#Wheezy Waiter

[missbcm]

Just started watching the livestream of Project for Awesome 2025 and it's two of my favorite persons on the interwebs casually wearing silly wigs and talking about random (un)important things... this is the BEST start of the weekend! (John Green & Craig Benzine aka Wheezy Waiter) https://www.youtube.com/vlogbrothers/live

[kelsonius]

Found a new fragment to make scrolling gifs of Craig/WheezyWaiter's mom

[clovercap]

unsaid (part 4-finale)

4.2

note: OMGGG! FINAL PARTTT!!! thank you all so much for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting on all previous parts of unsaid – the love is overwhelming! ✧( ु•⌄• )◞◟( •⌄• ू )✧ this was a labor of love so i hope you enjoy! lowkey don't love the ending but whatever hahahaha. please talk to me and let me know what else you wanna see!! sending you all a big smooch ᵔદᵔ

pairing: bsf!rafe x bsf!y/n

summary: rafe's struggling and y/n finally works up the nerve to confront her feelings.

warnings: this is 18+. alcohol and drug use mentioned.

Midsummers. 

The most boring event of the summer, filled with old rich guys and their younger wives and the most annoyingly privileged kooks your age, all coming together to network and celebrate the summer with extravagant outfits. A party that you would usually make the best of by ditching your parents and going off with all your friends to sneak drinks and shit on all the people who take it seriously. 

But this year, it was different. You had texted Rafe, called him, and even shown up at his house, only to be turned away by Rose, Ward, Sarah, and even Wheezie, telling you that Rafe either wasn’t home or he was busy. It had been almost two weeks since he came to your house in the middle of the night, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

You regretted putting so much distance between the two of you and ignoring Rafe because now it was being thrown back in your face. It hurt to not see or talk to him while you were the one texting back with excuses, but it hurt even worse when you were on the other end of the stick. He was flat-out acting like you didn’t exist. 

You knew that you should’ve just sucked it up and acted like everything was normal because now it was all falling apart, and it was your fault. You were the one that hurt him. All he did was give it back, which you should’ve expected. 

After he left, you had laid awake for hours, going through everything that had happened since the party. Did he actually remember what he said? He asked why you were avoiding him, and if he remembered, then surely he would have some idea of why you had pulled away from him, right? You went in circles, going back through everything that happened under the assumption that he either did or didn’t remember his confession at Kelce’s party, and nothing made sense either way. 

Sure, Rafe was avoidant of most things, but anytime you did anything to piss him off or hurt him, he would always be sure to make you aware of exactly what you did. But now, he wasn’t even speaking to you anymore, and the weight on your chest felt heavier every day. 

Now, you’re looking at yourself in the mirror. All done up with a green silk floor-length gown that's been catching at your heels every time you try to walk around your room. The flower crown on your head is heavy, and the necklace Rafe got you for your 16th birthday sits right above the neckline of your dress. 

“Honey!” 

“We’ve gotta go!” 

You look towards the door at the sound of your parent’s voices and take a deep breath, grabbing your bag that you had stuffed with shooters and a couple of joints. You toss it over your shoulder and grip the railing as you walk down the stairs to meet your parents. 

The drive to the Island Club was filled with lectures about being polite, not causing trouble, and honoring your family’s name. As soon as you step out of the car and into the building, you’re met with the sight of the familiar floral decorations the club did for Midsummers. Waiters scramble around, bringing drinks and hors d’oeurves to the patrons, dressed up in garish suits and dresses like they owned the place. 

You follow your parents through the party, greeting the people they want you to meet, smiling, and nodding until your neck feels sore. Your eyes dart over the room, and you spot Kelce talking to a couple of other friends outside. You excuse yourself from your parents, and they reluctantly let you go. You hurry through the halls, slipping by waiters and kooks, holding your dress up, attempting not to fall. 

You go outside onto the wraparound porch, where a band plays some beachy music on the green. People are dancing and ordering drinks, and you look around again, losing your view of Kelce when you finally make your way through the doors. You spot him again and sigh in relief, wobbling towards him on your heels. 

“Hey.” You smile weakly, dropping your grip on your dress. 

He turns at the sound of your voice and grins. “Yo, when’d you get here?' He asks, pulling you into a side hug that you return. 

“Like an hour ago, I had to make my rounds.” You sigh.

Kelce nods, knowing exactly how it feels. “You finally escaped?” 

“Barely,” You mumble and pull your purse in front of you, rummaging through the contents. “I brought shooters.” 

He laughs and pats you on the back. “Fuck, yeah. Here, I’ll block you.” 

He stands in front of you, his back turned as you hide by the wall, pulling a Fireball shooter out of your purse and downing it in seconds. As you swallow, you wince and put the cap back on, stuffing the empty bottle back in your purse. 

“Okay.” You say, and you hear applause as Kelce steps to the side. 

You see Ward first, walking outside with Rose wrapped around him, waving at everyone. He was being coronated as  ‘Guardian of Knights of the Rhododendron’ tonight; how could you forget? You watch as the Camerons make their way down the porch steps, greeting everyone, and your eyes immediately find Rafe. 

He’s wearing a light blue suit tailored to perfection and topped off with a bowtie. His hair is slicked back, and you swallow the remnants of the shot you just took as you watch him follow his father around. He looks great to anyone else, but you can see the dark circles around his eyes as he shakes hands with the people around him. Did you cause that? The lack of sleep that was so evident on his face, the weariness he seemed to mask as he made small talk?

“Have you talked to him?” 

You’re snapped back into reality as Kelce speaks, and you shake your head. 

“Uh, no. Have you?” You try to ask casually. 

He shakes his head, frowning. “Barely, he’s been MIA the past few weeks.”

You grimace at his words and sigh, running a sweaty hand over your dress. “He hasn’t talked to me at all.” You admit. 

You honestly couldn’t bother to care anymore about Kelce knowing about your feelings for Rafe. After the day at the country club, you knew he knew.

“Really?” His eyes widen as he tilts his head. “Why?”

You scoff. “Fuck if I know.” 

Your eyes find Rafe again, and he’s still mingling. God, he looks exhausted. A wave of guilt washes over you as you watch him. He told you he needed you, and you just avoided him like what he said didn’t matter. You feel uncomfortable in your own skin as your mind races. How could you have let it get this far? Your own fears held you back from confronting him, and now the two of you hadn’t spoken in weeks, all because you couldn’t just suck it up? You suddenly feel sick, and your hands grip your purse strap. 

“I need to…use the bathroom.” You manage to get out, and Kelce’s face morphs into confusion as you rush away, back inside the club and towards the stairs. You climb over the velvet rope, blocking off the stairs to deter people from wandering and hurry down into the women’s locker room. As expected, it was empty, and you shut the stall door as you sit on the toilet seat cover, your head in your hands. 

It all seems so stupid now to have been avoiding him, ignoring him because of what he said. You were scared that you couldn’t be enough for him, couldn't be what he needs, but all of that was washed away as your true fears came to fruition. 

He didn’t want to talk to you anymore; he didn’t want to be your friend anymore, be in your life anymore. This was real. It wasn’t your anxiety making things up, telling you that you weren’t good enough for him. It was actually happening, and you didn’t do anything to stop it. 

You should’ve just asked him what he meant. Taken the jump and see where you landed. You should’ve run after him that night he left your house, demanded answers, and given your own. You should’ve just been honest.

“Fuck.” You mumble as you tear off some toilet paper and blow your nose. 

You toss it into the trash, open your purse, and take another shot. Partially for luck and partially for strength. You just needed to talk to him. 

You put the empty bottle back in your purse as you wince and walk out of the stall. You stare at yourself in the mirror, flushed cheeks and a tear-streaked face staring back at you as you wash your hands. You take some paper towels and clean yourself up. 

“You’ve got this.” You say to yourself and make your way back up the stairs, climbing over the velvet rope and heading back outside. As you make your way through the crowd dancing, looking for him, you bump into someone. 

“Sorry-” You start, and as you look up, you meet his eyes. 

You do not have this.

Rafe looks down at you as the two of you stand still, everyone moving around you. 

He takes a step back, and you can’t bring yourself to move. 

His heart races as he realizes you were the one that bumped into him. No amount of alcohol could’ve prepared him for this, and the couple of shots he snuck in earlier before his family left for Midsummers did nothing. He felt dead sober as he locked eyes with you. 

He takes another step back, not ready to face whatever would come when you spoke. That’s why he had been avoiding you for so long. What was he going to say? How could he even explain himself?

“Rafe.” You breathe out.

His jaw clenches as you speak, and his heart drops to his stomach at the sound of your voice. He feels like crying as he looks you over. He missed you over the past two weeks more than he ever thought it was possible to miss another person. He was so scared of how deep his feelings went for you that seeing you right now? It was terrifying. 

Suddenly, Topper is grabbing his shoulder and turning Rafe to face him. “Dude, your Dad is trying to find you.” He says lowly.

Rafe’s chest bubbles in both relief that he doesn’t have to face you and anxiety about being around his father. 

“Thanks, man.” He claps Topper on the shoulder and doesn’t spare you another look back as he makes his way to the porch where Ward is. Like he didn’t even see you. 

Your mouth opens slightly as he just…walks away, and your heart feels heavier than it ever has before. You’re putting your hand on your chest as Topper turns to face you. 

“Hey, oh—woah, are you okay?” He asks, stepping closer. 

You look up at him and nod. “Mhm.” You keep nodding like your lungs aren’t folding in on themselves. 

He places a hand on your arm. “You don’t…you don’t look okay.” Topper’s brows furrow in concern. 

“I’m fine.” You mutter, shrugging his hand off you and pushing past him and out of the crowd. The sun was almost below the horizon as you walked as fast as you could in your heels towards the nearby garden, looking for the bench you would typically smoke on during past Midsummers. 

It’s surrounded by hedges and bushes of flowers, and you stumble as you sit down, setting your purse next to you. You struggle to pull off your heels in your haze, but you’re desperate for some kind of relief. Anything to make you feel some semblance of normal. It doesn’t help. You bring your knees up to your chest as you close your eyes, attempting to calm down. 

———

Rafe is at his father’s side, getting introduced as a future employee of Cameron Development to some of the other top real-estate moguls in the area. He laughs when he needs to and tries to pay attention, but his eyes drift to where he last saw you. 

He can’t spot you in the crowd anymore, and he’s forced to focus on the men in front of him. 

“I’m hopin’ Rafe here is going to be my successor when I feel like retiring.” Ward grins, clapping his son on his shoulder, shaking him a bit. 

Rafe forces a smile and nods. “If he ever retires.” He tries to make it a joke, and the other men laugh lightly, but as Ward squeezes his shoulder, he knows he made a mistake. 

