry gives her an open-mouthed smile, then kisses her cheekbone before palming the wheel and reversing out of the parking spot. During the drive, he shows her new cassette tapes he bought recently, gushing facts about the artists and pointing out the guitars used in certain songs. Brandy listens the entire time with intrigue in her eyes. 

After thirty minutes, Harry pulls into his driveway. His house is much smaller than expected for someone with decent money. It's a yellow ranch-style home with a collection of neatly trimmed landscaping, including shrubs and a single sycamore tree. The garage door is see-through, and the house's white trim pops compared to the dull neighboring houses on the street. 

Brandy's trance is broken when Harry opens the passenger door for her and holds out his hand. She takes it. He guides her to his front door, lets her step past the threshold first, then flicks the lights on. 

"I'm gonna change really quick," he murmurs in her ear before brushing past her and strolling into another room.  

Brandy takes the opportunity to observe his multifarious decor and interior design. The copper-colored carpet in the living room feels cloud-like beneath her feet as she wanders around. Assorted sizes of orange, yellow, and white low tables are placed around the conversation pit, and potted ferns contrast nicely with the overload of orange. A yellow leather couch is embedded around the pit, and a table in the middle has a vase of dahlias and a collection of glass bongs. An inlet in the farthest wooden wall holds a box television and a piano. Drawers, books, and a radio surround the remaining space. 

To her left is his kitchen. A small island with a basket of bananas is surrounded by oak cabinets. More plants are either on the refrigerator or hanging from the ceiling. Everything is organized. Everything is placed with purpose. Everything is Harry. 

Speaking of the devil, Harry returns wearing what looks like pajamas, and Brandy laughs at their luxuriousness. He has on a red, floral check-print jacket and matching pants that could be straight from a fashion catalog for all she knows. He's shirtless underneath, nothing but a cross necklace on his chest, and his feet are bare as he walks toward her. 

"It looks like you're just wearing another suit."

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in. "It's totally a suit." 

She snorts. "I wouldn't expect anything less." 

Harry flops backward onto the couch and rests his hands on his stomach. Brandy thinks it's the most endearing thing in the world. 

"Stop starin' at my paunch," he says with a grin. "Can't help that Cola makes me bloated." 

She sits next to him. "It's cute. The butterfly tattoo is a nice touch to your paunch." 

"Yeah? Is that a kink of yours? My paunch?" 

"Let's stop saying paunch. And no, you dork, it's not a kink. I'm just not a fan of boys with rock-hard abs and steroid-pumped biceps. I like a natural body." 

His knuckle runs along the exposed part of her thigh. "Same here." 

Her skin heats under his touch. "Can we smoke weed together again? Let's end the night on a high." 

"Oh, she's a comedian now?" Harry groans, gets up, and walks to a table in the corner of the room. "You take a girl to one comedy show, and suddenly she thinks she's Joan Rivers," he mutters teasingly. 

"Get bent! I'm funnier than you; just admit it." 

He cackles, and she turns to watch him put a vinyl on his portable record player. She notices that his hair has transitioned into a middle part sometime throughout the night. 

"Chain of Fools" by Aretha Franklin crackles through. He walks back to her with a joint and a lighter, then boldly straddles her thighs on the couch. Brandy just about dies. 

Harry lights the end of the joint and asks, "Do you know how to shotgun kiss?"

Her eyes widen. "I know what it is, but I've never done it. I've always wanted to try." 

"It'll rock your world." He shifts on her lap to get more comfortable, and she can thoroughly feel his cock through his pants. He must not wear underwear to bed. It should disgust her, but her mind is too frazzled at their current position to care. 

Harry takes a hit from the joint, keeps the smoke in his mouth, and then cradles her cheeks with gentle palms. He leans in and places his thumb on Brandy's bottom lip to open her mouth, resting it on the bottom row of her teeth. The smoke releases down her throat. The feeling is euphoric, intimate, and sensual. 

She breathes out, the residual smoke blowing in his face, and she falls into a trance, looking at his lustrous lips. "I thought you're supposed to kiss someone when you do it." 

He twists her pearls around his finger and gives them a light tug. "C'mere, baby. I'll kiss you all you want." 

His hand holds her head as he guides her lips to his. They connect, and it's like ecstasy unfurls in her heart and stomach. With unhurried movements from the weed, their lips move against each other like they're the last drop of water in the desert oasis.

Harry's tongue slips into her mouth, so she sucks on it tenderly as her hands linger on his waist. He's still straddling her, his bulge pressing against her. His free hand holds the joint away from her as they move their lips until they're numb and swollen. Brandy eventually breaks from the kiss to catch her breath, leaving Harry whimpering helplessly.  

"Can I please touch you?" he begs with bruising kisses to her neck. "Tell me what you like. What makes you feel good. Where it feels good." 

"You can touch me." 

"Where? Tell me where it aches, honey." 

Brandy lets out a soft and short whine. "Everywhere." 

"Where do you need my hands? Talk to me." 

"My neck. It feels good when I'm choked." Her eyes snap open at what she just exposed. She immediately backtracks by adding, "But we don't have to do it if you're not—" 

"Don't move," Harry interrupts, springing off her and dashing to his bedroom. 

Brandy can hear shuffling and drawers opening and closing. She toes her heels off as she waits, then stands up to roam to his record player. She sifts through the stray vinyl on the table, eventually removing the Aretha Franklin disc and replacing it with an Ike & Tina Turner one. She meticulously places the needle so it plays "Come Together."  

Brandy is admiring his wall art when she feels something cold against her arm. She looks down and has to do a double-take at what she sees. Is that a dog collar? 

"I'm not into barking like a dog for a man," she says, head completely empty while gazing at the black leather. 

He kisses the pearls at the back of her neck. "This isn't for you, Brandy. You've already got a choking toy." 

He tosses the collar onto the nearest table, then reaches around her front to wrap her pearls around his hand until they're tight and restrained. His other hand fidgets with the zipper at the back of her dress. 

"May I?" he asks. 

What she's wearing underneath will surely come as a surprise to him. She nods, eyes rolling back from the pressure. His fingers trail along her upper spine until they reach the zipper. Brandy can feel his breath on her skin as he slowly pulls it down until the material loosens against her body. 

"Fuckin' hell." Harry nudges his nose into the side of her neck and moans softly. "What's this, hmm? Been hiding this from me?" 

Brandy feels him bring the straps of her dress down her arms. She turns around, Harry's grip on her pearls leaving, and she shimmies the silk material down her legs the rest of the way while keeping eye contact with him. The lace lingerie is revealed, and Harry's eyes are glued to her chest like a teenage boy. He walks backward until he bumps into the table, bending down and blindly grabbing the collar from behind him.  

"Put it on me," he says breathlessly like he can't get air in his lungs. 

She takes it as Harry turns around, taking off his own pearls so she can fasten them around his neck. He holds his hair up so Brandy can loop the collar belt through the clip. She doesn't tighten it too much, but just enough so a pleasurable pressure should be felt. 

"Good?"

He hums. "Perfect." They walk down into the conversation pit. Brandy waits for Harry to initiate something.  

"Lie down for me, love," he says while he drapes his pearls over the television. "Legs spread." 

