#Curiosity January 2025 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

haartemis · 15 days ago

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THE STARS ALIGNED, THEY LED ME TO YOU | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: jude starts his 2025 with a quiet morning walk to his favorite cafe, where his horoscope leads him to someone very special. as the year unfolds, the stars continue to chart his path, marking important relationship milestones and memories

warnings: smut

A/N: had this idea for quite a while and it was fun to write! let me know what you guys think :)

january 1, 2025 - cancer, today is all about partnerships and fated meetings. keep an eye out for new connections that could change your life, and all things green. yes, green. 🍀

jude squints at his phone.

he’d downloaded an astrology app as a joke a while back, roped into it by a friend who was one of those people who took astrology really, really seriously. it was all rubbish of course. but for some inexplicable reason, he hasn’t deleted the app yet. maybe it was out of curiosity, or maybe just the fact that he liked having something to chuckle at during breakfast.

this morning, jude doesn’t feel like laughing at all. he groans as he shoves his phone into his pocket, wincing at the dull ache in his head. last night’s champagne had been a mistake. or maybe it was the tequila shots that came after. he wasn’t sure anymore. either way, he was paying for it now. the cold january air didn’t help much either, biting at his skin even through his oversized hoodie and thick sweatpants.

on early mornings during his off days, he liked walking inside the gated community he lived in. sometimes, he even dared to walk beyond the gates, wandering the streets of madrid where he's rarely afforded anonymity. he had a set route, a memorized path that despite technically being habitual by now felt like an escape from the sometimes drab routine of his daily life. occasionally, he'd stop at a small cafe nearby, ordering a small coffee to go. he had an unspoken agreement with the barista on shift during those early morning hours: no acknowledgment of who he was, no whispered recognition in front of the other patrons. or maybe he was overthinking it and the barista had no idea who he was at all. who knows.

he tugs the hood further down over his face, adjusting his headphones and the mask he wore to keep from being recognized. not that he expected to see many people out this early on new year’s day, anyway. there were only the party survivors, disheveled and stumbling back home. no time for them to notice any lone, wandering footballers.

when he eventually reaches and walks inside the cafe, he's not surprised to see that there's less people than usual. just a young couple in party clothes, bleary eyes and sharing a croissant.

he orders his usual, headphones still blasting music, and lingers by the counter as he waits. his eyes do wander though, and he notices a lone figure sitting by the window, her back facing him. his eyes are immediately drawn to the oversized bow in her hair. the bow is bright yellow, a contrast to the muted tones of the cafe.

he finds himself staring, wondering what pressing matter would have someone typing frantically into their laptop on new years day in a near deserted cafe. he watches her, all social awareness seemingly fleeing his mind.

that is, until the girl suddenly turns and gets up. his eyes snap away immediately, and he pretends to be busy with his phone as she walks up to the same counter he's standing by. it strikes him that it would be more awkward if he pretends not to have been looking at her, especially if she'd somehow noticed. so he looks up from his phone and catches her gaze.

the second thing he notices about her, besides the bow, is how strikingly pretty she is. deep brown skin, almond shaped eyes peering through tortoiseshell glasses, and a small smile on her lips as she catches his gaze. annoyingly, he feels his stomach dip. tell tale sign that he's attracted to this girl, which he could've figured out without the physical reaction. jude's a pretty self aware guy, after all.

"don't have a match today?" he voice carries over the music in his ears.

he blinks, momentarily thrown off by her directness. "no, i'm off"

"okay" she says, unfazed. "your coffee is ready"

"huh?" he blinks again.

"your coffee?"

his eyes follow to where her finger is pointing, to find that, sure enough, his coffee is ready and waiting for him. jude curses silently, realizing he was too busy staring at this girl and being lost in his music to notice the barista setting it down on the counter.

he glances up at the barista, who sends him a sly wink, as if to say, caught you.

he murmurs a quiet thank you, pays for his drink, and generously tips. all the while he waits for the girl to strike up conversation with him, or ask for a picture, or yell BELLIGOL!!!!! unprovoked. because that's usually what happens when people recognize him in public.

instead, she asks for a muffin, and when the barista hands it to her on a plate, she simply offers a soft smile to jude before walking back to her seat.

jude's jaw slackens.

"ask to sit with her" the barista, whose name tag reads enzo, encourages from across the counter.

"but-"

"you've got nothing to lose" he reminds him. "if she says no you just walk out and leave and never see her again"

except he does have something to lose. he always does, when it comes to these things. a small, paranoid part of him runs through the scenarios: what if she sneakily took a picture of him while he was standing there? what if she says no, and then runs to one of those stupid gossip accounts on instagram to announce jude bellingham is such a creep, ew!. what if-

the chatter in his mind is silenced when he notices the pin on the barista's shirt, which reads: GREEN PEACE.

jude is immediately reminded of his horoscope this morning. keep an eye out for all things green.

enzo follows his gaze, then grins. "i volunteer there. great cause you know?"

jude doesn't respond. the familiar thought creeps in again: horoscopes are ridiculous, and any person who makes decisions based on them is naive at best and downright cuckoo at worst. but this is harmless isn't it? its not like he's letting astrology convince him to sink his entire net worth into some sketchy crypto currency or something.

so he squares his shoulders and mutters to enzo, "fine, i'll go talk to her"

the barista just gives him an encouraging thumbs up as jude picks up his coffee and heads her way.

she’s still typing as he walks over, her fingers flying over the keyboard with the kind of focus that makes him wonder if she's even aware of her surroundings at all. the oversized bow in her hair bobs slightly as she shifts in her seat. for some reason, he finds that little detail endearing.

when he finally reaches her table, he clears his throat softly.

“hi" he says confidently. "would you mind if i sat here?”

she looks up, tilting her head to study him for a beat. then, with a shrug, she gestures to the empty seat across from her. "go ahead"

she doesn’t look surprised that he’s there. instead, she closes her laptop gently and leans back on her chair as he takes a seat.

“didn’t think you’d actually do it” she says, sounding amused.

“do what?” he asks, also leaning back on his chair.

“come over and sit” she replies, a small smirk playing on her lips. “you were staring for a while”

he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “your bow is distracting”

she adjusts it on the back of her head, and a single strand of curls slips out from where she’d tucked it behind her ear. jude has to fight the urge to tuck it back in.

"got it yesterday"

“i like it” he says, fumbling a bit. “it’s very… cottage core?” he immediately regrets his words, because he has no idea what he's talking about. he hopes he's not embarrassing himself. “it gives off that vibe.”

he's relieved when she laughs. "thanks. i'll take it"

"i'm jude by the way" he says hastily. he hopes he's not coming off as arrogant by not introducing himself earlier, even though she recognized him.

"i'm y/n"

he nods towards her laptop. "y/n, what's got you so busy on new years?"

"oh, i'm applying for grad programs. finshing up uni soon, so yeah" she says shyly.

"what do you go to school for?"

she tells him about her major, how she's feeling about graduating soon. he listens intently, genuinely interested, and when it’s his turn to share about his job and life, he finds himself opening up too. it’s easy; surprisingly easy. for someone he met just ten minutes ago, their conversation flows effortlessly. she’s funny, quick witted in a way that keeps him on his toes, and she laughs at his jokes like she genuinely finds him amusing. it makes him feel good about himself.

enzo wanders over a while later.

"you two need anything else?"

jude glances down at his coffee cup, empty for at least the last twenty minutes. this would be the perfect moment to call it a day, to say goodbye and head home like he originally planned. with january being a very busy month for the team, he knows he should take every chance he gets to rest and recharge.

but leaving is the last thing he wants to do. talking to y/n is fun, refreshing.

"yeah, jude says, before he can overthink it. he nods toward y/n’s plate with a small grin. "i’ll have a muffin too"

II.

april 9, 2025 - today the stars are urging you to take charge, cancer. whether it’s expressing your feelings or trying something new, trust that courage will be rewarded 💪

having a crush is top 10 most painful things in the world.

jude used to roll his eyes at people who said that, chalking it up to melodramatics. but now he knows it first hand. because why in the hell is one person taking up so much of his brain space? how is that legal? how is that remotely okay?

that person is y/n, of course. they're friends now. close friends. friends who hang out regularly, who text a lot. friends who have inside jokes, shared playlists that she uses to tease him about his 'old man music taste', and a mutual understanding that they just get each other. its is great. it’s everything jude could ask for. except for the fact that it’s not enough.

for four months now, he feels like he's been sentenced to a life of angst. the kind that feels heavy on his chest whenever she's near, or worse, when she's not. so much so that he finds comfort in his so called 'old man music', sometimes unintentionally sulking to '70s ballads about longing while staring dramatically out the window like one of those moody main characters in coming of age movies. his mother had caught him once and given him the biggest side eye, as if saying get a grip please!!

and when his woe is me schtick doesn’t work? he distracts himself the only way he knows how: throwing himself at girls who aren’t her.

it’s not something he’s proud of. in fact, it makes him feel like an idiot most of the time. but what else is he supposed to do? she doesn’t seem to want him, not like that, and he’s stuck in this cruel limbo that's seemingly never ending. best bet he has is to try and forget.

on this april evening, jude is walking out of the locker room after a match, his heart still racing from the rush of adrenaline and the high of scoring a brace. y/n waits for him in the underground parking lot of the bernabéu– a rare thing, since she doesn’t care much for football and has only attended his matches once or twice, and always in the company of his other friends. the irony isn’t lost on him: the person who occupies so much of his thoughts doesn’t share his love for the thing that defines his life. it’s baffling, but it doesn't feel wrong, and he’d managed to convince her to come tonight, using the excuse that his mom was out of town and he’d appreciate the company on the drive home.

he finds her leaning against his car, scrolling absentmindedly on her phone.

“hey” she says when she spots him, grinning at him. “you took your time"

"sorry" jude grins back. "there were so many people to take pics with"

then she throws herself at him so suddenly that he stumbles, barely managing to steady them both. she envelopes him into a tight hug, and jude surrenders himself to it gladly, heart pounding insistently against his ribs.

“two goals!” she leans back, her face alight with excitement as her hands grip his shoulders. she shakes him slightly, her energy infectious. “you were fucking unstoppable!”

“thanks” jude giggles, pulling her into another hug. he’ll take any physical closeness he can get.

they stay like that for a moment longer than necessary, and then y/n pulls back, her hands flying to his hair. she tugs gently at one of his coils, frowning slightly.

“your hair is so dry” she says, her tone exasperated but fond. “did you forget to use the leave in gave you? you have to put it on after you shower, jude” she tsked.

out of the corner of his eye, jude notices his driver glancing at them in the side mirror before quickly looking away. he wonders again if this looks like more than what it is. not that he’d mind if it did.

“no, yeah, i did bring it” jude says defensively, but just as he’s about to grab his bag to show her, his hand freezes. his pockets are empty. “shit” he mutters, patting himself down to make sure. “think i forgot my phone back there”

“it’s alright” y/n assures him. “we can go get it”

the elevator ride back to the locker room is quiet. jude shifts from foot to foot, sneaking glances at y/n, who seems to be pointedly avoiding his gaze for whatever reason.

when the doors open, they step into the hallway where jude had been earlier. he spots his phone right where he thought it’d be, face down on a bench just outside the locker room where he’d been taking pictures with fans.

“there it is” he sighs in relief.

“imagine someone nicked it” y/n jokes as she picks it up.

“i’d be fuming” he chuckles, but then he notices her face. she’s frowning down at his screen, evidently bothered by what she sees. a second later, she hands it back to him, a tight, forced smile on her face.

“oh” y/n’s voice is light, almost too casual. “here you go”

jude finds what’s caught her attention. Its a DM notification from a girl, the message preview reading: had fun last week. when can I see you again?

“its uh– its someone i met at a party last week” jude stammers. “we–we didn’t, you know, but–”

“you don’t owe me an explanation” she says quickly, her voice light but strained. “it’s fine”

but it’s not fine, and the sudden distance in her tone cuts deep. jude clenches his jaw, sliding his phone into his pocket as they head back to the elevator. fucking idiot, he scolds himself. but a part of him is hopeful. maybe she cares, maybe she wants him the same way he wants her.

the ride down is tense, a heavy silence between them. jude feels like the words are right there, desperate to get out, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“thanks for coming tonight” he finally says, breaking the quiet. “even though football isn’t really your thing”

she glances at him, her lips twitching. “you’re my thing”

the words are like a punch in the gut, but in a good way. before he can stop himself, before he can overthink, he blurts out: “i like you. more than a friend, i mean. i have for a while now. and i know this probably isn’t the right time or place to say it, but i can’t keep pretending i don’t feel this way about you”

y/n stares at him for a beat, her eyes searching his face. then, without warning, she steps forward, cups his cheek, and kisses him. it’s soft at first, but when he kisses her back, it deepens, all the pent up feelings spilling out.

“i like you too” she murmurs against his lips in between kisses. “a lot”

she doesn’t say anything more, and neither does he. there’s an unspoken understanding that they’ll get to talk later. there’s time to untangle his messy coping mechanisms, to decide what this is and what it could become. for now, it’s enough to kiss like two people who’ve been suppressing so much for so long. for jude, it feels like a long exhale after holding his breath. its feels like relief, like a much needed respite.

the elevator dings, and they jump apart just as the doors slide open. a staff member is standing on the other side, clearly trying not to stare. jude is too happy to feel embarrased.

“buenas noches!” jude says brightly, winking at the man before grabbing y/n’s hand and pulling her out of the elevator, their fingers intertwined.

III.

july 1, 2025 - things are heating up!🔥. the stars are conspiring to bring moments of ecstasy to you, cancer.

the first three months of jude and y/n dating flipped everything he'd pictured for his early 20s on its head: staying single, having fun, engaging in meaningless hookups that served their purpose but left no emotional trail behind. those plans flew out the window thanks to y/n, who makes him laugh until his stomach hurts, who became one of the few people in the world he feels truly himself with, who now goes out of her way to watch football because she knows how much it means to him.

plus he's having the best sex of his life. he really can't complain.

its the middle of summer, a couple days after his birthday and a few before he has to leave on the team's preseason tour. they're in birmingham, taking a quick two day trip before the craziness of their lives pulls them in different directions. jude spends the day showing her around the city—his old stomping grounds, the places that defined his childhood and adolescence. it feels amazing to share this part of himself with her, to show her the nooks and crannies of what makes him him.

now they’re back in his house, indulging in other activities.

“young denzel was so fine. i mean, he can still get it. he's aged like fine wine” she’d sighed earlier, her head resting on his chest. they were cuddling on his sofa, the mighty quinn playing on the tv. they were both slightly distracted: her scrolling through her phone, and jude absentmindedly admiring the bracelet she'd gifted him for his birthday. (jobe had caught him doing the same at breakfast and muttered something about people in love being disgusting)

jude had side eyed her, hand resting lazily on her hip. “was he finer than me?”

"yeah" she'd said without skipping a beat. "definitely"

he'd gasped, feigning offense. "you're supposed to say no. i'm your boyfriend!"

"you're not far off from him, i guess" she'd teased.

"you guess?"

"you asked" she shrugged, fighting a smile. then after a slight pause, "you know, i dated a guy that looked a lot like him once. he was sooo-"

"right that's it" he said, grabbing the remote and turning off the tv. "no more movie nights with you"

"oh no" she deadpanned, tone dripping with sarcasm as she removed herself from his arms and faced him. "how am going to survive without your 28th rewatch of training day?"

jude couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. he couldn't never stay mad at her; not even pretend mad. before she could react, he grabbed her and gently flung her onto the couch cushions, eliciting a surprised squeak as he pinned her down and started tickling her. her giggles spilled out loudly, her protests coming out in breathless half sentences as he attacked every ticklish spot he could find.

one thing had led to another — heated kisses, a move to his bedroom, clothes thrown off frantically, hands wandering—and now here they are, her body curving towards him, her face contorted in pleasure as pounds into her.

she’s so slick, taking him all at once, and jude’s body has no choice but to surrender to its most primal instincts. in and out. plunge in then retreat. he’s dizzy with pleasure, but even through it, he can’t help but feel a little salty about her earlier comments.

"bet offbrand denzel couldn't make you feel like this" jude murmurs against her ear, his voice low and rough. the rhythm of his hips snapping forward punctuates his words.

her nails drag down his back, leaving faint trails as she gasped "he wouldn’t even have to try"

he nips at the soft skin of her neck. "guess i’ll just have to prove i’m better won’t i?"

she's so tight and warm and wet, he doesn't ever want this to stop. his movements grew deeper, more deliberate, and he smirks when she cries out his name, her hands gripping his shoulders like her life depended on it. "say it" he demands, voice a mix of amusement and lust. "say i’m better"

"you’re-oh god, you’re such an idiot" she manages between moans, refusing to give in completely, though her body betrays her with how eagerly it responds to his every touch.

