#evelyn is triangles
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finally figured out an evelyn design that i like
i wanted to make her face sharper
#philip is circles#caleb is squares#evelyn is triangles#thats how it works in my head#evelyn clawthorne#caleb wittebane#caleb clawthorne#toh evelyn#the owl house evelyn#the owl house caleb#the owl house evelyn clawthorne#the owl house caleb wittebane#the owl house fanart#caleb x evelyn#the owl house#canon x canon#toh caleb#toh caleb wittebane#caleb wittebane fanart#evelyn clawthorne fanart
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Personally I hate this movie, but this triangle seems to be somewhat popular, so I figured why not. I like polls.
#pearl harbor#pearl harbor 2001#love triangle#ben affleck#kate beckinsale#josh hartnett#danny walker#evelyn johnson#rafe mccawley#movie polls#movie couples#2000s movies
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I totally think Evelyn Evelyn would love folklore
#evelyn evelyn#oh they'd totally love seven and exile#and mirrorball too#and also probably the love triangle songs
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Top 10 Reads of 2022
The Last Cuentista-2021 Donna Barba Higuera (a meteor is on a crash course with the Earth and a small group has been selected to start over on a new planet, but first they must be placed in hibernation. Decades later a young girl awakens from her hibernation only to realize that things have gone horribly wrong)
Girl In The Blue Coat-2016 Monica Hesse (1943 in Nazi occupied Netherlands a young woman works in the black market and one of her customers have come to her with a strange request. She has been hiding a Jewish girl in her house and the girl has disappeared without a trace.)
The Diamond Eye-2022 Kate Quinn (based on the true story of the best female sharpshooter in the Soviet Union during World War II. However, more then the enemy is gunning for her. Including some who should be her friend.)
The Fervor-2022 Alma Katsu (in the Japanese internment camps an illness is spreading. It's called hatred and its spreading quickly. What will happen when the illness escapes the confinement of the camp and spread thought out the world?)
Anatomy-2022 Dana Schwartz (in Scotland during the 19th century a young woman doesn't want to marry and raise a family. She wants to be a surgeon and instead of accepting her initial rejection she sneaks into an operating theater and meets her fate. Sequel expected February, 2023)
The Memory Police-1994 Yoko Ogawa (on an unnamed island things are vanishing. Things the memory police no longer deem important. Things like ribbons, perfume, and birds. In an act of defiance the unnamed narrator hides her editor under her house in hopes of finding salvation.)
You've Reached Sam-2021 Dustin Thao (after an argument with her boyfriend a girl learns that he has been hit by a car and killed. Believing that she played a part in his death she is unable to move on, but hopes to hear his voice one last time.)
The Last Grand Duchess-2022 Bryn Turnbull (told by Olga Romanov the eldest daughter of the last Tsar of Russia. Olga watches the fall of her family and prays that someone will come and help them.)
Girl A-2021 Abigail Dean (after her family home is raided by the police a woman comes to terms with the truth. She was raised in a cult and must rely on herself to keep from crumbling.)
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo-2017 Taylor Jenkins Reid (set in the glamor of old Hollywood Evelyn Hugo dreams of stardom. Instead she finds herself married to one man after the other while her real love is just out of reach.)
Honorable Mentions
Princess Knight the Complete Series-1963-1966 Osamu Tezuka
Skin of the Sea-2021 Natasha Bowen
A Certain Hunger-2021 Chelsea G. Summers
Hani and Ishu's Guide To Fake Dating-2021 Adiba Jaigidar
The Pink Triangle-1986 Richard Plant
#top 10 reads of 2022#the last cuentista#girl in the blue coat#the diamond eye#the fervor#anatomy#the memory police#you've reached sam#the last grand duchess#girl a#the seven husbands of evelyn hugo#princess knight#skin of the sea#a certain hunger#hani and ishu's guide to fake dating#the pink triangle
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"You know I’ve often wondered why it is we have children in the first place and the conclusion I’ve come to is at some point in our lives we realize things are, they’re messed up beyond repair. So we decide to start again, wipe the slate clean, start fresh and we have children, little carbon copies we can turn to and say, you will do things I cannot. You will succeed where I have failed because we want someone to get it right this time. But not me, personally speaking, I cannot wait to see life tear you apart!"
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sometimes you just have to look at a love triangle and shoot it with a polyam relationship beam even when it would make no fucking sense as a throuple
#acqinc#acquisitions incorporated#jim darkmagic#evelyn marthain#omin dran#i know it's not like an actual love triangle because that would require omin and jim to acknowledge their feelings for each other in game#and while omin has literally done that jim refuses#but still#he is definitely jealous of evelyn in their first two games together and it's v funny#dranmagic#omilyn#darkthain#fanart#jones draws
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every single trailer for 'the summer i turned pretty' makes me hate it more and more
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…. perhaps a harry x reader blurb to spare 🤲 i will take anything u want to give me. fluff or smut or both or neither ❤️❤️❤️❤️ u rock and my name is also evelyn so i feel bonded to u
u've absolutely made my day with this evelyn :((( i hope you like what i've concocted bestie, she's kinda all over the fucking place, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <33
wc: 2k
cw: not much, super fluffy, mildly (perhaps majorly) suggestive. not suitable for ramadan!! not proofread. lmk if i missed anything pls!!
Spring is here.
Fucking finally.
All the seasons were lovely to Y/N, each offered something the others didn’t—couldn’t. But spring was different. Special.
Like him.
Like Harry.
Perhaps that’s why her love for it blossomed like the tulips lining her bedroom window; there was something about seeing her usually soft boyfriend get ten times softer as leaves started to sprinkle branches, blades of grass flashed a vibrant green once more, and the sun kissed the earth that got to her tender heart.
It was especially difficult to not melt when he’d planned a small outing for them, centered around the perfectly warm weather. Instead of waiting until nightfall and driving to some stuffy restaurant (although their dinner dates were never anything less than exquisite), they walked hand-in-hand down the boulevard in broad daylight, gentle wisps of wind the only thing surrounding them, as well as the quiet conversation of other passersby.
They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They were perfectly content to relish in the mere presence of one another—soak in the rays of sun, and warmth. Love.
Thumbs gave mindless, delicate strokes against the back of palms, rucking up rings, kissing knuckles in apology, and putting them back in place, just to repeat it all over again. The knitted fabric of Harry’s cardigan is soft when it brushes against Y/N’s bare arm (she decided that it was absolutely perfect weather to slip on her favorite flowy sundress, cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, printed with obnoxiously serene-looking flowers and hummingbirds, with a square neckline that farmed the intricate necklace Harry bought her for their second anniversary quite stunningly), but his hand in hers was softer. Better.
Said hand tugs on hers, urging her away from the beaten path and into the ravine of tall, never-ending trees—willows and oaks; sycamores, birches, and maples, too. She resists, no less. Looks down at the cobblestone beneath her soles, and the cute kitten heels that (in her humble opinion) tie her whole spring-era look together.
She pouts.
And then a head of chocolate obscures her view of the pristine, white triangle toes. A hand placed both respectfully and salaciously on her ankle, coaxing her foot to slip from its confines, makes her breath catch in her suddenly dry throat.
Her kind eyes glaze over, ever so slightly.
“Y’don’t have’t—”
“I want to, Bellissima.”
Her shoe slips from her foot with a soft clatter on the ground when he manages to pry her sole from the earth, but it barely registers in her brain. In fact, everything else seems to fade away into the lovely spring that encompasses them when Harry guides his hand further up, along her fleshy calf, and leans in to place a chaste, staggering kiss to the bridge of her foot.
She wobbles, but they both know it’s not because she’s been left to balance on one foot.
Harry smiles, faint—the crater in his stubbled cheek is nearly invisible—and nudges his nose along the smooth skin of her leg.
He works diligently (as diligently as one can when removing a shoe) to rid Y/N of her footwear, relieving her of any worry or pain.
He looks pleasantly boyish when he looks up at her, smiles all cheeky, and winks for good measure. Kneeling on cobblestone in a worn pair of jeans, suede, dirty Adidas, and a vintage band tee that smells of stale coffee, Chanel No. 5 (one of many preferred perfumes of Y/N), and sex no matter how many times they run it through the wash; the green of his seafoam eyes twinkling in the sunlight, sunnies pushing his hair back, and yet one rogue curl still bends and twirls with the wind, falling in a perfectly aesthetic spiral when it settles…
Soft. Boyfriend. Hers.
Her Harry.
He stands to his full height, and they’re much closer than she’d thought they would be, but she’s certainly not complaining. Where before she stood at (about) Harry’s collarbone, now her head barely reaches the underside of his pecs. Her neck strains to keep eye contact as he slips his free hand back into her awaiting palm, the latter of which occupied with their stuffed picnic basket, and now her precious kitten heels.