She bites her lip to hold back an excited smile, then lies on the couch, obeying his command by spreading her thighs. Harry takes off his jacket and sits on his knees between her legs. His fingers run along the lace detailing of her lingerie. 

Brandy squirms from the tension and whines. "Touch me. You said you would."

"Patience. You said I can touch your neck. I've got two hands, baby, so where do you want the other one?" 

She palms her core and moans at the sensitivity. She's wet already. "Here. I need you right here." 

His fingers move the fabric covering where she needs him, circling his fingers in her wetness and pushing them into her. Her back arches, and she reaches her hand around the back of his neck to tug the collar's strap. His head tilts back, his mouth parting from the choking sensation.  

Harry pulls her strand of pearls as two of his fingers begin slowly thrusting in and out of her. She breathlessly moans, her airway restricted. She moves her hand to squeeze his cock through his pants. 

"Don't do that. You'll make me lose it right now." 

"Make me come. Please, Harry." 

His fingers thrust faster and curl skillfully to hit all of her sensitive spots, his thumb pressing down on her clit to bring her to her climax. He balances on his knees to get more leverage, his necklace dangling over her body. Brandy grabs onto his wrist, which flicks with each movement. 

"You're fuckin' beautiful under me and falling apart like this." 

"I'm almost there. Keep going. I feel it." 

He grinds against the couch. "Where do you feel it?" 

Her hand presses against her lower stomach. Harry removes his hold on her pearls and places his hand over hers. "Yeah? Feel that pressure? I'll make it feel better, I promise." 

He moves his mouth down to lick along her entrance, and that's what does it for Brandy. She cries out as the pressure pops like a needle in a balloon. She comes around his fingers, holding onto his bulging, tattooed arms. 

"Harry... oh, it feels amazing." 

He removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth to taste her arousal. "You did so good for me." 

Once Brandy winds down from her orgasm, Harry gets up and walks to his kitchen. She hears the faucet turn on, and he returns with a damp towel soon after. He wipes her with the lukewarm fabric, then sets it on her stomach for a bit, the warmth feeling heavenly on the slight pressure still there. 

"Come to bed with me," he says lowly, removing the collar. "We can smoke and giggle until we crash." 

"Don't you want me to take care of your... you know, boner?" 

He shrugs. "Sometimes it feels good if I let it ache until morning. Plus, I'm high and drank, like, a gallon of Cola, so I don't think it'd taste any good." 

"Fair point." Brandy reaches out her arms. "Take me away, Casanova." 

He laughs and pulls her up, then quickly grabs his lighter and another joint before guiding her to his room down the hallway. His bedroom is simple, with several shelves and drawers along every wall. His bed is low to the ground and stays with the house's orange theme. 

Harry climbs into his bed and points to his dresser. "You can wear one of my shirts if you'd like." 

Brandy opens it and searches through endless ripped and faded T-shirts. She removes her lingerie and grabs a Blue Öyster Cult tour shirt to put on. She then crawls onto the memory foam mattress. 

"Did you know," Harry says slowly, "I'm fuckin' stellar at doing a Cher impression?" 

Brandy notices the weed he smoked throughout the night, which makes him talk more deeply and languidly than he already does. "Say psyche right now." 

His head on the pillow whips toward her like a meerkat. "No joke. Give me a song to sing with her voice." 

He's totally bullshitting, but she goes along with it anyway because his being high is incredibly endearing.  

"Okay, do "All I Ever Need Is You"." She flips on her side to face him. "Let me sing Sonny's parts. I bet I could do his voice." 

"You go first. I don't want to be outshined." 

Brandy takes a quick hit of the joint before clearing her throat. "Honey, all I ever need is you," she sings, trying to imitate Sonny's unique voice. She feels like she's floating from the weed in her system, and she's never felt happier. 

"Winters come, and they go," Harry joins in loudly, and Brandy loses it as his terrible impression. "And we watch the melting snow!" He belts the lyrics with one hand on his chest and one in the air. "Sure as summer—" He chokes on the last word and eventually gives in to the giggles. They laugh hysterically until tears brim their red-rimmed eyes, and their sides cramp. 

Brandy looks over at him, finding his nose scrunched up. His laughs come out silently, and she's absolutely enamored. 

Once their laughter dies, she sighs happily and rolls onto his chest. "That was gnarly and not in a good way." 

"Like you were any better." 

She sticks the joint between his teeth. "We'd make an awful tribute band." 

"You'd have to dress up as Sonny," he mumbles around it. "Can you grow a mustache?" 

"Better than you could. Can you pull off Cher's wardrobe?" 

He removes the joint and exhales smoke up toward the ceiling. "I think I could wear a dress, yeah. But I don't think it would flatter my paunch very well." 

"Here we go again," she says lightheartedly. "'Bring back paunchy men' should be your new advocacy." 

He laughs, pinches her hip, and then reaches over to shut the lamp off. After stamping the joint out in the ashtray on his nightstand, Brandy feels his arms wrap around her body. She nuzzles further into his cozy chest, feeling his long curls tickle her cheek. 

Pure ecstasy courses through her bloodstream. The weed heightens every touch, every graze of his fingers, and every breath he takes from under her. Suddenly, his lips move to her ear, soft puffs warming her skin as his legs tangle with hers. He murmurs in a sleep-laden voice, "Dream with me, Brandy Baby." 

She stays silent and sinks deeper into his embrace. Little does he know that every second spent with him so far has already felt like a dream that no psychedelic could ever bring about. 

—— 

The Morning After 

Soft, melancholic piano notes wake Brandy from a deep slumber. It's a haunting composition with drawn-out notes that echo into the bedroom, where she lies under the warm sheets alone. Harry must be the one supplying the morning serenade. 

She's too drowsy to place her finger on what the song is, so she stretches her sore legs and swings them over the edge of the bed to follow the wistful melody. It leads her to his living room, the rising sun casting golden light beams on the carpet. Dust particles float, and birds chirp outside the open windows. Soon enough, she finds Harry sitting in the glow of the dawn, his back turned to her as his nimble fingers run along the glossy piano keys like it's second nature to him. The brass pedals groan and creak under his sock-clad feet, his head bobbing to each note that beautifully flows out. He's wearing a grey turtleneck sweater tucked into black slacks, and his hair is pulled into a loose bun.  

He pats the wooden stool beside him, sensing her lingering presence. "Sorry I couldn't give you a morning snuggle. I woke up with weed brain." 

Brandy walks over and sits next to him. "What are you playing?" she asks, watching him press down on the keys. 

""Crescent Noon" by the Carpenters. It reminds me of a mournful autumn." 

"It was a nice sound to wake up to. You're very talented." 

"Thanks," he says with a faint smile. "I always try to play a little before I go to work. It starts my day off right." 

It hits Brandy that she really doesn't know much about his personal life. "Where do you work?"

He stops playing, mumbling, "It's lame." 

"Tell me," she encourages, sticking her cold hands under her bare thighs. "I won't judge. I'm a lousy waitress if it makes you feel any better." 

He sighs and shuts the piano lid. "It's volunteer work, more like. I read books to the kids at the public library on Victoria Street." 

She gasps. "That's awesome! I might have to stop by sometime." 

