#and i've probably giffed this part so many times

[expelliarmus]

[radio-4-is-static]

「LOST CORNER」 クロスフェード | Kenshi Yonezu listen to the new album here!!

[jen-with-a-pen]

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 2/2

summary: Wade tests out his previous hypothesis with great success. Might experiment more later.

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 3.6k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blowjob, itty bitty blood mention, slight angst, nightmares/PTSD, pining, cursing, claws, crude humor and language, fluff, touching, *cue start of something new from high school musical*, Wade's a little shit, cum drinking bc i guess that's what happened, deepthroating, lowkey face fucking, bad flirting but it's kinda reciprocated, wade is the throat goat next question, wade kissed his roommate and they both liked it

a/n: here she is :') thanks yall for the patience and all of the magnificent love and comments for part one ❤❤❤ means the world to me, especially since it's my first time stepping out of stucky territory as a whole. also got a little away with the tags 😅 hope yall enjoy this !

Not beta'd. Half-written on my phone, edited and revised in ellipsus + gdocs. Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

Wade forgot to turn the AC back on. 

It's his turn to sleep in bed tonight and he's got the worst case of swamp ass you can get this far from a fucking swamp. He's already thrown the covers, sheets, pillows, and his boxers off; he swears if he gets up there will be a sweaty version of a goddamn chalk outline on his mattress. 

He stretches. Notices he can feel both hands now, fully grown and everything, fingernails and all. Smirks to himself as he flexes his new fingers before reaching over to the nightstand– it's actually a really sturdy cardboard box, but it works just as good– for his phone. The screen responds with a bright 3:02AM overlayed on a photo of him and Vanessa. 

There's a pang in his heart for a moment. The same type of twist and pull he felt when Logan got up to leave after their big adventure (AKA saving their universe.)

“See you around?”

Wade tried to swallow the hard lump of desperate hope that had been bubbling inside of him the entire time they ate their shawarma. Hopes it wasn't obvious in his voice. Not a total cry for help, but definitely more of a solemn whimper and puppy dog eyes.

No matter how many times he was used to it– the people he loved leaving or dying or what have you– it still stung like a bitch. 

“Probably not.”

And Logan didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but that's what happened when– and if– he got too close. To anyone. To everyone. 

With that, Logan rose from the bench, gathering his cowl and TVA jacket up from the place on the bench separating him and Wade and started walking. Dogpool whined and scratched at Wade's arms to chase after him. 

Wade had to do something. Anything. He couldn't let this one– this Logan. His Logan��� walk off into the sunset.

No.

Not without him. 

“Logan!” 

And then he turned around. 

And now they're here. 

He feels a similar yank and tear elsewhere in his body– lower belly, groin area– whenever thoughts wander back to that glorious time in the Honda Odyssey; Adamantium stabbing in and out of his chest cavity, puncturing his lungs and literally taking his breath away. The tight feeling of multiple seat belts holding him down to the second row passenger seat and the sickeningly happy grin adorning Logan's face when he tied the last knot. Wade remembers smiling just as bright under his mask.

That one definitely got filed into ye ole spank bank for safe keeping.

Sighing, Wade remembers he's sweating like a hog and drops his legs over the edge, planting two clammy feet onto the creaky floorboards. He throws on his previously discarded pair of boxers just in case Logan has a case of insomnia. Gotta take a man out to dinner before you show him your dick, like a gentleman. 

Wade peaks his head out into the living room, TV glow assaulting his pupils like a flash bang. The door creaks open wider and Wade steps further out. He doesn't want to wake either furball– you'd be surprised how grumpy Dogpool gets when she doesn't get her beauty sleep– as he tiptoes out in front of the couch. 

His breath catches in his chest. 

Logan lies propped up on the couch, head resting on the arm with a throw pillow behind for support, arms crossed over a bare, hairy chest rising and falling slowly. A sheen of sweat coats his skin that reflects the changing colors of the TV. Half a snuffed cigar smolders on the coffee table ashtray. The semi-permanent crease between his brows is softer, perfect pink lips parted as he snores quietly.

And to top it all off, he's in his fucking boxers; his jeans are discarded on the opposite end of the couch, kicked off in his sleep to beat the heat.

Wade can't breathe. He can't help but stare, committing the heavenly scene to memory. A knowing smile slowly spreads across his chapped lips.

He's happy. Happy at how peaceful his roommate looks. Happy that Logan is finally feeling safe enough to sleep here. Genuinely. Wade knows first hand what it can be like to be constantly on the run, chasing peace and release, rest and safety. 

Tip toes make way to the thermostat, Wade presses the 'on' button to the AC when there's stirring behind him. Head turning slowly, he catches the tail end of Logan mumbling something in his sleep. 

“...Wade, please.” 

Wade freezes like a carjacker caught in an impound lot. Surely he didn't hear Logan, his roommate Logan– The X-Man, The Wolverine– fucking whining Wade's name in his sleep. 

What were the symptoms of heat stroke, again? 

Wade shuffles back over to the couch. Feels like a creep watching his fucking roommate sleep, waiting another moment to see if he needs to take a power drill and give himself a DIY lobotomy or not. 

“Mm… No, Wade…No, please, don't–” Logan murmurs softly. Struggling, brow furrowing, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ngh… Don't hurt ‘im… please.” 

Logan begins to shake. His head whips from side to side against the pillow, hands dig into the couch cushions, grunting, fists clenching as his claws itch to defend from the phantom threat. Muscles tensing and chest heaving, his breathing grows harder, faster, more frantic. 

He's having a nightmare.

Wade recognizes the signs immediately. He knows where Logan's at: some distant memory with talons and sharp teeth assaulting his brain without him knowing. Hell on earth on the worst nights, a light ego beating and insomnia on the better ones.

Wade knows– his stopped two months ago. When Logan came home.

Without another thought– one in which he probably should’ve given– Wade climbs onto the couch to straddle Logan’s hips in the most non-horny way he can make it. Hands press into the center of Logan's chest. He gently calls his name, preparing for the sharp stab of Adamantium through an appendage and/or organ. Nothing he isn't used to at this point, but he secretly prays it isn't something totally major.

“Logan. Peanut, hey,” Wade whispers. He presses further into Logan, heat radiating off rough, hairy skin into Wade's tingling fingers. “Logan, it's me, Wade. You're having a nightmare, you’re scaring the kids–” 

SHNK. Intestines. Ten or fifteen points, depending on if it's big or small.  Wade's thankful it wasn't a kidney or his stomach– those are a bitch and a half to grow back.

“Okay– that was maybe warranted,” Wade grunts. Both sets of claws penetrate straight through his lower abdomen as Logan jolts awake, sitting up as much as he can while pinned under Wade. A gnarled scream catches in his throat. White-hot knuckles graze the skin of Wade's stomach, who is really, really trying his hardest not to get a boner right now. 

“Th’fuck's goin’ on?” Logan slurs, face inches from Wade's bare chest. He blinks. Once. Twice. His brow returns to its permanent crease as he adjusts to the scene before him: bright TV glow contrasts with dark shadows Wade casts over him.

Wade is on top of him and his claws are inside of Wade.

Face scrunching– not inherently in disgust, Wade hopes– claws retract with a muted grunt. Wade can breathe again while his body begins repairing itself. His hands are stuck to Logan's heaving chest, fingers fanning out over each delicious pec. Thick arms rest on either side of him, elbows bent and resting on Wade's thighs.

Wade swallows, praying the man currently underneath him either A. doesn't know where his hands are at the moment or B. this is going exactly the way he wet-dreamt it a few weeks ago. Completely unprompted too, by the way– he's no stranger to the sick side effects of PTSD, he wouldn't knowingly exploit that in order to get into his roommate's pants. He's got more class than that.

Well, most of the time, that is. Again, completely unintentional. Coincidence, if you will.

Maybe he does need that DIY lobotomy.

"Where th'hell am I?" Logan asks, voice less threatening and more alert. His eyes flick from the TV and travel up Wade to meet sympathetic chocolate eyes already on him. Wade peels each finger off Logan's chest and sits back on his knees. Gaze softening, hands fall into his lap inches above the chiseled V pointing to down under Logan's boxers. He doesn't dare move a fucking muscle.

His pinky finger twitches.

"You're okay. You're here, in my world, Peanut. Twenty-first century. New York. We use fifty-cals now, not muskets. You were having a nightmare–"

Wade's throat hitches. He's not gonna cry, no– he's not that much of a fucking empath, for chrissake– but what he wants to say versus what he probably should say get lodged together on the way down to his mouth from his brain.

"I– I did the pressure thing Dogpool does with me, sometimes. Except I thought you'd wanna wake up to this pretty face 'nd not one with drool."

Logan looks skeptical, searches Wade to see if he's actually telling the truth for once, features relaxing once he mulls it over in his head. Wade's gnawing at the inside of his cheek when Logan's thumbs subconsciously start rubbing slow circles over the toughened skin of his upper thigh. Upper-outer, to be exact, but right now Wade doesn't really want to dwell on the minute details.

"So," Logan starts, "you woke me up… 'cause I was havin' a nightmare…?"

"Well, not exactly because you were having a nightmare, no." Wade runs a hand over the top of the couch, distracting himself. "Al really likes this couch. Antique, actually. Vintage find. Be a shame if some man with claws–"

Logan's palms press into Wade's thighs. A warning.

"Mouth."

Wade sighs. Hands fall into his lap once more and he is absolutely not fighting to gawk at Logan's V that lights up like a road work sign pointing to a detour. The semi-hard abs just above definitely do not make him want to run his fucking tongue across them like a cheese grater.

He looks back to Logan, clears his throat. "Look I– I've been there. Am there, honestly. Didn't want you t'be alone whenever you woke up, but I also know how hard it is to wake up. So," he shrugs, voice lowering, "thought I'd help. Help you come down from it, I mean."

Logan stares back in response, eyes trained on Wade like a hunting dog and a downed fox. Wade swears the corner of his lip twitches along with the meaty hands on his legs.

He's gotta get the fuck out of here.

"So!" Wade starts, "Seems everything's in working order. The doctor will be in soon–" Wade starts to scramble off before realizing Logan's holding him down. Sharp claw stubs poke into scarred skin and a deep growl rumbles out of Logan's chest. Not necessarily threatening, no, more of a 'you're not goin' anywhere.' Wade gulps, hands raise up jokingly, forcing his racing mind to think of a naked, cross-country skiing Al to stave off the blood violently rushing to his stubborn cock.

Logan sits up, closing the space between him and Wade. Hazel eyes study wide brown ones. Logan takes a breath, shaky but sure.

"Don't want y't'go. Not– not yet."

It's hesitant. Unsure but curious, quiet enough Wade thinks he's hallucinating again. Wade mulls it over, leans forward with hands back on Logan's chest, skin and muscles taught underneath with tactile tension.

Wade sucks in a breath, moves his hands higher to Logan's collarbone and it's grossly apparent how tense Logan is. Hostile to any sudden movement, untrusting of touch to the point his fists shake against Wade's legs. A slow, tender hand inches up Logan's throat and onto his cheek. Wade feels through the rough facial hair and unkempt stubble, a thumb finds the shaved spot at the point of Logan's chin and strokes gently. Fists start to unclench, but there's a hesitancy still lingering in the air, under Logan's skin. Wade thinks it smells like fear. Inches away, face to face, breaths fan eachother's faces.

There's a shift in the air and Wade leans forward.

Logan doesn't stop Wade from connecting them together, lips touching lips in the softest manner possible. Almost feels like there's nothing there, Wade's too gentle. Nobody moves, breathes, at first; they're each trying to make sense of what the fuck exactly is happening. Logan isn't saying no, isn't sawing through Wade's skull and Wade isn't pushing himself on Logan.

Okay, maybe leaning in to kiss his roommate might be pushing himself on Logan to the logical bystander, but in the moment it just felt right.

To Wade's surprise, Logan's the first to move.

His lips start molding into Wade's. There's pressure, a little pushing, chapped skin and the remnants of tobacco on his breath when his lips part and his tongue pokes ever-so-slightly through. Wade pushes back, hoping his breath isn't as abhorrently delicious as leftover cigar. He tilts his head, nose poking into Logan's cheek as his does Wade's, and lets his tongue explore a little more. Logan allows him in, meeting him at the tip and hungrily welcoming him. Breaths turn heavy, panting, while hands begin to roam, more comfortable now that they've crossed the line into 'spit swapping' territory.

Wade drinks him in. Greedily swallows the choked-back groans Logan keeps holding in his throat that come out as muted mewls. Fingernails wantonly dig into one another and leave temporary marks that disappear under rapid replacement cells.

It feels like forever when Wade finally comes up for air, unable to focus with the growing hardness digging into his thigh.

"I–fuckin' shit– I think I have an idea." Wade pants like a dog in heat– and fuck, he might as well be at this point. Logan pulls back with lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

"'s that?" He's hesitant. Hands tense slightly over Wade's back, his whole body stiffens.

"Do you– do you trust me?"

Wade holds his breath.

Logan only nods. Adam's apple bobbing, lips part in anticipation and curiosity.

Wade strokes Logan's cheek in reassurance, shoots him a wink before shimmying down his body to the other end of the couch, keeping Logan's legs in between his thighs. Fingers hook around Logan's boxers, in turn causing Logan to jolt up immediately. A set of claws unsheathe an inch away from Wade's throat.

"Th'fuck are you doin'?"

Wade only smiles, taking a hand away and kissing the tip of the middle claw, gently pushing it back into Logan's fist and coaxing him to lay back down. What he's about to do would be easier with an in-tact esophagus.

"Relax, Peanut," Wade coos, "'m not gonna hurtcha."

Logan stares at Wade. Eyes pinch, still suspicious.

"…Promise?"

A sharp pang ripples through Wade's heart.

"Promise."