“Need me to carry you?” He asks, ready to suffer at least a week’s worth of back pain if it meant he’d keep that love-struck, glowy, adorable (subby, stupid, filthy) look on his girl’s face.
Y/N’s eyes widen subtly, though enough for Harry to notice, and he can’t help but have to stifle a chuckle at her bashful demeanor.
“No, thank you,” she squeaks, and now she’s the one tugging his hand, urging them into the abyss of greenery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.
The grass feels soft, ticklish, between her powder pink painted toes; she feels her lips stretch into a small grin because of it. They walk idly until they find a soft patch of vividly green grass directly under a tree, kissed fleetingly by the rays of sunlight peaking through the gaps of branches and leaves.
Harry lets his hand fall from Y/N’s (and can’t help but feel slightly colder because of it) to unpack their picnic basket. He grabs the signature red gingham picnic blanket from its place in the basket, releasing its folded form with a flourish. The material floats gracefully through the air until settling on the grass, near gingerly with the way it stops at just the very tips of the blades.
He kicks his chin toward the blanket in invitation as he settles on top of it himself, beginning to remove the contents inside their basket. Sandwiches, fruits, veggies; assorted cheeses and meats, cake, and, arguable most important, wine. He wastes no time in popping the cork from the rouge, pouring a generous amount into each of the pinot noir glasses he’d carefully tucked in the picnic basket.
Y/N kneels onto the blanket, walking on her knees until Harry is within reach, and his incessantly grabby hands are (surprise, surprise!!) grabbing her. He hands her her wine glass and sets his off to the side for the time being, sliding his bear palms up the full of her thighs, the swell of her bum, small of her back…
She shivers as they pet down again, nails biting at her hips to grip and pull her into his lap.
“Too far,” he grumbles, nuzzling in the space where her neck and collarbone meet. He peppers soft kisses along the strong bone, inhaling the natural, overwhelming scent of her. His girl.
Y/N goes easily, sipping slowly at her red wine while her free hand comes up to his hair, fingers threading through the fluffy tendrils. She snatches his sunnies away when they block her half-hearted scalp massage, muttering delicate apologies when the bend of them gets stuck in his hair and he hisses at the sting.
“Sorry, Baby,” she winces herself, chucking the damned glasses onto the blanket when she’s gotten them loose, kissing along the crown of his head to soothe any ache.
She sips more, tart grape hitting her tongue, sugary plum sliding down her throat, strawberry slicking her lips. She’s borderline greedy with the way she downs it, but they’ve got nowhere to be. Only here. Just here. Now.
She twists in Harry’s laps to grab one of the homemade BLTs, offering the half she won’t stuff her fat gob with to Harry, which he politely accepts. They munch quietly, sharing soft smiles and love-sick kisses in between bites. Conversation is sparse, but not bad. Never bad. If anything, the weight of their words is heavier because they’re so few and far between.
They both like it that way, anyhow.
When their feast has dwindled down to nothing but a few fruits and cakes, Harry fishes his phone from his pocket, and reaches in the picnic basket to grab his trusty pair of wired headphones. Hooking them up to his phone, he looks expectantly to Y/N. She raises her brow, never one to move unprompted.
Harry smirks, “Come, Bellissima.”
Her heart flitters, her stomach flutters, and her eyes round out (Harry tries not to think about how fucking easy—). She crawls back to him, in a way that is unnecessarily intimate and innocent, and simultaneously astoundingly nasty, but he tucks the image into the deep, deep, dark recess of his mind so he doesn’t get arrested for public indecency. Saves it for later (call it his spankbank).
He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before handing her and earbud, and lying down on his side. She follows, the two inserting the device into their ears at the same time. Her head instantly floods with staggered strings and piano, static, and then bass. Saxophone and acoustic guitar being delicately plucked, followed by a heady, gentle voice, similar to Bowie (but never as iconic).
“About You,” she whispers to him, her lips quirking.
Harry nods. Smiles, “The 1975.”
As the music progresses—the subtle vibrato of Matty Healy’s croon, the crescendo of each instrument and sound blending together to create one beautiful, extravagant, mind-bending symphony—Y/N swears she can see all five oceans in his eyes. The clear, breathtaking reefs, the lines that separates it from the rest of the water, dividing the calm from the chaos, the serene from the danger. She sees the deep, the unknown she wishes the dive further into, explore and discover, treasure for nothing but her own heart. And the seafoam that crashes up against the shore, the way it bubbles with joy and glistens in the light of the sun at the horizon, ever so fleeting as it washes back down the grains of sand.
She sees it all.
“S’pretty,” she mumbles, scooting closer as much as she can.
Harry wraps the arm not tucked under his head around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes flit dazedly between her two.
She may see the ocean, but he sees the sky. The constellations, laid out for him beautifully, his for the taking. His.
He nods, “S’pretty.” Bumps his nose childishly against hers, smiles softly, triumphantly, when it scrunches up. His eyebrows pull together in the center, and he huffs a breath through his nose, “S’fucking gorgeous, Stellina.”
His mouth is on her before she can ask for a translation (there’s only some many Italian pet names a girl can recall) tongue prodding at the seem of her lips until they give way and he can slide the wet muscle against her own. She tastes of their shared wine and vanilla buttercream, and he tastes of fresh peaches, mozzarella, and tangy balsamic vinegar. And yet, somehow, it mixes together to create something new, something better, arguably. He fits her bottom lip between his two, nipping and sucking at the plump flesh, pulling breathy whimpers and faint moans from his lover. His grunts and groans in response are no less self-deprecating (they were both, admittedly, getting extremely hot over a couple of third date level kisses).
Neither paid it much mind, however. Especially not when Harry flips around so he’s lying on his back and she’s pressed firmly against his torso, belly’s melding, chests grazing. Y/N can’t stifle her soft gasp at the heavy weight of Harry against her inner thigh, but she can’t reprimand him, for she is no better—there’s a puddle in the gusset of her panties.
“Harry,” she whines, lashes fluttering when his hands find the swell of her bum and squeeze through the flimsy fabric of her sundress.
“G'na take y'home now, Bellissima,” he husks against her open mouth, tongue flicking at the swollen mess. “Fuck you the way y'deserve for being such a good girl today—” She bristles, rocking into him and crying out softly because of it. “—and if y'keep it up, we’ll go to tha’ cute little flee market y'keep tellin’ me about, yeah?”
She’s being bribed with his (impeccable; divine; otherworldly) cock and her love for all things vintage.
“Can we go to the botanical garden, too?”
Harry snorts, issues a teasing spank to her bum that makes her squeal, but smiles, nevertheless. “Sure, Baby, whatever y'want.”
(Impeccable; divine; otherworldly) Cock, a flee market, and a botanical garden?
She’s in heaven. In happiness. In full bloom.
She fucking adores spring.
#evelyn speaks#not suitable for ramadan!!#i kinda love it#kinda hate#kinda makes no sense#really makes no sense...actually...#oh well#writing feels so foreign#like i feel like i js put together dogsh*t#idfk#i hope u guys like it anyway 😭 😭 😭#harry styles x reader#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles writing#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles one shot#harry edward styles#harry styles#writing#fanfic#fanfiction#imagine#blurb#oneshot#fluff#harry styles x fem!reader
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The face of the Gibson girl, the classic gilded age beauty—Evelyn Nesbit
Evelyn Nesbit was an American artists' model, chorus girl, and actress. She is best known for her career in New York City, particularly her involvement in an abusive and ultimately deadly love triangle between railroad scion Harry Kendall Thaw and architect Stanford White, which resulted in White's murder by Thaw in 1906.
Stanford White was the architect who designed the Madison square garden. He befriended Evelyn and her mother when she was a young poor art model trying to help support her family by posing for photographers and painters alike. Stanford groomed Evelyn, and one night he brought her back to his house, plied her with champagne, and then proceeded to drug and rape her. He continued to abuse her for a period of time after this. He told her to keep it a secret.
She dated John Barrymore, and they were each others first loves. The relationship was short lived, but neither ever forgot the other.
Evelyn married Harry Kendall Thaw, and eventually she confided the assault to her new husband. Though Evelyn felt relieved to finally speak it aloud to another human being, Harry obsessed over exacting revenge on White.
At 11 pm Thaw fired three shots into Stanford White’s head, killing him instantly. White was ironically attending the rooftop theater at Madison square garden.
