#Clearwater Library

[longlistshort]

Marti a flor de labios (Marti on the lips) is a portrait of Cuban poet, writer, journalist, philosopher, and activist José Martí by Cuban artist Edel Alvarez Galban (AGalban). The painting was part of the 2023 exhibition El Arte: Echos of Cuba at the Clearwater Library in Florida. Galban emigrated to the United States in 1995, later moving to St. Petersburg, Florida in 2001 where he works in both the medical profession and the arts.

José Martí was born in Havana on January 28th, 1853 and died in 1895 during the Battle of Dos Rios, fighting for Cuba’s independence from Spain. He traveled to Tampa Bay’s Latin Quarter, Ybor City, on several occasions while in exile to give speeches and to raise funds to support his cause.

Parque Amigos de Jose Marti (Friends of Jose Marti Park) in Ybor City features a statue of Martí and a plaque. The land was gifted to the Republic of Cuba in 1956 and was once home to the boarding house of Afro-Cuban activist Paulina Pedroso. She was friends with Martí and he stayed with her during his visits to the area.

[iris-qt]

For You, Only

You find it on an ordinary Tuesday.

A flower — but not one from any Hogwarts greenhouse you recognize. Its petals shimmer faintly under the torchlight, an impossible color somewhere between pearl and starlight, perched neatly atop your Charms textbook like it had simply grown there.

You glance around the common room.

No one looks your way. No snickering pranksters. No dreamy admirers writing sonnets in the corner.

Just…stillness. Homework. Whispered conversations. The crackle of the fire.

You touch the stem carefully. The bloom doesn't wilt under your fingers. If anything, it leans toward you.

There’s no note. No explanation. Just the flower: strange and perfect and left for you.

You glance around again, slower this time. Watching.

The prefect flips a page in his book. A few younger students argue over wizard chess.

No one watching. No one smiling. No one suspicious.

You tuck the flower carefully into your satchel, pretending you aren’t blushing like a fool.

You tell yourself it’s probably some Herbology project gone wrong. A mistake. A coincidence.

But later that night, as you fall asleep with the flower resting in a jar by your bedside, you can’t shake the feeling that someone had meant for you to find it. Someone who was watching.

And somewhere, deep inside Hogwarts’ winding halls, someone is.

And he is smiling.

...

The flower doesn’t wilt.

Days later, it sits proudly on your bedside table still glowing faintly, still leaning ever so slightly toward you whenever you look its way. You've poked it with your wand, whispered spells at it, even tried to press it between the pages of your Charms textbook, but it refuses to die, or even droop.

By Friday, you’ve convinced yourself it must be magical. And whoever gave it to you… well, they knew what they were doing.

You tell yourself you aren’t waiting for something else. You tell yourself you aren’t looking around every corner. (You are. You absolutely are.)

So when you find the book, you nearly trip over your own shoes.

It’s sitting right on your usual library chair: old, leather-bound, the title too faded to read. A piece of parchment sticks out from the top like a crude bookmark.

You glance around wildly. Madam Pince is hunched over the circulation desk, scribbling furiously. A few students mutter in the back, heads together over a shared essay. No one’s looking at you. No one seems to care.

Heart hammering, you slip into the chair and pull the parchment free.

It’s not a love note. It’s not even a full sentence.

Just two words, written in an elegant, slanted hand:

"For you."

You stare at it. Then the book.

Slowly, you crack the cover open. It smells like old paper and wild places, filled with poetry, the kind that sinks into your ribs and stays there.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a ridiculous little squeal. Someone left this. Someone knew.

You immediately whip around in your seat, heart racing. Your eyes catch on Eddie Clearwater from Herbology leaning against a shelf across the library. He’s not looking at you. He’s arguing with someone over a potions chart. But still. He is sort of nice. Sort of...awkward.

You eye him suspiciously. Maybe it’s Eddie.

He did let you borrow his notes once. And he wears shoes that squeak. You did hear squeaking earlier.

You huff a laugh into your sleeve, cheeks burning. It’s definitely Eddie.

You don’t see the real culprit, the boy lingering in the deep shadows between the Divination and Dark Arts sections, arms folded, an unreadable expression on his sharp, beautiful face.

Tom Riddle watches you tuck the book into your bag. He watches you smile to yourself.

And though he feels a sharp, unfamiliar twist of irritation at your spectacularly wrong guess, a part of him, dark and greedy and pleased, already wonders:

What will I leave her next?

...

You make a point to smile at Eddie Clearwater in the corridor the next morning.

It’s not even a romantic smile. More of a polite, thank-you-for-the-poetry-book smile. But Eddie looks so bewildered that he crashes straight into a suit of armor, sending a clattering echo through the hall.

You wince. Maybe not Eddie, then.

Still, you’re sure the gift-leaver is someone sweet and bashful. Someone harmless. Someone ordinary. That certainty lasts exactly twenty-four hours. Because the next night, tucked neatly into your bag between your Arithmancy notes, you find it:

A pendant. No — not just a pendant.

It hums faintly in your hand, cool and heavy, the chain finer than spider silk. In the low candlelight, the stone at its center gleams dark red, almost alive. You don’t need a textbook to know it’s enchanted, powerful, old.

Tied to the chain is a tiny scrap of parchment, the same slanted hand as before:

"To keep you safe."

Your stomach flips.

This isn’t something a clumsy boy from Herbology would have access to. This isn’t even something a professor would hand over casually. You glance around the common room, heart rattling against your ribs. No one’s paying you any attention except, for the briefest second, a pair of dark eyes across the room.

Tom Riddle sits by the fireplace, alone as usual, a book balanced on one knee. His expression, as he flips a page, is unreadable. You tear your gaze away, feeling suddenly foolish.

Tom Riddle doesn’t notice girls. Everyone knows that.

(But you also can’t help remembering how the pendant's stone glinted ... the exact color of his eyes when they catch the firelight.)

You clutch the pendant tighter, heart hammering. The pieces aren’t fitting together, not yet.

But you have a sinking feeling they will. Soon.

...

You hatch the plan over pumpkin juice and poor life choices.

It’s simple. Elegant. Foolproof, really. You’ll pick a spot, somewhere quiet but public enough to not seem suspicious. You’ll leave your books unattended, just so, like bait in a snare. Then you’ll wait, hidden, to catch whoever it is, and you can put this ridiculous mystery to rest.

Easy.

So you choose the far alcove in the library, the one with the broken sconce and the creaky chair. You pile your books just messily enough to seem believable. You arrange yourself behind a nearby shelf, heart thudding like a war drum.

And then... you wait.

Five minutes.

Ten.

You fiddle with the hem of your robes, nerves sparking. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe you should—

A faint sound breaks the silence. Soft footsteps, so quiet you barely catch them.

You press yourself against the bookshelf, breath held tight in your chest. Someone rounds the corner. Not Eddie. Not some shy sixth-year with ink-stained hands.

Tom Riddle.

Tall. Composed. Unreachable, like some terrible and beautiful thing from another world.

He moves toward your abandoned books without hesitation, as if this was always the plan. You peek, just barely, between the shelves.

He glances once over his shoulder (you almost faint on the spot), then slips something between the pages of your topmost book. Something small. Another note?

Your heart skitters. You’re so distracted you almost don’t notice—

For the briefest second, after leaving the gift, he pauses. Looks at the flower, still alive, tucked carefully in your bag. Looks toward where you’re hiding.

His lips curve in the slightest, most devastating smirk.

He knows.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a tiny, horrified squeak. And then, like a dream dissipating, he’s gone. You stumble out from behind the shelves, heart a frantic, tangled mess. The flower glows softly. The poetry book hums faintly in your bag. And tucked between your Charms notes, on fresh parchment, another line of that beautiful, slanted handwriting:

"You're cleverer than the rest. I hoped you would be."

You press the note against your chest, dizzy. This isn’t some bumbling, blushing schoolboy. This is Tom Riddle.

And he's been watching you.

...

A/N: what a man

...

[perciverthoughts]

Collarbones- Perciver

Oliver has a problem. 

It’s not necessarily a big problem, like that time he’d agreed to help nana with her christmas cooking and nearly burned down the kitchen, or that time da had introduced him to his new girlfriend and he’d puked on her shoes. But it’s still a problem. 

The thing is, Oliver is a simple man. He likes straightforward classes, like potions and defense, and he likes quidditch because it’s a simple game that requires complex thinking. Most of all, he likes Percy Weasley- but Percy Weasley is not a simple man, and Oliver spends an inordinate amount of time trying to figure him out. 

It’s a long term project, but Oliver is not opposed to hard work, and Percy is worth it, always has been. That’s not the problem, not at all. 

The problem is that somewhere along the line being friends with Percy turned into falling hopelessly, madly in love with Percy, and now Oliver can’t even study in the library with him without daydreaming about biting his collarbones.

Fuck. The collarbones are just there, okay? They’re exposed by the scoop neck of his Weasley sweater the way they never are when he wears his robes and his school shirt, and it turns out Oliver’s weakness- besides just Percy in general- is apparently an extra inch of creamy white skin sprinkled with freckles, and the small hollow where Percy’s shoulder meets his neck.

He wants to lick it. He wants to bite it. He wants to snog Percy Weasley absolutely senseless and figure out what will make him gasp and squirm and agree to be his boyfriend. 

Unfortunately, Percy has never once given even the slightest inclination that he might be on board with such ideas, and so Oliver is not about to say any of that out loud, ever, not even if Penelope Clearwater makes good on her threat to lock them in a broom cupboard so they’ll ‘finally stop dancing around each other and admit they’re arse-over-tits for each other’(her words, not his). Penelope is kind of weird, but Oliver likes her anyway. For one, she’s Percy’s best friend, and for another the fact she thinks it’s even possible Percy might like him back is extremely flattering, even if it couldn’t possibly be true.

“-ie? Ollie?” 

He blinks and Percy is looking at him, brow wrinkled in concern, his blue eyes as sharply intelligent as ever, even though the bags under his eyes seem etched into his skin. Percy’s insomnia has been one of Oliver’s main worries since first years, and now that Percy’s got the prefect position it’s only gotten worse.

“You okay?” Percy’s voice is deeper than one would expect, and slightly gravelly because of all the cigarettes he smokes. Sometimes, he’ll read out loud before they put the lights out in the dorm, and it’s Oliver’s favourite sound in the world, “You seem distracted. Well- more distracted than usual.”

He grins, propping an elbow on the desk beside his arithmancy books, and the movement makes the divot of his collarbone even more pronounced. Oliver curses whatever deity or creature Penelope must have convinced to torment him, and tries not to whimper.

“Me? Distracted? Never.”

He tries to meet teasing with teasing but it sounds too breathless to be truly convincing. Luckily, Percy doesn’t press, just shrugs elegantly and turns back to his books.

“Alright.”

Oliver goes back to staring at him over his copy of Numerology and Grammatica Level Five. 

Deep red curls glow under the warm light from the lanterns, framing high cheekbones and brushing over Percy’s perfectly round ears. A delicate nose balances out a strong jaw, and plush, slightly chapped pink lips part to show a flash of pink tongue caught between Percy’s teeth. 

Oliver wishes said tongue was caught between his teeth. 

Fuck.

He should go back to reading. The assignment is due in three days, and reading takes him longer than it should, all things considered. Instead, he goes back to looking at Percy’s collarbones rather than his face. It seems safer. Marginally. 

The collarbones are still exquisite. Oliver still very much wants to bite them. It’s still a problem.

“Do I have something on my shirt?”

“W-what?” Oliver jumps, caught, and tries very hard not to look guilty, “No. Why?”

“You’re staring at it rather intently,” Percy tugs at his collar, pulling his sweater out to examine it, showing off even more skin and causing Oliver’s brain to melt, which is why he says what he says next.

“I’m not staring at your sweater, I'm staring at your collarbones.”

In the time it takes him to realize what he said and slap a horrified hand over his mouth so he can’t say anything even more life ruining, Percy turns about twelve different shades of red, his mouth dropping open.

“You-I-my-what?”

“Nothing!” Oliver jumps up, fully intending to go throw himself into the lake and let the giant squid eat him, “I’m staring at nothing! Sorry I-”

“Oliver Benjamin Wood,” Percy says, and it’s his prefect voice, the one that makes Oliver shiver in a multitude of ways, but that also leaves no room for argument, ever, “sit down and tell me why you’re looking at my collarbones.”

Oliver drops back into his seat, shaking his head mutinously. 

Percy takes a step towards him, face still glowing like the sunrise. Oliver cringes and contemplates attempting apparition even though he’s never tried before and it also doesn’t work in Hogwarts.

Then, Percy does something absolutely, entirely, completely evil. He takes another step closer and leans it, breath ghosting over Oliver’s face, and whispers, “please?”

Oliver caves.

“BecauseIwanttobitethem.” 

Oliver didn’t think it was possible for Percy to go any redder, but somehow he manages it. Distantly, he wonders if he should be worried about Percy’s health.

“You…want to bite my collarbones?”

Oliver can only nod helplessly, still reeling from the feeling of Percy’s breath on his cheek, and those blue, blue eyes boring into his soul.

“Right,” Percy exhales a deep breath, and nods, his face rapidly retuning to normal except for a slight pink tinge over his cheekbones, “okay. Let’s go.”

He holds out a hand. Oliver stares.

“What?”

“Let’s go.” Percy huffs, but he’s grinning, eyes twinkling mysteriously in a way that has haunted Oliver’s fantasies for years.

“Go where?”

Is Percy going to murder him in the forbidden forest? Turn him into McGonagall for being a creeper? Sick Penelope on him?

“Back to the dorm," Percy says, like it's obvious, "so you can bite my collarbones and I can lick that freckle on your neck.”

“What?” It’s Oliver’s turn to choke. He can picture the scene, the two of them intertwined on his bed, Percy’s curls tickling his nose as his mouth drags over- nope. Can’t think of that in public, can’t think of that in public. “You- you want to lick my neck?”

“Have for ages.” Percy sighs and that- that does it.

Oliver jumps from his seat and seizes Percy’s hand, tugging them towards the door. 

“Yep, alright, let's go, let’s go right now.”

Percy laughs and trips after him, casting a summoning charm over his shoulder so their books pack themselves up and follow them back to Gryffindor tower. Not that it really matters. They aren’t going to do much studying for the rest of the day, at least not if Oliver has anything to say about it. He’s got far more important things to do.

[allthornsnopetals]

Fire on Fire E.Bridgerton

With this much desire, together we're winners They say were out of control, and some say we're sinners But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms

A/n: This was requested from an anon, long ago. Sorry for the wait.

Warning: Lady Violet x OC mother of reader (their gay, for each other), not proof-read

This is wrong, all of this is wrong!

Y/n's thoughts roar, her eyes glued to the ceiling, bare in the sheets of the woman she loves most: Eloise Bridgerton. Another day, another night. Her heart ached for her, her air being her, whom she should not have.

This is wrong!

Eloise had her heart long before she even knew it, before her first kiss with a noblemen's son, out of curiosity. It were as if, it were made for her, made for a woman and not a man. Y/n stiffs a sob, clasping a hand over her lips, as to not wake Eloise. This was wrong and she knew it. If she were to live like this, she would bring great shame to her family. But if she did not, her heart would be in great pain.