Logan hesitates, relaxes, gives another go-ahead. Wade's fingers curl once again around the waistband of his boxers and slowly, but surely, pull them down and off him. He can't help the immediate salivatory reflex upon seeing Logan in all his glory; the deep V lights up like a fucking Vegas sign pointing straight to the jackpot.

Logan's big– like, big big. Biggest Wade's ever seen (and Wade's seen a LOT.) An automatic response, Wade's asshole clenches, mistakenly preparing to take Logan. Wade forces himself to relax– that's not happening tonight. He promised Logan he'd go slow, no surprises, no whipped cream or leather cuffs.

Not yet, at least.

His own cock weeps happy tears through his briefs. He cannot believe how perfect– how beautiful– how fucking huge Logan is.

"What're you gonna do?" Logan whispers, hesitant eyes hooking on Wade and every little movement he makes.

"If it's alright with you, 1972 Burt Reynolds, 'm gonna suck every ounce of tension out of your perfect, hairy body and make you feel the best you've felt in a looong time."

Logan scoffs a laugh, brow furrowing as he shakes his head slightly. "Don't know who–"

Wade shushes him. "Don't worry, baby girl. I'll be your Sally Field."

Wade smirks at Logan's confusion and mentally makes a note to his future-self to show Logan the glory that is Smokey and the Bandit.

A gentle hand steadies the base of Logan's cock while another slowly wraps around his stiffness, standing at attention and beginning to cry, begging for Wade's touch. Heavy breathing and bitten-back grunts fill Wade's ears. It's a heavenly symphony he's lucky enough to have a front and center seat for. Free ticket, too.

"Ngh– Red, whatever you're gonna do– ah–!"

Wade presses his lips to the base, bush of hair tickling his nose and lips while he kisses his way up to the head, tongue poking out to lap up the precum. Before siccing his lips around Logan, Wade looks up once more, mostly searching for permission to help him feel pleasure for once instead of pain.

Logan reads Wade's mind and sends a small nod in response.

With a shit-eating smirk, Wade welcomes Logan into his mouth, flattening his tongue and curving his lips over his teeth so as not to scratch the sensitive, velvety skin. Drool spills out the corners of Wade's mouth and swallows a gag when Logan jams into the back of his throat, digging into his uvula. Squeezing the base and cupping the balls, Wade begins to bob his head to the rhythm of Logan's mess of 'fuck's, 'shit's, and–

"Mmm–Oh–oh, my god," Logan moans. A calloused hand runs over Wade's bald head, scars and grafts rippling under his touch while another hand grips tightly onto the side of the couch. Wade slurps up every drop of precum, relishing in the sweet musk of Logan's scent, head bobbing and tongue swirling in tandem. Logan's hips buck up into Wade, fucking his throat without meaning to. No amount of lozenges or peppermint tea will be able to cure the sore throat Wade knows he'll have come morning.

"F–fuck, Wade, baby– shit– that feels so–!"

Another lengthy dive down onto Logan hits the very back of Wade's throat, pulling a long, strenuous 'fuck' from the deepest part of Logan. He bucks harder into Wade who stalls, choking on Logan's cock while his own strains against his briefs. Another swipe of tongue, another gag and seeping drool, and Logan is officially done for.

"F–fuck! Motherfucker! Oh my, god, Wade–!"

Curses and chants and shaky breaths fill the living room as Logan spills into Wade with an 'O' on his lips and a hand on the back of Wade's head. There's a sharp shngk and a sting at the tip of Wade's ear as red warmth drips down onto Logan's thigh; his claws unsheathe into the couch this time, not Wade, who slurps and sucks every last drop of mutant cum from Logan's softening cock like it's the Fountain of fucking Eden.

He comes up for air, finally, lungs gasping against a swollen, fucked throat. He sits back panting on his thighs and Logan's legs underneath, a mix of cum and drool and the slightest bit of blood running down his cheeks and neck. Wiping away the mess with the back of a hand, blurry vision focuses back into reality and onto his roommate.

His roommate. Logan. Wolverine. Who's dick he just sucked the ever-living hell out of.

Well this is awkward.

Wade swallows, offers a crooked half-smile to the man who he just sucked, fucked, and milked dry.

"How 'bout them Yankees?"

Logan barks a laugh. A real, genuine laugh, one with teeth and spread lips and legitimate amusement. Wade preens.

"That was–" Logan wipes beads of sweat off his brow, "Fuck it. That was fuckin' amazing, Wade." He stuffs a hand behind his head, blinks a couple of times to recalibrate. "Didn't know that mouth did anything else 'sides talk."

Wade shrugs cutesily. "It impresses me sometimes, too. Helps when I have a willing participant. Just hope you signed the paperwork."

Logan shakes his head. Arms reach up to grab onto Wade, pulling an ear to Logan's lips.

"Now how 'bout we take care of you next, baby? Hm?"

\|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/

Morning sun and a weight on his chests wakes Logan from probably the most peaceful sleep he's had in… well, ever, honestly.

There's a wetness and mix of smells wafting into his nostrils that make him stir next; combination of what feels like a tongue on his cheek making way towards his lips, dog breath, and the sweet smell of something cooking in the kitchen. Eyes fly open when a whine vibrates on his chest, finding himself greeted by Dogpool wagging her rat-tail with eyes bugging out of her little head.

"Gah– get off me, mutt," Logan scolds, sitting up and gently shoving Dogpool onto the couch cushion next to him. He runs a hand over his face and into his hair, the crick in his neck a little less noticeable this morning.

"Gooooood morning, sunshine!"

Logan looks up with tired eyes still adjusting to the morning light to find Wade in his robe covered in flour with a mixing bowl cradled in his arm as he stirs. Last night comes screeching back to Logan as soon as he locks eyes with his roommate, mouth going dry and dick twitching in his boxers.

Wade only smiles, not at all hiding his obvious glance at Logan's crotch. "You want chocolate chips or blueberries in yours?"

Logan shakes his head. "In my what?"

"Pancakes, Peanut. In your pancakes."

"Oh. Yeah." Logan blinks, then scoffs a laugh to himself. "Yeah, Mouth. I'd, ah– blueberries. I'd like blueberries."

[thechekhov]

Hello! I'm a big fan of your work. I wanted to ask for advice / thoughts about an art problem I've been struggling with that you seem to have at least some sort of solution for?

So basically I'm an animator and digital artist (hobbyist), and I'm constantly coming up with new ideas for things to make. Only problem is that most of these ideas would take up to or longer than 2 months to make because, yknow, animation isn't quick, especially if you want to take your time to make it good. But with so many ideas that all take so long to complete, I often find myself tied and frozen as I can't decide what's most worthwhile to start first. I passionately want to complete all these projects, but my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control, and I've just been stuck for several months. You juggle a lot of projects- not all of them art, but it still seems applicable here. This is excluding other life responsibilities like work and stuff, I don't have problems with getting that stuff done. This is purely within my creative hobby.

If u can't say anything thats fine I'm just curious- You have a massive output with great quality. Thank you!

This is a very kind message, and one that humbles me a lot, because although I'd love to bestow upon you some sort of advice that might help, or give words of wisdom..............I feel like that would be fake of me because

I also suffer from this very same thing

That is to say, this part of your message:

my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control

It rings true for me too! I think it might ring true for many others as well.

There are stories in my head all the time. There are stories, and concepts, and IDEAS and they are all so shiny and new in the beginning, and then they slowly peter out and, since I frequently don't have time to do anything about them, they fade into the background.

I have enough trouble with this in terms of COMICS (also a lengthy medium, though less so than animation, which, OOF, you have my condolences, you are stronger than I) that I have started to just come to terms with the fact that some things are not meant to be.

Which is, I think, one of the small bits of advice I can give.

1. Some things may just be ideas, and that's okay.

I think one of the best ways that I've learned to deal with Idea-Death is making it count towards something in the future. That is to say, using them as compost.

In order for this to work, you have to actively put your ideas into the compost pin instead of the trash. That means maybe investing in either a notebook, or a sketchbook, OR just a discord server for yourself where you organize ideas and dump them all into a channel to scroll back through later.

It may seem useless at first, but honestly, it can be satisfying to PUT them somewhere instead of letting them fade away.

Plus, you may one day scroll through them and rediscover an idea at just the right time. OR you may be inspired to take parts of an old idea and repurpose it for a new idea that you DO have motivation for.

However, there's also this part, right?

I've just been stuck for several months

I.......feel this. Sometimes I, too, feel stuck for several months. There are times when even if I WANT to work on something, I just don't have the time. It takes too long to finish!

.........which is why I recommend the following:

2. Don't finish. Just start.

Now, this is the toughie. I can't exactly say that it would work for everyone. But I have learned that I am WAY more likely to return to a project and work on it again sometime in the future if I actually DO something for it the first time I get inspired.

I have SO MANY things that I have not published in my folders. I have sketches of gifs that are 10 frames long. I have concept art sketches boldly labeled with project names that will likely never get off the ground. I have Googledoc files with summary and plot outlines for stories I'll probably never write. I have discord channels with random ass concepts and a few sketches for characters.

And what I have found is that if I just WORK on these ideas when I feel like it, they are more likely to survive, even if they don't thrive right away.

I'm also a huge proponent of Procrastination Rotation.

That is to say, I have so many projects I COULD be working on, that if I ever feel frustrated or stuck on one thing, I just shift myself slightly to the left and do another thing instead. I almost never force myself to work through a block (save for a few money-motivated deadlines) just to complete a thing.

Stuck on a comic? I'll go write a few lines of fic. Unsatisfied with where the fic is going?

I'll go sketch out an illustration. Incapable of finishing an illustration?

I'll go google some references for another comic project and slap them all into an image file for later, so that I have SOMETHING in place for when I want to do studies.

And so on and so forth.

I have comic ideas, and comic sketches, and 30+ pages of original comics sketched. I don't know if they'll make it. It would take a lot of work.

But it also takes very little work - just a few extra pages sketched while I'm bored for an hour. Or a bit of lineart while I listen to a podcast. Or just a doodle somewhere which I snap a pic of and add to my discord channel for that project.

Will it work for everyone? Probably not. But I think that our creative culture is sometimes too attached to a linear production style. The truth is that art, or illustrations, or animation, or comics - none of it has to be on an assembly line. It can be tinkered with and put aside. And then, maybe, picked apart for scraps.........or maybe made into something new!

I don't know if that helps you at all, but I hope it at least helps someone.

And good luck with your animating!

[pippin-katz]

One Shots in Red, White & Royal Blue - Part 1: Alex's Room

Modern movies are fucking obsessed with jump cuts. Even scenes where it is completely unnecessary get cut to shreds. There's films I've seen where one, single sentence line got three jump cuts in it.

After watching Red, White, & Royal Blue over ten times now, I’ve noticed so many moments where they could’ve made jump cuts, but didn’t. There were moments where I was expecting it to cut because of how used I am to other movies cutting the shit out of scenes. They did not do that here, and believe me, it makes a difference.

Cuts temporarily remind the viewer that they're watching something scripted, professionally filmed, and edited. It's a subconscious feeling that most people probably don't even notice.

In case you're unfamiliar, a one shot in film is when a sequence happens without any cuts. One of the benefits of using them is the believability they add. Any amount of time could've progressed between cuts, like if they film a scene on two different days. When you see everything happening in real time, it just feels more real.

Red, White, & Royal Blue balanced their editing and camerawork incredibly well, and utilized one shots way more than I see a lot of other films doing nowadays. They use it for a variety of scenes, and it's done very well.

Example No. 1

From this moment, where Henry enters the room:

GIF by taylorz-nicholasg

To Henry pushing Alex onto the couch:

GIF by sheisraging

To when the sequence ends:

GIF by gay-bucky-barnes

is ALL ONE SHOT.

There are no camera cuts during that sequence, and there's a significant amount of movement and activity going on.

They are obviously aggressively making out, and crossing the room at the same time. Tracking this part might be common, but when they get to the couch, and Henry pushes him, I got this gut feeling that a jump cut was about to happen, but it didn't.

Instead, the camera rotates around to that side perspective, and lets Henry come back into frame and onto the couch in real time.

GIF by sheisraging

The camera doesn't change position until Henry moves down, which could've been a cut to Alex's face, but they opted to zoom in on him, keeping the shot connected.

GIF by sheisraging

This is not a small series of events to capture in one shot, and it means that Nicholas and Taylor had to memorize and perform the entire scene's blocking as a whole rather than in parts. If they mess up, they can't just say: "hey try that line again"

A one shot scene like this means that if you mess up at any point during the sequence, you can't use the take. You have to do it again from the beginning. That's the point of a one shot.

I think it's such a testament to Taylor and Nicholas' talent, skill, and dedication that they did such a long shot involving so much intimate, and difficult, choreography.

Breaking it down, they have to kiss for the first part, but it's not just kissing; it's aggressive kissing. Their eyes are closed, and they're grabbing at each other, while crossing the room. Taylor has to walk backwards. They need to have really good spatial awareness in order to move without hitting something or tripping.

Once they hit the couch, Nicholas has to undo the buttons on Taylor's shirt. If you've ever worn a button-down shirt, you know that sometimes you just struggle with those damn buttons; there's a moment in Paris where they joke about them. Nick has to undo them fast, and deliver his lines too. If he's too slow with the buttons, or they get stuck, take ruined.

Nick has to shove Taylor onto the couch. He has to be visibly forceful, but not knock him down so hard he falls off the couch, or land in a way that make it difficult for him to shift into where he's supposed to be. Nick also has to climb around onto the couch fast enough.

Obviously once they're on the couch, the difficulty comes in that they are being intimate, kissing and grabbing each other, and they need to remain in character. Then they have lines, and Nicholas has to get even more intimate by kissing his neck. He undoes another button or two and kisses his chest and down his stomach, all while delivering his lines correctly.

If either of them messes up a line, or breaks character for a second, or loses their balance, or anything, go back to the start, do it all again.

