#they turned the white boy whiter can you believe this

[stackedbirds]

I watched the mlb special

[ramshacklefey]

It's amazing to me just how good the Mormon church has been at hiding just how bad they really are from public view. Even the shit that gets spread around is the relatively harmless bullshit. They had a crazy prophet with magic glasses. They believe in god-mandated polygyny. They think everyone who is good enough will get their very own planet after the world ends. They wear magic underpants. Mormon men are all paladins.

Here's one of the ones you hear less often:

See, like many other Christian sects, the Mormons really do believe that the existence of Christ obviates the existence of Judaism. Judaism was just a placeholder until the "real" church could be established by Jesus.

And the Mormons in particular believe, dead ass, that the entire inheritance of Israel has been given to them, because the Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when he was on Earth. They really do. They have this whole system where people are given a "divine revelation" about which of the Tribes of Israel they're a member of (don't worry, they decided that most people belong to the two tribes that are willing to "adopt" people. Only the most specialest boys and girls are members of the original ten).

Let's sum up so far. The Mormons believe that they are the people of Israel, chosen and protected by God. If Jews want to get back in on that party, they can always repent and convert to Mormonism, the one true church to which God gave all the rights and blessings that were originally bestowed on Abraham's house.

But it doesn't stop there!

The Mormons also believe, in all seriousness, that all Indigenous peoples of the Americas are descended from a small group of Jewish people who left just before the fall of Jerusalem (~600 bc iirc). Their entire weird-ass extra bible is a chronicle of those people's history in [unspecific part of America]. At the very beginning of the book, two brothers in the original family turn away from god, so they and all their descendants are cursed with dark skin, so that the good Nephites (who remain "white and delightsome") will always be able to tell themselves apart from the wicked Lamanites.

So, you've got supposedly Jewish people running around the Americas. And the "good" ones are white, and the "bad" ones are brown. Then, ofc, Jesus comes to visit them (I guess supposedly that's part of what he was doing during his dirt nap? Or possibly after he left again, it's not clear), and they all convert to Christianity, which they think is clearly the natural evolution of Judaism. Well, at the end of the book, all of them become wicked, in a kind of weird pseudo-apocalyptic series of events. They are all cursed with dark skin, until such time as they repent for their ancestors sins and return to the gospel.

But of course, Mormons being the good and kind people they are, they want everyone to receive the blessings of God and be brought into the houses of Israel etc etc. And it isn't the fault of those poor little Indigenous children that their distant ancestors turned away from God and became wicked.

So what's the natural answer? Well, Mormons are real big on missionary work, as we all know. But apparently that wasn't enough in this case.

Because the Mormon church has been one of the big players in abducting as many Indigenous children as possible, in order to indoctrinate them into being good Mormons, so that they can turn white again and be blessed. My mother remembers hearing talks about this in the 70s and 80s. The church literally had a "Lamanite Adoption Program," where families in the church were encouraged to get as many Indigenous children as possible away from their families and not let them be reunited until they were fully assimilated and ready to go back and proselytize about how wonderful the church is.

The church leadership literally talked about how wonderful it was to see these children becoming whiter. Actually whiter. Like, saying that when they finally saw them with their families again, it was beautiful how much paler they were.

I'm pretty sure this program has been officially ended, but it doesn't take a genius to speculate about who might be behind the curtains on the movement in the western US to gut the ICWA....

So yeah. Next time someone tries to tell you that the Mormons are just harmless weirdos, please remember that they're an antisemitic cult that advocates for the forced assimilation of Indigenous children to help them escape the cursed brown skin of their ancestors.

[slayfics]

A girls night at Mitsuri’s house. Don’t worry your secrets are safe here.

Warnings: NSFW themes hinted at~

You arrived at Mitsuri’s doorstep feeling excited for what the night might bring. You couldn’t believe the Hashira found some downtime to plan a girl's night. You wondered what other girls she might have invited to come over. But overall you were excited to take a break from the serious work of hunting demons. 

You knocked on the door and Mitsuri threw it open almost immediately. 

“Yay! I’m so glad you made it!” She exclaimed and pulled you into a hug. “Let me show you who else came!” She said as she grabbed your hand and pulled you into the room. You saw Aoi and Kanao sitting around a table piled with deserts and tea. 

“Hi girls!” You waved.  

“Hello.” Aoi said seriously and Kanao just smiled sweetly at you. 

“Feel free to have as many desserts and tea as you want! I can always make more!” Mitsuri said as she pulled you down to sit on the floor. 

“What is our first task Miss Knaroji?” Kanon asked. 

“Hm?” Mitsuri looked confused.  

“Miss Kocho said this night was so we could all get special training from you.” Kanao explained 

“Oh right!” Mitsuri laughed. “Well actually we're just here to have a girl's night. That can be extremely refreshing for the soul you know! And Miss Kocho thought it would be a great exercise for you to express some of your feelings.”  

Kanao’s face turned white, but she kept a straight face and did not speak again. Training was something she could handle any time of day but expressing her wants and feelings was extremely challenging for her.  

“Sounds ridiculous to me. What are we supposed to be doing here anyway.” Aoi spoke. 

“Oh you know gossiping, talking about boys, the fun stuff! I’ve never had a girl's night before because I've been so busy as a Hashira. It would be nice to just be normal girls for one night. I really wanted Miss Kocho to come too but she said she had to go on a mission.” Mitsuri said. 

“Boys... you want us to sit here and talk about boys?? That seems like a waste of time. I’ve got injured demon slayers to check up on.” Aoi replied.  

“HEY! You mind your manners when talking to a Hashira! Miss Kanroji risks her life every day to keep us safe! So if on her day off she wants to talk about boys you better believe I’m going to sit here and do it, and I suggest you do too!” You spoke. Aoi seemed to be humbled by this and placed her head down. 

“Oh, it’s ok Aoi I understand. You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” Mitsuri said, looking hurt. 

“No I want to be here, I apologize.” Aoi said grabbing some tea off the table. “Please continue.” 

“Well tell me what’s been going on with you girls?” Mitsuri said and sipped some of her tea. 

Everyone was silent. No one knew how to begin or what to talk about. Being in the demon slayer corps robbed the girls of having any real childhood or adolescents, it was daunting to think what normal girls would sit and talk about. 

“Umm... I really want to play with Master Tokito’s hair.” You started bravely hoping to get some conversation started and fulfill Misturi’s dream of having a normal girls night.  

Kanao’s face got even whiter, and she started to sweat. 

“Yes! Me too! He has such beautiful hair I would love to braid it like mine one day!” Mitsuri smiled.  

“Wow that would be so cute, do you think he would let us??” You asked. 

“Hmm I don't know, maybe if we asked nicely or tricked him into thinking it was a training exercise of some sort.” Mitsuri giggled. 

Aoi and Kanao exchanged bewildered glances at each other. 

“Oh come on what boys do you two want to talk about?” You asked, turning to look at them both.

Kanao started to sweat more. 

“Miss Kocho told me a secret about you two, but I won’t share if you don't want me too.” Mitsuri teased. 

“A secret???” What secret could she have said about me?” Aoi exclaimed.  

“Well, we are all girls here and this is a safe place, so I’ll tell everyone. She said you cried SUPER hard when Inosuke got really hurt. Do you like him?” Mitsuri asked.  

 “Ooooooooo!” You said teasing Aoi. 

"WHAT?! Of course I cried I thought he was going to die!” 

“And that would have made you very sad, huh?” You nudged Aoi.  

“Why wouldn't it???” She said defensively.

“Ugh..” You exclaimed giving up. Aoi clearly wasn’t ready to admit any feelings she had for the swordsman, or maybe she hadn’t realized it herself yet.  

“Hmm I have an idea. I think we need help from some more ladies.” Mitsuri said and brought out a pen and paper. She wrote quickly then gave the letter to her crow. “Don’t worry they are trained shinobis so they will be here shortly.” 

“You invited Uzui’s wives??” You exclaimed. 

“Yeah! I think they would enjoy this too! Plus they are experienced ladies so maybe we can get some advice.” 

Before you knew it there was a knock on the door. And the three girls entered. 

“I want to know all the secrets!! What is going on?!” Suma explained bursting through the door and sitting down eagerly.  

"Well, Aoi here likes Inosuke but doesn't want to admit it.” You winked and stuck your tongue out at her. 

“WHATTTTTT? NO THAT IS NOT E-” Aoi started to protest but was cut off.  

“Aweeeeee that’s sooo sweet!” Suma said clasping her hands in front of her. "What do you like about him?” 

“Umm uh I don’t ..” She started to stutter and get flustered. Then attempted to change the subject “What do you three like about Mr. Uzui??” 

“Yeah! What is it like sharing?? No judgment but tell us please.” You asked eagerly letting Aoi off the hook for now.  

“We don’t share! He loves us equally. He always makes sure to take care of each one of us.” Makio said. 

“Awe, how does he take care of you?” Mitsuri asked innocently 

“Well he spends time with all of us, brings us gifts and he-... How old are you girls again?” Makio asked, blushing and smiling, placing her hand on her neck. 

“OOOOO! Say no more.” You laughed. “Well what about you Mitsuri. You gathered us here. What boy do you want to talk about?”  

“Oh, I don’t know.” She said instantly turning bright red. 

“What about Iguro? From what you said in our previous letters it sounds like he comes over a lot.” 

“Oh no no!” She waved her hand. “He only comes over to help me brush and feed my cats.” 

“You think a boy like that is actually coming over because he is interested in your kitties?” Hinatsuru asked curiously, tilting her head to the side.  

“Oh he’s interested in another kind of kitty alright.” Suma laughed as Makio hit her. Mitsuri turned even brighter red. 

“What do you mean?” Mitsuri asked.

“Oh it's obvious he’s totally simping for you. He’d do anything you’d say! He even gave her these socks everyone.” You spoke while pulling on Mitsuri’s green socks.  

“You really think he likes me??" She asked. 

“I know so. Bring him over right now let's play with him.” You suggested. 

“Oh no I couldn't do that!” 

“Sure you could! He’s a Hashira he can get here fast.” You protested. 

“Is he fast?” Suma asked and laughed. 

“Cut that out, they aren’t ready for that yet!” Makio said, hitting Suma again. 

“I think that poor snake boy would pass out around this many girls.” Hinatsura laughed.  

"That sounds fun I want to see!” Suma said.  

“Oh, another time another time! I really wanted this to just be a girls day!” Mitsuri explained. 

“If you brought us here for advice though, all these demon slayer boys are extremely unnerved by you girls.” Makio said.

“What do you mean?” Aoi asked. 

“Well, most only know the demon slayer corps having joined so young. Girls elude them. So, if you want our advice just walk around knowing you have quite a lot power over them and could probably get most of them to do whatever you say.”  

“I don’t get it. What would we want them to do?” Aoi asked innocently. 

“Come and find me in a few years.” Hinatsuru laughed and blushed. “But if you like one of them just go for it ok. Give them a kiss or something and watch them pass out and get a nose bleed, it'll be funny. We never know how much time we have left in our business anyway.”  

“Wow thank you Hinatsuru!” Mitsuri said still blushing a bit.  

“Hm makes sense. Alight that’s settled I'll go give Tokito a surprise kiss tomorrow. If he slashes my head off, I'll come back and haunt you though.” You said to Hinatsuru laughing.   

“Ok your turn.” Suma said turning to Kanao who was so white and sweaty that it looked like she was on the brink of passing out. 

“You don't have to share if you don’t want to.” Mitsuri said. 

“Miss Kocho thought it would be good for you to speak your mind though. Think of it like a training exercise.” You encouraged her. 

“And this is a safe space we will keep your secrets. Are there any boys you like?” Mitsuri asked.  

Kanao did not speak a word but shook her head no profusely. 

“What a liar.” Aoi said and tilted her head away. 

“WOW! Betrayed by your own sister!” Makio laughed. 

“Tell us! Tell us!” You and Suma chanted. 

Kanao opened her mouth and with the tiniest amount of breath muttered “Tanjiro...” 

“OOOOOOO!” Everyone exclaimed, even Aoi, who had finally lightened up.  

“That is soooo cute you two would make such a cute couple!” Mitsuri said clapping her hands together. 

Kanao went back to her white face and not speaking another word. 

“Aoi you and Inosuke would be super cute too!” Mitsuri said.  

“Wait, Insouke! That’s the other boy that helped Lord Tengen! He is super valiant and has some great qualities... In the tummy area.” Suma said pointing around her stomach area and laughing. Aoi’s face turned red. 

"I suppose I haven’t noticed.” She said turning away. 

“What!” Kanao exclaimed, turning to Aoi.

Everyone froze at Kanao speaking up so loudly for the first time.

“You checked on him every single day multiple times when he was already healed, and I see you eye him while he trains!” 

“WOOOOOAHHAHAHA” The other girls laughed at the feuding sisters. 

“Ok fine!” Aoi gave in. “He is an above average looking swordsman... and I am fond of him. He makes me smile. HAPPY EVERYONE??”  

“Oh I’m so proud of you!!!! That was so brave admitting your feelings!! Thank you girls, this has already been the best girl's night I could have ever hoped for!” Mitsuri said cheerfully.

[greycaelum]

My shoujo ass cant stop thinking of kenma and masaki wit my baby sai...................

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { First Princess }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Genre: fluff, domestic life, parenthood

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.7k)—/overprotective Dad Satoru, he's having a girl dad dilemma, lovey-dovey moments, fluff, overall domestic life, 3rd munchkins cameo, slight mention of jujutsu society, childhood friends—/

𑁍 A/N: Trick or Treat! And Satoru got the treat from his Baby Cat! In exchange for a stomachache~

Gojo Satoru... never in his life thought he would die this early...

He can't believe time has passed so much that his bones are starting to hurt when he moves or that his already white hair can get any whiter... or that—

"Love... I have never once doubted where our kids got their drama skills." You sighed, interrupting his monologue.

"Baby!" Your husband whined from the couch and stomped his feet. "She's just 13!"

"Exactly... Calm down 'Toru." You sighed and wiped your hands on your apron. You could see Kouki watching over his two younger siblings in the backyard... Satoru, on the other hand, is having a midlife crisis because of his first daughter.

Barefooted, he trudged to the kitchen and hugged you from the back, a petulant pout on his lips.

"I should have taught her to kick harder as a kid. Maybe I should enroll our daughters in an all-girls school instead. It's not too late y—"

You stuff his mouth with the mochi you're making, effectively shutting him up and, at the same time, calming him down. His ranting turned to munching, and his chattering mouth soon turned to a chin resting on your shoulder while you make snacks for the kids with a husband stuck to your back, hugging you like a teddy bear, asking for bites of what you're making.

You wiped your hand after putting the new batch of brownies you made in the oven.

"You know Saika would never intentionally do anything to make you disappointed. But she's a growing girl, a very good girl at that. Barring her from exploring will not solve the problem." You sighed and turned around to stare at your husband's pouting lips. Gosh, he never grew up from the pouting phase. "If we try to stop her from exploring, she might tend to be sneaky instead. How can we give her guidance if she doesn't feel accepted?" You smiled at Satoru, washing off his worries with your words.

"I know... It's just that..." Satoru blew out a frustrated sigh. "I don't want her to get hurt. She's too young for this, y'know..." He hugged you, burying his face in your neck.

You inhale a large breath and pat his back, empathizing with your husband and his dilemma for being a girl dad. You wonder if you'll ever feel this too with your sons... Or if your husband is simply just being the sensitive big teddy bear he is.

"Y'know, Love..." You trailed and took his face in your hands. "I hate to break it to you like this, but..." You chuckled. "Saika is just with her classmates doing a school project."

Saika has been telling you for one week straight how she's so excited to go over to her friend's house for the first time and do their project, something about some baking activity in home economics, which you agreed with delight. Satoru was also happy about it... until he asked who was her group partners.

"Masaki and Kenma and Iori, and..."

The rest of her partners were ignored the second Satoru heard familiar names.

"Masaki... Kenma?"

"Still! Did you see how that Chiba boy dared come to my doorstep every Tuesday morning to pick up my Cat? That brat, when he grows up, I swear when he grows u—"

You poked his cheeks with your fingers, stopping his plans.

"Baby, you see that?" You pointed to your eldest son, making flower crowns for his youngest sister while his younger brother kept climbing on his back. "You and Kouki have been watching over her since she was born. Do you think your son will be this calm if he doesn't trust Saika's friends? We both know how protective he is of her sister, and he knows Masaki because he goes to school with him almost daily."

You kissed Satoru's frowning brow, easing his temples while his arms remained around your waist, still with the bit of pout on his lips but not as hysterical as earlier.

"Can you blame me? I'm clingy with my first princess." Satoru sighed. "She was so tiny when I first held her. I was so scared if I breathed too deep, she would cry. She's so precious and fragile that I can't handle it. If she cries, it would crush me..." Satoru's words were muffled as he sank into your arms.  

"Mnnn... I know. Must prepare our youngest girl if you suddenly bawl out when she finally gets a boyfriend two decades later.

You didn't have to pull his face up to your eyes to know how Satoru turned several shades paler and sucked a nervous gasp against your collarbone. You saw your two youngest munchkins run to the front yard and the famous single-double tone of knock on your doorsteps.

He left you as quick as a bullet train and ran to the door where, as expected, his Cat was, holding a basket of sweets, and behind her... was someone Satoru would pronounce as his mortal enemy years from now.

Maybe because Masaki is the one he often sees, Satoru never really paid attention to Kenma. That was a long time ago. Saika was just a toddler back then, oblivious to what a 'boyfriend' meant, and took it too literally as a male friend.

"Papa! Look, I made mochi for you!" Saika's eyes lit up, and excitedly enumerated the sweet he brought home for everyone.

