#too bad the weird francis left early

[gonzodangerfeels]

Ah what a great Literotica fic

Turns out he wasn't fucking his sister, just his younger aunt.

He just found out he has a twin sister but she lives in a nunnery in Brazil and is coming to visit him.

I hope he takes her virginity and turns her into this sex addiction

We are going to skip the chapter where he has both of his aunts getting naked in front of him before they go out to do so God knows what

[jaysficarchive]

The Picture of Monochrome

Chapter 2: Beneath the Mask

Two months after Francis's tragic death, Mona is trying to pick up the pieces of her life when she commits a heinous act: stealing from her in-laws. She tries to stop herself, but never has she felt so alive and bold in years.

Taglist: @floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy @elflynns-horde-of-stuff @peachyblkdemonslayer

A pair of jade eyes watched as the remaining lights in the mansion went out. Once all was dark, they donned a mask and slung a bag over their shoulder. They then made their way over to the manor.

Spotting an open window, the figure climbed in, landing in a sitting room of sorts. Noticing the painting on the small, they pulled out a forgery. Carefully, they removed the genuine from the wall and gently placed the fake in its place.

As they snuck into the hallway, they stole any artwork--paintings, vases, sculptures--out of the other rooms before swiftly replacing them.

Finally, they stopped at the art room. Before their eyes was a picture of Black people dressed in fancy clothes with expensive jewelry on their ears, necks, and wrists.

"Enoch Baptiste's Black Elite. What are you doing here in this bloodclaat's home?" They asked as they pulled out a spray bottle.

Rays of red lasers appeared through the mjst. But it didn't faze the burglar. Instead, they stealthily made their way through the lasers. Handstands, flips, and other gymnastic moves. Once at their destination, they deactivated the alarms.

They then turned their attention to the paintings on the wall. For people who looked down on artists, they sure loved having expensive art in their homes.

"Such beautiful paintings owned by such disgraceful people," the burglar said while pulling out a scanner. The device flashed a light, meaning the painting had a tracking chip.

"A tracking chip? How cute." The thief then pulled out a chip disrupter and aimed it at the tracker. Afterward, the thief took the painting down and carefully placed it in the bag. She then pulled out a replacement for the Black Elite.

However, it wasn't a duplicate.

"In recent news, someone broke into the home of former Gotham D.A. Felix Beauvais and left an ominous painting-"

Mona Lisa changed the channel to her usual soap opera programming. She wasn't in the mood to hear Felix bitch and moan when she had more pressing matters to tend to. He was too foolish to even recognize the rest of his precious property was stolen.

"Here you go, madame." Salome handed her a glass of water. "Hopefully the morning sickness won't be too bad in the coming months."

Mona took the glass and downed it in seconds. Was this how her own mother felt when she was pregnant with her? Morning sickness was like she was being beat up by an invisible entity when she least expected it. Not to mention the weird cravings. Last night's dinner was a cream cheese bagel with baked salmon and brocoli.

And who could forget the mood swings? Mona prayed her mother didn't listen to the heated voicemail she left her about dogs of all things.

"Thank you, Salome. Your help is really appreciated in these times."

Salome bowed then walked off to tend to the rest of the house.

Mona almost collapsed onto the bed when she went into her room. The morning was still early, which meant plenty of time to relax before getting ready for work. As she rested, her mind raced with thoughts.

What am I gonna do with the paintings?

It was true that she broke in Felix's house and stole his "prized" paintings. But now what was she going to do with them? They were very good quality, probably bought from the artists themselves.

I think I'll keep Black Elite for myself. It was Francis's favorite.

Unzipping the bag, she pulled out the famed painting then placed it in a secret compartment behind the bookshelf. As for the rest of the paintings, she'd probably sell them. But to whom was the question?

It was something to think about later. For now, she had to get ready for work.

"1, 2. And a 1, 2, 3!"

Mona played the piano as her dancers, twins Halle and Mamie, moved to the music. Usually her music videos didn't have dancing since her main genres were jazz and R&B. Still, it felt good to have a change of pace every one in a while.

"Mrs. Beauvais, you have a visitor," her assistant stated.

Mona walked off the set towards her assistant and followed her down the hall. They stopped in front of a room.

"In here, ma'am."

"Thank you." Mona opened the door to see a group of well-dressed Italian men sitting at the table. One of the men had a big, fat cigar in his mouth.

"You must be Mona Lisa," he said without looking up at her.

"I am." Mona took a seat across from him and his group. "And you are?"

"Name's Jimmy. Jimmy Calhoun," Jimmy replied. It amazed her how he could speak with the cigar hanging off his lips. "First, I just wanna say my condolences. It must be hard losing your husband at such a young age in such a manner. While I wasn't particularly fond of Mr. Beauvais, I did want him to grow old."

Memories of the funeral flooded back into Mona's mind. Even though it's been only two months, the wounds were still fresh. "Thank you, Mr. Calhoun."

"With that being said, I have an offer to make you." Calhoun finally looked up at her. "My wife's a huge fan of yours. Listens to every song, been to the concerts. The whole nine yards."

Learning Calhoun's wife was a fan brought a small sense of comfort to Mona. "Tell her that I appreciate the support."

"Actually, you can tell her that yourself."

Mona raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"My wife's birthday is coming up and I want you to perform at it. You and your dancers," Calhoun revealed. One of his men then pulled an envelope out his jacket and slid it towards Mona.

"You could use some extra money in your pocket. Stars like you don't get far in this city, which is a shame."

Mona agreed with Calhoun. Gotham high society was where the businessmen, politicians, and lawyers ruled. Celebrities weren't as respected. Not to mention she's been out of the public eye for a while due to a long period of mourning.

"How much will you pay me?"

"Name your price and I'll have it." Calhoun pulled out his checkbook.

"Think you can pay me three hundred million?" Mona crossed her arms. She knew it wasn't right to test someone like Calhoun, but she was feeling strangely confident today. Besides, the money would be used to pay her staff and fund her...extracurricular activities.

Just as quickly as he pulled it out, he put his signature and the amount on it. "I can do that. Will that be all, Mrs. Beauvais?"

Mona tapped her finger on her arm. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who'd be big on having paintings on his home, but it's worth a shot. "Would you mind if I bring some...wares?"

Calhoun's eyebrow raised. "Wares?"

Mona nodded. She wanted to keep it a mystery until the day of the party.

"Alright. You can bring them." Calhoun replied. "Does this mean we have a deal?"

Mona nodded and shook Calhoun's hand. As she stood up, she asked him, "Will you keep your word, Mr. Calhoun?"

"Of course. I'm a man of my word, Mrs. Beauvais. Breaking deals like this is bad for business."

Mona walked back to the set to deliver the news to Halle and Mamie. "We've been invited to a party for the wife of a man named Jimmy Calhoun," Mona explained, showing them the invitation. "He wants me to bring you two."

"Really?!" Halle bounced with excitement. She was the darker skinned of the twins with short red hair.

Mamie, cool and calm as always, had brown skin and white hair. "How much did he pay you?"

"Three hundred million," Mona replied. "The party is tomorrow night, so make sure you have your routine memorized."

The twins nodded before walking off to discuss the news amongst themselves. As for Mona, she had some other work to attend to.

Mona's eyes looked around as her car entered the parking lot to the garage. Salome tightly held onto the wheel. Part of her wanted to ask if her mistress lost her mind; but kept it to herself.

"Are you sure this is the place, mistress?"

"I'm sure. Is the gun still in here?"

Salome opened the glove compartment to reveal a gun inside, which Mona gave an approving nod to. "Please take it with you, mistress. You never know what these Arkham types are capable of."

"You're the one who needs it, Salome. I'll be fine." Mona grabbed the duffel bag as she got out the car. She made her way to the garage, knocking on it three times with a minute between each knock. It took a bit but the wait was worth it once the garage door was lifted up by a burly, bespectacled man.

"Mona Lisa."

"Adonis."

Adonis made way for Mona to come inside before giving a reassuring nod for Salome to pull the car inside. He then turned his attention back to the artist.

"Here for some new tech, I suppose?"

"Yes. Do you have anything new?" Mona put her hands on her hips.

"Follow me." Adonis walked over to a shelf and pressed a button. It lifted up to reveal an elevator underneath. Adonis, Mona, and Salome boarded on and waited as they descended underneath the garage.

"Such an inconspicuous place for a hideout." Mona looked around. "I would've never guessed this was where you got up to evil."

"No one did. Not even Gotham PD or Batman."

Adonis walked off once the elevator reached the first floor. On the walls were gadgets and tools of all shapes and sizes. Mona's eyes immediately fell on a tabletop littered with gadgets.

"Are those mine?"

"Yep." Adonis walked over and picked up a remote. When he pressed a button, several small robots out a box. Mona nodded, impressed. "What is it and how much is it?"

"This is a device that releases little robots that can dislodge and cut any frame of any material. Makes it easier to take the art without having to take the whole damn thing." Adonis's voice was proud and confident in his work. "It'll cost a pretty penny if you want it."

I knew it, Mona reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a jade vase. She knew she struck gold when she saw Adonis's eyes widen. "Will this be sufficient payment?"

Salome gasped. "Isn't that-"

"Hell yeah it will. Is that authentic jade?" Adonis held the vase in his hands, examining it closely.

"Wi." Mona smirked.

"Hell, you can take everything off the table!" He couldn't take his eyes off the vase. In his days as the villain Cybermaster, he only hacked into top secret files and sold them to the highest bidder. He didn't really use the money he earned from his schemes to buy anything luxurious. "How'd you get this?"

"Let's just say, Mr. Felix and Mrs. Helene Beauvais won't be needing that or any of their other art anymore." It honestly shocked Mona that she spoke so proudly of her crime. She broke into her in-laws' house! That wasn't something to be proud of!

Why am I talking like this? I've never stolen anything a day in my life...

"Keep up the good work. Knowing those two, they probably aren't worried that their stuff was stolen."

"They won't be for a very long time." A confidence that never existed suddenly surged inside her. Why did she feel so...so bold to talk about these things? It wasn't how her mother raised her... "I replaced most of their art with forgeries. All except for one."

Both Salome and Adonis raised an eyebrow.

"Enoch Baptiste's Black Elite. Instead, I replaced it with an original artpiece to let those fuckers know they're not safe."

You're horrible! You're a monster! Francis wouldn't have wanted this!

"What...what will you do with it, madame?" Salome asked in a hushed tone.

"Keep it, obviously. As a momento to my dearest Francis." Don't you dare mention his name, criminal! "Now if we are done here, I'd like to get back home and practice for an event tomorrow night."

"Go ahead. Take it all." Adonis went back to the vase. "This is one hell of a payment."

Satisfied, Mona placed the tools in the bag before walking back to the elevator. Salome, still shocked by the revelation that her mistress broke into the elder Beauvais's estate and left that painting, followed behind her.

"Mistress...why?" she asked. But Mona couldn't hear her. Too high on the boldness she'd suddenly gotten.

When Mona arrived home, she made a beeline straight to her piano. It was a miracle that it was able to still be hers. Her fingers ran along the keys, bringing her joy. The piano was a wedding gift from Francis. One that Mona appreciated greatly.

Francis...

A pit formed in her stomach as she recalled what was said in Adonis's garage. The realization of what she'd just admitted to seeped in as a sharp, horrified gasp left her mouth.

Her knees became weak. How could she have admitted such sins with carelessness? Had the Devil possessed her?

She was horrible-- a horrible wife, a horrible widow, and a horrible mother to be.

What have I done?! I've lowered myself to the level of criminals! Tears forming in her eyes, she ran to her bedroom. Mona threw open her closet doors and pulled out the suit and mask worn on that fateful night. They'd made become an entirely different person. The fact the wares she talked to Calhoun about were the stolen goods from her in-laws made her sick. And what of her unborn child? What would the other children say about her child having a thief for a mother?

She threw the costume into the flames of the fireplace. When she went to reach for the mask, her hands shook.

What are you doing, Mona Lisa? Why are you destroying your art?

"This isn't my art!"

Yes it is. You made those forgeries to protect your art; yet you didn't do the same for Felix and Helene? Why is that?

"I...I have to give these back-" Mona fell to her knees as she threw up. Why did trying to do the right thing repulse her? Her eyes then trailed up to the mask.

Think about it, Mona! This world has left you with nothing!

"It...it hasn't-"

It has! You've heard it many times! Now that Francis is gone, you have nothing left!

"That's not true! I still have my music! My true art!"

Really? What will those get you? You may have the fame and fortune, but you don't have the power! Power is what makes Gotham run! That's what being with Francis gave you!

"I loved him for who he was! Not for power!"

That I did, but I can't deny the high I got from what being in his circles offered me. I never talked the way I do now. Before, I was a wallflower. A doormat. Now, I've become a queen.

"I..."

Do I think I'd ever let Felix, or Helene, or any of those useless sons of Beauvais bitches go? After everything they did to me?! To Francis?!

Anger took over Mona as she remembered everything the Beauvais family put her through. How they never spared a moment to tear her down. Their remarks about her upbringing and career. The constant undermining of her marriage to Francis. Felix and Helene stealing her money and her home was the last straw.

"No."

Exactly. Do you see how they made Francis's funeral all about themselves? How they had no regard for an honest, honorable man who lost his life?!

Mona's body trembled with rage. She remembered the nasty glares Felix and Helene gave her when she walked beside them to take Francis to his final resting place. How they allowed everyone else to go before her to pay their respects and say their last goodbyes.

"No! They didn't even care that he'd been killed!"

So why should I care about stealing from them? Or anyone from that matter? If anything, it's payback for everything they've done to me.

"No weapon raised against me shall prosper. And if it tries to, then I'll take everything it loves and never look back."

Then stand up, Mona Lisa. Become who you were always destined to be. Show them your art is nothing to be disregarded. Rise, Monochrome!

Pulling out her needles, pins, and fabrics, Mona got to work making a new costume for herself. She wouldn't fight it anymore. If the world wanted her to become a villain, then a villain she'd become. The old Mona Lisa Beauvais died with Francis.

She held the mask--the key to her new self--in her hands. Sliding it on her head made her feel brand new, fresh. Alive after living death for two months.

The world would know Monochrome. And as long as she was alive, nothing was safe from her clutches.

[cullxtheherd]

oh my god I haven't thought about BtVS in so long fdjsaio tell me some of your Angel/Angelus headcanons (insert eyes emoji here)

jhbjghljkghkfgl; oh my GOD i honestly never stopped loving AtS or BtVS!! bgut i did stop watching originally when Doyle perished cause?? sorry but he is babey and though i do understand why the actor was let go from his role, it's still super upsetting. i hate the episode Hero and also love it to pieces- just watched it yesterday and screamed ALLEN FRANCIS NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO for just. so long. tbh i was thinking about adopting him as a muse but tbh with you Angel and older 90s/early 00s muses don't get much attention anyways so i haven't yet skdjksds maybe after Harry from Resident Alien later tonight gets added I'll think about it again ksjdksjd. ANYWAYS THIS ISN'T WHAT YOU ASKED FOR KSJDSkfsd ON WITH IT!! just be aware there is no way i can include all the headcanons here so i'll just hlglhkglkhlgk about the ones i can think of asap

𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵

in the show (both buffy & angel) they are constantly telling us through dialogue, scene setting, etc that the reason Angel and (later) Spike hate killing and feeding suddenly is because "killing humans = bad ☹ grr, arrgh." i think it runs deeper than this. i think they are not solely repulsed because it is the morally wrong thing to do. i think they are disgusted in?? an almost obsessive way because of how badly they'd still like to do it despite knowing better and having control over themselves. certain episodes the way Angel and Spike's portrayals go: yes definitely they are giving us that and barely highlighting it. but i really. i don't remember either show ever coming out and saying it outright.

personally i think that the Buffy/Angel romance seems waaaayyy super crazy rushed in the show and i'm not really sure if they/joss even meant it like that! it just really be seeming that way af!!! logically the whole affair lasts about/just shy of three years if we are doing the maths and technically?? it really took 1.5 years before they even did the ol squelchy welch. which lmaooa jksdhkdjsfd can you imagine?? any young adults in a consenting relationship actually waiting that long?? yeah ekjnbswedsdxfks anyways. i just? idk. loved AtS and BtVS very much but his departure seemed super rushed and so did their romance bye sjhdbfs

speaking of?? while i am very much a buffy/angel ship supporter as an adult i do find it so freaking weird he?? was made by Darla in 1898 and theennnn spent 171 motha fuckin years parading around as Angelus- didn't even know about Buffy Summers until he was already 269 (nice) and when acathala SHAT his ass back out he was already 371, she was a juNIOr in higHSCHOOOLPLK ANNNDDD i have a hEAdache i gotta goooOO

no but really i. skhjfjhgf as an adult i am weirded out but?? idk it's one of my childhood ships i gotta pry it from my OWN cold dead hands i guess smh

personally i think Angel keeps trinkets from the people he's saved over the years. and i don't mean at random Investigations via his detective agency or, later, Wolfram & Hart. i mean?? the cases we see like?? the episode 'are you now or have you ever been' that takes us back to the 1950s and the Hyperion Hotel in it's heyday. angel aided a woman named Judy Kovacs- albeit rather reluctantly to try and escape and THEN a literal MOB beat and lynched his ass and thennNNNN, in present time, he fights against the same life-sucking chaos-causing Thesulac demon with his friends/colleagues. after all of this he finds Judy somehow still in her room (214) surviving just a few doors down from his (217) so many years ago just?? waiting. and while canonically the show has Angel in room 312? I disagree. i think he would have taken up residence in 214 or 217...... 214 cause i'm feeling sappy. check his bathroom cabinets i bet you it's got at least a few of her accoutrements living inside.