"My friends always tease me for it," he says, his ears flushing pink. "But I really like it there. Seeing their faces light up when I sit them on my lap or do a funny voice makes my day sunnier." 

"I'm sure it makes their day sunnier too. What time do you have to leave?" 

Harry glances at the ticking clock on the wall. "I need to be there at nine, so in about five minutes." 

"Oh," Brandy whispers, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry for waking up so late. I'll let you get ready." 

"Uh, I can take you home on my way." 

"Sure thing. I'll go grab my stuff." 

While roaming his house, she picks up her dress, lingerie, heels, pearls, and purse. Once everything is messily balanced in her arms, she sees Harry holding the front door open. He has on dress shoes that tap almost impatiently as he waits for her. 

Something feels off. Brandy swallows a lump of trepidation and walks out the door, ignoring the bizarre energy shift. Harry shuts it behind her and quickly slides into the driver's seat of his convertible as she gets in the passenger seat. He starts the engine, then turns on a random radio station before driving toward her house, which she's surprised he remembers. "My Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder plays quietly. The drive is otherwise silent, and it doesn't feel right. 

Seven minutes pass before he pulls into her driveway. The sun peeks over her roof, making the pavement sparkle. Shannon's car is parked in the garage. Hummingbirds flutter their wings by the trumpet honeysuckles lining the sidewalk. All these things should bring her comfort, but she feels nauseous instead. 

Harry wipes his palms against his slacks, fiddles with the air vents, scratches his head, then shatters the silence. 

"I think this should be a one-time thing."  

Well, that's definitely not the first thing she wanted to come out of his mouth. 

He clears his throat and continues, "I'm not really a relationship guy, you know? I don't think I could provide that for you if that's what you're looking for." 

Not a relationship guy. Didn't he basically ask her out on a date? Selflessly granted her the best night of her life? Ignited her skin with bruising kisses and touches? Apologized for not snuggling with her in the morning? Did she get the completely wrong idea? 

"Sorry, I'm a little confused," Brandy says, shaking her head. 

Harry lets the car run, its rumbling engine filling the dreadful atmosphere. "You're not the problem. I should've told you sooner, and that's my fault." He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "I like being around you, yeah? It's just... well, I'm in my early twenties, so I want to coast through life for a bit before I get into anything serious. Figure shit out. Figure myself out." 

The unexpectedness of it all makes her clam up. A surge of humiliation sears her throat when she says, "Oh, okay. That makes sense. I understand where you're coming from." She's saying everything she doesn't want to, but the words keep spewing. "I had fun last night. Thank you for letting me experience Hollywood." 

"Thanks for catching my drift. The last thing I want to do is lead you on." 

"You didn't." He sort of did. "Timing doesn't work out sometimes." It felt like it was working perfectly fine. 

"Timing's a bitch," he says, knocking on his dashboard. He then checks the radio clock and sighs. "I should go before I'm late." 

Brandy swallows roughly. There's no point in trying to change his mind. She won't hold him back from living how he wants to. But why is he being so nonchalant about it? She feels like she's being flung to the side without warning or care. It almost feels like last night meant nothing to him. 

After nodding and unbuckling her seatbelt, she says, "Well, I hope everything runs smoothly for you. With the volunteer stuff and all." 

"Appreciate it," Harry replies, sticking a piece of gum between his teeth. "Hey, what restaurant do you waitress at?" 

This boy is giving her whiplash.

"Um, Cheyenne's Café. It's on Cudahy Street, right off Pacific Boulevard. Kind of a hole-in-the-wall place." 

"I might have to stop by sometime," he says with a grin, repeating her words from earlier.

Brandy suddenly feels annoyed at his apathy for her heart, which he ruthlessly stomped on and crushed, so she opens the car door and steps out before her emotions get the best of her. Boys disappoint her and only keep their word for a short time. She doubts Harry will visit; he's probably letting her down easily. 

"Maybe you should," she says, a hidden bite in her tone. "They have mouthwatering banana waffles." 

He closes his eyes and groans deliciously. "That's it. You've convinced me." 

She plasters on a fake smile and gathers her belongings. "Goodbye, Harry. Enjoy the sunshine today." 

Harry's hand lightly grasps her wrist as she's about to walk around his car to reach the front door. Consecutively, there is a stroke of his thumb, a skip to her pulse, and another crack in her breaking heart. 

"See you later, Brandy." 

One last stroke is given before she reluctantly lets go and opens the door. She slams it shut, making the entire house rattle, then throws her things onto the nearest flat surface. Her sister is sitting at the kitchen table reading the daily newspaper and drinking a tall glass of orange juice. Brandy huffs, remembering she forgot to call her last night. Shannon glances up at the sound and leisurely takes in her appearance. At that moment, she realizes Harry's shirt is still on her body. It makes her bottom lip tremble.  

"Where were you?" Shannon asks warily. "Why do you look like you're going to cry?" 

Brandy covers her face with her hands and lets out a wretched sob. "Harry…"

Shannon immediately envelops her in her arms. "What happened? Are you hurt?" 

"Remember the boy that drove us home? I stayed the night at his house, but he said it should only be a one-time thing because he's not looking for a relationship right now, and I pretended that I was okay with it." She sniffles against Shannon's chest. "But I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it, but I-I got scared because he looked so sure of himself. I didn't want to force him to fall in love with me." 

Shannon sways her consolingly. "Why didn't he say something before he took you to his place?" 

Brandy shrugs. "I don't know, Shan. Boys are dumb." 

"That's very true. Why don't you take a shower while I fix breakfast for you? Let's talk more about it later."

"Okay," she mumbles, wiping her useless tears away and moping to her bedroom. She curls into bed and pulls the covers over her entire body. She can't bring herself to take a shower. Her throat and head hurt. Her heart aches. 

It's impossible not to think about yesterday and how divine everything was. How Harry had kissed her with his strawberry taffy lips, touched her with sheer desire, and made her feel like she was floating through a dream. The words he spoke were enthralling. The music he played her bared his soul. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed could make just about anyone fall head over heels. How could she forget the moment he looked at her in the venue with an expression she thought could be love?

Brandy throws the duvet aside and sulks over to the record player on her dresser. Cher's Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves is already placed on the platter from when she got dolled up last night. She carefully adjusts the tonearm and crawls back into bed. 

The first track begins, and it can't erase her sorrows since it's the same song Cher sang to the crowd. 

Damn those lyrics that will forever remind her of Harry. Damn his ravishing smile, his alluring voice, and his sugarcoated ways of stringing her along. 

Above all, damn their fate. The course of fate can be a cruel thief. It can be by chance or by choice. It can come when least expected and give a person the right feeling at the wrong time. 

Brandy realizes fate is like that Ferris wheel she rode. It led her on with its appeal and took her for a spin. Then, before she could even soak up the feeling, it stopped. It let her off, and she never reached what she yearned for the entire way around.  

Perhaps that's just the way of love.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #the way of love #adore-laur

[drjohndisco]

Title: First Encounters

Pairing: n/a

Word Count: 600+

Summary: Wesley and Yarrow meet for the first time, and Yarrow isn't impressed.

Warnings: mentions of blood/potential feeding on a human, minor spoilers for season three of buffy the vampire slayer.

