#Supreme Shorts

[supremeclothings]

Supreme Clothing has become one of the most iconic names in the world of streetwear, blending skate culture, fashion, and a sense of exclusivity to create a global phenomenon. Since its inception in 1994, the brand has redefined how streetwear interacts with mainstream culture, while maintaining an air of underground credibility. Here’s an in-depth look at what makes Supreme a standout brand in the fashion industry.

A Brief History of Supreme

Founded by James Jebbia in New York City, Supreme started as a small skateboarding shop catering to skaters and streetwear enthusiasts. The brand’s minimalist logo—a red box with "Supreme" written in white Futura Heavy Oblique font—was inspired by Barbara Kruger’s art, immediately positioning it as a visually recognizable brand.

Supreme’s early collections featured simple designs, often focusing on comfort and practicality, which appealed to the skateboarding community. Over time, however, its offerings expanded, including collaborations with major brands and artists, propelling Supreme into a global spotlight.

The Power of Scarcity and Hype

One of Supreme's most genius marketing strategies is its focus on limited-edition releases. Known as "drops," these weekly launches feature a small number of items, which often sell out within minutes. The limited supply creates a sense of urgency and exclusivity, driving demand among its loyal fanbase.

This scarcity-based model has led to a robust resale market, where Supreme items often sell for multiples of their original price. Iconic pieces, such as the Supreme box logo Supreme hoodies or collaborations with brands like Louis Vuitton, Nike, and The North Face, are particularly sought after by collectors and enthusiasts.

Collaborations: A Supreme Strategy

Supreme T Shirt

has consistently stayed relevant through collaborations with other brands, artists, and even cultural icons. Some of the most notable collaborations include:

Supreme x Louis Vuitton (2017): A groundbreaking partnership that merged luxury fashion with streetwear, bridging two seemingly disparate worlds.

Supreme x Nike: Frequent collaborations with Nike have resulted in highly coveted sneakers and apparel that blend functionality with urban aesthetics.

Supreme x The North Face: Combining utility with style, this collaboration offers jackets, backpacks, and accessories that appeal to outdoor enthusiasts and fashion aficionados alike.

These collaborations are a testament to Supreme's ability to innovate and remain a cultural touchpoint.

The Cultural Impact of Supreme

Supreme's influence extends beyond clothing; it represents a lifestyle. The brand is deeply rooted in skateboarding culture, but its appeal has transcended boundaries to attract celebrities, musicians, and fashion-forward individuals. Supreme has become a status symbol, with its pieces often worn as a badge of cultural awareness and style.

Moreover, Supreme Jacket has played a significant role in legitimizing streetwear as a major player in the fashion industry. What was once considered niche has become mainstream, thanks to brands like Supreme paving the way for others to follow.

Criticism and Controversies

Despite its success, Supreme has faced criticism over its pricing strategy, perceived elitism, and environmental impact. Additionally, the brand's logo has been scrutinized for its similarities to Barbara Kruger's work, raising questions about artistic appropriation.

However, these controversies have done little to dampen the brand’s appeal, often fueling further interest and discourse around it.

Conclusion

Supreme Shorts

is more than just a fashion brand; it’s a cultural phenomenon that has shaped the way we view streetwear and its place in society. By combining exclusivity, innovation, and a deep connection to youth culture, Supreme continues to dominate the streetwear scene. Whether you're a skater, a collector, or someone who appreciates cutting-edge fashion, Supreme remains a name synonymous with style and influence.

[psqqa]

yes, yes i know edgeworth’s big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated us all, but listen. listen.

phoenix wright

phoenix “genuinely unable to reconcile the girl on the stand with the girl he dated for eight months, a cognitive dissonance so profound it’s ultimately explained by them being literally two different people, but which he first sits with for five years and does not talk about at any point to anyone” wright

phoenix “don’t mention that name to me. i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t want to think about it. i am just going to keep myself in this state of perpetual crisis mode focus on other people’s problems until eventually i die and get to hang out with mia on the astral plane and never have to deal with any of these emotions ever again” wright

phoenix “overnight loses his career and reputation and sense of identity while gaining an adopted, probably pretty traumatized eight-year-old daughter, and rather than leaning on his friends for help, or getting therapy, or taking any time to process any of this, he *checks notes* spends seven years dedicating all his free time and energy to investigating the weird fucking circumstances around it and maintains a friendship with the guy he suspects was behind it all” wright

phoenix "runs across a burning bridge and falls through it, half a day after the game establishes that he is terrified of heights, because his friend is on the other side of that bridge" wright

phoenix “i sure felt surprised. maybe i had my poker face on” wright

phoenix “looking back on it that was actually a pretty dark period in my life” wright

phoenix “don’t ask me how i got started. i don’t remember” wright

phoenix “only you stood still, your eyes calmly watching” wright

phoenix “sometimes, life just sucks” wright

just

phoenix wright

crunchiest man in the world

and all i wanna do is chew and chew and chew on him

[mossy-paws]

I just needed to have them beat the shit out of eachother (ULTRAKILL x Chainsaw man)

Yeah so I made this as a *SUPPOSED* to be stupid ass uncolored mini shitpost comic but it blew just a TEENSY bit out of hand… (laughs in 23 hours later)

ANYWAYS ENJOY THIS TOOK FUCKING FOREVER I HAVE MORE TO POST PROBABLY IN A FEW DAYS!! I hate these two very very deeply so I wanted them (and by them I mean power) to beat eachother up because they both eat blood, both love cats, and are both fucking batshit insane, enjoy your food for the next few weeks tumblr nation

[coollizard]

Hello tumblr, I'm new here. Have a Shin fanart 🤙

[chalamet-chalamet]

Timothée with Denis, Zendaya and Austin in NYC on September 21, 2024. ✨✨✨

IG credit to tchallamett

[sonic-takeover]

Sorry you're getting teased about your height so much Shadow. At least you're not like a whole foot shorter than him like I am with my partner. I'm sentenced to life as an armrest lol. 🤣

You'd be surprised how many times Sonic has attempted that move. Knuckles has actually done it. And yet no one does that to Tails, and he's shorter than everyone here.