"Hey Princess, did you make all these? Lemme have this one~" Satoru looked in the basket and got a cheese stick, then praised his daughter for making them very good... that's a lie, it tastes like the Baumkuchen you threw out coz it was three days expired. But he can't possibly say that in front of his precious daughter, who will probably cause him to go in and out of the toilet later.

"Sir, good afternoon."

A serious voice greeted Satoru.

In his straight stance, hands behind his back and feet against each other, Masaki bowed to Satoru. Saika was used to this. Masaki would greet her Papa, and her Papa would grunt with the same constipated look he always had every time Masaki came into their home.

"Masaki-kun, thank you for bringing Saika home safely." You appeared behind Satoru with a smile. The kid looked up and greeted you formally as well.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/n..." The young boy visibly softened his stance at your sight, but when he saw Satoru watching him like a hawk, Masaki instantly straightened up again like a soldier under his supervisor's stern glare.

"How about you come inside for tea, Masaki-kun? I made some baklava." You warmly invited, patting Satoru's shoulder in silent warning. Saika already went inside, calling her siblings.

"I... I'd love to, Lady Y/n, but my mother told me to be home by 3 in the afternoon." The boy looked a bit somber as he turned down your offer. You know his parents are stricter than others, so you cannot find fault in such an answer.

"Then next time, I'll make some milk pan. Saika loves those." You didn't miss how his eyes sparkled at your offer and the subtle scoff of Satoru on the side.

The kid waved goodbye, but just then, a rushing Saika almost collided with you in the hallway. She ran past you and Satoru towards Masaki, who was already at the gate.

You couldn't hear what they were saying, but based on the cellophane-wrapped baklava your daughter was handing towards Masaki, you could only chuckle and hold down the hand of your seething husband, dragging him a little more inside the house, just enough so the two of you can spy on the kids.

Your husband silently huffs and walks into the house, holding the basket of sweets Saika brought home, calling the kids to share the treat. Though you didn't miss how he ordered his men to watch over Masaki to make sure the boy reached the Chiba Estate safely.

Later that night, you saw Satoru talking to Saika over an ice cream, the two of them huddled up on the couch, playing some Mario Kart.

"Papa doesn't like Masaki, Mama?" Kouki, in his pajamas, walked closer to you, asking you to dry his long hair from the shower.

"You know your Papa, you'd never hear the end of it if it comes to boys." You carefully wring out the excess water from his artic tresses while he hummed and stared at his sister and father fighting over the last spoon of the ice cream.

"Masaki is better," Kouki said with a long look.

"Why so?" Oh? You quirk a brow at your eldest's remark.

"His family is a branch of the Gojo Clan, though the Chiba clan is a minor family, at least that lessens the complexity of explaining about normal citizens and sorcerers." Kouki huffs.

"Since when did my son start thinking of this stuff? Sweetheart? Is that all?" You chuckled and hugged your eldest, pinching his nose. 

"Of course, it also makes it easier to hunt him down if he hurts Cat's feelings," Kouki grumbled with a pout. Just like his father, thankfully, your youngest son is just a toddler, or else you don't know how to keep your three boys from guarding their sister like an apparition against other men.

"Mama! That's unfair. You didn't comb my hair tonight." Saika called from the living room as she saw her brother all fluffy and well-groomed from your hands.

"I can comb it for you, Cat!" Satoru added. Kouki soon joined the huddle, poking fun at his sister.

Needless to say, whoever tries to ask for your daughter's hand, they'll have to go through a lot. She is, after all, the first princess of the most important boys in her life... Just like that, you can't help but wish that if ever... she did find the man of her life, he would treat her as precious as you all have treasured her... Just like how her father has cherished you, or maybe even more.

Satoru chuckled and put down the comb.

"See, my Little Treasure is as pretty as ever!"

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Wajahat Ali:

Dear readers, I am not a doctor. I’m just a simple writer. I share this because I don’t know if there are indeed “racist bones” in the human body. I also don’t know what’s in “people’s hearts.” Thankfully, I’m married to a doctor who has assured me such a bone doesn’t exist. My brother-in-law, a cardiologist, has also assured me there’s no specific valve or aorta that is devoted to racism.

All we have to go by is people’s repeated actions and behavior that the world can observe with its own eyes and hear with its own ears. To quote the late Maya Angelou, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” Well, Donald Trump has shown his racist ass his entire life. This is the feature, not the bug. I’ve been covering him for nearly a decade ever since he descended the fake golden escalators to announce his presidency. During that press conference, he referred to Mexicans as “rapists” and “criminals.” That was the amuse-bouche of an endless buffet of xenophobia, anti-Black racism, Islamophobia, anti-Asian bigotry, anti-semitism, and misogyny that has defined his political career. I’m going to do a test, purely for myself, to see if I can list off at least 10 obscenely racist things Trump has said or done during the past 9 years off the top of my dome - no research and no googling. Here it goes:

Trump refused to condemn white supremacy at the 2020 Presidential debate and instead told the Proud Boys to “Stand back, and stand by!” (They did when they were involved in the failed Jan 6 violent insurrection.)

Trump praised the white supremacists in Charlottesville who chanted Nazi slogans as “very fine people,” to the point where they saw him as an ally.

Trump lamented that Black and brown people came to America from “shithole countries” instead of from Norway, which is a great country that has so many white people that it made my teeth whiter during my visit.

Trump promoted the racist and Islamophobic “Birther conspiracy” against Barack Obama that forced him to show his birth certificate

Trump continues to refer to undocumented immigrants as “invaders,” the same language used by domestic terrorists who have attacked Jews, Black people and Latinos.

Trump referred to COVID as the “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” which coincided with the rise in hate crimes against Asian Americans

Trump told The Squad to go back to their country, even though all those Congresswomen of color are American citizens.

Trump refers to Kamala Harris as a “DEI hire” even though she is infinitely more qualified than him, and furthermore he alleges she “turned Black” for sake of political opportunity. (Well, he turned Republican, but I digress.)

Trump uses “Palestinian” as a pejorative to mock Senator Schumer and President Biden. (He did it again last night at his rally.)

Trump quotes Hitler! He uses his language of “vermin” and “poisoning the blood” to attack immigrants, and he praised him according to his former DHS Secretary General Kelly.

***Bonus*** Trump took out ads asking for the death penalty for the Central Park Five, who have since been exonerated. He has refused to acknowledge their innocence.

Trust me, there’s more! I passed my own challenge of listing the first ten examples off the top of my head, which is in itself quite disturbing.

[...] He does not have “flare ups” or “trip ups” or “racially charged moments.” No. Trump is a racist. He has always been a racist. He acts and behaves like a racist. He can’t help but be a racist. He has not changed or evolved or mellowed or moderated or become more serene after his assassination attempt. If you doubt me, just look at his 35 minute interview with Black journalists at the annual NABJ conference. He is supported by racists who love him for his racism. He will triple-down on racism because he’s a 1 trick pony and because he is melting down at the thought of a Black Indian woman defeating him in 2024.

THE LEFT HOOK with Wajahat Ali is right on: It’s time for the mainstream media to consistently and explicitly use the word “racist” to describe Donald Trump’s racist behavior. “Racially charged” does NOT cut it.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 22nd

[…] I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his breath: "My God!" I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous fit may upset him again; so I turned to him quickly, and asked him what it was that disturbed him.

He was very pale, and his eyes seemed bulging out as, half in terror and half in amazement, he gazed at a tall, thin man, with a beaky nose and black moustache and pointed beard, who was also observing the pretty girl. He was looking at her so hard that he did not see either of us, and so I had a good view of him. His face was not a good face; it was hard, and cruel, and sensual, and his big white teeth, that looked all the whiter because his lips were so red, were pointed like an animal's. Jonathan kept staring at him, till I was afraid he would notice. I feared he might take it ill, he looked so fierce and nasty. I asked Jonathan why he was disturbed, and he answered, evidently thinking that I knew as much about it as he did: "Do you see who it is?"

PANIC

After a few minutes' staring at nothing, Jonathan's eyes closed, and he went quietly into a sleep, with his head on my shoulder. I thought it was the best thing for him, so did not disturb him. In about twenty minutes he woke up, and said to me quite cheerfully:—

"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere." He had evidently forgotten all about the dark stranger, as in his illness he had forgotten all that this episode had reminded him of. I don't like this lapsing into forgetfulness; it may make or continue some injury to the brain. I must not ask him, for fear I shall do more harm than good; but I must somehow learn the facts of his journey abroad. The time is come, I fear, when I must open that parcel, and know what is written. Oh, Jonathan, you will, I know, forgive me if I do wrong, but it is for your own dear sake.

They are so soft to each other… and so sad… and so scared…

A sad home-coming in every way—the house empty of the dear soul who was so good to us; Jonathan still pale and dizzy under a slight relapse of his malady; and now a telegram from Van Helsing, whoever he may be:—

"You will be grieved to hear that Mrs. Westenra died five days ago, and that Lucy died the day before yesterday. They were both buried to-day."

Oh, what a wealth of sorrow in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor Lucy! Gone, gone, never to return to us! And poor, poor Arthur, to have lost such sweetness out of his life! God help us all to bear our troubles.

What a day uh

It is all over. Arthur has gone back to Ring, and has taken Quincey Morris with him. What a fine fellow is Quincey! I believe in my heart of hearts that he suffered as much about Lucy's death as any of us; but he bore himself through it like a moral Viking.

Supporting his friend 🥺

Arthur was saying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married and that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and none of us ever shall.

Again with the inherent homoeroticism of blood transfusions…

The moment we were alone in the carriage [Van Helsing] gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried, till he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman does.

He gave his all to save Lucy despite not knowing her at all! And yes part of it is certainly that he wanted to defeat the incarnation of evil single-handedly, but no one can deny he cared.

My heart bleed for that poor boy—that dear boy, so of the age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes the same.

Oh. Oh…

"Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had made her truly his bride?"

"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him."

"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though no wits, all gone—even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist."

That explains so much…

"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. If you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh; if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him—for he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time—maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all."

I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why.

"Because I know!"

💔

And now we are all scattered; and for many a long day loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings. Lucy lies in the tomb of her kin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard, away from teeming London; where the air is fresh, and the sun rises over Hampstead Hill, and where wild flowers grow of their own accord.

So I can finish this diary; and God only knows if I shall ever begin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with different people and different themes; for here at the end, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope,

"FINIS."

Imagine if the book actually ended there

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[redorich]

A favorite trope of mine has always been- getting to see another person’s past. Is it some kind of judgment thing by a higher power? Something like Freeze Day from SCTFOE? Person trapped in a nightmare and their nightmare is being projected? Who knows. All that’s important is after months of healing, some of the Hermits get to see exactly what Tommy went through. It shows short clips of him before being happy, the rise and fall of Manburg, Wilbur going insane, the festival, the withers, all of it. Just short clips of these things though. The last clip of the SMP is just Dream’s mask outlined by his green hood saying, “you’ll stay here alone with just me until you learn to be quite and respectful and not fight those who are in power over you. Even if you have to stay out here *forever*.”

This turned into a whole drabble smh xD

((btw @give-grian-rights helped me so thank you))

-------

The remaining hermits aren’t sure what happened. They have no way of knowing. There was a witch involved, Cub thinks, but what their fallen friends must have done to piss her off to the point of getting cursed is beyond their ken. Among those laid out are Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Tommy.

Scar and Cub work their Vex magic together to figure out that their friends are trapped in their worst memories. (Etho calls it a Demonic Hell Viewing Illusion, and False smacks him upside the head for the Naruto reference.) Holding hands with a victim pulls you in, but that’s what they’re counting on. Joe’s already wading through Cleo’s nightmare before anyone gets the chance to ask, and Impulse and Tango aren’t far behind doing the same for Zedaph. However, it doesn’t work for Grian, Xisuma, and Tommy; they were found already holding hands. They must have figured something out about the curse before they succumbed to it. All the hermits can do for them, for the time being, is hope.

Tommy, Grian, and Xisuma wake to the smell of sulphur and smoke. The ground is orange and littered with bullets. Grian grabs Tommy’s hand, and Xisuma grabs a discarded rifle. Tommy points his finger up at the top of a mound of scrap metal and dead bodies. There’s a nether portal, except the obsidian is whiter than quartz. That's where they have to go to get out of here.

All around them, demons lurch and shriek and hiss and all sorts of unholy behavior, bodily flinging themselves at the trio as though they know none of them can take the men on their own, and that just by dogpiling them all one of them will get lucky. Xisuma instantly snaps into a professional mode, the way he sometimes does when he's killing zombies but they keep social spawning. He takes up the lead with machine gun fire and grenades, carving a path through the crowd. Grian takes up the rear with a handgun. Neither Xisuma nor Tommy ask why Grian is so comfortable with a gun. They've got more pressing issues.

An imp gets lucky. It's just enough to crack the visor of Xisuma's helmet, and the imp instantly gets mowed down.

"I can't see," Xisuma rasps through gritted teeth.

"Then take the helmet off," Tommy says, cleaving through an enemy with a sharp piece of scrap metal. Grian breathes in sharply. As far as Grian's aware, Xisuma always wears his helmet.

Xisuma goes quiet for a second. "I suppose you've got a point."

The helmet gets dropped to the ground and demon limbs shuffle it away. They don't have time to look at Xisuma's wild brown hair, his purple eyes, the burn scars on his jaw.

They make it to the portal all in one piece. Xisuma takes one last wistful look at the Martian hellscape, then takes his friends' hands. They step through the portal together.

----

They step out of the portal into the foyer of a high school. Grian's eyes shutter.

"We'll be headed toward the roof, I believe," he says, staring dully through the spectre of a broken, bloody man holding a rope.

Tommy latches onto Grian's clammy hand to ground him as the three ascend stairs and traverse the dark, winding hallways. The ghost follows them. It isn't like Ghostbur-- it's, well, not vengeful, but it's not kind. The man named Gareth keens about Grian's sins, about a boy named Taurtis who Gareth hates, about mafia and yakuza, about his poor wife Jane.

On the last set of stairs, Gareth makes a wailing remark that causes Grian to bodily flinch. Tommy doesn't even know what the ghost said (he wasn't listening).

"Fuck off," Tommy says, "you're the shittest ghost I've ever met. Even my brother could..."

He trails off. This is not the way to fix things for Grian. On a hunch, he reaches into his pocket. Of course the object he's looking for is in there; it's his brother's coat.

He holds the object out to the ghost. "Have some blue."

Gareth warily takes it, dropping his rope. It floods periwinkle, then cyan, then dark royal blue. A weight seems lifted from the ghost's shoulders as he clutches the blue, mutters something about Jane, and leaves.

Tommy takes Grian's hand, then Xisuma's, and they go through the door to the school's rooftop together. They halt as one. The portal is there. Standing between them is a boy maybe Tommy's age, with a corpse at his feet.

"Sam," Grian whispers. "Taurtis."

The standing boy smiles, eyes obscured by a purple mask with a rectangular symbol on it, and flexes bloody wings. The corpse on the ground has blood all over its back, where wings once were, and broken headphones around his neck.

"Man, Grian, you really held out on me," Sam says. "This Watcher power really is something else--"

Sam topples over backward. His body hits the ground in front of the portal. Xisuma lowers his gun.

"He looked like bad news," Xisuma says.

Grian grimaces. "He was. Come on, let's go."

They once again step into the portal.

----

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?” Technoblade roars, “Then die like one!”

Their paltry little group of three gets no chance to take in their surroundings, to see what’s going on and where they need to go. All they can process is the legendary PvP champion, acolyte of the Blood God, Technoblade, unleashing Withers upon what once might have been a town.

Tommy yanks them into cover. “I don’t know where the portal is,” he hisses.

Grian squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

Explosions rain hellfire down upon them from all angles-- not just the Withers, but TNT buried in the ground. They’re so close, they can see the man who set it off. And he must have, because he’s yelling about it, yelling about his L’Manberg and his unfinished symphony and begging his father to kill him. He’s wearing Tommy’s coat--

Bile rises in the back of Grian’s throat. Tommy wears his brother’s coat.

Tommy’s eyes are glued to the gleaming diamond sword that Wilbur gives to his father. He watches his brother die all over again, and he knows where he must go. He turns his back on his broken family and breathes.

“We need to go to the Nether,” he says. They nod.

The black portal is across the battlefield. They come across corpses more than once on their way, but ignore them. They can’t afford not to.

In the Nether, there is a rickety, dangerous pathway with no rails, made of cobblestone and obsidian and oak logs. Manic-depressive ravings on signs proclaim the path as the road to Logstedshire. Piglins try to knock them off to no avail, and ghasts blow up the bridge behind them as they run. On the other side of the Logstedshire portal is... actually not a hellscape, as Grian and Xisuma have come to expect, but a little village encampment. Nothing is blown up, nothing is amiss, except Tommy himself. And, of course, the figure they spot after they catch Tommy staring at it.

It’s Dream. The up-and-coming famous speedrunner who Grian faintly recalls killing once in MCC, which was apparently a big deal. The man approaches, and Grian realizes where he recognizes the mask from. It’s the same one that Tommy wears.

“Tommy,” Dream says conversationally, “items in the pit.”

Tommy’s hand wavers, reaches up to unclasp his chestplate, but Xisuma’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No,” Tommy says.

“No?” Dream parrots incredulously. “You know the rules. It’s for your own good. Armor in the pit. Tools in the pit. Friends in the pit.”

They all gasp, though for different reasons. Tommy’s eyes narrow. “Friends in the pit? You’ve never said that one before.”

Dream’s head twitches. “Friends in the pit. Friends. In the pit.”