But she had made up her mind. She would wed and bring great pride to her dynasty.

"I am so sorry, Ellie." Said Y/n, trailing from her sheets, dressing herself and departing without a final goodbye or kiss to her beloved's head.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Mama, did Y/n decide to have breakfast with her own family, this morning?" Eloise asks, entering the drawing room.

Violet draws her attention to her daughter, thinking and forgetting her tea. "No, my dear. She had left during the night. She seemed rather upset... Eloise, did you do something to upset miss Y/n?" Her eyes hardens with her lips drawn into a thin line, interrogating her daughter.

Eloise huffs exasperatedly, slumping on the couch opposite her. "No, mama, I have done nothing to upset her." She says, opening her book and beginning the first page with her mind occupied with her love, hoping she had not done anything to upset her.

Her mother, cocks a brow, skeptical like always, but letting her curiosity lay to rest. "It is to be calling hour in just a few moments, eat and do try. I want you to try." Violet ignores Eloise's groan of annoyance, returning to her tea and breakfast.

"If Y/n can stand calling hour, than so can you."

I already have someone to call on to, and it is not a Lord or noble.

Eloise thinks, allowing herself to smile, missing the scent of her better half. Once calling hour is over, she is to pay her a visit and perhaps visit the library and enjoy a picnic in the park. Her love is never bored of food or books, she is rather the eater and could never stop herself from indulging in what she fancies. Eloise had learned the hard way, many times.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Miss Eloise, what brings you here at such a time?" Said Maria, Y/n's mother: Lady Clearwater.

Usually a footman answers the door or even Y/n, but something important must be taking place for the lady of the house to be answering her own door. Eloise tilts her head, her brows drawn in confusion. "Lady Clearwater, I am here to spend my afternoon with Miss Y/n. Is she in?" She asks, trying to peek through the rather small opening.

Maria cages the door to her body, closing any opportunity for her to peek. "I am afraid to inform you that, Y/n cannot join you at the moment. She is sitting with a Suitor, something that you are unfamiliar with." Her tone was bitter and sour, like always. But it was always sweet for her daughter, and not for Elosie, someone she loathes.

Eloise knew it but she did not care much, after all her daughter loves her and she loves her daughter. "But calling hour is but over, Lady Clearwater." Said Eloise, sounding confused and lost.

Why, would Y/n be sitting with Suitors. She never sits with them, never.

"Well, she had many calls today. Y/n is simply unable to join you, perhaps your plump friend, Miss Penelope can accompany you today. And not my daughter, whom I have informed you to stay clear from, many times before. Now, never darken my door step with your stubborn presence again." She slams the door in her face, leaving Eloise stunned and confused. Had she done something to upset her beloved, Y/n?

No, matter. She will unmask the true intentions, regardless of the events in front and ahead. She will make things right.

Or, so she thought.

Eloise has sent letter, after letter. In each letter, she wrote of apologies, love and the longing her heart yearns for with the absence of her Y/n. At this point she is breaking, missing the girl who smelt of raspberries and limes. Who saturated her days and nights. Her dreams, stained with her face, with her love.

What did I do wrong? Did I finally say something, I should have kept to myself?

Does she not love me?

Eloise wept into her hands, hunched over her desk, staining her gloves with tears.

"Eloise are you read-." Violet pauses at the door, gasping and gliding to her daughter's side. "My darling, girl, what is the matter?" She embraces her, guiding her out of her chair and to her bed.

Eloise shook her head, seeking comfort in her mother's chest. "It seems I have upset Y/n. She hasn't spoken to me since late last week." She hiccups, rendering her voice weak and frail. "I went to visit her during and after calling hour, but her mama, a terrible woman, refuses to let me see her." Violet's nose screws up at the thought of Y/n's mother, who was in fact a nasty woman and close friends with Lady Cowper—both nasty and cruel.

She rubs comforting circles on her back, trying to sooth her. "I miss her, mama. I want her near, not far. I want her as one needs air... I want her back." Eloise sniffles, suffocating in her mother's bosom.

"She will come back to you and do not worry about her horrid mother, I will settle her dismay." Violet reassures her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/n danced with yet another Suitor, feeling rather sick of this and the stench of his man stink. He smelt unpleasant and musky, something she was not used to. She was used to the scent of lavender and tulips, which reminded her of Eloise, who watched on the side lines, itching for an opportunity to speak with her. Y/n noticed, so she dragged out the dance, making a show of false intentions, waiting for someone to steal Eloise away or waddle off in search of Penelope.

She did not want to see or speak to her. She wanted her to be less stubborn, leave her be and see what she is clearly doing.

"Lady Clearwater." Said Violet, watching Y/n dance while her daughter stood watching, clearly yearning for a moment with her. "Oh, Lady Bridgertion, how are you on this fine evening?" She returns her greetings with a ruse of a smile, offering her a slight bow.

"Good, but it seems my Eloise is having a rather poor time at the moment." She watches Lady Clearwater and her smirk, clearly caring very little. "Well, that is to be expected without a Suitor or company. Is she to be called on soon or-."

"Don't disrespect my daughter. You and your nasty comments can be kept to yourself and your nasty crony friends. You have no right to speak about my daughter behind her back or make her feel less then. She has every right to see her friend, for they have been glued to the hip before Edmund's passing." Violet takes a breather, pointing her finger in her face, making sure her voice is low enough for only them to hear.

"Your daughter has saved my Eloise. Saved her from herself, from her anger, from her distaste for society and especially her bad luck with her debut. And as for your daughter, you do not deserve her. You don't deserve her kindness or her intellect. She is my girl's sun and she is her moon. They will not part, simply because you do not-."

Maria grabs Violet, dragging her to an empty room, making sure they were not spotted or followed. She pushes her in, shutting the door behind her. "How dare you, pull me along without my con-."

"Be quiet, Violet!" Said Maria, hushing the other woman.

Maria breathes through her nose, calming herself. "Your daughter and my daughter are... They are..." She stutters, finding it difficult to manage the right words.

"They are what?" Violet says, clearly impatient, growing tired of her used to be a friend's antics.

"They are going through what we went through." Violet's brows knit together, trying to understand what Maria is implying. Maria huffs in annoyance, irritated by her slow brain. "Our daughters are seeing each other behind our backs, as we did before our husbands." Maria finally explains, waiting for Violet to finally understand.

Violet's mouth falls open with her eyes blown in understanding and shock. "They are romantically involved with each other?" Said Violet, pacing the room, consumed in thought and worry.

Maria taps her foot, impatient and irradiated. "You did not see it?" Maria cocks a brow, still so arrogant and short-tempered as she was when she were but a young lady without title. Violet glares at her, stocking towards her with hell in her eyes. "You did not inform me!" She points her finger accusingly to her.

Maria scoffs. "You did not speak to me after my marriage to Lord Clearwater. Please enlighten me with an explanation of how I was to inform you."

Violet deflates, recalling her past and her decision to ignore and vow to never speak to Maria again. "Right." Said Violet, backing away and fiddling with her fingers, embarrassed and feeling rather foolish.

"They gaze, only at each other... As if it were only them. My Y/n, seeks your Eloise, as if she were the moon and the stars." Maria chuckles faintly, staring at her feet with a small smile. "I am beginning to think, that queer traits are genetics." The ladies make eye-contact, acknowledging the other for the first time in many years.

Silence fell, like sheets cascading over a mattress. They both wet their lips, a shared trait of awkwardness and loss of words. It was as it should be for the ladies of separate dynasties. One found a love match after the shatter of her lover's heart, while the other found a political match, that had its romance in its own way.

They were both aware of the cracks, scars and bruises their love had left. The rumors, the dent their families received and the long lasting yearning for the company- the love, that only they found with each other.

"It was, rather painful, Mia. Having you marry another, while I watched... It left a mark, that not even Edmund could wipe away." Violet muttered, her lip beginning to quiver. "I had wished it were a bad dream or a mistake when I heard you were with child. I wanted to believe that you'll come back. Come back to me and tell me it were all but a cruel joke, a prank, perhaps a misunderstanding." Violet croaked, straying her gaze to the floor.

Maria cups her cheeks, wiping away her tears with the pads of her thumbs, shushing her. "I am truly sorry for the hell I dragged you through, but Vi you knew the cost, th-"

Violet silenced her with a kiss, dragging her close by the waist, wanting her to shut up and fill the void Maria had left. Maria pulls back enough for air. "Vi, what on earth are-." Violet backs them both into the wall, finding her lips again, and only parting to speak.

"We can't do this to our girls. What we had, left a wound on my heart. I don't have the strength to put my daughter through the exact pain I went through, and I am sure you can't do such a thing to your darling daughter, can you Mia?" Violet pants, gazing at her lips, silently begging her to reconsider her thoughts.

At the sight of her old love, her heart wallowed. How could she have let her slip through her fingers? How could her heart move so quickly and swiftly? Has it always been for her? She shook her head, pecking Violet on the lips, testing the waters, and feeling the sparks she had assumed belonged to another, calling for a show of fireworks and dazzling colors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Maria took her daughter's arm, dragging her to the nearest exit. "Rest, stroll, take this time to breathe and enjoy the cool of the evening." She lures, ushering her to walk the gardens. "But mama, I am to fill my dance card, sir phi-."

Maria raised her head, hushing Y/n as she spots Violet prompting her daughter to do the same. "Nonsense, this night has been quite filling. Now go, enjoy some peace alone." She grinned, swatting at her to leave.

Y/n allowed her shoulders to relax, weakening her posture with a thankful smile. "Thank you mama, I will return before the night is to end." She props a kiss to her cheek before waddling off.

She strolls mindlessly, before coming to a stop at the lake side, observing it and its endless solitude. Her mind has been in shambles and glass, since her departure from the Bridgerton house. She missed her lady of lavender and tulips. She misses the way her skin felt against her own, the sound of her laugh, and the intricate works of her mind. She wanted her girl back. She wanted to be near her, that is, if it so weren't wrong.

She needed to clear her mind. Needed her heart to stop pulling, stop squeezing the life from her being when Eloise polluted her mind. She wanted everything to stop, to pause and give her peace.

Y/n coughed, using the pebble path as a place of rest, sitting and cradling her legs to her chest. She released a tired sob with her head deep in her knees.

Go, away Eloise! Leave my mind and let me rest!

But Eloise did not want to. Her steps quicken at the sight of Y/n, running to her, wanting to be near her. "Y/n, what is the matter?" She slid beside her, and without thought, pulled her into her arms.

Once she realized who it was, Y/n was pulling away, shoving Eloise away. "You are what is the matter. You cannot leave me be!" Said Y/n scooting away, and finding her feet.

Hurt crossed Eloise's face, feeling as if she was stabbed or shot by the one she loves. "I do not know of what you speak? Am I the matter? I do not understand... Have I done something to offend you, or hurt you?" Her usual confidence and stature has gone, stripped from her within just a moment.

At the sight of light losing its life in her sapphire eyes, Y/n's heart winched, with her throat running dry. She wanted to avoid this. Avoid the pain of ripping off the band aid, the prick of thread and needle, stitching a wound or the pour of alcohol on an open gash. It felt like lava, washing over her, like rain, drenching her and even drowning her. It gave something in her, something rather sore, perhaps raw.

"Do not speak to me Eloise. You are the problem." Y/n swallows dryly, walking backwards. "If we are seen here alone, we are to be dragged through the mud, the dirt, the very gutters of lower London!" She inhaled harshly, glaring pained daggers at the woman she loves, and pausing in her steps.

"They speak and you ignore their whispers... Their nasty comments. Do you know of the tons thoughts. How they believe us as sinners. Women bedding the devil!" She exclaims, fiddling with her gloves.

Eloise rolls her eyes, amusing herself with an empty laugh. "I do not care for what the ton has to say. These men and women are just-."

"But I do! I care!" She drives forward, pointing her finger at Eloise. "But you do not! You skip around with your skirts above your ankles, living a life of sparkles and ponies." She spat, shoving her finger into Eloise's chest, accusingly. "You care very little about others, and that is what the problem is." She scoffed, backing away, shocked and irritated.

"I care very little? You left my letters unread and unanswered. You left me alone, hurt and you hurt me more, now! You stabbed me! Marked me!" Said Eloise, grabbing hold of Y/n's hand and holding it against her chest.

"You branded my heart. You, Y/n Clearwater strangle my heart and make it bleed. You feed it blood cells and provide it with chambers to feed the body. You have something, that I cannot afford to give away, simply because of silly gossip. And I will not let you walk away with it." She pleaded with her, begged her with nothing but desperation in her words and eyes.

"Do not let me bleed."

But Y/n was not her mother. She will not be so easily swayed, not like this. "Lord Philips has asked for my hand and I have accepted." Said Y/n, drawing back her hand, walking back to the ball.

"But do you love him!" Eloise yells, following Y/n and yanking her back. Y/n frees herself with Eloise quickly snatching her by her forearms, forcing her in place.

"Do you love him. Say it and I'll leave you alone."

"And what if I said, I did not? What would you do then? Cage me? Keep me hostage?"

Eloise, now grinned. "Perhaps I should cage you, like a song bird. Keeping you from society, forcing you to stay with me." She jokes, drawing her closer until her arms were encased around her shoulders, trapping her in, keeping her from running away, basically hugging her. Y/n laughs, finding her lips curling into a smile of her own.

Eloise always had a way to make her laugh or feel anything but anger or sadness in heated situations like this. They could argue for five to ten minutes until Eloise said something witty, clever or comical. Eloise would never end an argument with tears or brewing anger. She is too hopelessly in love for that to happen.

"I do not sing." She perched herself on Eloise's shoulder, gazing at her with an easier tone and lacy smile. She laughed, cupping Y/n's cheek, rolling her thumb over the smooth skin. "Perhaps not very well. But that can be fixed with the candles turned down and an empty house." Eloise winks suggestively, rewarding her with a pinch to the side. "Dirty Bridgerton." Y/n pokes, soothing the spot with the pad of thumb.

The pair relish in the solace of the arms of their lovers, relieved to have the other back in their respective positions. "My love, don't let the whispers of the ton ruin us. They know nothing, of our love. Nothing about what it means to yearn for someone, quite like we do." Eloise pressed her forehead against hers, content on keeping her near.

She drew her voice to a whisper. "Do you love me, miss Clearwater?" She finally asked, waiting with steeled breath.

"Yes, stubborn Bridgerton, I do love you. How can I not when you make me a fool for thinking to wed another."

[angelickks]

sam winchester's playlist

synopsis. a playlist curated by the quiet thinker, the scholar, the man who bears the burden of the world on his shoulders - finds solace in soft melodies and a few chosen words. songs that play when sam’s alone in the library, when he’s on the road with his brother, when he’s quietly grieving something too painful to speak.

#NAV.ᐟ supernatural mlist

I. “fortunate son” – creedence clearwater revival Sam listens to this when he’s feeling the weight of the family legacy. It’s a reminder that he didn’t ask for this life, but here he is. Sometimes the fight feels like it was chosen for him.

II. “bad moon rising” – creedence clearwater revival a warning. sam plays it on the road when things are about to get messy, when he knows the calm is only temporary. it always feels like the storm’s just around the corner.

III. “the sound of silence” – simon & garfunkel plays in the quiet moments when sam’s alone. no noise. no distractions. just him and the silence. sometimes, it’s the only thing that keeps him from breaking down.

