#but then of course so many people are still doing that today

[elodieunderglass]

Extra children have been dispatched effectively. Still a wine take but I grabbed some links for context.

It was, I believe, initially a USA government education initiative that instructed Americans to rinse chicken meat under cold running water before preparing it to remove the dirt and bacteria introduced by food processing. this is quite old fashioned advice. and the us government has since issued the opposite instructions, stating that rinsing chicken before cooking spreads the germs around. But of course it’s waaaay more nuanced than that, so… below the cut !

My mother is part of the American generation that firmly believes that you should wash chicken. This was TAUGHT to people. It may be because they killed their own chickens; but I believe it was some kind of widespread advice or public health education initiative.

It’s important to be mindful about criticising this practice uncritically ; today, the practice of washing chicken is commonly practiced by marginalised people in the USA. If you google “why Americans wash chicken” you’ll find a lot of threads about “why don’t white Americans wash their chicken”. Reasons for washing chicken can range from religious practice to cultural backgrounds to recent generations slaughtering their own meat; there are lots of articles about this, but here is one stating that as many as 7 in 10 Americans still wash chicken meat: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/wash-raw-chicken-meat

There is (reasonable) opposition today in marginalised communities against taking the new state advice; partly because, as the article states, it conflicts with the genuine reasons behind existing washing practices, but also largely because the usa government is no longer a trustworthy authority in public health matters. When that trust collapses as much as it has, we shouldn’t blame citizens for following their long-held household practices instead, or for retaining the reasons behind them.

This 2022 article, which is in favour of washing meat, notes that in the late 1970s, cookbooks advised Americans to do so. https://maisonneuve.org/article/2022/09/23/rinse-and-repeat/

this also provides context such as:

 As the Black diaspora carried on washing meat, it became clear that anti-cleaning meat discourse was scolding us in order to affirm white standards of hygiene and cleanliness. People from cultures that wash their meat for religious purposes, such as the Jewish community when cultivating kosher meat, didn’t receive the same critical attention from food safety researchers as those who do it for cultural purposes, like Black, Asian and Latine communities.

(This isn’t a practice of all BIPOC Americans of course, it’s just to give a flavour of the discourse around the topic in the usa; specifically, state campaigns about “spreading germs” being alienating to existing cultural cooking practices, and so on.)

Anyway not my problem, moving over the atlantic - the worrying thing that Europeans and British people obsess over constantly is WHY Americans have this whole ritual/opposition to the ritual to begin with.

Americans were advised to stop washing chicken in the home because Americans started chlorinating the chicken in the processing plant - today, the meat is quickly dipped in a regulated bleach bath to kill the germs, and the USA government would prefer that you just cook it quickly after this, and not fuck around with it further. Bleach bath. Solved it. Don’t fuck around. That’s where the anti-washing campaign came from; evidence that it spreads germs that would have been destroyed anyway if you’d just left it alone.

Whereas Europeans and British people do NOT have bleach-washed chicken, they just have - as they will tell you at excruciating European length - clean well-regulated meat with sensible welfare, decent handling standards and reasonable processing protocols. In the Uk, the meat won’t have salmonella in it because British chickens are vaccinated and never had salmonella to begin with, it won’t have e.coli because animal shit rarely touches the raw meat, and so on. Whereas in the USA you must assume that the chicken definitely had salmonella, and the meat definitely touched poo! but don’t worry, the bleach bath and cooking process will take care of both 🤷 which is completely true if kinda unsavoury.

There isn’t any real evidence about chlorinated chicken being especially bad for you, or it being any worse than the salad leaves which get washed similarly in sanitising agent, even in the EU.

To me, it’s more unsettling because it’s a band-aid over terrible welfare. Why not just have better standards, more vaccines and better practices? But it’s not like it’s, in itself, toxic.

But “chlorinated chicken” is such an evocative mental image, isn’t it! Since I was around during Brexit, I had to tolerate SO MANY wet British liberal types wringing their hands about how post-Brexit food standard collapse would mean that British food would include filthy degraded chlorinated chicken. British liberal crunchy types cannot stop saying the phrase “chlorinated chicken” while also incidentally implying that anyone who eats such contaminated degraded food is also degraded.

So yeah! All very interesting but VERY hard to have a normal conversation about this on the internet, where everyone is bringing a different experience and their own reasons for it, while feeling visceral concern for doing it in other ways.

Personally I think it’s more interesting than explaining that “baked beans” actually means two different recipes in the USA and UK and are not the same dish, but also, a big difficulty is that meat is a lot less funny than beans! And, you know, people gotta make the exact same 4 jokes instead of learning something I guess

Elodie thank you so much for your US-UK translation research but I have to ask WHAT do you mean fried eggs are cooked differently? How many ways are there to fry an egg?

Reference here: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/771840932030054400/i-cant-let-you-guys-continue-this-conversation

Yep, I can explain this easily

In the USA, fried eggs are cooked in butter and flipped. If you don’t flip, it’s called “sunny side up.” There is much talk of cooking them slowly. There is a belief, unfounded by any evidence, that there is a way to make sunny side up eggs that have FULLY cooked white and a runny yolk (I don’t think I have ever actually witnessed this, UsAmerican sunny side up usually has some amount of snotty white that you’re just expected to live with, or the yolk is not runny. Sometimes people overcome this by putting a lid over it, creating a steamed fried egg.) for the flipped ones, they are flipped once by spatula and left alone.

In the UK, you start with a pan that has a reasonable volume of hot oil, into which you crack the egg. The idea is cooking it quickly. When the egg has formed its round shape, the pan is tipped and hot oil collected with a spoon. The hot oil is spooned briskly over the whites a few times, cooking them solidly. The yolk may be covered or let alone entirely. People are not offered options in restaurants, this is simply how you fry egg.

The uk fried egg often has a lacy brown crispy edge. They are often thicker. The white has more of a cuttable, solid texture. There is less of the golden-cooked underside that I like though.

Another key difference is that UK eggs are usually stored at room temperature (chickens are vaccinated for salmonella) while USA eggs must be refrigerated (salmonella is considered an unavoidable natural ingredient that can’t possibly be regulated.) This has some impact on their texture and most serious egg people suggest cooking eggs from room temperature. Eggs can also be fresher in the UK. old eggs often wander about a little when cooked , while a very fresh egg stays round.

So the typical uk fried egg is compact, with more white to slice, while a USA fried egg is more thin. (I actually like a thin fried egg more, so USA wins there.)

I don’t have a preference myself. Each has pros and cons. But they are fried differently

[rikiislvr]

unavailable . 2 - nishimura riki

pairing: afab!reader x nishimura riki

summary: fresh out a relationship with a heavy heart, niki seeks comfort in his best friend, not knowing you were falling for him

warnings: cussing

ps. read part 1 if you’d like! :)

the next morning, you woke up first, looking down, you seen niki laid against your arm, dried tears stained his face, you couldn’t help but feel horrible for him.

you were knocked out of your thoughts from the sound of his phone buzzing on your nightstand, you reach over just incase it was his parents,

but no… it was ivy.