The man’s voice is deeper than Tommy remembers. Something seems to resolve within Dream’s behavior, yet he keeps twitching. “You’re in exile, Tommy, you don’t need. Friends. I’m all you need. You were doing so good. I thought you learned to behave. I’m all you need. You don’t need friends.”

What happened to the eloquent poison that used to drip from Dream’s tongue like honey? He sounds like a broken record. All at once, Tommy staggers under the weight of the realization that this isn’t Dream. Somewhere underneath that horrible man that abused him is the real Dream, trapped in his own body and watching the dreamon that possessed him hurt his friends.

Xisuma’s gun makes an appearance again, but Tommy holds up a hand in a silent request for the admin to hold his fire. Tommy grabs Dream by the shoulders, removes Dream’s mask and then his own so that he can look the man in the eyes. “I know you’re in there, Dream. When I get out of this nightmare, I’ll save you. I swear it on my discs.”

Dream’s face twitches erratically. The movement spreads to his whole head, neck jerking. He raises straight up into the air, higher and higher, then explodes into a shower of items and no body. A white portal shimmers into existence.

“What the hell was that?!” Grian demands.

Tommy grins, taking the man’s hand and leading him to the portal. “I’ve got a friend to save.”

Grian snarls. “Tommy, he abused you. He’s not your friend.”

“That wasn’t Dream. It was a--”

“Dreamon,” Xisuma breathes.

Tommy nods. They walk through the portal together, and when they wake, holding each other close, they know they’ve got a mission. They can do it.

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Danny Fenton's Jock Squad

A Mystery to Unwrap ao3

A present for @floralflowerpower

Wesley Joshua Weston was, unlike the rest of Amity Park, not blind.

His brothers refused to believe him, Easton questioning his mental state, and Kyle mocking his ideas with lame jokes that didn’t bear memorizing. Dash accepted that he was probably right about the supernatural existing, but only ever since that stupid dance that apparently all of the freshmen went to last year, and the blond gorilla refused to fess up to what changed his mind. Star respected his dedication to journalism and ‘allowed’ him onto the school newspaper but refused to take him seriously, always telling him that hypotheses without proof were just ideas with no base. Whatever. Wes saw proof the other night, the biggest breakthrough he’d ever had, and everyone else in the gymnasium had too.

A giant green dog had simply appeared from thin air next to the hoop after Dash had flinched at the sound of its bark and started barking louder at everyone. Wes, like any sane person would, ran the other way. The thing was bounding after them now, and he just barely ducked under a pounce before running the other way. Flying up through the floor, a kid with hair whiter than paper and a monochrome Fantastic Four cosplay on shouted at the dog, his voice echoing more than so many bodies in the auditorium would allow. “C’mon boy, can you please just go back to the Zone and stay there? I didn’t sign up to be ghostly animal control.”

Wes sprinted for the exit after that, not waiting around to hear more complaints while a fucking hell hound rampaged through the gym, and found at least half of the visiting team in the locker room, cowering. “What the hell are you all staying in here for? We need more leg room than this if that thing comes through here!” Not waiting for the rest to get the message, Wes charged out of the doors and sprinted down the hallway, adrenaline singing through his veins and demanding he put as much distance between himself and that monster as was physically possible.

When he found himself outside and next to the equipment shed, Wes collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping for air. “Holy shit,” he muttered once he had enough breath to do so. “Holy shit, that was real, it was there, and everyone knows it was there. Fuck, I almost died!”

“Wes?” The ginger flinched, nearly toppling over before he realized it was just Kwan walking over to him from behind the gear shack, Dash right behind him. The big softy pulled him up to his feet and Wes sighed in relief. “Dude, are you ok?”

Wes patted himself down and nodded, before shaking his head with a laugh. “I mean, physically yeah. Mentally? Dude, we just almost got eaten by a fucking ghost dog.”

“Ghost?”

“Yeah, that kid with the white hair in the weird black and white suit who flew in to yell at it said uh something about ghost animal control.”

Dash tensed up, taking a step closer into Wes’ bubble. “Did he have a weird echoey voice and glowing green eyes?”

“Can’t say for the eyes but his voice was bouncing around my head, yeah. Why, he your grindr match?” Dash shoved him back and Wes laughed, shaking his head. “No really, Dash, does he sound familiar?”

Dash looked off at the school, quiet for a moment before he nodded his head and focused back on Wes. “I saw the dude back at last year’s dance, in April. He was fighting a fucking dragon, and when I told Paulina she said that Manson had turned into it after putting back on this necklace that Fenton said he got her.”

“That’s wild, man, didn’t Fenton disappear the other day when we were chasing him?” Kwan shuddered, rubbing his arms. “Val growled at me to go hurt him and he ran, and then he was just gone a second before we ran into each other.”

“Fenton also kinda vanished on me at the party that I invited him to cause his sister asked for it. She never did come, by the way, and I can’t believe I wasted all that energy accommodating his wardrobe budget.” Dash scowled. “And he trashed my room.”

“So Fenton, Manson, and probably Foley too all have some weird shit going on with them, huh?”

“Oh god, Wes I know that look,” Kwan said, pointing at him. “Dude, we’re going to stop messing with Fenton cause we don’t wanna know if he can reach through shit like a ghost can, stuff like our fucking chests – right Dash?”

“Yeah, yeah, no more wailin on the freak.”

“So don’t go fucking around with what you can’t handle just cause you’re feeling nosy. I know I probably can’t stop you from looking into it, but please be careful, ok?”

Wes rolled his eyes when Kwan held both of his shoulders and nodded. “Ok, fine, I promise to be careful while I look into this. I’m not some little kid who's gonna get himself maimed because he thought climbing a tree to the top just to grab a stuck kite instead of getting an adult was a good idea.”

Dash snorted and laughed, the tension between them all nearly melting away. “You’re never gonna let Easton live that down, are you?”

“Now why would I do that?” They laughed, and for a moment, nothing strange and terrifying had happened to them. Then, however, Dash’s cellphone rang and Wes groaned. “We gotta check in so they know we didn’t get eaten.”

“Dude, don’t put the idea of getting eaten in my head. That dog was massive.”

[send-me-your-hcs]

Cash, Card, Blood & Boys [pt. 2]

A continuation of this.

Warnings: VERY UNDERAGE, noncon, mafia boss Tony, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Peter, it turns out, is quite the clever little thing.

He’s curious in that youthful, endearing way that Tony appreciates. Even scared to death, his gaze wanders, his hands fidgeting with everything they can touch. He’s an anxious boy, Tony thinks, or maybe a touch ADHD. He hasn’t stopped squirming since Pepper brought him to Tony nearly half an hour ago.

Freshly bathed, scrubbed squeaky clean and dressed in a thin, ill-fitting silk robe, Peter is a vision of loveliness. Tony knew he would clean up beautifully the moment he laid eyes on him. The robe Pepper draped him in hangs nearly down to his ankles; fourteen is younger than Tony’s had in years, and his usual profits aren’t typically as short as Peter is. As much as Tony hates the baggy-clothed peasant look, he must admit that Peter is sinfully alluring with his white dress robe hanging dangerously low off one shoulder.

Not that Tony is staring outright, of course. Not at first. He prefers to let his catch dangle on its hook before he lands it. The longer it waits in the in-between, in that sweet middle ground between freedom and death, the less of a struggle it puts up when it’s finally flung aboard. Tony’s learned, after nearly forty years of running this empire, that the best way to break a spirit is to feed it hope and despair in equal, excruciating measure.

“Are you a studious boy, Peter?” he asks, not turning around as he pours himself a glass of scotch. The ice cubes clink together at the bottom of the glass, making the poor boy nearly flinch out of his skin. “Do you enjoy school?”

“Y-yes,” Peter says, hands wrung together like he’s trying to keep control of them. His eyes dance over the various pieces of tech Tony has lining the walls and almost every surface of his office. The boy looks pitifully, adorably small sitting in the dead center of Tony’s lounge. “I’m - I go to Midtown Tech? I’ve always liked STEM classes, but, um. Chemistry’s my favorite.”

“Engineering was mine,” Tony replies casually as he strolls over, taking a seat on the opposite lounge. Peter ducks his head, refusing to meet his gaze. “Though, to be fair, I enjoyed all my hands-on classes.”

“Engineering is fun too,” Peter offers, meek, shy.

Tony smiles.

“Do you have plans for college? Grad school? Chemistry maybe isn’t quite as diverse or lucrative as engineering, but there’s still a great deal of options you could pursue.”

The hope brightens Peter’s gorgeous face. Tony takes another sip of his scotch to hide his smirk. “I’ve been thinking a lot about biochemistry, actually,” Peter says, squirming in his seat. “I, um, I think medicine would be...would be fulfilling and all - all that stuff. But I, um. I also really like photography. I’ve - I’ve occasionally considered journalism, from time to time.”

“Hmmm.” Tony says, drawing out the sound. The displeasure in his voice makes Peter go very still. “No, sweet boy, I don’t think that would do at all. Journalists and I don’t...get along, you see. They’re terribly nosy, the whole lot of them. You don’t strike me as quite so impolite. Or have I misjudged you? Are you nosy and impolite, Peter?”

The boy’s face has gone very pale. His wide-eyed gaze almost meets Tony’s, but not quite. “I…” he stammers, searching for the right answer, but he’s young and afraid. Tony is inexplicably charmed when the little welp chirps, “I just think...I think I need to do something that helps people. Medicine or - or pursuing the truth, helping to keep people informed, that - those are good things, even if sometimes people do them for the wrong reasons. I’m lucky enough that I was born ‘smart,’ so things like math and science come easy to me. If I...if I don’t use them to help make things better for other people, then it’s like...what was the point?”

“Oh, but Peter, dear boy: you are making things better for other people.”

Confusion curls the boy’s sweet face into an adorable little frown. “What?”

“Your aunt and uncle, for instance.” He watches the boy tense as he takes another long, slow sip of his scotch. “Just by being here, spending time with me, you’re helping them avoid my wrath. You didn’t need college or a fancy camera to do that.”

“Mr. Stark, not...not to be rude, but...you didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“No,” Tony agrees. He sets his empty glass on the little table beside his armrest. “Nor will I. Whether you believe it or not, your uncle knew what he was bargaining with when he borrowed money from me. To his credit, he did try to keep your existence a secret. But I didn’t get to be in the position I’m in by being easily fooled.”

Peter’s hands are nearly whiter than his robe as he clasps them tightly together in his lap. He lifts his gaze to about the height of Tony’s chin and says, after a long moment of silence, “Mr. Stark...are you going to kill me?”

Tony reclines against the back of the lounge, twirling the handle of his cane in his left hand. “That, my dear boy, is entirely up to you.”

The soft, timid sound of Peter’s voice shouldn’t be as captivating as it is. “What...what do I have to do?”

Smiling, Tony lays his cane to rest beside him on the lounge, and sags his legs wide apart. “To start,” he says cheerfully, giving the boy a coy smile, “you can come sit on my lap.”

[xoxo-nikki-xoxo]

Bewitched

Elijah Mikaelson × Female Reader

Prompts number 21 22 "Tell me... if you love me or not. If not I'll leave you alone forever" and "You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love you"

Authors note: I totally based this fic off of Jane Austins Pride and Prejudice. Elijah just totally give me Mr. Darcy vibes. Sorry if you don’t understand that reference. So this fic to by best of abilities is going to be written in the time line of the late 17th century and early 18th century. FYI sorry if this sucks, i truly did try my best.

-----------------------------------------------

Words cant even descried how your feelings for Elijah Mikaelson has changed in the course of only a few months. From when you first met him he was so stuck up, egotistical, and well complete and utterly rude. But it was I that was wrong about him. For Mr. Mikaelson pride might be what you see be wrong, but its for his pride that makes him unique. 

Sitting on the porch engulfed in a bool as I usual am, I received word of a visitor. For it is Miss. Mikaelson arriving by carriage.

“ Dear Miss. y/n, you must come with me at once! I know you have already received your invitation to our ball this evening, but i need if if you are not to busy. It was my wretched bother Kol! He ruined my beautiful ball gowned now i must go fetch myself a new one! With this being announced i need your assistance to help me pick out the 2nd best. And I thought well we were at is we pick out a new dress for you.”  Rebekah say as she steps out of the carriage with the help of the carriage driver.

“ O Rebekah darling you know i well help you select a new gowned. But i don’t think i can accept-” 

“ Don’t finish that sentence we are picking new dresses out and that’s final. Wheres your mother? I surly must say hello before i take you for the rest of the afternoon” she says as she makes her way up onto the porch. The Mikaelson family has been staying in New Orleans for about 6 months now. Your first glimpse of the family was of course arranged by your family, more so your mother then father. But that’s when your friendship with the youngest Mikaelson truly took off. Of course by the moment you where introduced to Niklaus, Elijah and Kol, you were taken back by the pride the men in the family. More so Elijah then the others. Niklaus was the most polite, asking for your hand in the first dance, Kol was nice ,but excused himself the moment he had the chance. For some reason i just could never truly get Elijah out of my mind. His character was so not normal it was brain wrecking. Not saying hello at first but only making slight comments during conversations with other people.

“ okay fine, but only because you said so. Ma is probably in the drawing room tending to my younger sister” you stand up politely bowing to Rebekah as you two make your way into the house for a simple hello and goodbye.

-----------------------

“ Oh dear y/n! That is the one!! The blush pink color is your color, and if my foolish brother, Elijah doesn't make a gesture tonight well ill have to simple slap him myself because you are going to look stunning tonight” Rebekah says standing up clapping when you came out of the dressing room in this beautiful pink dress.

“ Rebekah!”

“O don’t Rebekah me! I know you fancy my brother, don’t worry love he fancies you too.”

“ Well he has a terrible way of showing it” You turn to face the mirror admiring yourself in this dress. If it wasn't for Rebekah being who she is you would have never dared to step into this dress. the waist fitting perfectly around you, the top showing off slight cleavage ,but not enough where it became inappropriate. The dress was everything and perfect.

“ My poor oldest brother... He has an odd way of showing his feelings to anyone outside of the family. So don’t be so uptight, and trust me when i say he truly dose have his eyes set on you” Rebekah smiles going over to me for a quick hug.

“ Now enough of this talking, we still have to figure out a dress for me!”  She adds. I simple smile bowing slightly before i make my way back to the dressing room to take the dress off. once it is off i make my way back into the fitting area sitting down where Rebekah had once sat waiting my dress reveal. After 4 different dresses she finally comes out.

“ This is it, this dress if the one. Hope fully this well catch the eye of the governors son” Rebekah says smiling as she comes out twirling in her dress with her ever so perfect smile.

“ Your out of your sense, the poor governors boy has been totally bewitched by you. If its anyone stopping him from coming forward its your brothers, they would probably kill the poor soul before he could even say Rebe-” you tease giggling as she threw some gloves at you.

“ I cant believe you would stoop to the level of throwing my crazy brothers in my face like that” Bek’s says causing you to giggle even more.

“ Well I think that dress makes you look ravishing, I think its best we get heading to your estate where well finish getting ready” You say standing up to help her with the dress.  

----------------------------------------

“ Ah welcome Miss. Y/N i see my lovey sister has been torturing you with gown shopping” Niklaus says smiling at me with his lips as he greets both me and Rebekah at the fount door to their gorgeous estate.

“ Good evening to you too Mr. Mikealson. And it wasn't tortures at it, it was quite lovely actually. Rebekah and I both picked out new ball gowns for the ball that’s coming up in a short few hour”

“ ah yes speaking of that ball we must start getting ready too. Don’t be such a bloody wanker either Nik, us girls just want to have fun that’s all. Plus if maybe you smile more often there would be more women that would like to dance with you”

“ Oh course well my apologize sister, but would if it be alright with you Miss.y/n if i have a quick word with my youngest sister. She well be right there to accompany you with getting ready” and with a simple bow and curtsy both were off to the den to talk privately. I have curtsy back as i headed up the grand stair case to the fitting room I've grown to be so accustomed too. This house, this marvelous house.. My poor mind, it wonders to where he might be. He has to be in this house somewhere. 

As i descend upon the stairs i can hear footsteps, my heart beat picking up at the anticipation of being able to see the noble man of the house, Elijah.               “ good evening, Miss. y/n. I wasn't expecting any visitors so early before the party” Elijah say, i must have caught him off guard with my appearance.

“My apologizing for catching you off guard Mr. Mikaelson.. You dear sister invited me here earl to help her get ready for today's event” i bow as soon as i start my sentence.

“ Well it seems as though I’m the one who needs to apologizes, Forgive me” He says taking my hand gently into his giving it a soft kiss before leaving me to the room I was headed too. Of course my interaction with Elijah made me blush as i walk to the room being escorted by one of the many helpers around the house, the lady was carrying both Rebekah and I’s dress.

“ Sorry about that little interruption, I had to inform Niklaus about someone i heard conspiring against us. You understand. Now enough of that lets get ready for this ball!” Rebekah announces once she comes into the room where i was awaiting her. I smile nodding, but the only imagine i have in my head is of Elijah. More importantly his lips on my hand. O those soft pink lips, i wish to have them on me all the time.

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The ball is as exquisite as i could have ever imagine it. Being involved with such a high social rank as the Mikaelson family is such a privilege to my family and I. For right now i am currently in a conversation with both Rebekah, Niklaus and well of course my father. 