IV. “the night we met” – lord huron a soft, bittersweet song that makes sam think about the what-ifs—the moments before everything went sideways. He listens to it when the weight of the past feels just too heavy.

V. “home” – michael bublé played when sam’s far from home, thinking about what it might feel like to have a normal life again. it’s a reminder that despite everything, he’s still looking for that place where he belongs.

VI. “brothers in arms” – dire straits a track that speaks to the bond he shares with his siblings. no matter what happens, Sam’s always there, and this song encapsulates the unspoken understanding they have, even when they don’t agree.

VII. “slow dancing in a burning room” – john mayer sam listens to this when he’s reflecting on the delicate nature of love, relationships, and the slow destruction of everything he holds dear. a reminder that some things just can’t be saved.

VIII. “all I want” – kodaline a song that reflects Sam’s desire for something more—something simple. The constant fight wears him down, and every now and then, he wonders if he’ll ever find peace.

IX. “don’t let me down” – the chainsmokers feat. daya Sam plays this one when he's having a laugh. It's lighter, more fun. He knows it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure, but hey, who doesn’t need something to break the tension now and then?

X. “wait it out” – imogen heap Sam plays this when the answers aren’t coming, and he’s just... waiting. Waiting for the right moment, for a break in the storm, or for something to change. Patience isn’t easy for him, but he’s learned.

XI. “your best american girl” – mitski Max added this one to his playlist, and he doesn’t question it. It’s a song about trying to fit into a mold you weren’t meant for. Sam finds himself relating to it more than he wants to admit.

XII. “i will follow you into the dark” – death cab for cutie Sam would follow Dean anywhere. And when things go south, he reminds himself that it’s the right choice. This is about family, the promise that no matter where they go, they’ll stay together.

XIII. “be still” – the kills played when Sam’s trying to clear his mind after a particularly bad hunt, or when everything’s just too much. Sometimes, he needs the reminder to stop and breathe before everything breaks.

XIV. “a thousand years” – christina perri When Sam’s feeling the weight of his own heartache, this one plays. It’s a quiet song that speaks to long waits, impossible love, and the aching sense of loss he feels all too often.

XV. “carry on” – fun. Sam hums this when he’s trying to pick himself back up after a particularly bad hunt or the aftermath of a loss. It’s his anthem for survival, even when he’s feeling like he can’t go on anymore.

XVI. “clocks” – coldplay This one gets played when Sam’s working through research, trying to find the next clue. Time is always against him, and this song reflects that pressure.

XVII. “let her go” – passenger Sam can’t help but play this after a difficult goodbye. He’s learned that sometimes, letting go is the only option. This song serves as a reminder that not every love can be saved.

XVIII. “go your own way” – fleetwood mac Sam puts this on when he’s contemplating his own future. He’s always in Dean’s shadow, but sometimes, he wonders if it’s time for him to break away and follow his own path.

XIX. “blue ain’t your color” – keith urban A bit of lightness for when Sam needs it most. It’s a small distraction when he’s feeling the weight of everything—something to remind him to smile, even if just for a minute.

XX. “the river” – bruce springsteen Played during his darker moments. It’s a reflection on everything Sam’s given up in the name of family, the sacrifices made, and the idea that there’s a price to pay for every decision.

bonus track!

XXI. “Father Figure” – George Michael The song comes on out of nowhere—soft, sultry, and unexpectedly emotional. Max immediately raises an eyebrow and grins. “Okay, Sam. This is an interesting choice.”

Sam’s face goes a little pink, but he brushes it off, trying to look cool. “It’s not like that, okay? Just... it came on. I didn’t choose it.”

Max’s smirk widens. “Sure, Sammy. Sure.”

Dean, sensing an opportunity for trouble, leans back in his seat and looks over at Cas. “You know, Cas, this song's got layers. It’s all about... emotional dependence. And someone needing someone to lean on. Which, I mean—Sammy’s basically everyone’s father figure, right?”

Sam shoots him a glare. “I’m not a father figure!” Dean just smirks. “Yeah, sure, pal. Totally not. Got any weird kinks to air out or something?"

Cas, taking Dean's words literally as usual, furrows his brow. “So Sam is the... protector? The... father to everyone?” Dean and Max both start laughing at Cas's innocence. Max, with a devilish grin, adds, “Yeah, Cas. Sam’s the father figure for us all. You know, guiding us, protecting us, showing us the way." She winks at Sam. "In the most awkward possible way.”

Sam is not amused. "I'm not anyone's 'father figure,' alright?" He leans forward and grabs the radio dial. Dean and Max start singing the chorus at the top of their lungs: "I will be your father figure! Put your tiny hand in mine!"

Cas looks at Sam curiously, not understanding the full context, but still intrigued. "I don't... understand. What does it mean to be a 'father figure' in this context?" Dean shrugs dramatically. "It’s the whole package, Cas—the protector, the guide, the one who has to fix everything." Max chimes in, “And Sam is really good at making things weird in a dad-like way. You should see him with the Impala.”

Sam, now fully embarrassed, shakes his head. “Can we just get through one road trip without making me the butt of every joke?”Dean pats him on the back. “After all these years...thought you'd be used to it Sammy."

Cas nods solemnly. “I too admire you, Sam. In a very... platonic father-figure way.”

Sam looks at him like he's about to implode from embarrassment. “Oh my god, please stop."

[obsessed-squad]

My Perciver Era headcanon

Percy stopped to want to work for the ministry after his second grade.

Their squad is composed of Oliver Wood, Percy Weasley, Penelope Clearwater, Marcus Flint and sometime Cho Chang, Cedric Diggori and Audrey.

Cho is a transfem and Cedric's a transmasc.

Their squad name is the Obsessed Squad

Percy :

Percy's achillian and gender fluid since his 4 grade.

Percy's dream work is to open a muggle/sorcerer book shop named 'with a little bit of magic'.

Percy is on the autistic spectrum and he had many OCD.

Percy and Oliver start to go together in the 5 grade.

He works at the ministry as a spy and has his bookshop next.

Percy cut ties with his family only for protect them.

Favorite color : Violet 💜.

Favorite taste : Salty.

Tea/coffee : flower tea.

Favorite flower : Little daisies

Favorite hobby : Cooking sweet or reading.

Dressed up :

Oliver :

Oliver is gay and demisexual.

His dream work is to be in the Puddlemere team.

Oliver is orderly messy so Percy will be not disturbed.

Oliver has ADHD and needs to fly to not be stressed.

Oliver worked only one year in Puddlemere's reserve.

He'll be one of the most famous players.

He asks Percy to live with him when Percy runs away.

Officially, Percy lives in a mediocre muggle apartment but in reality, he lives in a beautiful house in the Scottish countryside with Oliver.

Favorite color : dark blue 💙 .

Favorite taste : sweet.

Tea or coffee : coffee for the morning, tea before bedtime.

Favorite flower : myosotis

Favorite hobby : fly and drawing.

Dressed up :

Penny :

Penny is Sapphic and into Audrey.

She played one year on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

Oliver said she was scary to be that good.

She can compete in chess with Ron.

She kissed Percy only as a dare, unlucky for them to be caught by Ginny.

Favorite color : Light blue 🩵.

Favorite taste : spicy.

Tea or coffee : chamomile tea.

Favorite flower : buttercups.

Favorite hobby : embroidery and design.

Dressed up :

Marcus :

Marcus is aromantic and openly gay.

He adore sex.

Marcus pretend to be rude but he's an fucking sweetheart.

Quods : "Pure blood boys dont have heart"

He is the friend/rival of Oliver.

He likes to spend time with Percy and Penny at the library .

He loves sweets and candy.

Favorite color : dark green.

Favorite taste : sweet.

Tea or coffee : coffee with honey and milk.

Favorite flower : wine rose.

Favorite hobby : playing guitar and writing music.

Dressed up:

Audrey :

Audrey is Marcus Flint's sister.

She's a grade bellow them like Cho and Cedric.

She is lesbian and romantically interested by Penny. And she's ace.

Favorite color : pastel pink.

Favorite taste : Bitter.

Tea or coffee : dark coffee .

Favorite flower : gladiolus.

Favorite hobby : knitted.

Dressed up:

[swanhurrem]

Imprint: Chapter 8.

Embry Call x FemReader (no use of y/n)

Summary: You were best friends with Embry, Jacob and Quil. And you saw how each one of them walked away from you. What will happen when out of nowhere they try to fix their relationship?

A/N: Im sooo back, don't worry, I will keep updating all my series and I promise I won’t leave any unfinished. Enjoy!

Twilight Masterlist

Imprint Masterlist (this serie)

<Chapter 7 | Chapter 9>

When the Jeep parked in front of your house, you shouted at Chris to leave and let you be alone while you hobbled as quickly as you could to the porch. Upon entering the house, you slammed the door shut behind you and leaned against it while grabbing the hockey stick your father used to play with every weekend. Your mother hated that he left it lying by the entrance and always scolded him for it; right now, you were grateful he hadn’t listened those times.

You tightened your grip on the stick and began to crawl around the house with your back against the wall, turning on all the lights as you entered the rooms. Once the ground floor was clear, you did the same on the second floor, and when it was equally empty, you locked your door, placed a chair under the doorknob, and dragged your largest piece of furniture in front of the window, completely covering it. You spent the rest of the night sitting in a corner and managed to rest only when you heard your parents’ voices.

You were on your fifth day when you finally reached your breaking point. You had endured the incessant pain in your arms and head, but your back simply couldn’t bear your weight for another second. Your body was still full of foam when you wrapped yourself in a towel and called Sue Clearwater, asking her to please come to your house with her medical supplies. Sue was a specialized nurse, and many people in the reservation called her when there was a minor accident, as her expertise was in demand. You told her it was urgent because you knew otherwise she wouldn’t come to see you.

The people in the reservation were quite... gossipy. Whatever happened there spread like wildfire and was on everyone’s lips for months, so the breakup between Leah and Sam a few years ago kept everyone on edge for several months. It was a spark that only reignited when the town began to notice that Leah’s very own cousin, Emily, was meeting Sam in the woods almost every day. You remember how your parents talked about it even at the market with people they knew, how everyone told Sue how "sorry" they were.

After that incident, most of the calls to her were for minor injuries, accompanied by awkward questions about her daughter’s state and her niece’s terrible attitude, so she had given up on the idea of helping. She did so at a good time, as just a week later, Emily and Sam's relationship became official.

“I hate men” Umma declared holding her head.

Embry, Quil, Umma and you were in the library preparing an essay for history, when your classmate suddenly spoke.

“What are you talking about?” you asked distractedly.

“About Emily and Sam, silly” Quil replied, taking the blue pen from your hand that you were working with. He wasn’t doing anything important, really; he was just drawing shapes in one of the books.

Embry, who was picking up some books from a shelf, jumped next to you and whispered in your ear “The new gossip in town, aren’t you paying attention?”

You snatched the books from his hands while he smiled from ear to ear; annoying you was his favorite hobby, and any reaction you gave simply fueled him “I only pay attention to things that concern me; what strangers do in their private lives doesn’t interest me”

Embry took a chair from another table and sat next to you. He stared at you for a few seconds when suddenly touched your forehead with his index finger “You’re going to wrinkle” he said, pointing at your furrowed brow.

You swatted his hand away and sat up straighter, crossing your arms in front of you “Can you explain what their relationship has to do with your hatred?” you asked your classmate.

“Because everyone can leave you for someone else” she emphasized, pointing at your friends. “Like Sam, leaving his girlfriend for his girlfriend's COUSIN” the last part was a loud whisper, accompanied by a horrified expression directed at the boys.

“Don’t look at me; if the girl is hot, it’s reason enough” Quil commented, still focused on whatever he was writing.

“You're disgusting” you and Umma said at the same time, both throwing erasers at him. You could hear the other people in the library asking for silence over the laughter of your friends at your table.

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. You turned your neck so quickly it cracked, and you swiftly grabbed the hockey stick that was on the toilet, still carrying it with you. A stupid move considering that if someone were going to attack you, they wouldn't knock on the door.

"Who is it?" you asked.

"Sue, darling. Can I come in?" Her voice made you feel at ease, and after putting the stick back in its place, you let her in.

When Sue entered, she scolded you for not having called her earlier, for being so underdressed in the bathroom with the skylight open, and for leaving the front door key in a flowerpot on the porch. Then she handed you a robe she had taken from your closet and guided you to your bed.

"Alright, what's my diagnosis?" you asked with humor in your voice, receiving a disapproving look in return.

"You're fine, darling. You were very lucky not to have broken any ribs or suffered a lumbar pinching with everything you've been doing since the day of the hit until today" she said while jotting something down on a paper you couldn't see. "But you pushed your body beyond its limits, and that's why you're in so much pain. So from now on, you'll be in bed for several days, and if you want, I can come help you on the days your parents can't be here" She finished speaking and placed the paper on your nightstand, her hand lingering there for a few seconds until she spoke again, this time more quietly than before "You can always... call Embry, I'm sure he—"

You interrupted her with clear disdain in your voice "I'm sorry for interrupting you, Sue, but you should know that I’ll be fine. I have someone to call anyway"

Days had gone by without thinking about Embry, and this wasn’t exactly the best time to bring him to mind. Ever since you saw him that day at the beach, you hadn’t been able to shake the immense guilt you felt over your feelings for him, considering your stable but deceitful relationship with Chris.

Sue let out a sigh as she stroked your arm "Alright... I’ll leave you the things to keep in mind on the paper, and I’ll talk to your mother later" She got up and grabbed her bag, giving you a smile. You returned it until it slowly faded, overshadowed by the one thought that filled your mind.

__

Taglist:

@ ravenclaw-hoe  

@ b-tchymoon

@ rosebud1510

@notperfect-justme

@kenqki

@felinegrate

@bimbotinkerbell

@bookishbabyyyy

@tinyminxie

@babygirl097

[froghat1745]

Congratulations everyone!

I am now turning my 3am Percy weasley babbles into an actual soild fanfic!

If you'd like to see Percy finally get some friends who love and adore him for who he is, Please go read it on ao3.

It includes a decent chunk of Oliver Wood being our favorite loveable golden hearted himbo jock

Some Neville being a shy little autistic herbologist just trying to enjoy his plant hyperfixation

Some Luna making flower crowns and singing old Gaelic songs in the forest by the black lake

And even a muggleborn Penny Clearwater with her sketch pad and a walkman excited to share her interests with the world.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60803842/chapters/155296075

Percy has always been proud of being the dutiful son his mother had dreamed of, the nicely dressed overachieving library volunteer with the shiny prefect badge, the one to shoulder all the familial responsibility, to mend the fractures in the ever neglected weasley family reputation.

But beautiful shiny things rarely ever stay clean and perfect for long.. and when the cracks begin to form on percy weasley's perfectly crafted persona meant to hide the reality of his family's distressing emotional abuse and never ending pressure, he is led to make a decision to save his career against a web of rumors and cruel comments spread by his own father. And despite pleas from a heartbroken Molly, who insists she'll make it all better for her baby boy, Percy refuses to return to his childhood home built from memories of early morning verbal attacks from his brothers and constant quarrel with his dissapointed father.