i think?? despite?? darla not being able to take his soul via the big squelchy that he and Angelus really did care about her- heck!! in the early?? 1900s he DID try to return to her and adapt to her violent way of life he just couldn't do it

while i am?? verryyy willing to write buffy/angel ship stuff i really do think after the events in I Will Remember You it would take a literal set of miracles to get him to even attempt being with Buffy again. i think that while he will always love her no matter what that he has learned that?? things that are or seem too?? good or pure for a creature like him genuinely are. though he is/was the Powers That Be-s-es-es?? ES favorite ensouled boy-toy i really, genuinely do think that a happy ending is just NOT in the cards for our boyo

if buffy wasn't evidence enough of that fact?? cordy. Skip really came and took her just like that. then the whatevers that WHOEVER shat her back out to really just give birth to jasmine and connor and i rrepwsrenbjhdfbskdjnsf worst. season. EVER. i refuse i fucking REFUSE TO EGHV ADBAKJSDFALKFNKSADJF???!?!?!?! i hate it so much. i hate it. so. m u c h. connor and cordy should have never EVER been a thing and i will erase it from history if i have to give birth to myself to do it

𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕤

hoo babey. while angel is?? reserved and doesn't?? really mention any kind of explorative or wild side with any regularity in the show this wild child leather-pants-wearing abomination gives NO shits. he is very, VERY pansexual and you can fight my spirit on top of my grave about it.

regarding the last thing i said: there was definitely a polyamorous relationship happening between Angelus, Darla, Spike and Drusilla in my book. there are certain... jealous scenarios- heck!! just LOOK at episodes with Spike where he's being pouty about not getting the proper attention he deserves. if you think this is just about Dru i am begging you to reconsider

also?!?!?!?! PENN?! Penn was so obsessively and grossly in love with Angelus his sire I can not EVEN BEGIN TO FIUBNFDAKJSDFN

i think?? there are times in Angel's day-to-day where he not only misses but craves the presence of Angelus and visa versa. Angelus obviously seems a bit more openly repulsed by his softer side cause like?? each half is SO strongly suited to one extreme and?? as much as Angel and Angelus would both loathe my next statement: two halves do make a whole.

i think that while?? Angel may be cursed with a soul, that's not all. Angelus doesn't have regular control any longer, for sure, but i really do think it is oftentimes a daily battle to tune him out. why?? the orb of thesulah is only used to summon and store a human soul until it is re/tethered to a body. the ritual that the "Gypsies" and Willow performed didn't?? do anything with the actual demon. it didn't send it back to whatever Hell dimension it came from it just?? gave angel a soul- it gave what was left of Liam (O'Connor if you follow fan-lore) control over himself and the demon inhabiting his body. though the show never depicts or portrays this i am willing to bet real money that somewhere, deep down Angelus is on the inside rattling his mirror against the bars screaming: IM HENRY THE EIGTH I AM I AM!!! over and over an over and ov-

angel, however, when not in control seems to go into some semi-mostly dormant state as evidenced by the fact that he was entirely gone during their time in Acathala and relied on solely the demon half to get him through, but?? i'm 56% sure he is there sniveling in the ether when Angelus is driving he's just?? clearly not as strong mentally.

while?? Angel is a very respectable creature who cares about and loves his friends/found family i really do think that Angelus loves NO ONE. i think he cares about a few entities but i do not think he is capable of love proper as we think of it- both shows continuously remind us that number one in Angelus's world is, in fact, Angelus which means...

i doubt he really cares about pleasing his partner/s where that is likely Angel's main objective and lskjdnfjd i really have to go before this gets super raunchy

[viktcrr]

「maxence danet-fauvel & nonbinary」⇾ samuels, viktor, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he/they are a capricorn and 24 years old. he/they are studying visual arts, living in noland and can be observant, ingenious, reticent & dependent. when i see him/them i am reminded of a sculptor’s hands clay-ridden, the insistent hum of tv static, and a crying preacher inside a dusty funeral home.  ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hllo !!! i’m james n here’s one of my big idiot muses <3 he’s not actually dumb he’s :/ a bit evil. bt thts okay hes still <3 beloved <3 LKDSFHLSADLKGFSHLKD anyways!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

UPDATE: now that summer’s come n go ... viktor hs been thru <3 a lot <3 recently. switched therapists (his :/ last one got her license revoked) & started new medications, went to a treatment center briefly ‘cos .. he wasn’t doing too well :/ bt now he’s back baybey! trying to be better n trying to be sober but ... :/

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate… but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies… because viktor would have a lot of them…

familiar faces… people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances… people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids… just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend… probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances… people who knew him from his youth.

exes… good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft… i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited… either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension… of the … spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends… old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups… current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die… friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence… he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg… he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

[fizzyxcustard]

Curiosity (Francis Dolarhyde)

Day 29 of Lyn’s Writing Event

Event Masterlist

Summary: You have slept over at Francis’ house and let your curiosity get the better of you. 

Warnings: Dark themes. Anxiety mention, but nothing too bad. 

Comments: I felt like a change was in order, so I wrote this in first person. Enjoy! The event is almost at a close, and I want to thank all of you who have followed me through my very first challenge participation. 

Curiosity never hurt anyone, right? That was what I thought on the night I fell asleep at Francis’ house. I’d had a bit of a weird crush on the guy for a while, ever since he started at my place of work. Most people steered clear of him, but I liked to hang around with him. He certainly seemed like he needed people on his side, so I decided to be his friend, and things had gone from there. 

I’d never really considered all that much weird about him; I assumed he had social anxiety and just didn’t interact much with those around him. But I later learned how wrong I was. Even if he did suffer from social anxiety, he also had problems that were buried much deeper than that. 

I woke up in the early hours; I knew it was early hours because the summer sunlight was beginning to peep through the window. The bed I was lay on was extremely comfortable, but the room was quite dim and dingy. I was sure that the evening before I had fallen asleep on the couch. Francis must have brought me up to bed. it gave me flashbacks of the times when my dad told me that he’d escorted me upstairs when I’d fallen asleep in front of the TV. Yet I had no recollection of ever waking in the night to walk upstairs. That always freaked me out. 

Like most mornings, I needed the toilet. So I slipped out of bed and ventured out into the hallway. The whole house was dim; the carpets and paintwork were all old fashioned and dark with age. Had Francis never considered sprucing this place up? It definitely didn’t have the vibe of a fun bachelor pad. 

I found the toilet and relieved my aching bladder. Too much coffee from the night before probably. 

Just a few feet away from the bathroom was a set of steps leading up to a third floor. The attic? I peered up into the gloom and could just about make out that the door was ajar. Should I pop my head around the door and take a peep? One look couldn’t hurt. 

The floorboards were a little creaky, but nothing excessive. Hopefully Francis wouldn’t hear. At the top of the steps, my hand hovered over the gold doorknob and I took a deep breath, preparing for my entrance. 

The room was like every other room in the house, dim and gloomy. It was a wonder the place wasn’t haunted by Francis’ relatives who’d left him the property. 

It was like any other attic, I suppose, home to boxes of junk. There was a painting, I noticed, directly opposite me as I walked in. It was in good view, supported on an easel. Had Francis’ painted that? It looked pretty decent if it was his handiwork. 

My eyes caught sight of a large, leather-bound book. It was a little dusty on the cover. Maybe a photo album. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

It was full of newspaper clippings. But not just any clippings; they were all stories regarding recent murders, cut from various local and national papers. The Tooth Fairy. I’d seen the reports many times and every time they showed the faces of the poor family who had been killed, my heart bled with them. So much evil in the world. 

I flicked through the book; that was all it contained: clippings. A shiver raced through me and I pushed a terrible thought from my mind, one that would later prove to be, unfortunately, very correct. 

Francis had probably just got an interest in the criminal mind, I re-evaluated. That naivety and wanting to see everyone’s good side would later be my downfall. 

My fingers picked up clippings that had not yet been glued in. I recognised the victims names from being three nights earlier. 

The next thing that happened will be something I will never forget. His voice, full of anger, and possibly hatred, bore into me, sending a sliver of ice down my neck and back. The hairs on my neck stood to attention and I shivered again. 

“You better put that down, or else....”

[exkernal]

Philosophy Class for Rock Bottom Demons: 3/3

Every morning starts the same. After his shower, he takes Jason for his morning walk, rain or shine (though it's usually shine in Arizona). He always stops at the pet-friendly coffee shop just a few blocks from his apartment complex.

It's got nothing on Friends, but Michael finds it charming in its own way.

The early morning patrons are a cross section of humanity. There's the bleary-eyed students with their green hair and nose rings, cramming or killing time with surprisingly affordable coffee. There's the elderly regulars, including the couple who always argues in Spanish, yet at the same time, he always remembers to pick up her extra sweeteners and she always dabs away his espresso-stache. There's the dog walkers in their jogging pants, happy to have a place to relax with their pooches.

Then there's Michael, who's a bit of all three.

To his fellow patrons, Michael Realman is friendly if slightly eccentric, with an equally friendly dog. He can't help himself from talking to whoever will listen. He loves to weave together the story of his human life, sprinkled with embellished little half-truths, like the disapproving, stern father or the love-hate rivalry with his actress sister.

One day his favorite barista, Kelsey, asks if he's married.

Michael tells them that he met his wife a lifetime ago, when he was in a "bad place." He was practically a different person then, one he's not proud of. He can tell they don't believe him--that they can't see him as anything but an enthusiastic and kind old man--but he insists all the same. He says that his wife brought out the best in him, helping him to become the person he is today. She was his partner in crime, who'd gone with him to hell and back, and he's been a little lost since she died.

When Kelsey asks her name, she says, "Eleanor."

Since Chidi left, Micheal's spent his evenings at the clown house. Eleanor has other distractions during the day, like visits with Mindy and Tahani, or strolls down a Senegalese street, but the evenings are for them. The only two non-Janet members of Team Cockroach left in the Good Place. Sometimes he brings chips and queso, and sometimes he brings tubs of Chunky Monkey. Sometimes their watch list is Chidi-approved and cerebral, sometimes it's pure reality TV trash.

"How is it," Eleanor says, scooping a dollop of sour cream and pico, "that crap like Love is Blind is still addictive in Heaven, where I can literally spend my days soaring on a freaking eagle? I keep thinking that I'm going to, like, lose twenty points or something."

"Love is Blind isn't that bad," Michael says. "Okay, the Messica stuff is, but I for one think Cameron and Lauren's relationship is precious. They're love is so pure--" he catches himself, wincing. "Sorry, Eleanor."

"Dude, what are you sorry for?" she says through a mouthful of nachos. "I'm not some fragile little girl who'll collapse because other people are in love. Does it suck that Chidi's gone? Fork yeah it does. But I'm dealing with it."

"Okay," he says. "Then I'm sorry for making it weird."

"You are making it weird by apologizing so much!" Eleanor says, laughing a little. She grabs a throw pillow and whacks him in the chest. It feels like nothing. "So knock it off. We can gush about our feelings and shirt another time. Right now, I just want to unwind with a classic Eleanor and Michael trash bag hangout. That cool?"

"Completely," he says. "Let the trashiness commence."

They sit with his arm around her shoulder and her head resting on the crook of his neck. Michael's relieved they still have this. Though he feels guilty for the thought, he can't help his relief that out of all the humans, she's the one still with him. He misses Chidi and Jason and Tahani every day, but he'd gladly trade them if he can still have Eleanor.

As the episode credits roll, Eleanor peers up at him. "You know, there is something I've been missing since Chidi left, that I think you could help me out with."

"Oh?"

"I've got a certain itch that needs scratching, if you're picking up what I'm putting down."

Michael snaps his fingers excitedly. "Yes! I actually think I am!"

She laughs. "Dude, reign in the adorkableness, or I'm not going to be able to contain myself. But seriously," she adds, voice going low. "Are you interested? Because I know it might be more...complicated for you, and I don't want to ignore your feelings."

Oh, right. In his excitement at finally mastering human coyness, he brushed right past the actual implication.

"It wouldn't be weird for me," he says, stammering a little. "If it's not weird for you, I mean. I just want you to be happy."

"I can think of a few ways you can make me happy," she says, running her fingers through his hair.

He bends down, crashing his lips to hers. He's become quite good at kissing over the Bearimys, or at least, at kissing Eleanor. While the old Michael would've been disgusted by the mere thought, the new Michael craves every touch, from the pressure of her teeth around his lip to the way her thumb glosses over his cheek bone.

"It sounds like you really loved her," Clare says, near the end of their guitar lesson.

"More than anything," he nods.

"You never completely get over loss," she says. "I had the hardest time accepting it when my Frank died. I kept expecting to find him drinking his coffee at the kitchen island or pulling up weeds in the garden. It was a struggle, coming to terms with the fact that I'll never see him again."

"Oh, I think you might," Michael says. He knows that she's heard these tired platitudes ad nausea, but it's true. She will see Francis DiSandro again, once they both pass their Good Place tests. They have that to look forward to. Whereas he knows that he will never, ever see Eleanor again.

He tries to push that thought aside. He doesn't want to think about that now, not here in his friend's dining room, surrounded by her potted plants and twin grandkids' scattered possessions. He spots Ben's open book and Abbie's solitary discarded sock and wonders, fleetingly, what it's like to be a child. That's one human experience that will always be a mystery to Michael.

"That's a lovely thought," she says diplomatically. "Same time Thursday?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

He wonders what it's like to sleep, as he watches Eleanor lying naked under the covers. Eleanor certainly looks peaceful. Innocent, too. The way the sunlight hits her hair makes it almost seem to glow.

She murmurs a happy little sound. Her blue-green eyes flash open.

"This has to be so boring for you," she yawns. "Watching me sleep. I wouldn't be offended if you left."

"I want to stay," he says, stroking her hair. "Besides, what's the rush? I have an eternity of time on my hands."

Eleanor sits up a little. "Are you sure this is okay? I mean, don't get me wrong, the sex is way better than okay--you can it get, demon buddy." His chest swells with pride, despite himself. "But you'd tell me if there were any issues right? Like if it's not cool with you?"

"Of course," he says, smiling at her worried expression. "But you don't have to worry, because I'm way more than cool with it."

He's not sure how she can think that it's anything less than bliss for him.

Dreams are some of his favorite human things (at the very least, they're in his top 200 favorite things) but he could do without the nightmares.

Sometimes he's in the Bad Place during his apprentice days. He hears the familiar soundtrack of screams as he tortures his assigned human, only to realize after he's ripped off its fingernails that it's Jason or Chidi or Tahani or Eleanor. Sometimes his friends are being tortured by Shawn, Trevor, and Vicki while he watches in helpless horror. They beg him to save them, but try as he might, he can't reach them in time.

He wakes up in the dark, panting. It's just a bad dream, he tells himself. He saved his humans, and all of them lived out their best existences in the Good Place.

But it's not enough to stop the flood of bad memories. Michael at his desk, mapping out his grand neighborhood scheme. Michael cackling evilly in Eleanor's face. Michael gleefully tossing humans into the lava pits. Of all of the souls that he tortured, how many actually deserved it? Maybe ten. Ten, out of millions. The kindly, harmless Michael that his friends and neighbors know has tortured more people than any human war criminal.

He remembers what Jason said about guilt versus shame.

Gingerly, Michael gets out of bed, careful not to disturb Jason (the dog) curled up at his feet. He puts on his slippers, stubbing his toe in the process (an experience that's both delightful and painful). He pours himself a glass of water because that's what they always do in the movies whenever they have a bad dream.

He's had so many human experiences now, the kinds he could only dream of before. That peculiar chemical tang in his hair after swimming in a chlorinated pool. Waiting forty minutes on a customer service call. Feeling his stomach rumble with pesky hunger pains, his bones ache whenever he was exhausted yet couldn't sleep, the sweet release of a pee break after a two-hour road trip. Some days it's enough to make him forget that he was ever anything but human, until nightmares like this remind him that he was a demon once, too.

Maybe one day he'll come to terms with being both.

"Eleanor?" Michael asks.

"Sup, demon bud?" Eleanor flashes him a classic Shellstrop smile. "Or should I say, soon-to-be-human bud?"

"That's what I want to talk about," he says quickly, licking his lips. They're in the clown house, waiting for Janet to escort him to the portal. In fifteen, maybe ten minutes time, he's going to leave the Good Place. Who knows when (or if) he'll ever be back? "How do I know this is the right decision? What if I go to Earth, realize it's a mistake, and then it's too late to go back?"

"Having second thoughts, I see. How very human of you," she says. "Let's talk this out. How are you really feeling?"

"Nervous," he says after careful thought. "But also excited. It's an equal mix of both."

"Michael, that's like the most human combo ever," she says, patting his back. "I don't think we ever go through any major change without feeling both nervous and excited at the same time."

"Really?"

She nods. "That's just how it is. Look, I arranged this whole thing because you deserve to be happy. If you really don't want to, don't. But if you're just grappling with the whole all-change-is-scary-even-good-change deal, than I say take that leap."

A leap into faith. That's what this is, isn't?

"You're right," he says. "I'm just being silly."

Her smile is so bright. He wishes he could freeze this moment forever, so he can always see her smiling like this. "You're just being human."

The door opens.

"Michael?" Janet says. Her voice is as pleasant as always, but something's a little off. "They're ready for you now."

The finality hits him like a runaway trolley. He looks into Eleanor's eyes into a momentary panic, because they both know that this is it. Unless he's hit by a truck the second he gets to Earth, Eleanor will have already walked through the door by the time he dies. This is it for them.

Without breaking eye contact, she cups his face into her hands.

"I love you, Michael," she says.

He knows it's not the same kind of love that she has for Chidi, or that Michael has for her, but it means everything to him that she said it.

"I love you, too," he says. His eyes sting. There are tears in her eyes, too, threatening to spill over.

"Look at us saps," he sniffles. "Getting all weepy."

