#but this book would be three thousand pages if i did that

[sing-you-fools]

as a reader, I always love the little moments in a book that aren't particularly connected to the plot, and sure they contribute to the characterization or development of a relationship but mostly they feel like a moment for the characters to breathe and exist and talk and feel and eat breakfast and whatever else needs to be done

as a writer I constantly need to remind myself that this does not mean I should describe every single moment in my characters' lives in excruciating detail

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[thesturniolos]

make you mine ~ m.sturniolo x reader (she/her)

જ⁀➴. summary: i mean you know what they say, keep your friends close but always keep your enemies closer- just how much closer?

જ⁀➴. warnings: filthy smut, fingering, dumbification, degradation, praise, rope bunny, spitting, spanking (i’m sorry), dom!matt and sub!matt, jealousy, brat!reader, a little angsty (cause yk i fw that too much)

જ⁀➴. this is for @annamcdonalds67 challenge!! i will be basing this fic off of madison beer’s ‘make you mine’ !

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

‘i wanna lay you down, i wanna string you up, i wanna make

you mine.’

do you know that feeling when you’re drunk, so drunk that your mind feels like a fog? like a layer of cloud and mist has settled into the crevices of your brain, seeping into your every thought. a fog so powerful that it alters your visions and brings hidden secrets to the tip of your tongue, the kind of secrets that would change something, anything once and for all.

and in that moment, the feeling of freedom outweighs all the consequences of letting that secret out. slowly, my fogged brain pieces together to allow my hands to fiddle with the padlocks of the secret. to untie the tangled chains, to swivel the tiny little key around on the pads of my fingers, to push the blade into the hole in the chest.

and just like that, a secret sworn to never be spread dribbles down the edges of the box and every thought telling me, yelling actually, that what i’m about to do is wrong is etched away by a metaphorical marker and nothing will stop me from what i want to do and what i’m going to do.

the dizzying noise of a thousand people, some my friends, most of them random people you’d find at classic LA parties, is silenced by the sound of my beating heart and the blood pumping viciously around my body.

it’s the kind of passion that comes from envy, that comes from jealousy, that comes from resent so blinding that every step you take feels like it could break the marble floor underneath your feet. or that steam pushing out of your ears could be visible.

it’s the kind of jealousy that comes from seeing a person you care so deeply about in a corner with some bitch who knows nothing about him.

like- she doesn’t know what he likes and doesn’t like, she doesn’t know that he has three books by his bed and that one of them has her initials carved into the fourteenth page. she would never know that his own couch has an imprint from where my fucking ass sits everyday. like she wouldn’t know that their shared ‘hatred’ wasn’t actually real. just like how she doesn’t know that he is not on the market and she has absolutely no fucking place in the world to have her wretched bones on his skin.

you’d assume that in a situation like this time slows like a movie but it doesn’t. it speeds and i can’t keep track of anyone around me or what song is playing or even what drink is sloshing onto my hand from my cup. i just know exactly where it’s going to go though.

before i step foot into the beaming light of the kitchen, two hands grab my hips and swivel me around. two hands that won’t be there in a minute if they don’t leave my body.

im met with a pair of very similar eyes and i suddenly feel very guilty for thinking what i thought a second ago.

‘hey! where have you been all night? me and nick have been looking for you literally everywhere.’ chris’ eyes look concerned but his smile is still in full tact.

‘i’ve been talking to people, catching up-‘

‘did something happen? cause you know, you look like you’re gonna kill somebody’ he laughs, his hands leaving my hips and i brush the area off where he touched, holding my head high to hopefully hide the seeving look on my face.

‘just people liking to get up in my business, you know how it is. ‘ i nod, sipping from cup, immediately regretting because actually wtf is in it.

‘okay, well- me and nick were about to leave, we’re just tryna round you and matt up.’ my teeth clench together at the sound of his name.

‘yeah, i don’t know chris. i might go home later, feels like we only just got here!’

‘it’s literally 2am, we’ve been here 4 and half hours already-‘

“come on, chris! when do you ever get to go to a party as big as this? go find a girl or something- give yourself a good time!’ his eyebrows furrow and he shrugs his shoulders.

“i guess so-“

“you gotta get over that bitch ex of yours anyways, perhaps this could be your perfect time.” and with that, he was fully listening. his shoulders now standing upright and his posture as straight as possible.

“you’re right, y/n. oh, look- there’s matt! guess he’s already a step ahead of me and you.”

my head spirals around is quickly, i think i saw stars. big, white, angry shooting stars. the sight of his hands clenching onto her ass, pushing her against a kitchen counter. her dress slowly riding up her thighs, thanks to his legs prying them open.

and with that, something ticks inside me.

i’ve been jealous before. hell i’ve been the most jealous in the room. but have you ever been so jealous that a rack of knives looked appealing and the bat that hangs above the wall in the living room looked handy dandy to do the exact job you needed to?

why was it always the bitchiest of girls who all the guys hate -but apparently not so because she’s tugging on one of their dicks by saturday.

well guess what? two can play at that game, bitch.

i turn around to find a good looking guy, not so attractive that i could become attached but not ugly enough for me to be gagging when i run my hands along his dick.

‘you. come with me.” i gesture, my fingers curving in to lure him into me.

his brows furrow and he scoffs, “why?”

“cause i fucking said so, come with me.” i drag his hand and he turns back to look at this friends with a sudden bright smile.

our hands are clenched together as i pull him through a small crowd towards the kitchen. the urge to instantly jump on him to rile matt up is incredibly overwhelming but desperation isn’t always the best look on me.

my hand reaches for a red cup, filled with what looks like classic punch and i pour it down the sink to fill it up with straight vodka and hand it to him. “drink up, buttercup.��

his eyes widen but he obeys and i watch as he drinks every last sip, my fists clenching from the idea of what’s going on directly behind me.

“ngh’ matt-“ i hear the girl moan and my head twists to see his eyes glaring into mine whilst sucking red marks onto her neck.

i scoff and drag my guy closer to me, all whilst maintaining eye contact to lick a stripe up his neck and shove my right hand up his shirt to feel his torso. the guy did have toned abs, i could feel from how rock hard he was against my fingers but unlucky for him, i was completely and utterly distracted by the guy i hated so fucking much opposite me.

hate so pure that the sound of his name made goosebumps run down my neck and my blood bubble under my skin. my eyes would sting from the gaze of his eyes, my eyelids burning from refusing to shut. it was hate so pure that seeing a girl on his arm made my throat run dry and my words choke. the rings on my fingers digging into my palms and my teeth scratching against one another as i clenched my jaw to see the hickies scattered on his chest.

my tongue caresses the skin of his neck, latching over what i think is his sweet spot, as he moves his hands down my body. i smirk as i see matt latch onto the bitch’s figure tighter, desperate to outweigh whatever i was doing.

i look up at the guy and say, “do whatever you want to me, right here, right now.” his eyes light up and his breath halts slightly.

“but we’re in here with so many people-“

“i don’t care.” my head turning back to look at matt who is still looking at me, a grimacing smile speaking across my face which makes his brows furrow deeper into his skin.

the guy grabs my leg to push it onto his, my front up against him and he latches our mouths together, his tongue immediately creating a space between my lips to enter.

after a solid minute of awkwardly making out in front of what felt like 30 people, a hand pushes my leg down from the guys hip and grabs my hand to pull me away from the crowd.

i’d be stupid if i said i didn’t know it was matt, of course i knew it was him. after all, he knew i had full control over him even if we were just enemies.

sweating bodies collided with mine and i squeeze my body close together to avoid elbows to the face. my heels making me stumble a little, alcohol still running through my system.

i look down to find a step up a winding staircase, a classic LA mansion.

20 steps felt like half a lifetime as matt still desperately drags me up them, whispering incoherent, angry remarks under his breath. until finally he makes it to the top and barges through the first bedroom he sees.

i enter quickly after him, my hand falling to my side as he slams the door behind us. i didn’t have time to react before he pushes my shoulder into the wall behind me, digging his nails into my skin.

his eyes are practically black with anger, his eyebrows fallen to his eyelids yet a disgusting grin on his face. his tongue slides along his teeth, before he spits, ” what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

“whatever you’re playing, i mean it’s only fair.” i squeak back, my breath a little taken away from the sudden collide with my back and the brick wall. and of course the incredibly small space between our lips and the fact that our noses are touching.

“that’s not how this works around here.”

“then how does it? you get to go around with every girl in our state and i sit in the background watching?” what was that even supposed to mean?

he removes a hand from my shoulder and shakes his head, “people around here know they can’t touch you. they just know that, sweetheart. i assumed you would too.”

“and you’re allowed to have that bitch all over you? tell me, matt. how is this really fucking fair?” his hand comes up to my throat to clench it, light enough so i’m not choking but hard enough so that i’m gagged, my head lifted up a little.

“because how else am i supposed to get you to fucking take notice that i want you.”

i furrow my eyebrows, i try to speak but he clenches harder and the words don’t form in my mouth.

“every girl i have i imagine it’s you, every time i’m fucking a girl i imagine it’s your pussy im in, i imagine it’s your lips that im sucking on.”

i look dead in his eyes, my lashes blurring my vision slightly, his hooded gaze mesmerising me as i take in his every word

“every mean comment i made and every remark you made back riled me up. i knew it, you knew it, everyone else fucking knew it. im fed up of this bullshit circle we’ve had going on- i need you to see that you’re mine. when i saw you and that bitch in the kitchen, i smiled because i knew i got you. i got you to the point where you fucking admitted to me that im in your brain, you want me just as much as i want you baby.”

his tongue pokes out to lick a strip along my lip, he stands back to look at me in such a vulnerable position. my legs squeezed together in my little black dress and his hand wrapped around my neck as i look up at him with teary eyes and a dumb little smile on my face. it was just all he had ever wanted.

his hand leaves my neck, reaching up to grab my jaw and push my lips against his. a messy, tongue-filled kiss. his tongue sucks onto mine and i moan into his mouth, my legs moving forward to push him backwards.

he hums into the kiss, moving his head to suck on my lips whilst treading towards the bed in which he eventually pulls us onto. my legs scramble to straddle his lap and loop my hands around his neck.

he pulls away to pull the straps of my dress down as i look into his eyes, if somebody had told me two years ago that i was straddling matt’s fucking lap i probably would’ve slapped you around the face.

“do you know how long i’ve wanted you baby?” he says, yanking down my black dress to reveal a lacy, practically see-through bra that pushes up my boobs to accentuate them especially for matt’s eyes.

i shake my head, my hands clasping onto the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“too fucking long.” he rips off my bra, my mouth wide from how easily he broke the fabric, a loud groan leaving his mouth as he launches forward to suck my hard, pointed nipples.

my head thrown back as i grind against his jean pants, desperate to relieve the feeling in between my thighs. the tent of his pants brushing roughly against my region making me pull his head closer into my tits.

he pulls away to stare up at me, already looking a little disheveled, as he chuckles slightly, “you’re so fucking needy, who knew a pretty baby with a mouth as big as yours could be so desperate for my cock?”

i whimper at the sound of his patronising voice, my hips moving faster as he speaks but the loss of the soft pad of his tongue of nipples making my eyes water a little.

he grabs my jaw to force me to look at him, his fore finger and his middle finger squeezing together closely as he pushes them towards my lips. “open up, slut.”

i open my mouth for him and he guides his fingers into my mouth and instinctively i suck on them, my eyes slowly fluttering shut and i hum onto them, wishing it was something else.

the tent underneath me twitching even under all this fabric and the hands looped around his neck untie to slowly run down his torso all the way to the zip on his jeans.

“you want it all don’t you baby? you act so tough but really you’re just a whore for me and my dick. it’s not even been five minutes and you’re already scrambling to undo my pants. that’s it baby, let me use all your pretty parts.” i pull them down to reveal his wet boxers and his huge dick.

this man wasn’t just packing a couple inches, it was enough to bruise the back of my throat and my cervix. my eyes light up as i hold it through the cotton of his underwear, drool begging to leave my mouth.

he leans back slowly, his elbows digging into the plush mattress underneath of us as he guides me closer towards his cock, pushing away stray hairs that curl around the frame of my face.

i pull down his boxers for his dick bounce straight up and hit his stomach, pre cum leaking from his bright red, swollen tip. and i hungrily scramble to grab hold of it, his words replaying in my head, i’m just a whore for him.

my hands smooth the veins along the bottom of his dick, slowly making my way up to kiss his oozing tip and i feel his body shudder underneath me. without a second thought, i shove his tip in my mouth and suck his cum off. my mouth hollows and i move my head up and down, determined to get some noise out of his pretty mouth.

“that’s it pretty girl, just like that- mmm” his head is thrown back and his hands come round to cradle my head, pushing me further onto his dick.

i moan which sends vibrations down his cock, his tip growing in my mouth as i swirl my tongue around it, the gagging sounds echoing in the room, riling matt up more and more.

“fucking take it all baby- oh fuck, i know you can” he winces out, the grip on my hair tightening and i smile against the girth of his dick doing exactly what he says, hollowing my mouth and sucking all the way to his bone. his hips shove up to hit the back of my throat and my eyes flutter shut, the full feeling in my throat overwhelming me.

he guides my head by bobbing my head up and down in time with his hip thrusts, the sounds of my gargling getting progressively louder as he becomes more determined to cum down my throat.

a sudden halt to his erotic sounds, i feel my head being pulled up, a ‘pop’ sound coming from my mouth from the sudden loss of his dick in my throat. he laughs, smoothing my cheek with his thumb before gently slapping it and grabbing my chin so i look at him.

“you gonna let me make you feel good?” i frantically nod my head, the heat between my legs practically burning a hole thru my panties now.

“that’s my girl, you’re mine. aren’t you?” i nod and he tuts, “ use your words.”

“i’m yours.” and that’s all he needed before he picks me up like i’m a fucking feather weighing nothing more than a couple pounds and throws me onto the bed whilst he twists around to stand up off the bed, looking down at me.

“you know it, my little slut.” he pulls down my dress finally, he didn’t get to finish underdressing me cause the idea of finally tasting him was too much. but now that i can feel the cold air hitting the most private of places and his glare blazing up and down my body, i feel shy.

my elbows hover over my boobs as i try and scrunch up a little but matt’s hands pry them away and he spreads my legs before discarding my little black dress on the floor, i’m only left with my matching lace panties.

he licks his lips, his glare fixating on the wet patch created on my underwear, just for him. as he holds my thighs apart, he blows gently onto the fabric making it instantly cold and i shift up the bed a little, whimpering.

“this all for me, baby?” he looks up at me, caressing my thighs gently. the cold metal of his rings making my goosebumps more and more apparent.

“mhm.” my eyes flutter shut and i push against the force of matt’s hands, becoming increasingly desperate for any kind of pressure on my pussy. “please.”

“please what?” he smirks, his touch on my thighs now so light you wouldn’t even believe it was there. it was another level of teasing that made the core of your very stomach fuzzy and the lack of any touch adds to the sick feeling you have.