That is so much, and the two of them nailed every part of it. I still admire how they were able to trust each other and become confident in doing all that they do.

This being a one shot created a really incredible scene. It's fluid, and grounded in space and time. It's not the only scene that's drastically improved by the fact that it's a one shot, so I'll probably write more essays breaking down those scenes cause this movie has me in a choke hold.

Update: If you enjoyed this essay & would like to support me, you can give me a tip on my Ko-Fi! ☺️

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I'm an A-Level student and so many of my classmates use ChatGPT for essays in Law and RS and stuff - like, they sound proud of themselves, as if they're cheating the system and being clever? Just makes me feel very bleak. What are we doing man

Well, the unfortunate news for them is that they are going to struggle if they make it to uni.

This is the big problem with AI - it cannot analyse a single thing. If I were to say to you "What are the features Tumblr users would most want and why?", you are a human being with a brain and experiences and decision-making skills, and you could probably sit and come up with an answer. You would base that answer on things you personally find lacking, or want to see; you would also base it in things you have seen others bemoaning on the site.

For example, I reckon I'd say something like:

The permanent ability to boop people with a cat paw, which is implemented as opt-in. Also customisable, so you can choose whether you want a random cat paw to appear on your screen each time it happens to you. Also a different animation for super boop/evil boop, and maybe more boop options than those two, and maybe also different paw colours.

Actual enforcement of hate speech rules. We all agree to them when we join, so it's perfectly legal to delete someone for spouting Nazi shit AND YET.

No more banning or censoring queer folks' accounts

More ability to adjust the interface for disabled bloggers, e.g. colour and contrast, font, layout, switching off moving GIFs or other animations by default, etc.

Tag editing, it's frustrating having to delete whole tags.

Tag memory! Where have my tags gone??? For a year now I have slightly better luck on desktop, but for the most part, which of my tags are remembered by autofill and which are never, ever offered to me has been wholly divorced from how often I've used them. And my tags are often lengthy and odd, so it's become much harder to use mobile.

No data scraping. This is the anti-cap site thank you. Also on that note, get rid of the For You section and any other algorithmic tracking, because it's just as likely to show you a Nazi blog as an anti-Nazi one as long as you have spent any time at all discussing Nazism.

Better blocking ability, on that note.

Better search function

I could go on, but you get the idea. That's analysis that I've done, based on discussions I have seen and taken part in, and my own experiences.

I just asked ChatGPT. Here's what it had to say:

"Tumblr users have diverse preferences, but there are several features that many users would likely appreciate: 1. Improved Content Discovery: Tumblr is known for its vast array of content, so improving content discovery mechanisms such as personalized recommendations, trending topics, and enhanced search functionality can help users find more of the content they enjoy. 2. Enhanced Customization Options: Tumblr users value the ability to customize their blogs extensively. Providing more themes, layout options, and customization tools can empower users to express themselves creatively and make their blogs unique. 3. Integration of Multimedia Formats: Tumblr is a platform where users share various types of multimedia content, including images, GIFs, videos, and audio. Enhancing support for different media formats, improving media upload and management features, and optimizing the viewing experience can enhance user engagement. 4. Improved Mobile Experience: Many Tumblr users access the platform via mobile devices. Therefore, optimizing the mobile app for better performance, usability, and feature parity with the desktop version can greatly enhance the user experience. 5. Community Engagement Features: Tumblr has a vibrant community, so features that facilitate interaction among users, such as improved messaging, reblogging, tagging, and commenting functionalities, can foster a sense of community and increase user engagement. 6. Content Moderation Tools: Given the diverse content on Tumblr, providing users with robust content moderation tools, including options for filtering, blocking, and reporting inappropriate content, can help ensure a safer and more enjoyable experience for all users. 7. Monetization Options for Creators: Many Tumblr users are content creators who would appreciate opportunities to monetize their content. Introducing features such as ad revenue sharing, subscription-based content, or integrated e-commerce capabilities can incentivize creators to produce high-quality content and invest more in their Tumblr presence. 8. Accessibility Features: Improving accessibility features such as alt text support for images, screen reader compatibility, and customizable text sizes and color schemes can make Tumblr more inclusive and accessible to users with disabilities. 9. Privacy and Security Enhancements: Enhancing privacy controls, data protection measures, and account security features can help users feel more confident and secure when using the platform, which is especially important given concerns about online privacy and security. 10. API and Third-Party Integration: Opening up Tumblr's API and allowing for easier integration with third-party services and apps can encourage innovation and development within the Tumblr ecosystem, providing users with more options and flexibility in how they use the platform. Overall, focusing on improving content discovery, customization options, community engagement, and user safety while also providing opportunities for creators to monetize their content can help Tumblr retain and attract users in a competitive social media landscape."

It's possible that feels alright, on first glance. But take a closer look.

Every point made is vague, and disconnected from any real life examples. In the very first point, it thinks we want better search functions (yes!) but also more algorithmic recommendations (no!). It wants us to have personalised recommendations AND better security, in fact, which are incompatible - but an LLM doesn't and can't know that. Monetisation of the platform is something that has historically faced appalling backlash from users, and this thing is suggesting ad revenue sharing and subscription services.

Because, its suggestions are generic suggestions. These are not Tumblr-specific. No mention of queerphobia, no mention of Nazis, and absolutely zero understanding of what the specific users on this site actually want.

... all of which is to say...

It's what is academically known as descriptive work. It lays out some facts, but there's no depth, no analysis, no interpretation of those facts at all. Why would we want third party integration? What apps are we calling for? Give examples. Would that aid ad-blocking? Search functions? In that case, wouldn't third-party integration be tackling the symptoms and not the cause? Shouldn't we work better ad-blocking and search functions into Tumblr at a base level?

And in school - even up to A Level - that's okay. You won't get top marks for that, because it's all too vague and too descriptive, but it's fine. School-level assignments tend to be more broad and less applied, too, which LLMs fare better with.

But in university, you start with descriptive facts, and then you are expected to analyse. If you cannot analyse, you run a very real risk of failing. Which means if you've spent your GCSEs and A Levels not bothering to learn those analytical skills and letting ChatGPT do the work for you, you are going to face an extremely uphill struggle when the expectations of study increase.

So, to round off, try not to get too discouraged. You know you aren't doing it, which means you are the one actually learning and developing and growing. Others will learn eventually, and probably more painfully. You do you!

[targaryenmarvel]

Fallin' All In You (Part 3) - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You’ve known Wanda Maximoff since you were children. She was the shy and exceptionally beautiful twin sister of your best friend, Pietro. For the most part, you two never interacted, but that changes when against your better judgment, you begin to develop feelings for the girl. 

Warnings: Cursing

Note: It's a bit late, but here's part three! It was initially longer, but I didn't want to make you guys wait too long. I hope you enjoy it, and I'll post the next part as soon as I finish editing it. Also, credit to the creator of the GIF.

Word count: 4,377

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

///////////////////////////////////////////////

Voices echoed through the halls as students lounged around before classes. Some were engaged in lively conversations, while others scrolled through their phones. 

The air remained charged with energy and excitement from the previous day's win, as proved by the many praises you received from students and teachers. The elating compliments usually made you smile in glee, feeding into your ego. Yet, today, you could only muster a mediocre half-smile. Fatigue overran your body as a result of a sleepless night. Thoughts of Wanda had invaded your mind with no plan of ever leaving.

How could they when you nearly kissed the girl? You had spent the night overanalyzing the situation. Initially, you thought Wanda wanted to kiss you, but you were unsure after her speedy escape. God, you were an idiot. You had ruined any possibility of her ever liking you. She probably thought you were a creep. The fact that Wanda couldn't even look at you throughout the day attested to your thoughts. Even now, as you were seated with your friends, you could sense the uncomfortable tension that had taken over before she left your car. You just wished your friends wouldn't notice anything, especially Pietro. 

"We should do something today." It was Natasha who saved you from your agonizing thoughts.

"What do you have in mind?" Steve asked, slinging his arm over her shoulder.

"Let's go to the movie theatre," she glared at you, "and you can't find an excuse not to go this time."

"I wasn't going to third wheel you and Steve," you defend yourself with a pout, crossing your arms.

"You wouldn't have to third wheel if you accepted a date from the many guys and girls who have asked you out," Natasha refuted. Wanda, who seemed to have been tuning out the conversation, instantly looked at you, causing you to feel more self-conscious.

"Ahh, you never told me this," accused Pietro, looking at you like you had just run over his cat.

Steve leaned on his elbows and playfully whispered, "She's quite the heartbreaker."

"I am not!" You snapped, feeling the heat in your upper body increase by the second. The three are stifling laughs, amused by your embarrassment. Wanda simply looked curious. "I am not, okay. I've never gone out with anyone-" you looked pointedly at Natasha, "-and you know I wasn't interested in dating."

"Are you interested now?" She provoked. When you didn't answer, she continued tormenting you. "Common Y/N, there's gotta be someone you like."

You rested your head on your arms, trying to hide from their analyzing gaze. You wanted to deny it but couldn't find it in yourself to lie, especially in front of the girl of your affections. Moreover, if the girl felt anything akin to your feelings, such denial would probably make her feel relieved you didn't kiss. So instead of answering her, all you said was a muffled, "Shut up."

Later that day, the five, along with Pietro's date, met at the movie theater and, after a majority consensus, bought tickets to the new Conjuring movie. The two couples sat together, leaving you to sit next to Wanda. You didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. However, one thing was for sure: it would be difficult to focus on the movie when there was an apparent superior sight.

You really tried to concentrate on the movie; you swear you did, but you couldn't stop yourself from noticing Wanda's discomfort throughout the film. At first, you thought you were the problem, that your presence caused her state. Then, you noticed her ragged breathing and clenched fists, or how she would seal her eyes shut during the frightening scenes. 

Despite your qualms about your relationship with Wanda, you made a bold decision. Shielded by the darkness of the theater room, you dared to slide your hand over until your pinky touched hers. Wanda's already irregular breathing stopped at the action, and you expected her to move her hand in rejection. When she didn't, you summoned the last of your courage to entirely place your hand over hers, feeling Wanda's turn intertwining with your own. 

You struggled to contain the smile that threatened to bloom on your lips, but there was no controlling your racing heart and the swirling happiness that erupted in your stomach. You held hands for the remainder of the movie, and least to say, you paid even less attention, finding more comfort in the soft feel of her silk skin. 

You again offered to drive Wanda home, considering Pietro had to drive his date home. You reasoned that it would be awkward for Wanda to third-wheel her brother. Unlike the previous day, only the sound of the radio filled the atmosphere—neither of you daring to say a word of last night's occurrence or the hand holding. Feeling the increasing tension, Wanda finally decided to break the silence. 

"Have you started the book?" She asked, fiddling with her hands, keeping her eyes on the road. 

"No." You internally cursed yourself, having already forgotten about the reading. You had been too preoccupied with preparing for the game. "I need to check if they have it at the library."

"I figured you hadn't started." She giggled, and your heart skipped at the sound, "I can lend you my copy, don't worry."

You raised an eyebrow at her, "You're already done?"

"Mhm, besides, I've read it so many times I know it by memory." Once again, you pulled over in front of her home. "Wait here," Wanda instructed, hastily exiting the car. 

You assumed she didn't want a repeat of last night. Yet, not even two minutes later did Wanda return, walking to your side of the car. 

You lowered the window, taking the book from her outstretched hand. "Thanks."

"No problem. Though I am warning you, if I see so much as a scratch or bent page, I will kill you," she threatened, menacingly pointing her finger at you.

You scoffed and chuckled amusedly, "Wanda Maximoff threatening me over a book."

She shrugged nonchalantly and justified, "My books are my babies."

"Fair enough."

You expected her to bid you farewell, but she fidgeted in place, lips opening and closing before finally whispering, "Thank you- what you did in the theatre." Then, she quickly leaned in, kissed your cheek, and took off before you could react. 

You were left flabbergasted as your fingers brushed the burning imprint her lips had left on your skin, a sigh of delight leaving your lips. Wanda certainly had a way of spicing your nights. 

You returned home, Wanda's copy of 'Pride & Prejudice' in hand, still feeling giddy and dazed enough for your mother to notice.

"You okay, honey?" You hummed distractedly before biting your lip to contain a grin. Your mother recognized the lovesick expression you wore. "What's their name?" You furrowed your eyebrows at her question, and she clarified, "The person who has you love-struck."

You froze in place. Were you really that obvious? No matter, it wasn't a conversation you wanted to have with your mother. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom. I'll be in my room." You could hear her laughter as you went up the stairs and into your bedroom. You stayed up until your eyes could no longer stay open reading, trying to distract yourself from Wanda. 

The next out-of-school opportunity you get to spend time with Wanda is Friday. One of your teammates was throwing a victory party while her parents were traveling. You weren't much for partying, but knowing Wanda would be there was motivation enough to assist. Knowing Pietro would probably drink, you decided to pick up the twins.

The three of you decided to find Steve and Natasha upon arriving. Once you did, Natasha offered you alcoholic beverages. You only took a sip of yours since you were the designated driver, and you had work early in the morning the next day—an easy weekend job at a flower shop. You noticed Wanda was also not keen on drinking, so you got sodas for the both of you. 

The five of you remained together until Pietro's girl arrived. Then, Natasha and Steve left, leaving you and Wanda alone. 

Finally, you took the opportunity to admire Wanda fully, from the black combat boots and ripped jeans to her signature red leather jacket covering yet another band teeshirt. Though you loved her outfit, your favorite part was her bright green eyes brought out by a sexy black eyeliner. You were a gay mess, to say the least. 

"You don't seem happy to be here," you commented, noticing her pout. Damn, she had such pretty lips.

"That's because I'm not. I'm only here because Pietro bribed me with new books. Now that I'm here, I realize it's not worth it, considering he left me alone," Wanda whined, playing with her rings.

