#or whatever Charles Rowland got going on?

[wordingg]

I gave a shot at filling the "ball that's stuck in a loop" prompt. Sorry it's a bit short. I'm going to add on to it, so long as I have time. I've been on a big regency romance kick lately, so your first fic prompt felt like a perfect fit.

"What's that?" Charles asked as he watched Edwin's eyes scan over the card he had just opened for the third time.

Edwin looked up, a furrow between his thick brows that usually meant he was sincerely baffled.

"An invitation," he answered, "to a ball," he added with skepticism.

Charles popped up from his seat on the couch to take the card, which Edwin held out to him. The card was made of some kind of fancy heavy paper with a sort of textured surface. He scanned the short message.

Missus Agatha Green humbly requests the presence of Mister Edwin Payne and Mister Charles Rowland at his annual Yule Ball on December 25th, 8 o'clock Netherfield Park

Charles eyebrows were nearly at his hairline by the time he finished reading.

"Well," he said after a moment. "That something, isn't it?" he said as he handed the note back to Edwin. "Do we know a mister Henry Green?"

"Not to my knowledge," Edwin said slowly, still frowning down at the card.

"Should we go?" Charles asked.

Edwin's eyes shot to him in surprise. Charles grinned back at him.

"We got an invitation, didn't we? Why shouldn't we go?" he asked.

"For myriad reasons," Edwin said with a raised eyebrow. The furrow between his brows was gone, though, which Charles counted as a success. "For one, it may be an elaborate trap. For two, it may be an incredible bore," Edwin said with an acerbic look at the invitation itself, like he hoped whoever had sent it might have heard him.

"Come on! A ball sounds loads of fun. Never been to a ball before. Might be nice," Charles said with a wistful expression that he hoped Edwin didn't see through. Judging by the slightly flustered expression that fluttered across Edwin's features, he didn't. Charles suppressed a grin as Edwin sighed and rose from his chair behind the desk, tapping the edge of the card against the palm of his hand.

"I suppose it would be rude to decline. Seeing as we have no other plans for the date in question," Edwin said dismissively. Charles grinned at him until his mouth quirked up in the corner. They were going to a ball!

---

The evening of December 25th found Charles and Edwin both standing on the steps of Netherfield Hall in Hertfordshire at 8 pm sharp.

The building itself was a huge red brick construction. It was likely a country house of some well off lord in the century before Edwin was born. The building and grounds were well tended, the garden quaint and pretty even at night in the dead of winter. It had two rows of windows indicating at least two floors, plus windows in the roof, which likely meant the attic was furnished for servant housing, as was common in Edwin's time. Each window was glowing with a flickering candle flame even though the white lace curtains were pulled closed, an incredible fire hazard. Edwin assumed magic was at play to stop the entire place from going up in flames.

"Did we get the date wrong?" Charles asked hesitantly, pulling the invitation from his bag to double-check.

Edwin didn't bother to glance at the card, as he knew that the date and time were perfectly correct. Though he couldn't fault Charles for doubting himself. The garden and house seemed completely serene and motionless, after all. Not quite the sight one would expect at a ball just getting under way.

"Perhaps we should just head inside," Edwin sighed, already dreading whatever awaited them within. A trick or a trap seeming more likely all the time.

Whatever Edwin was expecting, it wasn't what they found.

The second that Edwin phased through the large front door, Charles right on his heel, he found himself in the midst of a festive event already underway.

The foyer of Netherfield Park was aglow with candlelight, tall delicate candles fitted into every wall sconce, chandelier and atop pine bough and holly centerpieces on the tables. Speaking of pine, boughs of pine and holly festooned the tops of all the windows, doors, and wound its way around the banister edging the staircase leading to the second floor, the holly berries glittering red in the warm glow of the candles. Then there were the people. There were tens of people in the foyer alone, all in period dress, all ignoring Edwin and Charles as they stood frozen in the doorway.

"Whoah, Edwin!" Charles exclaimed from behind Edwin's left shoulder, where he usually stationed himself. "Looking posh there, mate," Charles added, Edwin able to hear the grin in his voice.

Confused, Edwin looked down at himself. He expected to his everyday outfit of wool suit jacket with waistcoat over shirtsleeves with breeches and stockings and his great coat over all. What he saw instead was something that would have looked more common in his grandfather's closet than on his own person.

"What," Edwin spat, then ran out of words, something that didn't happen to him often.

Charles was snickering, so Edwin spared him a venomous look. But, then he was too busy staring to put much venom into it.

Charles was dressed much the same as Edwin, though he managed to make Edwin's grandfather's clothes look much nicer than he did himself.

Dressed in a glossy maroon tailcoat, with matching brocade waistcoat and shining brass buttons, Charles was looking very handsome indeed. He had a bright crimson cravat tied at his neck that surely Edwin's grandfather could have expounded on whatever complicated knot made it curl so appealingly against Charles' sharp chin. This was matched to a pair of tightly fit slate gray pantaloons tucked into shining black knee-high boots.

Edwin swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. Certainly, men of George IV's time wouldn't have worn such sinfully tight pants. Certainly.

There was one thing that was wrong, though. Frowning, Edwin tapped his own ear for Charles. Eyes going big and round, Charles slapped his hand over his own corresponding ear and briefly looked shocked and upset.

"Oi!" he said loud enough to attract the attention of the various lords and ladies in the foyer. "Where's my earring!?"

"Whatever magic was used to change our appearance must have affected it, as well," Edwin said with a thoughtful frown. "Though, what sort of magic can force a ghost to appear in a way other than they intend, I do not know."

"Well, they can sod off. The earring is non-negotiable," Charles snapped, an unusual occurrence, but as it was not meant for him, Edwin took no offense.

Taking a deep breath, Charles closed his eyes. Edwin had seen him do so many times in the past to adjust his own appearance. Charles had a set of clothing and accessories he preferred, but those had shifted and changed subtly over the years. Edwin, being much more a creature of habit than Charles, had been fascinated by his constant shifts in their early years working together. By this time, he was quite used to Charles' expression when he was changing his appearance.

Edwin waited patiently and warily as Charles' expression steadily shifted from calm to frustrated. Still, his ear remained empty of his usual earring. Edwin's frown became more pronounced.

After almost a full minute of trying to no effect, Charles' hands had curled into fists and his brows had knotted in the center. Cautiously eying the other people in the room, Edwin pressed his hand over Charles'. It had the desired effect of pulling Charles out of his apparently fruitless attempt to summon his earring back. Unfortunately, it had the very much not desirable effect of drawing whispers and widened eyes from the various people still standing in the foyer.

Drat.

Charles, bless him, was oblivious to the little stir their brief but affectionate touch had elicited. "Still not there, eh?" he asked with a lop sided smile.

"I'm afraid not," Edwin answered with a sympathetic frown and a wary glance at their riveted audience. "Perhaps we ought to search out the host of this ball. She might have some answers."

Charles brightened at that suggestion. "Great idea! Lead on, then," he said with a rakish grin and a fanciful bow that would have been more at home in a French court than an English country ball.

The titters recommenced, but Charles took no notice, even as they rose the hairs on the back of Edwin's neck. This was all rather too familiar for him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink through the floor. Unfortunately, client or not, it seemed they had a case to solve.

So, Edwin spun on his heel, using sheer willpower and spite to make his spine straight as a ruler and his chin as and proud as he could manage, and strode through the doors to his left and on to the ballroom.

Here's my DBDA Gift Exchange Wishlist! ❄️

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[mof-rot]

Maybe Charles keeps being shoved in the closet for private conversations to foreshadow the fact that he’s A HOMOSEXUALLLLLL

[edwinisms]

it’s actually so wild to me that this fairly quirky YA type show gave both of its main characters deaths that can, in one way or another, solidly be considered hate crimes. they were both flat out murdered as a result of being A) gay and effeminate or B) brown (south asian, specifically) and you could argue whether or not those kids thought of it that way in the moment or whatever but the bottom line is that they would not have been in the situations that killed them if they weren’t of their respective minorities. like legitimately that is a ballsy choice for this kind of netflix show, let alone for the two Main Characters, and i respect it big time

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

Maybe it’s because I’m a touch feverish today but I’m getting emotional again—

You’re Edwin Payne. You’re in an attic with a boy who just caught his death protecting another boy that he barely even knew. You know this, because the fact that he can see you means it is too late.

You wonder, if you’d had a friend like him in life, someone who had just simply stood between you and the other boys from the summoning if the whole incident wouldn’t have happened at all, if you wouldn’t have had to run through hell for almost seventy fucking years—

You can’t help but fall in love with him a little.

So you try and make him comfortable. You find out his name is Charles, and oh god hypothermia is a brutal way to die because it isn’t as quick as you expected, but it gives you time to talk. Charles is charming and witty and everything you weren’t in life.

You fall in love with him a little more. You’ll miss him, but you’re glad he was the first thing you saw when you got out.

He laughs at your attempts at humor. No one else ever did that. You feel special, and you aren’t sure why. You wish you could keep him forever, but that would be cruel. He is good, and surely he will move on some place better than this.

He dies while you are reading to him, and it’s the gentlest thing you can think to do while he’s curled up losing consciousness like that. He seems to appreciate it.

He seems shocked that it didn’t hurt, dying. Death is not supposed to, for someone as wonderful as him, for someone who sacrifices their life for boys they barely know and boys who died at this wretched place.

You’re Edwin Payne. You tell Charles to go with Death (and there’s a part of you that will miss him, terribly, but you know that you’ve never been good with other people) but he… refuses.

He wants to stay with you and he’s not accepting any other answers, no matter how you try and dissuade him. He spends the next thirty plus years protecting you from whatever the afterlife or other dimensions can throw at you.

You’re Edwin Payne. How could you not fall in love with Charles Rowland?

[pretty-lovely-mar]

"Charles, please. Stop running away from me. You know that you can always tell me anything," Edwin says, getting up from his place at his desk.

Charles, who had already started to grab his overcoat and walk out the door, paused for a moment. He whirred around, "No, Edwin. You don't get it, do you? I yelled at you! Just now, after this case because I was annoyed and I got all caught up in it. I yelled at you... I don't do that, 'Win"

He seemed to sag under the weight of his words, momentarily losing his resolve to leave.

"It's okay." Edwin walked over to take his coat and hang it back up. He then walked back and put his hand in Charles' "I don't mind. I know you, Charles, and I know that you didn't mean it." He paused for a moment. He seemed to mull over what he was going to say next. Since his confession on the staircase in Hell, Edwin had begun to choose to be honest more and more often.

"In the spirit of honesty, I must say that I'd let you yell at me or more if it meant we were still together here in our afterlives."

Immediately, Edwin could see it was the wrong thing to have said. He still had some trouble reading Charles, especially when he was in a state of being greatly affected by his own trauma from his life. Crystal had always been better at comforting him and being there for him in that regard, but she wasn't here right now. There was no one for Charles to go to when Edwin inevitable seemed to mess it up.

Charles let go of Edwin's hand and clenched his fists at his sides. "Edwin, no. You can't... If I do something to you..." He trailed off, seemingly unable to finish his thought. Thoughts of his father ran through his head, and his mother's face featured right after.

His mother had stayed with his father for so many years, he had endured his father's actions until he died. He wouldn't wish that upon anyone, especially not Edwin. Never Edwin. And as much as he wished he were sure about the opposite, or that he was certain they weren't qualities that he could inherit, Charles always had that itching thought in the back of his head that he'd turn out just like father, even in his death.

Even though he had seemed like he couldn't quite get the words out, Edwin waited patiently for him to flesh out his thoughts. He took a step closer, to remind Charles that he was there for him.

Finally, he said, "If I ever hurt you, even once, never speak to me again. Tell the Night Nurse to let Death take me, start your own agency, do whatever it takes to get away from me. No matter how sorry I say I am, no matter how many promises I make." Then, quietly, almost like he didn't want him to hear, he added, "I never want you to suffer from me like my mum suffered from my dad."

Silence made the air around them feel heavy and still. Charles took an unnecessary shaky breath and looked away from Edwin. In times where he was vulnerable, Charles hated to look Edwin in the eyes.

"Charles. You will never hurt me. You can't! You don't have a single violent bone in your body. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are the best person I know, Charles Rowland, and nothing will ever change that." Edwin enveloped Charles into a hug, slowly so that Charles could move away if he wanted.

Instead, he burrowed into Edwin's neck, lips against a non-existent pulse. He stood there, being held in the agency's doorway for what seemed like forever, and he could've stayed there for another eternity.

Eventually, Edwin released him and held him by the shoulders, as Charles often did for him when he felt overwhelmed. "You're too good to be like your dad, Charles, and I will remind you every day if I have to."

And still, Charles seemed to be too overwhelmed to form words, but he nodded his, closing his eyes, and just allowed himself to lean against Edwin for a while.

Because even though Charles may never fully recover, and he'll never forget that fear, Edwin is there to remind him to not be afraid. After all, he's the best person Edwin knows, so he must be pretty great.

@aspiring-wildfire i saw your post abt edwin and charles' worst fears and something abt it just clicked so thanks for the inspiration :)

[coloursflyaway]

I love your stories about Edwin and Charles, how you make Charles smile, and how Edwin always looks up to him. I wanted to try to leave a little hurt/comfort prompt where Edwin gets hit by some kind of curse, and Charles has to take care of him and find a cure. Or maybe it's a curse that will only last for a couple of days, but Charles is sick with worries (and then feelings realization, pf course)

Of course, it's totally fine if you can't, but I had to try. Thank you so much for your writing ❤️❤️❤️

Hi ♥ Sorry that it took so long, but this kind of, sort of got out of hand. Hope you like it!

Breathing Space

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 6.300

Read on AO3

It happens in the blink of an eye. A flash of light, violet and yellow and blue, sparkling in a way that would be beautiful if Charles couldn’t taste the curse in it, like rust and blood and soil, and then Edwin is crumbling beneath his own non-existent weight, and Charles knows he is screaming only when he hears his own voice ringing in his ears.

During a case, Edwin gets hit by a curse and won't wake up.

It happens in the blink of an eye.

A flash of light, violet and yellow and blue, sparkling in a way that would be beautiful if Charles couldn’t taste the curse in it, like rust and blood and soil, and then Edwin is crumbling beneath his own non-existent weight, and Charles knows he is screaming only when he hears his own voice ringing in his ears.

The wizard, who they have been following for days now, is forgotten instantly, suddenly the least important being in this room, this world, because Edwin is on his knees, shoulders trembling, head pitched forward and his arms hanging limply at his sides. It takes Charles three steps to get to him, which feel like the longest distance he has ever had to cross, before he is falling down in front of Edwin, shielding him from whatever else the wizard might come up with.

His trembling hands come up to hold Edwin by the shoulders as Charles frantically searches his face for any marks – the cracks that indicate petrification, a sickly glow that comes from a binding hex, the translucence that means disintegration – but for a moment, there is nothing, just Edwin’s lips parted, his eyes wide and shocked. And Charles is about to breathe a sigh of relief, because while the spell clearly hit Edwin, it must be ineffective against ghosts, or supernatural beings in general, or maybe just Edwin; it doesn’t matter.

So, Charles starts to pull back, ready to shoot Edwin a smile and get up to go after the wizard once more, but it’s a moment too early, because with his hands still on Edwin’s shoulders, Charles watches as his eyes go dim, then black, and then close.

His body goes slack, still in Charles’ arms, head rolling forward against his shoulder, and Charles has felt fear before and yet learns it anew right there, kneeling on the floor, clinging to Edwin’s lifeless body.

The wizard uses the chaos that ensues to flee; Charles doesn’t even see him leave, just hears the electric charge of magic, the woosh of air filling the space his body had occupied just moments ago. But it doesn’t matter, how could it, not when Edwin’s lifeless body is in his arms, solid and yet without weight, without the spark that usually makes him feel real.

Charles forces himself to take a deep breath, then another one, just like he taught Edwin to do mere weeks after they had met, anything to force down the panic that threatens to overtake his body. He can’t let it, not when they are still here, exposed in an old hotel’s hallway, when the man who has done this to Edwin could be coming back any second.

Another breath, one that Charles forces down deeper than it wants to go, filling up lungs he does not have any longer; another one, just so Charles can get up, taking Edwin with him.

He’s light, which is nothing new, but there is something distinctly missing, something Charles usually can feel whenever they touch: Edwin’s energy, whatever it is that makes him him, is cut off, subdued, impossible for Charles to reach out to and touch.

It’s terrifying in a way that is so visceral that Charles’ next breath doesn’t make it down to his lungs, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat; he can’t feel Edwin, something he has gotten so used to doing with every touch that it turns his fingertips to ice where they are holding onto Edwin’s back, the length of his arms brittle and breaking and all but useless.

