#Family History Discovery Day

[nickysfacts]

The Gelato, was clearly only possible thanks to Enlightened ideas!

🍨🇮🇹🍨

[randombush3]

que te quiero

alexia putellas x reader

prologue

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 3217

content warnings: just you fucking wait

notes: i slaved away to get this out asap lol

They list your injuries in an awkwardly ascending order: best to worst. You suppose the doctor’s callousness is more professional than malicious – and maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t panicking at the sight of such long, uninteresting words – but he makes it sound clinical (his job) and it’s hard to remember not everyone feels the excruciating pain you are slowly growing accustomed to. 

You wince at your thoughts’ poor choice of words. 

Apparently, you don’t remember much. In the week that you’ve been awake, you’ve been subject to every test, question, and assessment possible, all answers coming out with the same result. 

You know your name and when you were born. You know that you have a degree in Literature, but that you’re now a lawyer with an extensive library instead. You can speak all the languages you’ve ever learnt (that’s a different part of your brain, says the doctor when you ask how). They ask about your parents, your brothers, and names easily roll off your tongue, the childhood fear of hospitals still present (god, there is something that you wish had been forgotten). 

Still, the nurses approach you with sympathetic smiles, replicating the expression when they converse quietly with the worried-looking woman who visits you every day. She’s called Alexia, she tells you, staring at the gap between you as though she is a stranger to being so far apart. 

Although it was blurry when you first woke up, once Alexia reveals her name, you’re certain you recognise her.

“I’ve seen her somewhere,” you tell your favourite nurse, chipper that you’ve worked it out. In an attempt to jog your memory, you’ve kept the small TV in the corner of your section of the ward on all afternoon, sort of missing the noise your committed visitor brings with her. “And she’s not here today, Isa, because she’s there.” You point at a figure running around on a football pitch. “Alexia Putellas. She’s famous!” It explains the secrecy and the inexplicable absences. You suppose a slightly different structure of her job allows her to visit at unconventional times, too. 

“Mm,” Isa hums, not quite committed to this conversation. “Let’s save the discoveries for your chat with the doctor, yeah? He should be here any minute now.” 

On cue, the pot-bellied man appears, clipboard in hand, bottom lip between his teeth. His perception leads his gaze to the TV, which, in turn, causes him to watch your reaction to the match. Growing insecure of his scrutiny, you press a button and watch the screen go black. 

“Good afternoon,” comes his greeting, clipped and determined to not waste time. You try to find comfort in that: maybe you aren't in the worst shape in this hospital. “How are your ribs feeling?” 

“Battered.” 

He writes that down. “You’re on the highest dosage of pain medication. We’ll need to start weaning you off soon, too. Especially due to a family history of addiction.” Your eyebrows furrow, and his pen scratches at the paper once again. “Okay, Y/n. Can I have a seat? Are you comfortable?” 

You take a moment to acknowledge the ache in your abdomen and head. He assumes your silence is a ‘yes’ and Isa is dismissed. “You shouldn’t be looking at any screens,” he says calmly, with the faintest hint of disappointment. “It will not aid your recovery.” 

“How am I supposed to remember anything if I can’t use… sources to help me?” you protest. 

“That is exactly what I have come here to discuss. We’ll start bit by bit. The more open you are to this, the quicker you will be released from hospital.” He smirks. “And I know that you are desperate to leave.” 

…

The stands of the stadium echo with jubilation as the final whistle blows. Alexia barely hears it due to the noise, still reeling from her penalty, proud to have scored in front of such a special guest. She’d made an ‘A’ with her fingers as she had celebrated. 

Despite her teammates’ dallying on the pitch, never in a rush after a win like this, Alexia is jumping the barrier and barreling through the crowd to get to the seats she’s been keeping an eye on for the whole match. Her mother is barely offered a ‘hello’ before Alexia is wrapped in a tight embrace. She won’t admit that the force of the impact winds her a little. 

“You played so well!” squeals Amaia, voice muffled in the sweat-soaked jersey. She seems almost giddy, which is a hefty improvement considering your current situation. 

Alexia laughs, bending down to Amaia’s level, her hands resting on the girl’s shoulders. Tears prick at her eyes but she hopes it isn’t that obvious. “You saw my penalty, right?” 

She’s met with enthusiastic nodding, Amaia’s eyes widening with excitement. “Vaig veure la A! It was for me, right?” 

“For you,” Alexia confirms, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Amaia’s head. Despite her efforts, the softness of the girl’s hair – the way she clings once more to Alexia’s body – is disarming. And Amaia speaking Catalan always gets her emotional. 

She wipes her tears when Amaia pulls away. 

This is difficult. Alexia is trying her hardest, but nothing is the same without you. She finds herself looking at the seat beside Amaia, expecting to see it filled by you, but it’s not; it’s empty. You are still at the hospital. You don’t even remember who Alexia is. 

You don’t remember the past eleven years, they think. Which means no Amaia, no Alexia, no Barcelona. 

It has broken Alexia’s heart. 

Her mother places a hand on her shoulder. “Go and get changed,” she instructs gently, in the same way she has been since the accident. Eli has become an engine, a guide. “Alba said she’d meet us at the restaurant.” 

Alexia swallows, embracing her mother. In her ear, she whispers, “I think it’s time for Amaia to see her.” Her mother’s touch remains firm, grounding her. She breathes out, and it is only now that her lungs ache that she feels like she can no longer hold it together. But Alexia is determined, and she will not crumble. 

Not in front of your daughter. 

“It’s your decision, Ale,” Eli murmurs back, her tone steady and calm. She’s seen how tirelessly Alexia has navigated these past weeks, juggling her team, her grief, her hope – all while trying to keep Amaia’s life as normal as possible. “You have done everything you can. If you think she’s ready, she’ll be ready.”

Alexia pulls back and nods, a quiet determination settling over her face. The thought of bringing Amaia to the hospital without the stability of a coma to predict her reaction has been weighing on her ever since you woke up. But, even though this step is more of a stumble, it seems to be in the right direction. 

"Now, go and get out of this kit. Amaia and I can only pretend you don’t smell for so long," Eli jokes, hand guiding her toward the locker rooms. Amaia is practically bouncing at Alexia’s side as they make their way down the tunnel, still buzzing with excitement over the game and ten goals scored. 

Not everyone is so plagued by misfortune in their personal lives – a reminder which is stark as Alexia passes the conga line of her teammates, all thrilled with their (superfluous) scoreline and exploiting the night off that Pere has allowed right from the get-go. A few of the girls wave at their captain as she walks past, but most feel uncomfortable shoving their elation in her face, aware of the shitstorm she is going through. 

The girls do keep plaguing her about what you had thought of their ‘Get Well Soon’ card, though. Not that Alexia has found an appropriate time to give it to you yet.

“Will she be awake?” Amaia suddenly asks, her voice breaking Alexia’s thoughts. Her expression is open, hopeful. Her eyes have the same shine as yours do in this light. 

Alexia glances down, her lips forming a soft, bittersweet smile. "We’ll see, Amaia," she says, brushing a stray lock of hair from the girl’s face. "We’ll visit, and we’ll see."

Inside the locker room, Alexia changes quickly, her mind already racing ahead to the visit. She imagines you there, perhaps looking out the window or glancing at her with that blank confusion that still cuts her deeper than she’d expected. The nurses have told her that you’re growing more restless with each day, becoming harder to occupy. You sound like a pain in their arses, which is comforting, because at least you are still you. And your questions! Alexia is unsurprised that the doctors rock-paper-scissor for ward duty. 

When she emerges, mood lifted by the thought of you continuing to be a nightmare, Eli and Amaia are waiting by the door, Amaia now clutching a small bouquet of flowers that must have been retrieved from Eli’s car while Alexia was changing. She’s holding them proudly, as if they might be a magic cure, as if a burst of colour is exactly what’s needed to bring you back.

“Ready to go?” Amaia asks, instinctively high-fiving Mapi as she walks out with Alexia. 

“Exciting plans, Capi?” her friend questions. Alexia’s look says it all. Mapi lowers her voice, allowing only Alexia to hear her; “you are strong. You will be strong.” 

“Let’s go,” prompts Amaia. Her impatience was very much inherited. 

After shooting an unconvincing look of confidence to her friend, Alexia nods, holding out her hand for Amaia to take. “Okay, okay. Say goodbye to Eli.” 

Kisses are exchanged. Alexia promises to come for dinner, even if she will be late. 

Amaia plays Taylor Swift in the car. The whiny music gives Alexia a bit of a headache, but at least it’s loud enough to dull the absolute din of her screaming thoughts. And when they arrive, it’s all too familiar for Alexia’s liking. 

She has her route to you memorised. It’s magnetic and intrinsic, and a desperate part of her is clawing at the hope that, somehow, you will have regained everything that has been lost in the day she hasn’t seen you. Before entering the ward, she tries to prepare Amaia, but the girl is as unstoppable as you can be and there is no intervening before she is at your bedside, greeting you like you remember who she is. 

…

A lot of what the doctor tells you are things you struggle to believe. Like, last year, you were made junior partner of the law firm you work at. They’re based in London. You used to live there – you moved after you’d finished your degree, bored of Bilbao and of home and of knowing every person in your world. Another confusing one: your brothers actually visit you, as though you are forgiven. 

Which sparks an aged memory. Two lines in the bathroom at the university. 

“Am I pregnant?” you ask, feeling the colour drain from your face at the idea that you might have lost the baby in the accident. 

The doctor waits patiently for you to remind yourself that eleven years have passed. 

“I was pregnant.” Nothing comes back to you, though this would be an appropriate moment for it to. The rest of the story hangs loosely at the back of your throat, unable to be spoken. You look at the doctor for help. “Did I keep it? I’m not – I wasn’t planning to.” 

“She’s called Amaia.” 

“Amaia…” you repeat. A painful realisation settles in you. How did you feel about becoming a mother? Why did you? When did they forgive you, and was it because of her? 

“Your mother’s name, I believe,” continues the doctor, “although you can remember that.” 

“I barely knew my mother.” She had died when you were very young. She didn’t feel like yours to grieve. To you, it was just time off school, hospital visits, and watching the rest of your world fall apart. You find yourself swallowed up in guilt – anger. How did you let this happen? How could you forget what must have mattered the most? “I want to see her,” you resolve, attempting to sit upright and pretend the movement doesn’t send a searing pain through your chest. “My… I want to know what she looks like.” 

Your patience need not extend for too long, as Alexia and Amaia arrive only two hours after the doctor departs. 

The sterility of the ward is no match for the warmth they exude, and you can almost sense them coming. It’s both comforting and unsettling. You refrain from telling Alexia that you know who she is. 

You have no time to, really, because there is a girl, average height with a bouquet in-hand, barreling towards you the moment you lay your eyes on your visitors. She’s loud enough to make you wince, which, in turn, earns her a sharp warning from Alexia, even further away than usual. She is watching you closely, awaiting your reaction. Her arms are folded across her chest, hair scraped into a damp ponytail, and she is withholding the emotion she wants to express because Alexia, you’ve learnt, isn’t really that kind of person. You often find yourself wondering how she first opened up to you. How long did it take? 

You want to ask, but Amaia – Amaia – begins to speak. Her voice is unfamiliar, her accent failing to reflect any time in Bilbao she might have spent with you. She speaks at first in Spanish. You hardly hear what she is saying, too focused on examining her features. 

She does look like you. Or, rather, pictures of you from years ago. Your father’s eyes, your nose. A smile that you can’t help but reciprocate. You try to remember what her father looked like, but nothing comes to mind and Amaia seems to have been unresponsive to his genes.

“Amaia,” you interrupt, not to cut her off but to test her name on your tongue. It’s foreign to you, but it suits her. She beams. 

“Do you remember me?” 

And what the actual fuck do you say to that? 

Your hesitation is telling. Alexia stiffens from where she had relaxed on the fringes on the section. 

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You look up at her, unaware that you had bowed your head in the first place. She has kind eyes, you think. And she must be clever, because it is not what she says, but that she says it in Euskera. 

“I missed you,” you say. It slips out, but you mean it. Well, you assume you missed her, and therefore it is a logical thing to come out with. And, also, you are aching inside from seeing the life that you have created standing right in front of you. A life you were not going to pursue. 

Amaia does not cry, but she delicately unfurls your clenched palms and shapes her hands to link with yours. You want her touch to bring it all back. It feels like jumping off a skyscraper when you are met with nothing, still. Instead of the flood of recollection you long for, there is a faint, ungraspable feeling of something you cannot name. 

After a silent pause, a movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Alexia steps forwards, her arms still crossed, her expression unsure and more than a little guarded. There is a sudden swell of gratitude in your chest, more for her presence than anything specific, and, without thinking, you smile at her. 

“Congratulations,” you say, voice just above a whisper as though Amaia will be unable to hear. “I saw you on the TV. You scored, didn’t you?” 

Alexia’s eyes widen a fraction as she glances at Amaia, who is proudly informing you, “ez behin, baizik eta bitan”. Alexia manages a small, almost bashful smile, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. For a woman so publicly celebrated, she seems to struggle to handle your praise. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “It… wasn’t a huge match but,” she grimaces at the sound of her voice, “I wanted to play my best for, well, for you guys. Amaia was there, and you… Well, I suppose you were watching it on TV.” She doesn’t feel inclined to show you the band of pre-wrap around her wrist with your name written on it, hiding it under the sleeve of her hoodie, or tell you that you were there with her, like you always are. 

Something tugs at your heart. It’s obvious that she is desperately holding back emotions, likely for Amaia’s sake. She looks away for a moment, regaining her composure, then turns back to you with a steadier expression. Amaia glances between you both, unnervingly perceptive for a girl so young. She squeezes your hands a little tighter. 

In the silence that follows, Alexia finally speaks up again. “I… didn’t want to crowd you, but,” her tone drops into something more serious, “I’ll be back again tomorrow, and, actually… Your doctor and I have been discussing the idea of you coming home soon.” 

The word hits you like a bullet from too close a range; it’s almost too fast to register before the damage is done. 

You don’t even know where you live. In your mind, you have never been to Barcelona, let alone have a home here. And yet there is an inexplicable warmth in Alexia’s voice that makes the idea feel… less absurd. 

She clears her throat. “In three days, if you’re ready,” she softly adds, eyes glimmering with hope in a fearful way. 

Later, Alexia stands just outside the ward, talking quietly with your doctor as Amaia sits nearby, focused on the little bouquet of flowers she brought for you, picking at a petal here and there. Alexia watches your daughter for a moment, the girl’s calm focus oddly grounding. 

“She’ll need a lot of rest and minimal stress,” the doctor says, drawing Alexia’s attention back to him. “But it’s promising. Her physical recovery is progressing, and though her memory may take longer, familiar environments could help.”

Alexia nods, though the doctor’s words bring only partial relief. “I can make things as calm as possible for her at home,” she says, trying to avoid sounding like a child begging for a present she knows she will not receive. “We have spare rooms, and lots of pictures to look over. And she hates hospitals. You’re lucky to have her disorientated, else she’d be kicking up a big fuss.”

The doctor lets out a tired laugh, but makes no attempt to agree that you haven’t made his life slightly more difficult than it needed to be already. “It will be an adjustment for everyone, but it is important that you are looking after yourself too.” 

Alexia’s gaze drifts back to the door of your room, and she swallows hard, steeling herself. The doctor’s words linger but they do nothing to curb her determination. She would do anything for you, and if you fell for her once, you can fall for her again. 

After another quiet moment, the doctor pats her arm lightly. “Three days, then. We’ll make sure she’s as prepared as she can be.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello hello! I dunno if you’re taking request but I was thinking if you can write smth silly about reader pulling the “Fellas grab your ladies if your lady fine” trend on Ford :3

You didn’t know how you had gotten put in this predicament where you were standing behind Ford, all the while Mabel was hiding behind the doorway -phone in hand- as she gestured for you to grab Ford by his waist and pull him in close.

Oh wait you did know exactly how you had gotten in this because Mabel came up to you that very same morning, phone in her hand as though it was super glued there, as she shown you this trend couples were doing for public validation and praise; and or to rub their relationship in the publics face.

‘What am I-‘

‘Just watch.’ Mabel exclaimed as she pointed to her phone that she had shoved under your face just as the man grabbed his girlfriend by the waist and pull her in close in tandem with the lyrics; ‘fellas grab your ladies if your ladies fine.’ Just as the video ends and goes back to the beginning.

‘And what was I meant to take away from that exactly?’ You questioned, not understanding the point of anything that was presented to you, especially so early in the morning where all you wanted to do was enjoy your morning drink without having to think so hard. However there’s never been a quiet morning in the Pines household in the history of forever, and each time a member of the Pines Family was usually the source of the unrest.

Ford trying to catch his anomalies that somehow snuck into your room

Stan loudly complaining about his aging body while burning the pancakes because he wasn’t paying attention to it.

Wendy’s loud ass snores. She’s always hanging out at the shack so often you might as well consider her apart of the family as well alongside Soos, Candy and Grenda.

Dipper being Dipper

And now Mabel with this supposedly popular couples trend. You couldn’t catch a break but you loved this family and Ford too much to care about how early it was for their shenanigans.

‘You and Ford should totally do the trend!’ Mable said as she beams at you. ‘The people would love a cute nerdy couple like you two!’

You chuckled as you ruffled the energetic girls’ hair affectingly. ‘I highly doubt your Grunkle Ford would want any part in it, he’s been in the lab all week on a recent discovery. What it is he wouldn’t tell me. He only ran into our room one day to scream THEY’RE PROCREATING and left for the lab.’

‘Please! Please! Please!’ Mabel cried as she clasped her hands together and gave you the cutest pair of puppy eyes ever as you felt your resolve crumble the longer you stared into your niece.

‘Fine.’ You playfully groaned as you allowed the young girl to drag you by your arm and lead you down into the lab where Ford was, only to shove you awkwardly close to Ford while she hide near the doorway, phone in hand.

‘Hello darling.’ Ford greeted without looking up from his work, he claims he could tell apart your footsteps from the rest of his family, but you just assumed that Stan or Dipper or Mabel kept coming down and Ford took the opportunity to learn how each of his family sounded when coming down the stairs through specific things they did.

‘Hello sweetheart.’ You greeted back as you could see Mabel practically on the brink of bursting into confetti with how hard she tried to contain her excitement.

‘Grab him by the waist.’ Mabel mouthed, her eyes becoming comedically large glittery stars. ‘Grab him by the waist!’

You looked back at Ford who was leaned over his desk, looking over his work throughly with his brows furrowed and his glasses slightly drooping off his nose. He looked handsome when he was concentrating but in your eyes Ford was always handsome even when he was explaining to you dungeons, dungeons and even more dungeons.

You looked back at Mabel who had her phone In front of her -most likely recording you- before you took a deep breath and brought your hand to Ford’s waist, quickly pulled him close to you so that his back rested against your chest. Poor Ford was a flustered mess, his cheeks were aflame, his eyes were wide and you could feel how stiff his body was against yours, you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked in the moment.

‘What’s the meaning behind this y/n.’ Ford asked as he tried to calm his excepted heart rate and regain composure.

You kissed his cheek before nuzzling it slightly. ‘Did you catch all that Mabel?’ You asked, much to Ford’s confusion. ‘Mabel?’

‘Yes! I caught all of that!’ She cried as she popped out from her hiding spot, ‘this is going on the family group chat!’ She adds as she bolts up the stairs giggling and squealing to herself at how cute you and her grunkle Ford were, leaving you and Ford alone.

‘Sorry sweetheart, her puppy eyes are my weakness.’ You confessed as you rested your head against his shoulder, still holding onto his waist and breathing in his scent that never failed to relive you and any and all stress. Ford chuckled as he moved his head to kiss the top of yours, smiling fondly at your weak spot for his grandniece and nephew. ‘It’s alright darling, just let me know next time before you do something so bold, my old heart can only take so many surprises.’ He joked as he rested his hand atop of your own, rubbing the back of it soothingly.

‘I promise.’ You mumbled softly against his shoulder. ‘But you did look cute all flustered, do you like being grabbed by the waist?’ You then asked, only to receive silence on Ford’s and, which made you life your head from his shoulder to see that he was cover the lower half of his face with his hand.

‘Cute.’ You thought yourself, you might do this more often if this is the response you get, it was a power trip you didn’t know you needed over your cute but extremely smart fordsy.

[dcxdpdabbles]

pleasseeee I need more for angel brat 🙏🙏🙏 it’s just too funny reading about Danny messing with the batfam

Jason regrets ever agreeing to babysit.

Logically, he knew that leaving Danny alone was a terrible idea. Not only was the little boy suffering from medical conditions, but if he were to discover they had forgotten him, he would zap himself out of the timeline.

Right now, Bruce and the others were working nonstop with the Flashes to try to figure out a way to anchor him to the new timeline they had created. Bart had a general idea of how to best go about this, but he warned everyone that it may be a lost cause.

Still, to keep their angel, everyone agreed to let the time traveler do his thing. Bart explained that he needed to get readings around Wayne Manor first to see if the Speed Force could help them anchor Danny to that location.

