#and all anyone ever discusses is the problem of susan?

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny always knew tax evasion ran in his veins. His parents hadn’t been the most… morally sound of people, and less so as ecto-scientists.

He just didn’t think their lessons would ever result in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city and then some. Danny hadn’t seen it coming. His parents definitely wouldn’t have.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox.”

Danny ‘the Phantom’ Fenton sat down across from a rather tense looking (to Danny’s enhanced senses, anyways) Brucie Wayne and his right hand, Lucius Fox. He smiled pleasantly, matching Brucie’s vacant smile with that touch of Midwest suburban mother smile.

With his acquisition of multiple Gotham companies, his rather newly established Fentom Co. became one of the largest holding companies in Gotham, the first being Wayne Enterprises and the second being Drake Industries. After months of constantly working his butt off while fending off assassins, reforming Gotham’s slums and cleaning up some of the streets, and taking care of his nest of street kids, Danny garnered enough power to even stand close to Wayne Enterprises in terms of financial powers.

The topic of this meeting was, of course, the proposed merger of Wayne Enterprises’ Medical R&D division with Fentom Co.’s pharmaceutical department. Usually, Wayne Enterprises wouldn’t even consider such an offer, as their Medical R&D division was the most well funded and least likely to be part of a Rogue’s scheme- and therefore most beloved- department of the same nature in Gotham. However, Danny had something the other offers didn’t.

Blackmail.

His overly polite smile widened as Bruce’s mask twitched. His eyes slid over to Lucius Fox.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard much about your genius in… research and development.”

By that, Danny meant that he knew Lucius Fox helped develop Batman’s tech.

He did a lot of stalking that week. It felt rather… invasive, even if he did get a bunch of juicy secrets.

You know what they say: dead men tell no tales… but halfas are generally blabbermouths.

“Is that so? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fenton.” The man quickly glanced between the youngsters, accurately predicting that this might have something to do with Bruce’s active nightlife.

“Yes, it is such a pleasure to meet you.”

Wow, Danny didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound both so perky and dead inside at the same time, except for Susan at Gotham High’s bake sale.

Bruce wishes he could be a Susan. He’s at best a Becky.

“Will you be staying, Mr. Fox? You’re the head of the R&D department, correct?”

“Ah, yes-”

“Oh, Lucius! I think you had an appointment with the finance department right now! I heard Sally talk about it, you know!”

Lucius Fox sent an unreadable look at Bruce before rallying.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind. My apologies, Mr. Fenton, it seems as though I can not skip this appointment.”

“That’s alright. I suppose it gives you… plausible deniability… should things go wrong, haha!” Danny allowed his smile to widen a little further than natural. Bruce tensed but Lucius Fox simply politely smiled and left the room.

Ignorance is bliss and all that, Danny amusedly thought.

As the door shut with a click, Bruce dropped the vacant Brucie smile and sighed.

“What do you want,” he gritted out. Danny wasn’t about to let that slide, not after he spent the better part of this month wrangling Bruce’s problem children.

“Ah, it must be because I’m from the Midwest, Brucie, but where I come from, we value these things called manners.”

You uneducated jerk, he doesn’t say.

Danny leaned back in his chair, loosening his smile into something relaxed and sharp.

“…” Oh, boy, Danny could just hear the other man’s blood pressure rising. “What is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Fenton?”

“Relax, Brucie,” Danny sing-songed in a non-relaxing way. “I’m just here to discuss a possible merger that I’m sure you’ll agree to, and give you a couple of updates on your… wayward bird.”

He heard Bruce take a slow, controlled breath. “Very well. Where. Would. You. Like. To. Start.”

Danny ignored the gritted out sentence. He passed a contract to Bruce, who took it like he was handling a live bomb.

“Here’s the proposal, Mr. Wayne. Please, look it over.”

He watched as Bruce looked over the contract with an eagle eye before lowering it, scrutinizing Danny.

“This is… very fair.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. Of course it was fair. Danny wasn’t interested in exploiting the Waynes, despite them being very able to afford it.

He’d brought fifty manufacturing sites for pharmaceuticals, and offered up a building where both companies could send their workers. He provided top notch security- that definitely didn’t have any talons on staff, what were they talking about?- that came from his own security division. Granted, most of them were reformed and trained goons, but hey, creating jobs can only help Gotham’s economy and help break the cycle of poverty, right? Guaranteed by the Wayne name and, most importantly, uncompromised medicine that was accessible to everyone would be a damn good start. He’d also have Penguin’s empire to distribute it to those who couldn’t make it to a clinic or a store, and there were plans in there to work with and establish contracts with Gotham’s welfare department. Well… once Danny finished replacing them with people who wouldn’t try to take a cut of the funds and actually cared about the people. He was thinking… the multitudes of poor grad students and parents that need income. He’s in the process of building childcare centers and…

It’s a good thing he managed to save money from the taxes (thank you, Gotham’s morally ambiguous tax experts that were in desperate need for clients! He could do it himself but having a team of accountants at the ready was seriously so helpful.) because ancients knows the government weren’t about to step into Gotham and help the people here. He needs so much money to pull all of this shit off and a lot of it has to be clean.

Danny inwardly sighed and marked another thing onto his to do list.

Make money laundering fronts.



“Of course, Mr. Wayne. You didn’t think I’d come in here demanding money, did you?”

“I considered it.”

“I am, in fact, trying to help Gotham. You might not agree with my methods, but I’d rather not damage Wayne Enterprises when it’s doing so much to help the people.”

Ugh, he was doing too much work. Danny just wanted to- hah- chill at home and read bed time stories to his kids.

Bruce Wayne, the specific blend between Brucie and Batman, regarded him silently. Danny felt like he went up a few notches in the respect ladder.

Nice.

“You’re a criminal.”

“Says the man in the bat-suit breaking into places and assaulting people.”

Bruce’s hands spasmed around the contract. Danny smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee they’d prepared. Oo, nice!

“Ah, I heard you’re adopting- pardon, fostering- Tim Drake. Getting empty nest syndrome, Brucie?” He slipped back into using Bruce’s first name. The proposal was formal. This… was very much not.

“What about it?”

“That’s very kind of you. Speaking of which, well, of your birds, I was wondering if you remembered what I asked you to do.” Danny continued, not giving Bruce a chance to reply. “Didn’t I ask for you to keep your birds in line, Brucie?”

The CEO straightened even further, form filling out to be Batman’s imposing figure. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Do you know where your charge is, right now? No, not the formerly dead one,” Danny tilted his head, smile shrinking.

“Don’t you dare do anything to Tim. I swear, if you even lay a hand on a strand of his hair, I’ll-”

“Sit your Armani clad ass down, Bruce.” Danny snapped. “Your son’s in your office. I don’t harm children, and your assumptions are deeply insulting. Threaten me again, Bruce, and I’ll make sure you know exactly how much I know about your birds, your cousin, and the commissioner’s daughter.”

Bruce snarled but leashed his anger just enough to sit back down. He itched to go check on Tim, but leaving a threat like Phantom unwatched felt inherently wrong.

“Your other son,” Danny continued. “Is doing quite well. He’s learning that he has hobbies again. He’s actually working under me, you know.”

“He’s what.”

Oh, yeah, that tracks. It figured that Jason wouldn’t tell Bruce about anything. He’s still conflicted about his death. Danny got it.

“Ah, that’s precious information. You’ll have to offer something of equal value if you want to know. There is, on the other hand, a piece of information I’ll give you for free.”

Danny paused for the dramatic effect. It was lost on Bruce, the ultimate drama queen of this world.

“The League of Assassins are hanging around Hotham lately. It’s getting tedious, getting rid of them. I suggest talking to your old flame, you know, with words and what little communication skill you’ve got rattling around in your noggin to get them to pull back. Her interest is… unnaturally focused on Jason.”

Danny read the dark agreement swimming about Bruce’s face and inclined his head. “Should negotiations fail, rest assured that Jason will be protected.”

“…Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Go ahead and discuss the contract with Mr. Fox, I am sure you’ll find little problems with it. Ah,” Danny stood up, fixing his suit jacket. “And you should probably check up on Timothy. He’s probably having a great time in your office, Mr. Wayne.”

“I’ll see you out.”

“Of course.”

Having Batman escorting him out should probably be more intimidating.

Danny stood in the elevator, waiting for Bruce’s contemplative silence to put itself into words.

Sure enough, “What… what kind of hobbies does Jason have now?”

“I’d tell you to ask him, but you two aren’t on speaking terms, are you? He likes books, of course, but recently, he’s found an interest in glass blowing. He made quite a bit of progress on his attempts at sun catchers.”

“I see.”

Well, Danny’s not about to step on that landmine any more than he has to.

——

“Danny.”

“Oh, hey, Jason. Sit down, we were about to have dinner.”

Jason clambered into the window. Danny sighed. He had a door, but by the way Jason never used it, it was like the door didn’t exist.

“Mind telling me why the old bastard showed up on my rooftops with a bunch of glass and glassblowing tools?”

Danny smiled. “No idea.”

“Uh huh.”

Danny placed a hand on his chest and put on his best woe-is-me expression. The teen’s face twitched in annoyance. “Doubt? At me? Why, I never!”

A bread roll thwacked him in the face.

[grayhyacinth]

A Tea Party

Is this another Gravity Falls fan fic?! I've been hooked on Gravity Falls (again). Anyways, enjoy something fun!

Links: ao3, tumblr, masterlist

“One order of our hotcakes! Coming right up!” you call out with a wide smile, effortlessly weaving between tables and customers. The Greasy’s Diner is packed to the brim, the clatter of cutlery and hum of conversation creating a symphony of Friday evening energy. The smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the sweet scent of syrup as you glide past a table where a stack of pancakes is being devoured by a group of teenagers.

The diner itself, a quaint train car labeled "Gravity Falls 1883," is a relic of the town’s history, and tonight, it’s alive with the warmth and nostalgia of simpler times. The worn leather booths are filled with families and friends enjoying classic American comfort food—hamburgers, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, soda, and milkshakes, all made to satisfy both hunger and soul.

Lazy Susan, the heart and soul of the diner, oversees everything with her usual charm, her one perpetually closed eye giving her an endearing, slightly mysterious air. She’s been running this place for as long as anyone can remember, and her infectious laughter can be heard even over the din of the crowded room.

“Hey!” you shout over the noise as you approach the open window to the kitchen. “Got another ticket for ya!” You bend down a metal wire to pin the slip of paper, letting it snap back up with a satisfying twang.

“Thanks, (Y/n)!” The chef, whose name you’ve yet to recall, shoots you a playful finger gun, his other hand expertly flipping an omelet on the stove. The kitchen is a sensory overload of sizzling fats, bubbling sauces, and the constant rhythm of plates being prepped and passed out.

“No problem, dude,” you reply, smirking as you return the finger gun, before making your way back to Lazy Susan. The older woman is deep in conversation with a couple at the counter, their discussion sprinkled with the latest gossip from Gravity Falls. You catch snippets of their chatter—a local kid has gone missing, and the only clue left behind is a tiny red shoe fit for a doll.

You roll your eyes internally. Probably just some runaway who ruined the carpet with too much of playable slime, you think, stifling a grin. Parents can be scarier than any of the weird creatures around here.

“Hey there, ladies!”

Your attention snaps to the front door just as you reach for a glass to prep another milkshake. A grizzled old man saunters in, his hand raised high in a wave that’s a little too enthusiastic for someone his age. He’s got two kids in tow, and his black suit, with the missing fez, oozes with charisma—or at least, his version of it.

The boy, who you quickly recognize as Dipper, follows behind, rubbing his elbow, clearly embarrassed by the old man’s antics. The girl, Mabel, matches her great-uncle’s energy, waving confidently at the diner patrons as they find an empty booth.

You set down the rag and milkshake glass, grabbing three menus instead. The large red letters reading "Greasy’s Diner" stand out on the covers, framed by retro designs that scream classic Americana.

As you approach the booth, you paste on your best customer-pleasing smile. “Evening, Stan!” you say brightly, handing him a menu before turning to the twins. “How are you, Mabel?” You purposely ignore Dipper, even going as far as handing his menu to Mabel.

Dipper’s mood shifts the moment he spots you. He straightens up, as if caught off guard by your presence. “(Y/N)—” he start.

Mabel, ever the bubbly one, beats him to it. “(Y/n)! You’re working today!”

You smile back, genuinely pleased to see her. “Yep. Friday nights are usually the busiest. Wouldn’t want to miss out on the money.”

Stan cuts in with a wide grin, his voice booming across the diner. "Why, I like my money like I like my pancakes! Stacked high and never touched by anyone but me!" He chuckles, clearly pleased with his joke, and then adds, “Only I know how to properly appreciate a good stack!”

You laugh, though it’s a bit forced, but you appreciate the effort. He’s still a paying customer, you remind yourself, though you can’t help but find some amusement in his antics. “So, a stack of fresh, hot pancakes for you, then?”

“You betcha!” Stan says, swinging his arm proudly.

You turn your attention to the twins, holding your notepad ready. “And what about you two?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice as you wait for their orders.

Dipper glances up at you, his confidence returning just a bit. “I’ll have the, uh… the usual,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a hint of something in his voice.

Mabel beams, clearly more interested in the interaction between you and her brother than the menu. Her eyes darts between the two of you. “I’ll have the biggest milkshake you can make!” she chirps, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As you jot down the orders, you can’t help but notice the way Dipper’s gaze lingers on you, almost as if he’s trying to figure you out. There’s something different in the air tonight—an unspoken tension that’s annoying.

Walking away, you pin the order slip to the metal wire with a little more force than necessary, the clatter echoes in the busy diner. You try to shake off the strange feeling lingering from Dipper’s gaze, but it nags at you. What’s his problem, anyway?

It’s not the first time Dipper’s actions have left you feeling sidelined. You can’t help but remember the countless instances where his obsession with solving mysteries and spending time with Grunkle Ford took precedence over his promises to you. One memory, in particular, stands out:

A few weeks ago, you, Dipper, and Mabel had planned a simple day out together—nothing special, just some time to hang out, grab ice cream, and maybe catch a movie. It was supposed to be a break from all the supernatural chaos that constantly surrounded Gravity Falls.

But then, just as you were about to head out, Dipper received a call from Grunkle Ford. There was some new anomaly that needed investigating, and in an instant, Dipper’s focus shifted entirely. “I’m really sorry, but Ford needs me for this,” he had said, already halfway out the door before you could respond. “We’ll hang out later, I promise!”

“Later” never came. Dipper had spent the entire day with Ford, lost in whatever mystery they were unraveling. You wouldn’t even had mind his behavior, if he bothered to invite you!

You had tried to brush it off, telling yourself that Dipper didn’t mean any harm, that he just got caught up in the moment. But it wasn’t the first time this had happened. There were other days, other plans that had fallen because of some mystery that he had to solve with Ford. And it wasn’t just the cancellations. Even when you did something thoughtful for him—like covering for him during one of his late-night research sessions or helping him decode a cryptic passage in the journal—he rarely seemed to acknowledge it. There were no thanks, no gestures to return the favor. It was as if he took your support for granted.

Over time, those small slights and unfulfilled promises built up, leaving you feeling more like a convenient sidekick than a true partner in his adventures. You had your own interests, your own life, but it often felt like Dipper only noticed you when it served his latest quest.

You huffed loudly, to no one in particular, and busied yourself by filling up three glasses with water and ice, but your mind keeps drifting back to Dipper. Maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin, like usual. You roll your eyes at the thought, but the annoyance doesn’t fade.

“How’s the shift, sweetie?” An older man beckons you over, his warm smile instantly putting you at ease.

You return the smile, walking over to him with a friendly nod. You place the cups on a round silver tray, the ice clinking gently in the glass cups. “It’s busy, but that’s how I like it. How about you? How’s your evening going?”

The man chuckles, adjusting his cap. His finger laces around a mug of dark fizz, soda you presume. He brings it to his lips for a sip. “Oh, just fine. I’ve been coming to this diner since before you were born, I reckon. Always a pleasure to see a new face behind the counter. You’re doing a great job, kid.”

You laugh softly, leaning on the counter as you chat with him. “Well, thanks! I’m just trying to keep up with the pace around here. Greasy’s is a pretty lively spot.”

As you continue your pleasant conversation, you notice the older man’s eyes light up as he talks about his favorite memories of the diner. You find yourself genuinely enjoying the exchange, smiling and laughing as the workday stress melts away.

However, unbeknownst to you, Dipper’s expression darkens as he watches you and the older man chatting. He’s hands are clenched a little too tightly, and his jaw is set in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Just as the older man begins telling a story, you hear a commotion coming from the booth where Dipper and his family are seated. Mabel is leaning across the table, whispering something to Stan with a mischievous grin. Her brother glances at them, his eyes narrowing slightly, and suddenly, you have the distinct feeling they’re plotting something.

Your suspicion is confirmed when Mabel raises her hand, calling you over. “(Y/n)! Can we get some extra napkins? I think we’re gonna need them!”

You raise an eyebrow, but nod, grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser and the round tray of ice cold water. As you approach their table, you notice Stan looking far too innocent, while Dipper avoids eye contact altogether, staring intently at the salt shaker as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

“Here you go,” you say, handing the napkins to Mabel. She beams up at you, but there’s a glint in her eye that makes you hesitate. You smoothly slide the cups of water to each customer. Something’s definitely up.

You glance at Stan, who’s grinning behind his menu, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. The con-man is a walking prankster, and with Mabel involved, there’s no telling what they’ve cooked up. Dipper finally peeks up at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, but he quickly looks away again when he catches your gaze

“Thanks, (Y/n)! You’re the best,” Mabel chirps, her tone a little too sweet. Before you can respond, she "accidentally" knocks over her cup of water, sending a cascade of ice cubes and liquid spilling across the table—right onto Dipper’s lap.

Dipper jumps up with a startled yelp, grabbing the napkins to frantically blot at the spreading wet patch on his pants. “Mabel!” he hisses, his face turning a deep shade of red.

“Oh no! Dipper, I’m so sorry!” Mabel exclaims, though the grin tugging at her lips betrays her true feelings.

Stan bursts out laughing, slapping the table with delight. “That’s my girl! Good one, Mabel!”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the sight of Dipper, usually so composed and serious, flailing around like that is too much. A snort escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh, so you think this is funny, huh?” Dipper snaps, glaring at you, but there’s no real anger in his voice—just frustration mixed with embarrassment.

“Maybe a little,” you tease, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “Need some help, or do you got this?”

Dipper’s eyes narrow as he grabs a handful of napkins, blotting at the mess. “I’m fine, thanks,” he mutters, though the wet stain on his shirt suggests otherwise.

Mabel, still giggling, tries to cover for her brother. “Come on, Dipper, it’s not that bad. Besides, maybe (Y/n) can help you clean up. You know, since she’s so good at her job.”

You’re about to retort when Stan cuts in, still chuckling. “Yeah, yeah. And maybe after that, you two can work out all that weird tension between ya. It’s like watching a soap opera in here!”

Your cheeks heat up, and you shoot Stan a glare, but he just leans back, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable his comment made you feel. Dipper, on the other hand, looks like he wants to crawl under the table and disappear.

Trying to regain your composure, you grab a clean towel from the counter and toss it to Dipper. “Here, use this. And next time, try not to wear your drink.”

Dipper catches the towel, his expression softening slightly as he mumbles, “Thanks.”

You nod, turning to leave, but not before catching a glimpse of the small, appreciative smile he’s trying to hide.

As the evening continues, you find yourself busy with the usual rush of orders, but your mind keeps drifting back to the incident with Dipper. You can’t quite shake the image of his flustered expression or the way his eyes softened when he thanked you. It’s confusing and… uncomfortable? You couldn’t quite place a finger on it.