If it wasn’t Edwin he was holding, and if keeping Edwin safe wasn’t an instinct woven so deeply into the fabric of his soul it made up half its threads, he’d drop him from the shock of it. But it is Edwin, and so the breath just chokes him, as Charles cradles Edwin to his chest as tightly as he can without splintering his arms, and sets off to bring him home.

He lays Edwin down on their sofa, and for the first time since Charles met him, he looks dead.

The thought rips through Charles like a bullet would, and he banishes it immediately, wouldn’t know what else to do. Because Edwin is still in there, he knows it, has to know it so he won’t fall apart.

And ghosts, after all, disintegrate, don’t die like humans would, and Edwin is still there, solid and real on their sofa, even if his eyes are closed and his skin pale, and Charles will make him wake up again, even if it’s the last thing he ever does.

They have a library that contains all of the knowledge Charles could ever dream of and then some, so he goes and picks out as many book as he can carry and brings them over to where Edwin is laying.

There’s no space next to him, not the way he is spread out, and for a second, Charles considers… but he won’t. He wouldn’t.

So, instead, he sinks down to the floor next to the sofa and starts reading, and only stops when the first book proves utterly, utterly useless.

The second one does, too.

The third book mentions parsley as being connected to the underworld, talks about its vapours calling out to their goddess, so Charles finds some in Edwin’s unending jars and boxes, and burns it in a shallow dish he balances on Edwin’s chest.

Smoke wafts up and obscures his face; there must be something to it, because Charles can smell it bittersweet when he forces down another breath, and for a moment, he can feel hope flutter in his chest, a terrified sparrow caught between his ribs, ready to sing if Edwin opens his eyes. Only that when the mist clears, Edwin is laying there like he had been before.

Eyes closed, unmoving, and Charles has to shut his as well for a moment, just to make sure he doesn’t scream. The sight stays with him anyway, burnt into his retinas, and Charles counts to ten, then forces himself to take a breath, just to keep the panic from smothering him.

Another, and another, until he can open his eyes once more; another, and he picks up the next book. There is still a sliver of space next to Edwin’s feet, calling out to him, and Charles think and thinks and doesn’t do it this time, either.

The books tell him about myrtle and mistletoe and feverwort, so Charles tries all of them and watches them fail to change a thing, no matter if Charles burns them or puts their ground up leaves on Edwin’s silent tongue, or dabs their juices onto Edwin’s eyelids.

Fifteen books in, it becomes difficult to see the letters clearly, not because the sun had gone down and risen three times by now, but because Charles cannot swallow the panic down any longer. It’s clogging up his throat, as sharp and corrosive as bile, ripping at his chest with claws that slice right through Charles’ soul.

Edwin is still in there, he knows it, because if he wasn’t, Charles wouldn’t be here anymore, either.

He is in there, dormant or waiting or suppressed, and Charles will get him back, no matter if it takes herbs or spells or magic trinkets or just time. So, Charles puts a hand on his chest, right above where his heart would be, just like his mother taught him decades ago, and makes himself breathe, one, two, three.

It doesn’t change anything, and yet it helps; Charles looks down at Edwin, who looks frozen in time, pale skin and pink lips and lashes fanned out over high cheekbones, and he takes another breath.

And another one.

Crystal finds him on the morning of the fourth day, storming into the agency in a flurry of auburn hair and her purple coat; Charles hasn’t forgotten she exists – how could he ? – and yet, she has been as far from his mind as if he had.

“Now, I know you guys don’t drink coffee”, she starts, as loud and bright as the beginning of summer, as welcome as a gust of warm wind, “But you have to be aware that it is still pretty fucking rude to stand up your almost-best friend at – oh fuck, what happened?”

By the time Crystal has reached the sofa her eyes are wide and worried, and they remind Charles of Edwin’s the last time he saw them, and the thought hurts and throbs and makes him feel faint; he swallows it down with another mouthful of air, because there is no time for panic, no time for anything but figuring this out.

“Spell. I’m trying to figure out what to do about it”, Charles explains as succinctly as he can, because if he starts to go into all the forty-two hours and twenty-three minutes he has been sitting here, reading, he’ll break down before he reaches the second day. “Sorry for standing you up though. I didn’t mean to, I just-”

“It’s fine”, Crystal interrupts him before he can finish speaking; Charles doesn’t even have to look at her to know she means it, but does so anyway. “Any way I can help?”

And Charles loves her, he really, truly does.

Crystal makes it through a book and a half before she has to leave, and Charles gets up for a moment to hug her goodbye. He doesn’t really feel it and yet it helps, even if just a little. Then, after she has walked through the door, he looks back down at Edwin and considers sitting down, right there, where…

But he doesn’t.

When the botany books run out, Charles moves on to healing gems, and adorns Edwin’s still body with haematite and smokey quartz and amethyst, but there is no twitch, no flutter of an eyelid, no sign of life, of afterlife, at all.

So, Charles breathes away the panic, even if it feels like swallowing splinters and shards of rock, and leaves the smokey quartz on Edwin’s chest nonetheless. Even if it doesn’t call Edwin back to him, the book spoke of protection, and if there is something both of them need, it is that.

On the morning of the fifth day, Crystal returns, Niko right behind her.

She’s carrying the largest cup of coffee Charles has ever seen, her laptop under her arm, and there is determination radiating from her that Charles would be reassured by, if the panic hadn’t made its permanent home just below his collarbones by now, too knotted and tangled and vast to swallow any longer.

He still breathes it into submission, but every time a page turns, and an herb or an incantation or a gem fails to make a difference, it takes more effort, more breaths than before, until it feels like forcing himself to breathe is all Charles is still doing. Breathing and reading and watching Edwin like he is frozen in time and space, trapped in the spell’s amber like the rarest of butterflies.

“I’ve looked up some things”, Crystal tells him, and Niko nods, while she puts down her bag. “Niko brought a ghost box, in case we can communicate with him like that. And a Ouija board.”

That, at least startles a laugh out of Charles; it’s such a strange idea to try and reach Edwin like this, and yet, he realises, he is not above trying. Not if there is the smallest, the most miniscule possibility that it might work.

“Anything else I should know about?”, he asks, and it’s like he had forgotten that he has friends through the grief, the panic he is trying his best to quell, like it had slipped his mind how much he loved them.

Neither of them could replace Edwin, of course not, but not only because Edwin is irreplaceable. Also, because they are too important to be someone’s replacement: Niko and her brightly coloured cheerfulness and surprising insights, Crystal and her brilliant brashness and unbreakable will.

For a moment, Charles loves them enough for it to be overwhelming.

“Not really”, Crystal answers, as she sits down at the desk. “Couldn’t think of anything else. It’s really unfortunate that the one who got sleeping beauty-d was the walking encyclopedia. I’m sure Edwin would come up with two dozen ways of waking you up without breaking a sweat.”

Charles nods; it’s not the first time he has wished for their roles to be reversed, and it won’t be the last time. Both because of the reason Crystal states – Edwin would know what to do instantly, would have gotten Charles back by now – and because, well. Because if the choice is between Edwin and he, then Charles will always choose Edwin, as long as he exists.

“I know”, he states simply, and Crystal’s eyes soften; Charles’ own burn with tears he refuses to shed.

He’ll have time to cry later, once Edwin is back where he belongs.

The spirit box does nothing but spit out garbled nonsense, the planchette doesn’t move a centimetre on their Ouija board, and Charles breathes and breathes and breathes and still feels like he is suffocating.

“Maybe he really is like Sleeping Beauty”, Niko mumbles, half asleep from where she is curled on their single arm chair. It is so late that it is early again, and Charles has almost forgotten that the girls need to sleep, too wrapped up in reading and hoping and trying out things that fail anyway. “Maybe we could kiss him awake. I wouldn’t mind kissing him. If it helps.”

“That’s just a fairytale”, Crystal tells her, half gentle, half exasperated, but Charles almost doesn’t hear her over the rushing of blood he doesn’t have in his ears. “If not, then Charles would have kissed him awake days ago. Right?”

He never thought about it, even if he has been going through books upon books of old mythology – Greek and Roman and Indian and Japanese – and yet he has never considered that fairytales might hold answers, too. And yet, it isn’t that what shocks Charles into almost silence for a second, it’s that Niko says, I wouldn’t mind kissing him, and Charles first thought is, but you can’t.

“Yeah”, he replies, just to have said something, “Sure. I would’ve.”

The girls leave again the next day, citing their need for a shower, a hot meal and an actual bed, and Charles lets them go with a heavy heart and a forced smile on his lips.

He is nearing the end of his wits, all books he can think of having been read and all spells tried, all herbs mashed and burnt and distilled, all healing crystals placed on Edwin, then removed.

Before she closes the door behind her, though, Niko rushes back in and places a bright red band-aid on Edwin’s left hand, right across the back of it.

“I know it’s not a wound that makes him like this”, she explains before either Crystal or Charles can ask, sounding like she has been thinking about this for a long, long time. “But my dad always said that a band-aid would make anything heal better. Maybe not faster. But better. And I want him to heal the best.”

And Charles, even if there might be tears blurring his eyes, couldn’t agree more.

The sun sets on the sixth day and Edwin is still unmoving, lifeless, and Charles pulls out the last book he can find that seems to make any sense, a tome that seems as ancient as the opinions Edwin had on the Sex Pistols when he was still able to voice them, and sinks down onto the floor next to him.

By now, the panic is so familiar that he doesn’t think about it anymore as he turns to look at Edwin, the band-aid on his hand and the stillness of his body, just feels it rush through him with an intensity that never seems to waver, even as he breathes and breathes and breathes.

It’s been almost a week since he last heard Edwin’s voice, last saw his eyes crinkle up when he tries not to smile at one of Charles’ jokes, last felt anything when he looked at Edwin that wasn’t doused and drenched and drowned in fear. And it hurts to think it, terrifies Charles more than he could say, and for a moment, he wants nothing more than to break down and curl up and hold Edwin and just beg him to return, tears and sobs and promises to any god that might listen, which he might or might not keep.

But it wouldn’t help anything, wouldn’t bring Edwin back, so instead, Charles closes his eyes and feels the panic trying to strangle him so tightly it’s like a cord across the windpipe he doesn’t use any longer.

And he sucks in a breath, desperate and shaky, and before he starts to choke, he takes another.

And another.

And another.

And starts to read.

The sun of the seventh day rises and Charles finishes the book and there is nothing in it, nothing at all. Nothing to try, nothing to help, nothing to even give Charles a hint, a sliver, a thread of hope.

He takes a breath and it tastes like ash, feels like barbed wire, and for the first time, the panic stays right where it is, worming its way from his throat up to drown him.

What if he never wakes up?, it whispers, deep and threatening and somehow compelling Charles to almost believe it true. What if that spell snuffed out his soul and this is all you’ll have left of him?

Without thinking, Charles shakes his head, as if he could fling the thoughts from his mind, but the damage is done; he takes another deep breath and the fear clings to the back of his throat, coats his tongue, fills the space between his teeth, and hisses, What if you will never hear him speak another word?

The tears come and this time, Charles cannot stop them; they burn in his eyes, blur his vision, scald his cheeks as they finally fall. It’s like a dam has burst; it’s one tear, then a thousand, then he’s drowning in them like he is drowning in the panic that is clogging up his throat, swelling in his mouth until he cannot even try to take another breath.

What, it taunts, What if you’ll never be able to tell him what he deserved to hear?

He cries for what feels like hours, sunken into a heap at Edwin’s feet and yet, once his tears have dried, it doesn’t feel like their ocean inside his chest has diminished in the slightest. Nor has the panic, even if it is back clawing at his neck, not filling his mouth any longer, but it is there, lurking, waiting for a moment when Charles’ control slips to overtake him once again.

So, he takes in a deep, deep breath, that feels like it is designed to make him burst, and gets up once more.

There are no books left to read, at least none that Charles puts any hopes in, so he just walks over to their library to put back the last one – Edwin would be so mad at him if he found out he had left his priceless tomes on the agency’s floor – but before he turns away, unmoored, untethered, unneeded, something catches his eye.

It’s silly, but maybe silly is the last thing he still has left; he picks up the book of Grimm’s Fairytales and returns to the sofa where Edwin lays.

Ever since Charles had put Edwin down, arms longing to keep his form close for just a little longer, Charles has not been able to touch him. He had been tempted, because ever since they met, Charles had wanted to touch Edwin, but it had felt wrong, because Edwin wasn’t there to feel him, and it had felt wrong because Charles was certain he would be able to tell the difference. And would he be able to take it, wrapping a hand around Edwin’s wrist and not feeling the thrum of his energy, the almost-sensation that touching another ghost could bring?

Charles still isn’t sure, still thinks that it might shatter him beyond recognition.

And yet, he stands above Edwin now, looking down at his familiar features, the sharpness of his jaw and the crisp collar framing it, the emptiness of his expression. It might shatter him, but maybe it would be better than wasting away like this, panic clawing at him with every needless breath he doesn’t take, longing for any kind of contact he could have with Edwin.

He stands there for several endless seconds, before his body starts to move on its own; it feels natural and yet like the biggest possible transgression as Charles lifts Edwin’s legs from the cushions and sits down next to him, before depositing Edwin’s feet safely back in lap.

A second, and the grief, the pain, threatens to overwhelm him, because this is a mirror of how they used to sit on quiet nights; Edwin reading and Charles listening, his feet in Edwin’s lap. It had felt safe back then, like home, and yet it seems to tear him into pieces now.

Charles wants to jump up and run, wants to bury himself in the cushions, under the weightless pressure of Edwin’s feet, and never get up again.

He takes a breath, even if feels like smoke and ash and stale air, and opens the book.

“In times past there lived a king and queen...“

The stories are short, so Charles reads Edwin’s lifeless form Sleeping Beauty and Little Red Riding Hood and Mother Holle, takes a little break and then continues with Rapunzel. There is something soothing about the act, less the sound of his own voice or the content of the stories, but the reading itself. Reading to someone, reading to Edwin.

It makes Charles think of dying and feeling warm although his body was wracked with shivers, makes him think of doing research and having Edwin read out passages of books to him from across the desk, of sitting right here, on this sofa, with their roles reversed and wishing he could fall asleep to Edwin’s voice washing over him.

Edwin can’t hear him, of course, and Charles is aware of it with every word he speaks, and it matters, just not enough. Because Charles can still sit here and read to him, even if his voice doesn’t reach him, and he can wrap his fingers around Edwin’s ankle and hold onto it like it’s the only thing still grounding him, and maybe, for a moment, he can keep the fear at bay.

By the time he has finished the book, all twenty-three stories in it, the sun has set.

Sometime between The Three Spinners and Godfather Death, Charles has turned on the lights, so when he looks over at Edwin once more, he is bathed in golden light, the glow warming up his pale skin, casting shadows across his eyelids, underneath his cheekbones. He looks ethereal, like he was made from porcelain and silk, and Charles aches with the picture, because he looks just as still, just as lifeless. Dead, for the first time since Charles has known him.

The thought wraps around his heart and squeezes until he feels like giving in, forcing tears into Charles’ eyes and the breath he has been drawing so diligently from his imagined lungs once more.

He can’t be dead, not in a real sense, because Charles would not be able to take it.

Edwin’s eyes are closed, like they have been for a week, and Charles misses their colour, misses their light, misses how Edwin rolls them when Charles says something he deems ridiculous; his lips are parted the slightest hint, and Charles misses their smiles, their frowns, the way Edwin’s tongue sometimes flicks out between them, as if he still had to moisten them.

Without meaning to, Charles’ gaze gets stuck on them, on their colour and their plushness, and Niko’s voice echoes in his mind unbidden.

Maybe we could kiss him awake.

They can’t, surely they can’t.

And yet, Charles has tried every spell, every herbal remedy, has read more this past week than within the last three years, and Edwin is still lifeless beside him, untouched by all of it.

It would be a last resort, just a touch of lips against lips, even if Charles feels his heart speed up at the thought, fingers trembling as he puts down the book he is still holding onto. Nothing more than making sure that it’s not such an obvious solution that they missed.

Getting up and losing their connection for just as second feels unbearable, even if he’ll get to touch Edwin again a moment later, so Charles takes a deep breath for a new feeling this time, close to panic and yet softer, sweeter, and leans over Edwin’s body. It’s an awkward position, Edwin’s knees pressed against his chest and one of Charles’ hands clinging onto the backrest of the sofa to keep him upright, the other in the space between Edwin’s neck and shoulder; they’ve been close before, but never like this.

Suddenly, a thought: Edwin loves him.