- 3 unread messages -

vy <3 : niki? it’s morning now.. can you reply?

vy <3 : i’m sry i ended things that way, i meant to do it sooner!

vy <3: pls can u call me?

you couldn’t help but scoff at the messages, you cared about ivy, but you would’ve never expected for her to do what she did, you were hoping there was a truly valid reason on why she ended things off 5 months into the relationship…

you look down as you felt niki shuffle in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open, he blinked softly before looking up at you,

“was that my phone going on?” he mumbled, you nod and handed him his phone, he read the screen and sighed, putting his phone down on the bed and laying his head back down on your arm.

“don’t force yourself to reply. it’s bullshit ki..” you reassure, he nods, “i just don’t know why.. she wouldn’t tell me when i asked.” he sighs, “what actually happened?” you say.

he sat up, making you sit up too, his pushed his hair back before clearing his throat, “we were walking in the empty park after we got dinner.. it was going fine, she was smiling and… i was laughing. we were holding hands. suddenly a change in her energy was shown..”

you tilt your head,

“she suddenly stopped walking and.. told me she didn’t wanna hurt me but.. she couldn’t do this relationship anymore. i tried to ask for more of an explanation but she let go of my hand and ran home..” he sighs.

you couldn’t help but shake your head, niki felt tears forming in his eyes again, “don’t cry ki… i’m so sorry.” you frowned, “how about we do something today? get your mind off things?” you try,

he nods slowly, wiping his eyes, you sighed again, you couldn’t handle seeing him this way, you quickly got up, “alright. you have to sneak out my window, go home and get cleaned up and come back, we’ll go do something fun okay!” you smiled, trying to break the sad barrier.

he chuckled at your consideration, he nods and got up, you helped him out your window before turning to your bathroom to get ready.

-

you were waiting for niki to ring the doorbell downstairs, wearing a white skirt and a pretty pink sweater, you grabbed your bag before you heard the doorbell,

you quickly ran downstairs to see your mom opened the door already,

“niki! it’s nice to see you, i’m assuming you’re here for y/n?” she says, niki nods, your mom steps aside as you walk up to him, “hey,” you smile, “hi.” he replied,

your mom chuckled before closing the door, “okay so, where are we going?” niki cleared his throat. “sh! let me surprise you, you’re gonna have to put this on when we get somewhat close.” you pull out a bandana to cover his eyes.

he chuckled and rubbed his neck, “alright then.” he nods.

-

on the bus, you two got a couple of weird stares due to him having on a bandana, but you brushed it off and dragged him off the bus when the stop arrived.

“i just tripped over so many people’s feet..” niki groaned as the bus took off, you two stood outside your favorite childhood spot.

it was a pretty park, a nice trail with so many flowers, and of course, the bench you two always sat on to do everything.

you lead him over to the bench, it still had the painted hand marks on the seats.

one pink hand mark, and one blue hand mark, you smiled to yourself. you two haven’t been here since highschool started, due to how much you’ve been busy.

“y/nnn.. take this off of me nowww.” he groaned again, you chuckled, “go on.” you smile,

he removed the bandana with ease, blinking to adjust to the world again, his eyes drifted around the familiar surroundings, and down at the bench. he smiled softly.

“gosh. we haven’t been here in so long.” he says softly, you nod, he aligned his hand to his old hand mark, which didn’t fit since his hands grew a lot from when you two were young.

you giggled and aligned your hand to your smaller hand print too, “damn, we’ve grown haven’t we.”

“i’m shocked no one’s painted over it or.. scraped it off.” he chuckled and sat down on his side, you sat beside him, “they better not! or we’ll just redo it.” you shrug,

niki chuckled to himself, he looked around, you couldn’t help but stare at him, the wind blew his bangs away from his eyes, giving you a better access to his full face, you couldn’t help but smile.

you felt so bad.

his heart was pure gold. it hurt to see him like this, you knew he was trying to put a smile on around you but, deep down you knew his heart was breaking..

him and ivy have been dating since freshmen year, you guys are seniors now.. so you can only imagine how bad this must be on him.

suddenly he looked down, and before you knew it.. he burst into tears.

your heart breaks.. literally.

“oh.. ki.” you frown and pull him in your arms, he sobbed softly in your shoulder, you closed your eyes at the sounds of his crying.

“i’m sorry..” you whisper, suddenly he lifts his head back up, looking at you with teary eyes, tears streaming down his face.

you instantly wiped the tears from his cheeks, sucking in your lips in guilt. “i should’ve waited until i got you out huh?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“no..” he shook his head, “i’m glad you did actually.. i feel…” he cut himself off..

“i feel complete being back here again.” he smiled, you smiled back at him, “ki?” you call, he raised an eyebrow softly,

“you know i’m always here for you? even if we grow up and.. meet other people. you’ll always hold your spot in my heart.” you reassure, he smiled softly and shifted himself,

he laid his head on your shoulder as you two stare out to the flowers.

he didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need him too.

you look down at him, you admired his face, his faint freckles, the way his hair laid on his forehead so nicely.

for some odd reason.. you felt your heart flutter, you quickly looked away..

no.. you can’t catch feelings for your literal best friend, especially when he’s fresh out a relationship. he needs a shoulder to lean on, not a new problem.

you cleared your throat, “should we go get ice cream? that always cheered us up.” you say, he nods and stood up slowly, lending his hand out for you.

you hesitate, niki noticed and tilts his head slightly, you clear your throat again and grab his hand before lifting yourself up.

“lead the way” you say, he nods slowly and you two began to walk in a comfortable silence.

you thought to yourself.. get yourself together.

now’s not the time.

a/n: so do i keep continuing this ooorrrrr lmk !

taglist : @certified-ni-ki-lover @noblub-4ulolz @yourmyst4r @vixialuvs @ni-ki-ismyluv @judeduartewannabe @soobs-things @en-chantedtomeetyou @definitelynotherr @heyniki @wntersm @geniejunn @pkjay @baevsxii @k1ttylvr @geniejunn @pkjay @chaevibes @jiyeons-closet @bananna-12

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: now branching into Tyrone. watched the movie a year ago, but now I'm writing! <3

TRAPPED. | JOHN BOYEGA.

Plug! Toxic! Tyrone x Black! Female Reader.

Warnings: MDNI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( you're being recorded! penetrat!on (unprotected p in v, don't do that!), breath play, water sports, slapping/hitting, degradation, he finishes on your face ), extreme language (cursing, use of b-word and others.) slight daddy kink if you squint. Tyrone's the plug! Mentions of a Glock. Not proofread.

Summary: in which Tyrone stakes his claim on you, for another to view.

girl, it's all over your face, there's someone taking my place,

guess that's something that I'm dealing with now.

Tyrone's face contorted into one of complete irritation as you babbled on and on about how he shouldn't be concerned about what you were doing, posting on social media, seeing other people—all because you were broken up. His top lip quirked up, his head tilted and eyes narrowed as he stared blankly at you.

Even in the heat of your rant he looked so good. Too good. Coming to your house looking way too good hair freshly braided (and who was playing in his hair, cause it surely hadn't been you). The spider branded sweatpants slouching off his frame just a bit, the mismatched black tee he accompanied with it, risen just a bit to where you could see the waistband of his Jockey branded boxers, handle of his peanut butter block exposed. Only big dick niggas wore Jockeys. But that wasn't your aim today.

"- you so worried about what I'm doing! Worry about you, last time I checked you had so many bitches in them instagram comments," you rambled on, giving away your indifferent facade, you'd stalked his socials just a little bit in the midst of your four week break up, so what. "Not to mention, them thirsty ass hoes in your messages, 'bring me a three five,' " you mocked the recantation of the text message in a high pitched voice before rolling your eyes, "whole time you probably was over there droppin' dick off."