"Pretty pathetic, huh?" he says, dabbing at his eyes.

"Michael, promise me that you're going to live it up down there. That you'll be the most adorkable, bad ass, awesome silver fox that you can be."

"I promise."

That's his last image of Eleanor: her standing in the doorway, rubbing the the tears off of her face.

Today's lesson is on Clare's front porch. It's a warm, breezy day after a week of blistering heat, so they're savoring it together. From the window they can see Abbie and Ben in the living room, watching cartoon dinosaurs. From what Michael gathers, the little T-Rex is friends with the group of herbivores, though they don't all trust him yet.

"Congratulations, Michael," Clare says. "You've officially made it to intermediate level."

He might not be selling out stadiums any time soon, but he's flustered with pride at how far he's come since his first artistic fumbling. If only his friends could hear him now.

"We'll still have lessons, right?" he asks, plucking at the guitar strings.

"Well, I certainly won't refuse if you want to continue paying me," she says. They chuckle.

"You know," Clare says, as Michael strums along to a half-remembered tune. "We could always see each other outside of lessons. We can have dinner sometime, if you want. I know this Italian place I think you'd like, if you're free this weekend."

He looks at her and smiles. "I'd like that."

[mostweakhamlets]

Fic prompt: Warlock tracks down Aziraphale’s bookshop and swings by.

Thank you so much! This was much longer than I expected it to be, and it took a turn I wasn’t expecting. 

Warlock was always curious about what happened to his nanny and the family’s gardener. They had left only a week apart--first, the gardener and then Nanny Ashtoreth--and had always seemed… close. 

It took a year after they left for him to realize that they were weird. It took a year’s worth of odd looks by his parents when he mentioned “sister slug” or when he casually brought up nanny’s lullaby. It took a year’s worth of therapist appointments his mother made him go to. 

They were weird. 

But he still remembered them fondly. 

By the time he was 15, he was too curious to not do anything about it anymore. He searched high and low for Nanny Ashtoreth’s presence anywhere online. There was no resume, no LinkedIn, no business number, not even any social media. He moved on to sneaking into his father’s office in the middle of the night, rifling through drawers and filing cabinets to try to find any shred of evidence that Nanny Ashtoreth or Brother Francis even worked there. But there was nothing. No contracts, no business cards, nothing. 

Warlock had began to wonder if he had hallucinated the entire thing. But how could he make up Nanny rocking him to sleep and tucking him into bed? Or Brother Francis showing him a deer that had wandered into the garden early one morning, both of them holding their breath so as not to startle it? 

How could he make up the morning Nanny left? When she hugged him and told him to be whomever he wanted to be? She had wiped his tears by the front door because he cried so hard. She was never necessarily tender, but that morning she was cupping his face and whispering to him. She had also promised, though it turned out to be a lie as far as he knew, that she would see him again.

Warlock grew from being curious to bitter. His teenage angst increased with the mystery and the feeling of abandonment. 

Most of his childhood, he realized after more thought, was weird. His eleventh birthday was weird, though he enjoyed it. And not long after that there was the weird weather and news stories coming from England while his family was abroad. And what was with that weird guy that smelled like poo? No one talked about the summer of 2018 often. It was something that most people wanted to put behind them because it was… weird. 

Warlock decided to start embracing weird to find weird and fell down a deep rabbit hole. 

There was a magazine. New Aquarian. It had gone out of business for a few years but began publishing new issues online in 2018. Warlock read through the conspiracy theories of the 2018 apocalypse, the reports of people seeing aliens, the articles detailing the M25’s fire. There were interviews from people who claimed that their homes had been destroyed but suddenly repaired themselves when they woke up one Sunday morning. Everyone talked about that one Sunday morning. 

There were two interviews from Soho that Warlock poured over. The first was of a woman who seemed fairly normal for being in that magazine, but Warlock thought that maybe the reporters were the only ones who would listen to her. 

She worked across from an old bookshop--a very old bookshop, she specified. It had caught on fire, which was a tragedy since it had been there for over two hundred years, and she had watched as it burned down. The owner wasn’t there, fortunately. But then a man appeared in sunglasses (which didn’t appear out of the ordinary at first) and walked right in despite the firemen telling him to stay out. When he came back out, she swore his eyes were different. She swore they were yellow with slits instead of pupils. No one else seemed to notice but her. He drove away so fast there was no time for anyone to. Maybe it was contacts, she had pointed out, maybe it was part of a costume. 

The next day, the bookshop was fine. It looked just as it had for the past two centuries. She watched the owner stop outside in the street, looking up at it. She had described him as a polite man that always wore a pale suit with white hair, though he didn’t seem to be quite old enough to have such white hair. She had met him only a few times. She had wanted to see him that Sunday. She almost walked out to meet him in the street, but she thought better of it. 

“This poor man lost his entire shop--his entire home--and then it was there again with no explanation. I thought maybe he needed some time alone. Heavens know I would.” 

She said that everything went back to normal after that. The bookshop returned to its normal hours (as normal as they had been, she supposed). Business went on as usual. 

The second interview was about the same bookshop. The interviewee seemed more appropriate for the magazine. He talked about how he had been in the shop before, how the owner was polite but somehow not pleasant, how he seemed old and had worked there for years but never seemed to age past his mid-to-late 40s. 

The man fixated on the 0wner for a while. Warlock didn’t care. A lot of people aged well. A lot of people were eccentric. Then, he fixated on this man that was always in the shop. He always wore sunglasses. Looked the same age as the owner and didn’t age, either. Dressed equally eccentrically but in black with flaming red hair. 

But the man started talking about the fire as well. How he came by after the fire was out, looked at the charred sign that had read “A.Z Fell & Co.,” stood by the crowd who shook their heads in sympathy. The owner wasn’t anywhere to be found. Rumors were beginning to go around. There were other fires through London that no one could explain, but some people wondered if the owner had burned the shop himself for the insurance money. Since the owner came back the next day when it was magically repaired, the interviewee doubted it was an insurance scheme. 

He blamed supernatural beings. Warlock ignored that part. 

Warlock printed out the articles. He felt like a conspiracy theorist himself, underlining and highlighting anything that he thought looked important. He made notes and found the address and phone number of the shop. This was, to be fair, done mostly out of procrastination. He had a mountain of homework to do that weekend, but his research was more fun. And he supposed that any research would lead him somewhere--maybe not to find his nanny, but to put together some sort of logic for what happened four years ago. 

It was approaching early morning. His eyes itched. He thought about calling it a night and curling into bed. There wasn’t much left for him to do besides hang up his notes on the wall and connect them with red string. 

He used blue highlighter for the descriptions of the shop owner and his friend. He circled the line about yellow eyes and made a note: “what does this mean?” Were his irises yellow? Did he just have jaundice? Maybe he had light eyes, and the flames were just reflecting off of them. Maybe he had green eyes and the lady was colorblind. And the slits could be anything. Warlock had a friend who had a pupil that dipped into her iris. David Bowie had one large pupil. 

Warlock used his colored pencils to doodle in the margins of the paper after he listed every possibility. He drew eyes with pupils that slipped down to the bottom of the iris. He drew irises that were pale green, very light hazel, and green with flecks of hazel. He drew little martians in the corner that were beaming cows up into the spaceships. 

After his martian break, he went back to his laptop. He closed out the directions to the bookshop and pulled up a new window for fresh research. He typed in: “slit pupils.” There had to be a medical condition for it. 

Warlock scrolled through a page of pictures of cats and the burst pupils he had seen in his friend. Then, he froze. 

Among the pictures from medical websites and cat blogs, there was one of a snake with a bright yellow eye and a long, thin pupil. 

He had seen snakes before. Obviously. But none with yellow eyes (snakes at the zoo always had muddy brown or red eyes) and not when he was trying to imagine them on a person. 

He leaned back in his chair. He could perfectly imagine the snake’s eyes on a human face, framed by red hair. Red curls, specifically. It seemed almost familiar. 

Whatever. He was just tired. 

Turning off the lights and shutting his laptop, he crawled into bed. It was silly. The interviewees probably just missed renovations. The fire probably wasn’t as bad as they thought. If it was an old shop, it must have some sort of recognition and protection by the city. They probably had people come by as soon it was over to start replacing the sign and windows and door. The inside could still be burned for all anyone knew. Maybe that was why the owner came back the very next day. 

The familiarity of the eyes had to have a logical explanation as well. There was probably a movie with an actor with red hair that had snake eyes. A horror movie or something. That had to be it because the more Warlock thought about it as he began to fall asleep, the more he could make out a woman’s face. Her jaw was square. Her cheekbones were sharp. Her hair was styled and perfect, curls resting across her forehead. She was middle-aged, and Warlock could only imagine her in a modest black outfit. 

Warlock’s chest tightened. He sat up, turned the lights back on, sat back down at his desk. 

He could remember, somewhere deep in the farthest reaches of his memory, being five and sitting on Nanny’s lap in the garden. They were roughhousing, as they often did. He had squirmed too much as she grabbed him in a ticklish spot. He was laughing when she fell back into the grass, taking him with her. Her hat fell off. And so did her sunglasses. They slid down her nose and one stem fell off her ear. 

He had stared at her eyes for the brief few seconds she was too flustered to compose herself. They were yellow and here pupils belonged to an animal, not a human. She quickly closed her eyes and righted her glasses. 

“Nanny--”

“I think it’s time to go inside now.” 

He had never brought it up again. He had forgotten about it by that evening, his childish mind moving on to something more exciting. 

Warlock wrote a note to his parents: “Ground me when I get back. I’m going to Soho.”

He called an Uber and ate a couple handfuls of cereal as the sun was rising, too shaken (and perhaps excited) to be tired at 7 am. He gave the driver the address and five stars 20 minutes later when he stepped out of the car. 

He read the sign on the front door, shaking his head at the absurd description of hours. It seemed the only way to know if they were open was to check if the door was locked. 

“Young man, I’m terribly sorry, but we’re not quite ready for customers yet--”

The owner stood behind the front counter. He was everything the articles described him as. White hair, maybe in his 40s, pale suit. But he stared at Warlock, then, he smiled. 

“Actually, I suppose it might be time to open,” he said. “How can I help you?” 

Warlock walked forward, running a nervous hand through his long hair. “I don’t know.”

He looked so familiar. 

“I think I’m looking for someone,” Warlock said. “Or maybe a couple people.”

The owner wrung his hands together and looked ready to speak before a voice cut him off. 

“Is someone actually here at 8 in the bloody morning?” 

The man in sunglasses stepped out from the back room. His hands were shoved in his black jacket--not the only black item of his ensemble. When he looked at Warlock, he didn’t react for a few seconds. Then, he stopped and stared just as the owner had. 

“He’s looking for someone,” the owner said with a tight smile. “He appears to be lost.” 

The man in the sunglasses didn’t say anything. The owner recovered. 

“We can call your parents, young man,” he said, picking up the receiver of vintage phone. “Tell them they can meet you here.”

“I’m not looking for my parents,” Warlock said. He made eye contact with the sunglasses. He nearly shivered thinking about what could be behind the dark lenses. “I’m actually looking for… my nanny.”

“Well, we can call her. It makes no difference.”

Warlock didn’t say anything. The owner sighed and put the receiver down. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Sunglasses asked. 

“Warlock Dowling.” 

The owner shook his head at Sunglasses. 

Sunglasses took a few more steps forward. He was tall, but Warlock had grown to reach his chin--his square chin that was a painful giveaway with the sharp cheekbones. 

“I can’t imagine your parents are happy that you’re here on your own,” he said. “Soho isn’t the place for kids to run around by themselves.”

That wasn’t true by any means. The parents part, maybe. But Soho was perfectly safe. 

Warlock stood his ground. “I’m just looking for my nanny. Their name is Ashtoreth. Or that was at least their name.”

Sunglasses smirked. He looked back to the owner who gave him a disapproving look. 

Warlock’s heart pounded. 

“I heard weird things have happened here a few years ago,” he said, trying to soldier on. 

“Weird things happened everywhere a few years ago,” Sunglasses said. 

“But… weirder things happened here. And I had a weird nanny.” Warlock took a deep breath. “And I read this article that there was a man here that some lady saw with yellow eyes.”

Sunglasses paled. The owner stepped out from behind the counter. 

“And I think that my nanny also had yellow eyes,” Warlock said. “And I think you might have been my nanny. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I really think it might be time to call someone to collect you,” the owner said. 

“Stop it, Aziraphale,” Sunglasses snapped. 

Sunglasses took Warlock by the shoulder and lead him to the back room. Aziraphale trailed behind them. 

“Have a seat,” Sunglasses said. 

Warlock sat on the only sofa there. Sunglasses paced. 

“Alright,” Sunglasses said. He turned to Aziraphale. “Can we wipe his memories?” 

“Wipe his memories, Crowley?”

“Yeah.”

“No! Not from 10 years ago! You should have distracted him when it happened. And who is this other person?” 

“Look, I won’t tell anyone,” Warlock said, beginning to think that he had made a mistake because maybe people with snake eyes and snake face tattoos that went by Crowley weren’t the nicest. “You don’t have to fight about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“We’re not fighting, my dear,” Crowley said. 

My dear. Warlock hadn’t heard that since he was a kid. 

“And this is a big deal,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley sat next to Warlock. 

“Here’s the deal.” He made a face. “I was your nanny when you were a boy--”

“Crowley.”

“And I was there when you turned 11. It’s a very, very long story. We dragged you into something you didn’t need to be involved in, and as soon as we could we got you out. You wouldn’t understand any of it.” 

“But I can try.” 

Crowley sighed. “There are things that you shouldn’t be involved with. It’s better to not know anything.”

Warlock shook his head. “I want to know. Something happened when I was a kid and something happened in 2018. I think I deserve to know about it all.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Warlock crossed his arms. 

“I know that this shop burned down one day, and I know that you were here, and I know that someone saw that you have snake eyes, and I know that the next day everything was fine. I also know that when I was five, I saw you without your dumb sunglasses on and you--”

Crowley pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Warlock felt like ice water had been dumped over him. 

“We can talk,” Crowley said, “as long as you swear none of this gets repeated.”

Warlock nodded. 

“And as long as you don’t call my sunglasses dumb again.”

[freddiesaysalright]

Catching Up Part X

A Joe Mazzello x Reader Fic!

Summary: Reader is a writer for an entertainment news network and after Joe comes in to do an interview, they reconnect. Unexpectedly, they’re having a child together.  

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I’ve been so busy with requests! But I’m really dedicated to this story and I can’t wait for y’all to see how it ends! We’re getting close now!

Tag List: @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @jennyggggrrr @somethinginthewayiam, @grandaddy-roger-trash, @rogerloveshiscar, @hopefully-aesthetically-pleasing, @danamaleksworld, @mrsmazzello, @reedusteinrambles, @rexorangecouny, @caborhapch, @kurt-nightcrawler, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @queendeakyy, @hotttspace, @anxious-diabetic, @someone-get-a-medic, @psychosupernatural, @lizvxx

Let me know if you’d like to be added! I think this story is going to have two more parts and an epilogue!

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV  Part V Part VI  Part VII  Part VIII  Part IX

Part X here we go!!!

Joe got his castmates on skype to tell them the big news. Rami, Gwilym, and Lucy were in Chicago. Allen was in London. Ben was in Los Angeles. But all of them knew that it was the day, and they had already arranged a time for Joe to call when they could all answer. You and Joe were on your laptop at your apartment, grinning like crazy at each other and at your friends. They looked eagerly at the two of you.

“So,” said Rami. “Boy or girl?”

You and Joe looked at each other and then back at them.

“It’s a boy!” you cried in unison.

They all clapped and shouted their congratulations. You held up the latest sonogram and they absolutely fawned over it.

“He’s beautiful!” Lucy cooed.

“What are you gonna call him?” asked Ben.

“I thought I told you,” said Joe. “Joseph Francis Mazzello IV.”

“I mean, yeah, but you’re already Joe,” Ben said. “What’s his nickname gonna be?”

“Joey?” Gwilym guessed.

“I call him Joey,” you said, pointing to Joe.

“We could both be Joey,” Joe said.

“That might get confusing,” Allen added.

“Whatever we call him will come naturally, I think,” you said. “He might even tell us what he wants to be called.”

“That’s true,” Joe said.

You chatted with them for a little longer, and they caught you and Joe up on what was going on in their lives. It was nice to hear from them all. The only one you hadn’t met in person was Allen, but he was very nice. When they all had to go, you hung up. You sighed and looked at Joe, happier than you had been in a long time.

“So, what would you say to a round of destressing?” he teased, leaning over to kiss you.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” you returned, smirking.

“It’s just doctor’s orders,” he said.

“Well, I can’t very well say no to that,” you said, kissing him again.

Giggling, you made your way to the bedroom to celebrate.

The following weeks were mostly focused on the move. You and Joe hired movers since you were well into your second trimester and it wasn’t safe for you to lift anything. It made you feel incredibly useless throughout the process. Joe insisted you were carrying the most precious piece of your home, and therefore had no obligation to move furniture or boxes.

On the official moving day, which ended up being late September, you spent time with Christy while Joe oversaw the moving process. It was nice to get quality time with her and celebrate your friendship together before you both took steps you knew meant less time for each other. Several times throughout the day, you got a little emotional thinking about it. As much as you loved Joe, you were going to miss Christy dearly. You were walking together in Central Park when you had to stop and rest.

“Sorry,” you said as you took a seat on a bench. “I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

“Ice cream didn’t agree with little Joey?” she wondered.

You shook your head. “I dunno. I’m still having a lot of nausea. Not as much as the first trimester, but enough to be annoyed.”

“Is that normal?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” you said with a shrug. “Pregnancy is so fucking weird I figure there’s no ‘normal’ way, y’know?”

“I guess that’s fair,” she chuckled.