Somewhere, wherever he is, Edwin loves him, and Charles is going to kiss him and Edwin won’t even know it.

“I’m so sorry, mate”, Charles whispers, even if it is only for his own ears, and feels his heart break. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And he leans down, no breaths, no thoughts, and kisses Edwin.

It’s just like he planned, lips against lips, even if Charles’ eyes slip shut, even if his metaphorical heart is exploding in his chest, a supernova, an atom bomb.

He kisses Edwin, and a silly, hopeful, doomed part of his mind expects Edwin’s hand to shoot up and grab his cheek to pull him in closer, expects Edwin’s lips to part wider in an invitation for Charles to lick into his clever mouth, expects Edwin to feel that he is being kissed and come back to life just to kiss Charles back.

A moment, Charles stays like this, hoping; another, he stays, despairing; at the third, he pulls back, eyes brimming with tears and lips tingling with Edwin’s echo on them.

It’s no fairytale they are in, and Charles had known it from the start, yet as he sits back and touches his fingers to his just-kissed lips, he remembers that most of those end badly anyway.

The girls will find him sooner of later, Charles thinks as he sits and stares at the wall, unable to move, unable to look at Edwin and find him lifeless still. They'll ask him what has happened, because there is no way they will not notice, and Charles doesn’t know which thought hurts him more: telling them and having to see the pity on their faces, or making up an excuse and having to suffer through this by himself.

Again, he touches his fingers to his lips – the twelfth time, he has been keeping count – and feels them tingle. Charles knows why, has known why since his lips touched Edwin’s, has known it before then, even, and yet he doesn’t want to finish the thought, doesn’t want to acknowledge the feeling spreading in his chest, making his dead heart beat once more.

Maybe it had been nothing but folly, but arrogance, but when he had promised Edwin that they would have forever to figure things out, he had believed it.

Even back then, Charles had sensed what his answer would be – because it was Edwin, it was a whole new way to be close to the person he cared about most already, an invitation to explore a side of his best friend Charles never would have considered seeing - but Edwin deserved more than a probably in the future, if you give me time. He deserved a yes, a please, a I love you the most.

And so Charles had put it off, even if he had started watching more closely, tracking Edwin’s motions, tracing the tendons of his hands and the lines of his face, listening to his explanations like one would do to music.

It had worked, too, because now, as he brushes his knuckles across his lips, he can feel Edwin’s on them instead, and his heart swells in his chest with an emotion he refuses to name, and his eyes burn with tears once more.

He breathes in, deep and desperate, even if he knows that the panic will suffocate him anyway.

At some point, Charles spaces out; the moments blur together, it starts to rain and stops again, birds singing in the newly discovered sun, and Charles hears it and yet doesn’t register it in the slightest. It doesn’t matter, after all. How could it?

“Charles?”

For a moment, Charles thinks it’s a dream, or a figment of his imagination, or his mind finally breaking after being focussed on nothing but Edwin for a week, his heart singing with a litany of pleasepleaseplease, but when his head snaps around to look at Edwin, there are eyes meeting his.

Confused, but awake, moss green; Charles’ favourite colour.

“Charles, what happened? Why are you- why are you crying?”

And he is, Charles notices with some detachment, because that, too, doesn’t matter; there are tears on his cheeks and dripping down his chin and making it hard to see, but he doesn’t have to see to find Edwin, falling across the sofa to hug him close to his chest.

Edwin is solid, but most importantly, the hum beneath his astral skin is back, the one that Charles wants to drink in and never be without again, like he has been starved for months and only now been given sustenance.

“You’re back”, he sobs into Edwin’s chest, ignoring how there are knees digging into his side, that Edwin is making a confused little sound at the back of his throat; Edwin is awake, he’s here, and that is all that matters, all that will ever matter from now on. “You’re back, God, I missed you so much-”

A beat passes, then an arm sneaks around his waist, Edwin’s hand settling between Charles’ shoulder blades, and he could stop existing happily right here, wrapped up in Edwin’s presence, the last thing he almost-feels his touch.

“I gather I have been out for quite some time?”, Edwin asks gently, fingers pressing along the ridges of Charles’ spine, who can’t do anything but nod, words drowned out by yet another sob. “I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. But I’m alright now, I promise. It was just a temporary banishing spell, nothing at all to be worried about.”

His voice is a balm to all of Charles’ wounds, soothing them even if it is yet to early for them to heal. The words don’t make sense right now, even if they might do so later, but Charles cannot bring himself to care; Edwin is the one speaking them, and he could ask for nothing more. There will be time for everything else later, for now, he just clings to Edwin and for the first time in days, takes a breath and feels the panic dissolve.

“You read all of them?”, Edwin asks what feels like hours later, eyes still moss green and wide again, like he cannot believe what Charles is saying. It makes sense; Charles can hardly believe it either.

“Didn’t have a choice, did I?”, he asks, pushing a hand through his hair almost self-consciously. “I didn’t know what else to do, and I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“I suppose. But still.” Edwin smiles at him, like he is surprised that Charles would go do this for him; he shouldn’t be. “I know you don’t particularly enjoy the older encyclopedias we have, so thank you for reading them anyway. Even if that means I might have to surrender my title as the brains of our operation. Seems like you’re the full package now, Charles.”

The words are soft, teasing, and Charles knows he would be blushing at them if he still had blood to make that happen; suddenly, he remembers the feeling of Edwin’s unmoving lips against his, soul-crushing and yet almost perfect.

“I will have to thank Crystal and Niko for their efforts as well”, Edwin muses, unaware of Charles’ brain short-circuiting. They have time now, once again, could have forever, but…. “Is there anything else I should be aware of that happened while I was unconscious?”

For a split-second Charles wants to say no – and in some way, it is true, nothing had happened, nothing could have happened, because the only thing that had mattered had been getting Edwin back – but he remembers leaning down to Edwin so clearly, whispering I’ll make it up to you a second before stealing his second kiss.

“Well”, he starts and Edwin looks at him expectantly; he’s beautiful in a way that Charles only knows from paintings, statues, the poems Edwin sometimes reads him at night. How has he ever been able to miss this? “Sort of. When we were. You know. Through with the books and the spells and all the herbs, Niko had this idea. Half asleep, but still. I didn’t consider it, not at first, but when nothing else had worked, well, I didn’t know what else to do, and I remembered her saying… she compared you to Sleeping Beauty.”

He cannot say it, can’t make his lips form the words, so he says this instead, hopes that Edwin will know just what he means. It takes a moment, then two, and Charles is about to force another breath down his unusable lungs, when Edwin’s eyes go wide with surprise.

“Y-You mean…?”, he asks, and Charles has never heard him stutter before, the sound so sweet he casts it in amber within his heart.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Charles, you didn’t have to – I mean, I hope it wasn’t too big an imposition, I never would have expected anything like this from you, it’s-”, Edwin continues like he’s stumbling after the right words, unable to catch up to them, and it is both endearing and heartbreaking, because even if Charles could never return his feelings, kissing Edwin, especially like this, for this, would never be an imposition.

“Nah, don’t worry”, he interrupts, before Edwin can say anything else. A breath, a decision, before he continues, “It’s not like I minded it. Just wish you could have been awake for it.”

He grins to calm his nerves; this isn’t panic, this is tension, this is sweet and yet terrifying, life-changing and yet worth everything.

Edwin stares at him for a second, his feet still in Charles’ lap, and Charles wants to kiss him again, wants to finally have a reason to put a name to the feeling that is lapping at his every thought now, threatening to spill past his eyes, his lips.

“You would rather have kissed me if I was awake?”, Edwin asks, his voice faint, like he cannot believe what he is asking, and Charles nods, not allowing a second in which Edwin could doubt it.

“Of course”, he answers and suddenly, it is so easy, because it’s the truth and because Charles wants Edwin to know it, know he is loved and he is wanted and that he is safe with him. “I know I said we had forever to figure things out, but you know me. I’ve always been inpatient, right?”

And it’s like watching the sun rise, Edwin’s wide eyes slowly lighting up like morning breaking, and Charles is warmed by it like by nothing be before in his existence; this, a voice whispers, must be what being in love feels like.

“You’re right”, Edwin finally replies, slower than usual, almost dreamlike, “Patience had never been a particular virtue of yours.”

He could drag this out, Charles knows it, and part of him wants to, because this is the kind of tension he thrives on, the sweetness before a kiss, before everything has been acknowledged, and because he has missed just looking at Edwin almost as much as he now misses the feeling of Edwin’s lips against his. But he’ll have time to look at Edwin later, too, they will have time to talk, because forever is back on the table and Charles will use up every second of it to spend it with Edwin.

“Still isn’t”, he therefore tells Edwin, leaning in just a little closer. The position is almost as awkward as it had been the first time, but Charles still cannot bring himself to care. “But maybe-”

Only that he doesn’t get further than that, because Edwin launches himself forward, arms wrapping around Charles’ neck t o pull him down and then Edwin is kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. It’s inelegant, inexperienced, too hard and yet not hard enough, and Charles feels his heart break, feels it mend again, because this is what kissing Edwin should always have been; too much and yet not close to enough.

He kisses back, just a little gentler, one hand coming from resting around Edwin’s ankle to cup his cheek, and for a second, Edwin pulls back to look at him, moss green eyes shining.

Charles takes a breath, just like his mother taught him, deep and steady, just to keep himself from spilling every loving thought he’s ever had into the inch of space between them.

And instead kisses Edwin again.

[padfoot-lupin77]

This might have been discussed before but I haven’t seen it anywhere so: the comedy potential of the Night Nurse staying at the dead boy detective agency is absolutely insane. She knows little about the human world. And she doesn’t like any of the people she now has to work with. Absolute Chaos dialogues under the cut cause this post would be too long otherwise

Night Nurse: *knocks on Crystal’s door*

Night Nurse: Who the fuck is Charlie?

Crystal: you mean Charles?

Night Nurse: No- I know who Charles is, little girl.

Crystal: don’t call me th-

Night Nurse: it was Charles, in fact, who asked if I know about that Charlie and some angels of his. I know all about angels, was this ghost boy mocking me?

Crystal:

Crystal: Charles fucking Rowland didn’t Edwin tell you that the ‘Charlie’s Angels’ thing was a bad idea?

Night Nurse: *deep breath* aright if we have to work together I suppose it would be good to get to know each other

Night Nurse: so, how long have you two been together?

Charles: uh-

Edwin: we’ve been best mates ever since I… escaped hell the first time, around the time Charles died.

Night Nurse: *nods skeptically*

*later that day*

Night Nurse: so your name is Jenny?

Jenny: yes. If I understand correctly you’re an immortal being from the afterlife… or something?

Night Nurse: an eternal transdimensional being but I wouldn’t expect anyone to know the difference

Jenny: great, more supernatural stuff. Just what we needed.

Night Nurse: so, Jenny, you seem to me like the most normal around here.

Jenny: a sentence I never expected to hear, but go on.

Night Nurse: can you inform me what the phrase “best mates” means?

Jenny: seriously? Okay, from what I get it’s the British way to say best friends

Night Nurse: like, a couple?

Jenny: no, like best friends. Two very good friends.

Night Nurse: I’m sorry, I must have got this wrong somehow?

Jenny: clearly. What’s confusing?

Night Nurse: the Edwin boy said he and Charles are best mates but they seem too close with each other?

Jenny: *laughs* yeah, I thought so too. But sometimes friends are very close too. Not that I would know.

Night Nurse: and what makes a close friendship different from a… relationship?

Jenny: honestly, I think you’ve got the wrong person for these questions, I have no idea

Night Nurse: humans don’t make any sense

Night Nurse: I don’t think this will work, I’m going to get my own apartment.

Crystal: and how are you going to do this, exactly?

Night Nurse: I will go whichever local office is responsible for this type of transfers and get whatever papers necessary. I’ve spent all my time doing paperwork, how different can human paperwork be?

Edwin, under his breath: you have no idea

Night Nurse: In fact I will go right now.

Crystal: should we tell her?

Charles: Nah, let her find out the hell that is human-world paperwork

Charles: but this Night Nurse sabotaged our case!

Edwin: I know, just hold on a minute because I just had a most brilliant idea.

*whispers at Charles the plan*

Charles: you’re a genius, mate.

Edwin: I know, now let’s tell Crystal.

*the next day*

*knocks on the Night Nurse’s door*

Charles: hello miss Night Nurse

Crystal: we have brought you a present

Edwin: yes, we- ahem, we realized you were right…

Charles: *trying not to laugh* and we have brought this present to apologize

Night Nurse: that’s… nice of you kids… let me see

Night Nurse: *opens the box*

Night Nurse: *sees a fish tank with an angler fish identical to the one that swallowed her in ep 4*

Night Nurse: you. You evil, demon children how dare you

Edwin, Charles and Crystal all burst out laughing

[yinora-evergreen]

It’s sort of a comedy ship idea. Dead Boy Detectives Cat King x reader, Edwin’s alive relative who is a warlock. In the UK they were nicknamed curse breaker and helped the boys on their cases. Unfortunately no matter how hard they try they can’t get the bracelet off Edwin. The Cat King finds their attempts hilarious……the warlock confronts him and tells him to knock off the mockery!

Warlock: “If you don’t release Edwin I swear I will-!”

Cat King: “Sorry little magician but I’m not a common being, spells don’t work on me. Nice try though and you look so adorable when you’re angry.”😼

pairing: the Cat King x Payne! alive! warlock! gn! reader, Edwin Payne x alive! relative! gn! reader, Charles Rowland x platonic! reader

a/n: i wasn't sure how to add romantic attraction to this so i tried to keep it so it's implied, i hope it's as you hoped!

ps: i tried to write warlock! reader as accurate as possible, but it's probably not perfect, so excuse any inacuracies and feel free to point them out!

Edwin's first though when he got back to Crystak's 'apartment' with that damned bracelet was that you could get it off, right?

so, Charles mirror-travelled to where you said you'd be if you were available, a specific backroom in an abandoned warehouse that you called home.

you kept a mirror there just for them, as it happened more often than they'd like to admit that they needed you to break a curse or needed your magic expertise.

so when Charles practically barged in to drag you to Port Townsend, you weren't exactly surprised.

untill you saw why they needed you.

you happened to already be familiar with the Cat King, as you had a time or two when you had to visit the town for a client needing a spell done, or removed.

you walked into the room with Charles, seeing Crystal practically covering her ears as Edwin banged the bracelet against the different furniture and pipes in the room.

"hey Edwin, what's the problem?" you inquired and he seemed to be relieved.

"take this off, as quick as you can." you raised an eyebrow at him, one he knew all too well.

"...please..." "ofcourse, i can try, do you mind giving me some info on how you even got it in the first place?" you say as you take his wrist and look at the golden bracelet, a vague sense of recognition washing over you and you touch it.

"well, i used a simple, utterly harmless binding spell on a cat, and-"

"you used a spell on a CAT?!" you practically yell, already feeling the vague headache you'd get from the Cat King.

"well, yes, and i do realize it wasn't the best idea, now that i have this inconvenient bracelet" he says in an annoyed tone.

"and let me guess, you got to meet the nuisance that is the Cat King?"

"you know of him?" Edwin asks in a slightly surprised tone.

"ofcourse i know him, he's a pain in my ass" you mutter.

you turn to Crystal, a forced smile on your face which seems more like you're on your last strand of sanity.

"it would be best if you'd take a step back, if this spell backfires it might disintegrate your skin" you say it so casually you can see her confusion with a hint of fear on her face.

"and yours won't? you seem pretty alive to me" she comments, though she does take a step or two back.

"i'm a warlock, i have the influence of a demon in my magic and that very same demon allows me to be able to suffer through higher temperatures without being in any physical pain, so don't you worry about me" you say as you wrap your hand around the bracelet, murmering some words in latin as your hand starts to glow a red-ish orange, though even after over 30 seconds it does absolutely nothing to the bracelet, much to your annoyance.

"well, that seems to have worked splendidly" Edwin comments, instantly receiving a glare from you.

"just, do whatever he told you to do to get it off, i'll go pay mr whiskers a visit" you grumble.

you walk out, speed-walking to the place where you've found the cat king before, much to your luck you actually find him too.

before he can say anything, you start talking.

"if you don't release Edwin i swear i will-"

"sorry, little magician, but i'm not a common being, spells don't work on me. Nice try though, you look so adorable when you're angry"

the tone that he uses makes you want to punch that little smug grin right off his stupid face.

"you're such a nuisance, i hope you lose another one of your nine lives like last time" you grit out through clenched teeth.

"you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid~" the Cat King nearly purrs, which only irks you even more.

"fuck you, and your cats, and those stupid eyes of you and your stupid hair" you practically yell, which makes him put on a fake, pained expression.