Tyrone kissed his teeth in response to your drawn out rant, your words falling on deaf ears, you knew what he was here for. "Man, you' talkin' bout some whole other shit I don't care about," he bluntly replied, "is you fuckin' that nigga or what?"

"Who?" You chirped, furrowing your brows. Playing your little coy act. You didn't need to ask who, you knew you weren't fucking anybody. This toxic, exhausting, and dare you admit, exhilarating roller coaster you and Tyrone stayed on wasn't near over, and you didn't get get back in giving your pussy away. But, you did like to make him sweat.

Who was Issac, of course. Isaac was his most sworn opp, and even though it was surely fucked up for you to even politic with this man—this cycle of toxicity had you doing the most obscene things to be seen. Of course his homeboys had seen you, you'd damn near made it obvious. Hopping out of his blacked out GMC Terrain in the middle of downtown, with a pink ruffled mini skirt that barely covered your ass, and a crop top with the words Ed Hardy sprawled across the top, paired with the expensive sneakers you'd asked Tyrone to buy you. You were wearing shit he bought you, on a date with a different nigga. His opp. That shit was a violation in itself.

His homies wasted no time in being absolutely federal, taking pictures and even starting a verbal confrontation with Isaac when you left the restaurant. It was only dinner for you. You weren't the slightest bit interested in Isaac—this was mostly for the anger of Tyrone, all the chaos he'd put you through with different women you seen in his phone, this was his payback. But, you couldn't deny that the attention felt nice. Still, you compared Isaac to Tyrone on a daily.

But you wouldn't tell him that. Right now, you were in some toxic shit of your own. The back and forth cycle between you two was a normality now, and your circle of friends and family knew that too. One day the both of you'd be walking around, saying fuck one another, and the next day ducked off, fucking one another.

"Fuck you keep playin' with me for?" He asked inching closer toward you, his hands clasped together in front of you. He was so sexy like this, intimidating and fuming. Damn, you were such a slut for shit like this. You ignored the throbbing in your pussy at the edge in his voice. "You know who I'm talkin' about. You runnin' round with the opps doin' weird ass shit with this lame ass nigga."

"Now I'm doing weird shit, but it wasn't weird when you were leaving the house at four in the morning talkin' about plays," you emphasized, using your fingers for air quotations, "but really you was goin' to see bitches."

"Is you fuckin' this nigga or not?" He simply repeated, not even giving a single reply to the accusations you posed against him. Had any of the shit you spurred out been true—you wouldn't even be here, allowing him the liberty of being in your apartment, in your space.

Everybody knew Tyrone was a charmer, a ladies man by default, bitches loved watching him pull up in that bright red Camaro, engine rumbling, him making quick small talk while he waited on an impending cashapp from his customers—a nice portion of his patrons being women.

But he wasn't a cheater. Not in the slightest. He had a flirty personality sure, but he knew boundaries and he never allowed bitches to feel comfortable enough to even think they had a one up on you.

The messages you read in his phone, prior to your breakup told a different story though. A couple of women felt a little too comfortable, nobody should've been texting your man about weed at close to four in the morning. And no amount of money, should've coaxed this man to leave your bed.

He'd been coaxed out of his slumber by your constant tossing and turning and angry muttering. Which then prompted a huge argument when he decided to ask what the problem was, only for you to boldly expose what you found in his phone, to which he angrily asked you why you felt the need to look through his shit. That prompted more angry yelling, and years of frustration from you, because why was your man yelling at you? And that led to Tyrone, breaking things off once again.

One thing was clear and true about the both of you, you'd both never experienced healthy relationships. Insecurities, and immaturity clouded your relationship, and nearly made it impossible to have any sense of stability and healthiness in your relationship.

However, the two of you were dangerously enthralled with one another. The toxic bond you two shared made it impossible to just break away. No contact for the two of you, was constant contact. Who could make who jealous? Who could make who cave first? There was never not any contact. Whether it be subs on social media, or persistent angry text messages.

Still, you wanted to carry this on. Wanted to see how far you could really push him. Couldn't he see that you'd done all this because you missed him? How desperately you wanted his attention you dabbled with his enemy in public? It was a power move on your end, he had to cave first. And just as you suspected, he did.

Shrugging your shoulders you avoided his impending gaze, "I don't see how that's any of your concern." You bleakly murmured.

But it was all of his concern. That much was evident when you found yourself sandwiched between him and your creaking mattress. His mushroomed tip plunging constantly against the spongy spot right in the back of pussy, that spot he hit every time he bottomed out. His strokes were deep and rushed, the absence of hesitance in his strokes showed you that he missed you the same. " 'm so wet daddy," you mewled, lowered eyes glancing back and forth between your sopping pussy, squelching and leaking all over his dick, and him watching you earnestly on the iPhone camera he was recording on.

You couldn't care less about that fucking camera, way too blissfully fucked out to care about whatever he planned to do with that video. And neither did he as he continued his assault on your spasmodic pussy, slight rushed breathing and grunts letting you know he was enjoying this just as much as you. His left hand came down to press on your lower tummy to hold your squirming body in place, the pressure seemingly weakened your bladder, the loud sound of your arousal splashing around his dick filled your ears, drowning out your pretty, drawn out moans. Tears brimmed in your low eyes at how good you were feeling, the curve in his dick continually attacking that same spot in you. "Missed you so much, daddy." You whimpered.

"fuck up," he simply replied kissing his teeth, hand that was pressed against your lower tummy now coming up to slap firmly against your exposed cheek repeatedly, "you got this nigga' takin' you out on dates, spendin' money on you, thinkin' he got a chance..just for you to be wettin' my dick up the same night, sayin' you miss me." He t'skd. "Slut ass bitch."

The edge in his tone only furthered your arousal, bringing you closer to your undoing. His hips undeterred as he kept fucking into you, consistently. His left hand now fisting the material of the neckline of your crop top, using it as leverage to plow into you. Your bottom lip trembled, teeth chattering, eyes going cross as you tried to ward off your quickly approaching orgasm. You knew the rules damn near better than he did, he controlled every bit of pleasure you received, orgasms included. You tried your best to ignore how loud and audible your arousal was, tried to ignore how loudly the bed was creaking, tried to ignore the loud claps your skin produced when you clashed together. Your mind was fuzzy, breathing erratic and voice unstable, you found enough consciousness to mutter out the words, " 'm not with him d-daddyy!" You stuttered out through a moan, words spewed out in between heavy breaths and gasps.

The statement brought a sense of satisfaction to Tyrone, a soft groan slipping past his lips, the way you squeezed around his dick let him know that you meant everything you managed to get out. Your pussy was almost molded for him, the most snug, comfortable fit. He knew you weren't with Isaac, he knew you weren't fucking him, and even if you had, any future thoughts would be hindered when he received this video. "Yeah? Say that shit again—look at the camera and tell him you ain't his bitch while you squirt on my dick," he cooed, the vulgar words in such contrast with the sickening sweetness of his tone had you tumbling toward the edge. Your breathing halted as you felt Tyrone's fingers dancing across your clit.