Once the anchor was dropped successfully, Danny would be free to move about their world without the fear of vanishing.

Since it was the one place Danny had been in the most in the old timeline and was planning on living in for the unforeseen future, everyone agreed to his idea.

That meant they needed to get Danny out of the Manor for a good amount of time. He couldn't see them working without answering some uncomfortable questions, nor could they just leave him defenseless in Gotham.

Due to Danny's medical conditions, the family had kept him mostly at the manor, but they didn't want to keep him locked up, which meant that there were some rumors about the boy.

The Bats used those rumors to verify that Danny existed before the timeline rest. They also studied them to get to know the boy before meeting him face to face.

It wasn't a lot, but enough to get a general idea of what the populace thought about Danny. It was an even split between people confusing him for Damian or thinking the Waynes were covering him up and not giving the people the explanation they "owed" them.

Jason wanted to know why random strangers on the streets thought they had a right to know their lives and couldn't keep their noses out of Wayne's business, but that might just be his Crime Alley upbringing talking.

There had been a few articles about Danny being seen around Gotham—mostly, the reporters thought it was Damian and speculated what happened to him. Jason noticed that Danny's previous outings seemed to revolve around two things.

Space and antiques.

Why? Jason was unsure but figured it would be the perfect cover to get Danny out. The rest of the family stayed behind to help with the tests.

"This is going to be awesome!" Danny cheered as Jason helped him with his gas tank. The two were standing outside the historical Gotham Museum.

It was a random Tuesday, so they and the staff were the only ones there.

Jason had figured that Danny had a love of history, which meant that he would be happy if Jason promised him a full day of riding around to see every museum the city had to offer.

It was disguised as Jason being bored and a spur-of-the-moment invitation, which was why no one else was free when asked to come along. Danny didn't seem to question it too much, running off to prepare for a fun day filled with historical retellings.

Jason wasn't that into history.

Still, he enjoyed reading enough period-era books to be willing to spend hours on random historical tours with Danny.

Danny was practically glowing as he leaned back and forth on his feet impatiently. He kept swinging his eyes to the building as though he could fly right in.

Jason's lips twitch. "It's going to be fun."

Together, they climb the stairway to the door. The museum is one of the biggest in the city. It has exhibits dating back to before Gotham's discovery, tracing all the urban legends and local myths from then to the present day.

Jason thought Danny would like to hear fascinating stories like Solomon Grundy's origins and the Wayne family's myths. Apparently, Bruce's family has always been a bit...strange.

He just wasn't prepared for Danny, already knowing that little fact about his bloodline.

"Do you think they'll have the Wayne witch burns!?" Danny excitable asks, causing Jason's steps to flatter.

"The what?"

"You know when they tried to burn three of the Wayne sisters in the town square on accounts of witchcraft? I always thought it was funny how the sisters managed to get away by setting the church on fire." Danny giggles, walking over to the lady at the counter. "It's one of my favorite exhibits."

"You've been here before?" Jason asks, entirely unprepared for that. In hindsight, it made sense for Danny to go somewhere of interest to him. Damian has visited the zoo at least thirteen times in his first year!

Danny quirks an eyebrow up at him. "Of course I have. You were the one who brought me here before, remember?"

Oh no.

"Are you sure?" he laughs nervously, looking up at the woman who is paying for two tickets—one adult and one child. She smiles at him sweetly as she stamps their papers—the museum liked to use Gotham's first original train tickets as passes. Danny pulls out his own for a collectible stamp, which makes Jason wince.

"Stop being weird Jason. No matter how much you pretend, I'm not going to let you get out of the photo," Danny tells him with a grin.

The photo?

"Is the booth available, ma'am?" Danny asks the woman with the politest tone he's ever heard a fourteen-year-old use. The woman, a twenty-something that was awfully pretty, smile grows wider.

"It is. What era would you like?"

Danny stops, pressing his thumb against his chin before asking, "What era is Pride and Prejudice set in? "

"It was The Regency period in England, but we knew it as the Federal," Jason responds instantly. "I don't know the exact number of years, though. Why?"

"I just wanted to check if Gotham was around then." Danny peaks up at the woman. "Gotham was founded in sixteen thirty-five, right?"

"Yes, but some argue that the Dutch founded it first, even if they moved on a few years before Captain Jon Logerquist." She says, giving Danny a wink. "That does mean we have Federal period outfits for you boys."

"Yeah!" Danny grabs onto Jason's wrist. "We can dress up as Mr. Darcy like you always wanted, Jay!"

The woman laughs as Jason's face starts to heat up. He has never been embarrassed about his love of classical books. It's the fact his little brother exposed his nerdier side to a girl he thought was sort of attractive.

She probably thought he ran around cosplaying or something.

"I'll go get it ready." She says, throwing her long red hair behind her shoulder.

"Thank you, Marie," Danny tells her, and Jason is even more surprised.

"How do you know her name?" Because Jason had checked. She wasn't wearing a nametag.

Danny looks up at him with far more confusion than before. At once, the outline of his body flickers in and out of sight. Jason's heart almost drops to his knees because, for a second, Danny actually vanishes from sight. "Dude, we've been here so many times before; it would be rude to know not her name at this point. Are you sure you are okay, Jay? Was your last night shift too rough? We can go home if you not feeling well."

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. I just think she's hot so I can't think straight around her," Jason blurts, wanting Danny to stop thinking about it before he is erased right in front of him.

There is a short gasp to his right, and with absolute dread, Jason turns to find Marie standing there, clearly having heard what he said.

No. Danny presses a hand to his mouth, not doing the best of jobs hiding his laughter.

Jason wants to melt onto the floor and die as she shyly informs them the booth is ready. She leads them over to a room with costumes tucked in the corner. A large camera is set up pointing to a lovely blue backdrop and various lights.

She tells them there are more backdrops on the racks, which they can change. She recommends numbers seven and nineteen since they were of old castle gardens, which would work best for Danny's vision of Pride and Prejudice.

The camera was set to send her the photos, and she would develop them when they were done with their resume walkthrough. If they wanted a different era, Marie could always come back and replace the costumes with something fitting.

The Gotham Museum had clothes from various periods that matched their exhibits. Jason is shocked to find they used Bruce's donation money for good use.

Danny is happily flipping through the coat rack, as Marie politely but obviously runs out of the room as fast as possible.

Ouch.

"We should re-do the same posses," Danny chirps, flipping through his phone until he finds a picture of him in a pirate costume, with one leg pressed on the small bench and raising a sword above his head. Next to him, Jason is seen sitting on the ground, one knee prompt up.

He was also wearing a pirate costume and holding a parrot on the tip of his finger resting over his knee.

Jason does not remember taking this photo, but it's clear as day that it's him smirking at the camera from two years ago. That should have been right around the time he first started to calm down from his Pit Madness.

Had he really brought Danny around here since then?

"Sure, kid." Jason cracked, swinging on a nicely done light blue gentlemen's coat that he could easily see Mr. Bingley. "We can react it."

Danny beamed.

They took a few photos, changing into almost all the outfits, because he can admit that he did have a bit of fun doing that before they decided to check out the rest of the museum.

Danny seemed to stop ever so often to ask why something had moved or where something had gone, and Jason needed to quickly distract him. He finds out that Danny may not be the only one erased, for the three Wayne sisters are missing, a giant battle between the British and the townspeople back during the colony days is gone, and the Wayne Manor light post legend is nowhere to be found.

Danny is devastated that they took down the light post, so Jason is quick to ask him to retell the tale. He makes a mental promise to have Bruce throw enough money at the museum to get it back up.

"Legend has it that the old head of the house, "Mad" Anthony Wayne, had fallen in love with a girl far below his family station. Without the approval of their parents, the two lovers were not allowed to wed. But he wasn't known as Mad for nothing." Danny chirps around his oxygen. He needed a moment to rest, so the two sat down and had something to snack on at the Museum's Cafe.

"He hatched a plan where they would meet at the far light post at the edge of the Wayne property every night to be together with only the stars as witnesses. Anothony would slowly pass along to her some wealth of the family that he smuggled out so the two could go and start new lives together. One night, while waiting for his beloved, Anothiny heard a scream from the swamp and raced over, but he was too late. He saw his love being dragged into the waters by something covered in scales and killing her. Some say it was alligators, while others claim it was a monster that roams the earth today. Devastated, Anothony would later marry the wife he had picked up for him by his parents. They say his love still waits under that light post, and if you see her, then she will either bless your love or try to kill you."

Jason blinks. "What makes her choose to bless you?"

"Only true lovers can be blessed. People would go over to our post to test their loves." Danny shrugs. "I wouldn't tempt an obviously violent ghost like that, but that's just me."

The older man nodded, thinking it was a fair thing to say and wondering if he had ever passed by the apparent light post from the myth.

He just forgot about it when the timeline changed.....or she never died thus making it a regular light post. How can he be sure he was missing something if he never knew it was gone?

Ugh, time travel gave him a headache.

"You should ask Marie to go stand under it with you," Danny grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jason sighs. "She's not even interested."

"Sure she is! Look, I'll prove it." Danny swung himself from his chair and marched to the greeting counter. Much to Jason's horror, his baby brother chats with her, twisting around to point at Jason and watching Marie's face turn bright red.

Jason grabs a menu and hides behind it mentally, telling himself this would be the last time he ever stepped foot in this museum again. Danny races back, clutching a piece of paper with a phone number. "She told me to tell you to call her,"

Jason's jaw drops. "What?"

"Here," Danny pressed the paper in his hand, and on it was a number with a heart. "She said she was tired of waiting for you to make a first move. You're welcome."

"How did you do this?"

"Please, if I could get Kori to give Dick a chance, I can get anyone to agree on a date." Danny boasted, puffing up his chest in pride. You can call me Cupid Wayne! I mean, how else do you think Cass and Steph got together? "

Jason wondered what else he had forgotten about Danny. Mystified, he wondered if Cass or Steph knew they were dating. Apparently, Danny had gotten them together, and he hadn't seen them act couple-ly since they found Danny making himself a sandwich.

Somewhere, Cass screams as Damian tells her the plan his brother hatched to help her with her crush. This was not the deal, boy! This was supposed to be funny!

Cass ain't laugh!

[arlertwhore]

draft #1: sneaky link series, pt. 7

completed draft - not a part, a draft - meaning there is technically no pt 7. i have no issues with people taking it as pt 7though.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! “sneaky link” reader.

warning(s): angsty, argument / breakup, fluff, smut, scissoring, pussy eating, fingering, spitting, hair-pulling, unedited.

synopsis: Despite your admission of feelings, Paige still wants to keep you as her secret. However, as the threat of discovery looms and you grow close with someone else, she jealously realizes she doesn't want anyone to think you don't belong to her. Even if you remain a secret, you are undeniably hers.

word count: 7.1k (what happens when ana's creativity fights to not fight)

Author Note: first ever draft i'm dropping AH! i'm so weirded out that i'm leaving this series unfinished (for now) and posting something this trash, but i think its what best for me. like i said, this isn't an official pt . 7, it's just a draft, but i have no issue if i get an inbox we can talk about like its an off pt 7 yk?? you guys are also so free to leave ideas for pt. 8 and 7 in my dms, inbox, etc.. so if i return i can get back into the groove!

Paige, after a week of ghosting, suddenly texts: "Good News", and despite being frustrated with her, you're desperate for a study break in studying for your last exam of the year and some positivity, so you quickly respond: "?"

She tells you her old friend from Minnesota, Serena, is in town for the week at a hotel while her soccer team plays Connecticut, and she's allowing Paige to use the hotel room while she's away due to her losing a bet.

You respond with a terse "Cool", and Paige's response hangs in the air, marked by those ominous three dots. After an agonizing pause, her next text arrives: "See you by tomorrow night?"

And although you're betraying every emotion you've had at the frustration of paige ghosting you the whole week, you say, "yeah."

You felt like a total idiot for believing that perhaps now that she'd confessed, Paige would stop running from it. You should've been wiser, given your history with Paige, but the thrilling days that followed your vulnerable confession of feelings deceived you. They were a dizzying whirlwind of happiness, lulling you into a false sense of security, and masking the reality of her true intentions.

You and Paige had a fast romance, resembling a newlywed couple's bliss. You strolled hand-in-hand through the neighborhood, enjoyed family movie nights, and explored the mall together. She even surprised you with intimate gifts, like delicate lingerie, which she eagerly removed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those days were filled with laughter, love, and a sense of security, free from the fear of rejection that once plagued you. Your connection deepened so much that Paige even let you take her with her strap, a thrilling milestone in your relationship.

The experience was magical, but as the school week began, reality hit hard, and Paige, as she always did, resumed the cycle. She seemed to have perfected the art of creating distance. Her texts became short and infrequent, she stopped answering your calls, and just ghosted you.

You were crushed: you made it clear on the week she did ghost you that you hated when she did that, and the fact she ignored your pleas and chose to cowardly avoid everything was heartbreaking. But at least you had your new roommate, Maggie, to distract you. After growing up with a wayward sister, Maggie was your first taste of what a healthy sibling relationship could be like. She was everything you weren’t—energetic, popular, outgoing, and the life of every party—your polar opposite, and her presence brought a refreshing contrast to your life.

She filled your evenings with wild stories of campus drama and an endless supply of party interesting anecdotes. And also, piping hot gossip that you were more than amused by until one night, when Maggie stumbled into your room back from a party, reeking of alcohol and giggling uncontrollably.

"Paige Bueckers, aka Ms. Hollywood, is allegedly hooking up with some mysterious girl on campus who claims to be straight."

Your heart skipped a beat: you had never claimed to straight before. 

And also, both of your entire life's focus had been on your careers, and this rumor had potentially to be extremely damaging to your professional prospects. Especially for you — you had worked tirelessly to build a respectable image, and the thought of being linked to Paige's scandalous behavior was daunting.

You played it cool, dismissing the rumor with a nonchalant laugh: "Oh, really? People say crazy things." But inside, you were turmoil-stricken, unable to reveal the truth to Maggie due to Paige's strict secrecy and dislike of her for being a blabbermouth.

Maggie shrugged, "Well, Paige is in trouble; social media's onto her, and they're searching for her mystery girl. Apparently, they even go clubbing together." Your heart sank, knowing this was all too true. As exams approached, you pushed aside the rumors and pretended to be too busy to care, all while secretly suffering in silence, worried about the potential fallout on your career.

So, when you pulled up to "Serena's" hotel the next day, really Paige's place, you were exhausted, beaten down by her behavior, the looming rumors, and the fact that you had probably bombed your exam that night. You couldn't have been acting more out of character, bursting through the hotel door and pushing past Paige, who stood awaiting your acknowledgment in the foyer.

"Is there anything to drink? Maggie drank every last drop of alcohol in the house." you called out, voice laced with desperation and a hint of frustration, as if the scarcity of alcohol was the final straw in a long series of disappointments.

"Me?" she whispered softly as she crept up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist with a gentle kiss to your neck. "Or Rose. In the fridge. You're lucky S I'm sharin'; S got it for us tonight." The warmth of her embrace and the sweetness of her kiss sent a buzz down your spine, momentarily distracting you from the fact she was everything wrong these days too.

"Oh, is that why you've been ignoring me? For Rose, Serena —because Paige, if we're being honest," you said, pulling away from her and striding over to the fridge to grab the coveted bottle, "I don't like sharing either."

There's a tense and awkward momentary silence as you stretch to reach the glass from up-top the shelf, and Paige approaches, her hand resting on your lower back, and her breath on your scalp. "We've both been busy - I'm not ignoring you, alright?" she says in a low, defensive murmur, her gentle touch sparking a flutter in your chest, making it hard to maintain your frustration.

Together, you manage to retrieve the glasses, but her gentle gesture  has already disarmed you, and the tension between you shifts, your  defenses slowly dropping, a fragile facade crumbling under the weight of her.

"I miss you even when we're together." you admit, looking up at her with a vulnerable gaze, your eyes locking onto hers as you bare your soul, the weight of your words conveying the constant fear of losing her, the ache of knowing that external pressures and expectations can tear you apart at any moment, and the desperation to hold on to her, even when she's right in front of you.

"I've had the worst fucking week, and- I spent most of my time in bed and not studying, thinking about why I could make you confess, but not... not stay with me." The pain in your voice as you reveal the turmoil that's been consuming you, and the desperate desire for her presence in your life is felt mutually.

"Okay," you whisper shakily, feeling tears prick at the way Paige looks at you, mutually, like she feels the same, but where you can see her resistance up still. And you know you'll never win. You have to stop thinking you can.

"I'll drink my feelings away, and then we're gonna fuck to get it off my mind, and we're never gonna bring this up again." your voice cracks as you surrender to the defeat, seeking temporary escape. 

You pour the rose in both your glasses, and Paige stands back watching, knowing that this is exactly what's happening. She's suppressing her inner fear and has no choice but to acquiesce, and not say anything because she told you her rules at the beginning, and fears if she says anything, it'll be from her heart because it hurts her as much as it hurts you.

She's trapped in her own emotions, unable to express her true feelings, and resigned to silently follow the script you've both agreed upon.

"Cheers," you say, raising your glass, and she looks confused, but reluctantly clinks your glasses together and watches through a slow sip as you down it and then pour yourself some more. The alcohol burns your throat, but you welcome the numbness, trying to dull the ache in your chest.

Paige's gaze lingers, melancholy, but more neutral, as she silently acknowledges the change in you, trying to read to lightheartedly conversate. 

"I see Maggie's introduced you to the lifestyle. You guys still getting close?'' her voice is subtly clad with a hint of detachment, an attempt to shift the focus away from the tension between you, and onto a more casual topic, but her underlying concern and curiosity are both still evident.

You nod, your eyes focalled on the alchol in your glass. "Yeah, she- we're thinking of doing a double date thing and I was gonna ask you before - y'know, but I guess it's pointless even though she already kinda knows."

You mention the fact - y'know - that you guys just suffered a breakup without even being together in a very odd manner, and that that is the weirdest thing ever. Well, to Paige, the second strangest thing of the night - the third is that how you broached the subject courageously in the first place, and the first: "Maggie knows?" she repeats, "Did you tell her?" a slight accusatory tone to her voice, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sets her glass down, her gaze fixed intently on yours, as if searching for any sign of betrayal or deceit.

"Everything." you whisper, jokingly confessing and shaking your head at her ridiculous pissed face (that's also sorta hot). 

Paige glares back at you, serious and you furrow your brows, feeling the alcohol hitting you already. "Shit, what do they put in here?" you ask, checking the label for the alcohol volume, when Paige snatches it out of your reach and demands, "I'm serious, Y/N, what'd you-" 

"Nothing!" you interrupt, exploding, "Nothing, Paige, there is fucking nothing to tell Maggie because all of this," you notion back and forth between you two, face-to-face, "Is nothing! What would I tell her, huh? That you don't text me for days on end and shit like that?" Your words spill out in a frenzy, the alcohol fueling your emotional release in the opposite sense you wanted it to.

Paige hates how that's supposed to comfort her, but instead makes her feel belittled and trivialized as she processes, now reaching for her own glass to forget about what you just told her - that you guys are "nothing." The word stings, a harsh reminder of the boundaries she's set, and the apparent insignificance of their connection in your eyes. She takes a swig, the rose souring her throat, as she struggles to reconcile the conflicting emotions within her.

Pretty soon, because you guys are weird and perfect for each-other, you're in bed and dealing with your conflicting emotions in a thoroughly unproductive way.

Paige kisses down your neck, hands roaming over you with a fervor in her eyes like she had the day at the bar, but now, times ten, and mixed in with something new. As she's stripping off your pants and kissing down your legs, she's still doing that thing where she murmurs vague stuff she knows she can deny if you try to confront her later. "So pretty, baby," she whispers, spreading your legs apart and kissing your calf, "My pretty baby." If not for the desire you have to get fucked out of your own brain, you would probably tell Paige to stop entirely or just stop saying that, but you can't, especially because it at least feels good to pretend that all just didn't happen.

By now, you've had plenty of rose, a lot more than Paige has, and under the spell of alcohol, every sensation she evokes in you feels better than the last. The room spins, and your senses blur, but Paige's touch is the one thing that feels lucid, the one thing that makes sense in this haze of emotions and alcohol.

Before Paige can put her mouth to use on you, the bedroom door is bursted open, and the once muffled call of her name that you're too tipsy to register becomes audible. "Paige! Bro, practice is cancelled, let's go-" she suddenly crashes in, who you can only assume is Serena, and walks in on the compromising sight and exclaims, "Oh shit!" standing there in awe as Paige scrambles for your clothes to cover yourself, furious, "Get out!"

She storms, jumps out of bed and slams the door in her face. The sudden movement makes your head spin, and you wince, the loudness reeling in your head from the alcohol and the abrupt interruption.

When Paige sees you lying still, eyes shut in what looks like anguish, she rushes over to you, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, she's- she's obviously not supposed to be here as you just heard and-" - "It's fine." you interrupt, gathering your clothes hastily and getting out of bed. Once again, Paige has let you down, and it annoys the both of you equally. "Call me," you say, your tone indifferent, "Or don't."

You go to open the door and rush away before Paige can stop you, but Serena awaits on the other side, and you pause, dissecting her.