“Step it up.” Ward hisses into his ear, and Rafe straightens out his back. His chest squeezes at the feeling of inadequacy that rushes through him. If he can’t be good enough for his own father, his family, how could he ever be good enough for you? 

Then he remembers he’s not. He’s not good enough for you, and he never will be. That’s why you avoided him; that’s why he, in turn, is avoiding you. He’s unfixable, incurable. A person made up of mismatched puzzle pieces stuck together with scotch tape. And the one person who made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could finally put the pieces together wants nothing to do with him. 

He feels numb as he continues to chat with the businessmen and his father, eventually being dismissed after what feels like hours. He heads to the bathroom and rinses his face, looking at himself in the mirror. He knew the last few weeks of not speaking to you took a toll on him, but in the harsh lighting of the Island Club bathroom, he was able to see just how much damage it had done. His dark circles are prominent, and his eyes droop in exhaustion. 

He shakes his head. He needs to pull it together, be a man, and fix his shit. He pats his face with a paper towel and heads back outside. He tried to find you again, just so he knows where not to go, but he still doesn’t see you, and while his heart aches, he feels the tiniest bit of relief. 

———

You’ve been on the bench for an hour. 

You know this because the sun typically sets around 8, and as you look at your phone through your blurry vision, it’s a little after 9. Midsummer’s is still going, although the noise has lessened. Your parents had texted you, telling you they were heading home, not bothering to call. 

You sigh and look up at the stars in the sky, wiping your face of the tears you had shed earlier during your nervous breakdown. You feel like shit. Pure and utter shit. Like someone had just stepped on you and then decided that wasn’t good enough, so they kicked you as well. 

Your body is aching from the tension it’s held over the past hour and, honestly, the past few weeks ever since Kelce’s first party. The party. The one that changed everything. 

You sniffle and rub your ankle, raw from wearing your heels all night. You wish you just felt physical pain. You think it would be easier than the emotional pain you’ve been dealing with. Easier than thinking about Rafe. 

You’ve been trying to pinpoint the exact moment things went from bad to worse, and you’re pretty sure it’s when he came to your house, and you refused to tell him the truth about why you’ve been so distant with him. 

You sigh and stand, your heels dangling in one hand and your other holding your purse. You make your way through the garden, heading towards the beach. Your bare feet dig into the sand, and you look back towards the Island Club. 

The crowd on the green has dispersed, and the band is no longer playing. There are only a few figures on the porch, and you assume that every other attendee is inside, still making rounds and talking aimlessly about things that aren’t important. 

You turn back towards the ocean, which looks navy blue in the moonlight, and keep heading further down the beach. You sit down by a sand dune and look at the water for a while. You need to talk to Rafe. Even if it takes begging for him to listen, you just need to be honest. 

You dig in your purse for the joints you had packed earlier, but then you hear it. 

His laugh is so distinct you would be able to find him in a crowd, and you look up to your left to see Rafe, Kelce, and Topper walking on the beach a ways away.  Topper's chugging some sort of alcohol straight out of the bottle as they walk along the shore. Their voices travel to you, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You keep your eyes on them as you grab your purse and heels and stand, walking towards them. 

You’re determined to talk to Rafe, and while your heart races out of nervousness and anxiety, you know this is what you have to do. 

“Rafe!” You call as you get closer, and you see all three boys turn towards you. As their faces come into view, Topper looks clueless, Kelce grins a bit, and Rafe’s expression is unreadable. You jog up the rest of the way, now right in front of him. 

He looks down at the ground, and you frown. 

“Can we talk?” You ask, your heart beating out of your chest. 

He doesn’t respond. Just looks back up at you, his expression almost pained. 

“Please?” You say, your voice desperate. 

The last thing he wants to do is talk to you. In all honesty, he would rather just drink until he forgot you existed, but the crack in your voice and the way you’re fidgeting with your heels in your hands makes him lose all restraint.

“Okay.” He mumbles and walks past you, away from Topper and Kelce, and further down the shore. You turn and follow him, leaving Kelce and Topper behind. 

He hears your footsteps behind him, but he keeps walking until he’s sure the two of you are far enough away for anyone to hear. 

When he stops, you do as well, and he sighs before turning to face you. 

“What?” He asks, his voice clipped. 

He watches you frown, and for a moment, he thinks he should’ve been more gentle. But he needs to stay mad at you because he’s afraid of what he might say if he doesn't. 

“How-how have you been?” You say softly, and his heart clenches at the tone of your voice. 

“Fine.” He responds shortly. 

Rafe watches as you take a deep breath, almost like you’re preparing for something, and suddenly he’s nervous. He watches you wearily as you set your things down in the sand before standing back up to look at him. 

“Listen, I know you’re upset with me, okay? And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being weird, and I’m sorry for being distant.”

His breath catches at your words. He didn’t expect you to come and apologize; if anything, he thought you would chew him out for ignoring you or just straight up tell him that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. 

He swallows, the air feeling heavy.

“Okay.” He manages to say. 

He knows you want to hear more from him based on how you cross your arms and look at him like that. Like you’re disappointed. But he can’t bring himself to say more. 

You sigh and run a hand over your face, and it’s then that he notices how your eyes are red and swollen, and the makeup you had on earlier has been washed away by tear streaks. He shifts on his feet, knowing that it was probably him who made you cry. All he ever does is ruin things. 

You lick your lips and urge yourself to keep talking. “At the party, um, Kelce’s party, you told me that-that you neededme-that you always need me, and—do you remember that?” You interrupt yourself, needing to know. 

Rafe’s heart stopped when you mentioned the party, but he’s able to nod his head once. A silent confirmation of what he wished he couldn’t remember. 

You swallow at his action and your mind races. Now that you knew for a fact he remembered, suddenly everything was painted in a different light. 

“I just…I didn’t—fuck,” You laugh humorlessly, unable to get the words out. “I was afraid that I couldn’t be that for you. I couldn’t be what you need.”

Rafe’s lips twitch into a slight frown at your words before he schools his face back into something neutral. “Why?” He asks gruffly.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to gather yourself, but as you look back at him, everything comes tumbling out. “B-because I haven’t even been honest with you, for-for the past couple months—I’m in love with you, Rafe, and I couldn’t even tell you, and I just thought, how can I be there for you when I can’t even be fully honest with you or myself…”

The rest of what you're saying falls on deaf ears when Rafe hears those five words. I’m in love with you. His heart is pounding, and it feels hard to breathe as he watches your lips move, but he can’t hear a thing. 

You’re in love with him? What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Tell you he felt the same way? He did, of course he did, but he couldn’t be what you needed. He was too messed up, an emotional wreck. There was no way you could possibly love him. 

But…what if you did? 

It’s then he realizes you’ve stopped talking, and you’re staring at him now, waiting for something, anything. 

“Y-you’re in love with me?” He chokes out. 

You nod. “Yeah. I-I’m in love with you, Rafe. I love you.” Your voice is shaky but resolute.

"That's not—no, you don't." Rafe shakes his head, stepping back. 

Your heart tightens at his words. 

"I do." You mumble. 

He lets out a humorless laugh and runs his hand through his hair. "No-no, you can't, alright?"

"What?" You frown, your anxiety now being replaced by confusion. 

"You can't." He says, and he looks like he doesn't want to keep talking, but he continues. "I'm not, I'm not that guy." 

You shake your head. You knew about his insecurities and his troubles, and maybe this was what you were also afraid of. Not that he doesn't love you back, but that he feels like he doesn't deserve to be loved. 

Your eyes well up with tears as you look at him, and he looks just as close to crying as you are. 

"That's not true, Rafe," You say quietly. "I love you. I'm serious." 

He falters for a moment. It makes sense; why you avoided him. But he needs the reassurance. 

His face twists as he runs his hands through his hair again. "No, you just-you just wanted to fix me, and when you realized that I'm a lost cause, you stopped trying-"

You cut him off before he can even finish what he's saying. 

"W-what the fuck?" You frown, your voice getting louder. "No. Absolutely not. You're not some-some case that I'm trying to solve or fix, Rafe. You're my best friend. I avoided you because I didn't know how to deal with my feelings, I—why would you even think that?"

It's then that you feel hot tears running down your cheeks. That's what he thought? This whole time, he thought you were just playing with him like some kind of toy you could put back together?

He swallows at your words, and while his mind is running a million miles a minute, processing it all and still trying to convince him he's not good enough for you, seeing you so upset just breaks him. 

His bottom lip trembles as he looks at you, and it’s then that he realizes you’re not bullshitting him, you're being honest, and everything that held him back before doesn’t matter anymore. 

Before he or you know what’s happening, he’s taking a step towards you and grabbing your face, pulling you in for a bruising kiss. 

Your eyes widen in shock before you allow yourself to melt into it. Melt into him. 

He pulls away after a few seconds, both of you breathless and equally surprised by his actions. 

“I l-" He cuts himself off and shakes his head like it'll help get his words out. "I love you too—I’m in love with you too.” He says, his hands still on your cheeks. 

“Yeah?” You manage to ask. 

“Yeah.” He nods, a small smile working its way on his face.

You smile, too, and look up at him. “So we’re good?” You ask. 

He nods vehemently and leans forward, pecking your lips once more. 

“We’re good.” He murmurs, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

And as his thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away your tears, you wish you told him how you felt ages ago, but you push the thought away. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

All that matters is him. 

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @pillowprincess4him @akobx @tortured-artists @emmiesummers @hollablkgrl @wtfisastiles @khartalks @chillgal135 @pytbae @neph-dh @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @countryclubwhore @rafeycameronsgf @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sparklyananas @artbymin

(i think i got everyone…) uhhhh holy shit yall this taglist??? hello??? THANK YOUUUUUU

[momentomorix]

The Plan

Inspiration : Plan coeur (french netflix) Summary: Tired of seeing their friend shut herself away in loneliness, two young women decide to hire an escort without her knowledge. What started as a simple innocent game quickly turns into a relationship tangled with feelings and lies.

Warnings:  Contains explicit sex and vulgar sexual language

Writers notes: English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations. 

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (oc)

Rafe Cameron had done a lot of things in his twenty-eight years. Some good, but mostly bad. Life hadn’t been kind to him, so getting paid to fuck had seemed like a decent option — he liked money as much as he liked women. It had almost started to bore him, actually. He’d done nearly everything. Young women, older ones. Alone, in groups. At their place, at parties, in private or in public. Fingering, licking, fucking, watching, joining in, dominating, submitting. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, wild colors. From the stay-at-home mom who needed to be shaken up to the sixty-something lawyer who wanted to be dominated the way she ruled in court. He wasn’t even sure he remembered what it meant to truly want someone. Well… not until you.

He’d been careless that night. Usually, he made sure nothing was lying around when you came over. But you were cold, and you went looking for a pair of sweatpants in his closet. That’s when you found the folder. The photos. The stories. The money. Your big black eyes, brimming with tears, stared at him when he appeared in the doorway, his smile vanishing the moment he realized. It was too late. It was the end.