You glance over at the Pines family every now and then, noticing how Mabel happily slurps her confetti milkshake, chattering animatedly about a theater show she wants to see, while Stan devours his stack of pancakes. Dipper, on the other hand, seems quiet. He’s eating his burger, but his gaze occasionally flickers toward you, as if he’s lost in thought.

When the dinner rush finally starts to wind down, you take a moment to catch your breath, leaning against the counter. The atmosphere in the diner has mellowed out, with fewer customers and the soft hum of the radio becoming more apparent. You’re just about to head back to the kitchen when you notice Dipper standing up from the booth, his eyes scanning the diner before they land on you.

He hesitates, looking like he’s about to say something, but then he glances at Mabel and Stan, who are still engrossed in their meals. With a deep breath, Dipper makes his way over to you.

“Hey, (Y/n),” Dipper greets you, leaning against the counter. His hands are fidgeting with themselves. “So, have you heard the latest rumors about the missing kid?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean the one about the abducted children and the tiny red shoe they found at the latest crime scene?”

Dipper nods. “Yeah, that’s the one. I was actually going to check it out tonight. You know, see if I can figure out what’s really going on.” He pulls out a journal with the number three, flipping to a page. He flips it around and brings it up to your face. “You see, Ford and I took a sample from the scene and we think it has to do with this…”

You glance at the page in the journal, which features a cute drawing of a Victorian style doll with a pair of cartoonish eyes. “The doll: ‘Polly?’ What’s that supposed to be?”

Dipper leans in, his expression serious. “The story goes that Polly was once a beloved toy of a child who went missing years ago. Since then, she’s been wandering the town seeking lonely children to kidnap, hoping that one of them will love her.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And how exactly does she lure these kids?”

Dipper continues, his voice low. “It’s said that Polly’s presence is accompanied by a soft, haunting melody that only children can hear. She creates illusions of a warm, inviting home and plays with them until they trust her. Once they’re close enough, she tries to entice them to follow her and stay with her forever.” He clears his throat and notes quickly, “Though, Grunkle Ford never actually saw Polly. He only heard rumors and descriptions of her from other creatures he’s encounter.”

Scoffing, you place a hand on your hips and take a step back. You try to keep your tone casual, but a hint of sarcasm slips through. “Polly sounds like something straight out of a horror movie, Dipper. Who knows, maybe those monsters actually lied to Ford? Maybe she doesn’t even exist.”

Dipper’s voice raises in annoyance. He’s taken aback by your unbelief. “It might sound like a cliché, but the evidence we’ve found aligns with the description.” He points exaggerately at the image of the doll. “The missing children reports suggest something unusual is going on. If there’s even a chance that Polly is involved, we need to deal with it.”

You rolled your eyes, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Who’s we? You didn’t need me then, so why do you need me now?”

Your words carry a sharp edge, and Dipper flinches slightly, clearly catching the reference to that time he stood you and Mabel up for monster hunting with Grunkle Ford.

Dipper’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t back down. “I know I ditched you, but this is different. This is about doing what we can to protect people. Don’t you want to protect Gravity Falls?” He waves a hand around at your customers. Their happy faces pangs your heart.

“There is no we in this, Pines,” you snap, shaking your head as you let out a loud, frustrated sigh. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to keep your irritation in check. “Look, I have enough on my plate as it is. I don’t want to get involved in another one of your mystery adventures.” You glance away, making your frustration obvious. “Why don’t you go ask Ford?”

Dipper shifts uncomfortably, his resolve wavering for just a moment before he steels himself. “Ford’s busy with his own stuff, and—look, I know it sounds crazy, but you’ve got a knack for handling these situations,” he insists, his voice firm but pleading. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could help.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and refusing to look at him. “Oh, so now you need me? Where was that when you ditched us for Ford last time?”

Dipper’s face tightens, but he doesn’t back down. “I messed up then, I get it. But this isn’t about the past. It’s about what’s happening right now. We’re dealing with something dangerous, and I need someone I can count on. I need you.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can see the sincerity in his eyes—the same eyes that had once dismissed your insecurities about your friendship as unpredictable and unnecessary. It’s infuriating how he can just flip the script when it suits him, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now that gives you pause.

You let out a heavy breath, still reluctant but sensing the gravity of the situation. “Fine,” you mutter, half-annoyed, half-concerned. “But don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you. And if we end up in another life-threatening situation, you’re on your own, got it?”

Dipper nods, his expression softening with relief. “Got it. And… thanks. I won’t let you down this time. I’ll meet you at the house where the last kid was abducted at midnight”

You roll your eyes, but the slight dip in your guard shows that maybe, just maybe, you’re willing to give him one last chance. You walk away from the counter, feeling the weight of the evening ahead pressing down on you. The clock’s hands tick around the circle, and midnight approaches with relentless inevitability. You’ve already wrapped up your shift at Greasy’s Diner, and now, at home, you’re preparing a backpack filled with adventuring tools: a flashlight, a multi-tool, and a first aid kit. You double-lace your shoes, mentally preparing for whatever challenges the night might bring. The last thing you want is to be caught unprepared.

You glance up at the wall clock; it reads 11:40 PM. A deep dread settles in the pit of your stomach. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing today. With a resigned sigh, you throw on a thick jacket, feeling its weight as a reminder of the cold night ahead. You flick off the lights and check to make sure everything is in order.

Your aunt and uncle, exhausted from the day, had fallen asleep hours earlier. Their snoring from the bedroom reassures you that they’re not likely to wake up anytime soon. You quietly slip out of the house, making sure the door is securely locked behind you.

Outside, the chill of the night air bites at your cheeks as you pull the hood of your jacket up and shove your hands deep into your pockets. The quiet of the neighborhood is both eerie and comforting. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the only sounds are the distant hum of late-night traffic and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

You approach a rustic home made entirely of wood, from its walls to its rooftop. It’s wrapped with yellow tape from police officers, warning you to keep out of the crime scene. Beside the home is an old, beat-up vehicle parked in front of a small garage. The paint on the car is scratched and damaged, indicating it’s well-loved. On the small lawn was a pink plastic flamingo. A pair of sunglasses sat on top of it’s large beak.

You wait by the picket fence, hoping the neighbors won’t notice you loitering around. Glancing up at the stars, you notice they twinkle brightly, as if calling out to you.

Finally, Dipper arrives, huffing and puffing as he catches his breath. “You ready?”

You nod, pushing aside your lingering dread. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

You follow him as he leads the way, your footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. Dipper ducks beneath the yellow tape, and then holds it higher to allow you to follow suit. The house is old and weather-beaten, with overgrown weeds encroaching on the yard. The dim light from a single streetlamp flickers erratically, casting eerie shadows.

Dipper stops near the front porch and pulls out a small flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness. “We’ll start by checking here. Polly might have left more then just a red shoe behind.” He cracks open the slightly ajar door, it creaks loudly, notifying you of his rusted hinges.

As you both begin your search, the air grows colder, and the silence becomes almost deafening. The occasional creak of the house seems unnaturally loud. You move cautiously, scanning the area for anything out of place.

You approach a pile of toys in the living room, noticing some are faded and worn, while others are oddly pristine. “Hey, Dipper!” You call out to him. As he approaches, you knelt down and pick up plastic toy horse. “It’s like they’ve been left here for a while.

Dipper crouches down and examines them more closely. “Polly might use them to lure children, making it seem like she’s offering friendship.”

Your eyes fall on a small, delicate music box among the toys. Its paint is chipped, but it’s still intact. “This music box could be important. Do you think it’s connected?”

Dipper picks up the music box, turning it over in his hands. “Maybe. The journal mentioned a haunting melody. If this is what Polly uses, it could help.” He tilts it to one side, noticing a handle sticking out of the container. The brown haired boy begins cranking it, slowly and firmly until a melody begins playing.

You and Dipper stand frozen, recognizing the song. The music box’s tune lingering in the air, its hauntingly beautiful melody now accompanied by a ghostly, girlish voice singing softly in your minds. The eerie lyrics resonate with an unsettling charm:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, follow me, we won’t go far. In the woods where shadows play, come with me, we’ll laugh and sway.

Skip and hop, the night is bright, in the dark, we’ll find delight. Close your eyes, and hear the tune, magic whispers, come real soon.

Twinkle, twinkle, stay with me, in this land of mystery. Through the night, and past the trees, let’s discover what there’s to see.

A shiver runs down your spine, and you glance nervously at Dipper, your throat tightening as a thick lump of fear settles in. “D-Did you hear that?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Dipper’s face pales as he nods slowly, his eyes wide with apprehension. “Yeah, I heard it. It’s like the song is trying to reach out to us.” He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. His expression is resolute. “Let’s follow the melody.”

You shake your head, vehemently disagreeing with the person you thought was bravely foolish. “Look,” you took a step back and put your hands palm facing towards him. “I’m done with whatever this is. Ghosts? Monsters? Fine. But haunted dolls? Absolutely not. You and your endless mystery adventures can take a hike.” You jab your thumb back toward the door, making it crystal clear that this isn’t your cup of tea.

Dipper’s eyes narrow, his face hardening with determination. “I get that you’re scared, but this isn’t the time to back out. We’ve already started, and if we don’t follow the melody, we might miss a chance to stop whatever Polly’s planning.”

You cross your arms, scowling. “You think you’re so brave, don’t you? Always jumping into the unknown without thinking things through. Maybe you’re used to getting yourself into these messes, but I’ve got my own limits.”

Dipper takes a step closer, his tone sharp. “This isn’t about being brave or foolish. It’s about saving children before they all die.”

You glare at him, frustration clouding your judgement, developing your words into something more raw, more painful. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? The adventure. The thrill. You’ve never once stopped to think about how this affects the people around you.”

Dipper’s taken aback, his expression faltering for a split second before he quickly recovers. “That’s not true. I care about—”

“About what? About saving the day? About being the hero?” You cut him off, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “But what about me, Dipper? What about the fact that every time you drag us into one of your mysteries, we’re the ones who have to pick up the mess? You don’t even care that I’m scared out of my mind right now.”

Dipper opens his mouth to argue, but no words come out. He looks at you, really looks at you, and for a moment, you think he might finally understand. But then he shakes his head, his eyes show a lack of emotion, of empathy. “I do care, but it’s not about what we want or how we feel. It’s about doing what’s right.”

Your heart sinks, the finality of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “Of course,” you say bitterly, turning away from him. “It’s always about solving the mystery.”

Dipper reaches out, as if he wants to say something more, but you step back, avoiding his touch. The silence between you is heavy, filled with everything that’s been left unsaid.

You clench your fists, feeling a mix of anger and something else you can’t quite name. “Fine. But don’t expect me to follow blindly. If we’re doing this, you better have a plan that doesn’t involve us ending up as Polly’s next victims.”

The boy swallows his words, and turns away. “No problem,” Dipper says sarcastically, waving a hand dismissively as he heads towards the back door, the music box in hand. “Follow me. I bet I know where this thing is leading us.”

You both trudge through the dark woods, your flashlights cutting through the shadows that dance ominously on the tree trunks. Dipper had tossed the music box to you, instructing you to wind it up repeatedly. Despite the incessant, irritating melody, there’s something oddly soothing about it, a small comfort amid the tension.

“So,” you call out, peering over Dipper’s shoulder, “where exactly are we headed?”

Dipper is focused on journal 3, which he’s holding with a purple flashlight. The light reveals hidden text, and a small drawing in the corner, depicting field of flowers and a tea party, surrounded by doodles of stars.

He glances at you. “We’re trying to find this.” He points to the vague, almost insignificant drawing. “The rumors claim that Polly in a clearing by a lake.”

“…and you know where this is… how?” you ask, skeptically.

“Intuition,” Dipper replies with a shrug, as if it’s obvious. “But mainly because the music box is guiding us. It’s like a beacon. Without it, we’d be stumbling around blindly.”

You pause in step. Your eyes widen in disbelief. “So, you’re telling me that if we wander around randomly in the forest, we’ll eventually find Polly?”

“That’s the plan!” Dipper grins, looking both confident and a bit foolish.

You scowl, feeling a mix of irritation and reluctant admiration. “Great. So we’re just hoping the music box is as good as you think it is. I suppose if we end up lost or worse, we can thank your ‘intuition’ for it.”

Dipper’s grin falters slightly, but he maintains his proud expression. “We’re in this together now. Just keep winding the music box. We’ll find our way.”

You mutter under your breath, but your grip on the music box tightens. Despite your irritation, you’re almost envious of his lack of doubt. As you both push deeper into the forest, the night seems to close in around you, the eerie melody from the music box being the only grounding normalcy.

Finally, you notice the peaks of flowers emerging from the ground, growing more abundant as you approach. Beyond them, a clearing beside a lake comes into view. Then, your eyes fell onto the tea party that was described in the book.

What catches you off guard is the sight of an elaborate setting, a scene that would ordinarily evoke quaint charm but now strikes you as profoundly unsettling. The long table, set with intricate lace tablecloths, is laden with porcelain teapots, delicate cups, and an array of pastries that seem untouched, as if waiting for guests who will never arrive.

Seated around the table are numerous stuffed animals, each dressed in pastel-colored dresses and suits that shimmer softly in the moonlight. They sport tiny hats and monocles, their glassy eyes reflecting the dim glow of the shining stars. The stuffed animals are arranged as if in the middle of an animated conversation, their poses frozen mid-action—a teddy bear holding a teacup; a bunny poised with a strawberry, glazed scone; a dog with a red bowtie sitting politely; and a duck in a dapper suit, all seemingly caught in a moment of eternal tea-time.

Pastel balloons are tied to the backs of the chairs, their soft, muted colors creating a deceptive air of festivity. The balloons sway gently with the breeze, casting playful shadows that flicker across the scene. The entire setup exudes an air of mock merriment.

However, the true horror reveals itself as you take in the sight of the missing children sitting in between each stuffed animal They are sprawled around the table in a disturbingly serene manner. Their bodies positioned as though they had simply fallen asleep amidst the party. Their heads hang limply to the side, faces expressionless, and their mouths slightly ajar. Not a single noise escaped them as their pale faces barely take in a breath of air. Their clothes, once vibrant with life, now look out of place amidst the cheerful pastel decor.

The air is heavy with an unsettling stillness, and the soft, haunting melody from the music box persists, filling the silence. The children’s passive forms etch themselves into your mind, a haunting image that you know will stay with you.

Your breath hitches. You take a step back, your foot crushing a delicate poppy. “I-I don’t think—” Panic surges up your throat, choking off your breath and words. The sight is overwhelming, and you struggle to process it.

Dipper turns around and looks at you. You can see the frustration in his expression, the way his jaw tightens as he glares at you. “Are you seriously going to bail now?” he snaps, his voice edged with impatience. “We’ve always gotten through everything because we stick together. And now you’re just going to walk away?”

His words cut through the fog of your fear, anchoring you to the present. You glance up at him, seeing the earnest resolve in his eyes. But the sight behind him—the children, so unnaturally still—won’t leave your mind. “Do you see that?! What could your plan possibly do against—” You gesture wildly at the scene, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief. “That?!”

Dipper’s face hardens as he hears your hesitation, and there’s a flash of anger in his eyes. “You think I don’t get it? This is terrifying. But you’re the one person I thought I could count on, and you’re leaving on me when I need you the most?”

His words sting, and you can feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you. The sight of the children, so disturbingly still, tugs at your resolve. Your breath hitches again, the overwhelming situation pulling you in different directions.

“You think I don’t understand?” you counter, your voice shaking with fear and frustration. “This is too much! You’re acting like I’m just supposed to—”

Before you can finish, Dipper interrupts, his tone softer but still firm. “Look, I know I’ve messed up. I’ve said and done some things I shouldn’t have. But right now, we need each other.” He ends, confidently.

It’s so dismissive that it leaves you wide eyed in disbelief. He actually doesn’t care about you.

With a heavy sigh, you finally relent. “Okay, okay,” Feeling the weight of the situation and his words, you place two hands up in mock surrender. “Whatever. I’ll stay.”

Dipper’s face softens slightly, though the tension remains. Without another word, he begins walking up to the clearing. The faint glow of his flashlight dances ahead, casting flickering shadows on the walls. You follow closely behind.

As you approach the long table, your eyes are drawn to a striking figure perched at the head of the table. There, on top of a tall, ornate stool, sits a stunning Victorian doll, commanding the center of attention. Her golden blonde curls are meticulously arranged, cascading down her back. Atop her head is a baby pink bonnet with an elaborate lace trim, secured with matching ribbons that flutter gently in the breeze, as if beckoning you closer.

The gown is a soft pastel shade—baby pink—adding to its ethereal charm. The bodice of the dress is fitted, accentuating the doll's delicate form, and features a high lace, white collar that frames her porcelain neck with intricate patterns. At the center was a bright blue broach.

The skirt of the dress featured multiple layers of fabric. The top layer of the skirt is adorned with delicate lace trim, which falls in soft, scalloped edges, and is decorated with tiny rosettes. The hem of the skirt is finished with a delicate lace ruffle, giving it a dreamy, almost fairytale quality.

On her feet were a pair of lace socks. One foot had an accompanying red shoe. The other was missing it.

You look at Dipper, who is also frozen, his eyes wide with uncertainty. Before he can speak, a loud, shrill voice interrupts.

“Uninvited guests!” The voice echoes through the clearing, causing both of you to jump.

Your gaze snaps to the source of the voice. You scan the attendees—stuffed animals and the motionless children—before your eyes settle on the doll. Her beautiful porcelain face, pale and delicate, displays two rosy cheeks and a soft, closed smile. Her eyes are shut tight, but a chill runs down your spine as you wonder—did she just... speak?

The voice carries a singsong quality as it continues. “Welcome to my party, but you’re terribly late! The fun is about to begin, and I do hate to wait.” The doll’s arm raises slightly, her hand perpetually open. Though she cannot truly point, the gesture directs your attention toward two chairs set at the far end of the table. These chairs, ornately decorated, are clearly intended for the guests of honor—chairs that seem to beckon with a chilling invitation.

The air grows colder, and the haunting melody from the music box had long since muted in place. The doll’s gaze remains fixed ahead, her closed eyes concealing whatever dark intentions lie behind them.

“You’re just in time for tea,” the doll continues, “So come and sit, don’t let it be.”

Dipper shifts his weight from one foot to another. He glances at you, and then says. “O-Oh um, we’re not here—”

You interrupt him, your voice laced with urgency. “Sure! Don’t mind if we do!” You grab his arm and yank him along, leaning in close to his ear. One hand shields his ear from the doll’s sight as you whisper harshly, “We have to play along. Don’t make it angry, Dipper. The last thing we need is for that thing to think we’re party crashers.”

Dipper’s eyes widen in realization, and he nods vigorously. “Okay. Sure. That sounds good.” He gives three uncertain confirmations.

You both approach the ornate chairs at the head of the table, their plush, pastel-colored cushions inviting and deceptively comforting. As you sit, the cushions mold around you, cradling your weight with a softness that feels almost too soothing, as if coaxing you to relax.

The doll’s face remains fixed in its serene smile, her closed eyes seemingly gleaming with satisfaction. Her hand drops back down to her side, and instead, a white teapot adorned with pink bows rises from the table, hovering gently in the air.

With a whimsical lilt in her voice, the doll says, “I do hope you’re hungry, for tea and cake we’ve got. But before we begin, a little joke—don’t you think that’s a lot?”

She pauses, as if waiting for a response, then continues with a playful tone, “Why did the teacup frown and pout? It lost its sugar and cream, without a doubt!”