( Ao3 Link )

[ Sunnydale School Library ]

With a quiet sigh, Yarrow took hold of the box. They’d been in the library longer than usual, and the bloodlust (and the fidgety-ness that came with it) was beginning to rise.

(In fact, Yarrow was almost 100% sure that Giles had offloaded Wesley onto them so he wouldn’t have to pay proper attention to his prattling any more - especially since he’d absconded to his office five minutes ago.)

‘You’re cold, are you sure that you’re okay?’ Wesley asked.

Shocked that he’d noticed Yarrow let go of the box -- dropping it directly onto Wesley’s foot. He cried out, and stepped backwards towards the railing behind him. Then, within seconds, Yarrow had caught him by the tie, halting him in his tracks.

(After all, they didn’t want to injure a third watcher (no matter how much he was getting under their skin.) Giles would kill them if that happened.)

But, now that they were closer to him than before, Yarrow was able to sense just how loud (and fast) his heart was beating.

Surely it wouldn’t matter if…?

‘Uh, Yarrow?’ Wesley said awkwardly, breaking their thought process. ‘I think you can let me go now. You’re going to choke me if you’re not careful.’

So, Yarrow let Wesley go -- dropping him unceremoniously onto the hard wooden floor.

‘Oh!’ Wesley groaned. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ Yarrow replied curtly and (before Wesley could notice they’d gone) Yarrow had disappeared into the shadows.

[ Giles’ Office ]

‘Yarrow?’ Giles asked, concerned. He’d stopped in the doorway, and was watching them thoughtfully. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’

Yarrow shut the door to his fridge, taking a mug of blood (and a pink curly straw) out of it, before turning around to face him.

‘I dropped a box on his foot and then, unfortunately, had to catch him.’ Yarrow replied, nonchalantly.

‘I do hope you didn’t damage any of the books.’ Giles replied.

‘Of course that’s what you got from that sentence, Dad.’ Yarrow laughed, leaning backwards against the wall. ‘Also, it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. He’s very punchable.’

‘I will neither confirm ‘nor deny that statement.’ Giles said, then paused. ‘Do you think you’ll be comfortable enough to join us again after you’re done here?’

‘I will be.’ Yarrow stated, taking the straw into their mouth.

‘Good.’ Giles said, leaning down and quickly pressing a kiss to Yarrow’s head before straightening back up. ‘Then, I’ll see you again in a bit.’

[ Yarrow’s House - Evening ]

‘What…?’ Yarrow said, opening their door to see Wesley standing there. He’d been the last person they’d expected to see, especially this late at night.

(Thank goodness they were still wearing their outfit (a blue shirt and brown pants) from earlier, and hadn't opted for their sleep clothing - which was decidedly less professional.)

‘Uh, I need a place to stay.’ He replied awkwardly. ‘Giles told me you had a spare room.’

(Ah. Offloaded once again.)

‘I do.’ Yarrow said, knowing they couldn’t (unfortunately) leave him outside in the cold. ‘Please, come in.’

‘Thank you.’ He said, as he stepped past Yarrow into the house. Yarrow watched as he carefully attempted to balance his luggage (a bag and two suitcases) between his arms.

‘Is it okay if I leave my stuff downstairs?’

‘Sure.’ Yarrow replied, knowing that disaster would strike (again) if he didn’t. ‘We can deal with them tomorrow.’

‘Great.’ Wesley mumbled, leaning the suitcases against the wall and shuffling the bag over to his other arm. ‘Now, where am I headed?’

‘Your room’s upstairs, on the left.’ Yarrow explained. ‘You’ve also got a bathroom attached, but I’d advise you to be careful with the taps, as they’re a bit rusty. Cupboard hinges and curtain rails should function perfectly fine, and there’s a linen cupboard in the hall - for sheets and other stuff, since the bed probably isn’t made.’

‘Okay.’ He replied, as he began to slowly trudge his way up the stairs.

‘Oh, and Wesley?’ Yarrow called out, after shutting the door behind themselves. ‘I’m very sorry that we got off on the wrong foot this morning, so to speak.’

This statement was met only with a loud groan, which made Yarrow grin.

(Maybe this unexpected ‘arrangement’ of theirs could turn out to be fun after all.)

#my writing* #[r] like a moth to a flame #self ship

[rrain-writes]

Rain's LU Febuwhump: Day 29

Not Allowed to Die: The Four Colours

Warnings: Blood, injury, implied major character death

Four let out a cry as he drove his sword into the snarling face in front of him. Black blood coated the blade as he drew it out. With a snarl, the rancher appeared behind him, saving Four from a blow to the head.

If the small hero thought that he was covered in blood, then Twilight must be drenched. The thick black gore coated his hands, body, and face, like he’d tried swimming through it. “All good, Four?” Twilight called out.

Four grunted as he parried another blow. “Alive.” He replied.

Twilight spun, knocking down two stupid bokoblins. “Good.” He said, before leaping away into a vicious dance once again.

Four, goddamnit. A voice in his head chided. We need to split.

He looked over to where Twilight was locked in battle. Alright then.

Four had never tried to describe what it was like to split into the four colours. He didn’t really know where to start. It wasn’t painful, as some people would assume, but more like someone was poking the back of his mind with a cloud. Odd, a bit weird, and a little uncomfortable.

It was always bright when the little voices at the back of his head quieted down. Then he’d realise they were still there, but… further away.

After that, he wasn’t really sure. Vio had tried explaining it once, how when it was just him then they were all a part of him, but when they were split they were all seperate people, but it hadn’t made much sense.

Back in the present, the whole thing had only taken a few seconds. It gave the monsters the chance to inch closer, but they were swiftly caught and delt with by four identical swords.

Blue grins. Green glares. Vio’s expression is calculating. Red smiles, before beheading a monster that tried to sneak up on them.

Twilight swears in the background, surprised, but his attention is quickly shifted once again. 

The battle resumes.

It’s funny how perfectly the colours work. Each of them is a different part of Four’s personality, yet they flow together so well it’s like they’re still one person. Blue whistles before leaping out of the way of a rusty sword, and Vio takes his place, the motion clearly well practised.

Red and Green attack from both sides, trapping the monster, and Blue jumps back in to finish it. Then they repeat.

Everything is going well. The number of monsters is shrinking. Just a few more, and then-

Blue screams.

Red shouts, running over as Vio dashes in to take his place and assist Green. The second the pair finish, they run to kneel beside their fallen brother.

Blue’s tunic is stained in blood, Red’s hands desperately pressed to the wound. Vio prattles off instructions at the same time Green crouches at Blue’s head to keep him awake.

Blue coughs, grimacing as his chest moves with the action.

“No, nononono.” Green stresses, as Vio helps him rip off the bottom of his tunic, steadying his shaking hands.

“How are you so calm!” Red cries. Vio’s lips press into a thin line, staying firmly shut.

Blue’s face is dangerously pale, left hand gripping Green’s own hand hard enough to make him wince.

“Damnit Blue!” Red says. His hands are soaked in his brother’s blood now. Tears of frustration drip from his cheeks. “You’re not allowed to die, you hear me?”

It’s funny, how it feels to loose a part of yourself.