One year earlier.

“Same time next week.” The woman’s voice beside him pulled him from his thoughts, and Rafe simply nodded as he got dressed. He didn’t like lingering at the homes of women he’d just fucked — he preferred to clean up back at his place and move on. He caught the last tram home and slipped the envelope into a box in his closet. It was only supposed to be temporary — just long enough to help Sarah pay for college, long enough to find a real job, long enough to... It had already been four years.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t getting something out of it. He had sex whenever he wanted, lived a fairly comfortable life, went out when he pleased — and above all, he was free. Too many years spent trying to be the perfect son for a father who only cared about appearances. Stand up straight, speak properly, no scandals.

Rafe Cameron had been chained his whole life, so when the opportunity came, he left. Sarah had followed him, but Wheezie, still underage, had stayed behind with their parents.

“You’re home early today.” “I had some hours to use up.”

Of course, sleeping with everyone meant lying to his sister. He’d told her he was a waiter, which explained the late hours he sometimes got home. Living together worked out fine for the most part — they mostly just crossed paths.

Yeah, Rafe Cameron felt pretty good about his life.

Then on nights like this one, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him, if he’d really chosen the right path.

His phone beeped — a new message in his private email inbox. They came in at all hours, day and night. At first, it had bothered him to be treated like a piece of meat. But once the money started piling up, the discomfort disappeared.

A girl named Kiara was asking for a meeting early the next morning, at a café by the sea. No photos, no details. Just the promise of a good payout.

.

The biting autumn air made his fingers stiff, and he caught himself wishing for a warm interior instead of this wind-exposed terrace. Still, he didn’t move. His coffee let off a thin stream of steam, and the two young women across from him were watching him closely, clearly waiting for his answer.

“So…” He leaned on the table after taking a sip of his too-hot coffee. “You’re asking me to fuck your friend? Without her knowing?” “No!” Cleo gasped, leaning toward him. “We just want you to… flirt with her or something.” “Something?” “We just want you to help her get over her ex,” Kiara added.

The usual song and dance.

“What’s the difference?” “You don’t sleep with her!” “Unless you can tell she’s into it,” Kiara cut in, raising her hands. “Kiara!” Cleo snapped.

Of the two friends, she was clearly the most uncomfortable with the plan. When Kiara had first brought up the idea of hiring an escort, Cleo had laughed, assuming it was just a joke after one drink too many. Now that it was actually happening, she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea after all.

Cleo glanced at the guy sitting across from her — his short, bleached hair made his blue eyes stand out even more. He was wearing a suit, which had surprised her; she’d expected something more casual. She couldn’t deny he was attractive, and the mischievous curve of his smile nearly made her blush.

“So?” Kiara prompted. “I flirt with her, don’t let it go anywhere, and disappear once she’s over her ex,” he repeated.

It sounded awful to Cleo’s ears, but then she thought of your constantly guarded face, took a deep breath, and pushed the envelope toward Rafe.

“Two dates minimum,” Kiara said. “If you can tell she’s not into it, just let it go.”

He smirked. Letting go wasn’t really his thing — especially not when it paid this well.

“And what if she falls in love?” Kiara and Cléo had no answer, both silently hoping that wouldn’t happen.

Before they parted ways, Kiara had handed Rafe a photo of you so he’d be able to recognize you. He hadn’t paid much attention to it back at the café, but now, on the tram, he could study it at his leisure. A picture of a girl with big, dark eyes, her expression closed off, like she wanted to disappear from the world — despite a fragile smile. An ordinary girl, really. One who was struggling to get over her ex — pathetic — and who’d moved her friends enough that they were willing to pay a gigolo to help her forget. Without sleeping with her.

Easy.

Forgetting you the moment he stepped off the tram, Rafe headed to his next client. He’d made sure to wear a suit — she liked classy things, the quiet kind of elegance he offered every time he came over. She was in her thirties, a little older than him, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

Her long red hair was wrapped tight in Rafe’s fist as he took her from behind, his balls slapping against her pussy with every thrust he gave.

His other hand gripped her throat, forcing her to watch in the mirror what he was doing to her. “Harder.” He obeyed, slamming into her with more intensity, his cock gliding easily between her soaked walls as her breathing grew louder. Her red-painted nails dug into Rafe’s skin, her eyes tearing up from the roughness of his thrusts.

Rafe never spoke during sex — unless asked to. Only low growls escaped him, a sign he was enjoying it just as much as his partner. He pulled her tighter against him, releasing her hair to rest his head on her shoulder while he kept hammering into her, again and again.

His hand slid down to her swollen clit, and the wetness running down her thighs made it easier for him to rub over that bundle of nerves. As he tightened his grip around her throat, the orgasm hit. He felt her pussy clench around him, pulsing from the pressure of pleasure, and kept thrusting until he came too.

“You’re not staying?” He never stayed — she knew that — but still hoped one day he might. Clutching the sheets to her chest, she watched him — naked — as he walked to the bathroom to toss the condom.

Almost a year she’d been paying him, and she still knew nothing about him.

That beautiful ass disappeared under his boxers, those muscles under his shirt, and he ran a hand through his hair to tame it.

“See you soon,” was all he said. Rafe wasn’t a bastard. He just didn’t feel anything anymore. He had loved before, had been in love — but all those years spent around women who paid for a little affection had made him cynical, disillusioned about love and feelings.

Brides, mothers, singles, women in relationships… all looking to be loved, even if only for a moment.

And him? He wondered if it was even worth loving anymore, after that bitter realization.

Back home, he tossed the envelope deep into his closet so his sister wouldn’t find it and went to take a shower.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at college?” “Exam period.”

He raised his eyebrows in a half-smile when he saw his sister buried in her books, then flopped down on the couch, waiting for his next appointment.

You.

He kept telling himself it was going to be easy, but still felt nervous about approaching someone who had no idea who he was or what he did. Just simple flirting, even though he barely remembered how to do that anymore.

“You going out?” Sarah frowned as she saw her brother getting ready, hoping they might finally have dinner together this time.

“I’ll be back soon.” He ran a hand through his hair before lighting a cigarette. “Don’t wait up.”

The cool night air greeted him as he hurried to catch the tram, flicking his cigarette butt away with a careless flick of his thumb.

He didn’t know much about you; your friends had described you as quiet, even shy, but passionate about your work. That’d be a welcome change from all the ones who talked too much just to seem interesting.

“She finishes late on Thursdays, she works at the museum,” Kiara had explained. “Usually, she’s at the station around nine o’clock.”

So Rafe waited at the platform, pretending to be waiting for a tram he wasn’t really going to take, just to make sure he’d run into the right one.

To run into you. He hadn’t planned for it to be literal — crashing full force into you as you ran to avoid being late. “Shit…” you gasped, breath short, one hand pressed against your forehead. The pain throbbed like a dull alarm beneath your skull, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation.

You leaned against the wall, the cold concrete biting into your palm. The ground wobbled slightly beneath your feet — or maybe it was just your heart, panicked, ripping you out of the moment.

Your gaze cautiously slid toward the figure you’d just collided with. He was bent over, trying to save his clothes from the disaster you’d just caused. Almost white blond, hair too short to tame, blue eyes flashing with lightning. Anger, probably. Or surprise. Or both.

Your stomach clenched. You felt heat rise in your cheeks, like an unwelcome fire you couldn’t hold back.

Of course. It had to be a guy like that.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You hated this — attracting attention. Even more when you already felt unsteady inside. Rafe wasn’t doing much better, his nose starting to bleed after the impact. He cursed under his breath, bending forward to keep the blood from dripping onto his clothes. It was just a little, but enough for a thin trickle to run down his pale skin — the contrast was striking. Enough to make you feel sick because you couldn’t stand the sight of blood.

“Damn, I’m sorry.”

Too caught up in his pain, Rafe hadn’t looked at you yet—otherwise, he would have noticed that approaching you was easier than expected. He let out a deep breath and took the handkerchief you offered to wipe the drying blood.

“I’m really sorry.” “You already said that.”

Embarrassed, you tightened your coat around you, like a shield against the world. He looked at your figure bundled up in layers, your long hair tucked under a beanie, and your boots that had seen better days.

This would be easy.

He wasn’t surprised by your wary glance; your friends had warned him. Maybe he should stop staring like that so you could manage a smile?

“You okay?” “With a coffee, yeah.” “What?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your head tilted slightly to the side, revealing a line of rings along your right ear. “You buy me a coffee, and we’re even.” He shrugged with a sly smile. “Why would I do that?” “You hurt me.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked past him and patiently waited standing for the next tram to arrive.

It had been dark for a while, winter was setting in, not all the streetlights were on, and when you got on the tram, there were hardly any people.

Rafe followed you, leaving a row of seats between you so as not to get too close, but sat facing you to stay in your line of sight.

That’s how it started.

Every Thursday, for a month, he came at the same time to see you, gently imposing himself on you. The first Thursday, your eyes were red from crying. He didn’t know what had happened with your ex, but he must have been a real asshole for you to still be so affected, two years later. To him, it was pathetic. He couldn’t understand how someone could let a third person have so much power over their life—let alone fail to forget them, after all that time had passed.

The second Thursday, your gaze was still as distant, as if you were there but not really present. You hadn’t even noticed him, sitting behind you while you waited standing, frozen on the platform. Your ignorance gave him the chance to observe your silhouette a little more. You reminded him of those teenage girls in teen movies — the ones who get left out because they don’t fit in. Your jacket, way too big for you, almost completely covered your hair, as if you wanted to disappear even more from the world. Your high boots, with undone laces, looked ready to make you stumble. You had ignored him until the very end.

The third Thursday, you looked on edge. Your hair was carelessly tied up in a messy bun, held in place by a pen. Your scarf kept slipping, and your bag fell as you ran down the stairs. It was clearly a shitty day, and Rafe—so used to seeing you frozen—was surprised when you snapped at a guy who was only trying to help.

Of course, Rafe hadn’t stopped living just for this rescue mission. He kept sleeping around, hooking up with a girl who worked at the bakery and wanted to serve a different kind of baguette. It was amusing to see the shyness on her face as she swallowed his cock, drooling all over her face. Rafe enjoyed that moment—calmer than what he’d been going through lately—and as he lit a cigarette walking home, he ran into you. You didn’t see him, you never saw anything. Fatigue was written on your face, the cold making you shiver, freezing you even more than the usual chill you felt inside. Rafe hesitated, whether to come talk to you. He changed his mind, heading in the opposite direction. It was just a job.

He was sure it was going to be easy.

It was supposed to be just one part, but my brain took over and now it's several.