"oh no! not my cats, dearest warlock" he laughs, his mocking tone making your blood boil and your cheeks turn red, though as much as you deny it he does have his appeal.

"just, don't inconvenience me even more, asshole" you mumble as you turn to leave, and as you walk away you hear him yell after you.

"come see me whenever you like, i promise i'll make it worth it!"

[terresdebrume]

Managed to give myself a headache working on that down on my knees update this morning (I think it only worked bc letters are easy and the first draft had come out pretty satisfying already) but fortunately the phone has better eye protection tools so we're doing this

Also if you want to read the rest of these they're under Messrs Payne and Rowland's Adventuring Agency on my blog

They take Crystal along to what they call preliminary interviews. The Agency is apparently a bit of a pain to maintain if no one is inside, and neither Charles nor Mr. Payne want to leave her alone in there, the first because he's afraid she'll get bored, and the second because he doesn't trust her with his things. Crystal, who doesn't have anything particular to do anyway, follows them with minimal resistance.

"Keep in mind," Mr. Payne tells her over his shoulder as they make their way to the crowded streets, "that we will be dealing with fairly desperate people. There is a balance we must keep between allowing them to have hope and acknowledging that the world is sometimes very unfair."

"That's bleak," Crystal says. "You think the girl could be dead?"

"I think children under the age of twelve are rarely prepared to survive on their own for a few days. She may be safe and sound, but every hour that passes makes that hope flimsier."

"Most of this type of cases involve some kind of accident," Charles says, smiling at a baker who offers to seel him pastries for cheap. "Kid goes somewhere they're used to go, only that time the faulty floorboard breaks, or they slide on the wobbly stone, that sort of things. When I was a kid, my mates and I used to play around an abandoned temple. Did that for years without any issue, 'til one day little Daniel got stuck in his favorite hide and seek spot and it took a whole afternoon to dig him out."

Crystal nods. It doesn't resonate, this image of kids roaming around unsupervised, doing whatever they want the whole day and only calling adults if something serious happened. Then again, if Charles and Mr. Payne are correct and she's from a rich family, she imagines there would have been people whose entire job revolved around watching her. She would have had a different childhood.

"The point being that it is too soon to make conjectures as to Rebecca Aspen's location or status, and we cannot allow hypotheses based on empty air to influence a first interview. For this reason, you must absolutely remain silent while we discuss the situation with the parents, is that clear?"

Crystal frowns and turns to Charles, but finds no help there.

"If you notice something odd or you have a question you can ask me, yeah? But we do have a solid process here and until you know more about the job it's probably best if you observe."

"Okay," Crystal says after a long hesitation.

She doesn't like the idea of sitting on her hands, but Charles' argument makes sense, and she's a teenager anyway. The potential clients will probably listen to the adults more than her.

She is, by and large, right about this assessment... But only until she has the vision.

[iremiari]

Daydreams || A Dead Boy Detectives Ficlet

A journalist interviews Charles and Edwin, asking how they would feel if Season 2 got cancelled. aka: the time i got too carried away making incorrect quotes (hence this fic being mostly dialogue), so have this really short ficlet of them!! Also yes, they technically broke the 4th wall during this entire thing.

Edwin and Charles are sitting on chairs, sitting in front of a white backdrop - much like those you see in interviews. Because they were in an interview, and by the looks of it, it was almost about to end.

One of the news reporters have given Charles and Edwin a question: How would they feel if they didn't get renewed for Season 2?

"Nonsense." Edwin reacts almost immediately. "It is imperative that we get renewed for Season 2. I must," he composes himself, "I must hear Charles tell me he loves me."

Charles, next to him, raises an eyebrow, and looks at Edwin with a smile, "Oh, and you're certain about that, yeah?"

"Well, no. But one could infer that-"

A little peck had landed on Edwin's lips.

Charles has just kissed Edwin, and the two boys look at each other. Charles is the first to speak.

"'Cause you're right. I do. I am in love with you."

Edwin just looks at him, stunned. Charles, charming as he is, gives him a topic to go off of.

"But keep going. I love hearing you talk about whatever's on your mind."

Edwin tries to speak, but he cannot seem to focus with what just happened and how casual Charles is treating this situation. All that comes out of his mouth is a series of mumbles and stutters, "I- there is-- I am… speechless."

"Aw," Charles smiles, "luckily, that isn't a problem."

He kisses him again, way more intense than the small peck he gave him earlier. They wrap their hands around each other's head, and continue. For Charles, it felt like a dream come true. He had been waiting to say that for a long time and--

"Right, Charles?" a voice says, interrupting whatever Charles was imagining.

"Huh, yeah, what?"

Turned out it was a dream. A daydream, anyway.

"Clearly, you got distracted again." Edwin gave a sigh - not one of disappointment, though. Maybe Charles was just imagining it, but it sounded like... a sigh of adoration.

"Anyway, I was telling these journalists just now that if our show does not get renewed for another season, then it would be highly devastating - for both us, the agency and the viewers at home."

"Oh," Charles collects himself, "Oh yeah, now you got me. I totally agree."

He looks at the camera. "I think a lot of people are... excited to see where our story leads, especially like- especially considering all the different narratives in store for us."

He ends with a chuckle, and turns to Edwin, smiling. "Also, sorry for zoning out there, mate. Won't happen again. Promise."

"We shall see about that." Edwin said to him with a coy smile, hiding his delight, before turning his attention to the journalists in front of them.

"Would that be all for you lovely people today? Charles and I do still have a lot of work to get done."

"Certainly, Mr. Payne and Mr. Rowland. Thank you for your time."

The news reporter looks through their notes as Charles and Edwin walk out of the set, looking very satisfied with the outcome of the interview.

[llflorence]

It's rude to keep friends waiting - RatedE, Didn't know they were dating, Dream of the Endless x Hob Gadling, Charles Rowland x Edwin Payne

The book she’s chosen is an obscure, narrow-minded piece. Stories of world domination, of blood and lust and murder. One hand holds the book open, the other trailing down the page as she reads. She’s been doing it now for an excruciating amount of time.

Dream tries to be patient and fails. He’s followed her into the eclectic and strange shop with focused purpose. He meant to approach her right away and gain answers to his questions, but the gentle smile on her face as she scanned the bookshelves stopped him.

He’s seen a smile such as that before.

Now, though, he feels as if she’s toying with him.

“What do you want?” she asks just as he’s about to begin to speak. “I assume it’s something important or you wouldn’t be stalking me like a creepy weirdo.”

Dream bristles; Johanna always has that effect on him. “I am not stalking you. I am seeking you out for advice.”

She laughs at that, cold and heartless and sardonic. “Advice from me? That’s hilarious.”

She does put down the book, however, tucking it under her arm and cocking her head to face him. The pain and sadness that comes with a life such as hers stares out at him. They are similar in that way.

“Well? Spit it out. Haven’t got all day to chat.”

There’s something about the antagonistic way she addresses him that sets a fire within, and he very nearly turns and walks away. But there’s a tugging inside his chest that’s become more and more urgent. He sets his chin high and proceeds.

“I need your help with something rather delicate.”

Her thick eyebrows raise and a dimple forms in her cheek. He’s caught her interest. “Go on.”

Dream does not feel fear nor shame nor uncertainty. He does, however, feel regret. “I have not been the most successful –” He pauses to find the right word. “Intimate partner.”

Instead of the scoff he’d expected, Johanna’s face remains the same. “And you think I have been?”

Dream nods his head once. “You are at least one step better than I. Your Rachel is with you still.”

Johanna, the clever girl, immediately understands. “Yeah, but we’ve been through the ringer, she and I. She’s patient and forgiving and absolutely lovely. I fucking don’t deserve her.”

Dream thinks Johanna deserves exactly her, but he knows she is not to be convinced. He moves the story along, laying out more of his reason for finding her.

“My past experiences have all ended in disaster. I do not know how to approach intimacy with another without failing before I even begin.”

Johanna considers him for a long moment, lips pursed. It appears she is taking him seriously. He’s prepared to be a good listener.

She draws in a quick breath. “Is it old Hobsie that interests you? Is that who you want to bang?”

Her tone is crude and Dream wishes to scold her, but he restrains himself. “He deserves better.”

Her mouth forms a smirk and her eyes fill with mischief. “My advice to you then is to go for it. He’s a big boy. He can handle whatever it is you can dish out.”

Dream agrees with her. There is something about the impossible man that intrigues him. A scoundrel with misaligned morals, he has adapted and changed and become a much kinder individual. Hob ebbs and flows with Dream’s stormy moods. Dream is drawn to him with the force of the Earth’s gravity.

“Look,” Johanna continues, taking a step closer. There are dark shadows under her eyes and tired lines around her mouth. “I don’t know that I’m the right person  –”

Dream has seen her dreams, the horrors that haunt her when she drifts off. There are things he can do to – “I can take away your nightmares. Bring the sleep you so desperately need. If only you’ll help me?”

Johanna recognizes a good bargain when she is presented with one. She takes it and warps it into something confusing. 

“Not for me,” she says, her tone dark and serious. “For Rachel. She wakes up screaming, thinking I’m never coming back. That I’ll be trapped in hell or I’ll die. Part of the reason I end up sabotaging us over and over is because I can’t stand watching her suffer like that.”

Dream wonders what it’s like to sacrifice such a gift for another. But he nods and agrees to it. “Rachel will worry no more.”

Johanna fixes him with a glare that says he’d better not back out on his word. Dream offers his hand. She takes it in her own.

“OK.” Her smile returns. “You know him well enough. What does he need?”

Confused, Dream blinks. The man needs for nothing.

“All right. What makes him happy? You must have an idea about that.”

Dream thinks of how Hob laughs at his favorite television programs. How he tears up when he speaks of homeless children being fed and clothed. The way he smiles when they talk about philosophy, about history, about complete nonsense. He supposes he does know what the man enjoys.

“I do. But how do I move past the awkwardness toward intimacy?”

Johanna laughs again. “The God of Dreams is ready to skip right to the sex, you absolute wanker, you.”

It’s vile, and it’s uncouth, but it’s regrettably the truth.

“Just be with him, Dream. He’s already into you. Communicate. Talk. And maybe butter him up with flowers and champagne, or some such nonsense. Works for Rachel every time I cock things up.”

Dream does not think Hob likes flowers. He’s bound to complain that they would only die. And he’s more of a scotch or whiskey drinker, although he might be convinced. Still, it seems strange to bribe him with such trivial gifts.

“I feel as if our relationship requires more than the traditional courtship. Robert is very different from any other partner –”

“Whoa. Hold on. Are we talking sex here? Or something more long-term? Like, a forever kind of thing?”

Dream sometimes thinks he must speak his own language. “Are they not the same?”

How Johanna finds that funny is beyond understanding. She slaps a hand on his upper arm and shakes him most violently. “What are you doing here, wasting precious time talking to me? Get in there and take him! You’re perfect for each other!”

—

Hob Gadling’s brow is lined as he bows over his work. There’s a focused seriousness about him tonight that Dream finds disconcerting. His new endeavor of teaching others about his passions has recently taken more of his time than ever. It’s drawn a line between them. One that must be crossed carefully.

Dream taps his fingers on the armrest of Hob’s sofa, absolutely not paying any attention to the movie currently playing. Instead, he’s focused on the intent set of his friend’s shoulders.

Dinner was delicious. The conversation flowed with ease. Hob reached for his hand no less than seven times, laughing, slightly drunk, beautiful. They sat side by side on the subway, knees touching, shoulders pressed together. Openly friendly and satisfyingly uninhibited, Dream had felt as if he actually had a soul.

Back in Hob’s apartment, though, things had shifted back to their usual. Hob took to his work, Dream to the couch.

His opportunity is slipping away quite decidedly. Dream must do something.

He pushes off the couch and approaches Hob at the table, looking down at the red-marked papers in a haphazard stack next to his laptop. Always the thorough one, Hob attaches little yellow sticky notes to each and every paper he scores. Words of encouragement grace every single one. He really is remarkable.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dream tries, already knowing the answer. Robert is highly protective of his students’ privacy.

Hob doesn’t look up. “Load the dishwasher? Throw the dirty clothes in the washer? Fix me a cup of tea and get rid of this kink in the back of my neck?”

He’s joking, of course. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Almost as if it’s a coverup for what he really wants to say.

Dream turns and walks down the hall. He’s quite capable of doing the dishes and the laundry. He knows Hob doesn’t really mean for him to do it, but his friend is currently lost in his work. So he hauls the basket to the bottom floor and slots the coins into place before riding the elevator back to the flat.

While he waits, he fills the dishwasher, adds soap, and activates the machine. Then he sets the pot on the stove to boil and readies Hob’s favorite tea.

Dream’s hands begin to tremble as he stirs in the milk. He scolds himself for being so weak and delivers the beverage without a word.

Hob’s eyes slide to the right at the cup sitting on the coaster. His pen stills on the yellow note, and his shoulders tense the moment Dream touches him.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks, sounding hesitant and unnerved. Dream presses his thumbs into the space where Hob’s shoulder blades meet.

“Touching you,” he says, although it seems blatantly obvious to him. “Your tendons are quite stiff.”

A shudder makes its way through Hob’s body, most likely triggered by the too-light stroking of thumbs on the back of his neck. Dream corrects and presses harder, kneading the loose skin with care.

Hob drops his head forward and makes the most alarming of sounds, and Dream pulls back.

“Have I hurt you?”

Dream' worst fear, that his strength might cause harm to a most important person.

But Hob spins suddenly in the chair, his papers flying in all directions. Dream leans down and only just stops the tea from spilling and ruining them.

Hob is gasping for breath. His eyes wide, looking confused. “No. Please. Don’t stop. It – it doesn’t hurt.”

Dream acknowledges and continues massaging the man’s shoulders. Hob turns away and begins to tidy his papers.

“Did you take me seriously just now? Did I hear you actually doing dishes?”

Dream catches the disbelief in his voice; it’s extremely entertaining. “Of course. And the clothes are washing downstairs. I told you I wished to help. You gave me a task, I saw to it.”

Hob is leaning back against Dream’s hands now, his torso beginning to go limp, his neck malleable. “Thanks for that. But. You don’t have to. You’re not a servant, after all.”

Dream remembers quite clearly their discussion about the slave trade. The about-face the man took after his suggestion is another reason Dream adores Hob so.

Because it is most definitely adoration. An unfathomable devotion. Dream thinks there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Hob, if he so asked.

“Slavery of this sort is very different, my Dearest Hob. It’s not against anyone’s will. I enjoy serving you, if only to see the smile on your face.”

This has the same effect as Dream’s first touch on Hob’s tense neck. He whirls around again, this time mindful of the items on the table.

His deep brown eyes, so big and round and soft, search Dream for some falsehood. He’s in utter disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

He moves his fingers into the base of Hob’s hair. He massages the man’s scalp and watches those eyes as they roll back.

“I do not say things I do not mean.” Robert should know that about him by now.

But Hob is looking shaken, visibly spooked by something Dream has done or said. His jaw is tight and his mouth a thin line. He’s direct when he speaks next, seeking answers just as Dream has done. “What is it you want? From me? Dream?”

It’s a challenge that begs to be met. Dream does just that.

“I wish to touch you. I think of nothing else.”

There is a horrible moment where it appears he’s ruined everything. The mutual respect. The friendship. The future. And then Hob stands so quickly Dream must take a step back. The man snatches at his shirt. Shakes him. Angry.

“I’ve been wanting you to do just that since our last reunion at the Inn. A hundred years spent thinking you hated me made me see how much you mean to m–.”

Hob’s voice trembles, stops and starts and stalls completely at the end. His fingers are stretched taut as they clutch at Dream’s clothing. Dream finds that he, too, is vibrating slightly. It’s like no sensation he’s ever felt before.

“I promise you, Robert Gadling, that I will fail at loving you. But if you give me a chance to try —“

Hob throws his head back and laughs. He readjusts one fist into the bulging loose front of Dream’s shirt and fixes an alarmingly hungry look upon Dream’s mouth.

They’re close now. Close enough to smell the afterburn of an evening cocktail, to feel the heat of rapidly increased breathing. Hob continues to stare at Dream’s mouth.

“I swear to god. If you don’t kiss me this very second, I’m going to p—“

Dream kisses him. The word he meant to say punctured into a gasp, mouth partially open as Dream slips inside. Momentarily stunned, Hob goes limp enough to require catching. But even as Dream wraps protective arms about him, Hob kisses back.

Dream has experienced immortal desire before, but nothing like this. The longing and determination and basic wanting that powers Hob’s mouth and tongue. Dream finds the amount of pressure the man gives with both lips is directly connected to the tug of something inside his chest. It’s incredibly erotic; it makes him dizzy.