"wrong answer" jude mutters, his lips brushing hers before he kissed her deeply, swallowing her protests and replacing them with soft whimpers.

his pace quickens, each thrust dragging a gasp or a broken words from her lips. jude leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dipping lower. "admit it" he murmurs, his tone slightly smug. "i'm the best you've ever had"

she doesn't respond, and jude can't blame her, they're fucking so good he can't think straight now. and then, as if she can sense he's about to lose control, she gasps, "don't come. not yet. don't stop, please, baby"

he grits his teeth and tries to obey. then she brings him impossibly closer, so their sweaty bodies are pressed up against each other, and kisses him. and all he can think is mine. this beautiful, sweet girl is writhing in pleasure under him and she's his. he'll thank his lucky stars forever.

afterward, they lie tangled together on his bed, having only moved to discard the condom and clean up. their hearts drum in tandem, fast and loud. y/n looks drowsy, her eyelids heavy.

"i lied, by the way" she murmurs slowly against his chest.

"about what?"

"about dating someone that looked like young denzel washington" she giggles. "i made that up to get you riled up"

jude bites her shoulder playfully. "i hate you"

what he really wants to say is, i love you.

IV.

september 17, 2025 - communication is key, cancer 🗣️. today, the stars urge you to focus on how you express yourself. be clear and open in your communication—it’s the foundation for building trust and understanding.

jude can’t shake the feeling that something is off, and it’s gnawing at him.

he’d flown out of madrid the night before for a champions league away game, catching up with y/n for a bit after settling into his hotel room before calling it a night. now, its the afternoon of the next day and he’s in the locker room gearing up for their final training before the match, and he's feeling uneasy because he hasn't heard from y/n since.

he’d texted her his usual good morning when he woke up. no reply. after breakfast, he’d sent her a funny tiktok, something he knew would usually get a quick response, but still, nothing.

it wasn’t like her, and the silence was starting to weigh on him.

the concern he felt earlier turns into irritation as afternoon turns into evening. if y/n was upset with him, why wouldn’t she just say so? the silent treatment didn’t solve anything, and it wasn’t like her either. they’d always been the type to talk things out.

after training, he tries to distract himself. he joins the boys for a round of video games, their laughter and trash talk filling the hotel room. but every few minutes, his eyes flick to his phone, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. each notification he gets, from group chats to random emails to that stupid astrology app just irritates him further.

they’ve never gone a whole day without talking. ever. the thought nags at him, and as stubborn as y/n can be, jude knows himself: he always caves first. always.

by the time the boys leave his room, jude is pacing, phone in hand. he sighs heavily and hits the facetime button, his thumb hovering over the screen for a split second before he presses call.

y/n’s face appears on the screen when the call connects, and jude’s irritation completely disappears the moment he sees her. she looks exhausted. her curls are a mess, dark circles under her eyes, and there’s something guarded in the way she looks at him.

“hi, babe” he says softly, clearing his throat. “you good? you weren’t responding to my messages all day”

“i’m good" she says curtly.

he waits for her to say more, but she stays silent. he feels a pang of hurt and irritation again. no asking how his day was? how he's feeling before the match?

"how was your day?" he tries.

"fine"

"what did you get up to? how were classes?" he tries again.

"okay"

jude exhales loudly, visibly frustrated. "can i get a response that's more than one word?"

he watches as she shifts around in her seat. "well, i couldn't get a word in last night so i thought what's the point?"

"what?" jude furrows his eyebrows, genuinely confused.

"you were going on and on about your match and your photoshoot coming up and i wanted to tell you about how this exam tomorrow is stressing me out-" her voice wobbles over the last few words and she pauses for a bit, lips pursed and eyes glossy. "- but you couldn't pay attention for the life of you"

jude is silent, jaw slack as he watches his girlfriend on the other end wipe a stray tear away because of him. in his head, nothing seemed amiss last night during their call. but she wasn't lying; he was venting a lot about the match and some logistical issues his agents were worried about for his next shoot. and yeah, maybe he hadn’t given her the space to speak, hadn’t noticed the subtle shifts in her tone or the demeanor that might’ve hinted at how overwhelmed she was feeling.

he curses himself under his breath, because now he realizes that he hadn't even checked their shared calendar the past couple of days, so he hadn't even known about the exam. and to think he picked up the phone because he was annoyed at her.

“y/n” he says, voice low and filled with remorse. “i-i’m so, so sorry. i didn’t mean to-” he stops himself, groaning softly as he facepalms. “i messed up. i wasn’t paying attention, and that’s on me. i’m really, really sorry”

she sniffles. "its okay"

"please don't cry"

"i'm not crying because of you, idiot" she snorts. "i'm crying because i'm stressed out"

jude fully lays down on the bed. "okay, how can I help?"

y/n sighs, wiping her cheeks as she looks at him through the screen. "you can't exactly help me pass this exam, jude"

"no, but I can help you feel less stressed" he says earnestly, his voice softer now. "talk to me, babe. tell me everything. what’s been going on?"

she hesitates for a moment, but when she starts talking, it’s as if a dam breaks. the words spill out in a rush, tumbling as she tells him everything; the material is so much harder than she anticipated, no matter how much she studies it feels like nothing sticks, and the crushing pressure to excel is suffocating her. she pours it all out, every frustration, every fear, every doubt.

jude nods, listening intently. “yeah, that sounds rough. and i made it worse. i should’ve checked the calendar, and i should’ve asked how you were feeling. instead i was just rambling about my stuff"

"you didn’t mean to" she says softly, though her tone is still tinged with exhaustion.

"but I did it, and I’m sorry" he replies, sitting up now, his elbows resting on his knees. “look, communication is our thing, yeah? it’s what makes us work. we can’t let that slide. i don’t ever want you to feel like I’m not here for you, especially when you need me the most”

she gives him a small smile. “and i shouldn’t have just shut down on you today. i could’ve told you how i was feeling instead of ghosting”

“so lets agree no more bottling things up” jude says, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “if one of us is stressed or annoyed or just having a bad day, we say it. no silent treatments, no guessing games”

y/n nods, her shoulders relaxing. “deal”

“good” jude says, his voice lighter now.

they spend the rest of the call catching up on the little things. she shows him the nails she’s planning to get soon, scrolling through her pinterest to show him the design. he mentions that he’s getting a trim in the morning, which prompts her to tease him mercilessly, saying he probably spends more time in his barber’s chair than he does on the football pitch. he quips back that its probably less time than she spends obsessively curating her pinterest boards.

they say their i love yous and good nights, and jude heads to bed, already feeling lighter and more relaxed about the game tomorrow. she has that effect on him, y/n. a way of making him feel seen, loved, and just serene.

he wants to keep her forever.

january 1, 2026 - gratitude grounds you, cancer. 🌟 take a moment today to appreciate everything you've accomplished, as it will give you the clarity and confidence to take the next steps with purpose✨

enzo is standing behind the counter when they enter the cafe, a smile spreading across his face when he recognizes them. it feels serendipitous, almost fated, that they're greeted by the same barista who served them on this day last year, the day they first met.

"ah, my favorite lovebirds!" he exclaims. "happy new year! what will it be today?"

they order their drinks and settle into a corner table, the same one they’d sat at a year ago. between sips of coffee, they make plans to stop by the pharmacy on their walk back to pick up ibuprofen for the hangover still lingering over them.

then, as if it’s the most natural part of the conversation, jude pulls out a key from his pocket and slides it across the table. his expression is soft, his voice as confident as the day he’d first asked to sit with her. “move in with me” he clears his throat. "please?"

she blinks, caught off guard for only a moment, before her lips curve into a smile. “ yes. i mean, i would love to”

it was a long time coming. their relationship is going strength to strength, despite their seemingly different worlds. all because, at their core, they're the same. jude feels proud that he's built something great with someone so special- even looking at her now makes his heart splutter, he's never going to be used to how beautiful she is. most of all he's proud that they’ve managed to carve out a space in each other for each other.

every time she stayed over, every morning they woke up tangled in the same sheets (her inevitably hogging the covers to his annoyance) it felt right. so this question has been building for a while, and when he finally asked it, her answer, immediate and without hesitation, feels like the most natural thing in the world.

they walk out of the cafe after a while, arm in arm. he steals glances at y/n walking beside him and he feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude. for that stupid astrology app and enzo's GREEN PEACE pin. but most of all, for the kismet of that day a year ago, for everything they’ve built since, and for everything still ahead.

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham

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aeth-eris · 3 months ago

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★ shadow work for each rising sign: navigating the transformative transits of 2025-2026 ★

☆ pluto into aquarius:

first entry: march 23, 2023 (retrograded back into capricorn in 2023)

re-enters aquarius: november 19, 2024

fully settles in aquarius: january 20, 2025

stays in aquarius until 2043, as pluto spends about 20 years in each sign.

☆ uranus into gemini:

first entry: july 7, 2025

retrogrades back into taurus: november 8, 2025

re-enters gemini and stays: april 26, 2026

stays in gemini until 2033, with uranus spending about 7 years in each sign.

☆ neptune into aries:

first entry: march 30, 2025

retrogrades back into pisces: october 22, 2025

re-enters aries and stays: january 26, 2026

stays in aries until 2039, as neptune spends approximately 13-14 years in each sign.

☆ saturn into aries:

first entry: may 24, 2025

retrogrades back into pisces: september 1, 2025

re-enters aries and stays: february 13, 2026

stays in aries until february 15, 2028, as saturn spends about 2.5 years in each sign.

★ aries rising ★ pluto’s move into aries rising’s 11th house of friendships and goals pushes them to face insecurities around group identity and social roles. shadow work here involves examining where they may have masked self-doubt with a bold presence, fearing they might fade into the background. they may discover a tendency to lead or assert control as a way to feel valued. meanwhile, neptune and saturn in the 1st house challenge them to question if their confident self-image hides deeper vulnerabilities, asking if they’ve built a facade to protect against rejection. addressing these dynamics will allow aries rising to embrace authenticity in both social groups and personal identity, finding strength in their true self instead of external validation. ☆ prompts: “where do i feel the need to ‘prove’ myself to others? how do i feel about the idea of taking a less prominent role in group settings? am i masking insecurity with confidence, and if so, where can i soften and allow my true self to be seen?”

★ taurus rising ★ pluto’s transit through taurus rising’s 10th house of career asks them to address attachments to public success and stability. shadow work involves exploring fears of failure, especially if they’ve tied self-worth to professional achievements or status. with uranus moving through the 2nd house of values and finances, taurus rising is also called to question if material wealth has become a substitute for inner security. they may uncover scarcity mindsets or a hidden fear of instability. by confronting these shadows, taurus rising can redefine their sense of success and security, focusing on inner values over external rewards and building a career path aligned with their true needs. ☆ prompts: “how does my career affect my sense of worth? where am i relying on material wealth for a sense of security? what do i fear losing if my career or financial situation changes? what would true inner security feel like for me?”

★ gemini rising ★ as pluto transforms gemini rising’s 9th house of beliefs, they’re called to re-evaluate core philosophies that may have limited their growth. shadow work involves confronting any fear of uncertainty or “not knowing” that could lead them to cling to rigid beliefs. uranus in the 1st house encourages self-reinvention, but they may hesitate to break free from familiar identities, fearing they’ll lose themselves. they’re invited to examine any habits of hiding emotions behind wit or intellect. by releasing these fears, gemini rising can embrace a fluid, open-minded approach to life that honors both their curiosity and evolving identity, allowing them to connect authentically with others. ☆ prompts: “what beliefs or ideas do i feel resistant to let go of? where do i avoid vulnerability by intellectualizing or using humor? who am i without my established ideas and perspectives? how would embracing change deepen my self-expression?”

★ cancer rising ★ pluto in cancer rising’s 8th house of intimacy and transformation encourages them to confront fears around vulnerability and dependence on others. shadow work involves addressing any control issues in relationships that may stem from fears of betrayal or emotional pain. with neptune and saturn in the 10th house, cancer rising is also asked to question whether their career choices reflect their true self or if they’ve sought “safe” paths to avoid risk. they may find they’ve neglected personal fulfillment for security. by embracing openness in relationships and honesty in career pursuits, cancer rising can create a life that aligns with their authentic self, balancing vulnerability with resilience. ☆ prompts: “how do i respond when i feel vulnerable in relationships? what control tendencies do i rely on to avoid emotional risk? am i compromising personal fulfillment for security in my career? what would true openness look like in both my relationships and career?”

★ leo rising ★ with pluto in leo rising’s 7th house of relationships, they’re invited to explore where their self-worth is intertwined with external approval. shadow work involves examining any patterns of people-pleasing or overcompromising due to hidden fears of rejection. uranus in the 11th house prompts them to shift their social dynamics and find fulfillment beyond admiration. neptune and saturn in the 9th house further challenge leo rising to question long-held beliefs that may have propped up their public image rather than supported authentic growth. by working through these dynamics, leo rising can develop relationships based on mutual respect and self-confidence, finding satisfaction beyond external validation. ☆ prompts: “where am i seeking approval in relationships and social circles? what beliefs about myself might i have formed around admiration or validation? what would it feel like to create connections based purely on mutual respect and authenticity? how can i affirm my self-worth without external reinforcement?”

★ virgo rising ★ pluto’s influence in virgo rising’s 6th house of work and health calls them to confront perfectionism and productivity-based self-worth. shadow work here involves examining any beliefs that their value is tied to their usefulness, revealing a fear of inadequacy. with uranus transiting the 10th house, they’re encouraged to redefine career goals and embrace innovative paths, shedding rigid ideals of success. they may uncover where they’ve sacrificed personal joy for others’ approval. by releasing control over outcomes, virgo rising can foster a healthier relationship with work, recognizing that self-worth isn’t defined by accomplishment, and embracing balance over perfection. ☆ prompts: “in what areas of my life do i feel driven by the need to be ‘perfect’? how does being useful contribute to my sense of worth? what would embracing imperfection allow me to experience in my daily life? where am i putting others’ needs before my own joy, and how can i shift this?”

★ libra rising ★ pluto’s energy in libra rising’s 5th house of creativity and romance brings up insecurities around self-expression, inviting them to confront fears of rejection or failure in love and creativity. shadow work involves exploring where they’ve stifled individuality to gain admiration. with neptune and saturn transiting the 7th house of relationships, libra rising is also asked to address dependency patterns, particularly where they’ve put their own needs aside to maintain peace. they’ll need to confront any fear of being alone, understanding that harmony begins with self-acceptance. through this process, libra rising can cultivate self-worth, finding freedom to express their true self in love and creativity. ☆ prompts: “where have i held back my true self in creative or romantic expressions? what am i afraid others will see if i show my full self? how do i compromise my needs to keep the peace, and what would happen if i didn’t? how can i practice self-acceptance in relationships, so my needs are honored?”

★ scorpio rising ★ with pluto in scorpio rising’s 4th house of home and family, they’re prompted to confront emotional security and past patterns that may limit intimacy. shadow work involves addressing fears of vulnerability and abandonment, particularly where family dynamics may have shaped emotional defense mechanisms. with uranus in the 8th house of intimacy, they’ll feel challenged to release control issues that limit trust, uncovering fears of betrayal. this period encourages scorpio rising to establish security within, understanding that true strength comes from embracing emotions fully. by confronting these fears, they can build a foundation rooted in openness and trust, fostering deeper connections and self-acceptance. ☆ prompts: “what fears come up when i consider being vulnerable with those close to me? how have family dynamics influenced my current relationships? where do i exert control in intimate situations out of fear of betrayal? what would building security within myself, rather than relying on external stability, look like?”

★ sagittarius rising ★ sagittarius rising’s 3rd house of communication is transformed by pluto, pushing them to address insecurities around self-expression and social dynamics. shadow work here involves examining fears of judgment or appearing vulnerable, which may lead to overconfidence or projecting a confident facade. with neptune and saturn in the 5th house, they’re also encouraged to explore where they’ve avoided commitment or depth in relationships, fearing vulnerability. they may realize escapist habits have kept them from genuine connections. by embracing authenticity and communicating openly, sagittarius rising can cultivate deeper bonds, finding self-worth beyond surface interactions and discovering the joy of meaningful connections. ☆ prompts: “where do i hold back in conversations to avoid vulnerability? how do i use confidence as a shield against deeper connection? what would it look like to truly engage in depth with those i care about? where have i avoided commitment in relationships, and how has this limited my sense of connection?”