“ You must excuse us Mr. y/l/n its time for the toast” Niklaus says nodding slightly to my father as he leads Rebekah up the stairs to where the other sidings reside. Of course I make eye contact with Elijah causing a blush to spread across my face. He warm smile to me cause the blush to deepen

“ During times like this its truly time to celebrate family and friend its especially gratifying in times when treachery run deep to know you have someone you can trust. A toast to you, my sister, to Rebekah.” Klaus announces raising his champagne glass as we toast. I smile watching confused at first when i see Kol turn a whiter shade of white before he runs off. Niklaus must have been speaking of Kol in his foreshadowing of his speech. As speechless as everyone was I truly wasn't, knowing who the family is it comes to be no surprise when i watch Nik and Elijah corner Kol

“Apologizes ladies and gentlemen for it wouldn't be a Mikaelson party without a little family drama” Nik announces and in one swift movement shoving a silver dagger into kols heart. I flinch of course, turning away heading to the door to get some fresh air. Stepping out to the cool breeze of the night is refreshing. The moon and stair are shining bright.

“ Forgive me, Miss. Y/n, but may I accompany you on a late night walk” Its his voice, there’s no need to ask who it is talking to me. Hes holding his hand out to me, so of course i accept. 

“ It would be a shame if i said no wouldn’t it?” I respond smiling turning to face him putting my small hand into his ever so large one.

“ You have to know that what you witness a few minutes ago i wish i would not have to done in the eyes of the public.” our stroll begins as we walk threw the garden they have out front.

“ no need for apologizing, though it was a shame to see...” I simple respond holding onto his arm as we walk

“ I must confess something to you though Miss. Y/N, We’ve both been feeling a certain way for each other and i must say it out load before it eats me alive *Stops walking as he puts his hand on your cheek* I l- I love you Y/N.  Tell me... if you love me or not. If not I'll leave you alone forever" as hes confessing i cant help but smile, hes so perfect. His face, him himself must have been sculpted from the gods and he love me. Me? 

“ Elijah, I have loved you sense the day we meet, you have bewitched me body and soul, and i- i- i love you. There’s a reason why i kept coming back... it was for you” and with that we share our first kiss. His lips soft, the smell of nutmeg running nose filling me up. The kiss its passionate, full of all the unspoken words we have yet to tell each other. Pulling away just enough so we both can catch our breath. Our foreheads resting up against each other as we enjoy this moment.

“ I have been waiting for your kiss forever” He whispers softly as he leans in again to engulf me in another perfect kiss

“ Finally you two confuses your feelings, only took you both almost a year” Rebekah shouts out cause me to giggle into the kiss i share with him.

He chuckles hearing his sister remarks “ I must say, you look quite beautiful this evening y/n” Elijah says smiling softy as he tucks a lose piece of hair behind my face.

////// I hope I did this fic the justice it deserves. It was totally Pride and Prejudice inspired hence the reason its so formal and well oldish sounding... lol well hope you guys enjoyed!

xoxo nikki ///////

[catharrington]

I'm so in love with your Catboy!Steve pieces! And now because of them I can't get out of my mind the idea of Billy teasing Steve by calling him 'Kitten' and Steve hissing and showing his teeth at him, demanding Billy to stop calling him 'that' so serious and offended that Billy, in fact, stops but. The problem is that. Secretly, Steve loves it. It just make him feel too vulnerable to admit it. But he misses it sooooo much that one day he climbs up Billy's lap, hides his face into the crook of his neck and whispers, so close it's barely audible, "Will you call me Kitten again?" and Billy will basically melt and pet at his ears "Of course I will, Kitten"

I just love so much the idea of Billy calling him all kinds of pet names and Steve secretly loving it 😻😻

Thank you so much for enjoying my cat boy content!!! And yes. Oh my gosh yes you are correct!! Billy so loves to tease:

Pretty cat, the words hang in the air gentle like soft pieces of lint floating through the windows of a sunny morning. Steve doesn’t hate them, lays in the sunlight of those words and lets it soak into his fur a little.

Billy said them with so much authority, so much fondness, that he can’t help but to believe him.

Steve loves those words. In that order. Some others he has mixed feelings about.

It’s been a week since the aforementioned kidnapping, and Steve has taken a habit of burrowing himself into Billy’s sheets and blankets as soon as he gets up to head into work.

Four days out of the week it’s early in the morning, as soon as the sun comes over the horizon. And then late nights bring Billy home in heavy workboots stomping out dusty clouds. On fridays it’s a later start, and he comes home sooner. Just as dirty. Takes a shower, or sometimes a bath.

Steve curls his long fingers around Billy’s pillow. Brings it close to him, nuzzles his nose into the soft with time cotton so just his eyes and pointy ears follow Billy as he paces the room to get ready for work. Collecting his clothes before stepping into the bathroom, winking over his shoulder ain’t gonna expose myself to ya, don’t worry, kitten.

And Steve just thumps his tail with a thoughtful flick, rhythmically hitting onto the comforter. Thinking to himself he wouldn’t mind.

Doesn’t say anything like that, of course, the only words Steve ever mutters is a stilted bye. And this sunshine bright day, he mutters a soft don’t call me that.

Billy’s closing the door behind him, his words almost lost even to himself as he starts to head out. He pops the door back open with almost a perfectly timed three second delay. What did you say? He asks expectantly.

And Steve, who followed him to the living room. Followed him to the kitchen. Lingering by the now empty coffee pot as it had all been poured into Billy’s to go cup. Just smelling what Billy’s breath must taste like during all his rushed good mornings. Maybe his off to work kisses would be bitter as the black coffee.

He turns his head almost absentmindedly. Don’t call me kitten, he repeats quietly.

Billy scoffs, thinks it’s a joke. Says alright, sugar, before closing the door again.

He calls him it again as they are lounging around that Saturday. Billy’s work books parked at the doorway. And his hands busy stirring and stirring a wooden spoon around a tall pot of sauce. Steve flicks across the pages of one of Billy’s books he keeps on a small shelf by his bed. Well loved and broken spines. Steve doesn’t want to read them as much as he wants to see where Billy’s loved them.

He can barely hear the word over the noise of the album playing. Loud crooning of guitars and drums, even louder voices. But he hears that word again. Billy’s voice sounds like a song as he calls how spicy do you like it, kitten? And Steve would love the thoughtful question dearly if it weren’t for that word.

And repeats himself, a little louder, don’t call me kitten.

From the kitchen, Billy turns over his shoulder. Levels Steve with those crystal blue eyes and his half smirk. Says alright, sugar, then he’s back singing again.

Sounds terrible, sounds like music Steve wouldn’t listen to by himself, but he does enjoy the way Billy uses the red saucy wooden spoon as a microphone to sing into. Really enjoys the way his hips sway with the motions of his silly dancing. Steve flicks the page to the next and let’s it slide.

The thrid time Billy’s following him with those heavy boots, that thick cowboy stride, missing everything but the spurs jingling. Not missing his lips rolled over his white teeth in a warning snarl. This apartments not big enough for the both of us. He’s following Steve into the bedroom when he says that word through his snarl.

Steve matches one right back. A sharper one, a whiter one, one with teeth that come to cruel points. Repeats what he said before. Don’t call me kitten, this time seriously.

And Billy seems to finally get it. But he doesn’t stop. Waits at the doorway while Steve shrugs off his jacket. He just got back from walking home from work, the library in town he was lucky enough to get a job at. Some places have no intention of hiring a cat boy at all. Some places had laughed at his face.

And Steve’s tired of it. Throws his jacket with enough force it make it bounce off the soft comforter. His voice comes out a mean dragging hiss, don’t talk to me like that. I’m not some thing for you to order around. I’m here because I want to be. And he turns to glare right at Billy. Meaner even than the night he scratched up his biceps getting tugged into a bath.

Billy doesn’t get it this time, seems to get angrier about it. He throws his hands up and spins. Like he wants to grab at something. Like he wants to wrap his meaty fingers around and choke something. Instead he settles on pounding two angry fists into the doorframe.

You don’t get it, he shouts, pretty kitten like you is a target for guys, okay, they would love to just chew you up and spit you right back out. Take you home and chain you to a fuckin’ wall, do you get it? And he turns from the wall to jab a finger at Steve’s face. To make sure he gets it. To make sure he’s afraid of the men who can take advantage in the night. Like how Billy’s trained himself to be such a light sleeper— because he knows.

But he stops his next words in his throat. Swallows them back down into his gut and lets them burn themselves out.

Because Steve’s face is glossy with tears down his cheek bones. His brows almost touching in an angry, furrowed scowl. His ears pressed flat back across his limp hair. He looks angry, and afraid. All at the same time.

And Billy hates himself more feverishly than he’s ever hated himself before. He chokes out an I’m sorry, hey, I’m so fuckin sorry I didn’t— I’m just worried— but that gets caught too.

Because Steve’s pushing past him with his fists held at his sides, a strong shoulder shoved into Billy’s shoulder so he can get by, and then the bathroom door is slamming closed. Steve spends the whole night in the bathroom.

Spends the night curled in the cold tub with his tail wrapped around his ribs. Taking shallow, wet breaths.

Billy spends the whole night awake looking at the bathroom door. Remembering the way Steve’s old collar looked when he took it off that pretty skin. How it left a branding almost of its cruelty. It’s abuse and, and Billy’s stomach feels a lot like the mold on that old leather.

He doesn’t use the word again.

Presses a soft kiss to Steve’s head when he finally sees him one work shift later. The first thing he does when he gets home. Before he gives him a worn out bottle of pepper spray he had kept stashed in his glove box. Says, I know it ain’t as strong as your nails. Or your teeth. Or you damn bull-headedness. But could you carry this? If just for me?

So Steve takes it. Clips it to the inside of a zipper in his work bag. Tucks it behind the books he’s borrowed from Billy’s shelf to read in the break room.

It wouldn’t be until later, when Steve decides to try letting someone else in. Letting someone close enough to hurt him. To hit him. To love him. That he decides to try reclaiming that word.

There’s plastic gnarland flowing across the living room and right into the kitchen. There’s a vinyl album playing but it isn’t Billy’s. It’s his family’s, he says, surprised the old thing still works, but this is Christmas to me. And the needle scratches along old carols played on a piano. There’s a thin, sparse, half dead tree sitting by the window. Lit up with steady red and green lights. Some pretty ornaments hung with care. A handful of hand wrapped gifts collected under its low branches.

Steve crawls onto Billy’s lap. And his kiss might not taste like black coffee, but it does taste like hot chocolate. And his hands are soft snd clean as they pet through his hair. Pet across his sensitive ears so gently. Steve lays his head down on Billy’s shoulder just to hear the steadiness of his breath.

He gulps. Then he whispers you can call me kitten.

And Billy exhales shaky-like, like he couldn’t believe it. Laughs low in his chest that Steve can feel rumbled over into his own chest. Feels so good. Then Billy whispers back of course I will, kitten.

[xmalereader]

Bruce Wayne X Male reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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Summary: Bruce Wayne is set up on a blind date by Selena, he meets a cute reader who’s actually a popular artist but remains annoymous until his sons find out first.

Warning: Fluff, insecurities, shyness.

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“I’m not going.”

“Come on Bruce! You’ve been on your own for awhile now and I think it’s time that you start dating! So please just go out with this person for one night that’s all, just one night.” Said Selena as she gave Bruce the eyes.

Bruce could only frown before letting out a deep sigh and silently agreeing to the blind date, Selena cheers quietly as she smiled. “You are going to love him.” She tells him with a big smile on her face, Bruce raised a brow at her. “Him?”

“What? Can’t date a man?”

Bruce looks away, “I’ve slept with a few back then but I haven’t dated any guy before.” He admits as he sets down the newspaper he had in hand and stands up from his chair. “Believe me you’ll like him, he’s really nice and charming and a gentlemen but let’s be honest you are too. Oh! And he’s really great with kids you know? In case things go well and all maybe he can be like the new mother to your four boys.”

“It’s a blind date not an arranged marriage and besides, how do I know who he is?” Bruce questions and makes his way around the manor with Selena following right behind him. “It’s easy, he wear these round rim glasses which makes him look adorable and hsi hair is as white as snow, natural color actually.” She tells the big man as they entered his room. “Why don’t you date him?”

“Oh, I would but as you can see he is not interested in me and I see him more as a friend and roommate than as a boyfriend or dating material, you know?”

Bruce didn’t know.

He’s only dated a few people and his relationships didn’t end so well, the first person he dated at talia and ended up having a son with her and then things went sideways, next was Selena. She was a nice woman and all but he just didn’t see himself settling down with her or anyone else, he was too busy taking care of his own family and focusing on the company and as Batman.

“How old is he?”

Selena frowns, “Why don’t you just go and meet him, I already told him that he has a date tonight at six, told him to dress casual since he’s not the kind of guy to go to a fancy place he says that it makes him feel uncomfortable.”

“So where will I men meeting him or is he or I going to pick him up?”

“You ask way to many questions; But, I didn’t tell him that it was you since its a blind date so you’ll be meeting him at a nice coffee shop that is also a bookstore, been their and not too crowded so not many people will notice you.” She finished explains to him and wasn’t going to answer any more questions wether he liked it or not.

Bruce was looking through his clothing and seeing what he can find to wear tonight. Sighing he rubs his neck as he didn’t find anything casual since he was always wearing something nice. “Alright, ill meet him their and make sure that it goes well. Let’s just hope that your little friend shows up.” He turns around to face Selena with crossed arms.

Selena could only grin and hum. “Don’t worry he’s a nice guy and he won’t leave, actually he’s more afraid of being stood up by you. Thing is that he doesn’t know who you are so just enjoy your date and don’t act all rich around him.” She walks over to Bruce nad kissed his cheek before bidding her farewell, exiting his room she turns around and gasps to see Tim, Jason, Dick, and Damian standing by the doorway.

“You all heard right?” She asks with crossed arms.

“You’re setting up my father with someone? Seriously, I mean if he really needs to cause Trollop than he should just go to a club or something.” Said Damian with a glare on his face as Selena stared at him with a confused one.

“He means sex.” Dick corrects Damian and gave a nervous smile to Selena.

“Oh, well it’s not a one night stand. Both Bruce and my friend need this and I think it’ll work-“ before she could keep going she smirks at the idea that suddenly pops into her head. “Why don’t you follow him and see how the date goes? Maybe that way you can decide if he’s good enough or not.” She leans off the door and began to walk away from the boys.

“She’s not wrong you know.”

“We aren’t following him.” Said Dick.

“I say we follow him.” Tim

“Agreed.” Both Damian and Jason said at the same time as the three boys ran to the bat cave to get ready for tonight while dick groans loudly and chased after them.

Once the clock stroke six, Bruce was getting himself ready for the date tonight and was able to find something casual. He fixed up his hair and sighs as he finished getting ready. He would check his phone a few times to keep track of the time as he drove to hsi destination.

The small bookstore looked nice and warm, almost friendly looking. He could smell the coffee once he stepped inside the shop and saw multiple people walking around quietly with books and coffee in hand. He looks over to the tables and searched for a certain whit haired boy. Frowning a little he didn’t notice anyone with white hair, checking his watch he notices that he’s early and thinks that the other is just on his way. Before he could order his own coffee he noticed a certain man sitting by the window with his hoodie on, he was wearing round glasses as he sketched in his notebook.

Bruce turns and approached the table, setting his hand on the free chair that was across from the other male. “Mind if I sit?”

The other is startled and shuts his notebook, he looks up to see Bruce and quickly takes his hoodie off. “Are you Bruce?” He asks softly and stands up to greet him. “Yes and you must be Selena’s roommate correct?”

“Actually she’s my roommate but-“ he shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter, anyways I’m Y/n.” He extends his hand out for a hand shake which Bruce accepted. The two sat down as Y/n looks down shyly. “I’m sorry but I’m not really used to this sort of stuff, Selena sort of forced me to go on this blind date so I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time.”

Bruce was a little shocked by the others explanation, he didn’t expect the other to be so forward. But he did notice a few things that stood out to him, he noticed that Y/n was avoiding eye contact and kept his hands wrapped around the coffee cup, his fingers tracing small shapes onto it’s surface as if trying to distract himself from an awkward conversation.

This guy was shy and an open book.

“You’re not wasting my time, actually Selena also forced me too but I couldn’t refuse. I’m not the kind of guy who refuses a date.” He smirks at Y/n, trying to flirt with the other.

Y/n could only chuckle softly as he rubs his cheek with his hand. “Guess were on the same page.” He replies with a sweet smile that caused Bruce to feel a little warm inside.

The two slowly began to talk.

It was awkward at first but as time went by Y/n was opening up as they talked about random subjects, just small things to get to know each other.

“Wait so your a single parent?” Y/n asks. They were talking abut Bruce’s small family and him mentioning his sons. “I am a single parent but I’ve never been married before, no. Three of my boys are adopted and the other is my actual son....sort of slipped up on that relationship.” Says Bruce as Y/n smiles a softly and takes a small sip of his coffee. “I think that’s nice of you to do you know, taking in four boys all on your own. Must be tough.”

Bruce laughs and leans back in his seat and nods. “Tougher than you can think.”

“We are not tough!”

“Shut up Jason, you know it’s true.”

The two adults were talking to each other for almost three hours now.

Y/n was actually having a good Time with Bruce, he didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore and more relaxed than ever. It’s been years since he last dated, he was to focused on his career and mother that he never gave himself some time.

Bruce was about to ask Y/n something else but was cut off by the ringing of Y/n’s phone. “Sorry..” he says as he pulls out his phone and stand up. “I need to take this-“

“Don’t worry take your time.” Bruce said with a small wave.

Y/n thanks Bruce and walks off to answer the phone call.