“just do something, anything.” he snaps when i say that, flipping me around quickly so that my body slaps against the mattress, my ass on full show to him, my thing not doing much too cover my the cheeks of my ass.

“i wanna feel the rush, i wanna taste the crush, i wanna get you going.”

the sharp sting of fabric ripping against my delicate skin and sudden gasp mixed with the breaking of sweet lace makes matt chuckle in the background before placing a harsh slap to my ass, sending me into the air as it was so unexpected.

“you gonna be good for me?” he smooths over where he slapped, secretly wishing it will make a bruise.

“yes, yes i’ll be good.” i beg, wanting literally anything.

as his fingers move closer towards my wetness, he suddenly moves away quickly before getting up and searching the room.

i look up and frown, “what the fuck are you doing?” i whisper a little, upset that he looks like he’s about to leave.

he doesn’t say anything but pauses once he gets to the drawer in the closet and laughs before turning around to reveal a belt.

“what are you doing? this isn’t even your room.” i say, relaxing yet still confused.

he walks over to me and forces my chin up at him, “keep speaking in that bratty fucking tone and i will leave you high and dry”

“well you won’t even let me get high so what effect is that gonna have-“ before i could finish my sentence he covers my mouth with one hand and uses the other to turn me around so my head is shoved into the pillows of the bed. he scrambles to grab my hands, pushing them against my back and fiddling with the belt.

“just you fucking wait and see, little angel.” he twists them around my wrists and tightens them so i can’t get out without any help.

his hands letting going of mine before i feel them suddenly exactly where i need them. a singular finger pressing down onto my bundle of nerves and my whole body jumps with just a simple touch, a pornographic moan leaving my mouth.

“does that feel good baby” i whimper back a desperate ‘yes’ and wriggle against the pad of his finger wanting him to move oh, so badly.

“want me to move my hand, darling?” i nod my head frantically hoping he can see me which i gather he can considering the low laugh that leaves his mouth and the sudden movement of his finger dragging down slowly through my folds.

“you want me here?”

“yes, yes. i want you there. i want you to move.”

“you want me to move?”

“please.”

“there it is.” and with that, the gentle movements turned into quick, hard thrusts. his two fingers sliding through my hole at an insane pace, not letting me readjust for one second, making my whole body lift from the bed, my hands shaking in the belt he tied me up in.

the cold metal of his rings mixing with the warm wetness coating his fingers, the sensation was immense. all before he flips me over and presses his mouth onto my clip sending me into fucking sub space.

“oh my fucking god! matt-“

he licks and kisses at my clit at a gentle pace all while his fingers strum in and out of my hole at an alarming speed, it’s a wonder he doesn’t have arm cramp even after one minute.

my ass doesn’t stay on the bed and my whole body is jittering at the sudden overwhelming sensation. the flicks of his tongue and the curving of his fingers making sure he hits my sweet spots makes the bundle in my stomach tighten up.

“please matt, i’m gonna cum!”

he carries on, his feasting at my pussy getting progressively more intense, like a starved man. he enters another finger into my hole, stretching me perfectly so that i am shaped for him.

he breathes against my heat, “let go, baby.”

and with that, i did. sweat running from my back and forehead, my tied hands desperately grabbing onto the leather and my toes clenching over his shoulders.

he licks me clean, pressing one last kiss to my clit which makes me jolt as he laughs a little to himself seeing my messy figure on the bed.

“you did so well, baby.” i smile at him, his head coming close to mine to kiss my lips.

“now you gonna help me out sweetheart?”

i nod and he turns me around to take me out of the tied belts and he kisses the red marks from where i pulled against the restraint. “you liked these?” i shake my head and he laughs.

i pull myself up from the bed and onto matt’s lap to face him, i latch my lips onto his and hook my hands around his neck pulling him closer to me. my naked body fitting perfectly around his warm body.

he moves his hands down my body, caressing my curves and humming against our kiss as i pull away and look down to stroke his dick to which he kisses and pulls himself into my neck.

i move myself up his body to push myself down onto his hard shaft, as he winces and throws his head backwards, moaning my name.

i pull at his hairs and rock my hips against him and watch his demeanour change as his hips desperately rutt against mine and i forcefully push my hands onto his thighs so that he’s restricted.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he groans as my grinding against him slows.

“taking control.” his eyes widen and i push myself up further so that i can plunge further onto his dick. my nails digging into his thighs as i watch his breathing get faster and moans leave his mouth.

“that’s not - ngh- how it works.” he argues with me which doesn’t last for long when i start to kiss his neck and suck on the lobes of ears in which his thrusts up into me become more persistent.

“i’m gonna cum-“

“not until i cum.” i say, chasing my high with him as i hear him whine into my ear, panting a little too.

“please, just let me.” he hugs me closer, my boobs crushed against his chest as he begins to rocks back and forth with me, moaning and groaning with his head in the air. so much for tough guy, huh?

“cum with me.” i bounce up and down as he thrusts up into me for the last time before releasing his cum, painting my walls as it oozes out of me as i collapse onto the bed next to us.

our heavy breathing and hearts beating is the only thing that can be heard.

matt’s hand slowly moves to bring me closer to him, i smile as i look up at his tired state.

“you changed quickly, mr tough guy to oh please! please, let me cum! “ he shakes his head and covers my mouth.

“shut up, you wouldn’t fucking let me .”

i laugh at him and he picks me up to squeeze me, so much for being enemies, huh?

“so-“

“you’re mine now right? like for real?” he’s not looking at me, rather picking at his nails.

i giggle and press my head against his forehead and nod, “of course.”

hope you all liked !! too many fucking words :)

tags: @wisteral @evieolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @estelleswrld @recklessmatt @recklesssturniolo @realuvrrr @urfavstromboli @obscurechris @poopydroopt @plasticferal @lilasturns @lovingmattysposts @m4ttslvr @mattandmilds @muwapsturniolo @mattsgirlfriendlol @kirby0strombolli @kvtie2 @kikisturnioloo @kqyslyho3 @klarasmith @sturnioloshacker @strniohoeee @sturniolopepsi @sturniolosstar @sturniolossmut @mattslolita @zooweemamas @chrattenthusiast @chrissgirlsstuff @bernardsbendystraws @ducksturniolo @dsturniolo @deatthmatch @fruitglazed @hearts4sturniolo @hawaiihasmyheart @heartsforchrisandmatt @hoesformatt @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @inlovewchris @ihateeveryone357474 @ilovemattsturn @nicksmainbitch @noellesturniolo @yurtrrrr @mattsgirlfriendlol @mattsfaked

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice

VA! MC x OM! Characters

"Hey Levi, any new game recommendations for me? I just finished the last lot of books Satan suggested." You asked, plopping down your head on his shoulder to look at his screen.

"M-MC! You have to warn me before you do such things!" He muttered, his ears turning red as he scrolled some webpages pages for you. "But okay yeah these are the new games that are out recently... see anything you like?"

"Oh my God! It's out it's out!" You pointed excitedly at the screen. "Pretty Little Things is out! Finally!! I was dying to tell you all about it!"

Levi visibly stiffened up. "You-you were waiting for this particular game to come out? Are you sure it's not another game with a similar sounding name?"

"Nah uh this is the exact same one. Look up the list of voice actors in this game!"

"WHAT?! MC WHY IS YOUR NAME IN HERE?????"

"Yes! This was the new part-time job I couldn't tell you about since it was still in production! Im so glad you can just play it now!"

"...it's uh ready for download on all platforms already...so which character did voice?"

"Oh spoiler alert, my character is the only one that doesn't have a name, you have assign me one, the same way you name yourself. They even designed the characters to resemble all the VA's and add in some of their personalities, isn't that sweet?"

"Hahaha y-yeah definitely sweet! I'll be sure to check it out soon!"

"Great! Lemme know what you think of the game okay?!" You squeezed him in a small hug before you left.

Later in the Demon Brothers only group chat:

Levi: Code Red! Code Red! ASHSKSHSKSKSJJSKKS

Mammon: WHAT WHAT THAT MEANS AN MC RELATED EMERGENCY RIGHT??

Asmo: OMG are they OKAY?? Should I go check up on them in their room!?!

Satan: I'm already on my way.

Mammon: NOT BEFORE ME YOU'RE NOT!

Belphie: Is MC hurt in anyway?

Beel: Did they pass out from hunger?! I can bring them emergency snacks right away

Lucifer: Can you lot not lose your minds everytime MC is mentioned? Pathetic. Levi, calm down and tell us what's wrong.

Beel: But Lucifer I just saw you hurrying up the stairs to MC's room too...

Satan: Typical Lucifer. By the way, MC is perfectly fine, happy even. Levi what are you on about?

Mammon: Yeah MC can't stop smiling! It's a good thing that happened, you idiot! Why would you scare us like that?

Asmo: Omg apparently MC voice acted in a new game! Levi I need you to download it for me ASAP please!

Beel: Me too, please.

Belphie: Me three.

Lucifer: I've already done it, you all can do it yourselves if you could do your own work for once.

Satan: Oh shut up, MC just did it for you right now as they did it for me.

Levi: It's a Dating Simulator. With multiple H-rated DLC endings. And MC is one of the dateables.

...

Levi: Hello?!! Did you guys not see my message?!

Levi: Seriously no reaction?! You guys aren't freaked out by this?!?

Beel: I just heard several doors opening and closing at once.

Asmo: Oh come Levi, I think you already know what our reaction is Levi ♥️ How can we possibly hold in our excitement after such a news!?

Levi: Are you all downloading the game together?!!! Y'all are hogging the bandwidth too much, my download speed has gone way down!!

Simeon: Hey

Simeon: I heard some demons in a cafe, raving about a game where MC plays one of the main characters?

Solomon: Indeed MC just sent us all a link right now.

Simeon: Oh is that so? I'll get Luke to help me download it after he's done with his.

Levi: Luke is playing it too?! I don't think it's appropriate given it's certain hidden endings!!

Barbatos: MC already made sure of it. He only has access to the sibling and friendship routes. It's a special version they added for all ages.

Diavolo: It already has downloads in the ten thousands. I'm really glad to see how MC is beloved by Devildom.

Levi: Are NONE of you affected by the fact that there are erotic routes with MC's VOICE?!!

Solomon: Oh I personally cannot wait hear my adorable apprentice's performance.

Barbatos: Ahem. I'd rather not comment on it.

Simeon: Same.

Diavolo: Same.

Levi: Sigh. We really are just a helpless lot at the mercy of MC.

To be continued...

[buckybabesonly]

Heart of Glass

Summary: You hate it when Bucky is mad, but it's a thousand times worse when you're the one he's mad at.

Pairing: Bucky x female!Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Insecure reader, self-deprecation, self-harm (?)

A/N: I love stories like these so thought I'd take a stab at it. Please do leave feedback, they are always encouraging!

Length: 4.8k

It had taken Bucky a long time to open up to you. His journey of being able to face what he had done as the Winter Soldier was long and arduous, and still ongoing. He had vivid nightmares, ones which alleviated in frequency over the course of the last few years, but which still sometimes made an unwelcome appearance.

His own healing was a work in progress, so it was no surprise that it was still a struggle for him to divulge certain aspects to you. He found it difficult letting himself be vulnerable, even around people he trusted, and insight into his past had been offered to you in scattered pieces.

You had been patient, although you wished that Bucky would feel comfortable revealing more. You never judged him, and you just wanted to help and do your part in the recovery process, if you could. It was much worse hearing the exacerbated, hateful stories of the Winter Soldier from other people’s mouths - the Internet was a horrid place, and whilst there were still a lot of people who supported Bucky Barnes and the Avengers in general, there were just as many people who would not forgive him for being the Winter Soldier.

You knew that you shouldn’t have done what you did. You and Bucky had been together for just over a year, friends for three times that long. It hadn’t all been flowers and rainbows - it had been a tumultuous relationship and you had had your ups and downs, but at the end of the day, you knew you had found your person. You were both learning and growing together, navigating the tougher obstacles in your relationship with enthusiasm. You had finally found someone you were truly madly in love with, and you felt so lucky.

It wasn’t easy, working for S.H.I.E.L.D as an agent which was a demanding career in itself, and dating someone who was almost in constant danger and carrying out often life-threatening missions. But you made it work. Getting to love Bucky and have him love you back was worth anything, and you loved being able to see him smile and, what’s more, being his reason to smile.

On the same token, you hated seeing him unhappy. It was the most devastating feeling in the world, in times when he was disappointed in himself, or when he had woken up from a particularly bad nightmare, or after one of his mandated therapy sessions. 

The worst thing was seeing him mad. And it’s a thousand times worse when you’re the one he’s mad at.

You knew that you shouldn’t have done it. You felt guilty as you passed your colleagues desk and your eyes naturally flickered to a familiar name in recognition. BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN.

You frowned slightly, realizing that his file was on a pile alongside a couple of other familiar names. It wasn’t unusual for another agent to have his file out, particularly if he was looking into specific incidents that Bucky may have been involved in the past, but you had never actually seen it in front of you before.

Of course, it would have been easy for you to find the file and look for yourself. Everything had electronic copies these days, or you could have grabbed the physical copies from the archive. But you had never done it, as it just didn’t feel right. Reading up on your boyfriend’s past like his life was a history book.

Still, despite yourself, you paused. You found your hand reaching out and you took a deep breath of momentary hesitation before you flicked open the file. 

An assortment of photos and documents were stacked neatly inside. You couldn’t help it as you found your eyes consuming the information, flicking from page to page. The guilt was building in your gut the longer you spent, standing slightly crouched over the desk, consuming the information with an uncomfortable lump in your throat.

You wanted to cry. You felt your hate for HYDRA increase ten-fold, thinking about all the pain they inflicted on Bucky to manipulate him into their own personal killing machine, thinking about how they had simply made him hurt all those people. Bucky often had the most stoic, cool exterior, but you knew inside he was just your soft, gentle boyfriend. The most beautiful man you knew had been forced to be an assassin against his will.

And now he had to live with the consequences. It’s so unfair, you thought as tears of anger pricked your eyes. You were a very empathetic person, especially when it came to him, and you found yourself feeling quietly furious.

You slammed the file shut, conflicted emotions making you feel both angry and guilty. You always had an idea of what HYDRA had made Bucky do, of course, but actually consuming the detail within his file had made it come to life in your mind. All you wanted during the course of your time with Bucky was to get a better view from his shoes, if only to help you relate a bit more to his suffering. You loved him so much and you wanted nothing more than to help him.

At the same time, you knew it wasn’t right, snooping like this. You always told yourself to just wait, and eventually Bucky would trust you enough to share everything. 

You started to wonder if you had done something wrong as you slowly walked away from the desk, nibbling your bottom lip. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning as the contents of the file plagued your mind. You decided you would have to come clean to Bucky about this.

“What?” Bucky said quietly, cocking his head to the side as if he really had genuinely misheard you. However, as you studied the look in his eyes, you knew that he had heard every word.

“I know it was wrong. Bucky, I’m - “

“If you knew it was wrong, then why did you do it?” Bucky interrupted, his eyebrows drawing together as he frowned. Anger was starting to distort his face, and he kept his voice quiet and low.