The eerie laughter that follows is almost mechanical, as if it’s been rehearsed. The stuffed animals begin to jiggle and bounce in their seats. It’s as if the stuffed animals are performing a grim, choreographed routine, their movements and laughter meticulously timed. Their glassy eyes seem to twinkle with an artificial delight, their stitched smiles stretching wider as they moved merrily.

You exchange a tense glance with Dipper, the bizarre nature of the scene amplifying your unease. You offer a stiff chuckle, which Dipper mirrors, attempting to blend in with the strange atmosphere.

Instantly, the laughter ceases, as if it were a switch that had been flipped. The sudden silence is nerve-racking, making your stiffened smile feel even more out of place.

The teapot glides across the table, its movements smooth and deliberate. It pauses in front of your and Dipper’s tea cups, the spout extending as it begins to pour a dark liquid. The steam curling from the cups carries a faintly burnt scent, mingling with the underlying bitterness.

The teapot sets itself down softly onto a lace doily, the porcelain clinking gently. You observe the tea as it settles in the cups, the dark liquid swirling slightly with the motion.

Her mechanical, yet oddly enchanting voice chimes in. “Would you like some milk or sugar in your tea? Or perhaps both, to make it sweet and neat?” Her eyes remains closed, her head was set straight, neither looking or tilting to observe the both of you.

The jar of sugar cubes and the small pitcher filled with milk lift gracefully into the air, floating over toward you with an almost magical precision. The doll’s eyes remain closed, but her posture is expectant, as if eagerly awaiting your choice.

Dipper glances at the hovering items, then at the doll. “Um… neither?” he says hesitantly. The doll’s serene smile twitches at the edges, her head tilting slightly to the side in a manner that seems almost disappointed.

A moment passes. One long moment.

You can almost feel the shift in atmosphere, a cold weight settling over you as you realize the doll’s displeasure. To avoid any further ire, you swallow hard and stammer, “S-Sugar… please.” You quickly add, “Thank you,” hoping to placate the doll and salvage the situation.

Polly’s smile smoothly returns to its original, serene curve. She straightens her head back to its normal position, her posture relaxing as if satisfied with your response.

"How many sugar cubes shall I add?" Polly inquires, her shrill voice directs its attention towards you. "Just one? Or two? Or perhaps more—make sure to choose with care, for sweetness brings delight or despair."

Her hand, though rigid and fixed, seems to gesture towards the jar of sugar cubes with an almost imperceptible twitch, as if hinting at the gravity of your decision. She giggles, enjoying her jokes.

“T-Two is fine,” you squeak out, your voice trembling with fear.

Two sugar cubes, lifted by a silver spoon, float gracefully from the jar and tumble into your tea, where they dissolve into the dark liquid with a soft hiss. The milk and sugar set themselves back on their respective lace doilies with a gentle flutter.

An oppressive silence falls over the clearing. The stars above shine brightly, but their light only amplifies the eerie stillness of the field—no insects buzz, no rustling from hidden creatures. Just an unsettling quiet.

“Drink,” Polly demands, her voice now stripped of its rhyming whimsy. The sudden shift in tone sends a chill down your spine. Your gaze flits between Dipper, the doll, and your cup of tea, the weight of Polly’s command pressing down on you as you reluctantly prepare to sip.

As you lift the cup to your lips, your hand trembling, Dipper suddenly springs to his feet.

“Actually um,” Dipper begins, his voice slightly wavering but attempting to sound confident, “we’re not here to play. We wanted to ask you a question.” He glances over at you, visibly relieved that the focus has shifted off the tea, but his satisfaction quickly fades as he sees the dread in your eyes.

Polly’s eyes suddenly snap open. They are a startlingly bright blue, the same shade as the broach on her dress. Her gaze locks onto Dipper, the intensity of her stare making you squirm.

Polly's grin remains fixed, her lips curling slightly as she begins to speak in a sing-song.

“Questions and answers, the game we play, but you must sip your tea before you sway. Ask away if you dare to pry, but remember, there’s no going back once you try.”

Her eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief as she continues.

“Words have power, as you’ll soon see, one sip and you’ll uncover what’s meant to be. But if you refuse, there’s a price to pay, and the answers you seek may slip away.”

Dipper swallows hard, his resolve wavering under Polly’s relentless gaze. “We’re just trying to find out what happened to the missing kids. Can you help us?”

Polly’s smile widens, her eyes never leaving Dipper. “Ah, the missing ones, so close to our hearts, But to learn their fate, the tea must start. Sip and reveal what lies beneath, or face the consequences of your disbelief.”

“Dipper!” You lean over your chair, grabbing at his vest with a tight grip. The fabric bunches up in your hand as you tug him closer. “We have to play along,” you insist, your voice a low, urgent hiss. The frustration in your tone seems to only aggravate him further, and he shakes off your hand with a scowl.

“No way!” he hisses back, his voice laced with panic. “We don’t know what’s in that thing!”

You turn your attention back to the tea cup, its dark liquid swirling ominously. The fear of what’s inside is unnerves you, but drinking it is the only way to get Polly to cooperate. With a determined breath, you lift the cup and lock eyes with Polly, who’s watching you intently. “If I drink this, will you cooperate with us?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

Polly’s eyes lock onto yours with an unnerving intensity as she considers your offer. The eerie, porcelain doll remains perfectly still, her unsettling smile never wavering.

“Ah, a brave soul, how rare to see,” she begins, her voice lilting in a rhythmic, almost melodic tone. “A sip from the cup, and questions shall be free.”

You breath out, almost sighing. With a final, resolute glance at Dipper, who watches with anxiety, you lift the cup to your lips. The liquid inside is dark and opaque, its aroma bitter and uninviting. Polly’s gaze follows every movement with a sinister patience.

You take a long sip of the black tea. The liquid is shockingly hot and has a taste that is both earthy and bitter, lingering on your tongue. You swallow, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

Polly remains fixed on you, her eyes unblinking and intensely focused. Her smile doesn’t waver as you put the cup back down on the table

“Well done,” the doll tilts its head, pleased by your action. “You’ve proven you’re willing to play. Now, tell me what you seek, and I’ll give you a chance to speak.”

You opened your mouth and began, “How do we convince you to give us the missing children?”

The Victorian doll stands up her short legs seems to balance her on top of the stool. “Tell me why you seek to save the children from their dream. For here with me, they are content and serene. They dream of love, their hearts entwined, with parents and loved ones, all perfectly aligned.”

“Because,” you stood up as well, uncomfortable with how indominable she appeared. “They need to return to their actual parents who miss them!”

Polly’s eyes, now bright and gleaming, open wider. Her voice, though sweet, carries a hint of sorrow. “But you see,” she replies in a sing-song tone, “Their parents left them lonely, left them on their own. Deprived of the love and the attention they craved, so I whisked them away to a world they’d be saved.”

It was impossible to argue with her, you realized. She saw herself as an angel of saving grace for the lonely children of Gravity Falls. Nothing was going to change that. “What… will happen to them if they stay with you…?” You pause between each word as your voice grew into a dim whisper.

Polly’s porcelain smile remains, but her voice turns colder. “If they stay with me, dear, they’ll slumber here, sweet and dear. Their bodies will wither, and their spirits will fade, while I keep them close in the shade.” A chill runs down your spine as Polly’s words become clearer. Her serene face seems almost mocking as she continues. “They’ll dream of a world where they’re never alone, but time will pass and their bodies will moan. When their forms decay and their lives come to end, I’ll gently lay them where the waters blend.”

You and Dipper exchange worried glances as you take in the sight of the lake behind Polly. The realization hits you: beneath that calm surface, the lake likely holds the bodies of missing children of the past. A cold shiver runs down your spine. What has Dipper dragged you into?

Dipper seems to be formulating a plan, his eyes darting around the scene. He turns to you, urgency in his voice. “I need you to distract her while I find a way to defeat Polly. Can you do that?”

You stare at him, disbelief etched across your face. “Distract her?! How could I possibly—”

Before you can finish, Dipper suddenly tips over his teacup, sending its contents spilling onto the grass. The handle of the delicate cup cracks off and clatters to the ground. “Oops!” he exclaims with exaggerated nonchalance. “Can you handle that for me, (Y/n)?”

Your jaw drops as Dipper swiftly ducks beneath the table, vanishing from Polly's sight. The doll's gaze remains fixated on the spilled tea, her smile widening into an unsettling crescent. She murmurs something under her breath.

“Haha, w-what was that?” you stammer, taking an uncertain step away from the table.

Despite her facial muscles being unable to move, you can sense her eyes narrowing with displeasure.

Trying to buy time, you feign a cheerful demeanor. “Oh, Polly! Look at that mess! Isn’t it just the most amusing accident?” You wave your arms dramatically, hoping to divert her attention as Dipper figures out how to defeat her.

Polly finally responds after a pause. Her head snapping up to stare at you. “Oh, such a clumsy little thing, Making spills and causing a fling! But entertain me if you please, before I chase you to the trees!”

She begins to rise from her chair, her movements smooth yet unnervingly quick. You back away nervously, trying to keep her attention focused on you as she starts to follow you around the table and towards the lake.

With each step you take, Polly’s laughter rings out, a chilling melody that echoes across the clearing. She floats with an almost unnatural grace, her gaze fixed on you as you weave through the field, her intentions clear.

As you lead Polly in a wild chase, your heart pounds with anxiety. You approach the lake and then turn around to face her, you glance behind you into the murky depths below. Well, it seems like you have no where else to run. Just when you think you might be cornered, you see Dipper darting from beneath the table, clutching Polly’s red shoe and the music box.

He skids to a halt near the edge of the clearing, holding up the shoe and the box. “Polly!” he shouts, his voice carrying a mix of urgency and determination. “Your shoe is a key to this whole mess! And the music box—let’s see if it can bring your little party to an end!”

He quickly turns the handle on the music box and starts to play the haunting melody. The sound fills the air, and it appears as though the stars are drawing closer. Polly’s expression shifts from curiosity to agitation as she stops in her tracks, her eyes widening.

“You think a tune will save your day?” she shrieks, her voice cracking with frustration. “It’s not enough to keep me at bay!”

But Dipper’s plan is already in motion. And he yells, “(Y/N)! Get her!”

Realization sets in and your body moves before you’re ready. You lunge forward and grip the head of the doll pulling it towards you into an unyielding chokehold.

“What’s next?!” You gruff out, trying to keep a firm hold of the protesting doll as it tries to squirm out of your grasp.

He runs to you and holds up Polly’s red shoe, revealing a hidden compartment inside. He pulls out a shimmering, ornate key and waves it in front of her. “This key.” He announces triumphantly, “If you wind it into the keyhole in her back, she’ll stop moving as the spirit trapped inside will finally release.”

He quickly hands you the key, his hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline. You manage to pry open Polly’s back, revealing a small, ornate keyhole hidden beneath her delicate dress. With a deep breath, you carefully insert the key and start turning it.

As you wind the key, Polly’s movements become more sluggish. Her eyes, once wide with rage, begin to lose their focus, her form flickering as if struggling to maintain its shape.

“Keep going!” Dipper urges, his voice barely audible over the fading music. “You’re doing great!”

With each turn of the key, Polly’s protests grow weaker. Her once-terrifying grin softens, and her movements become more erratic. Finally, with a final, decisive click, the key reaches its limit. Polly’s body suddenly goes limp in your arms, her disturbing blue eyes still wide open.

A profound silence falls over the clearing as Polly begins to disintegrate into ash, leaving only her head behind. You and Dipper release the creepy objects, allowing it to gently fall into the grass.

Dipper steps forward, his face displays relief and exhaustion. “We did it,” he says, his voice filled with weary satisfaction. “Let’s get out of here before anything else happens.” He starts to walk away, his focus on the path ahead.

A moment passes.

When he notices the silence stretching longer than expected and doesn’t hear your footsteps following, he stops and turns around. His eyes search for you, and his heart skips a beat when he finally spots you standing still near the remnants of the broken tea party.

“(Y/n)…?” Dipper calls out, his voice tinged with concern.

You stand there, unmoving, a vacant expression on your face. Your eyes, usually full of life, are now glazed over, and a sinister smile curls your lips. Dipper’s stomach drops as he takes in the sight.

“You’re—” he begins, but his voice falters. The realization hits him like a cold wave. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

He rushes back to your side, shaking you gently. “(Y/n), can you hear me? Snap out of it!”

But the smile on your face remains unnaturally wide, and your eyes stay fixed in a haunting stare. “Welcome to the party,” you say in a voice that’s not quite your own, echoing Polly’s eerie tone. “You’re the next guest of honor.”

Dipper’s heart races as he searches for a solution. He frantically looks around, his mind racing through every clue and piece of information he has. “No, this isn’t right,” he mutters to himself. “There has to be something…”

His gaze lands on the remnants of the doll and the now-silent music box. The realization strikes him again—Polly’s spirit might have latched onto you in a final act of revenge.

“Okay, think!” Dipper says, more to himself than anyone. “The key worked for Polly, so maybe there’s something left we can use.”

He runs away to frantically searches through the debris, his hands moving with urgency. As he works, he remembers the music box and its intricate mechanisms. With a desperate hope, he pries open the music box, hoping to find something that might help.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking with guilt. “I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve—”

Walking slowly, deliberately towards the boy, you observe him carefully. Your voice is distorted as you respond in a manner that drew from the neglected depression caused by Dipper. “Left behind, I’ve grown so cold, now with this doll, my heart’s been sold.” You shake your head, trying to separate the sing-song voice from your own. “I told you, Dipper. I’m not a tool you can use whenever it’s convenient.” It’s barely above a whisper.

He finally looks at you. Really looks at you. The dawning realization hits him like a cold wave crashing over him. He understands now: this was all his doing. The doll had called out to lonely children, those who felt abandoned and neglected. It wasn’t just a matter of curiosity or adventure; it was a matter of deep, personal connection. The spirit that inhabited the doll had latched onto it because of its own loneliness when its original owner vanished. And now, that same spirit has attached itself to you.

Dipper’s heart races as he confronts the gravity of the situation. He stands, his palms slick with sweat, and he wipes them nervously against his vest. His eyes are filled with a mixture regret and desperation. “(Y/n),” he begins, his voice trembling slightly, “I... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize... I didn’t see how my actions would lead to this. I thought I was just solving a mystery…”

You fail to reply, your expression a mask of hollow understanding. You tilt your head slightly, as if considering his words but not truly grasping them. The eerie calmness in your demeanor sends a shiver down Dipper’s spine. His hands tremble as he reaches out to you, the weight of his guilt and fear heavy in his heart.

With a deep breath, Dipper envelops you in a hug. You’re stiff against his body, and he’s stiffly hugging you back. His hands are placed awkwardly on your back, as if he’s unsure of where to place them. You can feel his heartbeat accelerating, each thud resonating with the frantic urgency in his chest. His face is flushed red, and the tips of his ears are crimson, revealing the depth of his feelings for you.

Yet, Dipper shrugs past his shyness and confronts you. His voice softens, and you can see the struggle in his eyes as he continues. “Look,” he says, his tone more earnest than before, “I know I can be a pain sometimes, and I know I’ve always let you down. I even say things that I regret. But… I…” He hesitates, taking a deep breath as if gathering the courage to finally say what’s been on his mind. “I’m sorry for calling you unpredictable. I’m sorry for calling your feelings unnecessary. I’m sorry for only seeking you out when it’s convenient for me.”

He pulls away slightly to look at you with sincerity, his voice almost breaking as he continues. “I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, like your thoughts and feelings were less important than mine. I got so wrapped up in the mysteries and trying to prove myself that I forgot how much you’ve been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He squeezes your body, a silent plea for you to believe him. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re just another part of the adventure. You’re more than that. You’re… important to me, in ways that go beyond all this craziness. I need you here, not just because of what we’re facing, but because… I need you.”

You struggle against the spirit's influence, your mind a battleground of despair and defiance. The doll’s voice echoes in your head, a cruel reminder of your loneliness and Dipper’s perceived neglect. You fight to hold onto your own thoughts, pushing back against the overwhelming darkness.

“I need you. We have a ton of bizarre mysteries to solve, and… well, I’m gonna need your expert opinion on the best milkshake flavors at Greasy’s Diner. And believe me, that's a crucial job.” He lets a hand go to cup your face gently. His thumb brushing against a tear that leaks from the corner of your eye. “So, how about it? Stay with me and I promise to bring you the most ridiculous milkshake combinations we can think of. Deal?”

With a surge of willpower, you manage to break through the spirit’s hold. You feel the pressure in your mind lift, the cold grip loosening as you regain control. A final burst of energy helps you push the spirit out, and you gasp for air, your chest heaving.

As the last remnants of the spirit dissipate, you collapse into Dipper’s embrace. You both fall, tumbling onto the fluffy grass. Your arms tremble slightly, and your breathing is ragged. Slowly, you wrap your arms around him, the hug coming out as an awkward yet sincere gesture. Dipper’s arms tighten around you, his grip warm and reassuring.

“Seriously?” You murmur into his shoulder, your voice still shaky. “I’m never messing with the supernatural again, Dipping Sauce.”

Dipper chuckles into your arms, his eyes softening with relief. He’s still flushed, but there’s a tender, grateful smile on his face. “Yeah… me either.” His voice filled with earnest emotion. “At least, not alone. Not without you.” He pauses. “And you’re important. More than you know.”

The two of you stayed lying in the grass under the stars for a while longer, the night air cool and calm. His embrace was comforting in comparison to the terror you just went through. Eventually, without saying a word, you both silently agreed it was time to head back to civilization.

The walk to your house was peaceful, Dipper’s hand gripping yours tightly, as if reassuring himself you were still there beside him.

When you reached your doorstep, you turned to him with a soft smile. “See you in the morning, Dipper,” you said, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

His face lit up in a deep blush as he instinctively covered the spot where your lips had touched. “Y-Yeah, see you tomorrow, (Y/n),” he stammered, coughing awkwardly to hide his embarrassment.

You chuckled, finding his shy reaction utterly endearing. Turning to head inside, you were almost through the door when you heard his voice again.

“(Y/n)?”

You paused, hand still on the doorknob, turning just enough to see him standing there, his eyes earnest and filled with something unspoken. “What is it, Dipper?”

He hesitated for a moment before giving you a sheepish grin. “You think we could meet up at Greasy’s tomorrow? I’ve been working on this idea for the coolest milkshake ever, but… well, you’re the milkshake master, so…”

Your heart warmed at the thought, and you smiled. “Of course. I wouldn’t want you ruining my reputation with a bad milkshake experiment.”

He laughed, the tension easing between you. “Deal. Let’s create the best milkshake Gravity Falls has ever seen.”

With one last grin, you gave him a wave and stepped inside. But then, he says something else.

“(Y/n)?”

You full turn around this time and face him. “Dipper?”

Dipper stared at you for a long moment, his eyes distant, as if lost in thought. You could see the wheels turning in his head, like he was on the verge of saying something more. But then, he shook his head gently, a small, almost defeated smile tugging at his lips.

"Nothing. Good night, (Y/n)," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, sensing there was something deeper lingering just beneath the surface. Part of you wanted to urge him to speak, to let out whatever was weighing on him. But for now, you let it be, trusting that whatever it was, Dipper would tell you when he was ready.

"Good night, Dipper," you said warmly before turning and slipping into your home, leaving him standing on the porch.