The sound of your was arousal even more audible as he continued fucking into you, your hands shot up from their original vice grip on the sheets underneath you out to the broad arms of the man on top of you, acrylic nails sinking into the flesh there. "Ooouuu, shit daddy!" You cried out, voice hoarse and broken, as you tried to focus your hazy vision in on the camera perfectly angled above you. But you couldn't see anything, not that damn camera, not Tyrone, not even the high ceilings of your bedroom. White stars danced against a static background behind your eyes. Your brain was completely mush at this point but you knew you couldn't cum until you uttered the words, "m' not your bitch, fuckimcummin!" You rushed out. Your breathing halting once again, no sound seemed to be able to accommodate the way your juices spurted out, almost on a steady stream as it soaked the both of your lower half's.

Tyrone's lips coaxed into a smirk as he continued recording you, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips as he watched you come undone right in front of the camera and him. The sight before him was too good not to marvel on, "look at 'er," he chuckled, "you thinkin' you got my bitch, showin' her off and she over here squirtin' and goin' dumb on my dick," he taunted, his tone patronizing and rough, he took his eyes away from the screen momentarily. Taking the time to look at your almost limp body, his hand smacking against your cheek repetitively. "Get back here bitch, ain't none of that zonin' out. Look at me while you cum, wanna see them pretty eyes while you squirtin' on me," he roughly spoke to you, grabbing your slackened jaw in his hand and spitting down right into your agape mouth.

That seemed to ground you somewhat, bringing a gust of air back into your lungs as you remembered to how to properly breathe. Your now blurred vision meeting his, faint strobes of colors you couldn't put a name to, and stars still clouded your vision. You felt like you were coming down off the wildest trip you ever had, like psychedelics had altered your perception. This shit was witchcraft, whatever he had on you. This shit was dangerous.

His strokes never halted, even when he was sure you'd rode out your previous orgasm, he watched your watery, low, dazed gaze as he continued his assault on you. Hand now firmly clamped around your neck, tight enough to where it fully restricted your airways, your hands immediately wrapping themselves around his wrist, "fuck off me," he spat firmly, ignoring the tears of overstimulation brewing in your lash line.

Everything was beginning to feel like too much. And it felt like too much earlier, it felt like way too fucking much now. You were completely overstimulated, the sensation which was now pleasure was now contorted into a mix of pain and pleasure. "Can't breathe pa," you managed to get out through a choked voice.

"You know what you need to do then, get this nut up outta me first," he smugly replied, moans and expletives following his statement as he watched the color in your deep brown skin flush to a dark tint of red, eyes watering due to lack of oxygen. But that didn't stop you from squeezing around him as tight as you could, attempting to thrust back against him in your folded position, fucking yourself dumb against him to feel the flush of oxygen back into your lungs.

And just when you thought you were so close to passing out—when the colors behind your dazed face started to fade to black his slurred, loud groans accompanied his rushed out statement, "fuckkkk bitch, I'm finna nut—where you want it?" He panted, quickly pulling out of you with a loud squelch.

Your breath seemed to come back to you in one big gasp, as he finally freed your neck from his vice grip. You still managed to give him a response between heaping breaths. "on my face daddy, please nut on my face," you gasped heavily inhaling through your mouth as you watched him stroke right over your face. Thick, warm ropes of cum painted your pretty features, Tyrone's lousy guttural groans and grunts accompanied his orgasm, he made sure to capture that part on camera especially.

He sent the video from your phone to Isaac before he got you all cleaned up. He smirked seeing the read receipts pop up immediately.

He definitely hated the both of you now.

i hope you enjoyed <333

no tag list bc I wanna see how this performs!

[allmylovc]

heartless!chris takes care of you when you´re drunk.

There had been a campus party tonight, and let´s just say you were having the time of your life. Now that you and chris broke up (again) you were able to enjoy it without any stress of him doing some stupid shit or getting mad over you doing some stupid shit.

You made out with like 10 diffrent guys, and took way too many shots, while chris stood there in the corner watching you like a hawk. He was seething. He hated seeing you around other men, it was disgusting watching you throw yourself on all these guys that you´ve never even met.

He walks up to you after he saw you stumble out the bathroom, and plop on the couch. He takes your drink out hand, your head shoots up "Hey!" you protest as you reach to take your drink back. He shakes his head and sighs "What´s wrong with you, huh?" he said as he taps your head with his other hand.

"Nothing." you scoffed, with an adorable pout on your lips. He rolled his eyes "You´re acting like such a dumbass today." your heart ached at his words. He always acted like this when you two broke up, but he wasn´t any better and he would do the same. So why was it a problem when you did it?

He tilted his head and smirked "C´mon, you´re to drunk to be around all these people." he said as he reached his hand out for you to take.

Which you did.

You two stood up and made your way out the party. He took you to his car, buckled your seatbelt for you and drove off. Once you two got to his place he got you carefully out the car and took you inside.

The second you stepped foot inside you felt that uneasy feeling in your stomach “I’m gonna puke.” you said as you put a hand over your mouth. His eyes widen and he immediately takes you over to the bathroom. Your stomach churns, and you bend over the toilet, barely holding yourself upright.

The nausea is overwhelming, and all you can do is gag, your body shaking with each heave. Chris is kneeling beside you, holding your hair into a make shift ponytail.

His face twists up in disgust as he hears your vomit pouring into the toilet “Let it all out.” He said quietly, as his fingers brushed through your hair.

You wipe your mouth and flush the toilet, and sit back on the cold tile, your legs weak and trembling beneath you. Chris sits down as well, leaning his back over the tub with a grunt.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, you looked up meeting his gaze, you shrugged “I don’t know, chris.” You ran a hand through your hair—moving it away from your face “I was sick of your bullshit,” he scoffed and shook his head “So you’re blaming you being drunk and stupid on me?” he laughed bitterly “Of course.” he huffed “Cause you’re always right, and everyone else is wrong.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes “That’s not what i meant.” you protested “Then what did you mean?” he snapped “You acting stupid and being a fucking slut has nothing to do with me.” he retorted harshly.

The silence grew heavy and so did the tension in the room. Maybe he was right, maybe you were being a total fucking slut, but in your defense you just wanted to forget about him.

“You know how pissed i was when i saw you make out with all those guys?” he admitted silently. You felt a glimmer of happiness knowing you were able to successfully make him jealous, but even then you still felt a bit of guilt gnawing at your chest.

He met your gaze “This is.. this is stupid.” he scoffed, you nodded in agreement “I know it is,” you sighed as you sat straight “I just wish you wouldn’t act the way you act all the time.” He bit his lips “Yeah.” he whispered “I’m sorry.”

“You act so heartless all the time, chris.” he said quietly, he bit the inside of his cheek “I just wish you could show me how you feel sometimes.” he continued.

You two just sat there for a moment in the awkward silence, and the heavy tension in the room. You both fucked up bad, but unlike him you were willing to talk and apologize for your actions. Meanwhile he just sat there and said absolutely nothing.

You looked up and sighed “I love you, chris.” your confession hanging in the air, he didn’t even look at you or show a hint of sympathy or affection he just nodded.

“I know.”

©ALLMYLOVC all rights reserved.