Not only dizzy, but confused. Hob seems to simultaneously want to be touched and do the touching. He rips his own shirt off, exposing that fantastic hairy chest, but moves Dream’s hand over the fastens for his trousers. He pulls Dream to his mouth to bruise their lips together, then pushes him away and looks down to watch his hands. Licks his lips. Emits a soft moan. Then lifts his eyes again to Dream���s face.

“Jeezus,” Hob breathes as Dream frees him from the constraints of the remainder of his clothing. The man’s fully flushed cock nestles into the thick patch of fur across his tanned, toned lower abdomen. Both hands lift to Dream’s face, tugging hard to pull him in for another kiss.

It is something he cannot allow.

“Hob,” he says, voice dropped to decibels that seem to make the very air tremble. “Allow me?” And then, for good measure, and because he knows Johanna would be proud of him, “Please?”

“Oh god.” It’s something Hob says quite frequently. He’s always going on about some invisible deity, as if he needs saving.

Dream pulls Hob along to the bedroom, not wanting to share with anyone else. He wants no distractions; no calls, no texts, no annoying advertisements on the television. There was a time when he wished for the entire Waking World to know the pleasure his partner was feeling. His gut clenches at the thought of letting anyone infringe on Hob’s ecstasy.

His partner attempts again to kiss him, to distract him from the task at hand. He lifts Dream’s shirt, and although the brush of warm fingers on his skin is delectable, that’s neither here nor there.

Dream doesn’t need to speak. All it takes is a firm jaw and a look, and Hob is calling out his pathetic god’s name again, closing his eyes as if to pray.

It stops him from pawing at Dream’s clothing, though. He sits obediently on the end of the bed and looks up. The dimple in his handsome chin cries out for attention. Dream touches it with one fingertip.

Hob’s pretty mouth falls open and he sounds completely wrecked. He clutches the bedclothes as if preparing himself. “I dunno if I’m going to survive your hands, Dream.”

Amused, he asks. “My what?”

Brown eyes pierce his own. “Your hands! I’ve a thing for them; it’s pretty serious. Once you start touching me I’m never going to want it to stop.”

Dream leans one knee against the bed and allows Hob to collect both hands to his mouth. Then he permits the man to kiss his fingers because it appears to please him.

“Why would you ever want it to stop, Dearest Hob? If you’ve truly been thinking about it for as long as you claim –”

With a mighty yank, Hob manages to pull Dream down on top of him. Their bodies collide and meld in the kind of way that thrills; a most delightful crush. That wide jaw finds his, a long, crooked nose pushes Dream’s aside. Lips tease the edges of his own. “Will you just shut up?”

Dream smirks; it’s a powerful feeling knowing what he can do to Robert Gadling. 

He keeps his comments to himself as he proceeds to learn every possible fold and flaw in Hob’s skin.

He’s remarkably soft, where Dream had thought him to be rough, coarse. His chest hair and thigh hair and underarm are wonderful under his fingers. Nipples perk and draw forth more gasps, sensitive abdominal muscles jerk away at the slightest touch. And it’s fortunate the windows are closed when Dream wraps his whole hand around the man’s rigid cock.

“Fuck!” Hob shouts, startling Dream and causing him to squeeze a bit harder. This, in turn, elicits a sharp inhale and an entirely molten stare.

Quite suddenly, Robert’s eyes widen, and he pushes up on both palms. “Shit! You didn’t read my stories when we were in the Dreaming, did you?”

The laugh that builds and builds before escaping Dream’s lips feels warm and oddly welcome. He’s not used to the lightness in his chest, but he’s glad to share it with Hob.

“I would never do such a thing. Lucienne would have my head.”

Hob’s expression turns relieved and he lies back against the pillows. It’s a sight Dream knows he will never, ever tire of.

His lover is frightfully expressive as Dream strokes him to the peak. He almost appears in pain, especially when his testicles are caught tightly in one hand. Hob assures Dream he’s fine, then proceeds to writhe and arch and moan.

When he reaches for Dream’s fingers to move them more quickly over the flesh of his cock’s exquisite head, it’s Dream who makes a sound. The gorgeous stoppered grunt and then warm gush of fluid has been encouraged by Dream’s hand.

Hob’s body heaves as his cock jerks and twitches. He whimpers. He laughs. He squints up at Dream and then hides his face in both hands. Dream sits on his haunches over his lover’s thick thighs, watching with awe as Hob regains control of his breathing.

It’s a surprise when Robert grabs his face and pulls him down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss. He’s drunk on his orgasm and sharing, quite enthusiastically, how Dream’s made him feel.

There is an urge that begins in Dream’s loins, one that pushes him to swipe his hand through the ejaculate that spreads into Hob’s belly hair. He resists because he isn’t certain if that is acceptable behavior. Hadn't he once lectured this man about the evils of ownership?

Hob attempts to reciprocate, and Dream collects both wrists into one hand. The man could fight him, could wrench himself free if he wanted. But he ceases struggling and goes limp once again. His eyes roll shut. His mouth falls open. He turns his head from side to side.

Finally, he looks up under long, wet eyelashes and attempts to make a joke.

“God. If I’d have known you were a power junkie, I’d have played harder to get.”

He’s rather handsome when he tries to deflect like this. It matches well with his usual flirty tone. But Dream has merely scratched the surface of all this man can do. Oh, how he can’t wait to do it again.

AO3

[fenristheulv]

Written as a bit of an aside, but i wanted to flesh out Monty sooo..

Monty hadn’t known what to expect. He'd never had a job before. At least not without Esther having the run of the place. Not with a salary! Not full of strangers and the possibility of getting fired and no-one to tell him when he was doing something wrong. Not without a prewritten script and Esther to lean on and… Deep breath. Focus. Bright smile. 

He´d been getting used to it, slowly. It's been a while since he'd done anything alone. Or.. well.. He'd gotten an apartment. Monty winced. One of Esther´s assistants had gotten him an apartment because she felt bad for him. All alone now. It had come fully furnished and he'd spent the last few days mostly just sitting around, staring at the off-white(seashell white, a voice in his head, sounding a lot like Esther´s, insisted) walls, getting used to, not the quiet, it was always quiet back at home, but.. the lack of Esther´s presence maybe. 

It was always there, no matter how long it’d been since she'd last been home. Days, or weeks. She was a busy woman. She had no time to just hang about at home. But her presence did. It could always be felt, like it was emblazoned across the ceiling, “Esther was here!”. Loud, oppressive, like she could see and judge everything Monty did. Not that she cared all that much as long as he wasn't embarrassing her. No! Deep breath. Focus. Bright smile. 

Things he'd accomplished. He'd gotten here! Early even. Monty hadn’t been supposed to go out much and absolutely not without Esther. Who knew what stupid thing he might say or do without her there to tell him off. Whenever she wanted to go out together she'd instruct him. Tell him what to wear and what to say. She´d introduce him and then keep him close until she either sent Monty off to charm someone or got bored and forgot she´d ever brought him. At that point he´d generally retreat to the car or a corner and wait for whatever event they were at to be over so he could go home. He’d hated those events. The only thing he hated more was being left at home, ignored. Not that it mattered now. Monty would never go to another grand opening or afterparty. He'd never get another dismissive wave and coat thrown at him in reply to his “welcome home”. And it was all his fault.

He looked through the restaurant's front windows. It was still early, not even eleven yet. It was still a while before the lunch-rush, Monty was surprised they even opened this early, although, looking at the tables, it made sense. It was as full as La Sorcière towards the end of dinner on a good day. Then there was suddenly someone staring back at him from inside the restaurant, waving him inside cheerfully. Monty felt a sudden desire to bolt. Deep breath. Focus. Bright smile. 

He walked as steadily as he could inside. The same man, who waved him in, quickly appeared in front of him. 

“Welcome! Table for one?” He asked. Smile bigger than Monty had ever been able to force his, looking at ease and comfortable, like talking with Monty was exactly what he'd hoped to do when he woke up that morning. The way Monty had never managed.

“No, sorry, hi!” Monty´s hand started a stupid little wave before he caught it and stopped. “ I’m Monty Finch. I’m supposed to work here. A Aadh..uhm Aadhya Rowland sent me an e-mail. I’m a bit early but..”

Monty stumbled over the name, despite having practiced it relentlessly on the way there. He could feel himself getting redder and redder the more he talked but he Just Couldn’t Shut Up. He considered just leaving then and there. Luckily the man across from him was not having the same issue. If anything his smile got bigger.

“Of course. Mum mentioned you’d be coming today. I’m Charles. Come along and we’ll get you started.” The man, Charles, started walking through the restaurant fast. Monty doing his best to keep up. Looking around he had to correct himself, this was how full La Sorcière was mid-dinner. They walked through a door to the back and Charles called out. “Amma!”

The next few days were a rush. Learning names of coworkers and dishes with ingredient lists where half of it sounded made up. What even was shahi jeera? And poha? When he finally voiced that, deciding he was more scared of what would happen if he couldn’t explain it to a customer than of insulting them, he was dragged into the kitchen and taught. Everyone seemed to want to explain it to him and Mrs Thevar ended up picking up a dishtowel and chasing the servers out of the kitchen, her apparently famous patience finally coming to an end. 

It was nice. Esther had given him a basic script for greeting customers, a list of expensive dishes to promote and access to the wine cellar to figure out good pairings, not that he was able to taste much besides bitterness, but beyond that he was left to flounder. In the beginning there had been some more experienced waiters to give him some advice but turnover was quick, the positions soon only filled up by people still wet behind the ears. He quickly became the go to for questions he still didn’t have the answers for. 

Here he was given a mentor. Ayesha was apparently more chef than waitress these days but seemed happy to spend her days showing him the ropes. Here he was given answers. Mrs Wang almost jumping to give them to him before he even opened his mouth. Here he was given leeway. The first time he dropped a round of dishes, lassi and glass splinters showering the floor, he tensed, sure that this was what would break the spell and have him met with the usual scorn, only to be shooed away by a smiling Charles, broom in hand, and told to change trousers. It was nice. 

And then Edwin came in. Charles' impossibly wide smile changing, softening, met with an equally soft, if smaller smile in return. Monty couldn’t help but hate him. 

That smile was meant to be directed at him. He’d been given one job. When Esther found out that Edwin Payne was coming to her restaurant, she paid more attention to the place then she had during the whole last year combined. Everything had to be perfect. The night before Payne was meant to arrive, she’d sat Monty down and told him what would happen. Apparently, the best review given by him thus far was to a restaurant whose owner’s son was now visiting his house frequently. So Monty was meant to charm him, seduce him, do whatever was needed. Payne was old money and “those types never could resist pretty young things throwing themselves at them”, Esther's words, not his. But Monty had failed. He’d actually liked Edwin, he was handsome, charming and clearly a capricorn, and really Monty had always had a thing for earth signs. But the problem with actually liking him was that Monty got nervous, so he failed. While Charles, effortlessly happy, not-a-problem-in-the-world-Charles, got Edwin´s smiles and a booming restaurant and a mom that seemed thrilled to see him. 

Except Edwin´s smile was now directed at Monty. Deep breath. Focus. Bright smile. 

“Hey again, you.” Monty could only hope that didn’t sound as awkward as it felt.

“Hello Monty.” 

Edwin was just as Monty had remembered him. Kind and funny. It was easy to fall into a friendship with him. And it got harder and harder to be mad at Charles (Who he might not talk to a lot, but Edwin always talked about). Especially after he found out they weren’t actually together. Especially after he found out Charles did have problems. After he found out that maybe he had them, himself, too, because how could he ever have managed with Esther when it could be like this. So one day, after rush hour, when Monty finally got a break between tables, he went to talk to him. Deep breath. Focus. Bright smile(A smile that got easier every day). Monty thanked him. For asking Edwin to take a look. (For giving him a chance to find out how life could be.)

Restaurant owner / chef Charles / Food critic Edwin AU - continued!!!

Hi everyone! I just wanted to say what an incredible experience it has been seeing the chef Charles/food critic Edwin AU be so amazingly received and to have so many incredible writers collaborating with me on this! I expected the idea to get a few notes and peter out but it has taken on a life of its own and I couldn't be happier. I may or may not have gotten quite emotional about it, actually. It is truly such a joy to see everyone's different styles, writerly voices, and insights into all the different aspects of this story come together in such a beautiful synthesis to celebrate culture, food, found family, healing, and of course, the characters. <3 I'm so so so so beyond floored and honored to be working with y'all, and seeing where it continues to go! Thank you for "yes and"-ing - you are all brills!!!

Anyway, the previous reblog chain was getting SUPER long thanks to everyone's contributions (<3) so I'm gonna start a second reblog chain for everyone to reblog from!

You can read the AU from the beginning here!

The masterpost for the AU is here!

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

hi!

f, i, s for ask game

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

(A bit long, sorry):

“‘Win, love, no no no no no, I am not going away, you’re still stuck with me. You’re my forever. I meant it, I thought about it and I have always loved you. I mean… this will sound fucking stupid. I’m afraid of myself, sometimes. I’m afraid I’m like my dad. And he was angry, and violent, and jealous. And I just, I don’t think it’s fair, that you don’t know what you’re getting into here. Because like, if I’m in love with you, I don’t know what that love means for us—.” “You do not scare me, Charles Rowland. I know you. I have known you for over thirty years,” Edwin rolled his eyes, and then leaned in to peck Charles on the cheek “and if you’re trying to scare me off, this is an absolutely pitiful attempt. You’d have to try way harder than that for someone who has been through seventy years of Hell. You can either tell me you don’t want to be with me, or be candid about whatever it is you’re trying to say.” Charles wrapped his arms around Edwin’s waist, tightly, and pressed his mouth to Edwin’s ear.“What if I  hurt you?” he mumbled, barely audible, and Edwin kissed his hair in response. “I have been hurt in ways you cannot even imagine, Charles. I can assure you I will love you more than anything you think you can do wrong.”

I’m proud of it because I genuinely think it captures what Charles is worried about: I don’t think he’s worried about “liking a boy” so much as he’s worried about irreparably hurting the most important person in the world to him. Edwin, on the other hand, has already been through horrors that are incomprehensible to most people, and any small hurt is worth working through to be with Charles. Anyway I think this back and forth captured that. (Also, I think everyone deserves to be told they are loved despite their mistakes, but maybe that’s because of my own hang ups)

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Not really guilty, but I send love to all of my fellow payneland smut writers/artists. You are all inspired 💖 (I do think fandom as of late has gotten so weird and uppity about so many things and I could go on and on about this, but I won’t, because you did not ask to hear that).

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

LET THEM BE A LITTLE CODEPENDENT AS A TREAT! Uh… I skimmed through some bookmarked tags and I got love confession, hurt/comfort, praise kink, dacryphilia, and touch starved as some that came up a couple times.

[vierschanzentournee]

Tumblr’s Favourite F2 Drivers!

Votes have been cast, counted and recounted (and recounted again because arithmetic is really hard and I’m sick), and the results are in! I’d just like to say a massive thanks to all 31 respondents (wait, 30, why am I thanking myself?), to everyone who reblogged the link, and to Jenny (@danytorpedokvyat) for the inspiration! I’m going to tag everyone who left a URL, just in case anyone’s been sitting up at night waiting for the results lmao, so brace yourselves:

@charlesleclerc @lucasdigrassis @curbstones-and-cowboyboots @rararaenbow @redbullricciardo @aroncant @harlot-of-babylon (it won’t let me tag you properly?) @racingamy @ladyrindt @emilia-jade @kingbottas @danytorpedokvyat @pushandrush (sorry, I don’t think yours will work either! I’m awful at tumblr) @tyretracks-andbrokenhearts @livinglegendsimplythebest @aaronoxladewilshere @onlyailisha @bozplz (what am i missing how does tumblr work) @destroyingdestroyers @danyandcarlos @f1-stereo

(whew!)

Now, onto what we all want: the results, which will be under the cut!

Tumblr’s Favourite F2 Drivers

Watching the votes come in was pretty wild - there were moments where certain drivers looked set to beat others, and then the tides would turn and someone who was wildly popular a day or two ago was suddenly completely absent from votes, or even receiving votes for least favourite! The points system worked like so: a vote for ‘favourite driver’ was worth 5 points, ‘2nd favourite’ 4 points, ‘3rd favourite’ was worth 3, ‘4th favourite’ 2 points, and ‘5th favourite’ paying just 1 point. An ‘honourable mention’ wasn’t worth anything (other than pride), and a vote for ‘least favourite’ didn’t subtract any points either. So, how did Tumblr vote for their favourite F2 drivers?