[sweetblinginrose]

sweetchestnut,

(Billy Hargrove x fem¡OCMayfield)

Samantha Danielle Mayfield finally decides to move to Hawkins with her sister and mother, as well as her mother's new husband and his arrogant son, William "Billy" Hargrove. what they are unaware of is that, gradually, these step-siblings will discover that the line between contempt and passion is more fragile than they supposed, and what begins as shared hostility turns into an intense and undeniable attraction that both find themselves unable to resist.

warnings: read at your own risk, as it includes a continuous sexual environment, profanity, mention of death and suicide, step-sibling relationship, sex, and all its derivatives.

words: 2,5k +

author’s note: i have decided to rewrite this story after so long, so i will tag some people who interacted with my old story. if you don't want to be tagged, let me know and no problem i will remove you and not tag you again 🩵.

(if someone wants to be tagged just tell me)

this work is entirely my own creation. that is to say, i have not based it on anyone else's, so any resemblance to any other work is purely coincidental, as i have been using this format for all my stories since 2019. i hope you enjoy the story. if you find any translation errors, something you don't understand, or similar, please let me know.

masterlist next chapter

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

Chapter One: Shot Throught The Heart - Bon Jovi

Samantha Danielle Mayfield. Yes, Mayfield. She found the surname Hargrove detestable.

Ever since that fateful day when Neil Hargrove took Susan from the arms of the two young girls' father, Samantha has been unable to forgive her mother. She chose to stay with her father indefinitely, firmly resolved not to see her mother's face again, or so she believed. Susan had "betrayed" the Mayfields, fracturing the relationship between Max and Samantha to the point of only allowing them sporadic encounters, plunging both sisters into deep sadness.

As the years passed, they got used to seeing each other only on weekends, and everything seemed to be going well. Until one day, a letter arrived at the Sam residence, which read:

“Hello Sammy,

I am writing to invite you to my wedding with Neil in a few months. We are very happy and wish to share our joy with you. Also, there are some things we need to discuss in person that you should know.

With love,

mom.”

Samantha received the news with displeasure, but over time she understood that everyone is free to decide about their life and that she had to respect it, as nothing would change to please her wishes. So, swallowing her pride, she began the search for a dress for the occasion.

The ceremony went off without incident. Max and Sam were playing cards when Susan stealthily approached her eldest daughter and whispered the dreaded words:

“We need to talk.”

Upon hearing her mother's prepared speech, Samantha burst into tears. She couldn't bear the idea of her mother taking Maxine away from her. Her sister was almost her best friend; separating them was an act of selfishness, wasn't it?

Samantha's reaction was intense. She screamed how great her hatred was for that family, capturing the attention of all those present and ruining part of the wedding. She insulted everyone for the last time and fled in search of a phone booth to call her father, who consoled her, equally affected, trying to convince her that it wouldn't be so bad, that they could keep in touch and visit occasionally.

After the incident, they decided to postpone the move for another year, until early 1984, due to the girl's immature behavior and the deterioration of her father's health, whose lung cancer was advancing inexorably. Months later, at the end of 1984, the girls' father died, unable to fight the cancer that rapidly consumed his weakened body, leaving a huge void in both, but especially in Samantha. She decided not to inform anyone, except her sister through a letter that would arrive a month later, which meant that Samantha lived alone during that time, surviving with difficulty.

The news devastated Maxine, who informed her mother. Susan, very worried, called Samantha repeatedly, not knowing that her daughter had escaped. She called all the authorities in California to find her daughter.

Samantha distanced herself from everything and everyone. She left behind friends and family, taking with her only a letter from Max, some clothes, and the little money she had left. Just the day before Christmas, guided by the offers at the bus stations and the address in Maxine's letter, Sam decided to go to Hawkins, Indiana. Her arrival on December 24, '84, was a Christmas gift for her distressed mother, who interrupted her prayers upon hearing the doorbell. Seeing the familiar face, Susan burst into tears, hugging her daughter tightly and shouting for joy. The commotion attracted everyone present, who ran to witness the emotional reunion between the two redheads and the brunette at the door.

═══════ .˚♡˚. ════════

Six months had passed since the death of their father, and five since her arrival in Hawkins.

Samantha had settled just in time for the start of the second academic term. Despite the widespread interest in befriending her, she only forged ties with a select and quite different group, as most did not pique her interest. Among her new friends was the one she liked best, Keith, the affable young man in charge of the game room, the Arcade, who offered her employment during the school year upon seeing her go there so often, forging a solid friendship based on common interests; two ruby-haired girls, Vicki and Nicole, with whom she shared lunch in the cafeteria and moments of hidden cigarettes under the staircase; and the charming Nancy Wheeler, who became a great ally during Sam's first days of adaptation. Obviously, in the best position was her little sister, Maxine, whom she sneaked into the Arcade and would give everything for. Despite all this, Danielle was quite flirtatious, so she liked to attract the attention of boys, flirt and play with their feelings when she went out at night with Vicki and Nicole. On the other hand, there were people that the brunette couldn't stand, the most notable being her stepbrother, Billy, and his close circle, except for the two redheads mentioned earlier. Exhausted by his arrogant attitude, the girl promised herself that one day she would punch that stupid face. The animosity was mutual. Even when Neil, her stepfather, forced Billy to take the sisters home and bring them from the institute, he occasionally "forgot" his duty, leaving them stranded there, returning on foot. To top it off, the intensity of their two characters caused constant altercations at home, always ending with Neil hitting and scolding Billy or yelling and blaming Susan for the behavior of his eldest daughter, which caused even worse behavior on the part of the eldest, who couldn't stand her mother, but after all, she was the one who had brought her into the world, so she didn't quite like the idea of someone raising their voice to her progenitor.

═══════ .˚♡˚. ════════

Neil and the sisters’ mother had left for California, as they needed to take care of some paperwork related to the Hargrove family’s old residence. It was important to have an in-person conversation with the lawyer. As a result, they would be back in a couple of hours. For Sam, this meant the freedom to sleep all day without anyone bothering her.

At eight in the morning, the couple woke up the kids to inform them of their departure, mentioning that they would return early in the morning. After that, everyone seemed to fall back asleep. The older siblings were tasked with supervising Max, a duty that didn’t seem challenging.

Samantha easily drifted off to sleep. Final exams were over, summer vacation was just around the corner, and the air conditioning in her room promised refuge from the summer heat. She discarded her pants, leaving herself in underwear and an oversized T-shirt, and nestled under the sheets in an idyllic climate. However, the teenager’s perfect plan was interrupted when, in her dream, Billy appeared wearing his ridiculous oversized blue tracksuit. This time, it looked even more comically large, and the music thundered until Sam felt like her eardrums would burst, abruptly waking her up. The strident melody wasn’t part of her dream; it was coming from the room next door, Billy’s room.

The volume was excessive.

Sam tried to ignore it, not wanting to confront Billy today. In fact, she had considered completely ignoring her stepbrother’s existence during this time. She attempted to drown out the sound with her pillows, but after several failed attempts, she jumped out of bed, ripped off her sleep mask, and flung it across the room. It collided with a poster of Tom Cruise, adorned with lipstick marks on his massive cheek. Angry, she smacked the clock that read nine-thirty in the morning.

“Does this idiot have no brain?” she muttered aloud, delivering a blow to the alarm clock. The battery popped out, rolling under the bed.

With resounding steps, she marched toward the door, which she flung open with such force that it slammed against the wall, enlarging the existing hole with each slam. But that was inconsequential at the moment. What truly mattered was throttling Billy until he was breathless. Samantha advanced down the hallway, possessed by rage, until she reached her stepbrother’s door. She pounded on it frantically, demanding that he either lower the music volume or turn it off altogether. After a series of forceful knocks and numerous unanswered shouts, she decided to swing the door open abruptly, not anticipating the scene that awaited her on the other side.

“Billy, I'm so sick of you blasting music at this hour… Oh, shit!” Sam burst into the room, her eyes narrowed in fury, words pouring out rapidly. As she opened her eyes wider, she was met with an unusually peculiar sight…

The increasing wave of moans and lascivious sounds, both male and female, erupted, intertwined with powerful music, completely flooding the house, not just limited to the bedroom. Among these gasps, those of a blonde who shared Billy’s presence stood out. The young woman lay naked, reclined on the bed, which, along with the sheets, seemed to slide down inexorably, although at that moment, surely, that was not her main concern. Although her bust was quite small, it bounced in an unexpected way. They looked like… flan? Billy’s fingers sank into her waist, squeezing with an intensity as if his life depended on it. However, the problem was that Sam had caught Billy in the act of carnal activity, that is, fucking. She had taken in the sweat that soaked his body, slightly dampening his hair, which clung to his forehead and neck; the deep growls that escaped from his lips; the vigorous and fast movement of his hips and the roar that emanated from them; the expression of concentration manifested in his firm bite on his lower lip, and in his eyes, those that said everything, which met Samantha’s just as she opened them, unleashing an involuntary scream from both of them.

“Holy-. Sam! You don’t know how to knock on a damn door? Get the hell out!” he exclaimed with a startled and hoarse voice, covering himself as best he could with the sheet that, as he pulled it, caused the girl who was covered to fall off, not caring at all that his companion was completely uncovered. He quickly threw a magazine, which landed right on the young woman’s shoulder, who closed the door probably faster than the speed of light.

Samantha was frozen, staring at the white wooden door, marked with several scratches and holes from Billy’s punches from inside, reflecting on what had just happened and how to erase that moment from her mind.

“Holy shit…” she gasped. It was the only thing that could come out of her lips at that moment.

“What’s going on?” Max asked behind her, yawning and startling her, almost giving her a heart attack. “I just woke up because of the screams. Are you guys fighting again?” she asked her older sister innocently, assuming that everything boiled down to a usual argument, and without hesitation, taking her side.

Sam nodded and smiled. That was all she did.

“Why don’t you make breakfast today? I… I have to go to the bathroom… yeah.” The young woman sneaked away, reaching the bathroom and locking it, leaning her hands on the sink as she stared at herself in the mirror. She began to lift her shirt and compare herself with the figure of the blonde she had seen because Sam believed her breasts were small, but upon seeing them, she changed her mind. What Samantha didn’t realize was that her distorted perception of her body was leading her to see herself that way, given the taunts she had received from her former friends and, now, Billy, when in reality, she had an enviable figure.

After splashing cold water on her face, she decided to use the toilet before going to breakfast, realizing that she had wet her underwear while recalling the scene with her stepbrother. She couldn’t believe it. It all seemed like a lie to her.

“What’s happening to me?” she wondered, putting her hand on her forehead to check for a fever.

A few moments later, Sam perceived voices coming from the bathroom window facing the street. She interrupted her actions to look out cautiously, still with her panties down, watching as the blonde she had seen in Billy’s room just minutes ago had a heated argument with her stepbrother, who had just received a slap.

“You promised me we would be alone, you jerk,” the girl’s voice echoed in the distance as she got into her car and drove away from the Hargrove residence, extending her middle finger in a defiant gesture through the window, gradually disappearing on the horizon. Samantha felt a deep sense of relief upon confirming that the girl had left. She exhaled deeply and left the bathroom with the intention of savoring the aroma that had attracted her so much: freshly made waffles by Max. However, upon leaving, she came face to face with Billy, who appeared before her wearing only his underwear, exposing his happy trail situated between his V, and a cigarette between his lips. His skin was so covered in sweat that it gave the impression he had just emerged from the shower.

“Move,” he demanded with authority, firmly gripping the girl’s arm and moving her on his own with a gentle but strong push, causing one of her breasts to rub against his damp bicep.

“Don’t touch me, Billy,” threatened the girl, a little uncomfortable with everything that had happened earlier, walking away toward the kitchen.

═══════ TAGS ════════

@suckmystoneysworld @simpfortargaryens @kelsj21 @fifitheflowertotsposts @livingdeadrey @bearomanoff18 @sizzlingpartylightpeach @elenaa199 @lovelyjaelyn2007 @sassyblazecloud12 @strangerthing93 @teddy4suna @g-cf2020 @filthykimmy @paradisepoisons @astro-menace @manzanitaa @eirose94 @waterfi @shelbyraehay13 @elenaa199 @aneareyouok @sassyblazecloud12 @rickgrimesismydaddy1 @kiwi-unique @maydaylovex @eirose94 @sanguwuxyoonbummy @lostdreamingwallflower

[imperiuswrecked]

could you please tell me how you feel about SUPER FRAME's video 'Namor Respect the King' on YouTube? Does he do a good job in capturing the character?

Here's the link if you need it - Namor Respect the King - YouTube

Watching this video and summed up all I can say to the Narrator is:

I think it's a terrible character analysis video. The Narrator could have cut this 22 minute video into less than half the time and it would have the same impact because they repeat things way too many times. Their insight into the character basically amounts to Namor/Sue & "Reed is a Cuck" propaganda, Namor is a narcissist, a homewrecker and Namor's ego stems from the adoration of his people (?????? I’ll talk more on this in a bit). They say, in spite of this, "Namor is an interesting character" many times and then fail to expand on why Namor is an interesting character. 

The Narrator's only contribution to Sub-Mariner Lore discussion is when he talks about Namor + Rime of the Ancient Mariner, however that is then negated when he equates Susan as being the personification of Life in Death from Rime of the Ancient Mariner. This video seriously tries to tie Sue to Namor far too much when if anyone actually reads Namor’s comics, Sue’s presence is very minimal. Not to mention they don't even mention that in Issue #44 of Namor, the Sub-Mariner (1990), the whole comic is a homage to Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Susan isn't in it.

I wrote out my thoughts as I watched the video so under the cut is a longer response, excuse my anger/rant:

The first thing that jumped out at me was this line by the Narrator as they try (and fail) to explain why Namor has an ego, is arrogant, and entitled; "He's also a character that's been raised to never be told No. It's made him entitled." In what Lore has Namor ever been always told yes about everything? The Narrator insists that Namor is surrounded by "Yes Men" and that "What was being created was a man of hubris, that was the favorite. Praised, loved and admired by the people of Atlantis, told that he was to be their savior." And once again repeating this same thought in a different line "When compounding all these elements What we have is a king that's been entitled, that's never been told no, that's been put on a pedestal regardless of his desire not to be praised". Lmao. I cannot take this seriously but I am trying to address more of this video. 

“Susan represents the life, the compassion, the good among mankind, Susan represents everything Namor is looking for. That's partly why he's never tried to stop boning her, ever, every time they meet he's trying to get down, make susan his wife to no avail.” < first off that’s gross, and secondly this is exactly what I mean when I say People get all their Namor characterization from how he interacts with Susan and not from his actual character. I am begging people to cut Sue out, leave her alone, why is everyone always so obsessed with a Namor/Sue connection? Get over it. 

“Namor is a character that is atoning for the sins of man” < what. the. fuck. No. Namor is not atoning for surface humans sins, Namor is the personification of Nature’s Wrath, he is the boiling anger of the Sea, he is the product of love and hatred, the balance between humanity and nature, he doesn’t give a flying fuck about making up for the sins of humans, he’s the PUNISHMENT for human’s degradation of the oceans and it’s creatures. Namor is literally Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind (1896) by Jean-Léon Gérôme, but instead of a well, he’s rising out of the oceans. 

The two times they mention Lady Dorma it's about her betrayal of Namor, ok what about all the times she saved Namor's ass? Or that Namor gave up his right to the throne/trident in order to save her, begged Neptune to save her??? 

“Warlord Krang loves Dorma but she loves Namor, but Namor loves Susan, but she loves Reed, but Reed loves science, Reed wants to solve humanity's problems but neglects Susan, Susan wants Reed but pushes back on Namor's advances” < once again, that’s the EARLY Fantastic Four/Tales to Astonish dynamic, that is a plot, not even accurate because Reed LOVES Susan. This is pointless to mention in what is supposed to be a video talking about how interesting Namor is, and they never once mention that Lady Dorma is the Love of Namor’s Life, his True Love, and the one woman he never truly moves on or forgets. 

"Namor is in love with the idea of susan storm because she was the one to first tell him No-” This is Betty Dean erasure. This is why I keep saying people put way too much credit on Susan for being the one to push back against Namor, Betty Dean literally held a gun to his head, she was a human, she had no powers, and through her actions and words she convinced Namor that not all humans are bad. I’m not trying to hate on Susan, I like Susan, but people need to understand she isn’t the only person who has had a profound impact on Namor’s character. 

“But he doesn't know her intimately.” Finally something I agree with, Namor doesn’t know Susan, he does put Susan up on a pedestal but he doesn’t actually know her as a person. 

“Namor is socially illiterate, never being told no for most of his life means he doesn't understand how to process rejection or the desires of others.” < Narrator, I hate you. 

“This adoration he's had most of his life, the love he's had from his people.” hahahaha what? The character who is literally hate crimed for being born half human/atlantean by both humans and atlanteans? I can count on one hand the number of supporters Namor has who love him unconditionally (romantically or platonically); Betty Dean, Lady Dorma, Marrina Smallwood & Princess Fen, Lord Vashti. The rest of Atlanteans either love or hate Namor depending on the tides, they are such fickle people, and the majority of them are racists. 

“This adoration places him on a pedestal; he believes himself better than those around him, that they are beneath him and so he doesn't have to acknowledge their feelings.” < Namor would literally die for people. I do not understand how they managed to go so off track when it’s so simple. 

I really feel like people see Namor being a Petty Bitch to literally everyone and they go “oh wow he thinks he’s better than everyone” yeah, he does, he does think that, because all his life he’s been told he isn’t, he’s been called slurs, degraded, and the only person who would boost his own self worth was his mother. Namor is a Prince of the Blood, by extension all Atlantean aristocracy is arrogant because they are literally blood descendants of a sea god. Not to mention so many characters disrespect him constantly, the Avengers, normal humans, etc. So why is he supposed to just accept that? Nah. I like when he serves tea and throws the humans hypocrisy back in their faces. 

“Namor and Susan's dynamic.” What dynamic? The one where he’s used as the obstacle between Reed/Sue? That one? “His wants and desires are paramount, because that's what always comes first” Lmao. ok buddy/sarcasm. “Reed is a cuck.” No, Reed Fucks. I have comic proof he does. It’s super pathetic how people don’t see the common tropes that are used for early F4 romance drama subplots. 

In the first 13 minutes, he's repeated the same lines over and over, “namor doesn't get told no, namor is loved by his people, namor and susan, to Namor women are a prize” I swear I’ve never left as hateful comment on a youtube video but this one really tested my patience and I wanted to post “Hey this is complete horseshit.”. 

I think the Namor & Thor comparison was interesting but it’s hardly anything new, both characters are arrogant princes of their realms who interact with humans. However the whole “Thor has a Jane, and Namor doesn’t have this, his “Jane” is a Married woman.  He never learns the lesson of his humility.” is a Bad Take. I want to know if people even know that Namor was married twice. If you really want to compare Thor & Jane with Namor, then Namor & Betty is literally RIGHT THERE. Human woman teaches arrogant otherworldly Prince about the goodness of humankind. 

“Namor has toxic character traits” good. I love that about him. People are so fucking boring I swear to god, he’s a fictional character, he can be messy! 

"While Namor is all for himself" < kill me. Namor is so selfless, he literally puts his duty to his crown/people/the oceans above his own happiness all the fucking time. 

“Namor can show pity especially when it's a mistake made in the name of love.” They are talking about Dorma’s betrayal. I want to know if they even know about Tigershark, Namor literally goes out of his way to help Tigershark despite the fact that Tigershark HATES Namor, why? Because Tigershark’s sister, Diane Arliss, wanted her brother safe. He pitied Tigershark, even after Tigershark murdered Namor’s father, he pities him. 

“Namor is a narcissist. He gaslights.” < lmao! Namor is painfully honest, he is like that dude who will look you straight in the eye and call you stupid to your face and he’s right.

It took 17 minutes for them to finally fucking mention that Namor feels out of place among the atlanteans and humans and that should have been in minute one, it should have been the main focus. Anyways I’m done. This whole video is trash imo. It’s sad to think people will find this and think it’s the definition of his character.