⊹ authors note  — woohoo first heartless!chris blurb, and i don’t how to feel about it, idk why i criticize my work so much, but enjoy! i apologize if there are any misspelled words or grammar errors. english is not my first language.

tags: @marrykisskilled @chrislilcumslvt @sosasturns @cyberskulzzz @slut4chris888 @waitforyrlove @zebonos @/sturnioloangell @slctsblogana @anyaa2s @emely9274 @shadowthesim @frankoceanfanpage @mrsarnold @freshloveee @t0riiiis @jetaimevous @sturn777 @sturniologirlzz @venusbabysblog @ch6rm

[scribbledghost]

Safe and Sound

Pairing: inhuman!polyvessels x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 1,290

Summary: You spend a quiet winter day curled up in bed with the four vessels.

Notes: We're getting a ton of snow where I am right now and I just really wanted something soft and cozy so I wrote it. Tons of fluff (gets slightly suggestive in the middle but doesn't go anywhere), many kisses, and probably lethal amounts of cheese. I regret nothing.

The world outside the manor is quiet, a thick blanket of snow covering everything in sight. The sun has long since risen, but life has yet to return to the landscape.

Meanwhile, inside the sprawling place you call home, warmth and a gentle silence permeate the atmosphere.

There are many fireplaces scattered around the structure, and the fact they always seem to be well-kept despite little effort on anyone's part makes you think it may be the house itself keeping the blazes stoked and roaring. Of course, it may also be through some as-yet-undiscussed power of one of your housemates, but you have yet to ask properly.

The four demi-humans you live with have different needs than you do, but they have taken great care to ensure yours are always met. You aren't even sure if they can feel heat or cold, and yet your home is always the perfect temperature for you. Today is no different.

Of course, having all five of you curled up together in one massive bed certainly helps keep you warm.

It's not at all unusual for multiple people to end up in one bed. All of you have a habit of stumbling out of your rooms and towards another when the night becomes too dark and quiet. In fact, it's more common for at least two or three people to be in one bed than it is for all of you to sleep separately.

The perks of having four partners all connected by varying degrees of telepathic communication, you suppose.

"Are you comfortable, my heart?"

Vessel's dulcet tone cuts through the quiet, barely intelligible over III's snoring and the crackling of the fireplace across the room.

You turn your head slightly to nudge your nose against his, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Yes I am. Are you?"

Vessel only hums softly in response, his six eyes softening as he meets your gaze.

The rest of the vessels are still asleep around you. II is at your side opposite of Vessel, one arm slung over your middle while his face is buried in your neck, his even breaths fanning across your skin. IV is curled into Vessel's back, quiet grumbles emanating from him as he shifts. III, meanwhile, is sprawled across all of you, his head on your chest and his limbs stretched.

"All of my boys here in the same place, warm and safe," you muse. "I always feel better when we're all together."

Vessel hums softly again, one of his hands coming to rest atop III's to absentmindedly play with his hair.

"I understand," he says. "There is a certain sense of security knowing your loved ones are all present."

Suddenly, a particularly loud snort from III breaks the tranquility, and he jolts awake.

"You okay?" you ask. III shifts, turning his head to give you a lopsided, tired grin.

"Hiya, love," he says, voice thick with sleep. Your head tilts up, III's nose nudging it upward so he can nibble at the skin just below your chin. His extended canine teeth sting just slightly, but none of his movements are firm enough to draw blood.

You know this move. And you know where it leads.

"Mm, easy, love. Too tired for that," you say gently.

However, being firm is difficult when Vessel is also alternating between kissing your temple and nipping at your earlobe.

"Don't have to do anything, beloved," Vessel all but croons. "Just lie back and let the four of us do the work."

"I think II and IV might have a problem with that, seeing as they're still asleep," you murmur.

"They'll live," III says, his tongue now laving against your throat.

"I'm serious, quit it!" you whisper loudly with a laugh. "I'm comfortable!"

The pair cease their assault, a soft chuckle emanating from them both. Quick kisses are places on your cheek and lips, with III nuzzling his head against your chest once again. You're sure it's only a matter of time before he's asleep once more.

"You three are too loud."

This time, it's II's low voice rumbling against you. You know the faux-grumpiness is purely in jest, but you indulge him anyway.

"I'm sorry, my dear," you say, tilting your head to rest your cheek against him.

"Someone kiss me and I may consider forgiveness," he teases.

Your lips land on his first, but they're quickly followed by III's.

"Surely we've earned mercy now, hm?" you tease. "Two kisses for II?"

"Don't push it."

You and III both laugh softly as II squeezes you tighter, readjusting himself as he buries his face in your neck.

You turn to see Vessel looking at the three of you, pure softness and affection in his eyes. The sight of IV's arm slung across Vessel's waist draws your attention.

"I'm surprised he hasn't woken up yet," you muse.

Vessel gives you a look that you can't read before he reaches for IV's hand, gently bringing the latter man's knuckles to his lips.

However, it appears IV was not as asleep as you had thought. Before Vessel can react, IV uses the hand at Vessel's lips to grab him by the jaw and turn his head. One more quick shift, and IV has him in an almost bruising kiss.

It leads nowhere, and is more an admonishment for waking IV than anything else, but you still watch as IV leaves Vessel with a slightly dazed look when he pulls away.

Despite being rough with Vessel, IV is nothing but gentle with you, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips.

"Sleep well, dove?" he asks, his voice deep with disuse.

"Sure did, thanks for askin'," III replies, his voice muffled against your shirt.

"Wasn't talkin' to you," IV deadpans, reaching over to tug at one of III's ears.

"Should've - ow! - should've been more specific then," III teases.

After a bit more lighthearted bickering between the vessels, the atmosphere returns to a soft silence. However, all attention shifts to you when you shiver slightly.

"Are you cold, my heart?" Vessel asks.

"Just a little," you admit. You're not quite sure how the chill has managed to find you beneath the furs that adorn the massive bed and the warmth of the vessels around you (or, in III's case, sprawled atop you), but it has.

III makes a move to get up and stoke the fire, but Vessel stops him with a gentle hand.

It's not terribly often that you witness Vessel communing with the manor itself - the action tends to drain him - but it's always a marvel when you do.

A soft blue glow encompasses his eyes as his arm reaches towards the fireplace. A low hum sounds in your mind, like distantly muffled words. You wonder if the others hear something more distinct.

You can tell Vessel is straining, a slight tremble visible in his hand. Thankfully, the connection isn't terribly drawn-out, and with a whooshing sound, the fireplace roars brighter.

Vessel's eyes return to normal, and his arm and body sag back onto the mattress.

"Didn't have to do that," III mutters. "I would've gotten up."

"I know," Vessel reassures him, giving him a soft smile.

You don't need a telepathic mental connection to tell that Vessel is ready for rest once again. Reaching for him, you manage to rearrange him so his head is tucked against your shoulder.

"Rest," you command softly. He doesn't argue, and neither do the others. II curls back into your side, III is already softly snoring against your chest, and IV's breaths even out as he holds your hand.

You drift back to dreams nestled amongst the vessels, the harsh world outside the manor unable to disturb the peace found within.

[mgghoney]

pairing// matthew gray gubler and reader || wc// 801

summary// what happened to kissing the homies happy new year?

"I heard you kissed a fan for the new years kiss."

You look up at your phone when Matt doesn't respond, and you slide open your drawer when you notice he's thinking.

"I did. On the forehead."

You rummage through your desk, blinking quietly when you realize you can't find what you're looking for.

"I saw photos... of her, I mean. Not of the kiss." You hum. "Every now and then the fan in me kicks at my rationality."