You were mute for a long minute, your cheeks flushing as he stared at you, waiting for you to speak. You were both stood in your bedroom, you with your back against the window and his against the door. The distance between you felt painful.

“Do you know what a violation of my privacy that is?” he continued when you didn’t speak, his jaw twitching.

“I was just trying to - just trying to understand,” you said, trying to find the right words. “I just thought that if I knew what they did to you, then I could help you.”

“How would you be able to help?” Bucky was furious, but in that quiet, almost calm way that frightened you the most. His brow was slightly furrowed, corners of lips turned down into a frown, but the biggest giveaway was his clenched fists. They were shaking almost impercetibly.

It was scarier when he didn’t raise his voice, and your fingers twitched uncomfortably by your sides, wanting to reach out to him.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I thought that if I could understand what happened, then maybe I could help with your nightmares, help talk to you about the past.”

Bucky exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “Are you my therapist? What were you hoping to do, read my entire past and diagnose me?” He regarded you with a look of bewilderment and fury.

“No, I - “

“No, listen,” Bucky said, frustration rising in his throat, breaking his barely composed facade. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? There’s a reason why I didn’t tell you everything at my own pace, and you went behind my back and fucking investigated me? How do you think that makes me feel? You couldn’t even respect me enough to let me tell you out of my own choice!”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You knew you had fucked up majorly. He was glaring at you, waiting for you to say something.

“I’m so sorry, Buck. I really didn’t have any bad intentions, I just - “

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky spat out. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t have any bad intentions. You think I’m proud of what I did as the fucking Winter Soldier? It haunts me, and I have to live with him for the rest of my fucking life. I - I trusted you, and you betrayed it.”

I let out a slight whimper at his words, knowing the venomous words he was spitting out was completely true. 

“I have to fight so hard, every day, not to fall apart with the knowledge and memories of what the Winter Soldier did, what I did.” 

“Bucky, please,” you said, taking a step forward, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that, I am so, so sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, moving away from me and lifting his hands as a warning. “Don’t. Just - don’t.”

He turned his back, making to leave. 

“Can we just talk about this?” you asked desperately, not wanting him to go. You were terrified that he wouldn’t come back.

“I need some space,” Bucky said sharply without turning to look back at you. He left and pulled the door shut with such force that you jumped, tears finally escaping.

You had no idea how you were going to fix this.

Bucky and you had one rule. Never go to bed angry at each other.

It was a rule you had instigated. You hated going to bed whilst you were in the throes of a fight, and the first time you had argued - something petty, really - you had pouted at Bucky and demanded that you make up. 

He was relieved at that time as it was such a silly fight and he was anxious that you would give him the silent treatment. But he laughed as you jumped into his arms, kissing his cheek and letting him know all was forgiven.

“New rule - we can’t go to bed angry at each other,” you had announced at the time.

“Yes, my liege,” Bucky had responded.

Bucky wasn’t answering your calls or texts. You left 15 voicemails and 24 text messages, all apologizing and asking him to talk. You knew you should give him space, as it was only fair for him to digest what had happened and process, but you felt like you couldn’t function.

You wanted him by your side so you could apologize over and over again and tell him, genuinely, how regretful you were.

There was no excuse. Your face was tear-stained and eyes puffy as you paced your apartment, the clock having struck midnight a long time ago, with no sight of Bucky.

When four AM rolled round, you finally passed out on the couch whilst waiting for him. When your alarm rudely woke you up at seven, you startled and immediately ran into the bedroom, although you knew he wouldn’t be there.

The bed was empty, still made from the previous morning and untouched.

You could cry all over again.

You hurried to get ready nonetheless, and made your way to the Avengers Tower. You were involved in some S.H.I.E.L.D projects that were being hosted there, and you knew it was the place Bucky was most likely to be.

You checked your phone obsessively on the way to the Tower. No calls or messages from Bucky.

You groaned internally. He had never ignored you like this before. The gravity of the situation was slowly growing heavier and heavier - he was your Bucky, the one who always took care of you and worried over you and was by your side almost 24/7 whenever he wasn’t out on a mission, but now he was actively avoiding you. 

More and more fear started to creep into the mix alongside the guilt. Would Bucky leave you over this?

When you arrived at the Tower, you expected it to be a lot harder to find him than it was. But he was in the training room, the first place you looked.

“Bucky,” you said quietly as soon as you saw him. He was serving blows mercilessly to a punching bag hung from the ceiling, as if he needed the practice. You knew he was letting off steam. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair hanging over his forehead in sweaty tendrils, his face slightly red. 

Bucky barely even flinched. He didn’t acknowledge you at all, eyes never leaving the bag in front of him.

“Can we talk?” you asked tentatively. 

No response.

“Bucky, if you don’t reply, I’m just going to start talking at you, and I really don’t want to do that,” you said. All you wanted him to do was at least look at you.

Bucky stopped then and you heaved a sigh of relief. But instead of speaking, he simply wrapped a towel around his shoulders and turned his back on you, leaving out of the door on the other side of the room.

You felt rocks fall to the bottom of your stomach, and the urge to cry reared its ugly head yet again.

Bucky hadn’t spoken to you for two days. He hadn’t returned to your apartment for two days.

You had cried all of those days. You tried to find him and corner him to make him face you, but after that day in the training room, he had really been avoiding you. You had only seen him once in those two days, and he immediately disappeared as soon as he saw you.

It hurt so much. Like someone had stabbed you and, what’s more, was twisting the handle. 

You knew you deserved it. You had really hurt Bucky, but part of you was still terrified of what he would do. How long would he wait until he decided to speak to you again? Was he going to break up with you?

You didn’t know how to fix it. You were ashamed to tell Sam, even though you wanted to ask his advice on what to do. You had done something so bad that you didn’t want to face his disappointment, too, although you were certain Bucky may have already told him.

Still, it hurt so bad. All you wanted Bucky to do was hug you and tell you it was alright, instead you were met with indifference and the back of his head. He wouldn’t even look at you. 

You would rather he shouted at you, screamed at you, anything to actually make him talk and acknowledge your existence. But he continued to ice you out, and your heart was breaking.

Bucky knew he loved you even before you officially became a couple. He loved how funny you were, how hard working you were, how you always listened to his side of the story, how you took care of him and patiently explained anything to him that he still didn’t quite understand about the modern world.

There were a lot of great women, but to Bucky, you had stood out. From day one, you had cared about him. Little things, like asking about his favorite songs from the 40s, making sure his head was covered with your umbrella when it was raining even though your shoulder was getting wet, ensuring he got three solid meals a day and that his favorite snacks were stored in the pantry.

Bigger things, too, like letting him share the burden of his past with you without ever a word of judgment or disdain, encouraging him to visit his parents’ grave on the anniversary of their death and making the journey with him, sharing memories of Steve whenever Bucky was missing him. You were his rock, and he felt like he had mined the most precious diamond.

He knew he could tell you anything, but his sordid past as the Winter Soldier was still something he was trying to overcome himself. He was ashamed, and part of him was worried that you would suddenly think less of him. See him as the monster that he used to be, the monster that he sometimes saw himself as.

He hated the thought of poisoning your mind with unsavory images of himself and the knowledge of what he had done.

He was so angry to know that you saw his file. But the majority of his feelings came from the fact that he was so laden with guilt. He didn’t want you to know the ugly truth when all you had seen of him so far was the better version of himself that he was trying to be.

How could he forget his past when you knew every disgusting detail now, too? When you had now also seen the faces of all the people he had killed?

At the same time, he believed you when you said you were just trying to help. That was just your nature. He knew that you genuinely thought if you understood, you could offer assistance and ease his silent torment.

But anger prevailed, and he found himself ignoring you for days, even though he felt so immature doing it. He just couldn’t face you right now, even as you stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He could barely avoid meeting your gaze and instead chose to turn away completely, as if pretending you weren’t there would alleviate the pain. He was afraid that if he looked at you a little too long, his resolve would shatter.

It was exceptionally poor timing that your birthday rolled around after five days of total radio silence from Bucky. You had forgotten, actually, until you entered the Tower and a fellow agent had wished you a happy birthday. 

You gave her a weak smile as you muttered some made up plans about how you would be celebrating. 

You wanted to burst out crying when you saw Bucky that morning, in the kitchen at the Tower.

He was leaning against the kitchen island, a smile on his face, a smile you hadn’t seen for almost a week. He was talking to an agent, a decent girl you had worked with before. You liked her, actually, as did a lot of people. He was talking to her about something, looking more relaxed than you had seen him since you had the fight.

He hadn’t noticed you as you observed the two of them. You didn’t think anything flirtatious was going on, but still, it hurt to see him smiling softly at someone else when he hadn’t paid you any attention for so long.

Part of you wasn’t sure if Bucky was going to speak to you today. But it was your birthday, after all - he always made a big deal out of it, asking you what you wanted to do and making sure you got a cake and flowers and all the romantic works. He always told you that you were his greatest gift, and so he couldn’t miss celebrating the day that you were brought into the world.

If he didn’t speak to you today, you think you would be sick.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize the agent Bucky was talking to was leaving, and as she walked past you, you felt Bucky’s eyes on you. You met his gaze hesitantly, blinking wordlessly.

He paused, and you could almost see the gears turning in his brain as he decided what to do.

His smile dissipated, and he turned his back on you.

When you returned home that night, you cried your eyes out. You sat on the couch forlornly, staring at the door, half-expecting him to burst through at any moment with an apology and kisses waiting to be pressed onto your lips.

Midnight struck, and you went to bed alone.

Six days.

Bucky had not spoken to you in six days, and honestly, he felt like shit.

He had never been so angry at you before, but he was surprised at himself that his silent streak had lasted so long. To be honest, the time had passed quickly, as he had kept himself as busy as possible. 

As Bucky came down from his angry high, the feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed him at the thought of you being unhappy. He knew that this period of time would be tough on you, although he stood by his point that you should not have read his file behind his back, especially as you knew how sensitive he was about his past.

And yet, ultimately, he recalled that you only had his best interests at heart, even if you were going about it the wrong way. He sighed as he approached the Tower elevator, stepping inside just as Sam came running down the hallway, shouting at him to hold.

Bucky stabbed the close door button repeatedly, cursing as Sam slid past just in the nick of time, punching him playfully.

“You in a mood, princess?” he snickered, taking note of the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes. “You been up all night with your girl?”

Bucky let out a tsk. He sighed as the elevator descended.

“No. Haven’t spoken to her actually,” he admitted.

“Woah, wait. What do you mean?” Sam asked when he realized Bucky was being serious.

“Had a fight,” Bucky said reluctantly.

Sam frowned lightly. “On her birthday?”

Bucky froze as he opened his mouth to clarify that the fight had began a few days ago. His mind racked to confirm today’s date.

Shit. It was your birthday yesterday.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky said, head lolling back to bash against the glass elevator wall. 

“You okay, man?” Sam asked, clearly concerned.

“I messed up,” he sighed in response, pinching the bridge of his nose. God, now he wanted to cry. How could he do this to you? He was already beginning to feel like he’d gone overboard with his reaction as the days passed and the red haze of anger dissolved from his eyes, clouding his better judgment, but now he truly felt like he had gone about everything so wrongly. 

You had always gone on about the importance of communication in a relationship, and how you both needed to work together to overcome any challenges, and that one of the things you valued the most was being open and honest.

He imagined you sat alone at home, on your birthday, waiting expectantly for him to turn up. 

His chest hurt.

You lay down in bed as the sun set, darkness filling the room.

You had the covers over your head as the tears wet your pillow, your head hurting so much from all the crying and dehydration.

Your world was truly coming down around you. You were about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to you. Bucky was going to leave you, and it was your fault. The past few days had really unveiled your most deep rooted fear, that the love of your life was going to abandon you.

“You’re so stupid,” you whispered to yourself. “So stupid. So fucking stupid.”

You ignored the incessant buzzing of your phone. Your friends had been calling you since your birthday yesterday, concerned that you hadn’t picked up even once. You didn’t care. If Bucky wasn’t here, then you just wanted to be alone.

You always knew you weren’t good enough for him. Always knew that he would leave you eventually. Out of all the people in the world, what on earth would make him choose you?

You threw the covers off of you as a new surge of rage overwhelmed you. 

“You are so fucking stupid!” you screamed out loud, letting the anger seep through your body, expel through your lungs. You stormed over to your mirror and punched the glass once, twice, until it cracked and sliced your knuckles, blood trickling immediately over your hand.

Bucky was going to leave you. 

Your knees buckled and you collapsed onto the floor, head hanging as tears dripped down onto the carpet. 

“So stupid,” you continued in a whisper. “So useless, so stupid, so -”

“What the fuck are you doing?” came a loud voice, and your head snapped up with such speed that your head spun.

Bucky was standing in the open doorway, expression aghast as he took in the sight of you. Red, swollen eyes, bleeding hand, sitting in front of the broken mirror.

“Bucky,” you said weakly, voice trembling. He had come back to break up with you.

You always knew he would do it eventually. Your relationship was too good to be true.

“Oh my god,” Bucky hissed as he darted forward, moving down on his knees to join you and gently lifting your wounded hand. “What have you done?”

You started to cry again, feeling so pathetic. Bucky shook his head, eyes frantic.

“No, no, no, doll, please don’t cry,” he said, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry,” you garbled, voice thick with guilt. “I know I fucked up, I know. I’m so sorry Bucky. Please don’t leave me.”

The desperation in your voice broke Bucky’s heart. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you as tight as he could without hurting you, pressing his lips against the top of your head.

“Listen to me. I’m not going to leave you,” he said firmly. He pulled back and studied your face carefully, trying to keep his voice steady for your sake. “I need to patch you up, okay?”

You sniffled, nodding once before he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. He reappeared with a first aid kit, kneeling down once more and inspecting your hand.

“Why did you do that, doll?” he murmured, a pained look in his eyes as he began to clean you up. It wasn’t a serious injury, just a scratch compared to some of the other battle wounds you had received in the past, but the idea that you had done that to yourself made Bucky so sad.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I’m just - I don’t know. I’m so angry at myself. Please will you forgive me? For everything?”

Bucky’s eyes welled up as he paused with his tending to your hand, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. You were the most important person in the world to him and he had been pushing you away, had completely forgotten your birthday, and you had hurt yourself because of him when all you wanted was to help him.

“I forgive you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” you insisted as he resumed cleaning your wound. You could see his eyes were wet, and you were nonplussed at why that would be.

“Yes, there is,” Bucky said, wearing a look of shame that you didn’t understand. “I know that your heart is always in the right place. Instead of talking to you about it, I just shut you out. No matter how angry I was, I shouldn’t have done that. I hurt you.”

He worked quickly, bandaging your hand and slowly holding your wrist after. His solemn blue eyes finally met yours.