"Alone? Am I that bad of a company?" You teased, enjoying the slight panic in her eyes before bursting out in laughter. "Don't worry, I won't leave you alone."

Wanda felt grateful for your company as she wasn't one to party, especially since her friends weren't there. Shuri, Peter, and the rest of the science club had left on a trip. Monica had planned on coming until she came down with the flu. It was funny how things changed between you two. How, years before, she would have panicked at the thought of being so close to you. Now, she could only feel her chest flutter with butterflies as you rant about your thoughts on Pride & Prejudice.

Not long after, Peggy Carter interrupted you both, wanting you to meet someone. You reluctantly agreed after Wanda said it was fine, and you promised to return quickly. Peggy led you into the kitchen, where a muscular boy your age stood with a red solo cup. She introduced him as Sam Wilson, her friend from another school, before leaving you two with a mischievous smile. 

"I think she's trying to set us up." Although you appreciated the noble gesture, now more than ever, you wished to return to Wanda. 

He nodded and said, "Look, you're beautiful, but I have my eye on someone else." His eyes looked over your shoulder, and you followed his eyesight and came upon James Barnes, Steve's best friend.

"Don't worry, I do too. You should go talk to him."

"We don't even know eachother." He lowered his head, avoiding your eyes.

"I can help with that." You took his hand and led him towards Bucky. "Hey, Bucky. I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Sam."

Bucky immediately smirked as he eyed Sam. Pleased with your work, you dismissed yourself, ready to return to Wanda's side. But, much to your dread, the brunette was gone when you arrived. Maybe she was tired of waiting for you? Perhaps she had found Pietro? No, but what if it was something terrible had happened to her? 

Not willing to take your chances, you decided to search for her. You looked throughout the entire first floor and even outside with no success. You were going up the stairs to scour the second floor, your concern threatening to detonate at any moment. Then, you heard her voice.

"Get away from me!"

In a panic, you followed the voice, leading you into one of the more isolated corridors. Your sight immediately landed on Brock Rumlow, backing up Wanda against the wall. Your blood boiled at the sight, and you clenched your fist, ready to attack. Before you could interfere, Wanda raised her knee, striking him between his legs. Rumlow tumbled down as he groaned in pain.

"You bitch!" he cursed, attempting to reach her on all fours. You were sure she could handle him herself, but you were consumed with rage as you ran forward, slamming your foot into his stomach, causing him to curl into a fetal position. You were about to deliver another blow to his face, but a gentle touch on your arm pulled you away. You are met with Wanda's pleading eyes telling you it was enough. 

You lowered yourself, yanking Rumlow by the hair and saying, "No means no, you fucking piece of shit." Before succumbing to your desire to injure him further, you intertwined your hand with Wanda's and led her to the front porch. 

You sat on the porch swing, closing your eyes and resting your head on the wood. Your lips were pulled into a tight line, fists clenched, as you tried to control your labored breathing. Your mind had a different idea as it drifted about what could have happened if you hadn't been there. Wanda handled the situation well enough, but the knowledge didn't lessen the anger. For fucks sake, all you wanted was to go back in and rip him apart. 

"Are you okay?" her honey-sweet voice broke you from your thoughts, a dry chuckle falling from your lips.

"I should be the one asking you that." You glanced at her. "You're the one who that asshole was..." You had to stop to take a deep, shaky breath, "I just want to go back in there and-"

Wanda lifted her hands to your cheeks, gently turning your head so you would look at her. "I'm okay," she whispered, thumbs caressing the skin of your cheekbones. You were instantly entranced by her intense stare, soothing voice, and the addicting feel of her skin on your own. Her lips turned upward, causing you to glance at them briefly. "You know you're always saving me. First, Trent Griffin, and now this idiot." She lowered her hands, making you immediately miss her touch. 

"I won't take credit for Rumlow. You had him handled before I interfered." You smirked at her, "Perfect kick, by the way." Your compliment evoked laughter from you both, Wanda's hand falling on your own. This time, you took the liberty of interlacing your hands. 

"So, who'd you meet?"

"Huh, oh, one of Peggy's friends, Sam. She was trying to set us up."

Wanda's head whipped around so fast, you thought it would fall off. "What?" She questioned, all playfulness was gone from her tone. 

"Yeah," you responded, unwilling to look at the girl. "Total waste, though. He looked like a nice guy and all, but definitely not my type. Besides, he had his eye on someone else." Your answer quelled the uneasiness in the brunette. 

"Really? Who?" She asked, disinterested but trying to seem unaffected by your words earlier. 

"Bucky," you answered with a grin, thinking of the cute couple the two would make. You missed the double take Wanda made. 

"Really? Bucky?" She questioned, perplexed. Although she didn't know Buck that well, she was highly intimidated by the man. The way he appeared to scowl at anyone except Steve. 

You found her incredulity hilarious, but you loved teasing her even more. "Do you have something against Bucky?" 

"What? No," she hastily replied. "It's just," she sighed, looking down, embarrassed, "he's kind of scary."

You burst into laughter as Wanda pulled her hand away to cover her face. As your giggles quieted, you uncovered her face, lacing your hands again. "Wanda, don't let the mean face fool you. He just has one of those faces. Bucky is a literal teddy bear. He would dare hurt a fly unless you mess with Steve or Alpine."

"Alpine?"

"His cat. See, totally safe," you assured.

Wanda sighed. "Sorry. I'm not actually scared of him; it's just that he appears intimidating."

"He does, doesn't he," you agreed with a smile.

"Anyways, this Sam," she dragged out, playing with your fingers. "You said he wasn't your type," Wanda took a deep breath. It was now or never. She looked straight at you and asked, " Tell me, who is your type?"

You felt the wind knocked out of your lungs as you gasped for an answer. What were you supposed to say? That she was your type? That all you could think about day and night was her? Or how anyone paled in comparison to her? You didn't dare to say any of those things yet. 

Instead, you nervously laughed as you rubbed your neck. "I don't know.'

"Not, Natasha?" Wanda pressed.

Your eyes shot to her, looking at her as if she'd grown a second head. "No, no, no. That's not- No," you vehemently denied. "Nat, she's amazing, but no."

You took a deep breath, furrowing your eyebrows in thought. "Pietro, he's my best friend, and while you and I didn't speak much, I always appreciated your presence." Wanda listened quietly, yet still confused about what that had to do with the conversation. "So when the two constants in my life left, I felt lost. I didn't know what to do with my best friend. Then, Natasha came along. She's kind of been to me what you are to Pietro. Someone who grounds me and pushes me to do better. It's because of her I got into soccer, you know? She basically dragged me to tryouts."

Wanda nodded understandingly. The quiet remained for a moment.

"What about you, Maximoff?"

She shrugged, "I haven't dated either."

"Really?" You asked, surprised that the goddess before you had not dated either. However, it was cut short by her following words.

"Actually, I did go on a date with this guy in California. It didn't work out."

You weren't jealous, no. You were curious about who was the idiot who let her go. "Really? Why"

"Jarvis came from an affluent family. All that money made him quite pretentious. To tell you that on the date, he took me to his mansion to show off all his money."

"Jarvis? His parents were definitely setting him up for failure with that name." Wanda laughed and playfully bumped your shoulder. 

When your laughter died down, you were left in silence, facing forward with a hint of a smile remaining on your lips. It wasn't uncomfortable like in your car, but peaceful and reassuring. You stayed in that position until you realized how late it was.

"Let's find Pietro so I can take you home." 

It didn't take long to find Pietro and his date, Crystal. The two were engaged in a competitive game of beer pong. Only two cups were left closest to them, while four remained on the opposing side. From his intoxicated state, you deduced they would soon lose. Pietro's uncoordinated throw needed more momentum, and the ping pong ball landed inches from the red solo cup. It wasn't long before the game ended.

You and Wanda walked in hand towards her brother, only separating as you threw your arm around his shoulder. The other took the alcohol-filled cup from his hands and set it down on the counter. "Okay, buddy, that's enough. Let's go home."

"Oh, come on, guys. It's still early."

"Seriously, Pietro. It's eleven," Wanda scolded with crossed arms. 

Pietro wrapped his arm around Wanda, so you were both on either side of him. "Sistra, aren't you enjoying yourself?"

Wanda shot daggers at Pietro, and you had to stop yourself from laughing. "No," she gravely responded.

"Okay, okay, okay." Pietro squeezed you both. "We can go... after you dance with Y/N." He looked down at you with a grin. "It's a party, and you two haven't done anything fun. Come on." He released you and took Crystal's hand, leading her to dance. 

You and Wanda watched, taken aback. Wanda scoffed, but you felt humored at Pietro's suggestion. Despite the loud music filling the atmosphere the entire night, it was the first time you cared to listen. Suddenly, all you wanted was a dance with Wanda. 

 You turned to Wanda, outstretching your hand. "He's right, you know? Let's have a little fun. Dance with me?"

She glanced at your hand, hesitation clear in her viridescent eyes. Wanda was not much of a dancer; back in California, when Pietro forced her to go to parties, she spent her time in secluded corners with her friends. She regretted not accepting the countless invitations to dance; maybe she wouldn't be destined to embarrass herself in front of everyone. With that thought in mind, she picked up Pietro's discarded drink and gulped it down in one go. A little liquid courage is all she needed, Wanda thought as she dropped her hand into your own and followed you to the dancing group.

You saw the nervousness in her eyes; you won't lie, you felt in yourself. Your coordination only functioned in the field, not on the dance floor, but you didn't care. You wouldn't mind making a fool of yourself for Wanda. You had half a mind to follow her lead with a drink but held back.

You stood still among the dancing teens sticking out like a sore thumb. You were unsure of what to do with your hand. Should you hold Wanda by her hips? Would that be too audacious? Wanda felt the same, uncertain of how to proceed. Wanda found it comical that you continued to be a nervous mess despite your newfound friendship. Although she didn't mind, she enjoyed seeing the all-mighty Y/N and confident Y/N from her childhood shy because of her definite ego boost. It made up for the millions of times she had to hide away in fear of embarrassing herself when you were near. 

Wanda bit her lip, looking up at you from under her lashes, and she swears she could hear how you take a sharp breath. With foreign confidence, Wanda wrapped an arm around your neck and, with the other, took your hand, placing it on her hip.

"Is this okay?" 

You nod stupidly, flushed by the action. Frankly, Wanda's boldness turned you on. It took a few mental reprimands to let loose and get into the rhythm. The music took over your body as you moved in sync, each beat resonating in your chest. Your body came alive with the music and the electrifying touch of the woman holding on to you. Nothing else mattered as you gazed into her hypnotizing eyes.

Your body tingled as she brought you closer, locking her hands around your neck. You could feel the silk-smooth skin of her hips as your hands reached under her shirt or her fresh mint breath on your lips. You felt drunk on the feeling of Wanda. 

Similarly, Wanda felt euphoric like never before, and despite her earlier concerns about dancing, her body moved so naturally. Every cell in her body is reinvigorated by your touch and the way you slightly scratched at her swaying hips. Suddenly, she couldn't remember why she hated parties. Was it because you weren't there? It didn't matter, not when she could feel the tension building and building to a place of no return. She licked at her lips, alternating her gaze from your lips to your half-lidded eyes.

You couldn't hold back any longer as you raised a hand to cup Wanda's cheek, like water slipping through a broken dam, your restraint torn down by need. Wanda leaned into your touch with a sigh, relishing the softness of the action. At any other moment, the brunette would find it unimaginable to act in such a way, but she figured it was the alcohol feeding into her boldness.

The two of you had stopped dancing long ago as you engaged in a battle of who would make the next move. It wasn't that you weren't dying to taste her lips. In truth, the need became nearly paralyzing. Maybe if you had acted sooner, you could have saved the moment. 

As you leaned in to kiss her, a drunken stranger crashed into you, and you staggered back with Wanda in your arms. It seemed as if the universe had a vendetta against you by how it intervened. For a second time, you were deprived of her lips by the consequence of outer forces. 

The blow knocked you out of your daze, and with regained senses, you took in the frantic, inebriated man thrashing around. Wanda turned around in your arms, confused by the commotion. You protectively pulled her closer to your body and stepped back to prevent getting struck by the man as his friends tried to pull him away. The situation only got worse as the drunk man noticed a laughing group.

"That's our cue to leave," you said, ignoring the near kiss, more apprehensive about the unfolding scene.

After collecting Pietro and Crystal, you bid farewells to your other friends and made your way to your car. You and Wanda lead the way in silence, yet not uncomfortable. Though the near kiss rested heavily on your mind, unlike last time, there were no doubts. Of course, you felt disappointed in the interruption, yet some of you acknowledged it wasn't the place or time. You were sure the moment would come soon enough.

Your hand itched to reach for her, but you held back, unsure what Pietro would think. When you got your car, you rushed to open the door for Wanda, sharing a smile as you did so. Behind you, Crystal complained to Pietro about his lack of chivalry and how she needed to be more like you. 

The ride to Crystal's place was short, but the couple in the backseat made the ride feel eternal as they made out. You and Wanda looked at each other disgusted while playfully gagging. You chuckled, poking fun at the couple. After dropping Crystal off, you made your way to the Maximoff residence. The collective exhaustion became visible in the lack of conversation. Pietro's usual talkative self hummed to a song on the radio while Wanda closed her eyes and rested her head on the window.

On the other hand, you used the time pondering on your next move. Should you talk to Pietro first before asking her out?

The twins thanked you for the ride as you stopped outside their place. Wanda kissed your cheek goodbye when Pietro was distracted like the other night and left without another word. Pietro followed, but not before making plans for him to come over the next day. As they walked away, you could only stare, entranced by the brunette. She would be the death of you.