Another

Part. 2

[hanasnx]

that girl

PART ONE ✩ PART TWO WORD COUNT: 0.9k WARNINGS: f!reader | suggestive | fake relationship | love triangle

Ever since you'd first started hanging around JJ MAYBANK the other Kooks of Figure Eight have voiced their concern. Every word and every insult has been thrown around to describe him so as to convince you not to "waste your time with him." The mouth of RAFE CAMERON is especially foul. "I'm jus' looking out for you, that's all." he'd insist, and he's shown his concern by towing you along with a harsh grip on your upper arm.

It's no secret that Rafe's interest in you is selfish. He's told you in many ways that you belong with someone from your side of the island, not a delinquent who'll end up just like his slum father. Of course, he hasn't explicitly specified who exactly you should have you eyes on in Figure Eight.

There's something about the way Ward pushes you together, as if you're good for Rafe. Not just Ward, but Sarah and Wheezie love you. They cling onto your arms and tell you about how they wish you were part of the family already, grossly misinterpreting your relationship with their brother. Sarah rolls her eyes at how Rafe talks when he's around you, how he's on edge and slightly more neurotic because he "likes you so much it's embarrassing." Playful and innocent, yet they put you at unease, teaching you to suspect Rafe's oncoming confession.

It's gotten to the point where you're afraid to be alone with him. That he'll confess his feelings for you, or respond poorly when you reject him. Actively avoiding him whenever you're in the same vicinity because the pressure is just too much. However, he's determined, and when he corners you inside at the Midsummer's, you run through a list of excuses at a record pace.

"... and I just think it's time we go out—"

You interrupt him with possibly the worst option on the wheel your brain had spun. "Rafe, I have a boyfriend." Blurting it out in a flinch, readying for his inevitable meltdown. He's not known for being stable. An indignant, knowing glint flashes in his eyes as he refocuses on you, taken aback at the prospect of you belonging to someone else.

"Well, who?"

You're reminded of the back of JJ's head when you'd spotted him sneaking in earlier. "C'mon, you should know already." In an attempt to be lighthearted, you push at his arm but he's immovable and unresponsive, glancing at your contact as if it's unwanted. Embarrassed, you drop your arm, and give him a shrug, "It's JJ." you say in a forced laugh. The silence is killing you as he processes your words, lips pressed into a thin line. Tentatively, you crawl across the wall, inching out of the space he caged you in. "I should... get back to him. Excuse me." your tone feathers out, and you escape, power-walking back to the outside where people are. You leave him staring at the wall with his knuckle to his mouth in thought.

You crane your neck, searching bobbing heads for the one of familiar blonde hair. Miraculously, you spot him on the dancefloor, rounding Sarah. Hiking up your dress, you hurry to his location, and usher him aside. "Sorry, Sarah, be right back." you assure her.

"Hey, easy, you'll get it crinkled." JJ scolds you, straightening out his waiter get-up indignantly. Without thinking, you hand claps over his mouth and he furrows his brows at you, scanning your figure.

"I don't have time to explain, but I need you to be my fake boyfriend—"

The crease in his brows deepen at the notion, minutely shaking his head under the pressure of your palm. "Uh-uh!"

"Please, JJ, I need your help—"

He smacks your hand off, "Are you kidding me?" he questions, too loud for comfort, and to evade making a scene you drag him further away while shushing him.

"You don't understand, just for a little bit!" you beg, clutching onto his clothes as he continuously pushes you off, intent to back up and away. You chase him.

"No, no way, princess. You know what the white knights of Figure Eight'll do to me if they find out a dick from the Cut is your sweetheart? I've got enough heat on me as is." If it were under different circumstances, maybe, but his friends have assured him the less attention on him the better. Not while they're in the middle of a treasure hunt, and less eyes means less competition. Certainly not something he can disclose with you, and you hound after him as he furthers from the centroid of the party. A door opens, and Rafe comes into your view. You jump into overdrive, diving onto JJ to pull him out of Rafe's peripheral. "The hell—?"

"That's Rafe, that's Rafe. God, please, JJ. If you just pretend you're my boyfriend in front of Rafe maybe he'll leave me alone?" You upturn your brows, begging him while his back is to the wall. Bewildered, he stares at you a second before looking around the corner. He licks his lips. The chance to get back at Rafe psychologically sounds pretty good right now, and the way you throw yourself at him ain't bad either. He locks eyes with you again, giving you a once-over in your pretty Midsummer dress. "Please?" you sigh. "JJ. Please?"

His nostrils flare when he sucks in a breath, pursing his lips. "Damnit. Damnit, alright. Enough with those eyes, are you kidding me? I'll do it."

You expel a breath in relief, tossing yourself at him to wind your arms around his neck. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you,"

"Alright, alright." He peels you off of him. "Don't get all happy with me, you've gotta remember I make the rules here."

You shouldn't have agreed to his rules so readily. Like an idiot, you had told him you're down for whatever it takes and he took that seriously. Now you're subjected to his every whim. A small part of you deems it's worth it, especially seeing Rafe's face after JJ made out with you and grabbed your ass for the first time in front of him.

[goatsyqueer]

THE BOYS ARE FIGHTING

This is all the effort I have rn 🍳

I HATE WRITING DIALOGUE EUGHHH!!!! (I don’t care if there are are spelling errors 😭)

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Four

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A/N: I literally cannot explain just how much joy writing this brings me 🥺 This chapter especially! Making all these little social media posts and messages is taxing but so so fun! Hope y'all will enjoy this as much as I did writing/making it ❤🥰

TW: underage drinking, mild sexual content

Two weeks pass by in a blink of an eye and Leni could be exaggerating - after all her arrival here was nothing short of a disaster - but meeting Sarah’s friends has somehow made everything ten times better. Getting to know them is quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to her. And no - she is most certainly not being dramatic despite what her mother has told her in the past couple of days. 

Rose and Wheezie are still nowhere to be found or heard from. 

And so is Rafe. 

Well, that’s not true - according to Polly he was last seen shopping for groceries. He had his airpods jammed in his ears and seemed to be very deep in thought. She tried approaching him, but got shy all of a sudden. Tess likes to think that despite everything she has said so far, Polly did in fact approach him, but he didn’t recognize her so now she’s both embarrassed and humiliated. 

“Whatchu thinking?” JJ’s breath on her skin tickles. She turns to look at him and their faces are barely inches apart. “Cause I’m thinking we should grab the rest of this to-go and head back to the beach. This dude on TikTok said there’s gonna be some killer waves this afternoon and I really wanna ride ‘em all.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Same.”

John B and Pope say almost in union and JJ takes this as a sign to go on ahead and holler at Kiara who is standing on the complete opposite side of the restaurant and very clearly working. 

“Kie! Hey! We’re leaving!” She squints her eyes in their direction, her hands full of dirty empty dishes. “Ready to hit your first wave today Berlin?” He then turns to Leni - his smile as bright as the sun shining right above him and she’s about to return the enthusiasm when she suddenly remembers: she already has plans.

“Sure, but… I… forgot I made plans.” Her smile is a sour one; she feels like such a traitor whenever something stupid like this comes up and she has to ditch her brand new friends in order to sit in hell with her old ones. 

“Tess and Polly?” Sarah says from across the table, her face matching Leni’s now wavering smile. 

 “Yeah… I’ve already cancelled on them twice-”

“Well you know what they say, third time’s a-”

“I can’t do it again, Jayj. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You don’t want me to drop you off a block or something away from the Club?” JJ’s voice tears Leni’s gaze away from the conversation she,Tess and Poly had the previous day. Sometimes, she doesn’t even know why she still bothers. Do they even like her? “Leni?” He calls out for her and when she finally looks at him, the corner of JJ’s lips are spread into a wide grin, but not even the wildest of eyebrow wiggles are able to hide the very obvious concern in his voice. 

Leni shakes her head, “What? No. That’s stupid. You can just park over there and I’ll be on my way.” 

Relief colors his entire face just then and yeah - he is cute. She lets her gaze linger on him for a second longer; contemplating whether she should reward him for driving her with a small kiss on the cheek, but something changes her mind. 

They hug goodbye - quickly with the tiniest bit of reservation from her part and then, as if zero awkwardness occurred she leaves JJ’s car. 

“Finally.” It’s the first thing Tess says to her when she approaches their table. Much like last time, their coffees are almost finished and when the waiter comes to take their second order, Polly gleefully orders an entire pitcher of mimosas. 

The drinks come in and Leni doesn’t say yes when a very full glass is placed right in front of  her. 

But then again, she doesn’t say no either. 

Tess and Polly begin informing her on all the brand new gossip they’ve learned in the past couple of days: Kelce has started seeing Phoebe - a girl Leni for some reason is supposed to know because of a falling out she and Tess had during Midsummers ages ago. Topper - for the millionth time - considered dropping out of Duke to become a pro-surfer, but his evil mom allegedly threatened to cut him off so he’s still going back to school in the fall. 

“And I’m planning this year’s Midsummers!” Polly exclaims happily.

“Oh my god, Polly, that's amazing!” Leni says at the same time Tess mumbles harshly, “And how exactly is that going for you?” 

The smile almost instantly disappears from Polly’s face. “There’s no need for you to be a bitch Tess. It’s not my fault the order got fucked up, okay?” And then, as if none of this ever happened, she’s back to her happy, giddy self. “You’re coming right?” 

“Yeah, of course. It’s this weekend, right?” 

Tess snorts. “It was supposed to, but someone’s order got fucked so it’s been pushed to next Friday.” 

“Oh.” 

Oh. 

Next Friday it’s Leni’s birthday. 

Well - technically it’s on Saturday, but since she was born on the first stroke of midnight, her parents created this tradition of sorts where they celebrate it on the night before. This way Leni gets to welcome her birthday with those that mean to her the most. And although somewhat close, Tess and Polly aren’t exactly the first people she wants to turn nineteen with. 

“Have you decided what you’re gonna wear?” She asks the girls and that’s all it takes for the two to forget the argument they had mere seconds ago. Instantly they pull out their phones; their wish lists filled with cute flowy dresses that perfectly match the event’s theme. None have made their final choice yet and when Leni reveals that she too still hasn’t picked her outfit, they are more than happy to take Tess’ dad’s boat so they can do a little shopping on the mainland.

“Holy shit!?” Polly yelps out of nowhere, “Sofia’s in Tampa?”

“What? Let me see that.” Tess practically yanks the phone out of her hand and now Leni is sitting there, silently watching as they goggle over the Instagram story of someone she’s never heard of. “What the fuck Polly? You follow her?”

“Only through my burner!”

Tess grabs her own phone just then, types furiously and presses the brightly lit screen straight into Polly’s exasperated face, “Then why the fuck is your main our only mutual!? (“It was an accident!”) You literal psycho!”