In 3rd place... Nyck de Vries (42 points)

I’ll admit, this one was a bit of a surprise to me! With 3 votes for favourite, the Dutch driver was the 3rd most popular choice for favourite (are you sure that’s enough threes, Nyck?) and his points haul gave a significant boost to his new team, Racing Engineering in the team rankings.

In 2nd place… Artem Markelov (78 points)

Everyone’s favourite soft Russian (or, at least, my favourite soft Russian) takes a strong second place, with a 36 point margin over de Vries. He was the second most popular choice for favourite, with 19.4% of votes for favourite!

And our winner is… Charles Leclerc (119 points)

I mean, we all knew this was coming. The golden boy of Tumblr, the hot property in motorsport, it seems that Leclerc just doesn’t know how to lose. But he didn’t just not lose - he absolutely destroyed his opponents, winning by a margin of 41 points over second-placed Markelov. He took 18 votes for favourite (58.1%!)

Let’s spare a moment to think about those poor souls who received zero points-scoring votes: Sergio Canamasas, Nabil Jeffri, and Stefano Coletti. The full standings are as follows: Charles Leclerc (119), Artem Markelov (78), Nyck de Vries (42), Oliver Rowland (32), Antonio Fuoco (25), Sean Gelael (23), Luca Ghiotto (17), Nicholas Latifi (14), Sérgio Sette Câmara, Roberto Merhi, Callum Ilott (13), Norman Nato, Alexander Albon (9), Ralph Boschung (8), Jordan King, Gustav Malja, Louis Delétraz (6), Raffaele Marciello, Sergey Sirotkin, Santino Ferrucci (5), Johnny Cecotto Jr (4), Nobuharu Matsushita (2), Robert Vișoiu (1), Sergio Canamasas, Nabil Jeffri, and Stefano Coletti (0).

Tumblr’s Least Favourite F2 Drivers

There were some surprises in here, but some results were pretty inevitable! We only had 25 responses here, as it was an optional question.

In 3rd place… a tie between: Johnny Cecotto Jr, Nobuharu Matsushita, and Raffaele Marciello (2 votes each)

I can understand Cecotto’s place here, with his reputation for fast but erratic driving, but Matsushita and Marciello are beyond me!

In 2nd place… Oliver Rowland (4 votes)

Oh, Ollie, the marmite of the F2 world. (Apparently) far less popular this year than last, it might have something to do with his threat to Charles Leclerc (who we’ve established is the favourite by a mile) and his championship?

And our winner (loser?) is… Sergio Canamasas (6 votes)

Could we really expect any different? The impulsive, aggressive Spanish driver has spent the past 6 years forcing everyone’s favourites off the track through his ‘robust’ defence, and although he could be said to have been improving recently, it seems to be too little, too late for Canamasas!

There were several other choices for least favourite, each with 1 vote: Markelov, de Vries, Nato, King, Sette Câmara, Boschung, Sirotkin, Vișoiu, and Delétraz

Almost, but not quite

Some drivers did better in the honourable mentions than in the points:

In 3rd place… an eight way tie! Ghiotto, Latifi, de Vries, Malja, Sirotkin, Gelael, Delétraz, and Marciello (two votes each)

I’m not even going to try and go into detail about what’s going on here

In 2nd place… Nobuharu Matsushita (3 votes)

He certainly got more honourable mentions than points-paying votes, poor guy!

And our winner is… Sérgio Sette Câmara (5 votes)

Surprisingly popular in the honourable mentions category is one of our latest race winners, and youngest driver on the grid, 19-year-old Brazilian (@lucasdigrassis) Sérgio Sette Câmara.

The Team’s Championship

I added up the totals of each team’s drivers (each driver was counted for the team they drove for last, as of Monza - so de Vries counts for Racing Engineering, Merhi for Rapax, and Sirotkin for ART, for example)

Prema Racing - 144 points

Russian Time  - 95 points

DAMS - 49 points

Racing Engineering - 48 points

Pertamina Arden - 32 points

Rapax - 23 points

Trident - 23 points

MP Motorsport - 19 points

ART Grand Prix - 11 points

Campos Racing - 9 points

There’s some pretty large gaps at the top of the standings - no one could stand up to the might of Charles Leclerc’s points haul, and Russian Time can only manage to get within 49 points of Prema. It’s another leap from Russian Time to DAMS, home to Ollie Rowland, one of both the most and least popular drivers on the grid, and Nicholas Latifi, no one’s least favourite, but no one’s favourite either. Then, things get incredibly close. Nyck de Vries’ move to Racing Engineering hauls them up into fourth, just a point down on DAMS, and the popularity of Sean Gelael is a great help to Pertamina Arden. Rapax and Trident find themselves with the same number of points - possibly something to do with the sheer number of drivers Trident has had this season. MP Motorsport, ART Grand Prix and Campos Racing round out the standings, and I know they’re dead last but I love my Campos boys anyway.

Demographics

I’m well aware that Tumblr doesn’t represent the majority of F2 fans, nor does this survey even represent the majority of F2 fans on Tumblr - the demographics here were entirely optional, and mostly just for fun (because I’m horrendously nosey).

So, I noticed like a week after I published the survey that I messed up the age options, so I’ve taken 25-34 and 25-49 and combined them into 25+, and I’m very sorry for any confusion my tragic arithmetic skills have caused!

30 respondents of 31 left their age - of these, 15 (50%) were aged between 18 and 24, 11 (36.7%) were between 13 and 17, and 4 (13.3%) were 25 or older. No one was aged over 50 - we’re a pretty youthful fanbase!

The same 30 respondents also left their gender - and hey, who said racing was a man’s world! 29 (96.7%) of those who specified identified as female; the remaining 1 (3.3%) said ‘other’. Now, if we could just have a few non-male drivers…

Finally, nationality. I only got 25 responses here, and one of them was Bacon, so let’s say 24. Of these, 7 self-identified as British - 11 said they were British, or else said they were English or Northern Irish (I don’t want to just lump you in, because I know how annoying that can be!). 4 said they were Dutch, 2 said Hungarian, and there was 1 each for Argentine, Australian & German, Belgian, Finnish, Moldovan, American and Irish.

To sum up; F2 has a rather young, predominantly female, but very international fanbase!

Honestly, if you’ve made it to here through all my rubbishy, tired ramblings, well done, and thank you! If I’ve made any errors, if you’d like to see all the data or want me to analyse something else, or if you just wanna shout about F2 or whatever, just shoot me a message (I don’t bite, I’m way too desperate for friends!)

[coloursflyaway]

Won’t Fear Love (3/6)

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.500

Read on AO3

„We should go a date“, Charles says on a perfectly bland Tuesday, looking up at Edwin from whatever he is doing at the moment.

If Edwin wasn’t dead already, he would suspect that Charles is trying to kill him.

or:

Five times Charles takes Edwin on a date to figure out if he could fall in love with him, and one time when he has an answer.

tagging all the lovely people who wanted to give this fic a read: @itsablueberrycow @piristephes @assignedpeanutallergyatbirth @mylu @oneweirdbean @lifeinvirtualreality

“Is there anything you want to do?”, Charles asks one day, apropos of absolutely nothing. “You know, date-wise.” It’s still mind-boggling to Edwin how Charles can talk about it this nonchalantly, when Edwin still has to remind himself twice a week that this is real, that they are doing this. That Charles wants to do it, most of all. “… no?”

Most likely it isn’t the answer Charles is looking for, but the thought of having a preference, of requesting something for them to do on their… their dates, is so alien to Edwin that he is just now realising that it is a possibility. For him, this is enough: sitting in the same space, Charles’ feet on his lap as they both read their respective books, Edwin’s hand lightly resting on his ankle. In fact, it’s more than he ever dared to hope for just weeks ago.

“That’s alright”, Charles reassures him, putting down his novel to look at Edwin properly. His hair is a little mussed from where he has been running his hands through it, and Edwin wants nothing more than to reach out and fix it. “I’ve got ideas. Just thought that I’d check, because in the end, it’s not just my little wish fulfilment exercise, is it?”

He smiles, and it’s gentle somehow, tender. Wish fulfilment, he calls it. Edwin just hopes that Charles knows it’s much more than that to him.

From the outside, it doesn’t look like much. However, Charles seems to be excited when they stop in front of the grey, nondescript building, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he turns to Edwin, so obviously proud of himself. “I asked Crystal for a rec for this”, he explains, “And she said it was brills, so I thought we could give it a try? Because I know that you like these things, and I wanna like what you like, so...yeah?”

It’s adorable, the expression on Charles’ face so open and hopeful, and Edwin wants to say yes, but… “You still haven’t told me where we are”, he tells Charles gently, who starts laughing almost immediately.

“Oh, you’re right”, he concedes and takes Edwin’s hand to pull him to the door, his grip firm and warm and something that Edwin is slowly, ever so slowly getting used to. Because this is something they do now, apparently, on cases and at home and in between moments. Charles will take his hand and not let go of it, and Edwin will die a hundred beautiful, magnificent deaths while hoping it will never end. “It’s an art gallery”, Charles explains and drags him along, phasing through the walls, “and it’s closed on Wednesday nights, so we have it all to ourselves. Good for a third date, yeah?”

It is.

The gallery is small, but cosy somehow, the paintings held in dark wooden frames and interspersed by small descriptions of the artist, their process, any explanation they’d like to offer for their work.

“I don’t know much about art, so if you wanna enlighten me about anything, go ahead”, Charles tells him the moment they stand in the room, their fingers still intertwined. He looks earnest and happy and Edwin loves him so much it threatens to split him apart by the seams, seeps into his very being. “While I am far from an expert, I will do my best”, he promises, grips Charles’ hand tighter, and never wants to let go again.

They stroll through the exhibition, and while there isn’t much Edwin can say, Charles listens to every word of his like he truly wants to hear it. Asks questions, even, if Edwin makes too many references that he doesn’t understand, offers little quips about the paintings if he thinks they’re funny, or just lets Edwin know his opinion. Through all of it, though, there is something vaguely anxious about him still, spelt out clearly in the way his fingers twitch against Edwin’s knuckles, how his gaze refuses to stay fixed on any one thing, in the tension of his muscles when he drags Edwin to the next painting.

It makes little sense, because he isn’t uncomfortable, he isn’t disinterested; Edwin would be able to tell those things with a single look. Instead, it’s almost like he is impatient, only that Edwin has no idea why.

Until they have finished their round, looked at every painting and read every word of explanation, and Charles pulls Edwin over to a corner of the room, pulling back the thick, red curtain there. Edwin had thought it to be for decorative purposes, but it turns out to be a doorway instead, leading to another, smaller room.

Here, there are no paintings on the walls, nothing but a single statue in the middle of the floor, illuminated by warm, golden light. It depicts two people, a man and a woman, embracing tenderly. The man is holding the woman’s face with one hand, the other settled on the curve of her hip, while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and while it is carved from marble, the figures look alive almost, their faces forever etched into smiles that make Edwin’s heart ache in sympathy, in jealousy.

“I wasn’t completely honest before”, Charles says softly at his side, his thumb brushing across Edwin’s knuckles. “It wasn’t just Crystal’s recommendation, I came here to check it out last week. And as glad as I am that you enjoyed everything out there, this is what I actually wanted to show you.”

For a moment, Edwin isn’t sure he understands, but then his eyes drift down to the wall behind the statue and if he was still breathing, it would be impossible all of a sudden.

Orpheus and Eurydice, reunited, it says in bold, red letters.

For a moment, or two, or ten, Edwin doesn’t know what to say, but then he doesn’t have to, because Charles starts speaking instead.

“I read up on it, after we got back from Hell”, he says, and his voice is so soft, so tender, that Edwin feels tears prickling in his eyes. He still hasn’t looked away from the statue, isn’t sure if he could if he tried. “And I know what you meant about hoping we wouldn’t be like them, but I still think it kind of fits, you know? Because I will always come back for you. And I will always turn around to make sure you’re still there. The only difference is that I won’t let anyone take you ever again.”

“Charles, that’s the whole point of the story, though”, Edwin answers shakily, faintly aware that the tears are spilling down his cheeks, that Charles can most definitely see them, hear them.

“I don’t care”, comes the answer, no hesitation, just a hint of a smile in Charles’ voice. “We’ll make a new point then. Because we’re them. We’re Orpheus and Eurydice, reunited.”

And he lets Edwin pull him into a hug, desperate and fierce and tender, and lets him weep against his shoulder until there’s nothing of the sadness left, only love, only hope, only devotion.

They walk back to the agency afterwards, Edwin’s eyes still red-rimmed, and Charles takes them the long way, through the little park close-by that Edwin has never given a second thought until now. There isn’t much conversation, but like always, the silence between them is warm and comfortable, their fingers still intertwined between their bodies. It’s not making his metaphorical heart beat faster any longer, at least not at the moment, instead the touch is grounding Edwin. A reminder that Charles is there, that he will always be there, that he meant it.

“There is another thing I wanted to say”, Charles eventually tells him, and for the first time that evening he isn’t looking back when Edwin glances at him. “I know it was a lot, back there in Hell, and I know we never talked about it, and that is fine. Understandable, really. But I just wanted to thank you for telling me about your feelings. It must have taken so much courage to do it, and I am so grateful that you would trust me like that.”

Charles says it like he is truly thankful, and Edwin’s heart is so full of love for him that it might burst.

“You’re wrong about that”, Edwin replies and stops walking, using their clasped hands to bring Charles to a stop in front of him. It’s not only his eyes that are still red with unshed tears, he realises, and it’s almost too much to consider, too much to bear. Suddenly, it’s the easiest thing in the world to reach out and capture Charles’ other hand in his as well, squeezing it and hoping that his touch can anchor Charles in the way he does to Edwin.

“It didn’t take any courage at all”, he continues, and finally Charles is looking at him again, wide eyes and plush lips parted. “Because I knew that you would never love me any less for it. You’re the one constant I have, the one thing I’ve never doubted in my whole existence. And keeping something like that from you, I couldn’t fathom it. It never even crossed my mind.”

He tries for a smile, but only for a moment, before Charles flings himself into his arms, wrapping Edwin in a hug that is so tight it would be painful if they were still alive. “Thank you”, Charles whispers into the side of his neck, lips brushing against the skin there, and maybe it isn’t literal heaven, but it’s damned close to it.