“I love you so much. I should have stayed to talk, but I just… left. I shouldn't have done that.” He took a deep breath. “I walked away because I couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing everything. Knowing all the people I’ve killed - some of them innocent people. Read about how cold I was, the - the complete lack of mercy I showed. I am a monster.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, lifting your good hand to tenderly touch his face. You were hesitant, as if you were afraid he would withdraw from your touch. Instead, he leaned against your palm, eyes closed. He turned to press a kiss into your hand.

“I thought - “ you began, taking a deep breath at the insecurity and uncertainty that still plagued you. “I thought you were going to break up with me.”

Bucky’s eyes opened to stare at you forlornly, as if hurt that you would even have this thought.

“Never,” he said firmly. “You have no idea how much I have missed you.”

You launched yourself into his arms then, willing Bucky’s strong arms to encircle you. He did just that, holding you close as you sobbed quietly into his shoulder. 

“Let me make it up to you, okay?” Bucky murmured. “Belated birthday celebration.”

“It’s enough that you’re here,” you whispered.

You still had a lot to talk about, but you felt so much better now that Bucky was standing by your side again. Maybe everything was going to be alright.

[phantomarine]

Clam's Quick Tips for Starting Your Very First Webcomic

Howdy! Here are the three bits of advice I tend to give people who ask me about getting into webcomic-making. Maybe they can help you jump into the fray with a little less fear.

1) Make Your First Chapter a Pilot Episode

You will be told by webcomic veterans to start with a short, simple comic idea first - which is wise - but if all you can think about is your big magnum opus, then you might as well hop in, right? Otherwise you'll just be glancing back at the other cooler project forever.

But if you can't start with a small simple story, start on a small, simple part of that larger story. Your first chapter should be a snapshot of the main conflict - show us a simple scene with few characters, ease us in slowly, keep things clear and focus on emotion/impact/clarity. Get the audience to care by offering something easily digested, but full of promise.

Once you're done with that 'pilot' chapter, and you're feeling more comfortable with the whole comic process, you can open the gates and show us the larger world. At that point, you'll be way more ready.

2) Simplify Your Art Style For Your Own Sanity

Always try to make your webcomic's art style as simple as possible - the standard rule is to use only 75% of your artistic skill for every comic page you make. Otherwise you will burn out quickly and terribly.

But you also need to be PROUD of your art style. If you're really feeling itchy, add a couple bells and whistles to your style so you can look at the finished page and say "Yeah, looks cool." You'll find the right balance the more you draw.

Also, don't be afraid to change your art style as you go along. Ultimate consistency is often impossible in webcomics anyway - so embrace your desire to try new things, streamline your work, whatever you feel needs to happen to be happiest. Sometimes the coolest part of reading a webcomic is noticing that style change - so don't hesitate to embrace it!

3) Resist the Reboot! RESIST!

The curse/blessing of drawing the same things over and over is that you'll inevitably get better at drawing those things. The trouble comes when you look back at old stuff and start thinking "Damn, I could draw that way better now."

You must recognize that this feeling never goes away. Not after a hundred pages. Not after three hundred. Not after a thousand.

I think everyone should be allowed one soft reboot for their first webcomic. Redraw some panels that bother you. Change up some dialogue if it doesn't make sense with your new story ideas. Do maintenance, basically. One of the beauties of webcomics is that they can be easily edited, without reprinting a whole book or remaking a whole game.

But if the ultimate purpose of a webcomic is to tell a story, then constant reboots will just be retelling the same story - slightly better each time, but the same at its core. We've heard it before. Most audiences would rather you save your strength and just keep going, rather than circling back year after year and going "Wait wait wait! I'll do it better this time."

Reboot early, not often, and only when you absolutely must! You're a storyteller, and you're constantly getting better at telling your story. Don't be ashamed of it - look back how much ground you've covered, and keep walking!

---

That's a good start. Happy webcomicking - don't be afraid to jump in, but be prepared to learn a lot very quickly. And if this advice doesn't work for you or adhere to how you did it, that's absolutely fine - webcomics are diverse by nature, and so are their creation processes. Feel out what works best for you, and good luck!

[teleit]

Sometimes I hate this show, and then I come to my senses and just despise it

I'm a feminist because I'm a woman and deserve all rights and opportunities. But this show, I swear to God, does everything it can to make me feel like a terrible person.

The show's adult Rhaenyra is just…ugh. There were a thousand ways to transfer her personality, actions, and decisions from page to screen, and the writers chose the worst possible one. Somehow, they managed to strip her of her personal qualities while simultaneously filling her to the brim with other people's accomplishments.

Young Rhaenyra was practically perfect, given the changes the writers made to the book plot. She was a young, capricious, selfish girl whose world collapsed in an instant, and she had to find her way on her own. She was unpleasant, nasty, mocking, charismatic, charming, sweet - and very real. Her actions could be condemned or supported, she was interesting to watch, and I loved her. Not everything Rhaenyra did was to my liking, but when she was on screen, I watched her without taking my eyes off.

Adult Rhaenyra is literally Frankenstein's monster, assembled from incomprehensible junk from the attic of Condall and Hess. She does not have a drop of the charm that young Rhaenyra had, as if they were written by completely different people. Every questionable action of hers is whitewashed, 90% of her decisions and achievements are recycled and reused plots of other characters from the books, any actions are extolled to the skies. It's like eating cold unsalted French fries, you feel punished for some unknown sins by tasteless crap.

I want to love Rhaenyra, I really tried the entire half of the first season and whole second to feel at least a little love for this homunculus, but it is simply impossible. Just when I'm starting to sympathize with Rhaenyra grieving so heartbreakingly for her son and wanting justice, and getting involved in show, the writers decide to indulge their nun fetish and have Rhaenyra dress up as a septa and go talk to Alicent about some useless bullshit. One minute she's not afraid to defend her opinion, the next she's playing Mother of Dragons 2.0 (Vermithor scene was indescribable cringe, as was posing with a goofy grin with three dragons while Aemond scampers away with his bloodthirsty granny). Here's Rhaenyra having a great dialogue scene with her son, and here she is kissing a SA victim who just shared her tragic backstory, but don't worry, it's very romantic and everyone is happy.

And it wouldn't be nearly as bad as it feels if Rhaenyra were like young Rhaenyra, whose flaws were real and not smoothed over by the constant reminder that this woman was the best thing to happen to the world since the invention of latte macchiato. Young Rhaenyra, if she were in the sept with Alicent, would have yelled at the woman, risked getting caught, and wouldn't have been shy about reminding Jace who was in charge and that he had no right to scold her. Would she have been right, or smart in her actions? Still no, but she wouldn't be hailed as fair, peaceful and perfect - she'd be a selfish, confused, grieving woman who'd lost so much and was desperately trying to figure out how to salvage what was left and take back what was taken.

The show does everything it can to make me despise Rhaenyra. She's selfish, self-righteous, smug, arrogant, delusional, self-important, dumb as a rock, spineless, one-dimensional cheap knockoff of Daenerys from the early seasons of Game of Thrones. And the worst part is that all of these qualities would be interesting if the show would just stop holding me by the balls and demanding that I must love and adore her for every little thing because Rhaenyra is always right, the best girl in the world, worthy of all praise, and perfect to the core. Let me decide for myself whether I want to like a character or not, because unlike some people, I have an IQ above room temperature and can empathize with a complex, ambiguous character with adult morals, not just Bloom from Winx in a white wig.

I constantly have to remind myself that it's okay to dislike a female character if she's written terribly, and that doesn't make me a bad person.

Ps. Still not native speaker and dgaf about mistakes, english can suck my imaginary dick; apparently somehow part of text was translate in my native language wtf

[nabinabipumpum]

𖦹 DON’T LEAVE ME, PLEASE ᴺⁱⁿᵍ ʸⁱᶻʰᵘᵒ ˣ ᶠ!ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Pairing - Ning Yizhuo(NingNing) x f!reader

Genre - Fluff and angst

Warnings - fights, mentions of breaking up, slight swearing, breach of trust(?), second chance

Synopsis: After a stressful month, a week off with your girlfriend seems perfect, but all your expectations for the week fall when she just wants to hang out with her friends.

A/N: I did this sleepily, so sorry if it's not very good, plus I've never written angst before. Sorry for any writing errors, English is not my first language and I’m not fluent

You sighed as you finally opened the door to your apartment, after a day of work, all you wanted was to finally get some well-deserved rest, good news was that you would have a week off, even better news was that Ning would be there too, no. It couldn't get any better than that, right?

You took off your shoes smiling, but he fell slightly after hearing more than one voice coming from the room, well, your girlfriend always brought her friends home after work, just to talk and eat something, it wasn't any different. You took slow steps into the living room as you looked at the four girls, your girlfriend was the first to notice you and smiled so wide, you felt all the stress leaving your body just by seeing her smiling.

"Dear!" She got up and ran to hug you.

“Hi angel.” you wrapped your arms around her as you inhaled her scent, it certainly hadn't been long since she got out of the shower as her hair was damp at the ends.

“Y/n! Good to see you.” Ning let go of you just enough to smile at her friend.

“It’s good to see you too.” you smiled, seeing Giselle smile back while Karina did the same, Winter had her mouth full of food.

“Your hair looks so beautiful.”

“Thank you Unnie.” you smiled and then turned to your girlfriend “Can we talk for a minute.”

"Of course! I will be back in a moment." she warns and drags you to the kitchen “Are you hungry?”

“No, I already ate.” she just nodded and waited for you to say “You didn’t tell me you were going to bring them here.” She let go of your hand.

“This again? They are my friends, sometimes I want to spend time with them.” She crossed her arms and you just sighed.

“That's not the problem, but I just wanted you to let me know, you know? It’s been a rough week, I thought we could just relax together today.” she looked down.

“Well, we can do that when they get out anyway.” you agreed.

“I’m going to take a shower.” you left the kitchen and on the way said goodnight to the three girls before heading down the hall and into your room.

You took a hot shower and changed into comfortable pajamas, finally crawling into bed with a new book.

You don't know exactly how long it was before NingNing entered the room, but you had read a lot of pages so you just assumed it was a long time. The girl lay down next to you and took out her cell phone, you told yourself to finish this chapter before talking to her, it's your law that you follow to the letter. As soon as you finished, you placed the book on the dresser and turned lightly to your girlfriend, who seemed too engrossed in social media.

“Hey,” you walked over and placed a light kiss on her cheeks, “you look beautiful.” She smiled lightly and looked at you.

“It took you a while to say that today, thank you.” she sealed her lips with yours and you smiled showing your teeth.

"Serious? I’ve already told you that five times today.” she laughed and hugged you “I miss you so much, baby.”

“Then let’s stay like this all night, you’re so comfortable.”

“I would never reject that.” She looked at you and brought your lips together again, in a calm and tender kiss, like she always did before going to sleep. One of your hands cupped her cheek, bringing her closer, as you enjoyed the moment you waited for so long and it felt a thousand times better than in your thoughts, the feeling of Ning's warmth on you gave you goosebumps as one of her hands stroked your back. You separated to breathe a little.

“God, I love you so much Y/n.” You smiled and caressed her cheek.

“I love you so much, Yizhuo.”

You slept happily, cuddled up with NingNing, all your problems were gone while you were in your girlfriend's arms. The constant work ended up not letting you have a long conversation or a affectionate and relaxing moment with each other, you certainly value the days off for finally being where you feel like you would always belong, next to Ning Yizhuo.

In the morning, you and your girlfriend cook together, laughing and sometimes kissing, you can't stay away from her for long.

In the afternoon, you were ready to order something for the two of you, until you entered the room and saw her finishing her makeup.

“Are you going out?” You asked, going to sit on the bed as you watched her.

“I’m going to a cafe with the girls.” you agreed as you lowered your head.

“What time will you be back?” she looked at you as you just played with your fingers.

“I won’t be long, maybe at five, I’ll let you know anything.” you agreed and looked at her, now she was getting up to get her bag and her keys.

“Okay, have fun.” you smiled and she walked up to you, her lips joining yours for a few seconds.

"I love you."

"I love you."

You weren't sad about it, surely the next day she would reward you like she always does, you were looking forward to it, so you tried as much as possible to make time pass quickly until Yizhuo came back and you could have one more moment with her.

It was after five o'clock and she still hadn't arrived or sent a message, you sent one to her but she didn't see it and that made you worried. You sent her about ten messages before calling and being answered by a voice that definitely wasn't your girlfriend's.

"Dear?" you mumbled when you were finally answered.

“Ah, sorry, it’s a friend of hers, she’s your girlfriend, right?” You felt your chest sink.

“Yes, where is she?” You tried to recognize the music in the background, did it lie to you?

“On the dance floor with Karina and Giselle.” you sighed and sat down on the couch “Are you there?”

“Yes…” a deafening silence remained on the line until you finally spoke “Let her know she shouldn’t be late, please.” you barely waited for confirmation before you hung up, your head throbbing.

You looked at the clock, 7PM, you sank into the couch as you heard your phone ring, but you knew who it was and you didn't want to answer it again, it wasn't the first time she had done this.

-

(You walked back and forth while looking at the clock from time to time, it was past midnight and NingNing hadn't arrived. The door was opened and you certainly never went to a place so quickly as this time.

“Yizhuo!” She looked at you and smiled.

"Dear!" She took off her shoes and you crossed your arms.

“Did you see what time it is? You didn’t tell me you were going to be late.”

“Oh, sorry, I guess I didn’t even remember to have my phone, I was having fun.”

“Having fun?” she agreed “Are you kidding me?” she furrowed her eyebrows.

“Sorry for taking so long, but I needed this, it’s been a stressful month.”

“I don’t mind you going to parties Ning, but can’t you just text me? I was worried about you, don't you think there's someone at home waiting for you? You’re not single Ning.” she sighed and crossed her arms, a position similar to yours.

“I know I'm not single, but I want to have fun with my friends too, I already apologized, what more do you want?”

“I want your fucking responsibility Ning Yizhuo, that’s what I want.” She was a little scared by your tone but you didn't change anything, you can't just give in to her anymore whenever you argue.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry honey, I won’t do that again.” you nodded “I’m so sorry…” she walked over to you and placed her hands on your shoulders “Are we going to forget this?” you felt soft lips against yours for a few seconds “Let me reward you, what do you think?” You held back a smile.

“Take a shower first.” she smiled and ran off to the bathroom and you cursed yourself again for falling so easily into your girlfriend's charms and eyes, well that was why you fell in love with her.)

-

She broke her promise, she swore she would never do that or anything like that again, that she would never make you worry like that again, she did it again and you felt terrible. Did she cheat on you? Or did she just forget? It doesn't matter, she lied and you hate lies even more from someone you should trust.

You felt the tears in your eyes and you couldn't hold it back any longer, all the frustration of the month came together with the situation and made you sob from crying so much, you cringed as you put your face in your hands to try to control yourself, an unbearable weight on your chest heart as you remembered all the times someone ended up lying to you, you thought you were pathetic.

It took a few minutes for you to finally compose yourself and wipe your face and before long the door was opened. You sat down again as you looked in the direction your girlfriend was supposed to appear.