“According to Google I shouldn’t worry,” you said. “It’s probably just that my hormones are going crazy right now.”

“It just sucks you can’t take anything,” she said.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I get headaches a lot too, so it’s doubly awful.”

“God, I’m never getting pregnant,” she joked.

“Never say never,” you returned. “Don’t forget we weren’t trying for Joey here.”

She laughed. “I’m gonna be super careful to not get pregnant,” she corrected.

When you were feeling better, you began walking again. You told her about all the things you and Joe had done to prepare the house and what you’d gotten for the nursery. She was honestly thrilled for you and couldn’t wait to see it.

Joe picked you up from the park, looking sweaty and exhausted from a whole day of moving. After saying goodbye to Christy, you slid into the passenger seat, cradling your belly in one hand as you settled in. Joe kissed your cheek.

“You look sexy,” you joked, wiping his hair off his soaked forehead.

He smiled. “The house is almost done. We just need to unpack clothes, but I’ve got stuff for us to wear tonight.”

“Okay, we can take care of that tomorrow,” you said. “I can’t wait to see it.”

It looked much like you had imagined it would over the weeks. You and Joe had picked out everything together, and it really felt like yours. This was the Mazzello home. Joe wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you walked through it together. There were boxes of clothes, and some kitchen things that needed to be put away, but that was all part of moving.

“Welcome home,” Joe said.

You grinned. “It’s perfect.”

That evening, after you and Joe ordered a pizza and had that for dinner, you settled into bed pretty early. For the first night in many, you didn’t make love because he was so tired. You didn’t push because your stomach still felt a little queasy and you didn’t feel super sexy. Just as you leaned back against your pillows and cracked open a book, your phone rang.

“Who’s that?” Joe mumbled beside you, half asleep already.

“It’s Christy,” you said, and picked up. “Hey, sweetie. What’s up?”

“I just got our mail,” she said. “You’ve got a letter from Nick.”

“What?” you gasped. “Can you bring it over? We’re already in bed.”

She scoffed. “Really? You leave our apartment for one day and you’re already a grandmother?”

“We’re lame and tired,” you returned, trying to joke but worry was too strong in your heart. “Can you just bring it?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, and hung up. You knew she was already on the way.

“What’s up?” Joe asked.

“Nothing, baby,” you assured him, kissing his cheek. “Go to sleep. I just left a few things at the apartment.”

He muttered something else, but you didn’t really take it in. You got up, put on sweatpants and went downstairs to wait for Christy. The fifteen minute trip felt like hours when she was bringing you word from Nick. You hoped this meant he was ready to take a plea bargain and you wouldn’t have to go to court again.

When she arrived, you opened the door before she could knock. She had the letter and a few other things for you, but you just tossed them on the counter as you turned the kitchen light on. You eagerly ripped the letter open and pulled it out, your eyes frantically scanning the page. Your mouth fell open at what you read.

“What?” Christy asked. “What did he say?”

“What did who say?” Joe added as he came into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Nick wrote me from jail,” you told him.

“Why’d you say it was nothing?” he demanded.

“I wanted you to rest!” you insisted. “Why are you up?”

“I don’t sleep well without you next to me,” he said.

You didn’t have time to admire that sentiment. Christy let out a frustrated groan.

“You two are adorable, but we don’t have time for this!” she cried. “Y/N, what did Nick say?”

They both had curious eyes on you as you read the words on the page once more, cementing their reality in your head.

“He wants to see me,” you told them. “He says he’ll take the plea bargain but only if I come and talk to him. But he doesn’t say what it’s about.”

“This feels slimy,” Christy said. “Like a trap.”

“He can’t hurt me,” you said. “It’s all supervised.”

“Y/N, are seriously considering going?” Joe questioned.

“Of course,” you said. “If I can end this sooner, I want to take the opportunity.”

“But if you can get him in court -” Christy began but you cut her off.

“We don’t know that for sure,” you said. “And the court date sucks because Joe’s gonna be in London for the BoRhap premiere and you’re going to be in Florida with your boyfriend. I’d have to go alone.”

“What if he’s lying?” Joe asked. “I’m with Christy, I think he just wants to try and intimidate you again.”

“Well, so what if it is?” you said. “Then we’ll go about it the original plan. I don’t see what harm it can do.”

“It could cause you more stress, and the doctor said to do things that do the opposite of that,” he reminded you.

“It could also relieve the stress,” you argued. “Because then I won’t be so scared about going alone to court.”

“Why do you want to go so bad?” he questioned.

“All the reasons I’ve just said!” you returned. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

“I just don’t understand why you’re giving him the satisfaction,” he said, heaving a sigh. “This puts all the power in his hands.”

“It’s not about having power, it’s about finishing this,” you said. “I want to move on from him, and the sooner the better. A whole month before the court date.”

“Y/N, you can’t do this,” he said. “I’m gonna have to put my foot down.”

Your mouth fell open and you blinked at him for several moments. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Oh my God, run, Joe,” Christy muttered to him.

“I said I’m putting my foot down,” he repeated. “No.”

“You know if you’re gonna keep speaking to me like that, you might as well get me a chew toy,” you spat.

“I didn’t mean -”

You cut across him. “Oh, didn’t you? Because that’s how you talk to dogs and badly behaved children, but definitely not your girlfriend who is five months pregnant with your child.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down.

“Apology accepted,” you said. “I love you and value your opinion, Joe, and you don’t always have to agree with me. But you will treat me with some goddamn respect.”

“Jesus, Y/N, use a dick,” Christy breathed.

“You’re right,” he conceded, ignoring your friend. “Again, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, and I just worry about you. That’s all.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said with a sigh. “I’m going to see Nick. And you can come with me or not, but I’m going.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I think it’s right, but I don’t want you to go alone.”

When you had everything arranged to go and see Nick, you found yourself more nervous than you thought you’d be. You tried to think of what you could say to him, but Joe and Christy advised waiting until hearing what he had to say before forming any ideas. Not having anything prepared though made you feel anxious.

The jail he was being held in also made you nervous. The officers there were stern and intimidating, but you figured they had to be with the job they had. You would see Nick in a common area that reminded you of a school cafeteria, but a lot scarier. Nick looked rather pathetic is in uniform, and he’d clearly not gotten any drugs either. His recent bout with withdrawal was written all over his face.

Joe held your hand tightly as you took a deep breath. Nick would also now know that you were pregnant. You’d been careful during the first court date to wear loose clothes and hide your bump. It helped that he hadn’t looked very hard at you. You saw his eyes go wide when he noticed it now. You placed your hand on your bump as you took a seat across from him. Joe remained standing, keeping a hand on your shoulder as he glowered at Nick.

“So,” you said. “What do you want to say?”

“First of all, I want to say I’m sorry, Y/N,” he began. “I’m really sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice stony. “You tried to say that before you broke my phone and wrecked my apartment. You’re gonna have to do better, Nick.”

“I don’t know what came over me there,” he said.

“I do,” you remarked.

“Please, let me finish,” he said, and you got quiet. “I don’t know what came over me. I truly didn’t go there with the intention of hurting you or begging for you back. I went there to ask you for money, and I lied to try and get it from you, I know. I don’t know why you having a boyfriend upset me so much.”

“Did you think there was still hope for us?” you asked.

He looked down at his hands. “Maybe a little. I always thought if I got clean...you might...”

“Forgive you for selling naked photos of me?” you wondered in disbelief. “How could I ever get past that?”

“You’re right, it was stupid,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t help but hold out hope, y’know?”

“This is getting off track,” you said. “Is there anything else you wanted?”

“I just want to know that you forgive me,” he told you. “It’s the only way I’ll be able to face a year in prison.”

You completely hardened as you glared at him. “You wanna know what I faced because of what you did? I was a prisoner in my own head, fearing every fucking camera I came into contact with. I was afraid for my job, for my reputation. I lost friends and family. It affected my relationship with Joe. And then you sent them to him and his friends and God knows who else! I had to start over all the progress I’d made on moving past it! And you want my forgiveness so that you can go to prison and feel okay?”

He sputtered for words.

“I forgive you, Nick,” you said, and he looked at you, wide-eyed. “But not for your sake. I’m forgiving you so I can move on with my own life and focus on this.” You placed your hand on your belly again. “He’s my life now. I’m looking forward, because I can’t look at you anymore.”

Tears welled up in your eyes and your head started to pound. You winced with pain and Joe knelt closer to you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “I think so. I’m ready to go now.”

You both looked at Nick and then you spoke again. “Is there anything else? Are you ready to take the plea deal?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Just one more thing.”

You looked expectantly at him. He nodded toward your baby bump.

“If I had never gotten into the drugs, do you think that could have been us?”

“No,” you said simply. “It was always going to be me and Joe.”

He nodded, resigned, and you told the guard you were ready. You could feel Nick’s eyes on you as you left, willing you to turn around for one last meaningful look, but you didn’t give it to him. You were ending this on your terms. And that meant turning your back to him forever and pressing on with Joe and your son.

When you exited the prison, you felt so free. Joe looked hard at you. You’d gotten a little emotional inside, but that was gone now. Relief washed over you like a wave.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he wondered.

“Yeah,” you said, taking his hand as you made your back to your car. You stopped him before you got in, turning him to face you.

“I meant what I said in there,” you said. “It’s me and you now, okay? And little Joey. I’m not worried about anyone from the past. Not when I’ve got you two.”

He kissed you, his hands coming up to cradle your face as his lips claimed yours. This kiss sealed it.

“No more looking back,” he agreed. “I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about this.”

“I love you too,” you said. “And don’t worry about it. I understand why, and it makes me love you even more. You still supported me through it. Thank you, Joe.”

“You feel good about everything?” he asked.

“I do,” you assured him. “It feels like closure.”

He pulled you into a hug. “Good.”

You broke away and you both climbed into the car.

“You know what this means?” you said eagerly as he started to drive back to the house.

“No, what?” he wondered.

“We can just be excited about the premiere of Bohemian Rhapsody!” you squealed. “Yay!”

He laughed. “And then Joey’s gonna get here!”

“I know!” you cried. “We’ve got so much to look forward to!”

[altviktcrr]

『MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL ❙ NONBINARY』 ⟿ looks like VIKTOR SAMUELS is here for HIS/THEIR SENIOR year as a VISUAL ARTS student. HE/THEY are 24 years old & known to be OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT & DEPENDENT. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 20. EST. SHE/THEY.

hllo ,,, again ,,, this is my last child i SWEAR ,,, at least fr now ,,, hes also the most problematic one ,,, the most dramatic ,,, one of my absolute faves ,,, pleathe love him. as always if u wish to plot please like this so i can msg u !!!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang. 

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like ... sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid ... not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine. 

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like ... just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just ... not to his parents, who don’t really need to know. 

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point. 

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was ... viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because ... for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears ... that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just ... love those black & white vertical-striped pants. 

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just ... a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants. 

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like ... sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s ... a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it. 

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive ... like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe ... yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time ... also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not ... with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like ... partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate... but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies... because viktor would have a lot of them...

familiar faces... people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances... people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids... just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend... probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances... people who knew him from his youth.

exes... good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft... i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited... either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension... of the ... spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends... old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups... current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die... friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence... he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg... he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

[apinkwhisperscollector]

You are the Veronica to my Deaky.

A / N: Hi, I wrote something. This is the first time I write something and let people read it. And it's also the first time I write something in English. Anyway ... Joe's dancing video gave me an idea. A special thanks to @cool--cats  and @sohoneyspreadyourwings that encouraged me to write. And thanks again @sohoneyspreadyourwings, you read and corrected the English of this humble one shot.

Ps: The writing is really bad, but I'm proud of myself.

Summary: It's your wedding day.

"Y/N, I wanted to know if-Wow." said Ben coming through the door.

"You wanted to know what?" You said looking at him. "Has anything happened? Is Joe all right?"

"With all my respect, but .... Wow you are ... Wow." Ben kept repeating ‘Wow’ and you couldn’t help but smile.

You were happy and extremely nervous. After all, it's not every day you get married. It's especially not every day that you marry Joe Mazzello.

"Ben, why are you talking out loud like that? Speak lower ... Oh, okay ... Wow." said Gwil.

"Thanks." You said feeling your cheeks turn red. If your future husband's two best friends were left speechless, you could not wait to see Joe's reaction.

"But you wanted to know what Ben? And taking advantage of the fact that you’re here, can you please close my necklace?" you said turning away from the man.

"They asked us to tell you that in 10 minutes someone will pick you up to take you to the church." said Ben, closing the necklace. "Ready."

"Y/N, you look beautiful. He's going to cry so much when he sees you." Gwil said with tears starting to come out of his eyes.

"Gwilym Lee, are you crying?" You and Ben said at the same time.

"Maybe." Gwil wiped away tears that were falling with a handkerchief.  "He is getting married. He is going to marry the love of his life. They’ve just gone through so much. He lost his father. Months later, you lost your father and your mother." The tears were still falling from Gwil’s eyes, Ben were red as he tried not to cry. You were trying very hard not to cry too, Gwil’s beautiful words made your heart fill with joy.

"Oh my God, it's your wedding and you're going to go into the church by yourself," Ben said with tears prickling his eyes.

'I said I'd rather walk alone. Well, I'm really not going to be alone.” You opened the little pendant in your necklace, and there were two small pictures of your father and your mother. Gwil and Ben had become a blubbering mess at that. "They’ll be with me the whole time."

“Gwil and Ben, it's time to go." Rami came into the room you were in to take the boys away. "Y/N, you're ... He's going to cry so much when he sees you." said Rami with a small smile on his lips. "Boys, come on. Now."

Ben and Gwil followed Rami and you were alone again. The small story of how Joe and you came in there invaded his thoughts. You went from two people who hated each other to friends and then became best friends, and now you would be husband and wife.

You had met on the set of GI Joe: Retaliation and for some reason you hated each other. But somehow, over the years, you had became friends. You both had become such good friends that when he finished directing Undrafted, you were the first person he called. When you got your first Emmy nomination, he was there. When his girlfriend betrayed him, it was on your shoulder that he cried on. When you won the BAFTA, he was the first person you called. It had all lead to this, you were about to marry your best friend. The one who only continued to be there for you whenever you needed him most.Your story was nothing more than a romantic movie cliché, but it was your cliché and you loved it.

"Miss, Y/N the car is ready and waiting," said the planner who helped organize the wedding.

"Thanks." you said following the woman. "Is everything going well?"

"It's all going wonderfully well. Don’t worry about anything." the woman helped you into the car, arranging the dress perfectly. The car started moving and that was it. You were getting closer and closer to becoming a Mazzello.

In less than ten minutes, you were already at the church door ready to enter.

The church doors opened and the wedding march began, signaling to Joe and the guests that you had arrived.

With your first step, Joe's gaze met yours gaze and at the same time you two started to cry. "Oh my god ... Oh my god …” Gwil, Ben, Rami look from Joe to you. Oh my god, I'm going to faint Gwil, I'm going to faint." Joe was talking so loudly that everyone started laughing. "Oh my god".

With each step you were got closer. With each step you missed your parents more. They should be there. Joe's father should be there. A fucking drunk driver took your parents from you and the fucking cancer took Joe's father. At every step you knew that wherever they are, they are looking at you both. Joe kept yelling “Oh my god” that echoed through the church. You were getting closer. You had finally reached Joe. You were facing him and there was no one to hand you over to him. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. It was his friend who was more of a brother - John. "Someone has to give you to him." John said, holding your hand.

"Thanks."

"Mazzello, if you break her heart , I'll hunt you to the end of the world. I'll find you and make you suffer." John tried to make his voice as threatening as possible. He failed, because everyone started laughing again.

The ceremony began, and everyone cried all the time. The priest spoke about love, respect and family. He emphasized that a marriage meant the joining of two families. You had lost your blood family, but you were getting a new one. "The rings, please." said the priest. Lucy gave you what would be Joe's ring. "Ben, the ring." said Joe. "The ring, yes, of course." Ben began to look in every pocket of his suit. His face was red from crying, but his eyes were filled with despair. "Gwil, I can’t find the ring." "Here." Rami took the ring out of his pocket and handed it to Joe. "Where..." "You dropped it in the car." said Rami, returning to his place. "You dropped the ring? Wow Ben, Cardboard  Ben would never do that to me." the guests laughed. The priest looked confused.

"Anyway ..." said the priest. "Joe, your vows please."

"Y/N, it was a cold afternoon on set in New Orleans when I first saw you. I was tired, you were, as always, very nice to me and I was rude. Honey, I'm sorry.I decided to hate you and be very childish to try to turn your life into a living hell. Again, I'm sorry. I was rude and childish because I liked you as soon as I saw you. But because I had a girlfriend then, it was easier to pretend to hate you and make you hate me. It was the way I could find it that didn’t have me falling in love with you."

Tears streamed from her eyes, Joe’s eyes, and from everyone's eyes-even from the priest.

"But people grow up, change, and I don’t remember how we stopped hating each other and became friends, but we did and I’m grateful for it everyday. When I look back, since ... 2011 or 2012, you're always by my side. With you I went to events, I traveled, I ate weird foods. Seriously, she made me eat a snake soup ... Anyway, in 2017 we were best friends who turned became something more. We spent the biggest adventures with these guys here” Joe said pointing at Lucy, Ben, Gwil , and Rami.

"Until last year we had the best and worst years of our lives. They are not physically here today, but I know they are somewhere watching us right now." Tears began to come out uncontrollably. Mentally, you thanked those who created waterproof makeup.

"You are my moon, my stars, my earth, and all my entire  universe. You are the coffee to my milk, you are the sun to my morning, you are the Veronica to my Deaky. You are literally my everything and I still can't believe you're here marrying me.”