★ capricorn rising ★ pluto’s shift into capricorn rising’s 2nd house of values and finances invites them to confront deep-seated fears around scarcity and self-worth, especially where they’ve linked value to financial stability. shadow work involves addressing attachments to success and control, particularly if they equate worth with income or status. uranus’s influence in the 6th house challenges them to release rigid routines and embrace a more balanced approach to work. by confronting fears that tie self-worth to external achievements, capricorn rising can embrace a sense of value that transcends professional image, fostering a life that prioritizes both accomplishment and inner peace. ☆ prompts: “where have i connected my self-worth to my financial or career success? what beliefs do i hold about success and control, and how have they shaped my life choices? how would my daily life change if i released my need for financial validation? what does a balanced approach to work and self-care look like for me?”

★ aquarius rising ★ with pluto in aquarius rising’s 1st house, they face intense transformation of self-identity, urging them to confront fears around authenticity. shadow work involves addressing any fear of rejection or being “too different,” particularly where they’ve suppressed their individuality to fit in. with uranus in their 5th house, they’re encouraged to embrace creative and romantic vulnerability, examining where detachment may have limited expression. by releasing the need for external validation, aquarius rising can redefine self on their own terms, embracing uniqueness and developing deeper, more honest connections. ☆ prompts: “where do i feel the need to conform to be accepted? what parts of myself do i hold back in creative or romantic settings? how would it feel to let my unique qualities shine without fear of judgment? where am i relying on external validation for a sense of belonging?”

★ pisces rising ★ pluto’s move into pisces rising’s 12th house of the subconscious triggers a period of deep introspection, highlighting hidden fears and self-sabotaging tendencies. shadow work here involves facing unresolved pain or traumas that may have led to escapism or martyrdom. neptune and saturn in the 2nd house of values prompt them to re-evaluate self-worth, particularly where they’ve linked it to spiritual ideals or self-sacrifice. by addressing these patterns, pisces rising can establish a healthier foundation for self-worth, discovering inner strength and grounding their spirituality in reality. ☆ prompts: “what fears or past pain am i avoiding by disconnecting from reality? where do i overextend myself, sacrificing my needs for others? how have i equated worth with self-sacrifice, and how can i separate these? what would grounded self-worth look like in my daily life?”

#astrology #astrology observations #astro observations #astrology transits #astrology shadow work

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kiyo-cant-write · 1 month ago

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ciel & sebastian w/ servant!reader around ciel's age ✧･ﾟ

Hello! My writing blog was always meant to be multifandom, but recently I have had many twst requests. To keep up with my personal interests, here is a Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler post about my childhood bias/crush (when I was 11-12): Ciel Phantomhive.

While this post is tagged Sebastian x Reader, their relationship is platonic in this particular work because of the reader's design.

Please note that while requests are open, they will not be posted until after the 27th of December or more accurately into the new year (January 2025). Feel free to request anything within the parameters of my rules, but keep this scheduling fact in mind! Thank you!

Summary: [Name] is a recent addition to the Phantomhive Staff, gathered by Sebastian and Ciel. They are around Ciel's age and this leads to some... shenanigans.

TW/CW: canon-typical darkness, manga compliant

Notes: pre-relationship (Ciel), explicitly platonic (Sebastian), the reader is human, the reader is 12-13 years old, they/them pronouns for the reader, take place explicitly pre-Campania

Guest Stars: Phantomhive Staff, Elizabeth Midford (mentioned)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Ciel Phantomhive

Ciel is initially indifferent to [Name] similar to his feelings toward his other servants about half of the time (even Sebastian).

He doesn't see himself as a child so does it matter?

He honestly tries to avoid [Name] at first because he wants to be seen as an equal to the adults. Baldo commenting to "play" with his "friend" really doesn't help the early stages of the relationship.

Being persistent but not forceful will work well.

[Name] needs to prove their worth and use in the household.

[Name] will quickly prove themselves with "clean-up."

They will kill in the name of Earl Phantomhive.

Ciel notices their willingness to serve.

He admires their dedication to protecting him/the estate.

He is impressed if they do not hesitate to strike.

The more he realizes their use and loyalty, the more likely he is to speak to them or even allow [Name] to speak freely with him.

He doesn't like when Sebastian teases him for it, though.

Sebastian might be the biggest obstacle.

If Ciel feels that [Name] is being overbearing, they get sent to spend time with Finny (16) who is also relatively close in age to them. Though Finny is similar to a child brother at times.

Once they are closer, Ciel may become a bit irritable if [Name] gives Finny too much attention or coddling.

"He needs to act his own age."

Ciel cannot do anything about any possible feelings.

[Name] hesitates to do anything either.

They both understand the betrothal between Elizabeth and Ciel.

Finny had given them a suggestion that they weren't sure what to do with. Was it a good idea? No. Was it a curious one? Yes, indeed. They wanted to know what the master's response would be, but they feared it would only be anger for their disrespect. Still... tempting.

[Name] considered their options as they helped Finny in the garden.

"Do you really think that would be a good idea?" they asked him.

Finny nodded as he attempted to gently weed the garden. The last time Finny did this he ripped out some important plants and Sebastian had been ready to skin him. Since that happened, and after the events of last night's clean-up, maintenance was needed and Sebastian chose [Name] as "Finny Watch."

[Name] accepted it as it was.

"I think it would do the young master some good to have a friend his age who calls him by name! He doesn't have any friends..."

Finny seemed sad about it. [Name] wondered why Finny did not try to be a "friend" to their master, but Finny seemed to sense their curiosity. He shook his head.

"It can't be me, I'm older than the young master for one," he explained, "And the young master doesn't think of me like that."

"And he thinks of me as a friend?" [Name] chose to ask.

Finny nodded.

"I can tell he thinks differently of you!"

The gardener beamed at them and they didn't want to crush whatever whimsy and joy this was giving him. They sighed and gave in, knowing they wouldn't hear the end of it otherwise, especially after Finny told Baldo and Mey-Rin about it.

"I'll try and see," they agreed.

[SEVERAL HOURS LATER]

At the end of the day, Sebastian asked [Name] to report to the young master directly about their supervision of Finny and the state of the estate's gardens. [Name] walked into the room and bowed to their lord, nodding to Sebastian a moment after.

"Good evening," they spoke, not making eye contact with either.

"Good evening, [Name]," Ciel greeted, taking a sip of his tea as he watched them, "I trust you kept Finny under control?"

[Name] nodded.

"Yes, he took care of replanting and weeding. There were no, ah, plant deaths," they explained in as succinct a way as they could, "We talked as we worked and completed everything Sebastian told us to."

They had to ignore the soft stifled laugh that came from Sebastian when they fumbled for a phrase and chose "plant deaths."

"I see, very good then."

He seemed pleased. The master was in a good mood? Hm. This might be their chance so they took it without hesitation.

"Master, if I may speak freely for a moment?" they asked him

Ciel raised an eyebrow but he nodded slowly after a moment of contemplation.

"You may but whatever about?"

[Name] felt bad for confusing him but it was somewhat refreshing to hear the master speak without that underlying darkness in his tone.

"Finny suggested something to me. I would like to try something," [Name] explained, hoping this wouldn't ruin whatever relationship they did have with the master.

"Something. Very specific," was Ciel's comment, "Go ahead."

Ciel seemed certain [Name] wouldn't hurt him and even if they tried, Sebastian would handle them swiftly like he always did.

"Ah, thank you for your permission... Ciel."

There was a silence that fell over the room as neither child spoke. Ciel was frozen in place, Sebastian seemed to be holding back another laugh, and [Name] was unsure if Finny's theory was true.

A faint hue of pink dusted Ciel's cheeks as he averted his gaze.

"Was," he began, "Was that all you wanted?"

"Yes," [Name] admitted, "I'm sorry, sir."

Ciel was silent once again and [Name] worried they really had crossed a line, but then he spoke again, softer this time.

"It isn't as though I care what you call me when there aren't guests around," he said, waving the hand that wore his family's crest, "Do as you like with the estate's image in mind... I suppose."

[Name] couldn't disguise the smile that took over their features.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Sebastian Michaelis

To be quite frank, Sebastian thinks children are brats.

He didn't want another child around but it cannot be helped because [Name] is useful for the estate's security.

Despite not liking them at first, Sebastian is always "nice."

He is never without a polite smile, it's a bit unnerving.

As [Name]'s work proves proficient, he eases up.

They make fewer mistakes than the others.

Because of this, they are not so annoying to him.

"Child, you would do best not to hinder my work. But if you would like to lend me your help, you may."

He refers to [Name] more often as "child" or "littlest one."

He means they are the youngest of the servants.

He often lets [Name] off easy with punishment, similar to how he never scolds Tanaka the way he does with Baldo, Mey-Rin, Snake, and Finny.

Sebastian likes to make fun of [Name] and Ciel's similar ages.

He allows [Name] to sit in for Ciel's lessons at times.

In the end, Sebastian might be fond of the human.

Still, he won't say that kind of thing. What use would kind words be from someone like him? He doesn't much care for anyone.

He is bound to his master until the end of their contract.

That is all. Right?

"What in the world are you doing?" Sebastian asked as he came up to them, essentially appearing from thin air.

The young servant jumped at the sudden voice in the silence of the cellar and whipped around to face him, dropping their cleaning rag on the floor in the motion. Noting it was Sebastian, they let out a relieved sigh and bent down to pick up the rag.

"Sebastian! You startled me!" they told him, brows furrowed, "Why do you like to sneak up on me like that?"

Sebastian chuckled softly, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I don't mean to. Perhaps you are just easily scared, child?"

"I don't think so," they said softly before they moved to continue their task, "And, I'm not done with this task yet. Did you have something else for me to do?"

They couldn't believe they had more work to do now. That was always why Sebastian came to see them, to give them a task someone else had botched or enlist their help with something else entirely.

"I did," the butler told them, "I seem to require your help with a lesson for the young master."

[Name] paused.

"A lesson?" they asked him, giving a skeptical look though they tried their best to mask it, "Would I be expected to come with you now?"

They were unsure if he was telling the truth. Sebastian enjoyed messing with them, just a little. But it was enough to make [Name] wonder every time the butler told them much of anything. They wanted to go to the lesson, though. Learning was... fun.

Sebastian noticed the look, being a demon and all, but said nothing about it. Instead, he simply nodded and smiled at them as he always did to the guests the manor received.

"Indeed. I would need you to accompany me to the study."

They weighed their options. Sebastian was probably not lying.

"Alright," they agreed a moment later, "Do I need to finish this task first? You did give me a list of things to make certain of here."

Sebastian shook his head.

"No, that won't be necessary. I will take care of it."

They almost bowed to him but caught themself. It was hard to treat Sebastian as a butler when he held himself with as much pride as any man would. Still, the one time they had spoken too highly of him, the young master had gotten upset with them (and Sebastian too).

It had been an... ordeal.

"I see. Thank you, then," they told him curtly though they couldn't help but smile.

A lesson! How fun! They wanted to cheer but didn't.

Even if they were only cleaning the room to spectate, it was a chance to learn things. They would learn something and earl was learning! It seemed like a fairly good deal in [Name]'s opinion.

Too focused on rushing to put away their supplies and head toward Ciel's study, they did not see a softer expression adorn the butler's face as he watched them move past him.

Perhaps they would never know his true affection for his littlest one.

Imagine the rest yourself~

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a kuro-only blog! ^^

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andrewlloydwebber · 8 days ago

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RIP to Broadway Legend Merle Louise

April 15, 1934 — January 11, 2025

Merle Louise Simon, 90, of New York, passed away on January 11, 2025. Born on April 15, 1934, in New York City, she was the beloved daughter of the late Alvin and Merle (Barnes) Letowt.

Merle will be lovingly remembered as a dynamic force of nature-energetic, funny, adventurous, and full of life. An avid traveler and scuba diver, she explored the world with curiosity and vigor, journeying to Africa, Nepal, and beyond. Among her greatest adventures was her climb to the base camp of Mount Everest. A gifted entertainer with a beautiful voice and an undeniable stage presence, Merle's life was a testament to her passion for the performing arts.

Merle was also deeply proud of her education, graduating from Marymount College later in life with a degree in Psychology. Her studies reflected her intellectual curiosity and her deep understanding of the human spirit, qualities that enriched her relationships.

She began her journey in theater at the Drawing Room Theater and Pennsylvania Playhouse, both in Bethlehem, PA and traveled to New York City for auditions. Merle, who performed under her birth name Merle Letowt early in her career, made an indelible mark on Broadway. She debuted as "Thelma" in the original cast of Gypsy (1959), later stepping into the lead role of "Dainty June" for much of the Broadway run and the first national tour. She went on to star in several Stephen Sondheim musicals, earning acclaim for her nuanced performances. Her portrayal of "The Beggar Woman" in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (1979) earned her the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Featured Actress in a Musical. She was also celebrated for her roles in Company (1970) as "Susan" and Into the Woods (1987), where she memorably played "Cinderella's Mother," "Granny," and the "Giantess."

Merle also originated roles in La Cage aux Folles (1983) as "Mme. Dindon" and Kiss of the Spider Woman (1993) as "Molina's Mother," a role she performed in London's West End, Toronto, and on the national tour. Off-Broadway, she created the role of "Cecily MacIntosh" in Charlotte Sweet (1982) and was widely lauded for her performances in classics by Shakespeare, Chekhov, Molière, and Shaw.

Her theatrical legacy extended beyond the stage, inspiring the creation of the game Six Degrees of Merle Louise, a Broadway-themed twist on the popular Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Merle's on-camera appearances were equally memorable. She was featured in the televised production of Into the Woods and a documentary about the recording of the original cast album of Company. She made guest appearances on TV shows, including Law & Order, and continued performing into her later years. Highlights included roles in Cabaret, A Little Night Music, and The Full Monty. In 2007, she appeared in Luke Yankee's award-winning play The Jesus Hickey. She also appeared in Billy Elliot.

Merle will be dearly missed by her daughter, Laura Simon; daughter, Heather Simon; and son, Matt Simon. She is also survived by her sister, Jane Halteman, and her husband David Halteman; and a brother, Alvin "Butch" Letowt, Jr. She was preceded in death by her sister, Christine A. King' brother-in-law, Walter I. King and nephew Adam D. Halteman.

Merle's legacy extends beyond her illustrious career. She will be remembered for her warmth, humor, and zest for life. She enriched the lives of those that she encountered, leaving a profound impact on the theater community and all who knew her.

#merle louise #sweeney todd #stephen sondheim #into the woods #broadway

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lya-dustin · 3 months ago

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The Scion of Kings and the Lady of Flowers

gil-galad x fem!maia!reader*

*reader gets an epessë by Gil-galad technically still a reader

implied sex/elf elopement

⚠️Spam Likers will all be blocked from this blog starting January 3, 2025. if you don't reblog or leave a comment in the replies, you will be blocked⚠️

He first saw you flitting about a meadow and everything you touched suddenly awoke and filled the air with the feel of spring.

Morgoth and his forces had decimated the land and yet you resurrected everything from the weeds to the felled trees as you sang to them in the language of the Ainur.

Had this been how Elu Thingol felt met Melian of the Nightingales?

A curiosity that led to being pulled to the mysterious maiden unaware of his presence as if it had always been inevitable.

Gil-galad found himself before the holy being not as the King of the Noldor, but a young man entranced by the being he knows he will love and cherish for the rest of his existence.

“It is rude to stare.” Your eyes meet his and with outstretched hands asked him to join you.

Lothíriel, he has named you. Maiden Crowned with Flowers.

His crown of gold is cold and lifeless in comparison to yours that does not wilt from the shear strength of your abilities. A mockery to the leaves and seeds of the Great Tree even if no smith could ever match Celebrimbor's skill.

You lead him in a dance that makes no sense to anyone but the two of you and when you reach on your tiptoes and throw your arms around him, he feels himself come alive like the flora around the two of you.

Gil-galad is no stranger to desire, its familiar heat and the desperation to have the being that incites it are as known to him as the Face of Ilúvatar is to you.

His lips brush tentatively against yours fearing your rejection, but instead you match his desire with yours and the world stops just for the two of you.

“Say it again.” You bid him even if he had not said the name he gave you out loud. You are flushed and radiant with joy when you remember that he is only an elf and elves need air.

“Lothíriel.” He names you breathlessly and the king knows it is the name you will always have even when his fea leaves his body and enters the Halls of Mandos.

“Ereinion.” You name him and just as you will treasure his gift, he will treasure yours over all else.

The Lady of Flowers and the Scion of Kings.

“Marry me.” Neither of you wish to stop, he wishes to wed you now and your will is the same as his.

Elves do not use ceremony in wartime, they speak their vows with only the All Father and the Valar as witnesses. The chance of dying before having the chance to hold a real wedding was too great, so most held off the celebration for after the war if they lived long enough to see it.