[sansaorgana]

📻 PLAYLIST — LEADER OF THE PACK

TRACK 1. — HE'S A GOOD GUY (YES, HE IS) BY THE MARVELETTES ⏮ ⏸ ⏭

PAIRING — Benny Cross x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — On the first day of high school you meet a new friend. Your parents say he's from the wrong side of the tracks but you can't be convinced as you develop a crush on him, not knowing yet that it is only the beginning of a much bigger adventure you are going to have with Benny Cross in the next few years.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The gif is NOT a faceclaim – the Reader's looks are not described. I just wanted the vibe of a retro high school and it's not even the correct era lol I have no idea yet how many parts this story will be but I missed writing for Austin's characters and I wanted to finally write down the idea I've had for a while now. Also, this time I decided to lowkey use the playlist format since this sort of music is one of my favourite genres (old r&b, soul, doo wop etc.) 🥰 Of course you don't have to actually listen to those songs! 😅

WARNINGS — era accurate sexism and mindset of characters (I assumed it would be like late 1950s / early 1960s and they are from a small town), Reader and Benny are minors in this part (they are not even a couple, though)

WORD COUNT — 5,470

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

LEADER OF THE PACK (TRACK 1.)

“Have you made any new friends at school?” Your mother asked with a smile when you were chewing on a steak with mashed potatoes. You nearly sighed at her question, trying very hard not to roll your eyes. Why were parents always asking that?

Well, to be fair, you had never had many friends.

There was Rachel whom you had known ever since you two had been toddlers. Rachel was definitely your best friend. Back in the day there had also been Tammy. There had always been the three of you everywhere but for about a year now Tammy had been acting differently. Ever since she had started dating, that is. Her boyfriend Louis was in the football team and he wasn’t even saying hi to you or Rachel. 

“I don’t know if it counts as making a friend but…” you started, nervously fidgeting with the fork in your hand. The person you were about to mention was a boy and you were scared of everyone’s reactions.

Your mother would tease, probably. Father and older brother would begin their interrogation as if it was anything serious.

“Miss Cooper sat me with this one boy,” you finally revealed and you watched your father lowering the newspaper he had been hiding behind until now. He raised an eyebrow at you after exchanging a meaningful look with your older brother Luke.

“Why did she tell you to sit with a boy?” Your mother smiled.

“What boy?” Your father asked, harshly.

“I’m supposed to help him in class. He’s nice but not the brightest, if you get me,” you tried to explain. “He’s not stupid – just slow when it comes to studying,” you quickly added.

“So he’s stupid,” Luke rolled his eyes.

“No!” You defended your new friend immediately.

“Who is he?” Your father repeated the question, irritated already that you had ignored him the first time and that you were fighting with your brother. Women in that household were supposed to be quiet and obedient.

He hadn’t survived the war for his own daughter to act like a brat – that was what your father was often saying. He was using the war to guilt trip you, your mother and Luke whenever he thought it was needed. 

“His name is Benny,” you nodded at your father. “Benjamin Cross,” you added.

Your parents looked at each other with a quiet sigh.

“What is it?” You asked and looked at your brother questioningly but he seemed to be as oblivious as you were why your parents reacted that way.

“I’m sure he is a nice boy…” your mother started softly, “but he is not from a good family.”

“They’re from the wrong side of the tracks,” your father explained. “Doesn’t surprise me that the boy is slow. I’ve never seen his father sober. I think he’s lost every job he has ever had.”

“And his mother?” Luke asked, curious already. One thing about your brother was that he was extremely nosy and an awful gossip.

“What about his mother? I haven’t seen her in ages,” your father looked at your mother.

“I do believe that Mrs. Cross passed away some time ago,” your mother hummed to herself. “Yes! I remember now,” she nodded eagerly. “She died two years ago. Evie told me about it last winter when we were Christmas shopping.”

“What Evie?” Your father asked.

“You know Evie! The one living down the road. Jack’s wife, that accountant.”

“Ah, yeah, yeah, Jack’s wife,” your father picked up the newspaper again. “Either way, Benny Cross is not your new friend,” he decided as he gave you a stern look. You felt your cheeks heating up. “He’s just a boy that Miss Cooper sat you with to help him. That’s it,” he finished and hid himself behind the newspaper again.

“And if he ever bothers you, just tell me!” Luke pointed his finger at you and you nodded nervously, going back to your meal.

Even though your father had decided that Benny Cross was not your friend, it was difficult to remember about that. Perhaps his grades were not good and his clothes were poor but who ever cared about such things? What mattered was that he knew how to make you laugh even though most of the time he was a quiet guy.

In fact, he was making you laugh so much that Miss Cooper angrily separated you two after three weeks of sitting together. She gave you a scolding look and said those words that would make your blood run cold under any other circumstances:

“I am so disappointed in you, (Y/N).”

But now you didn’t really care. You were just angry that she separated you from Benny. You introduced him to Rachel during lunch break but Rachel was not convinced.

“I don’t mind him. And you know that I couldn’t care less about his family!” She gasped when you accused her of being prejudiced. “It’s just… I think he might have a bad influence on you. On the both of us. We shouldn’t hang out with him for too long. But it’s very noble that you want to help him with his grades,” she assured you quickly when she spotted annoyance on your face.

“Why noble?” You asked her. “I didn’t even think of that. I just want to help my friend,” you explained.

“Oh, admit it!” Rachel giggled. “You fancy him.”

“What?!” Your eyes widened and you stopped walking, adjusting the books in your hand. Rachel chuckled and stopped as well, turning around to face you.

“Oh, (Y/N), come on, I have eyes, too. He’s handsome with those baby blue eyes and golden hair. And I’m sure you haven’t missed those muscles under his shirt. If it’s true what they say about his family, I am convinced he is used to physical work,” she covered her mouth to hide another giggle escaping her lips.

Truth to be told, you had never seen Benny Cross as a potential romantic interest… until now. You swallowed thickly at Rachel’s words, realising they were all true – he was a handsome boy with a devilish smile.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Rachel assured you. “But please, don’t become another Tammy and don’t leave me behind just because you have a crush!”

“I won’t!” You promised her with widened eyes and you grabbed her by her wrist to squeeze it. “I promise.”

Ever since that conversation with Rachel, you began to treat Benny a little differently. When he was making you laugh, you were trying to make your laughter sound more girly as you would throw your head back and fix your hair in a feminine manner. Instead of making silly faces at him, you started to cover your face with your hand to show him how flustered you were becoming. And for the very first time you didn’t spend your pocket money on a new record or a book – no, you spent it on a new pastel pink ribbon for your hair even though you knew that Benny would teasingly pull on it at school.

His hands were often dirty so whenever he pulled on it, he was leaving a small mark on the soft fabric of the ribbon. If it was any other boy, you would get frustrated and angry but you would never get angry at Benny – in fact, you were laying on the bed in the evenings, listening to your dreamy records and brushing the ribbon with your fingertips, tracing the marks left behind by Benny’s dirty fingers.

You never minded the dirty hands – they only meant he was working hard. He revealed to you that he had to do a lot of jobs after school to help his father to earn enough money to get through the month. In the end, instead of getting a thanks, he would often get a beating from his drunk old man. He was never talking kindly about him and you couldn’t blame Benny for that. There was a lot of hatred in your new friend whenever he mentioned his father and those were the moments when you were quite scared but also intrigued – when his pretty eyes filled with sparkles and hatred. He would quickly soften again, though.

It was obvious, though, that he had no time to study after school or do his homework. You were trying to help him but he was too ashamed to invite you over to his place and you were scared of taking you home because your father would not be happy about it. You never said anything about it but it was as if Benny knew anyway – he never proposed to go to your place after school. So, the only time you had to help him study was during the lunch break.

Rachel was sometimes sitting with you two but she was not happy about it. She had you all for herself after school, though, so she was trying to be understanding. When it came to Benny’s friends… Well, he didn’t have them.

Benny was too strong and too mean looking to be pushed around so the kids just left him alone and let him be. However, the boys from the football team – Tammy’s boyfriend included – were often making comments about Benny being stupid, poor or weird. You were always telling him not to listen and he was shrugging his arms, but it was hard to believe that he truly didn’t care about such things. They always had an impact on a person, especially so young.

The school in your small Illinois town was not big so your brother Luke was quickly told that you spend most of your lunch breaks sitting by the same table in the corner of the cafeteria with Benny Cross.

“I would like to ask (Y/N) about something,” he said during dinner on that day and everyone looked at you. You froze, already expecting the worst. You loved your brother because he was your family but you didn’t like him – too often he was trying to act like your father.

“What is it?” Your mother asked, worryingly.

“I was told that Miss Cooper separated (Y/N) and that Cross boy a few weeks ago because they were loud in class. Yet, I still see them spending lunch breaks together,” he revealed and your heart skipped a beat.

“You were loud in class?!” Your father snapped and you swallowed a lump in your throat as your hands began to shake.

“I… I am sorry…” You looked down.

“Don’t be angry at her! I am sure it was that boy’s fault!” Your mother defended you.

“Perhaps. Why does she still spend time with him then?” Your father observed you intensely.

“I… I want to help him,” you explained quietly. “I help him to study, that’s it. He is nice to me and it’s not like he’s stupid, he really is not!” You exclaimed after spotting Luke snorting at your words. “But he doesn’t have time to study after school.”

“Well, that is so noble of you, darling,” your mother caressed your arm but you flinched a little at the word that she used – noble. “We should be glad that our daughter is so helpful and compassionate,” she laid her eyes on your father.

“Being around that boy means trouble,” your father shook his head. “I cannot punish you for having a good heart,” he sighed. “Women tend to be too weak. That is why you have fathers and husbands to show you the right path.”

“And brothers,” Luke nodded but your father did not comment on that.

“I don’t want you to start getting worse grades because you put too much effort into helping somebody else,” your father pointed his finger at you.

“But daddy! I learn as well when I help Benny to study!” You protested.

“While you are repeating the basics with him, you could already study more advanced subjects yourself. Aren’t you always saying that you want to go to college one day?” He furrowed his brows and you shut your mouth. The college argument was always making you feel guilty, too. It was almost as bad as the war one. “I am not saving my hard-earned money for you to go to college only to find out you are wasting your time on a deadbeat Cross boy!”

“He is a lost cause, sweetheart, you must realise that,” your mother was much more gentle when she caressed your cheek but the meaning of her words was the same after all. “I know it’s sad but the truth is he is going to end up like his father and we cannot do anything to stop it. It’s a waste of time to try.”

“Enough,” your father raised his hand. “I don’t want to talk about that boy ever again.”

And just like that the rest of the meal went quietly with your mother occasionally trying to cheer your father up by bringing up some random facts from her boring day full of shopping, cooking and cleaning. 

After dinner, you stayed in the kitchen to help her clean the table and wash the dishes while your father and Luke were free to go and spend that time on whatever they wished.

You were drying the plates with a cloth, biting on your lower lip and waiting for the right time to start a private conversation with your mother.

“He’s nice to me, mommy,” you finally whispered.

“Hm?” She turned her head around to meet your gaze.

“Benny Cross. He is nice to me and he makes me laugh,” you tried to explain in the simplest way possible. “He is my friend now. I can’t just… I can’t just stop hanging around with him. He doesn’t have anyone.”

“He surely has some friends,” your mother furrowed her brows.

“Not at school, no. He mentioned some guys from his street but they don’t go to school anymore,” you explained.

“They’re older?”

“Not much. They just… They dropped out or got expelled,” you lowered your voice and your mother sighed, extending her hand to give you another plate to dry. “Mom! I know what it sounds like but I don’t think he’s a lost cause. I think a push into the right direction could save his life,” you were desperate to make her understand. “We cannot claim that we are good people when we turn our backs on those in need.”

You felt bad for referring to Benny as someone in need and you were sure that his pride would be bruised but you also were aware that it was the only argument that could convince your mother – she wanted to be a good person above anything else. She wanted to be known for her kindness and her nice family as if the whole meaning of her life revolved only around how others perceived her. She wanted to always be soft and feminine – just like your father wanted her to be. And she wanted the exact same from you but you had ambitions that both scared and impressed her. Like the fact you wanted to go to college or you had the courage to stand up for yourself and argue with your father sometimes.

“If it doesn’t interfere with your own studying then I don’t see a reason why you can’t help him,” she sighed as she nodded in a whisper. “However, I don’t think your father should know about it. I’ll try to talk to Luke and make him understand so he doesn’t snitch on you again,” she assured you and your eyes brightened.

“Thank you!” You squealed happily and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can I invite Benny here after school one day? Maybe on Friday? We don’t have many classes so we’d have a few hours before daddy comes back from work and Luke has his baseball practice at that time,” you tried to give her as many reasons as possible for her to agree.

“I don’t know, (Y/N)... I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” your mother shook her head and went back to washing the dishes. You sighed and didn’t say anything else but you could see that she was intensely thinking about something. “On the other hand…” she started, “...your father is going out with his friends from work for dinner this Friday. He won’t be back until late in the evening.”

“So you agree?” Your eyes widened. “Oh, mom, you would meet him and I’m sure you’re going to see what I see… That he’s a nice boy!”

“Alright… But don’t make me regret that,” she gave you a scolding – but still soft – look.

Benny was trying to play it cool because he always tried to come off as unbothered by anything but you could see that he was nervous. He had one class less than you on that day but he promised to wait for you behind the school building and when you ran up to him with books in your hand, you spotted him throwing a cigarette on the ground before stepping on it with his shoe to put it out.

“Benny!” You gasped at the sight. You had no idea he was smoking. “My mom won’t like it when she smells the cigarette smoke on you!” You pointed out.

“She’ll think it’s my old man’s,” Benny only shrugged his arms and took the books from you to carry them for you. That sweet gesture made you forget in an instant about his awful habit you had just found out about.