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Someone To Love|Part 2|Reiner x Jealous Reader
(A/N: It's kind of nice and out of my normal style to write a much more wholesome romance, but I can't say I dislike it. You gotta have the fluff with your angst. And since this is going with yandere Levi it's good to have a bit of a change of pace. Comment to be added to the taglist!)
WARNINGS: implied nsfw, depression, attempted suicide, violence, general angst, slowburn, lowkey love triangle with a happy ending, not a warning but Reiner calls you nicknames instead of y/n (because I personally can't stand it)
==============================================
It felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
"An Island Devil?"
"I know, it's crazy, trust me I already know that. Especially after everything they did to Bertholdt and Annie. I don't know, I just feel...good about myself and safe around her."
She clears her throat, trying to keep the wad of emotion down in her chest so it doesn't spill out all at once. "And you say her name is Evelyn? I..uhm- tell me about her-"
Reiner leans back with a shy smile. "Well for starters she's short, really short, but she's also fun, and super sweet, an impressive fighter, and pretty on top of that. Like the ultimate package."
"How did you meet her?"
"When I was under cover she was one of the Scout officers, I didn't get to see a whole lot of her since she was part of Captain Levi's squad, but still. As far as Island Devils go she's one of the sweetest people I've ever met."
"Does she know who you are?"
Now Reiner frowns, apparently a sore spot for him. "Yes she does, when we fled I exposed who I was to her...and she said she hated me."
She tries to hide her relief with a deep breath, it wouldn't help anything to outwardly show how glad she was of that.
"So you'll never see her again."
"Until we return to Paradis to reclaim the Founder it seems unlikely." His mood changed, his tone becoming more and more depressed.
"That's too bad. She sounds wonderful."
"Yeah...she was." Reiner rests his elbow on the table, staring into the wooden pattern. "By now she's probably married off to Captain Levi, no screw that, why should I respect him with a title, to Levi."
"Who's Levi?" She didn't know who he was but if he was able to give Reiner closure with this unattainable crush she'd be thankful to him.
"Selfish bastard. Captain of the Survey Corps and man does he abuse that. Always unfairly punishing everyone and demanding respect." He shakes his head. "Creep watched Evelyn like some kind of sick stalker. There were many times I got punished for being anywhere near her. Asshole."
"Maybe you just didn't understand their dynamic?"
"Impossible, it was so obvious he was sick in the head. But no one saw it but me."
Bravely she reaches out to touch his hand. "It'll be okay Reiner, you can move on now. Forget about what happened their and live the rest of your life in peace."
"The rest of my life." He scoffs. "What short time I have left."
The thought made her wince, but he had a point. If she didn't try harder he'd be killed and they'd never have that life she dreamed of, even if it was for a short time.
"That's why you need to make the most of it."
Reiner nods, taking in her words. "You're right, sitting here sulking over what could have been won't get me anything but wasted time." A smile comes to his face. "Thanks kid, you always make me believe in myself."
She blushed a little at the nickname, even after all of this he still saw her as the same girl from their childhood. "No problem, you're my friend and I want to help you."
Reiner's face turns solemn again but before he can speak his mind a soldier comes up to their table.
"Reiner Braun, Commander Magath has sent for you."
"Right now? Is it urgent?"
"He said to come right away."
Reiner offers an apologetic glance before standing and hurrying to follow the young soldier, leaving her alone.
She couldn't put her finger on it, but she had a bad feeling about all of this.
#reiner braun#reiner x reader#reiner smut#aot reiner#reiner x you#reiner x y/n#reiner x oc#someone to love
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Five Times John Wanted to See a Movie, and One Time Kayne Made it Suck - a Malevolent Podcast Oneshot
In which Arthur struggles with right and wrong, bemoans the Hays Code, tries (and fails) to define love, and gets a second chance.
Spoilers up to Malevolent ep. 31.
AO3
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In January, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.
“Damn it, John… fine. You know what? Fine! We’ll go sit in the dark and be perfect targets for someone! Is that what you want?”
He gives in, though.
Arthur can be stubborn. He can be foolish in refusal, often saying no just to say it.
But to this?
To an innocent request, almost childlike in its intensity, and in its expectation of reply?
Arthur can’t hold out for that long.
Not when it seems to bring John such uncomplicated joy.
#
The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.
It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.
There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.
Yowza.
It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.
He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.
“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.
John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?
“Particular about what?” says Arthur.
Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?
Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”
Why not?
Arthur has never in his life considered this question.
It’s about offspring, John decides.
“Ah… no, it’s not really—”
They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.
“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”
Sure, but Tod does.
“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”
Then what is?
Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”
Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.
It’s a lot to think about.
Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.
#
In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.
Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”
Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.
He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.
He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.
Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”
Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.
Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile.
#
This movie, though. This movie hits different.
Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.
And he falls in love.
With a human.
Which can’t end well for that poor lady.
Arthur forgets his popcorn.
The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective. The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human—
The choice of the human to understand the strange—
“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.
“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.
“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you—let me hold you once, and feel your life.”
Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.
Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?
“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.
“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.
She chooses him, knowing what he is.
She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.
The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!” Death declares.
John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!
Does John see the parallels, too?
Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.
He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.
Yeah. This one hit different.
He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.
Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.
It’s not him and John.
But then, who can say just what they are?
#
In March, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.
Arthur is tired. “Really? Now?”
Why not? We owe ourselves a little treat.
They do, but after Death’s little romance, Arthur’s not sure he’s ready.
He has decided “friend” is the word for them, but only because he doesn’t have a better one.
Its problem is, it’s not strong enough. It’s nowhere near strong enough.
Arthur is well aware that facing off against the damned pallid mask cult again is the reason for his mood, but what he needs to remember is they failed.
He’s alive.
John is still here.
John did not take his exit, his gilt and crafted fire escape, much to the cult’s confusion.
When Arthur destroyed their framework of magic and bone, John cheered him on.
John doesn’t seem to miss them, or regret Arthur’s success.
That means a lot.
Friend? Sure. In lieu of a better word.
Arthur sighs. “What do you want to see?”
#
Jimmy the Gent is bonkers.
Arthur half wonders if it pushes the bar so hard because the Hays Code is breathing down Hollywood’s collective neck, threatening to end artistic freedom forever.
He also wonders if anyone but James Cagney and Bette Davis could have pulled this plotline off.
Cagney plays an unscrupulous man who seeks out wealthy folks who died without a will, then produces heirs to rake in the moolah—heirs who aren’t even real.
The main conflict is his girlfriend balking at his techniques, bailing to join a competitor, and coming back again when the eponymous Jimmy shows himself to be slightly less wicked than the other guy.
There isn’t actually a hero. It’s not black and white; it may be comedy, but it’s comedy gray.
“The only thing he's got that I want is you, and he took you away from me,” says Jimmy.
Oof. Those are some words to hear, and Arthur struggles not to apply them.
“He's got ethics,” says Davis, the dame Joan.
“I don't care if he has carbuncles. The only difference between him and me is he's got a smoother line,” says Cagney as the eponymous Jimmy.
Haha… ah. Wow.
“You can't make yourself clean by making him dirty,” says Joan, and Arthur’s stomach twists.
Arthur slowly exhales. This is a poor allegory for the King in Yellow and him, isn’t it?
But it maybe isn’t so bad for him and Larson.
He’s a little bit better than Larson. Just a little. Is that enough to make him good?
John, funny enough, doesn’t wrestle with morality at all in this, but has a blast with the humor, and praises the cleverness of the characters. He particularly appreciates the way Jimmy puts on airs to win back his lady love. Goal achieved, intimacy earned, all for the price of a barrel of determination and a pinch of deceit.
Arthur is uncomfortable as fuck, and eats all the popcorn at the film, too much popcorn, and gives himself a stomachache.
Somehow, he feels it is deserved.
#
In May, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.
They end up picking one all about deceit, romance, and false identity.
The Thirty Day Princess is a heck of a ride.
Are you trying to tell me something? Arthur thinks at a god he doesn’t believe in, thinks at the King in Yellow who is and is not John.
“She Reminds Me of You,” croons Bing Crosby as the hero dances with the princess-under-false-pretenses, who’s filling in for her sick counterpart for a total of thirty days.
Who looks exactly like the ill royal, but most definitely is not her.
I'm standing all alone
I've got nothing to live for
She reminds me of you
And she reminds me of you
And it breaks my heart in two
Dear fucking gods.
John is not the King in Yellow.
Except that he is.
Arthur hasn’t processed this. Hasn’t figured it out.
I am the King in Yellow, sounds John’s voice in Arthur’s memory, and Arthur ends up physically ill at the end of the film.
John is quite concerned, but Arthur doesn’t know what to tell him when he asks what’s wrong, and leaves all his questions unanswered like unraveling thread.