“Baby?” you saw her, she looked tense “Hey…”

“You did it again.” She flinched at your tone, you looked at the floor, not knowing what to do.

“I wish…”

"No." you felt your chest hurt “Don’t say sorry again, you promised.” you heard the footsteps towards you and felt the space on your side, you flinched as you felt your eyes burn again “What the fuck Yizhuo.”

“Are you crying? That's why?" his head turned to her.

"That's why?"

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a big deal Y/n.” You looked at her for a few seconds, you didn't want to cry anymore. Did she think it was no big deal?

“You promised.” you mumbled.

“I just couldn’t wait.”

“You said you were going to a cafe.”

“We changed plans.”

“This changes everything.” you sighed and placed your hands on your knees as you closed your legs tightly. “You broke a promise, you broke my trust.”

“Oh, God, you are so childish.” She stood up, you looked at her not believing the words you just heard.

“Do you think I’m childish?” she agreed “Really? I’m sorry for trusting something you said yourself, I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with my own girlfriend, I’m sorry for worrying about you.”

“I’m an adult, Y/n, we both are, be an adult.”

“Fuck you.” you stood up and walked past her heading to your room, her words felt like cuts to you, your chest pounded quickly as you opened the door forcefully and heard the footsteps behind you.

"What are you doing?" She held you, you can't see her due to the tears.

“Leaving, what does it look like I’m doing?” you released your arm from her grip “Maybe you deserve someone more mature than me, don’t you think?” you picked up any suitcase.

“That’s not what I meant, honey I don’t want someone else.” she tried to hold you, you stopped and sighed heavily and wiped your tears. “Y/n please, please.” She held your hands.

“You will do it again.”

“No I… I won’t, I didn’t want to invalidate your feelings I’m sorry, please, I beg you.” You watched her bend over a little.

“You’re not going to change that easily.”

“I will, I will change, please don’t leave me, I love you so much…” you saw tears fall into her eyes. You sighed and looked to the side.

“You hurt me with what you said, you really hurt me.”

“My love, forgive me, I never wanted to hurt you, that was without thinking, please forgive me.” You looked at her, she was crying a lot now.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you.”

"Really?" she agreed. “It’s the last time Ning Yizhuo, I swear if this happens again nothing you say will change my mind.” She agreed and hugged you.

“It will never, never happen my love, I promise.” you smiled and hugged her “I can lose everything, but not you… Oh god, never, not you…”

she kissed your lips and you felt the slight salty taste if your tears “I love you so much, I’m so sorry, I love that you worry about me, thank you for being my girlfriend.” You looked at her, you could see the affection in her eyes “You’re not childish, okay? I will never say anything like that again, never, I swear on everything, just never let me lose you.”

“That’s not up to me.”

“I know, I will do everything I can to repay you for this.”

She kissed you again, her arms wrapped around you as she cupped your cheek, you just let yourself feel her, the taste of her lips, the way she sighed as she kissed you, the world seemed to spin with the feeling of comfort that the girl passed you and the affection she left implicit in the middle of the kiss, caressing your cheek, pressing your lips carefully. You separated and you looked at her.

“I love you, Y/n”

“I love you too, Yizhuo.”

She smiled, you felt safe, you decided to trust her and now, you can say it was one of the best decisions of your life.

Your girlfriend made sure to never make you apprehensive or worried again, she sat and listened to you whenever you were stressed and just needed her and words of comfort, you felt that her fear of losing you was true just by the way she now looked much more worried before going out alone. She made you feel safe again, just like you always did with her.

Now you were sure that you belonged in Ning Yizhuo's arms.

[reality-detective]

The Vatican: Human Trafficking Hub

The Vatican Underground- Cleared

The Dulce Base- Underground Cleared

The Area 51 Underground Base- Cleared

Orion Group ❌ (Defeated)

Ciakharr Group ❌ (Defeated)

Killy Tokurt Group ❌ (Defeated)

These are the three main factions responsible for the

The CIA is connected to the Killy Tokurt Ops. They are the one who specialize in soul scalping. This is how our government leaders were replaced. Removing the light body & soul and replacing it with a physical vessel void of any connection to source.

Sherry Shriner covered this in many videos/audios. Megan Rose spoke about this in one of her books. Corey Goode is also another source who spoke on the caste system of the Ciakharr who are the top elite in their race.

Remember when I mentioned that people were not ready once they found out who have been eating the children? Guess what was the capitol for the "Child Sex Trafficking" breeding hub?

The Vatican.

Do you remember the story or report that came out in July of 2019 where thousands of bones was unearthed in two ossuaries discovered in the Vatican City, as part of an ongoing search for clues into the disappearance of a 15-year-old girl more than three decades ago in 1983?

Do you remember the mass grave full of baby bones found along the shores of Israel's Mediterranean coast, in the ancient seaport of Ashkelon in 2014?

Do you remember An Indigenous group said the remains of as many as 751 people, mainly children, had been found in unmarked graves on the site of a former boarding school in Saskatchewan?

As a matter of fact that was a 2,300 page document that leaked that verified Pope Francis’ cover up of a Vatican Pedophile Ring. Did you know 20 Chilean Priests who went public on their connection to that very same Pedophile Ring, were killed in a plane crash right after their meeting with Pope Francis?

Back on July 20 2014 the International Common Law Court of Justice in Brussels found defendants Pope Francis Bergoglio, Catholic Jesuit Superior General Adolfo Pachon and Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby guilty of rape, torture, murder and the trafficking of children. (Nothing Is Happening?)

I highly doubt it.

Two adolescent women told the ICLCJ Court that Pope Francis raped them while participating in child sacrifices during the Springs of 2009 and 2010 in rural Holland and Belgium. According to a former employee of the Curia in Rome, rapes and murders of children also took place at the Carnarvon Castle in Wales and an undisclosed French Chateau.

A Prosecutor introduced notarized affidavits by eight others claiming to witness these same crimes organized by the Vatican. Another witness testified that they were present during meetings with the then Argentine priest and Bishop Francis and the military Junta during Argentine’s 1970′s Dirty War.

According to the witness, Francis helped traffic 30,000 children of missing political prisoners into the Vatican Pedophile Ring.

Do you know why this has taken so long? If you knew how vast these underground tunnels are you would understand why certain EOs signed by D. Trump kept getting extensions.

The Military at some point will disclose the battles that went underground.

The weapons used.

The strategies used.

The entries/exits used.

The medical technology used.

The portals/gateways that were used.

You got a glimpse of this during the fight that went on underground with the Phil Schneider lectures that still can be found on YouTube about the Dulce extraterrestrial confrontation that resulted in lives being lost and him being scarred from it.

People are only looking at the human aspect of this process. They are not looking at this as governments officials serving a unknown species that want world dominion who is an entire different secret government whose base are in these DUMBS-(Deep Underground Military Bases) who control all of our 3 letter agencies who are middlemen/conduits who these covert species use to control Washington. 🤔

Julian Assange

[muzaktomyears]

In 1980 Peter Brown, a former assistant to Brian Epstein who later ran Apple Corps, managed the Beatles and was best man at John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s wedding, started work on the definitive account of the Beatles. With the American author Steven Gaines, he spoke to the three surviving band members alongside wives, girlfriends, managers, friends, hangers-on and everyone else in the Fabs’ universe. The book promised to be the last word in Beatles history. Then in 1983 The Love You Make was published, and all hell broke loose.

“They were furious,” recalls Gaines, 78, still sounding pained at the memory. “Paul and Linda tore the book apart and burned it in the fireplace, page by page. There was an omerta, a code of silence around the Beatles, and they didn’t think anyone would come forward to tell the truth. But Queenie, Brian Epstein’s mother, told us above all else to be honest.”

“Even she didn’t think we would be quite so honest,” adds Brown, 87, his upper-crust English tones still in place after five decades in New York.

Why did The Love You Make, retitled by Beatles fans as The Muck You Rake, incite such strong feelings? The suggestion of an affair between Lennon and Epstein on a holiday to Barcelona in April 1963, only three weeks after the birth of Lennon’s son Julian, had something to do with it, but more significantly it was taken as a betrayal by a trusted insider. Brown and Gaines locked the recordings in a bank vault and never looked at them again — until now.

“Very good question,” Brown says, when I ask why he and Gaines have decided to publish All You Need Is Love, an oral history made up of the interview transcripts from which The Love You Make was drawn. He is speaking from the Manhattan apartment on Central Park West where he has lived since 1971. “When [Peter Jackson’s documentary] Get Back came out, a journalist from The New York Times wanted me to talk. I told him I hadn’t talked about the Beatles since the book was published and suggested he go to someone else. He said, ‘There isn’t anyone else. Paul, Ringo and you are the only ones left.’ And I thought, do I have a responsibility to clear it all up, once and for all?”

After the death of Epstein in 1967, Brown assumed the day-to-day responsibilities of managing the Beatles and Apple Corps. He had on his desk a red telephone whose number was known only to the four Beatles. Unsurprisingly, given his insider status, the interviews make for fascinating reading. Paul McCartney, yet to be asked the same questions about the Beatles thousands of times over, is remarkably unguarded. Asked by Gaines if the other Beatles were anti-Linda, he replies: “I should think so. Like we were anti-Yoko.” On the image the Fabs had for being good boys on tour, he says, “You are kidding,” before going on to reference a notorious incident involving members of Led Zeppelin, a groupie and a mud shark, concluding: “No, not in the least bit celibate. We just didn’t do it with fish.”

Ono, speaking in the spring of 1981, not long after Lennon was killed in December 1980, reveals that she didn’t sleep with Lennon for the first two years of their relationship — “John didn’t know how to make a move” — and claims that she was blamed by the Beatles camp, George Harrison in particular, for getting Lennon onto heroin in 1969. “Everything we did in those days, anything that was wrong, was my responsibility,” she tells Gaines. But everyone, from the Beatles’ notorious late-period manager Allen Klein to the Greek electronics wizard/hustler “Magic” Alex Mardas — “the Mordred of the Beatles’ Camelot” according to Brown — has their own version of events.

Going through the transcripts reminded Gaines of the long shadow cast by Lennon. “I didn’t realise how sensitive the other Beatles were to John’s opinion,” he says, speaking from his home in the Hamptons, Long Island. “Paul worried about what John would say [in the event Lennon died before being interviewed] and was still longing for his friendship. George said that John didn’t read his autobiography because it was called I, Me, Mine. Those interviews were done before John’s death and Paul’s heart was broken, even then. It wasn’t just the break-up of the Beatles. It was more personal than that.”

From around 1968, the transcripts reveal how the key Beatles duo started to come apart. McCartney’s enthusiasm was only getting stronger. But Lennon grew increasingly bored and disillusioned. “You have to remember that John wasn’t in love with his wife Cynthia,” Gaines says by way of explanation. “He wanted to get away from the life he was leading and that’s why he started to experiment with drugs, all the way up to heroin.”

Brown says Ono was, and probably still is, a distant, mysterious character, exactly the kind of person Lennon was looking for, having done the right thing and married the sensible, quiet Cynthia after she discovered she was pregnant with Julian in 1963. “John told me about meeting this woman, and how frustrated he was that he couldn’t get to know her better; he couldn’t take her to lunch because it would cause gossip. I gave him the key to my apartment so he and Yoko could be together in private and thought, naturally, they were going there to f***. When I went home that evening, the apartment was untouched. They did nothing more than sit on the sofa and talk. That’s what they wanted: to know each other.”

Regarding the long-held, unfair suggestion that Ono broke up the Beatles, Gaines says: “Yoko came along at the right moment to light the fuse, but the dynamite was already packed. They resented her, she was difficult to understand and had a deep effect on John, but they were getting more and more unhappy with each other and needed to have their own lives. As people in the interviews say again and again, [the split] was bound to happen.”

It was Brown who in May 1968 introduced McCartney to Linda Eastman, an ambitious young American photographer whom he knew from his business trips to New York, when she came to London on an assignment to shoot the Rolling Stones. “I was having dinner with Paul at the Bag O’ Nails [a club in Soho] when she turned up, so I introduced them and he was obviously taken with her,” Brown recalls. “The following Friday, May 19, we were holding a party for 12 top photographers at Brian Epstein’s house in London when she walked in. Paul says I didn’t introduce him to his wife … but I did.”

If the book has a villain it is Klein, the New York accountant who took over management of the Beatles and sacked everyone around them, much to McCartney’s horror. As Brown puts it: “He was a hideous person. He even looked like a crook: sloppy and fat, always wearing sneakers and sweatshirts. Everything he didn’t like was ‘for shit’.”

You wonder why Lennon fell for him. “The interviews suggest it is because Allen Klein offered Yoko a million dollars for her movie project,” Gaines says. “She was enticed and John would do anything Yoko said.”

“I asked Mick Jagger to come over and explain to the four Beatles who this Allen Klein was,” Brown remembers. “And John, in his wonderful way, had Klein turn up to the same meeting, which was deeply embarrassing. It made Mick very uncomfortable too.”

Epstein, the man who saw the Beatles’ potential in the first place, is a central figure in All You Need Is Love. It includes a transcript of a recording of him from 1966, not used for the original book. It was in the possession of Epstein’s attorney Nat Weiss, and seemingly made by Epstein to mark the end of the Beatles’ final tour. He claims not only that Lennon felt remorse for the infamous comment on the Beatles being bigger than Jesus — “What upset John more than anything else was that hundreds of people were hurt by that” — but that the Beatles would tour once more. “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t appear in public again,” Epstein claims. They never did, unless you count that rooftop performance on January 30, 1969.

“Brian was driving them around the north of England in his car for a year,” Brown remembers of the early days. “This Jewish guy from Liverpool, who was gay, was with these guys who had been hanging around in Hamburg, so both had interesting backgrounds. They understood each other.”

For Gaines, a self-described “gay Jewish boy from Brooklyn”, Epstein is at the heart of the story. “Brian never felt the love of a real relationship. Then he found the Beatles. Everyone thought it would be just another of his phases, but he had tremendous feelings for John, both sexual and intellectual, and that’s what really pushed him. If there was one thing that started the whole thing off, it was Brian’s love for John Lennon.”

That love affair was the contentious issue of the original book. In his interview, McCartney says of Lennon going to Spain with Epstein: “What was John doing, manipulating this manager of ours? Sucking up to him, going on holiday, becoming his special friend.” It wasn’t the suggestion of a homosexual relationship that was troubling McCartney, but the balance of power tilting in Lennon’s direction.

“Paul wanted to be in charge, and he deserved to be because he was the motor, the driving force,” Gaines says. “Paul felt that John would steal away the power. He felt threatened by John’s relationship with Brian.”

“Paul always wanted to be active,” Brown adds. “After Brian’s death the world had to be carried on. Who was going to do that? It wasn’t going to be John, George or Ringo. Brian was my best friend and I was very upset [at his death]. I had to go to the court to convince the magistrate that it wasn’t a suicide, and the following day Paul set up a meeting so we could discuss what we would do next. I said we’d do it next week, and he said, ‘No, it has to be now.’ He was right.”