"Did you want one?"

"Don't go asking me that." You slide your hand to the parts you can't see, frowning when it isn't there either. "I don't know how you manage to be simultaneously the sweetest celebrity I know yet lack so many typical boundaries."

"I don't think it's a lack."

"I know it isn't. The universe returns the kindness you show others tenfold." You finally look up at the call, and Matt's got a brow raised as you huff at what he's holding. "I left it with you?"

"On accident. I've been making full use of the camera." He hums. "I'll return it to you with a new roll of film as long as you develop it for me."

"Of course." You nod. "That makes a lot more sense, actually."

"Oh, and another thing. Don't go—"

"sending them to other people. I know."

"No, I was gonna say you can post most of them except one."

"Will you tell me which one?"

"You'll know."

"I'm bracing myself for unsolicited dick pics right now." You roll your eyes, finding another camera as you dig through your tote. "H...uh? Oh, you swapped cameras with me!? I didn't even notice."

"I bought it back when it was newly on sale. Mine's all beat up."

"That means it's well loved." You hum, fingers smoothing over the yellow of the camera, raising a brow at the screen as Matt locks eyes with you.

"I'm excited to see what you do with it."

You laugh, tugging the drawer back open as you toss out a handful of folders, tweezers in hand as you raise a brow at him. "Yeah?"

"Expect a bit of love on yours too."

"Like biting or photos wise?" You pause to stare at the camera. "A 2016 model is kind of rare."

"I found it in Japan while out."

"Ah." You hum. "I should make you get me one next time you're there."

"You won't come with me?"

"Studying abroad is gonna cost me an arm and a leg. I'm already barely grazing by with my aid right now. Well, if you even count that as aid. My fault for picking New York." You huff, finger smoothing down the color on the dents.

"I suppose." Matt taps at the screen to get your attention, and you look up from the sheets strewn around you. "When do you fly back?"

"Why? You won't even meet up with me at the airport since we're in different cities."

"So I know when to send you stuff."

"Don't you have more recording in LA?"

"Mm, you never know where the wind brings you."

"I hope the wind blows me to early retirement." You mumble. "Doing what I love for a living would be nice too. Maybe I should mail Anderson some fanmail and beg for an internship."

"You want a call?"

"It'd be unfair to do that." You tap your desk, glancing at the tweezers. "Well, not unfair. I'll see where the wind takes me too."

"Is it sunny?"

"Here? Always." You pull the shades and let the sun spill in, humming quietly to yourself as you laugh. "Is it sunny there?"

"You know it is." He picks up his phone to walk you over to the back door, stepping out to stand in the sun.

"I bet the film will turn out super nice." You hum. "Stay still. I want a photo."

"Still thinking about starting that fanpage for me?"

"You want me to? The twitter fanpages but for you? A "what's MGG up to today?" account?" You look at the photos on your phone, and you hum. "You already have an update account. I don't need to use our friendship to tell others."

"I respect their dedication." His lip quirks upwards, and you laugh.

"I do too."

"So? I'm sure you're not just calling to talk to me about my new years kiss."

"Oh, yeah. I had a couple of questions for the story."

"I'm more than willing to answer them. I respect the dedication."

"What are we all if not dedicated to the bit?"

"Is this where the wind is taking you?"

"Yeah." You turn on the camera to snap a photo of him, humming quietly as you beam at him. "What am I if not living to entertain?"

"Living to enjoy, perhaps."

"Always."

[stellar-solar-flare]

Thank you for offering to create a hoeliday treat for me 🤭🫶🏻 How about Andy + nice (and if you feel comfortable adding some naughtiness too, feel free!). Thank you so much ☺️❤️

Happy (slightly belated) Hoelidays, Siri! I hope you enjoy this - it is also my first Andy piece!

Simmering

Andy Barber x wife!Reader | romance| established relationship | 974 words.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Warnings: Allusions to smut / fade to black. I kept debating if this should have the slightest of soft!dark warnings but honestly I feel like that's just Andy being Andy.

Notes: I imagine this is an AU world where Andy and the Reader got married after college. Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance (besides a mention of wearing a skirt), and she is mentioned to have a career in some sort of job where an assistant would be beneficial.

I do not own anything Defending Jacob related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

You flung the door closed after you harder than you had intended, sighing deeply as you tossed your keys on the sideboard. Exhaustion lingered in your every vein, muscle, and tendon as you made your way to the kitchen, smiling tiredly as you saw your husband standing by the stove. He had taken off his jacket and tie and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows.

“Hello, honey,” he said, reaching an arm out for you and you went gladly. “It’s good to see you.”

He pressed a soft, quick kiss onto your lips before turning his attention back to the saucepan. Something smelled great, like tomatoes and spices, and together with the expensive scent of Andy’s musky, woody cologne, they made for a home.

“Hi dear,” you replied, resting your head against his firm shoulder for a moment, sighing.

“Long day?” he asked, even though he already knew – he worked long hours himself, and yet he’d still been home earlier than you had.

“Unimaginably,” you said. “Do you need a hand with dinner?”

“No, I got this, just go rest a little.”

You left him to his task and dragged your feet to the couch in the great room, collapsing to sit on it. Your head was still swirling with everything that had needed your attention today at work, and it felt like another tidal wave would arrive tomorrow. Sighing, you rubbed your temples, trying to push the headache circling them away.

The couch was positioned so that your back was against the kitchen; but even without looking, you could hear Andy move the saucepan away from the heat and open the fridge. Clinks of metal and glass followed, and then you heard his steps reach behind you. His tall form lingered behind you, and even through your tiredness, some primal instinct reveled in how a man with a frame like that was yours.

“Here you go,” he said, extending one of the fancy sparkling water bottles he insisted on keeping in the fridge to you over your shoulder.

Murmuring a thank you, you grabbed the bottle and took a long sip. It was a good call – after running around the whole day, you were probably dehydrated too, and in any case, the ice-cold water was so refreshing.

Andy’s large hands landed on your shoulders, his thumbs finding the knotted muscles and digging into them, and a rather obscene sound escaped your mouth at the feeling. He chuckled a laugh, but when he spoke, there was a hint of anger in his voice.

“They don’t treat you well enough in that place. How many years have you asked to have that assistant and they still insist on you doing everything yourself?”

‘That place’ being your place of work, of course. It wasn’t the first time that Andy had mentioned something like this, and honestly, as time went on and your requests fell on deaf ears, you were starting to agree. You’d kept an eye on the job listings in your field, but nothing of interest was popping up.

“You know that I could take care of you,” he said, his hands continuing to undo the tension that the day had left behind, his low timber a dangerous thing. “I could provide for you and we’d be more than comfortable on just my salary.”

You let your eyelids fall shut, a serene smile spreading onto your lips as you felt blood start to flow back into your muscles again. This topic wasn’t new, either; Andy had always respected your choice to have your own career, but it grinded him to see you like this after your workdays.

“And what, devote my life to being a doting wife to Mr. Barber instead?” you teased, and he laughed.

“Well, sweetheart, you can dote on me all that you want. But I was thinking more about maybe you’d want to write that novel you’ve been talking about. Or whatever you wish,” he said, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. “But I like the idea of coming home to you, rested and happy and able to put your time into whatever you want.”

God, his touch felt good. His hands, his lips… You had been hungry when you’d gotten home but now the heat of his body was making you crave him instead.