#fan fiction #linked universe #lu #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #twilight #four #lu four #lu blue #lu green #lu vio #lu red #febuwhumpday29 #blood #injury #implied major character death

[cozymochi]

🌻

Gonna go off on twst animatic woes, buckle up.

Someday I’ll make twst animatics at the level of the other crap shitposts on my youtube channel. Crazy how only like, a handful were ever posted out of the …uhh 30 something actually made. I find joy in private stuff.

…BUT WHEN I DO, only then will the thirst traps properly start. And the constant constant copyright claims because I’m poor :,)

I like how I keep telling myself “Oh SOMEDAY” as if that day will ever come. IT WAS REALLY CLOSE AT ONE POINT THOUGH!! Because I FOUND pre-production thumbnails and drawings shoved in the back of my medibang files. And I was like “oh yeaah i forgot I was doin’ that, wonder why I stopped”, then I remembered “Oh right. I am sad most of the time brrrrr”

I wanna redo didney movie scenes or recreate other existing anime crud like how I used to watch japanese yugioh artists on niconico douga did.

:(( those folk popped off fr. Too bad majority of those videos are lost to time, I think.

THAT or take a shot at boarding actual in-story stuff, but I’m so beyond picky. Naturally I’d have to sub it in captions, yeah. And my go-to will be the official translations for broader material (cuz tbh I don’t think it’s that big a to-do as others think) but any omitted lines I’d want to include, cuz y’know, it’s what they’re saying, but I recognize direct fan-translators are a little more protective of their personal translations regardless of how little the line is. And I’m awkward. Am I making this more complicated? 100%. This is how I psyche myself out of doing much of anything.

I think I got too rusty with storyboarding as it is. (Psyching out x2)

Aside from the obvious stuff, I think I have a few ideas that folk haven’t really tackled yet?? But i also don’t know. You see, I’m prattling now.

Pictured below: me @ my brain

Or vice versa…? who knows

#cozy ask #and what if whaT IF some crazy person pops in and just decides im the worst ever #im still not ready for that #i can barely handlr gacha life pfp teenagers in my comment section complaining im not posting more

[thatferrybroad]

Making a new post for this now that the search function has been fixed (thanks, @staff!)

I stared at the white leather clad rodent, absently recognizing my “lost” gardening glove in the floral pattern of their armor. I shook my head while moving on autopilot as Ser Thomasina yowled in my wake, my slipper sending a broken yellow shard of plastic  skittering somewhere into the kitchen. 

Placing the mouse in a tall, empty beading container I’d intended to recycle took enough care and time that I faintly heard it’s chittering voice; but, with my hearing aid charging on the shelf the faint squeaks barely contrasted from my usual tinnitus. Whether irate or merely terrified, I scarcely knew- hard to tell when your conversation partner is about four inches tall.

After a moment of bustling in my dusty craft-but-now-mostly-tea room (and making sure Ser Thomasina was safely shut out) the poor creature panted with their back to the corner of the glass. I slapped my forehead, disgusted with my rusty triage skills. A bottle cap of water lowered in with a pair of chopsticks remained un-trusted for several seconds, but thirst won out. Amid clearing my workstation, I glanced closer at the towel I deposited them with and frowned, a few little beacons of red blazed on the teal terrycloth. I folded it over and put it on the shelf right above my work desk.

Though a ferocious paw batted underneath the door, I managed to make a brief trip to the restroom to retrieve the first aid kit without the instigator in this whole situation managing to sneak by me- better yet, I tricked her into getting shut in the bathroom by throwing a roll of toilet paper in the corner for her to destroy.

“Little shit. You’re not getting salmon treats for a week.” I glowered at the retreating shadow under the door only to turn and see the mouse attempting to escape. They stared wide eyed at me, their broken sword between their teeth and their paws planted on either side of the glass- still a good five inches from the lip of the container. I tried to suppress a giggle, but from their scowl I didn’t succeed.

“Aheh… sorry. You just looked so shocked. Hang on.” I ripped a packet of gauze open and put a tiny dot of antiseptic on it. “I know it’s too big, but stopping the bleeding is most important. I’ll cut you some smaller strips in a bit.”

I must have shocked them from their silent blinking. I sighed. It took some time once more for my unsteady hand to lower it down with the chopsticks and avoid dislodging them. They leaned away from it all the same, watching me askance. Glad that at least they understood me, I prattled on a bit about my hearing aid being out of power, then about how to avoid Ser Thomasina, all the while gathering an old sewing kit and tin snips while my soldering iron heated up.

“You and yours are the ones who ate my Jack'o'lantern the past five years, huh?” They didn’t squeak, finally descending the glass walls, but avoided my eyes. “Well, better than letting it moulder but next time could you wait to eat the design until after Haloween?” Surly, they made no gesture. I squinted at them, then changed the subject.

“So… that claw necklace. Is it a… standard, like an emblem? Or is it a personal item?” They looked up at me, squeaked something, then chittered inaudibly in frustration and held up one tiny digit on their paw, then clasped that paw in salute to their chest.

“Would you consider yourself honorable?” They tried to stand on their haunches but, with a pained squeak, sat back, clasped the claw to their chest and stared proudly at me.

“If I pick you up, and promise not to drop you, will you swear on that claw not to bite me?” Some chittering and tiny huffing later, they seemed to grumble and clasp the claw again, nodding. Delicately as I could, I tipped the container slightly and retrieved the anxious mouse, cap and gauze. I deposited them on the clean side of the tea towel, refilling the spilled water, which soon vanished as well.

“Well then… are you hungry?”

A hesitant nod.

My soldering iron chose that moment to flash it’s indicator LED, I left it where it lay a moment and ripped a chunk of oatmeal bar off to hand it over. 

They watched it for a long, hungry beat as they wiped antiseptic off their paws and cleaned themself; but only grasped it once I took a bite of the remaining bar. I watched the small creature eat for a second, waiting for it to stop shoving it’s cheeks full of oats and dried apple.

“You can rest here for a bit, I have something I need to do. When I’m done I’ll take you safely to the back yard, okay?” The mouse wiped sticky crumbs from its mouth to squint at me. They clasped the claw once more then held their fist to their chest, turning tiny black expectant eyes to me. I mimicked them, nodding. “Scout’s honor, I will.” Satisfied, the mouse dug in properly to their meal, sleepiness already wilting their posture.

I fell silent: getting to work with a thumbtack, an old mints tin, a steel barrette bar, scraps of beading wire, a single garnet bead, and an over-sized button blank. They made no further attempts to run away, one furtive glance half an hour in to my work revealing them slumped on the towel, fast asleep with the chunk of oatmeal bar still clutched in their paw. I smiled, working quietly as possible.

My magnified clamp positioner tool saved me about twenty three headaches as I tinkered and reinforced, filed and awl punched, sketched and painted, soldered and sealed. It took a long handled pair of tweezers and a clutch length of washi tape to tightly wind nigh paper-thin slivers of kidskin around a tiny glue-covered handle before I mounted it on the newly reinforced button blank. I took twenty more minutes to wind the same material under the infinitesimal cage of beading wire and around the handle of the smallest sword I had ever seen, let alone made. I had to slide it into the red and white patterned sheath with those same damn tweezers, just to make sure I didn’t mess up the sharpened edges.