How did Brown and Gaines feel about the horrified reaction to the book, not just from fans but the Beatles themselves? “The world has changed,” Gaines says, by way of answer. “Now, after all these years, hopefully people can see it as a truthful, loving and gentle book.” It has been decades since Brown spoke to the surviving Beatles and he has not contacted them about this new publication.

What the interviews really capture in eye-opening detail is the story of four young men who became a phenomenon, then had to deal with the fallout as the dream ended. On December 31, 1970, the day McCartney sued the other three to dissolve the partnership, Brown handed in his resignation as the Beatles’ day-to-day manager and officer of Apple Corps. Ringo Starr said to him: “You didn’t want to be a nursemaid any more, and half the time the babies wouldn’t listen to you anyway.” Brown moved to New York and became chief executive officer of the Robert Stigwood Organisation. But the Beatles never fully left him, and in the wake of Get Back — and the news that Sam Mendes is to direct four biopics, one on each Beatle — he decided he had one last job.

“We have finished our responsibilities,” Brown says with quiet authority. “It is the end of the story.”

EXTRACTS

‘It’s like bloody Julius Caesar, and I’m being stabbed in the back!’

Paul McCartney on the Beatles signing Allen Klein as manager against his wishes

[John Lennon] said, “I’m going with [Allen] Klein, what do you want to do about it?” and I kind of said, “I don’t think I will, that’s my roll.” Then George and Ringo said, “Yeah, we’ll go with John.” Which was their roll. But that was pretty much how it always ended up, the three of them wanted to do stuff, and I was always the fly in the ointment, I was always the one dragging his heels. John used to accuse me of stalling. In fact, there was one classic little meeting when we were recording Abbey Road. It was a Friday evening session, and I was sitting there, and I’d heard a rumour from Neil [Aspinall, road manager] or someone that there was something funny going around. So we got to the session, and Klein came in. To me, he was like a sort of demon that would always haunt my dreams. He got to me. Really, it was like I’d been dreaming of him as a dentist. Anyway, so at this meeting, everyone said, “You’re going to stall for ever now, we know you, you don’t even want to do it on Monday.” And I said, “Well, so what? It’s not a big deal, it’s our prerogative and it could wait a few more days.” They said, “Oh no, typical of you, all that stalling and what. Got to do it now.” I said, “Well, I’m not going to. I demand at least the weekend. I’ll look at it, and on Monday. This is supposed to be a recording session, after all.” I dug me heels in, and they said, “Right, well, we’re going to vote it.” I said, “No, you’ll never get Ringo to.” I looked at Ringo, and he kind of gave me this sick look like, yeah, I’m going with them. Then I said, “Well, this is like bloody Julius Caesar, and I’m being stabbed in the back!”

‘You don’t like to see a chick in the middle of the team’

Paul McCartney on Yoko Ono

Give Yoko a lot . . . that was basically what John and Yoko wanted, recognition for Yoko. We found her sitting on our amps, and like a football team, an all-male thing, you really don’t like to see a chick in the middle of the team. It’s a disturbing thing, they think it throws them off the game or whatever it was, and these were the reasons that I thought, well, this is crazy, we’re gonna have Yoko in the group next. Looking at it now, I feel a bit sorry for her because, if only I had been able to understand what the situation was and think, wait a minute, here’s a girl who’s not had enough attention. I can now not make this into a major crisis and just sort of say, “Sure, what harm is she doing on the amps?” I know they would have really loved me. You know, we didn’t like Yoko at first, and people did call her ugly and stuff, and that must be hard for someone who loves someone and is so passionately in love with them, but I still can’t — I’m still trying to see his point of view. What was the point of all that? They’re very suspicious people [Lennon and Ono], and one of the things that hurt me out of the whole affair, was that we’d come all that way together, and out of either a fault in my character, or out of lack of understanding in their character, I’d still never managed to impress upon them that I wasn’t trying to screw them. I don’t think that I have to this day.

How Cynthia Lennon was driven to drink — at an ashram

Alexis ‘Magic Alex’ Mardas on Ono’s love letters to Lennon

Alexis Mardas was also known as Magic Alex, a name John bestowed on him because he was so taken with Alex’s inventions. Alex was handsome, charming, and a charlatan. (He sued The [New York] Times in Britain for calling him a charlatan and settled out of court. He’s dead now.)

[The Maharishi] was fooling around with several American girls. The Maharishi was making all of us eat vegetarian food, very poorly cooked, but he was eating chicken. No alcohol was allowed in the camp. I had to smuggle alcohol in because Cynthia wanted to drink. Cynthia was very depressed. John was receiving letters from Yoko Ono. Yoko was planning to win John. She was writing very poetic and very romantic letters. I remember those letters because John was coming to me with the letters, and Yoko was saying to John that “I’m a cloud in the sky, and, when you read this letter, turn your head and look in the sky, and if you see a small cloud, this is Yoko. Away from you but watching you.” Poor Cynthia was prepared to do absolutely everything to win John. She was not even allowed to visit the house where John was staying. She was longing for a drink. Now, drinks, they were strictly prohibited in the ashram, but when it was discovered that Maharishi had a drink, I said, “Just a second, at least equal.”

‘He’s become so nasty’

George Harrison on reaching out to John Lennon

What’s wrong with John, he’s become so nasty. It sounds like he hasn’t moved an inch from where he was five or six years ago. I sent Ringo, John, and Paul all a copy of my book. I got a call from Paul. He called me up just to say how much he liked it. I shouldn’t have called it I Me Mine, because that title was a bit much. I sent a copy to John. I’m wondering if he’s actually received it, if he’s received it, he probably doesn’t like it or something offends him about it.

‘I told John that ... it was just a nice feeling’

Yoko Ono advising John Lennon how to take heroin

George said I put John on H, and it wasn’t true at all. I mean, John wouldn’t take anything unless he wanted to do it. When I went to Paris [before I met John], I just had a sniff of it and it was a beautiful feeling. Because the amount was small, I didn’t even get sick. It was just a nice feeling. So I told John that. When you take it properly — properly is not the right word — but when you really snort it, then you get sick right away if you’re not used to it. So I think maybe because I said it wasn’t a bad experience, maybe that had something to do with it, I don’t know. But I mean so, he kept saying, “Tell me how it was?” Why was he asking? That was sort of a preliminary because he wanted to take it, that’s why he was asking. And that’s how we did it. We never injected. Never.

‘It was time’

Ringo Starr on the end of the Beatles

Ringo Starr: Well, I’m pleased it happened because in so many ways, I’m glad it’s not going now. It was time. Things last only so long. Steven Gaines: The Rolling Stones are [still] going. Ringo Starr: Yeah, but they’re old men.

(source)

[anneangel]

Tolkien said that one of the things he didn't like about LotR was that the book was too short.

In a way I agree with him, because I found the ending so rushed [others always say "that evil" is destroyed in the middle of the book and everything after is just an long epilogue] and yet I found it rushed. And I wanted a lot of the appendices to be narrated chapters, it was interesting to see what the lives of each member of the Fellowship were like in the appendices, but I wanted chapters about.

And I would also like to have seen, narrated chapters, of the Battle of Dale, with Brand (Son of Bain, son of Bard) and Dáin fighting three days against enemy armies and dying. I wish had read a narrative of Thranduill and Celeborn uniting in Mirkwood and destroying Dul Guldur once and for all, and then dividing the region between them. When LotR informs that the others would not come to battle because they already had war at their gates, I wanted the plot to split to show this in other parts.

A better development of the romance between some characters would also be interesting, the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen already makes me cry every time I read it, but I feel like it would be more interesting as a narrative than an appendix. If their marriage went on for another 100 pages I wouldn't mind. And I would like Arwen and Elrond's conversations not to be just subtext.

Faramir and Éowyn, I really love them as a couple, but I think more pages dedicated to their romance would also be interesting. Sam and Rose? I would have liked it more if we had more mentions of the girl throughout the journey, if Sam mentioned her more often throughout the plot, so maybe the end wouldn't seem so sudden. When I say that don't like the development of the "love pairings" in LotR, it's not that I don't like the characters or the ships, but that the narrative wasn't enough for me. Don't get me wrong, I love LotR. But I wanted there to be more to be "narrated" than "told" or "implied" or "pointed out in the appendices."

Yes, I also thought the book was too short. There is a lot between the lines that could come to light more. It could have been another thousand pages. And perhaps it still wasn't enough. How could anyone think that LotR is a very long book?

Maybe that's the problem with Tolkien creating such a complex Universe with such interesting characters: no matter how long the book was, it would never be enough. Because as a fan, I would always want more and more of it. More immersion at all points. Is it always like this with authors who create universes that seem so incredible to read? And when it's gone, it's not enough to fill the void.

And all the posthumous books, like The Silmarillion, or Unfinished Tales (and others), with the tone of "organized drafts" and "told" instead of narrated most of the time, weren't enough for me. I still wanted so much more. And I never will have it. Don't get me wrong, I liked the posthumous books, I think Christopher Tolkien did a good work. But still, when reading, I always asked myself "if this had been published by Tolkien during his lifetime, would it have been like this? What would he have changed yet? What would he have more refined?".

Because, as much as other fans like to see posthumous books as a "canonical" part of the work, like complements. I can only see as unfinished drafts, which it truly are. No matter how well organized are, even The Silmarillion is just a draft organized in the best way, Christopher T says this.

The letters don't count for me either, because Tolkien changed his mind about several things, just like in the drafts.

So I feel that, although the Tolkien Universe is vast, there are a lot of drafts and letters, and little work is actually completed. I liked the posthumous books and the fact that they expanded the universe even further and provided more information. But it becomes a “vicious cycle”, as the information contained there also brings more desire for it be narrated by Tolkien himself in an book he finished (but will never be! Unfortunately).

And that saddens me. Because I wanted so much more. And Tolkien didn't live long enough to give it. In the end, it's a mix of happiness for what Tolkien gave, and sadness for what he still could have given.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Fallen || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!devil!reader Summary: When a young driver wants to make a deal with the devil to get his greatest desire you find yourself forgetting what side of Heaven and Hell you are on. Warnings: supernatural themes, mention of deaths (Jules, Hervé & Hubert), angst, fluff WC: 5k

F1 Masterlist || Bonus Scene

16th October 2013 The kid had no business standing at the crossroads. What could a boy need so desperately that he was willing to part with his soul for it? But it wasn’t your place to question, merely to answer. 

The boy murmured to himself as he knelt on the gravel and started to dig with a pink trowel he had borrowed from his mothers gardening tools. The quiet mutterings brought you amusement as you thought of the surprise he would get when his doubt was proven wrong and you appeared.

He carefully followed the instructions inked on the page that had been torn from a very old book. He reached up to his dark hair with a small pocket knife and cut away a small patch before laying it in the hole he had made. Turning the knife on himself, he whined as he pricked the tip of his finger and squeezed it until three thick blood drops fell onto the strands of his hair.

You would usually laugh at the poor attempt of the incantation to call upon you but instead you sighed as you grew tired of the theatrics. 

“What do you want, kid?”

A small shriek filled the night as he fell back on his ass. “But…but…you…but…”

“Shit, you’re not even old enough to talk properly,” you said as you knelt down to his height. “Go home.”

His mouth snapped closed before scrambling to his feet and wiping the dust that covered his jeans. “Sorry, you gave me a fright. I was expecting…” he looked around and frowned, “never mind. Do you need help?”

“No, do you?” 

He looked genuinely concerned as he searched the dark road and you tipped your head to the side before you remembered that to a human you looked like a 21 year old. It didn’t matter that you had roamed the world for a thousand years, your physical form remained the same.

“I guess not,” he sighed as his shoulders slumped and he kicked his vans at the loose stones as he whispered, “it didn’t work anyway.”

“It was your pronunciation, Latin is a tough language. I’ll let you in on a secret, you can say the incantation in any language and it will work.” You leaned in closer and chuckled darkly. “The devil just enjoys torturing people.” 

“But…but…”

“Great, we’re back to that, are we?” You rolled your eyes and opened your palm, a ball of fire erupting into the night and the scent of sulphur lingering after the flame burned out. “What did you expect when you called me?”

“You…you’re the…dev…”

“Devil,” you offered as his face paled and he stumbled backwards. “Say it with me. De-vil.”

“You’re the devil? But you look like an angel.”

“More or less, there’s actually a lot of us.” You clapped him on the back and grinned when he jumped. “So what can I do for you, kid?”

“I heard you could grant wishes.”

“I’m not a genie, I’m a dealer,” you said with a shake of your head. “You tell me your dream and I make it happen, for a price.”

He chewed on his lip, his conscience trying to warn him it was a bad idea. “What price?”

You flicked your hand out and the piece of paper on the ground flew into your fingers. “You know the price. How old are you anyway, kid?”

“I’m sixteen, today actually.” 

“Congratulations!” You frowned as it didn’t sound quite right and he did the same. “Wait, it’s happy birthday, isn’t it? We don’t exactly have them since we are fallen, not born.”

“That's really sad.”

“Hell help me, you are an emotional one.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the waves of empathy rolling off the teenager. “Listen, I’m all up for taking souls, it’s my job and I’m pretty good at it, but you seem like a nice guy so I’ll help you out pro bono as long as you don’t cry.”

“Really?” His excitement was almost as infectious as his smile as he grinned at your offer and you could tell that with a few more years of growth and maturity he would be as handsome as those goody-good angels.

“Really. So what’s your dream? And don’t go all ‘Disneyland’ and that shit, make it big.”

“I want to be a Formula One World Champion.”

“Fuck, okay, I said big not gigantic,” you said as you cracked your neck and then your knuckles before rolling your shoulders. “That will take some time to pull off, but we got this, kid.”

“Charles, my name is Charles Leclerc,” he said as he held his hand out. “Do devils have names?”

“Of course we have names, but names have power and I don’t know you well enough to share mine with you.” You shook his hand and he jumped a little at the heat difference since the hellfire made you run hotter than humans. That same heat flickered up your spine as you felt another calling at a crossroad half a world away and so you stepped away. “I’ll check in once a year to see your progress.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

You laughed darkly as thick smoke began to gather at your feet where the earth was opening to your home realm. The teen yelped as a lick of flame encircled his wrist but the scar that appeared just as quickly healed so no one would know he had been marked by the devil.  “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2014 “I wasn’t sure you would actually come, I thought you were a figment of my imagination.”

You stepped out of the shadows and looked around the modest home that should have been full of his friends celebrating his 17th birthday. The air was thick with grief and it made your back ache from the weight of it bearing down on you as you watched the teenager stand with his back to you at a bookcase.

“Maybe I am,” you murmured as you walked over to him and saw his eyes fixated on a photo. 

Placing the photo back carefully on the shelf he turned and you saw the difference a year had made. “I want to make a deal. My soul, take it.”

“Woah, slow down, Birthday Boy, you don’t know what you are offering.”

“I don’t care, I just need him to be alright.” Tears were swimming in his eyes as he grabbed your hand and squeezed tightly. “Fix Jules, please.”