#
In September, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.
Enough time has passed that Arthur���s resistance has worn down.
He refused two months in a row. He rejoiced (in silence) that the madness with the Order of the Falling Star prevented any such frivolity through August.
But now that’s done, and Kayne has another poorly defined deal that began with an entire group of cultists violently dead, and Percy has Arthur’s blood in a jar for some reason and a promise of future contact, and it’s done.
For better or worse, it’s done.
And it’s quiet.
And John wants to see a movie.
“You know what?” says Arthur, who could use the distraction. "There’s one I want to see, too. Do you know the poets Elizabeth Barret and Robert Browning? Well… Elizabeth wrote some of the most wonderful verse about love and longing that anyone ever has, and apparently, there’s a movie about it, so let’s go see.”
#
The Barretts of Wimpole Street turns out to be completely not what Arthur expected.
Love disallowed by a sex-repulsed parent, physical illness barring the freedom afforded any ordinary adult, a stressful and creepy scene with incestuous undertones, and a decision to kill a beloved pet dog (which fortunately did not pan out) leave Arthur feeling absolutely weird about the whole thing.
The movie tiptoes a lot about morality, about right and wrong, about societal norms and familial expectations.
At least some of it reminded him of arguments with Daniel, after Bella had come down pregnant.
At least some of it reminded him of arguments with James, the day Faroe was born.
All of it reminded him of whatever he has with John, and he doesn’t know how to interpret that.
Norma Shearer as Elizabeth asking, “Robert, have you ever thought that my strength may break down on the journey?”
Frederick March as Robert answering: “It had occurred to me, yes.”
Arthur feels so very mortal, these days.
“Supposing I were to die in your hands?” she says.
“Are you afraid?”
Yes, thinks Arthur. I’m very afraid.
And then comes the line that hits hardest. “Yes,” says Robert Browning. “I am prepared to risk your life, much more my own, to get you out of that dreadful house and into the sun and to have you for my wife.”
Was that an okay thing to say?
Arthur doesn’t know.
He feels like he and John have each made that decision for each other, more than once.
But nobody’s a wife.
Or something.
He’s not really sure what he’s internally protesting.
“I'm sick of fighting alone. I need a comrade in arms to fight beside me,” Robert says.
“But not one already wounded in battle,” Elizabeth says, who feels lesser, who feels so weak.
“Wounded but undaunted, unbeaten, unbroken. What finer comrade could a man ask for?”
Undefeated.
Arthur swallows hard. Maybe this one was pointed at him, after all.
That was kind of depressing, John pronounces with great cheer as they leave, having enjoyed every moment, and described it all to Arthur in an effort to help him enjoy it, too. I can’t believe he wanted to kill the dog!
“Well,” says Arthur. “Some people are… cruel… when they lose.”
Someone should kill him instead, John says, and he is joking.
Probably joking.
It feels like John’s moral compass is more reliable than Arthur’s own, these days, so Arthur decides to just let that one go.
#
In October, Arthur says, “John—I want to see a movie.”
Really? You do? You want to hear one, you mean? says John, who’s being clever.
Arthur is able to laugh. “Yes, you whacko.”
John’s pleased. Arthur can feel it. I know you are, but what am I?
Arthur laughs again.
The back-and-forth is ridiculous, but feels so damn good in spite of that. Easy; effortless. Affectionate, knives long stashed.
Three whole weeks have passed since the Rancid Ruby case, and their successful retrieval of the jewel (and the minister’s daughter, whom they hadn’t even known was missing) has brought them enough business and enough income that Arthur has begun to believe John is right: they’re going to be okay.
It’s also put the final nail in the dismissal of their murder case. The minister stood as a character witness, and finally swayed the judge. Who knew?
Parker and Eddie’s deaths have been officially attributed to a burglary gone wrong—backed by Arthur’s wrecked car, miles from the scene; by hospital proof that Arthur, unidentified, had been in a coma; and by Arthur’s indisputable claim of amnesia, causing his disappearance for many months.
Larson is MIA, having been carried off by the monstrous thing he summoned.
The Butcher is retired, having philosophized himself into a monastery, eager for hypocritical redemption and literal flagellation.
Kayne hasn’t called his favor, but right now, it’s hard to look toward that with horror.
Even this latest case worked out, with a wild showdown in Central Park, loads of witnesses, and the Jade MacGuffin returned to its owner.
It’s all coming up roses. Arthur is almost able to hope.
So what did you want to see? says John.
“Well, they’re saying this will be one of the last great movies—the Hays Code, and all,” says Arthur, who has tried to explain it, and shared John’s frustration at the enforcement of false human experience and morality on screen. “It’s about the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra—a tragic love story, and one that’s inspired all manner of art, music, poetry, and more for centuries.”
Sure. Sounds good. The theater on 15th has popcorn, you know.
That’s all Arthur needs to hear.
#
And it isn’t pointed, it really is not. But it sort of fits how he’s feeling, anyway.
“Together, we could conquer the world,” Cleopatra says, Elizabeth Taylor making every word so sensual that Arthur could drown in any one of them for a week.
“Nice of you to include me,” Warren William’s Julius Caesar replies, and Arthur chuckles, and John says, Hahaha! You can do better! and it’s such a beautiful, perfect shared moment.
And of course, she can do better—in the form of Marc Antony, played by Henry Wilcoxon.
Arthur loses himself in it all, even though he can’t see. The cast is huge. The effects (via John) are jaw-dropping. The music score is moving and expertly done.
When Taylor says, "On. Your. Knees,” Arthur feels some things he really doesn’t know what to do with, but the moment passes quickly.
Cleopatra is everything Arthur wanted in an evening of self-indulgent escape, and John’s continued enthusiasm only makes it more sweet.
Arthur sniffles at the tragic ending, even though he knew it was coming, which Taylor plays to the hilt.
It definitely doesn’t feel pointed like the other movies did. Arthur figures out why when it’s done, while he’s waiting for everyone else to file out so he can leave the theater unhindered.
A lack of communication and irreconcilable core values led to the tragedy on screen.
That’s not him and John. Well, it used to be; but Arthur is certain it’s not anymore.
John says, I think I understand her.
“Her? Cleopatra? How so?”
And with that unnervingly good memory John sometimes demonstrates, he quotes: ‘So Rome would forgive and take you back? And all they demand is for us to part. Why don't they ask the sun to fall right out of the sky?’
Arthur swallows.
That’s how I feel about you, says John, who has never said he loves Arthur, but has shown it, repeatedly and without hesitation.
Arthur has some thoughts on that. "I feel the same,” he says, who has never said those words to John, even though the King in Yellow called him on it months ago.
But Arthur’s fairly sure he’s shown it, too.
He's been thinking a lot about love, of late.
About what it really is, and how it is expressed.
About how the movies usually portray two kinds: romantic, and familial.
This love is neither. It’s different, loaded with unknown spice, broken free from a mold Arthur cannot name.
But it is absolutely real, and Arthur has come to a conclusion that shakes him to his core: he was already willing to die for John, many months ago, yes. But now?
Now, he’s willing to live for him.
Even if Kayne decided to offer me a body, I’m not going anywhere, John says out of nowhere.
“A body?” Arthur isn’t sure where that idea came from. “I doubt he’d do that.”
John says nothing.
Arthur tries to bridge whatever unexpected gap this is, squirming with things in the dark. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain papers for you, if that happened. Make you all legitimate.”
Really. Is that so?
Arthur has to poke. “I’ll say you’re from Montana. That should explain away any obvious social gaffes.”
Gaffes! I’ll have you know I’m far better at handling people than you.
“Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? In this theoretical future that probably won’t happen.”
There’s another slight pause. Arthur frowns.
I want my name on the business, John suddenly says.
Arthur snorts.
Arthur! I’m serious!
“Yes, yes. I don’t see why not.” Arthur is more concerned he might not get his sight back than that John’s name is painted on frosted glass. “Lester and Doe, Private Investigators For Hire.”
Doe and Lester.
“Excuse you. I was in it first.”
But I’m clearly the smarter partner.
Arthur laughs. “You dork.”
And will probably be better-looking, too.
“Now, that’s going too far,” says Arthur, chuckling.
You’ll see. I’ll draw everyone’s attention with my glorious form, and that’ll give you time to riffle their drawers.
“That’s… not a horrible idea, honestly, though there are a few problems with that—namely, you have no body, and even if you did, I’d still be blind.”
Well, I… well, we…
“Gotcha,” says Arthur, smug, because it’s easier to laugh at this possible future than actually deal with any of it, though even the shadow it casts hurts.
You did not. That’s not even a point. Half a point, maybe.