By the time I snipped some mouse-sized bandages with medical tape, rubbed away my last hand cramp and made a cup of tea, my guest finally began to stir. I quickly folded the paper towel over that the the tiny set of equipment rested on and waited for it to wake up fully.  They yawned, showing their incisors as they stretched, caught themself, then winced, remembering their trying day. I poured a spoonful of tea into the empty cap from my own cup. They sniffed, flicked their ears up in surprise, took a lick, then a taste, then drank it in one long draw.  I put a stern face on, covering my bemusement at their taste matching mine, and kept it on as they re-bandaged themself. 

“Ok, here’s the deal. Ser Thomasina- the monstrous little shit that you broke your sword fighting against- is here to stay.” They flinched back and I held up my hands. “They’re an indoor cat, and you are on her- what am I saying? You are on MY territory. She’s a little shit, but she’s my little shit, she’s staying, and if you try to fight her, we’re going to have problems, understand?” I waited for their hesitant nod before I continued. “I’m going to do my best to keep her inside- there’s ky-yotes out there and she’s a dumb little baby fuzzball so that’s safer for her anyway.” I steeled myself to stop rambling, taking a sharp breath and sighing. “Look, my point is, I swear to keep her away from you and yours- IF you swear you and yours will keep away from her. No antagonizing her, no fighting under any circumstance- and no more of this getting in the house nonsense! If you need… some kind of shelter we can work something out, but-” I stopped, realizing they had begun to panic, cleaning themself repeatedly. 

“This is all above your paygrade, huh?”

Nod.

“Is there a…. an elder or some kind of leader that could make decisions like this?”

Nod, nod.

“Uh… Well I guess… I guess we can work something out later, but for now You can just be the messenger, ok?”

Relieved nod. 

“I… Ok.” I shifted gears, thinking a moment, then grabbed a sticky note, then stopped.

“… No offense, but can you all read English?” Their glare was enough to curdle milk, let alone get the point across. I mumbled a, “Didn’t want to presume” and wrote the following, as tiny as my shaky hands could manage under the tiny warrior’s scrutiny.

1. Don’t bother my cat, don’t even come near her! I can maybe give you her shed claws but for now just leave her alone!

2. Keep out of the house! If you’re living in some part of the house, I have a problem with this- BUT… I can help you build something better out in the forest beyond my yard. I love to make model houses. I will leave examples in the yard for you under the patio for your approval.

3. Don’t eat my pumpkins until after Halloween (If we need to discuss some kind of signal, I can work with that.)

4. NO MORE STEALING THINGS!!!! ASK NICELY!!!

5. Don’t expect any fancy gifts beyond this, you can take care of yourselves.

I rolled up the notes and put them in an old mechanical pencil lead container, suddenly glad for all my minor hoarding tendencies, and handed it to my tiny guest. They looked at me in wonder as I considered how to word our next communication, but thankfully I saw my hearing aid had charged amidst my crafting. I put it in, then looked at the pensive rodent.  “Let’s get going.” I held out one hand, packing the paper towel hiding the gear carefully into my pocket with the other. This time, They hesitated only a second. If I saw them clutch my thumb and tremble while we passed the bathroom door and Ser Thomasina’s yowling, I didn’t comment on it.

The sliding door usually took two hands, and thus took four fold the energy and time to open with one, especially while keeping the little knight safe and my hand un-clenched. Finally, out under the patio roof, I carefully sat down on the steps, my slippers slushing into the evening dew gathered in the grass. I looked down, wishing I’d made a point to ask their name earlier, but then this entire matter had been so surreal, I suppose manners could be excused. Asking now felt too strange as I lowered them to the grass

“Do you swear on that claw to personally keep to everything I asked?” The mouse looked down at the crumbs of oatmeal still caught on their armor, then at their bandaged leg. They met my eyes, took the claw from heir neck and gingerly knelt to squeak the tiniest, gravest “I do so swear.” I had ever heard.

“Then this is yours, and no one else’s unless they make that same vow.” I revealed the tiny sword and shield from my pocket, wishing I had the manual dexterity to be fancy about it- but the shock on the mouse’s face was well worth all the effort. I chuckled, rubbing my sore hands on my half-sore knees. I hadn’t been able to disguise the mints tin origin of the sheath without paint, so I tried to match the colors of their armor.  The claw design and mouse profile on the shield were both a bit smudgy, but considering the scale I didn’t feel too ashamed. I was especially proud of the tiny garnet mounted in the pommel of the barette sword, their admiration gave me a sense of pride I hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t let any gnats roost in that mouth you’re airing, you’ve got important messages to deliver, go on now.” Grateful my eyesight yet remained, I pretended not to notice the mist rising in their eyes. They nodded, unable to squeak, and bounded off towards the gutter on the house. 

They stopped just before they rounded the corner, turned, and gave me one last salute.

I answered in kind, smiling, knowing the next few months would be strange indeed.

#my writing

[soysaucevictim]

Now just imagining one of the many comments Gymrat!Remus would make whenever El Primo Rojo makes a damn visit, wanting someone to scoop his ovaries out with a rusty spoon. Who? His brain tends to proposition Virgil or Pat about the notion, more than anyone else.

And I just picture Pat just having his hands together in prayer position with a look of concern especially the first time he's in earshot of it. Man would rather NOT give one of his kiddos a horrible case of tetanus, tyvm. (And he was more specialized in emergency field med nOT OBGYN shit.)

And then Remus just prattles on about wondering just how much worse lockjaw would be to wtf he's dealing with in that moment. In between spasms and clutching Cthulhu for dear life.

Virgil is just fretting over his hot mess of a boyfriend to even consider the suggestion. :,D

#menstruation/ #(i love these dorks - your honor)

[rustyvanburace]

Jake Hunter Detective Story: Memories of the Past

This is a mystery text adventure game I've been playing in-between. I actually really like the Tantei Jinguji Saburo / Jake Hunter games ever since playing Ghost of the Dusk for 3DS. This game is a revisit of the original cases for the Famicom, connected to an all-new case, so it's a treat to be able to experience Jake's beginnings and be fully acquainted with the original cast.

This is probably THE most obscure media series I adore, lmao. In part because of how little was localized despite the series being hugely influential in Japan. It's very simple and your standard hard-boiled detective flair, but I like it regardless!

And it's illustrated by Katsuya Terada, known for his early Legend of Zelda guidebook illustrations and The Monkey King. The art in this series is just as stellar.

#I fully expect to be the only western fan of this lmao #but if I can spread even just a little awareness of it then I shall #Tantei Jinguji Saburo #jake hunter #katsuya terada #video games #nintendo ds #rusty's prattles

[pinkiepiebones]

Who Ya Gonna Call?

another quick one inspired by @leighways art! Unlike the bath one though I kinda went off course here I hope it's okay ;-;

[Quick note- in my elaborate headcanons, Papa III's name is "Volgare." So when you see that name, yeah. It's him.] [This also has a lot of my own HCs in general aoddkdlslsns sorry all]

~Years Ago~

Lowly Bishop Copia sat cross-legged at the edge of a carefully-poured ring of black salt, thinking. Within the the circle he had carefully positioned black candles around the salt's edge, the flickers of their flames barely illuminated the wax puddles beneath them. The walls were haphazardly dotted with gems that glowed, but only enough to give a vague hint as to the room's dimensions. Copia wished he had remembered to bring his reading glasses and a flashlight with him. The notes he would obtain tonight would scarcely be legible.