[networkingdefinition]

Shoes Quotes

Official Website: Shoes Quotes

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• A lean, loose-jointed Negro had commenced plunking a guitar beside me while I slept. His clothes were rags; his feet peeped out of his shoes. His face had on it some of the sadness of the ages. As he played, he pressed a knife on the strings of the guitar in a manner popularized by Hawaiian guitarists who used steel bars. The effect was unforgettable. – William Christopher Handy • A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes. – Charles Spurgeon • A man of meditation functions differently. Whatever profession he chooses, it does not matter. He will bring to his profession some quality of sacredness. He may be making shoes, or he may be cleaning the roads, but he will bring to his work some quality, some grace, some beauty, which is not possible without samādhi. – Rajneesh • A shoe has so much more to offer than just to walk.- Christian Louboutin • A shoe is not only a design, but it’s a part of your body language, the way you walk. The way you’re going to move is quite dictated by your shoes. – Christian Louboutin • A shoe that fits one person pinches another. – Alex Flinn • A woman with good shoes i never ugly! – Coco Chanel • Age shouldn’t affect you. It’s just like the size of your shoes – they don’t determine how you live your life! You’re either marvellous or you’re boring, regardless of your age. – Steven Morrissey • Alexandros of Antioch took a block of marble and chiseled away from it everything that was not his masterpiece, the Venus de Milo. If you will chisel away one fault from your character every day, you may discover – a) that you’re actually a statue of Margaret Thatcher. b) that you’re still just a block of marble. c) that there are pigeon droppings on your shoes. d) that you, too, are a hidden masterpiece. – Robert Breault • Always double-knot your sneakers. One of my teammates once lost a shoe during a game! – Heather Mitts • An old belief is like an old shoe. We so value its comfort that we fail to notice the hole in it. – Robert Breault • An old-shoe lover loves loving old shoes. – Theodore Sturgeon • As an economist, whenever I hear the word shortage I wait for the other shoe to drop. That other shoe is usually price control. – Thomas Sowell • As tempting as it seems to wear tennis shoes with your tux, don’t do it. I think it looks ridiculous. If you’re 14 years old, maybe give it a shot. In general, don’t portray anything that says ‘I’m too cool and I don’t care. – Paul Feig • Ask a Soviet engineer to design a pair of shoes and he’ll come up with something that looks like the boxes that the shoes came in; ask him to make something that will massacre Germans, and he turns into Thomas “Fscking” Edison. – Neal Stephenson • A-well-a, splish, splash, I forgot about the bath, I went and put my dancing shoes on. – Bobby Darin

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'product', keywords: 'Shoe', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_shoe').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_shoe img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that who cares?… He’s a mile away and you’ve got his shoes! – Billy Connolly • Between saying and doing, many a pair of shoes is worn out. – Iris Murdoch • But be careful; sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away. – Francesca Lia Block • But countless studies have shown that a cue and a reward, on their own, aren’t enough for a new habit to last. Only when your brain starts expecting the reward–craving the endorphins or sense of accomplishment–will it become automatic to lace up your jogging shoes each morning. The cue, in addition to triggering a routine, must also trigger a craving for the reward to come. – Charles Duhigg • Buying a pair of shoes is one of the most optimistic acts I know, next to falling in love. I like nothing better than to see an old man wearing a brand new pair of brogues or cap-toed oxfords, preferably jaunty orange-brown, unscuffed, heels unworn. We want to be here tomorrow, but buying new shoes, like falling in love, says I plan on being here tomorrow. – Jonathan Carroll • By the end of Fashion Week my apartment is covered with makeup and clothes and shoes. Everything you can think of. – Karlie Kloss • By the time they’re ready to be thrown away, most shoes are thoroughly comfortable – Andy Rooney

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

• Craziness in a shoe is great – you can have much more freedom, you can exaggerate and it doesn’t feel stupid. But to have too much craziness near your face, that would just feel weird. – Miuccia Prada • Environmental historians . . . insist that we have got to go . . . down to the earth itself as an agent and presence in history. Here we will discover even more fundamental forces at work over time. And to appreciate those forces we must now and then get out of parliamentary chambers, out of birthing rooms and factories, get out of doors altogether, and ramble into fields, woods, and the open air. It is time we bought a good set of walking shoes, and we cannot avoid getting some mud on them. – Donald Worster • Estimated from a wife’s experience, the average man spends fully one-quarter of his life in looking for his shoes. – Helen Rowland