Percy has come to terms and made peace with the image he will create for himself if he leaves.

but Percy will soon discover that a fresh start and a new chosen family is often found in the most unexpected of places.

For him, it's the hogwarts green house.

[bloodycyrano]

So.. In most videogames, you have the "journal" where you keep codices, quests, character details.. Etc. So here are some of my personal journal-keeping troupes for various videogame MCs!

Dark urge, BG3-

Memory issues. They want to keep a record of everything while it's still fresh in their head.. As someone who struggles with a lot of short term memory loss, and has blocked out a lot of my childhood due to various traumas, I understand a lot of the fear and panic that comes with not remembering things. Not to mention the severe head trauma Orin caused to Durge, they'd probably continue to have memory problems throughout the rest of their life, even after the whole ordeal with the netherbrain.

The Warden, Dragon age: Origins-

I feel like someone gave the Warden an empty journal before they left with Duncan.. For my personal playthrough, I believe it was Hahren Paivel, elder of clan Sabrae. He was far from a mentor, but he was there when my Warden was born. He watched her learn and grow among her cousins, Merrill and Tamlen. He watched them play, and fight. He watched her rival with her best friend, and he watched her get hurt, and leave. Judged her actions no more than he praised her victories.. She had always been so invested in their stories, and learning about their culture. And while Paivel had never had such a respectful child, willing to listen and learn.. He also had never seen one so stuck in a past that they had barely lived themselves. I feel like Paivel wanted her to focus on making new stories of the dalish, and record her own adventures, rather than simply mourning being away from home.

Rhen, Aveyond 1-

I feel like she always kept a journal, but wanted to record everything even more after she was kidnapped. After all, it all started with her trying to find a way home, rather than anything else. I feel like she wanted to record a diary, in case she died, so that her parents would know what happened. Or perhaps, as an optimist, she wanted to keep it so she could show everyone back at Clearwater when she finally returned home. To tell stories of her adventures.

Hawke, da2-

Firm belief that Hawke didn't keep a journal. Ever. Their bestie Varric wrote his book about the hero of kirkwall, and Hawke wrote sassy commentary in the margins.

The inquisitor, DAI-

I feel like the inquisitor is just a massive fucking nerd at heart, and would definitely go on a lecture style rant every half hour if they weren't so goddamn stressed and tired all the time. I headcannon that my personal inquisitor used to work at the Black emporium, acquiring various old relics and shit for the job because they genuinely just loved learning about things, so they record and catalog everything.

Darc and Kharg, Arc the lad: twilight of the spirits-

Darc doesn't keep a journal, he's too much for that. Always in a rush for the next step, hot blooded and ambitious. Plus, he's traumatized and doesn't want to remember shit.- I feel like if anyone in his group kept a journal, it would probably be Volk- But not just any journal. He would probably use one that his wife or children kept before they had died. One that smells like his family. Maybe he feels like he's carrying on a pass time they enjoyed, and puts aside his desire for revenge for the night just to feel close to his family again before bed.

Kharg on the other hand is such a flamboyant little princess who thinks everything he does is important that I wholeheartedly believe he would keep a journal just because he thinks people are going to care enough to read it in a library one day. Bro is so full of himself that it's actually insane. Fuck you, Kharg.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

The Plan | Sebastian Sallow x OC #64

my dear friends, we are nearing the end, only two chapters to go after this...

Summary: Ominis and Anne arrive to Muldoon Manor; a plan is devised.

Words: ~6,900

Tags: Fluff, Pureblood Politics, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Romance

Timeline: Mid September

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The warm glow of the fire cast dancing shadows on the polished wood paneling of the grand sitting room. The atmosphere was relaxed, the soft clinking of teacups and occasional bursts of laughter filling the space. Sebastian sat beside Evangeline on the plush sofa, his arm draped casually along the back behind her. Though he was at ease, his proximity spoke of quiet protectiveness, a steady reassurance he hadn’t wavered since they’d arrived.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips as he recounted a tale. “Ah, Rowena at fifteen… Those were chaotic times. You see, ancient magic has always run in our family, but its manifestation is unpredictable at best. Nobody had seen it in generations. When it first surfaced in Rowena, no one knew what to do with her."

Cassian’s gaze softened as he looked at Evangeline. “As I’m sure you’ve realized, ancient magic doesn’t come with instructions. Rowena was lucky that our family has a wealth of information in our library—books, scrolls, even journals from ancestors who wielded it. But none of it can replace a proper mentor. Learning to control it is… difficult.”

Benedict chuckled, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. “I was in my seventh year at Durmstrang when it first manifested in Rowena, and I was her reluctant protector by default. And, well, let’s just say the west wing of Durmstrang paid the price for our collective ignorance.”

Percival, seated across from them, grinned as he leaned forward. “I was just a second-year at the time, but I remember it vividly. One minute everything was fine, and the next—” he gestured dramatically, his grin widening—“the whole wing was frozen solid. Icicles hanging from the chandeliers, frost creeping up the walls. It looked like a blizzard had swept through.”

“What happened?” Evangeline asked, leaning forward slightly, her curiosity piqued.

Cassian’s smile turned wistful. “Ancient magic is powerful, yes, but it’s tied so closely to the wielder’s emotions. Rowena’s boyfriend at the time—well, ex-boyfriend, as of that day—had broken up with her. It hit her hard, and she lost control. The entire wing became a frozen wasteland before anyone realized what was happening.”

Benedict nodded, his expression softening. “She didn’t mean to, of course. She was mortified afterward. Kept apologizing to anyone who would listen, even as the headmaster wrapped her in a blanket and ordered the rest of us to evacuate.”

Sebastian smirked, glancing at Evangeline. “Sounds familiar,” he quipped, his tone teasing but affectionate. “You should tell them about the time you confronted Lysander Clearwater. Turned the Great Hall into a bloody thunderstorm."

Evangeline chuckled awkwardly, her cheeks coloring as she sank back against the cushions. "Yes, thank you for the reminder, Sebastian."

Sebastian glanced at her uncles with a grin. "I'd gotten into a fight that day with Evangeline's ex during a game of Quidditch. Evie came bursting into the Great Hall at dinner time and summoned a bolt of lightning from the ceiling while telling him off. Destroyed the entire Ravenclaw table."

Benedict laughed heartily, his shoulders shaking as he reached for his teacup. “Destroyed the entire Ravenclaw table, you say? I knew I liked her.”

Evangeline’s blush intensified as she sunk further into the sofa, but Sebastian grinned, clearly enjoying her uncles’ reactions. “Not even the professors wanted to mess with her after that,” he added, his voice tinged with pride. “Even Sharp gave her a wide berth for a while.”

Cassian chuckled, his deep voice carrying an edge of amusement. “Sounds just like Rowena to me. By her seventh year, she had learned to control her magic well enough to perform feats just as impressive. But she was never one to use her power recklessly. She was full of heart and fiercely protective of those she cared about.”

Benedict hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “Rowena certainly had a way of commanding respect—or fear—when it mattered most. But what we all loved about her was that, underneath all that power, she was just... Rowena. Brave, loyal, full of life.”

Percival smirked, glancing at Evangeline with a teasing glint in his eye. “She was named after Rowena Ravenclaw, you know. That's where Muldoons were sorted, back when our family attended Hogwarts, long before Durmstrang opened. And yet,” he added with a dramatic pause, “there’s not a doubt in my mind she would’ve been sorted into Gryffindor.”

Sebastian let out a bark of laughter, slapping his knee. “That’s exactly where Evangeline ended up!” he said, glancing at her with a grin. “No hesitation. The hat barely touched her head before it shouted Gryffindor.”

Evangeline groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed.”

“Flattered,” Cassian said with a wink. “Absolutely flattered.”

Their shared laughter echoed through the room, a warmth filling the space that was unfamiliar yet comforting. These were the kinds of stories Evangeline had always dreamed of hearing—tales of her mother, her family, and the legacy she’d never known she was a part of.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the easy conversation was interrupted by the sudden flare of emerald flames in the hearth. The fire roared to life, its intensity drawing all eyes to the fireplace as two figures stepped through.

Ominis and Anne.

Their wands were drawn, their expressions tense and wary. Ominis’s movements were precise, his wand trained on the room as he positioned himself protectively in front of Anne. Her eyes darted around the space, scanning for danger, her wand trembling slightly in her grip.

Ominis’s voice was sharp and steady, cutting through the silence. “Evangeline, Sebastian—are you alright?”

Evangeline quickly rose from the sofa, her hands raised in a calming gesture. “We’re fine! Ominis, Anne, it’s alright. We're safe here.”

Sebastian was already on his feet as well, his protective instincts kicking in as he stepped forward. “Put your wands down,” he said firmly, though his voice carried a note of reassurance. “No one’s in danger.”

Anne’s voice wavered, her wand lowering slightly but not fully at ease. “You’re… you’re okay?”

Ominis, however, remained on edge, his wand steady and his posture rigid. "We... thought you'd been forced to write the letter to lure us here. You really expect us to believe that this isn’t a trap?”

Evangeline took a cautious step forward, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “It’s not a trap, I swear. The letter was real, but we’re not in any danger—not from them.” She gestured to the Muldoons, who remained seated, watching the scene unfold with quiet patience.

Sebastian moved to his sister's side. “Look around,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Does this look like the kind of place where we’re being held hostage?”

Anne hesitated, her gaze drifting from the Muldoons calm expressions to the steaming teapot on the table and the untouched plate of biscuits beside it. The room was warm and inviting, the crackling of the fire doing its best to soften her panic. Slowly, she lowered her wand, though her grip remained tight. “I… I don’t understand."

Ominis’s wand remained raised, his head tilting slightly as he listened to every shift and rustle in the room. “How do we know you’re not under some kind of enchantment?” he pressed, his voice sharp.

Cassian, who had been quietly observing from his chair, finally spoke, his tone measured. “I assure you, Mr. Gaunt, no one here is under any enchantment. You’re both welcome to verify it for yourselves if it puts your minds at ease.”

“And if there’s anything else we can do to prove we mean no harm," Benedict added softly, his expression kind but serious. “Just ask.”

Ominis flicked his wand with practiced precision, the faint shimmer of a wordless charm weaving through the air. A subtle pulse emanated outward, brushing over Sebastian and Evangeline before dissipating into the warm glow of the sitting room. His expression remained guarded as he carefully interpreted the results, searching for any signs of enchantments or potions. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“They’re clear,” Ominis murmured in Anne's direction, his wand lowering at last. “No enchantments, no potions.”

Anne sagged slightly beside him, relief softening her features. “Then… why did you ask us to come?” she asked Sebastian, her voice quieter now but still tinged with confusion.

Her brother exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly now that Ominis was no longer poised for battle. He gestured toward a couple empty chairs. “It’s a long story, but we need your help. Please, sit.”

Anne and Ominis exchanged a glance, their unease lingering but less pronounced. Reluctantly, Anne lowered herself into one of the chairs, her fingers still twitching against her wand as if reluctant to let it go completely. Ominis followed suit, his movements deliberate as he settled into the chair beside her.

Cassian leaned forward, pouring fresh cups of tea and sliding them across the low table toward Ominis and Anne. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if trying to convey that there was no rush, no threat to be wary of. “We understand this is a lot to take in,” he began gently. “But I assure you, you’re among friends here.”

Ominis’s jaw tightened as he turned his head slightly toward Evangeline. “Friends?” he repeated, his tone sharp. “You’ll forgive me if I’m struggling to see how that fits with… everything.”

“They’re not behind what’s been happening, Ominis,” Evangeline said softly, taking her seat again beside Sebastian. “And they’ve been helping us figure out who is... and what to do about it.”

Anne frowned, her hands clutching the steaming teacup as if for comfort. “If it's not the Muldoons... then who is it?” she asked quietly, her gaze darting between Evangeline and Sebastian.

Evangeline exhaled, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Ominis, it’s your father,” she said softly.

The room fell into a thick silence, the weight of her words crashing down like a stone into still water. Ominis froze, his head tilting slightly as if trying to process the statement.

“I wish it weren’t,” Evangeline continued gently. “But everything we’ve uncovered points back to him—the letters, the poison, leaking my heritage, creating the rumors in the Prophet.”

Ominis’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair, his knuckles turning white. His face was expressionless, his pale eyes staring blankly ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, strained. “You’re certain?”

Percival leaned forward slightly, his expression calm but firm. “Everything we’ve pieced together confirms it,” he said. “Your father’s actions have been deliberate, calculated to disrupt and control. His motives are clear: he’s trying to manipulate the situation for his own ends, using Evangeline—and you—as pawns.”

Evangeline reached out hesitantly, placing her hand gently over Ominis’s. “This isn’t your fault,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the swirl of emotions in her chest. “None of it is. Whatever he’s done, it doesn’t reflect on you.”

Ominis flinched slightly at her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the revelation. “I should have seen it coming,” he murmured, his tone thick with regret. “I should have known he wouldn’t just let things be.”

“This is on Noctivus, not you.” Sebastian interjected, his voice firm.

“But that's why we asked you both to come," Evangeline explained. "We need to work together to put an end to this.”

Ominis tilted his head toward her, his expression shifting into one of cautious resolve. “What’s the plan, then?”

Cassian leaned forward, his expression calm but intent. “Traditionally, our family has remained absent from British pure-blood circles and politics. Frankly, we’ve always found them too… power-hungry for our taste."

Benedict nodded, adding, “Muldoons have always been scholars, not politicians or socialites. We’re more interested in protecting knowledge than in playing the power games so many pure-blood families engage in.”

"But… but your family sends its children to attend Durmstrang," Anne countered quietly. "And they only accept pure-bloods."

Cassian’s lips quirked slightly at Anne’s observation, his expression thoughtful. “That’s true,” he admitted, “but not for the reasons you might think. Durmstrang’s pure-blood policies were never the draw for our family. Our reasons were academic.”

Benedict leaned back, nodding in agreement. “Durmstrang allows for the study of magic in its raw, unrestricted forms—things other schools might consider too dangerous or controversial to teach."

Anne absorbed their words carefully, her brow furrowing. “So... your family has stayed out of British magical society to avoid its pure-blood politics. But now you’re saying you’re willing to involve yourselves?”

Cassian’s lips curved into a faint smile. “With Evangeline active in the Ministry and already making a name for herself in British magical circles, it’s time we made our presence known. Not only to support her but to defend our shared family name and values.”

Percival’s expression hardened slightly, his voice steady and resolute. "Indeed. And in doing so, we will show that we cannot, and will not, be manipulated. Noctivus Gaunt’s attempts to drag us into his schemes—using our name to further his agenda—cannot go unchallenged. And we have no problem making a very public statement to that effect.”

Ominis’s voice was tight as he finally spoke, his tone laced with guilt. “If it weren’t for me, Noctivus wouldn’t be involved at all. He wouldn’t have had a reason to target Evangeline.”

Evangeline shook her head firmly. “Ominis, he’s the one choosing to manipulate, to control. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

Ominis closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to absorb her words, though his brow remained furrowed. “It’s hard not to feel that way,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Everything he’s done has been to maintain his control over me, and now it’s bleeding into your lives.”

Evangeline tightened her grip on Ominis’s hand briefly, a silent gesture of support. “And that’s why we need to confront him together. Not just to stop him but to make it clear that his games won’t work anymore.”