[incarnateirony]

whyyyy do whiny delusional stans keep trying to argue in my anon box, nobody cares about what you tell yourself to sleep at night, how badly you choose to misunderstand someone, et cetera. nobody cares about your opinion carol. not those of us operating in the real world. I'm very sorry you attached your personal identity to a fictional stan narrative but that is a personal problem.

What you seem angriest about, though, is realizing that whatever has changed has put you so beneath me, this is all you've gotten from me since January. Since 2po loves January so much. And then most distinctly since the start of March to the point I've nearly vanished into the aether.

Sure whatever believe what you want lmfao fuck all nobody cares susan currently horny furries are more important to me than your disassociative arguments so take some time to unpack your realistic place in the world and that it does not orbit around your interests or beliefs. Or anyone particularly caring if you're breathing much less opinioning or what those opinions are, karen.

seriously there's some major perspective based psychotherapy that needs done with you lot. I just got a fuckin anon "U SAY UR NOT AN SPN STAN BUT ALL YOU TALK ABOUT IS SPN" [scrolls wall] horny furries, horny furries, fantasy land, GMing, WGA, WGA, WGA, Gotham Knights, video games, kpop, beyonce, all CW tweets, music videos conveniently posted right before those tweets that match them or even in regards to ongoing messaging on almost every social

("Lets Get It", Light It Up/Set the World On Fire/Spell to Burn/Burn It Down/Coming In Hot/3 2 1 BOOM, We're Getting Out, Where Did He Go, We Are The Warriors That Built This Town, Breaking In To Break Out, City Is At War, Revenge, The Hidden Cult, Howdy Business Partner, Keep Your Enemies Closer, This Isn't Walker's Fight Anymore, Nobody Expected This, Never Stop Me Zaddy Dent just turned around and said Don't Stop five minutes later THATS WEIRD, Some People Claim To Be Healers Some Actually Are, Let Go Of The Past, et al and so on ad nauseam),

industry events, paramount, CBS, multiple networks, oh there it is, there's the one SPN post I've been reblogging.

Dude. What you're experiencing is psychosis. By definition. You cannot perceive the world outside of your hyperfixation and determine it is fake and does not exist. You are actually only defining yourself. You can not perceive the underdark roleplay friends talking, you can't perceive other networks, studios, or industry events in discussion. You DEFINITELY won't let yourself fuckin' perceive the song vs CW tweets thing. It is all you understand and talk about, and because you refuse to perceive anything else, you tell yourself your behavior is normal, and scream at others that they must be the same as you.

Get a therapist. You are kings and queens of fictional landscapes in your own head you project onto social media spaces about TV shows. Get out of the way. The real royals are busy GMing for horny furries between shots you don't comprehend. But whether or not you comprehend it, you're the punch lines of the communal joke anyway. It's funny to us, whether or not you get it or how offended or opinionated you get about it.

[Intro: Jaira Burns, Soyeon & Lexie Liu] K/DA Should we show 'em how we do it every day? Yeah, yeah, yeah Na, na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na Let's get 'em

[Verse 1: Soyeon & Lexie Liu] Akali that girl, 'Kali go grr 'Kali don't stop, 'Kali don't skrrt 'Kali got a job, 'Kali go to work 뜨거워 언제나, don't get burnt 넘쳐 흘러 more than a buffet 난 죽여 주잖아 like I'm Buffy 누가 감히 on my Huffy 거- 문열지마 that's a rough day (Woo) I'm givin' you more 'cause I'm greater than 필요없는 시험들, 답은 이미 But all of my numbers are talkin', babe 블루마블 Mrs. 모노폴리 (Ooh) 너는 – 종이 돈이 나는 real money (Hey) 필요 없대 너네들이 많은 돈들 Go get it, go get it, go get it, the mission 눈을못떼 모두 그래 너도 그래 (Oh) 'Cause I got it different

[Pre-Chorus: Madison Beer & Miyeon] All I'll ever know is life up on a throne 시 작 하 면 끝을 보는 거야 You want

[Chorus: All & Miyeon] More Know I got it, so here you go (Let's go) You look like you could use some more (More) Know I got it and never runnin' low (Low) Yeah, I got more than enough, add it up and away (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like bomb-bomb, blow your mind Never givin' less and that's how it'll stay (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like all day, all the time

[Verse 2: Jaira Burns] When I go, it's for gold Yeah, they cool, but I'm cold I don't fit in the mold I'm a rebel I don't do what you say Makin' moves, I don't wait While I smile in your face I got different DNA

[Verse 3: Madison Beer, Miyeon & Jaira Burns] What's higher than the top? That's me (That's me) Come take a look before falling at my feet (Oh) 조용히 몸을 숙, 여 봐 (Yeah, yeah, yeah) So take a look, 나를 기억해 a queen (Oh)

[Pre-Chorus: Madison Beer & Miyeon] All I'll ever know is life up on a throne 시 작 하 면 끝을 보는 거야 You want

[Chorus: All & Miyeon] More Know I got it, so here you go (Let's go) You look like you could use some more (More) Know I got it and never runnin' low (Low) Yeah, I got more than enough, add it up and away (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like bomb-bomb, blow your mind Never givin' less and that's how it'll stay (Ayy, ayy) You know I got it like all day, all the time

[Bridge: Lexie Liu] Way out 感觉犹如海浪, on the wave now 不断往前遨游, never weighed down This is how I do it every day, wow, wow 这一路上的奇迹 都记住了你的每一个瞬间 无比的耀眼 I know, I know, you want some more 准备好就一起走 givin' it all

[diana-bookfairchild]

@fluffbruary Bonus

Part 1 of 5

Prompt: Yearning

Telling stories of James and Lily was difficult.

Sirius could readily admit that to himself. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Harry, and the fact that Harry had been denied this part of himself and his heritage for nearly six years now. So it didn’t matter that even saying his best friend’s name made him feel like he was seventeen again and drowning in sadness and memory.

What mattered was Harry sitting in front of him, Lily’s green eyes shining, wanting in a way he never was.

Getting Harry to tell anyone he wanted something was a bigger task than killing Voldemort. He had been so obviously scarred by the Dursleys in so many ways – but the biggest way, in Sirius’ opinion, was just how insignificant he considered himself.

Remus had told him to be patient, and Sirius wasn’t an idiot. He’d known he had to be.

And Harry had blossomed. He was still cautious, still careful not to ever openly state he wanted something, but he’d grown into the confident young man before him, who smiled freely while looking into his eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Sirius, really,” he was saying.

“You have Hedwig?” Sirius fussed anyway. “And the emergency portkey? And the snack bag? And you’re sure Susan is bringing Bambi?”

“Dad!” Harry laughed, and Sirius felt his heart skip a beat, like at every time Harry called him that. It wasn’t often – only casually emotional moments, but Sirius still loved it, he still treasured every time.

“Do you think my parents are haunting us?” Harry’d asked one day, and Sirius hadn’t been able to breathe for a moment through the pain and the memories, knowing his godson wasn’t asking about actual ghosts - that discussion, painful as it had been, had already taken place.

“I think—” he’d started carefully, knowing he was, for all that he was only twenty-nine and fresh out of Azkaban, one of the only true guides and grown-ups in Harry’s life, “That we can never know that for certain. But if you’re asking if that’s a bad thing, I don’t think it is.”

“Why?” Harry had frowned, swinging his legs, “Muggles always talk about ‘haunting’ like it’s a bad thing.”

Sirius had had many years to contemplate the intricacies of grief and how ephemeral life was, but he didn’t know how to express that other than through wildness - sex, alcohol, cigarettes and recklessness. “I don’t think it can be as obvious as good or bad,” he told the quiet boy finally. “But – we carry their love, their memories along with us on our own lives. And if they’re there, they not only see the bad stuff, but they see the good, they see the best.”

He hoped James and Lily hadn’t seen how their boy had been treated by his so-called blood family. He yearned to know if they thought he was doing a good job raising him.

At least he knew James would’ve never had a problem with Sirius taking on the mantle of ‘dad’. James had always, always wanted the people he loved to be happy, and nothing more or less. As long as both Sirius and Harry were happy, he would’ve been fine with it.

God, and Merlin, and everyone, he yearned for James.

“—eleven years old now. I’m all grown up!” Harry was saying importantly.

Sirius smiled and ruffled his hair. “You sure are, bud. Can’t blame an old man for being cautious, though, can you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know I call you old, Sirius, but you’re only thirty-one. That’s, like, youth for wizards.” He paused. “Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Whatever. You’ll take care of Sanju, won’t you?”

“Mooncalves don’t really need caretaking, but yes, you know I will.” Sirius dragged Harry into another hug, telling himself not to cry. Harry wasn’t even on the Express yet, and Sirius already yearned for it to be Christmas.

This type of yearning, though, was much better than others.

“Be careful, okay?” He added quietly. “You know that there are other Noble Houses’ heirs in your year – many children of suspected Death Eaters.”

“I know,” Harry his beloved hooligan of a child was replaced by Harry the rising political and business star for a moment. “I’ll introduce myself to those I haven’t met before. I’ll try to find out the lay of the land before the vote.”

“Don’t forget to have fun, though. Explore the castle. Fly. Make some new friends.  Bask in first-year lessons, they get very hard soon. Just don’t challenge anyone to duels before you’ve gotten used to your wand. Don’t sneak out after curfew alone without telling anyone – someone should always know where you are.”

“I will, promise.” He hesitated, and then in a whisper so faint Sirius could barely catch it, “You’ll write?”

Sirius swallowed, wanting all over again to find and murder the Dursleys. “Of course. Are you kidding? And I want return letters from you at least three times a week. I don’t care what you put in them. Tell me what Ron has been eating, for all I care.”

Harry smirked. “That’d take three parchments at least.” 

The ten-minute warning whistle rang out. Sirius’ heart clenched as he hugged his godson one last time. “I love you, Harry.”

“Love you too, Sirius.” Harry blinked up at him as though he were about to cry. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, but just wait for it. At Christmas, you’ll be begging me to let you stay.”

Harry laughed. “I know I’ll love Hogwarts, but I promise, nothing will make me want to stay there when I can come home.”

Sirius swallowed. It was all he had yearned for, back in the first hard days when Harry had been so wary and so cold, when trust between them had seemed a hopeless thing. For Harry to consider his place home, and for him to be the kind of child James had been and Sirius and Remus had not: who loved Hogwarts, but never preferred it to their own home.

“Go find Ron, Susan and Neville,” he said. “Leave me to my maudlin musings.”

Harry clicked his tongue. “You are going out with Moony and the Weasleys tonight, right? No musing by yourself?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Harry!” They heard Ron’s voice, and turned to see the ginger boy waving enthusiastically through a window next to a hastily backing away Neville. “C’mon, mate! You’ll miss the train!”

“Coming!” Harry called back, and he turned, grinning brightly, to his godfather. “Bye, Sirius!”

“Bye, Harry.” He said softly, watching him climb onto the train, run to his friends’ compartment and collapse on the seat next to Susan, who was trying to get Bambi to behave. The haughty half-kneazle jumped onto its owner’s lap with a loud purr, and he could see Susan throw her hands up in exasperation.

“Sirius!” He heard Arthur call, and turned.

“Hey, Arthur,” he said. “Boys all aboard?” Ginny gave a sniff, peeking out from behind her father’s legs. “Don’t worry, Ginny, the year’ll fly by and you’ll be the one going to Hogwarts soon enough.”

The girl smiled weakly. “I hope so.”

“Are you okay, Sirius?” Arthur asked in an undertone. “The first time can be hard.”

He watched his godson squabble with his friends, punching Susan on the arm as he laughed. So different from the boy he’d been four years ago, when Sirius had first taken him in.

There would be dangers, he knew that, but he’d equipped Harry to the best of his ability to face them. He knew his godson would not shy away from adventure.

He was, after all, his parents’ son.

The train began to chug and move forward, thick smoke pouring out, and Ginny ran beside it, waving frantically to her brothers with tears running down her face.                                                                        

“Fred, get in the train properly! Ginny, come straight back!” He heard Molly scream, and laughed as he waved to Harry, who pressed his face to the window, grinning and waving back, jostling for a place there with Ron and Susan, who were also waving.

“I reckon we’ll be fine,” he replied to Arthur, feeling the yearning and yet the peace he’d made with it wrap around his heart.

[overwatch-archive]

NEW DETAILS EMERGE ABOUT POSSIBLE FATE OF HORIZON LUNAR COLONY

Atlas News | May 30, 2017

For the first time in years after Horizon Lunar Colony went offline, new information has been revealed as to the fate of the program.

At a press conference today, Lucheng Interstellar revealed the surprising fact that the colony's databases and monitoring systems are still up and running this day. While no direct communication has been established with the facility, the company has successfully retrieved interpersonnel logs sent days and moments before the base lost contact with earth. Below are some of the transmissions Lucheng shared.

BREAKING UPDATE:

Lucheng Interstellar has released its first image of the colony's still-operating integrated monitoring systems. A Lucheng spokesperson told Atlas News the connection is unstable, but the company is working around the clock to gather new information.

Message 01

From: Nevsky To: Winston

Gorillas Confined to Quarters

Just a quick note to let everyone know that I have gone ahead and confined Simon and a few of the other gorillas (you know the ones, the usual troublemakers) to their rooms. Their acting out is getting particularly troublesome and I'm not sure how much longer we can tolerate it. I know no one has any good ideas to address the problem (it seems clear that these reactions are a result of their genetic therapy—and possibly just life here on the colony), but this is a growing problem that we need to tackle head on, or we're going to end up with more cases like Nguyen in the infirmary. Even without the genetic manipulation, the gorillas would be a handful... but the way they arem they are a serious threat we have to take seriously.

In an attempt to show we're not playing favorites with them, I think the rest of the gorillas should be confined to quarters as well.

Message 02

From: Flores To: All

Ventilation System Inspection

Still hearing strange sounds coming through the ventilation system throughout the colony. When are we going to have time to give it a thorough inspection? I'm not sure about the rest of you, but I am fairly attached to having a fully functional supply of oxygen.

Message 03

From: Winston To: Yoshida

RE: Gorillas Confined to Quarters

First off, I agree with your suggestion that we confine all the gorillas to quarters. There aren't many good options. I don't see how trying to send them to earth would be a solution (it's hard to know medically if it would even be a good idea), and the first opportunity for that isn't for a long time from now. But the fact of the matter is that the gorillas are members of the colony, just like you and I. I don't believe there's a magic solution to socializing them. We think of them as teenagers, but they are much more than that.

Obviously we couldn't have predicted such a negative reaction to the genetic therapy. (The fact that not all the gorillas has had the same behavioral changes is curious though.) At the very least, I think we should slow down (and possibly) discontinue their ongoing treatments.

Let's discuss this more at our next executive meeting.

Message 04

From: Zhang To: All

Have You Seen Me?

By the way, is anyone else concerned that it's been almost a week and no one's seen Hammond? His cage has been empty for a week. I guess it's not a big deal to anyone else, but it would be good to have all our test specimens accounted for. I don't know why we ever thought it was a good idea to have smaller test subjects, I completely regret it.

Message 05

From: Winston To: All

*[HIGH PRIORITY] Station Emergency

I need help at airlock E-35 immediately. Emergency malfunction with the airlock, need everyone to come at once, situation is critical. This is not a drill.

Breaking Update

HORIZON LUNAR COLONY

Specimen Training Module

Antenna Gain 38.7 BD

Transmit Frequency 9.3-9.8 GHZ

Wavelength 33.2 CM

—

SPECIMEN STATUS

Tracking:

Speciment 9 — Simon

Speciment 10 — Dyson

Speciment 15 — Calvin

Speciment 20 — Susan

Speciment 23 — Hypatia

Speciment 24 — Marie

Speciment 26 — Ellie

Not Found:

Speciment 8 — Hammond

Speciment 28 — Winston

SCIENTIST STATUS

[queenlucythevaliant]

The Last Battle is full of lovely and memorable quotations, but I think my favorite is this exchange:

“’So,’ said Peter, ‘night falls on Narnia. What, Lucy! You’re not crying? With Aslan ahead and all of us here?’

‘Don’t try to stop me, Peter,’ said Lucy, ‘I am sure Aslan would not. I am sure it is not wrong to mourn for Narnia. Think of all that lies dead and frozen behind that door.’”

I actually have something like these lines written in my Bible in the margin of Revelation 18. Generally, I try to avoid writing Narnia quotations in my Bible (I don’t think that’s what either of them are for), but this is my exception. When I first studied Revelation and encountered chapter 18, it made me think and feel so many of the same things that I vividly remember thinking and feeling when I read Lucy’s line in LB way back in elementary school. God cares about our work and our loves here on earth, not just while they last, but eternally.

For the uninitiated, Revelation 18 is a lament for the secular world (“Babylon”) led by an angel. Ok, I had a long summary written to go here, but really the point that I wanted to make is this: the angel, who is representative of God Himself, leads us to lament the loss of the good and the beautiful with the destruction of evil. It’s an honest, very human reaction. We are makers and enjoyers of much that is good and beautiful in this world, and it’s worth mourning, even if it is tied up with great evils like slavery and the blood of martyrs. God’s people both rightly rejoice at God’s justice and rightly lament the destruction of the old world.

Lucy does the same thing. Despite rejoicing, along with the rest of the cast, at Aslan’s final triumph over evil and at the beauty that awaits them “further up and further in,” Lucy takes a moment to weep for Narnia, because she loved Narnia, because it was worth loving.

Jill does the same thing, in a way. “’Yes, and I did hope,’ said Jill, ‘that it might go on for ever. I knew our world couldn’t. I did think Narnia might.’”

Yet it’s Tirian’s remark that gets me the hardest. “’What world but Narnia have I ever known? It were no virtue, but a great discourtesy, if we did not mourn.’” This sentiment, too, I have written in my Bible.

Like Tirian (and unlike the Friends of Narnia), we have only ever known this world. Everything we have ever done or made or loved has been here. Is that not worth mourning?

Lewis is emphatically clear that the ending of LB is a happy ending. The New Narnia is the true Narnia, and in it there is no death or evil, and all our favorite characters will spend the rest of eternity having indescribably great adventures in the very presence of Aslan. Yet still there is room for mourning loss.

I was upset by “Night Falls on Narnia” the first time I read it, age 8 or 9. I loved Narnia and a part of me felt as if I belonged there. But if Narnia was destroyed in the 50s, there goes my chance of ever getting to visit! Yet I remember how the fact that the characters were sad too made it easier to bear. Lament, I think, makes the sweetness of that final ascent that much sweeter.

Studying Revelation evokes many of the same feelings. It’s a beautiful book, but it’s also terrible in its way. Being led in lament and promised that space to mourn the only world we have ever known makes the vision of the New Heavens and New Earth so much sweeter.

And the funny thing is, the first time I read Revelation 18, I was thrown back to being 8 and weeping for Narnia. I was thrown back into my younger self’s upset at losing a world I had never even visited but knew and loved all the same, and to the peace that comes with Lucy’s tears and Tirian’s solemn words of loss. That visceral, tangled feeling came back to me in a rush and a I scrawled these words in the margin of my Bible:

I am sure it is not wrong to mourn. What world but this have I ever known?

[handeaux]

Cincinnati Was Rocked in 1908 By UC Professor’s Free-Love Ideas

Scandals in Cincinnati come in abundant variety, from sex and politics to greed and cruelty. Philosophic scandals are somewhat rare here, so it was surprising when Henry Heath Bawden got fired from the University of Cincinnati in 1908 for pondering the sanctity of marriage.