Would it be so bad to be taken care of?

When the decision washed over you like a tidal wave, you realized that it had been simmering for a long time, and now, you had finally reached your resolution.

“Alright,” you said, swallowing at the weight of the words.

Andy froze in the middle of kissing your earlobe.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll quit,” you said, your hands trembling at the magnitude of this decision, this leap into an unknown future. “I’ll quit the job. You’re right, it is making me miserable and I’m making myself miserable when you could provide for both of us.”

Andy didn’t reply. Instead, he went around the couch without speaking a word and gently took the water bottle from you before setting it on the end table. He watched you with dark, half-hooded eyes when he knelt in front of you on the couch, a satisfied smile twinkling on his lips.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He set his hands on your stocking-covered legs, brushing slowly up and moving your skirt out of the way, and you resisted the urge to whine at the way he was looking at you like he was going to devour you. His fingers wrapped around the waistband of the stockings and the panties underneath, tugging them off and tossing them away before lifting your legs to his wide shoulders.

“Well, Mrs. Barber, obviously, I am going to take care of you,” he said, pressing his lips on the inner side of your thigh.

Thank you for reading! I always cherish hearing your thoughts, so please leave a comment if you have the time and energy.

[siena-sevenwits]

(Written yesterday) Well, it’s Epiphany, and the end of Christmas proper. I know many continue to celebrate Christmastide all the way until Candlemas, but our tree came down today and I don’t really do much to observe the extended season. So it seems to me that if I’m going to finally revisit Elystan’s point of view in the Christmas chapters, now that I know a little more of his history, I’d best do it before Epiphany is out. Here we go!

[Turns on “Denn es is tuns ein Kind geboren” from “Der Messias.” Since this is Elystan’s pov I really ought to listen in English (tangent: aren’t we Anglophones blessed Handel was in Ireland when he wrote it?) but I thought I’d listen in German as a nod to the Liennese in the room.]

I love the fact that although Elystan’s good with classics when it comes to languages, German is not his forte. This isn’t something you see so often in fiction – that an aptitude for a language, or even languages, doesn’t necessarily apply across the board. (And of course it has the story layer that he and Josiah don’t understand each other, even though they technically speak each others’ languages. Boys, there is so much you’re hiding from others – and so much you don’t see in yourselves.)

Ha. Even here in Corege, Tamett’s Noriberreanness (sp?) is still a point against him in the eyes of the masters.

“[H]e needs to invest in a copy of Bellwell’s Guide for the Traveller in Corege. All good bookstores have it. Changed my life.” Heaven help me, Elystan thinks his jokes are so funny – and I’m smirking despite myself.

“And that distracted Josiah’s attention from the depths of the literary gem he was composing…” Oh that you knew the systematic and painful stuffing down of grief you’re witnessing from outside, Elystan. [I should really be listening to Satie’s Gnossiennes or something equally sombre for Josiah’s composition, but we are not in his head.]

“I’ll leave a box of chocolates in the empty chair in the King’s box, in your memory.” OOF –  the joke’s aimed at disgusting Josiah, but yeah, let’s make a joke about an empty chair in the King’s Box right now, Elystan. That’s certainly a good joke for you to make. (I doubt he’s actually thinking along the lines I am, but still.)

Oh, Elystan, your mother would love to take you to the movies if you would let her… And she writes to him faithfully even though she never gets any back. I understand why there’s such an enormous rift between them, and she’s certainly not blameless – but this must be a hard time for her, having realized at least some of the damage she’s caused, how broad the gulf is, spent the summer trying to mend their relationship among many other things, then had to send him away for his own sake. And she never hears from him. That would be hard. These stories have such huge themes of attachment and how hurt to that attachment ripples into so many seemingly unrelated areas of life. My heart goes out to both Elystan and Bethira.

Oh gosh, he almost asked Josiah was he was going to do with his Mother for Christmas. The anniversary of his mother’s December death is almost here, and right this moment he’s writing a paper about how above grief a real man needs to be. Josiah heard that pause loud and clear.

The way schoolboy culture won’t let them just say “family.” (It’s the heart of all this, it’s all about family, and they can’t say it, they can’t say it. They’re not even consciously thinking about it – they’re all just copying each other – but they haven’t got families anymore. They’ve got [airy wave of the hand] people.”

Josiah wrinkled his nose. “How about the rest of the year?” If he had not been such an overgrown lump, Elystan would have knocked him out of his seat. – Oh boy. Knowing what Elystan’s rest of the year has been like this past year, that one smarts even more.

I am eternally amused by Elystan’s ongoing crocodilianess.

He misspelled “grievous.” No undertones there.

Love these boys so much. Since this is a revisit in light of what I know of their previous lives, these comments are likely to all tend to the “oh no” direction, but also I am smiling so lovingly at all of them.

A Christmas Chapter: Elystan’s POV

Last year I wrote two versions of this story, from Tamett’s and Josiah’s POVs. I had intended to leave it there, but a friend wanted Elystan’s POV, so after a long struggle of trying to find a story I’d never really planned between the lines of the existing pieces, here is the third and final version.

This one runs very long, nearly 17000 words. It’s not perfect, probably has wording issues right and left, and it feels a bit more like a series of random events than a cohesive whole, but I’m sick of fussing with it for now, and you’re very welcome to tell me (politely) what could be improved.

In case you’re unfamiliar with these characters, Elystan is the thirteen-year-old son of a disgraced former king of Corege (one of several nations in this  Edwardianesque world). After circumstances that have resulted in his having a massive grudge against his mother and his half-brother Delclis (the current King), he has been sent to Hollingham, an elite boarding school, where he rooms with Josiah, Crown Prince of Lienne, and has befriended Josiah’s paid companion Tamett. They’re about to reach the end of their first term, and Elystan is faced with the daunting prospect of having to spend the Christmas holidays with his dearly beloathed family.

Keep reading

[dishearteningmediocrity]

June 25th, 1937

Eighty-seven years ago, on June 25th, 1937, Colin Clive died in Los Angeles, California. This was a column that appeared in the Monday, June 28th edition of the Hollywood Citizen News, written by Edwin Martin--columnist, press agent, and acquaintance of Colin's. If I remember correctly, Gregory Mank quoted excerpts from this in his biography, but the article is worth reading in full. There's a poignant tribute underneath all the name-dropping.

Yeah, I know, not enough misery in the world these days, so it's time to dredge up more from the depths of the past. Still, it's an interesting glimpse into his life and death--and some of the people left behind.

Source: Hollywood Citizen News, Monday, June 28, 1937. Accessed via www.newspapers.com.

Transcript below.

CINEMANIA by Edwin Martin

JOURNEY'S END

"Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there--with all those fellows. Sometimes I think it's lonelier here."

Night after night we had heard him deliver those lines, and they never failed to touch us.

On this day they came back to us again--more poignantly than ever.

A few of us had gathered for a round-table at our favorite spot in Travaglini's--it was also his favorite corner that we occupied.

Just a few weeks before we had sat at this same table with him and planned a radio interview.

Soon after, when he went to the hospital, came a note in this manner: "Must have this old pump repaired a bit. Sorry we'll have to postpone our interview until I come out. Keep the corner warm at Travaglini's."

We had known him for many years--known him and admired him since they first brought him from England to star in the picture version of the same play he had made famous on the stage.