You were going to be jealous over this girl until you realize she's like Paige, just a little less tall, a lot less blonde, and skinnier. She isn't her type and she's masculine too, to your delight, and not because of Paige and her not being compatible, but at the fact its your type.

"Sorry," she says cheekily, "I thought she was here to take a break from the team." 

Serena smirks, amused. "I mean, I guess she was." and her eyes linger at the hickey on your neck. The implication is clear, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks as you try to brush it off, the alcohol still clouding your judgment.

"Y/N," you laugh, smiling, "I'm sorry, I- I drank all your rose tonight, and you just saw me kind of naked, so probably not a great way to start things off." you chuckle, trying to play off the awkwardness,  and she smiles, exposing pearly whites, and seeming to appreciate your honesty and humor.

"Oh trust me, I couldn't mind less." and you can't figure out which way she means it before she continues again, "But... if you had too much rose, I don't just wanna send you driving home with a stranger. And better yet,  by yourself. You're welcome to stay the night if you want to." her tone is genuine, and you hesitate for a moment, weighing your options, before nodding in agreement, grateful for her kindness.

Paige is forced to watch her Serena clearly court you over the night, dressing you in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, and giving you some cold water as you guys converse on the couch in the living room. She does need time to herself after the alcohol begins to wear off and she begins to think about the consequences of her actions, the weight of her emotions, and the reality of her situation with you, but she can't do that logically while hearing you giggle and laugh at everything Serena says.

When she emerges from the bedroom, realizing she can get a rise out of Serena too, you both glance at her like she's intruding once she plops down at the couch in the living room.  Serena laughs. "Yo, are you- you staying here tonight?" she asks, her tone playful, but also hinting at a sense of not wanting Paige too, as if she's making her rethink her choice, and maybe even staking a claim on you, much to Paige's dismay.

"Well, yeah, that's the plan for the week, S," she says, eyes darting between you two, "Unless you guys want the house all to yourselves." Paige's tone is laced with a hint of sarcasm and a dash of curiosity, as if she's testing the waters, gauging the dynamics between you and Serena, and perhaps even hoping to stir up a reaction from one or both of you.

"Maybe we do," you say, leaning back on your couch, and Serena smirks, Paige rolling her eyes. 

"Well, yeah, we're learning lots about each-other. She's a huge soccer fan, and I'm a soccer player." 

Paige scoffs, shaking her head and laughing, "You hate sports. You're a nerd, what do you mean you're a-" - "I am." you interject, "You just don't care enough to know that." you shoot back, Paige's expression a mix of amusement and disbelief, as if she can't fathom you pretending to be something you're not.

Serena glances at between you both, intrigued, and curious. "So, uhh...before I ask what I do, what are you guys?" she asks as if she's navigating a sensitive topic, and her eyes dart between you and Paige, seeking clarification on your relationship status.

"It's complicated," and "Nothing," you both say in simultaneously, and when Paige's eyes narrow and she falls silent, you learn that the word "nothing" triggers her. The air is thick with tension, and Serena's eyes widen, sensing the underlying dynamics at play.

"Nothing?" she raises an eyebrow at Paige. She pauses. "Uhh... well on that case, why don't all three of us go get dinner tomorrow? Paige can bring somebody!" she suggests, hoping by the proposal, it will soften the blow of tension. 

"And... And so can you, even though I'd prefer if you don't." You smile warmly at her attempt to flirt, and also, keep things equal. "What about my friend Maggie Bowman? She's practically my sister, I think you'll love her. She plays soccer too." You offer, trying to lighten the mood and include Maggie, finally, in your real life.

Paige realizes thats how you must've been able to keep up a sports conversation for so long. "Maggie? I mean, c'mon, I-" "I'd love that!" Serena exclaims, "Who're you bringin' Paige? Maybe another hot model girl?" she teases, referencing you, who does that stupid giggle again and it takes Paige all her might not to lash out as she calmly responds, "I don't know, Azzi maybe." 

Serena nods. "That'd work." and Paige grimaces at the fact she'd try for her best-friend too.

The rest of the night is a blur and you come down from the alcohol, all eventually falling asleep on the couches, yet you awaken in bed, next to Paige, like you had become used to as of a week ago. The familiarity of her presence, the scent of her skin, and the warmth of her body engulfing yours stir up a mix of emotions, from comfort to guilt, as you try to process the events of the previous night and the current state of your relationship.

Your body may crave the comfort of her closeness, but your mind knows that giving in to these desires will only lead to more heartache and confusion in the end, so you nudge her. "Off, Paige." you whisper, your voice gentle but firm, trying to extricate yourself from her embrace without hurting her feelings, and subsequently yours.

"Hmm?" she murmurs from sleep, groggily, "No, stay," she slurs, her voice laced with a hint of desperation, as she tightens her hold on you. She has a bad sleeptalking habit, one that you've struggled with in the past to understand if she's just stupid and asleep or genuine.

It's both. And it also seems like old patterns are dying hard. You force yourself up, you exit her arms, and book an Uber back to your house, where Maggie is waiting at the doorstep with coffee. "Where were you all night? Gosh, I was worried sick, I called everybody you knew. Fuck, your friends are dicks." She scolds, her expression a mix of relief and annoyance, as she hands you a steaming cup of coffee, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your disheveled appearance.

"Serena's house," you reply, "This friend of mine. She's in for the week while her Soccer team plays Connecticut." 

Maggie's eyes widen. "What? Like The Minnesota Stars playing Connecticut this week? As in the Serena Davis?" She asks, her voice laced with excitement and disbelief, as if she can't quite wrap her head around the fact that you spent the night at the hotel of a famous soccer player.

"I think," you smile, glancing down at your clothes, "I didn't catch her last name, but these are all hers. She's sweet." Maggie's jaw drops, her eyes bulging in utter shock, before she lets out a squeal of excitement, jumping up and down like a teenager at a rock concert. "OH. MY. GOD! You're a groupie! You're a total groupie!" she accuses, laughing and teasing, her hands on her hips. You nod, playing along, "Would this groupie still be one if she was inviting you to dinner with Serena? And Paige Bueckers? And maybe Azzi Fudd?" You ask, grinning mischievously, as Maggie continues to freak out, still in disbelief.

Up until 8:00, the confirmed meetup time, is when Maggie energizes.

She talks endlessly about how you're basically living a double life, how you're "rubbing shoulders with soccer royalty", and asks you what it's like to be with Serena, her questions ranging from serious to absurd. On the drive to the restaurant, you have to lecture Maggie on proper etiquette, reminding her to behave herself, not to fan-girl too hard, and to please, for the love of all things good, not ask Serena for a jersey or autograph.

"Just be chill," you advise, shaking your head in amusement as you walk into the restaurant together. You can feel Maggie's excitement radiating like a force, and you know she's struggling to contain her inner fan-girl. You shoot her a warning glance, silently reminding her to play it cool, as you spot Serena, Paige, and Azzi waiting for you at a table, Serena looking radiant and entirely too comfortable in her celebrity skin.

You underestimate just how famous the girls are, especially Serena, but when even your waiter is a little starstruck to see the three of them, telling them each she's seen them in sports, you realize that you're dining with genuine sports royalty.

You each spend the dinner laughing. Maggie and Azzi talk for some time, both self-proclaimed party-girls with mutual friends, and Paige, you, and Serena—mainly Paige and Serena—do their own thing up until you guys have finished eating and chatting, at which point Serena pays the bill with a flourish, her celebrity status evident in the discreet yet deferential service you received all evening. As you prepare to leave, the waiter lingers, still starstruck, and Serena, Paige, and Azzi graciously autograph a napkin for her before you exit.

The night ends with Maggie inviting you all to a party that you and Paige decline, however, Serena opts to go. "Might as well make the most of it while I'm in town." she says with a grin, "But... if you wanna stay at the hotel, Y/N, we'll all see you guys tonight." She winks, eyes sparkling as she ganders at you hungrily.

Azzi, the only person besides you and Paige who knows your history, a member of the "Paige needs to stay focused" club, and also her best-friend knows exactly what'll happen if you guys are left alone together, and once you say, "I think I will, S," Azzi is quick to interject, "Sure you BOTH don't wanna join us? I mean, Y/N, I remember the first time I met you. At a party." she teases you playfully, coaxing a smile out of you.

"And you remember how I embarrassed myself, Azzi?" you ask, laughing. "How could I forget?" the girl chuckles, "I wanna hear this story tonight," Maggie chimes in, and Serena agrees, "Me too." before Azzi just sighs, knowing there's nothing further she can do, and relents with a playful warning. "Just don't get too distracted, you two. We'll see you tonight."

You don't think you'll get distracted as they disappear into the distance, waiting for their Uber, and you and Paige head towards your car, walking down the street together in silence. The only sounds are the crickets chirping and the occasional passing car, but the air is thick with an underlying tension between you and Paige until you speak up.

"Can you drive? I'm too tired, I wanna take a nap." you ask Paige, tossing her your keys. She catches the keys with a hesitant smile, her eyes searching yours for a moment before she nods. "You done being mad at me?" she asks, her voice soft, playful, and a little vulnerable, like she's feeling her way through the moment, trying to gauge if the chill between you has started to return.

"I was never mad at you," you say with a shrug, avoiding her eyes and sounding utterly nonchalant. "I was mad at myself." Your tone is detached, like you're dismissing the whole thing, and your gaze drifts away from hers, leaving a sense of distance between you.

She decides not to go there with you. "So, Maggie's actually chill," she says, changing the subject, her tone light and conversational. "It's kinda weird it's all falling into place now even though we're not, y'know, 'friends' anymore." her words hang in the air, not probing or accusing, just stating a fact.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs, continuing, "Well, Azzi just accepted the fact I'm staying at a hotel with you, which means they all will because she's my best friend. I like Maggie. You like Azzi. And the net is catching on."

You chuckle, amused, and she smiles, playfully teasing. You can't help but think that if you two were still close, she wouldn't be so nonchalant about this situation. It's as if she's only comfortable with this all coming to you both at once because you're no longer under her control.

The thought crosses your mind that sometimes, it takes losing something to realize its value, and you wonder if she's come to appreciate you only now that you're no longer there. You have to remind her you aren't, because with the way her eyes scan your body, your dress, her favorite color on you, black, accentuating your shape perfectly before she licks her lips, adjusting her gray Nike tech, its obvious.

"I do have to say, I like Serena. How come you never mentioned this 'friend' of yours was hot and also really talented?" you laugh, a low throaty sound, and raise a waggling eyebrow that makes Paige herself chuckle smally.

With her laughter, her inability to go there with you ever, you don't expect it at all when she looks you straight in the eye, and boldly smiles, "No you don't. You like me? Remember? Back at your parents' at the park?" there's a dash of challenge to her tone, as if daring you to admit the truth, her eyes sparkling with a knowing glint that makes your heart race.

And just like that, you fall back in.

You slip up in your words. "The car's here, Paige," but you swallow the last part, jumbling it into, "C'mere Paige," instead of repeating what you had actually meant to say. Your voice is struck with want, your brain foggy with the familiar haze of passion, as you pull her closer, your hands roaming over her body like they used to, like no time has passed at all.

Within seconds, you're inside of your car, making out with Paige as her big hands grasp your hips, and you can't at all believe yourself one bit — that you're doing it again — that Azzi was right — and letting her fuck her way back into your life again, but you did have unfinished business.

And plus, now, with it all out of the way — you didn't mind just being casual, your resistance crumbling like dust as her lips devour yours, the familiar spark between you, consuming all rational thought.

"Fuck, I-... I never wanna see you like that again, do you hear me?" she growls again, staring intensely with her hand gripping your tits, spilling out the top of your dress. "Never," she repeats firmly and pulls you back in roughly by your ass, making you yelp into her mouth as she kisses you fiercely, tongue claiming yours.

Luckily for you guys, the deserted streets are quiet and your windows have a tint. It would be a shame for anybody to witness how Paige pulls you over her lap in the driver's seat, pulling your dress down and popping your tit into her mouth, sucking on you with hungry groans, tongue flicking against your nipple as she murmurs, "You like that?"

It's obvious in the way your body responds to hers, hips bucking against her thigh, and how you moan, "Y-Yes, shit." She holds your hips firmly, guiding you back and forth sensually, and due to how wet you are, she can feel you soak her knee through her sweatpants. She softly whispers into your ear, "No panties, huh? Of course, such a slut," and she grabs your hair, forcing your head to tilt back as she suckles on your neck. "Let me show Serena who you belong to."

Those times you knew Paige would flat out ignore you or deny it when you brought up her possessiveness and control during sex, were far behind you because you knew she couldn't now, and it was clear she didn't want to, and it was the hottest thing ever.

Her passion and intensity were undeniable, and you were swept up in the fervor of the moment, loving every second of her unbridled desire.

Once she's done doing that, you can't take it. "Wait, I-.. home Paige home, it's too tight in here." Your voice is laced with desperation, pleading with her to stop or to slow down, but your words are overtaken by her intense kisses, your body betraying your mind as you succumb to her fervent touch, the confines of the car suffocating you.

You don't know how you guys even manage getting home: the want is that much. You have so much need in your body that you do the most reckless thing ever known to mankind. As Paige slams on the accelerator, you spread your legs and slip your fingers down between your thighs, rubbing on your clit, in your wetness that makes the lewdest sounds ever, second to when you moan her name breathlessly. "Paigeee, fuck…! Wish this was you, P, mmph, gosh."

She tries not to glance and she tries not to react, but when you extend your arm and put your hand right across her lap, fucking your own fingers into you with wet noises and desperate whimpers before you give her a taste of it, it's like she's possessed.

You're rushing through the hotel to get back to the room, and in the elevator, more kissing continues, but at the door, you guys tap in and are making out furiously, for what feels like hours, hotly, both stepping out of your clothes in the corridor.

Your hands are all over each other once you crash in, rekindling the passion that never quite faded as you stumble into the room, locked in a embrace that's hard to break.

You unzip Paige's sweater and remove her Nike tech pants and are upset to find the truth about layering being true now of all times -- underneath, she has a black sports bra and blue basketball shorts.

You drop to your knees, sliding them down her legs, and your mouth is on her cunt in a flash. She's insanely wet—probably the wettest you've ever had her before in all your years of fucking.

"Do I have to be standing for this?" she asks through gritted teeth, and you realize that she's complimenting your head game like that, and smile, smirking as you look up at her and delving into her pussy with a strong flick of your tongue against her clit a couple of times, moaning hungrily.

The teasing gets her weak, her knees buckling.

Your words, your touch, your gaze—all of it has her surrendering, her defenses disappearing as she gives in to the tension that's been building between you two.

It's been ages since you've gotten to do this—melt Paige on your tongue, and she tastes like heaven, and sounds like it too. When you focus on her clit, parting her folds with your fingers to angle your tongue and flick at it, she whimpers.

Your touch is so, so perfect it doesn't even feel real, and though none of it does, Paige can't help but savor the moment. She gazes down at your face, looking deep into your eyes as she grinds her hips against you, in a frenzy riding your face as she moans loudly.

"Fuck, you're so good," she groans, pulling you back up by your hair and onto your feet, eyes blazing. "Tell me you wouldn't do this for Serena. For any other girl," she demands, tugging your hair in a way that turns you on intensely as you murmur, "Just you. Always only you." And she's relentless, spitting into your mouth, her saliva thick and warm, before she pushes your face back into her cunt, making everything a wet mess through the singular action.

You pull back and marvel at her pink folds. "So beautiful," you whisper against her cunt, entranced with desire and by the way her pussy glistens and gleams, sparkles, and you suckle her clit like a connoisseur.

The signs she's going to climax emerge: her eyes shut tightly, her abs contract repeatedly, and her face turns red and redder by the moment as you work your jaw faster, slipping your finger up into her entrance, but she stops you with a yank of your head backwards.

"Seriously, I'll fall over if we—c'mon, let's go to the bed." she pants.

This time, Paige remembers to lock the door behind her before she slips in between your legs, dangling her chain enticingly in your face. "Still wet?" she softly and earnestly inquires, and you chuckle at her ridiculous charm. "Yeah, of course."

She kisses you deeply, hands roaming eagerly. "Lemme check," she whispers, and then she slides up your dress, exhaling in awe at the sight because you're genuinely dripping.

"So fuckin' perfect, fuck," her warm breath against your stomach gives you chills, and you twitch slightly in her embrace, prompting her hand to fly to your hipbone, anchoring you with a desperate gaze, afraid you might slip away. "N-no," she stammers, her voice trembling, "No, just... just stay like this, just like this."  With lustfully hazy eyes, she closes them as she nuzzles her nose against your clit, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. "Ah, Paige-!" you yelp, and she's quick to hush you.

"Shhh, angel, please," she whispers, her eyes meeting yours fleetingly. "Please," she repeats, more firmly this time, before her tongue teases at your clit carefully - like she just wants a small taste.

The shamelessness in her begging — begging for you to be complicit with her, coupled with her mouth, it all makes your head spin.

When you nod, silently giving into her, you watch as she indulges in you, moaning at the faint taste of you on her tongue before she withdraws. "You taste amazing," she mumbles, "Just for me."

Your eyebrows furrow at her words, arousing you further, soaking you thoroughly and making you squirm once more, much to her dismay. "Stay still," she instructs firmly, pausing. "Stay still or you won't get anything out of this… I could do this all night, I promise you."

It took you back to when you first met Paige and she told you the exact same thing. You didn't believe her at first, and then she ended up not letting you cum for half an hour, her fingers inside you changing with every stroke, LITERALLY keeping you on edge.

Your hands laced into her hair, and you tugged lightly. "'s what you get, you bitch… so fuckin' mean to me," you teased, knowing exactly how to get her where you needed her, just like she'd gotten you to where she needed you for what you were about to do. "Serena'd be fucking me good by now. She almost did last night before you came out on the couch."

That was true. You weren't just saying it, and you both knew it. That was true.

"Is that so?"

In moments, you were now both naked, her hands gripping your ass and tits eagerly. Her kisses were urgent and messy as she undressed you, her lips assaulting your neck with hungry fervor. "I'm going to fuck that out of you," she declared, her voice filled with need, her breath heating your skin. "I can't get enough of you."

"Do it."

Paige complied, her hands gently kneading your breasts as she positioned herself between your legs. You gasped softly as she settled against you, the heat of her body melding with yours as she aligned your cunts precisely. The room seemed to fade away as you focused on the exquisite friction between you, the heat intensifying as Paige hooked her leg around your thigh in a sense, drawing you closer with each movement. Her voice was a whisper against your calf, filled with need as she questioned, "Feel my clit, baby? Feel how wet I am for you?"

You whine, overwhelmed. "You're so wet, P, fuck." She had your leg bent back towards your head, her slick heat gliding against yours as she moved forward, inhaling sharply at the exquisite friction between you.

She smirked down at you. "Fuck, you're my slut, baby," she moaned, pupils dilated as she arched her back, pressing her body closer to yours.

With each powerful thrust of her hips, you could see the subtle flexing and rippling of muscles beneath her skin, a testament to her arousal. Her voice was heavy with desire as she lifted your leg higher, craving deeper access. "Fuck me back, baby, come on. Just like that." the last part a near whine as you appeased, meeting her every grind with a fervent thrust of your hips.

"God, you're so wet," she whimpered, biting onto her bottom lip to stifle her moans, "Fucking dripping, aw.. shittt." in the break, she's panting, breathing fast breaths into your ear, and then it falls silent.

The sound that fills the air between you two once it does was raw— carnal. It had grown louder as you complied, truly fucking her back, your clits sliding against each other frenziedly, eliciting a wet sound that mingled with the rhythmic clapping of your skin. Unable to stifle it, a sigh of satisfaction escaped you, breaking the silence. "So deep, Paige," you grunted softly, reaching up to fondle her firm tits, her eyes fluttering shut as she quickened her pace, urging you to keep up.

"Don't… do not fucking stop," your voice cracked with pleasure, urgent and needy without care. "Then fuckin', ohh," testing her resolve, you pinch her nipples mid-sentence, and they perk up, practically begging to be sucked. Her voice trembles so invitingly that your mouth waters.

"Then fuckin' keep up with me, ma. You can do it, angel," she encouraged, brushing your hair from your face just to look you with her glossy from determination, and then she's crying out, "Fuckk, yes!" as her hips buck against yours snugly. You're just about to ask what has her so riled up when you feel it— her nails digging into your skin at the sensation of your clit, rubbing hard against hers and pulsating, driving her insane and making her lose control. It makes you shake with pleasure. It was all just perfect — Paige never fucked you like this often just because in her own words, she didn't like sounding like a bitch.

Moaning like a girl. And... she always warned that she couldn't hold back when it came to your pussy. She'd always lose control if she took you like this, and she knew you secretly liked it when she did.

It was hot watching her internally battle the side of herself that wanted to hold the power and the side that wanted to fuck you stupid and give you all her cum.

Nevertheless, she's spilling more arousal from her hole into the mix, and the glide just gets smoother and smoother, like water on water.