He was in one of the lower basements of the church, in a multipurpose room carved into the dark of the catacombs. It smelled damp and rusty, like that pile of laundry you keep insisting you'll clean up someday. Occasionally, one of those eerie Earth ghouls with a penchant towards cultivating mold and fungus would pass the doorway, the faint yellow glow of the underworld lichen clinging to it's wings and horns gave just a suggestion of the creature's form shuffling through the dark halls. 

Copia groped in the near-darkness to his side for the scrying bowl. Suddenly, a harsh light hit his eyes. Someone stood in the doorway, holding a lantern. "Ah, I found a Bishop in the catacombs!"

Copia sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Hello, Cardinal Volgare" he muttered as the youngest son of Papa Nihil sauntered in. He was grateful for the light. Not so much for Volgare's presence.

"You sound unhappy to see me, Copia!" Volgare purred. He sat down beside Copia, managing to set himself and his lantern down without disturbing the salt circle. 

"I heard Nihil say you were down here, I assumed it was due to some inane errand he concocted to get rid of you, and I wanted to see if you were still alive or if you had been claimed by the mushroom-tending ghouls." 

Volgare leaned to rest his head on the Bishop's shoulder. "I am so glad you have not yet become part of the decor of the catacombs."

Copia shrugged the older man's affection off and picked up the silver bowl he had been looking for. "I'm sure your concern is genuine," he sighed, carefully placing the bowl at a specific point inside the circle. 

Volgare scoffed. "Of course it is genuine! If you were gone, how could I lovingly tease you? What would I do with my time? I suppose I could go change the labels on Necropolitus's fermenting jars aga- what are you doing."

Copia looked up. As Volgare had prattled on, Copia had gone about setting the final pieces of the ritual inside the circle- a quill, an ink well, a sturdy pad of notepaper, and a silver knife with a drop of his own blood on the blade- and had poured wine into the bowl The air had begun to sizzle with the ethereal energy of unholy magic. A ghoul skittered across the ceiling and curled into one of the upper corners, watching.

"I'm trying to contact a writer," Copia explained. "The only copy we have of her book was partially destroyed when the library flooded all those years ago, and Papa Nihil said he really needs it for the next ser- Volgare, why are you leaving?" It wasn't that Copia was particularly upset about Volgare heading to the doorway; it was that Volgare was trying to sneak like a cartoon mouse that confounded him.

Then a devious smirk emerged under Copia's moustache. 

"Volgare... Are you afraid of ghosts?"

The Cardinal spun around and struck a pose of overcompensation of ease. "What?! That's a ridiculous accusation. I'm merely leaving to, uh, let you work, and, and I think there's an orgy soon, I should-"

"/YOUR AURA IS PULSATING WITH FEAR/" the ghoul on the ceiling interjected. 

Volgare dashed across the room and jumped and swatted at the ghoul. "I only pulsate with sexual charisma, you glorified lump of sulfur!" he said loudly.

Copia chuckled and decided to pluck this thread. "I never would have figured you for being afraid of ghosts, Volgare. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's cute, some might say." Not him, though. Definitely not him.

Volgare turned his ire to Copia. "I am. Not. Afraid of ghosts."

"Then sit with me."

Volgare's face became a battlefield as several emotions scrambled for supremacy. Over-confidence won and he sauntered back to Copia's side. "Fine. Sure. Yes, let's bother the dead, those bastards have it too easy, I've always said." He laughed the laugh of a man who knew he had made a mistake.

Copia smiled and spread his armed outward, fingertips hovering over the circle. He closed his eyes. "Please, Madame Spaventoso, a moment of your time..."

The room grew quiet. The candles snuffed out one by one. The gems in the walls began to dim. Copia felt something claw his arm; he opened one eye to see Volgare clutching him tightly.

Copia closed his eye and wriggled his fingers. "Madame Spaventoso, I seek your knowledge..."

Volgare whimpered. The lantern flickered and waned.

The quiet was unbearable.

Copia felt a chill drift from one side to the other, as though someone made of ice was walking behind him, or through him. Inside the spell circle, the quill shakily rose and dipped into the ink well. Volgare's terror was palpable. The quill wobbled and drifted to the paper. It started to write.

In the dim lantern light, the writing was barely visible, but the increasingly terrified Cardinal Volgare could read it. It read-

HEY, VOLGARE.

BOO.

The Cardinal jumped in a way that was previously thought to be impossible for humans and ran for the door. The lights and candles brightened and the ghost of Madame Spaventoso made herself visible and cackled with glee. "Oh, what fools these mortals be," she said, twirling the quill in her spectral fingers. "I know you seek information, child, but I couldn't resist such a frightened little mouse."

Copia smiled up at the translucent woman. "I doubt I could resist were I in your position, Madame."

"/YOU KNOW HE WILL GET YOU BACK FOR THIS, BISHOP/" the ghoul on the ceiling interjected.

Yeah, Copia thought, but it was worth it.

#ghost bc #microfic #spooky ideas

[ladyshandioftheendless]

Shandi’s Whumptober!

Thanks to @gh0stfl0ra for helping me with planning this out because I had no idea what to write. Hope it comes out half as decent as I imagined! ^^;;

~Shandi 

Day 12: What Could Go Wrong?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nikki had heard of the Sweet Brothers from Mick. 

Master Hunters. Dangerous. Once you’ve met them you wouldn’t survive to see your next sunset.

Sure, they were a force to be reckoned with together. 

But what about apart? 

The possibility intrigued Nikki to no end. 

He didn’t have anything better to do anyway. The Old Man was with Paul. He had the whole night to himself. Time to get into some serious mischief.

He spotted them coming out of a church. Of course. Replenishing their supplies, no doubt. He followed them in his bat form, mentally cursing them all the while. Fuck, were these two joined at the hip or something? He thought they’d never separate until one crucial moment. The blond asked his brother to wait outside while he went into a shop..and it was definitely not a normal shop. He would only have a few short minutes to observe. He took the chance, changing back into his human form to walk past the brother into the shop. It was bright, and smelled heavily of incense. A smell that made him incredibly dizzy. Definitely some kind of ward. He spotted the blond looking at glass bottles. Bottles decorated with gold crosses. He took a few steps back. “Shit..this was a big mistake..” 

“And you’re the one who made it..Vampire.” 

Nikki turned to see the brother standing behind him, his expression irritatingly calm. “Such a fool..” the blond held a bottle filled with water in his hand as he turned around. “Did you think we didn’t know you were following? You’re quite terrible at being stealthy.” 

“He must be one recently turned.” 

“Indeed. He didn’t bring his Sire with him for protection. A amateur's mistake.” 

“Extremely amateur. Like blindly walking into a Holy place.” 

Nikki, tired of the brothers’ sanctimonious prattle rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’ve proven your fuckin’ points. You have me.” 

The blond sighed. “You poor dear. You must be in so much pain you can barely keep your eyes open. Does the holy incense sting? Does it dampen your murderous senses?”