Ominis lifted his head, tilting it slightly toward her. “How?” he asked, his tone carrying both curiosity and caution.

Percival exchanged a glance with his brothers before speaking. “We believe his obsession with controlling you is the key, Ominis… and if we exploit it carefully, it will force his hand.”

Ominis’s brow furrowed. “You think he’ll make a move if I bait him?”

“Exactly,” Benedict said, his voice calm but resolute. “If you appear to be slipping further from his grasp—asserting your independence, moving forward with your life—he won’t be able to resist intervening.”

Anne’s grip tightened on her teacup, her knuckles whitening. “You’re asking him to provoke his father. That’s dangerous.”

“Not without safeguards,” Percival interjected, his tone steady. “The key is to ensure all of you are protected at every step while creating a scenario where Noctivus exposes himself.”

Ominis, who had been quietly listening, crossed his arms. “But how exactly do we do that? He’s not going to just walk into a trap.”

Cassian’s lips curved into a faint smile. “No, but he’ll walk into an opportunity to reassert his control.”

Evangeline leaned forward, her brow furrowed in thought. “So we give him that opportunity. A setting where he can’t resist trying to assert himself.”

Annalise, who had been quietly listening from her seat by the fire, leaned forward, her sharp hazel eyes glinting with intrigue. “What about a social event?” she asked, her voice thoughtful but carrying an edge of excitement. “Surely there’s something coming up that Noctivus and his wife can’t avoid attending.”

Evangeline glanced at Sebastian, who nodded slightly in agreement, before turning back to Annalise. “That… could work,” he agreed.

“The High Season Ball is coming up,” Ominis said, his voice measured but hesitant. His pale eyes gazed into the distance as if picturing the grandeur of the event. “It’s one of the most significant social events of the year. My parents never miss it.”

Anne, still clutching her teacup, glanced at him nervously. “Everyone important will be there. It’s practically designed for prominent pure-blood families to flaunt their influence.”

Cassian leaned forward, his gaze sharp and calculating. “A perfect setting, then. He won’t be able to resist showing face.”

Evangeline frowned, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair. “But what exactly is the plan once we're there? He’s not just going to walk up to me in the middle of a crowded ballroom.”

“Of course not,” Benedict said, his tone calm. “He’ll send someone. Likely that false representative of our family again. We expose them, and by extension, Noctivus.”

Sebastian leaned back, his arms crossed as he absorbed their words. “You make it sound simple, but Noctivus isn’t stupid. If he suspects a setup, he’ll disappear before we can get close.”

“We’ll need Ominis to misdirect him,” Percival said, his voice steady and confident as he fixed his gaze on Ominis. “Perhaps... you make your father believe that you might be proposing to Miss Sallow. He’ll feel there’s no choice but to intervene.”

The room went still as the weight of Percival’s suggestion sank in. Ominis’s pale eyes widened slightly, his head tilting toward him as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

Benedict leaned forward, his tone reassuring. “Simply... plant the idea in his mind—let him believe that you’re about to formalize your relationship. It would almost certainly provoke him."

“...And what happens when Noctivus takes the bait?” Anne asked quietly, gaze flitting between the Muldoons.

“When his representative approaches Evangeline," Cassian said, gesturing between his family. "We’ll be there to intervene. Force their hand publicly.”

“Publicly,” Ominis repeated, his tone wary. “You mean making a scene at the ball.”

“Yes,” Cassian said simply. "We'll all be in attendance, ready to make a statement nobody can ignore."

Percival leaned forward, his expression serious. “Your father won’t be able to recover from the humiliation. Not with us there to confirm the false representative was acting on his behalf.”

Anne frowned, her gaze fixed on Ominis. “And you’re sure your father will act? That this will be enough to draw him out?”

“...It will,” Ominis said after a long pause, his voice quiet but certain. He straightened slightly, his resolve hardening. “My father has spent my entire life ensuring I toe the line. If he thinks I’m stepping out of his control, he won’t be able to resist.”

“And when Noctivus steps in, we’ll be ready,” Evangeline said firmly.

Annalise hummed. "I've always wanted to attend a British wizarding event," she shot a glance at her father. "Too bad it has to be under such dramatic circumstances."

“At least it’ll be memorable, Annalise," Percival shrugged, exchanging an amused glance with his wife.

Evangeline couldn’t help but chuckle softly, though her thoughts were already racing ahead. She turned to Ominis. “But are you sure about this?” she asked gently. “It’s a lot to ask, especially knowing how he might react. If you’re uncomfortable…”

Ominis exhaled deeply, his pale eyes fixed on nothing as he nodded. “If this is what it takes to end his games and protect everyone, then yes. I’ll do it.”

Anne, still visibly uneasy, reached over and squeezed his hand. “We’ll do it,” she corrected.

Cassian straightened, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Then it’s settled. We’ll work out the finer details over the next few days. It’s going to take precision, but if we play our cards right, this will end with Noctivus exposed and powerless over you four.”

Annalise smirked. “Then I’d say it’s time for a toast!" She reached for her teacup, raising it with a flourish and a sly grin. “To dramatic entrances, scandalous revelations, and bringing down self-righteous schemers. I’d say we have our work cut out for us.”

Percival chuckled, raising his own cup in return. “And to family—new alliances, shared goals, and proving that no one manipulates a Muldoon without consequence.”

Evangeline smiled faintly, reaching for her cup, her fingers brushing against Sebastian’s as he grabbed his own.

The group exchanged looks, the moment imbued with an unexpected yet welcome sense of unity. For all their differences, their backgrounds, and the challenges ahead, they were a team now.

As the conversation and camaraderie faded into a comfortable quiet, Freya, Cassian’s wife, leaned forward in her chair. Her warm smile was accompanied by a glance toward the clock above the mantel. “It’s getting late,” she said gently, her voice tinged with concern. “I know there’s still much to discuss, but it would be better to continue in the morning when we’re all rested.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement, the weight of the evening beginning to settle into his shoulders. Evangeline’s hand rested lightly on his knee, and he could feel her exhaustion as much as his own. Ominis, too, looked pale and drained, and Anne’s fingers had never quite left her teacup, her tension evident even now.

Freya rose gracefully, smoothing her robes as she did so. “You four are not going anywhere tonight,” she announced in a tone that brooked no argument. “Cassian and I have more than enough space here, and it would put my mind at ease knowing you’re all safe under our roof.”

Evangeline's mouth opened and closed. “We wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense,” Freya interjected, waving a dismissive hand. “Our elves will see to it that you’re comfortable. Besides,” she added, her tone softening, “we’re family, aren’t we?”

Evangeline felt a sudden warmth bloom in her chest at the words. The Muldoons might have been a mystery for nearly her entire life, but in this moment, they felt like the family she’d always yearned for.

Freya clapped her hands lightly, summoning two house-elves who appeared with faint pops. “Fetch some pajamas and anything else our guests might need,” she instructed them with practiced ease. “Bring them to the fourth floor guest rooms, please."

The elves bowed deeply before vanishing as swiftly as they’d come. Freya turned to the group, gesturing toward the door. “Come along. I’ll show you to the rooms myself.”

Evangeline rose, her movement mirrored by Sebastian, who lingered close at her side. Ominis and Anne followed suit, their earlier unease replaced with quiet exhaustion. After saying goodnight to the rest of the Muldoons, the four of them they trailed after Freya as she led them up the grand staircase, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets as she led them through the grand halls of the manor.

The fourth floor was quiet and tastefully decorated, the warm hues of the wood and soft candlelight creating an inviting atmosphere. Freya paused outside a pair of large, intricately carved doors.

“These will be your rooms,” she said, opening one door and gesturing for Anne and Ominis to step inside. The room was spacious yet cozy, with a large four-poster bed draped in rich, dark green linens and an elegant sitting area by the window.

Anne glanced around, her eyes widening slightly. “This is… beautiful,” she said softly.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his hand brushing against the doorframe as he stepped inside. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Freya smiled warmly. “Of course. If you need anything, just summon one of the house elves using the bell. They’ll be happy to assist.”

She turned to Evangeline and Sebastian, leading them a few doors down to another room. This one was similarly appointed, though the linens were a deep crimson, the warm color lending the room a different kind of charm. The bed was large, and the sitting area by the hearth looked just as inviting.

“I thought you might prefer this room, seeing as you're a Gryffindor” Freya said with a smile. “I’ll leave you two to settle in. The elves will bring up your things shortly.”

“Thank you, Lady Muldoon,” Evangeline said sincerely, her hazel eyes meeting the woman’s.

Freya’s smile softened. “Please, call me Freya. And don't mention it. You’re family, Evangeline.” She inclined her head slightly before retreating down the hall, leaving them to their rest.

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing on Evangeline. “Well, this is... certainly not what I expected."

Evangeline hummed softly, shaking her head as she moved toward the sitting area, sinking into one of the chairs. “I... can’t believe how much has happened tonight.”

Sebastian crossed the room, his steps deliberate and quiet as he reached her side. He didn’t sit immediately, instead standing over her for a moment. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the concern etched into his features.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “This... I can't imagine how much it is for you to take in.”

Evangeline leaned back in the chair, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stared at the fire for a long moment before meeting his gaze. “It is,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. "I spent most of my life thinking I’d never know anything about my family. And now, in one night, I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible.”

Sebastian crouched down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. His proximity was grounding, his brown eyes steady and unflinching as they searched hers. “And how does that feel?” he asked gently. “Scary? Good? Both?”

Evangeline gave a soft laugh, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Both,” she said honestly. “It’s overwhelming. So much has changed in just the past week. Suddenly I’ve got this family, their support. And…” Her words faltered, but her eyes didn’t leave his. “You.”

Sebastian’s expression softened. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before his hand settled gently against her cheek. “You’ve always had me, Evie,” he murmured, his smile warm and full of quiet pride. “But now you’ve got them, too. And I’m so damn happy for you. They’re finally stepping up to be the kind of family you’ve always deserved.”

His thumb traced a soft line along her cheekbone as he continued, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “And, Merlin, I’m so proud of you. The way you’ve handled all of this—learning about them, piecing everything together, even planning to face Noctivus head-on—you’re handling it better than most people would. Honestly, I’m... I'm amazed at how calm you’ve been.”

Evangeline laughed softly, the sound carrying a mix of exhaustion and amusement. “Calm? I don’t feel calm, Sebastian. I feel like my head is spinning. One moment, I’m finding out that my mother’s family has a library full of ancient magic secrets, and the next, we’re planning to expose Noctivus Gaunt at one of the biggest social events of the year.”

Sebastian shook his head, his smile returning, laced with quiet affection. “You say that, but you’ve been steady through all of it—asking the right questions, holding your ground, even when it couldn’t have been easy. That’s no small thing.”

Evangeline leaned into his touch, her hand lifting to rest lightly over his where it cupped her cheek. “It’s certainly easier with you here,” she said softly.

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, his gaze softening even further, but before he could speak, a gentle knock at the door interrupted the moment. Evangeline blinked, her focus shifting toward the sound, though her hand remained on his.

“Come in,” Sebastian called.

The door creaked open to reveal a small house-elf, their oversized ears twitching nervously as they stepped inside. In their arms, they carried two neatly folded sets of pajamas, the fabrics clearly of fine quality, though understated.

“Begging your pardon,” the elf squeaked, bowing low, “but Lady Freya asked us to bring these for your comfort.”

Sebastian pushed himself to his feet and offered the elf a nod of gratitude. “Thank you, that's very kind."

The elf shuffled forward, setting the pajamas on a nearby table with great care before straightening again. “If you need anything else, Mr. Sallow, Miss Sterling, just ring the bell by your bed. We’ll come right away,” they said, their voice earnest.

Evangeline smiled warmly, her earlier tension easing slightly. “Thank you. Truly.”

The house-elf gave another low bow before scurrying out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. For a moment, silence lingered, the interruption breaking the weight of their earlier conversation but not entirely unwelcome.

Sebastian glanced at the folded pajamas, then back at Evangeline, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Well, at least they’re considerate hosts,” he quipped, his teasing tone light but warm.

Evangeline chuckled softly, rising from the chair to inspect the pajamas. She ran her fingers over the fabric, her smile widening. “These are nicer than anything I own,” she said, the humor in her voice tinged with disbelief.

Sebastian’s smirk softened as he stepped closer, his hand lightly brushing down the curve of Evangeline’s back. He leaned in, his lips hovering near her ear as he murmured, “Let's see you in them, then.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, though the faint blush rising to her cheeks betrayed her. “Subtle,” she muttered, her tone wry, though she didn't move away.

Sebastian’s hands slipped to rest on her waist. “Subtlety has never been my strong suit,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now, turn around.”

Evangeline hesitated for only a moment before complying, turning her back to him and letting out a small sigh of relief as his hands began to work at the laces of her corset. His touch was deft but unhurried, his movements steady and careful.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble as he worked. “I’ve got you.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly as his words settled over her, and she allowed herself to lean back just a fraction, trusting his steady hands.

With everything loosened, Sebastian's focus shifted to sliding the corset vest off her shoulders. He folded it carefully, setting it aside before his hands returned to her waist, his touch grounding and unhurried.

"Lift your arms." He instructed gently.

Evangeline obliged, raising her arms slowly as Sebastian's hands slid to the hem of her blouse. With deliberate care, he began to pull it upward. The fabric rustled softly as he lifted it over her head, exposing the smooth curve of her shoulders and the pale expanse of her skin.

Sebastian's gaze roamed her figure briefly with quiet admiration, the flickering firelight casting a soft glow over her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said simply, the words falling from his lips as if they were the most natural thing in the world. His voice carried no pretense, no tease, no expectation—just a sincerity that made Evangeline’s cheeks flush anew.

She ducked her head slightly, a soft laugh escaping her. "Thanks," she mumbled, averting her eyes as Sebastian turned her back around to face him, his hands now moving to the button of her green trousers.

With the waistband loosened, he tugged the fabric down over her hips and legs then crouched slightly, helping her step out of them. His hands brushed lightly against her ankles before Sebastian straightened, setting the trousers aside with the same care he’d shown her blouse and corset.

Evangeline stood before him now, clad in her bra and underwear, the firelight casting warm shadows across her skin. His gaze swept over her, his pupils wide, then he stepped closer, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was soft and lingering.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” he murmured against her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Evangeline gave him a faint smile, her blush deepening as Sebastian’s hands moved to the clasp of her bra, his fingers deftly undoing it with a precision that made her chuckle softly.

The garment slipped from her shoulders, and she caught it in her hands, discarding it to the side before feeling the soft brush of the pajama shirt as Sebastian held it out for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and he carefully did up the buttons, the rich fabric settling comfortably against her skin.

“There,” he said, his voice low and satisfied as he adjusted the collar gently. “Now for the bottoms..."

He reached for the matching pajama pants then kneeled down, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Step in,” he said softly, holding them open for her.

Evangeline steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, stepping one foot, then the other into the soft fabric. Sebastian eased the garment up her legs, his hands brushing lightly against her skin as he pulled the waistband into place.

“Now,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands as if to mark the task complete. “You’re officially ready for bed."

Evangeline chuckled and she reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

Sebastian tilted his head, his grin softening into something more earnest. “I like looking after you. Not that you make it easy, mind.”