“Uhm, guys…” Leni’s voice barely manages to push through yet another one of their hushed arguments. “Who… who’s Sofia?” 

“Oh, she’s this girl from The Cut, Rafe used to fuck around with.” Tess says. 

“They weren’t fucking around! She was literally his girlfriend! (“His girlfriend?”) Yes, his girlfriend! Like -”

“No. No. That’s not true. I literally asked him. Last fall, remember? Topper’s Halloween party? You were too busy hooking up with Ellis Carter (“Ew Polly, you hooked up with Ellis Carter?”) I literally said the same thing Leni. Anyways, while you were too busy sucking Ellis’ greasy dick, I was asking Rafe about his little yacht girlie. And do you know what he said to me? (“No! I was too busy sucking Ellis’ greasy dick!”) He said no way, no chance, not even in a million years! “

“Tess! They were dating. Like-” Just then, Polly slides her phone to Leni, desperate to get someone on her side. “Look!” Without wasting a second, Leni begins scrolling through Sofia’s profile. Not because she’s super interested in what Rafe’s alleged ex might look like or in the photos she posts of herself or of him or of the two of them together…

After what feels like ages, Leni finally gives Polly her phone back, “She’s pretty.” The words force themselves out of her mouth, but barely get registered by either of her friends. Tess and Polly are yet in another hushed argument, but unlike the one before, this doesn’t seem like it’s going to be resolved any time soon. 

Silently, Leni stares back at Polly’s phone, particularly at the photo from Sofia’s Instagram that she last opened. She stares at it until the screen goes black. Until the chatter in the table right next to theirs goes silent and all she can hear is Rafe’s name being chanted in whispers. 

Like a manifestation of her wildest desires, Rafe Cameron strolls in and Leni could simply be imagining it, but suddenly the whole place becomes unnervingly quiet. As if his presence had taken everyone’s breath away.

Or that may just be Leni. 

“My god he’s hot.” Polly’s dreamy sigh brings her back to earth. 

“I can’t believe you fucked him.” Leni’s voice feels rough against her throat. Sandpapery almost. 

“I can’t believe it either.” 

She tries her best not to stare in his direction, but it’s virtually impossible - he’s sat himself directly in her eye line, making it rather difficult to look at anything but him. By this time, Tess and Polly have completely made up; their little arguments long forgotten and probably never to be mentioned again, until one of them does something stupid like hook up with yucky Ellis Carter. 

Or Topper. Polly orders a much needed second round of mimosas and soon enough, they’re back on track. This time they’re talking about Ruthie - the girlfriend Topper sporadically cheats on with Tess. But only when Tess feels like it. After all, Ruthie is her friend - kinda - and the last thing she wants to do is hurt her feelings. “Or god forbid break them up.”

Leni stares at her suddenly lit up screen. 

News? 

What kind of news?

She doesn’t like the way her heart reacts when she presses that send button. 

Tess calls her name, grabbing her attention for a brief moment, but then her screen lights up again and none of it matters, “I’m sorry what?” Gingerly holding the phone in her hands, she asks her friend to repeat what she just said, but it’s pointless. Tess’ mouth is moving, but the words are blocked by the sound of Leni’s incredibly loud heart beat.

Leni swallows. 

Almost instantly, her gaze flies in his direction, hoping to catch him red handed or something, but he’s already raced her to it. Those deep, haunting blue eyes are fixed on her with such intensity, Leni is convinced he can see right through her. And because the thought is racing through her mind, she almost immediately looks away - if their gazes don’t meet he won’t be able to see the breath catching in her throat.

She can feel his molten gaze bear holes in her entire body as she does her best to type the rest of the message without her hands shaking. Once finished, Leni tries to steal a glance at him; catch him in the act per say, but once again he’s one step ahead of her.

The only difference this time is the way his eyebrows quirk upwards when she reads the text and looks back at him. Something about that subtle gesture sends Leni’s nerves flying; she no longer feels unnerved about this entire exchange, but rather… irritated. 

But then again, what was she really expecting him to say?

Rose was right. 

He is relentless. 

Who knows what he did to get a hold of her number and really - does it even matter? As long as he never finds out where she is staying Leni is going to be alright. And about that of his number, well, she can always block him.

As a matter of fact, she can block him right.now.  

(She doesn’t.)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[valadezramirez]

Finally figured out my AU– you may read it if you'd like :p

All the casino crew found at the level Inkwell Hell[i.e. King Dice, The Tipsy Troop(Rumulus, Ginette, Ol' Ethan), Chips Bettigan, Mr. Wheezy, Pirouletta, Pachinko, Mangosteen, Phear Lap, Pip & Dot, Mr. Chimes, Hopus Pocus and The Announcer] have all been turned into demons after signing their contracts and selling their soul to The Devil. All of the casino crew have their regular forms in which they used whilst working at the casino and while fighting Cuphead and Mugman, but release their demon forms when they need to collect an insane number of souls for their boss The Devil or whenever they need to fight someone powerful[they often win because the casino crew is much, *much* more powerful in thier demon forms.] The citizens of Inkwell Isle are not aware of the casino crew's demon forms and just see them as regular people.

A few years after the battle with Cuphead and Mugman, the two brothers show up to the casino looking for a job, and like in the AU Casino Cups made by Brightgoat, they work as normal waiters[they did not sell their souls]. Through working for The Devil, they soon find out that the crew have demon forms/are demons during a staff party where they all accidentally transformed after having a few drinks. Cuphead and Mugman are shocked at the new information but swear on their souls that they will not tell anyone[especially after being threatened by Mr. Wheezy].

One day King Dice finds a small child outside the casino whom resembles a moth. The child's name is Yazmin Jackson, who was quickly taken in by the manager. The crew have no idea how the child ended up at the casino but allowed her to stay with them and work as an errand girl, Yazmin has since become the casino crew's 'little baby' of sorts and they absolutely adore her. She's innocent, obedient and doesn't ask too many questions. She mainly hangs around Mr. Wheezy and Rumulus.

I'm not too good at writing backstory/AU stuff so i hope this is alright

[unshrinkingviolets]

for this ask game, 28, 39

Hi!!!!! :3

thank u for adding a link bc it would have taken me a minute to find otherwise lol

do you collect anything?

not really? there are genres of objects I tend to obtain but "collecting" to me has always implied a kind of method and intention that I do not possess. that being said i tend to obtain: plushies, pencils, notebooks, and stickers

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

so in the era of my actual obsession the youtuber was not yet fully evolved - it was the time of the vlogger, of youtube feeling like an accessible space. And there was this guy frezned whose work I watched obsessively, he was Australian and made silly videos that made it feel possible for me to also make silly videos (which I did)(I was part of a vlog channel with friends for a few years and made my own videos as well). Something Happened with him and his channel and videos are, as far as I can tell, For Real Gone. He probably did something horrific that I will never fully understand, or maybe he didn't. whatever. much of his content lives in my head rent free regardless.

I also really liked Wheezy Waiter (aka Craig Gene Benzine, who now does like, lifestyle vids with his wife, good for him tbh), for better or for worse I think his creative philosophy and output in the late 2000s/early 2010s was really influential for me (and still is, to an extent?)

IDK it's nostalgia and stuff, but there was an aspect to that era of youtube that really did make it feel like you could just Do Shit. I know you still can, but bisexual lighting hadn't been invented back then and nobody was hiring staff (unless they were, again, it's nostalgia and I'm ill-informed at best) and it wasn't Content(tm) and the energy was inspiring. old man stares wistfully at cloud.

[dickens-daily]

FULL REPORT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION For the advancement of everything

We have made the most unparalleled and extraordinary exertions to place before our readers a complete and accurate account of the proceedings at the late grand meeting of the Mudfog Association, holden in the town of Mudfog; it affords us great happiness to lay the result before them, in the shape of various communications received from our able, talented, and graphic correspondent, expressly sent down for the purpose, who has immortalized us, himself, Mudfog, and the association, all at one and the same time. We have been, indeed, for some days unable to determine who will transmit the greatest name to posterity; ourselves, who sent our correspondent down; our correspondent, who wrote an account of the matter; or the association, who gave our correspondent something to write about. We rather incline to the opinion that we are the greatest man of the party, inasmuch as the notion of an exclusive and authentic report originated with us; this may be prejudice: it may arise from a prepossession on our part in our own favour. Be it so. We have no doubt that every gentleman concerned in this mighty assemblage is troubled with the same complaint in a greater or less degree; and it is a consolation to us to know that we have at least this feeling in common with the great scientific stars, the brilliant and extraordinary luminaries, whose speculations we record.

We give our correspondent’s letters in the order in which they reached us. Any attempt at amalgamating them into one beautiful whole, would only destroy that glowing tone, that dash of wildness, and rich vein of picturesque interest, which pervade them throughout.

‘Mudfog, Monday night, seven o’clock.

‘We are in a state of great excitement here. Nothing is spoken of, but the approaching meeting of the association. The inn-doors are thronged with waiters anxiously looking for the expected arrivals; and the numerous bills which are wafered up in the windows of private houses, intimating that there are beds to let within, give the streets a very animated and cheerful appearance, the wafers being of a great variety of colours, and the monotony of printed inscriptions being relieved by every possible size and style of hand-writing. It is confidently rumoured that Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy have engaged three beds and a sitting-room at the Pig and Tinder-box. I give you the rumour as it has reached me; but I cannot, as yet, vouch for its accuracy. The moment I have been enabled to obtain any certain information upon this interesting point, you may depend upon receiving it.’

‘Half-past seven.

I have just returned from a personal interview with the landlord of the Pig and Tinder-box. He speaks confidently of the probability of Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy taking up their residence at his house during the sitting of the association, but denies that the beds have been yet engaged; in which representation he is confirmed by the chambermaid—a girl of artless manners, and interesting appearance. The boots denies that it is at all likely that Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy will put up here; but I have reason to believe that this man has been suborned by the proprietor of the Original Pig, which is the opposition hotel. Amidst such conflicting testimony it is difficult to arrive at the real truth; but you may depend upon receiving authentic information upon this point the moment the fact is ascertained. The excitement still continues. A boy fell through the window of the pastrycook’s shop at the corner of the High-street about half an hour ago, which has occasioned much confusion. The general impression is, that it was an accident. Pray heaven it may prove so!’

‘Tuesday, noon.

‘At an early hour this morning the bells of all the churches struck seven o’clock; the effect of which, in the present lively state of the town, was extremely singular. While I was at breakfast, a yellow gig, drawn by a dark grey horse, with a patch of white over his right eyelid, proceeded at a rapid pace in the direction of the Original Pig stables; it is currently reported that this gentleman has arrived here for the purpose of attending the association, and, from what I have heard, I consider it extremely probable, although nothing decisive is yet known regarding him. You may conceive the anxiety with which we are all looking forward to the arrival of the four o’clock coach this afternoon.