You push your hips up harder, grunting with each forceful thrust, and Paige sounds like she's exerting herself at the gym, groaning gruffly as she fucks you relentlessly, babbling about how badly she wants you to cum in her.

"You do? You want it?" you tease, and she's quick to nod her head vigorously, hair flying free from its bun as she moves. "Mhm," spitting down between you both and pleading, "I want your cum so badly, baby, please give it to me, please let me have it, please make me- make me cum, shit you're gonna-"

Her eyes squeezed shut and she moaned deeply, hips bucking, signaling her impending climax. "Look at me," you urged, "Look at me, Paige, I want to cum, I want to give it to you, look at me."

When she forces her eyes open, glistening with tears, she freezes on the spot at the sight of your tits bouncing and clapping together rhythmically, the way you bite your bottom lip, and how desperate you sound once you climax at the exact same time as her, calling out her name hoarsely. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, Paige, oh—! Oh fuckkk, yes!"

She's whining and crying out listlessly as she collapses over your body, muscles contracting as she spills onto you, and with each slow movement, her cunt feels like glue against yours, so much so that you tremble.

Your skin sticks to each other, a mixture of sweat and arousal making it feel almost impossible to separate, and before you can offer to clean her up again like you so desperately want to — to finish what you started earlier and have her cum on your tongue, a firm knock is heard on your door.

"Guys?!" shouts Maggie, "What the fuck are you doing in there?"

Paige is so thoroughly fucked out that she can't move or speak or react, even though her worst fear has come true, and Maggie knows.

You shake your body, responding cautiously, and inadvertly shaking Paige in the process. "Peanut Butter?" you say. "Yeah?" she manages timidly and you press your hands on her waist, moving her gently, only for her to shudder at the sole movement. 

You chuckle at her sensitivity and general posterior as you disclose, "Secret's out," with a humorous whisper.

And to your collective surprise, realizing Serena is back too, she responds resolutely.

"Good."

MASTERLIST

AUTHOR NOTE #2: i think you just witnessed the fact i can’t write angst — or maybe it’s just the creative slumping idk man show all your fav writers some love it’s rly tough out here lol! as always i am now gonna beg for you to interact with me because ily all sm - ana. ALSO TY FOR NEARLY 900 FOLLOWERS WTF!! love u all my cutiemooties, followers, anons 🤍

[radiance1]

Tim traced Bruce's family tree, and that led him down a path where he finds out that apparently his ancestors, the fentonightingales, split off into the Wayne family and the Fenton family and decides to trace down the Fenton family history to see if Bruce had any unknown relatives.

He finds Jack Fenton, his wife, Madeline Fenton, their daughter, Jasmine Fenton, their son, Daniel Fenton, and their second daughter and youngest child, Danielle Fenton.

Then he digs a bit through their social media, finds out that reclusive billionaire and CEO of a morally questionable company, Vlad Masters, is the godfather of the three children. Unfortunately, for some reason it's been hard to find information about Vlad Masters that isn't involving his company or publicity stunts, anything past that and it's only bits and pieces of information.

The biggest piece in his past is that he was trapped in a hospital due to an unknown illness that left him bedridden, and then making an miraculous recovery one day, then going to found Vladco and become a business empire.

He thinks the only reason that tidbit of information was so easy to find was that it tied into his business as some type of origin story.

Tim does a bit more digging and, yet to inform anyone else of his discovery, finds a video titled:

"Pranking my godfather after he stopped trying to get with my mom and kill my dad!"

Which, was a concerning title really, then he found the godfather in question to be Vlad Masters, and the one who recorded said video was Daniel Fenton.

Curious.

He did some more digging.

He didn't really get very far, for some odd reason there isn't a lot of information to scrap together past the surface of Amity Park. Stuff like their museum, being a tourist attraction, it's history, normal stuff like that.

Nothing about the day to day lives of its citizens, nor any videos posted by said citizens or anything of the like.

He did come across some papers posted by the Fentons, however. Some research abouts ghosts, their behaviors and all that.

What he found wasn't pleasant, and he was thinking about telling Bruce before he came across another page.

The Fenton page.

It was, very, very clean of research papers of any kind having to deal with ghosts as a species, and while they are mentioned it's mostly in reference to take about one of their many weapons, or an installation to equip to your home as a safety precaution.

Then he went back to the page where their 'research' is placed, did some digging, and found it to be published by some kind of organization called the Guys In White, or GIW for short. Weird name, but he's seen weirder.

Although, this does cause some concern for him.

Tim, still not telling anyone of the information he's found besides Alfred (You can hide NOTHING from that man), decides to go over to Amity Park to check out the Fenton family firsthand, gather information about these ghosts to decide if magic is involved or not, and find out why the GIW are using the Fentons' name to publish their papers.

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]The past and present of "eating mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival"

As the Mid-Autumn Festival/Zhong Qiu Jie 中秋节 is coming, let us learn how “mooncakes/月饼” became an iconic traditional food of the Mid-Autumn Festival

🌕🥮Mooncake/月饼🥮🏮

A mooncake (simplified Chinese: 月饼; traditional Chinese: 月餅) is a Chinese bakery product traditionally eaten during the Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋節).The festival is primarily about the harvest while a legend connects it to moon watching, and mooncakes are regarded as a delicacy. Mooncakes are offered between friends or on family gatherings while celebrating the festival. The Mid-Autumn Festival is widely regarded as one of the four most important Chinese festivals.

Mooncakes were originally used as offerings to worship the moon god.

Worshiping the moon is a very old custom in China. It is actually a worship activity for the "moon god" by the ancients. Eating mooncakes and appreciating the moon during the Mid-Autumn Festival are indispensable customs for celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival in all parts of China. Mooncakes symbolize reunion. People regard them as festive food, use them to worship the moon, and give them to relatives and friends.

Cultural relics believed to be the predecessor of mooncakes were unearthed:

<China Tang Dynasty Baoxiang flower-patterned mooncakes/宝相花月饼>⬇️

Mooncakes, traditionally offered as a tribute to the Moon Goddess, have a long and rich history. The term "mooncake" was first recorded in the Southern Song Dynasty in Wu Zimu’s <梦梁录/Meng Liang Lu>.

Over time, mooncakes merged with various regional culinary traditions, giving rise to different styles such as Cantonese, Shanxi, Beijing, Suzhou, Chaozhou, and Yunnan mooncakes, all of which are beloved by people across China：

Mooncakes truly became associated with the Mid-Autumn Festival during the Ming Dynasty. In the writings of Liu Ruoyu 刘若愚, a eunuch during the reigns of the Wanli and Chongzhen emperors, he mentioned in his prison work Zhuozhong Zhi 《酌中志》(Vol. 20, "Brief Record of Culinary Preferences"): “八月宫中赏秋海棠、玉簪花。自初一日起，即有卖月饼者。加以西瓜、藕，互相馈送。西苑鹿藕。至十五日，家家供月饼瓜果，候月上焚香后，即大肆饮啖，多竟夜始散席者。如有剩月饼，仍整收于干燥风凉之处，至岁暮合家分用之，曰‘团圆饼’也”

Translation：

"In August, the palace having event appreciates autumn crabapple blossoms. From the first day of the month, mooncakes are sold,it accompanied by watermelons and lotus roots, and are exchanged as gifts.By the fifteenth day, every household offers mooncakes and fruits in worship, waiting for the moon to rise before burning incense and feasting lavishly, with some gatherings lasting all night. If there are leftover mooncakes, they are stored in a dry and cool place until the end of the year, when the whole family shares them, calling them 'reunion cakes.'

In the Qing Dynasty, there were books that detailed the methods of making mooncakes. For example, Zeng Yi, a female writer and female doctor in the late Qing Dynasty, recorded the "Method of Making Crisp Mooncakes" in her book "Zhongkuilu": "Use white ash flour, half of which is steamed in a steamer, and no water vapor is seen; the other half is raw, and kneaded with lard and cold water. Then, mix the steamed flour with lard. Use a ball of raw oil flour, and wrap a small ball of cooked oil flour inside; use a rolling pin to roll it into a cup-sized shape, fold it into a square; roll it into a ball again, and fold it into a square again; then wrap the filling. Use a cake stamp to stamp it, and put it on the stove to cook. For the oil-flavored filling, use cooked flour, sugar, walnuts, etc., and add a little sesame oil, so that it will not fall apart." The method is very similar to today's Suzhou-style mooncakes.

————————

🧚🏻‍Production & Model/Makeup：@曾嚼子

🔗Xiaohongshu:https://www.xiaohongshu.com/discovery/item/66e66ef70000000026033df2

————————

[megwritesriddles]

Secret's Safe ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 15 - Blackmail. Reader discovers Riddle's true blood status and divulges this information to him. Riddle assumes she must be here to blackmail him and immediately attempts to seduce her, but things aren't all that simple for him actually going through with it.

Tags: Blackmail, Mildly dubious consent (barely), P in V sex, Biting, Virgin!Tom (implied), Pureblood politics, Sexism, Implied/Referenced death, murder and violence, Unspoken feelings, Feelings realisation, Oddly quite fluffy, Tom is forced to be vulnerable emotionally.

Word count: 5.5k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Lets not discuss how long this is or how late it is, thank you!! This ended up way different than I imagined going in, Tom is a bad guy in this like he's committed murders... but he's also inexperienced and realises he loves you so... This is nowhere near as dark as I thought it would be, the blackmail is barely blackmail!! Hope you like it mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Well, this was certainly interesting. You’d never expected this, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The surname Riddle had never sounded familiar to you, and growing up, at all the Pureblood parties, no one had ever met Tom or any supposed family members. After the first year, he had started attending, but never with any family in tow, usually as a guest of Abraxas or somebody else. Why you hadn’t questioned it before you had no idea, you felt rather foolish now. Hindsight was always 20/20. Of course, there were those few pureblood families, like the Weasleys, who didn’t bother about those sorts of events, but Riddle had never given the impression that he came from such a family, always implying very powerful origins. In a way, he wasn’t wrong, with one discovery came another, that he was the heir of Slytherin. This was peripherally problematic to you, but you couldn’t put your finger on why it bothered you so much. Some distant memory writhing in the back of your mind, not making itself known. But the most glaring discovery for you had been Riddle’s muggle father. You were sure nobody knew about this, or else he certainly wouldn’t be in the circles he was in. 

The way you had discovered it had been rather unlikely, something Riddle surely wouldn’t have been counting on. You and Walburga were partnered on a project for Advanced Charms, it being the final year of Hogwarts, standards for what you came up with were high. After weeks of deliberation and workshopping, you’d settled on a book which could tell you family histories. Initially, the book’s function was for you to write in a plant name, and to see which other plant species it was closely related to and other pieces of information. Certainly interesting, but a little too Herbology for either of your liking, spitting out information neither of you could quite understand. After presenting the book to Professor Beery for a hefty extra credit and house point sum, you went back to workshopping. You’d figured out one evening how to get it to trace family histories, and this was the perfect idea, as all the information that came out was easy to understand, but could also be deeply valuable. You’d spent all evening fine-tuning it with Walburga. She was intimately familiar with her family history, so you used her as a control, making sure the facts remained accurate as you messed with the magic. It was finally done, and you would be presenting it next week. You’d taken the book back to your dorm and messed around with it before bed, taking great amusement in some of the ancient wizard’s names. Naming conventions had been so odd at some points. You traced practically every single one of your friends' histories, before landing on Riddle’s. 

Riddle wasn’t really a friend, as such. You sort of ran in the same circles and you were courteous to one another, but you weren’t close and at times you found him a little irksome. Perhaps it was this mythos that surrounded him, the idea that he had slept with three-quarters of the girls at Hogwarts who were of age. The idea that he could have you undone with one touch and that he did so often. Part of you was almost bitter he hadn’t propositioned you, given how much he allegedly got around, but you always felt he was intimidated by your intelligence. All the other girls, sure they were driven and intelligent, but they seemed to dumb themselves down around him, make themselves smaller. It was probably not even a conscious thing, many of the pureblood girls had been taught growing up never to threaten a man’s ego in any way. You’d always thought this was nonsense, that if you were more intelligent than a man that he ought to know it and needn’t be coddled, but for most of the girls, it just came naturally from a lifetime of training. You never bothered to shrink yourself around Riddle, to giggle and write off your high marks as a fluke if he came asking, you would simply say you did well because you were intelligent, and you guessed he didn’t like this because he avoided you for the most part. Whenever he did speak to you, it was usually to compare grades, or, in a group setting. He always seemed to know just a little too much about what was going on with you, what grades you’d gotten, what teachers you were meeting with. You chalked it up to him being Head Boy, but no one else received quite this much attention. 

You wrote down his name into the book anyway, figuring the surname ‘Riddle’ begat some entertaining first names. What immediately greeted you as the information materialised on the page had been a bit of a shock. His father, whose name was otherwise completely unfamiliar to you, did not have any parents listed, or further back. You sat in confusion for a moment trying to figure out why that could be, but came to no conclusions. You pushed the thought away and studied his mother’s heritage. Merope Gaunt. Gaunt, finally a name you recognised, but not a woman you could ever attest to having met at any pureblood events. You realise she’s listed as dead, that would perhaps explain a thing or two. You feel a hint of sympathy creeping over you at the realisation that both his parents are listed as dead, his father only rather recently. You wondered why he hadn’t mentioned to anyone that his father had died over the previous summer.  You trace his ancestry back all the way to Salazar Slytherin, momentarily impressed, before the realisation of why his father has no listed relatives hits you. The book was made only to track wizarding blood. His father was a muggle. 

The realisation was immediately brushed off. No, there was some other explanation, Riddle was one of the most pompous purebloods you knew, even by your standards, the idea of his father being a muggle was preposterous. You went back over the enchantments on the book, trying to figure out what other reason there might be for his father’s heritage to be blank, but come up empty-handed. He had to be a muggle. 

You keep the information to yourself for the next few days, turning it over in your mind. A muggle, it was very hard to believe, especially with how Riddle acted. He probably noticed your staring, but you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it, seeing him in an entirely new light. Tom Riddle, the orphan, the half-blood. It was confusing, to say the least. Your staring problem must have been worse than you thought because one day he sweeps you aside in the Slytherin common room and smiles charmingly.

“Is there an issue?” he prompts politely, eyes drinking in your face. “Only you keep staring,” you blink at him. You’re almost tempted to tell him ‘I know who you are,’ but you keep it inside for now.

“Shouldn’t you be used to that?” you smile. He chuckles slightly. 

“I don’t get the feeling you’re merely admiring me,” his eyes study yours for a moment and then he takes hold of your arm, leaning a little closer. “Tell me what it really is,” his voice is low and smooth as velvet, and for a moment you understand his mythos a little better. You glance around the busy common room. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to say it here,” you try to subtly warn him, but he clearly understands this to mean something suggestive, his brow raising. 

“I see,”

“If you really must know, then we must go somewhere private,” you insist, knowing how much this could blow up in his face if word spread around the common room. You’re not even sure why you’re shielding him from it, perhaps the revelation of his mother dying in childbirth makes you more gracious toward him. You’re surprised how much he hesitates, given how he’s interpreted the situation. If he’s supposedly slept with most of the girls in the year group, why would it be you who gives him pause? You know you’re not ugly enough for him to be this apprehensive, does he really feel so threatened by you? It all seems odd. Finally, he leads you away, toward his dorm room, private quarters for the Head Boy. You realise how this must all look, to him and to onlookers, but you’re sure he’s in for quite the disappointment when he discovers what this is really about. He gestures for you to sit at his desk and he sits on the edge of his bed. The distance he puts between you intrigues you, what is this about? 

“Well?” he urges, swallowing a little. Why is he so anxious? Does he know somehow already? You’ve never seen him like this before.

“This really isn’t what you think it is,” you begin. His brows furrow. “I uh… know about your father,” Riddle goes unbelievably tense and red in the face, his breaths becoming laboured. You watch him, curious. He glares at you scruntinisngly. There are several things you might be referring to, all of them bad, he doesn’t know from your expression which it is. 

“What?” he croaks, his usual composure hanging on by a thread, you’re worried he’s about to lash out and start smashing up the room and you with it. His body is taut like a bowstring.

“That he’s a muggle,” you respond. You can’t understand why he relaxes slightly at this, but he does, though he still looks tense and mortified. He puffs out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s not arguing, so you know it must be true. “And that he’s dead,” you add. He tenses all over again, his eyes flicking back to you. “Sorry for your loss,” he relaxes once more.

“Right yes… that was… terrible when he… died,” he puffs out, unsure how to interpret this situation. You don’t look angry or scared, so you must be missing a few puzzle pieces here. He should have expected that someone would discover this one day, his surname wasn’t a part of the sacred 28. He hadn’t known about that in the first year, and once he’d already introduced himself as pureblood, he could hardly backtrack or change his name, so he just prayed his confidence would keep him getting by, and surprisingly it had, until now. It wasn’t a surprise it was you who found out, you were always irritatingly observant, it was honestly more of a surprise it had taken this long. He stares at you for a moment and you stare back. “What do you want?” he asks, figuring you’ve come to gloat in his face and demand he do your homework for the rest of the year or something. He would do it, he really couldn’t afford this getting out, especially not to his Knights. The fact you hadn’t already told everyone indicated an intention to blackmail him, you could have easily spread the word already, but you were smarter than that, he knew you were.

“What do I want?” you tilt your head quizically.

“I assume you’re here to blackmail me, so just tell me already,” he sighs, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t prepared in any way for this eventuality. What would he have done if you’d spread the word without coming to him first? His whole plan, everything he’d been working for would have crumbled in minutes. He would have probably killed you, although the thought gives him pause now, it wouldn’t have really fixed things anyway. 

Blackmail hadn’t actually crossed your mind, but you supposed you were in the perfect position to do so. As you watched him, discomposed for seemingly the first time in his life, you realised just how much he needed this information to remain secret with you. You could ask him for anything and he would probably do it. At your silence, Riddle lets out a frustrated howl and collapses back onto his bed, clearly thinking you’re playing some game with him. He runs his hands through his hair, staring up at the canopy above his bed. His hair is messed up, you realise you’ve never seen it like this, free of its immaculate style. The look suits him. His arms thud onto the bed at his sides and he groans again. You stand and come to kneel beside him on the bed without much thought. He looks up at you through his lashes, half angry, half intensely vulnerable. It's odd to be looking down at him like this, but it’s also a little exhilarating.

“Just tell me what you want, I’ll give it to you,” he pleads, staring up at you. “Come on, darling,” he tries his best to be his charming self even in this state, reaching for your hand. “I’ll do anything,” His cold hand on yours stirs something odd in you, he brings the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses it, his eyes locked on yours. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but it’s working, he watches as you blush. He kisses slowly up your arm, eyes locked on yours the whole while. As his lips brush the ticklish skin of the inside of your elbow, you finally withdraw your arm. He frowns, thinking he’d figured you out.

“Why have you never propositioned me?” you ask, your voice a little too serious for how insecure the question sounds leaving your lips. His brows furrow and he moves to sit up in front of you.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve supposedly slept with nearly the entire legal female population of Hogwarts and you’ve never propositioned me?” you hate how insecure you sound, but it’s something that you realise has been bothering you for a long time, as stupid as it is. He stares at you.

“You’re supposed to be smart,” he scoffs, and then changes his approach, figuring offending you is a terrible idea at the moment. “Have you ever actually spoken to any girl who has a story about sleeping with me, or is it all hearsay?” his words make you comb back through all the wild stories you’ve heard. He’s right, none of them have ever come directly from someone, all having started with something to the effect of ‘my friend heard…’. You study his face for a moment and he raises a prompting brow.

“No, I suppose you’re right,” you admit, chewing your lip. There are so many things that you should have been paying more attention to, this was another plainly obvious fact with hindsight. “So… what’s the truth?” he looks away from you, hesitating. “Oh come on, as if I don’t know worse things about you by now,” you tease. He glares for a moment but concedes that you’re right about that. 

“None of it is true, no girl at this school is… good enough for me, I suppose,” he mumbles, sticking his chin up. 

“Good enough for you?” you hum.

“I can’t give myself away to just anyone… it’s…” he hesitates, knowing he sounds completely pathetic despite his attempts to reframe this. 

“You’re waiting for the right person?” you chuckle. “How uncharacteristic of you,” he huffs.

“Oh shut up, will you? It’s just… I don’t trust… very easily… and people underestimate how much trust is involved in an act like sex… you are completely vulnerable, physically and emotionally,” he crosses his arms defensively as he explains himself. “You could hardly defend yourself if the other person were to attack you during it,” you tilt your head at him. “It leaves you weak, in every sense of the word, so I have seen no need to participate,”

“That must have been a big disappointment to many witches,” you tease. He rolls his eyes. 

“I can usually charm my way out of any issues, and the gossip around my ‘conquests’ has persisted, so it can’t have caused that much strife,” he finishes. You hum, supposing he’s right. “None of the girls are intelligent enough for me here,” he asserts. You scoff.

“Awfully sexist of you,”

“Hardly,” he snaps back. “None of the boys are suitable either, but I don’t consider them because I’m not… that way inclined,”

“Anyway, I didn’t think you liked intelligence in a woman,” you add. 