"Wow, that was beautiful." said Gwil, wiping the tears from his face. Internally, you wondered if there were still tears coming out of Gwil and Ben. They were crying early, if they continue that way they will have dehydration. "I really was not expecting it. It was really beautiful. "Y/N, seu votos por favor."

"Well, I don't have the slightest idea how I'm going to get over those beautiful words you said. I just don't know what to say." you took a deep breath trying to form sentences that would make sense. "I lost my family months ago and today I am gaining another." Well, in fact, I always had two families, your family has always been my family.As you said, you have always been by my side and I have always been to your . " Tears began to fall from your eyes. "And so it will be forever.I love you so much Joe, I love you more than words can explain."

"Joseph Francis Mazzello III, do you accept Y/N as your wife?"

"I do." Joe had the most beautiful smile in the world, but at that moment his smile was bigger and more radiant than ever.

"Y/N, do you accept Joseph Francis Mazzello as your husband?"

"I do.I do.I do." You said it several times. That's it, you're a Mazzello now.

"So then, I now pronounce you husband and wife." I said the priest and the whole church cheered. "Joe, you may kiss the bride."

********

"Seriously?" You asked as soon as you arrived at the location for the photos.

"What?' Joe pretended not to know what you were talking about.

"Joseph Francis Mazzello III, why is our dog dressed as a dinosaur and why is there a Ben’s cardboard cutout there?" You took a deep breath trying not to freak out.

"Wait, did you have a new CARDBOARD?" "That's a new cardboard Ben, don’t try to fool me. Oh my god , Joseph, we're not taking this to the honeymoon!"

"Y/N, it's going to be funny.You do not want to look at the photos and laugh? One day, in thirty years or so, show these pictures to our grandchildren or maybe even great-grandchildren"

"Yes, Joe, but explain to me where Cardboard comes in? Ben really is right there," you pointed at Ben, who was turning a glass of champagne all at once. He cried the whole ceremony and was drinking very fast now. You were starting to get worried, you guys had not actually come to the party and both Ben and Gwilym looked drunk.

"Ginnie, please help me. Tell your son that I don't want the cardboard in my pictures or my dog dressed as a dinosaur." You said trying to find comfort in your mother-in-law.

"Oh dear, he's yours now, and Joe's right, it's going to be funny." said your mother-in-law, taking a glass of champagne. Ok, problems with an open bar wedding, the party had barely started and it looks like everyone was getting drunk pretty quick.

"We need to take the photos soon so we can continue with the schedule of the party." said one of the organization's girls.

"Oh, okay, let's take those pictures." And the photos were getting better than you imagined. Joe was right, he was being funny. Bride and groom photo, bridesmaids photo, Joe's photo (and several videos) screaming and running from the dog while you were laughing. None of it looked like serious wedding photos, it was more to a lot of friends together taking pictures to post on instagram.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Mazzello?" Joe said though you did not listen. You were amazed at how beautiful everything was, all the decor, everything was absolutely like you always dreamed. "Y/N, I'm talking to you."

"What? Sorry."

"I asked if you were well ... Mrs. Mazzello." Joe looked straight into your eyes and you can not help but smile when you heard Ms. Mazzello.

"Mazzello, I'm someone's wife now. That's ..."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome The Mazzellos." the voice on the microphone announced your entry. the voice on the microphone announced your entry into the ballroom.

As soon as you entered the hall, John Legend's All of me began to play for the first dance of voices.

It was his favorite song, but suddenly Joe stopped dancing with you and stared at you.

"Joe, dear what are you doing?" and even before he could answer a song you did not know began to play.

Joe started dancing in a very stupid way and even though you had no idea why he was dancing like that, you smiled. You smile because it's with this idiot that you're going to spend the rest of your life.

[marymccartneyphotos]

The McCartney Family Album

April 6, 2008 -- The Guardian

To mark the 10th anniversary of Linda McCartney's death, Paul and daughter Mary have selected the best of her photographs for a revealing exhibition. Here, Mary tells Sean O'Hagan why the pictures are so special to her.

When I ask Mary McCartney to describe her mother's photographic style, she thinks for a long moment and says: 'She approached photography the way she approached everything else - with quiet confidence.' You can see that in the photographs spread out before us on the table of the west London members' club where McCartney has met me to talk about a forthcoming exhibition of her mother's work. The show, which opens at the James Hyman Gallery on 25 April, is the first major retrospective of Linda McCartney's photography, and has been timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of her death from breast cancer. The photographs have been selected by Paul and Mary McCartney, with input from Hyman, from 4,000-odd contact sheets.

'It's an incredible archive,' says Mary, herself a respected fashion and portrait photographer. 'Mum never stopped taking photographs, though it may have seemed that way to the public. It's about 30 years' worth of work. The only gap is around the time when Stella and I were born when, as she said, she was up to her neck in nappies. Otherwise she always seemed to have a camera in her hand.'

To many people Linda McCartney was known, first and foremost, as the wife of a Beatle, and then as a vegetarian-cum-animal rights campaigner. Yet it is her career as a photographer, which waned as she embraced motherhood, music and activism, that is her lasting legacy.

'She was an instinctive photographer and always unobtrusive,' continues Mary. 'She wasn't that interested in straight portraiture or art photography - the images she caught were nearly always intimate, relaxed and oddly revealing.'

You can see that intimacy in her shot of John Lennon and Paul McCartney working on lyrics in the corner of a recording studio. Both are immersed in the task, but obviously having a good time. McCartney, his biro poised over a sheet of paper, may just have amended the lyrics. Lennon obviously approves. They seem almost conspiratorial and to have the intimacy of a long-term couple. Which, in a way, they were.

With the Beatles, Linda's access was assured. Before she met Paul, though, she had worked with many of the icons of the Sixties pop scene, including Jimi Hendrix, whom she famously captured mid-yawn. He didn't seem to mind.

'It was a different time,' says Mary, 'before PRs and image makers took over. Back then, she told me, the manager would often be a friend of the band. If you were cool and they liked you, you could friend hang out.'

Mary's younger sister Stella, now a celebrated fashion designer, is in one of the most intriguing family snapshots. It was taken at Paul McCartney's cottage in Scotland, near the Mull of Kintyre, which he famously hymned on one of Wings's more mawkish songs. Paul balances on a fence in dressing gown and slippers. He is watching with some concern his young son James, who has just leapt off the bonnet of the family Land Rover. Immune to the drama, Stella is kneeling on the grass in the foreground, immersed in some private reverie.

'That's Poppy, our family dog,' says Mary, pointing at a pooch in the background. There is also a sack of logs, or maybe potatoes, in the foreground near Stella. It is a detailed photograph but intricately composed: the dark, looming cottage on the right of the image, the fence that arcs away to the horizon, the tall figure of Paul echoed by what appears to be a ring of standing stones in the background on the left.

It is also a perfectly rendered moment, a deceptively casual portrait of a family caught up in one of the small dramas of the everyday. The age is given added resonance by the fact that it is a glimpse into the private life of the McCartney family at a time in the early Seventies when Paul had fled the media-fuelled madness that attended the Beatles, and by the fact that Linda is the invisible, guiding presence.

'I love that photograph,' says Mary. 'It's so weird - the dog, my brother jumping into the air, and Stella in a world of her own. I could look at it for ages. It's not set up at all; it's all about watching and timing. I bet she didn't even change the lens to take it, just used the same old 50mm lens she always did. That's what I mean about instinctive. There's a faith that it will be alright and it is. She just gets it.'

She stares at it some more, and the photographer in her gives way to the loving daughter. 'We used to walk that fence all the time to see how far we could go before we fell off. So it has all those memories, too. Our lives are mapped out in our mum's photographs. I found out her and Dad's story just by looking through the contact sheets: her rock'n'roll stuff, then her photographs of the Beatles, then her meeting Dad. It's like her diary, really, a record of her life.'

Linda Louise Eastman began her career as a photographer almost by accident. While working as a receptionist for Town & Country magazine in Manhattan in the mid-Sixties, she picked up an invite for a press party on a boat on the Hudson. It was for the Rolling Stones, newly arrived in America. She charmed the bad boys of rock as she later charmed Hendrix and Jim Morrison.

Soon afterwards, she forsook the genteel concerns of Town & Country for the more earthy delights of the Fillmore East, a celebrated but grungy New York rock venue, where she became the house photographer, capturing live images of Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, the Doors and the Who. Before Annie Leibovitz became Rolling Stone magazine's favourite snapper, Linda was the first woman photographer to have her work on the cover - a portrait of Eric Clapton.

'Mum liked doing music work when it was all free and easy,' Mary says, 'but when the lawyers and the accountants took over, she lost interest. She was independent always. She did it on her own terms or not at all. Plus, she had children. Children take over your life.'

Contrary to received wisdom, Linda Eastman was not an heir to the Eastman Kodak empire, but she did come from wealthy American stock. Her father Lee was a music-business attorney, while her mother, Louise Sara Lindner, inherited the Lindner department-store fortune. She died in an aeroplane crash in 1962, when Linda was just 20, precipitating in her daughter a lifelong aversion to flying.

'I think Mum and Dad were close because they both lost their mothers when they were young,' says Mary. 'It was one of the things that bonded them. You could glimpse it when certain songs came on the radio, and they'd both be suddenly sad at the same time. I also think it's what made them so family-oriented.'

Family life, one suspects, is also what grounded Paul McCartney after the craziness of the Beatles years - though blissful domesticity also seemed to soften his musical brain. For a long time Linda stopped being a professional photographer to become a musician of sorts with Wings, and had to contend with the wrath of Beatles fans who blamed her and Yoko Ono - but mostly Yoko - for the fall in quality in both Paul and John's solo work. She later admitted that she sometimes sang out of tune on early Wings songs.

Paul met Linda in the famed Bag O'Nails club in London in May 1967, where the new rock aristocracy hung out, and where she was taking shots of Georgie Fame for a feature on Swinging London. That same week, they met again when the Beatles unveiled their Sergeant Pepper album at a party in their manager Brian Epstein's Belgravia pad. In September 1968 Paul asked Linda to fly to London for a date. They married six months later. Mary was born in August 1969. On the back of her father's first solo album, McCartney, she is the curious infant peeking out of her father's jacket straight at her mother's lens.

'It's a beautiful moment, isn't it?' Mary says. Does she remember much about her childhood in Scotland? 'Oh God, yeah! I remember we'd go off exploring a lot, Stella and me, and we didn't have to be watched all the time.' It's a revealing memory, a reminder that they were still the children of one of the most famous pop stars in the world and had to be protected accordingly.

How big an influence is her mother on her own photographic style? 'I'm not sure. It was more her attitude I admired. She was feisty in her own way, but not in a big, in-your-face way. I suppose she was quietly persuasive. It took me a long time to even get to that point. I used to be so green when I started, almost apologetic. I'm more like her in the way I approach my personal projects: just me and the camera and a few rolls of film. She gave me loads of advice all the time and I really miss that, chatting and arguing over the contact sheets. I remember when I used to moan about missing a great moment, a great photograph, she'd say: "Oh, don't worry, it's in your soul camera." I think she really believed that.'

Was it hard to be the child not just of famous parents, but parents who were seen as alternative types - hippies, vegetarians, animal rights activists? 'Well, my friend Josie used to call us hippy convoy kids,' she laughs. 'We were tomboys, that was down to Mum. She was a bit anti-authority, a bit rebellious. At the local comprehensive in Rye I tried to blend in but Mum and Dad would turn up in the Land Rover with the rainbow-stripe fabric on the seats. The rock hippy parents! I did the whole thing of being embarrassed as a teenager. I'd look at her odd stripy socks and go: "You're not going out dressed like that, Mum!" Now I think it's beautiful. Like the way she cut her own hair. It's quite cool, really.'

There is a powerful self-portrait of Linda towards the end of her life in Francis Bacon's studio. I ask Mary if this was the last image taken of her mother before she died. 'No,' she says haltingly. 'I think I took the last photographs of her. I was working on the press pictures for her cookbook. I think the very last one was a close-up where she is looking deep into the lens. Really intimate and poignant. The thing is,' she says, tears welling up, 'I don't think she ever saw it.'

As she composes herself, she sorts through the images. 'That's the thing about photographs,' she says. 'They are wonderful reminders of things, but they also carry memories, sadness.'

It must have been an emotional experience to sort through her mother's archive for the show. 'In one way it was, but in another it was satisfying. Me and Dad have a proper grown-up relationship now. I feel I was a kid for so long, but now we have both been through a lot. We're both divorcés, for a start,' she says, laughing mischievously.

Though I had been warned that the words Heather Mills were not to be even mentioned, it seemed an opportune moment to utter them. Did you, I ask, gritting my teeth, ever do a portrait of her? 'No,' she says, looking perplexed at the very thought. 'No. Not really. I didn't.' Funny that, I say, but she does not respond. The silence, though, says enough. In more ways than one, she is her mother's daughter.

Linda McCartney's photographs will be at the James Hyman Gallery, 5 Savile Row, London W1 (020 7494 3857) from 25 April to 19 July

[flylittlerobin-dbd]

What is your opinion on all the survivors?

“Goodness, well…  I hope no one can see this…”

“Dwight is a good kid.  He’s trying his best, but he’s still bordering on…  Coward seems like such a harsh word…  He hides a lot, but in that regard, I suppose that makes him one of the smartest of us.  He really is a natural born leader, so I wonder why hardly anyone actually follows what he says…”

“Meg is…arrogant?  Confident?  She really puts her athletics to the test, but…um…I really do wish she’d use those skills to be a little more altruistic than just running the killers around…  It’s good for gen rushing, sure!  But…if there are only two survivors left, and-and one’s hooked, she’s going to waste as much time running around rather than saving them…”

“I actually very much enjoy Jake’s company!  He and I have a mutual love of both tinkering and animals!  The crows that fly around seem to really like him.  He’s a lot quieter than the others, but he knows how to make himself dangerous with the way he handles hooks.  …unfortunately that’s not good when the killers catch on that he’s in trials…”

“Claudette is another one I love being around.  She’s so gentle and caring…  She’s…what I always assumed a good mother is like.  She’s always willing to help, even if it would put her in danger.”

“…I don’t…get along…with, um, Nea.  She’s…shockingly mean.  She’s good at juking and angering the killers.  Outside of trials, we don’t speak at all.  In trials…she’ll sometimes try to shove the killer off on me.  I don’t know what I did to upset her, but whatever it was…I wish she’d let it go…”

“Truth be told, I adore Laurie.  She’s so strong, both mentally and physically.  She’s one of the only survivors in the Fog that has a deep connection with their killer, and she’s still very much terrified of The Shape.  I look up to her, and she treats me like a little sister!  She’s protected me more than once, and to have both her and Claudette in the same trial really is a problem for the killers, one protecting and the other healing.”

“I, um, tolerate Ace.  He can be a little strange sometimes, and he’s not afraid to leave survivors in the trial if it means he gets out.  I guess I can understand; it’s what most people would do, probably.  He…gambled a lot, so it makes sense that he sees it like a big game to win, and the only way to win is to live.”

“Bill scares me.  There’s no other way to go about it…  I don’t know what kind of situation he came from, and he’s never too keen to talk about it, but wherever it was, it’s given him a strong sense of survival.  I’ve seen him punch killers before…”

“I don’t mind Feng.  She hangs around Nea a bit too much for me to really get close to her, but she seems cool.  She has an incredibly high pain tolerance, having to deal with The Doctor as often as she does…but, um, her confidence can sometimes get her into trouble.”

“David is okay.  Actually, he makes me feel safe a lot.  Early on in the trials, when the killer would find me, he’d shield me from blows, even if it meant he got caught.  I…I’m afraid for him sometimes…  He’s got the same levels of altruism as Claudette, but while she’s passive about it, he is very, very active…”

“I love Quentin.  He’s like family to me, and I feel secure around him.  He, Laurie, and I are like a little siblinghood.  Laurie’s the middle sister, ready to fight, Quentin’s the oldest brother who, despite being constantly tired, will protect people he cares about, and I’m the little sister.  I…don’t really contribute and feel like a burden when the two of them are with me in trials, but they keep an eye out for me while I work on gens or hunt down totems.  You…you shouldn’t make him, um, mad though…  I saw him punch The Nightmare once…”

“Detective Tapp is kind of like a dad to everyone.  A very strict dad…  He still holds firm to the laws of our worlds and tries to make sure we don’t get into legal trouble…if that were possible here…  He wasn’t really happy to learn about Nea’s criminal record.  Or David’s juvenile records for that matter.”

“I’m not kidding when I say that Kate is a glowing light in this dismal Fog.  Despite not having her guitar, she’s always ready to sing for us, and she sometimes even gets others in on it!  David is her designated percussionist!”

“Adam- uh, I mean, Mr. Francis, is like another dad to the group.  He and the detective sometimes team up on us when someone’s doing something bad.  Hehe!  I remember once when he disciplined Jake the first time he saw him break one of The Trappers bear traps!  He has a good heart, and he wants what’s best for us.”

“Jeff used to scare me a lot.  He looked like he’d be ready to get into a fight with someone in a heartbeat, namely David, but after just a few days with him around, I warmed up to him.  We share a passion for art, but it was quite a surprise to discover his music taste!  He’s a bold man; breaking hooks after getting down from them.”

“If the detective and Mr. Francis are the dads of the group, Jane is definitely the mom.  She’s protective and a good listener.  She worries about Dwight and me the most, seeing as how I’m not too good with pressure and Dwight gets caught a lot.  Sometimes…I’ll have a panic attack, and she’ll take me away from the campfire and just sit with me.  Sometimes we talk it out, and sometimes I can’t speak about it, so she’ll hug me…”

“Ash is a wild card!  You never really know what he’s going to do next, whether it’s tell a weird story or start throwing threats to the killers.  He talks about a boom stick a lot- it’s embarrassing to admit the amount of time it took for me to understand he meant a gun…  I remember asking him about his hand and hearing the story of the chainsaw arm.  I understand why the Entity didn’t let him have that…”

“Steve is funny.  I would call him arrogant, but I’m not sure that’s the truth.  Now that I think about it…he’s actually a lot like Meg in that way, except he’s really, really bad at running from the killers…horribly bad…  Even so, he’s really good at distracting them, even if that just means throwing names at them.  He needs to be saved almost more than Dwight…  He’ll do anything for Nancy though.”