‘Notwithstanding the excited state of the populace, no outrage has yet been committed, owing to the admirable discipline and discretion of the police, who are nowhere to be seen. A barrel-organ is playing opposite my window, and groups of people, offering fish and vegetables for sale, parade the streets. With these exceptions everything is quiet, and I trust will continue so.’

‘Five o’clock.

‘It is now ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy will not repair to the Pig and Tinder-box, but have actually engaged apartments at the Original Pig. This intelligence is exclusive; and I leave you and your readers to draw their own inferences from it. Why Professor Wheezy, of all people in the world, should repair to the Original Pig in preference to the Pig and Tinder-box, it is not easy to conceive. The professor is a man who should be above all such petty feelings. Some people here openly impute treachery, and a distinct breach of faith to Professors Snore and Doze; while others, again, are disposed to acquit them of any culpability in the transaction, and to insinuate that the blame rests solely with Professor Wheezy. I own that I incline to the latter opinion; and although it gives me great pain to speak in terms of censure or disapprobation of a man of such transcendent genius and acquirements, still I am bound to say that, if my suspicions be well founded, and if all the reports which have reached my ears be true, I really do not well know what to make of the matter.

‘Mr. Slug, so celebrated for his statistical researches, arrived this afternoon by the four o’clock stage. His complexion is a dark purple, and he has a habit of sighing constantly. He looked extremely well, and appeared in high health and spirits. Mr. Woodensconce also came down in the same conveyance. The distinguished gentleman was fast asleep on his arrival, and I am informed by the guard that he had been so the whole way. He was, no doubt, preparing for his approaching fatigues; but what gigantic visions must those be that flit through the brain of such a man when his body is in a state of torpidity!

‘The influx of visitors increases every moment. I am told (I know not how truly) that two post-chaises have arrived at the Original Pig within the last half-hour, and I myself observed a wheelbarrow, containing three carpet bags and a bundle, entering the yard of the Pig and Tinder-box no longer ago than five minutes since. The people are still quietly pursuing their ordinary occupations; but there is a wildness in their eyes, and an unwonted rigidity in the muscles of their countenances, which shows to the observant spectator that their expectations are strained to the very utmost pitch. I fear, unless some very extraordinary arrivals take place to-night, that consequences may arise from this popular ferment, which every man of sense and feeling would deplore.’

‘Twenty minutes past six.

‘I have just heard that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s window last night has died of the fright. He was suddenly called upon to pay three and sixpence for the damage done, and his constitution, it seems, was not strong enough to bear up against the shock. The inquest, it is said, will be held to-morrow.’

‘Three-quarters part seven.

‘Professors Muff and Nogo have just driven up to the hotel door; they at once ordered dinner with great condescension. We are all very much delighted with the urbanity of their manners, and the ease with which they adapt themselves to the forms and ceremonies of ordinary life. Immediately on their arrival they sent for the head waiter, and privately requested him to purchase a live dog,—as cheap a one as he could meet with,—and to send him up after dinner, with a pie-board, a knife and fork, and a clean plate. It is conjectured that some experiments will be tried upon the dog to-night; if any particulars should transpire, I will forward them by express.’

‘Half-past eight.

‘The animal has been procured. He is a pug-dog, of rather intelligent appearance, in good condition, and with very short legs. He has been tied to a curtain-peg in a dark room, and is howling dreadfully.’

‘Ten minutes to nine.

‘The dog has just been rung for. With an instinct which would appear almost the result of reason, the sagacious animal seized the waiter by the calf of the leg when he approached to take him, and made a desperate, though ineffectual resistance. I have not been able to procure admission to the apartment occupied by the scientific gentlemen; but, judging from the sounds which reached my ears when I stood upon the landing-place outside the door, just now, I should be disposed to say that the dog had retreated growling beneath some article of furniture, and was keeping the professors at bay. This conjecture is confirmed by the testimony of the ostler, who, after peeping through the keyhole, assures me that he distinctly saw Professor Nogo on his knees, holding forth a small bottle of prussic acid, to which the animal, who was crouched beneath an arm-chair, obstinately declined to smell. You cannot imagine the feverish state of irritation we are in, lest the interests of science should be sacrificed to the prejudices of a brute creature, who is not endowed with sufficient sense to foresee the incalculable benefits which the whole human race may derive from so very slight a concession on his part.’

‘Nine o’clock.

‘The dog’s tail and ears have been sent down-stairs to be washed; from which circumstance we infer that the animal is no more. His forelegs have been delivered to the boots to be brushed, which strengthens the supposition.’

‘Half after ten.

‘My feelings are so overpowered by what has taken place in the course of the last hour and a half, that I have scarcely strength to detail the rapid succession of events which have quite bewildered all those who are cognizant of their occurrence. It appears that the pug-dog mentioned in my last was surreptitiously obtained,—stolen, in fact,—by some person attached to the stable department, from an unmarried lady resident in this town. Frantic on discovering the loss of her favourite, the lady rushed distractedly into the street, calling in the most heart-rending and pathetic manner upon the passengers to restore her, her Augustus,—for so the deceased was named, in affectionate remembrance of a former lover of his mistress, to whom he bore a striking personal resemblance, which renders the circumstances additionally affecting. I am not yet in a condition to inform you what circumstance induced the bereaved lady to direct her steps to the hotel which had witnessed the last struggles of her protégé. I can only state that she arrived there, at the very instant when his detached members were passing through the passage on a small tray. Her shrieks still reverberate in my ears! I grieve to say that the expressive features of Professor Muff were much scratched and lacerated by the injured lady; and that Professor Nogo, besides sustaining several severe bites, has lost some handfuls of hair from the same cause. It must be some consolation to these gentlemen to know that their ardent attachment to scientific pursuits has alone occasioned these unpleasant consequences; for which the sympathy of a grateful country will sufficiently reward them. The unfortunate lady remains at the Pig and Tinder-box, and up to this time is reported in a very precarious state.

‘I need scarcely tell you that this unlooked-for catastrophe has cast a damp and gloom upon us in the midst of our exhilaration; natural in any case, but greatly enhanced in this, by the amiable qualities of the deceased animal, who appears to have been much and deservedly respected by the whole of his acquaintance.’

‘Twelve o’clock.

‘I take the last opportunity before sealing my parcel to inform you that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s window is not dead, as was universally believed, but alive and well. The report appears to have had its origin in his mysterious disappearance. He was found half an hour since on the premises of a sweet-stuff maker, where a raffle had been announced for a second-hand seal-skin cap and a tambourine; and where—a sufficient number of members not having been obtained at first—he had patiently waited until the list was completed. This fortunate discovery has in some degree restored our gaiety and cheerfulness. It is proposed to get up a subscription for him without delay.

‘Everybody is nervously anxious to see what to-morrow will bring forth. If any one should arrive in the course of the night, I have left strict directions to be called immediately. I should have sat up, indeed, but the agitating events of this day have been too much for me.

‘No news yet of either of the Professors Snore, Doze, or Wheezy. It is very strange!’

‘Wednesday afternoon.

‘All is now over; and, upon one point at least, I am at length enabled to set the minds of your readers at rest. The three professors arrived at ten minutes after two o’clock, and, instead of taking up their quarters at the Original Pig, as it was universally understood in the course of yesterday that they would assuredly have done, drove straight to the Pig and Tinder-box, where they threw off the mask at once, and openly announced their intention of remaining. Professor Wheezy may reconcile this very extraordinary conduct with his notions of fair and equitable dealing, but I would recommend Professor Wheezy to be cautious how he presumes too far upon his well-earned reputation. How such a man as Professor Snore, or, which is still more extraordinary, such an individual as Professor Doze, can quietly allow himself to be mixed up with such proceedings as these, you will naturally inquire. Upon this head, rumour is silent; I have my speculations, but forbear to give utterance to them just now.’

‘Four o’clock.

‘The town is filling fast; eighteenpence has been offered for a bed and refused. Several gentlemen were under the necessity last night of sleeping in the brick fields, and on the steps of doors, for which they were taken before the magistrates in a body this morning, and committed to prison as vagrants for various terms. One of these persons I understand to be a highly-respectable tinker, of great practical skill, who had forwarded a paper to the President of Section D. Mechanical Science, on the construction of pipkins with copper bottoms and safety-values, of which report speaks highly. The incarceration of this gentleman is greatly to be regretted, as his absence will preclude any discussion on the subject.

‘The bills are being taken down in all directions, and lodgings are being secured on almost any terms. I have heard of fifteen shillings a week for two rooms, exclusive of coals and attendance, but I can scarcely believe it. The excitement is dreadful. I was informed this morning that the civil authorities, apprehensive of some outbreak of popular feeling, had commanded a recruiting sergeant and two corporals to be under arms; and that, with the view of not irritating the people unnecessarily by their presence, they had been requested to take up their position before daybreak in a turnpike, distant about a quarter of a mile from the town. The vigour and promptness of these measures cannot be too highly extolled.

‘Intelligence has just been brought me, that an elderly female, in a state of inebriety, has declared in the open street her intention to “do” for Mr. Slug. Some statistical returns compiled by that gentleman, relative to the consumption of raw spirituous liquors in this place, are supposed to be the cause of the wretch’s animosity. It is added that this declaration was loudly cheered by a crowd of persons who had assembled on the spot; and that one man had the boldness to designate Mr. Slug aloud by the opprobrious epithet of “Stick-in-the-mud!” It is earnestly to be hoped that now, when the moment has arrived for their interference, the magistrates will not shrink from the exercise of that power which is vested in them by the constitution of our common country.’

‘Half-past ten.

‘The disturbance, I am happy to inform you, has been completely quelled, and the ringleader taken into custody. She had a pail of cold water thrown over her, previous to being locked up, and expresses great contrition and uneasiness. We are all in a fever of anticipation about to-morrow; but, now that we are within a few hours of the meeting of the association, and at last enjoy the proud consciousness of having its illustrious members amongst us, I trust and hope everything may go off peaceably. I shall send you a full report of to-morrow’s proceedings by the night coach.’

‘Eleven o’clock.

‘I open my letter to say that nothing whatever has occurred since I folded it up.’

‘Thursday.

‘The sun rose this morning at the usual hour. I did not observe anything particular in the aspect of the glorious planet, except that he appeared to me (it might have been a delusion of my heightened fancy) to shine with more than common brilliancy, and to shed a refulgent lustre upon the town, such as I had never observed before. This is the more extraordinary, as the sky was perfectly cloudless, and the atmosphere peculiarly fine. At half-past nine o’clock the general committee assembled, with the last year’s president in the chair. The report of the council was read; and one passage, which stated that the council had corresponded with no less than three thousand five hundred and seventy-one persons, (all of whom paid their own postage,) on no fewer than seven thousand two hundred and forty-three topics, was received with a degree of enthusiasm which no efforts could suppress. The various committees and sections having been appointed, and the more formal business transacted, the great proceedings of the meeting commenced at eleven o’clock precisely. I had the happiness of occupying a most eligible position at that time, in

‘SECTION A.—ZOOLOGY AND BOTANY. GREAT ROOM, PIG AND TINDER-BOX.

President—Professor Snore. Vice-Presidents—Professors Doze and Wheezy.

‘The scene at this moment was particularly striking. The sun streamed through the windows of the apartments, and tinted the whole scene with its brilliant rays, bringing out in strong relief the noble visages of the professors and scientific gentlemen, who, some with bald heads, some with red heads, some with brown heads, some with grey heads, some with black heads, some with block heads, presented a coup d’oeil which no eye-witness will readily forget. In front of these gentlemen were papers and inkstands; and round the room, on elevated benches extending as far as the forms could reach, were assembled a brilliant concourse of those lovely and elegant women for which Mudfog is justly acknowledged to be without a rival in the whole world. The contrast between their fair faces and the dark coats and trousers of the scientific gentlemen I shall never cease to remember while Memory holds her seat.

‘Time having been allowed for a slight confusion, occasioned by the falling down of the greater part of the platforms, to subside, the president called on one of the secretaries to read a communication entitled, “Some remarks on the industrious fleas, with considerations on the importance of establishing infant-schools among that numerous class of society; of directing their industry to useful and practical ends; and of applying the surplus fruits thereof, towards providing for them a comfortable and respectable maintenance in their old age.”

‘The author stated, that, having long turned his attention to the moral and social condition of these interesting animals, he had been induced to visit an exhibition in Regent-street, London, commonly known by the designation of “The Industrious Fleas.” He had there seen many fleas, occupied certainly in various pursuits and avocations, but occupied, he was bound to add, in a manner which no man of well-regulated mind could fail to regard with sorrow and regret. One flea, reduced to the level of a beast of burden, was drawing about a miniature gig, containing a particularly small effigy of His Grace the Duke of Wellington; while another was staggering beneath the weight of a golden model of his great adversary Napoleon Bonaparte. Some, brought up as mountebanks and ballet-dancers, were performing a figure-dance (he regretted to observe, that, of the fleas so employed, several were females); others were in training, in a small card-board box, for pedestrians,—mere sporting characters—and two were actually engaged in the cold-blooded and barbarous occupation of duelling; a pursuit from which humanity recoiled with horror and disgust. He suggested that measures should be immediately taken to employ the labour of these fleas as part and parcel of the productive power of the country, which might easily be done by the establishment among them of infant schools and houses of industry, in which a system of virtuous education, based upon sound principles, should be observed, and moral precepts strictly inculcated. He proposed that every flea who presumed to exhibit, for hire, music, or dancing, or any species of theatrical entertainment, without a licence, should be considered a vagabond, and treated accordingly; in which respect he only placed him upon a level with the rest of mankind. He would further suggest that their labour should be placed under the control and regulation of the state, who should set apart from the profits, a fund for the support of superannuated or disabled fleas, their widows and orphans. With this view, he proposed that liberal premiums should be offered for the three best designs for a general almshouse; from which—as insect architecture was well known to be in a very advanced and perfect state—we might possibly derive many valuable hints for the improvement of our metropolitan universities, national galleries, and other public edifices.

‘The President wished to be informed how the ingenious gentleman proposed to open a communication with fleas generally, in the first instance, so that they might be thoroughly imbued with a sense of the advantages they must necessarily derive from changing their mode of life, and applying themselves to honest labour. This appeared to him, the only difficulty.

‘The Author submitted that this difficulty was easily overcome, or rather that there was no difficulty at all in the case. Obviously the course to be pursued, if Her Majesty’s government could be prevailed upon to take up the plan, would be, to secure at a remunerative salary the individual to whom he had alluded as presiding over the exhibition in Regent-street at the period of his visit. That gentleman would at once be able to put himself in communication with the mass of the fleas, and to instruct them in pursuance of some general plan of education, to be sanctioned by Parliament, until such time as the more intelligent among them were advanced enough to officiate as teachers to the rest.

‘The President and several members of the section highly complimented the author of the paper last read, on his most ingenious and important treatise. It was determined that the subject should be recommended to the immediate consideration of the council.

‘Mr. Wigsby produced a cauliflower somewhat larger than a chaise-umbrella, which had been raised by no other artificial means than the simple application of highly carbonated soda-water as manure. He explained that by scooping out the head, which would afford a new and delicious species of nourishment for the poor, a parachute, in principle something similar to that constructed by M. Garnerin, was at once obtained; the stalk of course being kept downwards. He added that he was perfectly willing to make a descent from a height of not less than three miles and a quarter; and had in fact already proposed the same to the proprietors of Vauxhall Gardens, who in the handsomest manner at once consented to his wishes, and appointed an early day next summer for the undertaking; merely stipulating that the rim of the cauliflower should be previously broken in three or four places to ensure the safety of the descent.

‘The President congratulated the public on the grand gala in store for them, and warmly eulogised the proprietors of the establishment alluded to, for their love of science, and regard for the safety of human life, both of which did them the highest honour.

‘A Member wished to know how many thousand additional lamps the royal property would be illuminated with, on the night after the descent.

‘Mr. Wigsby replied that the point was not yet finally decided; but he believed it was proposed, over and above the ordinary illuminations, to exhibit in various devices eight millions and a-half of additional lamps.

‘The Member expressed himself much gratified with this announcement.

‘Mr. Blunderum delighted the section with a most interesting and valuable paper “on the last moments of the learned pig,” which produced a very strong impression on the assembly, the account being compiled from the personal recollections of his favourite attendant. The account stated in the most emphatic terms that the animal’s name was not Toby, but Solomon; and distinctly proved that he could have no near relatives in the profession, as many designing persons had falsely stated, inasmuch as his father, mother, brothers and sisters, had all fallen victims to the butcher at different times. An uncle of his indeed, had with very great labour been traced to a sty in Somers Town; but as he was in a very infirm state at the time, being afflicted with measles, and shortly afterwards disappeared, there appeared too much reason to conjecture that he had been converted into sausages. The disorder of the learned pig was originally a severe cold, which, being aggravated by excessive trough indulgence, finally settled upon the lungs, and terminated in a general decay of the constitution. A melancholy instance of a presentiment entertained by the animal of his approaching dissolution, was recorded. After gratifying a numerous and fashionable company with his performances, in which no falling off whatever was visible, he fixed his eyes on the biographer, and, turning to the watch which lay on the floor, and on which he was accustomed to point out the hour, deliberately passed his snout twice round the dial. In precisely four-and-twenty hours from that time he had ceased to exist!

‘Professor Wheezy inquired whether, previous to his demise, the animal had expressed, by signs or otherwise, any wishes regarding the disposal of his little property.

‘Mr. Blunderum replied, that, when the biographer took up the pack of cards at the conclusion of the performance, the animal grunted several times in a significant manner, and nodding his head as he was accustomed to do, when gratified. From these gestures it was understood that he wished the attendant to keep the cards, which he had ever since done. He had not expressed any wish relative to his watch, which had accordingly been pawned by the same individual.

‘The President wished to know whether any Member of the section had ever seen or conversed with the pig-faced lady, who was reported to have worn a black velvet mask, and to have taken her meals from a golden trough.

‘After some hesitation a Member replied that the pig-faced lady was his mother-in-law, and that he trusted the President would not violate the sanctity of private life.

‘The President begged pardon. He had considered the pig-faced lady a public character. Would the honourable member object to state, with a view to the advancement of science, whether she was in any way connected with the learned pig?

‘The Member replied in the same low tone, that, as the question appeared to involve a suspicion that the learned pig might be his half-brother, he must decline answering it.

‘SECTION B.—ANATOMY AND MEDICINE. COACH-HOUSE, PIG AND TINDER-BOX.

President—Dr. Toorell. Vice-Presidents—Professors Muff and Nogo.

Dr. Kutankumagen (of Moscow) read to the section a report of a case which had occurred within his own practice, strikingly illustrative of the power of medicine, as exemplified in his successful treatment of a virulent disorder. He had been called in to visit the patient on the 1st of April, 1837. He was then labouring under symptoms peculiarly alarming to any medical man. His frame was stout and muscular, his step firm and elastic, his cheeks plump and red, his voice loud, his appetite good, his pulse full and round. He was in the constant habit of eating three meals per diem, and of drinking at least one bottle of wine, and one glass of spirituous liquors diluted with water, in the course of the four-and-twenty hours. He laughed constantly, and in so hearty a manner that it was terrible to hear him. By dint of powerful medicine, low diet, and bleeding, the symptoms in the course of three days perceptibly decreased. A rigid perseverance in the same course of treatment for only one week, accompanied with small doses of water-gruel, weak broth, and barley-water, led to their entire disappearance. In the course of a month he was sufficiently recovered to be carried down-stairs by two nurses, and to enjoy an airing in a close carriage, supported by soft pillows. At the present moment he was restored so far as to walk about, with the slight assistance of a crutch and a boy. It would perhaps be gratifying to the section to learn that he ate little, drank little, slept little, and was never heard to laugh by any accident whatever.

‘Dr. W. R. Fee, in complimenting the honourable member upon the triumphant cure he had effected, begged to ask whether the patient still bled freely?

‘Dr. Kutankumagen replied in the affirmative.

‘Dr. W. R. Fee.—And you found that he bled freely during the whole course of the disorder?

‘Dr. Kutankumagen.—Oh dear, yes; most freely.

‘Dr. Neeshawts supposed, that if the patient had not submitted to be bled with great readiness and perseverance, so extraordinary a cure could never, in fact, have been accomplished. Dr. Kutankumagen rejoined, certainly not.

‘Mr. Knight Bell (M.R.C.S.) exhibited a wax preparation of the interior of a gentleman who in early life had inadvertently swallowed a door-key. It was a curious fact that a medical student of dissipated habits, being present at the post mortem examination, found means to escape unobserved from the room, with that portion of the coats of the stomach upon which an exact model of the instrument was distinctly impressed, with which he hastened to a locksmith of doubtful character, who made a new key from the pattern so shown to him. With this key the medical student entered the house of the deceased gentleman, and committed a burglary to a large amount, for which he was subsequently tried and executed.

‘The President wished to know what became of the original key after the lapse of years. Mr. Knight Bell replied that the gentleman was always much accustomed to punch, and it was supposed the acid had gradually devoured it.

‘Dr. Neeshawts and several of the members were of opinion that the key must have lain very cold and heavy upon the gentleman’s stomach.

‘Mr. Knight Bell believed it did at first. It was worthy of remark, perhaps, that for some years the gentleman was troubled with a night-mare, under the influence of which he always imagined himself a wine-cellar door.