“Why would I not? I love intelligence, I require intelligence, I would never fraternise with somebody lacking intellect, I would be far too bored,” he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“But you don’t seem to like when I assert my intelligence,” you shrug.

“You’re different,”

“Why?” you laugh in disbelief. “I’m too intelligent that it threatens you?��

“No!” he hisses. “For one, you use your brains for the most infuriating of things, such as looking into my family history,” you’re tempted to interrupt him and tell him that the discovery had been an accident but you stay quiet. 

“And for two?” you press. He’s silent for a long moment. 

“Is this what you wanted? Blackmailing me into an argument? Because I’m sure we could have found a reason to argue without all this,” he griped. You sighed. No, you hadn’t particularly wanted to argue, you hadn’t particularly wanted anything, you’d intended to keep this information to yourself really and then when it had come out, you hadn’t considered blackmail until he brought it up. Your mind flashes back to his kisses up your arm, a warm tingle going through you. 

“Were you attempting to seduce me earlier?” he glances at you, his cheeks just slightly pink. “Even though you’re waiting for the right person?” you add with a chuckle. He sighs. 

“I might have been, I figured it was my best bet,” he shrugs it off, feigning nonchalance. 

“What would you have done if I had gone with it?” you tilt your head curiously.

“Gone with it, I suppose,” he looks down, fiddling with his tie pin, feeling more uncomfortable than he was ever used to feeling.

“You’d have slept with me?” you enquire. He nods subtly, puffing out a short breath. “Even though I might have stabbed you in the back or something?” you tease. He glares at you.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he dismisses.

“So you trust me?” you challenge. He immediately opens his mouth to protest but then falters. Does he trust you? He knows you would never attack him physically, and he tries to brush that off as the belief that you are physically weak, but he knows that’s not true. If he were to attack you, he has no doubt you would put up quite a fight, but that you would never initiate. He hadn’t even thought through the fact that despite all his reservations, he really had been trying to seduce you, and not even reluctantly. He would have slept with you, and he wouldn’t have been afraid of what you might do to him. Sure, the emotional vulnerability was still a point of contention, but initially, he hadn’t had the time to consider that. Now that he’s given it some proper consideration, why is he not changing his mind?

“I suppose,” his voice is strained, like this is taking a great deal of effort for him to say. “That in some weird way I do trust you,” his expression is pained and he won’t look at you, but you know those words mean way more than they do on the surface. He’s never admitted to trusting anyone before, at least not truthfully, and to admit it to you… it’s frightening, and yet he did it anyway. You hold out your hand to him to see what he’ll do. He takes your cue despite himself, taking hold of it and kissing the back of your hand a few times. His lips are gentle and you quite like the feeling. Sure, he told you the rumours about him were false, but perhaps he really could make you come undone with just one touch, if you only showed him where to put it. “I’ll sleep with you if that’s what you like,” he admits quietly. “I need you to keep my secret, I’ll do anything,”

“Would you like to sleep with me?” you ask. He looks up at you, lips pressing against your wrist. His look is a little pained again, you’re not sure how to read it.

“I’ll do it,” he grits out.

“But do you want to? I don’t want to force you to sleep with me…” you try again. He gives you that pained look once more. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, to admit to such weaknesses as need and lust, he hopes you understand without words. He kisses all the way up your arm, leaning closer and caging you in as he starts to press kisses to your neck. You exhale shakily, placing your hands on his shoulders as he continues to lavish you with tender kisses. He presses you back, back until you fall onto his pillows and he follows you down, positioning his body over you, his hands on either side of your shoulders. He’s breathing hard as he looks down at you, his pupils dilated. You stare back up at him, still a little unsure. “Riddle… don’t force yourself, I don’t–”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss to your lips, you gasp slightly and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring slowly. This kiss is not forced, this kiss is genuine and furiously wanting and the thought makes you moan. He shivers in return, kissing a little harder. Your hands come to his shoulders again as he comes to rest on his forearms, his neck no longer straining to you. You part your legs so he can settle between them, his hips pressing to yours. You can’t help but gasp again when you feel his erection press against you. He smiles against your lips, his signature cocky smirk returning. 

“You sound amazing when you gasp like that for me,” he taunts. You roll your eyes, kissing him once more. It’s almost impressive how he’s able to maintain that arrogant air throughout all this. You hate it, yet you can’t deny the soft pulsing feeling between your legs. He continues to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slowly swirling and caressing, the sound of your lips meeting is both erotic and hypnotic, lulling you further into your aroused state. Your eyes are closed in bliss, but occasionally you open them for a glimpse of him. His lashes flutter as he kisses you, his cheeks are flushed which you didn’t even realise was possible before today, and his hair falls forward, surprisingly curling up a little as it encounters the sweat forming on his forehead. He kisses you like it’s his favourite thing in the world, gentle yet thorough, and you hope it is so that you might get to do this with him again. His kisses get a little needier as you feel him hardening further against you, pressing against you more insistently. Your hand settles on the back of his neck and you hold him in place as he kisses you. He grunts appreciatively, sucking on your bottom lip. He sits up suddenly, disconnecting your lips. You pant as you stare up at him in confusion, wondering if he’s stopping this from going further, but instead, he’s loosening your tie. You lie there and let him do the work, after all, he’s meant to be keeping you sweet. He doesn’t seem to mind. He takes great satisfaction in slowly peeling away your clothes, discarding your tie, and then unbuttoning your shirt. He’s making you vulnerable beneath him and he’s drunk on the feeling, although, he doesn’t intend to hurt or exploit you, he’s never had such pure intentions in anything he’s done before in his life. Which is odd, considering you’re about to sleep together. He traces the lace of your bra with his fingertips. “Been expecting me?” he teases, wondering about how nice the bra is, black and lacy.

“No, just a happy accident,” you chuckle as he runs the lace between his fingers. He’s a little disappointed that you hadn’t had this all planned out all along, but he figures there’s plenty of time for that in the future. It doesn’t occur to him at the moment that he’s just admitted to himself that he intends to do this again with you. He takes hold of your waist and eases you up to sit. He gives you a few gentle kisses on your neck, making you throw your head back and then he reaches around to your back to unclasp your bra. He’s heard horror stories of embarrassment from his peers, so takes a moment to acquaint himself with the mechanism, running his hands back and forth along your back as you rest heavily against his chest, your chin on his shoulder. Once he understands how it works, he uses both hands to unhook it easily. He slides the straps down your arms and bares you to his gaze. You lean back to give him a view, enjoying his wide-eyed look. He cups your breasts in his hands and kisses you once again. He lays you back down, gently kneading your flesh, groaning at the feeling. You’re soft and warm and it feels so good that he wishes you’d found out he was half-blood earlier, or that he’d been less stuck-up this whole time and propositioned you like you seem to have wanted. He moves his hands down to your stomach, stroking for a moment before popping to button on your skirt and sliding down the zip. He then eases the fabric down over your hips.

“Matching set,” he comments upon spying your lacy black underwear. “Sure you weren’t expecting me?” you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure,”

“Someone else?” he questions as uninterestedly as possible. You chuckle, sensing the hint of jealousy in his tone.

“No, just wanted to feel good for myself,” he nods at your answer, hoping you don’t spot his relief. He runs his hands up and down your hips and waist, occasionally squeezing the supple flesh. 

“The female body is quite… pleasant under the hands,” he comments, kneading your hips gently. You give him a look. “Well… your body is anyway,” he runs his thumbs over your stomach. You smile up at him and he avoids your gaze, not wanting to confront the way that look just made him feel. He decides to speed things along, desperate to come out of this alive. He moves back enough to remove his own tie and shirt, secretly enjoying the way you’re watching. Then he stands and slowly lowers his trousers, taking his boxers with them. There’s no use delaying the inevitable and he’s hardly ashamed of his body. He steps out of his trousers and sits back down between your legs. He kneads your thighs as he lets you look him over.

“That scar on your chest–” you begin but he cuts you off quickly with a kiss, not wishing to discuss this right now when he’s so close to you, to having you. If you started asking about all his various scars, you’d be here a long time, and you’d run away from him well before he finally got to sink into your cunt for the first time. The thought stirs his cock. No, he can’t let you ask questions until later, he needs to have this at least once, he hasn’t even realised how much he’s been waiting for it. For… you. His cock rests heavily on you through the lace of your underwear, hot to the touch. He kisses you intently, sensual and all-consuming until you forget your line of questioning. He’s smug that he’s able to do that to you, perhaps he should have kissed you the second you started bringing things up you weren't supposed to. Perhaps by the end of this, you’ll have forgotten how it started and only remember the way he’d made you feel. Yes, that would be good. The thought urges him on, he nearly rips off your underwear. You squeak indignantly and he kisses your neck in an effort to placate you. He didn’t really care if he’d ripped them or not, but he couldn’t have you turning your back on him now. Not after he’s bared himself like this. He reaches down and lines himself up with you, ready to plunge in, but one last thought keeps him at bay.

“Are you on the potion?” he grunts, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Yeah,” you swallow, staring down at where the two of you are about to be joined together. He waits for nothing else, easing himself into you, he groans loudly against your neck, the warmth surrounding him feeling euphoric. Your arms settle around his back, holding him close to you and he lets you, leaning against you heavily. He grits his teeth, trying to keep in control, but he can’t. His hips start rutting into you fast, he needs this and he has you now, he can’t stop himself. You grip his shoulders hard, gasping and wailing, the sounds only egging him on. 

“Yeah?” he groans between thrusts as you whine sweetly in his ear. “That feel good..? fuck…” he’s not one to usually swear in this way, part of his charming demeanour, but he can’t help it slipping out with you. You make him all sorts of vulgar that he’s never been before. He pounds into you, glad that you don’t seem to mind his ferocity. He’ll be gentle with you some other time, but right now, all this pent-up energy needs to come out, and you’re receiving it so well. “Taking me so well, darling,” he chokes out, and you moan in response, seemingly touched by his words. He lifts himself up onto his hands, staring down at you, his hips slamming into yours. He watches your beautiful face in fascination as it twists with pleasure. He’s never taken so much enjoyment in making someone feel good before, it reminds him of the feeling he gets when he exerts power over someone, but better, because it’s you and he– 

He can’t finish that thought, he refuses to. It’s too much. He keeps up his relentless pace, closing his eyes because the sight of you is stirring his chest along with the stirring in his stomach. His thrusts slow, but become deeper and more powerful. You moan unabashedly under him and the sound invades his mind, consuming him completely. He leans back down and buries his face in your neck biting down as his hips stutter and he spills deep inside you. The biting is the only thing preventing him from saying something he knows he’ll regret in his dizzy orgasmic state. Three disgusting little words that he’s never thought before in his life, that surely, he can’t mean now, even if they’re fighting their way out of his mouth. When he feels you orgasming around him, he clamps down on your neck harder, tasting a little blood. He finds himself feeling sorry for doing it. He lets go, gasping for breath. He presses a kiss to the bite mark on your neck, reluctantly apologetic. You whimper beneath him and he pulls back to check you’re okay. You are, just overwhelmed, he is too, though he’s not letting it show as blatantly as you are. He withdraws slowly from you, whining in tandem with you at the feeling. He sits back up between your legs, looking down at you. Your eyes are closed as you gather yourself. You trust him enough to lie there with your eyes closed, he could do anything to you right now. Things he has done to others before, and yet there you lie, trusting him like he trusts you. He scoops you up into his arms and rests your head against his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for drawing blood,” he mumbles as if it’s enough of an excuse for him to hold you like this. He kisses the bite mark again, secretly a little thrilled that it’s there, a physical reminder of all this. He soothes your back, rubbing soft circles, an action he’s never performed before. “You’ll keep my secret right?” he asks, and realises suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s referring to. The fact of his blood status? The lie of his mythos? The fact he’s just slept with you, been this vulnerable? Or… the worst one of them all? The unspoken words that he’s sure you’re smart enough to have heard in the silence by now. You don’t know which he’s referring to either, but you answer sincerely nonetheless. 

“Your secret is safe with me, Tom,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

thank you to @i-live-in-spite and several anonymous asks whose ideas I pulled from a little to form this plot, lots of love ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[ephemerensis]

Cologne // Tim Drake x GN! Reader

hay guys! where Tim Drake and Red Robin (ur bodyguard for the time being) smell suspiciously the same— it’s like you can’t even tell the difference! no angst, this took me so long oh my goodness i’m gonna stick to writing what i know. stay tuned for hurt/angst i have a lot of grievances to spit out! not proofread.

Part 2

—

Gotham was the last place you’d expected to be sent off to, but it’s where you found yourself now. Despite being disgustingly crime ridden, it was the center of trade, commerce, business, and more importantly— information. Which is precisely what you’d been sent to offer.

Your family’s company recently made a ground breaking discovery in pharmaceuticals, creating a drug that could limit the spread of cancer cells without traditional side effects; YB-V they called it. However, the by-product of production was much more severe, resulting in a chemical compound capable of mutating all the cells in a person completely to become something other as if they belonged to a different entity. Given the right motivations and means, the cells could be manipulated by a third party, turning them into fully conscious puppets of some sort.

With data leaks and security concerns, and the serious nature of the consequences if your drug had fallen into the wrong hands, you were sent to deliver the research and development to the production team personally; placed in charge of overseeing production until launch.

Which all sounded good in theory, but as you found yourself twiddling your thumbs in a blacked out office space, getting briefed on the gravity of the situation by a police task force with some vigilante character hanging around behind you, you began to question what it was all worth.

“So let me get this straight, an email between Wayne Corp and ourselves was leaked and now a couple big shot villains want to steal it? What kind of bad guy reads emails?”

A burly officer with a thick white mustache and a pair of square set glasses cleared his throat awkwardly, “That’s correct.”

“Some tech team,” you scoffed. “I’m the only one that can access any of the files, it’s all biometrically locked. While this certainly puts a damper on my day, we should be able to proceed normally.”

“They have your identity too,” the figure in the back voiced. Red Robin, you’d been informed, one of Gotham’s crime fighters in spandex (allegedly.) Up until now he hadn’t spoken a word, loitering while the police explained everything to you.

“Which is why we brought you here,” the commissioner pipped, reaching for his coffee mug as he spoke. “Red Robin has agreed to watch over your activities for the duration of your time in Gotham. For your safety, and ours.”

Have this guy tail you? As if. You were occupied enough without having a stranger watch your every move. A vigilante at that, it’s not like you could look at his resume and review his history.

“While that is a gracious offer, I have my own bodyguards. They’re well trained and—“

“Not for Gotham, you don’t.” Red Robin stepped out from the corner he’d situated himself in, arms crossed and a frown plastered on his face. “And unless you want to stay in a bunker for three months, I’m your best bet.”

Silence fell as you stared at the masked man, contemplating your options. The underground bunker was out of the question. On top of running production, you had a company to run and a reputation to upkeep; meetings, galas, charity events to attend. And as much as you hated to admit it, they had to be right. Gotham knows Gotham, and with the crises you’d witnessed on screen it was clear their criminals were on a polarly different level.

Pressing your hands to the table, you stood up and turned around, “I see. And you being around won’t make me more of a target?”

“Not even you would know I’m there.”

Closing the distance between the two of you in a few paces, you stuck your hand out to him, “In that case, I look forward to working with you Red Robin.”

Standing near him, the faint smell of lavender was imminent and something deeper lingered under it, an amber of some sort. It was pleasant; Red Robin had good taste in cologne. And that is all you needed to trust him.

It took a second for him to shake your outstretched hand. In your palm, his grip was firm, rough gloves pressing into your satin skin. Secure, you’d decided, secure and reliable.

And just as he’d promised, you hardly noticed him. On the contrary, you were also never attacked; not in the days following the abrupt meeting, nor the week after that, nor the month after that. There was the occasional mention of trouble, or something that went bump in the night— but whether it concerned you or not it didn’t matter. Nothing ever happened.

When he was tucked away it felt like he was really gone, not even the eerie feeling that followed being watched lingered. The only thing that drew you back into the reality was when you’d catch the scent of lavender lingering or in the few cases where he’d appear before you. In his absence you felt almost lonely, despite your work occupying it all. So you soon found yourself leaving notes.

“Bought coffee for the office.”

And he began to write back.

“Just black next time, thanks.”

…

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Cornflower blue.”

“That’s a dumb name. Your costume is red, I think you got out branded by Nightwing.”

“In my defense, I didn’t design it.”

…

He didn’t say much in them, nothing that you could glean in depth anyway. But you found yourself oddly pleased with his nothing. It’s not like you cared so desperately for his identity, that was his to keep of course. You did care for his presence. Something about it was magnetizing, and because he hardly appeared before you, these were the tidbits you found yourself drawn to.

Not that you’d kept them, he would see. Despite knowing the situation you were in, it still felt like a strange game— where he knew every detail about you, and you knew nothing of him. Your feelings, at the least, these you could keep on your own.

“Do you need lab access? I know you follow me in, but if there’s an emergency or something…” Production and distribution for YB-V was run by Wayne Corp and like all things related to your project it was kept secure in an underground bunker while you worked to transfer the information your company developed.

While the scientists and developers were mainly in charge of carrying out the project, none of it could move forward without you. The security system had been meticulously set up so that you, and only you, could access the files with the research and instructions. And beyond even your capabilities, every stage written into the plan had to be completed before the next could be unlocked. So you had to be there, supervise and guide them during the entirety of the process.

Archaic, you’d decided. But necessary according to the rest of the world.

Red Robin accompanied you on these trips. Being underground and all, it was one of the few moments he went with you rather than watching from afar.

“No, I’ll find a way in if I need a way in.”

You looked back at him questioningly. You didn’t doubt his capabilities of course, but he said it with such ease, “Is it that easy to break into? I should increase security.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “It’s secure. I’m the issue.”

You turned back around shaking your head with a snort. He was growing on you, sass and all. Stopping by a display of notes and charts, you looked them over to ensure they aligned with protocol.

“I have to attend a gala next week, by the way.”

He hummed in response, a couple steps behind you like he usually was when you visited the lab.

“It’s at Wayne Manor… and I can get you an invite. Security is stricter than it is here, I’ve been told. It’d be troublesome to sneak around.” Ruffling through the papers, you extracted the one you needed, holding it up to your face.

“And I don’t have a date,” you added.

“…are you asking me out?” You could hear a hint of a smile in his voice, making your face burn red at the accusation.

You set the paper down, abruptly whipping around with the most serious expression you could muster, “Strictly for my safety! I don’t know how credible everyone attending is and—“

The smile on his face shut you up. Embarrassed and slightly dejected you looked around the room for something else to lock eyes on, clearing your throat.

“I would’ve loved to, but I won’t be there. Something came up that I need to take care of. But like you said, security is strict, you’ll be safe,” he interjected before you could say anymore. Honestly you couldn’t even be mad, he let you down so sincerely you had to believe it. The small smile plastered on his face and the gentle tone he used in opposition to his usual curt one melted you down far more than you would’ve liked it to.

“Right.” It took you a second to cough anything out, like you were thirteen and starstruck again by any character that tossed you a bone, “so much for you or the bunker, I could’ve hired the Waynes’ security.”

But you were disappointed, and his answer did surprise you. Busy? He hadn’t left your side your entire stay as far as you were aware, granted you couldn’t see him 95% of the time, but in principle.

He must’ve picked up on your downtrodden state because he leaned in teasingly, that familiar lavender scent washing over you, “You have your own bodyguards though, right? They’re well trained.”

You wondered what color his eyes were behind the mask, a warm brown or a melancholy blue. Either way you’d decided you were done for, his were the type of eyes you could drown in; “Not for Gotham, I don’t.”

The night of the gala you didn’t expect much. You were supposed to represent your company of course, as their Gotham socialite, and you were to meet with your business partner. Up until now everything had been transactional, taken care of on invisible ends. Which was fine, but to maintain business relations you had to show up to these things.

And so it was about as dry as you’d thought it to be. Most of everyone was twice your age, many were so stuck in their desire for affluence it radiated off of them like maggots in a burn pile. Supposedly it was a charity gala, in reality it was an egoistic echo chamber and you were in no position to defy it.

Flitting around you sipped your champagne and made conversation and promises that didn’t matter until a hand graced your shoulder with the lightest touch, it felt almost invisible. Turning around you saw a boy with raven hair and the tamest of blue eyes. And he looked to be around your age, a moment of respite at last.

“Hi,” he breathed the word into a smile that was dazzlingly honest and strikingly warm in juxtaposition with the mood of the room.

“Hi,” you shook the hand he offered to you. His hands were rougher than you’d imagine an aristocrat’s to be, littered with callouses you attributed with a dedication to some sport, “I’m Y/N, I don’t think we’ve met before?”

“Sort of, I’m Tim.” In your correspondence with Wayne Corp, Tim had been your main contact; at least for big ticket decisions. In other words, he was your collaborator and your business’ partner. In your head you recalled all the times you poked fun at the archaic way he wrote his emails, like he was 52 and balding— in reality he was just the opposite.

“Oh! It’s nice to finally meet you! Thank you for working with us, we couldn’t have progressed this far without Wayne Corp.”