“Perhaps I will.” You say laying on the grass beside him. “Why wait when we may never meet again?”

Ereinion Gil-Galad weds you in the same meadow he met you, the same meadow that will form part of his kingdom in less than a century.

#gil galad x reader #rings of power fanfiction #gil galad fic #because gil galad deserves to frolic in a meadow and kiss and have sex(get married)

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leafcreature · 7 days ago

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Curiosity January - Day 7 - Artifact

#image description in alt #curiosity January 2025 #art challenge #my art #illustration #linogravure #linocut #printmaking #outer wilds #outer wilds art #outer wilds echoes of the eye #outer wilds dlc #curiosity cabinet #oddities #artifact

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posttexasstressdisorder · 20 days ago

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A mole infiltrated the highest ranks of American militias. Here's what he found.

ProPublica

January 4, 2025 8:26PM ET

John Williams kept a backpack filled with everything he’d need to go on the run: three pairs of socks; a few hundred dollars cash; makeshift disguises and lock-picking gear; medical supplies, vitamins and high-calorie energy gels; and thumb drives that each held more than 100 gigabytes of encrypted documents, which he would quickly distribute if he were about to be arrested or killed.

On April 1, 2023, Williams retrieved the bag from his closet and rushed to his car. He had no time to clean the dishes that had accumulated in his apartment. He did not know if armed men were out looking for him. He did not know if he would ever feel safe to return. He parked his car for the night in the foothills overlooking Salt Lake City and curled up his 6-foot-4-inch frame in the back seat of the 20-year-old Honda. This was his new home.

He turned on a recording app to add an entry to his diary. His voice had the high-pitched rasp of a lifelong smoker: “Where to fucking start,” he sighed, taking a deep breath. After more than two years undercover, he’d been growing rash and impulsive. He had feared someone was in danger and tried to warn him, but it backfired. Williams was sure at least one person knew he was a double agent now, he said into his phone. “It’s only a matter of time before it gets back to the rest.”

In the daylight, Williams dropped an envelope with no return address in a U.S. Postal Service mailbox. He’d loaded it with a flash drive and a gold Oath Keepers medallion.

It was addressed to me.

The documents laid out a remarkable odyssey. Posing as an ideological compatriot, Williams had penetrated the top ranks of two of the most prominent right-wing militias in the country. He’d slept in the home of the man who claims to be the new head of the Oath Keepers, rifling through his files in the middle of the night. He’d devised elaborate ruses to gather evidence of militias’ ties to high-ranking law enforcement officials. He’d uncovered secret operations like the surveillance of a young journalist, then improvised ways to sabotage the militants’ schemes. In one group, his ploys were so successful that he became the militia’s top commander in the state of Utah.

Now he was a fugitive. He drove south toward a desert four hours from the city, where he could disappear.

1. Prelude

I’d first heard from Williams five months earlier, when he sent me an intriguing but mysterious anonymous email. “I have been attempting to contact national media and civil rights groups for over a year and been ignored,” it read. “I’m tired of yelling into the void.” He sent it to an array of reporters. I was the only one to respond. I’ve burned a lot of time sating my curiosity about emails like that. I expected my interest to die after a quick call. Instead, I came to occupy a dizzying position as the only person to know the secret Williams had been harboring for almost two years.

We spoke a handful of times over encrypted calls before he fled. He’d been galvanized by the Jan. 6, 2021, storming of the Capitol, Williams told me, when militias like the Oath Keepers conspired to violently overturn the 2020 presidential election. He believed democracy was under siege from groups the FBI has said pose a major domestic terrorism threat. So he infiltrated the militia movement on spec, as a freelance vigilante. He did not tell the police or the FBI. A loner, he did not tell his family or friends.

Williams seemed consumed with how to ensure this wasn’t all a self-destructive, highly dangerous waste of time. He distrusted law enforcement and didn’t want to be an informant, he said. He told me he hoped to damage the movement by someday going public with what he’d learned.

The Capitol riot had been nagging at me too. I’d reported extensively on Jan. 6. I’d sat with families who blamed militias for snatching their loved ones away from them, pulling them into a life of secret meetings and violent plots — or into a jail cell. By the time Williams contacted me, though, the most infamous groups appeared to have largely gone dark. Were militias more enduring, more potent, than it seemed?

Some of what he told me seemed significant. Still, before the package arrived, it could feel like I was corresponding with a shadow. I knew Williams treated deception as an art form. “When you spin a lie,” he once told me, “you have to have things they can verify so they won’t think to ask questions.” While his stories generally seemed precise and sober — always reassuring for a journalist — I needed to proceed with extreme skepticism.

So I pored over his files, tens of thousands of them. They included dozens of hours of conversations he secretly recorded and years of private militia chat logs and videos. I was able to authenticate those through other sources, in and out of the movement. I also talked to dozens of people, from Williams’ friends to other members of his militias. I dug into his tumultuous past and discovered records online he hadn’t pointed me to that supported his account.

The files give a unique window, at once expansive and intimate, into one of the most consequential and volatile social movements of our time. Williams penetrated a new generation of paramilitary leaders, which included doctors, career cops and government attorneys. Sometimes they were frightening, sometimes bumbling, always heavily armed. It was a world where a man would propose assassinating politicians, only to spark a debate about logistics.

Federal prosecutors have convicted more than 1,000 people for their role in Jan. 6. Key militia captains were sent to prison for a decade or more. But that did not quash the allure that militias hold for a broad swath of Americans.

Now President-elect Donald Trump has promised to pardon Jan. 6 rioters when he returns to the White House. Experts warn that such a move could trigger a renaissance for militant extremists, sending them an unprecedented message of protection and support — and making it all the more urgent to understand them.

(Unless otherwise noted, none of the militia members mentioned in this story responded to requests for comment.)

Williams is part of a larger cold war, radical vs. radical, that’s stayed mostly in the shadows. A left-wing activist told me he personally knows about 30 people who’ve gone undercover in militias or white supremacist groups. They did not coordinate with law enforcement, instead taking the surveillance of one of the most intractable features of American politics into their own hands.

Skeptical of authorities, militias have sought to reshape the country through armed action. Williams sought to do it through betrayals and lies, which sat with him uneasily. “I couldn’t have been as successful at this if I wasn’t one of them in some respects,” he once told me. “I couldn’t have done it so long unless they recognized something in me.”

2. The Struggle

If there is one moment that set Williams on his path into the militia underground, it came roughly a decade before Jan. 6, when he was sent to a medium-security prison. He was in his early 30s, drawn to danger and filled with an inner turbulence.

Williams grew up in what he described to me, to friends and in court records as a dysfunctional and unhappy home. He was a gay child in rural America. His father viewed homosexuality as a mortal sin, he said. Williams spent much of his childhood outdoors, bird-watching, camping and trying to spend as little time as possible at home. (John Williams is now his legal name, one he recently acquired.)

Once he was old enough to move out, Williams continued to go off the grid for weeks at a time. Living in a cave interested him; the jobs he’d found at grocery stores and sandwich shops did not. He told me his young adulthood was “a blank space in my life,” a stretch of “petty crime” and falling-outs with old friends. He pled guilty to a series of misdemeanors: trespassing, criminal mischief, assault.

What landed Williams in prison was how he responded to one of those arrests. He sent disturbing, anonymous emails to investigators on the case, threatening their families. Police traced the messages back to him and put him away for three years.

Williams found time to read widely in prison — natural history books, Bertrand Russell, Cormac McCarthy. And it served as a finishing school for a skill that would be crucial in his undercover years. Surviving prison meant learning to maneuver around gang leaders and corrections officers. He learned how to steer conversations to his own benefit without the other person noticing.

When he got out, he had a clear ambition: to become a wilderness survival instructor. He used Facebook to advertise guided hikes in Utah’s Uinta Mountains. An old photo captures Williams looking like a lanky camp counselor as he shows students an edible plant. He sports a thick ponytail and cargo pants, painted toenails poking out from his hiking sandals.

Many people in Utah had turned to wilderness survival after a personal crisis, forming a community of misfits who thrived in environments harsh and remote. Even among them, Williams earned a reputation for putting himself in extreme situations. “Not many people are willing to struggle on their own. He takes that struggle to a high degree,” one friend told me admiringly. Williams took up krav maga and muay thai because he enjoyed fistfights. He once spent 40 days alone in the desert with only a knife, living off chipmunks and currants (by choice, to celebrate a birthday).

Williams struggled to get his survival business going. He’d hand out business cards at hobbyist gatherings with promises of adventure, but in practice, he was mostly leading seminars in city parks for beer money. He would only take calls in emergencies, another friend recalled, because he wanted to save money on minutes.

Then around New Year’s in 2019, according to Williams, he received an email from a leader in American Patriots Three Percent, or AP3. He wanted to hire Williams for a training session. He could pay $1,000.

Finally, Williams thought. I’m starting to get some traction.

3. The Decision

They had agreed there’d be no semiautomatic rifles, Williams told me, so everyone brought a sidearm. Some dozen militiamen had driven into the mountains near Peter Sinks, Utah, one of the coldest places in the contiguous U.S. Initially they wanted training in evasion and escape, Williams said, but he thought they needed to work up to that. So for three days, he taught them the basics of wilderness survival, but with a twist: how to stay alive while “trying to stay hidden.” He showed them how to build a shelter that would both keep them dry and escape detection. How to make a fire, then how to clean it up so no one could tell it was ever there.

As the days wore on, stray comments started to irk him. Once, a man said he’d been “kiked” into overpaying for his Ruger handgun. At the end of the training, AP3 leaders handed out matching patches. The ritual reminded Williams of a biker gang.

He’d already been to some shorter AP3 events to meet the men and tailor the lesson to his first meaningful client, Williams told me. But spending days in the woods with them felt different. He said he found the experience unpleasant and decided not to work with the group again.

This portion of Williams’ story — exactly how and why he first became a militia member — is the hardest to verify. By his own account, he kept his thoughts and plans entirely to himself. At the time, he was too embarrassed to even tell his friends what happened that weekend, he said. In the survival community, training militias was considered taboo.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Williams was hiding a less gallant backstory. Maybe he’d joined AP3 out of genuine enthusiasm and then soured on it. Maybe now he was trying to fool me. Indeed, when I called the AP3 leader who set up the training, he disputed Williams’ timeline. He remembered Williams staying sporadically but consistently involved after the session in the mountains, as a friend of the group who attended two or three events a year. To further muddy the picture, Williams had warned me the man would say something like that — Williams had worked hard to create the impression that he never left, he said, that he’d just gone inactive for a while, busy with work. (Remarkably, the AP3er defended Williams’ loyalty each time I asserted he’d secretly tried to undermine the group. “He was very well-respected,” he said. “I never questioned his honesty or his intentions.”)

Even Williams’ friends told me he was something of a mystery to them. But I found evidence that supports his story where so many loners bare their innermost thoughts: the internet. In 2019 and early 2020, Williams wrote thousands of since-deleted entries in online forums. These posts delivered a snapshot of his worldview in this period: idiosyncratic, erudite and angry with little room for moderation. “There are occasionally militia types that want these skills to further violent fringe agendas and I will absolutely not enable them,” he wrote in one 2020 entry about wilderness survival. In another, he called AP3 and its allies “far right lunatics.” The posts didn’t prove the details of his account, but here was the Williams I knew, writing under pseudonyms long before we’d met.

One day, he’d voice his disdain for Trump voters, neoliberalism or “the capitalist infrastructure.” Another, he’d rail against gun control measures as immoral. When Black Lives Matter protests broke out in 2020, Williams wrote that he was gathering medical supplies for local protestors. He sounded at times like a revolutionary crossed with a left-wing liberal arts student. “The sole job of a cop is to bully citizens on behalf of the state,” he wrote. “Violent overthrow of the state is our only viable option.”

Then came Jan. 6. As he was watching on TV, he later told me, Williams thought he recognized the patch on a rioter’s tactical vest. It looked like the one that AP3 leaders had handed out at the end of his training.

Did I teach that guy? he wondered. Why was I so cordial to them all? If they knew I was gay, I bet they’d want me dead, and I actually helped them. Because I was too selfish to think of anything but my career.

Shame quickly turned to anger, he told me, and to a desire for revenge. Pundits were saying that democracy itself was in mortal peril. Williams took that notion literally. He assumed countless Americans would respond with aggressive action, he said, and he wanted to be among them.

4. A New World

Williams stood alone in his apartment, watching himself in the mirror.

“I’m tall.”

“I’m Dave.”

“I’m tall.”

“I’m Dave.”

He tried to focus on his mannerisms, on the intonation of his voice. Whether he was saying the truth or a falsehood, he wanted to appear exactly the same.

Months had passed since the Capitol riot. By all appearances, Williams was now an enthusiastic member of AP3. Because he already had an in, joining the group was easy, he said. Becoming a self-fashioned spy took some trial and error, however. In the early days, he had posed as a homeless person to surveil militia training facilities, but he decided that was a waste of time.

The casual deceit that had served him in prison was proving useful. Deviousness was a skill, and he stayed up late working to hone it. He kept a journal with every lie he told so he wouldn’t lose track. His syllabus centered on acting exercises and the history of espionage and cults. People like sex cult leader Keith Raniere impressed him most — he studied biographies to learn how they manipulated people, how they used cruelty to wear their followers down into acquiescence.

Williams regularly berated the militia’s rank and file. He doled out condescending advice about the group’s security weaknesses, warning their technical incompetence would make them easy targets for left-wing hackers and government snoops. Orion Rollins, the militia’s top leader in Utah, soon messaged Williams to thank him for the guidance. “Don’t worry about being a dick,” he wrote. “It’s time to learn and become as untraceable as possible.” (The AP3 messages Williams sent me were so voluminous that I spent an entire month reading them before I noticed this exchange.)

Williams was entering the militia at a pivotal time. AP3 once had chapters in nearly every state, with a roster likely in the tens of thousands; as authorities cracked down on the movement after Jan. 6, membership was plummeting. Some who stayed on had white nationalist ties. Others were just lonely conservatives who had found purpose in the paramilitary cause. For now, the group’s leaders were focused on saving the militia, not taking up arms to fight their enemies. (Thanks to Williams’ trove and records from several other sources, I was eventually able to write an investigation into AP3’s resurgence.)

On March 4, 2021, Williams complained to Rollins that everyone was still ignoring his advice. Williams volunteered to take over as the state’s “intel officer,” responsible for protecting the group from outside scrutiny.

“My hands are tied,” Williams wrote. “If I’m not able to” take charge, the whole militia “might unravel.” Rollins gave him the promotion.

“Thanks Orion. You’ve shown good initiative here.” Privately, he saw a special advantage to his appointment. If anyone suspected there was a mole in Utah, Williams would be the natural choice to lead the mole hunt.

Now he had a leadership role. What he did not yet have was a plan. But how could he decide on goals, he figured, until he knew more about AP3? He would work to gather information and rise through the ranks by being the best militia member he could be.

He took note of the job titles of leaders he met, like an Air Force reserve master sergeant (I confirmed this through military records) who recruited other airmen into the movement. Williams attended paramilitary trainings, where the group practiced ambushes with improvised explosives and semiautomatic guns. He offered his comrades free lessons in hand-to-hand combat and bonded with them in the backcountry hunting jackrabbits. When the militia joined right-wing rallies for causes like gun rights, they went in tactical gear. Williams attended as their “gray man,” he said — assigned to blend in with the crowd and call in armed reinforcements if tensions erupted.

Since his work was seasonal, Williams could spend as much as 40 hours a week on militia activities. One of his duties as intel officer was to monitor the group’s enemies on the left, which could induce vertigo. A militia leader once dispatched him to a Democratic Socialists of America meeting at a local library, he said, where he saw a Proud Boy he recognized from a joint militia training. Was this a closet right-winger keeping tabs on the socialists? Or a closet leftist who might dox him or inform the police?

He first contacted me in October 2022. He couldn’t see how the movement was changing beyond his corner of Utah. AP3 was reinvigorated by then, I later found, with as many as 50 recruits applying each day. In private chats I reviewed, leaders were debating if they should commit acts of terrorism. At the Texas border, members were rounding up immigrants in armed patrols. But Williams didn’t know all that yet. On our first call, he launched into a litany of minutiae: names, logistical details, allegations of minor players committing petty crimes. He could tell I wasn’t sure what it all amounted to.

Williams feared that if anything he’d helped AP3, not damaged it. Then, in early November, Rollins told him to contact a retired detective named Bobby Kinch.

5. The Detective and the Sheriff

Williams turned on a recording device and dialed. Kinch picked up after one ring: “What’s going on?” he bellowed. “How you doing, man?”

“I don’t know if you remember me,” Kinch continued, but they’d met years before.