“Lester and Doe, it is,” Arthur says, because it’s fun to poke the bear.
Instead of answering, John gasps.
Arthur knows John. Knows him well. And immediately stops walking.
“You know, just when I think you two can’t get any cuter, you go and wrap a bow on your dicks and call it Christmas,” says Kayne so close that Arthur can feel breath on his lips.
Arthur staggers back a few steps, then stops himself. Running won’t help. “What do you want?”
Kayne must have kept pace with him, because he speaks just as close, an inch away. “It’s your lucky day! Oh, did you tell him, snippet? Did you? I assume you would have by now, I mean, it’s not like you had half a year or something to figure out how to broach the topic.”
Oh, no. What?
It’s like the ground under Arthur’s feet is shaking, ground he’d thought was solid, but hides a deep and jagged fault line. “What is he talking about?”
Arthur, I—
“Too late now!” says Kayne, and there is a whoosh of air.
Arthur staggers. He didn’t move, but he did, and the sounds and smells tell him he’s no longer on the sidewalk, but in an alley.
And then comes a voice he hates.
A drawl, casual and arrogant, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s coming from waist-height, because his immediate urge is to attack it at once like a bird in a mirror.
“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” says Wallace Larson.
Arthur takes a step.
John reaches across his chest and grabs his arm, hard, like a physical restraint.
“Oh, the webs we weave when we practice to deceive,” says Larson, who sounds fine and dandy, if a little shorter than before.
Arthur, says John, evenly. He’s not alone. He’s strapped to a weird, short table, barely fitting into the alley, and his legs are jammed against the wall. And he’s not alone.
And because this wasn’t fraught enough, the next voice is identical.
Identical. But it isn’t John.
You! Murderer!
“Yellow?” says Arthur, shock stealing sound and sense from this moment, tingling through his body so his face feels numb.
Kayne bounces something light off the side of his head.
“What?” Arthur startles.
“Sorry, thought you’d open your mouth for it, like a baby bird. Popcorn?” Another one hits right under his eye.
“Stop it! What are you doing?”
It’s time for justice! Yellow declares.
Oh, shut the fuck up, John snarls.
Traitor! bellows Yellow.
And Larson starts to sing. Insultingly, it is a hymn.
“Bury my body,” Larson croons in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. “Lord, I don't care where they bury my body. Lord, I don't care where they bury my body, ‘cause my soul is gonna live with God.”
Arthur is going to kill him. The rest of this can sort itself out. He takes another step.
“Hold on there, boyo,” says Kayne in the Butcher’s accent, and takes Arthur’s hand. “You’ll need this.”
That is the handle of a knife. A knife, pressed into his right palm, which means Kayne wants him to do this, and that pours cold water all over the whole operation.
The handle burns, but Arthur ignores that.
Go ahead, says Yellow. You’re already a killer. I see it in your eyes. I know you, Arthur Lester!
This can’t be happening.
“It is, though,” whispers Kayne in his ear. “Looks like Little John didn’t tell you anything, did he? That’s a real foundation for trust.”
“What?” says Arthur, who feels stuck like a skipping record.
You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, says John.
I do. He confessed. He murdered that man and fucking ATE HIM.
He did that because of you! John roars at Yellow. You’re the one who put him in the pit! You’re the one who sent him the gods-damned cannibal! What did you want him to do, just sit back and be eaten?
“What?” says Arthur, weakly.
Because for Yellow to have done that means—
I did? says Yellow, sounding as confused as if he’d been thocked on his phantasmal head.
“Oh, oh, oh yeah,” sings Larson.
Arthur needs a moment.
“I’m not leaving,” he snaps before anybody can yell at him, and turns to stand at the entrance to the alley, just breathing.
He’s very, very glad he had no alcohol with dinner tonight.
“I dunno, pal, it might’ve helped you out,” Kayne says.
“What is this?” says Arthur.
“Isn’t it clear? No, I suppose it’s not—guess good old Liz (or maybe Henry) redirected the blood from your brain to elsewhere. You’re here to kill your enemy, my boy! End the torment. Flip the switch. Bring that hammer down.”
Arthur swallows. He’s tasting metal again—a thing he’s noticed only happens when he’s on the verge of panic.
Which he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.
Arthur, I can explain.
“Shhh,” says Kayne, and touches Arthur’s lips.
Arthur tries for him with the knife.
Of course, it only hits brick, jarring his hand. “Ow,” he mutters. “Damn it!”
“He’ll get to explain it all after. For now, however, you, being the key in this situation, being fully entangled with him, and thus, his representative with a physical form, have a job to do.”
“What job? I haven’t agreed to—is this my favor? For killing those cultists?”
Kayne laughs. “No, you sweet thing. It’s his.”
“His?” Arthur’s voice is small.
I… Arthur, I…
Get back here! Coward! Yellow calls from the alleyway.
“I have questions,” says Arthur, but he honestly can’t think of one.
Kayne tsks at him. “I can see you’re in shock, you tender soul, you, so let’s make this simple. Do this, or John’s gone.”
“Gone?” Arthur’s voice cracks.
“Removed. Incised. Purged, if you will. It’s what he agreed to.”
“John?” says Arthur.
This is what you wanted him in New York for? John says, sounding incredulous.
Arthur’s brain has skipped parts of this conversation like it touched an electrical fault, and he blurts, “Yellow is the King in Yellow, isn’t he?”
Kayne laughs. “Wow, are you behind! They’re both the King in Yellow, my darling rose. Snippet, what have you been teaching him? What, nothing? Well, this is on you, then.”
Get back here! howls Yellow. We’re not finished!
“I said all right,” Larson starts singing again. “You know it's alright. It's alright, c'mon.”
And it calms Yellow. It calms the piece of the King in Yellow, the copy of John that Arthur betrayed, that Arthur ruined so badly that he’s refused to think about it because there’s no fixing what went wrong.
“You are correct on that one,” Kayne confirms. “This is fun, and all, but boys… you’re losing my patience. It’s time.”
Arthur finds himself walking back into the alley.
It’s easy to follow Larson’s voice.
To follow the sweet-syrup sound of that most hated man, who is awfully damn calm about this, and that is the one thought that surfaces. “You’re awfully damn calm about this, Larson,” Arthur snarls.
“Of course I am, my boy. I’m about to enter immortality. Little hard not to face that with some sorta joy, given all I paid for it.”
“Paid for it!” Arthur’s voice breaks. “You didn't pay for it! Your daughter did!”
“So did yours,” says Larson, who shouldn’t know that, who must have been told by Kayne. “We both got to where we are through that most unfortunate necessity, didn't we?”
Murderer! Yellow declares.
Six months ago, that would have been it.
Arthur would have lost it. Gone feral, melted into violent goo, stabbed and tore and shouted until he was covered in gore, until Larson was unrecognizable, until the form could compete with Uncle for mess and mayhem and pulp in bad places.
Today, he pauses.
It’s not the same, says John, calm, because this is only for Arthur. You know it’s not. We’ve been over this.
He killed his daughter! says Yellow.
He made a mistake and she died—and what the fuck are you crowing about? Your guy sacrificed his on purpose! One’s an accident and the other isn't! Fuck, how stupid are you? Did I get all the intelligence, is that it?
What? says Yellow, again taken aback, again stuttered to a halt in the middle of rage.
Arthur realizes with a little gut-twist that Yellow is weirdly naive.
Gullible. That’s the word. He just accepts what anybody says in the moment, then applies that black and white, childish morality.
Yellow would not understand half the movies they’d seen of late.
Why? Why was this?
“Because he didn’t get to spend a month all alone, silly,” says Kayne. “Isn’t that neat? It’s all about godhood and nature versus nurture and all that kind of thing. If you’d been awake the whole time, your John would be even screwier than he is. It’s almost like your bad luck scratches the itch of some eager, chaotic observers. Anyway! What’s the hold up? That’s the guy who hurt you, Arty. That’s the guy who made your teeth loose. You really gonna hesitate now?”
That’s the guy means Yellow, not Larson, and this just got more complicated. “What happens to Yellow if I do this?” says Arthur, because he never asked that before, and he should have, and it’s probably too late, but that’s just how his life goes.
“Hm? Oh, he’ll die,” says Kayne.
John gasps.
Shit. “And what happens to John, then?” says Arthur.
“Heck if I know. This is all new territory, which is why I’m being so patient. Don’t want to miss a thing.”
“Lead me, Jesus, lead me,” sings Larson. “Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air, and if my wings should fail me, won't you provide me with another pair?”
“So you’re crackers,” says Arthur. “Barmy. Lost your damned mind. This isn’t Jesus. This is Kayne. He’s not going to do anything good for you.”