“On the contrary, thank you for trusting us. This project’s been a huge safety concern for you I’ve heard.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Not at all! I have one of the best vigilantes in the city.” But this, he should’ve already known. Red Robin had to be cleared for access to certain things, and you’d corresponded as much through your emails. “I must say though, I was disappointed it wasn’t Nightwing at first, he used to be my favorite.”

Tim blinked at you for a spell and you couldn’t read his expression. Pleasant and cordial with some twinge of underlying distaste was the best way to describe it, something in the way his eyes glinted with a malice behind his smile. “Has that changed?”

He must love Red Robin.

“I suppose,” growing on you was an understatement. It was a strange ordeal because he wasn’t real. No name or title you could address, but everything you learned about Red Robin made you want to know more about Red Robin. He was magnetizing. “Have you met them? Is it a normal Gotham thing?”

“No,”his response came swiftly, “they’re usually in other parts of the city and I’m never out at night. Married to the office.”

“I see.” That would explain the emails.

“Do you… want to dance?” He extended his hand to you graciously, but with a gentle hesitance that made him seem softer than he was. In a way you felt like you were betraying your vigilante delusionship, but he hadn’t agreed to go with you and Tim was charming enough. Besides, business relations.

“Of course.” Placing your flute of champagne on a nearby table, you took his arm as he led you to the floor. He smiled in a demure sort of way that made your heart flutter like the excitement you’d felt interacting with Red Robin. Maybe you just liked the attention that much, that must be the correlation between the two.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Typically galas didn’t have much dancing at all, let alone organized ballroom dancing, but leave it to the Waynes to find a way to stun the crowd with their class and extravagance.

“Sort of, I’ve taken rudimentary classes.” Like when you were five.

“Perfect,” he grinned. He placed his hand faintly on the small of your waist while the other found purchase in your opposing palm, “I’ll lead. Just follow along, you’ll be fine.”

Miraculously you were fine. You started out with your eyes glued to the floor, following after him and avoiding his toes. But once you’d gotten into a rhythm, it all felt like floating.

“You haven’t stepped on my toes once,” he joked. Up close and under the mesmerizing ballroom light he looked angelic, the way the light caught in his lashes and the reflected off the blue of his eyes—like little golden flecks glimmering under supple flowing rivers.

“I’ve been trying not to!” you laughed.

“You look beautiful,” as if his eyes could get any more mesmerizing, they softened somehow with his words, “outfit and all.”

“Thank you,” at this you averted your gaze, and prayed the lighting didn’t highlight the flush of your cheeks. Out of being flustered or embarrassment, you didn’t know. On the one hand, a rich, beautiful, respectful man was complimenting you. On the other, you were wearing cornflower blue because it was someone else’s favorite color. Like you were twelve again and going to some middle school dance where you wanted to impress your hallway crush.

“Your Getty pictures don’t do you justice,” he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t seen one bad photo, but you always look so serious and intimidating.”

It never occurred to you he’d Googled you before, it made sense now how he was able to single you out in the crowd. Maybe the thought was so foreign because you’d never paid him any mind, but now you were thinking you should’ve. At the very least because it’s polite and helpful to know the bare minimum, but if you were honest with yourself it’s because he struck a curiosity in you that needed to be sated—too breathtaking to be real and all you’d known was his face and arresting demeanor.

“Because I am serious and intimidating, I’m very good at my job you know. You’re not the only one married to an office,” you boasted. In reality you hated work, but worse still was posing for pictures. Especially at crowded social functions your parents ushered you to where you didn’t know a soul, you simply didn’t know what to do with yourself in front of a camera—that was your excuse anyway.

“That explains the dancing,” he quipped with a sideward smile.

Your eyes widened slightly in shock as your mouth fell open to scoff. “Hey! I thought I was doing pretty good!”

He burst into a contagious laughter that hypnotically made you follow suit. But you wouldn’t settle for that after all your efforts to keep up. With a look to the wayside, you pretended to lose touch of the tandem between your steps and lurch forward, consequently stepping on his polished brown loafers. And then it was his turn to be shocked.

“Woah! So much for trying,”Tim teased. Not that he lost his footing, he was as stable as ever. In his eyes you swore there was a glint of mockery, as if he knew and anticipated it.

“Oh did I hurt you,” you feigned concern before slipping into the most innocent smile you could muster. “I’m a terrible dancer, I can’t help it.”

“Aren’t you petty?”

“You have no idea.”

“Petty and pretty, how dangerous.”

Before you could fire some witty retort you noticed your steps slowing to a halt with the swoon of the music. He’d brought his hand above you to spin you once, slowly. The other on your waist moved to your lower back to support you as he pulled you into a dip and all you could do was follow. Something about the atmosphere had your heart palpitating. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like you were an art piece on display, overhead light illuminating behind him as he stared down at you like an angel emerging from the heavens.

Sundering you to the earth, you couldn’t fixate your eyes on anything else, and though it was only for a moment it felt like eternity. You were close enough now for the scent of his cologne to waft over you faintly amongst the throng of strongly powdered people in the room. Lavender. A familiar lavender with all the base notes that’d been lingering around you for the past few weeks. Your look of awe faded to confusion.

Red Robin’s.

“Is that—“

But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead you followed his gaze down to your chest, eyes widening as you saw the little red laser mark hovering over your heart. Before you could react, you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs as Tim shoved you away. The sound of the gun firing pierced cleanly through the noise of the glitz and glamour, and something burned across the skin of the side of your arm.

You couldn’t tell if it was broken glass that cut you or something else, you couldn’t feel much of anything with the adrenaline flooding your body. Scared and discombobulated, you scrambled backwards as panic set into the crowd.

In the midst of the onset of gunshots and people scattering towards exits, Tim had rushed over to you. Kneeling beside you, he gave you a quick look over and gently pulled you up by your uninjured arm. As soon as you were up he rushedly dragged you away from it all, winding through the hallways of the manor wordlessly. Though it was probably for the better, because you didn’t have an ounce of air left in your lungs trying to keep up with his pace or a thought in your head after what you’d just witnessed.

The further you trudged along, the heavier your limbs felt and the harder it was to pry your eyes open after blinking. Which was strange, you hadn’t lost so much blood, but it must’ve been the confusion of it all or something you ate. A couple halls and turns later you arrived at a room. He ushered you inside, seating you on the bed before rummaging through the drawers.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt badly?” from the drawer he procured a bandage. He sat himself next to you, promptly wrapping the cloth tightly around your arm.

“No, it’s not bad,” truthfully it felt numb, which you couldn’t decide was a good or bad thing. You couldn’t think much of anything, focused on keeping your eyes from fluttering shut.

“I should’ve known they’d do something,” he’d muttered. As he finished, pushing himself off the bed, your head suddenly felt too heavy to hold up and your eyes too tired to function.

“Hey… are you okay? You don’t look so good.” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling nothing abnormal and deepening his concern. But you couldn’t process what he was saying. With a lilt, you fell to your side, feeling the injunctive relief of not having to hold yourself upright.

He undid your bandages to look at the wound again before scowling as it dawned on him, “Tranquilizers.”

After rewrapping your arm, he hurriedly stalked towards the door, “You’ll be safe here, I’ll send someone.”

With whatever consciousness you had left you managed to slur a sentence, “Where are you going?”

“To find my brother.”

If he said anything after you didn’t hear it, because the moment your eyes fluttered shut, they stayed shut.

You didn’t know how long you were out. Not terribly so. When you’d awoken, it was still dark out. Tim must’ve flicked the light off when he’d left too, the only light that flooded in was from the streetlamp out the window. The drugs hadn’t cleared your system yet if the pounding in your head and brain fog you were experiencing was any indicator. And they didn’t even hit you directly, who knows where you’d be if they did.

In the streets you could hear the panic of people and the wail of police sirens, which would’ve settled your stomach if not for the fact that it clearly wasn’t over and the police weren’t entering.

You jerked your head towards the door as a loud thud sounded just outside of it. Looking around the room for a place to hide, there was none. And if there was one, you couldn’t see it with the lights out. Some commotion followed before what sounded like a body hit the floor.

Not knowing what else to do, you wrapped yourself in the bedding, pulling it to the floor behind the bed and huddling there. At the very least, no one knew you were in there but Tim, and surely he’d locked the door.

Nope.

The sound of the knob turning made your blood run cold. You drew the blankets tightly around yourself, hoping you’d amalgamate into the cloths if you’d clutched them tightly enough.

With the bed obscuring your view, you couldn’t see the perpetrator and you didn’t want to. You screwed your eyes shut as footsteps creaked on the wood pacing towards you. Against your will, you hands couldn’t cease trembling and you wondered if the other person in the room could hear your heart beating out of your chest.

This was it. If someone wanted to swoop in, now would be great.

The footsteps halted on the opposite side of the bed. You considered jumping out at them, throwing the blanket and bolting for it, but your limbs felt like they were filled with lead. And in any case, if they were armed you were done for anyway. So you held your breath and willed them away instead.

To your horror they’d started again in your direction. Silence. And then a hand touched the blanket and you couldn’t help it, you shrieked and covered your head with your arms.

But instead of force or a bludgeoning, they’d knelt in front of you, gently grabbing your arms as you thrashed. A familiar voice called your name out a couple times before you recognized it and opened your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me! You’re okay,” in the dark you couldn’t really see his face but it was Tim’s voice that called to you. Delirious and reeling, the relief flooded your body so intensely, the tears didn’t even have time to well before they were streaming down your cheeks.

Throwing your arms around him, you sobbed for all you were worth, “I was so scared, why’d you just leave me!”

You felt him stiffen beneath you at the sudden intrusion before softening and patting the back of your head with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And it felt so safe there, in his arms, secure but soft all at once. The familiar lavender mixed with the champagney smell from the gala soothed you in a way you’d never thought you’d needed.

“I thought they were gonna get me,” you choked out between sobs. This was in no way attractive, “and then I’d get kidnapped, and everyone would turn into puppets!”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Not mocking or laughing at you like your more awake self would’ve expected, he was mellow about the whole thing. Sorry and really sorry for it—and it wasn’t even his fault.

When you calmed down enough to sound coherent, he pulled back to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Let me see that,” he nodded towards your bandaged arm. You stretched it out for him and he undid the gauze, “This doesn’t look too bad. Shouldn’t scar.”

Procuring new dressings, he took his time with it this time, applying a salve before wrapping it around you again.

“Tim?” you said his name just to say his name, because you liked the way it felt to say and you wanted to hear him speak. Instead he paused before resuming his work, “I’m Red Robin.”

“Oh.” That’s embarrassing. You were so certain of it too, but he did say he would send someone and he was probably with his family or waiting outside for things to settle. So instead you got the infinitely intangible Red Robin, “I thought you were busy.”

“Plans changed.” He was never this curt with you, not after knowing you anyway. He had to maintain secrecy, you knew this, but he’d find ways to say more anyway.

You flinched as he constricted your arm with the bandage, “You’re pulling it a little tight.”

This made him pause again, letting go of the wrap altogether this time as the circulation breathed back into your marrow.

Exhaling, he ran a hand through his raven hair, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, still fighting to keep your eyelids open but worried nonetheless. This was unlike him, “Red?”

“Sorry, I’m just on edge. I should’ve known, I could’ve prevented this,” shaking his head, it was if he made up his mind, “Everything is transferred now, the project can wrap up without you. We’ll get you on the next flight back tomorrow.”

Somewhere in you an inkling of anger stirred, as if you were an object that could be sent as needed. But the strain in his voice was evident, how could hold a grudge against that? “I don’t want to leave yet.”

“You’re going.”

You huffed, “I’m not. And you don’t have to watch me anymore if it’s too much, I never expected that from you! You’re here now, you didn’t have to be, but you are— that’s more than my useless bodyguards or Wayne security have done and they’re paid for it. You put up with me and nothing has happened to me. I’m sorry for being so vulnerable, that’s my fault. Don’t you dare berate yourself, you haven’t done one wrong thing!”

He said nothing, just stared at you with something like curiosity. Under the pale moonlight and with his face obstructed you could only speculate.

You stuck out your injured arm to him again, urging him to take it, “Hurry and finish, I’m still sleepy.”

Wordlessly he finished binding your arm. As soon as he was done you fell on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

“Tim—“

“I’m not Tim,” he reiterated. There was something in his tone that you couldn’t quite place; annoyance?

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling sleep creep up on you again, “you smell the same... I think I like him.” Surely it’s fine to confess this much, or that’s what you told yourself as you started to drift off, words slurring and thoughts blurring, “you should meet him, he’s a big fan.”

—

i have a final in 5 hours please with me luck (it’s 2am)

[wolsalwastaken]

So, as you do, I was on the new version of thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and I’ve figured out every. Single. Secret. Code. I. Could.

Now with the help of the community, I am expanding this list! Please post passwords in the comments sections or reblog if I have not yet mentioned them! You will, of course, receive credit for your discoveries! Nerds unite! At the very bottom, you will find a full list of citations I used for the passwords. Any password that is un-cited is one I found myself :)

Spoilers for this version of the website, but I’m mainly posting this as I know it’ll be gone soon. Keep reading at your own discretion, as these are spoilers if you wanted to solve it yourself.

This post will continually be updated as I find new codes and ciphers to solve and new passwords, stay tuned as this is a masterpost of this iteration of the website!

So, here’s all the places to click on screen for Easter eggs:

And here’s a list of all the different passcodes I’ve found to work on the computer. If multiple words are listed it’s because they activate the same thing. Brackets are not part of the pswd. (c) means that the person I learnt it from is listed below. If there is no (c), then I found it.

Cipher

Triangle (click 3 times)

Bill/Bill Cipher

Stanford/Ford/Sixer

Fiddleford/McGucket

Filbrick

Mason

Dipper (click 5 times)

Mabel (click 12 times)

Wendy

Robbie

Gideon (2 possible results)

The Book Of Bill

Alex Hirsch/Hirsch

Monster

Mystery Shack

TJ Eckleburg

Hey nerd

Divorce/breakup

Theraprism

Soos

Disney/mickey mouse/disneyland (c)

Hectoring

Axolotl

Stanley/Stan (click 8 times)

Gravity Falls

Pines

Geometry/algebra/math/greek/greece/trigonometry/shape (c)

Conspiracy

God/help me/frlliam (c)

Triangle

Ducktective

Waddles

Morality

Portal

Love/boyfriend

(Literally any word of profanity, i.e sex or fuck)/Ted Cruz (c)

Death

Dorito/chip/nacho (c)

Skeleton

Life

Weird

Reality

The universe

Baby/baby bill/lalalalala/mommy/daddy (c)

Rat

Urban legends/horror/creepypasta (c)

Blind eye

Crypto/NFT/gyatt/skibidi/fortnite/Elon/rizz (c)

Journal 3

Journal 2

Journal 1

Theory/that’s just a/matpat (c)

Question

Answer

Piñata

FBI/NSA

Blendin Blandin

Abuelita

Weirdmageddon

Toby Determined

History

Sorry

Cursed

They’ll see/they’ll all see/I see

Cryptogram codex

Curse wittebane

Fordtramarine

Disco girl

Ad astra per aspera

Forget the past

Torture mentally

Hotxolotl

Scrimbles

Lies

Paper is book skin

Euclid

Dionarap (c)

Booberry (c)

Unreality (c)

Vallis cineris (c)

Caryn

Euclydia (c)

Scalene (c)

Even his lies are lies (c)

Stodehttcennoc (c)

Emmalinebutternubbins (c)

Dispense my treat

Just fit in (c)

Nothing

Something

Ciphertology (click 2 times)

Well well well being (c) (click 4 times)

One eyed king (c)

Titans blood (c)

Blanchin (c)

Suck it merlin (c)

Tantrum (c)

You can’t kill an idea (c)

Kook (c)

Naitsuaf (c)

Oroborous (c)

Giffany (click 6 times)

Who are you (c)

R34lity

Fixinit1

Love ya bro (c)

Tad strange (c)

Liar lyre (c)

Xgqrthx (c)

Peak (c)

Platinum peak (c)

Glass shard beach (c)

Cray cray (c)

Deer teeth (c)

Season 1 (c)

Season 2 (c)

Season 3 (c)

Gun (c)

Irregular (c)

Seven eyes (c)

Xyler/Craz (c)

Yes (c)

Justblendin (c)

Black sheep (c)

Baaaa (c)

Union made (c)

29121239168518 (c)

Grebley hemberdreck (c)

3466554 (c)

Tinsel snake (c)

333 sun dapple lane cozy creek IL 60714-94611 (c)

Mountain don't (c)

Riddle (c)

Burnside (c)

No (c)

Llib (c)

When will I die (c) (click once a day)

Clone/paper jam/Tyrone (c)

Multilevel Mark (c)

Goodnight Sally (c)

Tourist trap (c)

The duchess approves (c)

Scientology (c)

Meow (c)

Shave your grandma (c)

Burned inside (c)

Sevral times (c)

Easter egg (c)

Oh yes they both (c)

Kings of new jersey (c)

Destruction is a form of creation (c)

Fuck you Alex/fuck Alex (c)

Rubberhose (c)

Am I blanchin (c)

Card (c)

Bye gold (c)

Globnar (c)

Kubrick (c)

Not a phase (c)

Virus (c)

Spookemups (c)

You're insane (c)

Owl trowl (c)

L is real 2401 (c)

Occurremus iterum (c)

Family matters (c)

Harold’s ramblings (c)

Is hell real (c)

Is there an afterlife (c)

Dippy Fresh (c)

Justblendin (c)

Here’s a link to the entire 15 minute video of me going over all the Easter eggs and codes, so if you don’t wanna bother doing it (fair) then here ya go! Had to post via Instagram because no other social media lets me post long videos, oh well. (As I find more codes, I may make a part 2 video of me solving those on video)

Link here (part 1)

Credits/sources:

@sage-nebula (Dionarap, vallis cineris)

@dottyistired (Booberry, unreality)

@vlada-elya (Ted Cruz)

@cloudofcaffeine (Euclydia, Scalene)

@putadapower (Even his lies are lies, oroborous)

@dippers101 (Stodehttcennoc, emmalinebutternubbins)

@ren-is-real (Just fit in)

@hopefully-maybe-abby (I see)

@towacletruck (Well well well being, one eyed king, titans blood, blanchin, suck it merlin, tantrum, you can’t kill an idea, kook)

@cskv11 (Naitsuaf)

@eazy-peazy54 (Breakup, gyatt, who are you, r34lity, fixinit1, love ya bro, tad strange, liar lyre, xgqrthx, giffany, peak, platinum pas, glass shard beach, cray cray, help me, deer teeth, lalalalala, season 1, season 2, season 3, Mickey Mouse, gun, irregular, horror, creepy pasta, seven eyes, yes, trigonometry, xyler, craz, justblendin, black sheep, baaaa, skibidi, Fortnite, union made, 29121239168518, grebley hemberdreck, 3466554, tinsel snake, 333 sun dapple lane cozy creek IL 60714-94611, mountain don't, burnside, riddle, no, llib, when will I die, Elon, clone, multilevel mark, goodnight sally, paper jam, tyrone, tourist trap, the duchess approves, shape, meow, scientology, shave your grandma, nacho, rizz, daddy, mommy, burned inside, sevral times, easter egg, oh yes they both, kings of new jersey, destruction is a form of creation, rubber hose, card, am I blanchin, fuck you Alex, fuck Alex, fuck you, bye gold, nsa, globnar, Disneyland, Kubrick, not a phase, virus, spookemups, that's just a, you're insane, owl trowel, L is real 2401, occurremus iterum, frilliam, family matters, Matpat, Harold’s ramblings)

@delusionalpaper (Is hell real, is there an afterlife)

@thisisnotawebsitedotcom-com (Dippy fresh)

@/soldofficialyt on YouTube, Justblendin

HUGE shoutout to @eazy-peazy54 for providing so many codes! Seriously, thank you so much for your amazing post compiling them!

[magickkate]

Magicians! Whether you're drawn to tarot cards, crystal balls, or pendulums, there's a divination method out there for everyone. Let's dive into this long post about divination and explore everything you need to know to get started! 🌟

🃏 Tarot Cards:

History: Tarot cards have a rich history dating back to the 15th century, originally used for playing card games. Over time, they evolved into a powerful tool for divination and spiritual insight.

Early Origins: Tarot cards likely originated in the 15th century in Europe, possibly in Italy or France. The earliest known tarot decks were hand-painted luxury items commissioned by wealthy families. These early decks, such as the Visconti-Sforza Tarot and the Tarot de Marseille, were not intended for divination but rather for playing card games similar to modern-day bridges. Tarot as a Divinatory Tool: By the 18th century, tarot cards began to be used for divination and spiritual purposes. Influential occultists and mystics, such as Antoine Court de Gébelin and Etteilla, popularized the idea that tarot cards held hidden esoteric meanings and could be used for fortune-telling and self-discovery. The Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot: One of the most iconic and influential tarot decks is the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot, first published in 1910 by occultist Arthur Edward Waite and artist Pamela Colman Smith. This deck introduced innovative imagery and symbolism, including illustrated scenes on the minor arcana cards, which revolutionized the way tarot was interpreted and understood. Tarot in Modern Occultism: In the 20th century, tarot experienced a resurgence in popularity within the occult and New Age communities. Influential figures such as Aleister Crowley and Carl Jung explored the psychological and symbolic significance of tarot, further cementing its place as a tool for spiritual insight and personal growth. Tarot Today: Today, tarot continues to thrive as a popular tool for divination, meditation, and self-reflection. There are countless tarot decks available, ranging from traditional to modern, each with its unique artwork and symbolism. Tarot readers use the cards to explore themes such as love, career, spirituality, and personal development.