“Oh, oh, back in the day,” Williams said, stuttering for a second. He knew Kinch was expecting the call but was confused by the warm reception. Maybe Kinch was at the training in 2019?

“Well I’m the sitting, current national director of the Oath Keepers now.”

The militia’s eye-patched founder, Stewart Rhodes, was in jail amid his trial for conspiring to overthrow the government on Jan. 6. Kinch said he was serving on the group’s national board when his predecessor was arrested. Rhodes had called from jail to say, “Do not worry about me. This is God’s way.”

“He goes, ‘But I want you to save the organization.’”

Kinch explained that Rollins, who’d recently defected to the Oath Keepers, had been singing Williams’ praises. (Bound by shared ideology, militias are more porous than outsiders would think. Members often cycle between groups like square dance partners.) “I imagine your plate is full with all the crazy stuff going on in the world, but I’d love to sit down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Williams said. “AP3 and Oath Keepers should definitely be working together.” He proposed forming a joint reconnaissance team so their two militias could collaborate on intelligence operations. Kinch lit up. “I’m a career cop,” he said. “I did a lot of covert stuff, surveillance.”

By the time they hung up 45 minutes later, Kinch had invited Williams to come stay at his home. Williams felt impressed with himself. The head of the most infamous militia in America was treating him like an old friend.

To me, Williams sounded like a different person on the call, with the same voice but a brand new personality. It was the first recording that I listened to and the first time I became certain the most important part of his story was true. To authenticate the record, I independently confirmed nonpublic details Kinch discussed on the tape, a process I repeated again and again with the other files. Soon I had proof of what would otherwise seem outlandish: Williams’ access was just as deep as he claimed.

I could see why people would be eager to follow Kinch. Even when he sermonized on the “global elitist cabal,” he spoke with the affable passion of a beloved high school teacher. I’d long been fascinated by the prevalence of cops on militia rosters, so I started examining his backstory.

Kinch grew up in upstate New York, the son of a World War II veteran who had him at about 50. When Kinch was young, he confided in a later recording, he was a “wheelman,” slang for getaway driver. “I ran from the cops so many fucking times,” he said. But “at the end of the day, you know, I got away. I never got caught.”

He moved to Las Vegas and, at the age of 25, became an officer in the metro police. Kinch came to serve in elite detective units over 23 years in the force, hunting fugitives and helping take down gangs like the Playboy Bloods. Eventually he was assigned to what he called the “Black squad,” according to court records, tasked with investigating violent crimes where the suspect was African American. (A Las Vegas police spokesperson told me they stopped “dividing squads by a suspect’s race” a year before Kinch retired.)

Then around Christmas in 2013, Kinch’s career began to self-destruct. In a series of Facebook posts, he said that he would welcome a “race war.” “Bring it!” he wrote. “I’m about as fed up as a man (American, Christian, White, Heterosexual) can get!” An ensuing investigation prompted the department to tell the Secret Service that Kinch “could be a threat to the president,” according to the Las Vegas Sun. (The Secret Service interviewed him and determined he was not a threat to President Barack Obama, the outlet reported. Kinch told the paper he was not racist and that he was being targeted by colleagues with “an ax to grind.”) In 2016, he turned in his badge, a year after the saga broke in the local press.

Kinch moved to southern Utah and found a job hawking hunting gear at a Sportsman’s Warehouse. But he “had this urge,” he later said on a right-wing podcast. “Like I wasn’t done yet.” So he joined the Oath Keepers. “When people tell me that violence doesn’t solve anything, I look back over my police career,” he once advised his followers. “And I’m like, ‘Wow, that’s interesting, because violence did solve quite a bit.’”

Kinch added Williams to an encrypted Signal channel where the Utah Oath Keepers coordinated their intel work. Two weeks later on Nov. 30, 2022, Williams received a cryptic message from David Coates, one of Kinch’s top deputies.

Coates was an elder statesman of sorts in the Oath Keepers, a 73-year-old Vietnam veteran with a Hulk Hogan mustache. There’d been a break-in at the Utah attorney general’s office, he reported to the group, and for some unspoken reason, the Oath Keepers seemed to think this was of direct relevance to them. Coates promised to find out more about the burglary: “The Sheriff should have some answers” to “my inquiries today or tomorrow.”

That last line would come to obsess Williams. He sent a long, made-up note about his own experiences collaborating with law enforcement officials. “I’m curious, how responsive is the Sheriff to your inquiries? Or do you have a source you work with?”

“The Sheriff has become a personal friend who hosted my FBI interview,” Coates responded. “He opens a lot of doors.” Coates had been in D.C. on Jan. 6, he’d told Williams. It’d make sense if that had piqued the FBI’s interest.

To Williams, it hinted at a more menacing scenario — at secret ties between those who threaten the rule of the law and those duty-bound to enforce it. He desperately wanted more details, more context, the sheriff’s name. But he didn’t want to push for too much too fast.

6. The Hunting of Man

A forest engulfed Kinch’s house on all sides. He lived in a half-million-dollar cabin in summer home country, up 8,000 feet in the mountains outside Zion National Park. Williams stood in the kitchen on a mid-December Saturday morning.

Williams had recently made a secret purchase of a small black device off Amazon. It looked like a USB drive. The on-off switch and microphone holes revealed what it really was: a bug. As the two men chatted over cups of cannoli-flavored coffee, Williams didn’t notice when Kinch’s dog snatched the bug from his bag.

The night before, Williams had slept in the guest room. The house was cluttered with semiautomatic rifles. He had risked photographing three plaques on the walls inscribed with the same Ernest Hemingway line. “There is no hunting like the hunting of man,” they read. “Those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else.”

They spotted the dog at the same time. The bug was attached to a charging device. The animal was running around with it like it was a tennis ball. As Kinch went to retrieve it, Williams felt panic grip his chest. Could anyone talk their way out of this? He’d learned enough about Kinch to be terrified of his rage. Looking around, Williams eyed his host’s handgun on the kitchen counter.

If he even starts to examine it, I’ll grab the gun, he thought. Then I’ll shoot him and flee into the woods.

Kinch took the bug from the dog’s mouth. Then he handed it right to Williams and started to apologize.

Don’t worry about it, Williams said. He’s a puppy!

On their way out the door, Kinch grabbed the pistol and placed it in the console of his truck. It was an hour’s drive to the nearest city, where the Oath Keepers were holding a leadership meeting. Williams rode shotgun, his bug hooked onto the zipper of his backpack. On the tape, I could hear the wind racing through the car window. The radio played Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ’69.”

Kinch seemed in the hold of a dark nostalgia — as if he was wrestling with the monotony of civilian life, with the new strictures he faced since turning in his badge. Twenty minutes in, he recited the Hemingway line like it was a mantra. “I have a harder time killing animals than a human being,” Kinch continued. Then he grew quiet as he recounted the night he decided to retire.

He’d woken up in an oleander bush with no memory of how he’d gotten there. His hands were covered in blood. He was holding a gun. “I had to literally take my magazine out and count my bullets, make sure I didn’t fucking kill somebody,” he said. “I black out when I get angry. And I don’t remember what the fuck I did.”

Kinch went on: “I love the adrenaline of police work,” and then he paused. “I miss it. It was a hoot.”

By the time they reached Cedar City, Utah, Kinch was back to charismatic form. He dished out compliments to the dozen or so Oath Keepers assembled for the meeting — “You look like you lost weight” — and told everyone to put their phones in their cars. “It’s just good practice. Because at some point we may have to go down a route,” one of his deputies explained, trailing off.

Kinch introduced Williams to the group. “He’s not the feds. And if he is, he’s doing a damn good job.”

Williams laughed, a little too loud.

7. Doctor, Lawyer, Sergeant, Spy

Early in the meeting, Kinch laid out his vision for the Oath Keepers’ role in American life. “We have a two-edged sword,” he said. The “dull edge” was more traditional grassroots work, exemplified by efforts to combat alleged election fraud. He hoped to build their political apparatus so that in five or 10 years, conservative candidates would be seeking the Oath Keepers’ endorsement.

Then there was the sharp edge: paramilitary training. “You hone all these skills because when the dull edge fails, you’ve got to be able to turn that around and be sharp.” The room smelled like donuts, one of the men had remarked.

The week before, Kinch’s predecessor had been convicted of seditious conspiracy. This was their first meeting since the verdict, and I opened the recordings later with the same anticipation I feel sitting down for the Super Bowl. What would come next for the militia after this historic trial: ruin, recovery or revolt?

The stature of men leading the group’s post-Jan. 6 resurrection startled me. I was expecting the ex-cops, like the one from Fresno, California, who said he stayed on with the militia because “this defines me.” Militias tend to prize law enforcement ties; during an armed operation, it could be useful to have police see you as a friend.

But there was also an Ohio OB-GYN on the national board of directors — he used to work for the Cleveland Clinic, I discovered, and now led a subsidiary of UnitedHealth Group. The doctor was joined at board meetings by a city prosecutor in Utah, an ex-city council member and, Williams was later told, a sergeant with an Illinois sheriff’s department. (The doctor did not respond to requests for comment. He has since left his post with the UnitedHealth subsidiary, a spokesperson for the company said.)

Over six hours, the men set goals and delegated responsibilities with surprisingly little worry about the federal crackdown on militias. They discussed the scourges they were there to combat (stolen elections, drag shows, President Joe Biden) only in asides. Instead, they focused on “marketing” — “So what buzzwords can we insert in our mission statement?” one asked — and on resources that’d help local chapters rapidly expand. “I’d like to see this organization be like the McDonald’s of patriot organizations,” another added. To Williams, it felt more like a Verizon sales meeting than an insurrectionist cell.

Kinch had only recently taken over and as I listened, I wondered how many followers he really had outside of that room. They hadn’t had a recruitment drive in the past year, which they resolved to change. They had $1,700 in the bank. But it didn’t seem entirely bravado. Kinch and his comrades mentioned conversations with chapters around the county.

Then as they turned from their weakened national presence to their recent successes in Utah, Williams snapped to attention.

“We had surveillance operations,” Kinch said, without elaboration.

“We’re making progress locally on the law enforcement,” Coates added. He said that at least three of them can get “the sheriff” on the phone any time of day. Like the last time, Coates didn’t give a name, but he said something even more intriguing: “The sheriff is my tie-in to the state attorney general because he’s friends.” Williams told me he fought the urge to lob a question. (The attorney general’s office did not respond to requests for comment.)

Closing out the day, Kinch summarized their plan moving forward: Keep a low profile. Focus on the unglamorous work. Rebuild their national footprint. And patiently prepare for 2024. “We still got what, two more years, till another quote unquote election?” He thanked Williams for coming and asked if they could start planning training exercises.

“Absolutely, yeah, I’m excited about that.” Williams was resolved to find his way onto the national board.

8. The Stakeout

On Dec. 17, 2022, a week after the meeting, Williams called a tech-savvy 19-year-old Oath Keeper named Rowan. He’d told Rowan he was going to teach him to infiltrate leftist groups, but Williams’ real goal was far more underhanded. While the older Oath Keepers had demurred at his most sensitive questions recently, the teenager seemed eager to impress a grizzled survival instructor. By assigning missions to Rowan, he hoped to probe the militias’ secrets without casting suspicion on himself.

“You don’t quite have the life experience to do this,” Williams opened on the recording. But with a couple years’ training, “I think we can work towards that goal.” He assigned his student a scholarly monograph, “Alienation: Marx’s Conception of Man in a Capitalist Society,” to begin his long education in how leftists think. “Perfect,” Rowan responded. He paused to write the title down.

Then came his pupil’s first exercise: build a dossier on Williams’ boss in AP3. Williams explained it was safest to practice on people they knew.

In Rowan, Williams had found a particularly vulnerable target. He was on probation at the time. According to court records, earlier that year, Rowan had walked up to a stranger’s truck as she was leaving her driveway. She rolled down her window. He punched her several times in the face. When police arrived, Rowan began screaming that he was going to kill them and threatened to “blow up the police department.” He was convicted of misdemeanor assault.

Williams felt guilty about using the young man but also excited. (“He is completely in my palm,” he recorded in his diary.) Within a few weeks, he had Rowan digging into Kinch’s background. “I’m going to gradually have him do more and more things,” he said in the diary, “with the hopes that I can eventually get him to hack” into militia leaders’ accounts.

The relationship quickly unearthed something that disturbed him. The week of their call, Williams woke up to a series of angry messages in the Oath Keepers’ encrypted Signal channel. The ire was directed toward a Salt Lake Tribune reporter who, according to Coates, was “a real piece of shit.” His sins included critical coverage of “anyone trying to expose voter fraud” and writing about a local political figure who’d appeared on a leaked Oath Keepers roster.

Williams messaged Rowan. “I noticed in the chat that there is some kind of red list of journalists etc? Could you get that to me?” he asked. “It would be very helpful to my safety when observing political rallies or infiltrating leftists.”

“Ah yes, i have doxes on many journalists in utah,” Rowan responded, using slang for sharing someone’s personal data with malicious intent.

He sent over a dossier on the Tribune reporter, which opened with a brief manifesto: “This dox goes out to those that have been terrorized, doxed, harassed, slandered, and family names mutilated by these people.” It provided the reporter’s address and phone number, along with two pictures of his house.

Then Rowan shared similar documents about a local film critic — he’d posted a “snarky” retweet of the Tribune writer — and about a student reporter at Southern Utah University. The college student had covered a rally the Oath Keepers recently attended, Rowan explained, and the militia believed he was coordinating with the Tribune. “We found the car he drove through a few other members that did a stakeout.”

“That’s awesome,” Williams said. Internally, he was reeling: a stakeout? In the dossier, he found a backgrounder on the student’s parents along with their address. Had armed men followed this kid around? Did they surveil his family home?

His notes show him wrestling with a decision he hadn’t let himself reckon with before: Was it time to stop being a fly on the wall and start taking action? Did he need to warn someone? The journalists? The police? Breaking character would open the door to disaster. The incident with Kinch’s dog had been a chilling reminder of the risks.

Williams had been in the militia too long. He was losing his sense of objectivity. The messages were alarming, but were they an imminent threat? He couldn’t tell. Williams had made plans to leave Utah if his cover was blown. He didn’t want to jeopardize two years of effort over a false alarm. But what if he did nothing and this kid got hurt?

9. The Plan

By 2023, Williams’ responsibilities were expanding as rapidly as his anxiety. His schedule was packed with events for AP3, the Oath Keepers and a third militia he’d recently gotten inside. He vowed to infiltrate the Proud Boys and got Coates to vouch for him with the local chapter. He prepared plans to penetrate a notorious white supremacist group too.

His adversaries were gaining momentum as well. Williams soon made the four-hour drive to Kinch’s house for another leadership meeting and was told on tape about a national Oath Keepers recruiting bump; they’d also found contact information for 40,000 former members, which they hoped to use to bring a flood of militiamen back into the fold.

Despite the risk to his own safety and progress, Williams decided to send the journalists anonymous warnings from burner accounts. He attached sensitive screenshots so that they’d take him seriously. And then … nothing. The reporters never responded; he wondered if the messages went to spam. His secret was still secure.

But the point of his mission was finally coming into focus. He was done simply playing the part of model militia member. His plan had two parts: After gathering as much compromising information as he could, he would someday release it all online, he told me. He carefully documented anything that looked legally questionable, hoping law enforcement would find something useful for a criminal case. At the very least, going public could make militiamen more suspicious of each other.

In the meantime, he would undermine the movement from the inside. He began trying to blunt the danger that he saw lurking in every volatile situation the militiamen put themselves in.

On Jan. 27, 2023, body camera footage from the police killing of Tyre Nichols, an unarmed Black man, became public. “The footage is gruesome and distressing,” The New York Times reported. “Cities across the U.S. are bracing for protests.” The militias had often responded to Black Lives Matter rallies with street brawls and armed patrols.

Williams had visions of Kyle Rittenhouse-esque shootings in the streets. He put his newly formulated strategy into action, sending messages to militiamen around the country with made-up rumors he hoped would persuade them to stay home.

In Utah, he wrote to Kinch and the leaders of his other two militias. He would be undercover at the protests in Salt Lake City, he wrote. If any militiamen went, even “a brief look of recognition could blow my cover and put my life in danger.” All three ordered their troops to avoid the event. (“This is a bit of a bummer,” one AP3 member responded. “I’ve got some aggression built up I need to let out.”)

After the protests, Williams turned on his voice diary and let out a long sigh. For weeks, he’d been nauseous and had trouble eating. He’d developed insomnia that would keep him up until dawn. He’d gone to the rally to watch for militia activity. When he got home, he’d vomited blood.