Bawden arrived at UC in 1907 as Professor of Philosophy. He was, in fact, the entire Philosophy Department. At the time, UC’s College of Liberal Arts boasted just 27 faculty and Bawden was the only one teaching philosophy. He came to Cincinnati from an endowed professorship at Vassar. During six years at that elite school, he proved so popular that the students dedicated the 1906 yearbook to him. Bawden and his wife were both Ohio natives and both had family here, so no one questioned why he would give up a distinguished position at one of the Seven Sisters – women’s colleges considered equal to the Ivy League – to teach at a small, municipal college out in the hinterlands.

By all accounts, Bawden was an engaging lecturer, a beneficial mentor and a creative thinker. He wrote the standard introductory text for an emerging school of American philosophy known as Pragmatism. His problem was, he didn’t much care for marriage and insisted on discussing his aversion.

One day in May 1908, Bawden’s philosophy caught up with him when Mrs. Bawden, the former Susan Talbot of Granville, Ohio, sat down to chat with UC President Charles Dabney. Why Mrs. Bawden met with President Dabney remains a mystery. At the time, several motivations were proposed:

Mrs. Bawden was tired of defending her husband and explaining their unusual living arrangements, so she called Dabney.

Gossip about the Bawdens’ unusual living arrangements was circulating among the UC faculty and, more importantly, donors, so Dabney called her.

Some students were upset that Bawden expressed anti-Christian beliefs in class.

The “unusual living arrangements” were these: The Bawdens lived in the Auburn Hotel on Malvern Place in Mount Auburn. Mrs. Bawden and the couple’s two sons lived in a suite at the main hotel, while Professor Bawden lived across the street in the annex.

Whatever the genesis of the meeting, it soon came out that Bawden had been asked to leave Vassar after Mrs. Bawden discovered some passionate letters and erotic poetry written by her husband to a young research assistant. Confronted with the documents, Bawden confessed, told his wife he was in love with the graduate student and that his philosophy of marriage allowed him to associate with anyone for whom he felt affinity or “comradeship.”

Everyone agreed that Professor Bawden, outside his indiscreet love notes, had not acted on his philosophical yearnings, nor had he propounded his radical beliefs in the classroom. His philosophy, nevertheless, disqualified him from teaching in the presence of impressionable young minds, particularly those of the fairer sex, according to President Dabney, who told the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune [12 May 1908]:

“No man whose opinions or whose manner of life are destructive of the very foundation of human society will be permitted to teach in any institution for which I am responsible.”

At the time the scandal broke, Bawden had two weeks left on his teaching contract. UC decided that any student who declined to attend the remainder of Bawden’s classes would be counted as “present” and no women could attend his classes without a note from their parents.

Just what were these dangerous beliefs propounded by H. Heath Bawden? As he himself summarized them in a manifesto published by the Cincinnati Times-Star:

“Fellowship, comradeship, is the only basis of a true marriage, and when, for any reason, this has vanished, the real immorality is to seek to keep up the outward form when the inward essence has fled.”

The university and the local media interpreted that statement as promoting free love, sexual license and the abolition of marriage. Here is the Cincinnati Enquirer’s [12 May 1908] take:

“Prof. Bawden’s views are unique, but not new. He holds to the creed of the ‘Free Thinkers.’ As to marriage, he holds that it is a good institution only in so far as it is a provision for the offspring of the relation of the sexes. Man and woman should live only as comrades – with comradeship only as a tie.”

And here is an excerpt from a Cincinnati Post [13 May 1908] editorial:

“And when a college professor makes known that his belief lies NOT in marriage as the safety valve on all society – at once its blessing and its protection – but in a love of the ‘affinity’ type, his day of usefulness as a pedagogue has passed.”

To recount: Bawden wrote some passionate words to a Vassar student that, apparently, were never delivered. It is possible – none of the media reports suggest this – that Bawden may have expressed his desires in some other manner. Everyone agreed that Bawden never had actual sexual relations with anyone other than his wife. Bawden’s students insist he never discussed his opinions on marriage in class. In brief, Professor Henry Heath Bawden was fired because of his scandalous but entirely personal beliefs.

Bawden told the inquisitive that, if they really wanted to know what he was thinking, he was ready to publish four books – one on Pragmatism, one on education and one on aesthetics, plus a volume of his love poetry. The newspapers roasted him for this shameless self-promotion.

The Enquirer printed more unsubstantiated rumors than the other local papers and claimed that Bawden’s Vassar inamorata had fled Poughkeepsie and was now living in California. That’s where Bawden landed after his dismissal from UC.

Mrs. Bawden took the children and moved in with Professor Bawden’s parents. She divorced her wayward philosopher in 1909, never remarried and lived until 1953. Both sons earned Ph.D.s and became professors.

Bawden’s book on Pragmatism was published in 1910 and is still regarded as a classic, although Pragmatism was long ago superseded by other schools of thought. By the time his book came out, Bawden was living as Henry H. Bawden, working as a truck farmer in San Ysidro, California. Over the next 40 years, he built a brand new reputation as a pioneer in organic farming.

During his time in California, Bawden lived with one woman for a while, got sued for enticing a married woman to live with him and married and divorced another woman. No word on whether he found his true comrade.

None of his other books ever saw print. Bawden died in 1950 and is buried in San Diego.

[roiscrying]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU - draco malfoy x hufflepuff reader

Inspired by/based on Taylor Swift’s the way i loved you

words: 2.1k

warnings: swearing??

Draco sat crossing his chest as he stared at the other boys in the room. For Muggle studies they had gotten to take a trip into the Muggle world and him, being the only Slytherin boy in the class, was paired up with Cedric and a Hufflepuff in his year who he had yet to bother to learn the name of. He understood the logic, as the Hufflepuffs were annoying, but they didn’t get on his nerves as much as the rest of the houses. That was except for Diggory, “You know Y/N is in the room right next to us” the other Hufflepuff spoke up, Draco shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the girl’s name. Her being of course, the reason he so strongly disliked being put in the same room as Diggory. Who really would want to room with the person their ex moved on from them with, especially when it was not just any ex, it was Y/N.

“Yes and” 

“Would anyone really find out if we used that new spell to-”

“To listen to their conversation?”

“Exactly,”

“Justin I don’t know if that’s the brightest idea” Draco grunted in agreement,

“You just don’t want to hear Y/N talk about Cedric, Malfoy, someone jealous”

“No,” he responded a bit too quickly, “I just don’t want to get in trouble” the boy, Justin scoffed, “fine, do it, but i’m not taking the blame when you two geniuses get caught” he regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth but his pride stopped him from taking them back. With a quick mumble of words a mirror-like object appeared and hovered in the air, giving them access to see and listen to the room next door. you sat along with two other Hufflepuff girls, Susan Bones and Hannah Abott, who also happened to be your two closest friends. Your conversation was uninteresting for the boys for several minutes, discussing trivial topics and cracking inside jokes, so much so that Justin was about to end the spell when Susan piped up, 