Unable to resist, you reached out and touched the tear that ran down his cheek. Pain obliterated your chest, crushing your insides as waves of memories flooded your senses until you knew Jules just as well as he did.

For the first time since your fall a thousand years ago, you were envious of the angel you had been. You wanted to be the cause of his hope, but that wasn’t something you could give and you tugged your hand from his hold before they could blister his skin. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Bullshit! You are a dealer, you said so yourself.”

“That’s not how it works, Charles, I’m a devil. Don’t you see? The deals I make are selfish, the things people want for themselves. You want a miracle,” you sighed and felt the familiar ache where your wings once were, “I can’t do those anymore.”

“You got me into Formula Renault.”

“You got yourself there, kid,” you said as you stepped away. “I just whispered a few suggestions to people I knew would listen.”

It was a little more threatening involved but you weren’t going to let him know that. You hadn’t needed to do anything other than get someone to give him a chance since he had the talent to win all on his own.

“There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his green eyes swimming with tears.

You sighed as you stepped away, rubbing your temple as if you could actually get a migraine like a human could. “I can’t make any promises, but…let me see what I can do.”

You faded from the room before you could see the hope that filled his face and followed the memory of his visit to Jules, finding yourself in the shadows of a hospital room. The room was empty except for the young man laying on the bed, wires and tubes keeping his breathing steady. You were struck by the pain you felt and knew it wasn’t real but the lingering effects of sharing Charles’ memory of him, but that knowledge still didn’t ease the ache.

“Azrael, come down here.”

It only took a second for the angel to appear and she didn’t look pleased at being called away from her duties.

“You’re not an archangel anymore, you can’t just snap your fingers at me.”

“Obviously I can since you showed,” you pointed out. “I need a favour.”

“You don’t do favours,” she said as she narrowed her eyes.

“I do now. I need you to leave him alone.”

Azrael looked at the comatose man before reaching forward and touching his forehead and shaking her head. “He’s one of ours, he has to come with me soon.”

“You have no sense of time, whatsoever. Soon could be 50 years from now.” You crossed your arms and stared the death angel down. “I’ll deny three souls in exchange for his life.”

“You’d turn down three deals for Jules? Who is he to you?”

“No one, but he means everything to someone else. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal, he has until I next come back down, no more.”

You nodded in agreement hoping her sporadic trips to earth erred on a lengthier time away this round. Unfurling her wings, you felt a pang of jealousy arise as you watched her fade away only to hear the strong beats of her wings carry her higher.

You aparated back to Charles and found him slumped in a leather reading chair, an album of photos open on his lap. Droplets splattered on plastic sleeves, only to smear into streaks as he wiped them away at your arrival.

“I bought him some time,” you said softly as you fell into the seat opposite him. “I can’t say how long because I don’t know but for now he will live.”

Charles dropped the book as he fell to his knees and clutched your hand tightly, the gesture making you uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he choked as his tears hit your knee through the rip in your skinny jeans and turned to steam. He didn’t seem to be affected by the heat radiating off you, he didn’t seem to feel it at all as he closed his eyes and rested his head on your joined hands. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid,” you said ruefully, pulling your hand back from the touch. “Healing was never my gift. He will have to do that on his own.”

“He will, I know he will,” Charles said with certainty as he rose to his feet. “He’s the strongest man that I know.”

You stood up with a nod and realised this year he was the same height as you, seeing eye to eye after his latest growth spurt.

“I hope you are right,” you said, feeling the floor start to give way beneath you as you willed yourself home. “Until next year, Birthday Boy.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled at the smell of sulphur filling the room and he stepped back at the sight of the black plume swirling around your boots. “You don’t have to wait a year, you can visit anytime.”

“Have you forgotten who I am?” you laughed as the smoke climbed higher.

“Just because you’re the devil, it doesn’t make you bad,” he said with a shy shrug. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

He was right in the fact you had been kind, something no one else would say about you. You couldn’t explain why you were different with him, why you couldn’t treat him like any other advantageous young man wanting to get ahead. There would surely be hell to pay if word ever got out about it.

The smoke reached your throat and pulled you down. “Maybe I made a mistake.”

16th October 2015 Charles would never know it but you had visited him throughout the year. You had kept to the shadows, watching from afar as he graduated to Formula 3 and came one step closer to reaching his dream. You were there by his side when he received the phone call that had devastated him, you had felt Azrael’s presence on the mortal plane and immediately went to him. You didn’t reveal yourself, not when the gut wrenching sound he made had you hate having fallen. You could offer him nothing so you remained hidden, torturing yourself with the knowledge of what could have been.

It was a little before midnight when you arrived at the busy nightclub. You should have just apparated into a bathroom stall but instead you had to produce a fake ID so the bouncer would let you in.

“Guess I can’t call you kid anymore,” you said as you found Charles in the VIP area and took a seat beside him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Who’s this angel, Charles?” his friend asked with a confident grin.

You tipped your head back with a laugh before you recovered enough to say, “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, but you call me D.”

Charles nearly choked on his drink at the snort he gave. “What are you doing here, D? I don’t remember inviting you.”

You leaned closer to see his cheeks flushed pink with the alcohol he was now legally allowed to imbibe in and whispered, “There’s only one place I need an invitation, and despite the name on the door outside - this isn’t Heaven.”

With a huff of annoyance he stood up and made his way out of the VIP area to the packed dance floor. Knowing everyone was completely inebriated you didn’t bother to follow him, instead you suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Leave me alone,” Charles growled as he turned his back, but everywhere he went you were in front of him.

Finally he gave up escaping and you shoved a hand on your hip as you asked, “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem? You lied to me, that’s what!” The drink in his hand spilled over the rim of the glass with the angry shaking overtaking his body. “Jules died…and you weren’t even there. You never visited me and…I needed you. I needed to know why!”

You took the glass from him and tipped the liquid back, relishing the burn of the alcohol down your throat as he stared daggers at you. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, mortal.”

“Well, we never made a deal, so there’s no need for you to be here, devil.”

The words hurt more than you cared to admit and the glass shattered in your hand, ichor flowing from the wounds before they could heal as quickly as they came. Charles' eyes widened at the dark liquid coating your palm and he almost looked worried for you but you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on your heels, the shoes uncomfortable compared to the boots you normally wore but you had wanted to fit in. For him.

“You’re right,” you muttered as you freed your hair from the constricting hair tie and kicked the shoes off. There was nothing to be done about the tight red dress until you were home, but you would be there soon enough. “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2016 Try as you might, you couldn’t stay away. Unbeknownst to Charles, you regularly checked in to see what his latest accomplishments were. As it was, he was leading the Formula 3 Championship and was a sure graduate to Formula 2. He raced like he had the devil breathing down his neck, pushing the boundaries to the brink of disaster.

Maybe he knew you hadn’t abandoned him, or maybe he just didn’t care. You knew you definitely shouldn’t have cared but still you watched him grow into a man and mature as his career evolved.

16th October 2017 You had nearly started another war the day Azrael came for Charles’ father. For three days you stood ready to fight the angel of death for Charles’ biggest supporter while he visited the hospital to say his goodbyes. He had lied to his father, telling Hervé that he had signed to a Formula 1 team for the next year and you promised to make it happen - with or without a soul to bargain.

It wasn’t a difficult task to achieve, a small incident with Pascal Wehrlein making a seat available in Sauber. All Charles had to do was keep his head in the game and go fast like he always did.

When you watched him celebrate his birthday his eyes had glanced around the room and you wondered if it was you he was looking for. It was only when those green eyes landed on a family photo you pushed the silly thought away, he was just missing his father.

16th October 2018 “How long have you been there?” Charles asked the empty room.

How he sensed your presence, you didn’t know, but since you no longer needed to hide it you let the shadows fall away. Turning away from where he had been styling his hair in the mirror, he leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

His room hadn’t changed all that much, Ferrari posters still covered the majority of the walls but they were also joined by some models posing on hoods of cars. The twin bed had been upgraded to a double and was covered in a red and yellow bedspread that clashed with your trademark black outfit as you lay across it.

“How often do you do that?”

“Do what?” you asked innocently as you stared at his ceiling and not his narrowed eyes.

He waved a hand over your leisurely state. “This.”

You got off the bed and stalked across the room to the Formula 1 racer and found you had to look up at him even with the heels on your boots. “Don’t mortals leave home by now? I thought the 21st birthday was some big right of passage.”

You reached for the tub of hair product and sniffed at the vanilla scent before it was swiped from your hand. It smelled edible and there was another scent that was just as good but you weren’t sure what it was or where it was coming from until you leaned closer to him and inhaled.

“I just bought an apartment but it’s not ready for me to move into for a few more weeks. Will you stop that?”

“What is that smell?” Your head was swimming as if you were high but that wasn’t possible. “My head…”

You could barely stand upright as you felt drunk all of a sudden and Charles caught you as you stumbled back. “Sit down,” he said softly as he guided you to the edge of his bed. “Why did you come back?”

Your head lolled onto his shoulder and the room spun as the truth tumbled from your lips. “I never left you,” you admitted, your words slurring as the intoxicating smell left you dazed. “Not when Jules died…or your father, never…”

Charles frowned as your eyes closed and you fell back on his bed. He had spent so long blaming you, being angry at you, believing you had abandoned him when he needed you most but as you murmured in your strange state he realised he had it all wrong. 

“D?” he called out as he shook your shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to open your eyes but they were too heavy and you curled into a ball as your stomach churned. “Because I shouldn’t care. You’re just a human.”

“But you do care,” he surmised as he grabbed the blanket and draped it over your shivering body. 

“Devils don’t care.” You could hardly talk through your chattering teeth, the blanket doing nothing to warm the ice that had seeped into your being.

Charles curled himself up against your back and tightened his arms around the blanket as he tried to warm you. Nothing seemed to work until his voice spoke softly in your ear, “Then maybe you’re not like the others.” 

The silence grew and he thought you had passed out when you muttered, “I had nowhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a war…couldn’t choose a side…threw me out.” A yawn silenced your words and you snuggled into his arms, your nose finding that delicious scent strongest on his neck where you nuzzled deeper.

“My cologne,” Charles whispered and you realised you had asked aloud what it was. “You’re like a cat high on catnip.”

“Haven’t been high since I had wings.” You giggled, a sound so unlike you, but it turned to a sad sigh. “I miss my wings.”

Charles brushed your hair back from your face but you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes. “What colour were they?”

“There isn’t a colour to describe them. But you can see it at dawn…look to the east…the last star in the morning sky.”

“The Morningstar?” Charles looked down to see your lips parted with a soft snore and reached into his pocket for his phone. There was no way he was going to leave you in the state you were in, not even for his own birthday party.

16th October 2019 You had thought Azrael had forgotten the deal you made but she made sure to remind you of it when she crossed paths with you at the Belgium GP. Charles’ head had snapped your way the moment he heard the crash and you shook your head sadly. The only reassurance you could give him was that the young driver’s soul was at peace. 

Before leaving with her precious cargo, Azrael had given you two months to keep your end of the bargain and you didn’t want to test her patience. The crossroads had been quiet and it took nearly the whole time to find three souls worthy of denying a deal, most people who offered their souls for their greatest desires deserved the eternal damnation in return.

As soon as your task was fulfilled you returned to Charles, to the only place you felt at home. After waking in his arms a year ago you had struggled with the duties expected of you, finding more and more excuses for the downturn in deals. After waking in his arms, you wanted to be more than what you were. You wanted to believe you could be more, like he believed in you. 

“D,” Pierre greeted as he joined you at the bar. “Still looking as lovely as ever.”

“Still the charmer.” 

His attempt to shift closer to your side was blocked by the heat radiating from you and he pulled back with a frown, brushing the oddity off in his tipsy state. “Where have you been?”

“Here, there, everywhere,” you answered absentmindedly as you felt Charles’ presence before you spotted him. “I travel for work.”

“Let me guess - modelling?”

“Dealing.”

“No way!” His eyebrow shot up and he leaned in to whisper, “Drugs?”

“Not quite,” you said with a laugh. “Something far more lucrative.”

Charles’ hand came to rest on the small of your back and his lips brushed your cheek. “Sorry I’m late, ma diablesse. What are you drinking?”

“I could do with a-” your voice trailed off as a fissure ran through the air and you turned to see what had just walked in the door. “Hold that thought.”

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked but you were already weaving your way through the crowd. 

Waves of power rolled off the beast but no one would see the tusks spearing out of its face or the black soulless eyes, they would merely see a mountain of a man and a vibe that warned them to move aside. 

“This is a bit out of your territory, Fowler. What are you doing topside?”

The demon looked over your shoulder and smirked. “Heard some interesting rumours.”

“And what rumours were those?”

“That some darling angel was caught up with a mortal, helping out for free. You know the rules. No soul, no deal.” Fowler’s hand snapped out and caught your throat, his claws threatening to tear it out. “Don’t forget who took you in when your family threw you out.”

“Fuck you, I’ve more than paid my debt,” you spat as you grabbed his wrist and seared his skin with the lick of your flames. “Don’t come and threaten me.”

“I don’t have to threaten you,” he chuckled as he cradled his hand to his chest and looked past you to where Charles was pushing his way to your side. “Mortals are so weak, a little accident is all it takes.”

There was no way you could let Fowler return to Hell with the information he had, your weakness, so you did the only thing you could to protect Charles. You rushed the demon as the ground opened, disappearing into the pit with him before Charles could follow. You called all of your power and funnelled it into your fire, pouring it down the demon's throat until he was smothered by the flames and a smoking husk that turned to ash as you crashed to the ground. 

“Morningstar, what is the meaning of this?” 

You bowed to Beelzebub before kicking away the ash that had settled on your boot and painted a dark smile onto your face. “He interrupted a deal, I couldn’t let that grievance go unpunished. Or did you want me to forgive him?” You challenged him with an arch of your brow until he huffed a sigh and waved the question away with the whip of his tail. 

“So where is the contract for the soul?”

“Did you miss the part where I said he interrupted the deal?”

“I’m not sure if I liked you less as an angel or not,” he uttered from his throne of skulls. 

“I have that effect.” You started to leave the way you came but a chain snared around your ankle and locked into place before you could escape. 

“Not so fast.” You were thrown onto your ass as he yanked the chain and dragged you to the foot of his throne. “I find myself short of an enforcer,” he said as he looked pointedly at the pile of ash you had created.

“So find another,” you growled as you tried to melt the chain but it merely absorbed the heat you poured onto it, “there’s no shortage of brainless fools ready to serve you.”

“But look how that ended,” he laughed. “How about a deal? Ten years as my enforcer for your freedom.”

Freedom. Ten years was nothing, just a blip to an immortal, but you weren’t thinking of yourself. You were thinking what ten years would be for Charles. Would he have a wife and kids? Would he have won his world championship? Would he remember you?

“Two,” you countered.

“Five.”

“Deal, but on one condition.” You stopped fighting the chain and rose to your knees. “I want a soul.”