Even grocery shopping took hours now. He circled the aisles to check if he was being tailed. Once while driving, he thought he caught someone following him. He’d reached out to a therapist to help “relieve some of this pressure,” he said, but was afraid to speak candidly with him. “I can check his office for bugs and get his electronics out of the office. And then once we’re free, I can tell him what’s going on.”

He quickly launched into a litany of items on his to-do list. A training exercise to attend. A recording device he needed to find a way to install. “I’m just fucking sick of being around these toxic motherfuckers.”

“It’s getting to be too much for me.”

10. The Deep State

On March 20, Williams called Scot Seddon, the founder of AP3. If he was on the verge of a breakdown, it didn’t impact his performance. I could tell when Williams was trying to advance his agenda as I listened later, but he was subtle about it. Obsequious. Methodical. By day’s end, he’d achieved perhaps his most remarkable feat yet. He’d helped persuade Seddon and his lieutenants to fire the head of AP3’s Utah chapter and to install Williams in his place.

Now he had access to sensitive records only senior militia leaders could see. He had final say over the group’s actions in an entire state. He knew the coup would make him vastly more effective. Yet that night in his voice diary, Williams sounded like a man in despair.

The success only added to his paranoia. Becoming a major figure in the Utah militia scene raised a possibility he couldn’t countenance: He might be arrested and sent to jail for some action of his comrades.

With a sense of urgency now, he focused even more intently on militia ties to government authorities. “I have been still collecting evidence on the paramilitaries’ use of law enforcement,” he said in the diary entry. “It’s way deeper than I thought.”

He solved the mystery of the Oath Keepers’ “sheriff”: It was the sheriff for Iron County, Utah, a tourist hub near two national parks. He assigned Rowan to dig deeper into the official’s ties with the movement and come back with emails or text messages. (In a recent interview, the sheriff told me that he declined an offer to join the Oath Keepers but that he’s known “quite a few” members and thinks “they’re generally good people.” Coates has periodically contacted him about issues like firearms rules that Coates believes are unconstitutional, the sheriff said. “If I agree, I contact the attorney general’s office.”)

Claiming to work on “a communication strategy for reaching out to law enforcement,” Williams then goaded AP3 members into bragging about their police connections. They told him about their ties with high-ranking officers in Missouri and in Louisiana, in Texas and in Tennessee.

The revelations terrified him. “When this gets out, I think I’m probably going to flee overseas,” he said in his diary. “They have too many connections.” What if a cop ally helped militants track him down? “I don’t think I can safely stay within the United States.”

Four days later, he tuned into a Zoom seminar put on by a fellow AP3 leader. It was a rambling and sparsely attended meeting. But 45 minutes in, a woman brought up an issue in her Virginia hometown, population 23,000.

The town’s vice mayor, a proud election denier, was under fire for a homophobic remark. She believed a local reporter covering the controversy was leading a secret far-left plot. What’s more, the reporter happened to be her neighbor. To intimidate her, she said, he’d been leaving dead animals on her lawn.

“I think I have to settle a score with this guy,” she concluded. “They’re getting down to deep state local level and it’s got to be stopped.” After the call, Williams went to turn off his recording device. “Well, that was fucking insane,” he said aloud.

He soon reached out to the woman to offer his advice. Maybe he could talk her down, Williams thought, or at least determine what she meant by settling a score. But she wasn’t interested in speaking with him. So again he faced a choice: do nothing or risk his cover being blown. He finally came to the same conclusion he had the last time he’d feared journalists were in jeopardy. On March 31, he sent an anonymous warning.

“Because she is a member of a right wing militia group and is heavily armed, I wanted to let you know,” Williams wrote to the reporter. “I believe her to be severely mentally ill and I believe her to be dangerous. For my own safety, I cannot reveal more.”

He saw the article the next morning. The journalist had published 500 words about the disturbing email he’d gotten, complete with a screenshot of Williams’ entire note. Only a few people had joined that meandering call. Surely only Williams pestered the woman about it afterwards. There could be little doubt that he was the mole.

He pulled the go bag from his closet and fled. A few days later, while on the run, Williams recorded the final entries in his diary. Amid the upheaval, he sounded surprised to feel a sense of relief: “I see the light at the end of the tunnel for the first time in two and a half years.”

Coda: Project 2025

It was seven days before the 2024 presidential election. Williams had insisted I not bring my phone, on the off chance my movements were being tracked. We were finally meeting for the first time, in a city that he asked me not to disclose. He entered the cramped hotel room wearing a camo hat, hiking shoes and a “Spy vs. Spy” comic strip T-shirt. “Did you pick the shirt to match the occasion?” I asked. He laughed. “Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

We talked for days, with Williams splayed across a Best Western office chair beside the queen bed. He evoked an aging computer programmer with 100 pounds of muscle attached, and he seemed calmer than on the phone, endearingly offbeat. The vision he laid out — of his own future and of the country’s — was severe.

After he dropped everything and went underground, Williams spent a few weeks in the desert. He threw his phone in a river, flushed documents down the toilet and switched apartments when he returned to civilization. At first, he spent every night by the door ready for an attack; if anyone found him and ambushed him, it’d happen after dark, he figured. No one ever came, and he began to question if he’d needed to flee at all. The insomnia of his undercover years finally abated. He began to sketch out the rest of his life.

Initially, he hoped to connect with lawmakers in Washington, helping them craft legislation to combat the militia movement. By last summer, those ambitions had waned. Over time, he began to wrestle with his gift for deceiving people who trusted him. “I don’t necessarily like what it says about me that I have a talent for this,” he said.

To me, it seemed that the ordeal might be starting to change him. He’d become less precise in consistently adhering to the facts in recent weeks, I thought, more grandiose in his account of his own saga. But then for long stretches, he’d speak with the same introspection and attention to detail that he showed on our first calls. His obsession with keeping the Tyre Nichols protestors safe was myopic, he told me, a case of forgetting the big picture to quash the few dangers he could control.

Williams believes extremists will try to murder him after this story is published. And if they fail, he thinks he’ll “live to see the United States cease to exist.” He identifies with the violent abolitionist John Brown, who tried to start a slave revolt two years before the American Civil War and was executed. Williams thinks he himself may not be seen as such a radical soon, he told me. “I wonder if I’m maybe a little too early.”

I’d thought Williams was considering a return to a quiet life. Our two intense years together had been a strain sometimes even for me. But in the hotel room, he explained his plans for future operations against militias: “Until they kill me, this is what I’m doing.” He hopes to inspire others to follow in his footsteps and even start his own vigilante collective, running his own “agents” inside the far right.

In August, I published my investigation into AP3. (I used his records but did not otherwise rely on Williams as an anonymous source.) It was a way of starting to lay out what I’d learned since his first email: what’s driving the growth of militias, how they keep such a wide range of people united, the dangerous exploits that they’ve managed to keep out of public view.

Two months later, Williams published an anonymous essay. He revealed that he’d infiltrated the group as an “independent activist” and had sent me files. He wanted to test how the militia would respond to news of a mole.

The result was something he long had hoped for: a wave of paranoia inside AP3. “It’s a fucking risky thing we get involved in,” Seddon, the group’s founder, said in a private message. “Fucking trust nobody. There’s fucking turncoats everywhere.” (Seddon declined to comment for this story. He then sent a short follow-up email: “MAGA.”)

Sowing that distrust is why Williams is going on the record, albeit without his original name. He still plans to release thousands of files after this article is published — evidence tying sheriffs and police officers to the movement, his proudest coup, plus other records he hopes could become ammo for lawsuits. But Williams wants to let his former comrades know “a faggot is doing this to them.” He thinks his story could be his most effective weapon.

Every time militia members make a phone call, attend a meeting or go to a gun range together, he wants them “to be thinking, in the back of their heads, ‘This guy will betray me.’”

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uwmspeccoll · 9 days ago

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In Memoriam Jerome Buff

One of our great friends and benefactors Jerry Buff (1931-2025) passed away on January 9 at the age of 93 in Tampa, Florida. He was a passionate book collector, served on the board of the Keats-Shelley Association, and was a long-time member of the Grolier Club where he served on both the Finance and Fine Printing Committees. As his obituary notes, "He leaves behind a legacy of intellectual curiosity, deep relationships, and contributions to both his profession and his community."

Jerry became familiar with UWM Special Collections after visiting his daughter Rachel Buff, a professor of History here at UWM. Between 2006 and 2016, Jerry donated over 5,000 books to Special Collections from his personal collection of rare books, first editions, fine-press publications, broadsides, and artists’ books, expanding the collection in ways Special Collections never could do alone. For a 2017 exhibition commemorating his donation, Jerry wrote:

My watchwords in life -- whether personally or in business -- have always been quality and fine craftsmanship. Those were the essentials for developing my collection: quality and craftsmanship in literature and the production of the well-made book. It brings me joy to know that students, faculty, and the community will be using the works I have collected over the years. I can think of no better home for my collection than the UWM Libraries.

To mark his passing, we present a printing of Emily Dickenson's poem "I felt a Funeral in my Brain," from the double-text book I felt a Funeral in my Brain: A Poem by Emily Dickinson / The Hollow of the Three Hills: A Story by Nathaniel Hawthorne, edited by Betty J. Keller (1928-2018) and designed, handset in Centaur, illustrated with original woodcuts, and printed letterpress by Ronald Keller (1930-2021) at their Red Angel Press in Bremen, Maine and New York City in an edition of 100 copies signed by the Kellers in 2002. Appropriately, it was one of the final donations Jerry Buff made to UWM Special Collections.

Jerry Buff was a warm and generous human being with a learned mind and an easy smile. We will greatly miss Jerry, but his memory will always be a blessing.

View some of the numerous posts we have done on Jerry Buff's donations.

View another book by Red Angel Press.

#In Memoriam #Jerome Buff #Jerry Buff #Emily Dickenson #I felt a Funeral in my Brain #Red Angel Press #Betty J. Keller #Ronald Keller #letterpress printing #fine press books #woodcuts #Farewell old friend

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michaelsfavgirl · 1 year ago

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‎‧₊˚✧[masterlist]✧˚₊‧

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🎞️✮Michael Jackson✮🎞️˚₊‧⁺˖

One-shots:

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ needy*

As the days pass, during a holiday stay at Hayvenhurst, your need for Michael grows more insistent, leading you to beg for his touch while everyone else is home.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ innocence*

Wanting the best for his angel, Michael takes you to your dream vacation place and makes your first time unforgettable, more special than you could have imagined.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ not like the movies

it's a cliché love story isn't it? The global superstar and a die hard fan who manages to catch her idol's attention during a concert. it's that simple, right?....right?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ good luck charm*

Michael is a meticulous performer, driven by the pursuit of perfection in every show. Thus, he has crafted the perfect routine to reach his goals and you're an integral part of it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ first kiss (captain eo)

You confess to EO that you've never kissed anyone before. Rather than judging, he guides you through your first kiss with care and tenderness.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ in the studio*

After weeks of no intimacy due to his demanding schedule you decide to pay Michael a visit at the studio in a short skirt. Oblivious to the effects it has on him you face the consequences.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ crestfallen

After Michael cheats on you with Diana Ross you cross paths again at the Grammy's.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ through the keyhole*

While Michael attends to his duties as a devoted husband (taking you to pound town), the maids arrive unnoticed. Drawn by the sinful sounds echoing from your bedroom, they find themselves unable to resist eavesdropping.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ fast learner*

(related to/continuation of innocence) After taking your virginity and focusing solely on your pleasure, Michael hasn't asked for anything in return, leaving you doubting your ability to please him due to your inexperience. Determined to return the favour you ask him to teach you how to give him a blowjob.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ freaky friday

One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ heartstrings & rings

A thoughtless act on your part leads Michael to mistakenly believe you're planning to divorce him. Consumed by fear he spirals, thinking he's about to lose you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ porn stash*

Alone at home, consumed by boredom, you stumble upon Michael's secret stash of tapes. Lost in curiosity, you're oblivious to his return until he catches you red-handed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ tied & taken*

Michael finally indulges one of his most sinful fantasies: tying you to the bed like the perfect present you are and fucking you stupid over and over, until you're utterly spent.

Drabbles/Blurbs:

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ spit kink*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ spoiled with pleasure*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ panty stealer*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ arranged marriage*

Headcanons:

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ he takes care of you when you’re sick

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ NSFW alphabet*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ chubby chaser*

Last updated: January 22nd, 2025

#masterlist #kate's writing #michael jackson #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson x fem!reader #michael jackson imagine

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1dcommunityficrecs · 1 month ago

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New Category: New Authors!

With the end of 2024, it feels fitting to pay a tribute to the year behind us. There have been good times and bad times, but through it all I have been so grateful for the community we have here. I always love watching it grow, and it's truly wonderful to me that new fans are still popping in even after so many years. I'm grateful to the old hands who have been here for so long and built so much and keep so many things moving, but I'm also grateful to the fresh blood with their energy and curiosity and vibrance. An ecosystem needs diversity!

So with the last category of 2024 -- and the first list posting in 2025, on Wednesday, January 1st -- I wanted to give a chance to shout out new authors in the fandom. I'm defining this as people who posted their first 1D fic in 2024 (though the submitted fic doesn't have to be their first fic) -- welcome aboard, we're so glad to have you! Send in your submissions here -- and as always, self-reccing is allowed. The only rule beyond the category is that at least one major character in the fic must be a member of One Direction.

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suicidalt33n · 21 days ago

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MATT STURNIOLO X INSECURE!READER (angsty 😋)

Posted on: 04, January, 2025

The room was loud, but all you could hear was your own heart pounding. It wasn’t even that you didn’t trust Matt; you trusted him with your life. It was everyone else — the perfect girls in the room, their flawless hair, and their bright smiles. The way they looked at him as though he was theirs for the taking.

You sat on the edge of the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as Matt leaned against the wall, laughing with Chris and Nick. His eyes sparkled when he laughed, a sight that usually warmed your heart but tonight felt like a twist of the knife.

“Why are you so quiet?” Chris asked, his voice cutting through your thoughts. His genuine curiosity made you feel even worse.

“Just tired,” you muttered, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

Matt noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did. His smile faltered, and his attention turned to you completely.

“You okay?” he asked softly, crouching down in front of you, his face full of concern.

“I’m fine, Matt,” you lied, avoiding his gaze. You hated that he could see through you.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Don’t shut me out.”

“It’s nothing, okay?” you snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness in your tone.

Matt flinched, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he sat beside you, his knee brushing against yours. The warmth of his presence was both comforting and unbearable.

“You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “You’ve been off all night. Talk to me, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened. “I just… I feel like I don’t belong here. Like I don’t belong with you.”

Matt’s expression broke, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if your words physically hurt him. “Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, tears pooling in your eyes. “Look at them, Matt. They’re all so… perfect. And I’m just… me. How can I compete with that?”

His jaw tightened, and he grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You don’t have to compete with anyone. I don’t care about them. I care about you.”

“But why?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Why me?”

“Because you’re real, Y/N,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “Because you make me feel like I can be myself. You see me, not the guy everyone else thinks I am. You make everything better, even when you don’t realize it.”

The tears spilled over, and Matt reached up to wipe them away with his thumb. “You’re enough,” he said softly. “You’re more than enough for me.”

You wanted to believe him, but the doubt was still there, nagging at the edges of your mind. Matt seemed to sense it because he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re it for me, Y/N. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

In his arms, the insecurities didn’t disappear, but they quieted just enough for you to breathe. And for now, that was enough.

---

I dont feel as if this fic made sense but oh well.

#angst #sturniolo triplets #fluff #matt sturniolo #matt fluff #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo angst #<3 mwah

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likeawildthing · 24 days ago

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As a recovering GirlBoss, I’m officially breaking up with my post-Christmas planning routine:

26- all Christmas decorations down

27- take stock of current year

28- values assessment

29- SMART goals for upcoming year with 6-8 life categories, fully planned by quarter

30-31 fully form this in my bullet journal while watching The life changing Magic of Tidying Up

Jan 1: Bring. It. On. Whole house, health, and work reset.

Sound exhausting? It was!

I don’t look on this era of my life (2016-2022) with cringe. Quite the opposite! That girl radically transformed her life from a broke, traumatized, single mom, community college dropout to a financially stable, creative, happy, MBA graduate with her dream job.

I am so grateful for her drive, determination, and passion. I am so proud of her.

And also? I’m so relieved I can no longer relate.

As someone whose core values are consistently curiosity and growth, I’m willing to adapt and change over time, shedding practices that no longer serve me in favor of those that do.

In 2022, at my post-graduation dinner, I signed a napkin promising my friends I would slow down. And I did, immediately scaling back my volunteerism and commitments in favor of radical rest and the pursuit of creative endeavors.