• Every day brings a chance for you to draw in a breath, kick off your shoes, and dance. – Oprah Winfrey • Every man should own a navy cashmere jacket with gold buttons, a grey suit, black shoes shoes for the city, brown shoes for elsewhere. Everything else should be simple and really well made. – Thom Browne • For many of us we are always wanting more – we would be happier if we had such and such. Maybe we should pause for a moment and hear what some people in the third world countries would like to make them happier. 1. Having enough to eat so when you go to sleep at night your stomach doesn’t ach. 2. Having shoes on your feet and any kind of clothing to keep the cold out. 3. Having a roof over your head. 4. Having the hope that you’ll be lucky enough to get some kind of an education. 5. Believing that the dream of freedom, brotherhood, and peace for all mankind will someday come true. – Abigail Van Buren • For shoes I try to choose a bootie style and opt for a heel that looks good but allows me to get around. – Rosie Huntington-Whiteley • God bless the boys from Memphis, blue suede shoes, and Elvis. – George Jones • God’s providence is not in baskets lowered from the sky, but through the hands and hearts of those who love him. The lad without food and without shoes made the proper answer to the cruel-minded woman who asked, “But if God loved you wouldn’t he send you food and shoes?” The boy replied, “God told someone, but he forgot.” George Arthur Buttrick • Good ideas are like Nike sports shoes. They may facilitate success for an athlete who possesses them, but on their own they are nothing but an overpriced pair of sneakers. Sports shoes don’t win races. Athletes do. – Felix Dennis • Good shoes – they’re the ultimate finishing touch. In fact, we actually joke in my family that your shoes have to be shined before you can leave the house. – Cam Newton • Gout is not relieved by a fine shoe nor a hangnail by a costly ring nor migraine by a tiara. – Plutarch • He warned Mother not to flout God’s Will by expecting too much of us. “Sending a girl to college is like pouring water in your shoes,’ he still loves to say, as often as possible. ‘It’s hard to say which is worse, seeing it run out and waste the water, or seeing it hold in and wreck the shoes. – Barbara Kingsolver • Hey, I put some new shoes on and suddenly everything is right. – Paolo Nutini • Hopefully 10 years from now people won’t even realize we started out selling shoes. They will just think about Zappos as a place to get the best customer service. – Tony Hsieh • I actually have more shoes than anyone will ever know. – Tamara Mellon • I also love visiting the malls but not to do shopping. The only things I enjoy shopping are clothes and shoes. I have many pairs of shoes – Tevin Campbell • I always have humour in my action movies. I think characters that make jokes under fire are more real. It somehow helps put you in their shoes. – Shane Black • I always have shoe trouble. – Jourdan Dunn • I always wear flat shoes, because I can’t walk in anything else. – Sadie Frost • I always wear the shoes of the character a week before going on set; the idea of just putting on a new pair of shoes on the first day of filming is just horrific. – Felicity Jones • I am a bit sickie happy. I am prone to black clouds too, but… I am embarrassed about them. It’s like: ‘My diamond shoes are too tight. My money clip doesn’t fit all my fifties.’ I mean – really. Shut up. – Olivia Colman • I am always surprised by who wears my shoes. This is a good thing. There is no type of woman, but all my women like to feel feminine. They are women who are happy to be women. – Christian Louboutin • I am very much a person who appreciates perennial things. Things like a Lacoste shirt, a Clarks desert boot, Persol sunglasses and Vans shoes that have been the same forever. There are certain things that once you find it, you like it and it’s done. I like Italian clothing, like suits from Battistoni and I have a shirt by Piero Albertelli. – Roman Coppola • I asked my mother could I have an instrument. She said, ‘Well if you go out and save your money.’ So I went and got – I made me a shine box. I went out and started shining shoes, and I’d bring whatever I made. – Ornette Coleman • I can count the number of great Cabernets I made at Beaulieu only by taking off my socks and shoes, but I can count the number of great Pinot Noirs on one hand with change left over. – Andre Tchelistcheff • I can tell where my own shoe pinches me. – Miguel de Cervantes • I can’t wear flat shoes. My feet repel them. – Mariah Carey • I definitely spend the most money on shoes, partly because vintage footwear can be a little funky – in a bad way. I like to keep things pretty simple up top and then go weird with the shoes. – Chloe Sevigny • I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty. – Imelda Marcos • I dislike the word ‘victim.’ I dislike being told that I ‘lost’ my husband – as if I had idly abandoned you by the side of the railway track like an unwanted pair of old shoes. – Nina Bawden • I don’t fret much about the natural life spans of shoe companies. If stores don’t do the right things, they cease to exist, and that doesn’t trouble me at all. – Steve Madden • I don’t have to live the lives of my characters to write about them. It’s about really putting yourself in their shoes. – Jodi Picoult • I feel like there’s no subject that can’t be sung about. I wrote a song dedicated to people with inflammatory bowel disease, and then I wrote about shoes. And mangoes. Every rock should be turned. – Casey Abrams • I find shoes difficult to be ethical about. – Steven Morrissey • I get to the theatre in plenty of time; I prepare my shoes in advance; I eat and drink the right things at the right time. The rest you have to leave to luck! – Deborah Bull • I got an attitude, that’s rude because I walked over Elvis’ grave in some blue suede shoes. – Akinyele • I had always wanted to go to the Navy. As a young kid, I was intrigued by a Naval Officer with the beautiful brown shoes and sharp gold wings. – Wally Schirra • I had no shoes, and I felt sorry for myself until I met a man who had no feet. I took his shoes. Now I feel better. – George Carlin • I hate the French because they are all slaves and wear wooden shoes. – Oliver Goldsmith • I have a very silly sense of humor. I’ve never laughed harder in my entire life than seeing someone with toilet paper stuck on the bottom of their shoe. – Paula Poundstone • I have always loved fashion because it’s a great way to express your mood. And I’m definitely a shoe lover. The right pair of shoes can change the feel of an outfit, and even change how a woman feels about herself. A woman can wear confidence on her feet with a high stiletto, or slip into weekend comfort with a soft ballet flat. – Fergie • I have big feet. Do you know how embarrassing it is when you ask for a shoe and they look at you like, “No, we don’t make these heels for Bigfoot, sorry.” – Margot Robbie • I have to take my shoes off, you guys. – Lena Dunham • I just love clothes! I’m a girl who loves clothes, accessories, shoes, bags and jewelry. – Kelly Rowland • I know he’s retired, but I’m a big fan of Shaquille O’Neal, his game and his personality. I have a pair of his shoes in my office. You see the size of his shoe and think, ‘This is not real, this couldn’t belong to a human being.’ But he is human! – Wladimir Klitschko • I like a man who can be a real friend, has a good sense of humor, a good pair of shoes and a healthy gold card. – Victoria Beckham • I like Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent. I have some great Balenciaga jackets and I’m shoe crazy. – Melanie Laurent • I like Cinderella – she has a good work ethic and she likes shoes. – Amy Adams • I like Cinderella, I really do. She has a good work ethic. I appreciate a good, hard-working gal. And she likes shoes. The fairy tale is all about the shoe at the end, and I’m a big shoe girl. – Amy Adams • I like crazy shoes or unusual cowboy boots and I collect big belt buckles. – Patricia Cornwell • I like the fact that Hogan’s shoes all have this sporty sole that is great even for an older man with a bad back like me. – Matthew William Goode • I like to go wakeboarding. It’s my new favorite sport. It’s like skiing but on a snowboard that has little shoes on it. – Minka Kelly • I love accessories. I’m a girl. I love shoes. I love handbags. – Petra Stunt • I love jeans, T-shirts, boots, and tennis shoes. – Ashley Benson • I love living my life in flip-flops. I met a guy in the islands a while ago who told me he hadn’t worn a pair of shoes in three years! I thought, ‘Man, that’s the life!’ – Kenny Chesney • I love pedicures. And, yes, I have a ton of shoes. – Hope Solo • I love you Huey was the note I read, but there’s a strange pair of shoes underneath the bed. – Huey Lewis • I never go sexy. I’m more into a well-made pair of pants and a good shoe. – Dree Hemingway • I never wear the same shoe twice. – Deion Sanders • I own a lot of shoes; I am not sure how many. – Kristin Cavallari • I perfectly understand the obsession with shoes. I myself am pretty obsessed. I have a few hundred pairs of shoes in general, because I’ve been collecting shoes for a long time. – Christian Louboutin • I prefer to leave a little room in my bag to grab goodies when I’m travelling, but otherwise you need one good pair of shoes that can be worn day or night, a pair of black jeans, and a nice dress. – Dree Hemingway • I quit because I can’t stand seeing kids come to class hungry and needing shoes. I thought I could do more by organizing farm workers than by trying to teach their hungry children. – Dolores Huerta • I rarely buy a shoe that is completely specific to a time and outfit. I generally tend to spend money on good shoes that can go with everything. – Melanie Fiona • I really want readers to put themselves into the shoes of each character. So the opening lines are an orienting technique: this is where you are, this is who you are. Go. – Alissa Nutting • I see a pair of shoes I adore, and it doesn’t matter if they have them in my size. I buy them anyway. – Keira Knightley • I still have my feet on the ground, I just wear better shoes. – Oprah Winfrey • I think that when you put yourself, as actors have to do, in other people’s shoes, when you have to put on the costume that someone else has worn in their life, it gets much, much harder to be prejudiced against them and even to be – to not try to look at the world in a sense of “I’m not going to judge somebody. I’m going to try to understand who they are and what they’re about.” – Kevin Spacey • I think we should really discourage this sort of empathic engagement when it comes to making moral decisions. I think we should focus on something like compassion, on getting people to care more for others without putting ourselves in their shoes. – Paul Bloom • I thought it was normal to recycle pants and shoes from your older cousins. That was just my way of life. At the end of the month, there was not much food in the refrigerator and you’re hoping the first comes so food can come again. You never forget those things. – Tyson Chandler • I used to be another little fellow with some hoop dreams / Now I got the game laced up, shoe strings. – Carlos Boozer • I usually decide what to wear in the morning, but sometimes, I’ll have a favorite coat or sweater or shoes, and I’ll wear them everyday for a week! – Cameron Russell • I wanted to make the lightest shoe possible, but still be able to perform at the same time. – Carmelo Anthony • I was a hostess, I sold shoes, but I don’t function well in jobs that don’t have to do with what I love. I have cleaned bathrooms in theaters, I have sold wine in theaters, I have sold tickets, because I will do anything, anything, to stay in this world. – Nina Arianda • I was changing a light bulb over Groucho Marx’s bed, so I took my shoes off, got on his bed and changed the bulb. When I got off the bed he said: ‘That’s the best acting you’ve ever done. – Elliott Gould • I went through this phase where I thought pink and purple matched. To dance class, I’d wear purple tights and pink leg warmers and paint my shoes purple. It was really odd. – Carrie Ann Inaba • I wonder how Admat can be everywhere. Is he in my sandal? Or is he my sandal itself? Why would a god bother to be a sandal? Does he wear shoes or sandals himself, invisible ones? – Gail Carson Levine • I would be happy naked as long as I’m wearing fabulous shoes. – Anna Dello Russo • I would hate for someone to look at my shoes and say, ‘Oh my God! That looks so comfortable!’ – Christian Louboutin • I would love to have my own shoe line. That I would absolutely love. – Kristin Cavallari • I’d love to have a shoe line, or a sunglasses line, or a purse line. Who am I kidding, I’d like to have an everything line! – Bethany Cosentino • If a person lost would conclude that after all he is not lost, he is not beside himself, but standing in his own old shoes on thevery spot where he is, and that for the time being he will live there; but the places that have known him, they are lost,–how much anxiety and danger would vanish. – Henry David Thoreau • If arrogance were shoes, he’d never go barefoot. – Tamora Pierce • If everybody were a guy, the human race could easily get by on less than one twentieth the current number of shoes. – Dave Barry • If I could only fly, you see, a lot of my problems would be gone. When you think of just how much I’d save on shoes alone. – Waylon Jennings • If the shoe doesn’t fit, must we change the foot? – Gloria Steinem • If the shoe fits, buy another one just like it. – George Carlin • If the shoe fits, buy it in every color! – Jerry Smith • If the shoe fits, buy it. – Imelda Marcos • If the shoe fits, you must wear it. – Christoph Waltz • If you never want to see the face of hell, when you come home from work every night, dance with your kitchen towel and, if you’re worried about waking up your family, take off your shoes. – Nachman of Breslov • If you’re wearing a pair of shoes that’s a little flashy, then it’s important not to be flashy up top and vice versa. – Megyn Kelly • I’ll never be able to fill my father’s or grandfather’s shoes, but hopefully I can stand on their shoulders and reach farther. – Philippe Cousteau, Jr. • I’m a goody two-shoes who’s never taken anything stronger than Tylenol. – Erika Christensen • I’m a huge shoe person, and I have lots of shoes. – Kimberly Caldwell • I’m addicted to laughing. I go to see a lot of comedy shows. I’m addicted to playing really loud and obnoxious rock music in my car. I’m addicted to beautiful clothes and shoes. I just love gorgeous stuff and work hard to acquire pretty things, shiny things. I’m addicted to shiny things! – Nadia Giosia • I’m essentially a jeans girl, and I dress them up or down with accessories. For me, it’s ultimately about a great pair of shoes. – Jessalyn Gilsig • I’m from the bottom, I understand what it’s like to have and to not have. My perception on giving is to put yourself in those people’s shoes and go from there. So that’s what I did. – Kevin Garnett • I’m not a great consumer. I always ask myself, ‘Do I really need that piece?’ I have friends who have 300 pairs of shoes; how would you leave the house in the morning? – Mireille Guiliano • I’m not here to be on display. And my body is not for public consumption. I will not be reduced to an object, or a pair of legs to sell shoes. I’m a soul, a mind, a servant of God. My worth is defined by the beauty of my soul, my heart, my moral character. So I won’t worship your beauty standards, and I don’t submit to your fashion sense. My submission is to something higher. – Yasmin Mogahed • I’m not really comfortable with who I am to be honest. I feel more free to step into the shoes of somebody else. There’s always an element of me in there but, you know, if you give me a script and some clothes I can do anything. But, as Ryan, I’m a bit of a recluse. – Ryan Kwanten • I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall in my GaGa shoes one night on tour and I’m hoping it becomes a Youtube sensation. – Chris Colfer • I’m rather pleased with the new manuals. I see Inform now as a gauche young adult, having got past the stage of growing out of his shoes every few months. – Graham Nelson • Imagine for a minute yourself in the same shoes, the same sense of survival and the same nothing to lose. – Lil’ Kim • In glades they meet skull after skull Where pine cones lay-the rusted gun, Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat And cuddled up skeleton; And scores of such. Some start as in dreams, And comrades lost bemoan; By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged- But the year and the Man were gone. – Herman Melville • In sci-fi convention, life-forms that hadn’t developed space travel were mere prehistory — horse-shoe crabs of the cosmic scene — and something of the humiliation of being stuck on a provincial planet in a galactic backwater has stayed with me ever since. – Barbara Ehrenreich • It is the fragrant lack of practicality that makes high-heeled shoes so fascinating: in terms of static mechanics they induce a sort of insecurity which some find titillating. If a woman wears a high-heeled shoe it changes the apparent musculature of the leg so that you get an effect of twanging sinew, of tension needing to be released. Her bottom sticks out like an offering. At the same time, the lofty perch is an expression of vulnerability, she is effectively hobbled and unable to escape. There is something arousing about this declaration that she is prepared to sacrifice function for form. – Stephen Bayley • It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out; it’s the grain of sand in your shoe. – Robert W. Service • It seems to me that to take a book of mine into his hands is one of the rarest distinctions that anyone can confer upon himself. I even assume that he removes his shoes when he does so-not to speak of boots. – Friedrich Nietzsche • It takes a Real man to fill my shoes. – Madonna Ciccone • It’s a rare thing when you read a role and have this immediate ownership over it, you have this take and this connection, and it’s not even that you feel that you’re gonna do a good job, it’s that you feel like you’ve found it. It fits, it’s natural; it’s like putting on a good shoe or something. – Fran Kranz • It’s better to buy one good pair of shoes than four cheap ones. – Cary Grant • It’s not about the shoes, it’s what you do in them. – Michael Jordan • It’s what I call the haute couture, high-end version of fear perfectionism. It’s just fear in really good shoes. But it’s still fear. – Elizabeth Gilbert • I’ve always been melancholic. At a party, everyone would be looking at the glittering chandeliers and I’d be looking at the waitress’s cracked shoes. – Marian Keyes • I’ve always believed that a beautiful shoe is useless unless it feels as wonderful as it looks. – Stuart Weitzman • I’ve always looked at shoes as being immensely beautiful things. – Graham Coxon • I’ve been making shoes my whole life. – Steve Madden • I’ve been ripped for being too sensitive, but I do think people need to walk in another person’s shoes before they accuse them of being too sensitive. – Hank Haney • Jesus was a Capricorn, he ate organic foods, he believed in love and peace, and never wore no shoes. – Kris Kristofferson • Learn to sell. In business you’re always selling: to your prospects, investors and employees. To be the best salesperson put yourself in the shoes of the person to whom you’re selling. Don’t sell your product. Solve their problems. – Mark Cuban • Learning to stand in somebody else’s shoes, to see through their eyes, that’s how peace begins. And it’s up to you to make that happen. Empathy is a quality of character that can change the world. – Barack Obama • Mama’s in the factory, she ain’t got no shoes. Daddy’s in the alley, he’s looking for food. – Bob Dylan • Meeting writers is always so disappointing. I got over wanting to meet live writers quite a long time ago. There is this terrific book that has changed your life, and then you meet the author, and he has shifty eyes and funny shoes and he won’t talk about anything except the injustice of the United States income tax structure toward people with fluctuating income, or how to breed Black Angus cows, or something. – Ursula K. Le Guin • Men may not read the gospel in sealskin, or the gospel in morocco, or the gospel in cloth covers, but they can’t get away from the gospel in shoe leather. – Donald Barnhouse • Men tell me that I’ve saved their marriages. It costs them a fortune in shoes, but it’s cheaper than a divorce. So I’m still useful, you see. – Manolo Blahnik • My dad says that when I was two or three I used to go out dressed as a different character every day. I remember thinking it was perfectly normal to wear different coloured shoes and carry a pink umbrella. But now I’ve got a goddaughter of that age; I realise it’s not normal at all. – Alice Eve • My girlfriend is a fashion designer. She has her own company called Rachel Antonoff. She is doing a collaboration with Urban Outfitters right now, a shoe collaboration with Bass. She sells to Barneys, stuff like that. – Nate Ruess • My mom would take me to restaurants, and the first thing I’d ask for would be a pen and a napkin, and I’d sketch shoes and shoes and shoes. – Alexander Wang • No one is without their difficulties, whether in High, or low Life, & every person knows best where their own shoe pinches. – Abigail Adams • One minute I’m exactly what Churchill described me the most powerful man in history. Now the Order’s given, hell; I’m just audience front row center to the shoe. But a Corporal on Juno, a Private on Utah there the ones who will affect the outcome not me. It’s up to them now. – Dwight D. Eisenhower • One of the pleasures of being an actor is quite simply taking a walk in someone else’s shoes. And when I look at the roles I’ve played, I’m kind of amazed at all the wonderful adventures I’ve had and the different things I’ve learned. – Willem Dafoe • Our incomes are like our shoes; if too small, they gall and pinch us; but if too large, they cause us to stumble and to trip. – John Locke • Our job as the game creators or developers – the programmers, artists, and whatnot – is that we have to kind of put ourselves in the user’s shoes. We try to see what they’re seeing, and then make it, and support what we think they might think. – Shigeru Miyamoto • People are lonely, and only animals with fancy shoes. – Jack Johnson • People can be slave-ships in shoes. – Zora Neale Hurston • Perhaps it’s a good time to reconsider pleasure at its roots. Changing out of wet shoes and socks, for instance. – Barbara Holland • Potatoes are to food what sensible shoes are to fashion. – Linda Wells • Put yourself in Hamlet’s shoes. Suppose you were a prince, and you came back from college to discover that your uncle had murdered your father and married your mother, and you fell in love with a beautiful girl and mistakenly murdered her father, and then she went crazy and drowned herself. What would you do? Go back for a masters? – Art Buchwald • Right now I’m reading every fashion magazine I can find. As a shoe designer, I feel it’s my responsibility to learn as much as I can about the business, past and present. – Fergie • Shakespeare, he’s in the alley with his pointed shoes and his bells, speaking to some French girl who says she knows me well. – Bob Dylan • Shoes are real. Money is an end result. – Peter Drucker • Some men’s memory is like a box where a man should mingle his jewels with his old shoes. – Sir George Savile, 8th Baronet • Some people do drugs, I buy shoes! – Celine Dion • Some sensible person once remarked that you spend the whole of your life either in your bed or in your shoes. Having done the best you can by shoes and bed, devote all the time and resources at your disposal to the building up of a fine kitchen. It will be, as it should be, the most comforting and comfortable room in the house. – Elizabeth David • Sometimes I don’t even pull my shoes off for six weeks at a time, except, you know, just to take a shower. I just take breaks between 24 hours a day, just a break now and then, it don’t take me long to rest; maybe 20 to30 minutes sometime, or maybe an hour. – Howard Finster • Stepping outside the comfort zone is the price I pay to find out how good I can be. If I planned on backing off every time running got difficult I would hang up my shoes and take up knitting. – Desiree Linden • Stiletto, I look at it more as an attitude as opposed to a high-heeled shoe. – Lita Ford • The high-heeled shoe is a marvellously contradictory item; it brings a woman to a man’s height but makes sure she cannot keep up with him. – Germaine Greer • The most important thing to remember is that you can wear all the greatest clothes and all the greatest shoes, but you’ve got to have a good spirit on the inside. That’s what’s really going to make you look like you’re ready to rock the world. – Alicia Keys • The North can make a steam engine, locomotive or railway car; hardly a yard of cloth or a pair of shoes can you make. You are rushing into war with one of the most powerful, ingeniously mechanical and determined people on earth – right at your doors. You are bound to fail. Only in spirit and determination are you prepared for war. In all else you are totally unprepared, with a bad cause to start with. – William Tecumseh Sherman • The out-of-work actor wears out more than shoe leather. The very sensibilities that make him an artist are shattered by the disregard he is shown as a human being. – Bette Davis • The problem is that humans have victimized animals to such a degree that they are not even considered victims. They are not even considered at all. They are nothing. They don’t count; they don’t matter; they’re commodities like TV sets and cell phones. We have actually turned animals into inanimate objects – sandwiches and shoes. – Gary Yourofsky • The right shoe can make everything different. – Jimmy Choo • The secret of toe cleavage, a very important part of the sexuality of the shoe; you must only show the first two cracks. – Manolo Blahnik • The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases. – Carl Jung • The shoemaker makes a good shoe because he makes nothing else. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The ‘Tarahumara’ use their legs ‘as designed.’ By running at a young age with minimal footwear, they naturally develop the best biomechanical use of their legs. Cushioned shoes restrict foot movements and allow for over-striding. Short strides are natural. – Christopher McDougall • The thing about Paris, it’s a great city for wandering around and buying shoes and nursing a cafe au lait for hours on end and pretending you’re Baudelaire. But it’s not a city where you can work. – Malcolm Mclaren • ‘The time has come,’ the walrus said, ‘to talk of many things: of shoes and ships – and sealing wax – of cabbages and kings.’ – Lewis Carroll • The walls have ears, better think before you throw that shoe. – Elvis Presley • There are many interactions that an actor like me has in public when he gets recognized. The best are ‘You’re a great actor, good work,’ and move on. A very good interaction could be when they say ‘You were awesome on ‘The West Wing,” ‘Loved ‘In Her Shoes,’ great movie,’ ”What Women Want,’ good job dude. – Mark Feuerstein • There comes a moment during a job interview when you’re still talking, but you might as well take off your shoes. – Bill James • There is an element of seduction in shoes that doesn’t exist for men. A woman can be sexy, charming, witty or shy with her shoes. – Christian Louboutin • There is health in table talk and nursery play. We must wear old shoes and have aunts and cousins. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There is nobody that’s ever going to fill Ted Kennedy’s shoes, and that’s a tall order for somebody in the family to try to live up to. – Douglas Brinkley • There is something that feels stagnant about having things you don’t use or wear. But shoes are my thing. Shoes and scarves, I’m a big fan of the scarf. – Leslie Bibb • There’s one good thing about tight shoes; they make you forget your other troubles. – Josh Billings • They call him the Streak, he likes to turn the other cheek. He’s always making the news, wearing just his tennis shoes. – Ray Stevens • They went into my closets looking for skeletons, but thank God all they found were shoes, beautiful shoes. – Imelda Marcos • This is why I decided to work with Nike, too, because it is even more mass-market than Givenchy and could make entry-price shoes and make people dream to be part of the journey. – Riccardo Tisci • Three quarters of the miseries and misunderstandings in the world would finish if people were to put on the shoes of their adversaries and understood their points of view – Mahatma Gandhi • To have regret is to be disappointed with yourself and your choices. Those who are wise, see their life like stepping stones across a great river. Everyone misses a stone from time to time. No one can cross the river without getting wet. Success is measured by your arrival on the other side, not on how muddy your shoes are. Regrets are only felt by those who do not understand life’s purpose. They become so disillusioned that they stand still in the river and do not take the next leap. – Colleen Houck • To match the shoes with the jacket is fey. To match the shoes with the hat is taste. – Gene Wilder • TOMS is no longer a shoe company… we’re a one-for-one company. – Blake Mycoskie • True love wasn’t found in good hair or the right clothes, make-up or shoes. True love was found in the soul – as was wisdom and compassion – P. C. Cast • We all walk in different shoes. – Kenneth Cole • We Die Young is about gang violence. That was something that was happening in Seattle, something that kinda opened our eyes. It just seemed like things were getting out of hand. Incidents where kids were getting shot, and getting their tennis shoes ripped off their dead bodies. It just seems like these kids are dying at younger and younger ages and getting involved in gang activity. – Layne Staley • We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. That sounds goody two-shoes, I know, but I believe that a diamond is the result of extreme pressure and time. Less time is crystal. Less than that is coal. Less than that is fossilized leaves. Less than that it’s just plain dirt. In all my work, in the movies I write, the lyrics the poetry, the prose, the essays, I am saying that we may encounter many defeats – maybe it’s imperative that we encounter the defeats – but we are much stronger than we appear to be and maybe much better than we allow ourselves to be. – Maya Angelou • We see women who go out and want to look like Jennifer Aniston, and they’re wearing an ill-fitting red dress and ugly gold shoes, and they’ve got flat hair and they can’t walk. – Kelly Cutrone • We will begin by learning how to tie our shoes. – John Wooden • Well, shoes, bags and clutches are usually my big weaknesses – my husband always laughs when I call them ‘investment pieces.’ – Emily Giffin • We’ve created an unnatural form of running. It’s not just the shoes, but we run on artificial surfaces – straight ahead, hard and steady – instead of speeding up and slowing down, reacting to the terrain with changes of pace and rhythm. – Christopher McDougall • What spirit is so empty and blind, that it cannot recognize the fact that the foot is more noble than the shoe, and skin more beautiful than the garment with which it is clothed? – Michelangelo • When I left school, I got a job in a shoe shop and I used to save 15 quid a week and pay for my own singing and acting lessons. – Luke Evans • When I step into a character’s shoes, I don’t judge them. I make a conscious effort not to look from the outside in but look from the inside out, and when you do that it allows you to feel and sense things more, and act and react from a core, you know? – Abbie Cornish • When the shoe fits, the foot is forgotten; when the belt fits, the belly is forgotten; when the heart is right, “for” and “against” are forgotten. There is no change in what is inside, no following what is outside, when the adjustment to events is comfortable. One begins with what is comfortable and never experiences what is uncomfortable, when one knows the comfort of forgetting what is comfortable. – Zhuangzi • When there’s uncertainty they always think there’s another shoe to fall. There is no other shoe to fall. – Kenneth Lay • When you have worn out yourshoes, the strength of the shoe leather has passed into the fiber ofyour body. I measure your health by the number of shoes and hats andclothes you have worn out. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • When you wear a fresh pair of shoes, you feel like you can never die. You feel like you’re gonna live forever. – Chi McBride • When your about to criticize someone walk a mile in thier shoes, that way when you criticize them you’re a mile away from them and you have their shoes – Ann Brashares • When your feet start to hurt, place yourself in someone else’s shoes. – Demi Lovato • When you’re comfortable, you’re more confident – I really believe that. If you’re walking around in a dress or a pair of shoes that are uncomfortable, it reads all over you. – Erin Wasson • Whenever I go to shows, I end up looking at what shoes the guy onstage is wearing and the jacket he’s got on. And when you know everything’s gonna be under scrutiny, it makes you feel more comfortable if you have cool stuff. – Julian Casablancas • When’s the last time you really thought about what you eat, how much you move throughout the day, whether or not you feel fantastic when you get up in the morning, and which shoes keep your feet comfortable? – David Agus • Who waiteth for dead man’s shoes will go long barefoot. – John Heywood • Women who had discovered pants, low-heeled shoes, and loose sweaters during World War II were reluctant to give them up in peacetime. – Susan Faludi • Yet if a woman never lets herself go, how will she ever know how far she might have got? If she never takes off her high-heeled shoes, how will she ever know how far she could walk or how fast she could run? – Germaine Greer • You can do anything, but lay off my blue suede shoes – Elvis Presley • You can never take too much care over the choice of your shoes. – Christian Dior • You can never take too much care over the choice of your shoes. Too many women think that they are unimportant, but the real proof of an elegant woman is what is on her feet. – Christian Dior • You can never walk a mile in someone elses shoes, but you can walk a mile in your own and be proud of it. – Zach Anner • You can try on our suede underwear if you choose. Do what you want, but don’t step on my blue suede shoes. – Al Yankovic • You can wear anything as long as you put a nice pair of shoes with it. – Taylor Momsen • You cannot put the same shoe on every foot. – Publilius Syrus • You cannot, by all the lecturing in the world, enable a man to make a shoe. – Samuel Johnson • You can’t really get to know a person until you get in their shoes and walk around in them. – Harper Lee • You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own, and you know what you know. And you are the guy who’ll decide where to go. – Dr. Seuss • You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead. – William Shakespeare • You have two categories of Shoes, Shoes which are dressing a woman or Shoes which are undressing a Woman – Christian Louboutin • You just need to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and then see how they feel and then you will understand why they are reacting or why they are behaving the way that they are behaving. We need to be fair. – Navid Negahban • You were going to travel for love, without shoes, or cloak, or common sense. This is one of the things a woman can do when her lover leaves her. It’s hard on the feet perhaps, but staying at home is hard on the heart, and you weren’t quite ready to give up on him yet. – Kelly Link • Your shoes are only as good as the laces they’re attached to. – Greg Sampson • You’ve always had the power right there in your shoes, you just had to learn it for yourself. – William Blake • Zappos is a customer service company that just happens to sell shoes. – Tony Hsieh

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );