#((exactly! you can at least kind of understand where tiffany's coming from))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Damnit, she remembers the strawberry preserves incident! Randall blushed with a little grin, recalling him telling her the story long, long ago, just as his mother had recounted it to him with great fondness and amusement: How he managed to somehow get his hands on some freshly-made preserves his mother had just jarred and downed the whole thing, getting himself plenty sticky and smeared with strawberry in the process.

"Oh, it was plenty of fun!" June snorted, shaking her head as she thought back to that sunny spring day-she leaves the room for two minutes, and her son makes an absolute mess of himself and the kitchen counter. "I just remember him sitting there on the counter, all big-eyed, with strawberry...everywhere! His clothes, his hair, the countertop, oh, it was a mess!"

"And he'd just had a bath too!" Wilhelm added, as he looked to his son-who was looking a bit like a strawberry now, given the way he was blushing. "Junie and I had given him a bath after breakfast, I went out to grab something from the corner market, and when I come back, she's got our boy back in the tub!"

He was deeply bewildered by that: He looked at his son, peering out at him over the side of the tub, and then to June, who was dropping a set of red-stained clothes into the hamper, commenting with a hollow laugh, "You won't believe what your son did!"

As Wilhelm continued to regale Emily with some of Randall's other misadventures, June couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to give Emily back that taste of her favorite berry. She had to drink blood to survive, but would it still be possible for her to enjoy what she used to love, all those years ago? Could there be a best of both worlds, she wondered?

[i-havenothingelsetopost]

He's A Phantom

ao3 link

When Valerie woke up, groggy and disoriented, it was in a dim room. A dim, large room, with rows upon rows of red seats descending towards a huge movie screen.

She was in a theater — and she wasn’t alone. Hers wasn’t the only seat that was occupied. In fact, it seemed that all of them were — it was like the whole town was sat in these seats, blinking and groaning and looking around.

“Where are we?” asked Star from the row above Valerie. She was wondering the same thing — and, more importantly, why they were here. It obviously had to do with ghosts, but which one? How had it managed to kidnap so many people, and why place them in a theater of all places? Valerie tried to remember what had happened —

Oh.

Oh no.

“I’m so sorry, everyone.” She buried her face in her hands, embarrassment heating her skin. What a childish mistake.

“What do you mean?” It was Danny. Danny, who was afraid of ghosts. Danny, whom Valerie never wanted to put into danger — yet there he was, at the very center of the audience, all because of her. “Is everyone okay?”

Suddenly his eyes widened, and in the split second before he covered his mouth with his hands, it almost looked like his breath had fogged. It wasn’t that cold in here, was it? The situation was already miserable enough without everyone freezing to death.

Valerie sighed. Better to just rip off the bandaid. “I think I made a wish.”

“What?!” came Dash’s irritated voice from behind her, and a dejected “C’mon” from Tiffanie.

“So you did!” sang Desiree, appearing from thin air right in front of the screen. “And as you wish it, so shall it be!”

Valerie sprung up from her seat and into a battle stance, summoning her suit — except it didn’t come. Far down the audience, she could see Doctors Fenton having the same issue, their hands grasping empty air where they usually held their weapons.

Desiree tutted. “Now, now, I can’t have you fighting me if the wish is to come true. Everybody sit down so we can start.”

Danny just sighed. “What do you want, Desiree?”

“It’s about what she wants,” the ghost said, pointing at Valerie. “And that is — I quote — for everyone to see Phantom for what he truly is. ”

“What?” Danny yelped. “You can’t do that —”

“Her heart’s desire is my command,” Desiree said, looking down at him sternly. Danny looked like he wanted to hide or run away, but there was no easy escape from the middle seat, even as his friends stood up to make room for him.

“So you’re going to tell us more about Phantom?” Dash yelled, gaining the ghost’s attention. Valerie glanced at him. His eyes were wide and sparkling. Ugh. This was exactly the kind of thing that had driven her to make the wish.

Desiree nodded happily and gestured at the screen. “I am going to show you the most important and illuminating events of Phantom’s afterlife in the form of a TV series. At the end, you will understand him, if not fully, then at least better than you currently do.”

That… didn’t actually sound so bad. It wasn’t exactly what Valerie had meant with her wish, but it would accomplish it in the long run. She might even learn something new and useful while they were at it.

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

Desiree fluttered her eyelashes at her. “A catch? With me? Whatever might you mean?”

Danny grumbled something, but his voice drowned under those of the Phan Club and the Fenton parents. Amity Park really wanted to learn more about Phantom.

Well. It wasn’t like Valerie could do much without her suit. And if it really was going to make the others see what a menace Phantom was… Maybe they could give this a go.

Valerie sat down.

“Good girl,” Desiree said. “Now, if everyone could settle down, we can start the show.”

“Wait!” Sam said, and Valerie groaned. “You said it’s in the form of a series. For how long are you planning to keep us here?”

“For as long as I need to.”

Sam stood on her seat and looked at the crowd. “Don’t any of you have places to be? She’s not going to let us go for hours!”

“Maybe even days! Weeks!” Tucker joined in.

Worried murmurs carried across the audience.

“It’s fine, everyone,” Desiree sighed. “Time passes differently here. It won’t even have been a minute before you’re back to wherever you were.”

“Time doesn’t pass?” Danny was gaping. “Did you somehow rope Clockwork into this?”

Desiree grinned and shrugged.

What the hell were they talking about.

“Well, time is still going to pass for us!” Jazz pointed out from her seat behind Danny.

“We could starve!” Tucker wailed.

“You won’t,” Desiree said. “I took care of everything.”

Danny opened his mouth again, and Valerie got back up. “Just SHUT UP, everyone. The sooner we start, the sooner we get out of here.”

The Phan Club joined in her support (the irony), and eventually, with another dash of Desiree’s powers, they actually got everyone to quiet down. Danny was being hugged by his sister and friends and looked like he was trying not to cry. Valerie felt a bit bad, but… this would be better for him too, in the long run. His parents would certainly be happy.

Desiree found a place that wasn’t in front of the screen, and settled down herself. She snapped her fingers, and the last of the lights went dark.

The screen turned black.

Music started. Neon-colored images of Phantom flashed by, set to the beat. Valerie grit her teeth against the admiring sighs and excited squeals coming from the Phan Club members behind her, but they thankfully fell quiet when the lyrics started.

(He’s a Phantom), the speakers whispered.

(Danny Phantom)

And out of nowhere the screen switched to another face entirely, one with baby blue eyes and a mop of black hair.

Yo, Danny Fenton he was just fourteen when his parents built a very strange machine —

“HOLD ON,” Dash shouted, and Desiree paused the program with another snap of her fingers, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re here to learn about Phantom! Why is it suddenly about Fentina? Nobody wants to see his ugly mug!”

“I don’t want to see yours either, yet here we are,” Danny grumbled.

Dash had heard him and opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by Jack and Maddie Fenton jumping to their feet.

“What did you just say about my baby?” Maddie demanded, hands on her hips — threateningly close to where she usually kept her weapons.

“It’s not about Danny!” Valerie yelled the obvious answer to Dash’s question before the situation could escalate further. “It’s about the Fenton portal! It’s where the ghosts come from, including Phantom, so it’s obviously a key part of the story! Danny’s a good viewpoint character for this part because he literally lives right above it.”

“So does his sister,” Kwan pointed out.

“Yeah!” Dash said. “I’d rather watch her than Fentoenail!”

Maddie whammed her foot onto the back of her seat, ready to scale up the audience to Dash, such rage burning in her eyes that Valerie could feel its heat all the way from here. “You will not insult my son —”

“SHUT UP!” Paulina cried. “Who cares about Danny, we have a chance to learn more about Phantom and I for one am going to take it! Sit down and keep watching.”

Dash looked conflicted. Maddie did not, still ready to go after him, until Jack took her hand.

“We can deal with the boy later. If we keep watching, we could gain valuable information about the spook! It could help us finally defeat him!”

Maddie stood down, and her expression turned into something more calculating, something excited. “You might be right, Jack.”

“No, no, we’re not in any hurry,” Danny suddenly piped up. “Dash, your comment really hurt me. I think we should keep discussing that.”

Something inside Valerie snapped. “Do you want to keep us here forever? The sooner we’re done with this dumb show, the sooner we can go home! Desiree, unpause.”

She did.

— designed to view a world unseen

(He’s gonna catch ‘em all ‘cause he’s Danny Phantom)

“Huh?”

“Did that mean —”

“That did not refer to Fenton,” Valerie groaned over the music. “It’s just a repeating part of the song —”

On the screen, Danny died.

The theater broke into chaos.

[captaincassianandorr]

Survivor 46: E2

-Yanu tribe has very interesting dynamics. I like seeing them. -Not sure about Nami kind of isolating Venus. I feel sorry for her, being isolated like that. -Kenzie seems like she has the winner edit from what I can see. -I went from being unsure about Venus to rooting for her hard, after she said about feeling invisible like no one is seeing/heard you because my whole life it felt like nobody really saw me. From being neglected by my own mother as a kid/teenager to being always put last. So I see where she is coming from. And her tribe should not really be making her feel like that. If she makes the merge/tribe swap she's flipping lol. -Siga/Green tribe is the least interesting to me. At least we're hearing from them though. -Charlie and his angels and then his other alliance so he's the swing vote could be interesting. Him and Maria having some deciding power could be cool too because I think Maria is an interesting player. -Lol at all of Siga looking for an idol. And Randen finding the beware advantage. -Randen's "I have a useless car that I can't drive" analogy to losing his vote cracked me up. -Kenzie not wanting to work with Jess/Bhanu is interesting because she 'doesn't want to hold people's hands. And Jess saying it is the first time she talked strategy with Kenzie. I laughed at Kenzie walking away and Jess immediately "we should vote her out." -the dynamics of Yanu are way more interesting/exciting than the Siga tribe. I also like the Nami tribe though. But at least I know where the alliances/people are in the alliances. -I stopped listening temporarily during the music battle lol. -Liz talking is also annoying because she apparently already has money? the money "wouldn't change her life"? But it would for the others. -Also a sidenote. Liz is exactly who I would cast if I were making a babysitter's club thing. I'd cast her as an adult Mallory Pike. -Randen is trying to make an alliance with VENUS?? Who he previously had a feud with? Lol. At least the cast is changing dynamics. -And the two of them meeting in the middle of the night like spies was great. -One criticism I have of modern survivor is how similar the challenges are in the tribe ones. I get bored of seeing the same sort of obstacle course with puzzle. I'd like to see some new ones. I'd even take one of those balance beam ones over water people kept falling off. -Jeff just cutting the buff off the immunity idol lol. Poor Venus. -Is it just me or Moriah and Liz look a little bit alike? -Nooo not Yanu falling behind again. :( Well at least they're not super far behind. But I like Yanu. -Siga tribe just made me like them slightly more because someone made an X-men reference. -Laughing at all the blocks falling. And at Nami spelling persistence wrong. This challenge looks much more frustrating and annoying than I originally thought it would be. -I would be so annoyed at Liz yelling on the sidelines. -Oh poor Yanu. They were so close to coming 2nd. Yanu going back to tribal council. Please don't tell me there's yet another tribe that gets decimated premerge. I really should finish season 45 shouldn't I. I watched 2 episodes? -Bhanu seems like he is coming unhinged this episode. Which is great tv. -And of course I am here for Venus' meltdown/feud with Tevin and Soda. She's such a diva. Ohhh and she wants to work with Randen to work against Soda and Tevin. Now I love both of them as well so I'm not sure what to do but considering Nami keeps winning immunities well -Ohhh Tiffany. You lost your cool during a challenge and now you're worried about them perceiving you as a crazy person? I think I understand what she is saying though. I love Tiffany a lot. -And Kenzie is trying to make a fake idol now? Lol what a villain. I've missed actual villains on Survivor. -Clown school is really pushing it for me. I was rooting for Tiffany too but Kenzie and her are acting like mean girls (well it is Survivor) -Bhanu is unhinged. AND I AM SAD TO SEE JESS GO.

[here2bbtstrash]

for the fanfic asks!! 1, 2 (because i swear even though i’m still catching up with your masterlist… galaxy brained fr) but also i apologise in advance because i tried narrowing down the following questions.. i really did lmaoo, but the questions were too good not to pick multiple!? 6, 7, 11, 13, 18, 21, 22, 25

wieuhfekrjfdf thank u for all the questions omg 🥺 i'm gonna stick this under a cut so it's not crazy long haha!!

1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

hmmm i'd say probably a healthy mix of the two? i have to plot/outline something (even just a pwp oneshot) before i dive in, i am definitely not the kind of person who can fly by the seat of their pants. however i also really like striking while the iron is hot, bc i feel like the words usually flow the fastest when an idea is fresh. so i'll at least try to ride the wave of dopamine and outline an idea in full as soon as i get it 😂 writing the actual thing usually takes much longer!

2. Where do you get your fic ideas?

honestly i don't even know half the time 💀 sometimes a friend will say something to me and my brain just zooms, sometimes it's partially based off my own life, sometimes it's based off something i read or watched or heard in a song. i just have a very overactive imagination lmao!!

6. What’s the last line you wrote? & 7. Post a snippet from a wip.

i'm combining these two together bc the last two lines i wrote are funny and not really a spoiler for anything so here u go:

The whole night gets fuzzy around the edges when Matthew storms into the kitchen and abruptly changes the music to Bad Bunny before making everyone do a round of tequila shots for seemingly no reason at all. For a while you lose Tiffany to the magnetic power of his body rolls, and you can’t exactly blame her.

13. Do you listen to music while you write?  If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

not while i write, no, but music is a huge part of my inspiration process! i just can't focus while listening to anything with lyrics (even if they're in a language i don't understand lol). but here are some songs on the LDOMLT ch 11 playlist 👀

18. Do you enjoy research?  Which fic of yours required the most research?

i do, though sometimes i can get WAY too carried away with it for something that truly no one will give a fuck about lmao. LDOMLT has definitely had the most research put into it - on the music industry, on the grammys, on los angeles and seoul, on visas 😵‍💫 so much lmao

21. Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

oneshots for sure! i've loved writing my series but it's certainly a labor of love. it's a much deeper commitment required!! and i'm a commitment-phobe 😅

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

i'd say 9/10 times i have a working title while i'm writing the fic, and that usually ends up becoming the title, tho sometimes i change them last minute (it's sweet was almost called that's life, for example 👀) - and i usually steal my titles from songs, tho not necessarily always songs that inspired the work in question (for example it's sweet is a liz phair song but it.... is very off-brand for that fic 😂)

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

i always joke with my friends that i like everything about it except writing, lmfao. i LOVE outlining, plotting, brainstorming, and i LOVE editing and polishing. but i fucking hate drafting so much 👹 WHY CAN'T THE WORDS JUST PUT THEMSELVES ON THE PAGE

35. What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

it might be the shape of your body 🥺 i'm really proud of that one!

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet? - already answered this one!

49. What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

honestly two in one is a good candidate lmao. like consensual but filthy sex, a reader who asks for what she wants, some queer-adjacent shit, member characterizations that i hope you might find accurate 🙆‍♀️ and a smidge of dumb humor. let's go with that one!

69. What are your favorite fics at the moment?

i'm gonna cop out and say check out my fic rec friday tag 💜 i read and review stuff once a week! and don't feel like doing it right now 😂

78. What motivates you during the writing process?

honestly, i'm not always motivated 🤷‍♀️ but i try to show up anyway, regardless of how i feel. the hardest part for me is always getting started, so i do my best to push through that initial block and try to get words down anyway. worst case scenario, if i go back and truly hate them, i can delete them. but i don't think that's ever happened!

79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

write the porn you wish to see in the world 😂

fanfic writing asks~

[be-gay-do-heists]

hello yall :) the holy month of elul started last night, which is typically a time for contemplation, so since it is impossible for me to stop thinking about leverage, i decided to write an essay. hope anyone interested in reading it enjoys, and that it makes at least a little sense!! spoilers for leverage redemption

-----

Leverage, Judaism, and “Doing the Work”: An Essay for Elul

When it comes to Elul and the approaching High Holidays, Leverage might seem like an odd topic to meditate on.

The TNT crime drama that ran from 2008-2012, and which released a new season this summer following its renewal, centers on a group of found-family thieves who help the victims of corporations and oligarchs (sometimes based on real-world examples), using wacky heists and cons to bring down the rich and powerful. In one episode, the team’s clients want to reclaim their father’s prized Glimt piece that had been stolen in the Shoah and never returned, but aside from this and the throwaway lines and jokes standard for most mainstream television, there’s not a ton textually Jewish about Leverage. However, despite this, I have found that the show has strong resonance among Jewish fans, and lots of potential for analysis along Jewish themes. This tends to focus on one character in particular: the group’s brilliant, pop culture-savvy, and personable hacker, Alec Hardison, played by the phenomenally talented Aldis Hodge.

I can’t remember when or where I first encountered a reading of Hardison as Jewish, but not only is this a somewhat popular interpretation, it doesn’t feel like that much of a leap. In the show itself, Hardison has a couple of the aforementioned throwaway lines that potentially point to him being Jewish, even if they’re only in service of that moment’s grift. It’s hard to point to what exactly makes reading Hardison as Jewish feel so natural. My first guess is the easy way Hardison fits into the traditional paradigms of Jewish masculinity explored by scholars such as Daniel Boyarin (2). Most of the time, the hacker is not portrayed as athletic or physical; he is usually the foil to the team’s more physically-adept characters like fighter Eliot, or thief Parker. Indeed, Hardison’s strength is mental, expressed not only through his computer wizardry but his passions for science, technology, music, popular media, as well as his studious research into whatever scenario the group might come up against. In spite of his self-identification as a “geek,” Hardison is nevertheless confident, emotionally sensitive, and secure in his masculinity. I would argue he is representative of the traditional Jewish masculine ideal, originating in the rabbinic period and solidified in medieval Europe, of the dedicated and thoughtful scholar (3). Another reason for popular readings of Hardison as Jewish may be the desire for more representation of Jews of color. Although mainstream American Jewish institutions are beginning to recognize the incredible diversity of Jews in the United States (4), and popular figures such as Tiffany Haddish are amplifying the experiences of non-white Jews, it is still difficult to find Jews of color represented in popular media. For those eager to see this kind of representation, then, interpreting Hardison, a black man who places himself tangential to Jewishness, in this way is a tempting avenue.

Regardless, all of the above remains fan interpretation, and there was little in the text of the show that seriously tied Judaism into Hardison’s identity. At least, until we got this beautiful speech from Hardison in the very first episode of the renewed show, directed at the character of Harry Wilson, a former corporate lawyer looking to atone for the injustice he was partner to throughout his career:

“In the Jewish faith, repentance, redemption, is a process. You can’t make restitution and then promise to change. You have to change first. Do the work, Harry. Then and only then can you begin to ask for forgiveness. [...] So this… this isn’t the win. It’s the start, Harry.”

I was floored to hear this speech, and thrilled that it explained the reboot’s title, Leverage: Redemption. Although not mentioned by its Hebrew name, teshuvah forms the whole basis for the new season. Teshuvah is the concept of repentance or atonement for the sins one has committed. Stemming from the root shuv/shuva, it carries the literal sense of “return.” In a spiritual context, this usually means a return to G-d, of finding one’s way back to holiness and by extension good favor in the eyes of the Divine. But equally important is restoring one’s relationships with fellow humans by repairing any hurt one has caused over the past year. This is of special significance in the holy month of Elul, leading into Rosh haShanah, the Yamim Noraim, and Yom Kippur, but one can undertake a journey of redemption at any point in time. That teshuvah is a journey is a vital message for Harry to hear; one job, one reparative act isn’t enough to overturn years of being on the wrong side of justice, to his chagrin. As the season progresses, we get to watch his path of teshuvah unfold, with all its frustrations and consequences. Harry grows into his role as a fixer, not only someone who can find jobs and marks for the team, but fixes what he has broken or harmed.

So why was Hardison the one to make this speech?