That winter, I made a paper chain to count down towards the winter Solstice in an effort to thwart the post-time change blues. When it worked, I adopted warmth, coziness, and light into my winter routine. Candles. Electric blankets. A soup a week. I also adapted my speed, just as we have done for most of our time on this earth. It also worked!

Since then, naturally, I’ve slowly been attuning my life to the seasons.

Spring — renewal, garden, waking up. Summer — enjoying time outdoors, being active and social.

Fall — abundance and gratitude, preparation for the holidays.

Winter is now a time of peace, joy, and reflection. I close my curtains at four, intentionally, and turn on my lamps, hit Netflix fireplace, and hang with a craft on my lap and good music in the background.

But I was still clinging to that last vestige of my GirlBoss era—my post-holiday planning session.

On the 26th, I couldn’t bring myself to take down the tree. She’s gorgeous and I love her! She’s staying up until January 6th this year. With the new job, I can’t take the entire week off. That’s ok! I still started my planning process.

No buy 2025.

Nervous system regulation.

A holistic health plan.

Glow up 2025!

Bucket list travel items.

To read, watch, and listen liste.

WIP creative projects.

Home to do list.

Dopamine list

Dot grid notebook ordered.

Action steps! Quarterly plans! Stationary!

And this morning, with my bullet journal still unfinished, I tried to reconcile stacks of paper with notes, dozens of screen shots, and multiple notes apps.

I felt frazzled, overwhelmed, and defeated. Why couldn’t I pick a path forward? Why couldn’t I even start a January page. Planning is my jam! As an ADHDer, it’s practically my calling.

So I had to ask myself…why am I doing this? If this is something I truly want to do, that aligns with my values, then it shouldn’t be this hard.

My time of renewal has transitioned to spring; so shouldn’t that be my time of planning for the new year? Isn’t it a little crazy to have fifteen major life goals this year? 2024 just wrapped up, so shouldn’t I take time to reflect on it, take stock, and truly understand what I want to take into my next year? Shouldn’t I take time to recover from the holidays? Would the world end if I stay slow and steady and take this slow season to fill my metaphorical well?

No, it will not.

So that’s what I’m doing.

My January calendar is noted with intentional social engagements and creative time. I put my goals away and instead loaded a bunch of reflective journal prompts to work through in the next month. Or two. Or three!

It feels vulnerable and wrong, not walking into the New Year with a Plan. But the bigger part of me thinks my lowercase plan—to rest, reflect, and connect with my friends and family, is going to work just fine.

So my hope for you is that you are at peace with where you’re at. And if you aren’t at peace, that you take the time to understand why, and that you’re willing to adjust course.

If you need a GirlBoss era, l will cheer you on, every step of the way! If you have a few goals, I hope you stick with them!

But if you, like me, want to stay slow, recover, and savor the season?

Come and sit.

How would you like your tea?

Ref pics (the napkin, my tree):

#Linds writes #pen to paper #new years

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leafcreature · 9 days ago

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Curiosity January - Day 6 - Bark

(Flipped the image so the text is readable)

#image description in alt #curiosity january 2025 #art challenge #my art #illustration #linogravure #linocut #printmaking #outer wilds #outer wilds art #timber hearth #outer wilds gabbro #curiosity cabinet #oddities #poems and poetry

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 3 months ago

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Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 9: Liv, Liv, Liv, Dom, Dom, Dom..

January 31st, 2025 7:29 PM

The front door clicked shut as Jey watched his ex-wife, Takecia, head to her car. He lingered for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before he turned back into the house. The evening had gone surprisingly well. Despite the complex dynamics of their blended family, there was a comfortable warmth among them tonight. He felt a sense of relief, knowing Takecia trusted him and Rhea to take care of Jaciyah and Jeyce while she got everything sorted in her new apartment.

Rhea, meanwhile, was already back at the table, serving herself yet another slice of yellow cake smothered in chocolate frosting. She looked perfectly content, her eyes lighting up as she cut herself a generous piece.

Jey couldn’t help but smirk as he joined her in the dining room. “So… Jeyce is going through puberty now, huh?” he teased, recalling his son’s earlier, awkward excuse for his freshly braided hair and dressed-up look.

Rhea laughed, covering her mouth as she swallowed a bite of cake. “Oh, that’s all on you and Takecia,” she replied, wagging her fork at him with a playful grin. “I don’t want any part in those conversations.”

Jey shuddered slightly at the thought, still getting used to the idea of Jeyce going through the same teenage years he once did. He leaned over, noticing the half-empty container of chocolate frosting beside Rhea’s plate. He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“So, we still have some leftover frosting,” he remarked, casually reaching over and tapping the container.

Rhea arched an eyebrow back at him, her curiosity piqued. “And?”

A sly smile crept across Jey’s face as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “I could think of a few ways we could use that frosting.”

Rhea laughed, pushing her chair back just slightly. “Oh, really?” she challenged, giving him a playful, daring look. “Well, you’re going to have to catch me first.”

Before Jey could respond, Rhea was already on her feet, darting toward the stairs. He grabbed the frosting container and chased after her, his laughter echoing through the house as they bolted up the steps. She turned her head just in time to catch his eager grin, her heart pounding with excitement and joy.

As they reached the bedroom, Rhea managed to slip inside first, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “You think you’re quick, huh?” she teased, watching as he slowed to a stop, catching his breath.

Jey held up the container of frosting, a playful glint in his eye. “Just wait, babe. You’re not getting away that easily.”

With a laugh, Rhea pulled him inside, her playful gaze meeting his as the door clicked shut behind them. It was moments like this that reminded them both of the deep bond they shared—not just as partners, but as best friends. They were now each other’s safe haven, each other’s joy, and no matter what challenges lay ahead, they knew they could always find comfort in one another.

They just didn’t know what lay ahead..

—

As Jeyce and Jaciyah approached Demi’s house, the two brothers got out of the car, and Jeyce took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves wash over him.

“I’m nervous,” Jeyce admitted, his voice a little shaky.

Jaciyah chuckled, giving his little brother a reassuring pat on the back. “It’s too late to back out now, bro. You got this.”

Taking a steadying breath, Jeyce walked up to the door and knocked. The door swung open to reveal a tall, muscular man with a biker-like presence—covered in tattoos, with a rugged appearance that immediately commanded respect. He looked from Jeyce to Jaciyah, his brows furrowing.

“I hope you’re not Jeyce,” the man said in a low voice, looking directly at Jaciyah.

Jeyce, sensing the opportunity to make a good impression, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Hello, Mr. Barkley. My name is Jeyce, and this is my chaperone for tonight, my brother Jaciyah.” He held out his hand with as much confidence as he could muster.

Mr. Barkley’s serious expression softened slightly as he looked down at Jeyce’s outstretched hand. Impressed by the young boy’s manners, he shook it firmly, giving Jeyce an approving nod. “Nice to meet you, Jeyce. Come on in.”

Jeyce and Jaciyah stepped into the house, taking in the cozy surroundings. As they did, Jaciyah’s gaze quickly shifted to the girl standing beside Demi. She had striking red and black hair that cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, paired with a black V-neck long-sleeve shirt. She wore ripped blue jeans and black and white Nike dunks, exuding an effortlessly cool vibe. Her makeup was subtle yet accentuated her features perfectly.

The girl’s eyes met Jaciyah’s, and a playful grin tugged at her lips as she stepped forward. “Are you Jeyce?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Jaciyah, momentarily taken aback by her beauty, managed to find his voice. “No… I’m Jaciyah.” He extended his hand, and she took it with a confident shake.

She chuckled softly. “I know, I was just messing with you. I’m Dayanara—Daya, for short. Demi’s older sister, and I’ll be chaperoning tonight too.” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, her eyes filled with mischief.

Jaciyah felt his heart skip a beat, but he did his best to keep his cool. “Nice to meet you, Daya.”

Demi, watching the interaction, nudged Jeyce with her elbow and whispered, “Looks like your brother’s already smitten.”

Jeyce grinned, whispering back, “He’s not as smooth as he thinks.”

Just then, Mr. Barkley cleared his throat, gathering everyone’s attention. “Alright, you all know the rules. Stay together, behave, and be back here by 9:30 PM sharp. Understand?”

Daya rolled her eyes playfully, clearly used to her dad’s protectiveness. “Yes, Dad, we know. We’ll keep an eye on them.”

Demi chimed in, giving her dad a reassuring smile. “We’ll be good, dad. Promise.”

Mr. Barkley nodded, satisfied. He looked at Jeyce and Jaciyah with a stern but approving gaze. “Take care of my daughters you two..”

Jeyce nodded back, his voice steady. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Most definitely will, thank you.” Jaciyah added.

With the rules set, Daya led the way to her car, a black Chevrolet Malibu. As they walked out, Jaciyah stole another glance at her, marveling at her confidence and beauty.

As they all climbed into the car, Jaciyah couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling within him. Demi and Jeyce were sitting in the back, sharing quiet, excited whispers, while he and Daya sat up front. Daya looked over at him, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk.

“You okay there, Jaciyah?” she teased, noticing his lingering gaze.

Jaciyah blushed slightly, clearing his throat. “Yeah… just didn’t expect my night to be this interesting.”

Daya chuckled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Tonight’s just getting started.”

With that, they pulled out of the driveway, the night ahead filled with promise and excitement as each of them anticipated what the evening had in store.

—

Rhea stood up, grabbing her clothes from the floor, and headed toward the bathroom. Jey followed, scooping up his own clothes to change into something comfy. As he bent over to pick up his sweatpants, Rhea smirked and playfully smacked him on the derrière.

"What a dump truck..." she teased, laughing.

Jey straightened, giving her a look of mock disbelief as he rubbed the spot. "Damn, girl. Is this how you feel when I smack your ass?”

"Maybe," Rhea replied with a chuckle, tossing her clothes over her shoulder.

Jey grinned and followed her into the bathroom. They showered together, joking and laughing as the warm water washed over them. Afterward, they both changed into their coziest pajamas: Jey in gray joggers and a tank top, and Rhea in an oversized band tee and shorts.

As they made their way downstairs, Rhea went to the kitchen to make popcorn for their movie night. She had just finished when her phone buzzed on the counter. Seeing Liv's name, she smiled and answered.

"Hey, buttercup," Rhea said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear.

"Rheaaaaaaa!" Liv's voice was bright and excited. "What are you doing, my awesome blossom?"

Rhea laughed. "Me and baby daddy are about to watch a movie. What about you?"

Liv groaned. "Me and Dom are about to board a plane to Stamford, but our hotel just canceled on us. They overbooked! Total disaster."

Rhea frowned. "What? That's so annoying. Do you need a place to stay?"

"That's actually why I'm calling," Liv saio sheepishly. "Could we crash at your place for the weekend? We've got a last-minute corporate meeting tomorrow morning."

"Of course! You know you're always welcome," Rhea said without hesitation.

"Really? You're a lifesaver!" Liv exclaimed.

"We'll get in around 2 a.m. Hope that's okay."

"No problem," Rhea assured her. "I'll send you the address and door codes. I'll set up the guest room, so when you get here, just head upstairs. The door will be open."

"Thank you, Rhea. You're the best! I love you Blossom!” Liv said.

"Love you too, Buttercup..” Rhea said before hanging up.

She walked over to the living room, where Jey was lounging on the couch, scrolling through movie options. "Liv and Dom are staying with us this weekend," she said, placing the popcorn on the coffee table and sitting beside him.

Jey raised an eyebrow. "Staying here? When are they getting in?"

"2 a.m. Their hotel canceled on them, so l told them they could crash here."

Jey chuckled, shaking his head. "You're too nice. Ultimate host."

Rhea grinned. "What can I say? I take care of my people."

Jey pulled her closer, draping an arm around her. "Well, that means we've got the rest of the night to ourselves before the chaos starts."

"Exactly," Rhea said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Now, what movie are we watching?"

Jey grinned, holding up the remote. "Baby Boy. You're gonna love it."

Rhea groaned playfully. "You're always making me watch movies I've never seen."

"And you always end up liking them," Jey teased, hitting play.

They snuggled up together as the movie started, the sound of their laughter blending with the dialogue on screen. It was a perfect, cozy night before their friends arrived and the weekend brought its own set of adventures.

—

As the credits for Baby Boy rolled, Rhea leaned back into Jey, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. The popcorn bowl sat empty on the coffee table, and the quiet hum of the TV filled the cozy living room. The warmth of the evening wrapped around them, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

“You ever think about dyeing your mullet again?” Rhea asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jey tilted his head, giving her a playful side-eye. “Dye it again? What color this time?”

Rhea grinned, her fingers tracing little patterns on his arm. “I’m thinking purple and blue.”

Jey chuckled, shaking his head. “Purple and blue? Girl, you trying to make me look like a wrestling unicorn.”

She laughed, giving his arm a light shove. “No, I’m serious. It’d look good on you. Trust me.”

He smiled, clearly entertained by her suggestion. “Alright, maybe. I’ll ask Liv and Dom when they get here if they can hook me up. Don’t want any of those fumes near you, though, preggers.”

Rhea’s heart warmed at his thoughtfulness, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

“Only for you,” Jey replied with a smirk, wrapping his arm around her.

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Both Jey and Rhea turned their heads as Jeyce and Jaciyah walked in, their faces lit up with matching, goofy grins.

Jey glanced at the clock on his phone and raised an eyebrow. “There you guys are. You’ve been gone a while.”

Rhea chimed in with a teasing smile, “Yeah, an awfully long time for a job application.”

Jaciyah scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Uh, yeah, we decided to grab milkshakes after.”

Jeyce nodded enthusiastically. “Yup, a nice cherry milkshake.”

Jey and Rhea exchanged a look, both raising an eyebrow. The boys’ expressions were a dead giveaway—something more than milkshakes had them grinning like fools.

“Just milkshakes?” Jey asked, crossing his arms and leaning back on the couch.

Jaciyah nodded quickly. “Yup, just milkshakes. That’s all.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes playfully, trying to suppress a laugh. “Uh-huh. And here I thought you two didn’t even like cherry.”

Jeyce’s grin faltered for a second before he recovered. “We’re broadening our horizons.”

Jey shook his head, smirking. “Alright, alright. Well, Liv and Dom are coming over tonight, so, Jaciyah, can you help set up the guest bedroom?”

Jaciyah’s grin widened, and he nodded eagerly. “Anything you need, Dad.”

Without another word, both boys bounded up the stairs, whispering and chuckling to each other like they were sharing the greatest secret in the world.

Once the boys were out of sight, Jey and Rhea turned to each other, both wearing bemused expressions.

“That was weird,” Jey said, shaking his head.

Rhea leaned against him, her eyes still on the staircase. “Really weird. They looked like they just walked out of a rom-com.”

Jey let out a low whistle. “Well, looks like we’re in for an interesting weekend.”

Rhea nodded, her hand resting on his chest as she snuggled closer. “Let’s just hope Liv and Dom are ready for the chaos when they get here.”

Jey grinned, wrapping his arm tighter around her. “They better be. With those two upstairs acting all smitten, we’re gonna need backup.”

Rhea laughed softly, already imagining the teasing and stories to come. “This house just keeps getting more entertaining.”

—

Meanwhile, before Jeyce and Jaciyah had arrived home, the two pairs were still out, soaking in the last moments of the night. At one table, Jaciyah and Daya sat across from each other, sharing a banana split. At another, Jeyce and Demi were locked in their own little world, sharing a cherry milkshake, each taking turns sipping through the straw while exchanging shy smiles.

Jaciyah leaned back in his chair, spoon in hand, and asked, “So, why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Daya laughed softly, her eyes lighting up. “Well, I’m 17, and I’m already in college on a full ride to the University of New Haven. I’m studying Biochemistry.”

Jaciyah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Biochemistry? Full ride? That’s impressive.”

Daya shrugged, her cheeks tinged with a hint of modest pride. “Thanks. I’ve always been a bit of a science nerd.”

Jaciyah nodded, clearly impressed. “That’s cool. I was supposed to enroll next week to finish up my senior year, but I’m thinking about talking to my dad and mom about enrolling online instead.”

Daya tilted her head curiously. “Rhea’s your bonus mom too, right?”

Jaciyah chuckled. “Yeah, she is. She’s been in our lives for a while now, and honestly, she’s been great.”

Daya smiled, stirring her spoon in the melting ice cream. “That’s awesome. So, if you’re not going back to school in person, what’s the plan? You wouldn’t want to wrestle like your dad?”

Jaciyah thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah, wrestling’s cool and all, but it’s not for me. I actually want to be a police officer.”

Daya’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “Wow, that’s awesome. Stepping out of that shadow, huh?”