Evangeline stepped closer, her free hand resting lightly against his chest as her eyes searched his. "I’m lucky."

Sebastian chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Likewise." He let his hand linger on her back for a moment before gently nudging her toward the en suite bathroom. “Now, off you go. Brush your teeth. We need sleep—we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Evangeline turned to look at him, her lips curving into a playful pout. “Only if you wait to change,” she teased, her tone light but daring. “I want a show.”

Sebastian froze for a heartbeat, blinking at her bluntness, before a surprised laugh escaped him. “A show?"

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Fair’s fair.”

Still laughing, Sebastian held his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. You win. We'll brush our teeth, then I'll be ready for my grand performance.”

Evangeline grinned and turned toward the bathroom, throwing him a sly look over her shoulder as he followed her inside.

They stood side by side, their reflections framed in the mirror as they brushed their teeth with the fresh toothbrushes they found on the counter, the comfortable silence punctuated only by the rustling of their movements.

Evangeline rinsed her mouth and leaned against the counter, watching him as he finished. Sebastian raised a brow, spitting into the sink before rinsing his own mouth. “Can I help you?"

“Oh, just waiting for the performance to start,” she teased, her tone light but with a hint of challenge.

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as he dried his hands on a nearby towel. "Alright, let’s see if I can live up to expectations.” He motioned toward the main room with a flourish. “Shall we?”

Evangeline followed him back out, her grin widening as he turned to face her. Sebastian paused, his eyes narrowing as if sizing her up, then tugged off his shirt with deliberate slowness, the motion revealing the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. He tossed the shirt to the side, smirking as he caught her wide-eyed gaze.

“Living up to expectations so far?”

Evangeline tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm, I don’t know,” she said, though the blush rising to her cheeks betrayed her enjoyment. “I think you’ll have to keep going for me to decide.”

Sebastian laughed, a deep, genuine sound, and moved to the waistband of his trousers. He kept his movements slow, exaggeratedly so, as he unbuttoned them and slid them down his legs. When he straightened, clad only in his boxers, he spread his arms in mock presentation. “Well?”

Evangeline leaned back against the edge of the bed, her eyes sweeping over him with no attempt to hide her appreciation. “Not bad,” she admitted with a small smirk. “Though I think I’d need an encore to be absolutely sure.”

Sebastian stepped out of his pants fully, kicking them aside before closing the distance between them with a slow, deliberate stride. The playful smirk on his lips grew as he leaned down slightly, his face just inches from hers.

“If you want to see me naked, Evie,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, “you could just say so.”

Evangeline’s lips parted, but no words came out. She blinked up at him, the blush on her cheeks deepening to a vibrant crimson. Sebastian chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich as he tilted her chin up gently with his fingers. His gaze lingered on her lips for a heartbeat before he leaned in, brushing a brief but firm kiss against them.

The press of his lips left her breathless, her mind reeling as he pulled back, his smirk firmly intact. Sebastian straightened, grabbing the folded pajamas from the table with an air of nonchalance. “But,” he said casually, unfolding the pajama pants and shaking them out, “you’ll have to wait for that.”

Evangeline blinked, her flustered state giving way to a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian shot her a knowing grin as he slid into the pajama pants, the loose fabric settling comfortably around his hips. “We need to sleep, Evie,” he said, his tone light but resolute.

Evangeline balked, her mouth falling open slightly as she stared at him. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

Sebastian reveled in her reaction, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “What?” he asked innocently, slipping his arms into the pajama shirt. “I thought I delivered quite the show.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully and took a step closer, reaching out to stop his hands. “The least you can do,” she said, her voice firm but tinged with teasing, “is leave the shirt off. After all, you already made a spectacle of yourself.”

Sebastian raised a brow, his grin widening. “Oh, so you admit it was a spectacle?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though the corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile.

With a theatrical sigh, Sebastian let the shirt drop back onto the table. “Fine. But only because I’m such a generous person.” He smirked as he stepped closer, taking her hand and gently pulling her back toward the bed. “Now, come on. You’ve had your fun.”

Evangeline allowed herself to be guided, her earlier flustered state replaced by a warm sense of contentment as he pulled back the covers for her. She slid in, the soft sheets cool against her skin, and watched as Sebastian joined her, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

He settled beside her, one arm draped over her waist as he pulled her close.

“Goodnight, Evie,” Sebastian murmured, his voice soft and steady as his hand gently brushed over her hip. “I love you.”

Evangeline smiled, her fingers curling lightly around his. “Goodnight,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”

As the room fell into silence, the steady rhythm of their breathing eventually syncing, Evangeline felt the weight of the day finally lift. For all the chaos and uncertainty ahead, in this moment, she was safe, secure, and deeply loved.

And with that thought, she drifted off to sleep in Sebastian’s arms.

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[longlistshort]

Clearwater Main Library is currently showing Cuba: The Natural Beauty, a selection of photographs by Clyde Butcher. Butcher is famous for his large black and white photos of nature, taken with a large-format 8×10″ or 11×14″ view camera.

About the show from the Clearwater site-

Commissioned by the United Nations to create a portfolio of the mountainous lands of Cuba, Clyde Butcher set out on three week-long expeditions into unfamiliar lands. He explored the island country’s varied geographic regions, from the Sierra Maestra Mountains in Cuba’s eastern Granma province, to the southern coast between Manzananilo and Santiago de Cuba. He ventured to places including Baracoa in the northeast, the southern waterfalls of the Serra de San Juan, and the mogotes of the west in the Piña del Rio region.

While taking photographs for the Conference for the Sustainable Habitat of the Mountains, Clyde thought about being part of an event changing history for the better, and enthusiastically saw an opportunity to make a positive difference. His photography transcends political boundaries, challenging us to work together to protect natural places across the globe.

This exhibition will continue until 10/31/23.

This past Wednesday (8/16) Butcher discussed his work at Clearwater’s Capitol Theater. It was a pleasure to hear him discuss his history, his travels in Cuba, his work, a visit with President Jimmy Carter, and life since his stroke. He will often sit for hours, under an umbrella, just to get his shot. It was a thoughtful, humorous, and often inspiring lecture.

It is definitely worth checking out his website to see more of his work and to read about his unique life. His wife Niki is an artist too, and her work is also on the website.

He has two galleries in Florida- The Venice Gallery and Studio, and Big Cypress Gallery near the Big Cypress National Preserve Oasis Visitor Center in the Florida Everglades. There are places to stay on the Big Cypress property and you can take a guided tour of the natural surroundings as well.

[daystar-by-jacqui-natla]

16. GOOD ENOUGH

LEAH CLEARWATER

IT HAD BEEN WEEKS SINCE THE TAPES were stolen, and the weight of that loss still hung over us, thick and suffocating. But as much as I wanted to focus on the mission—on finding the tapes, on uncovering who had done it and why—my thoughts kept circling back to Ethan.

The mansion was as quiet as it ever was, the kind of silence that made the creaks of the old structure feel like whispers of a past we couldn't escape. I was standing by the window in the library, looking out at the mist that clung to the trees, the chill of the air seeping through the glass. London felt a world away, and the isolation of this place had started to gnaw at me.

I should've been paying attention. I should've been more present. But my mind had been preoccupied with everything except Ethan. And that, more than anything, gnawed at me now.

When I had first arrived at the Khotler Mansion, I had kept my distance from him. I told myself it was for his own good. He was a vampire—one who had been alive for centuries, whose heart no longer beat. He had no need for a werewolf like me. And yet, every time I looked at him, I felt the pull. The imprinting.

It was something I had never believed in, something I had always dismissed as a myth. Until it happened to me. Until Ethan. The connection was undeniable, like a force that had tethered us together, and it terrified me. But what terrified me even more was how I had treated him since.

I had been distant. Cold, even. I kept him at arm's length, pushing him away when all I wanted was to pull him closer. Every time he looked at me with those golden, soulful eyes, I felt a mix of guilt and longing. Guilt for not being able to let go of my own insecurities, and longing for something I couldn't have—something I wasn't sure I deserved.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The others had been focused on the investigation, but I knew I couldn't ignore this any longer. I had to face Ethan. I had to stop running from the truth, from what I felt.

I left the library, moving through the halls of the mansion with purpose. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, and the weight of the silence pressed in on me as I made my way to the room where I knew Ethan would be.

Ethan was exactly where I expected him to be—sitting in the conservatory at the far end of the mansion, surrounded by the muted light filtering through the glass panes. The room smelled faintly of damp earth and old wood, the remnants of a garden that had long since withered away. He was perched on the edge of a weathered chair, one leg crossed over the other, a book resting in his hands.

He didn't look up as I entered, though I knew he'd heard me. He always did.

For a moment, I stood in the doorway, unsure of what to say. I had spent so much time avoiding him, so much energy convincing myself that keeping my distance was the right thing to do. But now, standing here, I felt like a coward.

"Ethan," I said softly, my voice barely breaking the quiet of the room.

He looked up then, his golden eyes meeting mine. There was no judgment in his gaze, no anger or resentment, only a quiet patience that made my chest ache. He closed the book and set it aside, leaning back in the chair as he studied me.

"Leah," he said, his voice calm and steady. "How are you doing today?"

I flinched at the formality of his tone, though I knew I deserved it. I had been the one to create this distance between us, and now I had to be the one to bridge it.

I took a hesitant step forward, the weight of his gaze making my heart race. "I've been... better," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "But that's not why I'm here."

Ethan tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining unreadable. "Then why are you here?"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "To apologize," I said, the words tumbling out faster than I expected. "For how I've treated you. For how I've been acting since I got here."

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't say anything, waiting for me to continue.

"I've been distant," I said, stepping further into the room. "Cold. I've been pushing you away when I had no right to. And I told myself it was for your sake, but the truth is... I was scared. I am scared."

Ethan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Scared of what?"

"Of this," I said, gesturing between us. "Of what this means. Of what it's doing to me. You're a vampire, Ethan. You've lived for centuries. You've seen and done things I can't even imagine. And me? I'm just... I'm just Leah. A werewolf. The first female shape-shifter in Quileute history and yet..."

I paused, my voice faltering as the weight of my own insecurities threatened to choke me. "And yet, I feel like I'm not enough. Not for you. Not for this."

Ethan's expression softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He stood then, his movements fluid and effortless, and closed the distance between us. When he stopped, he was close enough that I could feel the coolness of his presence, the faint scent of pine and earth that seemed to cling to him.

"Leah," he said, his voice low and steady, "you are more than enough."

I opened my mouth to argue, to protest, but he held up a hand, silencing me with a look that was both gentle and firm.

"You think I don't understand what this is doing to you?" he continued, his golden eyes locking onto mine. "You think I haven't noticed the way you've been struggling since the moment you walked through those doors? I know you're scared. I can feel it every time you look at me."

I flinched at his words, but he didn't stop.

"And yet, you're here," he said, his voice softening. "You're standing in front of me, telling me the truth, even though it terrifies you. That takes courage, Leah. More courage than you give yourself credit for."

I felt a lump form in my throat, my chest tightening with the weight of his words. "I just... I don't know how to do this," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to be what you need.”

Ethan's gaze softened even further, and he reached out, his hand hovering just above my cheek. "And what do you think I need?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Someone... someone who's not me," I said finally, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Ethan shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. "Leah, you couldn't be more wrong."

His hand finally made contact, his cool fingers brushing against my skin. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was grounding, reassuring.

"What I need," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, "is someone who challenges me. Someone who doesn't let me get away with hiding behind centuries of experience. Someone who makes me feel alive in a way I haven't in a very, very long time."

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. "You... you really mean that?"

He smiled then, a small, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way I hadn't seen before. "I do," he said simply. "And I'm willing to wait as long as it takes for you to believe it, too."

The lump in my throat grew, and I felt my eyes sting with unshed tears. "Ethan, I'm sorry," I said again, my voice breaking. "I've been so unfair to you."

He shook his head, his hand dropping to his side. "You don't have to apologise, Leah. I understand why you've been hesitant. But you don't have to face this alone. Whatever this is—whatever we are—we'll figure it out together."

His words settled over me like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my fear and doubt. For the first time since arriving at the mansion, I felt a flicker of hope, a sense of possibility that hadn't been there before.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to find my voice. "Okay," I said finally, the word feeling heavier than it should. "Together."

Ethan's smile widened, and he stepped back, giving me the space I hadn't realized I needed. "Together," he echoed.

For a moment, we stood there in silence, the weight of our conversation hanging in the air. But it wasn't oppressive. It was something else entirely. Something... lighter.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again.

"You know, Ethan," I said, breaking the silence. "There's one good thing about this."

"And what's that?" He asked, his voice filled with quiet curiosity.

I allowed a small smile to tug at my lips, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction. "I don't feel anything for Sam anymore."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. "Sam?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

I nodded, a mixture of relief and defiance rising in me. "Yeah. Sam." The name tasted strange now, like something distant, faded. "For so long, I thought I'd never be free of him. Of what he did. Of what I felt for him. But now... it's like he's just a shadow. A memory that doesn't hurt anymore."

Ethan regarded me with a quiet intensity, his golden eyes searching mine. "And you think that's because of... this?" He gestured between us, his voice careful, as if he didn't want to presume too much.

I hesitated, the question pulling at something deep inside me. "I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe. Or maybe I've just finally started to let go. But whatever it is, it feels... good. Like I'm not carrying that weight anymore."

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. "That's a powerful thing, Leah. Letting go of the past. It's not easy, but it's necessary."

I crossed my arms, leaning back slightly as I studied him. "You sound like you've had some experience with that."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "More than I'd care to admit," he said softly. "Centuries give you plenty of time to accumulate regrets. And even more time to learn how to live with them."

There was something in his voice—something raw and unguarded—that made my chest tighten. I had spent so much time thinking of Ethan as this untouchable, otherworldly being, but in that moment, he felt... human. Vulnerable, even.

I stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the faint coolness of his presence again. "I don't want to live with regrets," I said quietly, the words coming out more as a confession than a statement. "Not anymore."

Ethan's gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing against mine. The touch was tentative, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid I might pull away. But I didn't. Instead, I let his fingers intertwine with mine, the connection sending a strange warmth through me despite his cool skin.

"Then don't," he said simply. "Let's not waste time on what we can't change. Let's focus on what we have now. On what we can build together."

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn't find the words to respond. But I didn't need to. The bond between us—the imprinting, the connection I had fought so hard to deny—spoke louder than any words ever could.

I squeezed his hand, a small smile breaking through the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "Together," I said again, the word feeling more certain this time.

Ethan's smile widened, his eyes brightening in a way that made my heart skip a beat. "Together," he echoed, his voice filled with quiet determination.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I wasn't alone. The tapes were still missing, the world was still as chaotic and uncertain as ever, but here, in this moment, with Ethan by my side, I felt something I hadn't in a long time.

Hope.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Simon and Alana approaching us.

Ethan's golden gaze shifted as Simon and Alana approached, their presence commanding even in the soft light of the conservatory. Simon's tall, imposing frame moved with the effortless grace that only centuries of existence could grant. His sharp features were set in a neutral expression, though his sunglow golden eyes seemed to take in everything at once. Beside him, Alana was the perfect counterbalance—elegant and poised, her ethereal beauty somehow managing to soften the intensity of her husband's presence.