Kayne gasps. “Such ingratitude!” And he laughs. “Next, you’re going to say you don’t want your office filled with music boxes.”
Okay, that—
Okay.
Arthur needs another moment.
“You don’t get one,” Kayne whispers in his ear. “It’s time. John didn’t tell you, and I’m glad he didn’t, because you are fucking glorious this upset, but it’s time. Kill him.”
“Why?” whispers Arthur, and means so many things.
Kayne doesn’t bother to reply.
I… Arthur, I….
“Will you be all right, John?”
I don’t know.
Arthur grips the knife. Its burning leather handle creaks, and Arthur accepts the pain in his palm, because something this messy should not be easy.
Yellow gasps. You’re going to do it in cold blood?
“I’m sorry, Yellow,” says Arthur, because Yellow is not really the King in Yellow, any more than John is. “It seems I fucked up for you all over the place.”
You’re a killer. I don’t expect anything better from you.
He’s human, says John. He’s made mistakes, and stayed alive. Your guy’s no better.
Yellow seems stunned again. He’s not?
Larson laughs. “Little guy, it’s all right. This is where it was always going. Why do you think I had to get you to New York? You’re my final step. My sacrifice. Your death’ll elevate me, son. Mister Lester, I’m fully ready. Do the deed. Let’s get this over with. Then, when I’m ascended, and I’m a god, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi.”
Arthur’s throat is tight. “He can’t be serious.”
“His deals aren’t for you to know,” says Kayne. “Also, you’re out of time.”
“Wait,” says Arthur.
“Say goodbye to John in three,” says Kayne.
“Wait!” says Arthur, who has an idea, who suddenly thinks—
“Two,” says Kayne.
With a choked, miserable sound, Arthur cuts Larson’s throat.
But not with the knife Kayne gave him.
“Oh, foul!” Kayne cries. “Oh! Oh! Cheater!”
Andrew! says Yellow, sounding distraught. Andrew! No! No!
What did you do? says John.
“Improvised?” says Arthur, who has no idea what he’s done, except he had to save John, except the knife Kayne gave him was maybe special, except this complete guess was the only hope he had, and he’d only had time to stuff Kayne’s knife away and grab his own instead.
Larson gargles. He sounds like he’s trying to laugh.
Andrew! Yellow sobs it. Andrew! He doesn’t seem to be dying.
So it worked?
So Larson doesn’t get godhood?
Arthur’s hand is warm with blood. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to clean that knife inside his jacket, where he hopes it won’t show.
Kayne sighs. Paces.
Kayne punches the wall.
It’s a bad sound, cracking, crumbling. Something inside the building crashes down, and there are screams.
Arthur shakes.
“You know,” says Kayne. “I’ll give you this one. I’ll hand it to you. Didn’t predict it. That’s awful rare. So I’m really pissed at you, and you’ll feel that soon enough—but I can appreciate a good scam.”
“I didn’t pull a scam,” Arthur says, quieter, because Yellow has begun to sob.
It is an ugly sound, wretched, utterly unselfconscious.
He’s doing that because Larson is dead.
It doesn’t feel good. None of this does. Arthur isn’t the same as he was in Addison. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Yellow doesn’t stop crying long enough to answer.
Kayne shoves him suddenly, bruisingly, against the wall. “I am… really… mad at you. I won’t get to pull an experiment like this again for who knows how the fuck long. But… that was the deal. You did the deed. Technically, you’re off the hook. But you, Arthur—you still owe me a favor.”
“I won’t kill Yellow,” Arthur says.
Arthur!
Arthur takes Kayne’s knife back out of his pocket and throws it down, and the clang it makes in the alley is weird, wrong, otherworldly. “I won’t. I’ve done enough to him! Fuck you, I—”
He chokes.
There is a fist is in his throat, impossibly swelling, knuckles distending, expanding, distorting, threatening to tear him from the inside. Can’t swallow around it. Can’t—
It stops.
Arthur gasps, ragged.
“Better idea,” says Kayne, and suddenly, Yellow’s sobbing is inside his head.
“John!” Arthur manages, gagging, terrified John was swapped into the dead man’s body.
I’m here! I—what the fuck?
Leave me alone! Yellow howls.
They’re both in there, equally loud, equally growly, and it’s too much, there is a weight to the fulness of an eldritch god in his brain, and his own soul feels pinched and battered and stepped on, and he can’t breathe, and—
“This should be fun,” he hears Kayne say, and then he passes out.
#
The arguing is what wakes him.
That doesn’t matter. I don’t care.
Then you’re a hypocrite of the highest order, John snarls.
What does that make you?
Look, you moron, just calling me things doesn’t make it—Arthur! The change in tone is remarkable. Arthur—are you all right? Talk to me, Arthur.
The sharp concern in John’s voice—tenderness mixed with violence, crafted for him.
Arthur recalls Yellow weeping over Larson, and he aches for him, and wonders if his own inner compass has gotten even more broken over the last day. “I’m… I’m here. Fuck, I sound strangled.”
He does. Haggard, raspy.
Larson could out-sing him at this very moment, and he won’t be able to sing to calm Yellow for a while, and that is such an odd thought to have that Arthur’s face burns, and he rolls over to press it into the cool pillow.
Wait. Pillow?
Lucky, says Yellow, low and bitter. Yours woke up.
I told you he would. He’s remarkable.
Andrew was remarkable.
Wallace Larson was a motherfucking cheat who traded children and people’s lives all the time to seem interesting. Arthur does it all on his own.
Arthur feels not all on his own a little too much, right now. “Yellow.”
What? says the new voice, and the tone is fearful, and challenging, and tight.
Is he doing this?
He’s doing this.
Arthur already decided he’s doing this, and he may be many things, but he doesn’t easily change his mind. “I’m sorry.”
Both the voices in his head are still for a moment.
What? they say together.
“I’m sorry. I met you when I was… I was at the worst of myself. I lied to you, and tried to control you, because I was so afraid of losing you again. Losing… John again. Kayne told me you were him, and I thought… you know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I fucked up, Yellow. I’m sorry.” It feels weak. “That’s all.”
There is a trembling inside, a non-corporeal shaking that feels like maybe the fault line has been transplanted into him.
How dare you? Yellow says.
I told you so, says John.
How dare you lie to me! You just murdered my… you killed him!
Arthur sighs. “I did. I wasn’t letting John get taken. No matter what shape I’m in, that’s… just how it’s going to be.”
That trembling again.
Larson was ready to sacrifice you, like I said—but you’re safe now, says John to Yellow, which Arthur did not expect. You’re me. He won’t hurt you.
That’s more faith in Arthur than Arthur has for himself.
I’m not you. We can’t even merge, Yellow says.
“You can’t?” says Arthur, who’d forgotten that was a thing until this moment.
No. We… we’ve both changed too much. We can’t.
There is sorrow in John’s voice, deep and aching, a finality that communicates loss Arthur can’t fully comprehend.
It’s a farewell to a thing Arthur cannot even imagine needing.
He has no idea how to engage with it, so he goes for familiar ground. Not a poem, but the movie they just saw—a way to say, I love you, without saying those words. “‘You choose me, Cleopatra, against the world,’” he says.
John practically surges to respond. ‘Then we'll meet it! We'll smash it to pieces, put it together again and call it ours!’
Yellow is, understandably, confused. You’re going to smash the world?
“No, we… no. It’s a movie.”
What’s a movie?
John scoffs. Your asshole of a guy didn’t even take you to see a movie? We’ve seen six in just a few months!
But what is one? I want to see one! What is it?
Arthur is not going to see a movie right now. He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds. “How did I get to a bed? Did Kayne bring me here?”
There is a distinctly guilty pause. So, says John. When you’re fully unconscious, uh. We. Um.
We have control of your hideous form, Yellow informs him. You’re in your hotel room.
“What? Wait, what?” Arthur sits up. He feels the same. Blind, left hand and foot numb. Head too heavy, but—“What?”
When you’re unconscious, repeats John, we have control. So we got you out of there, because there’s a dead body, and we don’t need to face the police again.
Cowards, both of you, says Yellow.
Maybe he should take Yellow to see some morality plays before the movies, or something. “Where’s the knife? It had my fingerprints.”
Fucking Kayne took it back. It was weird, Arthur. I’m glad you couldn’t see it. Even with me looking through your eyes, they bled.
Arthur stiffens and reaches up. Sure enough, there are dried tracks of blood from his eyes down his neck. “Fuck. Can you see?”
Yes. You seem all right. Just… that knife was bad.
Why—Yellow stops.
“Why what?”