Jaciyah smiled, feeling seen. “Yeah, exactly. It’s important to me to find my own path, you know?”

Daya nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. So, what made you want to go into law enforcement?”

Jaciyah shrugged, his tone serious but passionate. “I’ve always been about helping people. I want to make a difference, you know? Be someone people can rely on.”

“That’s admirable,” Daya said, genuinely impressed. “The world could use more people like that.”

Jaciyah grinned. “Thanks. So, what made you want to pursue biochemistry? That sounds intense.”

Daya’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’ve always loved science, but biochemistry caught my interest because of how it connects to real-world applications. I want to specialize in research and development, specifically in biotech. I like to imagine myself being part of creating life-changing medical advancements.”

Jaciyah leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “That’s incredible. You could end up saving lives.”

Daya smiled, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. “That’s the goal. What about you? Any dream departments in mind if you become an officer?”

Jaciyah shrugged, his tone thoughtful. “I’d like to work in community policing or maybe even detective work. Something where I can really be involved in making neighborhoods safer.”

Daya nodded, her respect for him growing. “Sounds like you’ve got a solid plan.”

Meanwhile, at their table, Demi twirled the straw in the almost empty cherry milkshake, her cheeks tinged pink. She glanced over at her sister and Jaciyah, who were deep in conversation, then back at Jeyce. “I think my sister really likes your brother,” she said, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Jeyce chuckled, his eyes never leaving Demi. “Well, I’m glad… because I really like you.”

Demi’s blush deepened, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you enjoyed the listening party as much as I did,” she said softly, her voice almost shy.

Jeyce took another sip of the milkshake before sliding it over to her. “I liked it a lot. My favorite song was This Night Has Opened My Eyes from their Louder Than Bombs album. What about you?”

Demi’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling. “I really liked This Charming Man. It’s such a vibe.”

Jeyce smiled, clearly enjoying the way her face lit up when she talked about something she loved. “That’s a great one too.”

There was a brief moment of silence, filled only by the ambient noise of the small diner. Then, Jeyce took a deep breath and asked, “Does this mean… we’re boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Demi giggled, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. She reached across the table, her hand hovering for a moment before clasping his. “Of course.”

Jeyce’s face broke into a wide grin, his heart racing in that giddy, almost teenage way. Their hands fit perfectly, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them, their world reduced to a single booth in a quiet corner of the diner.

Young almost teenage love, pure and unfiltered, filled the space between them as they shared soft smiles and the quiet excitement of something new and beautiful.

—

Daya pulled up in front of Demi’s house, the soft hum of the engine cutting off as everyone stepped out of the car. The porch light flickered slightly, casting a warm glow on the small group.

Jaciyah lingered near the car, shuffling his feet a bit before finally speaking. “So, uh, can I get your number at least?”

Daya chuckled, her red and black hair catching the light as she reached for his phone. “Here,” she said, quickly typing her number into his contacts. Handing the phone back, she added with a smirk, “I’ll be back next weekend if you want to hang out.”

Jaciyah’s face lit up. “For sure.”

Before he could say anything else, Daya leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek. Jaciyah froze for a moment, his face turning a bright shade of red, and then he broke into a grin reminiscent of Patrick Star when Mindy kissed him in The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie. He looked like he was on cloud nine.

Seeing his brother momentarily dazed, Jeyce seized the opportunity. He leaned in close to Demi and gave her a quick, shy peck on the lips. It was brief but enough to make his heart race.

“That… that was my first kiss,” Jeyce admitted, his voice stuttering, overwhelmed with emotion. “So, uh, don’t make fun of me.”

Demi laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. “Never,” she promised, brushing a hand lightly against his arm.

The girls headed toward the house, waving as they disappeared inside. Jeyce and Jaciyah got back into their dad’s Mercedes, the silence in the car quickly filled with laughter.

As Jaciyah started the engine, Jeyce leaned back in his seat, a goofy smile plastered on his face. “I think I like puberty.”

Jaciyah burst out laughing, shaking his head as he pulled out of the driveway. “Man, you’re wild. Let’s get home before Dad and Rhea think we got lost.”

—

Liv and Dominik picked up their rental car from the airport, the late-night flight leaving them both tired and slightly on edge. It had been a long trip, and as they headed toward Rhea and Jey’s house, Liv couldn’t help but voice her discomfort.

“We are not taking any more late-night flights,” she said, stretching out her legs as she sank into the passenger seat.

Dominik, who was already struggling to keep his eyes open, let out a tired chuckle. “I’m already sleep-deprived,” he replied, glancing over at her with a small grin.

Liv shifted in her seat and smiled back. “Well, when we get there, will you massage my back? I can’t feel it at all..”

Dominik nodded, giving her a reassuring look. “Of course, you know I’ve got you.”

As they drove through the quiet road, the peace was shattered when a car suddenly turned on its high beams, blinding Dominik. He winced and squinted through the bright lights.

“What the hell?” Liv exclaimed, turning around to see the car behind them. The vehicle started honking loudly, its driver aggressively tailgating them.

Dominik frowned, his grip tightening on the wheel. “I don’t know what this guy’s problem is, but he’s on my tail.”

Liv glanced back again, her eyes wide with concern. “Dominik, lose them.”

“I’m trying!” Dominik growled, swerving into another lane, but the car behind them mirrored every move, following closely. The aggressive driver wasn’t letting up.

Before they knew it, the car was pushing against their rental, shoving them off course. Dominik’s heart raced as he struggled to regain control.

“Hold on!” Dominik shouted, slamming the brakes as the car skidded off the road, crashing into a ditch.

The impact threw both of them forward, and Liv hit her head against the side window. She winced, trying to shake off the disorientation as Dominik quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Liv! Are you okay?” His voice was frantic, his hands reaching for her as she clutched her head.

Liv nodded, trying to regain her bearings. “Yeah, I think so. Just… a little dazed.”

They both looked ahead and heard the revving of an engine, the unmistakable sound of tires screeching. Dominik’s eyes widened, realizing the danger wasn’t over.

“Unbuckle, now!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and pulling it toward the door. Liv quickly obeyed, opening the door just as the massive headlights of a truck barreled toward them.

In a split second, they both jumped out of the car, narrowly escaping as the souped-up black four-by-four truck rammed into their rental car. The collision rocked the ground beneath them, but the truck didn’t stop. It backed up and sped off into the night, disappearing quickly from sight.

Liv and Dominik stood frozen in the ditch, their adrenaline pumping, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Liv clutched her head, still shaken from the impact. Dominik held her close, his eyes scanning the area, knowing they weren’t safe yet.

“What the hell was that?” Liv whispered, looking at the wrecked car, her voice trembling with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” Dominik said, his voice tense. “But that was no accident. Whoever was driving that truck—they were trying to take us out.”

They both stood there in stunned silence, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Dominik looked around, trying to think of their next move. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

But as they started to move toward the road, the sound of an engine returned, faint but growing louder. Liv and Dominik’s hearts raced as they turned, instinctively ducking behind some trees as a car approached.

The headlights of the vehicle blinded them momentarily, but they could make out the shape of the black truck, now circling them. It was back.

Liv gasped, clutching onto Dominik’s arm. “They’re coming back for us!”

Dominik’s mind raced. He had to think fast. They couldn’t keep hiding forever. “We need to move, fast. Find a place with people, get help.”

Without wasting another second, they sprinted through the woods, adrenaline fueling their escape. Their phones were out of service, leaving them with no way to call for help.

After what felt like forever, they finally spotted a faint light in the distance. A gas station, and a small convenience store attached to it. They bolted toward it, not caring about the time or how far they’d run. They just needed to be around other people—get somewhere safe.

Once inside, they immediately made their way to the counter, but the clerk behind it looked… off. There was something in his eyes—a nervousness, a tension that made Liv uneasy.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, his voice shaky.

“We need to call the police,” Dominik said, his voice firm. “We were attacked. Someone ran us off the road.”

The clerk hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the door. “I… I don’t think you should make that call here.”

Liv raised an eyebrow, confused. “Why not?”

The clerk lowered his voice, clearly nervous. “There’s been a lot of… strange stuff happening around here. People disappearing. People that drive cars like the one that just ran you off the road. It’s been happening for two weeks ever since those fancy people don’ moved in up at New Canaan border.”

Liv’s stomach dropped, Rhea and Jey. “Disappearing?”

The clerk nodded quickly, leaning in slightly. “I don’t know much, but… there’s something going on. I don’t know if it’s the same people, but something’s not right.”

Liv’s heart raced as the tension in the air thickened. The clerk’s behavior was growing more bizarre, and she could feel the sense of dread weighing heavily on her shoulders.

“Please, we just need to borrow a phone,” Liv pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. “We’ve been attacked. We need help.”

The clerk shifted nervously behind the counter, casting furtive glances toward the door and then back at them. His eyes were filled with unease, and he chewed nervously on his lip before speaking.

“Only the man makes the call, sweetie,” he said, his voice low and strained.

Dominik exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up inside him. “Look, anything. Please, we just need a phone. We were nearly killed out there, we need to contact the police.”

The clerk hesitated for a moment longer, glancing around the dimly lit store before slowly stepping out from behind the counter. His movements were cautious, as though afraid of something or someone.

Liv’s instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. She glanced at Dominik, who was equally uneasy.

“I’ll go in the back with him,” Dominik muttered, his protective instinct kicking in. “I’ll make the call.”

The clerk motioned for him to follow, his footsteps heavy on the creaky floorboards as he led Dominik into a back room. Liv stood frozen for a moment, her eyes darting around the gas station, trying to figure out what was going on. It felt wrong—everything about this place felt off.

A few moments passed before Dominik returned, his face tight with frustration. He walked briskly toward Liv, shaking his head.

“They said a unit’s close by,” he said quietly. “They should be here in a few minutes.”

Liv let out a relieved sigh, but the clerk’s odd behavior was still eating at her.

Dominik turned toward the counter to thank the clerk, but the man quickly responded with a low, hushed voice, his eyes darting around nervously. “Alright now, y’all get on now, ya hear? I don’t want to attract anyone here. This used to be a quiet place before those people moved to the New Canaan border.”

The mention of “those people” sent a cold shiver down Liv’s spine. She glanced at Dominik, exchanging a worried look.

She wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Just one more thing,” Liv said, her voice steady despite the anxiety creeping up on her. “Is it a black four-by-four truck? The one that ran us off the road?”

The clerk froze. His eyes widened briefly, and Liv caught a fleeting glimpse of fear before he quickly masked it with a forced smile. He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead, he spoke more urgently, his hand brushing the counter as if to shove them along.

“You two need to leave,” the clerk said, his voice firm. “Go on now. No more questions. I don’t want to attract attention. Just get out.”

He quickly walked toward the front door, flipping the lock and shoving them out of the store without a second glance. Liv and Dominik barely had time to process the situation before the door slammed shut behind them, the sound of the lock clicking in place echoing through the quiet night.

“What the hell was that?” Liv muttered, still feeling the remnants of fear in her chest.

Dominik shook his head, gripping her arm lightly as he looked toward the road. “I don’t know, but we need to get out of here, now. Something’s not right.”

Liv couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being pushed into something they weren’t prepared for. It was like they’d stumbled into a nightmare, and the only thing they could do was try to outrun it. The mention of New Canaan border and the clerk’s strange behavior only fueled the unsettling feeling building inside her.

“Do you think… do you think they were involved?” she asked, her voice low and laced with suspicion.

“I don’t know,” Dominik replied, his jaw clenched. “But I think we just found ourselves in the middle of something bigger than we thought.”

The night seemed to close in around them, the quiet streets feeling heavier with every passing moment.

A few minutes later, the distant sound of a siren began to grow louder. It wasn’t the reassurance they had been hoping for, though; the noise only amplified their sense of unease.

“We’re not safe here,” Liv said, a hint of panic in her voice. “We need to find somewhere else to wait for the police.”

Dominik nodded, pulling her toward the edge of the road. “I agree Liv but the police are almost here..”

The blue and red lights flashed brighter as a cop car pulled up to Dominik and Liv, who were still standing in the gas station parking lot. The car screeched to a stop, and the officer inside rolled down the window, his gaze narrowing as he assessed the situation.

“You the boy that called about a run-off, I presume?” the officer asked, his tone even but slightly curious.

Dominik nodded quickly, trying to keep his cool despite the growing anxiety. “Yes, sir. Our car’s off on Lapham Road. We were heading to our friend’s house.”

The cop’s eyes lingered on Dominik for a moment longer, his brow furrowing. “You’re that Mysterio fella, ain’t ya?”

Dominik blinked, taken aback by the officer’s familiarity with his ring name. “Uh, yeah, that’s me,” he said slowly, trying to gauge why the officer would know about his stage persona. “But what does that have to do with our accident? We were just run off the road.”

The officer chuckled darkly, his voice tinged with an unsettling nonchalance. “Alright, I’ll take you to your car, and we’ll get a tow truck out for you. Y’all need a ride to your friend’s house, too?”

Dominik hesitated, glancing at Liv, who looked pale and disoriented. “Yeah… yeah, we could use a ride,” he said, but then, a thought nagged at him. “You’re not going to let us file a report, are you?”

The officer let out a long, drawn-out sigh as if the question was an inconvenience. “Let’s see what we’re working with first,” he muttered, unlocking the doors. Dominik and Liv exchanged a glance before getting into the backseat.

Once in the car, Dominik gave the officer the location of the car. “It’s Mile 41. That’s where we left it.”

The officer nodded in acknowledgment, his face still expressionless as he started the engine. The car pulled away from the gas station and began heading out to the road in question, the quiet hum of the engine filling the silence between them.

“So, is this some kind of prank?” the officer asked, turning his gaze to Dominik in the rearview mirror. His tone was flat, but there was something about the way he asked that made Dominik’s stomach drop.

Liv and Dominik exchanged a look of confusion. “What do you mean?” Dominik asked, a slight edge to his voice.

The officer didn’t respond immediately. He just continued driving, his focus on the road. But as the miles passed, a sinking feeling took over. Something wasn’t right.

Finally, they reached the stretch of road where Dominik had said their car was parked. But when the officer slowed down to pull over, Dominik’s heart sank. Their car was gone.

“Wait,” Dominik exclaimed. “Where’s the car? It was right here!”

The officer, now with a more serious expression, slowed to a stop and turned off the engine. “If there’s no car, then I can’t do anything about it. You got proof it was here?”

Dominik’s frustration flared. “What do you mean, no car? Look at the tire marks!” He gestured urgently to the ground, hoping the officer would see the evidence.

The officer stepped out of the car, flashing a light over the pavement. The beam illuminated faint tire tracks leading off the road, but no sign of their car.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, son. I can’t do much if there’s no car.”

Liv’s voice was sharp as she spoke up, her worry escalating. “We were just run off the road! The car was here. It wasn’t just—” She stopped herself, realizing how strange it sounded. “What are you saying? We were just—”

The officer interrupted with a cold, almost detached tone. “Now hear this, son. I’ll take you to them uppitys up by the New Canaan border. Maybe they can help you out. But no guarantees.”

Dominik’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know where our friends live?”

The officer gave a low, knowing chuckle. “Son, I know everybody who lives around here.”

Something about his words struck a chord with Dominik. It didn’t make sense—why would this officer, a stranger to them, know the personal details about Jey and Rhea? Dominik glanced at Liv, seeing the same unease reflected in her eyes.

Liv’s grip on Dominik’s hand tightened as they both climbed back into the car. There was no escaping the strange feeling that this wasn’t just some random encounter. They were being led somewhere—somewhere they didn’t fully understand.

The officer drove in silence, the engine’s hum the only sound in the car as they passed through familiar stretches of road. Dominik’s mind raced. What was really going on? Why had their car disappeared? And why was the officer so calm, so unbothered by the fact that something was clearly off?

Eventually, they arrived at the entrance to Jey and Rhea’s subdivision. Dominik’s heart beat faster. There was something undeniably strange about this whole situation. Before the officer could make a turn, Dominik quickly spoke up.

“We’ll walk from here. Thank you,” he said firmly, trying to keep his composure.

The officer looked in the rearview mirror again, his expression unreadable. “You sure?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Yeah, it’s fine. We’ll walk,” Dominik said, pulling Liv closer to him.

The officer shrugged, pulling over to the side of the road. “Be sure and tell ‘em Demetri sent you folks,” he said as he threw the car in reverse, ready to leave them.

As the officer drove away, Dominik stood in the middle of the quiet road, still trying to process everything that had just happened. The strange, cryptic words hung in the air.

Liv stood still. Frozen in shock.

Dominik looked at her and he said, “Liv? What’s wrong?”

“We have to wake up Rhea and Jey…”

26 notes · View notes