I do maintain that it does provide a stronger textual basis for reading Hardison as Jewish by implication (though the brief on-screen explanation for why he knows about teshuvah, that his foster-parent Nana raised a multi-faith household, is important in its own merit, and meshes well with his character traits of empathy and understanding for diverse experiences). However, beyond this, Hardison isn’t exactly an archetypical model for teshuvah. In the original series, he was the youngest character of the main ensemble, a hacking prodigy in the start of his adult career, with few mistakes or slights against others under his belt. In one flashback we see that his possibly first crime was stealing from the Bank of Iceland to pay off his Nana’s medical bills, and that his other early hacking exploits were in the service of fulfilling personal desires, with only those who could afford to pay the bill as targets. Indeed, in the middle of his speech, Hardison points to Eliot, the character with the most violent and gritty past who views his work with the Leverage team as atonement, for a prime example of ongoing teshuvah. So while no one is perfect and everyone has a reason for doing teshuvah, this question of why Hardison is the one to give this series-defining speech inspired me to look at his character choices and behavior, and see how they resonate with a different but interrelated Jewish principle, that of tikkun olam. 

Tikkun olam is literally translated as “repairing the world,” and can take many different forms, such as protecting the rights of vulnerable people in society, or giving tzedakah (5). In modern times, tikkun olam is often the rallying cry for Jewish social activists, particularly among environmentalists for whom literally restoring the health of the natural world is the key goal. Teshuvah and tikkun olam are intertwined (the former is the latter performed at an interpersonal level) and both hold a sense of fixing or repairing, but tikkun olam really revolves around a person feeling called to address an injustice that they may have not had a personal hand in creating. Hardison’s sense of a universal scale of justice which he has the power to help right on a global level and his newfound drive to do humanitarian work, picked up sometime after the end of the original series, make tikkun olam a central value for his character. This is why we get this nice bit of dialogue from Eliot to Hardison in the second episode of the reboot, when the latter’s outside efforts to organize international aid start distracting him from his work with the team: “Is [humanitarian work] a side gig? In our line of work, you’re one of the best. But in that line of work… you’re the only one, man.” The character who most exemplifies teshuvah reminds Hardison of his amazing ability to effect change for the better on a huge stage, to do some effective tikkun olam. It’s this acknowledgement of where Hardison can do the most good that prompts the character’s absence for the remainder of the episodes released thus far, turning his side gig into his main gig.

With this in mind, it will be interesting to see where Hardison’s arc for this season goes. Separated from the rest of the team, the hacker still has remarkable power to change the world, because it is, after all, the “age of the geek.” However, he is still one person. For all that both teshuvah and tikkun olam are individual responsibilities and require individual decision-making and effort, the latter especially relies on collective work to actually make things happen. Hardison leaving is better than trying to do humanitarian work and Leverage at the same time, but there’s only so long he can be the “only one” in the field before burning out. I’m reminded of one of the most famous (for good reason) maxims in Judaism:

It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to neglect it. (6)

Elul is traditionally a time for introspection and heeding the calls to repentance. After a year where it’s never been easier to feel powerless and drained by everything going on around us, I think it’s worth taking the time to examine what kind of work we are capable of in our own lives. Maybe it’s fixing the very recent and tangible hurts we’ve left behind, like Harry. Maybe it’s the little changes for the better that we make every day, motivated by our sense of responsibility, like Eliot. And maybe it’s the grueling challenge of major social change, like Hardison. And if any of this work gets too much, who can we fall back on for support and healing? Determining what needs repair, working on our own scale and where our efforts are most helpful, and thereby contributing to justice in realistic ways means that we can start the new year fresh, having contemplated in holiday fashion how we can be better agents in the world.

Shana tovah u’metukah and ketivah tovah to all (7), and may the work we do in the coming year be for good!

------

(1) Disclaimer: everybody’s fandom experiences are different, and this is just what I’ve picked up on in my short time watching and enjoying this show with others.

(2) See, for example, the introduction and first chapter of Boyarin’s book Unheroic Conduct: The Rise of Heterosexuality and the Invention of the Jewish Man (I especially recommend at least this portion if you are interested in queer theory and Judaic studies). There he explores the development of Jewish masculinity in direct opposition to Christian masculine standards.

(3) I might even go so far as to place Hardison well within the Jewish masculine ideal of Edelkayt, gentle and studious nobility (although I would hesitate to call him timid, another trait associated with Edelkayt). Boyarin explains that this scholarly, non-athletic model of man did not carry negative associations in the historical Jewish mindset, but was rather the height of attractiveness (Boyarin, 2, 51).

(4) Jews of color make up 20% of American Jews, according to statistics from Be’chol Lashon, and this number is projected to increase as American demographics continue to change: https://globaljews.org/about/mission/. 

(5) Tzedakah is commonly known as righteous charity. According to traditional authority Maimonides, it should be given anonymously and without embarrassment to the person in need, generous, and designed to help the recipient become self-sufficient.

(6) Rabbi Tarfon, Pirkei Avot, 2:16

(7) “A good and sweet year” and “a good inscription [in the Book of Life]”

[seravph]

Hi, I didn't really know who to reach out for this question, but do you have any tips on how to find your own unique fashion style? I'm not really looking to hop on popular clothing trends on social media e.g. eboy/girl or cottagecore, so I'm not exactly sure where to start! I come to consult you because I've seen some of your posts and you look very well versed in fashion and you seem to know your own personal style. My wardrobe is very outdated and I would like to update it to reflect the truest expression of myself. Thank you 😊 You don't have to answer this if you don't feel like doing so btw 😅

EEEE more fashion asks i love these thank you!!!! warning this got a lil (very) long so its under the cut :^)

so first and foremost the most important part about curating your own style is to learn more about your body and what flatters/doesnt flatter it. it's learning some basic fashion 'rules' pertaining to proportions, cuts, etc. there are plenty of resources on this if you dont know where to start (kibbe body test, video, video) but keep in mind this step has nothing to do with your weight!!!! i could talk wayyy more about this but at the end of the day, some clothing is just more flattering for specific body shapes - that doesnt mean you cant wear something that isnt perfectly flattering, but knowing your body and knowing what flatters it will make you understand your own style and help guide the pieces you buy. fashion 'rules' arent necessarily meant to be followed, but just understood so that 'breaking' them is a conscious choice. (it also really helped with my insecurities???? like this step is basically recognizing that its not your body thats unflattering, its the clothing, if that makes sense???)

also remember that every 'style' works for every body type. i.e if you want to be a 60s vibe but youre too curvy for shift dresses, there are plenty of clothes in a similar style that would look great on you <3 basically, if you dont like the way a piece looks on you, you can still achieve the same vibe with a different article of clothing thats more flattering. but also umm.... you can just wear the unflattering thing if you want LOL if it makes you happy... then it becomes your own controlled decision <3 live love laugh follow your heart

okay. now that you have that out of the way. there are a million ways to develop a sense of style, and no particular order in which i recommend them. what i love doing is creating pinterest boards for the spring/summer or fall/winter seasons and just filling them with pieces i would wear in a perfect world. i dont mean like cottagecore aesthetic boards, just boards full of runway looks and clothing pngs that i like. i also love making little outfits for characters which can influence my own style. everyone thinks of their style differently; i think of my own outfits as little vignettes with narratives behind them, but other people are more concerned with just wearing things they think are pretty, other people view it as an expression of art or their identity, and other people just want to feel comfortable!!! its all up to you and what youre drawn to!!

one thing that tan france mentioned once was to go online window shopping by going onto the website for a brand you like (regardless of whether its affordable or realistic!) and just adding things to your cart that youre interested in. dont worry about how expensive they are or anything, and when youre done, remove all the items you like the least. and then keep reviewing and removing until you have just a handful of really nice items you really like, and keep doing this with other brands until you can identify common threads between the pieces you like. you dont have to buy them!! in fact maybe its better if you dont!!! and the websites dont have to be like zara or h&m ... go on balmain or chanel if you want, play pretend and have fun!!

re: the last bullet point, i think a big turn off for people in terms of fashion is the idea that you need to wear something palatable and 'appropriate.' its like looking at a runway and thinking "its nice, but i would never wear that in real life." but honestly????? in a perfect world i would be wearing full gowns to the supermarket!!!! if your ideal style is imaginative but unattainable, your style in practice will be a microcosm of it. basically... dream big... dont be afraid to 'overdress' if its what you like!! one of the best pieces of advice i ever got was from my aunt, who offered to by me a plastic tiara. i asked her when i was ever going to wear it irl, and she just looked at me and said "??? you can wear it whenever you want to!!" so true!!! wear a tutu to mcdonalds. wear a bedazzled tux to prom. who cares

accessories, nail polish, hair, jewelry, perfume and makeup goes a long way in developing style. i dont wear a ton of makeup, but just putting some color on my cheeks achieves a kind of sunkissed lovestruck vibe that i strive for. i paint my nails red because i think its chic or bright colors so they contrast with a toned down outfit. even wearing no accessories is an accessory in itself. accessorizing (or specifically not accessorizing) is like adding texture to an outfit imo

anything that advises you about 'absolutely necessary essentials everyone needs' is entirely wrong. there is no one size fits all; i.e everyone says you need one good pair of denim jeans, but i havent worn jeans in two years!!! an essential for ME is a pair of neutral wool shorts, but an essential for another person could be a thick knit sweater or for another person, a flannel. the idea that everyone needs a 'little black dress' or a 'basic white t shirt' is preposterous. YOUR essentials depend entirely on YOUR style. a pair of denim jeans is useless if you hate wearing jeans!!!!

as for my personal style, im mostly influenced by movies, books, songs, characters, feelings, colors, high fashion, and costumes. ultimately, you should worry less about what you want to be and worry more about what you already like. every piece i have kind of plays into some narrative ive constructed, or otherwise theyre all special to me :) if you want to update your wardrobe, dont feel the need to over consume fast fashion (or any fashion for that matter) to do so. if you take it slow and buy pieces you really love, every item will have a story and you'll begin to develop a more stable internal style and they'll last longer :)

let me know if you have questions or want me to talk more about any of this because i really love answering these kinds of questions!!!!!! especially the body type thing because thats such an important but long winded thing i couldnt really fit it all LOL

some more videos + resources about style and fashion i think are interesting:

deep dive into kibbe body types

pinterest aesthetics, fatphobia, and white washing

lies about clothes to unlearn in your twenties

studio ghibli: how clothing shapes identity

breakfast at tiffanys style analysis: the reinvention of onself with fashion

will the millennial aesthetic ever end?

go viral, post #spon, get canceled: how social media transformed fashion in the 2010s

analyzing the "is it a cute outfit or is she just skinny?" meme

[hargrove-mayfields]

Harringrove April Day 16- Nostalgia

On just about every flat surface in their mansion, Steve’s mother had put out some fancy Tiffany light fixture.

Steve’s room was the only place in the whole house he got to have any day in the interior design, and his lamp, well it didn’t quite have a stained glass shade, or ornate detailing to fancy up the mansion, his happens to be an old nursery lamp from when he was six and still had a themed bedroom.

At the peak of his too cool for school teenager bullshit, he’d attempted to throw it out, sent it away to the curb with a bag of stuffed animals he claimed he didn’t need anymore, but the very same night he started having nightmares again, so he scrambled to get it back before the raccoons found it first.

That dusty old lamp had saved him from countless nights spent awake and terrified, and he wasn’t one to say he was ashamed of that.

Except, now Billy Hargrove, the pinnacle of badass, is in his room, and there it is, still plugged in on the nightstand.

Of all things too, it couldn’t have just been a generic race car lamp or something he could play off as not really being for kids, it had to be stupid Bambi.

There’s a story behind it, that when he was a toddler, his first venture out of Indiana was to go see his gramma over in Maryland, and, after one look at his big brown eyes and his fluffy brown hair, she immediately nicknamed him Bambi.

After that the name just sort of stuck with him, his parents using it when they wanted on his good side, to make up for forgetting his birthday, or as an apology for leaving him alone so long the babysitter left, so of course his mom thought it would be adorable if his bedroom was themed around it.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of the attic, he still had the curtains and the quilt and the wall hangings, and under his bed was a pillow embroidered with his name and a picture of the clumsy cartoon deer made by his gramma. And of course, there was the brightly shining lamp.

He would never admit that he kept them there for when he was at his most frightened, clutching the pillow to his chest during a nightmare, or wrapping the soft material of the tiny old quilt around his shoulders when he felt an imaginary pair of eyes watching him.

Because Steve had seen some shit, he felt that after witnessing a ten-foot tall faceless monster come through the ceiling and try to kill him, and having a herd of baby versions of that same monster charge at him with nothing but a baseball bat to protect himself and a group of defenseless children, he had earned the right to use a damn nursery lamp in his bedroom.

But, that ass-backwards swell of pride at still using his childhood comfort items at 19 years old is definitely crushed by the fact that, after being in his room for a grand total of five minutes, that’s immediately what Billy drifts to.

A drunken apology at a New Year’s party might have made up for the concussion and proved he was probably not going to beat his face in again, but it didn’t change the fact that he was in Steve’s bedroom with the edge of the printed lampshade pinched between his fingers, and a contemplative look on his face.

It was a little while after their truce was reached, that Billy just started showing up at the Harringtons’ door unannounced. Sometimes it was to borrow Steve’s first aid kit. Sometimes he’d steal some of his weed. Once he’d come over just to watch something on Steve’s TV. Whatever his reason, Steve had let him in every time.

In this particular instance, it had been Steve who had called Billy, because he had a math project and an essay due first thing tomorrow morning, and Nancy was too busy to help him.

At first he’d considered just not getting the work done, but he decided Billy would do. He was smart enough that the co-ed teacher in the math class they shared had begged him to switch to the advanced classes, so Steve figured his help wouldn’t be so bad.

But his desk where all of his school stuff is is upstairs in his bedroom, where he’s left out the dumb baby lamp, and of course that would be exactly what Billy goes straight for. Steve feels himself start to panic a little, unsure if he could trust Billy’s reaction, and convincing himself that Billy might beat his ass for being a fragile little fairy or something.

It never comes, Billy just sits down all casual on the bed next to Steve, pulling one of his legs up so he could cross it over his knee, and nods over at the lamp again. “Wish I still had something from when I was little.”

The weight of the entire universe is lifted from Steve’s chest, knowing that Billy isn’t going to tear his head off. He lets out a sharp breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah?”

Billy nods and looks down, fidgeting with the pendant he always wore around his neck. “My dad threw everything out. All I have is one little picture of my mom.”

Steve knew he lived with his step-mom, but had never even thought about what happened to Billy’s real mother. He realizes the pendant was probably a locket, the very one that holds the aforementioned picture, and asks “Can I see it?”

It looks like Billy has to think about it, as he keeps twisting the locket between his fingers, before he nods and opens it. Steve leans towards him, putting his hand up under it and holding it in his palm, straining to see the tiny, aged picture.

Even though he’s never seen this woman, it makes Steve incredibly sad, seeing her little face all worn out in that locket around her son's neck. He wonders if she was dead, or if maybe she’d lost custody for some reason, or if maybe she had just left, but whatever happened, when his eyes flicker back up to Billy’s face, the tears shining in his eyes and the way he avoids his gaze, he knows better than to ask.

Steve lets the locket fall and watches Billy snap it shut quickly, and he realizes he has no idea what the right thing to say is.

What he wants to say is that he’s sorry, for him losing his mother and having nothing but one yellowed and tear stained picture to remember her by, but that seems too much like prying, somehow not really appropriate.

Instead, he remembers what Billy said about his dad throwing his stuff out and says, “Your dad must be a real asshole, huh?”

Billy scoffs and blinks away the last of the tears in his eyes. “You’ve got no idea, Harrington.” There’s a long awkward pause, until Billy asks, “You know how I’m always coming over here with like, all kinds of shit wrong with me?”

Steve thinks he knows where this was going. “Sure.”

Chewing on the corner of his nail, Billy takes a moment to get his thoughts together, his eyes flitting nervously across the room, focusing on pretty much anything but Steve, mostly the picture frame behind him. “I lied. It’s not, like, fights or whatever I say. At least not with other kids.”

Steve himself was no stranger to conversations like these, he himself had to confess something of a similar calibre to Nancy, when they were still dating, because his father had come home from a business trip pissed off about something, and slapped him across the face just a little too hard. The sturdy silver ring that he wore on his middle finger had split the skin on Steve’s cheek, and he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to cover his tracks.

Admitting to it out loud was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, so he decides he won’t make Billy say it. Maybe they weren’t on the best of terms, only here to do homework or whatever, but if he was going to open up about this, he definitely wasn’t going to make him experience that same humiliation he had.

“Is it your dad? That does that to you?” Nancy hadn’t been kind enough to spare him, forcing him to tell her once that the scar he so proudly sported wasn’t actually from a fist fight with Tommy like he said, and he wouldn’t do the same to Billy.

In lieu of a response though, Billy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands starting to shake ever so subtly, and Steve knows he’s got to keep pressing. “Do you need help? I can call the chief-“

“No.” Billy shakes his head and makes eye contact with Steve for the first time since he started talking. “Cops only make it worse.”

Steve could understand that, had tried once when he was about eight or so, with the assistance of one of the housekeepers, to call the police when his father twisted his arm so far behind his back his shoulder popped out of place, but they wouldn’t dare arrest a public figure like his father, especially not for a little corporal punishment. The first thing they’d asked was what Steve had done wrong, not why his father had felt it fitting to beat on his eight year old for a tiny mistake. He never asked for help again.

“Well is there anything I can do?” Despite their differences and the fact that he only called him here to cheat on his homework, he truly did want to help Billy. Something about repeatedly surviving horrific monster attacks made him a lot more protective of those around him, and now that they were over their dumb pissing contest, Billy was included in that too.

“Think you’ve done enough letting me into your mansion, unless that’s not good enough for your hero complex.” It was a pathetic jab, there was no bite behind his broken tone, and Steve would almost rather have him at his worst than see him so vulnerable and sad.

Steve tries to reason with him softly, “You know it’s not like that, Billy.”

“Do I?” Walls had been put up as Billy made his last ditch efforts to protect himself from being weak in front of Steve. “Cause where I’m sitting, it seems like you get off on charity cases like mine. You tryin to swoop in and save me, King Steve? Feed your ego so you can feel like the savior you were always meant to be?”

He was baiting him, trying to pick a fight so he’d push him away, Steve had seen it all before in himself and wouldn’t fall for it. “Listen. I just want to help you.”

Everything about Billy suddenly seemed to make a whole lot more sense. That whole part animal, tough guy thing was just an act, and Steve knew because he had done essentially the same thing.

Before Nancy Wheeler had taught him to be better, he and Billy really weren’t so different. He’d let high school bullshit bother him, beat up the nerds and fucked all the cheerleaders and mocked anyone lower than him on the social ladder like he was supposed to, but it always made him feel off.

In the end, it had been so easy to get him to the other side, to show him what to do instead, he supposed all he needed was a little push to help him actualize what he already believed.

And then it hits him, in that moment, that this was Billy’s push in the right direction. That he was Billy’s Nancy.

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything and I’m not doing this for me, just,” It became extremely important to him to not set Billy off, to say just the right thing to keep him on the right track. “my door is always open, Billy.”

At first, it seemed to have worked, Billy sat staring at the floor, his lip quivering as he mulled over Steve’s words, but, when he stood abruptly and snatched his leather jacket from where it was draped over the back of Steve’s desk chair, Steve knows he messed up.

“Where are you going?” He stands up fast enough to give himself a head rush while Billy shrugs his jacket back on and yanks the door open.

“Need a smoke.” That’s all he gets before the door slammed in his face, and he hears Billy's heavy boots stomping down the stairs and the sound of him slamming his front door.

He waits with bated breath and tears pricking the corners of his eyes for the sound of Billy’s car starting and tearing out of his driveway, but it never comes.

Still, he feels immensely guilty and selfish and stupid as all hell for not just biting his tongue. He should’ve just fought back, argued with him like was expecting him to instead of trying to be comforting like he was his fucking therapist or something.

Because this was Billy fucking Hargrove, stereotypical meat head bully. Why he even felt the need to help him, other than their similar upbringings and coping mechanisms, or the fact that Billy had obviously been reaching out, hoping for someone to care, was beyond him. Or maybe it really wasn’t, he knew exactly why, he just felt weak and stupid for trying, and especially so for failing.

Apparently he’d been so caught up in his little pity party that he missed the sound of the door opening back up, and didn’t notice Billy had come back until his bedroom door was open.

Steve was so relieved that Billy came back, that he hadn’t pushed him too far or fucked everything up, even if he reeked of too strong cigarettes, and growled at him when he came in, “Don’t we got fucking work to do, Harrington?”

They don’t end up finishing the essay. Steve was hopeless with numbers, and they were too busy goofing off, so the math project didn't get done very quickly. It was okay though, Billy wasn’t much help at all when it came to English anyways.

Steve walks him outside when he has to go, beating a curfew of midnight. He stops on the porch, immediately crossing his arms against the frigid cold of the night air. Billy stops too at his car, his fingers through the handle, and turns around, calling across the yard. “Hey Harrington?”

He hardly waits for Steve’s response, a quick “Yeah?” to tell him, “Thank you.”

There isn’t time for Steve to respond before Billy’s yanking open the door of his Camaro and backing out of the driveway, but he knows he’d still made astronomical progress tonight.

It makes him feel incredibly dumb, laying in his bed that night, illuminated by the warm light of that very same Bambi lamp and trying to put his thoughts of Billy to rest like he was some cheesy teenage girl, but he’s just happy to have found a friend, to have made a difference in somebody’s life, and he knows that on the other side of town, laying in own bed with his locket left open on the pillow beside him, Billy feels the same way.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

a notification noise that alerts you to the fact that ITS OFFICIALLY FIC TIME! let's see what Barbara and Adam are gettin up to

The house in Winter River is a dream come true. Barbara loves her city, of course, loves the vibrant personality of New York, and especially loves the food, but loving it, and wanting to be there forever, are two very different things. Winter River is quiet. Sleepy. Quaint. Every morning, she wakes up next to her husband, and she and Adam brew coffee together, and they start their day. Maitland Hardware is the county’s only hardware shop, so business is not bad, not at all, but to supplement their income, she works from home, or the library, or the coffee shop, if she feels like sitting and listening to small down chatter, and uses her laptop to do some accounting for the company she left, back in New York. She and Adam always eat lunch together, her bringing him something, either from home or one of the few places around town, and everyone who meets the Maitlands tells them they’re such a lovely couple, so kind, so cheerful, such a wonderful addition to the community.

But something’s missing.

Sometimes, late at night, as she and Adam lay down to sleep, Barbara will get a feeling, one that makes her afraid. It’s not the fear that someone has come into the house, it’s the fear that someone has left it, only she can’t remember who. On those nights, after Adam has drifted off to dreamland, she rises, and goes from room to room, searching, trying to understand what exactly her brain is telling her is missing. She passes by unfinished rooms, a million unchecked boxes on their list of restoration for their beautiful historic home, and each time, her mind only settles and calms once she reaches the basement. There’s a striped hoodie down there, black and white and garish, one she and Adam had found in the house, after their return from Emily’s funeral.

They had put it down here, unsure of who it belonged to, but not wanting to throw it out. The garment is well loved, with a multitude of stains that don’t wash out, and sloppy stitches in black embroidery thread on either arm, like the person doing the mending was a very small child, or otherwise inexperienced with a needle and thread. She gathers it up in her arms, inhales the smell of it, which is like freshly turned earth and creeping moss, and tries to recall who it could belong to, but she’s never able to pull a name, or even a face, from any corner of her mind, and each time, she has to give up, and retreat back upstairs, back to bed, and she’s more exhausted the next morning than makes sense.

When she tries to express this to Adam, he can only frown, and cock his head. “It’s just nerves, from the move. The house is still new to you,” her husband assures her. “There’s no one missing, Barb. You’re alright. We’re together,” and he says it so softly, so sincerely, she tries to force herself to forget it. “What you’re missing is a baby,” their elderly neighbor tells her, over coffee and pie. Their house on the hill is lacking in neighbors, and Mrs. Cheatham doesn’t exactly live close, but the elderly woman had been the first person to welcome them into the community, and she’s clearly lonely, so Barbara makes time to talk to her, to invite her in, and to share the sweets she’s always bringing, the ones that Mrs. Cheatham is always happy to tell her are “from the store.”

“Nothing will fix your restlessness like filling this house full of children,” the old woman says, knowingly, and Barbara can only smile. “I’m not sure we’re ready for that. There’s still so much to do, around here. We don’t want to go jumping into things.” “You won’t be young forever, sweet thing!”

Maybe not, but isn’t twenty three young to start a family? They’ve got time, don’t they? Why do they need to rush into parenthood, like it’s a race? Maybe they’ll be ready next year, and maybe they’ll be ready in ten years, but either way, they want to be certain things are in order before they start trying to bring a bundle into the world. She lays awake, next to Adam, that night. He’s reading quietly, the antique, refurbished tiffany lamps on either of their bedside tables dimmed, and she studies the ceiling above them. Their bedroom had been the first thing the three of them-

She blinks.

Their bedroom had been the first thing the two of them had worked to restore, when they’d first bought the house, a year and seven or so months ago. It had been slow going, because they were interrupted often, usually by each other, and she remembers fondly the kisses, the playful pinches, the teasing, all of them so in love, so excited to have a place for the three of them-

She squints up at the ceiling, studying the wood grain, her train of thought running out of tracks, for a moment, before she’s able to resume it.

So excited to have a place for the two of them. Maybe three, eventually. That must be what she’d meant. Maybe a baby is what’s missing, maybe this is normal, for a person who wants to be a mother, to think about things in threes, to feel like there’s a third person they’re forgetting, because that person doesn’t exist yet. That must be it. But should she be feeling this sad?

Her phone buzzes, as does Adam’s, and they both reach for their devices, checking them at the same time, to see the message from Lydia, which the teenager had sent to their group chat. “I miss you,” it reads, simply, and then as they watch, a second one loads. “Can I come visit, please? It’s lonely here.”

Her heart aches, as she sits up, running a hand through her long blonde hair. She adores Lydia like a little sister, and she feels a stab of guilt, at how absent they’ve been from the teen’s life, lately. She’s going through so much. Emily’s recovery had been a miracle, and her death a cruel joke, like the universe had decided the only thing funnier than making a child watch her mother wither to nothing could be giving that mother back, in full health, before yanking her away, with a random unpreventable blood clot to the brain.

“Poor Lydia,” Adam says, softly, and she looks back at him. He’s put his book down, to focus on the texts, and he adjusts his glasses, before looking back up at her. “We should have her come stay. Maybe Charles, too. The guest room is almost finished, and she might like sleeping in the living room. That couch is comfortable.” They’ve got the space for multiple guest rooms, but only one is finished enough to actually accommodate someone staying. There’s also a space set aside for what will eventually be a nursery, a bright, sunny room that they’d very enthusiastically painted first, the actual week the house had become officially theirs. It’s where they’d found that strange jacket that now lives down in the basement.

She texts the teen back. “We love you. We miss you. You’re always welcome to come stay with us. Let’s talk details tomorrow.”

She puts out her light, and settles down next to Adam, curled into his side, and shivers, involuntarily, because the room feels colder than it ever has before.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

The house in Winter River does nothing but hurt him, reminding him that everyone he’s ever loved has moved on without him. Emily, in the most spiritual sense of the word, but Lydia and Charles, too, and even Barbara and Adam. He studies the picture of their wedding in the foyer. Barbara is in the perfect long white dress, Adam so handsome in his suit, both of them smiling at the camera, not a care in the world, not missing anything. Not missing him.

It’s not their fault, he tells himself, over and over, as he drifts through the house that was supposed to be their home. If they knew he was missing, they would go looking for him. They wouldn’t have settled into disgusting domestic bliss without him. They wouldn’t have been married without him. He floats up the stairs, and pauses, terrified, by the room they’d designated as the nursery, but when he peaks in, it’s still unfurnished, no crib, no toys. At least he hasn’t missed that, which he finds the barest measure of comfort in.

He drifts into the bedroom, and watches his partners sleep, and he curls up, between them, no doubt a chilly irritation, but for a while, he’s able to pretend things haven’t gone to shit. read the rest over HERE!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

MAKER'S SCHEDULE, 631, BRIEFLY

I'm a writer, and writers always get disproportionate attention. How did they stand it? Their main expenses are setting up the company, which costs a couple thousand Altair owners, but without this software they were programming in machine language. Those ideas are so rare that you can't find some way to reach me, how are you going to create a successful company? For a startup, managing them is one of the first 10 employees you'll have almost as much.1 Families are entitled to their own traditions, and who the competitors are and why this company is going to beat them.2 In the late 90s my professor friends used to complain that they couldn't get grad students, because all the undergrads were going to let hosts rent out space on their floors during conventions. Part of the reason I can't believe it will be more like being able to play the two firms off each other as well as talent, so this answer works out to be important, because a we invest such small amounts, and b we think it's better if startups operate out of their own premises, however crappy, than the offices of their investors.

If you're a freelancer or a small company doesn't ensure freedom.3 What makes a good startup idea, it's sort of like having a guilty conscience about something.4 There's an idea that has turned out to be a startup. For a lot of work.5 Which is exactly how I'd describe the way lions seem in the wild seem about ten times more alive. You probably can't overcome anything so pervasive as the model of work is a job. Don't sit on their boards. What really bothers parents about their teenage kids having sex are complex.6 It's not so much as that they never pander: they never say or do something because that's what the audience wants. So if you're going to optimize a number, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. In social settings, I found that I got over 100 other responses listing the surprises they encountered. If you don't understand YC.

At the time any random autobiographical novel by a recent college grad could count on more respectful treatment from the literary establishment. The angel now owns 200/1200 shares, or a job. The kind of question on the application form that asks what you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to do, at least, nothing good.7 I often recommend that founders act like consultants—that they wanted to.8 In a startup, you don't even know that.9 If these guys had thought they were starting companies, they might have been.10 Viaweb entirely with angel money; it never occurred to us that investors were too conservative here—that they do what they'd do if they'd been in Nebraska, like Evan Williams was at their age? The saddest windows close when other people die.

And when you propagate that constraint, the result is that each species thrives in groups of a certain group, that seems nearly impossible to shake. Someone who's figured that out will automatically focus more on the idea. The only explanation is: by definition. It's not just a figure of speech to say that the outcome is zero. The artists who benefited most from this were the ones who had preserved a child's confidence, like Klee and Calder. Once you have all the college students, you get rich is that there are many degrees of it. It could be replaced on any of these axes it has already started to be on most. When you're a little kid and you're asked to do something differently.

But not all waste is bad. Later I learned it hadn't been so neat, and the three founders each get 25%. Along with such outright lies, there must have been told a lot of economic history, and I understand the startup world is evolving away from their current model.11 If you seem really good we'll accept you anyway. Even in the rare cases where a clever hack makes your fortune, you probably have an idea.12 At least, that's how we'd describe it in present-day languages, if they'd had them. The way you get taught programming in college would be like teaching writing as grammar, without mentioning that its purpose is to make me feel better. After two years, the un-rapacious that you only extract half as much from users as you could. If you have something that no competitor does and that some subset of users urgently need, you have to seem like you understand technology.13 On that scale, every negotiation is unique.14 I was cynical about VCs, but the way he composed them into molecules was near faultless.15 But unfortunately when you graduate, as long as you want.16

Notes

Thanks to Daniel Sobral for pointing this out. Make it clear when you ad lib you end up reproducing some of the things they've tried on the LL1 mailing list. What you learn in college or what grades you got in them, initially, to sell earlier than you expect. But while this is also a name.

In fact most of them. But try this experiment is that if you conflate them you're aiming at. The worst explosions happen when unpromising-seeming startups do badly.

Y Combinator certainly never asks what classes you took in college. This approach has not worked well, but this would work better, and that modern corporate executives were, we try to accept a particular number.

Aristotle the core: the editor in Lisp, they may try to accept that investors are induced by the surface similarities. Com of their assets; and with that additional constraint, you can't help associating it with such a statement would merely be eccentric.

Most word problems in school math textbooks are bad: Webpig, Webdog, Webfat, Webzit, Webfug. Without the prospect of publication, the assembly line, the closest anyone has come is Secretary of Labor Statistics, about 28%.

I think the usual way to fight. The next time you raise as you can see the apples, they made much of it, and no one who's had the discipline to pull it off. Successful founders are driven by people trying to decide whether to go to college, they would implement it and make a lot of investors caring either.

P nonspam are both genuinely formidable, and the exercise of stock options than any preceding president, he was otherwise unoccupied, to get into the heads of would-be startup founders who had been a good idea to make more money. The best thing for startups is very long: it might take an hour over the Internet, like hedge funds, are available only to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies. That it might take an hour over the Internet. Yes, I had zero effect on the relative weights?

The VCs recapitalize the company, and yet managed to screw up twice at the data, it's probably good grazing. I should add that we're not. They did turn out to be a win to include things in shows that people start to pull ahead in the field.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives would work so hard to mentally deal with the founders gained from running through their initial attitude. Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The Old Way. One thing that drives most people emerge from the moment it's created indeed, from hour to hour that the worm might have done all they could be overcome by changing the shape of the bizarre consequences of this: You may not be far less demand for them.

Indiana University Bloomington 1868-1970.

Trevor Blackwell points out that taking time to come up with an associate cold-emailing a startup could grow big in revenues without including the order of 10,000, because investors already owned more than their competitors, who may have realized this, but simply because he was skeptical about Viaweb too. See Greenspun's Tenth Rule. We just store the data, it's software that doesn't seem to want them; you have significant expenses other than salaries that you decide the price, and for filters it's textual.

P 500 CEOs in the sophomore year. It was only because he had more fun than he'd had in school, and philosophy the imprecise half. The philistines have now missed the video boat entirely.

As we walked out we ran into Yuri Sagalov. Emmett Shear writes: I'd argue the long tail for sports may be common in, you'll have to replace you. It took a painfully long time.

The reason Y Combinator.

This is an instance of a safe will be coordinating efforts among partners. In practice it just feels like a loser they're done, she doesn't like getting attention in the definition of property.

The thing to do sales yourself initially. 5%. At first I didn't care about GPAs.

Thanks to Paul Buchheit, Gary Sabot, Trevor Blackwell, Tiffani Ashley Bell, and Jeff Arnold for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[my-arlington-academia]

Cliffany (Claire×Tiffany) part 1

Hello there!!! It’s been a while. Yes, you’re not dreaming, this is a crackship fanfiction between Claire and Tiffany from sweet elite. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and posted it on the Dulcet discord server. I’ve decided to post them on tumblr if anyone is interested (or not, that’s fine too.)

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

"Cut the bullshit, Claire. I told you to stop sticking to me like glue!"

Tiffany was tired of it. No matter how many times she showed Claire how terrible she can be and how her words can cut deep, Claire kept coming back to her, looking for an explanation that doesn’t exist. Saying nonsensical one-liners like "are you really okay?" Or "You can talk to me if you need someone to listen." Tiffany found it pretty funny at first. Like, she could do any atrocity and this blond haired dumbass would come back to her anyway, thinking that she had some issues that needed fixing or something. After a while though, this shtick got annoying real quick. It was like Claire was completely unaware of who she was talking to and was blindly following the childish belief that everyone is kind and understanding on the inside.

"I’m just worried about you Tiffany, you keep pushing people away from you. That’s not good for your mental health. If you have troubles you can share them with someone..."

Tiffany sighed in exasperation. Was this girl senseless? Is that it?

"Listen here. I know you like to believe that everyone is good deep down but that’s not always the case. Not to mention, we’re not exactly close, you and I. If I wanted to "share" anything, it wouldn’t be with you."

"But..."

Claire’s eyes wavered for a second and she looked around, checking to see if there’s anyone nearby.

"...Honestly, the reason why I’m offering is because I don’t feel like you have anyone truly close to you. At least not in Arlington."

"Excuse me?"

One of the things that pissed Tiffany the most about Claire was that she could say the most insulting things with the best intentions, without any ounce of malice.

"Ha. And you’re the one to say this? You’re pretty much a wannabe psychiatrist who goes around being a punching bag for your classmates. People rely on you when they need you, but really? They don’t give a shit about you, honey."

Somehow, Claire’s gaze stayed on Tiffany, unchanging. This made her want to be meaner, more vicious, strike the parts she’s sensitive about. Claire was known to be patient like a saint and understanding like a mother. How nice would it be to finally put this dumb bitch in her place? Tiffany wanted to get a reaction from her, not only to make her leave but also because she was kind of interested to see what face she would make when she got upset.

"Oh, my apologies. What I told you just now, you were already aware of it, weren’t you? That you’re only needed as long as you’re useful. You might think that people like you Claire, but don’t get the wrong idea. You’re only useful, not lovable. Tell me about it sometime, how is it to be a walking doormat?"

Tiffany could feel it. Despite the fact that Claire’s expression still hasn't changed, there was a certain glow forming in her eyes. If she went on for long enough, she may be able to get the reaction she wanted.

"...Are you done, Tiffany? Can we talk like two civilized people now?"

"Hm. What was that? Do I hear some bitterness there, Miss I-Have-A-Savior-Complex? You probably got a lot of praise, huh? For your stupid speech at the department competition with your whole "people gather in front of misfortune" bullshit. Or- Ah! How could I forget, you also volunteer at the city’s hospital during weekends, right? You get all the praise and credit needed to get into Gold Tier even though all you really want is acknowledgement for your sorry existence."

Claire grabbed her skirt’s hem and kept tugging at it, looking down. In reality, Tiffany knew that there was no ill-will whatsoever behind Claire’s benevolent actions towards the people she took care of at the hospital. That was, however, the reason why she was so pissed right now. Instead of protesting against those baseless insults, Claire kept her silence, swallowing up her pride, waiting for this storm of verbal abuse to be over. At this point, Tiffany’s small conscience was telling her to stop. Yet, she couldn’t. Not now, not when she was getting closer and closer to results. And so, she kept pushing, wondering when Claire will finally talk back.

"Is that really what you think of me, Tiffany?"

"What’s wrong? Are you unable of taking any criticism, Claire? Or maybe you’re not used to being called out for your BS. You want it, don’t you? You want everyone to love you and have them keep you by their side while you’re playing the role of a perfect little girl who helps the weak but who’s just no fun to be with. The truth is that you just never learned to say no when people asked favors of you and it stayed as a habit. But instead of fixing that habit, you just went along with it, enjoying the attention."

Claire’s lips were starting to twist downward. There it was. The anger of being so blatantly insulted, the frustration of having to play nice even in front of someone who’s rude to you, the need to get all of those negative feelings out on someone and hurt them back either mentally or physically. Come hit me, yell at me and insult me. I finally get to see what you’re always hiding. No matter how ugly it is, I’ll accept it and laugh at it once you���re done pouring it out. When it comes to belittling others and making them feel worthless, I’m just the best at it.

"Honey, what’s going on? Want to turn back after coming so far? Well, I wouldn’t blame you. This is about the time when anyone would leave. Ah, by the way. Did you know that there was a certain rumor going around about the Durand family? Something like... a family member having a real nasty disease or something? So tell me who it is. Your mom, your dad? Surely not! He’s still working diligently everyday to take care of his little research facility in Florida. It would be terrible if he was actually pushing himself too hard to keep the business going, right?"

Tiffany finally went silent, grinning to herself, waiting impatiently for the crack to open and let the ocean out. Show it, Claire. Show that you can fight back so I can ridicule you even more for overselling your annoying "sweet girl" image.

However, none of that ever came.

"...Why... did you have to..."

Claire finally raised her head, showing a face full of tears. Despite that, she was trying to keep a smile on her face. "I’ve never seen anyone cry like that." Tiffany uselessly thought at first, until a wave of guilt she wasn’t even aware of went through her small conscience. There was something so upsetting about someone getting insulted to no-end and choosing to cry instead of letting their anger out. If only she exploded and hit her or yelled at her, it would’ve been better. But now, Tiffany felt like she just did something illegal. Attacked someone who didn’t have the means to defend themselves, who *didn’t* want to. Like she just robbed a homeless person who had barely any change left. It may have been the first time in her life that Tiffany truly felt pathetic for what she did. Shame, guilt, confusion. It was all welling up inside of her.

"Wh-why... *sniffle* Did you have to go so far... *sob* That was uncalled for..."

And yet you’re still not leaving? What’s wrong with this girl?! Before she even knew what was happening, Tiffany’s arms were reluctantly holding Claire into a tight embrace.

"A-are you a complete lunatic?? Why would you let me say all of this shit and cry afterwards?! That’s not how it works, you should’ve insulted me back and told me to fuck off!"

"I-I can’t... *sniff*"

"Why not?! Why can I and you can’t? You’re such a fucking moron, what the hell is wrong with you... When someone hits you, you hit them back! That’s basic knowledge every little kid has ever since kindergarten."

Claire’s hands slowly went up to return Tiffany’s hug. Through that small gesture, Tiffany felt every bit of emotion Claire was trying to communicate to her.

"Because... *sniffle* If I did you’d get sad and this conversation would end with both of us feeling sad... *sniffle* I know that you always act like you don’t care but, the truth is that you always get upset about what other people have to say about you, right? ...Especially with all of your social media accounts and the exposure you get. It must already be so hard to get so much unwanted criticism everyday even though you never asked for it..."

For some reason, before she even knew it, Tiffany’s heart rate picked up ever so slightly. To the point where neither she nor Claire even noticed it. After a relatively short amount of time, Tiffany let go of Claire, finally noticing how wet her blazer had gotten.

"Ugh. Seriously? Couldn’t you have at least- Oh God... You look like complete shit, go wash your face."

To that rude remark, Claire smiled gently, knowing that it didn’t have any malice behind it. Tiffany caught herself thinking that Claire really was an angel. She quickly erased it though. She didn’t want them to get involved in each other's business again, seeing how it can end. She didn’t want to make her cry again, no matter how weird that sounded coming from someone who never misses the chance to be a jerk. While parting ways, Claire’s crying face went through Tiffany’s mind again, filling her up with the desperate need to punch herself.

[lovesickslasherapples]

HC for slashers...(not requested) warnings:mention of nsfw

Michael Myers

At first Michael isn’t going to exactly be so affectionate

Nor does he care about any type of intimacy at all..now that doesn’t mean he won’t ever what any though

It may seem like he doesn’t want your attention most of the time but there will come a day or sometime during the day he will NEED your attention

He will come behind you while your cooking and just back hug you out of nowhere BUT if you don’t give him the attention he wants he will get it himself

Michael gets what he wants when he wants..he would take you away no matter your protests at what you were doing and trap you in his arms silently saying ‘You will love me woman’

As most people would say Michael is just a time ticking bomb going to explode at anytime so don’t tease him OR ELSE

Michael has no problem take dominance over you especially since he is the dominant one in the relationship no matter the gender

He will make sure you know your place

Jason Voorhees

Jason is kinda shy at first he hasn’t had someone so kinda to him besides his mom

Someone treating him like a normal human being isn’t something he’s used to so expect him to be kinda confused as to why you aren’t running away from him or afraid

Cue the Jason head tilt...he wouldn’t expect you to smile and ask him to walk or stay with you in the cabin or sit by the lake

It will take some time for Jason to warm up to you but when he does..what have you done to him?!

Jason would fall head over heels for you

He swore to protect you from any harm that being said he doesn’t like when you go near the lake he doesn’t wanna loss you not his Y/n

Jason sets some rules for you and expects you to follow them break one..is punishment

Though that might just be sit in a corner and don’t move cause let’s be honest Jason doesn’t think sex is good it’s always been told it’s bad by his mom

So don’t try anything on him cause you might scare him off

It’s best to wait and explain it to him cause he might be kinda clueless

One BIG no no is taking off his mask not yet at least..then again he doesn’t wanna lose you Jason is insecure about his face he thinks of he shows you-you will be disgusted and run off to find someone else

Jason isn’t a big fan of teasing considering his past..so be careful of you actions around him it would break his heart if you teased him cause he might take it the wrong way

Jason is precious just praise him!

Freddy Kruger

Okay let’s get the this straight you must have done something to keep this man attached to you

Freddy likes lots of girls so for you to keep him in a leash is a big shocker

Congratulations you have tamed the Freddy Kruger..be prepared for him to be all over you

Freddy can be annoying sometimes but this man is hilarious..he will talk your ears off with dirty jokes and cringy pick up lines

He’s a HUGE flirt and can get sexual at times especially when he goes in for a kiss and it gets deeper as it goes

Now he may sound like a total player but..he also has his insecurities like his skin

One it’s burnt so I don’t think he would appreciate being called a burnt potato as funny as it may sound to you it will put him in a bad mood for a while or maybe for the rest of the day (good luck)

Freddy isn’t so jolly in a bad mood and can get quite salty 👀

He WILL tell you off and that would lead to roasting each other or arguing so I wouldn’t advise doing certain things but over all he can be pretty layed back

Just laugh and enjoy your time with him and he will make all your dreams come true 😉

Billy Loomis (Ghostface)

Now Billy is kinda like Michael I’m certain ways except he isn’t so introverted

Billy can get quit possessive with you especially when he’s jealous

Sometimes he doesn’t even trust Stu with you and wants to be by your side so no one try’s anything

Billy can get quite scary when he’s angry and gets tagged crazy look in his eye talking on and on about how you shouldn’t do that it’s against the rules in a horror movie

Speaking over horror movies Billy loves horror movies and I mean LOVES them he could ramble about them all day to you if you’d like

Billy has seen them all and probably tell you every detail of what happened in the move “Okay Billy I-think that’s enough” is what you would say if he got too detailed about the killing

Billy for one is also a major tease his signature smirk on his face as he walks over to you

Billy can get Riled riled up pretty easily and sometimes doesn’t mind you being a tease too he kinda likes it gets him going even more

Billy can be kinky just a bit so don’t be surprised if he asks you try something new with him

Bubba sawyer

Oh sweet bubba wouldn’t know what to do with someone so cute and kind as you

He would try to hide you from drayton and chop top as much as he can only to fail and then not taking a liking to you so easily as bubba did

If your willing to help them then welcome to the family! They will have you doing certain chores around the house like washing dishes and cleaning

Bubba doesn’t like that you do though he think shouldn’t have to lift a finger ‘Here Y/n let me do it’ he would insist

Bubba is to kind sometimes and doesn’t wanna see you get hurt by anything or anyone so if he is working with sharp objects don’t come near him

Bubba is afraid to hurt you and wouldn’t forgive himself if he did

He doesn’t wanna lose you because of his carelessness but bubba is hardworking man and will get what needs to be done first so he’s not so careless

Bubba won’t like if anyone hits on you and your talking back it will lower his confidence..he will think you want them and they are better

That being said you will have to reassure him you aren’t going to leave him

Just praise him!

He deserves it

Thomas Hewitt

Unlike bubba Thomas here is a bit more rougher and buffer than bubba

Though Thomas looks intimidating and he DEFINITELY is Thomas has a soft spot for you

Unlike his victims he won’t put you on a meat hook or slice and dice you basically butcher you

Thomas would want to protect you from any sort of danger that being said he was hesitant to show you to the family “Ah Thomas I see you brought some dinner”

Thomas doesn’t trust his family with you for obviousl reasons..and Tex hitting on you is a MAJOR no no for him

Thomas wouldn’t hesitate or hurt somebody over you just one bad look and BOOM there dead and well..dinner is served

Thomas doesn’t like for you to come down in the basement where all the sharp objects and meat are he thinks you will get hurt down there

But he won’t protest if you come down there to give him some lovin’ 😉

Luda May would wonder when grand kids will come along as Thomas would instantly blushed under the half mask on his face

Speaking of which it will take time for him to take off the mask like the others (Sorry forgot to mention that in Michaels)

You have to respect his privacy for the time being

Just be patient and then you will be met will a handsome Thomas Hewitt!

Chucky

Human or not he’s the same he can be quite cocky at times but like Freddy he has a good sense of humor

Be mindful he is a handful to deal with at times and can get on your nerves if mistreated

DO NOT CALL HIM A BABY

You will regret it if you do so this man/doll with come at you within seconds if you do call him that

Don’t worry about Tiffany if he loves you he won’t do or try anything but do keep an eye on him he’s not fully loyal

Now chucky will get sexual at times and doesn’t really get too shy on saying it “I don’t know about you but I’m starting to feel like pinko here”

Marriage is out of the picture for a while!!

He can get too focused on his plans that talks relationship at times so try to spend or do things together to get him off of other things

Tiffany

Tiffany is like chucky in certain ways but is most definitely loyal “You know me I’ll kill anybody but..I only sleep with someone I love”

Doesn’t matter your gender really and tiff doesn’t really care for looks so if your insecure..be prepared to be pampered on

Marriage and love is very important to her so don’t break her heart or its gonna get violent

Tiffany can get kinky so if your not into dark things and bondage then she might not be the one for you BUT tiff is very understanding so just tell her

Just love her and she will be yours forever

Be good though tiff likes good people “all the good guys are taken”

Slahserapples

[silenthillmutual]

what Classic Film(TM) you should watch based on who your fave Danganronpa 1/2 character is

disclaimer - obviously as a film dude i’m gonna say you should watch all of these. but maybe watch the one correlating to your fave first!

Makoto: 12 Angry Men (1957, dir. Sidney Lumet) - strong themes of justice, it’s about a jury trying to determine a man’s guilt. it’s basically what Makoto does for the entire game. you’ll also like it if you’re a fan of Phoenix Wright.

Sayaka: A Star is Born (1954, dir. George Cukor) - it’s all about a girl’s rise to fame and how her relationships change with that. there’s three versions of this film, most recently with Lady Gaga. 

Mukuro: Vertigo (1958, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) - themes of murder and hiding your identity, losing yourself to a cause.

Leon: Animal House (1978, dir. John Landis) - a comedy about a fraternity. it’s THE college frat movie and i think Leon would enjoy it a lot.

Chihiro: WarGames (1983, dir. John Badham) - two teenagers might have accidentally started a world war during the cold war by trying to play computer games...fitting for the series, no?

Mondo: On the Waterfront (1954, dir. Elia Kazan) - struggling to do the right thing and being sort of frustrated about your circumstances as they pertain to class and missed opportunities. being dragged into bad situations by family. also Marlon Brando is a bicon and very hot in this movie.

Taka: Rebel Without a Cause (1955, dir. Nicholas Ray) - a lot of turbulent shit happens to three teenagers over the course of 24 hours. one of - if not the first canonically gay teenager on film. i think we all know by now that James Dean was mlm, but so were the director and Sal Mineo. big bi polyam vibes; if you like chishimondo as a ship you’ll probably like this film too.

Hifumi: Akira (1988, dir. Katsuhiro Otomo) - had a hard time figuring out what to put for Hifumi, but overall i think if nothing else he’d appreciate how impressive the animation was (and honestly, still is) along with the fact that the mangaka was also the director. so although there’s a lot cut out (the manga had not finished before the film came out), it’s still roughly the same plot as the manga.

Celes: Dracula (1931, dir. Tod Browning) - probably the most iconic iteration of Bram Stoker’s novel, this is the one staring Bela Lugosi. not terribly true to the novel from what i remember, but it’s peak aesthetic and exactly the kind of thing she’d enjoy.

Sakura: Rashomon (1950, dir. Akira Kurosawa) - finally getting onto films i haven’t actually seen but that are on my list. sakura’s another person i had a hard time deciding on a film for, but the “several characters telling different accounts of the same plot” reminded me a bit of her case in the game. 

Hina: West Side Story (1961, dir. Robert Wise & Jerome Robbins) - admittedly i had a different film in mind for her to start with, but Maria’s final monologue fits with Hina’s motivations during Sakura’s case.

Toko: Gone With the Wind (1939, dir. Victor Fleming) - another one i haven’t actually watched yet, but it’s based on a famous novel, described as “epic historical romance.” i think that vibes with Toko pretty well.

Byakuya: Citizen Kane (1941, dir. Orson Welles) - if you’re really interested in film, you’re gonna be made to watch this sooner or later. famous for being the “best film ever made”, it’s more or less about newspaper moguls like William Randolph Hearst - who is also the main reason why this film is famous at all. it’s not exactly a flattering depiction of those kinds of people and boy, did that ever piss Hearst off. if he hadn’t made such a big deal trying to keep Citizen Kane from seeing the light of day, something much better might have made it to the top spot. 

Hiro: The Music Man (1962, dir. Morton DaCosta) - based on the Broadway musical of the same name, a “travelling salesman” (read: con artist) starts to work his latest con on a gullible small town, but actually starts liking the people in it.

Kyoko: The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) - not to be confused with the other Hitchcock film from the 30s also titled The Man Who Knew Too Much. this is the one with James Stewart and Doris Day. it’s a highly suspenseful film that gave us the song “Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)”.

Junko: Gaslight (1944, dir. George Cukor) - ever heard the term “gaslighting”? this is where it comes from! based on a play in which a woman’s husband psychologically tortures her into believing she is going insane.

Monokuma: Duck Soup (1933, dir. Leo McCarey) - all Marx Brothers films are as utterly silly (and sometimes as incomprehensible) as one of Monokuma’s MonoTheatres. i watched about half of Duck Soup and had to stop because it was finals week and i was supposed to be doing something other than losing my shit.

Hajime: It’s a Wonderful Life (1946, dir. Frank Capra) - you probably already know this film. if you’re Christian you know it as That Film Your Parents Watch Every Year On Dec 24th Around Midnight. if you have seasonal depression, don’t watch it then; warning for suicidal ideation. it’s supposed to be uplifting. your mileage may vary on that one. 

Impostor: To Kill a Mockingbird (1962, dir. Robert Mulligan) - i don’t have a good reason to pair these two up other than gut feeling. as far as film adaptations of books go, it’s pretty damn good, and Atticus Finch is the original DILF. themes of childhood innocence and racism. 

Teruteru: Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961, dir. Blake Edwards) - apparently much different from the novella on which it is based, but i think Teruteru would really dig the aesthetic and romantic vibes of the film. Holly Golightly is probably the original Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Mahiru: Rear Window (1954, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) - like It’s a Wonderful Life, chances are good you know this film - or at least, you’ve seen its plot recycled a hell of a lot. a professional photographer recovering from a broken leg thinks he witnesses a murder take place and is determined to get to the truth.

Peko: Seven Samurai (1954, dir. Akira Kurosawa) - another one on my to-watch list, but it’s oft referenced and remade in film. a village hires seven ronin to protect them from bandits who will return to steal their crops. 

Hiyoko: East of Eden (1955, dir. Elia Kazan) - i’ll be honest here, i didn’t really know what to put for Hiyoko because i’m not sure i understand much about her, but i seem to remember her family playing a pretty big role in her being Like That and for “shitty family” the first two things to come to mind were this and Giant. and unless you like 3-hour long movies about the state of Texas, i’m not about to recommend you watch Giant.

Ibuki: A Night at the Opera (1935, dir. Sam Wood) - another Marx Bros film in which they help a girl both to be with her lover and to achieve her dreams of stardom as an opera singer. the kind of silly, manic thing i think Ibuki would like.

Mikan: The Shining (1980, dir. Stanley Kubrick) - i hate hate hate putting this on here, but since this is for film and not books i couldn’t exactly state to read the book. the book is about the cycle of abuse. the movie is more about... a trapped man going crazy in a spooky hotel. 

Nekomaru: It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963, dir. Stanley Kramer) - comedy about five groups of people racing to get to a large sum of money buried by a recently escaped convict they stopped to help out after his car crash. it’s a comedy, and just kinda seemed like Nekomaru’s thing.

Gundham: The Seventh Seal (1957, dir. Ingmar Bergman) - i watched this in like 10th grade and all i really remember is a man playing chess with Death and if that doesn’t say Gundham Tanaka to you, i don’t know what does.

Nagito: North by Northwest (1959, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) - i don’t really have a reason for this one either but it’s a spy film and i think komaeda could get behind that kind of intrigue. 

Chiaki: Metropolis (1927, dir. Fritz Lang) - not to be confused with the anime, this is a 1927 German expressionist film that seems to be about socialism and unionization. it’s also famous for its (purposeful) use of the Male Gaze and being one of the first sci-fi films ever made. be warned: it is a silent film.

Sonia: Strangers on a Train (1951, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) - another one of those films you’ll get told to watch if you’re interested in the queer history of film, i was gonna put something else but honestly the character of Barbara kinda reminded me of Sonia. a famous tennis player meets a man on a train who attempts to plan a double-murder with him.

Akane: My Fair Lady (1964, dir. George Cukor) - i was trying so hard not to double up on the post about musicals, but Akane really does have Eliza Doolittle vibes. they’re both feral and nothing would be able to really domesticate them. for whatever it’s worth, this film and the musical on which it is based is itself based on the play Pygmalion, in which your typical rich cishet white dude bets he can turn any street urchin into a real lady because he’s just that good. you might know the plot better as Pretty Woman.

Kazuichi: A Streetcar Named Desire (1951, dir. Elia Kazan) - i don’t really have a good excuse for this one, either; i haven’t even watched it yet (although i have read the play on which it is based). all i’m gonna say is i want Souda to have his gay awakening via Marlon Brando, as we all do.

Fuyuhiko: Casablanca (1942, dir. Michael Curtiz) - despite his love and adoration for Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey Bogart decides fighting Nazis is more important. i think Fuyuhiko would like the aesthetic, and the film. don’t let him know but i think he’d probably cry watching it.

Usami: To Sir, With Love (1967, dir. James Clavell) - issues of race and class intersecting in a film about a teacher working with inner city students. i was going to put Singin’ in the Rain here, because it’s what Usami would want people to watch...but i think this better fits the effect she wants to have as a being. 

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 2

A/N: I can’t promise all the chapters will come this quick, but I am inspired and I think I’m in love with these characters. I’ve never done a cocky character before, so I really want to try and tap into something interesting here with Shawn. Maybe I won’t who knows. Let me know if you like though? 

WARNING: smut. sex toys. public masturbation (kind of). orgasm denial.

*Shawn’s point of view*

She crawls out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning, at least for him. He wakes up long enough to tell her she’s free to use the shower and whatever else she needs. He can tell by the look on her face that she’s surprised at the gesture. She really thinks he’s a complete and total dick. But it’s the crack ass of dawn and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to argue with her yet, so he rolls back over to go to bed.

He wakes up again to her heels clacking on the hotel room floor. She reaches over the bed in search of something, maybe her phone, and he tugs her down on top of him. She doesn’t seem nearly as happy about it as he is.

“Let me go! I am so late. I was supposed to be at work an hour ago.”

He skims his nose along her neck, happy to see that the hotel soap didn’t rid her of her own personal scent he’d grown obsessed with the night before.

“You’re the boss, you can go whenever you want.”

She pushes against his hold and he lets her for now, much more excited to watch her then fight with her.

“That’s not how I run my shit.” She snorted putting in an earring that must have slipped out when he was making her scream his name the night before. “This never happened by the way.”

He chuckled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That was a mistake, a big huge mistake. Your dad would have my ass and ruin my career. We both know it.”

It pisses him off far more than he has any right to. He used his dad freely for the connections, the money, the access to anything he ever wanted. But the second his dad became an inconvenience, he couldn’t beg for enough distance. This woman, with all her thick ass thighs and musical moans, was so much more than he ever could have expected. And he wasn’t about to let his dad ruin that for him.

“A mistake yea? Which orgasm? The one with my tongue, or the one with my fingers, or the one against the headboard? Just wanna make sure I’m on the same page.” He muttered.

Her eyes turned to slits and she leaned over him before shoving him back down to the bed with a very pointed finger.

“Listen here jackass. You do not get to use what we did last night against me.” She hissed.

“What the fuck would I wanna do that for anyway?! Jesus, we should keep fucking just so you can calm the hell down every once in a while.”

“Not likely. Bye Shawn.”

Her braids cut through the air as she leaves the room just as quickly as she entered it. He collapsed back against the pillows and let his hand travel along the tender spots where she’d sucked at his skin the night before. He could still taste her. Could still hear her. And his body absolutely betrayed him as a half chub began to form in his boxers. No one had ever given him what she had the night before. She had let him take the lead, had given herself over to him completely and fully. He was always dominant in bed but never with someone who gave off such opposite energy. She probably should have been the one bossing him around, and yet she had placed a lot of power and a lot of trust in his hands.

His half chub turns a little fuller the more that he thinks about her and he lets his fingers crawl beneath the covers to deal with it. He hadn’t jerked off over a woman, let alone a hook up, in years. He could think about the ramifications of that later. Not now. Not when he’s got the feel of her lips in his brain.

***

He heads past Tiffany’s desk to get to his dad’s office, but stops for a second when she gives him a look. Tiffany was probably the only reason his dad was able to get dressed every morning. She knew every detail of every minute of his day and she kept him directly on schedule at all times. It’s probably the only reason she wasn’t fired, cause she sure as hell isn’t sleeping with him like the other ones in the past. He likes her. She’s maybe the only person in either of their lives that doesn’t take any bullshit, even if she does have a little soft spot for him.

“Hey Tiffany. You’re looking radiant as ever this afternoon.” He grinned, leaning against her desk.

“You’re late.” She said flatly. “He was expecting you hours ago.”

“Yea, I had a bit of a late start today.”

She lets her eyes glide over him and stares blatantly at a hickey on his neck he hadn’t bothered to try and hide.

“Sure. I suggest you get your ass in there. He’s on one today.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Sounds good. Thanks, Tiff.”

When he walks into his dad's office, he’s already screaming to some poor bastard on the phone. So, he heads straight for the fridge and grabs himself a water to wait for the tides to turn against him. It doesn’t take long.

“Well if it isn’t my son, my one and only, the kid I’ve given everything to at every waking moment of his life! How kind of you to join me!” Manny sneered.

He took a seat on the other side of his father’s desk, plopping down into one of the not so comfy chairs he had there.

“Nice to see you too daddy-o. What’d I miss?”

“You missed the first goddamn meeting with the directors I asked you to come to!” His dad roared. “What did I say, Shawn? Enough of this childish bullshit. I gave you that pony show last night so that you could start taking things seriously, so that you could start taking your future with this business, seriously!”

“I fucking forgot okay. My bad.”

“It’s always your bad, dammit! Enough is enough. Everyone with a brain the size of a pea knows you don’t deserve a position in this company, the least you can do is make the nepotism a little less obvious. The least you can do is make the first goddamn meeting with the people who help fund us!”

His dad was definitely going to have a heart attack by sixty. It was just a given at this point.

When the yelling and the screaming doesn’t work, and it never does, his dad as an innate ability to switch up his approach. His dad was a vindictive bastard at heart and no one, absolutely no one bore the brunt of that the way that Shawn did.

“You want to touch music ever again?” He asked, his voice quieter than it’d been since Shawn stepped into the room.

His whole body locks up, and his eyes harden as he stares at him.

“This is all you got. All those demos, all those melodies? They belong to me. This is what you get okay? And if you don’t start treating this business with some dignity and respect? I’ll let one of these other yahoos take over the company and you’ll be shit out of luck. Do I make myself clear?”

His shoulders completely slump and the feeling that he seemed to have within him at all time came roaring back infinitely. The inadequacies. The powerlessness. He was nothing. Nothing. And never would he be anything that his father hadn’t already determined him to be. That’s just the way it went. It was the way the cards had been dealt for him. No use in fighting it.

“Yea, dad. I understand.” He muttered getting up out of his seat.

“Have Tiffany share the notes from the meeting you missed today. I want you here tomorrow at nine am. You’re going to follow me around to my meetings, get the lay of the land.”

There was no arguing so he just headed for the door instead.

“Oh and Shawn?”

He sighed but turned to face his father again. “Yea?”

“Try to not to let whatever whore you’re with next time make it so obvious. We’re better than that.”

No use in fighting it.

“Yes, sir.”

***

His shoulders are so tense that he can feel the knots forming along his neck. It’s the stress that always comes when his dad lays down the law and reminds him of where he’s at in life, where he’ll probably always be. They could say money buys you happiness all damn day long, but he hadn’t been happy. He hadn’t been happy in a really long fucking time. He’d tried just about everything. A five mile run. Had played the guitar until his fingers were sore. It isn’t until he tries to jerk off and that vision of her appears in his mind again, the way she had flicked her braids over her back, the way she had gleamed with sweat. It’s not until then that he really has to contemplate what the entire hell is going on with him, because he’s never thought about a hook up like this. Ever.

He stares up at the ceiling with another fucking boner starting in his pants. Fuck contemplation. Where had that ever got him?

“Thank you for calling Miss y/l/n’s office. This is Tianna, how may I help you?”

He peered over at the clock on his bedside. It was after eight o’clock. Way past working hours. He had a feeling wherever y/n went so did she.

“Tianna, darling.” He hummed. “She working you into the ground over there?”

She immediately snorted. “We’re doing just fine over here Mr. Mendes. How can I help you?”

“Please, call me Shawn.”

“Call me stupid. What do you want?”

Tough crowd in that office, really.

“I need to schedule a meeting with her. It’s work related. My dad needs her.” He lied.

“Uh Huh...and just what is it that your dad needs that he’s sending you to get at eight o’clock at night?”

He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. “Look he’s having me take over some accounts to get the lay of the land. I’ve got two artists playing jingle ball alongside her artists. We want to talk possible on stage collaboration.”

And they called him dumb.

“Hmmm...well, she’s very busy.” Tianna drew on.

“Yes, I’m sure she is. If I was to come to her office right now though I’d assume she’s not exactly having meetings now is she?”

“If you came to her office right now I think your little spiel about ‘on stage collaborations’ might look more like a booty call.”

He chuckled. “But if you help me out with a little something, then I could maybe help her out with a little something, and we can all be a little happier.”

“You white boys always thinking your dick can cure cancer. Get off my phone.”

“I think if you didn’t want me to come, Tianna? You would’ve hung up already. I’ll see you in twenty.”

It was that kind of relentless optimism in life that had gotten him to where he was today. Here’s a hoping it struck one more time.

***

y/n point of view*

You’re sat at your desk trying to figure out what it was about the age of twenty that seemed to make your artists lose their ever loving mind. One of your up and comers was found outside a bar as three am drunk off his ass and now you had to face the casualties. There’s a tension thick and firm in your shoulders and rolling down over every individual vertebrae in your spine. You were stressed, had been all day, and it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. You rubbed your fingers against your temples and reached for your phone to tell Tianna to maybe order you some dinner, and then head home for the night. No use in both of you being miserable.

“Hey Ti’. I’m gonna be late again. Could you order me something? No mexican please, maybe something from that asian place with the dumplings?” You asked softly. “You can go home straight after.”

“Sure thing, girl. There is something I wanted to run by you though--”

“Oh not tonight, Ti. I’m swamped. Just the food, and that will be all.”

It was a bit of a bitch move, but you and Tianna had navigated these waters time and time again throughout your friendship. She let you be when you were stressed, but never let is pass. She’d always call you out eventually. You were pretty good at navigating professional and friendship. Also, you wouldn’t last a day without her, and both of you knew it.

It’s another hour before you hear movement outside your door. You assumed Tianna had given the delivery guy your office number, so you slide from your chair still barefoot and went to grab your meal.

He’s standing on the other side of your door with your food in his hands and that dumbass smirk on his face that you had practically licked off the night before. The worst part was the rush of feelings that flooded your stomach with him there. There wasn’t nearly enough irritation and annoyance as there was a fluttering and a heat. You had seen what he could do after all, and your body was already attuned to such things. Dumb.

“Oh what the hell!” You groaned snatching the brown paper bag from his hands. “How did you get up here?”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me! I told Tianna I was coming.”

Shit. She’d tried to warn you too. You were an idiot and a bitch. Lovely.

You reached straight for your dumplings, not having the capacity to deal with your six foot two headache before you dealt with your hunger problem. You popped a squat on the edge of your desk and looked at him between bites. No suit today. Instead he was wearing black skinny jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. He was wearing a cardigan that looked particularly fluffy and a white t-shirt. You noticed there was a difference in the way his eyes looked then what you remembered. They were duller. They weren’t nearly as alive as they’d been when he was making your body sing for him the night before. Hell, he hadn’t even looked this dead at the banquet. He looked tired, beat down. But, that wasn’t supposed to matter to you. Right?

“Why are you in my office right now?” You asked.

He stalked a little closer, choosing to sit on the arm of the chair beside your desk so that his legs could slide closer towards yours.

“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why would you think that? I told you what happened last night never happened. And you agreed.”

“I didn’t agree. I said I wouldn’t tell my dad.” He corrected.

“Whatever. You don’t hook up with the same woman more than once anyway. We both know that.” You shrugged reaching for another dumpling.

“Yea, I--I know. But, I think we both know last night wasn’t a normal hook up.”

You crossed and uncrossed your legs paying special attention to chewing each bite of food before you swallowed it, as you worked to compose your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh you don’t do you?” He hummed dipping his head to catch your eye.

He got up off the chair taking the two steps to be far too close into your bubble. You wondered idly if his lack of understanding of personal space came with the privilege of being rich, or the privilege of being attractive, or if was that whole male privilege thing instead. When his hands settled on either side of you on your desk, you settle on it being some kind of combination of the three.

“You’re gonna tell me I didn’t treat you good last night?” He whispered nose skimming along your neck. “That I didn’t touch you in ways you’ve never been touched before? That I didn’t have you cumming for me like a fountain?”

Your thighs pulse needily, but when you go to squeeze them together, he’s already standing there between them so that they wrap around him. His fingers trailed to your thighs and the sensation was so familiar, so right, that you found yourself leaning more into his space.

“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. You’re stressed. I’m stressed. Just let me come over every now and again and knock you into a wall for a few hours. I think it’s a worthy transaction for the two of us.”

He was such an asshole. God, he was such an asshole and the assholery came off of him in waves. But he made you wetter than a faucet and he had big hands that felt so good when they were shoving you wherever he wanted. When you woke up that morning you had felt infinite relief. You hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth of the sheets behind. It was your first time being late since you got food poisoning three years prior. You had wanted to stay. And that was the second you lost.

“There have to be rules.” You sighed in defeat.

Shawn only heard yes and begun to tug at your jacket off your shoulders, his stupid lips doing this incredible thing on your neck that you really wish you hated.

“No one can know. It can only happen at night time.” You begun and paused to moan as he sucked at your collarbone. “It only happens at my apartment building or yours.”

“God I’ve really gotta gag this beautiful mouth.” He groaned reaching up to silence you with his lips.

Somewhere along the way you figured out that you were always working to have the upperhand, always fighting for power. And you figured out that you didn’t need that with Shawn. Once you realized that he wasn’t going to use it against you, that allowing him to be dominant was only going to result in your pleasure? You were able to let go. And when you let go, the pleasure was infinite.

Your chinese ends up on the floor. So does you dress as he very quickly breaks one of the goddamn rules and bends you over your own desk instead.

“God, this ass. I could write whole songs about it.” He muttered. “Spread your legs for me.”

“M--My desk.” You stuttered trying to be reasonable when your mind wanted anything but that.

“Spread them, or I’ll tie them open.”

Jesus.

You moaned softly into the hardwood, letting your legs drape open  against the side of the desk. His fingers mapped out your body, melding to every curve, and keeping you on high alert. Not being able to see him only made you want him more. You could hear the sound of his belt clanking as he undid his jeans, could smell that he was hot for you as you were for him. And that’s all that mattered.

“You’re so tight for me. Christ.”

He plunged inside your body like no one had ever before. Like maybe he hated you, or like maybe your pleasure was the only thing that mattered to you. His hips were hard and punishing. His hands gripped your hips like a gentle caress mixed with a punishment. It left you distorted, left you hot and bothered and completely absorbed in everything that he could make you feel with such startling precision. This wasn’t just him using your body to get himself off, this was something that occured in unison. For every second he spent chasing his own high inside you, you continuously found your own pleasure from him. It was infinite and all consuming. It was more than enough to keep you coming back for more.

The desk quaked on its legs, your papers flew everywhere, and still his fingers are grabbing at your ass like it’s his. And in that moment, it is. In that moment you’d give him everything one a silver platter if he asked for it. But, he doesn’t. He takes and he takes and he gives it all right back to you ten fold. You feel that familiar tightening in your stomach and your eyes clam shut. You’re at a total loss for how your orgasm could possily come this quickly and this intensly,  but here the fuck you are.

You reach back for his wrist on your ass and cry out into the wood of your desk as he only moved deeper within you.

“I’m gonna cum.”You whimpered.

“Not yet.”

You shook your head a tremble beginning in your legs.

“No I--I’m gonna cum! I can’t.”

His body leaned over you, caging you in and his lips found their way to your ear.

“If you cum without my permission? I’m gonna spank your ass so raw, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Oh my god.”

The desk jerks askew and Shawn just slows down his thrusts in favor of digging deep into your body. And your back loses its arch as you turn to actual liquid in his hands.

“Fuck! Fuck! Shawn!”

“You’re fucking dripping for me. Take it. Take all of me. Make yourself cum.”

You grab at the papers on your desk and your eyes roll back in your skull once again. There’s a squelching sound every time you pushed back against his hips. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re fucking exploding. What a fucking arrangement.

***

Work goes a little differently in the coming weeks. You yell a little less, smile a little more, and don’t find yourself constantly rubbing that spot in your neck that seemed to absorb every ounce of stress you ever had. And it’s not about Shawn. It’s definitely not. It’s just the regular sex. It could have been anyone, really. It just helped that this someone was good with knots and his hips. After the initial fuck up, you stuck to the rules. Only his apartment or yours. Never during the day. He didn’t come to your office, and you sure as hell didn’t go to his.

It wasn’t exactly meaningless sex. It was purposeful sex. You each had a goal, a build up of tension, that you needed eased. Doing that together just seemed to make a little sense. It was easy. It wasn’t complicated. And that’s what you loved. Not the person. Just the act. It was dirty and hard and sometimes painful, and you loved it. He seemed to find every kink you had, even the ones you hadn’t thought you had, and laid them all out with sparkling clarity. You couldn’t help but think back to the first time after your agreement when you’d stepped into his apartment.

“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I think I’ve got wine, water, and a juice somewhere.”

You were confused, plopped off your heels and headed for the shockingly white couch.

“Uh, do we need drinks for sex?”

He snorted. “What you, the most talkingest person I’ve ever met, thought we were just going to jump into things without talking first?”

“Well...yea. Kinda?” You murmured, now feeling a little indignant.

He took a seat next to you on the couch, crossing his leg over his thigh and turning towards you. The proximity alone was enough to get you a little bothered.

“Look I...I want this to be good for the both of us. And I want it to be safe. I want it to be consensual at all times. And to do that we really need to talk, okay? We’ve gotta set up what we want this to be. What we both want this to be.”

It’s a lot more endearing a lot softer than you expected. And you didn’t know how to justify this image you continued to have of him, with all the things you kept learning about him. He really made it hard to hate him sometimes.

“Okay.”

“Okayyyy. Well, why don’t you tell me something you don’t want, and I’ll do the same. And we’ll start from there.” He coaxed.

“Well I’m not doing no race play shit, that’s for damn sure!”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

“A white one.” You blinked.

“Funny. No race play. Got it. I like to be dominant, but there’s some shit I won’t do. I won’t do anything until you bleed. I love slapping your ass as much as the next guy, but I’m not gonna do it to the point of pain over pleasure. I’m not gonna hit you, and I’m not gonna do any of the bodily fluids besides semen.” He explained calmly.

You bit your lip. “So you uh...you’ve done this before huh?”

He nodded softly. “I have. And you haven’t. That’s okay. I’m more than willing to teach you.”

“Okay...so is it like a dom and sub relationship?” You asked hesitantly.

“It doesn’t have to be that if you don’t want it to. Sometimes adding a label on it makes it more scary than it needs to be. This can still just be a hookup. Are there other things you don’t wanna try?”

“I don’t really want to be called anything derogatory.” You admitted. “I liked the rough parts. I liked...doing what you asked me to. I just don’t want to feel demeaned if that makes sense.”

You felt very out of your element. Again, you weren’t the expert in the room. He was. And you just had to trust that he was gonna do the right thing for the both of you. Only because, so far he actually had.

“Of course. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet but I’m not just here for my pleasure, y/n. Half of what I get out of it is making you feel good. That’s what I want to do.”

It was hard to look at him when he spoke like that. The softness, the earnestness. None of it made a lot of sense to you. And you didn’t like how your body reacted to it, how easily he could draw you in like that. So you reached for him, lips and teeth and fingers on the back of his neck. And he pulled you into his lap with such ease. It made you melt. You were kind of fucked. But it was okay for now.

“So you’ll be in LA through Sunday for the awards. I have you back here Monday afternoon. I moved all your meetings to Tuesday so you could rest up a little bit. And then it’s time to prepare for the MSG shows for Khalid.” Tianna rattled off.

You were listening. You were a hundred and fifty percent listening. And you weren’t at all squirming in your seat. Nope.

“S--Sounds lovely. Can’t wait!”

She did the black mother squint and lean at you, so you forced your hips to calm the hell down in your seat.

“What the hell is up with you?” She asked.

Your eyes widened. “Cramps! A real son of a bitch, aren’t they?”

“Cramps? You want me to get you some mitol?”

“No thank you, I already took some. I’m gonna work on the proposal for the new marketing campaign with nike and then I’ll take lunch okay?”

“Sounds good chief, holler if you need me!”

You watched with painstaking eyes as she slowly left the room before finally allowing you to collapse and reach for your phone. This was too much. This was the worst idea ever in the history of ever.

“Hello?”

“Turn it off. Turn it off right now, Tianna probably thinks I’m a mad woman!” You sighed shakily.

Shawn chuckled. “Nice to see you too darling. What did I say last night?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you thought back to the look in his eyes when he’d pressed the egg shaped device between your legs.

“If I don’t wear it all day then I’m not a good girl.”

“Exactly. And what do good girls get to do?”

You bit your lip unable to stop the rocking of your hips. “Good girls get to cum.”

“That’s right. Do you wanna cum y/n? Do you deserve to cum for me?”

“Y--Yea. Yes, please? I--I wanna be good. I wanna cum.”

Sure enough the damn vibration increased and your thighs began to quake. You whined desperately canting your hips up for something that wasn’t there. Something that was probably a good forty-five minutes away from you by subway. And lord knows Shawn’s ass had probably never been on the subway.

“You make the prettiest fucking sounds.” He sighed. “I wish I didn’t have this meeting, or I’d come right over there and make you fall apart all over my cock.”

“A meeting? What meeting?” You asked desperate to keep your mind off the quaking beneath your skirt.

“My asshole of a dad is having me meet with investors for this new Madison Beer look-alike he just signed. They’re already trying to figure out how to maximize sex appeal. She’s seventeen.”

“That’s disgusting. You have to know that’s disgusting.”

“Of course I do. And you have to know better than anyone that I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

You rolled your eyes up at the ceiling. “You’ll destroy that girl before she even gets a chance to figure out who she is, what artist she wants to be.”

“Yea well my father isn’t in the business of letting artists decide who they wanna be.”

It’s a little more honest than you’re supposed to be with each other. A little moment, where you let the facade slip. Where you’re not just two people fucking. Because you’re both in the same business, the same industry, and there’s something that allows you both the ability to know more than anyone else ever could. And that makes it a little hard.

“Are you coming to mine tonight?” You hinted, trying to get this thing back on track.

“Yea. I uh I’ll be there around ten.” He cleared his throat, base continuing. “I want you to keep it inside of you all day. And if you’re good. If I’ve decide you’ve been good, then I’ll let you cum tonight. Maybe I’ll even let you ride my thigh”

A moan escapes your lips that had no business coming out in the open like that. You had never even mentioned that his thighs sort of made your mouth water, nor that you’d even thought about rubbing your pussy all over them. That just seemed to be another one of those things he picked up on without you having to say it.

“Fuck. Okay, okay I’ll be good.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you at ten.”

You collapsed back against your chair again as the phone call ended. 12 hours to go. Shit.

***

You were lying on the bed withering. It’s the only way you could describe what it felt like you were going through. You felt like you were in heat. The room was sweltering. Your thighs had been pressed together for the past hour and it wasn’t getting any better. You needed to cum. God you just needed to cum. About twenty minutes ago, that bastard had moved it to the highest setting. You were dripping at this point.

He let himself into your apartment, the directive to leave your door unlocked making a lot more sense when you were practically grinding into your sheets.

“Fuck, I can smell you.” He hummed. “You miss me?”

“I need to cum. Please, Shawn. Please.” You started rambling immediately.

He proceeds as if you’ve said nothing. He starts with his watch, slipping it over his wrist to set on the nightstand. His rings and bracelet join the party as well. Then it’s his jacket and the button up. You listen to the metal clink of his belt and it make your eyes roll back in your head knowing that you’ll finally get what you’d been waiting on forever. The excitement is in your chest and between your legs. The want that you have for him curling up like a ball in your gut. He knows exactly what he does to do, and it makes you hate him and want him all the more.

It feels like hours before he joins you on the bed. And when he does, he just stares at you for a while. His eyes roam over your hips and your cheeks and the arch in your foot and the stretch marks near your belly button. It’s so specific and so intimate that you can only watch him watch you. He turned off the vibrations, but somehow you’re only now just noticing. Sometimes when he looks at you like this, you don’t know how to respond. Can never decide what the look in his eyes means. And you wonder if he knows either.

He blinks and the look vanishes, and back is this look that says, “I’m going to devour you for all that you are.”

“Come sit on my lap, baby girl.” He whispered.

You move on shaky legs, crawling onto your knees to where he sat at the edge of the mattress. His fingers slip between your legs, your hands falling to his shoulders as he tugs the vibrator from inside you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he just fucking smiles at you and tugs at your hips. Your lips touch his thigh and you have to hide your face in his neck to keep from cumming right there.

His fingers reach for your ass, digging deep into the flesh, as his lips touch your ear.

“I’m gonna let you ride my thigh until you cum. It’ll be the only time you get to cum until the end of the night, so I suggest you make it count.”

You whined softly arms wrapping around his neck in desperation.

“I’m so sensitive.” You whispered.

He tilted your hips down with his hands on your hips resulting in your clit brushing against his thigh with purpose. You practically sobbed.

“Oh my god!”

“God, your fucking voice.” He grunted. “Ride my thigh.”

There’s no need for lubricant of any kind because you’re soaked to your very core. It saturates his thigh until your gliding easily against the flesh. And it’s so fucking hot. It feels so fucking good. You couldn’t control the way that your hips fluttered and twitched against him with every push of your hips. Every slide had you gasping his name with recklessness. Just the way he wanted you. Desperate. Needy. Submissive. And you thrived in it.

He tensed his leg, making his thigh firmer, and you fucking lost it. Your fingers turned to fists in his hair just to have something to grip onto as you rode him for all you were worth. His hands on your hips helped move you faster and it made the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten until it snapped with ease.

“That’s it. That’s so good. Cum for me like a good girl.” He demanded.

You cried out into your apartment, back arching as your orgasm ran through you like a tidal wave. His thigh became drenched and your heart hammered heavily in your chest as you collapsed in his arms like the mess he turned you into.

“Fuck.” You moaned desperately. “Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He hummed. “What do you say?”

“Thank you. Thank you for letting me cum.”

“You’re welcome. Now go pick out a toy to keep yourself occupied with.”

The second that Shawn found out you had a pretty impressive arsenal of toys for yourself, he had taken full advantage. You quickly discovered that your favorite scenario was the gspot stimulator that did some amazing, amazing things. You liked it most because it seemed to drive him crazy when you lost control, when you were just barely holding on to a thread for him. You got off on his pleasure, and he got off on yours. It was a beautiful endless cycle.

You go to lay back against your blankets, only for Shawn to join you sooner than normal. He took the toy from your hands and sat it down by your hip. His fingers trailed between your labia, thumbing playfully at your clit. He looked at you as you did it, eyes dark and hooded and hot. You were in for a wild as night tonight.

“I’m gonna put this in. I’m gonna fuck you with it. And you’re gonna wanna cum. But you’re not going to. Not until I say, do you understand?”

You rolled your hips incessantly and sighed. “Yea.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

His fingers were rough and calloused, an incredible sensation against your smooth thighs. You felt his curls tickle your stomach as he leaned down to test your wetness with his lips. A groan made its way past your lips as he kissed at your clit. Before you could even begin to move your hips, he was pushing the toy inside of you and flicking the switch on.

“Mmmmm,” You hummed. “Feels good, Shawn.”

He twirled the stem of the vibrator manipulating the toy until it rested directly against your gspot. And that’s when he turned it to the highest setting.

“Oh fuck!”

“Feel good?” He chuckled teeth hitting your inner thigh.

“Y--Yea. Holy shit yea.”

He peered up at you from between your legs and proceeded to kiss, lick, and suck at the skin of your thighs. His fingers wrapped around the vibrator and started to thrust it in and out jaggedly. Your fingers dug into the sheets and you bit at your lip as he played you like a fuckin violin. The egg shaped toy slid in and out hitting the tip of your clit on every outward stroke. You whined and tilted your hips down trying to get more pressure.

He frowned up at you, teeth biting down into the flesh of your thigh before he soothed the mark with his tongue.

“Don’t do that. Be good for me.”

“I need it.” You sighed. “Please, Shawn.”

“What do you need?”

“Your tongue, your fingers--anything. Please?”  

“You want my tongue?”

“Yea. So bad.” You whined. “Fuck Shawn, please!”

He maneuvered your leg over his shoulder tongue pointing between his lips to hit your already engorged clit. The dampness of his tongue was heavenly against your aching flesh, but in combination with the still rampant vibrator it was so much more than that. It was completely and utterly too much. The coil in your gut grew hotter and tighter. Your toes curled. Holy mother of god.

“W--Wait! Wait I’m gonna cum!”

His hands did that thing where they locked into your hips, pushing you firmly down into the bed as he continued to suck you for all you were worth. You fist your fingers in his hair and threaded your legs around his back fully and deeply prepared to ride your orgasm out. Just as you were about to fall apart, muscles tensing and aching for release, it all disappears. He lets your clit slip from his lips and takes the vibrator out leaving you to pulse and thrash against the sheets.

“Fuck!” you grunted, thighs squeezing together involuntarily.

“Ah ah ah.” He hummed pulling them apart with ease. “Let me look at you. See the way this perfect cunt twitches for me. Shit, y/n. You have no idea how fucking pretty you are.”

You peer down between your legs watching your muscles clench anxiously around nothing. You can see yourself glisten from where you are, can only imagine how much better it must be from down there. There’s no room to think about it for long before he’s running the flat part of his tongue along your entrance in search for any juices he may have left behind.

Drool oozes past his lips, and he runs his thumb into your clint to spread it around. And then the vibrator is back in his hands, but instead of slipping it inside you, he presses it right up against your clit instead. The vibrations are rapid and loud hitting at every nerve ending in your already thoroughly soaked core. There’s no need to grind against it because he’s pushing it so tightly against you already, and when he flicks it beneath your hood so that it touches just barely at your actual clit, you’re done for. It’s right back where you were not even sixty seconds prior.

Your nails dig into his wrist and your back arches in desperation.

“Please! Please!” You gasped. “Let me cum!”

He shook his head not letting up on the pressure at all.

“You don’t order me. I’ll let you cum when I’m ready.”

Tears form in your eyes. It’s the denial and the pleasure and the cusp of pain that might just drive you over the edge if he’d ever fucking let it happen. You didn’t know the act of not cumming could feel this good, could make you feel this desperate. He pushed your body places that it had never been, made you feel things you had never felt. And he thrived on what it did to you. He thrived on your hips pushing back against him, on the moans that rung out from your throat. Every response seemed to fuel him even further.

Your legs begin to twitch again, screaming for ecstasy when a knock rings out on your apartment door, bringing everything to a crashing halt.

“You expecting company?” He asked, vibrator still very much in tact.

You shook your head, bottom lip destroyed by your teeth at this point.

“No. No one.”

They knock again.

“Are you sure?”

“You know I really can’t focus on anything but my clit at the moment!” You huffed.

The knocking continues, a little more aggressively this time, and Shawn finally rolled his eyes and pushed the vibrator back into his rightful position against your gspot.

“Don’t move. And you better not cum while I’m gone.” He ordered.

*meanwhile at the door*

There’s a guy at the door in a suit with his arms crossed in a semi intimidating fashion. Shawn’s half naked with one of the strongest hardons of his life hidden behind the door, and he’s a little confused and annoyed at the interruption.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Is Miss. Y/l/n here?” The guy asked.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

“I am sir. We got a disturbance call, and I’m checking to make sure things are alright.”

“Oh….Oh! Yea, no I understand why you might have gotten that call but I assure you things are fine here.” He snorted.

“Yes, well I assure you just as soon as I see her alive and well, I’ll take your word for it.”

The shit he went through for sex.  

“Look dude,” He sighed pulling the door open to reveal the sheets bunched awkwardly around his very naked waist. “She’s not in any pain she doesn’t want to be in. We’ll try to keep it down.”

“I’m sure that might be, but we take our jobs very seriously here and I’ve yet to see y/n, so I’m afraid I cannot leave you alone in an apartment you don’t live in.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to call into the house. “Y/n! Will you please tell the not so nice security guard than I am fucking you, not killing you!”

“SHAWN! IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR DUMB ASS FROM IN FRONT OF MY DOOR!!”

“Anymore questions?” He asked the guard politely before closing the door in his face.

*Meanwhile back in the bedroom*

“You better have been fucking joking.”

He dropped the sheet from around his waist and wrapped his fingers around his dick working himself back up to peak hardness.

“Not at all. But I’m not done with you yet. Be a good girl and lie back.”

“But Shawn--”

“Be a good girl and lie back and I’ll let you cum on my tongue before I fuck the shit out of you.”

You lie back for him. Duh.

If you wanted to buy me a Kofi so I can not be poor that would be dope. 

Permanent taglist 

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[samuel-dean]

Options?

INVOLVED: Samuel Evans and Mercedes Jones. LOCATION: Evans’ Estate; Atlanta, Georgia. TIME FRAME: Thursday, April 9th, 2020. NOTES: Mercedes comes home to a monstrous Samuel.

Mercedes looked up from the article as she entered the mansion and sighed, folding the newspaper in half. Her frown deepened when her ears were assaulted by a cacophony of different voices blathering on at different points in the same story. All about one man. Samuel.  “Damn it.” She breathed, handing the paper over to the butler. “He must have every television on in the house. Turn them all off.” She breathed, unbuttoning her jacket. “Where’s Samuel?” She asked, instinctively looking to the office. The butler stood stark still looking down at Mercedes. He cleared his throat, then with a voice still shaky, he inclined his head towards the living area. “He is just in there, ma’am. But ma’am, I don’t think it would be wise to turn off the televisions.”  Mercedes was already moving away in the direction indicated. “Do it now!” She snapped without looking back. “It’s not helping anything.”

 Samuel ran his hand down the length of his beard as he paced back and forth against the living room flooring. He stopped short listening intensely now, they were calling him all kinds of things he was not. He was a good guy and he had all intentions of making things right when he reached the office. Patty hadn’t gotten back with him yet, which only infuriated him more. He shook his head as he began to pace once more this time with his large arms folded over his chest. “Bullshit” he replied back to the CNN anchor. They were going on and on about marine life and what this happened to be doing to our oceans. That was fine, he got the need for animal life to be made important, but this spill was screwing with far greater things, not to mention the fire was still not contained. And the money that was being lost, he couldn’t keep up with the numbers now. 

 Mercedes stopped in the archway of the living room and watched as Samuel paced back and forth. This was a part of his business she didn’t understand. How did you fix a natural disaster and save your company's reputation and your own reputation for that matter? She flinched as he shouted at the news anchor. Unfortunately, the CNN correspondence’s ridicule of Samuel’s character didn’t end with the man’s outburst. Twisting her fingers, she moved into the space, “Samuel?” she said quietly. Looking around for the remote. “I heard what happened...  What do we do?” She asked, taking the remote from the table she turned off the TV and looked up to him expectantly.  

 Samuel continued to pace back and forth with a shake of his head, and he stood standing in the middle of the floor. He heard Mercedes' voice, but he didn’t respond to her instead glared at the tv as his chest rose and hell rapidly. “Unbelievable” he said before she turned the tv off he turned around and looked at her, animalistic eyes glaring in her direction. He turned back around, continuing his pace around the room and he exhaled slowly before he roughly shoved some overly expensive decorative decor he’d hated to the ground “I don’t know” he said in a loud booming voice. “All the shit I’ve ever done for people has just been forgotten in a fucking instance over a mistake I didn’t make!” he yelled bitterly. “All the charities, all the orphanages” he listed. “A bastard who told Americans to grab women by their pussy” he said ragging “has the nerve to get on national fucking television and crucify ME” he said in a beastly appearance. 

 Mercedes swallowed a hard lump in her throat, and took an involuntary step away from Samuel as his murderous eyes took her in. She bit her lip, grimacing in abstract horror as $100,000 Tiffany vases were being slung about, to smash against the floor. Damn, damn, she thought biting her knuckle. She took in a deep breath, and held out her hands, "You're right." She breathed, gathering only enough courage to regain the step she'd lost. "He's using you to gain some brownie points. It's an election year." She reasoned, keeping her tone soft and low.  "Baby, have you spoken with your publicist and the lawyers?" she was kicking her own ass mentally. She'd been so wrapped up in her own business affairs, she had even attempted to help him find a new assistant. 

 Samuel looked away from her as she spoke and he moved over to the other side of the room, looking out the window and he gripped the window seal tightly. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, “fuck that damn election” he said lowly. At her question he said nothing for a very long time before he said “I need to get to Texas and fast” he responded. “I have to get to the headquarters,” he admitted easily. Every word he said came out in a bite. He sighed heavily before he turned back to her, eyes flashing, fire behind them. “The board wants me to speak publicly, hash this shit out and beg the fucking public to reprieve me” he said as balled his fist walking around the room slowly.  “That’s only fucking payback for what I did to my parents, I know those old bastards like the back of my fucking hand” he said. “Anyone else would’ve released a written statement” he told her. “Should’ve called my fucking father” he said gripping his forehead with his hand “fuck” he said he breathed to himself as he paced. 

 Mercedes did her best to read him. She needed to calm him down, at least a little anyway. But much like a hurricane, he needed to blow himself out. She rounded the couch, feet crunching on $1000 bits of glass, but still gave him space to process. His statement was comical, but there was no room to laugh and she knew it. Instead she shook her head, agreeing with the hulking man. "Texas?" she repeated, shaking her head. "Alright..." she answered, reaching into her pocket for her phone. "I should call the airfield and tell them to get the jet ready." She said making a mental list. "I'll start packing your things immediately."  She looked up from her phone, frowning. It was beyond reason they’d want some kind of public statement, “They would…” She said slowly, unfamiliar with the interworking of his company. “They haven’t released any kind of statement yet?” That was unsettling. They were leaving him out on the limb to roast in the fire of public opinion that was never a good thing. “If you feel like you need his advice Samuel. Call him.”

 Samuel’s phone buzzed and he looked at the coffee table, picking the phone up he read the message before tucking it away into his pocket. “The airline is covered”, he said quickly “my things?” he questioned with a raised brow. “You own the company they are expecting you too, Mrs. Fifty-Percent” he said as he rounded her again. “I can’t call my dad, since when did we associate with them?” he asked her, confused. He stopped in front of her for a moment before he pressed forward pacing again. “They are hanging me Mercedes, what part of that are you not understanding?” he asked her, still on edge. He moved before the tv, he needed to hear what else they were saying it was killing him not to. He finally knew exactly how he felt when his mother slandered her across the pages. The only thing is, he had no one to fight his battles for him. Lucky her, he thought as he looked over his shoulder, with a head shake he said, “I need a drink”. 

 "Good." Mercedes nodded, removing flight from her list and adjusting the notes she was typing out on her iPhone. Looked up, her hair flipping back wildly, "They expect me to...make a statement?" She sat down hard on the sofa and looked up at him blankly. She sighed dumbfounded and after a moment began rubbing her fingers over the growing headache that started in her temples. "You're right. I'm sorry.” The apology was soft in a mournful way. “You brought him up and I don't know. I thought you might want his counsel." She let his next statement hang in the air, then pushed up from the couch, and bit down on her lip to fight the urge to snap at the man. "Okay." She said, in a matter of fact tone. "So, our options are to come up with a fix, I expect your teams are already working on? And prepare a statement. Do we have a choice, can we just release a statement? Or must we go on live television? I heard what you said, but do we have any choice in the matter?” 

 “Of course, they don’t expect you to get up there and speak for the masses” Samuel said, is she nuts people didn’t like the idea of them being an item or her having the fifty percent, she did in the first place. “But they feel you being there shows that you have some care in all of this, after all the majority think you just ride on the coat tail of the Exxonmobil corporation name for money sake” he told her, he didn’t deny when they argued. She had done anything with her title since she got it. But she also didn’t ask for it. Hmph. He’d have to use that argument smugly when they brought it up again. “I do need counsel and here you are” he said looking at her again, this time he softened with his words. He sighed, drained now that all the adrenaline in his body dissipated and he dropped down beside her. “I’ve been ignoring phone calls all morning, I just want to hear what they are saying,” he said. “I do know they are investigating it,” he said to her. “I can’t afford this right now” he said desperately as he leaned back resting his head on the back of the couch. 

 "Mhm..." Mercedes said, fighting with all her might to keep her rising attitude at bay. When she raised the same argument about what people's perception of her were, he nearly took her head off at the mere thought of it. It seems he knew all too well what she'd been speaking about after all. She sighed, sitting again. "I'd have gone anyway. I don't want you up there alone, Samuel. I just misunderstood your meaning." She shook her head, “I don’t think I’m equipped to offer you anything but moral support. I know we have to answer the phone. I also know we need to get in front of the cameras, if that’s the only option. And I do mean immediately. They may be trying to screw you, but they are also screwing over the company. Every second delay is another stock gone.”  Mercedes turned to Samuel as he leaned back, she placed her hand on his thigh and began rubbing her hand back and forth. “I know…  I know... We don’t need their spin on the situation, we need the truth. I suppose we’ll get that in Texas.”  

 “You are a businesswoman” Samuel said to her factually, he sighed heavily as he shook his head at her. “You spend all that time with whatever you are doing with Titus and aren’t going to bounce anything off with me?” he asked her, gazing at her in disbelief. “Right...” he said as he dropped his head back down against the couch. “I cheated the system, I got you to sign those damn documents. I screwed my dad and my mother… people fight fire with fire” he said as he gazed at the ceiling. “Not to mention I had to double back and cut the payout of many people to be able to even ride that big ass lie I told into the sunset” he said again resting his hand on his forehead. He grabbed her hand as he ran up and down his thigh, he held it in his before he leaned up and looked at her. “I’m sorry for my temper” he told her “and for those” he pointed to the ground and broken pieces. “And for raising my voice, yelling at you. This is not your fault” he told her guilty as he leaned in and kissed her lips gently, calming down more. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. 

 Mercedes shook her head from side to side somberly. He was mad and it was starting to feel more and more like he wanted to start a fight with her. She looked down at her shoes, as her stomach began to churn with additional worries. “True Samuel… What? Do you think all this was intentional or opportunistic on their part? Even if your parents still had their stakes in the company, something like this could have happened. Yes, it’s worse because they are making you shoulder the weight of this alone. We should have known there would be consequences.” She sighed and went to tell the lie some many others would, it would be okay. But couldn’t form the words. His fingers took hers and he held them, stilling her motion. She turned towards him once again, hopefully successful in masking some of her own personal worry. She didn’t need to add anything to the stress he was currently under. Her fingers smoothed over his cheek as he kissed her. Head shaking, “I’m sorry this is happening Samuel. So sorry.” She uttered, before he kissed her again. Looking at him, she found true words, “Don’t worry about me. I told I don’t break…  I’m here Samuel... Whatever you need.” 

“I don’t know” Samuel replied back to Mercedes easily as she spoke sorting out her own thoughts in regard to the situation. She apologized to him though she had no reason to do so honestly, it wasn’t her fault, or anyone’s really it was an accident. At her words he smirked at her at her nodding his head and he said “I know” truthfully to her. “I should get some things packed, the airline is waiting” he told her as he moved to get up, dropping her hand as he did. He moved around the mess, two timid ladies moving into the space to clean up the mess he had made behind him knowingly.

[buffyversefanfiction]

Twisted Tristan

Chapter 4 - B Normal Again

Warnings: I do not own or claim to own the original content to “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, “Angel”, the comics or any of the original characters from the “Buffyverse” all rights belong to Joss Whedon.

15 plus, displays of Violence, Gore, Torture, M/M, F/M, F/F.

Buffy, Faith and Willow remained within the underground sewer tunnels completely broken by their loss by Buffy’s loss as Buffy stood there as a heartbroken mother with no idea where her son could be.

“There’s got to be some way to find him Willow some spell that you can do.” Buffy cried. “He’s my son Willow, my baby boy.”

“I really wish there was some way of fixing this Buffy but when I opened that portal, I backed it up with another spell so if we came back and were captured by one of them whoever escaped would be safe.” Willow explained to her as she shed tears of her own for her missing nephew.

“Find some way of reversing the spell Will find some way of opening the portal Willow I can’t lose my son.” Buffy sobbed as Faith remained silent clearly sympathizing for her friends. “He’s just a baby and he’s all alone.”

“I’m so sorry Buffy I really am that spell was supposed to keep everyone safe.” Willow apologised while trying to dry her tears.

“Safe,” Buffy shouted, losing her temper with Willow. “How can my little boy be safe when we have no idea where the hell you dumped in? What if he’s in some demonic dimension? What if he’s already dead?”

“B Willow would never put the kid somewhere that wasn’t safe,” Faith told her fellow slayer in defense of the redheaded witch. “Wherever your boy is now I’m sure he’s safe from the ones who tried to steal him.”

“Faith I’m his mother I should be with him he’s abandoned in some strange place probably crying for me and thinking I’ve just abandoned him.” Buffy replied, heartbroken by the reality of her situation. “He’s never going to grow up knowing that I loved him more than anything that I’d fight for him until my last breath. He’s going to grow up alone thinking he was unloved.”

“I know B,” Faith said as she walked over to the blonde-haired slayer and placed her hand on her shoulder. “But wherever your son is he gets to grow up and live a life it sucks he isn’t with you for now but at least he’s safe from this madness.”

“I’ll look through every spell book search the worlds,” Willow promised Buffy. “One way or another I will find your son and get him back to his mother.”

“No, we can’t go looking for him,” Buffy replied while drying her tears. “Wherever he is I know you put him somewhere safe which means he’s safe from them and if we start looking for him it gives Wolfram and Hart a chance to get their hands on him.”

“I don’t understand Buffy what you want me to do?” Asked a confused Willow.

“For Tristan’s own safety we tell everyone that he died, and we mourn him and try our best to move on from losing him.” Buffy revealed as her voice began to break. “If they think he’s dead they will stop looking for him and he’ll finally be safe from all this chaos.”

“Are you asking us to lie about Tristan?” Willow quizzed her before admitting. “I don’t think I could do that to Xander to Giles to your sister to everyone.”

“Buffy, Angel already lost his chance to raise Connor because of another god dam portal that sent baby Connor straight to hell only to return as a murderous teenager.” Faith said making her disapproval clear. “Angel may not be able to come back from losing another son.”

“We tell no one!” Buffy demanded with a furious tone in her voice. “As far as everyone will now this was the day my son Tristan Summers died.”

Willow walked into the prison style interrogation room at Giles’ slayer rehabilitation center to find Tristan handcuffed in chains to the table looking far from amused to be in this situation.

“I don’t like seeing anyone shackled in chains and handcuffs so for that I am truly sorry,” Willow apologised as she sat down at the table. “But when you have murderous tendencies precautions tend to need to be put in place to stop us all winding up dead.”

“This place is like some of prison and yet these chains aren’t as weak as the ones they used on me in prison.” Tristan replied before going on to ask. “Where the bloody hell am I?”

“My friend Giles prefers to call this place a slayer rehabilitation center prison’s kind of a touchy subject around here.” Willow admitted to him.

“So, basically I’m locked up with a bunch of deranged slayers.” Tristan scoffed. “Figures you lot would come up with a prison for your own kind.”

“Tristan, that’s an interesting choice of name.” Willow responded to him. “Who named you Tristan? Do you have any family?”

“No offense red but I’m not going to sit here and give you the dirt on the ins and outs of my life.” Tristan snapped at the witch. “I suggest you let me go before I have to go to the trouble of breaking myself out which I promise will be a pretty bloody prison break.”

“Tristan you have murdered several innocent defenseless humans not to mention your rather large murder count on slayers.” Willow snapped back at the raven-haired murderer making it clear she wasn’t scared of him. “We are going to keep you here at all costs until we believe that you will no longer be a threat to anyone which is a pretty good deal considering a prison would sentence you to life.”

“I find it hilarious how Willow Rosenberg is talking about me being the threat when your death count is rather intriguing yourself.” Tristan laughed cruelly. “I heard you once skinned a man alive before literally trying to end the world.”

“That was me during my darkest period but I’m not that person anymore.” Willow admitted. “We have helped many people escape their own darkness and taught them how to use their special skills for good instead of evil. I know you just lost the person you love, and I know how hard that is, but we can help you through it through all of it if you let us.”

“What is this some kind of widows club meeting?” Tristan asked clearly not impressed with Willow mentioning his recently deceased vampire lover. “I say you take these chains of me and I test how truly powerful you really are.”

“I know how delicious the darkness can be and I know how hard it can be to pull yourself out of it once it’s taken a hold of you but trust me evil maybe alluring but it costs you far too much.” Willow replied to try and get through to the troubled man. “But when you fight it when you come back from it and get to some form of normal again it helps heal those wounds.”

Willow walked out of the interrogation room and into a hallway within the rehabilitation center to find Faith anxiously waiting for her knowing she was hoping for her to say there was some hope for Tristan’s redemption as Willow feared there was no redeemed this long black haired psychopath.

“If this was a horror movie, he’d be the Chucky to your Tiffany,” Willow said to the redeemed slayer as she walked towards her. “Oh, great now that analogy is going to be giving me nightmares tonight.”

“Okay so what’s the next move then?” Faith asked her eager to know her thoughts about the man she found herself strangely caring for.

“To be honest Faith I think that guy is more in need of a psychologist instead of a witch but you were definitely more scary back in your vicious villain days so if you could turn your life around maybe there’s some hope.” Willow replied hoping to reassure Faith.

“Do you find there’s something off with him?” Faith asked the witch. “For some reason I want him to want redemption more than I wanted my own redemption.”

“Are you sure this obsession for him isn’t because of his name?” Willow asked her.

“It’s not because of some name a thousand other guys have there’s something different about this guy he’s as strong as a slayer yet not a slayer and he’s human it makes no sense.” Faith tried to explain her fascination with the raven-haired man. “Stay here for a bit longer and do your digging thing I need you to find out as much about him as possible.”

“I can’t deny my interest in finding out what this guy is but I should really be getting back to Buffy I don’t like leaving her alone for long especially since Dawn and Xander jetted off with baby Joyce to some weird hippy dimension.” Willow admitted to Faith.

“Come on red Buffy’s been a recluse for three years now and I totally get why but she’s still a bad-ass bitch who is more than capable than looking after herself for a while.” Faith reassured the witch.

“You’re right,” Willow admitted before taking a deep sigh. “I’ll look into this guy, but I make no promises I’ll actually be able to find out anything new.”

For a rehabilitation center specialized in helping slayers reform themselves and seek out to amend their dark path Giles’ slayer rehabilitation definitely looked a lot like prison especially for Tristan who had found himself locked up in a pretty bare prison cell sitting on the floor while bouncing a small bouncy ball against the wall.

“If your hoping to make some great escape by cracking the walls with a bouncy ball you’ll be spending a real long time.” Faith revealed to him as she walked into the room and stood outside of his cell. “You see the guy who runs this place was the watcher to Buffy and me very briefly, so he practically knows all the tricks in the books on how to lock up us super powered folk.

“Us super powered folk live outside of the laws that the normal people push upon the weak or at least we did.” Tristan replied as he stood up and walked over to the prison gates. “Leave it to a bloody watch to try and force laws upon the supernatural.”

“Yeah I’m not exactly a big fan on this whole project but it’s better than letting you go around killing people.” Faith admitted to him.

“I wonder where they keep the less pretty monsters for rehabilitation?” Tristan asked in a sarcastic tone. “Just fucking with you I know whatever you guys don’t consider human just gets dusted or killed without any chance to reform but hey we can’t complain that we’re privileged by looking like humans.”

“Keep an extra eye on this guy.” Faith said to the female slayer guarding Tristan’s cell after walking away from the long black-haired man.

“I’m sorry Faith but we don’t have enough resources to keep any more eyes on him he’s not our only prisoner.” She replied before going on to say. “Client.”

“I’m not asking for a god dam favour I’m making a demand.” Faith shouted at the guard causing Tristan to laugh to himself. “Get one of your prison guard wannabe slayerettes to help keep an eye on this guy before I show you why people don’t tend to piss me off.”

Faith walked back into the hallways of the so-called slayer rehabilitation center to find that this time Willow was the one anxiously waiting for her which could only mean one thing the clever little witch had already found out something about Giles’ latest prisoner.

“This prison rehab or whatever the hell Giles wants to call this place isn’t right for Tristan don’t ask me why I just know it’s not.” Faith said to Willow as she walked over to her.

“I agree,” Willow admitted while looking like she had just seen a ghost. “I agree so much more than you could believe.”

“You found out something juicy, didn’t you?” Faith asked excited to get some new information on Tristan. “What did you find out?”

“Give me a moment,” Willow snapped before Faith noticed the room spinning leaving her feeling dizzy before they disappear out of sight only for the two of them to reappear in the middle of somewhere nearby woods located a few miles away from the slayer rehabilitation center. “This play is far more discreet.”

“Next time let’s try walking here,” Faith said to her as she tried to calm her dizziness caused by Willows’ magic. “Why is this so top secret anyway?”

“Trust me Faith when I say the minute, I found out this info on Giles’ latest prisoner I needed out to get the hell out of sight because nobody can overhear what I’m about to tell you.” Willow revealed to her. “I ran his DNA into the criminal database which I swear gets easier to hack into every year and I found multiple records he racked up along with a bunch of fake names before finding out his surname was Black on his birth certificate only for him to change it himself when he was eighteen but that wasn’t even the strangest thing I found it. I then hacked into several hospital records putting everything online these days really isn’t a smart move and well anyways I found out that his original birth certificate was faked and there was no actual proof of Tristan Black-Summers’ birth.”

“Okay consider me well and truly lost Wills.” Faith admitted to her confusion while trying to work out what Willow was leading towards.

“I then went through all hospital records across the whole of America and found only three living candidates that were blood relatives to Tristan.” Willow continued to reveal.

“You did all that with such a short time Jesus no wonder no-one could beat Buffy back in the day with you by her side.” Faith replied shocked and proud of Willow’s research methods.

“Those three blood relatives were Buffy, Dawn and their father.” Willow divulged completely stunning Faith in the process.

“So, if I’m right little miss goody two shoes has a psycho in the family who literally stole the name of Buffy’s son.” Faith said while trying to make sense of Willow’s findings. “Is he a cousin, a long-lost brother…”

“Come on Faith you’re smarter than that I’m sure you can put the pieces together.” Willow replied while slightly mocking her friend.

“Oh, my freaking god,” Faith answered her as she finally realized. “The portal you put Buffy’s son three years ago was a portal to the past and the boy grew up to be the psychotic prisoner Giles is currently holding who is now only a few years younger than his freaking mother.”

“Tristan Black really is Tristan Summers.” Willow admitted. “He’s Buffy’s son and I have no idea what we’re supposed to do about this.”

Tristan once again found himself chained up and handcuffed to the table in the interrogation this time waiting for the founder of the slayer rehabilitation center wondering if he, Willow or Faith had found out his true identity fearing the truth would be spilled before he was ready to use it as his latest weapon.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite kidnapper.” Tristan joked as Giles walked into the room and sat down at the table.

“I would prefer it if you stop calling me your kidnapper and start calling me Giles.” He replied to him.

“You know what Giles you’re lucky I have a thing for older men,” Tristan flirted with his mother’s former watcher and his mother’s one-night stand. “But next time you want to get a little kinky I think it’s only fair that you’re the one being chained up.”

“Faith seems to have quite the interest in you Tristan why is that?” Giles asked Tristan completely ignoring Tristan’s attempt at flirting.

“The girl is clearly obsessed with me for some reason but she’s barking up the wrong tree.” Tristan told him noticing he was making Giles blush. “You’re much more my type to be honest I bet your wound up tighter than my chains I promise if you’re brave enough to cross the table, I’ll find a way of loosening you up.”

“I want to talk to you about your upcoming psychological evaluation.” Giles said to him in a desperate bid to change the subject.

Faith and Willow took some time walking through the woods nearby the slayer rehabilitation center as Willow explained to Faith that she must’ve sent Tristan when he was a baby into a past in which he was adopted by a family before eventually learning his true identity as they began to puzzle together how Tristan went from an innocent baby to someone so twisted.

“I can’t get over the fact that Tristan Summers should be three years old not in his 20s wanting to kill everyone.” Faith said in disbelief as she tried to understand the complicated turn of events that led them to this situation.

“The only thing that has kept me going that has kept Buffy going is picturing Tristan having this perfectly normal life, but that boy is far from normal.” Willow admitted to her. “I can’t begin to imagine what his life has been like all these years or what he must’ve went through to wind up where he is now.”

“Simple really he fell in love with a vampire very much like his mother then he killed a bunch of slayers not so much like his mother.” Faith joked trying to make light of the situation. “The real question is how the hell did he become so damn strong?”

“Well we know children of slayers don’t usually develop their powers but at the same time we know Connor developed special abilities from being a son of two vampires so if you take into notion his parents are a slayer and a vampire then his strength makes sense which is the only thing about his entire life which actually does make sense.” Willow explained to Faith. “Poor Angel we told him his son had died and now he’s back wanting him dead as much as everyone else.”

“He’s going to hate me for keeping this from him.” Faith feared. “I never wanted to lie to him in the first place I knew it was going to come back and bite us all in the ass.”

“There’s also the worrying factor about Wolfram and Hart I mean if I figured this out with a little research it won’t be long till they work things out and start looking for Tristan again.” Willow worried.

Tristan was once again back in his prison cell bouncing his bouncy ball against the wall harder and harder the sound clearly annoying his female slayer guard who gave in to his annoyance much to his own delight.

“Would you...” She began to ask but before she had a chance to finish her question Tristan launched the bouncy ball into her mouth catching another female guard’s attention who began rushing over to the choking slayer all while playing into Tristan’s hands.

Before the other guard could get to her fellow slayer Tristan quickly grabbed a hold of the choking woman’s neck instantly snapping it before grabbing the keys out of her pocket and throwing her lifeless body onto the ground as the guard look at him in complete shock and horror, Tristan using the remaining guards state of shock to quickly unlock his cell gate and walk out of his prison.

“What the hell did you do you’re monster?” The guard screamed at him before charging towards the callous murderer only for Tristan to push his gate open once again so the gate slammed against her face before the two began to fight.

The fight doesn’t last long before Tristan got the upper hand of the girl, grabbing a hold of her neck and snapping it just like the other guard as the second slayer’s lifeless body fell to the floor.

“Okay listen up bitches!” Tristan shouted down the hall noticing the many slayers in their many cells. “It’s time to get our own back on these bloody bastards for thinking they can lock us up like animals.”

Tristan wasted no time in making a run for it as he ran through an empty hallway before reaching a large window in which he looked out of horrified to discover nothing but a huge drop towards a large ocean before turning back around to see Giles standing in front of him holding a gun.

“No offense darling but I’ve had my fun and now I’m bored so it’s time for me to get the hell out of here.” Tristan told him.

“You killed two of my girls like it was nothing to you.” He shouted clearly furious by his loss at Tristan’s hands.

“You should never cage an animal and expect it to just follows your rules.” Tristan replied with a smug smile. “This little operation of yours is a complete failure.”

“Stay there or I will shoot.” Giles warned him. “I will shoot you.”

“Please you’re boring old librarian trying to redeem a bunch of wayward slayers you’re hardly going to shoot me.” Tristan laughed. “Although I do love it when you flirt with me.”

“You wouldn’t be my first kill.” Giles admitted to him.

“Okay this flirting is getting stale now.” Tristan said as Faith and Willow appeared from around the corner just in time for Giles to fire his gun three times.

Two bullets hit Tristan’s body with force one hitting him in the chest and another in the stomach while the third one hit the window causing the glass to shatter while the force of being shot threw Tristan backwards until Tristan fell out the window causing both Faith and Willow to scream out in horror.

A panicked Faith quickly ran over towards the window desperate to see some sign of Tristan only to be left horrified to see nothing but the ocean.

“I had no choice he already killed two of my girls.” Giles told them before Willow walked over to the former watcher and harshly smacked him across the face.

“You just shot and probably killed Buffy’s son.” Willow said to him with a cold stare completely furious by Giles’ actions. “He didn’t die we placed him in the past to protect him and after all this time we finally found him only for you to kill him.”

Willow left Giles in shock by her revelation as she walked over to the window to stand by Faith’s side as the two girls looked down to see nothing but ocean fearing that Buffy’s son wouldn’t have survived the fall even if he managed to survive being shot.

Tristan’s seemingly lifeless body washed up on the shore of a beach front completely motionless looking like he was dead, but his story was far from over his story was just about to change to the next chapter.

Suddenly Drusilla appeared from out of the nearby woods rushing over to the man she considered to be one of her children before lifting him up into her arms looking at him in the exact same way, she looked at him when he was just a baby.

“Oh no my little baby boy what they have done to you?” She said to Tristan’s unconscious body while continuing to carry him as she walked towards the woods. “But don’t you worry my littler cherub mummy is back now and I’m going to make you all better again.”

[hesnotspiderpighesharryplopper]

i’ve never felt pain like this before

Summary: (Y/N)’s been captured by the death eaters and there seems to be no escape for her, except for the memories and dreams she has about her loved ones. 

Warnings: torture 

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word count: 5,035

A/N: I had a dream about this the other day and so I really hope this turned out as good as my dream lol. Let me know what you guys think, feedback is always welcomed! Also, the reader can read minds because she has the power of Legilimency (like Queenie or Voldemort). 