💭 Uses: Tarot cards offer guidance, clarity, and introspection. Each card carries its symbolism and meaning, allowing you to tap into your intuition and explore past, present, and future energies.

🃏 Divination: This is perhaps the most well-known use of tarot cards. Divination involves using the cards to gain insight into a specific question or situation. Tarot readers interpret the symbolism and imagery of the cards to provide guidance, clarity, and potential outcomes. Divination readings can focus on various aspects of life, including love, career, relationships, and spiritual growth. 🔍 Self-Reflection and Insight: Tarot cards can serve as powerful tools for self-reflection and introspection. By pulling cards and reflecting on their meanings, individuals can gain insights into their thoughts, emotions, and subconscious mind. Tarot readings can help illuminate patterns, beliefs, and behaviors that may be influencing their lives, allowing for personal growth and transformation. 📖 Decision-Making and Problem-Solving: Tarot cards can be used to help make decisions or solve problems. Individuals can consult the cards for guidance and clarity when faced with a dilemma or uncertainty. Tarot readings can provide different perspectives, highlight potential obstacles or opportunities, and help individuals make more informed choices. 💭 Journaling and Creative Expression: Some people use tarot cards as prompts for journaling or creative expression. They may pull a card each day and write about how its symbolism relates to their experiences, emotions, or goals. Tarot cards can inspire creative projects, artwork, poetry, or storytelling by tapping into the archetypal imagery and themes depicted in the cards. 🙏 Spiritual Development and Meditation: Tarot cards can be incorporated into spiritual practices and meditation routines. Some individuals use tarot cards as focal points for meditation, gazing at the imagery to quiet the mind and deepen their connection to their intuition or spiritual guides. Tarot readings can also be used as part of ritual ceremonies or spiritual rituals to invoke specific energies or intentions. 🌟 Relationship Building and Communication: Tarot cards can be used to build deeper connections and facilitate communication in relationships. Couples or friends may use tarot cards to explore their dynamics, deepen their understanding of each other, and foster open and honest communication. Tarot readings can provide a shared language for discussing feelings, desires, and aspirations. 🧘Manifestation and Goal Setting: Some people use tarot cards as tools for manifestation and goal setting. They may pull cards to clarify their intentions, visualize their desires, and identify action steps to manifest their goals. Tarot readings can help individuals align their thoughts, beliefs, and actions with their desires, empowering them to change their lives positively.

Do's: Trust your intuition, keep an open mind, and approach each reading with respect and reverence.

✅ Set Clear Intentions: Before conducting a tarot reading, take a moment to set clear intentions for the session. Focus on the specific questions or areas of your life you'd like to explore and the guidance you're seeking from the cards. ✅ Cultivate a Sacred Space: Create a sacred and peaceful environment for your tarot readings. Light candles, burn incense or play soft music to enhance the ambiance and set the mood for your practice. ✅ Trust Your Intuition: Tarot readings are as much about intuition as they are about interpretation. Trust your instincts and the messages you receive from the cards. Pay attention to your inner voice and how the cards resonate with your feelings and experiences. ✅ Respect the Cards: Treat your tarot cards with care and respect. Store them in a protective pouch or box when not in use, and avoid handling them with dirty or oily hands. Regularly cleanse and consecrate your cards to maintain their energy and integrity. ✅ Practice Regularly: Like any skill, tarot reading requires practice and dedication. Commit to practicing regularly, even if it's just pulling a daily card or conducting readings for friends and family. The more you work with the cards, the deeper your connection and understanding will become. ✅ Journal Your Readings: Keep a tarot journal to record your readings, interpretations, and insights. Reflect on the messages you receive from the cards and how they resonate with your life. Journaling can help you track your progress, identify patterns, and deepen your understanding of the cards. ✅ Seek Learning and Growth: Tarot is a lifelong journey of learning and exploration. Invest in books, courses, or workshops to deepen your knowledge of tarot symbolism, spreads, and techniques. Surround yourself with a supportive community of fellow tarot enthusiasts to share insights and experiences.

Don'ts: Avoid reading for yourself when in a highly emotional state or seeking answers to overly specific questions. Remember, the cards provide guidance, not concrete predictions.

❌ Don't Read When Emotionally Distressed: Avoid conducting tarot readings when you are feeling highly emotional, anxious, or distressed. Emotions can cloud your judgment and intuition, leading to inaccurate readings or misinterpretations of the cards. Don't Rely Solely on the Cards: While tarot cards can offer valuable insights and guidance, they should not be seen as infallible or deterministic. Use your judgment, common sense, and critical thinking skills when interpreting the cards and making decisions based on their guidance. ❌ Don't Read for Others Without Permission: Always seek permission before conducting a tarot reading for someone else. Respect their boundaries and privacy, and refrain from prying into sensitive or personal matters without their consent. Don't Give Unsolicited Advice: Tarot readings are not a substitute for professional advice or therapy. Avoid giving unsolicited advice or making predictions about someone else's future, especially if it could cause harm or distress. ❌ Don't Fear Negative Cards: Every tarot deck contains cards with both positive and challenging symbolism. Don't be afraid of so-called "negative" cards like the Death or Tower card. Instead, embrace them as opportunities for growth, transformation, and new beginnings. ❌ Don't Ignore Your Intuition: If something doesn't feel right during a tarot reading, trust your intuition and proceed with caution. Take breaks when needed, and don't push yourself to continue if you're feeling uncomfortable or overwhelmed. ❌ Don't Become Obsessive: While tarot can be a valuable tool for self-reflection and insight, avoid becoming overly reliant on the cards or obsessed with seeking answers to every question or concern. Balance your tarot practice with other forms of self-care, mindfulness, and spiritual exploration.

🔮Crystal Ball Scrying:

History: Crystal ball scrying dates back to ancient civilizations, including ancient Egypt and Celtic cultures. It involves gazing into a crystal ball to receive visions or insights.

📜 Ancient Roots: The practice of scrying dates back thousands of years and can be found in cultures across the globe. Ancient civilizations such as the Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, and Druids all had forms of divination involving reflective surfaces or natural objects. These practices often involved seeking guidance from spirits, deities, or ancestors through the act of gazing into a reflective medium. 🏛️ Medieval Europe: Crystal ball scrying gained popularity during the Middle Ages in Europe, particularly among alchemists, astrologers, and mystics. It was believed that certain stones, such as quartz crystals, possessed mystical properties and could serve as conduits for receiving divine or spiritual messages. Crystal balls became associated with the concept of the "scrying mirror," a tool for accessing hidden knowledge and insights beyond the physical realm. ⏳ Renaissance and Occult Revival: During the Renaissance and the occult revival of the 19th century, crystal ball scrying experienced a resurgence of interest among mystics, occultists, and spiritual seekers. Influential figures such as John Dee, Edward Kelley, and Aleister Crowley explored the practice of scrying as a means of contacting spirits, exploring the subconscious mind, and gaining occult knowledge. 🌍 Victorian Era and Spiritualism: Crystal ball scrying gained popularity during the Victorian era, particularly within the spiritualist movement. Mediums and psychics used crystal balls as tools for communicating with the spirit world and conducting seances. The crystal ball became synonymous with the image of the "fortune-teller" or "gypsy" depicted in popular culture and folklore. 📚 Modern Practice: Today, crystal ball scrying continues to be practiced by psychics, mediums, and individuals interested in divination and spiritual exploration. While traditional crystal balls made of quartz or glass are still used, practitioners may also use other reflective surfaces such as mirrors, black obsidian, or bowls of water. Crystal ball scrying is often incorporated into rituals, meditation practices, or psychic readings as a means of accessing intuitive insights and guidance.

Uses: Crystal ball scrying is a powerful method for accessing the subconscious mind and receiving intuitive guidance. It can be used for divination, meditation, and spiritual exploration.

🔮 Divination: The primary use of crystal ball scrying is for divination, or gaining insight into past, present, or future events. By gazing into the crystal ball and allowing the mind to relax and enter a meditative state, practitioners may receive intuitive impressions, symbols, or visions that provide guidance, clarity, and understanding. Crystal ball readings can address a wide range of questions or concerns, including love, career, health, and spiritual growth. 💬 Personal Reflection: Crystal ball scrying can be used for personal reflection and introspection. By gazing into the crystal ball and allowing thoughts and images to arise spontaneously, individuals can gain insights into their emotions, beliefs, and subconscious minds. Crystal ball scrying can help individuals explore their innermost thoughts, fears, and desires, leading to greater self-awareness and personal growth. 🙏 Spiritual Exploration: Crystal ball scrying can serve as a tool for spiritual exploration and connection. Some practitioners use the crystal ball to commune with spirit guides, angels, or ancestors, seeking wisdom, guidance, and inspiration from the spiritual realm. Crystal ball scrying can facilitate a deeper connection to one's intuition, higher self, or spiritual allies, fostering a sense of inner peace, alignment, and purpose. Problem-Solving and Decision-Making: Crystal ball scrying can be used as a tool for problem-solving and decision-making. By focusing on a specific question or dilemma and gazing into the crystal ball, individuals may receive insights, solutions, or alternative perspectives that help them make informed choices or overcome obstacles in their lives. Crystal ball scrying can provide clarity, direction, and confidence when facing difficult decisions or challenges. 💡 Energy Healing: Some practitioners use crystal ball scrying as part of energy healing or therapeutic practices. By incorporating the crystal ball into meditation or visualization, individuals can channel healing energy and intention through the crystal, promoting relaxation, balance, and harmony on physical, emotional, and spiritual levels. Crystal ball scrying can enhance the healing process and support overall well-being and vitality. 🌟 Ritual and Ceremony: Crystal ball scrying can be incorporated into ritual and ceremonial practices as a means of invoking spiritual energies, setting intentions, or communing with the divine. Some traditions use the crystal ball as a focal point for meditation, prayer, or spellcasting, harnessing its reflective properties to amplify intention and manifest desired outcomes. Crystal ball scrying can enhance the sacredness and potency of ritual practices, deepening the practitioner's connection to the divine and the unseen realms.

Do's: Create a sacred space, cleanse your crystal ball before use, and practice relaxation techniques to quiet the mind.

✅ Prepare Your Space: Create a calm and sacred space for your scrying practice. Dim the lights, burn incense or candles, and eliminate distractions to create an environment conducive to relaxation and focus. ✅ Cleanse and Charge Your Crystal Ball: Before each scrying session, cleanse your crystal ball to remove any negative or stagnant energies it may have absorbed. You can cleanse it with smoke (such as herb bundles of cedar, garden sage, or rosemary), sound (using a singing bowl or bell), or by placing it under running water. Once cleansed, charge the crystal ball with your intention or positive energy. ✅ Set Clear Intentions: Clarify your intentions before beginning your scrying session. Think about the questions or areas of your life you'd like to explore and focus your energy and attention on receiving guidance and insights from the crystal ball. ✅ Relax and Clear Your Mind: Relax your body and mind before gazing into the crystal ball. Practice deep breathing or meditation techniques to quiet your thoughts and enter a receptive state of awareness. Release any expectations or preconceived notions, allowing yourself to be open to whatever messages or images may arise. ✅ Trust Your Intuition: Trust your inner guidance and intuition during the scrying process. Pay attention to any impressions, feelings, or images that come to you as you gaze into the crystal ball. Trust that the messages you receive are meaningful and relevant to your journey. ✅ Journal Your Insights: Keep a journal to record your scrying experiences, insights, and interpretations. Writing down your impressions can help you track patterns, themes, and symbols that emerge over time, deepening your understanding of the messages received from the crystal ball.

Don'ts: Avoid forcing visions or expecting immediate results. Patience and practice are key when it comes to crystal ball scrying.

❌ Force the Process: Avoid trying to force or control the scrying process. Allow the images and impressions to arise naturally, without imposing your will or expectations onto the experience. Trust that the messages will come to you in their own time and in their way. ❌ Scry When Emotionally Distressed: Refrain from scrying when you're feeling highly emotional, anxious, or stressed. Strong emotions can cloud your judgment and intuition, making it difficult to receive clear and accurate guidance from the crystal ball. ❌ Obsess Over Negative Images: If you encounter negative or unsettling images during your scrying session, don't dwell on them or become fixated on their meaning. Instead, acknowledge the images and release them with love and compassion. Focus on inviting positive and uplifting energy into your space. Interpret Too Literally: Avoid interpreting the images or symbols in the crystal ball too literally. Instead, focus on the overall feeling or message conveyed by the imagery. Allow your intuition to guide you in discerning the deeper meaning behind the symbols and their relevance to your life. ❌ Compare Your Experience to Others: Every scrying experience is unique to the individual. Avoid comparing your experience to that of others or seeking validation from external sources. Trust in your insights and interpretations, knowing that you are the ultimate authority on your spiritual journey. ❌ Overuse or Depend Solely on the Crystal Ball: While crystal ball scrying can be a valuable tool for spiritual growth and insight, avoid becoming overly reliant on the crystal ball or using it as a crutch. Balance your scrying practice with other forms of divination, meditation, and self-reflection to maintain a holistic approach to your spiritual development.

⚖️ Pendulum Divination:

History: Pendulum divination has been used for centuries to seek answers and guidance from the subconscious mind. It involves suspending a pendulum over a surface and interpreting its movements.

📜 Ancient Origins: Dowsing, the broader term encompassing pendulum divination, has ancient roots and is believed to have originated independently in different cultures. Archaeological evidence suggests that dowsing tools, such as forked branches or rods, were used by ancient civilizations for locating water sources, minerals, and other hidden resources. Dowsing was often practiced by individuals known as "water witches" or "diviners" who possessed a special sensitivity to subtle energies or vibrations in the earth. 🏛️ Historical References: References to dowsing can be found in historical texts and records dating back thousands of years. For example, ancient Egyptian texts describe the use of dowsing rods for finding water and minerals, while ancient Chinese texts mention the use of divining rods for locating underground sources of water. Dowsing was also practiced by European cultures during the Middle Ages and Renaissance periods, where it was used for everything from locating buried treasure to identifying witches. ⏳ Renaissance and Enlightenment: During the Renaissance and Enlightenment periods, dowsing experienced a resurgence of interest and popularity among scholars, scientists, and natural philosophers. Figures such as Leonardo da Vinci, Sir Isaac Newton, and Paracelsus explored the phenomenon of dowsing and its potential applications in various fields. Dowsing was studied alongside other forms of natural philosophy and was often associated with concepts of magnetism, subtle energies, and the human psyche. 🌍 19th Century and Spiritualism: In the 19th century, dowsing became closely associated with the spiritualist movement, which emphasized communication with the spirit world and exploration of psychic phenomena. Mediums and psychics used pendulums as tools for divination, communication with spirits, and accessing intuitive insights. Pendulum divination was integrated into seances, spiritual healing practices, and other spiritualist rituals as a means of receiving guidance and validation from the unseen realms. 📚 Modern Practice: Today, pendulum divination remains a popular and widely practiced form of divination, utilized by people of various spiritual and cultural backgrounds. Pendulums come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and materials, including metal, wood, and crystal. Practitioners use pendulums for a wide range of purposes, including divination, decision-making, energy healing, and spiritual exploration. Pendulum divination is often integrated into holistic healing modalities such as Reiki, chakra balancing, and aura cleansing, as well as used in conjunction with other forms of divination such as tarot cards or astrology.

Uses: Pendulums can be used for yes/no questions, dowsing, and accessing intuitive knowledge. They are versatile tools for divination and spiritual exploration.

⚖️ Answering Questions: One of the primary uses of pendulum divination is to seek answers to questions. By asking yes/no questions and observing the movement of the pendulum, practitioners can receive guidance and insight into various aspects of their lives, including relationships, careers, health, and spiritual matters. Pendulum divination can provide clarity and direction when faced with difficult decisions or uncertainties. 🕰️ Decision-Making: Pendulum divination can be a helpful tool for making decisions. Practitioners can use the pendulum to weigh different options, evaluate potential outcomes, and determine the best course of action. By tuning into their intuition and allowing the pendulum to guide them, individuals can make more informed choices that align with their highest good. 💫 Problem-Solving: Pendulum divination can assist in problem-solving and troubleshooting. By focusing on a specific issue or challenge and asking targeted questions, practitioners can uncover underlying causes, identify solutions, and overcome obstacles more effectively. Pendulum divination can reveal hidden insights and perspectives that may not be immediately apparent, leading to creative solutions and breakthroughs. 🌀 Aura and Energy Work: Pendulum divination can be incorporated into energy healing and aura work. Practitioners can use the pendulum to detect and assess subtle energy patterns, blockages, or imbalances within the body's energy field. By observing the movement of the pendulum, individuals can identify areas of tension or stagnation and channel healing energy to restore balance and harmony on physical, emotional, and spiritual levels. 🌈 Personal Growth and Self-Discovery: Pendulum divination can serve as a tool for personal growth and self-discovery. By asking questions related to inner thoughts, emotions, and beliefs, individuals can gain insight into their subconscious mind and explore areas of self-improvement and healing. Pendulum divination can help individuals uncover limiting beliefs, release emotional blocks, and cultivate greater self-awareness and empowerment. 🌟Spiritual Exploration: Pendulum divination can be used for spiritual exploration and connection. Practitioners can use the pendulum to communicate with spirit guides, angels, or higher consciousness, seeking guidance, wisdom, and support from the spiritual realms. Pendulum divination can deepen one's connection to the divine and facilitate a greater sense of trust, faith, and alignment with universal energies.

Do's: Establish clear communication with your pendulum, ask concise questions, and trust the answers you receive.

✅ Set Clear Intentions: Before beginning a pendulum divination session, take a moment to set clear intentions for the process. Clarify the questions or areas of your life you'd like to explore and the guidance you're seeking from the pendulum. Focus your energy and attention on receiving clear and accurate answers. ✅ Choose a Suitable Pendulum: Select a pendulum that resonates with you energetically and feels comfortable to use. Pendulums come in various shapes, sizes, and materials, so choose one that feels intuitively right for you. You may also choose to cleanse and consecrate your pendulum before using it to remove any previous energies and imbue it with your intention. ✅ Establish Clear Communication: Before beginning your divination session, establish clear communication with your pendulum. Hold the pendulum in your hand and ask it to show you a clear and accurate response for "yes" and "no" movements. Observe how the pendulum responds to different questions and affirmations, trusting the movements as indications of intuitive guidance. ✅ Practice Grounding and Centering: Ground and center yourself before engaging in pendulum divination. Take a few deep breaths, visualize roots extending from your body into the earth, and imagine yourself surrounded by a protective bubble of light. Grounding helps to stabilize your energy and enhance your connection to the pendulum and your intuition. ✅ Trust Your Intuition: Trust your inner guidance and intuition throughout the pendulum divination process. Pay attention to any intuitive impressions, feelings, or insights that arise as you work with the pendulum. Trust that the messages you receive are meaningful and relevant to your situation, even if they may not always align with your expectations. ✅ Maintain Respect and Ethical Conduct: Treat the pendulum with respect and reverence as a sacred tool for divination. Approach the process with sincerity, honesty, and integrity, refraining from asking frivolous or inappropriate questions. Avoid using pendulum divination to manipulate or control others or to pry into sensitive or private matters without their consent.

Don'ts: Avoid relying solely on the pendulum for major life decisions or asking questions that are too vague or ambiguous.

❌ Don't Engage When Emotionally Distressed: Avoid engaging in pendulum divination when you're feeling highly emotional, anxious, or stressed. Strong emotions can cloud your judgment and intuition, leading to inaccurate or unreliable readings. Wait until you're in a calm and centered state before using the pendulum for divination. ❌ Don't Rely Solely on the Pendulum: While the pendulum can be a valuable tool for accessing intuitive guidance, avoid becoming overly reliant on it or using it as a substitute for your inner wisdom. Use the pendulum as a complementary tool alongside your intuition, critical thinking skills, and common sense when making decisions or seeking guidance. ❌ Don't Forget to Ground and Close: After completing a pendulum divination session, remember to ground yourself and close your energy. Thank the pendulum for its guidance and assistance, and express gratitude for the insights received. Release any residual energy or attachments and return to a grounded state of awareness before continuing with your day. ❌ Don't Obsess Over Negative Outcomes: If you receive a negative or unsettling response from the pendulum, don't dwell on it or become overly fixated on the outcome. Remember that pendulum divination is a tool for guidance and insight, not a predictor of fixed outcomes. Trust that the messages you receive are meant to serve your highest good and empower you to make informed choices. ❌ Don't Compare Your Results to Others: Every individual's experience with pendulum divination is unique. Avoid comparing your results or interpretations to those of others, as each person's energy, intuition, and circumstances are different. Trust in your intuition and interpretation of the pendulum's movements, knowing that you are the ultimate authority on your spiritual journey.