You walked down the street to your house and you caught yourself struggling with a very odd mix of feelings – you felt proud walking down the street next to Benny Cross who was holding your books. His jeans were worn out, his blond hair ruffled and his steps heavy – no other boy around here looked or walked like him. And because of that… You felt a little ashamed, too. Just a little. And only because some of your neighbours were looking you up and down after you said good afternoon to them. You just hated the way they were staring.

Lost in such thoughts, you spotted that Benny was looking around uncomfortably. He was watching the houses and the perfectly trimmed lawns, the white picket fences and flowers planted in the gardens.

“Does it look different where you live?” You asked, naively. It was hard to imagine that not every neighbourhood where people lived didn’t look the same.

“You’ve never been there, have you?” Was all Benny asked as he cracked a sad smile with a hint of pity.

“N-no,” you admitted and shook your head, embarrassed of yourself.

“That’s alright, doll. I’m glad you haven’t and I hope you never will,” he nodded firmly.

“It’s here!” Thankfully, you had a reason to change the subject because Benny had nearly walked past your house. You grabbed him by his sleeve and pulled him towards your front door.

You pushed them open and walked inside as he began to fix his hair with his free hand and his face turned a shade paler.

“Mom, we’re home!” You announced and took your shoes off. Benny mirrored you and took his off as well but he seemed to be pretty surprised that it was your custom.

Your mother entered the hallway from the kitchen, wiping her hands in the apron. Her smile was cautious and soft as if she was approaching a wild, stray kitten abandoned by the road.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. (Y/L/N),” Benny straightened his back at the sight of her.

“Good afternoon, Benny. (Y/N)’s been talking a lot about you,” she hesitated but eventually extended her hand towards him and you hissed at her because you didn’t want her to mention such things that you were talking about him and all that. It was embarrassing.

“Mom!” You whined as Benny looked around, trying to find a spot where to put the books he had been carrying for you all the way home. You took them from him with an encouraging smile and he nodded at you before shaking your mom’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Benny said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Benny. (Y/N) mentioned to me you are going to study, yes? Go to her room now and I’ll call you for dinner when the time comes,” your mother announced and your heart skipped a beat. You had no idea Benny could actually stay for the meal.

“Um… Benny, go upstairs,” you handed him the books again. “My room is on the left,” you added. “Wait for me there,” you said and he nodded.

You followed your mother to the kitchen.

“What is it?” She asked you. “I thought you’d be happy that I invited him.”

“I am! But what about Luke?” You squinted your eyes. You knew that your brother would not approve of that.

“He informed me this morning that he is taking Patsy on a date after practice. He won’t be home until evening,” your mother informed you.

“Patsy?” You chuckled. She was two years older than you – just like your brother. And she was everybody’s dream, so you were told. Beautiful, from a good family, obedient, with good grades. A perfect woman and a wife material.

Something you were scared you would never be.

“Yes, Patsy. I am so happy for him,” your mother grinned widely and you smiled, too, although you didn’t care about your brother enough to be happy for him. In fact, you gritted your teeth that everything in his life seemed to go so perfectly as always. Your father’s golden boy.

Would your life be similar if you had been born a man, too?

Either way, you hugged your mom and ran upstairs to join Benny inside your room. He was standing in the middle of it and looking around in a way that made your cheeks heat up. It was a typical girly room like millions of others but now you somehow felt embarrassed about it.

“It’s a bit childish,” you admitted.

“No, it’s very pretty,” Benny shrugged his arms and blushed when his eyes met yours. “I think it suits you,” he admitted and remained standing there awkwardly.

“Thank you,” You sat on the chair by the desk where he had put your books already and you pointed at your bed to let him know that he could sit on the edge of it. He did that but very carefully as if he was scared of making your sheets dirty.

You gathered the books and moved up to sit next to him so there would be no more distance between you two. You started with doing your homeworks together and you quickly realised your father might have been right about something – Benny would be a distraction. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. At his plump lips that made you think of nothing but kissing, at his beautiful, long eyelashes that were dark even though his hair was golden. Speaking of his hair – it was so fluffy and had different shades  of blond depending on the layers. You were counting all the moles on his cheeks and getting lost in his ocean blue eyes. Whenever your hands brushed each other while trying to turn the page at the same time, you couldn’t help but notice his big hands with long, thin fingers. Those were very pretty hands even though they were rough from all the physical work he was usually doing after school.

He was helping people for money – mowing the lawns, fixing sinks, carrying heavy things, all kinds of stuff. But what he enjoyed the most was fixing cars and motorbikes. He had revealed that to you recently and you thought it was adorable that he had a passion and it could actually be turned into a solid job later in life.

The longer you were explaining things to him, the faster he was understanding them. You were pretty convinced by now that he was not stupid at all.

“Benny?” You batted your eyelashes and he turned his head around to look deep into your eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Can you promise me something?” You dared to ask.

“What is it, doll?” He smirked. He would often call you a doll and perhaps you should have been offended by it but in fact it was causing you to have butterflies in your stomach.

“Promise me that you’re gonna finish high school, alright?” You furrowed your brows.

Benny was visibly surprised by your words. He didn’t get to answer, though, because the door opened widely without knocking and your mother walked inside. You and Benny moved away from each other slightly.

“The dinner is ready,” she announced with a smile. She seemed to be pretty happy with the sight of the open books and notebooks scattered everywhere. You nodded at her and you stood up to follow her downstairs. Benny walked behind you. “How was the studying?” Your mother asked when you were sitting by the table.

“It is going well, ma’am. Your daughter should become a teacher,” Benny smiled at her.

“She might! (Y/N) wants to go to college, has she told you?” Your mother asked him while putting salad and chicken onto his plate. “Will it be enough for you, Benny? Such a strong boy like you must eat a lot,” she chuckled before turning around to put the food on your plate as well.

“It is enough, ma’am. It looks delicious, thank you. I can’t remember when was the last time I had vegetables for dinner,” Benny chuckled nervously while you and your mother exchanged meaningful looks. You both were sorry for him.

“Well, you can eat as much of this salad as you wish. My husband and son are not dining with us this evening,” your mother explained softly before taking her seat and you all began to eat.

“Thank you,” Benny blushed.

The rest of the meal went pretty calm since Benny was a quiet boy most of the time. In fact, it made you feel special that he liked to make you laugh because he was not very fun with others around. He was an outsider towards most but you probably had made him like you because you had treated him kindly and you had tried to help him from the very beginning. You hadn’t judged him and you hadn’t made it feel like an act of charity.

Despite being of a quiet nature, Benny was answering your mother’s questions politely and, oh dear, she asked a lot. Lots of her questions were about Benny’s family and you just knew that she was itching to ask about how Benny's mother had died but thankfully she didn’t actually ask that.

She was in the middle of telling a funny story when all of you froze at the sound of the front door opening. You and your mother looked at each other, scared, and that was when Luke entered the dining room and winced at the sight of Benny.

You sighed with relief at the sight of him because your father would be a much worse possibility but it still did not mean that it was alright. You were nervous and so was your mother. She decided to play it cool.

“Oh, hi, honey!” She greeted her son. “How was the practice? How was your date with Patsy?” She tried to sound cheerful.

“Both went fine,” Luke answered with a clenched jaw as he looked Benny up and down. “What is (Y/N)’s… friend doing here?” He asked rudely and your mother gave him a scolding look.

“Well, that is not a nice way to greet a guest, is it? (Y/N) invited Benny to help him with homework and I wanted him to stay for the meal,” your mother explained.

Luke approached Benny with an extended hand as you watched the interaction with fear. You knew that for men it was some sort of a game of dominance. Benny hesitated for a very long and tense moment, staring at your brother’s hand with contempt. Finally, he stood up and shook it back. You could see his knuckles turning white from the strength he was using to show off how firm his hold could be.

“Nice to meet you,” Luke gave him a fake smile.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Benny nodded and sat back on his chair. “You been on a date with Patsy Carter?” He asked.

“Yes. Do you know her?” If Luke’s eyes could kill, Benny would be dead now.

“Nah, never spoke to ‘er but you know, it’s hard not to know who she is,” Benny winked at him playfully as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You couldn’t understand why Benny wanted to provoke your brother so much. The situation was bad enough already.

“Are you insinuating something, Cross?” Luke’s fists clenched.

“Lucas!” Your mother tried to calm him down.

“Just sayin’ she’s a nice piece,” Benny commented and you looked away, trying to hide your anger.

You couldn’t believe that Benny said such a disrespectful thing about another girl – a girl your brother dated – in front of your own mother. It made you feel like a fool to ever defend him in front of your family. Perhaps they had been right – he was from the bad side of town and his ways were too different to try to change them.

“Don’t test me, kid,” Luke drawled out. Thankfully, that was all he said before walking out of the room. Your mother looked at you, panicked, before standing up and following her son to talk to him.

“Why have you done that?” You asked, sniffling your tears back when you eventually turned your head around to meet Benny’s gaze. He seemed to be confused why you reacted this way. “You have no idea for how long I have been defending you and…”

“Oh, thank you, doll,” he interrupted you and his voice was full of irony. “The tramp you defended turns out to be a bum? How shocking,” he commented and you spotted that awful sparkle in his eye that would often show up whenever he spoke of his father. But why was his anger aimed at you now?

“I didn’t mean to offend you…” your voice began to shake. “I just thought we were friends. You were nice to me.”

Benny sighed. He tilted his head as he examined your face and you just knew that he was thinking of you as naive.

“‘m sorry,” Benny mumbled out. “Didn’t want to make you sad. I just don’t like bein’ treated like your big brother treated me,” he explained.

“I know,” you calmed down immediately. “I’m sorry about him, too,” you assured him and glanced at the clock on the wall. “My daddy’s going to be home soon. I think it’s time for you to go now,” you told him and you were scared he would get angry again at that but he understood. Benny nodded and left the table. You followed him to walk him out.

“Tell your ma that the food was great, ‘kay? And apologise to her from me,” he asked while putting his shoes back on.

“Yeah, sure, Benny,” you nodded and hugged your own self. You didn’t want to say goodbye yet. “See you tomorrow at school.”

“See you,” Benny winked at you and squeezed your arm. “You’re a nice girl, doll. Thanks for everythin’,” he added before going out and those few words were enough to make your heart swell in your chest.

You watched him walk away with his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. You were sure he would go back to his place on foot while whistling some song he had heard on the radio earlier. That was his way.

When you went back to the dining room, your mother was already cleaning the plates.

“Benny’s just left. He wanted me to tell you that the food was great and he wanted to apologise for–” you started.

“Save it,” she interrupted you and looked up to meet your gaze. She was angry and you were taken aback by that. “It was the last time this boy was here, do you hear me?” She asked, harshly, but she gave you no time to answer. “I managed to beg Lucas to keep it a secret but he is not happy about it and I can’t blame him.”

“But mom, I am sure you could see that Benny is a nice boy. He only was rude when Lucas acted like a–”

“I said, save it,” your mother snapped and you shut your mouth immediately. “Help me with the dishes now, will you? Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

MASTERLIST

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

~

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

~

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

~

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

~

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

~

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

~

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

~

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

~

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

~~

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

06/21-22/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Bronson Pinchot; Jes Tom; Damien Gerard; Hugo Pierre Martin; Fiber Arts Brigade; Teal Oranges & Garlic Soup Week!; Fan Spotlight: Cast Cards; OFMPride Colouring Pages; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Today's Taika

== Taika Waititi ==

You've probably heard, but it's been announced that Taika is in talks to direct Percival Everett's Novel film adaptation 'James'!

Source: Inforo_media Instagram

More interviews with Taika at the Peabody!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Peabody Awards (@peabodyawards)

Source: PeabodyAward's Instagram

== Samba Schutte ==

Samba's new movie, Advanced Chemistry will be airing for the first time in LA on June 26th! Tickets available Dances With Films Website.

Source: Samba Schutte's Instagram

== Bronson Pinchot ==

Did you know Bronson was going to be in the new Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F movie? I didn't!

Source: Bronson Pinchot's Twitter

== Jes Tom ==

"Pride50 award ceremony held at the Edison Ballroom Monday evening in NYC" - Jes was a Queerty Honoree!

Source: Queerty's Instagram

== Damien Gerard ==

Damien is such a kind dude, he keeps sharing kitten pictures <3

Source: Damien Gerard's Instagram

== Hugo Pierre Martin ==

Our dear Hugo Pierre Martin has a new audio series on Spotify! He asked for some help from the pirate crew to checkout the new audio series and he'd share some anecdotes from the set of OFMD! There were lots -- so I tried to make a screenshot of all together-- (not sure where #3 is?- couldn't find it on the thread). Wanna give a listen? Check out The Diaries of Netovicius the Vampire - Podcast!

Source: HugoPMartin Twitter

== Fiber Arts Brigade ==

Our lovely friends over at the Fiber Arts Brigade have another Cameo, this time from the sweet Dominic Burgess! Check out the video below!

You can help support Sage USA on their direct donation link: https://give.sageusa.org/campaign/592202/donate

They'd like to remind you, you can also enter your @sageusa donation in @adoptourcrew's raffle! You can also support SAGE by checking out the Fiber Arts Auction: https://tinyurl.com/FABforSAGE

Source: Fiber Arts Brigade Twitter

== Teal Oranges & Garlic Soup Week Reminder ==

TealOranges & Garlic Soup Week Starts Tomorrow! Need a reminder of hashtags and more info? Visit their Tumblr post!

Source: Teal Oranges & Garlic Soup Week

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

More cast cards from our dear friend @melvisik! The first cast card is William Meny, one of the writers aka executive story editor! The next is Edward Fletcher! "The cuckolded spouse of Eugenia. He was one of the officers in Titanic (I think the one who hears about the iceberg from the lookouts) so had to include that."

Source: Melvisik's Twitter

== OFMPride Colouring Pages ==

More colouring pages from the absolute legend @patchworkpiratebear!