"Interrupting something, are we?" Simon's deep voice carried a hint of amusement, though his sharp eyes flicked to where Ethan's hand still held mine.

I instinctively stiffened, ready to pull away, but Ethan tightened his grip ever so slightly, grounding me. "Dad," he said calmly, his tone even. "Mum. What brings you here?"

It was weird thing hearing a vampire, who looked like he was in his early twenties— referring to the young couple as 'Mum' or 'Dad' or any relations. I knew that Alana was his biological mother but Simon wasn't, not by blood. Ethan had explained it once: Simon had turned Alana centuries ago, and Ethan had been born long before that, a human life before his transformation. The tangled web of their family dynamics was something I still struggled to wrap my head around.

Alana stepped forward, her expression serene but her eyes sharp as they flicked between me and Ethan. "I knew you two would still be here."

"What's going on?" I asked, trying to steady my voice under Alana's honey gold gaze. There was something about her presence that always put me on edge—not in a bad way, exactly, but in the way someone might feel standing before a force of nature.

"We're just happy to see you both talking," Simon explained. "Alana's been worrying..."

Alana shot Simon a quick, pointed look that said don't speak for me, but her expression softened when she turned back to us. "I wouldn't say worrying," she corrected, her voice smooth and melodic. "Concerned, perhaps. It's no secret the two of you have been... navigating some challenges."

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and irritation. I didn't like the idea of being the subject of their concern, especially when I was already struggling to sort out my own feelings.

"We're fine," Ethan said, his voice calm but firm. "Leah and I are working through things. There's no need for concern."

Simon raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. "If you say so. But you know we're here if you need us. The tapes, the investigation—it's a lot for anyone, even without... personal complications."

Ethan's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he gave a small nod. "We appreciate it."

Alana stepped closer, her gaze settling on me. There was a warmth there, but also a piercing clarity, as though she could see straight through me. "Leah," she said softly, "I know how overwhelming this all must feel. Being here, in this world, with us—it's not easy. But you're stronger than you realize."

I blinked, caught off guard by her words. "I... thank you," I managed, unsure of what else to say.

Alana's lips curved into a gentle smile. "You'll find your way. Both of you will. Just don't be afraid to lean on each other. It's not a weakness to need someone."

Her words settled over me like a balm, soothing the lingering tension in my chest. I nodded, glancing at Ethan, who gave me a reassuring squeeze of my hand. I may not be good enough for the wolves but I was good enough for them. And that was something I need to remember.

Suddenly, Joseph appeared, sprinting towards us with a look of concern etched onto his pallid features.

"We must hide Leah," he proclaimed urgently.

"Why?" Simon inquired.

"The Volturi are on their way."

The room fell into a stunned silence. The Volturi. The name alone carried a weight that could crush even the strongest resolve. Ethan's grip on my hand tightened, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of unease. Simon's expression hardened, his sharp features sharpening further, while Alana's serene mask faltered ever so slightly.

"The Volturi?" Simon's voice was low and measured, but there was no mistaking the tension in it. "Why would they be coming here?"

Joseph, the ever-watchful sentinel of the mansion, glanced between us, his face pale. "I'm not sure but they're definitely coming here?"

Ethan did told me that Joseph was a tracker as well as a telepathic vampire who could sense abilities from other people— both humans and vampires alike.

"All of them?" Alana's voice quivered with trepidation.

"Not all," Joseph replied, his head shaking. "Just four."

"That's not too terrible," Ethan attempted to sound nonchalant.

Simon silenced him with a raised hand. "Who are the four?" he probed.

"Jane, Alec, Felix, and Demetri," Joseph disclosed.

The air in the conservatory seemed to grow colder at the mention of their names. Even I, someone who had only heard of the Volturi in stories, could feel the weight of those names. Jane and Alec—the twin terrors, wielders of pain and sensory deprivation. Felix, the enforcer, a brute of unmatched strength. And Demetri, the tracker, said to be the best in the world.

Simon's jaw tightened, his sharp features betraying the calculations running through his mind. Alana stepped closer to him, her expression a mask of calm, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.

"And Gabriel is aware of their arrival?" Simon questioned.

"I told him immediately, and he's getting everyone."

Simon nodded, his golden eyes narrowing in thought. "Good. We'll need to prepare." He turned to Alana, his voice firm.

"We're not fighting, Simon," Joseph said. "Gabriel has told me that we are to avoid confrontation at all costs. The Volturi are not here for a battle. If they were, they would have sent more than four."

Simon frowned, his jaw tightening further. "That doesn't mean we should let our guard down. Their presence here is a threat in itself. Why would they send Jane and Alec if not to intimidate?"

"Look, all I know is that they're coming and I don't know why."

Alana's mind raced with questions as she whispered to herself, "When?"

Joseph's eyes remained fixed, but a veil seemed to cover them, leaving them blank. His mouth was a thin line, and he spoke with a monotone voice, "Not long, little more than an hour."

Worry crept into his voice as Ethan asked, "Where's Rhona? Gabriel and Helena? Violet? Ingram?"

Joseph's face twitched as he replied, "They're sorting out the upstairs, trying to get rid of the wet dog smell." He turned to Leah and raised his right hand, "No offence."

I grimaced, "None taken."

Joseph's face almost fell into a pity state and said, "Hey, remember, they don't know about this, okay?"

I nodded.

The air was thick with tension, each person processing the news in their own way. Ethan's hand remained firmly clasped around mine, though I could feel the subtle shift in his demeanor. His usual calm was slipping, replaced by an edge of urgency. I could sense the weight of the situation pressing down on him, on all of us.

"Helena's getting the hidden room," Joseph told me, his golden poppy eyes looking at me.

nodded quickly, though my mind was racing. A hidden room? My thoughts swirled as I tried to make sense of everything. The Volturi were coming, and they were probably coming for me. That had to be it. The weight of that realization hit me harder than I expected, like a physical blow. I could feel the panic creeping in, but I pushed it down, forcing myself to focus on the immediate reality.

Ethan's grip on my hand tightened, his thumb brushing across my skin in a soothing motion. "We'll keep you safe," he said, his voice low and steady, but there was a flicker of concern behind his eyes.

I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him. But the idea of facing the Volturi, even just four of them, made my stomach twist in knots. I remembered the confrontation when we were defending the Cullens and the other vampires. The Volturi were not to be trifled with. They were the law of the vampire world, ruthless, powerful, and unyielding.

"Helena's hidden room will be the safest place for you," Joseph continued, his gaze unwavering. "It's secure, and no one will be able to find you there. But we need to move quickly. Once they arrive, things will get... complicated."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. "How do you know they're coming for me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Joseph's expression softened, just a little, though the tension still clung to him. "I don't know for sure. But they've been keeping an eye on you. The Volturi don't make moves like this without a reason. And when they do, it's rarely a good one."

The room felt colder, the air heavier with the weight of those words. I glanced at Alana and Simon, both of whom were silent, their faces unreadable. Alana's golden eyes met mine, a flicker of something passing through them—concern, perhaps, but also something else. Understanding.

"Leah," she said softly, her voice like a balm against the rising panic inside me. "You don't have to face this alone. We're here for you. All of us."

I nodded, trying to absorb her words, but the knot in my stomach tightened. The Volturi were coming, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

Ethan's hand slid down my arm, his fingers brushing against mine before he gently pulled me closer. "We'll get you to safety," he repeated, his voice resolute. "And we'll figure this out. Together."

I wanted to believe him. I had to.

Joseph turned, his movements quick and efficient. "We don't have much time. We need to get Leah to the hidden room now." His voice was clipped, his urgency clear.

Simon and Alana exchanged a glance, and Simon gave a small nod. "We'll stay behind, make sure the house is secure. You two go."

Ethan didn't hesitate. He led me toward the back of the conservatory, his pace quick but steady, his hand still firmly holding mine. I could feel his tension, his unease, but he didn't show it. He was focused, determined.

As we moved through the mansion, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was shifting, that the ground beneath us was about to crack open. The Volturi were coming. And whatever their reasons, I knew they wouldn't stop until they had what they wanted.

We arrived at the living room where I saw Helena by the empty fireplace. Gabriel was there too, close to the front door and Ingram and Violet were standing by the windows, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharp, calculating gaze. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the kind that could only be felt when something dangerous was on the horizon.

Helena looked up as we entered, her expression calm but her eyes betraying the concern she was trying to hide. She motioned for me to follow her, her voice steady but urgent. "This way," she said, guiding me towards the fireplace.

She moved swiftly, her footsteps quiet on the polished floor, leading me toward the fireplace. I followed her closely, my heart racing as we approached what appeared to be an ordinary feature of the room. But as we neared, I saw the subtle shift in her movements, a flick of her wrist, and the fireplace slid open with a soft hiss. Behind it was a narrow, hidden passage, dimly lit by a few lanterns that hung along the walls.

"Stay close," Helena murmured, her voice low but steady. "This will take us to the safest room in the house."

I nodded, though my mind was still spinning. The Volturi were coming. I had no idea what they wanted with me, but the very thought of facing them, especially after hearing about their infamous enforcers, sent a chill down my spine. I could feel Ethan's presence beside me, his hand still tightly gripping mine, offering a silent but steadying reassurance.

As we entered the passage, the door closed quietly behind us, and the flickering light cast long shadows on the stone walls. Helena led the way, her pace quick but controlled, navigating the twisting corridors with ease. Ethan and I followed, my thoughts racing as I tried to process everything that had happened in such a short amount of time.

"How do you know about this room?" I asked quietly, my voice echoing slightly in the narrow space.

Helena glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. "It's a precaution. For situations like this," she replied, her tone betraying a hint of something deeper, something that made me wonder just how many times they'd had to use it before. "The Volturi are not easy to avoid, but this room has been designed to keep us hidden, no matter what."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with the unspoken knowledge of how dangerous this situation truly was.

As we continued down the passage, I could feel the tension in Ethan's hand, the way his grip tightened every time the walls seemed to close in around us. He was doing his best to remain calm, but I knew this wasn't just about protecting me—this was personal for him. The Volturi had a history with his family, with him, and I could feel the undercurrent of that history in every step we took.

Finally, Helena stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, its surface intricately carved with symbols I didn't recognize. She pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room beyond. It was simple, with stone walls and a single, low bed covered in soft blankets. There were shelves along one wall, filled with books and various items I couldn't make out in the dim light.

"This is it," Helena said, stepping aside to let us in. "You'll be safe here until we know more about what the Volturi want. We'll keep watch from outside."

Ethan hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting mine. There was an unspoken question there, a silent promise that he would stay with me. But before he could say anything, Helena spoke again, her voice firm but gentle.

"You'll be fine. We'll make sure of it. But you need to stay here, and stay hidden. No one can know you're here—not even the Volturi."

I nodded, though the anxiety bubbling in my chest didn't ease. "What if they find me?"

Helena's gaze softened, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that told me she wasn't going to sugarcoat the situation. "If they find you, we'll deal with it. But we need to be prepared. Stay here, stay calm, and we'll do everything we can to keep you safe."

Ethan turned to me, his hand gently cupping my face. His golden eyes held mine, steady and unflinching, though I could see the worry lurking beneath the surface. "I'm not leaving you," he said quietly, his voice low but resolute.

"Ethan, I don't think this is a good idea," Helena said softly.

Ethan's eyes locked with Helena's, his jaw tightening in silent defiance. "I'm not leaving her," he repeated, his voice unwavering. His fingers gently brushed the side of my face, offering a brief moment of comfort before he turned back to Helena. "I'll stay with her. We're stronger together."

Helena didn't seem surprised by his response, but there was a quiet tension in her gaze. "Ethan, I understand your desire to protect her. But this situation is different. The Volturi don't play by the same rules. They don't care about your strength or your loyalty. If they find you both, it'll only make things worse."

I could feel the weight of the words in the air, heavy and undeniable. The Volturi were ruthless. They were the law, and they had no qualms about destroying anyone who crossed them. I had no idea why they were coming for me, but the idea of facing them—let alone facing them with Ethan—was terrifying.

But it was a part of me that wanted Ethan to go with his family.

The tension in the hidden room was palpable, thick with the weight of impending danger. I could feel it pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe. Ethan stood by my side, his golden gaze unwavering as he focused on the situation, but his hand still held mine with a reassuring grip. The warmth of his touch was the only thing grounding me in this moment.

Helena's words echoed in my mind, her warning about the Volturi ringing louder than ever. If they find you, we'll deal with it. The idea of facing them, of being caught in their grasp, was terrifying. But even more than that, the thought of being separated from Ethan, of him facing them without me, felt like something I couldn't bear.

But as I looked at him now, I saw the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between wanting to protect me and knowing that staying here, in this room, might be the safest option. The tension between us was thick, like an invisible thread tugging us in different directions.

"Please," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "I don't want you to stay if it's too dangerous."

Ethan's eyes softened, his thumb brushing across the back of my hand in a comforting gesture. "I'm not leaving you, Leah. Not now. Not when you need me."

Helena's sharp gaze flicked between us, sensing the undercurrent of our conversation. "Ethan, you're not helping her by staying here. You'll only make it harder for everyone. The Volturi are ruthless, and if they find you both—"

"I'm not leaving her."

I placed my hand on his chest. "Ethan," I said softly, my voice trembling but firm. "I need you to be safe too. If something happens to you because of me... I couldn't live with that."

His jaw tightened, his golden eyes searching mine for a long moment. The defiance in his expression wavered, replaced by something deeper—fear, love, and an overwhelming need to protect me. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the situation had finally settled on him.

Helena stepped closer, her voice gentler now. "Ethan, you can protect her better by staying out of sight, ready to act if necessary. But if you're here and they find you both, it'll be harder to fight or negotiate. Please, trust us."

Ethan's gaze flicked to Helena, then back to me. I could see the struggle in his eyes, the war between his instincts and logic. Finally, he nodded, though it seemed to take every ounce of his willpower. "Fine," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "But if anything happens—"

"Nothing will happen," Helena interrupted firmly. "We'll keep her safe."

Ethan turned back to me, his hand cupping my face once more. "I'll be close," he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. "If anything happens, if you need me, I'll be here in an instant."

I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. "I know."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead before stepping back. The loss of his touch felt like a cold wind cutting through me, but I forced myself to stay strong. He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze locked on mine, before turning and following Helena out of the room.

As the door closed behind them, the hidden room seemed to grow quieter, the flickering lantern light casting long shadows on the walls. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady my breathing. The silence was deafening, the weight of the situation pressing down on me like a physical force.

The Volturi were coming. 

And I was alone.

[nikatyler]

Old Sims Dump 18 - Spellcaster Edition

For the past few months now, I’ve been giving makeovers to my old sims that I have saved in my library and I want to share them with you! Many more will follow. Theoretically. If I find the strength. Seriously, it’s over a hundred sims that I could share.

Most of these are actually related and were intended for a thing I did back in quarantine btw.

TOU: Feel free to play with them as they are, give them a makeover or even use them as base sims as long as you mention me ♥ And please please please, tag me, I would love to see what you do!

Download, full outfits and CC credits under the cut. CC included with the tray files.