Later, when the play was revived by E.E. Clive, we enjoyed a most pleasant association while handling the publicity on the show during its run here at the Hollywood Playhouse.

During this time we got a little closer to this quiet, rather lonely man, who made famous the role of the hard-drinking Captain Stanhope in the stage and screen productions of "Journey's End."

Few knew it, but all during the past few months, even when he made such a hit in his outstanding part in "History is Made at Night," he had been carrying on under the constant shadow of a long illness--an illness which was gradually eating his heart out...but he never complained.

Sometimes there was a faraway look in his eyes as he talked--just that--nothing more--he was Captain Stanhope to the end.

A few of us were keeping the corner warm for him at Travaglini's that day when we heard Colin Clive had reached his journey's end.

WALTER BYRON, another fine young British actor, was studying his lines at the bar for the splendid part he plays with Sarah Padden in "Chilikoot Lou," with which Miss Padden soon returns to the vaudeville stage.

Eric Blore, inimitable English comedian, still in make-up, was also there...and Larry Kent, Hollywood's wandering actor, just back from directing and acting in England, was telling about a picture he wanted to make in the South Seas...Eddie Lee, known as England's "Donald Novis," was resting from his triumphant opening at the Century Club...and we were listening to the gentle elder Mr. Travaglini tell about stirring days when as a young man he was an officer in the Italian army...while Tony Travaglini, Jr., looked over a radio script planned as a welcome home to Harry Langdon.

Into this crowd of men came a saddened figure--a lovely woman who had been a friend of Colin. She was the last member of that gay trio who often occupied this same table together...from which another splendid young British actor, John Buckler, had left one night only to meet his journey’s end in Malibou Lake in a tragic auto accident.

She was the last one left—and she dragged her weary self up to the bar and ordered a double brandy.

Everyone wanted to ask about his condition, but Larry Kent was the only one who had the courage… “How is he?” he asked.

“He is going,” the woman said. “When I left he was already in the oxygen tent. They wouldn’t let me see him,” she said, trying desperately not to break down.

Because she knew that even a friend of Captain Stanhope must face unknown adventures with head held high.

A phone rang—it was for her—she answered it. Somehow the ominous tone of that ringing let us know the message. “He’s gone.”

Silently the glasses were filled…then Eric Blore lifted his glass. “I give you Colin Clive,” he said simply, and a toast was taken in his memory…and eventually each man filed out and went his separate way.

Somehow we believed that Colin Clive would have liked to know that his journey’s end had been accepted with such a gesture…as he went to that last rendezvous with his old friend, John Buckler...and as we walked out into the sunshine we remembered that we had other things to do--other things to write--but the only words we could think of were his gallant words from "Journey's End."

"Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there--with all those fellows. Sometimes I think it's lonelier here"....we are keeping the corner warm for you--Adios, Colin Clive.

[jomeimei421]

Felt a bit nostalgic watching RT shut down…Here are the og faves again for old times sake 💙

[alagaisia]

Hey if you’re still enjoying and engaging with Harry Potter in any capacity you can unfollow me 😊 please and thank you

Like. I get it. I was super into it as a kid too. I did not have the social context to pick up on the antisemitism or transphobia or sexism or fatphobia or bioessentialism or racism or anything else. I also picked up on surface-level language of Fighting Back Against Evil and ascribed my own values onto what that meant and thought we were all on the same page. I remember when the original kids who grew up with the books started becoming adult fans and picking up on the (blatant!) antisemitism and everybody was still mostly willing to give JKR the benefit of the doubt on it. (“She was writing kids books!” They said. “She didn’t know she was penning a global phenomenon! She picked a common literary trend in European fairy tales (antisemitic caricature) and didn’t examine it closely. It’s a mistake anyone could make,” we said. “She would probably do things differently now. After all, she word-of-god confirmed the vaguest hints she dropped that Dumbledore might be gay,” we said.) There was actually a span of several years where biases inherent in the actual real content of the Harry Potter series were coming to light and even the people pointing them out still seemed mostly to think it was an unfortunate accident.

That time has passed. Years ago! We are long past the first months of “maybe she doesn’t realize this seemingly-feminist tweet she liked was made by a noted TERF” and then “how could she not realize that these many veiled TERF-y things she’s retweeted have implications for the many queer fans of her work” and finally “oh wow okay JKR just dropped an entire transphobic manifesto on twitter. I guess the transphobia was the point.”

Yeah, there were a few months after that where people were still processing and still working through how they felt about Harry Potter and all of its flaws with the context of the now open transphobia of the creator. I was there for that. Remember how I was one of the kids who built it up into something noble and worthwhile based on my own beliefs about what messages it was probably trying to convey? Turns out it wasn’t trying to say any of those things, and when you take the time to examine all of the terrible shit that made its way into the text whether JKR intended it to be there or not, the whole series falls apart. It’s weird to discover that there’s a room in your house that’s rotten to the core, but eventually you figure out you can’t live like that, still going in there and holding your nose and pretending it’s still the same room you thought it was when the termites were only inside of the walls and hadn’t yet started chewing their way through the furniture. Because what’s going to happen is that they are going to infest the rest of your house. If you decide you can ignore transphobia and antisemitism and everything else just because you liked the color of the wallpaper, the rest of your principles are going to crumble too. You get rid of that fucking room. You put those books on a high shelf in the back of your closet behind other outgrown clothes and interests and you move the fuck on.

JKR uses the money made from her transphobic antisemitic children’s books to actively funding hate groups and to lobby for legislation that will and has actually affected the actual lives of trans people in an entire country. We are past the point of grieving something you were wrong about in childhood. Kids are wrong about a lot of stuff. You grow up and you learn new information and you change your behaviors based on it. You have to choose. It is transphobic to pretend there is not transphobia where there is. It is transphobic to support the work of someone who is using those funds to take rights from trans people with every fucking dollar. It is hateful to continue to engage positively with a story that at its very core is rooted in hate and bigotry and prejudice. You can choose to do all of those things but you cannot claim ignorance of them and you cannot choose those things and still pretend that choosing them upholds the values we convinced ourselves that Harry Potter stood for over a decade ago as uninformed children. You cannot choose to do those things and pretend to still support your trans and queer and Jewish neighbors. I do not want you in my neighborhood. Leave.

[wildevenusian]

i just don’t understand. why say ur ready to talk if you aren’t?

can u believe this post is what got me to reach tag limit

[pepprs]

ok actually yeah. i really need to do dishes and go to bed and not stay up late mentalillnessposting a little too viscerally on tumblr the night before i facilitate a workshop in front of the literal president of the university and the vp of my division (LOL about that btw. actively shitting my pants.) but oh my GOD. so saying goodbye to lia was actually fine in the moment. neither of us cried and we talked about all the ways we’ll still be in each others lives and reasons we’ll have to interact in the near future. and she gave me an extremely heartfelt thoughtful gift and we left on a very hopeful note and i felt better and content bc there’s still the rest-of-life and we’ll see each other there. but like an hour before that as i mentioned i was HYSTERICALLY sobbing. in full view of people i know AND people i don’t. and i just sat there and sobbed while everything carried on around me. everything carried on around me!!! and i feel like im about to sob again thinking about it.

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[the-physicality]

"tomorrow we find out where paige is going" .... .tomorrow we find out which team has a 99% chance of drafting paige