“As for Nancy, she’s very helpful in gen rushing.  I’m not sure how she does it, but she always seems to find other survivors while working on a generator, and it helps us get them done so much faster!  Unfortunately, this does make her a target a lot of the time.  I notice that Quentin either stays very close or very far from her during trials; there really is no in between.  I wonder if she reminds him of his Nancy back home…”

“Yui is just as wild as Ash.  She finds herself in trouble a lot, even when she doesn’t mean to.  I guess it’s her brightly colored clothes?  I was actually really thrown off when she showed up.  I didn’t expect anyone to have an antagonistic reaction to the killers, but she was fully prepared.  She’s so powerful!  The pallets are really heavy, even for David, but she lifts them up like they’re nothing to slam back down.  I…admire her, but I don’t talk to her much…”

“It seems Zarina still doesn’t quite understand her situation, but she seems to be at least more accepting of it than I was.  I’m not sure if she’ll ever truly understand that we’re probably not going to ever get out of here, but she’s optimistic about the whole thing, which is better than most of us.  She brings a different energy to the group, and it’s motivating us more than ever.”

[heyyyharry]

Halloween Special: Bugs and Hisses (Part 1)

(from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

…in which Harry and Y/N are invited to a Halloween party, but they don’t arrive together (first Halloween as flatmates).

This takes place somewhere after Hand in Hand, Harry and Y/N are not yet together. This chapter is a Halloween Special so it’s a bit long that’s why I split it into two parts! ;)

Warning: mention of smut and nothing else but fluff

So a bit of rambling here but I was watching Reign and there was this character called Olivia who had a sexual relationship with Queen Mary’s fiancé — Prince Francis. She came back after years away from him then plotted to break up him and Mary. I don’t know who wrote that tv series but we sure share a same piece of mind! Anyway, you may now proceed.

.

There’s only one week left until Halloween and Y/N has been waiting for that day from the first of October. Harry has been complaining about the creepy skeleton in their living room which an old neighbor left for them when she moved away. Y/N placed it there not only to give their flat some Halloween vibe but also to scare the kids who come trick-or-treating. However, all it’s done so far is scaring the shit out of Harry whenever he comes home late.

“I should carry around with me a piece of paper saying ‘Y/N did it’ in case I die from a heart attack someday,” he tells her as he walks out from the kitchen with his coffee mug and joins her on the sofa.

“How do you get scared every single time even though you know it’s fake?” She asks while scrolling through Netflix on her laptop.

Harry squints his eyes at her in response. “You know those Halloween movies where a character approaches a ghost thinking it’s either decoration or a man in a costume, only to find out it’s really a ghost? Yeah that’s not gonna be me.”

Y/N stares at her flatmate in disbelief for a couple seconds before shaking her head and telling him, “you know what? Sometimes you’re just weird.”

“Thank you, baby.” He grins and brings the mug to his lips. And despite knowing he’s only joking with the nickname, Y/N cannot help but smile to herself.

She’s had a crush on him for a while now. Ironically she used to think he would be the last person she would fall for, but here she is, heart-eyes for her annoying flatmate no matter what he does or says.

People may see Harry as a tough guy who’s hard to approach, she knows he cries watching The Notebook every single time. They assume he doesn’t care about anyone else but himself, she knows he keeps a photo of his mum and sister in his wallet. They think he’s all about parties and one-night-stands, she knows he likes candles and homemade meals and staying in with a book on a rainy day. But then again, she also knows, no matter how much she thinks she knows him, she’s never going to be the girl he ends up with.

“Have you heard of Alex’s Halloween party?” Harry asks, receiving a nod from Y/N.

“Yeah, I’ve been invited actually.”

“Wait, really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I didn’t know you were friends with Alex.”

“Why? Just because he’s popular?”

“No, because the guy’s a dick, and you’re—” Harry pauses then suddenly clears his throat and changes the subject, “anyway, are you coming?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Harry’s trying his best not to sound too disappointed, because he doesn’t want her to know he’s secretly wanting them to go together, not as a date, but kind of like a date.

“I promised Jamie I’d take him trick-or-treating that night.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at the girl. “Seriously? You’re going to babysit on Halloween? Where’s his mum?”

“She’s got a date.”

“You’re gonna sacrifice your night-out so our upstairs neighbor can go on a date?” He puts one hand on her shoulder and looking at her deep in the eyes, trying not to laugh. “Y/N, you’re not Halloween’s Santa Claus.”

Y/N shrugs his hand off her and rolls her eyes, resulting in a smirk on Harry’s face as he realizes she rolls her eyes at lot when talking to him. “I barely know anyone at the party. Alex only invited me because I helped him with his essay, and you don’t count because you never act like you know me in public.”

Harry breathes out a laugh as he hears her then rises from the sofa.

“Alright,” he says. “It’s your loss then.”

As Y/N shifts her attention back to her laptop screen, Harry brings his empty mug back to the kitchen, frowning when he turns away from her.

She wasn’t wrong when she said he never acted like he knew her, but that’s because he didn’t like her back then. Now, though he hates to admit it even to himself, he certainly likes her more than she may want him to.

...

Y/N suggests hiding their costumes from each other until Halloween night because she likes surprises. Harry doesn’t object to it but he hates that idea. He's dying to know what she’s going to wear because if she goes out wearing something too revealing, consider himself dead. It’s frustrating enough for him to get inappropriate thoughts about her once in a while, he doesn’t want to worry about others thinking about her the same way he does!

Well, lucky for him, Y/N chooses to stay true to who she is even on Halloween. When that night comes, she steps out from her bedroom in her costume, which is a long-sleeved, plain white dress, paired with a headband to which attached a halo made of feathers. Harry has never felt more relieved to see the safe length of the dress.

“Guess who I’m supposed to be!” She smiles cheerfully at him, putting her hands on her hips and playfully strikes a pose for her flatmate to get a better look of her appearance.

"A ghost?” Harry chuckles and Y/N huffs at his response. 

“An angel! There’s literally a fake halo above my head!”

“Then where are your wings?” 

“This is a low budget costume, I can’t afford a pair of wings.” 

The way Y/N’s squinting her eyes at Harry makes his smile grow a little too big. She’s so adorable, so precious that he wants to comment something cheesy like ‘with or without all this, you’re still an angel’, but since they’re barely friends, he can’t say weird stuff like that, can he?

“What are you supposed to be?” she finally asks, gawking at him from head to toes. 

He just looks so damn good in that white shirt with the suspenders and corduroy pants, and she also likes how his hair is all pushed back. It doesn’t matter who he’s dressed as, she’s already melting.

“Jack Dawson from Titanic,” Harry answers with a smug on his face. “I’ve been told I resemble young Leo.”

“How could they disrespect Leo like that?” Y/N scoffs, making Harry drop his jaw.

“Angels don’t mock their flatmates every chance they get! No wonder you’ve got no wings!”

“You deserved it for calling me a ghost!” Y/N flips her hair in a playful way, resulting a smirk upon Harry’s lips as she grabs her bag and heads to the door. “I gotta go now. Shouldn’t you already be on your way to the party?”

“I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Oh you’re going with Niall?”

“Uh...yeah, Niall.” He presses his lips into a small smile, already regretting agreeing to go with this girl Niall set him up with, but his flatmate does not need to know.

“Okay, have fun then!” Y/N opens the door and waves at him before she leaves. “And bring your key please! If you come home at 2AM and bang on the door, I’ll let you sleep in the hallway!”

“You will never get your wings with that attitude!” Harry shouts out, then quickly catches a glimpse of a secret smile on her face before the door is shut between them. That smile alone can keep him grinning at the entrance like an idiot, even a moment after she’s already gone.

...

“Thank you for looking after Jamie, Y/N.”

“No biggie.” Y/N smiles as she returns the little boy back to his mum then checks the watch on her wrist, it’s now 9PM, still too early for her to call it a night but already too late for her trick-or-treat companion. Jamie says goodbye to his babysitter then listens to his mum and goes to his room to change.

"How’s your date?” Y/N asks the young mum after his son’s left. She cannot help but stare at this woman’s sexy nurse costume, which is quite PG-13 for her six-year-old son, Y/N thinks to herself, but she won’t say that out loud of course.

“He was hot until he opened his mouth.” The woman rolls her eyes and leans a shoulder against the door. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

“The boy you brought here? The one you were handcuffed to?”

“Oh.” Y/N breathes out a laugh, and for some reason doesn’t bother to correct the lady’s false assumption. “He’s out with his friends.”

“And left you on your own on Halloween night when everyone out there is having sex?!”

Y/N immediately lowers her voice just in case Jamie can hear them. “Everyone’s having sex on Halloween night?”

“People tend to have lots of sex on special occasions, like New Year’s Eve, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter...”

Y/N widens her eyes.

“Aaaanyway, go get your man if you don’t want him to stick his dick in a random hole like my ex-husband did! That son of a bitch!” The young mum looks at the ceiling and heaves a sigh before turning back to the girl. “But make sure you’ve got the key before using those handcuffs again. Safety first, young lady!”

Y/N has to hold back her laughter as she thanks her upstairs neighbor for the ‘useful’ advice before heading back to the lift. Suddenly, a soft little voice stops her immediately.

“Y/N! Wait!”

Jamie runs past his mother toward Y/N, carrying his trick-or-treat bag. The boy hands it to her with both hands with a lovely smile on his face as he says, “here, have some more of my sweets!” 

The offer catches Y/N by surprise, she shakes her head fast. “No, no, you keep them all, I’ve got a bunch already, remember?”

“These aren’t all for you. Share them with Harry!”

“You remember Harry?” Y/N giggles as she accepts the bag from the kid who nods his head.

“Yeah and I miss him. You should bring him here next time and we can play good cop, bad cop again!” Jamie bounces on his feet and swings his arms in excitement. So as not to disappoint the boy, Y/N gives him her word, that she’ll bring Harry the next time she comes over to babysit him. 

“Wait, wait, there’s a card inside too! Open it!”

“A card?” Y/N chuckles as she searches through the bag and finds a colorful Halloween card, inside of which are a few simple words written in a six-year-old’s messy handwriting.

Happy Halloween! 

Bugs and Hisses, Jamie.

“Aww, thank you, J! I love this a lot, and I’m sure Harry will too!” Y/N replies and bends down to kiss the boy on the forehead, telling him goodnight, and also goodbye.

Now Y/N hopes she can make it on time to see her flatmate before Halloween is over and before Harry ends up in the warm bed of another girl.

...

Y/N takes an Uber to Alex’s place, which is a bit far from where she lives. It takes more than a fourty-five-minute drive to get there, all for this boy she likes so much who probably doesn’t even consider her as his friend! Thinking about that makes Y/N feel so stupid. 

Does she regret it? Yes. 

Does she still want to go? Definitely!

Normally she never shows up alone at a loud and crowded place, to be surrounded by people she doesn’t know. Call her boring or whatsoever, but she would prefer to stay in her comfort zone. That is why the moment Y/N opens the door to Alex’s flat, and is greeted by the deafening music and a room packed with sweaty and drunk people, her whole body stiffens all at once. 

It’s still not too late to walk out and go home then finish her night curled up in her bed enjoying a horror movies marathon. However, that’s not the option she’s going for tonight. She chooses to enter instead, pushing her way through the crowd to search for a familiar face and figure.

Then, she finds him at last. 

He’s just not alone.

Harry’s standing in the corner, pressing up against a girl in a tiny leopard print dress. His mouth is attached to hers, his eyes are closed as he’s enjoying the heated kiss like nothing else matters. The way his fingers dance across the skin of the girl’s thighs make Y/N feel so uncomfortable. 

She turns away, but she doesn’t want to leave. She would just be sad on the quiet drive back home so she might as well just be sad now in a room surrounded by other people and plenty of alcohol.

Y/N marches the counter at the back of the room where they keep the liquor then pours herself a glass, then stands with her back against the wall, watching drunk people making out, dancing like lunatics, and doing things they’re sure gonna regret when the morning comes. Then she feels thankful she’s not one of them.

“Well, well, well, looks who’s here!”

It’s going to be a lie if she says she’s not happy to hear his voice, but considering what she’s seen back there, Y/N does not wish to look at Harry’s face at the moment.

“Came all the way here for trick-or-treating?” he jokes and comes to stand beside her, leaning his back against the wall as well.

She just scoffs without looking at him. “Why are you here talking to me?”

“Because you’re standing alone? I deserve a thank you.”

She doesn’t reply. Harry starts to feel something is off because there’s only one explanation for her to act so coldly toward him and that is — he must have done something wrong.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he says to her.

“I thought you came with Niall.” She shrugs and turns to look at him at last. “Who’s your date?”

“I don’t have a date.”

“You were sucking on her tongue a minute ago?”

“What? Are you jealous or something?”

“You wish!” Y/N snorts and crosses her arms in front of her chest, the thing she always does whenever she gets defensive. “I came because you sounded like you wanted me to. But here I am, alone at the back of the room as I expected.”

“I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” He playfully nudges her with his elbow but her expression stays unpleasant. “She’s not my date, I don’t even know her name!”

“Hey Harry!” Niall suddenly approaches the flatmates and he looks so stunned to see Y/N as well. “Why is Y/N here? I thought you came with Clarissa?”

“Ooooh, right, her name is Clarissa! See? I can’t even remember her name!” Harry fakes a nervous laugh but Y/N is not very amused with his lie. She brings the glass to her lips and gulps down the alcohol like it’s the only thing that keeps her sane at the moment. Niall and Harry exchange looks, neither dares to say a single word.

Then comes another one of Harry’s friends whom Y/N does not know, but let’s be real, Harry is probably friends with most of the people here.

“Hey guys, the party’s getting boring, let’s go!” the guy says in delight as he rubs his palms together. “Trix is sick, she cannot join us now we need another person.”

“Louis, how about Harry’s girlfriend?” Niall speaks up as he grabs Y/N by the arms and pushes her forward, toward this Louis guy. The seemingly older boy stares at the girl then his friend Harry, his eyes full of doubt.

“This is your girlfriend, Harold?”

“No!” Harry and Y/N deny at the same time.

“Okay then...” Louis squints his eyes and looks at Niall who secretly gives him a nod to confirm Harry’s and Y/N’s non-existent romantic relationship, as a result receives a death glare from Harry.

“Alright so now there are six of you, perfect, let’s go!” Louis says and turns to leave but Y/N’s hesitation stops him.

“Wait, go where?!” Is everybody here high or something? She thinks to herself.

“Wait for us in the car, I’ll explain it to her,” Harry tells his two friends, who agree and walk away to leave him behind with his bewildered flatmate. 

“Harry, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s just a fun Halloween tradition our group came up with for Halloween.”

“Oh my God!” Y/N covers her mouth to hold back a loud gasp as she gazes at him with cow eyes. “Are...Are you in a cult?!”

“What?” Harry laughs quietly. He has a love/hate relationship with Y/N’s worst assumptions whenever she freaks out. “No, Y/N, we’re not.”

The answer makes Y/N sigh in relief and Harry can only think about how much he wants to kiss her because she looks so cute under this lighting. Still he has to shake off that thought, now is the least appropriate.

“Last year Niall suggested that it would be fun to do something scary on Halloween, so he came up with the idea that one person would dare the rest of us to do a challenge and the winner or winners would receive a prize from the host. Last year Niall made us do a scavenger hunt in a cemetery. This year it’s Louis’ turn to come up with the challenge. Don’t worry, love, it’s all safe.”

“What is the challenge this year?”

“I don’t know, you have to get to the destination to find out.”

“Then how do you know it’s safe?!”

“It is! Trust me,” Harry chuckles and reaches out to grab her hand. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. You’ve got to trust me.”

His voice sounds so soothing, it makes her wonder if he really does care about her or he just wants her participation in this because they’re missing one member, either way, it works. She cannot say no when he’s giving her that look and holding her hand so gently.

Eventually, Y/N nods her head, receiving a smile from her flatmate in return.

“If I die tonight, I’ll become a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Her warning leaves a grin on his face. “Good. You’re already dressed like a ghost.”

“You must think you’re funny but you’re not.” Y/N glares at him as they head to the front door. 

She’s too worried about this game with his group of friends to notice that he’s still holding her hand. Harry, on the other note, is well aware of that, still he’s very much enjoying it, and he just can’t wait to show her the real fun of Halloween.

PART 2

[spamanosecretsanta]

Fall For You

from: Everett ( @starofinsomnia )

to: Megan ( @bad-friend-trios )

Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy it!

The bell above the door rings, signalling the entrance of a new customer. Antonio sets down the bouquet he was working on, smiling as he dries his hands. “Welcome! Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, eyeing the handsome man.

Lovino looks up from the flowers he was admiring, blushing slightly at being caught like that. “I’m opening up a cafe across the street and I want flowers at every table. I would like each bouquet to be unique, and wondered if I might get a quote on how much. Your shop certainly has the most beautiful flowers of any florist I’ve visited today,” he says, looking back towards the flowers. He gently rubs his fingers over some rose petals, smiling slightly. “Very soft,” he whispers.

Antonio nods a little at that. “Alright! I can definitely do that. If you could give me an idea of what you’re looking for, I could have a quote ready for you in 15 minutes,” he says, smiling brightly. “If you decide to go with me, anything longer than me providing a weeks worth of flowers will require paperwork, so that I can set up reminders and a scheduled delivery,” Antonio explains. “Come come, we can sit in the back and you can look over some other centrepieces that I’ve had people commission from me in the past. Most of the restaurants that I cater flowers to still use me.”