Source: Adopt Our Crews Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies! I realise this is really late.. I took last night off because I needed a break. I highly recommend it, it's amazing what a good nights reset can do for you. Tonight I wanted to just say a few little things... You all really are an inspiration. I keep reading more meta... more fics, and so many of you are putting up more art-- there's another prompt week starting tomorrow, I'm seeing multiple collaborations... I've been reading so many lovely letters, and seeing so many fun new gifs, and so many artists/writers being part of these wonderful donation drives. Some of you are making sweet comments, and encouraging others to create-- you are all just absolutely amazing.

You're just so damn creative and so kind, and so brilliant, and I'm really really humbled to be apart of this lovely community with you. Please know that you are so very wonderful and so very loved crew. Hope you get some rest this weekend <3

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Tonight's theme, well, I don't have one. Instead, just enjoy. Gifs courtesy of our good friends @meluli and @ofmd-ann!

[bronx-bomber87]

Hi!! I just spent the last hour scrolling through your page and I adore everything you have to say about tim and lucy…

So I was curious (because I’m a month into the fandom and I don’t really know anyone yet) what your thoughts, predictions, expectations for season 7 would be?

Sorry if you’ve posted something similar before, please point me in the right direction if you have :)

- Loren

Hi! @moderatelydelusional Nice to meet you, Loren. Thank you for the lovely ask :) Making me all red with your nice comment. So glad you liked everything I've had to say about our lovely ship. Appreciate it so much. Before I answer I want to say welcome to the fandom! We are glad to have you here. 😊 There are so many good blogs on tumblr for them. Glad you chose me as one of them. I am honored. ❤️ I haven't really tackled s7 at all so this is a good ask. Excited to answer it. I'm a detailed woman. So imma break your question down into sections if that's alright. I legit don't know how to be brief about this show or them haha Also will do it with gifs cause that's my thing. Here is my detailed answer below. Hope you enjoy it.

Thoughts on S7- Well we've had ZERO and I mean ZERO spoilers or indicators about this upcoming season. Which I do love them keeping it close to the vest. Honestly I do. Just means they have something incredibly good lined up. They just want to make sure we are surprised. Can't fault them for that. But I'm dying for anything. The end of s6 left us wanting so much more with the scene above. We are all chomping at the bit for any content. I know Eric had a interview couple weeks back about s7. From what little he was able to divulge I am EXCITED.

Here is the link to it. Talks about Tim needing to EARN Lucy back in more ways than one. How she is the love of his life. (Tell us something we don't know haha) But I love Eric referring to her to as such. The personal development for Tim to come as well. Like I said they haven't given us much of anything yet. It's hard to have thoughts when we don't have much to go on. But it seems like it'll be well rounded season. It's always been a character driven show so I think it'll be more than just our ship. Which is fine with me. It is an ensemble cast after all.

I fell in love with this show as a whole when it first launched back in 2018. Give me more Tim/Angela, Lucy/Nyla and Wopez. I'll take all of that. I have been all in from the Pilot. I remember watching it on my lunch break on my phone when it first premiered. I was hooked. When we finally get a promo and a friggin premiere date I can probably be more in depth with my answer. Since we don't have a lot to go on it's hard to have in depth thoughts ha But from what little they've let out I'm quite excited for the journey we're going to embark on. We just need a start date for said journey. All we know is Jan but I need a hard date LOL

Expectations For S7. -I expect Chenford to get back to the softness above. It won't be easy but I expect we are headed back there. I think it's gonna be quite the journey to get us there. Both Tim and Lucy are going to need to grow before we do. They both still have shit to work out. Lucy with her career path and the rough time she had last year. It wasn't just Tim that crushed her. I mean it was a huge headliner but wasn't the ONLY one. Our girl has some communication problems and is like her soulmate in how she handles emotional distress. Expect that to be addressed on some level.

Tim obviously has a lot to make up for and he knows it. That is the first step. I expect we see Tim working constantly to improve himself as a person. To be worthy of Lucy again. He's not going to half ass his healing. He is going to be very Tim in how he goes after it. This is going to bleed into every part of his life. I expect to see that all over his character development in s7.

I also anticipate that we'll see an even stronger and more refined version of Chenford in Season 7, with their characters continuing to grow and evolve. Strong separately and even more so together. I cannot wait for the slow burn of their reconciliation. Going to make all the hurt worth it. It'll be Chenford 2.0 and we are all going to be grateful for that. While losing our minds together it's happening. I would rather have our ship and characters be real and develop. Better that than to be puddle deep like John/Bailey. I'll take the pain of growth over the stagnation of boredom. i.e. Bailian.

Predictions-Obviously I want to predict something like above. Them starting over. Kisses, hugs, and if we're lucky enough to get a repeat of 5x12 on screen. That one I'm straight just trying to manifest lol Possibly Celina catching them or almost doing so when they get back together at her place. These are more hopeful than actual predictions lmao But I mainly predict a deeper intimacy between them when they do reconcile. Stronger communication. It'll be beautiful. I also think we're about to see a side of Tim Bradford we haven't seen before. As we know Lucy brings out the best in this man. The absolute best. We're going to see that on full display.

I think he will continue therapy. I also think we’re going to see a very determined Tim driven in his quest to make amends to Lucy. Which will bring out that new side we haven't seen. It's one of the facets of s7 that has me most excited. And not just for the Chenford portion. (Which does make me giddy to no end) But for him as well. You follow me long enough you'll know I love Tim development. So this excites me so very much.

We watched Tim take strides in his mental health walk and as a person in s6 after 6x07. I expect we're going to see the fruit of that not just in his amends to Lucy. But professionally as well. Tim took quite the fall professionally after being bounced out of Metro. He has fences to mend to Grey, Lt. Pine, and those around him as well in patrol. I see him making those strides and then some.

I predict Lucy is going to finally going to get grounded professionally and personally. (She does have a new roommate. I can see development here too) Lucy got very lost in s6. I think s7 she will be righting her ship. Finding her purpose. My guess was T.O. for her with her dipping her toe with Celina in 6x08. She's so empathetic and willing to slow down and teach. I think that could be a good path for her. Whatever her trajectory is I think it's going to be be worked out in s7 for our girl. It's time for her to get some damn wins. I hope that answers your ask LOL Or maybe was too much? HA Either way I can't wait for s7. I need a promo and a premiere date. Seriously ABC, you're killing us.

[spocks-kaathyra]

how did you make those holy shit!!!

jfjskdk okay I'll take any excuse I get to talk abt this more

How I made my Cardassian prosthetics

Disclaimer: I'm no expert, it's my first time doing this!! All the resources I used can be found online. In fact, here's a playlist of all the youtube videos I followed, in case you don't want to read the whole post. You can pretty much make any facial prosthetics following these steps, not just Cardassian ones.

What you'll need:

Plaster bandages, plaster of Paris (a lot more than is pictured here), modeling clay, and liquid latex. You'll also need some things you probably already have around the house, like vaseline (or cooking oil), plastic wrap, wood glue, rubbing alcohol, q-tips, cotton balls, and setting powder (or baby powder).

Step 1: Face cast

The goal here is to make a plaster copy of your face that you can sculpt your prosthetics on, by covering your face with plaster bandages and then casting that in plaster of Paris. This is the video tutorial I followed for this step. There are many methods, and you'll find tutorials for all of them on youtube, but this is the easiest way if you're doing it by yourself, and it results in a perfectly useable face cast for our purposes. And, if you're cosplaying Garak like me, it's a great way to get into character by experiencing claustrophobia for the first time in your life!! (Jk it's not actually that bad. I lived.)

The video explains the process better than I could, but here's some tips I learned from doing it! Wear a shirt that you don't mind ruining. Go a bit closer to your eyes than I did here. When you're propping up your mask in a bowl, make sure you're not squishing any parts of it or tilting it! I ended up with a dent in the chin of my face cast because I accidentally dented the mask while I was casting it. And make sure you have enough plaster of Paris! I probably used 2-3 pounds for this part. Here's what I ended up with, before sanding or sealing it with wood glue:

Step 2: Sculpting

This is pretty self explanatory, but also probably the hardest part. Just use lots and lots of reference photos. I've got a pretty good stash for Garak, if anyone's interested hdjkfhk. I found that gifs made better references than still photos, since they give you a better sense of the 3D shape. You want to make sure you're using modeling clay that doesn't dry. You don't need any fancy sculpting tools! I used my trusty palette knife to get the small details, but you could probably accomplish the same thing with, like, a spoon and a toothpick. It depends on what kind of clay you're using, but you can dip your finger in a solvent to smooth out the surface of the clay and blend the edges into the face cast. I used rubbing alcohol, but I also heard people recommend acetone. Once you're happy with your sculpt, you can move onto the next step!

Step 3: Casting negatives

This step is technically optional. The video I followed also outlines an easier way that skips this step, by simply building your prosthetics directly on the sculpt. But casting negatives allows you to get a lot more fine detail, and a smoother finish on the final prosthetics, so that's what I chose to do. Basically, you pour plaster of Paris over your sculpt, and it hardens into a mold you can use to build your prosthetics on.

Again, the video explains it better, but some tips! If it's possible with your sculpt, do it in small pieces instead of the whole face at once. I did the chin, nose, and forehead separately. If you try to do the whole face, there's a greater chance of it getting stuck or breaking. Of course, if you were doing, say, Odo, then it might not be possible to do it in multiple pieces. Another thing to watch out for:

If your underlying face cast has any "undercuts," or places where it's, like, concave, then if plaster gets into those areas and hardens, your face cast and your negatives will lock together, and you won't be able to use either of them. For me I was worried about the sides of my nose and under my bottom lip. As long as those parts are filled in with clay, then you should be fine. It's okay if your clay sculpt has undercuts! You can see in the (shamelessly stolen) diagram that their sculpt has a lot of undercuts, but that's okay because the clay is soft and won't lock with the plaster, it'll just come off. The video I got the diagram from was also pretty helpful, even if it's meant for casting with different materials than I used. Here are the completed negatives:

Step 4: Making the prosthetics!

Now you have negatives! Your sculpt may or may not be intact, but if your negatives turned out okay then that's fine. This step is also covered in the video for step 3. Using a stippling sponge, foam brush, or q-tip, stipple thin layers of liquid latex onto your negatives. I found that a q-tip worked best, even if it took longer to cover larger areas. Make sure the edges are very thin, so you can blend them into your skin when you apply the prosthetics. Wait for a layer to dry before adding more latex on top of it, or you'll end up with fucked up results like I had:

(Left: first draft, where I didn't let it dry enough before layering more. Right: second draft. Much better!)

Build up bulky areas with pieces of cotton balls, then cover the cotton with a thin layer of latex. Emphasis on thin! It'll take forever to dry if you saturate your cotton with too much latex. This step mostly involves a LOT of waiting. When the latex is fully dry, brush everything with a liberal amount of setting powder or baby powder to prevent the latex from sticking to itself as you peel it out of the mold.

And now you have your prosthetics! You can tear away some of the excess latex at the edges to make it fit your face better. I ended up tearing away almost all of the edges around the eye ridges, so it would blend better and I wouldn't have to get adhesive so close to my eyes. Tear, don't cut! It'll result in a more natural edge that's easier to blend. This video shows how to apply prosthetics. Use whatever prosthetic adhesive you want! I used spirit gum because it's what I had on hand.

Now you can go forth and live out your lizard alien dreams!!

[perpetuallyfive]

did you think act 2 had a dip in quality when in comes to writing? i've seen so many people complaining and i can't, for the life of me, understand why, apart from people having these really personal expectations that weren't met (vi's pitfighter era being just the montage, caitlyn not spelling out her inner turmoils, isha's entire existence, jinx being family oriented instead of a freedom fighter, sky is also pissing people off lol), and I'm just so confused bc idk if I'm just easier to please, or if my lack of expectations just allowed me to enjoy the story plain and simple

I think there's a fair chance that many of the people complaining didn't watch season 1 until all three acts were released and aren't used to watching Arcane as a week to week experience; a huge percentage of the people in this fandom only joined it around the time they saw an "oil and water" gif set. No shade, of course. I can understand why people weren't jumping to watch women written by Riot, but that does color how you're going to view the pacing of a season.

This very well might be the first time a lot of those complaining built up expectations of where the story would head next, how they'd watch the struggle play out between Zaun and Piltover, only to see things they wanted to watch in depth get covered in a montage.

The fact that a single montage tells us everything we need to know about where Vi is at and what she's been up to is actually good, economical storytelling, but that's not the kind of thing people are used to in most shows. If you go back and watch the pilot of Arcane, so many things happen in that one episode. You get almost a full season of TV in a single 42 minutes of Arcane. A lot of other shows are just filling time, running in place until one of the two or three big moments for the whole season can happen a few episodes later.

That's not how Arcane works now or ever.

I imagine if some people had watched season 1 week to week — with lots of time to imagine what came next while at the edge of their seat — they would have been upset that we never saw the three youngest girls growing up. Act 1 ends with this huge cliffhanger and then we jump an unspecified amount of time into the future. We don't spend time with Vi in jail, we don't actually see any of the trauma alluded to. We don't see the tension in Caitlyn's relationship with her mom and how that plays out over time, which is a pretty huge part of season 2. We don't see Jinx's transformation into the damaged girl she becomes. All of that happens off screen and is only implied.

The techniques people are complaining about this season are exactly the same as last time, when they loved the show. But if you watched everything all at once before — no time to build up an imagined result that didn't pan out — and were reassured by how much you liked the payoff, then maybe you didn't even notice these things that you can hyper analyze while you wait 7 days for the next drop.

Hell, I saw multiple people surprised that introducing tension into Vi and Caitlyn's relationship has already paid off so well because it led to, you know... tension. Some people are so used to shows not doing anything that they are surprised when actually doing things can turn out to be interesting.

I think a lot of the things you say people are complaining about are probably going to be covered in act 3. Jinx has always been family oriented. She only cared for the found family she had with Vander, and then Silco took that place. She didn't give a shit about anyone else working with him, and actively made their lives harder just for fun. It's going to take some effort and time to move her from that pretty self-interested place she's always occupied to being some kind of freedom fighter risking herself for strangers, and Isha was a vital part of getting her there.

I also think there's a really strong chance that isn't even Sky, but rather a manifestation of her created by the Hextech/Void/Whatever that consumed her using her as a puppet to manipulate Viktor into spreading its influence further and faster. But who knows! There's an entire three episodes left and, again, a single episode of Arcane covers so much and always has. None of us can actually know where the stories will be one episode later, let alone three.

Look, for all I know, this might not pan out. We never know if a show is going to stick the landing one season to the next. But they're not really doing anything differently from last time, so I don't see a reason to panic or complain yet.

[magnifythesun]

Hi! Are you still taking ianthony prompts? I've had this stuck in my head the time Ian's car broke down and Anthony said he begged Ian 6 times to come pick him up and I just imagine Damsel in Distress Ian who's also stubborn and a bit oblivious to a worried and protective Anthony who's always there for him in different situations.

Thank you sooo much for the prompt!!

This is definitely one of my favorite little details that they've dropped about themselves haha!! I can't believe Anthony had to ask Ian SIX whole times just to come get him 😂 Ian truly must never ask for help! Okay, I'm a little rusty in my writing but I'm excited so let's see how this goes! Let me know what you think! ^_^

(mid writing notes: writing this really made me realize just how many times SIX whole times of asking your friend to let you give them a ride is. SIX TIMES)

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56102110

--

Leave it to Ian to get stranded in the only 'middle-of-nowhere' spot in LA. Anthony was wearing tracks into his living room carpet, caught up in rereading the messages Ian had sent.

"Car broke 😢" was the first sign of trouble, accompanied by the sad photo of Ian's car half-pulled off of the asphalt into grass.

"Where are you?" Anthony had shot back, confused by the seemingly rural background of the photo. "Got AAA coming to help?"

"In the most barren part of the whole city." Ian replied after a couple of minutes. "I'm taking a look at at it now but yeah I'm probably going to call them. Car sounds fucked."

"Shit, man. Lemme know if you need a ride" Anthony offered. It only took a second for the reply.

"No worries, I'll be good."

There had been radio silence for a while then. Anthony hadn't been too stressed. He figured Ian already had a different person lined up to get him if his car didn't start back up. Still, he kept glancing at his phone for updates that didn't come.

After about forty minutes, and a quick glance at the clock that told him it'd be getting dark soon, Anthony texted Ian again.

"Triple A fix your car?"

The response was prompt. "Nope"

Anthony stared at the message, knowing this man did not just send him only the word 'nope.' It took a minute but more followed.

"The AAA guy's still looking at it but from what I can tell it's beyond his scope. He mentioned I should probably call a tow truck so I've been looking at reviews."

Anthony glanced outside his window, frowning at the rapidly darkening sky. "That sounds like a good idea. after you call whoever, I can drive over so you have a ride once they've towed yours"

Ian responded quickly, "No don't worry I'm all good."

Definitely must have a ride then, Anthony thought. Still, he had to make sure. "Oh good, you've got a ride then?"

There was a long pause, so Anthony set his phone down, glancing at the setting sun again and went to get some water from the kitchen.

Coming back in to his phone, he checked his messages, and-

"No, I'll probably just Uber."

Anthony was flabbergasted. "Why?? Don't worry man it's no problem for me to pick you up. Let me know where you're at." It was actually just straight up dark outside at this point. "Is the AAA guy still there??"

"Nah he's gone. Waiting on the tow truck."

Alone in the middle-of-nowhere Los Angeles? Anthony thought, In the dark? Worry flared up in his chest and the pacing began.

"Ian, just drop me your map pin and I'll head over."

"It's chill, I'm not in a rush to get home." Ian replied, not a care in the world.

Anthony resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. "that's not really the point??"

Suddenly a picture was loading in on the messages.

Anthony braced himself for a lackadaisical gif (and yes, he pronounced it jif like god and the creator intended) but was greeted instead with a horrendous selfie of Ian holding the phone at an angle an inch from his chin, smiling at him. The artificial light from his phone lit up the interior of his car behind him. Anthony couldn't help but laugh, even as the worry churned in his stomach. Another message followed.

"Don't worry. I'm a big boy now, all grown up and everything."

Anthony considered wracking his brains for a daddy joke, but decided Ian didn't deserve it right now. He grabbed his keys and wallet, flicked off the living room light, and left, locking his door behind him. As he walked toward his car, he jabbed the call button.

It rang only twice before Ian picked up. Anthony heard him take a breath to speak and didn't give him a chance. "Ian, just tell me where you're at, I'm heading to my car now."

"I-" Ian sounded surprised. There was a moment of rustling on the other end, then Anthony was clearly put on speaker as Ian's voice echoed slightly through the call. "Anthony, really, it's fine. The tow truck people have an ETA of like 15 minutes and then I'll call the Uber while they're hooking the car up."

Anthony, now at his car, pressed his eyes closed for a second in annoyance as he clicked his key. He hoped Ian could hear the pointed little beep-beep of his car unlocking in response.

"You really don't have to go out of your way to come get me," Ian continued, undeterred. "I didn't mean to derail your whole night with this," He laughed.

Anthony got in the car and leaned his head on his steering wheel in despair. "Ian."

"What?" Ian asked.

Anthony began to laugh despite himself, "I don't understand," He laughed harder, pushing the words out. "Why won't you just let me pick you up? I've asked you like five times!"

There was a moment of silence from Ian's end, and Anthony knew Ian was processing just how ridiculous this had become. Ian started snickering. Then they were both just laughing, Anthony holding the phone tight to his ear as Ian's laughter poured from it, his other hand ready to turn the car on.

"So," Anthony caught his breath, "So can you -please- drop me a map pin so I can come get you?"

"Alright, alright." Ian said.

Ian's voice was soft and breathless from his laughter. Anthony had spent a long time learning how to properly relish the beautiful moments in his life. The sound of Ian's voice right now, echoing slightly through the phone? That was one of those moments.

Anthony's phone pinged. "There. You happy?"

"Finally, my god." Anthony pulled the phone away to check. "Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Great," Ian said. "I think the tow truck gets here right about then." Anthony could still hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be here, waiting for you to rescue me."

[final-script]

It's Happening! | Ruben Dias

Pairing: Ruben Dias x Reader

Sumary: Where Ruben Dias asks the big question.

Warnings: English is not my first language !!!.There are probably many mistakes (I will correct them later),

Gif: rubendiasatl

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As the complete gentleman he was, unbeknownst to you, he had gone to your parents' house to ask for your hand.

It was not difficult for them to give the blessing, they loved him from the moment they met him.

(…)

After obtaining the blessing of your parents, he only needed to prepare the proposal, for this he received ideas and some help from family and friends, both yours and his.

There wasn't anyone who wasn't aware of Ruben's love for you.

You liked the simple, so Ruben had decided on something simple but at the same time express what he feels for you.

Although it may not seem like it, everything was quite fast and without raising suspicions around you.

First I would take you to dinner and then to walk on the beach, where I had also prepared something.

(…)

The day of the proposal I followed his plan to the letter, I invite you to dinner like any other time, trying not to seem nervous, fortunately I succeed.

He opened your door when he got to the car, before also getting on and traveling to the restaurant and for the first time at night something called your attention… They weren't filling up the way they usually do.

Y/N- honey where are we filling?

R- oh, I thought maybe we could try a new place.

I put his cloak on your thigh and kept driving.

(…)

The dinner developed normally, talking about random things as they always do and after a small dessert it was time to continue with the second part of the plan.

R- is it okay if we walk along the beach?

Y/N- there is a pleasant climate, so that's fine.

They clasped their hands and as the beach was close they walked clinging.

A few meters a decorations scattered along the beach caught your attention

Y/N- it seems that there was a party.

If only you knew what was about to happen to you.

Advantage your distraction, Ruben decided that it was his moment, with the excuse that you could better observe the "forgotten" place, I managed to put you where he wanted.

R- and if I told you that it is not a party and that it is for us. Hugging you from behind.

Y/N- what do you talk about, honey?

R- I did this because I wanted to ask you something.

He kept you in this position, because if I turned to see you I probably wouldn't say everything he really wants to tell you.

R- I know you love the simple so I will do the best I can, I know I could go straight to the point but … There are things I really want to say today.

He controlled his breathing as best he could and continued.

R- It's been almost 4 years since we are together, almost 4 years since I saw you for the first time and was arrowed by that girl who seemed lost at a party with her friends, but no matter how lost she seemed she made me work to get her name and phone number, almost 4 years since you endure my mood swings after a game, you take care of me and help me to improve, I love you even more, because you are always just you and without forgetting to mention how much my family loves you, how you are with them … For everything I've said and for what I'm still missing, I want all that to be forever, to create new memories, so I want to ask you.

He stopped his words to turn you around and make eye contact.

As he did so, he immediately knelt down and revealed before you, the ring that without your knowledge he had been with for weeks.

R- do you want to marry me? The tears accumulated in your eyes could show, but enough to see that the man in front of you, you were with whom you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

Nodding excitedly you gave an answer.

Y/N- yes, yes, of course.

I slip the ring into your ring and when it got up, you immediately circled his neck and kissed it.

Y/N- I can't wait to be your wife.

R- the last name Dias will look great,Eu te amo futura esposa (I love you future wife)

Y/N- Mrs. Dias… I love it. Seal the moment with a kiss.

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ANOTHERS

 From The Beginning - Ruben Dias x Reader

English Classes - Julian Alvarez x Reader

[bi-bard]

Scrapbooks - Bobby Singer Imagine [Supernatural/Criminal Minds Crossover]

Title: Scrapbooks

Pairing: Father Figure!Bobby Singer & Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 824 words

Warning(s): mention of John Winchester, unhealthy family dynamic

Summary: [During Season 1] (Y/n)'s reconnection with their brothers leads to them wanting to rebuild some old bridges.

Author's Note: Y'all remember this oc? The one that started as a joke but then became a serious thing that allowed me to talk about found family/trauma bonds/etc.? I remembered it.

Also, this story is kind of a sister story to this part of this oc. Wanted to compare similar events ;)

Dude. The Bobby gifs are disappointing, not gonna lie.

More of this OC!

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After I found out that Sam was out hunting again, I found myself calling him a lot more.

I don't know what I wanted to be for him. I don't know if I wanted to protect him or if I just wanted to make sure he knew that I could help him escape that life if he needed to.

I always knew that Sam was the best of us.

He deserved more than the hand he had been dealt. I don't think he ever knew that or would ever believe it if someone said it to him, but it was true.

He had fought so hard for some kind of normal life.

Maybe I just wanted him to know that there was a door to one.

Sometimes I wondered why I didn't do the same thing for Dean. I think that I wanted him to be what I had tried to be for Sam. I wanted him to be there. To support me in running away from that life. I wanted to know that he never hated me for it. But I couldn't believe that.

I knew that my dad had gotten into Dean's head more than Sam's. I knew that I was called selfish and cowardly and ungrateful. I knew that if I ever had to look my dad in the eye again, he would see nothing more than a traitor. I knew that he would do anything to convince Dean that I was one.

There weren't many connections in the hunting world that I felt guilty about losing. So many of them were purely professional or momentary.

My brothers were obviously an exception.

And so was Bobby Singer.

He had been the first person I talked to when I realized that I didn't want to be a hunter anymore. I sat on his couch while my brothers were upstairs. I cried and begged for some solution or forgiveness or just anything.

He just handed me a wad of cash and said that when I ran, I needed to run like Hell was at my heels.

I didn't call him after that night.

I think I just wanted to make sure that my dad wouldn't be pissed at him for what I did. Bobby had done enough to protect me. It was my turn to protect him.

It took some time after reconnecting with my brothers for me to ask Sam for Bobby's number.

He chuckled at first, jokingly asking "Which one?"

"Whatever one will get me an answer," I replied simply.

I scribbled down the number I was given before giving Sam a quick goodbye and hanging up.

I stared down at my phone as if I was waiting for the number to dial itself. It didn't matter how many deep breaths I took. I was still just as nervous as before.

"Fuck it," I mumbled, rapidly dialing the number.

It rang a few times before I was met with a very familiar, very gruff voice. "Agent Kayser."

"Hey, Bobby," I said.

"Who is this?"

"It's... It's (Y/n)... (Y/n) Winchester." I held my breath for a moment, tears welling in my eyes as I waited for him to hang up the phone. He didn't. "I... I know that I'm probably one of the last people that you wanna hear from-"

"Shut the hell up," he snapped at me. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to call me?"

I let out a breathy chuckle, letting my head fall forward.

"Dammit, kid, you just about scared the life out of me when you ran off," he continued. "Didn't have your number. Didn't have a clue where you went. You popped up in the paper a few years ago. Hold on a second."

I heard some ruffling in the background.

"I started keeping track of the articles that mentioned you," he explained. "Got 'em all here in a scrapbook. Saving kids and stopping some real bastards."

I wiped my eyes. "You kept them?"

"Of course I did! Are you kidding?"

"I guess... I guess I just assumed that you hated me."

"What, because you didn't want to be a hunter anymore? Kid, I'm not that much of an ass."

I chuckled.

"Listen," he said. "I don't know how much time off you get with that big FBI gig, but... I have an extra room for whenever you need it."

"I would really like that," I replied. "I've missed you."

"Missed you too, kid," he muttered. "Try not to go years without calling this time."

"I'll do my best."

Hanging up was almost bittersweet. I had established contact. That was good. But ending the conversation made my heart drop slightly. I knew how quickly each of our lives could change. Every phone call could be the last.

But all I could do was take a deep breath and push that thought away.

I didn't have time to think like that.

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