16th October 2024 You were beyond exhausted when you stumbled into the bedroom, using the last of your strength to find your way back to him. The last five years had been brutal and it was a miracle that you had survived to complete your end of the deal, much to Beelzebub’s chagrin. The bastard had thrown every impossible task your way but you had something he could never understand, hope. And it kept you fighting to the bitter end. 

You crashed onto the bed as your legs gave out and he leapt up at the intrusion, the bedside lamp lighting up and illuminating his silhouette as he stared at you wide eyed. “Ma diablesse? You came back…”

“Always, Birthday Boy.” You reached for him, needing to feel him with your own two hands after missing him for five years. It was his face that had kept you alive and you cupped his jaw to pull him closer only to freeze at what you felt. “Charles?”

“What? What is it?” he asked with panic as he placed his hands over yours, holding them tight to his cheeks.

“You have a beard,” you whispered, turning his face to the side to see the styled hair on his jaw. “When did that happen?”

Charles laughed and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck as he crushed you against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I would have been back sooner but I made a deal with the devil.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out an unassuming medallion. “A soul, my soul.”

Charles frowned in confusion as he trailed a finger over the symbols of an ancient language long forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“No more devil deals, if you’ll have me, I would be human.”

Shock rippled through his features. “You would give up immortality for me?”

“Hell is an eternity without you,” you said before you pressed your forehead to his, sharing his breath of life. “And if I never make it back to Heaven at least I will have had a moment of it here with you.”

Bonus scene here.

[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! 💛

[the-heart-of-leo]

Nick's so far under the bus that they might as well change the oil while they're under there.

Okay, because I'm a bit of a masochist and I have adblockers...

I'm going to count how many times James throws Nick under the bus:

@2:40 – 'This fell upon Nick as well, as a non-binary person on the ace spectrum, they wanted to include asexuality and non-binary representation to our videos. But because Nick's experience is not universal – There is no universal experience – people felt that we were delegitimizing their own experiences because we focused on Nick's.' (The reason we were acephobic was because we (meaning Nick) didn't think other ace people had problems and when it was pointed out to us by The Ace Couple that ace people did, in fact, face discrimination and conversion therapy, we (meaning James) accused them of homophobia and sicced their followers on them.)

@6:38 – 'The work Nick and I were doing on the channel...' (Because Nick was here too! Not just me!)

@10:46 – 'I was much more interested in the production of the videos than the writing of them, at this point. So after three or four videos, I brought Nick on as a main writer for the channel. The idea is that they would write the vast majority of the scripts. I would film, voice, and edit the videos and we'd split the money that came in.'(Nick was the main writer for the channel! In case you forgot...)

@14:40 – 'And then my mom died... and I became completely useless. I couldn't think straight, at all, so Nick had to completely take over writing duties.'(DID I MENTION NICK WAS THE MAIN WRITER. ALSO MY MOM DIED; FEEL SORRY FOR ME)

@19:44 – 'When Nick got back, he believed the script needed a first page rework. This was also when he told me he was going to be moving back to Ontario permanently soon as he wanted to live closer to family and live in a bigger city with more opportunities. This was a punch to the gut for me. We'd been living together since 2015 and had become quite dependent on each other. I felt like there was no way I could make this movie without him.'(We couldn't make the movie we promised because SOMEONE DECIDED TO MOVE and since I'm co-dependent on him, I moved with him and screwed up everything. Oopsie.)

@26:32 – 'But by accepting as many sponsors as we did, which became very important when Nick and I started living apart and suddenly had two rents to pay, we ended up needing to produce even more videos. Which, along with the work on Telos and making sure everything was okay with my dad while living thousands of kilometers away meant I had even less time for writing – putting more stress on Nick and leading to even more copy and pasting from me.' (See what you did, Nick?! We have to pay TWO rents now and we need to make even MORE videos. I'm not creepily co-dependent on my asexual ex-roommate at all!)

@32:50 – 'I know what misinformation had made its way into our past videos. That was not something we intended; in some cases it was information I was told by people I considered experts. In other cases it was information that we had researched. In other cases it was things that Nick had learned in university.'(Nick told me some of this stuff! ((which is fair because NICK ADMITTED HE DOESN'T DO RESEARCH)) In other cases it was because I assumed I knew what happened because I'm the smartest person I know so of course Lesbians had it easier! I just forgot that Radcliffe Hall's books were banned and destroyed because of that head injury I talked about earlier.)

And here's an honorable mention where the smug “I'm smarter than you” BS comes to visit:

'To those who say I plagiarized the plot from the novel Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix – Read the book. It's nothing like the plot of the movie. And 'The Final Girl' is a trope in horror movies so if using the Final Girl trope is plagiarism then basically everyone who's made a slasher movie since Texas Chainsaw Massacre owes the Toby Hooper estate some money.'

So, much like how James doesn't understand why people aren't upset at him because of citation issues, he doesn't understand that it's not the fact that he's using the 'Final Girl' trope... it's the fact that he stated the book as a favorite of his and then... suddenly he's writing a movie about the aftermath of the Final Girl. And given the plagiarism, it can not be taken in good faith.

First off, if you just google 'First Final Girl', it just says Texas Chainsaw Massacre is one of the earliest examples. Another possibility for the 'First Final Girl' was actually Black Christmas which was released the same day in Canada so it is literally tied.

Secondly; the final girl trope is not required for slasher movies. One of the first 'proto-slasher' movies was actually Psycho so there were a few good decades between that and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. (I could try and make a case that Lila Crane should count as a Final Girl; maybe even Mrs. Bates/Norman as a subversion... but I'm not that invested or interested.)

So... James was true to form, he just wanted to be a smug asshat and try and seem smart over something easily googled.

[magiclostinfantasy]

Love Undone || Mattheo Riddle x reader

Warnings: swearing Summary: When Y/N is asked out by her secret admirer, Mattheo can't help but feel jealous.

Mattheo Riddle and Y/N L/N had been inseparable since their first day at Hogwarts. Their friendship transcended the ordinary; it was a bond forged in the shared corridors of the magical castle and fortified by countless adventures. They were two halves of a whole, completing each other in ways that only the closest of friends could understand.

Lorenzo Berkshire, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Draco Malfoy were also integral parts of their tight-knit group. The group moved through the grand halls of Hogwarts, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. In their fifth year, the challenges of magical education awaited them, but together, they faced everything with a united front.

As they navigated the intricacies of spells and potions, Mattheo and Y/N stood side by side, a pair that drew attention not just for their magical prowess but for the depth of their friendship. Mattheo, with his raven-black hair and piercing eyes, complemented Y/N's warm demeanour and contagious laughter. Their camaraderie was a source of envy for many, yet their connection remained unyielding.

In the common room, late-night conversations blended with the soft crackling of the fireplace. Mattheo, Y/N, and their friends reveled in the comfort of each other's company. Hogwarts was a place of wonder, but it was their shared moments that made it truly magical.

Little did they know that the tranquillity of their friendship was about to face the turbulence of unexpected emotions, stirring a chain of events that would challenge the very foundations of their bond.

<><><><><><><>

One ordinary day, as they sat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Y/N found herself distracted by a folded piece of parchment slipped discreetly onto her desk. Intrigued, she unfolded it to reveal elegant handwriting that danced across the page.

"Dear Y/N,

Your laughter is like a melody, and your eyes hold the secrets of a thousand stars. Would you grace me with your presence for a date in Hogsmeade this weekend? Meet me by the Three Broomsticks at sunset.

Yours sincerely,

Your Secret Ravenclaw Admirer"

A blush crept across Y/N's cheeks as she read the words. Mattheo noticed her distraction, nudging her gently. "What's got you so red, Y/N/N?"

With a mischievous grin, Y/N shared the letter with Mattheo and the rest of their friends. Excitement buzzed in the air as everyone speculated about the mysterious Ravenclaw suitor.

As the week progressed, Y/N couldn't help but wonder about the sender. The allure of the secret admirer and the promise of a date stirred a sense of anticipation. Mattheo, however, found himself watching Y/N more closely, a growing unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't pinpoint the source of his discomfort, but the prospect of someone else capturing Y/N's attention didn't sit well with him.

<><><><><><><>

The days leading up to the weekend were a whirlwind of excitement and speculation. Y/N, still basking in the glow of the mysterious love letter, found herself caught between the thrill of the unknown and the unspoken tension that had crept into her friendship with Mattheo.

One afternoon, as they studied together in the library, Mattheo couldn't contain the turmoil brewing within him. "Y/N, are you sure about going on this date?" he asked, his voice laced with an edge of concern.

Y/N, surprised by the question, looked up from her book. "Why wouldn't I be? It's just a date, Mattheo. What's the big deal?"

Mattheo hesitated, struggling to put his feelings into words. "I just... I don't want you to get hurt, that's all. You don't really know this person. What if it's a prank or something?"

Y/N, taken aback, felt a spark of irritation. "The fuck? I can take care of myself. It's just a bloody date, and besides, it might be someone genuinely interested in getting to know me. Why are you so against it?"

As the words hung in the air, the tension between them escalated. Mattheo, torn between his protective instincts and the fear of revealing his true feelings, clenched his jaw. Y/N, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion, closed her book abruptly and left the library, leaving Mattheo sitting alone, grappling with his emotions.

<><><><><><><>

The weekend arrived, bringing a flutter of anticipation to the air as Y/N prepared for her date in Hogsmeade. The common room buzzed with excitement, but a palpable tension lingered between Y/N and Mattheo.

As Y/N made her way to the meeting spot by the Three Broomsticks, Mattheo couldn't shake the unease that gnawed at him. Unable to bear the thought of Y/N with someone else, he decided to follow her, intending to keep a watchful eye from a distance.

In Hogsmeade, the charming village was alive with students enjoying their weekend getaway. Y/N anxiously scanned the crowd for her secret admirer, while Mattheo trailed behind, hidden in the shadows. Pansy and Lorenzo, sensing Mattheo's internal struggle, exchanged concerned glances but decided to let him confront his emotions.

Just as Y/N was beginning to lose hope, a handsome Ravenclaw boy with brown hair and blue eyes approached her with a shy smile. The air was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension as they embarked on their date.

Meanwhile, Mattheo, torn between loyalty and personal turmoil, couldn't resist the urge to intervene. As the pair entered the Three Broomsticks, Mattheo attempted to discreetly cast a charm to disrupt their date, but Pansy and Lorenzo, ever watchful, intercepted him.

"The fuck are you doing?" Pansy hissed, blocking his view of Y/N and her date.

"Move, Pansy! I can't stand seeing her with someone else," Mattheo pleaded, frustration etched across his face.

Lorenzo, with a stern expression, said, "This isn't the way, Mattheo. You need to trust Y/N to make her own choices."

With Pansy and Enzo standing in his way, Mattheo watched helplessly as Y/N and her date enjoyed a cosy corner in the bustling pub. His heart sank, as he watched her laugh with someone that wasn’t him.

In the aftermath of the failed sabotage, Y/N had discovered what Mattheo had attempted. The air hung heavy with tension between the two of them. The common room felt suffocating with unspoken words and wounded emotions.

Unable to avoid the confrontation any longer, Y/N sought out Mattheo in a quiet corner of the common room. "Mattheo, what the fuck were you thinking? Why would you try to ruin my date?" she demanded, hurt evident in her eyes.

Mattheo, unable to meet her gaze, struggled to find the right words. "Fucking hell, Y/N, I love you! I couldn't stand seeing you with that jackass."

The confession hung in the air, freezing time as Y/N processed the weight of Mattheo's words. The realisation hit her with a mix of surprise and clarity. The tension between them, the jealousy, and the unspoken emotions—they all made sense now.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Y/N asked, her voice softer, the anger giving way to a vulnerable curiosity.

Mattheo looked up, meeting her eyes. "I was afraid of ruining our friendship. I didn't want to risk losing you altogether."

Y/N took a moment, absorbing his words, then whispered, "You idiot, I've loved you since our third year." Mattheo's eyes widened in surprise, hope flickering within them.

With a tender smile, Y/N continued, "I thought you didn't feel the same way, so I kept my feelings to myself. But if you're willing to, we can start something new."

Relief and joy flooded Mattheo's expression as he pulled Y/N into a passionate kiss. The common room, witnesses to the highs and lows of their friendship, seemed to sigh in contentment as the two friends-turned-lovers embraced the beginning of a new chapter.

[outlanderskin]

Tobias Menzies

I was reading on a card how much would fit in ten years and I saw that in 10 Years

fit 120 Months

521,714 Weeks

3652 Days

87648 Hours

5258880 Minutes

315532800 Seconds.

And even in all this, it doesn't fit what it meant for me to wait for him.

Within these 10 years, there are memories of being persecuted since the beginning when I said that he was my favorite.

All the times, I had to explain the difference between actors and characters for people who hated him because of Frank and BJR.

All the times I've had to say that I really like Sam, but that at the top of my list will always be Tobias, and this isn't a sin.

All the times I said there was no dispute between them.

All the times I was hurt when I saw people from my side of the fandom excluding him from photos or wishing he wouldn't go to some events because it would "take the focus" away from the main actors couple (yes, this stupid thing happened).

I've been in this fandom since the beginning, and anyone who knows me knows that for me, it's always been about him. I'm not someone who started using Tobias to justify hatred or to disguise an unhealthy love for Sam. It was natural from the first day I looked at him. And a thousand times, I've expressed my pride about how private, talented, different, down-to-earth he is.

I've been going to Cons of Outlander since 2015, but he rarely does Cons, I had already met the loves of my fandom friends' lives, but never mine. Until Saturday, April 13, 2024.

When I took the first photo (with him and Sam) and saw him for the first time, everything around me disappeared completely. There he was, finally. I was practically led by my friend, I gathered all the courage to say where I came from, then he blinked, and all my senses and rationality, and 🎶🎶🎶 all that was me, was gone🎶. I don't remember how I left the room, but my friends remember... I needed to be strong, I thought. There would still be three photos with him alone (one of them a gift from much-loved friends), a photo with him and Sophie, and an autograph. I would have to maintain my sanity until then.

For the first time, I understood the fact that Sam Heughan's fans left photo shoots shaking.

During the photo shoot, I spoke quietly, and so did he, and for me, it was like a dance because I said he decided the poses and I followed. I left the session and I want to thank from the bottom of my heart the girl on the team who asked me how I was and I could only say "he's my favorite" and she hugged me.

There was a rush at the autograph, but I gave him a book about theatre from my country, and I believe it was a gift he didn't expect. He thanked me with his hand on his chest, like the gentleman he is and at that moment I wanted to be royalty because I was going to give him all the honors of a noble English knight that I could find in the Buckingham Palace . Do I like British Monarchy? I like Tobias Menzies.

Ah....how I wish I could sit down with him and say he has a fan page that I manage, say that I admire him for being truly discreet in every way. Ask about his process of acting , speak about Stanislavski, Brecht, Ibsen, talk about my experiences in the classroom with The Theater of the Oppressed and say how good is for me to see someone like him acting. But conventions are collective experiences, and there would be no time.

In ten years, a lot can happen... all this time waiting for him. And I would do it all again. Someone like him was worth waiting for.