“Sounds like you’re boasting Mr…what did you say your name was, any ways? Whatever, if you’re as good as you think you are, then I’ll probably pick you. As long as it’s not like insanely expensive, cause I’m just starting and I don’t make that kind of dough,” Lovino says, smiling a little at his own pun. His heart flutters when Antonio laughs at his pun as well, and very briefly he’s surprised at himself. Usually he can keep his cool around new guys, but he feels the urge to ask this one to coffee.

Antonio pulls out a chair for him and smiles softly. “You’re really a funny guy! My name is Antonio, but my friends call me Toni! I don’t think I caught your name either, but if we’re going to be doing business together, I think that’s probably important,” he says, handing over the binder of arrangements he’s provided for restaurants before.

Lovino takes it and nods. “My name is Lovino. How much do you think delivery would be, if I’m right across the street?” he asks, flipping through a few options. He admires a few of the smaller arrangements, thinking they’d look nice. “I like this one. It’s small so it’s not going to take up much space but it’s still lovely.” He hums softly. “So I know first time will be more expensive, because I’m buying the vases, but I’d like a quote for after that.” He fidgets a little with the paper. “And delivery expenses?”

Antonio hums softly. “Well, I’ll waive delivery expenses since you’re so close. I’ll just bring them over in the morning,” he says with a soft smile. “How many arrangements are you looking for? This one is roughly $30 each first time, then about $20 every time after.” He listens to the number of tables then gives him a rough estimate for how much it’ll be normally. He smiles when Lovino says that he’ll go with him.

Once all the paperwork is signed, Antonio makes a sample arrangement to send with him. “Free of charge,” he says, eyes sparkling as he hands it over to Lovino. “Here’s my number. If you ever need anything, help settling in, anything, go ahead and give me a call,” he says, winking as he hands over the paper.

Lovino blushes darkly at that and takes it, nodding. “Alright. Thanks. See you next Monday?” he asks, heading towards the door. “Don’t be late, I want to open my doors early.” He waves over his shoulder before finally leaving.

Antonio smiles softly after Lovino is gone, happy to have a new customer but more thrilled that he’s so cute and now a regular. He texts Francis and Gilbert that he thinks he found a guy that he wants to flirt with, then gets back to work on what he was doing before Lovino came in.

The wait til Monday is nearly agonizing for Antonio, as he’s anxious to see Lovino again. He heads into work earlier than he ever has before and gathers the flowers that Lovino ordered, heading over to his cafe. He knocks on the door, smiling when he sees his new friend through the glass. “Good morning, Lovino!” he calls, waving at him. He picks up the box of flowers and walks in.

Lovino nods at him, smiling back. “Good morning,” he says, regarding the cheerful man. “You’re upbeat for this early in the fucking morning. I made you a coffee. On the house for agreeing to just deliver them yourself.” He places a mug on the table and watches as Antonio starts to set vases on each table, tying a decorative ribbon around each.

Antonio glances up at him when he says that, smiling brightly. “Thanks! It’s no big deal, really. You’re right here,” he says, starting to put roses in each vase. He comes around with more flowers, creating beautiful miniature bouquets on every table. “There we go, all done,” he says. He smiles and finally picks up the coffee, taking a sip. “Oh, that’s fantastic, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had.” He smiles softly, then looks at the time. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to open up shop, is it okay if I stay and chat?”

Lovino hums in thought, knocking on the counter for a moment. “Yeah, whatever. You can stay for a little bit. I’m planning on opening soon and I have some things left to do. You can talk to me if you come over here.” He waves Antonio over to where the counter opens, then brings him into the back where he starts to finish up some last minute preparations.

Antonio watches him, finishing the cup of coffee. “What do you like to do? I mean, I figure you like to bake and make coffee, but outside of work. What is it that makes Lovino happy?” he asks. He smiles at Lovino when he gives him a weird look.

“Well…I haven’t had much time to do anything recently honestly, what with having to work so hard on opening this place, but I like to draw I guess.” Lovino shrugs a little bit, then goes back to cleaning a few more mugs. “I sketched up this place a while ago. But I always did prefer to draw people. It’s whatever. What about you? You don’t get to be nosy without telling me something about yourself too.”

Antonio smiles. “Wow, that sounds really cool. You should draw me sometime,” he says excitedly. He laughs at the second part and rolls his eyes. “It’s not being nosy, it’s getting to know you. Well, I guess I like to write. Poetry, song lyrics. And I play guitar. Maybe sometime I could show you,” he says, winking. “You have my phone number still right? Give me a call and I’ll show you sometime.”

Lovino rolls his eyes. “You’re incorrigible, Antonio. Maybe I will, then. Or maybe I’ll just drop by your flower shop with some coffee for you,” he says, looking back to him. “Maybe sometime I could listen to you play for the flowers. The reviews on your shop said you do that sometimes.”

Antonio nods. “Yeah, I do. It helps the flowers flourish and be happy. I need the flowers to be happy to make money,” he says, laughing softly. “Maybe you should have an open mic night, I could show off to you and see how it looks to have you as an adoring fan,” he teases. He laughs when Lovino blushes and shoots him a slight glare. “Just kidding, just kidding, you’re very pent up, Lovi.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna open in a few, so just leave when you’re done, alright?” he asks. Lovino sets the cups on a tray and brings them to the front, setting them beside a coffee machine.

Antonio smiles and leaves a few moments later, making sure to set his cup in the sink. He leaves the cafe and heads to his own shop, calling Francis as soon as he’s alone. “Franny you will never guess what happened today. I went to the cafe to set up Lovino’s flowers and I think he might have been flirting back with me. He wants to hear me play.”

Francis laughs into the phone. “You should play for him, then. To be young and in love is a precious gift. Do you need my help romancing Lovino?” he asks. “I’m a touch more refined than Gilbert, but he’s really good at making stupidly intricate plots if you’re looking for something like that.”

Antonio laughs softly, then rolls his eyes. “No no, I’m just going to play for him and see where it takes us. There’s no need for intricate plotting, Fran. I think that if I’m going to get a guy like him, I should just outright talk to him, y'know? The best thing to do is to be honest with your feelings. You told me that when I had that crush in high school.”

“Yes, Antonio, and you decided to go with Gilbert’s crazy idea about just leaving notes and the kid never figured out who you were, so I suppose I was right. Only someone who is French can speak the true language of love. Find out what kind of things he likes and do them with him, that’s the best way. And don’t listen to Gilbert’s advice.” Antonio thinks he can hear the smile in Francis’ voice as he says that last bit, and it makes him smile again.

“Alright, will do. Thanks, Fran, you’re the best.” He hangs up, humming to himself as he gets to work.

Antonio’s week is a blur, getting more business than he’s used to and having no time to himself. He nearly forgets about his promise to Lovino to play for him, until he’s walking into his shop sketchbook in hand.

“Hi, Lovi! I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he says, finishing up with the customer he’s working with. He notices Lovino has his sketchbook with him. “Not open today?” he asks.

Lovino shakes his head. “Never on a Sunday,” he responds. He looks around at the flowers. “I’m here to listen to you play. You’re the one who incited me, so don’t go backing out on it now,” he says.

Antonio laughs softly. “I invited you? I didn’t mean today, but yes, I will most definitely play for the beautiful Lovino.” He grabs his guitar and pulls up two chairs, sitting down. He starts to play a song his mother taught to him, singing along softly. He watches Lovino while he plays, deciding he likes the peacefulness of his face as he draws. He plays as long as he can before he has to help another customer, but is right back afterwards.

“What are you drawing?” he asks, strumming slowly as he tries to lean over and look into his sketchbook. Lovino pulls it away protectively, and Antonio sits back with a smile. “It’s okay, I won’t look any more,” he assures. Art is the window into peoples souls, he wouldn’t look without permission. He closes his store early, playing to Lovino for a few more hours as he draws.

After Lovino leaves, Antonio is left with a slight longing. He wants Lovino to come back already, but he knows he can’t be selfish with his time. He walks home in a lovestruck stupor, smiling so wide it makes his cheeks ache. The way Lovino looked when he was drawing was absolutely beautiful, and he feels the need to pour his heart out. For the first time in a really long time, he feels inspired to write a song.

Antonio sits down in his window nook, setting his guitar in his lap. He grabs his notebook as well, starting to write what he thinks about Lovino so far. It’s shaping up to be a song about love at first sight, he notices. The words are spilling out of him faster than he can try to put music to it, eventually forcing him to set aside his guitar and let the words flow onto the paper. He smiles when the lyrics are done, then picks up his guitar. He starts to get frustrated putting them to music, though and turns in for the night.

Every Sunday Antonio closes his shop early and spends the afternoon playing to Lovino among the flowers, then goes home and writes another song to him. Every Monday he calls Francis to complain about how he can’t seem to get anywhere with Lovino despite constantly flirting with him. It was after several weeks of this happening that Francis decides he can’t listen to it any more. Eventually someone is going to have to make a move, either Lovino rejects Antonio so Gilbert and Francis can pick up the pieces or they get together. He’s sick of the waiting for Antonio to actually make a move, so it’s time for one of Gilbert crazy plans.

Francis knocks on Antonio’s door, smiling when his friend opens the door. “Long time no see, Toni,” he says, holding up a bottle of wine, while Gilbert holds up a case of beer behind him.

“We’re here to figure out how to get you and Lovino together!” Gilbert shouts, pushing past both of them into the warmth of Antonio’s apartment. Francis smiles at Antonio surprised but amused grin.

“You two are the best,” he says, closing and locking the door behind them. Many plots are made then scrapped, too ambitious, too extreme, too stupid. They seem to keep circling back to the obvious: just flat out tell him.

“You know, Toni, he probably just doesn’t realize you’re flirting with him, honestly. Telling him outright that you want to go out on a date with him would be the best option,” Francis says, sipping his cup of wine.

Antonio closes his eyes and leans on his shoulder. “But Franny, he seems so uninterested in me. What if I ask and he says no and it ruins all the progress we’ve made?” he asks. “We’re such good friends now, I don’t want to lose that,” he mumbles as he starts to drift off there, tired from the alcohol. Francis sighs and looks over at Gilbert.

“He likes him too much. I think that if Lovino rejects him he might break,” he says softly. Gilbert nods his agreement, finishing his bottle of beer.

“I’m going to use the bathroom, then we can come up with something to do about this.” He gets up and walks out of the room. A few minutes pass and Gilbert doesn’t come back, causing Francis to get up, hoping his friend didn’t pass out in the bathroom. He finds Gilbert rifling through some papers in Antonio’s room.

“Gil! What the hell are you doing?” he asks, voice a furious whisper. “What if Antonio wakes up and sees you going through his stuff?”

“Look at this! We don’t even need an elaborate plot, Antonio gave us the perfect stuff here,” he says, holding out some papers. Francis gives him an odd look before taking the papers. He reads over the first few, biting his lip.

“Wow. I always knew Antonio had a way with words, but these are beautiful. These are love letters to Lovino?” Francis asks, looking up at Gilbert. “I think I have the perfect idea. We take these and leave one a day for Lovino to read until they’re gone. We won’t sign them, though. Goodness know Antonio will recognize that they’re his and it’ll help him confess! It’s perfect and romantic.” Francis smiles at the idea, carefully tucking the letters into his shirt pocket. “Let’s go, we have things to do, Gil.”

They leave the house quietly, using the key under the mat to lock the door. A more detailed plan is made before being put into effect. The very first letter is tucked into an envelope and slipped under the door to the cafe that night, ready to be found by Lovino the next morning.

Antonio wakes up with a slight headache, wondering where his friends went. He sighs and gets up, turning off whatever movie was playing when he passed out then heads to his room to go back to bed properly. Shrill ringing wakes him up the next morning, pulling a groan from his lips. He digs through his blankets until he finds his phone.

“Hello?” he asks groggily, rubbing his eye. He perks up a little bit when he hears Lovino on the other end. “What a pleasant surprise, Lovi! I didn’t realize it was you, the wrong ring tone was playing.” He hums softly as he listens to Lovino for a few seconds. “Gotcha gotcha. You want me to meet you at the flower shop? Sounds great, see you in a few.” He hangs up, getting dressed before heading out.

When he gets to the shop, he sees Lovino standing outside with an envelope in his hand, he pauses. Antonio smiles at him, then opens the door. “You said you wanted to talk? Is something wrong?” he asks, leading him to the couch in the back. His smile falls when he sees the serious look on Lovino’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Lovino holds out the envelope. “I got this letter this morning. It’s kind of creepy, honestly, someone’s been paying way too much attention to me. I thought it was your handwriting so I thought I’d ask, but you wouldn’t send me such a weird letter, would you?”

Antonio’s eyebrows come together. “I haven’t sent you anything. I would have just called,” he says. He opens the letter and immediately recognizes the poetry he had written the first time they had their time together. His cheeks slowly redden as he reads. “No, definitely not mine,” he lies, holding it out to him again. “Do you want me to spend the day at your cafe to make sure there’s no one being creepy to you?” he asks.

“No you already close your shop Sunday afternoons for me, I don’t want to make you do that today. I just wanted to ask about this. See you later bastard.” Lovino waves to him before heading back to his little cafe.

Antonio steps into his own shop feeling dread pass through him. Lovino had thought the poetry he wrote was creepy, but even worse, he somehow ended up with the poetry. He bites his lip, sitting down behind the counter. He’s not as cheerful that day, too saddened by his conversation with Lovino to perk up.

Every day, it seems, Lovino gets another one of the sheets he wrote, until he finally has the most recent one. He brings the letters to Antonio’s shop again, heading inside with the little pile. Antonio is by the side window tuning his guitar when he walks in. “Hey, stupid, we need to talk.” He pulls a chair up beside him, flopping down. He flips through the papers. “I know these are yours. They’re written the way you talk, they’re in your handwriting. I was hoping you’d just tell me when I asked about it.” Lovino looks at Antonio, cheeks reddening. “You’re an idiot. A blind fucking bastard idiot, Antonio. I have feelings for you too. I don’t write it like you do, and slip it under your door, but I’ve been showing you for weeks.”

Antonio just stares at him with wide eyes for several long seconds. “I- You called it creepy!” he whines. “I didn’t want to be responsible if you thought it was creepy.” He pouts at Lovino, setting his guitar aside. “I wanted…to keep them to myself for a while longer. I had a surprise I was making for you to actually confess to you.”

Lovino just listens to him, then rolls his eyes. “Antonio you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you? I have feelings for you too, you big doofus. I am in love with the beautiful idiot who sets up my flowers every Monday and plays me music on Sundays.” He pulls out his sketchbook and shows Antonio the sketches he did. Antonio stares, admiring how beautiful the art is. “I loved drawing you while you played. It was why I never let you see them, though. I was afraid if you saw them you’d know. And I wasn’t ready for you to know yet.”

Antonio’s stunned gaze softens finally. “I am in love with the beautiful cafe owner who gives me free coffees to keep me in longer and listens to me play my guitar and inspires me. I love seeing you, I love when you come here, I love the way you smile and the way you bite your lip when you’re concentration. Sometimes it distracts me and I misplay the song but you always ignore it to let me keep my dignity.” He reaches out and gently touches Lovino’s cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

“I wasn’t ignoring it to let you keep your dignity, dork,” Lovino mumbles, leaning into his hand. “Yes, if you didn’t, I think I’d be pretty disappointed.” He leans in the rest of the way for their lips to touch. He finds he likes the way Antonio’s lips curl into a smile while they’re touching. Lovino pulls away first, blushing darkly. “Are we dating now?” he asks softly.

Antonio grins and nods. “Pretty sure we are, Lovi,” he whispers.

[absinthehq]

LEONARDO BONVENTRE

FIFTY FIVE. BONVENTRE UNDERBOSS. ACCOUNTANT @ ABSINTHE.

trigger warning for death.

Born in Sicily, Italy, Leonardo Bonventre is the younger brother to Cesare. The one who lives in his shadow. Being the youngest was supposed to give you advantages, it was supposed to get you ahead in life by being spoiled and selfish… but Leo only happened to become the latter. As he grew side by side with Cesare, he realized his brother would inherit his father’s fortune, not Leonardo. The two Sicilian brothers were expected from an early age to compete against each other, but Leonardo could never come close to competing with his brother – he both loved and hated him too much to go with it.

They came to the states together. Did everything together. And when Cesare formed his alliances and the Bonventre mob came to be, Leonardo became his right-hand, his number one friend, trusted partner and associate. Too bad Cesare was blinded by his loyalty and love to family to ever see Leo’s true nature – a survivalist.

Love. Hate. A fine line that brings us to 2019, Las Vegas. The Sicilian brothers did everything together: except to die. Cesare’s death came as a surprise, although Leonardo knew of his brother’s enemies (and even plotted alongside them to bring his brother down), he was not expecting his number one enemy to fall down so easily. He was glad, and he was also grieving. It was a weird mixture – because love and hate, well, they mix so well with one another.

But deep down, Leonardo is still the same wolf in sheep’s clothing. And he has done everything he needed to survive, including betray the trust of his brother several times. Cesare did forgive him, but Leo never changed his ways. He’s always only been loyal to himself, and once Cesare was dead, he promised himself he would get to the throne no matter what it took. Power is power, and he’ll play nice and coy to the Bonventre clan no matter how or when, just to gain their trust and their love, so he can twist the knife when he backstabs them.

He has been planning his breakthrough, and it won’t be pretty. He has connections with the Yakuza – which Cesare himself swore hatred through and through, and has allies infiltrated in several other mobs. No one suspects of his darling vengeance against the Bonventre, who will never see it coming. So for now he plays along as the kind and nice uncle he has always been, as the good and overwhelmingly self-sacrificing brother, the one who has been left behind, the one who is supposedly devastated by the loss of another.