CC Links

Patreon download (free)

Charlie Raven | sfs

Nate Raven | sfs

Rory Raven | sfs

Troy Raven | sfs

Bella Raven | sfs

Gene Raven | sfs

Berta Clearwater | sfs

Vanya Pottinger | sfs

[aemiron-main]

It Was Victor's Uncle That Died: South Bend, Edward and the Creels- Reference to Edward in the NEW FULL WEEKLY WATCHER?? (Also Comparing The Various Weekly Watcher Articles)

So, first of all, MASSIVE MASSIVE thank you to this wonderful twitter user who posted photos of the items from the ST memorabilia box- and specifically, pictures of the newspaper articles.

And after I sent those pictures of the Victor article to Stav, Wilbur, and James, Stav pointed out that it said that the Creels were from South Bend, Indiana:

(Which, sidenote, the inheritance now being from Victor’s uncle rather than Virginia’s great uncle makes me insane because it ties PERFECTLY into what I talked about in this post regarding how Victor just says “her uncle had died” but doesn’t specify WHOSE uncle, like he doesn’t say Virginia’s name, and he could be be referring to Daughter Alice in the Henry timeline or also could be referring to Daughter Virginia in the Edward timeline and and how Daughter Alice or Daughter Virginia’s great uncle would be Victor’s uncle, JUST LIKE WHAT THIS PAPER SAYS!! I WAS RIGHT!!!)

And I was actually working on another draft about this, but I mentioned on discord awhile ago that the University of Notre Dame was founded by a guy named Edward, and is in South Bend, Indiana, and how that was interesting considering that “Up Around the Bend,” by Creedence Clearwater Revival plays while Eddie Munson (local deliverer of Edward subtext) is in the winnebago:

So, the Creels, according to this full Weekly Watcher article, were from the same place that Nancy and Robin claimed they went to school/forged school documents from (South Bend, Indiana and Notre Dame University), which was founded by a guy named Edward. And yet IM supposed to believe that Edward is a production error??? ABSOLUTELY NOT!! This (the south bend thing) is a reference to Edward in the WEEKLY WATCHER, which isnt even the EDWARD PAPER, thats the HENRY paper!!!!!

Which, the Creels being from South Bend makes a hell of a lot more sense than Rachel, Nevada, which is where the Creels are supposedly from according to TFS. It makes a hell of a lot more sense because Rachel, Nevada didn’t even exist in 1959.

And of course, there’s the question of whether or not this aligns with the actual in-show Weekly Watcher article.

And no! It doesn’t! Parts of it do, but large parts of it (images etc) do not!

BUT! BUT BUT! BEFORE you go “oh yeah lol this is unreliable & just made for the memoirbilia thing”, keep in mind that the in-show Weekly Watcher that Nancy and Robin find in the library is NOT the only Weekly Watcher article that we see about the Creel murders- there’s two more.

First of all, there’s the Weekly Watcher article from the Netflix Tudum trailer- which I’ve talked about in posts like this post, this post, and other posts I'm forgetting rn.

And that tudum Weekly Watcher article is also NOT THE SAME as the in-show Weekly Watcher article.

And the tudum Weekly Watcher article is ALSO not the same as this new full Weekly Watcher article- but PARTS OF IT ARE, and both the tudum version and this memoirbilia box version have things that are NOT in the in-show version.

Here’s a full rundown of the In-Show Weekly Watcher vs the Memoirbilia Box Weekly Watcher vs the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher and the similarities and differences between them.

In-Show Weekly Watcher vs Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher

Things That Are The Same

Both the In-Show Weekly Watcher article and the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article have the same section talking about Alice finding a possum in her duvet & the Creel lawn turning black (however, these sections are not in the same place in the article, see the differences section)

Both the In-Show Weekly Watcher article and the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article have the same photo of the Creel family at the same size

The dates of both the articles are the same- March 26th, 1959.

Both the In-Show Weekly Watcher article and the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article have the same caption above the blood bath photo, although they have different photos.

Things That Are Different

The sections talking about Alice finding a dead possum in her duvet & the Creel lawn turning black are in two different places in each article. The in-show Weekly Watcher has that section on the same page as the Creel family photo & Victor’s mugshot, whereas the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher has it on a totally separate page with a brand new picture of Young Victor that doesn’t appear in ANY other papers, and another photo of the Creel house, as well as closeup pictures of Alice, Henry, and Virginia.

The in-show Weekly Watcher has NO bloody bedspread photo (which the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher does have)- instead , the in-show Weekly Watcher has a picture of what seems to be the Creel bathroom.

The In-Show Weekly Watcher jumps right into the article on the first page- the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher has a list of other articles in the paper.

The little box about "Lana stalked by crazed fan" has "page 5" written under it in the In-Show Weekly Watcher article, whereas that same box and title has "page 6" written under it instead in the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article.

Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher vs Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher

Things That Are The Same

Both the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher and the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher have the bloody bed photo

(Also, there’s something about that bloody, stained bed + the South Bend vs Edward thing vs Eddie Munson talking about the stains on his bed)

Both the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article and the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article have the front page that lists other articles instead of jumping right into the article

The dates of both the articles are the same- March 26th, 1959.

Things That Are Different

The article snippets beside that bloody bed photo are not the same.

The articles listed on the front page are different- the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article lists an article titled "Policeman shot 12 times survives" on page 3, whereas the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article lists an article titled "Elvis Presley cloned by aliens," on page 3 instead of the article about the police officer.

The caption above the blood bath photo is different. The Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article's caption above the blood bath photo says "Crime scene photos from inside the Creel Home obtained EXCLUSIVELY by TWW reveal a complete blood bath," whereas the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article's caption above the blood bath photo says "Crime scene photos from inside the Creel Home obtained EXCLUSIVELY by THE WEEKLY WATCHER reveal a complete blood bath..." The key differences here are a.) The Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article abbreviating The Weekly Watcher as 'TWW" whereas the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article spells it out as THE WEEKLY WATCHER, and b.) the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article ends the caption with "..." whereas the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article has no punctuation at the end.

Things That Are Unknown/Not Visible

The part about the possum in Alice’s duvet simply isn’t visible in the Tudum Trailer version- because much of that article is cut off, there’s no way of knowing if it’s in there.

The caption under the blood bath photo isn't visible in the Tudum Trailer version because that section is cut off, so there's no way of knowing if it's in there.

The In-Show Weekly Watcher vs The Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher

Things That Are The Same

Both articles have the same photo of the Creel family, even though the sizes of those photos are different

The dates of both the articles are the same- March 26th, 1959.

Things That Are Different

The photo of the Creel family in the In-Show Weekly Watcher is much smaller than the photo of the Creel family in the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher

There is a single column of text beside Victor’s mugshot in the In-Show Weekly Watcher, whereas there is a double column of text beside Victor’s mugshot in the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher

The text beside the bloodbath photo is different in both the In-Show Weekly Watcher and the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher.

The caption above the blood bath photo is different in the In-Show Weekly Watcher and the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher. The In-Show Weekly watcher article's caption above the blood bath photo says "Crime scene photos from inside the Creel Home obtained EXCLUSIVELY by THE WEEKLY WATCHER reveal a complete blood bath..." whereas the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article's caption above the blood bath photo says "Crime scene photos from inside the Creel Home obtained EXCLUSIVELY by TWW reveal a complete blood bath" The key differences here are a.) The Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article abbreviating The Weekly Watcher as 'TWW" whereas the In-Show Weekly Watcher article spells it out as THE WEEKLY WATCHER, and b.) the In-Show Weekly Watcher article ends the caption with "..." whereas the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher article has no punctuation at the end.

Things That Are Unknown/Not Visible

The part about the possum in Alice’s duvet simply isn’t visible in the Tudum Trailer version- because much of that article is cut off, there’s no way of knowing if it’s in there.

The caption under the blood bath photo is cut off in both the In-Show Weekly Watcher and the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher.

I can't quite make out what page the "Lana stalked by crazed fan" thing has listed in the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher. It's visible/not cut off, but too blurry for me to make out the number.

I’m also sure there’s more differences/similarities between these papers, but I’m tired right now, and so I’ll save any further digging there for a future post.

Second of all, there’s also the TFS Weekly Watcher article. Which, I talked about that in this post, but TLDR, they do NOT show us very much of the TFS Weekly Watcher.

But here’s a comparison of what we CAN see.

TFS Weekly Watcher vs Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher

Things That Are The Same

Basically just the main title, which is the same on all of the Weekly Watcher articles. However, there could be more that's the same, but I can't read it because a.) they only showed us the front page of the TFS Weekly Watcher and b.) they didn't even let us read that article that's on the front page because it went by so fast/I couldn't read it & don't have footage of it because of the angle I was at.

Things That Are Different

The front pages are different. The TFS Weekly Watcher's front page jumps right to the article, like the In-Show Weekly Watcher does, instead of listing other articles on the front page.

Things That Are Unknown/Not Visible

I can't read the date on the TFS Weekly Watcher article even though it's visible, it's just too blurry for me to read.

I can't read the page number for the "Lana stalked by crazed fan" thing on the TFS Weekly Watcher- if I had to guess, I would say it's a 5, but I can't be sure.

The TFS Weekly Watcher article could be the exact same as the In-Show Weekly Watcher article. It's just that there's not enough visible information for the TFS Weekly Watcher article to say for certain that they're identical.

Long story short: I'm taking this Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher article, and the info in it, as canon. Here’s why:

1.) it’s already established via the differences between the Tudum Trailer Weekly Watcher and the In-Show Weekly Watcher that various versions of the Weekly Watcher are going to be different from eachother, so the Memorabilia Box Weekly Watcher is not alone/special in that regard.

2.) this was further established by TFS & the alternate versions of the Indianapolis Gazette article about the Creel murders that are shown in TFS.

3.) the information in this Memorabilia Box article (such as Victor’s uncle being the one that died) aligns perfectly with stuff I was saying based on the show BEFORE I read this Memorabilia Box article- that’s a little too suspicious/coincidental if this was just a random article that wasn’t meant to be canon.

4.) Either way, they wrote this paper up and released it as official merch. Somebody associated with Netflix (at the very LEAST) got permission for the information here to be sent out as if it’s the canon Weekly Watcher article.

[clearwaterhq]

Pride is an annual event that occurs in Clearwater, NY. While events will place throughout the entirety of the month of June, during the week of June 22-28, various Clearwater businesses will be hosting Pride themed events. They can be found below:

Bella's Books: On Wednesday, June 25th at 7pm, Bella's Books will be hosting a Sapphic Speed Dating event. All sapphic folks (cis, trans, enby, etc) are welcomed to join. The event will allow participants to engage in 5 minute conversations before switching partners. After the event, participants are welcomed to mingle and network while indulging in sweet treats and beverages provided by 8 Ball Brewing Co.

Garnet Tea House: On Saturday, June 28th at 11am, Garnet Tea House will host a Drag Brunch in honor of Pride Month. Be sure to buy your ticket in advance as this event is guaranteed to sell out.

Shazam Comics + Clearwater Library: Throughout the month of June, Shazam Comics will be featuring LGBTQ+ comics and writers. Join us on Monday June 23rd at 1pm at the Library for a panel featuring LGBTQ+ writers. Aspiring writers can purchase tickets to participate in a writing workshop led by these featured authors.

Sundae Funday: Each week in the month of June, Sundae Funday will be launching 4 new PRIDE themed flavors: rainbow swirl (a sorbet blend of fruity flavors -- cherry, pineapple, and orange), unicorn dream (a marshmallow flavored ice cream mixed with rainbow confetti sprinkles and edible gold stars), love is love-berry (a cheesecake flavored based with a blueberry ribbon jam throughout), and Classic Pride (a dark chocolate base with chunks of rainbow colored cake and fudge swirls). Be sure to come by every week to try each of the new flavors.

OOC information can be found below:

Hello members! While we’re treating this as an “event,” it isn’t an event in the traditional sense. We will have one of these larger “events” each season, but community events will be posted on a monthly basis. Here’s what you need to know:

This isn’t mandatory, but we do encourage members to use the festival (and the community events, in general) as a backdrop for threads.

It has been left intentionally open ended in order to allow for maximum creativity. That being said – feel free to run wild, and have your muses do anything that feels ic for them during this time.

While this takes place in rp time on June 22-28, your threads are not limited to that time. Meaning, you can write a thread today that takes place during any of the community events even if they’re weeks away in real time.

As always: we hope you have fun with this, and if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to reach out to the main.

[ometochtli2rabbit]

MAYA:

13.0.12.9.7

oxlajun[13] MANIK'/KIEJ[deer] - joj[5] UO

galactic tone: ascension/ universal movement

sun sign: deer/black/west

be of service to others

NAHUA:

mahtlactli-onei[13] - MAZATL[deer]

Citlalicue | Tlaloc

toznene [parrot]

lord of the night: Centeotl

trecena[13]: Xochiquetzal

x: nahui[4]- xocolhuetzi

"Geisha Reading a Book", Katsushika Hokusai, 18th-19th C.

"THe Precious Book", Gwen John, 1920.

Since yesterday was World Book Day, and the library was closed, here are songs and performers that feature the word BOOK:

The Heptones: Book of Rules

Broadcast: The Book Lovers

Tears for Fears: Sowing the Seeds of Love

The Drifters: You're More Than a Number in My Little Red Book

The Beatnuts: Off the Books

Charley Pride & Dolly Parton: God's Coloring Book

Booker T and the MGs: Green Onions

Taylor Swift: When Emma Falls in Love

Meat Puppets: Plateau

Cake: Open Book

Pharoahe Monch: Book of Judges

Belle Book and Candle: Rescue

Belle and Sebastian: Wrapped Up in Books

Neil Young: Southern Man

Joanna Newsom: The Book of Right-On

R.E.M.: Second Guessing

King Crimson: Book of Saturday

Barbra Streisand: My Coloring Book

Melanie Martinez: Coloring Book

Lou Reed: Talking Book

Foo Fighters: No Son of Mine

Alice Cooper: School's Out

Phil Collins: Behind the Lines

George Jones: Book of Memories

The Police: Don't Stand So Close to Me

U2: Book of Your Heart

Magnetic Fields: Book of Love

Peter Gabriel: Book of Love

Fleetwood Mac: Book of Love

The Monotones: Who Wrote the Book of Love

Gorillaz: Book of Noodle

Iron Maiden: Book of Souls

Red Hot Chili Peppers: Catholic School Girls Rule

Sia: Burn the Pages

Simon and Garfunkel: Bookends

Bruce Springsteen: Book of Dreams

Bob Dylan: Yea! Heavy and a Bottle of Bread

Johnny Cash: Goin' By the Book

Elvis Costello: Every Day I Write the Book

Creedence Clearwater Revival: Tearin' Up the Country

The Rolling Stones: Thru and Thru

Dolly Parton: Book of Life

Sam Cooke: Wonderful World

Nirvana: Spank Thru

Talking Heads: The Book I Read

T. Rex: Change

Beastie Boys: The Scoop & Ill Communication

The Kinks: Picture Book

Ella Fitzgerald: Out of This World

Depeche Mode: Should Be Higher

Son House: John the Revelator

Lana Del Rey: Text Book

Prince ft. Sheena Easton: U Got the Look

The Beatles: From Fluff to You

Aretha Franklin: My Little Brown Book

Bo Diddley: You Can't Judge a Book by the Cover