So far so good, Bruce was actually enjoying himself. He didn’t have to dress up nice today and the date didn’t take place in a fancy and expensive restaurant like he thought it would. Instead he got a bookstore and coffee, which he was okay with. Most of the people that he dates know who he is and usually date him for the money, sometimes he only has a one night and moves on but somehow he feels like he wants to continue seeing Y/n.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Bruce is pulled out of his thoughts as he turns to Y/n, hearing a hint of worry in his voice. “I have to get going, something came up and it’s urgent.” He explains and picks up his notebook and slips his phone back inside his pocket. “It’s fine, we all get busy.” Bruce stands up as well, gathering himself once again as he sighs and turns to Y/n.

“I really enjoyed tonight, I hope that we can do it again!” Y/n shouts out as he rushed out the door, waving goodbye as the other ran down the street.

Bruce was left in the shop as he watched Y/n run off, cursing to himself as he mumbled. “I forgot to get his number.” He rubs his neck tiredly and throws away his empty coffee cup and heads back home.

Bruce hasn’t seen Y/n or Selena in almost three weeks now, he’s tried to call Selena and ask for Y/n’s number but she never answered and he didn’t know where she lived. ( I mean they both lived together ) He knows that he could easily look him up but he really wants to give this dating thing a try with Y/n and he didn’t want to look through Y/n’s personal information, not yet.

So, bruce spent the weeks busying himself in the office and going on patrol with his boys.

He remembers one night he was swinging through the city and he swore that he saw a young man with whiter hair down in the streets which caused Bruce to lose concentration and almost slammed himself against a building, but good thing that he was able to focus before anything could happen.

The boys were shocked by this, Bruce would never lose focus and he was always serious when patrolling. So the boys took drastic measures into their own hands, they would keep themselves busy in the bat cave as the searched up the guy that bruce went on a date with not too long ago. They were Able to find a few things about Y/n.

He was a 28 year old man who worked at an art store.

His father died in an accident and his mother was currently in the hospital, diagnose with cancer.

Damian frowns at the new information. “That night he ran like hell.” He blurts out as he hears Tim’s typing stop, getting the attention of the others. “He did say that it was urgent.” Tim answers back as he approached Damian and stands next to him. Damian checks the hospital reports and hums, “As expected his mother was going through a rough stage of cancer the night he and father went out.” He began to explain as he continued to look through the files.

Dick moved over to the computer this time and sighs. “She’s been sick for two years now, she’s been lucky so far but how is he able to get the perfect treatments for his mother?” He asks as he shoved Damian off the chair, earning a growl in response as he made his own research on Y/n. He skims through and stops at a familiar painting that he’s seen before, “Wait-“

He pulls up the information and his eyes widen. “Holy shit, Y/n is a famous painter! This guy makes almost fifty-one thousand a year.” He says as he quickly types. “It’s not really a lot.” Jason cuts in with crossed arms, dick turns around to face hsi brothers. “It ma not be a lot but he stil makes a lot and look,” he pulls up some pictures of the paintings that he’s done and sold. “Half of these paintings were bought by bruce during an art show. He goes every year and buys a new painting from the anonymous artist and turns out that he’s dating that guy but doesn’t know it!”

Jason gasps dramatically. “Oh my god! Why does that even matter?” He frowns at dick and placed his hands on his hips as he tilts his head to the side.

“He’s famous in Gotham, probably the second most popular here in Gotham.” Said Damian. “Fathers dating another millionaire.”

During one of Bruce’s meetings he gets a random phone call from Selena.

Raising a brow he answers the call. “can I help you with something Selena?” He questions as he waits for the others response. “Wow so strict but no, I actually called to see if you wanted to join me in some art gallery show that they are hoisting today.” Bruce thinks for a second before answering. “Why not take Y/n with you?”

“Yeah...wish I could but he’s been busy since you two went out on a date. He’s been doing stuff...” She answers, he could hear her moving around the room.

“What-!? Don’t move me!”

Bruce could hear Y/n’s voice in the background as Selena laughs at the white haired male before she turns back to her phone. “Be ready by five, I’ll meet you there.” Is all she said before hanging up.

Bruce pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at the black screen before groaning and rubbing his temples, why was he always getting involved into this sort of stuff?

Bruce knew that he wasn’t going to be alone at the gallery since the boys were also tagging along. The five of them were dressed up in nice tux’s since it was going to be full of people and mainly rich people since the go to gallery’s to buy art pieces. “Now, don’t cause any trouble.” He warns the others as he was helping Damian with his tie. “Since we are going together to this gallery do you mind if I borrow some money to buy an art piece?” Damian asks, once bruce was finished with his tie he sighs. “Just one piece, we don’t know if their be good artist at this place.” He slicked his hair back as they made their way outside and into their vehicles heading towards the gallery.

The place was crowded and full of people. Everyone was talking and drinking as they admired the art work, some were already buying art pieces while others only critique. “Remember.” Bruce said and glared at the others. “No trouble, espiaclly you two.” He points to both Damian and Tim who in return gets an offend look by his own son.

“Good.” With that he makes his way around the gallery, stopping by every once an awhile to admire some of the art work. He was standing in front of a piece when he hears stand next to him, glancing over his eyes widen as he spots the familiar round glasses and white hair. “Y/N?”

Y/n is startled as he sees bruce next to him, “Bruce? Hey, it’s been awhile.” He said with a small hint of red spreading across his cheeks. Bruce could only smile at him, “Selena told me that you were busy today, said that wouldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, about that.” Y/n started to explain to Bruce about his mother and how she was in the hospital. He would stay days with her and would help her with her treatment but since nothing has gotten better for his mother he tends to worry for her. “I’m sorry that I left in a hurry, I hope that I didn’t make upset.” He avoids Bruce’s eyes and stares down as he drink in hand and shyly rubs the back of his neck. “No need, I suspected that something was wrong you don’t need to apologize.” He answers back.

Y/n lets a small smile appear on his lips before he turns his head to look at the painting. “Beautiful right?” He blurts out, changing the subject as bruce looks at the painting as well. “It really is, The colors are beatiful but I prefer anonymous’s paintings..”

Y/n froze in place, staring at the wall now. “R-really? H-how come?” He stutters out, hoping that bruce wouldn’t notice. “Their art usually tells a story and their portraits are lovely too, I sometimes asked myself if they get professional models or picks popular place as the scenery.”

Y/n’s face was heating up from all the praise he was receiving. “I heard that their new project was impressive.” He mumbles out and clears his throat. “Also heard that it was bought by someone named Mr. Wayne?”

It was Bruce’s turn to get startled as he chokes on his drink. “Are you okay?!” Y/n gasps as he gently pats his back and bites his lip as he watched bruce cough and shake his head. “I’m fine!” He says between coughs before he clear his throat and straightened his posture. “Please excuse me for a minute.” He tells y/n and leaves to search for Damian.

He finds the teenager talking smack on Tim as he approached his son. “You bought a painting.” He states. “Yes father, you gave me permission to purchase one and I did.” Damian stand in front of his father with his hands behind his back. “How much did you buy it for?”

“Well many people were bidding on it and the highest was almost 60K so I bought it for a million.”

“You bought my painting for a million?”

Bruce turns around it see Y/n standing in front of them with a shocked look on his face, “No one has ever done that...I can’t accept that money.”

“And why not? You worked hard on your painting and deserve the money that you earn from it and besides I quiet like it.” Said Damian.

“Yes I know but-“

“Wait, your anonymous? You’re the one that makes all of those popular paintings?” Bruce asks as Y/n looks down. “yes...I don’t really like mentioning it since criticizers usually attack me with their negative thoughts on my art so that’s why I decide to remain nameless, you see I cant handle criticizers very well...” he pushed his glasses up and places with the ends of his tie, staring down at his shoes and biting his lip.

Bruce was surprised to know that this man was the famous artist that he has been buying from. Every time that he bought an art work he always made sure to send them a ‘thank you’ for all the hard work the put into their work but Y/n was a very hard person to find until now.

“You know that you don’t have to be afraid, I like your work and I think that it’s beautiful.”

Y/n blushes again and chuckles shyly. “Thank you, bruce.”

Damian smirks as he opens his mouth. “Your recent art work is very well made, I’m kind of glad that I bought it since it represents your date with my father.”

“What?”

Y/n shakes his head at Damian as he quickly chased after Bruce who walked off to search for hsi art work. Y/n was panicking from embarrassment as he sees bruce come upon his art work, the piece resembled the time that he and Y/n were talking about their past lives. During that moment Y/n was able to get a mental shot of bruce staring out the with a smile on his face. Y/n couldn’t get rid of that image in his head and decides to paint him out, making sure to keep Bruce’s face hidden a bit since he didn’t really get his permission to paint him.

“I-“

“Ill give you 2 million.” Bruce blurts out.

“What? NO!” Y/n shouts out in embarrassment and covers his face from bruce.

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part I - Are You Afraid of the Dark

Summary: The reader finds a case and brings it to Sam and Dean. Warnings/Tags: Talks of headless bodies, death, and other bodily harm. Choice language. Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 1,397

Of all the things we had hunted together over the years, vengeful spirits had a special place in my heart. Whenever we got wind of a poltergeist or a lingering entity, I damn near begged Sam and Dean to take the case. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time they didn’t humor me. Hell, most of the time, they were equally eager. After all, that was the gig. Save people. Hunt things.

The family business.

Right?

"No, Y/N."

Dean's flat tone and even flatter stare brooked no argument. And yet, I persisted. "C'mon, man. This has gotta be one of the most well-known hauntings in the country. And now it's serious!" I brandished the stack of articles at him. "Look!"

Sam rounded the entry into the kitchen and asked, "Look at what?"

"These deaths," I said. He took the stack of articles from me. "Bodies found with their heads crushed. By cannonballs. Whip lashes all over, too. He’s never manifested quite like this before."

Sam flipped through the papers, his scowl etching deeper into his forehead with each page. He hardly glanced at the last one, then tossed the stack onto the table in front of Dean. "No."

"What?!" Incredulous, I gaped at both of them but neither spoke. "Are you freakin' kidding me right now? This is the hunt of a lifetime! We might not get another chance to take out one of the most renowned hauntings in America!"

Dean regarded the top article on the stack, then flipped to the second. "It's not real, Y/N."

“It’s not the most well-known haunting in the country,” Sam clarified. “It’s the most well-known urban legend. Kinda like Sasquatch.”

I gawked at Sam, then turned to Dean. When he shrugged, I said, “Y’all are trying to tell me that you hunted the Woman in White,” I started as I marked my index finger, “a wendigo,” I continued on the second finger, “Bloody fucking Mary,” I finished on my third finger, “and who the Hell knows how many other urban legends over the last fifteen years, but this one is fake?!”

Dean remained silent as he stared at the third article in the stack. I turned to Sam and he shrugged. “I know it’s a bummer, but think about it. We’re two weeks shy of Halloween. This sort of story always comes up this time of year from—”

“Sammy.”

The pit of my stomach plummeted. I had never heard Dean’s voice quiver with such intense fear. I turned to find his face whiter than the driven snow. Sam edged passed me for the table and looked at the article Dean held up to him. As his eyes scanned the page, the color drained from his face as if he had seen the most terrifying thing in his life.

No. Like he had just seen a ghost.

“Missed that one, huh?” Dean asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Sam choked. “We have to go, don’t we?”

Dean raised his chin, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Sam. I know you—”

“It’s fine,” he mumbled as he folded his arms across his chest.

A quick glance between them revealed nothing so I asked, “It’s clearly not fine, Sam. You’ve been bummed for months. There hasn’t been a single case since Chuck’s assholery that you’ve been remotely interested in. I thought a quick and easy win would help.”

“That’s just it, Y/N,” he started. “It won’t be a quick and easy win.”

He turned on his heel and heavy footfalls carried him from the kitchen before Dean or I could respond. Defeated, Dean’s head sank between his shoulders, forehead cupped in both hands. 

“What does he mean?” I asked.

Dean raised his head but said nothing. The longer he remained silent, the worse my fears grew. Something had deeply troubled both of them, enough that they had completely changed their minds about the case. But what had they seen?

I neared the table and slipped the article from the stack. The black and white image of two young boys and their father stared up at me. Beneath the photograph, a caption described the family:

Richard Philips (36) of Lawrence, Kansas and his sons John (11) and Thomas (7) pause in front of the  museum for a photograph while on a fall vacation road-tripping across America.

A million thoughts and none tumbled through my head all at once. My eyes snapped to the header of the article where I found the date, and gooseflesh raced along my arms as I read aloud. "October 21st, 1990." In a rush, I slapped the article onto the table and flipped through the rest of the stack. "That's not possible. I only printed articles over the last week. How the Hell…"

Dean simply stared straight ahead, glassy gaze unseeing. A moment of uncomfortable silence lingered until he spoke. "Look a little closer at that picture."

I dared not look away from him, but Dean's grave instruction left me no choice. I snatched the paper up from the table and brought it right beneath my nose. The father stood tall, broad shoulders pulled back and his hands on the backs of his two boys. John, the older boy, looked much like his father, square jaw, oval eyes, and a brilliant smile. Happy as clams, those two.

The younger son, however, appeared quite uncomfortable. He clung to his father's leather coat, and a forced smile curled his lips, but never touched his eyes. Fear hid there behind a mop of hair and a clenched jaw. What had scared that little boy so that he clung to his father for safety?

An unbidden gasp rent from my lips. Shock spasmed through my fingers, and the paper fluttered to the table. "What did I just see?! How does that article exist and how do I have it now?"

Dean plucked the image from the table. His eyes narrowed as he spun the paper about, then flicked it to me as he set it back down. "Maybe the question isn't how, but why."

"Okay, now you sound like Sam," I stated. "Can you please tell me what's going on?"

He stood then and headed for the door. "Not enough time. We need to get on the road right now. It's a long drive to New York and we're on the clock."

With Dean through the door, I stood alone in the kitchen and… stalled. Hesitated. Something about the photograph drew me in once more. I needed to believe my own eyes, but what I’d seen a moment earlier flew in the face of reality. Then again, my reality had shattered ten years ago. I’d allowed the Winchesters to tear down everything I had once believed and they had built it back up with the truth.

Truth.

I picked up the photo once more. Despite my fears, my gaze slid to the left edge of the frame where a large, black horse stood so far away. Impossible. It should have been a small spec at that distance. Unless it was the size of a small house. But that was only the half of it. Though the clarity of the horse had drawn me in at first, it paled in comparison to its rider. A tall, imposing man sat astride the beast, clad all in black.

I knew it was going to happen, but I was still entirely unprepared. I startled again as the horse reared just as it had a moment earlier, and a large cannonball manifested in the rider's hand raised high over his head. Except he had no head.

But that wasn't the entire story, either. Sam and Dean had recognized something else about the photograph. And they had kept it between them. No matter how long I stared at it, the image offered up nothing else, not even a hint. I snatched up the stack of articles, whipping it off the table and stuffing it into the crook of my arm as I stomped from the kitchen.

The Winchesters had traded a few rounds with The Headless Horseman, of that I had no doubt. Not after what I had just witnessed. If they wanted to keep their secrets, fine. But I would bet my life on the fact that they thought they had wasted the son of a bitch.

Turns out some urban legends never die.

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 23

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20, part 21, part 22

Here’s the chappie where you get a look beyond the Mediterranean fortress Harry calls home... ;)

Timing is sometimes too perfect to be the pure product of coincidence.

Everything is connected: the earth and the seas, the moon, and all the sky’s stars. 

Our bodies are made of these, fragments of their nature, tying us to this world. 

Aunt Lara used to tell me that we are a part of the cosmos, the cosmos pushing and pulling people into paths they’re supposed to be on. She’d smoke her cigarette on our porch with the full moon hanging high in the sky that she’d soon be flying through, and I’d nod, thinking I was so cool just for being around her. It was our time then, just the two of us, sometime after my parents had gone asleep and I’d sneak past their room to meet her outside. She never told my parents I was staying up late on a school night. She’d take another drag, extending one to me, knowing I wouldn’t take it. 

“I’ve seen seven year olds with these things,” she’d mutter, laughing to herself, and when she’d look out, I imagined she was envisioning the Roman Cafe she’d frequent beside the famed Colosseum. A hot sun, and balmy breeze, warm like the foreign friends she’d meet, or the lukewarm seas lapping around her ankles. “So much warmer and clearer than anything you’ve ever felt here. The most miraculous shades of blue...” She’d smoke, she’d smile. I’d admire.

It was a full moon that night. 

Just like it was tonight. 

There are some things that happen so precisely, I think there must not be any other way these things could have happened, no other explanation, other than Aunt Lisa’s: the universe and its timing are inextricably linked to create our destiny. 

 Our choices change our future, sure. But there’s something beyond that, in the fickle way our choices play out ironically, that makes me think some things are fated. God, the cosmos, whatever you believed in - they had bigger plans for everyone. 

 They certainly had bigger plans for me other than a depressing Netflix binge in my dorm room after the game. 

 Yellow fluorescents flickered in the dismal parking garage. Lionel Styles was waiting by the elevators with Sven, looking oddly casual in normal streetwear. They grabbed Harry from me as soon as I’d parked, carrying him in. I followed, for a brief second questioning whether or not my services were needed. Maybe this was only family now. 

 But Lionel hastily beckoned me towards him. “You wanted a hands on experience right?”

 His words seemed crass in a moment like this, but I brushed it off as stress as I went with them in the elevator. Lionel punched in a code and it creaked to life, slower than normal. A table had already been cleared in one of the surgery rooms, a white plastic sheet like that of a serial killer lain across. Gauze, ice water, rags, forceps, and needles were atop a metal tray. It was everything I expected of a surgical room - stark, sterile, and cold without any frivolous decor. No paintings. I assumed there was never anyone awake enough in this room to enjoy them anyway. Sven lay a white medical pillow down, too thin to be comfortable, as Lionel lowered Harry. I cringed, feeling another wave of nausea wrack through me. His gauze, once pink, was now completely red and looked wet to the touch. 