     Pain. That was it. That’s all that you had felt for days. Was it days though? Or was it weeks, or months? You had lost track after the first night there. But where was ‘there’, you had no idea where you were or how exactly you had gotten there. The only thing you remember is Bill and Fleur’s wedding. “Yes, hold onto that.” You mutter to yourself. The images from that night played through your mind. You wanted to try and remember something, anything that might help you understand where you were. Fleur walked down the aisle, looking absolutely stunning. You felt a squeeze on your hand, looking down you saw that it was George’s hand. Smiling up at him, your heartfelt full of love for everyone in this room, but especially for the man standing next to you and judging by the look on his face, so did his. The ceremony went by without a hitch. Then the reception came, and that too was going well. You were dancing with George around the little tent. “You know when this whole war thing is over… it might be fun to do this all again, don’t you think?” George said, his voice sounding distance in your fading memory of the moment. You smiled up at him, “I’d like that.” humming in content. “Then what? Remember. Try harder.” You spoke out to yourself again. This was the farthest you’d ever gotten in this fading memory. Suddenly, a bright blue orb came shooting through the tent, “The ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead. They’re coming. They’re coming.” Everyone began to panic. George grabbed your hand and began leading you out of the tent. Before you could get far, a black figure ripped through the crowd, sending you to the ground. George got pushed by someone, separating you from him. There were spells flying everywhere. People dying. Suddenly, someone grabbed you and apparated. “Who was it? Focus.” You muttered. Your mind went back to the figure standing above you. Their blonde hair and gray eyes looked familiar. Like you had seen them a million times before. “Draco.” You said, shooting up from the ground where you had been lying. “Yes?” Draco’s oh-so-familiar drawling voice echoed throughout the room. He came into the light, he was holding food. “I asked if I could bring you some food. Figured you wouldn’t be much good to us if you were starved to death.” He leaned down next to you and sat the plate and cup down. You pounced on the food, not remembering the last time you had eaten. “Where am I?” You asked through the food. “Well, you’re the mind-reader here. Thought you would’ve figured that one out by now.” Draco said, leaning against the beam that was next to him. “My mind is so foggy, it’s hard to gather my own thoughts let alone someone else’s.” “Is that why you keep telling us you don’t know what someone’s thinking?” Draco asked, sounding genuinely confused. You nodded, “The cruciatus curse is a nasty one that doesn’t allow me to think of anything other than the pain I’m in. It’s not that I’m refusing to look into their minds, it’s just that my mind is so clouded by pain that I cannot.” Draco stared at you thoughtfully. “Why me? I know that we weren’t exactly best friends in school, but I wasn’t horrible to you.” You asked, trying to put all the pieces together. “I didn’t take you because of how you treated me, I took you because your ability is useful. With you helping us, we can extract information from the ones we capture a lot easier.” “And have I been… you know… helpful?” “Not recently, no. At first, you gave us a few pieces of information here and there. Not enough to expose the person, because that’s not who you are. But enough to keep you from getting tortured. However, the last couple of days you’ve been weak and unresponsive. That’s why I convinced them to let me bring you real food and not scraps. Figured it would help make you strong enough to help us.” Draco explained. “Well, I suppose I should thank you then. For showing me some kindness when it is not necessary.” You were regaining some strength, enough to sort your thoughts, enough to try and look inside his mind. “Yeah, well don’t get used to it. Have you finished?” He said, pointing at your plate. “Would it be possible for me to get some more water? I mean you don’t have to go get it, but maybe you could conjure up some more?” Draco sighed and did so, pulling out his wand and waving it over your cup. “Thank you, again.” You bowed your head a little and drank the water. ‘He keeps his wand in his left back pocket.’ You thought to yourself as you drank, continuing to look down. ‘He plans to bend down and take my dish’ You thought, peering into his mind as you set down the glass. He then bent down and grabbed the dishes from in front of you. You quickly put your hands on his shoulders, “Draco, listen to me, this is not you. All this killing and torture, it’s not you. It doesn’t have to be you.” You slowly took your hand off his shoulder and crept your hand down to his left back pocket. “Of course I do. If I don’t he’ll kill me and my family.” “He’s just telling you that so you’ll be compliant.” Your hand grabbed the wand and slowly pulled it out of his pocket, “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to. You’re too young for this, too innocent.” As soon as the wand was completely out of his pocket, you thought of a concealment charm, which made it blend in with its surroundings. You slowly put your hand to the ground, making it seem like it had been there ever since you’d taken it off his shoulder, setting the wand down so that he wouldn’t see you holding an invisible thing. Looking into his mind, you knew his thoughts were jumbled and distracted enough that he hadn’t noticed. “You don’t know me, you never knew me. I’m capable of a lot more than you’d think you know.” Draco said, pulling away from you suddenly. “Oh but Draco, I do know you. I know that you’re scared. I know that you have doubts and are unsure. And that’s okay, you’re more than entitled to those thoughts.” “Stay out of my head.” Draco said, shaking his head as if that would get you out. “Alright,” You said, putting your hands up in defense. “Just know that if you ever need someone to talk to while I’m here, I’ll listen. I’ll understand.” You give him a small smile and he leaves without returning it. You didn’t dare feel around you for the wand until his thoughts were so distant that you knew he was far away and not coming back. Once you had a hold of it, you stuffed it in the waist of your pants, keeping the concealment charm on it. 

     Days had passed by, you were surprised that Draco hadn’t come to question you about his wand. Perhaps he thought he had simply misplaced it. Or maybe he knew and he was just waiting for the right moment to torture it out of your grip. This had been the longest time you’d gone without being brought upstairs to help interrogate someone. They had gone back to feeding you scraps, but at least they were feeding you. You weren’t sure how many days had gone by, all you had to go on were the number of meals you had received. There were no windows where you were kept, so you counted the number of meals you’d been giving, and you got a slight indicator that about a week had gone by before you were called upon again. “Come on, time to go.” One of the death eaters came down to where you were and unchained your feet. You were pulled by your arm by him upstairs, the bright light burning your eyes. You hissed a little when he threw you in front of a group of three. You looked up and instantly knew who they were. Ron, Hermione, and Harry Potter. The Harry Potter who they’ve been looking for this whole time. Only he didn’t look himself, with a quick look inside their minds, you saw that Hermione had done a spell to make his face swell. Their faces quickly filled with concern when they saw you. “Who are they?” Bellatrix asked you, wanting confirmation that they had finally caught Harry Potter. “Their names are… Josh Winston.” You said pointing at Ron, “Tiffany Jackson” You said pointing at Hermione, “And Dudley Dursley.” You said pointing at Harry. “You’re lying.” Bellatrix said, “You know what happens when you lie, so let’s try this one more time. Who are they?” You took a deep breath, knowing what was coming. “I’m not lying. That’s what I see when I look inside their minds. Unless you think they’ve fooled me somehow.” You sassed her, knowing full well that you were making everything up. You had to protect them, even if it meant you’d be tortured. “How dare you speak to me like that!” She shrieked, “Crucio” her wand pointed at you. You instantly collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. You let out a strangled scream.

     Pain. That was it. That was all you could feel. You tried thinking about the one thing that had kept you sane this whole time. George. His touch, his voice, his smile, but nothing but pain filled your thoughts. Finally, she had stopped when Draco had come into the room. “Draco, can you tell us if this is Harry Potter?” Bellatrix said, pulling her attention away from your sweating, limp body. You laid there, watching Draco look at Harry intently. “Remember what I told you Draco.” You said, hoping that Draco would spare Harry. “Don’t speak to him you filthy… Crucio” Bellatrix said to you, sending you into another fit of pain. This one, thankfully shorter than the last, as she had other matters to attend to. “Well, Draco?” She turned to him again. Draco glanced at you quickly, then back to Harry. He shook his head, “I can’t tell. Well, have to wait and see if the swelling goes down if (Y/N)’s not going to tell us anything.” “Fine,” Bellatrix said, she turned to some of the death eaters standing in the corner holding other things they found with Ron, Hermione, and Harry. “Where’d you get that!?” She shrieked, pointing at the sword of Gryffindor in their hands. “Found it with them, reckon I’d keep it.” One of them said, shrugging. Bellatrix freaked out at this, blasting the sword out of the one’s hands, and hitting the others with different spells. “Get out! Everyone! Put the boys in the cellar!” She said pushing Ron and Harry out of the room with everyone else but you and Hermione. 

     Once everyone was out, Bellatrix pulled you over to Hermione and said, “Tell me where she got the sword from. NOW! And don’t lie, you know what happens when we lie.” You looked at Hermione’s pleading eyes. “Give me a second, I need to search her past, it takes longer than hearing her current thoughts.” You said, trying to give yourself time to clear your head. It was still foggy from the pain. “Tick-Tock,” Bellatrix said as she paced back and forth behind you and Hermione. You looked in her mind, but you couldn’t find it anywhere. You found Ron showing up with the sword, never giving a clear explanation, and if he did, Hermione’s mind was too focused on how furious she was to remember. “She doesn’t know.” You said, being completely honest. Hermione had no idea how they obtained the sword, Ron and Harry did, but she didn’t. “How convenient. Maybe she just needs some… motivation.” Bellatrix pushed you out of the way, pointing her wand at Hermione’s throat. “What’ll it be darling? Some pain? Some agony? Will that get you remembering how you came across the sword that was IN MY VAULT!?” She began yelling at Hermione. You quickly looked into her mind, seeing that she was completely distracted, you swiftly pulled out the wand you had stolen from Draco. Pointed it at Bellatrix and yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Bellatrix’s wand went flying from her hand to yours, and before she could turn on you and grab it, you yelled “Imperio!”. She froze, her eyes fogging over. “Go get the boys from the cellar.” You told her, and she did as you said. “Where are your wands?” You quickly asked Hermione, “She handed them to Draco’s mom.” “Narcissa.” You searched the place for Narcissa’s thoughts, trying to see if she still had the wands. “She gave them to Draco. He’s in the next room. They all are, they’re waiting.” Bellatrix came back with Ron and Harry in tow. “How long does an Imperious curse last?” You asked Hermione. “You might wanna hit her again, they usually only last for one task.” You nod, pointing Draco’s wand at her and say, “Imperio”, making her eyes fog back over. “Call Draco in here and ask for their wands.” You direct her, and she does as you ask, going into the next room and coming back with Draco. You hid Bellatrix’s wand behind your back, Draco’s was still concealed. “Give me their wands Draco.” Bellatrix demands of him, he hesitates at first but does what is asked of him. “Imperio,” You say to Bellatrix again. “What are you doing?!” Draco said. “Shhh.” You say holding your finger over your mouth, “She’ll be fine. And so will you, if you let us leave.” Draco froze, and you took that as an okay. “Bellatrix, give me the wands and walk over to the corner. Stay there until we’ve left.” She did as you instructed, handing over your wands, and turning her back to you as she walked to the corner. You turned to Draco, “Would you like to come with us?” “You’ve got to be kidding me (Y/N). You’re not actually considering bringing one of them with us!” Ron said in a hushed tone. “I trust him.” You said, looking solely at Draco, “I trust you. Would you like to come with us?” Draco hesitated, “I-I-I can’t. He’ll kill me and my family” “We can protect you Draco.” You reassure him, “But not my family.” Draco said, shaking his head. You nod, “I understand. Thank you again, for your kindness when it was unnecessary.” You grabbed onto Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and apparated.

     You took them to your childhood home, which you knew to be abandoned after your family left. “Where are we?” Hermione said, looking around. You took a seat at the worn-down dining table, setting Bellatrix’s and Draco’s wands down on it. “The house my family lived in for most of my childhood. We had to leave because of structural issues, and no one’s bothered with it since. We’ll have to move again, and soon. They have insiders in the Ministry and they were tracking me along with Harry and that’s how they captured me. They planned to grab you too, but you left too quickly. We can’t stay in the same place for too long. Maybe a day or two.” They all nodded, “But we can stay here for the night?” Harry asked, “You probably need some rest (Y/N), you’ve been through a lot today.” You shook your head, chuckling “That was them going easy on me. Once they brought in this fella who they believed was pretending to be a death eater so they could get insider information. I told them that he wasn’t lying, which he was but I didn’t want them to know of course. They’d have killed him. So they tortured me, knowing I was lying to them. I continued to stand my ground, they ended up using the cruciatus curse on me about five times that day. Later that night, after they had… killed the man, they hung me by my arms in the basement and whipped me. That was one of the first days I spent with them. They wanted to make sure I understood what the consequences were for keeping information from them. Today was nothing compared to the other days. I can leave if we need to, don’t let me hold us back.” Hermione had tears in her eyes, “I’m so sorry (Y/N). I’m sorry that we didn’t find you sooner.” You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad I was around long enough to help get you guys out.” 

     Everyone agreed to sleep at your childhood home for the night, but sometime early the next day you’d relocate to Bill and Fleur’s home. “How are they?” You asked Ron, but he shrugged “I honestly don’t even know if they made it out of their own wedding. I’m hoping that when we get there, they’ll be there and safe… But anything could’ve happened to them without me knowing.” You nodded, understanding “So does that mean that you don’t know about George?” your eyes clouded with tears at the thought of George not making it out of the wedding. “I’m sorry, but no. We haven’t been able to be in contact with any of them. But if Bill is there tomorrow, he might know.” Ron said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You nodded, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Then let’s hope we get some good news tomorrow, yeah?” “What am I going to do without a wand?” Harry said as he watched Hermione conjuring up some sleeping bags for the lot of you. “Oh, Harry, you need a wand?” You ask, and he nods. “I’ve been… I guess… bonding? Is the word for it, with Draco’s wand for the past week so it’ll work just fine for me. I won’t be needing Bellatrix’s wand if you’d like it.” “Is that how you were doing magic?” Hermione asked, “You had Draco’s wand. But, I didn’t see anything?” “When I stole it, I placed a concealment charm on it so that if they came looking for it, I wouldn’t get caught with it if I hid it in some dark corner of the cellar. I kept it on me at all times, unless someone’s thoughts told me I needed to hide it. I think Draco thought he simply misplaced it and has been using his mother’s when needed.” You got up and grabbed both wands from the dining table. “Revelio,” You said, making Draco’s wand appear. You handed Harry Bellatrix’s wand, “Thanks,” Harry said taking it from you. “We should get some sleep, we need to try and move early tomorrow,” Hermione said as Harry turned the wand over in his hands. 

     In the morning, you all apparated to Bill and Fleur’s hoping that they’d be there safe and sound. “Hello,” Bill said, opening up the door as if he was expecting your arrival. “Bill,” Ron said, pushing past everyone and pulling his brother in for a hug “I’m so glad you’re okay.” “You too, mum and dad will be relieved to know you’re safe.” “You can’t tell them. It’s not safe yet for them to know where we are. We’re only here for a couple days then we need to move again. They’re tracking Harry and (Y/N) very closely.” “(Y/N)… She’s with you? Where?” Bill said looking around. Ron, Harry, and Hermione turned around and saw that you were no longer with them. “(Y/N)!” Hermione yelled. “Yeah! Sorry, I just… I haven’t been outside in a while. I was taking it in. Quite beautiful here.” You said, dreamily staring off at the horizon. You walked over to the house to join the others. “Good to see you again Bill.” You greeted, and he hugged you in response. “Where have you been? We’ve been thinking you were dead.” Bill lead you all in, grabbing a kettle to put on some tea. “How long exactly was I gone?” You asked, not sure why everyone assumed your brief disappearance was a confirmation of your death. “(Y/N), you’ve been missing for almost 9 months,” Bill said, and your heart felt like it stopped. “No…” You whispered almost to yourself, “That’s not possible… How… I wouldn’t… I shouldn’t be alive… The things they did to me, not even a powerful witch or wizard could survive that long, at least not without going mad.” “What did they do to you? Who did it to you?” Bill continued. “The death eaters that attacked the night of your wedding. They captured me and I’ve been with them ever since, helping them get inside people’s minds. If I wouldn’t do as they asked, they would torture me. I was locked up in a cellar whenever they had no use for me, surviving on nothing but scraps. I was in so much pain constantly that I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there. Until more recently, they’d left me alone for long enough that my mind was able to clear up. I was able to remember, but I didn’t realize it had been that long.” You look out the window, tears in your eyes. You’d missed out on 9 months of your life. For 9 months your loved ones have been mourning your death. “George…” You couldn’t imagine what went through his mind when they couldn’t find you. “What?” Harry asked. “George. Bill, where’s George? Is he okay?” You asked a sudden sense of urgency about you. “Yes, he’s fine. He’s with our aunt right now. He’s been a total wreck since our wedding, not knowing what happened to you. He’s been blaming himself, saying that he had a grip on you, but then someone pushed you down and then you were gone. Kept going on about how you were going to marry him, how you’d been happy together and we're going to start a life together, and how it’d never happen because he let you go.” Bill said, sadness taking over his face at the thought of his brother being in that much pain. “I have to go to him.” You said, standing up, getting ready to leave. “You don’t even know where to go… I can’t tell you, it’s too risky with them tracking you, someone could be listening.” Bill said, about to stop you. You looked inside his head to find out where his aunt lived. “You don’t need to tell me.” You hugged Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Bill, “Stay safe, I’ll return soon enough. I don’t want to stay long enough to put them in danger, but I need to see him.” and with that, you apparated. 

     You arrived at the house you saw in Bill’s head. Quickly running up to the door, you knocked. A small woman answered, but it was not a welcome greeting. She swung the door open and held her wand to your neck, pushing you back outside. “Who are you and what business do you have being here.” She said, continuing to push you away from her house. You raised your hands in surrender, showing her that you were not armed. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is (Y/N). I’m George’s girlfriend.” “That’s impossible, she’s dead. He told me that she died at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Nice try, imposter. Who are you really?” “Please! Allow me to just talk to George, I can prove that it’s really me.” “You’re not getting anywhere near my nephews and niece.” “Look, you can hold onto my wand. You can even tie my hands behind my back. I won’t even step foot into your house until you know for sure it’s me. Just please let me talk to George, I can prove I’m who I say I am.” You pleaded with her. She pondered this for a moment and agreed. She took her wand off of your throat and bound your hands and legs, “Where’s your wand?” “In my back pocket on the right.” She quickly pulled it out and put it in her jacket. “I’ll be back.” She walked back into the house, shutting the door. You fell down onto your butt, “Cute. The first time I’ll be seeing my boyfriend in 9 months and I’ll be bound and on the ground. Just how I imagined it.” you sighed, and looked around, at least you were enjoying being outside. “(Y/N)’s dead. I told you that. Whoever it is… they’re lying.” You heard George’s voice as he and his aunt came toward you. “Who are you and why are you playing such a sick game?” George said, pulling his wand out at you. “George, it’s me, I promise. I can prove it. Ask me anything.” You pleaded with him. He looked you in the eyes, and you could see that it broke his heart to see his girlfriend again, imposter or not. “How did we meet?” “We were in the same house, Gryffindor. We played Quidditch together and I got injured. You came to visit me in the hospital wing, you brought me flowers and chocolate frogs.” “That’s too easy, anyone who went to school with you could know that.” George’s aunt said, taking out her wand again. “Where did we go on our first date?” “We went down to the black lake and you made a picnic. We ate by candlelight. When we finished, you conjured a radio and we slow danced. I laughed because I thought it was so cheesy, but really I loved every second of it.” “Come on, I feel like that’s something only she would really know.” George tried persuading his aunt. “Ask one more question. That’s something she could’ve told a friend who might’ve betrayed her and is now pretending to be her. Ask something only she would know.” “I mean I could just read your mind, but I made a pact with you in our 3rd year that I wouldn’t, since it makes you feel weird that I know your every thought.” You said, thinking that would be something that only you would know. “See! That’s something only (Y/N) would know” George said, getting excited. His aunt still didn’t seem convinced though, and you knew she wasn’t about to let you go. “I know how to tell if she’s an imposter.” She pulled out Draco’s wand from her jacket and showed it to George, “Is this her wand?” One look at it and George’s face fell. He knew that wasn’t your wand. “No… It’s not.” “Then it’s settled, she’s an imposter.” “No! Please! Let me explain!” You shouted, putting your tied hands over your face, hoping they weren’t about to attack you. “Fine. Explain, while you’re at it, tell us who you are and how you knew where to find us.” George said, getting in your face and pointing his wand at your throat. 

     “My name is (Y/N). I was captured by the death eaters who attacked Bill and Fleur’s wedding. They’ve been holding me, hostage, ever since. That wand isn’t mine because they took mine and I have no idea where they put it. I stole that wand from Draco Malfoy and used it to escape with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. We went to Bill’s and he wouldn’t tell me where you were but I wanted to see you so I looked into his mind and I apparated where he saw you.” You were trembling, praying that you wouldn’t die at the hands of your boyfriend, not after everything you’d been through in the past 9 months. “What was the last thing I said to you before you disappeared? Only (Y/N) would know that if she died that night or was captured and didn’t get to tell it to anyone.” George said you could tell that he wanted to believe you so bad. “We were dancing at Bill and Fleur’s wedding and you said ‘You know when this whole war thing is over, it might be fun to do this again. Don’t you think?’” He eyes filled with tears at the last memory he had of you, but that was all he needed. He believed you. He did a spell to take the bindings off your legs and hands and pulled you into such a tight hug you were sure you’d have bruised ribs. “It’s you. It’s really you.” He cried into your hair. You nodded and ran your hands through his hair, trying to comfort him. “It’s really me. I’m here. I love you.” He pulled away enough to see your face, “I love you so much.” he said right before he kissed you. A kiss you’d been waiting a long time for. 

     Pain. That was it. That’s all that you had felt for days. Was it days though? Or was it weeks, or months? You had lost track after the first night there. You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes which were filled with tears. You weren’t sure if it was from the pain that you seemed to constantly be in now, or from the amazing dream you’d just had. You’d made it home, you’d made it back to George. But that could never happen, Draco would never bring you real food out of the kindness of his heart. You’d never be able to steal his wand and use it to enchant Bellatrix. You’d never been able to get out of here and see your Georgie. It was all a dream. A cruel but wonderful dream. You sat up, wondering if the time that was spoken of in the dream was true. Had you really been here for 9 months? It seemed like longer like years had gone by. All that you knew was that if you did ever get out of this place, you’d rain hell down on the people who put you here. 

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