“Not..as much as you’d like to believe!!” Before the blond could react Nikki grabbed him and escaped through the skylight.

~*~

“Unhand me, you vile creature!!” 

“Quit your struggling and I will!!” 

“Don’t think this will stop my brother from destroying you!! This..is a mission given to us by God!!” 

“Yeah yeah..” Nikki finally found a clear open space to land far away from the city. He stripped the blond of his coat and threw him on the ground. “Not so tough without all of your toys now, are ya?” 

The blond just glared. “I don’t need my weapons..the Holy Light of God will protect me..” 

Nikki snorted. “You say I’m the fool.. God is only a myth. He won’t keep me from sinking my teeth into that pretty neck of yours~” 

“Unholy monster!! Don’t touch me!!” 

It was only a few moments. Nikki wasn’t even sure anything had actually happened, until he felt a dull pain in his chest. He looked down to see that a rusty railroad spike had been driven into his rib cage. He took a few steps back to allow the shock to wear off. “Haha...nice try. You actually..managed to..hit a lung..” 

The blond cursed. He could’ve sworn he’d punctured the heart! 

“Naughty..taking the Lord’s name in vain~ You should be punished for such an..offense to God’s ears~” 

“It may not destroy you..but it will stun you.” 

Fuck. He was right. Nikki could feel his body seizing. He collapsed to the ground while the blond managed to pick himself back up. 

“What did you..do to me..?” 

“I blessed it before I stabbed you.” He slowly walked past Nikki to pick up his coat. “You may have caught me unprepared before, but you will not be so lucky a second time.” 

“ROBERT!!”

The blond looked up to see his brother running towards him. “I’m alright, Michael. But only just.” 

“If he’s paralyzed, we should just finish him now.” 

“No. Not yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“It might be..possible to save him..” 

“Robert..” 

“We can! If we can destroy his Sire he can be normal again!” 

“We don’t even know where he is!” 

“We can look! Brother..God would task us to save his soul. We find the one who made him and we can end the cycle.” 

Michael sighed. “Very well, Brother..we’ll try this your way. But if it doesn’t work..we’ll destroy them both.” 

“Agreed. Let’s get out of here before my blessing wears off.” 

Only the smallest of glances were exchanged before Robert disappeared with his brother into the night. 

It left Nikki to ponder.

Did a Hunter..just show him mercy?

~END~

#Whumptober 2022 #Vampy Sixx~ #vampire hunter fails!

[fancysasquatch]

Today I went to a "beginner's guide to D&D" event at a local board game store, because I've been looking for a D&D group to join to try and make friends in a new city (I have no idea how to find friends who aren't coworkers or classmates). I'm not actually new to D&D, technically I started playing almost 20 years ago. But I figured I could probably use a refresher, since I haven't played D&D since like 2015, and that was just two short sessions with a friend from boy scouts and his high school group. I've played other RPGs in the meantime, and there's a ton I've absorbed through cultural osmosis by being somebody online who's interested RPGs and fantasy, but I haven't actually played it myself for a while so I figured my understanding of the rules was probably a little rusty.

The event ended up being a one-on-one thing, since nobody else showed up but me. I told the guy beforehand about my previous experience and that I really just needed to be reminded how it works instead of being taught. His response was basically "oh okay cool" and then he launched into the same starting-from-square-one spiel he's probably given every Sunday for the past two years, explaining to me that can pick different classes and races and what it means to act in character. Some of the stuff he said was helpful, because I'd either forgotten it (like how hit dice work) or has just never learned (my friend only taught my the standard array method of picking stats and not point buy or rolling your stats).

But some of what he said wasn't even right, like when he said spellcasting ability is always based on either intelligence or wisdom, even though sorcerers warlocks bards and paladins all have their spellcasting ability based on charisma. And some of it was technically correct but wasn't conveyed in a way that would be useful to new players, like when he told me the mathematical formula for determining ability modifiers instead of just saying it's +/-1 for every even number above/below 10. I also felt like I couldn't correct him or even ask any high level questions past a certain point, because after you let someone prattle on explaining how attack rolls work it would have felt like a faux pas to hear him recommend the 2014 starter set for new players and say "Personally I think Dragons of Stormwreck Isle from the new starter set is a better introductory adventure than Lost Mines of Phandelver, it puts a greater emphasis on character agency and as a first-ever encounter the drowned sailors are a lot more balanced than the goblin ambush."

[pendragon1400]

Wizards and stars: Chapter two Magic in the Air

Content warnings: None (Maybe a small one for burnt out gifted kids)

Gale x Falon (female wizard tav)

Falon smiled as she watched Gale swirl the weave around him. He did that on nights that his mind wondered or when he has trouble sleeping.

Gale: "Am I truly fascinating?" He smiled, as he looked at Falon who sat on a cushion outside his tent.

Falon nodded: "I like watching you work with magic. It makes it special again..."

Gale gestured beside him: "You can always join me. I have seen the way you work with the weave, you have talent!"

Falon's face become hard: "I have been told. But, I prefer to watch."

The weave slowly dissipates as Gale slowly sits down on the ground beside Falon.

Gale: "I won't pry. I know that you have a hard time looking at wounds of the past, but I still would consider it an honor to know."

Falon sighed deeply, Gale had already confided in her willingly, and yet she didn't want to prattle on about herself: "When I was young I was considered quite talented. My mother; a teacher herself, was very invested in my academic progression, especially with magic. One year I started to slip. I still don't know if it was my age, the difficulty of learning, or something else. But my studies started to slide. As they got worse, I found it harder and harder to regain where I was and I began to hate what I did."

Falon stopped, and looked at Gale. She felt that surely he would be disinterested or waiting for an ending but he was there, watching and listening.

Falon smiled and took another breath: "So I stopped working with the weave. Focused on things that made me happy, like art and writing poems. My mother was not pleased with me, and said that I was so perfect as a child, but now I'm something else. But I was happier. I only started the weave again since we could die out here without it. But I am very rusty..."

Gale placed his hand over hers with a smile: "This orb made my magic significantly lessened. Every moment in my tower trying and failing to do what I once did with ease was pain. But, now here with you, I found a new meaning behind magic, not with power or great skill, but in what you inspire in others."

Falon inched closer: "I think...I'd like to give magic another chance...with you."

Gale smiled: "We will take it one lesson at a time, as my mother used to say!"

Falon smiled: "I'd like to meet her."

Gale nodded: "You will, after this whole absolute business is conducted."

The night stars winked and shined on the two wizards with a book spread out before them, channeling the weave in small ways working one step at a time.

#gale #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction

[baldursheart]

" when you enter a place that has been abandoned for a very long time, there's something in the air. ". - freya from @mortefcrged

"death? decay? treasure that's just wasting away?" the druid prattles off with a smile, deft fingers already plucking at dust-covered books and fiddling with rusty locks on wooden chests. perhaps she should feel guilty, rummaging and stealing from the long dead, but freya had few qualms about such matters. it would only go to waste. "and traps. there's always traps."

#mortefcrged #( freya / ask )

[puddle-wants-to-live]

I would pay soo much money for a singular hug from azu

#yall i am going through it #please im begging #azu gives the best hugs and I will stand by that until I die #rqg #puddle prattles #rusty quill gaming