There are other modalities that I haven't covered in depth. Let's touch a bit on each of these main ones:

Scrying: Scrying is a broad term encompassing various divinatory practices involving gazing into reflective surfaces or mediums to receive insights or visions. In addition to crystal ball scrying, other forms of scrying include using mirrors, water, fire, smoke, or black mirrors to access intuitive guidance and symbolic imagery. I touched on specifically crystal ball scrying, but there are many other types of scrying to fit your needs, the basics are mostly the same.

Astrology: Astrology is the study of celestial bodies' positions and movements to interpret their influence on human affairs and natural phenomena. Astrologers use birth charts, horoscopes, and planetary alignments to provide insights into personality traits, life events, and compatibility.

Numerology: Numerology is the study of numbers and their symbolic meanings. Numerologists analyze numbers associated with names, birthdates, and events to uncover insights into personality, life paths, and potential outcomes. Numerology can involve calculations such as life path numbers, destiny numbers, and personal year cycles.

Palmistry: Palmistry is the practice of reading the lines, shapes, and markings on the palms of the hands to gain insight into personality traits, life events, and potential future outcomes. Palmists examine features such as palm lines (e.g., heart line, head line), mounts, and finger shapes to provide interpretations.

Runes: Runes are ancient symbols used in divination, originating from Germanic and Norse cultures. Runecasters typically use sets of carved stones or wooden tiles inscribed with runic symbols. By casting or drawing runes and interpreting their positions and meanings, practitioners can gain insights into various aspects of life and decision-making.

Tea Leaf Reading (Tasseography): Tasseography is the practice of interpreting patterns and symbols formed by tea leaves at the bottom of a cup or vessel. Practitioners observe the shapes, lines, and arrangements of the tea leaves to provide insights into future events, emotions, and outcomes.

Cartomancy: Cartomancy is the practice of using regular playing cards or specialized decks (other than tarot cards) for divination purposes. Practitioners interpret the suits, numbers, and symbols on the cards to provide insights into past, present, or future events and circumstances.

Dream Interpretation: Dream interpretation involves analyzing the symbols, themes, and emotions present in dreams to gain insights into the dreamer's subconscious mind and waking life. Dream interpreters use various techniques and frameworks to interpret dreams and uncover their meanings and messages.

I primarily use tarot and pendulum divination as well as black mirror scrying, however, the basic understanding of many types of divination can allow you to become a well-rounded practitioner.

[theoxenfree]

BOUNTY

hot gunslinging outlaw x reader | 2.7k

following your bitter mother's death, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate child of the most powerful man in san-am, soon to come into a vast inheritance as he is on his deathbed. what you anticipate to be an uneventful train across the country comes to a screeching halt when a mysterious man boards and tells you there's a substantial bounty on your head.

warnings; multiple mentions of death, brief blood mention, some graphic details, kidnapping, roughly proofread, post-apocalyptic setting, neo-western, reposted from old blog 2kmps

this is a concept piece for a larger project. please offer feedback to the questions at the end + reblog!! it really helps out with the project development and honing in on what y'all wanna see in the finished story!

Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.

Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.

Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel.

You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.

“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”

She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.

After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into.

Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.

“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”

Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car.

The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.

You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.

A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat.

The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps.

And then, there was silence.

The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.

“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”

“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”

From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.

“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”

“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”

Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.

Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.

And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather.

You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins.

And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.

You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim.

He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.

“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”

“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.

He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”

“Who hired you?” you demanded.

His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”

“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”

“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.”

“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”

He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”

You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders.

“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”

He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others.

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?”

You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”

A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut.

“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”

You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”

Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”

You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead.

It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.

“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”

“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”

In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”

“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said.

A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.

His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them.

“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”

“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.

He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”

a/n: thank you for reading, and hopefully (pls 🥹) reblogging this first concept piece! let me give you a little bit of background before launching into questions:

this entire idea came to be after reading/watching trigun, watching fallout prime, playing fallout 4, and prior playing my time at sandrock. setting-wise, I imagine the story will have some similarities between all of these things while putting mainly my own spin on the sci-fi western genre.

I intend for this project to be around 90k-100k by the time it is completed and will be the longest piece of writing I've done to date. additionally, I am building the entire world from the ground up and genuinely hoping to execute an extremely immersive reading experience! it is currently in the brainstorming and rough outlining stage, but I am making polls and asking for feedback to help move the process along.

I'd like to up to 2-3 additional concept pieces bc the scale of this project is so large. which concept piece would you like to see next, first? 1) an intimate moment sitting around the fire with jericho 2) jericho teaching mc how to shoot and gets very, very close.

currently, what is your impression of jericho's character? what could I do to improve upon him?

would you prefer for this story to be streamlined w/ the main focus on mc reaching st. corpus + theirs and jericho's romance? or, would you like prev mentioned + detailed character arcs of the other characters in jericho's crew?

this story is neo-western, but is definitely an adventure and epic at heart. is there anything in particular you'd be interested in seeing me write for a story like this? different areas around the continent? creatures? cultures? spend some extra time in st. corpus?

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Tips On How To Be A High-Value Woman

Table of Contents:

Prioritize Your Self-Respect Above All Else

Set & Uphold Clear Boundaries in Every Area of Life

Make A Deliberate Effort To Discover Your Values, Passions, & Boundaries

Build A Strong Personal Brand & Cult of Personality

Center All Aspects of Your Health & Well-Being

Read, Study, & Build A Strong Skillset

Consistently Invest in Your Appearance

Remain Dedicated To Lifelong Learning

Personalize Your Interactions & Learn Proper Etiquette

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation

Become Extremely Discreet Yet Utterly Shameless

Embrace Growth Without Succumbing To Your Perfectionist Expectations

HOW TO BE A HIGH-VALUE WOMAN:

Prioritize Your Self-Respect Above All Else: Get goals and standards that align with your needs in every area of life (career, finances, physical/mental/sexual health, emotional well-being, friends, family, intimate relationships, self-development). Express and act in alignment with your standards and dreams. Don't allow the displeasure of others to dictate your actions or daily activities.

Set & Uphold Clear Boundaries in Every Area of Life: State them calmly and clearly. "No" is a complete sentence. Reciprocate this effort to others. Practice the art of discernment, differentiation, and interdependence. Get to know yourself, and learn how to observe your needs independently of others' expectations and desires.

Make A Deliberate Effort To Discover Your Values, Passions, & Boundaries: Figure out what matters most to you in life. What activities, topics, aesthetics, art, clothing, hobbies, sounds, movements, books, television shows, movies, songs, and types of conversations most light you up inside? Here are some resources to guide your self-discovery journey HERE, HERE, and HERE.

Build A Strong Personal Brand & Cult of Personality: I have more tips on building your personal brand, creating your persona (or ‘Dream Girl archetype’), and an ultimate Femme Fatale playbook linked HERE, HERE, and HERE.

Center All Aspects of Your Health & Well-Being: Physical, Mental, Emotional, Sexual, and Spiritual. Celebrate your needs – they make you human. Eat a healthful, plant-based diet, exercise and walk daily, meditate, read at least 10 pages a day, journal, make to-do lists, declutter your space, self-pleasure, recite your affirmations, lean into shadow and mirror work, create morning and nighttime routines. Feeling in alignment is essential to allowing your magnetic aura to shine through. Find all my tips to cultivate self-regard in every area of life HERE.

Read, Study, & Build A Strong Skillset: Designing the life of your dreams is an inevitable aspect of living in your queen energy. Stay informed, read books and articles on your industry, interests, current events, cultural happenings, history, and any other topic that brings you joy or you would find intriguing if someone brought up the subject at a dinner party. Mastering an evergreen skillset is essential for succeeding in your career or building a business. Living in your queen energy means living in abundance. While queen energy is a mindset, it is impossible to fully live in this dream reality without having passions and your finances in order. Start with my entire Femme Fatale booklist HERE and guide to building your dream career HERE.

Consistently Invest in Your Appearance: Choose between investing time, money, or extra effort into upkeeping a polished style, beauty, grooming, and physique-maintaining routine. Wear clean, wrinkle-free, well-fitting clothes – styled and accessorized in a way that appears thoughtful & put together with impeccable grooming (clean hair, nails, skin, etc.). Stay consistent with your beauty/makeup/skincare routines, smelling nice daily, and maintain a scheduled routine (weekly, monthly, every 6 weeks, etc.) for specific treatments that make your life easier and make all the difference. These practices don't need to cost a lot of money. You choose to spend more money, time, or effort on these practices, depending on your personal preferences and based on your lifestyle and circumstances.

Remain Dedicated To Lifelong Learning: Make it a priority to read a few articles and 10 pages of a book daily. Ensuring keep up with your learning & education on different topics and the world is fulfilling and enables you to enter into a wider pool of conversations. This practice also strengthens your mind, sharpens focus, and helps your brain relax.

Personalize Your Interactions & Learn Proper Etiquette: Address people by name, and offer a firm handshake. Maintain eye contact. Say "please" and "thank you." RSVP promptly. Communicate clearly and compassionately. Make the person feel special and like the only individual in the room while introducing yourself. It’s the secret to leaving a lasting impression, 

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation: Prioritizing self-presentation, learning how to listen, holding your own, and encouraging others to feel relaxed are the secrets to becoming magnetic in any social situation. Be mindful of how much you listen (more) and speak (less). Carefully consider your tonality and word choice. Remember and recounter the small details of another person’s anecdote that felt important to them. Acknowledge their emotions and validate them. Read more of my tips HERE. 

Become Extremely Discreet Yet Utterly Shameless: Do as you please, but keep your business (or pleasure) to yourself. Privacy is peace, power, bliss, and radiates quiet confidence – the greatest telltale sign that someone is living in her queen energy. Learn to hold your own. You will be guaranteed to earn respect within seconds of gracing anyone's presence.

Embrace Growth Without Succumbing To Your Perfectionist Expectations: Remember that every skill, successful relationship, and goal takes time and experience. No one has it all figured out. It’s okay if you’re not where you expected to be or desire to be at this stage of your life. Stop comparing yourself – we all have our own paths. Choose to do one small thing every day to make your life better – either a step towards reaching a goal or indulging in a deep desire. Ensure there's a healthy (not necessarily equal) balance between the two. Leave your future self better than you found your past self. Express compassion towards yourself and acknowledge that you’re doing your best. Everything starts to make considerably more sense in hindsight. 

[specialagentartemis]

Citizen Science and Contributing To Scientific Endeavor When You're Not "A Scientist"

Comments on some of my posts about science and misinformation express frustration with scientific establishments, and want to see more accessibility and attention given to amateurs participating in the scientific process and having their scientific voices heard.

If being involved in the creation of knowledge and discovery is something important to you, that's something I strongly encourage! It's absolutely possible. Amateur researchers with a passion and an eye for detail have made some fantastic discoveries - but what is often glossed over in stories like these are the years of work, the patient dedication, and the collaboration with university researchers that often underlie such discoveries.

The search for truth and information and the passion for science is present in a lot of people who aren't official "scientists" - curiosity is natural! And if participation in scientific observation, hypothesizing, experimentation, and discovering new things about the world is important to you, there are lots of ways to go about contributing - and the new year is a great time to start.

What are you interested in?

Ecology

Observing the world around you is for everybody. Getting invested in the environment of your hometown is for everybody. And, as the Mythbusters famously said,

Some ideas for a local ecology project:

Record the temperature outside every day at the same time - at sunrise, or noon, or sunset, or midnight. Depending on where you are, the local weather recording station may be miles away or on top of a mountain - measure the temperature yourself and compare it each day to what your app says. When is it accurate? When isn't it?

Record the weather every day. How much precipitation? What time of day? What kind?

Record what animals you see every day, where, when, and how many. Or choose a specific animal, like birds, or bees on flowers, or turtles or frogs in a local pond, or whiptail lizards vs. invasive house geckos, and record the numbers you see each day.

Record when in the year you see the first, or last, of a plant or animal. When the crocuses sprout, when the buds appear on the maple trees, when you see the first clover flowers or prickly pear flowers, when the first robin comes out or the first lizards come out of hibernation.

If you have an outdoor cat or a free-roaming dog, attach a GoPro or similar small camera to its collar to see where it goes and what it does.

Identify the plants growing in your neighborhood, and check in on it regularly to keep track of how each one fares in different weather conditions, or if any animals particularly like or don't like to eat it.

Bulk order some test strips, then take a small sample of soil from a local park or water from a local waterway each weekend and test them for PH, lead, chemicals, or whatever. See if it changes over the year, or after a heavy rainfall, or during drought.

Take a photo of the same spot every day for a year.

Linguistics

The study of how people use language! Everybody uses language in some capacity.

Do you have any small children near you? Talk to them! Record how they pronounce things and what they call new (or even familiar) concepts. Look for patterns.

Ask people you know if "dog" and "blog" rhyme, or if "Alohop" is a good pun for a pineapple beer. My family gets ENDLESS amounts of mileage out of this one with each other. Ask people you know questions about how they pronounce things, or what they call things. Make maps of dialectical differences between generations, neighborhoods, etc. Track linguistic shifts in the modern world.

History

Everyone and everywhere has a history, and accurate history is pressingly relevant always.

See if you have a local historical society, library archive, or history museum that is looking for volunteers to transcribe or translate collections.

Get elbow-deep in local archives. You likely have some sort of local archive near you that has not been fully digitized. Go in with a topic you want to learn about - Black families, Jewish communities, how your hometown transferred from Indigenous hands to settler ones, women who owned their own businesses, immigration, inter-racial relationships, sports, ice harvesting, farming practices, contemporary opinions on a major world history event that now seems so inevitable, sports and people's reactions to sports - and read everything in newspapers, wills, deeds, photographs, or other available records about your topic of choice. See if you can find connections that you haven't seen anyone else talking about.

These are just some things that occur to me immediately as something that anyone can do, if you're sufficiently interested in a question and want to discover more about it. The more local your topic, the less likely anyone has a solid answer to whatever you're wondering - and the more immediately relevant to the people around you your discoveries may be!

Combining it with a New Year's Resolution can also get you more motivated to do the things you want to do. Is your resolution to get more exercise? Take a brisk walk each morning and take a picture of the same area every day for a year. Take a walk every weekend down to the lake and count the turtles and frogs you see. Is your resolution to keep a daily diary For Real This Time? If nothing else, resolve to write down the weather and precipitation each day! Do you want to volunteer more or meet new people? Look for citizen science or local history groups! Feeling like you're working toward something Real is a great motivator.

Henry David Thoreau's detailed descriptions of the nature each day around Walden Pond in the 1840s provides a valuable benchmark for modern ecologists to compare environmental and climatic changes since then on a granular level. Silly rhyming poems and idiosyncratic spellings in letters and diaries help linguists track dialectical and pronunciation changes across time. Amateur science is great and valuable! We all can have a part in understanding and paying deeper attention to the world around us, if we want to.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Leslie Patrick

1 August 2023

Anne Boleyn (c. 1501 or 1507 – 19 May 1536), King Henry VIII's second queen, is often portrayed as a seductress and ultimately the woman responsible for changing the face of religion in England.

In reality, she was a fiercely intelligent and pious woman dedicated to education and religious reform.

But after her arrest and execution on false charges of adultery and incest in May 1536, Henry VIII was determined to forget her memory.

Her royal emblems were removed from palace walls, her sparkling jewels tucked away in dark coffers, and her precious books disappeared from the pages of time.

One of Boleyn’s books that has reappeared is the Book of Hours, a stunning prayer book, printed around 1527 with devotional texts designed to be read throughout the day, features hand-painted woodcuts — as well as a rare example of the queen’s own writing.

In the margins of one of the beautifully decorated pages, she penned a rhyming couplet followed by her signature:

“Remember me when you do pray, that hope doth lead from day to day, Anne Boleyn.”

The book vanished with Boleyn’s execution in 1536, then resurfaced around 1903 when it was acquired by the American millionaire William Waldorf Astor (31 March 1848 – 18 October 1919) after he purchased Hever Castle, Anne Boleyn’s childhood home in the English countryside.

The hiding place of the disgraced queen’s devotional tome had been a mystery for centuries, until recent research by a university student uncovered hidden signatures that helped trace its path through history.

The discovery

The book’s whereabouts in the 367 years between Boleyn’s death and its reemergence remained puzzling until 2020 when Kate McCaffrey, then a graduate student at the University of Kent working on her master’s thesis about Anne Boleyn’s Book of Hours, found something unexpected in the margins of the book.

“I noticed what appeared to be smudges to the naked eye,” recalls McCaffrey, assistant curator at Hever Castle since 2021.

Intrigued, she borrowed an industrial-strength ultraviolet light and set it up in the darkest room of Hever Castle.

Ultraviolet light is often used to examine historical documents because ink absorbs the ultraviolet wavelength, causing it to appear darker against the page when exposed.

“The words just came through. It was incredible to see them underneath the light, they were completely illuminated,” the curator recalls.

McCaffrey’s theory is that the words were erased during the late Victorian era when it was popular to cleanse marginalia from books or manuscripts.

But thanks to her extraordinary detective work, these erased words turned out to be the key that unlocked the tale of the book’s secret journey from certain destruction at the royal court to safety in the hands of a dedicated group of Boleyn’s supporters.

The guardians

Indeed, various pages throughout the text reveal the names and notations of a string of Kentish women — Elizabeth Hill, Elizabeth Shirley, Mary Cheke, Philippa Gage, and Mary West — who banded together to safeguard Anne's precious book and keep her memory alive.

While it’s unclear how the book was initially passed to these women, Anne Boleyn expert Natalie Grueninger suggests it was gifted by Anne to a woman named Elizabeth Hill.

Elizabeth grew up near Hever Castle, and her husband, Richard Hill, was sergeant of the King’s Cellar at Henry VIII’s court.

There are records of the Hill’s playing cards with the king, and there may have been a friendship between Elizabeth and the queen that prompted Boleyn to pass her prayer book on before her execution.

“This extended Kentish family kept the book safe following Anne’s demise, which was an incredibly brave and bold act considering it could have been considered treasonous,” says Grueninger, podcaster and author of the book The Final Year of Anne Boleyn.

Anne’s Book of Hours was passed between mothers, daughters, sisters, and nieces until the late sixteenth century, when the last name makes its appearance in its margins.

“This story is an example of the women in the family prioritizing loyalty, friendship, fidelity, and a personal connection to Anne,” says McCaffrey.

“The fact that the women have kept it safe is a really beautiful story of solidarity, community, and bravery.”

The book, currently on display at Hever Castle, is a touchstone of the enigma that was Anne Boleyn.

Castle historian and assistant curator Owen Emmerson points out that the book contains Anne’s DNA on the pages from where she touched and kissed it during her daily devotions.

“This was a really beloved possession of hers,” says Emmerson.

“Because of what happened to Anne Boleyn, we don’t have a vast amount of information in Anne’s own words. But the physical remnants of her use of the book, and the construction of that beautiful little couplet, have her identity in them.”

While Anne’s Book of Hours has finally found its way home, the research into this intriguing historical mystery is not yet over.

McCaffrey continues to chart the book’s provenance through the centuries to find out where it was hiding all this time.

The discovery of the inscriptions illuminates the book’s furtive journey, providing us with a glimpse into the controversy, loyalty, and fascination that Anne Boleyn has engendered for the past 500 years.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5988

Jalsa, Mumbai July 10/July 11, 2024 Wed/Thu 3:51 am

🪔 ,

July 11 .. birthday greetings to Ef Rajesh Srivastava from Jamshedpur .. Ef Nikhil Saraswat .. and EF Mahesh B Solanki from Ratlam - MP .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

.. and the entire Ef family gives their wishes , with love ..

Preparations for the next KBC have begun and the time spent at its prep is motivational .. spent time with the crew and learning all the little changes that have been introduced .. cannot say much here .. it would be unethical .. but suffice to say that the earnestness with which it all begun , I hope there will be a rewarding experience ..

At one of the prep moments a young lay came as a mock contestant and showed me a moment when I had met here earlier .. the book Madhushala was in her hands and she pulled out a letter I had written to here long back .. nostalgia ..

and also gave me a glimpse of the words similar to the words and verses of Madhushala that had been inked on the last cover of the book ..

it is heartening to learn of the respect that Babuji is given even after many many years of his absence ..

and then there were many more moments ..

.. and so the day did end ..

we are a special species this is renowned fact and the specifics of our existence and make is what draws us to the religiosity of any situation ..

we are all made of elements that we can hold in our hands nd discover the World ..

But alas .. by the time that gets oppertional we shall be gone ..

However is is always good to share thoughts and words and deeds of others in our World .. for we never know which planet they have arrived from and what has been their experience .. now that they are with the strength of super powers ..

the World becomes more and more intelligent and worthy .. the problem however is not us , BUT OUR DAMNED COUNTENANCE ..

THE READING AND HEARING OF OUR SCrIPTUrES AND LEGENDS of the PAST, is the most fascinating history of mankind .. and to be in the reckoning of its changes and discoveries is equally fascinating ..

love and wishes for all present here ..