Why didn’t you use it?
Arthur’s not sure he’s in any shape to verbalize this. “What I did to you before wasn’t right. What Larson was doing to you now wasn’t right. It’s time someone didn’t do the wrong thing by you, is all.”
Silence in response.
Whatever that means.
Arthur stands, shaky as a newborn lamb, and feels his way to the bathroom. He strips as he goes, dropping clothing in a trail.
Is it time for a rite? says Yellow, oddly hopeful.
Rite?
He’s naked.
So?
This is too weird, and Arthur does not engage. He turns on the shower.
But… humans get naked for rites.
John scoffs. He told you that? What the fuck?
They don’t get naked for rites? Yellow sounds lost again.
“So what you’re telling me is fucking Larson never washed his arse,” Arthur mutters, and John laughs.
Don’t you know anything about humans? says John then, disgusted.
Of course I do! More than you!
They are clearly going to be at this for a while.
Arthur lets them, hoping they tire themselves out.
He’s scraped from the bricks in the alley. Bruised from Kayne’s manhandling, and, he thinks, inside his throat. His right hand, disturbingly, seems to have been slightly burned where he held that weird knife. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s lost his fingerprints.
But he’s okay. He made it.
He always makes it.
And for the first time in his life, weirdly, he feels like he might have a second chance at something he truly fucked up.
They’re still fighting about naked humans. It’s obviously a cleansing rite!
You’re a moron!
“Yellow,” says Arthur. “I’m sorry you lost your person. He was a monster, but… I get it, and I’m sorry. Good, bad—they don’t matter when there’s grief.”
Another trembling pause as the steam rises, and Arthur washes away the blood, the sweat, the dubious stickiness he finds where Kayne grabbed him through his suit jacket.
I… didn’t like it, says Yellow, soft.
“I know. I think we’ve all… we’ve all gone through some loss here, through no fault of our own.”
Don’t tell me you feel bad for taking that fucker out, says John. You’ve been wanting him dead for months.
Arthur knows clarification is needed, and it is the hardest thing to do, but he has to make this second chance count. “Since I learned he sacrificed his daughter for power, yes. It made me think of losing my little girl, and though that was… that was an accident, I couldn’t… imagine someone doing it on purpose. I went a little insane.”
A little? scoffs John.
“A lot insane, then. Still. Yellow wouldn’t have landed in him at all if I hadn’t been such an ass.”
Actually, says John. About that.
Arthur has been thinking. “You made a deal with Kayne.”
I… yes.
Why? says Yellow.
To get back to Arthur.
Why? Yellow says.
He’s mine, says John.
“And, what? It was just about getting me to New York?”
Yes. He said if I did that, I could stay in you. He even hinted he might give me a body, if I paid his debt right, though it wasn’t… worded clearly. If I failed, and couldn’t get you to New York, I’d… I’d go back to the Dark World. But then we were here, and nothing happened, and I… I sort of hoped he’d forgotten.
“You could’ve told me.” It hurts a little. More than a little.
I’m sorry.
Arthur sighs. “I forgive you. We made it through. Just tell me anything else like that, all right?”
I will. I promise.
Yellow is quiet.
Arthur has no idea how this conversation might stack up against whatever else Yellow has heard.
He dries off and limps back to the bed, where he falls face-first into the pillow. “No joyrides while I’m out. I need rest.”
You adapted to that news pretty quickly, says John, suspicious.
“I have not adapted at all. I’m simply too damn tired to engage with it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have a proper panic over it, but for the next few hours, I mean it. No joyrides.”
Fine. No joyrides.
But what if we—
We promised. No joyrides.
I didn’t promise, Yellow grouses.
I did, and we are both the King in Yellow, and that’s our word. Shut up.
They are never going to stop.
Weirdly… it’s not that hard to tune them out.
It reminds Arthur of the strangest thing: those noisy, chaotic, wonderful days when Faroe’s “friends”—really just toddlers her age, in the neighborhood—came over, and everybody was yelling and squealing and laughing and demanding, and all the other parents (mothers, they were all mothers, and Arthur never fit in) clustered like chortling geese to add to the ruckus.
And it shouldn’t have been peaceful, but it was.
It shouldn’t have been the kind of noise he could sink into, but it was.
Why this is like that, Arthur doesn’t know.
Maybe he doesn’t need to know.
For some reason, John is now telling Yellow the plot of The Thirty-Day Princess. And then the Baron said, ‘We are on a wild goose egg!’
Yellow laughs.
Is it safe, to leave them unmonitored like this?
Then again, maybe they need it.
Arthur certainly needs it.
He has no idea what to do with this. He has no idea if he can keep them both in there. His skull feels oddly… strained.
But now, right now, he needs sleep.
John promised no joyrides. (Arthur will deal with that horror tomorrow.)
John’s promise, in spite of today’s unpleasant surprise, is good enough.
Yellow’s grief is real. That’s going to take time to navigate. Arthur feels he owes that much.
So… is everyone safe now? At least until Kayne returns?
Maybe.
Arthur doesn’t know how this works, and he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he ever will.
Maybe he doesn’t have to know.
Maybe it’s enough to survive, and listen, and forgive, and try to make up for mistakes.
To take his chance to make up for one, and hold it with all his heart.
Arthur drifts off to the sound of John’s attempt at a Ruritanian accent.
Maybe it really is coming up roses, after all.
--------
NOTES
Of course, I had to do ridiculous research for this so it would all be accurate.
It's part of my self-indulgence. Hush.
Dancing Lady on Wikipedia, and you get to see the scene that made poor Arthur hot and bothered right here on YouTube.
Death Takes a Holiday is on YouTube in terrible resolution here, BUT if you skip to 1:04:44, you get to see where Grazia chooses to go with Death.
The romp that is Jimmy the Gent. The quip about ethics and carbunkles is right here, at 1:25.
The Thirty Day Princess was hard to track down, but I found a solid review of it, a clip of the Ruritanian accent, and of course, Bing Crosby's She Reminds Me of You.
The Barretts of Wimpole Street, including that DEEPLY uncomfortable clip where the father seems to think all sex is evil, then gets weirdly handsy with his daughter. Yowza.
Oh, Cleopatra... they don't make movies like this anymore. On. Your. Knees.
As for Yellow... well, I saw how he responded to Larson at the end of 28. He just... accepted whatever Larson said - weirdly innocent about it, which made Larson even creepier to me. I sort of figured without a chance to reset and think (like John had during the coma), he wouldn't be able to grow the same way.
The hymn Larson was singing, My Soul is Gonna Live With God. In your dreams, asshole.