“Sooooo, what is it like dating Cedric” all three boys started intently listening. 

~~~~~~~~~

You let out a soft laugh, a gentle blush reaching your cheeks, 

“Well, he is sensible and so incredible-” 

“Uhg I’m so Jealous”  Susan groaned making you laugh again, a bigger smile spreading across your features,

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting nothing more than to just slap the growing grin off of Diggory’s face.

“He says everything I need to hear and it's like I couldn't ask for anything better” the girls in the room squealed and a pillow was thrown from Hannah hitting Susan in the face as she spoke up, 

“What was your date like, tell me everythingggg” 

“Well, he opened every door, and he kissed my hand and he said, ‘you look beautiful tonight’ and I felt perfectly fine” you paused taking a deep breath and looking tentatively towards the other girls,

The hesitance apparent in your voice and features caused Draco to sit up slightly, sure it was foolish to think she would miss him, but part of him still had hope that you missed him even half as much as he missed you.  

“Well?” Hannah spoke up,

“What is it Y/N,”

 “Uhg this is going to sound so stupid but if I’m honest, I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain when it's 2 a.m. and I was cursing his name, when I was so so in love that I acted insane, that's the way I loved him” Susan let out a loud gasp which earned her another smack in the face with a pillow by Hannah, 

“What was that” you remarked as soon as the girl had entered the common room and could no longer hear the two. 

“What was what Y/N”

“You know what I am talking about”

“I don’t believe I do” you sighed incredulously, 

“You just told someone that I was obsessed with you and wouldn’t leave you alone?” you scoffed shaking your head, “you are incredible” you spat

“Y/N, you’re being unreasonable, you know why I had to do that”

“Unreasonable Draco?” You laughed bitterly, “Don’t turn this on me Draco,”

“Why are you acting like this Y/N-”

“Why am I acting like this?” you shook your head again, “Do you even realize what you are saying? It’ ‘unreasonable '’ to be mad at my boyfriend for saying that I’m just some girl who is obsessed with you and won't leave you alone? Unbelievable. Actually, very believable. Nothing is ever your fault.”

“Y/N not now-”

“Not now Draco? Am I inconveniencing you?”

“Y/N that’s not what I meant-”

“What did you mean then?” The boy sputtered for answers as you turned on your heel and walked away, you weren't done with the conversation, but you knew he would follow, or at least you hoped he would, some strange part of you wanted to know that he cared enough about you to follow you. 

“Y/N wait” you heard the boy running behind you and you picked up your pace until you reached the quad, immediately taking notice of the pouring rain that seemed to always accompany their arguments,

“I’m so sick and tired of this Draco” Y/N yelled as she turned to look at him, pulling your robes tighter over your body as she felt the rain instantly beginning to soak through your clothes. 

“Y/N please” the boy begged, 

“Draco why can't we be like everyone else, I’m tired of being your little secret”

“Y/N you know why,”

“But I don’t understand! I don’t care what people will say, that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Y/N I know this is new to you, but it's different when-” the words came out harsher than he intended,

“It’s different when what Draco? When you have a reputation to uphold? Draco this is what I mean, if I’m not worth ‘tainting’ your reputation or whatever the hell you think will happen then we shouldn’t be together at all”

“Y/N you don’t mean that”

“But I do. You’re really prioritizing what people think of you over me?” You let out a bitter laugh, “one great boyfriend” you remarked sarcastically, “I’m done with this bullshit, having to act like we’re something we’re not. You need to choose right now, your superficial reputation, or me” your voice had become hoarse from the amount you had been screaming. You felt her heart break as he stayed silent, closing her eyes as you felt tears slip out, “I guess I know your answer then” the sound of the rain was loud enough you didn’t hear him approaching and jumped slightly as you felt him gently take your hands into his, 

“If you think for a second that I wouldn’t pick you-” the boy paused, “You are the best thing that's ever happened to me Y/N,”

“Then prove it,” you whispered and in an instant his hands were around her body closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers. Your eyes stayed shut as you smiled softly returning the kiss only pulling away when your lungs burned and you needed to take a breath, “No more hiding?”

“No baby, all of Hogwarts will know you’re mine baby girl”

Draco let a small smirk appear on his face at your remark, raising an eyebrow at Cedric who had turned to the boy. His face had obviously dropped from it’s previous smirk. 

“Shut it Susie-” With that the girls were silent again, now both listening intently to you pour your heart out,

“Uhg I’m so lost because Cedric, he respects my space and never makes me wait and he calls exactly when he says he will. He's close to my mother, and talks business with my father. He's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable”

“Butttt”

“Even breakin' down and coming undone, it was a roller-coaster kinda rush,” you let out another sigh  “And I, I never knew I could feel that much, but that's the way I loved him” you jumped up so you were standing on your bed, leaning dramatically against the wall behind you, “It’s not that Cedric isn’t amazing and everything a girl could ever want, but it's just,” you sighed looking down at the girls who had moved to sit on the edge of your bed, “He can't see the smile I'm faking.”

“Oh Y/N,” Hannah spoke up sympathetically,

“But my heart's not breaking 'cause I'm not feeling anything at all. Draco was wild and crazy, just so frustrating,” you groaned flopping back down, your tone more wistful when you spoke up again , “intoxicating, complicated, he got away by some mistake” she trailed off 

Over the past few days since the winter break ended Draco had been super distant, constantly avoiding you or making up excuses not to talk to you. It had been a few days by the time you finally were able to catch him alone. He was hunched over with his head in his hands in a corner of the library. You had just sat down when her eyes flicked over his arm and noticed something, you danced around the issue trying to make small talk with him but finally fed up with his short dismissive answers you decided just to address it,

“What is that Draco,” you snapped. You knew very well what it was, but nothing in you wanted to believe it was true. 

“I-I,”

“I thought you were different Draco,” 

“I-I, I had no choice”

“Bullshit” the words left your mouth before you could stop it, the feeling of betrayal too clear in your mind to let you think straight, “wasn’t it you who told me even in the most dire situations you always have a choice”

“Y/N I didn’t mean this”

“I really believed you Draco, I thought you loved me, you were using me weren’t you,”

“Y/N I was not, I never lied about anything I-”

“Oh really,”

“I never lied about my feelings for you Y/N, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me”

“You really expect me to believe you Draco? When you have a dark mark on your arm”

“Y/N please” his voice broke. His words were true, he had no choice, and he cared more about you than anyone else in his life, he would do anything for you. But you wouldn’t listen to him,

“I don’t want to hear it Draco, we’re done” you said plainly, trying to ignore everything in your heart telling you to hear him out, to comfort him, to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

You made a mistake, you knew it, but then there was Cedric, a sweet boy in your house who was nothing but kind towards you, he was perfect, but that was the problem. He was too perfect, you didn’t have the same fire and chemistry that came so easily with you and Draco, the conversations never flowed as smoothly, the kisses weren’t as passionate, you didn’t want to admit it, but he just was missing something, he wasn’t Draco. You had envisioned a life with Draco, you could see yourself walking down the aisle to him, there was something missing from Cedric where you could never let yourself daydream to that point. He was nice, a good guy but there was something missing. 

Draco was broken after you broke up with him, he felt as if a piece of himself was missing, something he hadn’t realized he needed until you were there, and something he realized he hadn’t appreciated enough when you were there. 

“And now, I miss our screaming and fighting and kisses in the rain when it's 2 a.m. and I was cursing his name, when I was so so in love that I acted insane, because that's the way I loved him” 

“Breakin' down and coming undone,” Hannah spoke up earning a nod from you,

“It's that roller-coaster kinda rush,”

“I never knew I could feel that much, but that's the way I loved him”

“You should tell him,”

“He probably hates me now, I can’t believe I let myself-”

“You were shocked Y/N,”

“I just, Cedric is an amazing guy, he’s everything anyone could ever need, but he’s not what I want, or who.”

Cedric let out a heavy sigh and looked back towards Draco. He sat frozen, eyes showing some sort of disbelief and longing, as much as he hated it, he knew what had to be done. 

“I think I’m going to break up with him” your voice spoke freezing everyone in both rooms, “I can’t keep leading him on like this, I don’t want to use him,”

[passivenovember]

Reach Out and Touch Faith.

Harringrove April, Day Sixteen : Nostalgia.

--

Steve knows he’s got a stick up his ass about the whole thing. 

Feels it wiggle around, amused, when he comes home early from work to find Dawn and Billy dancing around in their PJs to the opening chords of Personal Jesus. 

They don’t see him.

Too preoccupied with the music, Dave Gahan’s voice pushing through windows and bursting through walls until Billy’s hips are moving in a way Steve hasn’t seen them do in years. 

And Steve isn’t a betting man, but. 

He knows that if Billy turned and zeroed in, hips moving like that with Dawn headbanging to dark wave like some sort of hybrid, the perfect combination of the two of them, Steve would be unable to rain on their parade.

His first reaction is to unplug the stereo.

And it’s a crime. To cut the Gretsch short like that, right in the middle of such an iconic riff.

Billy turns, out of breath from doing the limbo under Dawn’s black feather boa. “Oh, here we go.” He says fondly.

Steve ignores him, strictly business. “What the hell are you doing to my living room?”

Dawn’s still going. Arms win milling as she hop-scotches her way across the room toward Steve, forehead slick with sweat. 

“I like that song!” She hollers. Right in his ear when she climbs into Steve’s arms like a twelve year old monkey. He sets her down immediately, trying to play it cool.

Dawn and Billy start jumping up and down together, obviously high on adrenaline and Steve feels like shit. For having to be the bad guy all the time. 

He sits gingerly on the couch. Tries to tack on his best let’s have a serious discussion face, even as Dawn and Billy continue humming the chorus together. 

Billy breaks away, pumping his arm. “How sick is that synth track, kiddo?”

“So sick.” Dawn says. She collapses onto the floor, exhausted. “I think I like that better than the one on Dangerous.”

Steve gapes. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

Billy scowls, indignant. “You’re the one who let Aunt Robin sneak in the first album we ever fu--”

"Bill.”

He shuts up, sighing. “Babe. You’re gonna be cool about this, right?”

“I’m cool!” Steve insists, leaning back on the couch. “I’m the coolest, ask anyone.”

Billy grins, cheeks flushing pink. “Really? ‘Cause you’re acting pretty uncool.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” Billy teases. “Coming in and unplugging the stereo like that. Right in the middle of the riff, too.” Billy whistles low, shaking his head. “Gotta be one of the seven sins.”

“What, cutting a Depeche Mode song in half?” Steve deadpans. “I just would’ve preferred she start out with. Like. Speak and Spell. or something.” 

Dawn beams. “What’s that? Can we listen to that one next?”

Billy ignores her, honed in. “Dawn’s twelve now, that’s like. Practically a teenager.”

“Yeah, Dad.” She says smugly. “I’m practically a teenager.”

“Exactly.” Billy triumphs, pasting himself to Steve’s side. “And as a practically-almost-teenager, it’s about time she hears some good music.” 

“Hey, you said good music is whatever makes me feel something,” Dawn accuses, sitting bolt upright. “Good music makes your skin all tingly and your tummy do backflips and your heart--”

“I said real music makes you feel something. I never specified what makes it good.” Billy says smugly. “Everything you’ve heard before today is real music but it’s not good music.”

Steve lets Billy fuse their bodies together, wincing as his arm touches miles of sticky skin. 

Dawn shrugs her shoulders. 

Unbothered.

Unapologetic. 

“What you said before, kiddo, about your heart and your tummy. Does this record make you feel like that?” Steve wonders, and Dawn’s nodding her head before he’s even finished. 

He sighs. “Go get my cassette case, then. We’ve got some work to do.”

--

With her Walkman turned up as high as it will go, muttering along to the words as if in prayer, Dawn grows up before their eyes. 

Two new copies of Violator are purchased before the year is out. Once because it’s played so much the wheels fall off, and again because Joey steals the new one.

Billy gets a phone call from Max the day after it goes missing. “The World Wide Web is an evil, disgusting place.”

Billy snorts. “Pretty sure kids are calling it the Net these days, grandma. Keep up.”

“I don’t want to keep up.” She snaps. “Four years. A whole kindergarten age child ago I force Joey to sit down and listen to my cassettes--”

“Your cassettes?” Billy mumbles, alarmed. “No wonder the kid’s purging himself on Steve’s shit.”

“Oh fuck off. That’s where he heard them?”

Billy plays dumb. 

Max catches on instantly. “He’s been locked in his room, listening to Policy of Truth all day. I just don’t understand what’s so appealing about a bunch of sad boys--”

“Be nice.”

“Do you really think the kids are old enough to listen to that shit, man?” Max sounds like she’s coming apart at the edges. Scattered to the wind. “I mean. He left his room twice. Once to make a sandwich and again to borrow one of my skirts.”

Billy grins. “Ah. So he got his hands on some pictures of Martin Gore, that was fast--”

“He tore the thing to shreds, Billy.”

And Billy doesn’t get what the problem is, many of Joyce’s tattered Sunday skirts hanging in his closet even now. 

He shrugs. “’S more punk that way.”

“God. Name the kid after his freaky uncle and the kid will deliver.” Max retorts miserably. She takes a deep breath. “What the fuck am I gonna do?”

“Dunno. Remove the stick from your ass?”

“Ha-ha.” Max spits, but. It sounds like she’s smiling. “Speaking of sticks up asses. Did Steve have a cow?”

Billy shrugs again, wrapping the phone chord around his wrist. “Whole barn, more like. But I think I convinced him.”

“Of what? That the perversion of our youth is okay?”

“No, that the kids are getting older.” Billy says. He doesn’t get it, why he’s the only one in touch with reality. “Joey’s Fifteen, Dawn’ll be thirteen in a couple months. They’re not little kids anymore, Max, they’re teenagers.”

She sighs. “So we’re supposed to let them listen to whatever they want.”

“Within reason. Susan and Neil would’ve bought the barn at full price if we hadn’t snuck around.”

Max makes a noise. “I never listened to--”

“N.W.A?”

“Fuck you, they have an incredible social commentary on the issues faced by disenfranchised people in the--”

“Check mate.”

Max falls silent. And then, glumly, “I hate you for always being right.”

Billy leans against the wall, chuckling. “I’m your big brother. Comes with the territory.”

--

When they get Dawn’s birthday list, only one thing is circled in red. 

Joey and I want to see Depeche Mode live.

Steve wonders if he can make that happen.

[mediocre--writing]

How about Billy struggling with an eating disorder maybe? Billy might have bulimia (or maybe I’m projecting) and/or orthorexia. At one point it gets really bad maybe he goes to residential or Steve has to take care of him.

tw: eating disorder and mental health issues mentioned and discussed

so i have i friend from school who really struggled with orthorexia and obsessive working out to maintain a body image and they got really weak as a result. my friends and I had to watch him kinda fall down this rabbit hole and it was just awful. 

so i can see billy doing this. at first it’s because it’s basketball season and he needs to look his best and play his best and in order to do that, he has to be strong and eat right

and this boy is obsessed with his looks. you can’t tell me he doesn’t nitpick every single thing about himself every time he looks into the mirror. his hair just look nice, his abs must be defined, he wants to feel good

and he has control. eating healthy makes you feel good and energized and exercising has the same effects. the problem lies in getting too comfortable in that lull

billy doesn’t let himself eat the cupcake max got him for his birthday. he has to work out at least once a day, and if he misses a day, regardless of reason, he stretches himself to do double or triple the next day (or next few days)

eventually billy stops eating school cafeteria food. it’s got too many calories and too much sugar and he can’t stand how artificial everything tastes

after the season is over and billys back to regular life, he doesn’t stop. he’s become so dependent on having this thing he can control, the authority he has over his own body, he can’t let go

so he keeps working out dangerous amounts. he picks at susan’s cooking and only eats the meat and vegetables, not even looking at the rolls and dessert that comes with each meal

steve is the first to notice. he swears that nobody else can see what he does. they still have gym together, which results in showers together, and steve just notes that billy always looks more muscular every time he sees him

but it’s not good muscle. because with each muscle growth, billy loses that small bit of shape he had on his hips and the thickness of his thighs. he loses distinctive coloring in his face and steve swears he can see the veins through his hands under the harsh gym lighting

it’s not until steve and billy become friends, close friends, that steve really starts to see why billys body is changing

they’ve started hanging out at steve’s and are regularly in each others lives. sometimes billy even sleeps over

he sees the way billy eats fruits and vegetables and meat, but they won’t have seasonings or other spices. billy only drinks water. billy works out far too much for any person ever

after every meal, even if they’re just snacking, billy will start doing calf raises or push-ups or curl ups and it’s weird

it’s like after he eats he gets this guilt that can only be smothered by exercise and it’s just not healthy. but this is one of those things you can’t just bring up

it’s not until billy has so much muscle that you can’t even see the absolute minimum amount of fat on his body. he’s thinner now, and it’s just not the billy that steve knows

so he starts out slow. he puts a light colored, not very flavorful, seasoning on the chicken when billy stays over next. billy doesn’t realize and steve takes this as a win

the week after, steve stops billy from doing push ups after dinner. he forces him into the living room and they watch a movie. another win

steve keeps going for the next month or so, and he doesn’t see any change in billy, but assumes it will take time to see progress

billy knows what steve’s doing. he’s not sly. billy can’t explain the guilt he feels for missing his after dinner workout that one night and makes sure to run three miles rather than two for a warm up the next day. he also adds another few weights to his barbell

he likes that he’s strong. he’s eating the healthy foods, he’s building up muscle mass, so what’s the issue?

the issue truly lies in the afternoon that he and steve are just chilling in the living room and steve brings it up.

it’s more of an off handed comment about how much he works out

and billy gets kinda defensive. he’s all “well i have to look good and i can’t do that by lounging around all the time,”

and steve, trying not to take offense to it, responds with something about how billy may be over working himself and can go for a day without lifting weights or can take a cheat day and eat a bag of chips or ice cream

and billy just explodes. he rants about how it’s so bad for you to eat that kind of stuff and how there’s no way it’s healthy and how he likes the definition in his muscles so why should he “take a cheat day”?

billys breaking point is 4 little words:

“billy, you’re hurting yourself.”

and he just storms out of the house. gets in the camaro and drives away.

what the hell is steve on about anyway? so he enjoys working out, what’s that got to do with anything? he likes the way he feels after eating healthy, so what? and who the hell is he hurting making sure he’s happy and in control of his own body...

it hits him faster than a freight train. he pulls off the dingy back road he’d just been flying down and parks the car.

he puts his hands flat on the wheel and just stares at them. how bony his fingers have gotten.

his eyes trail up his arms. he sees the muscle he’s built but he also notices that he can see an extrusion where his veins run.

his jeans aren’t as tight anymore. he’s built muscle but lost the fat that filled his jeans. that gave him the nice look he was going for.

and billy doesn’t realize he’s crying until there’s a puddle on his jeans from where he’s bowed his head and that’s what broke him

he’s sobbing and sobbing and sobbing because this, the one thing he could control, has gotten out of control and he swears he’s gonna lose his mind.

steve, ever the mother hen, had been driving around hawkins just to make sure that billy was ok. he went by his house first, but it was just neils truck in the driveway.

he drove along every backroad until, of course the last one he checks, there it is, billys car.

and steve parks behind it and slowly walks up to billys car and taps on the window

billy flinches but doesn’t look up. he rolls down the window and steve just bends down, elbows resting on the door and eyes pitiful.

“bill,”

“you were right, i’m sorry,” it comes out so choked and garbled that steve barely registers what he’s saying. but steve slowly reaches a hand to billys hair and pushes it back, getting a view of his red, wet cheeks

“billy,” steve says, just as soft as before.

billy looks up, finally, and steve shouldn’t be surprised by how red and puffy his face is. “i didn’t mean to. it—it just, i don’t know, it got out of hand,”

“i know, billy, and it’s ok,”

“no,” it’s a crackly sound as billy cries harder at the thought that this, this whole situation, was ok. because he had control over it and it was gone so so so so quick

“let me help, billy, i promise you’re absolutely fine any way you look, but this isn’t healthy and i want to be there for you,”

billy doesn’t say anything. doesn’t know what to say. because if steve’s noticed then who else has? or does anyone else care about him at all?

there are questions bouncing around his head like a pinball machine but he hyper focuses on what steve said:

“i want to be there for you,”

maybe, to have full control, he needed someone else to show him that a guiding hand is better than an iron-tight grip.

and maybe he’ll get better. he knows steve won’t rest until he’s happy, as seen a million times before.

and billy wants to be happy. he wants to relinquish enough control to be happy. he knows he can accomplish that, with the guiding hand of steve.

and billy does get better.

it takes almost a year for the guilt to finally go away completely. it took him five months to stop feeling guilt to not work out after eating. it took him eight months to stop feeling guilt when eating a cupcake or ice cream. it took him a year to regain that healthy weight and find the perfect balance between muscle and fat

the good days were met with love and congratulations. the bad days were met with love and understanding. the days in between were met with love and whatever else billy needed.

and after the year it took for billy to almost fully understand the consequences of unchecked control over himself, a month later he asked steve on their first official date.

and billy realized that he needed to help himself as much as he needed someone to show him that every inch of him deserved love, no matter what it looked like

[writingwithcolor]

Including diversity where there may be little

Including diversity where there may be little: Black Radium Girls as example

post-scriptvm asked: [ask clipped for length]

I have an interest in the ‘Radium Girls’, groups of women who worked at studios in America from the late 1910s onwards painting radium onto clock faces, and later took their companies to court for the horrible impacts the radium had on their body. 

I want to make a musical, just for fun. I’ve decided to use a fictionalized version of events, with composite characters based on multiple different women, rather than one of the real-life groups and the actual women from them. It will be mostly set in New Jersey, in the roaring 20s. 

Neither of the two real-life groups I know of had any Black women in them, and I can’t see any Black women in any of the big group photos of the dial factories’ employees. But I know there’s a lot of Black history and culture in that time and place bc of the great migration and stuff, so I feel like if I’m not going to use the real life ladies, I should probably take the opportunity to also make some of them Black, bc making a whole cast of white ladies in the name of potentially wrong ‘historical accuracy’ seems like a bad thing.

My question is, should I? [ask clipped for length]

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were African American radium girls. Speculating People of Color/Women of Color’s involvement is far more realistic than portraying everyone as white. Go for it! 

Perhaps look into what other races were predominantly in the New Jersey area for inspiration, too.

Hidden History

This section features just a few examples of PoC in lesser known historical settings.

The histories of People of Color are highly and actively erased. Women of Color especially get their stories left to footnotes in the textbooks. You hear about certain amazing women again and again, but there’s so many others that don’t get their time of day.

Hidden Figures (book and movie) is a prime example of that erasure and lesser known history. To summarize: It’s “the powerful story of four African-American female mathematicians at NASA who helped achieve some of the greatest moments in our space program.”

Here’s another example:

Photo of female firefights on Pearl Harbor, 1941. Identities unknown

It would be nice to know more about these women, and i’ve seen inquiries from people requesting info from anyone who may know. This struggle to find details is a prime example of that erasure in itself.

Enemies in Love: A German POW, a Black Nurse, and an Unlikely Romance by Alexis Clark

The book pictured above is the true story of a Black nurse and German Prisoner of War who fall in love during World War II. They face many hardships (disowning from his family, racism, and shunning from towns) but stay together for their whole lives, marry, and have children (One of their sons highly informed the writing of the book!)

This book discusses the discrimination the Black soldiers and nurses faced. They struggled to even be allowed to serve their country, and were treated worse than POWs.

Video: The Unlikely Romance of a Black Nurse & German P.O.W. in WW II 

Research

Research “[RACE] + Firsts” and find many more examples of little unknown bits of history where they’ve been involved. 

First doesn’t mean it came without limitations, discrimination or hardships. But they happened, and many sooner than you’d think.

Explore beyond what you know about whitewashed history and learn the true stories of People of Color.

Making it “realistic”

People will question how “realistic” it is to feature a Black women in this position for the time period, unfortunately. It doesn’t hurt to provide an explanation until we get to a place where diversity isn’t interrogated when it shows up.

Giving her backstory. 

You can briefly explain the journey to the job, such as shortages due to a war. Take a look at those real world firsts for inspiration. 

Especially take a look at the specific region of the story. What firsts were there? Any government power influences? How did PoC break barriers to make the strides they did?

Use the web, but also go beyond. Seek books, historians, artwork. Search those “footnotes” for that one sentence mention. (That’s actually how the writer of Enemies in Love found their story. Just a quick sentence and a search for the story began. It helped that she was a journalist!)

Relationships with Peers: 

“I will cut off this right arm of mine before I will ever work or demand the ballot for the Negro and not the woman.” - Susan B. Anthony

White women weren’t, historically, welcoming to Black women. For example, white sufferists insisted Black women march in the back of the protests for, allegedly, both their rights.  You’ll need to decide how your Black woman is treated in this situation. 

You might face the following from peers, superiors, or others:

Hesitation to work or interact with her

Curiosity and intrigue (The “Other”

Unsure of how to approach or be friends with her  

Microaggressions

Blatant racism 

Your musical doesn’t seem like it is meant to focus too heavily on the hardships. It begs a mention, but just how much is up to you.

Call the Midwife, period racism example

Call the Midwife (BBC) is set in East End London, Late 1950s, early 1960s. The show features a Black midwife named Lucille Anderson. There’s a shortage on nurses so Caribbean nurses were being called in to support the growing population. 

Call the Midwife is from a midwife, Jennifer Worth’s, memoir, so it’s based on history.

Check out this short clip: Nurse Lucille Anderson - Call the Midwife 

Lucille on Call the Midwife (Take notes!)

The show handles racism and microaggressions very well. It’s not overdone.

Lucille is accepted by her peers and is especially close to one of the girls.

There’s an episode where she actively faces blame and discrimination during a case. It’s a major story line of the episode. 

She does face occasional micro-aggressions where she is othered, but it is not every single time she is on screen and not every episode. 

Her peers talk to her about her experiences and in the case where she had an aggressive family member to deal with, they tried to protect her by reassigning her from the family. Lucille asks to handle it her way and they respect her decision.

Lucille can mostly perform her job and have peace, and is treated kindly by patients.

She has a personality, a romantic life, family & friendships.

It’s about 90% allowing her to exist, 10% navigating racism/microaggressions. That’s a comfortable, realist balance for such a story and setting. 