 “He’s been bleeding this whole time,” I breathed. Albeit obvious, it was less to inform Lionel than it was to come to terms with it myself. 

 Lionel flicked one of the syringes, nodding solemnly. “He might need a blood transfusion.” 

 Blood transfusion. IV poles were behind the table, blood blags and clear IV fluid already ready. He was expecting this. 

 “Shouldn’t he be at a hospital?” 

 “Nothing we can’t do. He’s just a boy. Gets into scrapes every now and then.” 

 “This is more than a scrape.” 

 He ignored me, plunging the needle in, and less than a second later, Harry’s eyes fluttered. 

 “Adrenaline,” I whispered under my breath. I recognized the protocol. 

 Lionel looked at me, curiously. “You’ve done a good job. Did you stuff the wound?” 

 I shook my head. Harry was still lightly breathing thanks to the adrenaline. But he wasn’t anywhere near stabilized to warrant my work being commended.

 “It’ll be enough until my friend gets here,” he said.  

 I looked at him, skeptically.

 “The anesthesiologist,” he clarified. 

 And I blamed it on the shock for being so daft. Dr. Styles had been established in the medical field since he received his degree, it was no surprise if he had a “friend” for everything. 

 “Is Mary here?” I don’t know why I asked this question. I don’t know why I thought it was relevant. Perhaps because if my mom knew I was bleeding out on a table, she’d be right there. Right beside me. She would’ve been the one driving, bossing around all the doctors. 911 would have been called and she would’ve moved hell fire and water screaming like a banshee to get to me. “Does she know?” I questioned. 

 Lionel didn’t even look at me, carefully unwrapping the gauze. “She’s sleeping. I didn’t wake her.” 

 The separate lives of Mr. and Mrs. Styles spread further in my eyes, only their roof and rings joining them. 

 I unpacked new gauze, handing it to him. The butterfly bandaids hadn’t held, big shock, and blood trickled down in a steady current. How much blood could he have left? Lionel didn’t have time to be surprised, but the stoic doctor looked a shade whiter when he grabbed the gauze. The wound was exposed and he hesitated, simply applying pressure. His hands bloodied by the second. 

 For as renowned as he was, in facing his own son, he suddenly seemed paralyzed. I wanted to shake him. 

 Sven re-entered, slightly out of breath. I’d never noticed him leaving. “They’re here, sir. But they can’t get in-” 

 A spark was lit. Something familiar for him to grasp onto. “Elevator’s been jamming,” he cursed.  

 I helped apply pressure, and Dr. Styles looked at me, unsettled.

 “I’ll stay here. You can let them in,” I nodded, even though there hadn’t been a question. 

 “It’s deep. So you have to physically stuff the wound with gauze. Have you ever dealt with a stab wound?” 

 My eyes narrowed. He already knew what kind of injury it was.

 Then, mustering all the poise and retort of the First Lady, “With all due respect sir, I can do this.” 

 “I’ve seen grown men faint at the sight of needles let alone handling an open wound.” 

 “Thank God I’m a woman then.” I don’t know what possessed me, but my steely gaze must’ve been convincing. Lionel ran through the door, not even bothering to shut it. 

 Perhaps it was all the hours of being kept to dull paperwork and the maddening helplessness I’d felt for too long now. 

 But I couldn’t sit around anymore. 

 I needed to do something. 

 Sven watched me as I put on gloves and bunched up the gauze, holding my breath as I pushed it past the skin’s opening, ignoring his little gasps telling me this was hurting him, and ignoring the hot sensation around my hands. Tissue. That hot sensation was his tissue. I was inside Harry. I was touching… suddenly the anatomy I’d memorized in textbooks was a little too detailed. These gloves were too thin. I kept going and Sven jumped in to help elevate Harry so I could wrap the gauze around his entire abdomen, stuffing his wound until it was full. 

 We didn’t speak.

 I sat on the only steel stool in silence. I may not want to sit around, but right now the floor could move beneath me at any moment. Sven was in the corner of the room, gaze locked to the clock. The minutes seemed to tick by slower than anything I’d ever felt. I could feel time, just like in the elevator. And maybe it was because his time was running out. He could die. Harry could very well die. If I’d chosen to go with Renny, if I’d stayed a moment longer, if I’d left a moment sooner, I would’ve passed the locker room without hearing him, without seeing him at all. What would the alternative have been? An image of Harry bleeding out, cold on the floor made me nauseous.

 And still the clock ticked. 

 I could have screamed by the time they burst through the doors in a flury. Two men I’d never seen before entered in slacks and untucked button-downs. This hadn’t been an expected call. This wasn’t official. They ignored Sven and I, instantly getting to work, which was fine by me as long as I could stay. They inserted needles and attached wires and masks until I wasn’t sure I could untangle him if I tried. The smallest mewling noises came from him, but he didn’t stir. I don’t think he had it in him to move anymore. Only able to give one desperate lolled roll of his head. 

 One of the men, the anesthesiologist, fiddled with a machine. The whoosh of releasing gas sounded when Harry took his first breaths. A slow, but steady, heart rate appeared on the monitor.  

 Lionel looked at it briefly. 

 The Doctor and his helpers worked for what seemed like hours. Maybe it was. For how long time felt and despite how intently I’d been staring at the clock, I couldn’t recall when we’d arrived. I cringed as they undid my handiwork, only to excavate deeper into the wound. I know this might be my future when I pursued medical school, but on more than one occasion I had to look away. 

 Sven had left the room entirely, standing guard just beyond the door. At least Sven escaped the smell of metal and flesh. 

 They stapled Harry together like meat, a butchered boy on the operating table, like Hasbro Operation except no one was laughing when the forceps dug in, and nobody won. 

 Every time I cringed, I reminded myself: Harry was asleep. He couldn’t feel any of this. 

 He looked like a corpse under the unforgiving white light, but the heartbeat reminded me he was alive. 

 When Lionel Styles finally turned away, tossing his gloves in the bin, he looked whiter than the sheet beneath Harry. 

 It was the longest night I’d ever had. 

 But for him, to excavate into his son the way he just had, I imagined it was longer.  

------

 “I didn’t have to come,” Matt said, for the first time irritance lacing his voice. Golden Boy stood at my doorway, recoiled, after I’d practically growled upon seeing him. 

 “I’m sorry,” I said. “It was a long night.” 

 And annoying after the e-mail notification I’d received about the DG Pretty Please. Time was running out, and it was the last thing I’d had on my mind recently.  

 “Why was it so long?” 

 I twirled my hair around itself in a messy bun, letting it hold itself up. I just shrugged while Matt’s concern mounted. 

 Lionel had asked me not to speak of it. “We’ll let you know when you can see him,” he’d said. As far as anyone else was concerned, I hadn’t been there that night. There was a reason he didn’t want Harry going to a hospital. Less questioning, less spotlight, less of an impact on their image… it still unnerved me. Such a horrific injury, and yet… it was almost expected, brushed under the rug. Had Harry really been this much of a troublemaker growing up that a stab wound was equivalent to a scrape for Dr. Styles? 

 Matt set the steaming Del Taco bag on the floor. “Y/N, seriously, what’s up? You couldn’t even stay the weekend on campus? She told me you’ve been gone for weeks.” He sat down at the foot of my bed when he was sure I wasn’t going to turn into a snarling monster. Which, to be fair, must have been a hard conclusion to come to. “And it’s true, I haven’t seen you around at all. You just… disappeared.” 

 “Okay, it was ONE week,” I clarified. “And we don’t see much of each other anymore anyways so don’t act like you’re so butt hurt that I decided to come home again.” 

 I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them. They were the ones we hadn’t said. The ones we knew were true. But a mood had crept through me last night turning me sour against the world. And now each word I spoke was infected with its poison. 

 His brows scrunched, eyes flashing with indignation, not sure how to handle me, of all people, lashing out abuse.

 “Yeah, because you quit your PT job.” 

 “I got a new one!” 

 “And that’s fine! Why are you so… defensive right now??” he laughed briefly at the absurdity. “I just don’t know why you’re trying to blame this on me. Where is this coming from?” 

 I remained silent. I didn’t know why I was blaming him so harshly for our friendship reaching a downward slope. I knew we had different circles of friends, and as gross of a cliche as it was, he was with the athletes and I was with… Renny. Though now I was starting to hang out with Lynn more, too. A part of me envied him for having such an instant community with his team. Isn’t that why people joined sororities? For community? I’d seriously flunked that one, though a little voice told me I just wasn’t trying hard enough.  

 He looked to my collaged wall, expecting to see our photo strip. But it wasn’t there. He stood up, finding it atop my mom’s arts and crafts bin. 

 “Haven’t been here in a while,” he said, softly. 

 I watched him, stood in my room like all those high school nights of old, seeming taller than before. Like in the months we’d lost touch he’d somehow gotten too big for this room, like he’d somehow outgrown me. 

 “It fell down,” I lied, because Harry had taken it off. 

 They say your high school friends won’t stay with you forever, that as you grow older, the number of friends you stay in touch with start dwindling until it’s down to one or two. I stopped speaking to most of mine after the first year of community college. People move on. People change. I changed too, even though I stayed behind. But there was always Matt. Of all people, I didn’t think it would be him and I standing apart and feeling farther, still. When these relationships change, the transition feels gradual. It’s like, in some unspoken unseen moment, your lives sync up, and you’re both busy at the same intervals. And then you make plans to see each other, but both of you don’t reach out the day you’re supposed to meet up. Neither of you follow through. Because it’s easier. It’s natural. An unspoken agreement. 

 “We’ve both been busy,” I said. 

 “The last time I saw you, you had a massive mark on your neck.” 

 “You can say hickey, Matt.” 

 His eyes fluttered, and he looked away. If I wasn’t devoid of emotion then, I’d think it funny how he got flustered just thinking or talking about anything sexual with me.

 “You’re pretty close with Harry then?” he asked, ears slightly reddened. 

 “What makes you say that?” 

 “An educated guess.” A charming smile lit his face, almost shy, the hostility in the air dulling for a moment. “I’ve seen you with him before, and you were wearing his jersey at the game… I didn’t really believe it though.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “C’mon. Harry Styles.” 

 “And?” 

 He raised his hands as if the answer was so obvious it was floating in the air. They dropped. “He’s not really your scene, is he? I don’t mean that in a bad way, he’s not really my scene either.” 

 “So?” 

 “So, nothing. I was just trying to find something to talk about.” He was getting more irritated now, his thumb digging in between his fingers. “Really, I don’t even care to talk about him, let’s talk about you. Please. Have you drawn anything recently? Why’ve you been feeling off?” 

 I snorted. “Please, I haven’t drawn anything since high school. There’s nothing new.” 

 He crossed his arms, testing me. “I don’t buy it.” 

 He was smart not to. 

 “You know… It took a lot for my dad to ask me to stay behind instead of going off to Princeton,” he said. Every molecule seemed to still around him. “He can barely speak now. The guy who wouldn’t ask you to fetch the boogie board even if you were the one who’d let the waves take it in the first place...” his voice trailed off, a silent sadness swirling in blue eyes. 

 I remembered Patrick Price taking us to the beach and pushing us beneath the big waves, teaching us how to balance on those harmless foam boards we’d pick up at Rite-Aid. Just three years ago at high school graduation, Patrick was running across the grass playing football with Matt and Dad at the BBQ while Mom and Summer dished out the pasta salad and watermelon. He was diagnosed two years ago, and now instead of serving pasta salad, Summer serves him, watching him closely on his wheelchair. ALS was a nasty disease and it acted fast. 

 “I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped,” he finished. 

 I wanted to say that I was sorry. I wanted to say that it wasn’t him, that it was me. But something else had already consumed me, not letting in the light, finding the darkest parts of me and unfurling them until some spilled past my lips. “You didn’t have to drive all the way down here just to see me.” 

 “I didn’t,” he said, and even though he hid his hurt well, I could still see it. He stood from the bed, making up his mind that there wasn’t any use being with someone who pushed away anything that ventured near. “I’m helping my dad move offices. The rent is too high now for landscapers.” 

 “They’re leaving? But you guys have been in the same spot for years.” 

 Matt gave a shrug, taking his turn at the silent treatment.

 “I didn’t know,” I said, lamely. 

 The chasm between us grew bigger, and I shrunk even smaller, letting the silence and guilt consume me.

 “But you wouldn’t want to talk to me about that either, right?”  

 I swallowed, hard. I deserved that. 

 And I was too ashamed to stop him from leaving. 

 Less than an hour later, I was cursing him again. The smell of Del Taco drove my mother away from the living room. Messy wrappers lay scattered around me when the door opened. I may have been too ashamed and prideful to apologize to Matt, but my growling stomach was stronger than both. 

 She saw me in the same position Matt had left me, and I avoided her gaze, checked my phone. No updates. 

 The room seemed cold. 

 “You look like you’re having the same day I’m having.” She came in with a basket of clean clothes, setting it on the floor. 

 “Mom, I told you I’d do that.” 

 “No, you needed rest.” There was a flash of pity, but it was lying beneath a thick shell of annoyance. She huffed, sitting on my bed, just like Matt hours before. 

 She snuggled closer. I faced her on my side, hands pressed against my cheek. She mirrored me. 

 I waited for her to say something, but in the silence her eyes grew wide, shaking her head. The mysterious reason for her mood like a gorged balloon floating towards a fan.

 “What?” I asked.

 “I think your Dad has feelings for somebody else.” 

 My brows scrunched. “What?” 

 “I don’t have any proof. But we were on a date night last night and…” -she let out a cruel laugh that made me want to hold her- “He was texting her.” 

 “Who?” 

 “A waitress.” 

 “A waitress?” 

 “Nicole the waitress.”

 “How do you know it was her?” 

 “He denied it. But I looked at his phone when he went to the bathroom. She’s been a little… friendly with Dad.”

 “Nicole?? Mom, she’s like nearly forty.” A brief memory of a friendly blonde working in the restaurant trickled up and left a sour taste on my tongue. 

 “Still fifteen years younger than me.” 

 My nose shriveled up, the thought of Father being romantic with my own mom made me cringe, but the thought of Father being romantic with somebody else? It didn’t seem… conceivable. My parents weren’t like the Styless. They kept us together. They loved each other. 

 “Have I met her? I’ll punch her next time I see her,” I said, the words still not connecting with my brain. With the facts laid out before me.

 Mom snorted. “Not before I do.” She plucked at a hangnail, a habit I’d gotten from her, and I could practically see the insecurities already rolling around in her mind.

 “You’re gorgeous, Mom.”

 She gave me a look. “I’ve been stress-eating chocolates. I need to watch myself.” 

 “Mom.” I frowned, seeing worry behind her humor. “He needs to watch himself.”  

 She sighed, turning to the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just have this… feeling.”  

 “Women’s intuition?” 

 “Yeah,” she breathed, and I knew if Mother was telling me this from her vault of secrets, it must have been significant. She wasn’t one to listen to Lara’s spirituality, but intuition was something she would never refute. Momma turned back, rattling her thoughts together. “Anyway. I’ll just be... shocked. If it’s true. I mean...a waitress? Really?” Silence suspended. The afternoon sun warmed the room a little more than usual, exposing the paled filmy stars on my ceiling to be illuminescent frauds. “Or maybe I’m not,” she said, quieter. Before I could bat my eyes, she changed the subject. “Why’d you come back last night?” 

 But I could still see the steam rolling off her shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it more?” I offered. The Del Taco turned queasy in my stomach, and as much as I loved her, I really hoped she said no. 

 She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” She squeezed my hand, letting me know she meant her apology. She did a once-over at my stale big t-shirt. “Did something happen to make you want to come home?” Her fingers ran along the tops of my knuckles. “Or do you just love me.” Her smile was less than half-hearted.

 “I was going to be alone at the dorm again. Renny was going to a party and I didn’t want to go with her…” 

 “I hate how she leaves you alone. Maybe we should get you a puppy for company?” 

 I gave her a look and she caved. “No, you’re right. Probably wouldn’t fit in there. You couldn’t take care of a puppy now anyways. Too needy. So, did he like the house?” 

 Her mind seemed scattered in a million directions. Mine struggled to keep up. 

 “Mom, seriously what are you talking about?” 

 “Oh, I didn’t know if he said anything about it afterwards or-” 

 “Mom, who?”

 “Harry, honey.” 

 She was clueless of what her words did to me. My heart lurched just hearing his name, and the worry from last night washed over my exhausted frame like a crab on the shore, strong tides like a persistent weight, threatening to carry me away again. 

 “I’m sure he liked it,” I said. 

 “It’s an older home...he’s probably used to columns of marble.” Her embarrassed smile for even asking the question made my heart split further. 

 “Actually, he did say something! I remember now, he told me it was cute. Homey. He thinks the marble stuff is too cold anyways, he’s excited to come back,” I reassured her. The last bit was probably a stretch but it worked. Embarrassment fell away and her smile glowed.

 Satisfied that she was happy, I turned to face my ceiling, closing my eyes. The problems with her and Father swum in the back of  my mind, but I was too tired to take on anything else. She was an adult. She could make her own decisions. The information settled in a box in my brain, waiting for a moment when I could fully process it and I’d unlock it all again. I could feel the inklings of damage it would do to me if I truly unpacked it - anxiety, anger, confusion, fear, pity. 

 Family was a constant.  

 I couldn’t think about that changing, too. Not when I could barely keep my eyes open. 

 “You’re so sad, angel. What’s going on in your mind, hm?” 

 I shook my head, shifting to look at the ceiling. I didn’t need to feel guilty for not confiding in her. I needed to not feel anything. 