‘Professor Muff related a very extraordinary and convincing proof of the wonderful efficacy of the system of infinitesimal doses, which the section were doubtless aware was based upon the theory that the very minutest amount of any given drug, properly dispersed through the human frame, would be productive of precisely the same result as a very large dose administered in the usual manner. Thus, the fortieth part of a grain of calomel was supposed to be equal to a five-grain calomel pill, and so on in proportion throughout the whole range of medicine. He had tried the experiment in a curious manner upon a publican who had been brought into the hospital with a broken head, and was cured upon the infinitesimal system in the incredibly short space of three months. This man was a hard drinker. He (Professor Muff) had dispersed three drops of rum through a bucket of water, and requested the man to drink the whole. What was the result? Before he had drunk a quart, he was in a state of beastly intoxication; and five other men were made dead drunk with the remainder.

‘The President wished to know whether an infinitesimal dose of soda-water would have recovered them? Professor Muff replied that the twenty-fifth part of a teaspoonful, properly administered to each patient, would have sobered him immediately. The President remarked that this was a most important discovery, and he hoped the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen would patronize it immediately.

‘A Member begged to be informed whether it would be possible to administer—say, the twentieth part of a grain of bread and cheese to all grown-up paupers, and the fortieth part to children, with the same satisfying effect as their present allowance.

‘Professor Muff was willing to stake his professional reputation on the perfect adequacy of such a quantity of food to the support of human life—in workhouses; the addition of the fifteenth part of a grain of pudding twice a week would render it a high diet.

‘Professor Nogo called the attention of the section to a very extraordinary case of animal magnetism. A private watchman, being merely looked at by the operator from the opposite side of a wide street, was at once observed to be in a very drowsy and languid state. He was followed to his box, and being once slightly rubbed on the palms of the hands, fell into a sound sleep, in which he continued without intermission for ten hours.

‘SECTION C.—STATISTICS. HAY-LOFT, ORIGINAL PIG.

President—Mr. Woodensconce. Vice-Presidents—Mr. Ledbrain and Mr. Timbered.

‘Mr. Slug stated to the section the result of some calculations he had made with great difficulty and labour, regarding the state of infant education among the middle classes of London. He found that, within a circle of three miles from the Elephant and Castle, the following were the names and numbers of children’s books principally in circulation:—

‘Jack the Giant-killer 7,943

Ditto and Bean-stalk 8,621

Ditto and Eleven Brothers 2,845

Ditto and Jill 1,998

Total 21,407

‘He found that the proportion of Robinson Crusoes to Philip Quarlls was as four and a half to one; and that the preponderance of Valentine and Orsons over Goody Two Shoeses was as three and an eighth of the former to half a one of the latter; a comparison of Seven Champions with Simple Simons gave the same result. The ignorance that prevailed, was lamentable. One child, on being asked whether he would rather be Saint George of England or a respectable tallow-chandler, instantly replied, “Taint George of Ingling.” Another, a little boy of eight years old, was found to be firmly impressed with a belief in the existence of dragons, and openly stated that it was his intention when he grew up, to rush forth sword in hand for the deliverance of captive princesses, and the promiscuous slaughter of giants. Not one child among the number interrogated had ever heard of Mungo Park,—some inquiring whether he was at all connected with the black man that swept the crossing; and others whether he was in any way related to the Regent’s Park. They had not the slightest conception of the commonest principles of mathematics, and considered Sindbad the Sailor the most enterprising voyager that the world had ever produced.

‘A Member strongly deprecating the use of all the other books mentioned, suggested that Jack and Jill might perhaps be exempted from the general censure, inasmuch as the hero and heroine, in the very outset of the tale, were depicted as going up a hill to fetch a pail of water, which was a laborious and useful occupation,—supposing the family linen was being washed, for instance.

‘Mr. Slug feared that the moral effect of this passage was more than counterbalanced by another in a subsequent part of the poem, in which very gross allusion was made to the mode in which the heroine was personally chastised by her mother

“‘For laughing at Jack’s disaster;”

besides, the whole work had this one great fault, it was not true.

‘The President complimented the honourable member on the excellent distinction he had drawn. Several other Members, too, dwelt upon the immense and urgent necessity of storing the minds of children with nothing but facts and figures; which process the President very forcibly remarked, had made them (the section) the men they were.

‘Mr. Slug then stated some curious calculations respecting the dogs’-meat barrows of London. He found that the total number of small carts and barrows engaged in dispensing provision to the cats and dogs of the metropolis was, one thousand seven hundred and forty-three. The average number of skewers delivered daily with the provender, by each dogs’-meat cart or barrow, was thirty-six. Now, multiplying the number of skewers so delivered by the number of barrows, a total of sixty-two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight skewers daily would be obtained. Allowing that, of these sixty-two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight skewers, the odd two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight were accidentally devoured with the meat, by the most voracious of the animals supplied, it followed that sixty thousand skewers per day, or the enormous number of twenty-one millions nine hundred thousand skewers annually, were wasted in the kennels and dustholes of London; which, if collected and warehoused, would in ten years’ time afford a mass of timber more than sufficient for the construction of a first-rate vessel of war for the use of her Majesty’s navy, to be called “The Royal Skewer,” and to become under that name the terror of all the enemies of this island.

‘Mr. X. Ledbrain read a very ingenious communication, from which it appeared that the total number of legs belonging to the manufacturing population of one great town in Yorkshire was, in round numbers, forty thousand, while the total number of chair and stool legs in their houses was only thirty thousand, which, upon the very favourable average of three legs to a seat, yielded only ten thousand seats in all. From this calculation it would appear,—not taking wooden or cork legs into the account, but allowing two legs to every person,—that ten thousand individuals (one-half of the whole population) were either destitute of any rest for their legs at all, or passed the whole of their leisure time in sitting upon boxes.

‘SECTION D.—MECHANICAL SCIENCE. COACH-HOUSE, ORIGINAL PIG.

President—Mr. Carter. Vice-Presidents—Mr. Truck and Mr. Waghorn.

‘Professor Queerspeck exhibited an elegant model of a portable railway, neatly mounted in a green case, for the waistcoat pocket. By attaching this beautiful instrument to his boots, any Bank or public-office clerk could transport himself from his place of residence to his place of business, at the easy rate of sixty-five miles an hour, which, to gentlemen of sedentary pursuits, would be an incalculable advantage.

‘The President was desirous of knowing whether it was necessary to have a level surface on which the gentleman was to run.

‘Professor Queerspeck explained that City gentlemen would run in trains, being handcuffed together to prevent confusion or unpleasantness. For instance, trains would start every morning at eight, nine, and ten o’clock, from Camden Town, Islington, Camberwell, Hackney, and various other places in which City gentlemen are accustomed to reside. It would be necessary to have a level, but he had provided for this difficulty by proposing that the best line that the circumstances would admit of, should be taken through the sewers which undermine the streets of the metropolis, and which, well lighted by jets from the gas pipes which run immediately above them, would form a pleasant and commodious arcade, especially in winter-time, when the inconvenient custom of carrying umbrellas, now so general, could be wholly dispensed with. In reply to another question, Professor Queerspeck stated that no substitute for the purposes to which these arcades were at present devoted had yet occurred to him, but that he hoped no fanciful objection on this head would be allowed to interfere with so great an undertaking.

‘Mr. Jobba produced a forcing-machine on a novel plan, for bringing joint-stock railway shares prematurely to a premium. The instrument was in the form of an elegant gilt weather-glass, of most dazzling appearance, and was worked behind, by strings, after the manner of a pantomime trick, the strings being always pulled by the directors of the company to which the machine belonged. The quicksilver was so ingeniously placed, that when the acting directors held shares in their pockets, figures denoting very small expenses and very large returns appeared upon the glass; but the moment the directors parted with these pieces of paper, the estimate of needful expenditure suddenly increased itself to an immense extent, while the statements of certain profits became reduced in the same proportion. Mr. Jobba stated that the machine had been in constant requisition for some months past, and he had never once known it to fail.

‘A Member expressed his opinion that it was extremely neat and pretty. He wished to know whether it was not liable to accidental derangement? Mr. Jobba said that the whole machine was undoubtedly liable to be blown up, but that was the only objection to it.

‘Professor Nogo arrived from the anatomical section to exhibit a model of a safety fire-escape, which could be fixed at any time, in less than half an hour, and by means of which, the youngest or most infirm persons (successfully resisting the progress of the flames until it was quite ready) could be preserved if they merely balanced themselves for a few minutes on the sill of their bedroom window, and got into the escape without falling into the street. The Professor stated that the number of boys who had been rescued in the daytime by this machine from houses which were not on fire, was almost incredible. Not a conflagration had occurred in the whole of London for many months past to which the escape had not been carried on the very next day, and put in action before a concourse of persons.

‘The President inquired whether there was not some difficulty in ascertaining which was the top of the machine, and which the bottom, in cases of pressing emergency.

‘Professor Nogo explained that of course it could not be expected to act quite as well when there was a fire, as when there was not a fire; but in the former case he thought it would be of equal service whether the top were up or down.’

With the last section our correspondent concludes his most able and faithful Report, which will never cease to reflect credit upon him for his scientific attainments, and upon us for our enterprising spirit. It is needless to take a review of the subjects which have been discussed; of the mode in which they have been examined; of the great truths which they have elicited. They are now before the world, and we leave them to read, to consider, and to profit.

The place of meeting for next year has undergone discussion, and has at length been decided, regard being had to, and evidence being taken upon, the goodness of its wines, the supply of its markets, the hospitality of its inhabitants, and the quality of its hotels. We hope at this next meeting our correspondent may again be present, and that we may be once more the means of placing his communications before the world. Until that period we have been prevailed upon to allow this number of our Miscellany to be retailed to the public, or wholesaled to the trade, without any advance upon our usual price.

We have only to add, that the committees are now broken up, and that Mudfog is once again restored to its accustomed tranquillity,—that Professors and Members have had balls, and soirées, and suppers, and great mutual complimentations, and have at length dispersed to their several homes,—whither all good wishes and joys attend them, until next year!

Signed Boz.

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[amwult]

wheezy waiter i haven't seen you in a decade why are you selling me a non stick frying pan

[ahdor]

Bald white men Youtubers (with glasses)

Vsauce (Micheal Stevens)

Northernlion (Ryan Letourneau)

Megaprojects (Simon Whistler, the host)

Wheezy Waiter (Craig Benzine, he's on here out of principle)

[sgdi]

i think Mike got it from Wheezy Waiter

I loved your better cities video! I noticed you call the video description the doobly-do. I got that from Matt Colville's D&D videos! Did you also get it from there?!

No I got it from Mike Rugnetta lol

[wheezytumblr]

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

[tragica]

Oh my!