#malevolentpod#malevolent fic#malevolent podcast#malevolent#malevolent kayne#arthur lester#john doe malevolent#malevolent fanfic#malevolent arthur#john malevolent#malevolent fanfiction
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My Masterlist
The Hobbit
Imagines
Great Eagles
Lake Town
Khuzdul Insults
Erebor
Thorin Oakenshield
A Heir
Gandalf's Apprentice
Silent Protector
Love Braids
Kili
An Elven Lady
His Saviour
Archery Lessons
Storytellers
Fili
Wedding
Khuzdul
Storytellers
Unexpected Guest
Bofur
A Dwarven Toystore
A New Life
Bombur
A Dwarven Toystore
Bifur
Battlefield
A Dwarven Toystore
Bilbo Baggins
Afternoon Tea
Dinner at Bag End
Legolas Greenleaf
Silvan Elves
Human Friend
An Elvish Courtship
Dwalin
Prancing Pony
Radagast the Brown
Dol Guldur
Thranduil
Elven Warrior
Headcanons
Thorin & Company as Zodiac Signs (coming soon)
How would they react to a s/o of elvish heritage (coming soon)
Thorin Oakenshield
Thorin falling in love with Bilbo's twin sister (coming soon)
Kili
Being in a love triangle with Kili and Tauriel would include
Bofur
Sleeping in
Being Bofur's younger sister and joining him on the Quest
Fili
Having a crush on Fili would include
Chronicles of Narnia
Imagines
Peter Pevensie
His High Queen
Hurt
Close Friends
Edmund Pevensie
Nymph
Marriage Proposal
Close Friends
Lucy Pevensie
The Wardrobe
An Invitation for Tea
Close Friends
Susan Pevensie
Winter Fun
Midnight Masquerade
Close Friends
Caspian
Royal Child
Quest
Headcanons
Chronicles of Narnia Characters as Zodiac Signs
The Pevensie Siblings as Scents
House of the Dragon
Twilight
The Mummy
Imagines
A Desert Warrior (Ardeth Bay)
The Egyptian Priest (Imhotep)
Adopted Sister (Jonathan & Evelyn Carnahan)
Comrades (Rick O'Connell)
Horus (Ardeth Bay)
Egyptology (Evelyn Carnahan)
A Decade Apart (Ardeth Bay)
Night at the Museum
Imagines
Her King (Ahkmenrah)
The Golden Trio (Jedediah & Octavius)
A Lesson in History (Sacagawea)
A Song for Her (Ahkmenrah)
A Knight in Shining Armor (Lancelot)
Night to Remember
Great Royal Wife (Ahkmenrah)
The Secret of the Tablet
Nightmare Before Christmas
Imagines
Unlikely Friends (Sally)
Halloween Town (Jack Skellington)
A Lesson in Herbology (Sally)
Christmas (Jack Skellington)
Damsel in Distress (Sally)
Corpse Bride
Imagines
Mozart (Emily)
Her Faithful Governess (Victoria Everglot)
An Awkward Suitor (Victor Van Dort)
Family Jewels (Emily)
A Friend in Need (Victoria Everglot)
Fireflies (Victor Van Dort)
Studio Ghibli
Imagines
Witch's Apprentice (Zeniba)
Frozen Lemonade (Kiki)
Cat Bureau (Baron Humbert)
Bathhouse (Chihiro)
Her Sister's Helper (Sophie)
Spirit World (Haku)
Picnic (Howl)
Coquelicot Manor (Umi)
Dreams (Haku)
Whisper of her Heart (Shizuku)
A Sister's Duty (Pazu & Sheeta)
Savior (Howl)
Carte Postale (Kiki)
Harry Potter
Fantastic Beasts
Avatar
Imagines
Ilu (Lo'ak)
Chief's Daughter (Neteyam)
Spirit Tree (Tsireya)
Metkayina Way (Ronal)
Inkheart
Imagines
Dragon's Breath (Dustfinger)
1001 Nights (Farid)
#the hobbit#the chronicles of narnia#twilight#house of the dragon#the mummy#the mummy returns#night at the museum#nightmare before christmas#corpse bride#studio ghibli#spirited away#kiki's delivery service#howl's moving castle#whisper of the heart#from up on poppy hill#castle in the sky#harry potter#fantastic beasts#avatar#avatar the way of water#inkheart
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MASTERLIST
BOWERS GANG | IT (2017)
PAPER MEN
SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she's stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry's most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can't come fast enough.
PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister
WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content (not smut), bullying, physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, love triangles, unrequited love, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build
CHAPTERS: 31/?
UPDATES: Slow (Usually Monthly)
WORD COUNT: 184k
EDDIE MUNSON | STRANGER THINGS
DANCING WITH MYSELF
SUMMARY: Eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, Chrissy Cunningham. Instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend.
PAIRING: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, references to rec drug use, happy ending, lots of 80s music
CHAPTERS: 10/10 *Bonus Content Available*
WORD COUNT: 43,565
#masterlist#fanfiction#bowers gang#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#henry bowers#patrick hockstetter#victor criss#belch huggins#it 2017#paper men#dancing with myself#ambrossart
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the pandava quintet! it's a little similar to percy jackson? but it's hindu mythology instead of greek! and it's so good.. found family!! (the reincarnations of the pandavas) and the sisterly bond!! there's romance too but like the familial bond >>>> it's middle grade but still so fun
you probably might have read this already but and then there were none by agatha christie I love it sm
the seven husbands of evelyn hugo. I love them your honour
a good girl's guide to murder trilogy (ik that these are considered "booktok books" but trust me they're good and they di not deserve to be insulted that way)
the lunar chronicles! (4 books) the first book is cinder which is basically cinderella in beijing who is a cyborg! the whole series is based on these 4 girls who are like the fairy tale characters but so so good in like a sci fi ish setting?
a series of unfortunate events (13 books) the Netflix tv show is amazing, neil patrick carris as count olaf was the best decision ever
miss peregrines home for peculiar children
the land of stories (again middle grade but it's good)
the inheritance games (there's a love triangle unfortunately but the mystery is good)
lockwood and co (netflix cancelled the show after 1 season I'm so angry) actually even I've only read the first book but I will be continuing the series!
sorry ik it's a lot and you might have read some of these already😭 but these are some of my favorites! if you want you can check out my goodreads which is linked in my intro post and see my 'want to read' shelf (I would recommend six of crows too but it's popular so I think you must have read it)
OH MY GOD ILY SRSLY, THANK U FOR ALL THE BOOK RECS!!
I'll check it out!!
yess i have heard of it, have the book too but my frnd is borrowing it for the moment but when she's done with it, imma read it
ohh i wanna buy that so badly but my mom will KILL me after reading the title lmao, maybe after a few years i can buy it
i've read them already and god do i love those books, i read the first one in like a day? and i was at my hometown, and i originally brought that book for my frnd, but being the bookworm i am, i read it myself, and the very next day i went and brought the next two cuz i couldnt wait to read the next parts
ohh yess my frnd told me its really good
the series is just 🤌🏼 perfection
ohh i loved the movie! gotta check out the book
ohh
that is in my list<33
ohhhhhh @demigoddess-of-ghosts really loves it too, imma check it out
its ok<33 im really glad u took ur time and wrote this ask srsly, ily<3 (SOC is in my list currently)
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finally finished my evie design :D
in order from left to right we have her outfit for school, one she wears in her free time and one for special occasions!!
i will post some notes about her outfit choices later hehe
ID in alt and under cut!
[ID:
A digital drawing of my OC Evelyn wearing three different outfits.
She is a black teen girl with a slightly bigger than average/chubby build. Her big brown eyes are round and slightly downturned and framed by long lashes. She has thick eyebrows and a hooked nose. Her tight black curls fall slightly below her shoulders. She is standing with her left knee slightly pushed forward and her left hand raised towards her face with her pointer finger resting slightly below her lips. Her expression is content and a little curious.
First outfit:
She is wearing an off-white, pinkish turtleneck with long sleeves layered underneath a bright pink babydoll top with lace details at the top and bottom. Her light blue flare jeans have a pink triangle panel comming halfway up to her calf on each side. The panels are printed in a dark pink flower motif and have a pink bow sitting at the top. On her left thigh there are two patches sewn on; a pink heart on top of a yellow circle. Her shoes are chunky pink and white sneakers. She is wearing a bunch of gold jewellery; multiple rings, one of which is butterfly shaped, a bracelet, a necklce with a heart pendant and heart earrings. Her hair is pulled up with a claw clip (not visible), causing her hair to slightly stick up in the back.
Second outfit:
An oversized cardigan in a peachy pink colour with silver heart shaped buttons. Underneath she is wearing a white tank top with lace at the top as well as a pink and white plaid skirt with more lace details. She is also wearing white thigh highs with pink hearts circleimg the top and pink mary janes. Her hair is styled in a half up, half down hairdo with two buns at the top. She is wearing a white pearl necklace and a silver necklace with yet another heart pendant. For earrings, she is wearing silver heart shaped ones and a few small silver hoops. Both of her buns are covered in silver hair clips, also heart shaped. She is also wearing pink eyeshadow.
Third outfit:
The Fitted Pink Evening Dress by D & D Clothing. It's a light pink, sleeveless gown with a corset top that fits tightly down to the knees where it flares out a little. In the back is a giant bow that trails down to the floor. Additionally she is wearing long gloves that reach up above her elbows and are the same shade as the dress. Her hair is in a low ponytail. She is wearing no jewellery except for dangly earrings with a big pink jewel.
End ID]
taglist: @sharksung @febreze-bottle-without-febreze @teaseat @swanconcerto @beemybella @soup-scope @shawslut @celestecreateschaos @puffin-smoke @xanyiaz
#stella's constellations#stella's super cool ocs#artists on tumblr#digital art#oc artist#waahhh it's kinda scary to post original art and not fanart#oc: evelyn
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Hey what are you thoughts on a rooster/Phoenix/hangman Pearl harbor au with rooster as Rafe Phoenix as Evelyn and hangman as Danny and instead of a love triangle it is a Polyamory relationship
OOOOOH. Pearl Harbor is such a good movie. i'd have to get rid of the death though. The supposed death can stay, but that's it haha. I think the question then becomes were they all together before or was it like, two of them together and then the other two when Bradley goes missing, the whole time there's this element of bradley and jake too, then it becomes all three. OOH it could be they were all childhood friends and grew up together. Bradley and Nat start dating cuz it just makes sense, but they always include Jake in everything, like they hate not including him. Everything goes down and they realize it was never just the two of them, like he was always equally included and they *want* that. Forever. It doesn't work without him. (It would definitely have to be one of those- we all are together or none of us situations.)
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