 Her presence was like a lighthouse, radiating heat, beckoning me to come back. All without her saying a word. 

 She looked as if she were going to say something else, but her hand fell back into her lap. “Okay,” she said. 

 She didn’t even try. 

 Maybe she knew the fog was too thick for me to see her light. 

 Then, through the fog, a vibration shook me to the core. 

-----

 “Y/N, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Sven stepped aside, the grand foyer to the Styles estate stretching out before me. Any other time, it would be enchanting, captivating. Now, it looked as treacherous as a hospital hall. I wasn’t sure what rendition of Harry was waiting for me on the other side of the staircase. 

 My feet carried me up a familiar path, my heart pounding at the unknown.

 Irrationally, I had to remind myself that Harry was alive. I wasn’t going to find him, not like I’d found my Grandpa in his room.   

 Regardless… 

 “Are there people watching him? Is he alone?” 

 “He’s stabilized. There’s no need for nurses to keep watch.” Sven held dirty linens as he stayed in my shadow up the stairs. 

 I nodded, the assurances not really meaning anything, not until I could put an image in my mind as to what he looked like. Right now, all I could conjecture was a gray blur for a head sticking out above the sheets. How bruised would he be? How much stained blood would there be? I didn’t know what to fill in the gray with, so my mind envisioned the grim Harry I’d last seen, the Harry that, if it weren’t for the monitor, I wouldn’t have known still had a beating heart. 

Each step carried me closer with a horrifying thought. My brain playing connect the dots as I walked. 

 Pale. 

A clay boy. 

A stitched up doll. 

And everyone knew dolls didn’t breathe.

 I didn’t realize I was alone until I turned around. Of course Sven wouldn’t have followed me, but for some reason I wanted him to be here. 

 Maybe it’s because he was with me when I’d seen Harry last. 

 “Y/N.” The familiar voice was weaker, but the grim tone was still so painfully bare. Of course he’d sensed me. 

 When I stepped out from behind the door, I didn’t find a dilapidated monster. Harry lay resting. 

 “Hey.” I snuck in, light as a swallow’s feather in the morning breeze, floating down beside him and resting my head atop crossed arms. The sight of him shook me. “Raggedy Harry,” I barely whispered, a horrible punch-to-the-gut feeling ballooning in my chest. 

 Half of his face swelled more than the other, his bottom lip completely bruised and jutted out, with a fairly deep gash that had started to scab. I fought the urge to trace over it.

 “Looks worse than it is,” he said, watching my eyes carefully. Besides the pink-red swelling, his face appeared flushed. And despite his injuries, he was still miraculously beautiful. 

 I didn’t even blush from staring. Loose earthy curls had not been affected by time spent smooshed against the pillows. If anything, it’d pushed them forward, the floppier fringe defying gravity just there above his forehead. People could go to a stylist and ask for effortless mussy curls and not have it turn out as good as his - and this just with his genetics and days spent sleeping. 

 If I were him, I’d look like a grease monkey.

 “Well, I can’t see the worst bits I’m sure.” 

 His chest was wrapped in gauze, this time not bloody to the touch. It was thick, white, and secure, and suddenly the tears that had yet to spill started pricking my eyes. I didn’t know just how badly I needed to hear the words before he said them. 

 “Y/N, I’m fine. I promise.” 

 The heaviest weight lifted from my shoulders, but my body slumped deeper into his mattress from an instantaneous realization. I’d needed Harry to be okay. I needed him here, even if I couldn’t explain why. 

 My hand reached out, brushing the tops of his hand.

 “It would’ve been a dick move if you died,” I managed to breathe. I let out a sorry excuse for laughter, nervously sniffling. 

 His eyes seemed heavy, tired. The circles beneath them a cry for help from his beaten body.

 “You can sleep if you want. I just wanted to check in on you.” 

 “I’m not sleeping when you’re here. S’all I’ve been doing,” he croaked. A flood of relief washed over me. Being apart from him was the last thing I wanted right now. The anxieties that’d been plaguing me the past 24 hours were muted to a dull simmer, drowned out by the highs of my body being close to his. Noticing his body...

 A steady drip came from the IV hooked to his arm. Five pill bottles were on his nightstand, within arms reach. He noticed my staring.

 “To stay hydrated.” Then, under his breath, “And numb.”  

 “I know,” I barked a laugh that instantly felt out of place. “I want to go into medicine, remember?”

 His voice seemed lower when he rumbled, “S’right. You’re a smart girl.” 

 The tenderness in his voice sent an unexpected warmth straight to my chest. “You know that’s also a curse,” I noted. “I think too much.” 

 “I know,” he said, but he didn’t laugh like I had. It sounded like an apology. I almost jolted when his hand reached out to touch mine, not expecting him to be warm.

 “You almost died,” I said, taking a breath. “I was there when you almost died.” 

 “I never wanted you to be there-” Before I could take offense, he weakly squeezed my hand. “I want to protect you, Y/N. I never wanted you this involved with me.” 

 “Well we’ve done a shit job at staying uninvolved. You can barely protect yourself. You can’t protect yourself.” 

 “That isn’t going to happen again.” 

 “The fact that it happened! Harry, I don’t think you understand how scared I was. How scared I am. I could be next, I don’t know what they want...” 

 A horrifying puzzle piece clicked into place. My nightmare of being stabbed could become a very real reality. It wasn’t until I saw Harry wincing that I realized his breath had quickened. 

 “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Shit I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out. We don’t need to talk right now.” 

 The sting of I never wanted you this involved with me pulled me to the door, but his hand pulled me back.

 “No. Fuck no.” But his grip softened again, his abdomen screaming at the effort to pull me back to him. When he spoke again his voice was a murmur, quiet-quiet, so gentle I could’ve imagined it. “Stay. Please. Seeing you here is the happiest I’ve been all week.” 

 My heart could’ve flown out of my chest, but for the buzzing electrical phenomena his words ignited in me, I was frozen by his sober admittance of want. It seemed all we ever did was dance around each other, literally. As if we were in an old 1700s ballroom, and everyone was dispersing into pairs. We spy each other from across the room and tiptoe around, refusing to seek other partners, yet refusing to commit to a dance. 

 “Is that sad?” His sincerity broke my reverie. 

 I leant closer, and his eyes fluttered shut in expectation… But my lips pressed soft kisses to closed lids. “I’ll stay,” I promised, nose to nose. Because my answer to his question would be yes. Something told me the mess of his body finally matched the inside of his heart. 

 Rather than tilt his head up to kiss me, he tried scooting over in the bed. It was painful to watch. I stopped him. There was plenty of room for me to lay beside him. So I did, scared to touch him.

 “I’m not going to break,” he huffed. Tough and untouchable, I imagine being tip-toed around was the exact opposite of what he was used to. 

 “You didn’t see yourself that night.” Bloodied gauze and feeling his hot insides against my hands was enough to make my own blood curdle. It was enough to make me question if the Harry in front of me was simply a mirage. He was okay now, I reminded myself. But after I’d seen him bleeding out in the seat next to me, I wasn’t sure I believed him to be unbreakable anymore.

 “You’re right, I’m… sorry,” he looked away, as if not being able to meet his reflection in my eyes. As much as I could hear regret, I knew he felt it even more. 

 My hand reached out, fingertips gently touching his raised cheek. “You were the one who felt it.” 

 He barely leant against my touch, gaze boldly probing my tired eyes, puffy from crying. The longer he stared the guiltier he became. 

 “Maybe we both did,” he said. The statement seemed to confuse him, brows stitching together. “No one’s ever been there for me like you. And-” he smiled as wide as he could with the swelling- “honestly it scares the living shit out of me. I know you didn’t have much of a choice to help-” 

 I surprised myself again, the definitive statement flying out of my mouth faster than I could comprehend. “I’d do it again.”  

 But the words seemed to hurt him more. His head lulled to the side, his prominent adam’s apple moving as he swallowed, deep in thought. “You’re too good for me,” he surmised. Before I could  argue, he took my hand, pressing the back of it to bruised lips. He was acting so soft, so vulnerable. Was it the drugs? Was it an act? But if it was, how could eyes lie like that?

 He hummed as if we were laying on the beach on the first hot day of summer, despite all the pain he must be in. The pros and cons list I’d written and stashed in my purse was sending out a throbbing heartbeat in my body, burning a hole where my purse lay at the end of the bed. No matter if the list were true, it couldn’t encapsulate the complicated person that he was. It wasn’t a fair portrait to paint. And putting me on a pedestal wasn’t either. “That’s not true,” I mumbled, far too late. 

 “It is,” he said. No room for argument.

 “Did they give you some love drugs in this medicine bag of yours?”

 His brows quirked at love, but he didn’t seem mocking when he said, “Maybe.” Emerald eyes were a mix of admiration, torment, and want as they drank me in, and I was sure if I let him stare into my soul a moment longer, he’d discover I wasn’t perfect at all.

 I looked out towards his panoramic balcony window. Little flickers of light told of a city at the bottom of the hill, the dark ocean like a blanket for the rest of the world just out of reach. I wondered how long it’d been since the sun had set. Like any night with Harry, the rest of the world slipped away. 

 I stole a glance back at him, the beautifully broken boy resting his eyes. As if sensing me, he stirred, mumbling something incoherent. 

 “Too far,” he repeated, opening up his arms.

 “I’m not laying on you Harry. Your stitches could burst.”

 He growled. “I don’t care.” 

 And I didn’t doubt it. I came as close as I dared, thankful his shoulder wasn’t bruised as I lay my head in the crook of his neck, hands blindly combing through curls.

 I could feel him relax into me, hear the boyish smirk across his face. “My mum used to do that,” he whispered. “Not this mum, my other…” his voice stuttered out. “My biological.” 

 It grew quiet in the room. An opening to the door of his past just barely letting in light. 

 “Do you miss her?” 

 “Can’t miss what you don’t remember,” he dismissed. And just like that, the door to his past was slammed shut. It was exactly what he said about the Styles’s first child Jane. But this time it sounded rehearsed, mechanical, a river of emotion carefully masked. But not to me. 

 My hands stilled, not sure if I should continue. But he leant into me again, and I continued my gentle work, as if undoing his tresses could untangle messy thoughts. “Thank you,” he sighed.

 In some unspoken moment, he turned his head down, his tanned beaten face leant closer to mine. And with the intimate intensity only he possessed, he saw me. Like I was the only woman in the world. The oxygen seemed pulled from the room as time suspended. He leant lower until our foreheads brushed, his brows stitching together when I instinctually drew my leg across him, careful not to hitch it up too close to his wound. Our breathing deepened, the anticipation building as my hand drew across his face, my fingers settling behind his ear. He huffed, irritated at the tangling of the IV chord when he wrapped his arm around my side. 

 We stayed like this for a while, cradling the other. And just like I had done before, his pillow-soft lips ghosted over my cheek, then my nose, then my chin, until they hovered just over my lips. My eyes fluttered closed, the trail he left leading to one place…

 “Y/N,” he breathed. I opened my eyes. There wasn't any reluctance in his eyes, but something similarly cautious yet fervent, an unspoken sentence pushing against closed lips.  

 But the sound of glass shattering woke us both up. His body turned hunter, still as stone as he listened for what came next. A hysterical cry drove Harry to stand, miraculously faster than I thought possible, and it wasn’t until he limped halfway towards the door that I realized he ripped out his IV. The banshee scream turned into a chilling wail, freezing me to my core. 

 My mind went to the worst case scenario. I’d have to jump from the window somehow. The gang must have found us. They must be in the house-

 “It’s Mary,” he cursed, stopping my spiralling mind so quickly I was left dizzy. I don’t remember following him, but he stopped me at the door, hands locked around my shoulders.  

 “She has… fits, sometimes,” he explained.  

 “I don’t care.”

 “Y/N, you don’t have to see this, too,” he said, and the amount of shame that shadowed his face was like a gouge through my heart.

 I barely had time to say the words before another scream ripped through the empty house. “I’d do it again.” 

 With a somber nod, he rushed us out, practically sprinting to the living room where Mary Styles lay cradling her shell-shocked frame on the floor.  

 “You were gone. You left me,” she sobbed. Her hair was ripped from its usual loose curls and mascara ran down her face like the clear snot running from her nose. 

 “Oh my God,” a voice mumbled. 

 But I realized the voice was me. 

 The glass mirror at the bar had shattered. Shards of glass lay scattered all over the floor. Harry trudged through it, barefoot, bits of red mixing on the marble floors. 

 “No one was here, no one saw.” Her eyes were crazed as Harry bent over to pick her up and she pushed him away. “No! NO!!” 

 Fear spiked in my body. I’d never seen someone look so disconnected from the present reality. This was raw. Unpredictable. 

 But Harry seemed unphased. 

 “No one saw her, no one saved her,” she wailed. The weight of the words caused crippling sorrow. She stopped resisting, retreating into a shell of herself with choked cries, “Jane, Jane…” as Harry let out his own shout at the effort to lift her. 

 “Be careful, you’re hurt,” I called out, weakly. He didn’t bat an eye.  

 “Go through those doors, through the living wing, there’s a closet on your right. Grab the Valium and meet me in the guest room.” He avoided my gaze, looking instead to the direction I should be running to. 

 “Where in the closet?” 

 “Black box,” he ordered. Then, whispering to Mary, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

 But if she heard the words, they didn’t register, her face twisting, her own little trickle of blood running from the tips of her hands. 

 Her sobs barely quieted as they rounded the corner down the hall, abandoning me in the wreckage. 

 I was careful to step around the glass, heading to the massive hidden door in the wall I remembered Harry pointing out as the “living wing.” No one was around to confirm if memory served correct, but when I finally found the latch handle and tugged it open, tropical foliage surrounded me. It smelled humid, like stale water and… musky. Like when I had a hamster in fourth grade and forgot to change out its bedding. The light from the moon shone through their giant skylight, illuminating caged birds gently calling behind bars, enclosed in a sizey aviary. A small raised indoor pool made of rock looked like a concave fossil, with a shadow swimming amongst the mossy water. A miniature crocodile skirted to the furthest edge away from me and raised for air, two eyes looking skeptically in my direction. “Toto” was etched into the rock.

 There were more enclosed habitats, and at the head of the room overlooking it all, a giant wooden desk. But no closet. No closet. 

 Frick.

 I didn’t have time to ponder the eccentricity of the Styles’s owning a freaking zoo in their mansion. Nor did I have time to try and find a friggin light switch. Not at all. 

 I walked the length of the wing which seemed just as expansive as their living room. Ironic, I thought. Because this was literally a living room. 

 Then, beneath an arching tree canopy held in a planter box, two wicker handles protruded from the wall with a crack running between them. 

 Bingo.

 They opened easily, revealing a deep closet full of filing cabinets and old paintings. My phone light illuminated the top, where two black boxes seemed to have gone untouched for years. 

 My foot tapped impatiently, not sure which one to grab. I hadn’t heard any cries of bloody murder, but someone (not me, someone more athetlic) could’ve run a mile in the time I’d been gone. 

 I reached for the one closest to me. It was velvet, I realized, surprised even this family’s storage containers would have some element of luxury. I prayed to find pills. But instead, a wax sealed envelope holding a thick stack of documents glared back at me. I was just about to secure the lid again when the inklings of a photograph peaked through between the papers. The deep-red seal, already opened, was their insignia, a cursive “S” that looked like it’d come from the 18th century. 

 Since the seal was already broken… 

 My hands carefully leafed through the pages, and as if they knew, the animals grew louder, alarming themselves of an intruder. These documents seemed court-ordered. Various signatures adorned the pages using language I couldn’t understand. My heart dropped when I realized what I was holding. Adoption papers. Among them, a newspaper clipping about a boy separated from a violent family, and adopted by rich Americans. 

 Slowly, with each word I read, the oxygen felt snuffed from the room, another puzzle piece falling into place. One that changed the picture completely. 

 Wednesday morning at 5 am, neighbors of Sheffield awoke to gunshots at the King flat. After an attempted murder of his wife resulting in two gun shot wounds to Maisie King’s abdomen, Roger King committed suicide. Maisie is currently in recovery, and her two children have been placed in foster care while the court assesses their home situation. 

 More newspaper headings were clipped out, detailing the TV star rescuers of the boy, how lucky he was and how a wonderful, ritzy life in California awaited him. His entire fate had been changed - but there was no mention of Gemma. And in each photo, the child-like innocence in his eyes seemed vacant, replaced with a stoic sadness I’d only seen glimpses of when he was medicated. When he was too numb to remember to keep up the mask. 

 For how little the Styles’s divulged about Harry’s past to the American press, in England the story seemed to be the tragedy turned happy ending. At least, to some extent, the Styles’s were owed credit for something. They’d probably paid off the international papers.

 Little Harry… My stomach suddenly flipped, the room’s darkness transferring to something physically heavy in my chest. There was a photograph, too, and I carefully wedged a finger where the worn corner of it peaked out from the paperwork, keeping its place as I tugged it out. But when I saw it, I almost dropped everything. 

 The familiar curly-haired child I’d known from old Housewives episodes stared back at me in a worn blue polo from discolored film. Reddened tear-stained eyes looked at whoever was behind the camera.

 There were fresh bruises on baby-plump cheeks, cuts across rosy cherub lips.

 I looked away as soon as I saw it, but the image had already burned in my memory. A taste for the shadows of scars I could only imagine he carried ten-fold. His cuts had buried much deeper than flesh; the most dangerous wounds afflicted his soul and stole the air straight from my lungs.

 Oh, God.

 Oh, Harry. 

 How could anyone do such a thing? He was just an innocent boy, how could anyone- how often…?