If you want to check out how they handled these issues for yourself, the show is on Netflix as of this post (2020). She’s introduced in Season 7. (I highly recommend watching this show from the beginning. I cry like every episode, and the diversity of several ethnic backgrounds picks up a lot mid season!)

I’ll kick you three scenarios for your Black radium girl:

Peer Acceptance, Initial Hesitation 

awkward friendliness & initial hesitation, perhaps more fear of the unknown vs. hostility

Upon having interactions and talking to her, they become comfortable and accept her. It could take just one simple conversation. Perhaps they’re more used to listening to Black music or have Black staff who work for them, but haven’t had an equal one-on-one experience with WoC without a power dynamic or service involved. Now, with a Black fellow radium girl thrown in a similar situation as them, they could develop kinship.

This might not describe every one of the woman at all. Others might be just fine with her with no awkwardness.

Types of racism experienced: 

some micro-aggressions (likely ignorance from peers)

no major racism experienced

Most Peer Acceptance, Racism From Some Peers

Most peers have no problem with her, even if they have their initial awkwardness. 1-2 more aggressive racists who don’t want her there. 

Sometimes everyone else gets along, but there’s that 1 bully and their minion, and they feed off each other. If the BS isn’t tolerated by the other girls, it could shut them up to make peace or at least behave themselves. It’s likely someone like this would remain hatefully stubborn, but would grimace from the corner if outnumbered.

In the case you create a situation where someone is hostile to the Black girl but learns better: real apologies and efforts should be made if this occurs. It also doesn’t excuse their past behavior. Read our posts on redemption arcs for more info. We’re not fans, personally.

In an intense racial situation, it would be nice if the girls (with sense) protected and defended her instead of standing idly by. They’re strong enough to rise up against the agencies who poisoned them, so they can fight for their fellow radium sisters if one’s being targeted. 

Types of racism experienced: 

several micro-aggressions

maybe 1 major incident 

Peer Acceptance, Racism from Other People

Radium girl acceptance within, but experiences racism from others she interacts with on/off the job. 

The Call the Midwife example fits this one. Lucille’s peers are comfortable with her. It’s some of the ladies she care for and/or their families that may have negative things to say or show hesitance. 

I’ll repeat what I said above: it’d be nice if the girls protected and defended her and didn’t stand by idly. Solidarity is important for establishing kinship and trust when it comes to white - woc friendships. 

Types of racism experienced: 

could vary from some to several micro-aggressions 

maybe 1 major incident

Balancing race issues in the musical 

Give the intersections of your Black girl’s situation proper attention. You can achieve this without overdoing it or making her whole arc about facing racism.

Perhaps the Black radium girl(s) has a song to express major woes, like segregation and poor treatment, or experiencing dismay over even less of a fighting chance in this fight for their rights.

If anyone does know anything but radium girls of color, please share! 

–Mod Colette

[westernwoods]

i got fed up with “the problem of susan” and wrote an entire esay about it underneath the cut. if you’re into very long discussions of fictional characters and their biblical archetypes, this one’s for you!

i’m so tired of the “problem of susan” nonsense. anyone who truly understands lewis’ writing - especially christian readers - can never come to the conclusion that he shut susan out of heaven because she liked to wear makeup and flirted with boys, or that lewis wasn’t a “feminist” so all of his writing is Problematic™. the point of susan’s character arc is not so that lewis can flagrantly disenfranchise women from salvation; the point of susan is to represent the story of every person who forgets who they really are. 

peter, edmund, and lucy all remember who they are: they are kings and queens of narnia, brave and beloved by aslan. susan’s gravest mistake is chosing to forget this identity - because, really, it’s her own choice that leads her to “forget”. in truth, she didn’t forget at all; she chose to write narnia and aslan off as a silly game she played as a child, not the very essence of her entire being. this leads her to lose confidence in who she truly is, because she has no grasp of it; this in turn leads her to scramble to find identity and confidence in “nylons and lipstick”. those things aren’t bad, but they’re not her identity. used as an indentity, they’re flimsy; they feed into that familiar fear that creeps in whenever it gets the chance, the fear that the queen she had once been and could be again was no more than a dream. susan’s sin is chosing to forget how brave and beloved she is.

but the story doesn’t end there. the way susan is portrayed in the books illustrates this idea so simply that i can’t believe anyone who’s read the books could give credit to the “problem of susan” waffling. though susan ends the lion, the witch, and wardrobe a queen of narnia, and confident in that identity, we see in prince caspian that she’s the one out of the siblings who most quickly forgot her identity back in england, her identity as a queen who sees aslan in everything and welcomes his presence in her life. she’s the one who most continually brushes off lucy’s claims of seeing aslan. and yet, when they meet aslan again for the first time in prince caspian, susan immediately rights her wrongs, and realizes that she did truly believe he was there all along. 

“I see him now. I’m sorry... But I’ve been far worse than you know. I really believed it was him—he, I mean—yesterday. When he warned us not to go down to the fir wood. And I really believed it was him to-night, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I'd let myself. But I just wanted to get out of the woods and—and—oh, I don't know. And what ever am I to say to him?”

susan realizes that it would have been better for her to have not believed at all than to have truly believed and still chosen to ignore it, and she’s right. she recognizes the depth of her error and offense towards aslan; she realizes that her sin lies in not allowing herself to remember and believe in aslan’s goodness and presence. inside susan is a radiant, gentle queen beloved by aslan, but she chose to let go of that identity. she chose fear and doubt instead.

aslan echoes this in his greeting to susan, his beloved and chosen queen of narnia. he greets her siblings first: peter is bestowed the affection of “dear son”; edmund is praised in a manner reminiscent of the biblical “well done, my good and faithful servant”; lucy is celebrated as a lioness. susan, however, is greeted with her name.

Then, after an awful pause, the deep voice said, "Susan." Susan made no answer but the others thought she was crying. 

"You have listened to fears, child," said Aslan. "Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?"

aslan gently exposes susan’s decision to listen to her fears and doubts, her conscious choice to forget her identity as a brave queen. his rebuke is not left to bruise her long; aslan knows that susan believed he was there, deep down, and he knows her heart. he calls her child, and offers to help her forget those fears that latched on to her as soon as she gave them room. “are you brave again?” aslan asks. do you remember who you are, beloved child, queen of narnia?

for the rest of the book, susan rests easy in her identity as queen, her identity as a dear one to aslan. we see that after the events of prince caspian, after aslan has told susan and peter they may not return to narnia - ostensibly giving them the same promise he gives lucy and edmund later, that they made know him even more deeply in their world - that susan soon falls into her same fears and doubts again. readers may ask why susan falls so quickly from her resolve to rest in her identity, and if she can so easily fall back into her old habits, how can she ever be redeemed? she seems doomed to chose fear over her true self, a queen dearly beloved to aslan, over and over again until it is all she has left.

in answer to these questions, i submit that susan is a st. peter archetype. over and over again in the bible, peter falls into doubt and fear about who he is and who jesus is. peter lived with jesus and learned from him; everything about jesus told peter that he was good and trustworthy and present. and yet, peter stumbles, again and again.

“Come,” Jesus said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” (Matthew 14:29-31)

this passage reads almost identically to the scene in prince caspian where susan, drowning in fear and doubt, is called by aslan to come near to him so that she may be chastised but immediately restored and saved from her fear. like peter, susan choses fear. like peter, susan choses to forget and deny the core of her identity.

Now Peter was sitting outside in the courtyard. And a servant girl came up to him and said, “You also were with Jesus the Galilean.” But he denied it before them all, saying, “I do not know what you mean.” (Matthew 26:69-70)

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'" (The Last Battle)

again, the similarities are obvious: when asked to recall and claim jesus or aslan, peter and susan deny them in front of everyone who knows they’re lying. after peter realizes what he’s done, he weeps bitterly, and though we’re not given a glimpse at susan’s reaction, i think it’s safe to assume that she feels guilty and saddened by it too. susan knows deep down how loved she is by aslan and how eager he is to be reunited with her, but as she says in prince caspian, she can only know it if she allows herself to. 

because susan is a st. peter archetype, all hope is not lost for her. indeed, her redemption story is beautiful and comforting. despite the times peter doubted jesus, gave into fear, and denied ever even knowing jesus at all, jesus still makes peter the foundation of the church. he still calls him beloved. he still extends the invitation to love and be loved, to be reconciled and to accept his glorious joy and responsibility. i believe that this reconciliation is extended to susan as well, after she loses her siblings and perhaps toward the end of her own life. aslan’s offer always stands, no matter how many times susan denies him: “come, forget your fears, grow brave again, know how much i love you. accept your crown again, along with everything it brings.”

i firmly believe that through all the similarities between susan’s story and st. peter’s, lewis intended for peter’s reconciliation and glorification in jesus to be indicative of susan’s reconciliation and glorification in aslan. as peter is forgiven and made the rock of jesus’ church, susan is forgiven and made queen of aslan’s country. the fact that this is not in the books makes it no less explicit, i think. susan’s story, and st. peter’s story, is remarkably like the story of many christians, and we would do well to remember who we are: kings and queens, brave and beloved, sons and daughters who can be the most glorious of beings if only we allow ourselves to.

[reading-writing-revolution]

(via Could a Bloc of Moderate Senators Actually Achieve Bipartisanship? - The Atlantic)

I think the issue here is simple to define, and it feels like the right answer - have the self-styled Moderates form a coalition, a voting Block, and manage the extremists on the Right and the Progressives on the Left to set the agenda, and if anyone wants to pass anything, they have to woo the Moderate Block. I think this is a good idea. The Senate historically is not supposed to be a body that passes all kinds of sweeping legislative changes. It's supposed to be, as far as I know, based on what I've read, sort of a body that slows down progress and moderates the mood swings of the House. I could be wrong, but that's what I understand. The point here is that in the Senate, there's a lot more debate and compromise that needs to happen to get things done. The problem is that debate and compromise in the Senate hardly exists anymore because the extremist Right has chosen the 'slash and burn' approach to governing. Having a Moderate Block would sort of keep the faith of that original vision while also making progress possible. Right now, every tiny step of progress is a political war, the results of which are prohibiting our nation from moving forward into the 21st century and dealing with real problems. That lack of progress needs to be addressed.

That said, as much as I like the idea, I don't think the Moderates have the balls to step up and take the reins. We see how so much of the narrative of both sides is caught up in being re-electable and appeasing big money donors. But at the same time, we see people like Susan Collins continue to be elected time after time, even though she waffles and at least seems to be Moderate and not a right wing extremist, which is the flavor of the day. Maybe they could pull it off, but someone's got to put that idea in their heads. And what would this Moderate Block look like? Which Senators? The articles names some possible candidates: "On the Democratic side, that includes Sinema, Manchin, Jon Tester, and perhaps Michael Bennet and John Hickenlooper. On the Republican side, the same is true of Mitt Romney, Lisa Murkowski, and Susan Collins. " As long as most or all of them are pretty safe from the standpoint of the next election, they could form their block and take action. But of course, there's always the filibuster to consider because three votes on either side is not going to get anyone to 60. And in that case, I think this just comes down to changing the rules of the Senate, which I don't think have a chance in Hell of being changed. But perhaps, as the article suggests, there is a lot more that can be done, not just the few simple things the layman thinks or knows about - the filibuster, etc. Perhaps, this Moderate Block could help change how the Senate (and other bodies, as the author suggests) does business by forcing more compromise by each side. That's what most Americans want from the Senate - not grandstanding and constant attacks, but debate, discussion and ultimately compromise that  plays out to the benefit of the American people as a whole, not as an interest group.

"Reforming the legislative process, however, is a means to an end. A moderate bloc that exerted agenda-setting power could shift legislative time and attention away from the hobbyhorses of each party’s activist class and onto the most fundamental problems faced by the country. With a more open legislative process, Congress could begin to address these issues—not with proposals that would generate unanimous support within either caucus but with bills that could garner majorities in both the House and the Senate, even as they violated the pieties of one party or another."

Would the Moderates even give this a shot? Doubtful. Someone would have to take on this idea and then sell it, lead it, and make it work at the risk of their own political downfall. And it's simply easier to play the game the way it's being played now. So, I don't think we'll ever see this happen because I don't think we have Senators with the courage to try it. As long as US Senators are answering to party and donors instead of the American people, nothing will change.

[bxthharmon]

Never Go Home Again, Pt. XIII || JJ Maybank x Reader

Words:2715

Series Warnings: violence / talking about abuse / toxic relationships / talking about nudes sex and sex tapes / drugs / underage drinking

Pt. Warnings: abuse / being a fugitive???

Series Summary: A new girl, a shoebox of old memories, a past she’s trying to forget coincide with a hotheaded, but selfless, boy.  teenagers getting in way over their heads

Pt. Summary: In a desperate attempt to sort everything out, Y/N finds herself in the ones place she least expected to be

A/N: ok ok ok i promise im writing my requests oops anyway love yall send more requests cuz im always bored. Also, yall dont understand how sad i am that this is ending :( BUT started writing another series so lemme know if u wanna get tagged in that <3

Chapters linked in my masterlist.

“masterlist”

“John B, what are we doing at the police station?” JJ asked, breaking the stuffy silence that was consuming the vehicle.

“Somebody’s gotta tell them what happened.” He justified.

“Need me to come in, like, as a witness?” you asked. He shook his head. 

The heavy quiet was broken by Pope, coughing like he’d inhaled chili powder. “Easy there, chief.” JJ reprimanded, and you took the blunt away from your friend. “Alright,” JJ leaned through to John B, “I’m just gonna be real with you right now,” You watched his red cap, “You might end up in the lion’s den, but you don’t go there on purpose. It’s fundamental, just like my old man always told me, you should never, ever trust cops. No matter what the circumstance is.”

“Your old man’s an abusive liar.” Kie countered.

“I agree with JJ.” Pope spoke, and you frowned, holding back the giggle in your lips as he continued, “Fuck the police.”

“You going to the dark side now?” Kie snarked.

“When was the last time the police ever helped us?” He countered.

“Peterkin looked out for me, alright?” John B interrupted, “Or tried to, at least.”

There was a moment of thick quiet before he continued.

“They need to know.”

He looked around, none of you willing to argue as he got out of the car and entered the station. You looked over to JJ, who was determinedly ignoring your stare. You wondered what the fuck was going on because last time you checked, you had been on good terms with him. You sighed, looking out the window and waiting impatiently for John B to return so that the awkward silence would end. You took a hit from the blunt you’d taken from Pope, letting the smoke swirl around in your lungs before gently blowing it out, ignoring the frustrated looks you got from the other three.

Next thing you knew, everyone was shouting and the car was accelerating, the officer trying to open the car door discarded as the shocking adrenaline rush took ahold of the speeding car. Eyes wide, you took another hit from the blunt.

--

“Good news for residents of the Outer Banks, Dominion Power says their underwater transmission line, which will restore power to 95% of the area, should be functional within 24 hours.”

Sirens passed, but in the hazy atmosphere of the car, no one moved, other than to make sure the car didn’t turn. Pope and Kie sat in the front, JJ and John B to your right, seats reclined as you all attempted whatever kind of rest was possible on the worried heat of the day.

“And still no arrest for the shooting death of Sheriff Susan Peterkin. The state police have issued a statement regarding a local person of interest, a juvenile from-”

Kie clicked the radio off, glancing over at the three of you in the back.

“Let’s game this out.” JJ suggested, “Maybe you guys can help, being the smart ones and all, but… who are the cops going to believe? Ward Cameron or us? So the accuser is a big shot developer, kind of lord of the island, got the governor on speed dial kind of person, and the accused…” he looked over to his friend, “is John B, who is pretty much a homeless 16-year-old boy at the moment.”

“Thanks.” came the hoarse voice of the boy across from you.

“Shit.” you muttered, running a hand over your face and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. You twisted so that your back was leaning on the back oh Kie’s seat, and you were facing the three boys.

“Okay, man, Yucatan, alright?” JJ said, swiftly avoiding your arm as you stretched, “I’m saying, that’s the only option, what other option do you have?”

“Enough with the Mexico bullshit.” John B shook his head. “Sarah’s gonna bail me out.”

“She did witness the whole thing.” Kie pointed out.

“So did I?” you reminded, “So what? She’s gonna snitch on her brother for her dick appointment of the week? No offence, bro.”

“It’s not happening.” JJ reiterated, “We’ve gotta get you off the island.”

“The ferry.” Pope said, “It’s the only way.”

“Exit stage left while you still can.” JJ added. “Before the entire island is on lockdown.”

“Get down.” You reminded him softly, and you all ducked. You reached for JJ’s hand, but his simple gesture of pulling it away made you feel embarrassed, unsure of whatever was going on between you. You turned away from him, looking out the window again.

“Sarah’s not a pogue, John B.” Pope reminded.

“Yeah, you can’t stay here, man.”

“Let’s go then.” You muttered, and Pope pulled out, driving carefully to the docks. They were crowded, and you got out before anyone could argue, thankful for even two minutes out of the suffocating atmosphere. You walked to the sign, reading the notice about the ferry closure and ripping the wanted poster off its staples. You walked back to the car, reading it as you reached the vehicle, then passing it through Pope’s window and shaking your head solemnly. You got in next to JJ as they passed the paper around, JJ making a joke.

“Okay, so the whole island’s looking for John B right now.” Pope said.

“Well at least you know how much you’re worth.” You joked, receiving a frustrated look from Kie.

“Congratulations, John B,” JJ smirked, “you’re famous.”

“We gotta get to the HMS. We need small, no running lights-” kie began to reason, but John B cut her off.

“It’s at the Chateau, Kie.”

“And I wonder if the cops have got the entire place staked out.” JJ said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Let me think. Yeah, no, they definitely have that place locked down.”

“Hey Jay?” you nudged him, an idea forming, “Like, a couple of weeks ago, you mentioned your dad’s boat? The Ghost? Spectre?”

“The Phantom!” JJ and Pope caught on.

“He still got it?” Pope asked.

“Maybe.”

“You could get that right up the coast, no problem.” Pope said.

Bickering followed, and then the sudden realisation that Pope’s car was on the poster. Suddenly, someone was hitting the window and the car wasn’t starting and everyone was shouting. The car lurched forwards, straight into another car, and then took off, driving away as people watched, shocked.

The car sped forwards, crashing around as you all shouted for Pope to stop, his high ass was definitely not fit for driving.

“JB,” you shouted over everyone, “you need to get out.”

Pope braked, all of you thrust forwards with the force of it, and you found yourself pushing John B out of the car while JJ shouted instructions at him.

--

The two field tents were massive, rows of chairs on either side as swarms of people worked, talked, and typed. You wandered around for a minute or so, watching the officers interact, always being pushed back when you tried to talk to anyone. You could feel the eyes of the security team burning into you as you looked for Shoupe. Eventually, you saw him, talking to a taller man in an SBI windbreaker. You walked towards them slowly, finalising your plan in your head.

Shoupe saw you, and stepped aside from the conversation so that he was facing you, the agent turning as well, a frown forming as he took in your scruffy attire and the faint smell of JJ’s weed that was clinging to your clothes. You looked between them, “Uh, Officer Shoupe, I have some info.” You greeted.

“Who are you?” The agent interrupted, looking you over again.

“Um, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I know John B.” you clarified, and he nodded.

“What have you got for us?” he asked, and you breathed in, and out, pinching yourself slightly.

“I saw everything on the airstrip.”

The SBI agent introduced himself as Bratcher, then they sat you down in one of the tents, letting you explain what you saw, uninterrupted, and asking questions when they saw fit. They told you that your account, while plausible, was a hard one to argue, especially against Ward Cameron, unless you had a second account to back it up.

Sarah Cameron, you thought. Talk to Sarah.

After taking your statement, they left you to sit in the field tent, shivering in the cold breeze and no coat, watching them call your dad, listening out for any relevant information you could gather. 

You could feel their eyes on you, discussing what to do with the information you had for them. An officer, you couldn’t remember her name, had draped a jacket over your shoulders at some point, then led you away while the SBI agent gave a briefing.

You waited at the end of the tent, looking for anything to cease your worry and boredom.

Then you saw her. She looked as lost as you had, trying to work out who to talk to, just like you had a few hours ago. You stepped towards her.

“Sarah?” she turned to you, going to hug you, but an armed officer stepped between you, pulling you apart. “No, she’s my friend!” you struggled towards her, another officer holding her away from you, both of you shouting.

“What’s happening?” Bratcher asked, all of you stopped struggling. 

“This is Sarah Cameron,” you explained, “she was there, like I said.”

He looked between you, and nodded, asking her if she was able to make a statement. They took her away, sitting her down at the other end of the tent, letting her talk. You saw Ward approaching.

“Y/N?” he frowned, and you raised your eyebrows.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Sarah’s mentioned you.” he looked around, “have you seen her?”

“Oh, is she no longer locked away in her room?” He tensed, confusion and anger contorting his features.

“How do you know about that?” 

“Can’t say.” You said, “Not a great parenting strategy, just saying.”

He leapt forwards, a madness in his eyes that you’d never seen before. He grabbed you by the throat, screaming in your face while you clawed at his grip. Within seconds, other bodies were pulling him away. Your panic subsided, and you looked at Bratcher. You could use the situation to your advantage.

“See what I mean?” you yelled, pointing at him as you faced Bratcher, “He’s crazy! I told you, he attacked Big John, he’s the reason this is all happening!”

Bratcher sighed, signalling for his men to take away the older man. “I have to say, Miss Y/L/N, your story is making more sense. Two stories matching perfectly, his temper. But we talked to your father, you’re free to go, we’re almost done with Sarah.”

“What’s going to happen to John B?”

He sighed, “We’ve gotta bring him in, you understand that.”

You nodded, “I hope I shed some truth to the situation.”

You walked away, leaving the jacket on a chair as you passed, sending a reassuring smile to Sarah on your way out, you wandered the streets, finding your way to JJ’s house.

By some kind of miracle, you arrived at the same time as Kie and JJ. He was getting out of the car when he noticed you, and instead of making any move to hug you as normal, he froze.

“Look, JJ,” you sighed. “Why are you mad at me?”

You stood opposite him in his front yard, staring at the way he sighed, an odd mix of relief and defeat adorning his features. “I saw some texts, from Tyler.”

You nodded slowly. “I rejected him, if that’s what upset you. Since I met you, no guys have been the same, you know?”

His eyes pulled in slightly, as if realising that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t one-sided. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Yeah.” you glanced at the floor, “I don’t really know why. Things were weird between us and I just - I missed my old life. But it was like, the confirmation I needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

His jaw dropped slightly in shock, running you words over in his head, working out whether you were genuine. You began to step back, and before you could think about what had just happened, he was kissing you.

It was urgent, emotive, full of everything that you couldn’t put into words. You broke apart, still slightly shocked at the confession. You looked at his front door.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He looked to Kie, who was pretending she hadn’t watched, and nodded apprehensively, slipping a hand into yours and leading you to the door. He opened it, leading you through into the mess. You stepped over shoes and bottles as he led you in, calling out for his dad.

You ventured into the living room, seeing his dad passed out on the sofa, a half empty bottle of something on the table next to him. “Dad, I need the keys to the Phantom.” a snore sounded, “Dad?”

You looked down, noticing the sleeping pills and picking them up, showing the bottle to the blond boy next to you. Watching him, you could practically feel the hurt resonating off him, masked by his strong resolution as he looked back at his dad. Noticing the chain around his neck, between you you found a pencil and pin to get the keys with.

You stood a couple of feet behind him as he knelt down, preparing himself.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you.”

The voice was a murmur, almost soft, and your heart was beating in your throat. You knew what he was capable of.

“You’re back.” 

This time, Luke had more clarity in his voice, and was more awake. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

“Just checkin’ in.” JJ said, backing away as the older man sat up, taking a swig from a beer bottle.

“School out already?” 

“What?” JJ frowned.

“Did you ditch? It’s alright, you can tell me.”

JJ nodded slowly, “Yeah. I hit the break, you know?”

“I hated school too. My boy!” Luke chuckled. You felt intrusive, like you were standing in on a moment that wasn’t yours to see. But the moment felt intimate, hitting you where it hurt as your eyes went glassy. “You know what? Listen, hey.” he stood shakily, “Hey, look, I know I’m hard on you sometimes.” JJ hummed, fear mixing into his pain, “But sometimes I - I see your mother in you, and it gets me a little tweaked, you know?”

You wiped a tear away, the scene before you hurting more than you would like to admit. The man looked at you, and you could see JJ’s shoulders tense.

“You got a girl?” he didn’t look away from you.

“Uh, yeah, Y/N.” JJ looked over at you, worry seeping into his eyes.

“You treat my boy better than I could, okay?” You nodded slowly, more tears slipping down your face.

“Of course.” your voice broke slightly, “I love him.”

“Me too.” His head turned back to his son, “I love you, son.” He pulled JJ in, “Come here, I love you. I love you, son. I love you.”

More than anything, you wanted to call him out. Tell him that if that was true, then he wouldn’t hurt JJ like he did. But whatever this moment was, it wasn’t the right one to do so.

You could hear JJ sniffling, letting his hands find their way onto his father’s back. When he spoke, he sounded like he wanted to be stronger than he felt, his voice thick, pained, struggling. “Love you too, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.” His father muttered, the sleeping pills pulling him back out of consciousness, slowly as ever. JJ helped him down onto the sofa. “You’re a good boy.” came the murmur.

JJ let out a shaky breath, not sparing you a glance as he pulled the chain from his father’s neck and stepped away. He looked back at you, almost embarrassed to have let you see him in such a vulnerable state. He turned to leave, your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“JJ, you don’t always have to be strong, you know that, right?”

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