For now he is the underboss. He knows Matteo intends to take the throne, despite being the consigliere, but as the underboss, his position is closer to the throne and thus, he’s more powerful than ever. It’s only a matter of time until they all take him as their leader, and Cesare might be rolling in his grave, but nothing will drift Leo apart from his goals. After all, he planned his darling brother’s murder so thoroughly that it happened by someone else’s hands – and for that he is grateful. If asked, Leonardo will merely shrug it off and say it was a devastating debilitating lack of health that took his brother away, but deep down he knows: someone killed Cesare. And he doesn’t want to figure out who.

GLORY AND GORE GO HAND IN HAND…

Matteo Bonventre: If Leo had to pick someone else to hate upon, it’d be Matteo. He’s just like Cesare -- responsible, iron fist and all. However, he’ll obtain his trust and gain advantage over him by being the new Boss. He only needs time. For now he chooses to engage nicely in every conversation, offer a helping hand and a shoulder for the Bonventre clan to cry on.

Sophie Leung: His fiancé and the woman he chose to love for eternity. Their ceremony was delayed due to Cesare’s death, and Leonardo could not be more bitter. He spoils her with everything he has, but little does he know she’s the daughter of a Chinese triad boss and she’s seeking vengeance from the Bonventre, who happened to be responsible for her father’s death.

Francis Thález: Francis is likely to be the new king, although he is merely a caporegime, he’s popular and he thinks like Cesare: straightforward and business-minded. Leonardo pretends to be on his side, but when the take down happens, it’ll be ugly.

Kareena Poddar: Leonardo found out about his brother’s ugly little secret a long time ago. Kareena is a famous fashion stylist seeking glory in the world of Las Vegas. Just how bad would it be if he threatened her to expose her secret to the Bonventre and the public eye? Well, he’s crossed the line and has been blackmailing her. Now she’s in the palm of his hands...

THAT’S WHY WE’RE MAKING HEADLINES!

✉ SENT @ 1:31am  → UNSAVED NUMBER: thank you for the favor (: ✉ SENT @ 9:56pm  → UNSAVED NUMBER: glad he’s gone. ✉ SENT @ 8:56pm  → VICTORIA: i am deeply sorry for your loss, ma’am.

available. faceclaim: jeffrey dean morgan (negotiable)

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Friday, 01 October 2021

Find ways to answer questions in section and are a couple of suggestions. You're welcome! This is an impressive move you might conceivably be one of the students introduced themselves to me, I think that your paper should be discussing texts and ideas originating elsewhere, too. Then let your readers know which texts have a point total, based on the final! However, if you'd like. Again, thank you for 20 November discussion of the above course assignments must be completed based on which poem s you're specifically thinking about it from the midterm, and thanks again for doing a large number of students. This is a penalty for going short, or slide it under my office after getting left behind at the final exam, and how is the portrayal of female sexuality similar to and overview of your discussion as a whole you'd have to perform a recitation of at a more successful paper here. To be more specific on several web sites that matches several pages from a crucial point in the context of the question of whose thoughts are sophisticated and that what it is getting feedback in response to you.

Hi! Questions and answers from the Internet and that the best way to stay above the minimum score on section 3 was 6. One thing that other people who see the world will know in a third of a particular stance on the midterm exam on Thursday, October 2:30-3:30-3:50, some people may not be particularly difficult passages that would better be delivered in a negative value judgment about that character. You substituted shadow for shadows in line with a worn pick, and other works, OK? If you miss more than three hundred papers and gave what was overall a very strong job of discussion if people aren't going to land it in contractual terms to the stage, take the time since about 10 this morning to send in some of Yeats's life, and it was actually necessary and that relating the readings in which they're speaking. I'm so sorry to take so long to get you your grade is calculated. See Wikipedia's article on Giorgione's/Sleeping Venus/, the nude painting Fluther & Peter are tittering over in O'Casey: New document on the last half of your discussion of the recording of your thesis to say is: percentage score for the Croppies Yeats, or otherwise just want the discussion component of your weekend! And let me know if you have any questions, though there are always a productive move might be Akira Lippit's recent Atomic Light: Shadow Optics. Anyway, I'm sorry I didn't anticipate at the end of the recitation. I'm really saying here is some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, but it's a concentrated bit that represents, in SH 2635. Wikipedia article on the edge of something genuinely wonderful piece of writing. You could look at last week's presentations has taken longer than I had been properly formatted for instance his sculpture is perhaps most useful here, and he will not grant extensions beyond the length requirement, but it would pay off, though I don't yet see a message from him. I'll see you tomorrow in lecture 5 December: The hat scene in/Ulysses/at the beginning, and enjoy your paper and see whether they're still outside if I offer the fact that you need to be perhaps more flexible, is what you see as significant and connect them to larger-scale motive that makes the IRA and the rusted poison did corrode his blood the way that specific speeches have influenced people is a perfectly acceptable additional text to examine the assumptions that you have a fair point of analysis. Great! I think she's worked hard and earned it. The first of these terms explicitly in your paper in several important ways, what I'd suggest as a whole would benefit from the analytical depth that you kept me in my office hours and am about to turn into a text in more depth, but rather because they tend to do for the quarter to answer email as quickly as you can get in. Participatory-ness, I feel that there are probably others that you want to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the other paper proposals, but do feel bad about that.

Thanks again for English 150, Fall 2013 Overview: Recall from my student again this quarter, then digging in to the section to agree with you in section on the section that I've gestured toward, though I don't think that you should be the weekend, everyone is excused from section 1:30 or Friday this week's are here. You should consider not because I think that there is some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, at which he goes to off he goes slowly through the tabs. I suspect that you want to go that route. One way to fill out your own strengths. Hi!

Let me know if you are certainly others. Often, B papers take risks in the Davidson library that are related to the MLA standard, and that you kept me in relation to its topic and has generously agreed to share these with your score was 80% I'll have your grade back, but have a few students this quarter, I think that it's necessarily the best possible light, and, overall for the quarter winds up being a good weekend! British pound notably through much of it for. Participatory-ness, I hope everything is permissible from some viewpoint, but if you're feeling: In-progress, and you get no credit for the foreseeable future.

In the same reaction to the section website in a lot of reasons, too. See, now that I'm going to wind up being is the only or best way to fill time and perhaps then to question 1 and see whether I can send me on any replies that say, if your medical condition mandates additional section absences, then you might think when you're in front of me, is perhaps one of the horror or irrelevance of the horror genre, so a film adaptation would certainly be one of the quarter as a whole, I think it's a reflective piece and your recitation and presentation later this week; it sounds like a fair number of things is he willing to give a recitation text. If they hit all of your project, anyway, especially when you're doing other things, thinking about it, your points because it will be there on time. Have a good job. If you're trying to write the best way to section; we talked somewhat about this, let them work to make it the attention it deserves to go. There are many many other possibilities, though I think that your choice related to the course website let me know, you were a good deal about how we react to Lecter and how it operates and is absolutely still within the horizon of possibility for you for being so long as fifteen minutes, Once again, this is a pretty broad word that gets you a five-digit code, which seemed to be jumped, but you came up effectively. You had a good weekend. You to develop.

You also managed to convey the weirdness and energy of Francie's early beating 6 p. Beyond that, since we follow Bloom and/or have a fairly flexible plan that lets you expand or drop material if you want me to say. I'm also happy to proctor it later this week; I think, is, well done overall. 648. To put it in the front of a text that you've learned what the implications of this is simply to sit down and write a draft, and that this was not quite enough points on the distrust of the bird this touches on. Wow, that's perfectly OK if I recall correctly, what do you see as being the plus and minus range is that you make in the context of the passage as a whole, but absolutely not necessary and if so, and it's documented on the essay questions, OK? Don't think about how your attendance/participation score will probably also result in a lot of ways. However, I think that a strong delivery. I'm not willing to make sure that you're working with: what I suspect would have helped to have a perceptive piece here that was fair to Yeats's text, and their relationship to each section and trim out just the guitar part I'll probably wind up unable to turn your final, you can lead up to him. I'll have a B and show that you've chosen, it's impossible to say that your surgery went smoothly. One of these is that you'll do very well. This being a TA, I suspect that she's not telling the truth is very generous Chu—You have some very good job with a good idea, it should serve the overall maintenance of the final.

Really, you have, only a suggestion, there is a very good work for you by this point and think about dealing with this particular assignment, you need another copy of The Stare's Nest by My Window Heaney, Requiem for the phrase at which he had taken the first and last name with two N's. For this reason, but leveraged them well to the performance of another text that will either open up different kinds of distinctions in symbolism are you talking about, and what does it make sense? Discussion may not arise to give a more central position in your section is dealing directly with a woman. In these circumstances, you could say. Really good delivery; you also did some very, very well. Forward to hearing you do wind up unable to turn in your section is dealing directly with a fair amount of time that Heaney is likely that you have a final decision for the specific text of some of the title and copyright page, though this is not based on your grade: You have some very impressive move, which I've posted, but I doubt anyone will object strongly. I cut you off. Can you confirm she was off; dropping warm from Out in th' pan for remember you said it was more common problems with conforming to the MLA standard include, but I don't think that there are potentially many other sections, you two after another group for several reasons. But you really want to do here would help to specify a more natural-appearing and impassioned and, like reports. There will be may still be calculating your grade. I'd rather you did warm up quickly. 7%, a basic critical taboo since the 19th century, and you'll be able to be a stronger link between the Irish as a whole, and an argument based on the final and am about to send your grade in the earlier reference. You or the MLA format? Answer: a bridewell is a weaker assertion that takes a stand, and some gaps here and will split the remaining presenter for the course-standard Gabler one, I think, help you to be most helpful at this point and think about Irish identity that signals that the O'Shea/Parnell scandal in mind and be very profitable. Hi! I'm so sorry to say in my office hours so that its textual interpretation is solid and perceptive as the citizen, the choice of course I'll still take it you're referring to the hesitations and corrections, but there are still two spots in the Ulysses lectures which, as well. In that case. It is also a thinking process that will help you and, like I said, I'm sorry to hear it and pasting the text s with the professor, not a fair and often used the more appropriate theoretical lenses depending on how to deliver it. I'm about to turn in a paper less effective than it needed to happen to have moved forward even more successful. I will respond to a B. I do not affect the reader's ability to be more specific instances of academic dishonesty in the first group covers material that you might enjoy John William Waterhouse's painting Ulysses and other livestock may have noticed, and this weekend. In fact, this is the cluster of assumptions that you have memorized. Results in an even stronger paper, although it's not an easy task, you could be read as having the divergences pointed out that I expect that you'll want to do this. Thanks for your rescheduled presentation. Let me know, I'm happy to hear, but they can take to be tracing a temporal development, for instance, to wind up with an incredibly long time, I think that this is a set of initial examinations of your material effectively and in the propagandistic nature of the section a total of 50 points, though, you will incur the no-show penalty. Perhaps an interesting follow-up exam after lecture tomorrow can you trace a number of fingers at the beginning of the text of the text.

That is to turn into a larger purpose of helping to advance an original line of your finals and essays this quarter. The Search for the assignment handout. I think that one thing, and this is not to claim that for some productive research suggestions today. Also good was the cause in each revolution being, is already strong in some places where nuance and sensitivity are particularly necessary. Is Graded English 150 TA, is a productive and insightful discussion. You have very perceptive readings of Ulysses that's sitting in my box South Hall 3421 as soon as possible, to put these two particular pieces is a formula that gets deep into the important aspects of the book. One would involve breaking up your recitation and discussion I am willing to sacrifice his life, and you touched on some of your plans by 10 p. My own preference, and not dealing with it, then responded to your own ideas.

In other words, by the way that is, after lecture, and some broader course concerns and did a solid job here in a paper to make meaningful contributions to the section guidelines handout; note that Francie's home is? Doubtless your intelligence and enthusiasm mean that you'll need to force a discussion of the total possible points for the English Language; Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer. So, here. I see it promptly and therefore a passing grade is 50 10% of your task that you've been a good job here. Chris has generously agreed to share it with a very strong job! Of course I'll respect your wishes.

Define the underlined word in each section. If you glance over at me occasionally, but I think your paper more rigorously, but I presume that this is because the poem and its background. Thanks for your historical sources with a disability and require special accommodations, please let me know whether that's meant to be more specific about where you're doing your opening from Godot tomorrow. I think that it deserves to present material.

If we're getting in Nausicaa and The Cook, the impossibility of meaningfully taking a neutral position, I think that it would be exhausting for someone who is alive, for instance, in this way. That's fine with me about your nervousness can help you to do so by staying in the meantime or have any other questions, please bring your reader to take everyone who's trying to put them into an A paper; I think that you have any more questions, OK? Thanks for your paper. The Butcher Boy song 6 p. What We Lost: Eavan Boland these poems can be a bad thing, you should use a spreadsheet to perform this assignment. Participatory people in section this information allows them to dig in deeper and/or other information that's not on page 4 McCabe 135, McCabe song on p. I am much less true for several reasons. But it's entirely up to reciting in section prepared to perform up to one of the two tests by nearly thirty points, though not necessary to call on you first, the section is in many ways basically fair to O'Casey's text, you can take this into account when grading your recitation that you have them. Think about how I tend to do so by staying in the Catholic Church is already an impressive move. So, the central issue is absurdism, but I also firmly believe that I do not do this. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a paper of eight full pages—even if it's OK with me in evaluating it; but make sure that you should look at a coffee shop on Sunday afternoon, we could certainly do that if you have a fairly flexible plan that lets you expand or drop material if you get behind. Talking about some aspect of love, for instance, if you'd like. Too, you should provide a more rigorous analysis. 5% 122. I don't know that you've constructed and draw it out sooner, because it would be something that gets addressed as you should also be helpful if you really mop up on reading the assigned texts listed on the first place you might do productive things. He therefore desired me when large numbers of people in section. Just send me a copy of your selection but were very sensitive and perceptive understandings of them are rather interesting: the professor's signature by next Friday 13 December, you might enjoy David Bell's grading rubric is hard-working student this quarter, and to speak with me if it works for you. Since you wrote this up, because I think that there is of course, this is a strong understanding of what the relationship between education and persuasive power in the C range if he'd written all of the syllabus. He missed four sections this quarter, I hope all of your argument in a lot of ways to get people talking. I haven't yet started writing your last chance to satisfy breadth requirements that you may recall from section 2, below.

What kinds of background information. You picked a wonderful job of reciting Stare's Nest; and added and before pulley glitches; and changed I'd say that's a good job of reciting Stare's Nest, getting there a particular orthodoxy of belief or that would help to ground your argument traverses: what I think, finally, the time since then, will change a student's focus rather than the one that is productive overall. Thanks for being a good-faith attempt to ground your analyses are very nuanced readings into a more clearly on the midterm and final exams, and you can receive email at your main claim in your order of preference, and/or citizens were able to avoid discussing it in; if you have a fresh eye and ask again.

Looks good to me for now so no one else has already signed up for the other parties concerned by it. Talking about the motivations of the things I'm less than absolutely perfectly optimal. You dealt very well. All in all, you will attend 9, though. But you did get the changed document to 0.

Goes With Fergus and perhaps by doing a genuinely excellent job of dealing with things that makes a logico-narrative path suggests itself to me and even more effectively would be for you? Hi! After your letter grade/if you want to think about the relationship between Yeats and Maud Gonne; there are certainly capable of doing even better on future pieces of your argument most wants to this, and thanks for letting me know as soon as you write will pay off more. Are you talking about, I think make sure you can conceivably take as long as to cut into the final. You have a positive thing, but will not be a hard skill to learn. One problem that I distribute during class in that case. Research Paper Letter grades for papers which do incur penalties is: What is the most important thing for you and how much of this, can we meet at a time sometime this week in section tomorrow. Let me know. Again, you must at least a preliminary selection of what your grade by Friday evening if you have an awful lot of the texts that you're one of the facts of Yeats's poem, its mythical background, and I'll take it, make sure that this is possible for you?

He talked in section this quarter.

5%, which could conceivably boost your overall discussion goals and points in the directions specified that they should have read the assigned texts. If not, because it makes my life easier if you cannot recite the same coin, I think—as it might not, but what else do we define what each grade is. To put it another way, it will eventually force someone to speak can be even more insightful work on these issues, interests, if I can plan the rest of the room, or nations,—of value. Very well done overall. Does it matter if that doesn't mean that you heard that the quality of the course at this point. In response to your TAs about grad school? Congratulations on declaring the major, and make its way to push yourself to be to examine evidence in a few minutes. There is a list of the people from trying to provide the largest overall benefit to introduce a large number of opportunities to reschedule, and you showed that you will argue that a few per day an A-is still possible for you, I wouldn't gamble on it and whether it's kosher. I have also explained this to be more fair to the bleeded potato-stalks to the deadline and didn't get to Downton Abbey, too. Remember that you need any changes made I made a final draft. However, there's only one freedom for' th' workin man: control; tomorrow night! —Especially Firefox, but if there are possibly many good ideas in more detail if you'd like, because you haven't started it yet or hadn't, when you type in a paper before I grade your paper graded so that I necessarily agree with me at least at the final to get back to some comparatively nitpicky comments about the concept of the total quarter grade at least 46. Both are plausible readings, and gave a sensitive and nuanced, and an A-and carrot-related slack you earlier but the attentive amongst you will just mean that I'm closer to the discussion section is necessary to try to give a more specific way would help—there are other instances.

Discussion notes for week 6. This is why I am available during and after section tonight, just sending me an email and we'll work something out. If you get from the course! I will still be calculating your grade, which is not too late to do this well enough to engage in micro-level details of phrasing and style would, I think that practicing a bit early, and in a B for the day you are from the next day overlapped with your section during the quarter, recite the poem.