 Bitter bile rose in the back of my throat. Dealing with bloody injuries was one thing, but seeing a beaten child had me sick for another reason entirely. This was something evil. 

 I put the photo back just as quickly. I’d gone too far this time. I’d really gone too far. 

 So it was almost an accident that the next photo fell out when I was putting back the first. 

 A man, strewn across a red puddle seeping from his head. A gun tossed at his side. The bile rose again and I refused to stare, but my mind caught the ends of wavy brown hair and a face that wasn’t really quite there. 

 I should’ve noticed when the animals quieted, I should’ve heard footsteps quicken in the other room, but it seemed far away, muted by the roaring secret I’d just uncovered, my mind fully fixated on the life no one could have known about Newport’s playboy hier.  

 If Harry hadn’t noticed the velvet top of the box not quite closed shut, he saw the guilt in my eyes when he stood square before the closet doors. 

 He looked irritated, almost grabbing the closed box from my fingers. 

 “It’s the wrong box!” I cried, horrified that even my voice reeked of pity. And something else. Fear. 

 He froze. A flame flashed beneath the dulled emerald, a spark of knowledge I was sure he’d like to forget. That he’d probably tried to forget, countless times. He shoved it away and grabbed the other box, stopping briefly as he walked past me again. He threw a cold glare. 

 “Don’t be scared of the snake,” he said. “But he doesn’t like strangers.” 

 As if on command, a giant boa constrictor slithered out from the overhanging tree, tightly coiled around a branch. 

 I felt my heart lurch in my throat. 

 “Harry!” I called, but he wasn’t here anymore. And if he was, he didn’t answer. He left, rushing to deal with one mess, when I feared I’d just created an even bigger one. Frozen to the spot as I figured out how to basically army-crawl out of the closet, I ran out past screaming birds and rustling waters, snake eyes burning two holes in the back of my neck as I chased Harry’s shadow. 

come talk about frat boy! or if you just wanna talk... i’m getting tired of talking to my dog lmao

[hedgefairy]

So I'm stuck in Berlin, which, you know, it could be worse, but I really wanted to edit that 18th century breeches video. Anyhoo, now I have time and nothing else to do, so here's

Bridgerton, Episode 2

Missed Ep. 1? Here you go.

We start off with a birthing scene, is it the Dukey? It's the Dukey! Daddy Duke does some patriarchal screaming and Mummy Duke promptly dies, because of course she does, we can't have a happy childhood for the brooding hero, c'mon!

Dukey also has a mistress (present day Dukey, not baby Dukey). Is that Opera Girl? I have real problems telling these people apart, especially the Bridgerbros. I somewhere read that it's something that features extensively in the books, them always getting confused for one another, but in the series it just comes off as "these guys all look alike". Make it a plot point or something, but without it being acknowledged on screen this just screams "we didn't know how to make white brown-haired Regency bros look distinct"...

Where, Dreadlock Gent Extra in the background again!

I'm just not a fan of the colour coding between Dukey and Daphne, she basically does a Wendy Darling closet cosplay (don't get me started on that stupid hair... Yet) and he's all dark colours, it's all light female, dark male, even with their overall colouring (her being whiter than brioche and he being a POC) and character (she's a perfect angel and he's super broody) and I just don't dig it. Give me interesting shit, not this obvious sleeping aid! Also, Daphne doesn't even wear a spencer, girl, it doesn't look like it's that hot outside and you look like you're able out in your nighty.

Notes say "Horrid Featherington dresses, the spoon is def. not silver", which yes, antagonist fashion, and ffs, send the underpaid intern who didn't go get strappy shift Ersatz tops to a thrift store for some decent silverware. I can lend you some of mine, but ugh, really, its not that hard. The budget was obviously there.

Do we finally get plot? Eloise the Spirited goes walking with Penny and her hair just... isn't,and yes, she wants to go to uni (of course, because she's not like other girls™, don't get me wrong, YES, but I'm a bit tired of modern ideas being shoehorned into historcal settings because there is so much cool historical feminism and equality discourse and I'd love to see some of that in mainstream-ish popular culture), but Penny is very preoccupied with Cousin's pregnancy.

Of course Daphne's and Dukey's super clever ruse works like a charm, tons of suitors flock to Daphne's parlour. Lord B (you remember, her super asympatico brother who is a straight-up hypocrite) is super agitated about it.

Is that Dreadlock Gent in with the suitors?

Lord B continues to be a bitch about Horrid Suitor™ (who still has a broken nose which I very much approve of).

Oooh, shirtless boxing! AND gossip! Enter Lord B(itch) who of course wants to throw hands with Dukey. I really like Dukey's boxing bro, and the breeches. I want those! Well, I kinda made some, but the notes are from when I was just making them, so, err, yes. The notes also say "bad defense work, boring footwork" and I'm not sure if I meant Dukey or Lord B, but let's just assume it's both.

More Baby Dukey flashbacks! Daddy Duke sucks. So. Much. Let him kick an actual puppy already, we get it. Fun fact: When I hear Hastings (which is Dukey's last name, but I didn't bother remembering) I automatically think of the battle.

Yay, Penny visits cousin who's all rapunzeled up in her room for being pregnant. Turns out, lol, she got knocked up because church was so boring she started flirting with a guy and they totally hit it off (I'm not sure if it's canon, but I like to think they got it on in one of those confession boxes - idk if that's the term, I'm not catholic - or behind the organ or something juicy like that). Oh god, I hope they don't kill off the baby daddy because he's a soldier.

I refuse to believe in the existence of those high heels on the feet of that acrobat.

Lady B gets invited by the Queen and elatedly let's Daphne wear the family diamonds.

I just noticed that it's just Gossip Girl meets Pride & Prejudice. Ugh. I mean, that could have been a really good thing, but no.

Cool Old Lady™ (aka. Lady Danbury) calls Dukey out for dressing so drably. I like her.

"Make yourself terrifying" is a fucking cool piece of advice.

Oh, look, Dukey and Daphne are having fun while Horrid Suitor™ looks on, and Lord B tries to intervene like the little bitch that he is. Turns out Horrid Suitor™ is horrid inside and out and still insists that Daphne basically contractually belongs to him and I just don't have enough middle fingers for that shit.

We get another flashback of how horrible Daddy Duke is.

So the two women who are not into the whole (tiringly chemistry-free) romance thing are Eloise and Penny, one of whom walks like she's trying to emulate a seventy-year old with back problems and the other is the only non-thin person on screen aside from Horrid Suitor™ (and of him I suspect that it's to underline how very unattractive he's supposed to be). It feels all a bit very caricature-ish?

Horrid Suitor™, who has a shiner now from both Daphne and Dukey (I approve), tries to blackmail his way into marriage. It's just so laughably evil? What's this subtlety thing people keep talking about?

Wait, Eloise smokes? Yay! I mean, I don't encourage that, but in this case it's actual rebellion against the perceived ideal woman. Also, it explains her voice. Also, middle Bridgerbro gets a fucking line! WTF! I wasn't prepared for this! Their interaction is really sweet, I think its my favourite so far in the entire series.

Is the portly guy at court meant to be George IV? He's not. Aww. Also, cocain and/or snuff. Queen Charlotte is being ominous and braggy.

Enter Horrid Suitor™'s mum for gossip, because of course he's not only unsightly, of bad character, a sexual harrasment on legs and all the stuff, he's also a mama's boy. Which is bad, I suppose, because it implies unmanliness and being soft, which has so many unfortunate implications in itself. Ugh.

Cousin gets a line!

Eloise feat. bad "tomboy" hair (I feel personally attacked for some reason) and Daphne have a conversation about how they are super traumatised by their mother giving birth to their siblings.

Some of the background dresses look really bad.

Dukey and Daphne switch to first names, that's SO ROMANTIC! Aaah, the chemistry! (no.)

Ooooh, so Dukey not marrying is his revenge against Daddy Duke. His bloodline dies with him. Also, he just hadn't met Protagonist Girl yet, so it would have been such a waste, right?

And this concludes Ep. 2, which had surprisingly little in terms of annotations. I could delve more into the unfortunate implications of Horrid Suitor™ being a mama's boy but I'm still writing all of this on my phone and I need a break. So,

To be Continued.

Probably soon, because the trains still aren't going.

[natebuzzlover344]

First of all, i’m sorry for my english and grammar. And this is a chapter of one of my wattpad stories named “Cliché”

It’s a Mitch Rapp fanfiction, if you like it i will continue to translate it in english.

I don’t own this gif (take it from pinterest)

I stand in front of the mirror looking at my sad reflex. My skin is whiter than milk, and the dark circles around my eyes look awful to me, the redness of the bruise around my eyes has been pierced by small thin veins.

I'm in a tough, tough time. I do not feel well. It was as if all evil had come upon me. I take a foundation with two shades darker from the cherry blush on the table. I need to have a little color, I look like a corpse.

I pour a few drops into my palms and start stretching in front of me. My blue eyes, like the sea, watched as my face began to come to life.

At just twenty-three, my embers-black hair begins to turn white at the roots. The stress is too great. I'm surrounded by people, but I feel lonely. Empty inside.

After applying a layer of mascara on my long lashes, I get up from my chair and take my red dress off the bed.

The bitter taste of sadness is the only aroma I have been feeling for more than three years. The judgment of the people around me depresses me, as if cutting me in the flesh.

My name is Jenna Lockwood and I'm probably the most fake person you've ever met.

After I put on the dress, I look in the mirror and struggle to smile. The red dress fit perfectly on my waist, and the square neckline highlighted my golden necklace, received as a gift from a good friend. I untie my hair and let it fall, reaching close to my hips.

Now that I'm ready, it's time to leave for a new white night in which I will hide my sadness and insecurities behind a mask. White Nights for black days.

I walk in the door of the club excited by the colorful strobe lights and the catchy music that sings so loud it seems to shake the club. The smell of liquor and expensive perfume was all that pleased my nasal senses. People dancing perfectly to the music, lovers making obscene signs without inhibitions, drunks and drunks falling on the stairs in the bathroom, that's my world. The world without prejudices.

I make room using my elbows through the crowd to reach the bar on the side of the club. It seems that the handsome blonde with long hair up to his ears was working hard flaming a few glasses.

“Ohoo, my man!” I yell at him to hear the music and I lean over the bar to clap with him.

He has been my friend since childhood, somehow our friendship lasted despite the years. Although he does not agree with my lifestyle, he understands my pain and respects my decisions.

"Lanna, I thought you'd miss the party!" Michael replies with a wide smile on his face.

The blonde returns to take the bottle of bacardi, already knowing what I usually order, but tonight I thought of drinking something new.

"Why don't you make me a margarita?" I ask, raising both my eyebrows.

Michael smiles at me and takes a glass of daisy from his stand, then greases the top of the glass with water, then dips it in salt and then pours tequila and triple dry.

I could already feel salivating seeing the beautiful pale green liquid poured into the glass. To make matters worse, Michael squeezes another lemon and hands me my glass.

I take the money out of the black envelope but Michael stops me.

“You know the start is from me!” he says friendly.

“ I always forget, some interesting people?” I ask, sipping my glass.

"About that, I understand that friends of the owner will be coming tonight, some dubious ones, be careful ..." Michael informed me, looking around.

I nod and offer a kiss on the cheek. I wink at them, then walk away to the bar and join the crowd of people dancing as if there were no more tomorrow.

I begin to move to the rhythms of the song Feel so close, occasionally sipping from my glass. The taste of tequilla caresses my taste buds.

A tall man with an enviable athletic body had appeared in front of me. He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans of the same color, torn, accessorized with a chain. His beard was a little overgrown, and his hair was quite long with a gorgeous brown.

I approached the charming man in the rhythm of the dance, putting the glass of daisies around his neck, then leaving it on a nearby table.

The mysterious brunette moved in decline with me, giving me a small smile. He wasn't the kind of boy you'd see everywhere, he had a unique face that stood out from the rest of the males around here. The rhythm of the music pushed me closer and closer to him.

I took the opportunity to look at him closely and feel my amber-colored eyes soften in his eyes, not to mention the small drops of honey that were hiding in his iris.

“I've never seen you here and believe me I come very often!” I whisper in his ear to hear the music.

“It’s the first time, this pleace is awesome!” He replied very excited.

The guy grabs my hand and spins me around, and with a strong pull I get to stick my chest tightly to his. I notice a few strands of hair settling over his eye so I reach for his hand and place his hair on his back.

It had been a while since we had been dancing, the songs seemed to change from second to second.

The rest of the evening I felt like in a story. I danced until I felt my sandals tighten and the kamikaze shots flowed incessantly around our necks. I was at the entrance of the club, the cool summer breeze drying the drops of water that flowed on my body. The handsome brunette takes a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket, then carries a cigarette with an orange filter in his mouth.

"My name is Lanna, I think you should know that we've been dancing for more than five hours," I say sarcastically.

“I’m Mitch, very glad to meed you, ma’ lady” he say very charming.

I watched him curiously as he drew so pathetically from the cigarette that it was almost over. It seemed to me that he was stressed, I had never seen anyone smoke a cigarette so quickly.

As soon as he throws the cigarette in the ashtray, he lights another cigarette. The silence of the night put me back in my bitter thoughts, I didn't want peace anymore. The silence depresses me. I stared blankly under the starry sky, searching for a lifeline in my own thoughts.

"Look up!" he tells me with a smile.

His voice instantly woke me from my thoughts, as if it were a crack that pulled me out of my trance.

I conform quickly and feel him wipe the underside of my eye with his fingertips.

"Your mascara had spread," he announced, smiling.

"Oh, thank you," I say through gritted teeth.

I look back at a fixed point and am blocked again by thoughts. I have become addicted to noise, the silence is stifling.

Two young people in love leave the club. A couple who have been visiting the area for more than half a year. I always tried them with admiration, in their case it seems that love and fun are on the same waterline.

This time they didn't come out with a smile up to their ears and holding hands. They seemed to be arguing.

"I'll put my hand in the fire in a few seconds because the guy will slap him," Mitch says, laughing as he looks at the two of them.

I see the skinny blonde slap him hard on the face, turning her head completely.

"She's going to leave now," Mitch continued, as if anticipating the couple's every move.

Indeed, the girl walks away, but the man grabs her arm and turns her away. The variety continues to quarrel, vaguely hearing the girl's tickled voice screaming at him. Probably fed up with the conversation, the man hurried back and entered the club nervously, leaving the girl with his eyes "in the sun".

"Sad show," He commented, lighting a third cigarette.

I take a pack of slim cigarettes out of my envelope and light one. I watched the blonde sit on the curb and cry with her head in her hands.

I never felt the taste of love, I had a few relationships, but I didn't bother. I didn't think anyone would ever love me, after all, if I don't love myself, what can I expect from people?

"I didn't think love hurt," I say, looking at the girl as she wipes her makeup off her face.

"It hurts harder than anything," He says seriously.

“Love shouldn't hurt ... Loneliness hurts, rejection hurts, losing a person hurts, envy hurts”

“Did you list some examples, or did you say what hurts you?” he asks, looking me straight in the eye.

His question had hit me in the head, keeping my mouth wide open looking at him confused. His question was like a slap in the face.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.You've changed since I went out, what's the matter with you, Lanna?”

Mitch kept in touch, emphasizing everything with his hand over mine. I look at him confused, trying to convey a state of frustration, then I start laughing amused. Confusion had appeared instantly on his face.

“Sorry, but I remembered those cliché scenes when the guy asks the girl if she's fine-“

"She's lying to him, telling him she's fine," he continued.

“Exactly!”

"Then let's do something else, what would you tell me Maybe we won't meet again, maybe the roads will bring us back again. Maybe we will become the memory of a pleasant night. We don't know what life has in store for us. You have nothing to lose.

His realism intrigued me. It implied to me that he was open-minded. I sigh, as if without that sigh I wouldn't have had the strength to speak.

“Have you ever felt depressed?" Instead of reassuring you, does it feel like eating live? I ask, sitting down on the metal bench next to me.

“ Yes, I have moments, but all these worries have a cause.”

“ I feel like I want to break up, like me. Sadness, suffering, hot tears and annoying looks.” I say sad

"Have you ever thought we'll drive too much?" he asks in a melancholy tone.

“We think too much about everything, every look, every text.”

“Maybe we should blame ourselves, maybe we will break our hearts, but personal mistakes that are just the basis of suffering. We build the walls ourselves.”

His words seemed to caress my soul, opening my eyes to new perspectives. Is it my fault for these cruel states? For years I threw the arrows of blame on my mother.

Stubborn by nature, I did not want to attest to the fact that I could be the creator of my own agony.

I watch the sky light up, helping the sun to reveal its hot rays, indicating to me that I should go home.

"And another night has passed," he sats, looking at the beautiful sunrise painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red.

"I think I should go home," I say, taking my phone out of the envelope and ordering an uber.

"Let's smoke one more cigarette," he says, as if he doesn't want tonight to end.

His words form a smile on my face. I take out a new cigarette and hold it to my lips, and he lights it with a lighter. Our eyes meet, and for a few seconds I forgot I had to smoke.

Looking at him more closely, I noticed small scarred cuts running down his rough face. I was so curious about him. What he does, what his passions are, what brings a smile to his face. On second thought, I didn't want this night to end either.

"I know it may sound cliché, and you may already know that, but you're very beautiful," he says, lost in my eyes.

I thank him and see a blue bay parked right in front of us. Looks like my uber has arrived and will break me from this desired moment.

"Looks like my car has arrived," I say through gritted teeth.

“I really liked this night, Lanna, I hope we meet again, maybe life will last with us” he blushed sincerely kissing my hand.

"I hope so."

I say goodbye to the man who gave me the most beautiful night and I get in the car, looking nostalgically as I walk away from him.