[nyc-looks]

Sofia, 32

“I am wearing a Supreme tank top, some vintage cargo shorts, boots I customized for a videoclip, and my choker was made by my friend ARA jwls. My current style is what I call being a little chula, a little sudaka (south latin america).“

Sep 9, 2023 ∙ Lower East Side

[hayanwulf]

Maybe supreme family having a their first game night.

Stephen stared at the scene in front of him.

Tony and the kids were gathered on the table with Morgan in his lap. At the center of the table sat a Monopoly map. Some D&D dice were scattered on one side, alongwith a neatly placed stack of ...Uno cards?

All in all, it was a monstrosity.

Morgan rolled the dice for Tony, whose shoulders immediately slumped when he realized where he’d landed in the Monopoly map. Peter whooped, pumping his fist in the air. “Ha! Pay up.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Peter, then a smirk slowly grew in his lips as he produced the hidden stash of Uno cards he owned, and threw a card down at the table. It was a +2 card. “Double and give it to the next kid.”

The next kid in question was Harley. He didn’t even look up from where he was reading something on his phone, and threw down an Uno reverse card. Tony’s jaw slacked.

Stephen was pretty sure that wasn’t even how Uno worked.

“What on Vishanti’s name are you all playing?” He asked, drawing the room’s attention.

“We call it The Convergence of Games!” America answered. “It’s a mix of D&D, Uno, and Monopoly.”

Stephen stared at them like they had spontaneously turned into potted plants. “Why!?”

Tony snorted. “Cuz no one could agree on what to play.” He passed Monopoly cash towards Peter.

“So you just.. decided to mix them all?”

“Why not?” Peter shrugged, picking new cards from the stack of Uno on the table and holding it out towards Stephen’s direction. “Wanna join? It’s fun!”

“He won’t,” Tony said, his eyes trained on Stephen, challenge sparkling there. “He’s a wuss.”

Well then.

Stephen took the offered cards and sat down. “What are the rules?”

[kairando12]

"I'm finally as tall as Goku..."

[the-grungler]

"i hate you harder than every star in the sky" (vague character study?)

(a/n) these freaks actually make me sick to my fucking stomach i love them so much (í keep confusing myself with tags but if ur in the fandom you know the triggers already probly)

(genuinely adore nemlei's writing, come find my exaggeratedly heated political views on the moe-aestheticed cannibalistic incest story at the bottom) (just bc no one asked doesn't mean i can't suck my own dick <3)

not beta read rip

————————————

Smoke lifts towards the sky as he pulls the stick from his lips. For a fleeting second, he sees the stars align. The movie writes itself—the turbulent snare of helicopter blades, an SOS thrown and caught and hugs and tears and all of that sorry bullshit. And then they'd ask questions. He'd be cuffed. She'd be gone. His crooks and kinks pounded out in the prison for Another Societal Disappointment. He'd get his life straightened out—removed, without the clinical jargon—and all his friends and family's souls would cheer their comeuppance from the afterlife.

Happy endings are just too tastefully easy, aren't they?

For the twelfth time that night, he thinks about killing her.

The demon. The parasite. The dumb cunt of a tumor, eating and growing and grinning.

She's a vile itch under his skin, his bones. One that if he pulled the flesh and sinew from all that'd sit underneath were cinder and ash. Ash and cinder.

Ash and Tar and worthless waste Andy.

He sucks it down his lungs like sweet, sexy heroin. If the world ever went his way, she'd be shot out back and hung.

You did this to me.

He relishes in the way his brain flushes out anymore thoughts at that. The feeling her existence gives him is the most miserable serotonin he's ever tried to smoke. His life, his purpose, his burden, is currently meandering a sorry knock-off of a seven eleven, probably making some minimum wage tween's life a living hell.

Good.

He shouldn't have to be the only one's air wasted on that sorry bitch.

He swings the car door open until it crashes into itself, because no god fucking dammit he's the only one, only one allowed to, he'd kill that rancid cashier, wring its fucking neck for thinking it had any right to have Her leaving suicidal dirt tracks over its life the way that stupid cow ruined his. She was His burden. His. His. His.

You're the one that sent her off.

His voice of reason sighs, and he remembers all over again that yes, this is in fact what he wants. Peace and quiet. Two minutes away from that blighting hellspawn. Just two minutes, and he'd sweep all her fuckups back into the dirt to rot with the rest of their victims.

Andrew and the severe smoking addiction. Andrew and the stars against the night sky. Andrew and the obnoxious tussle of bushes hiding the last throat he'd slit. Andrew and the gaping void of oh, who fucking cares, anyway?

He stands up from the cramped carseat She cheerfully proclaims their house. Pops his back. Sucks the cigarette dry, holds it in until the smoke tingles and burns away his braincells and the memory of whatever just happened. In. Out.

He closes his eyes, and he is an average office worker, wringing sighs out on the front porch until his smile is in place for his pretty wife.

He closes his eyes, and he is a slackerish homebody, wiping dishes and beating off until his annoying wife saunters through the door.

He closes his eyes, and he's got a scholarship and a master's under his belt, and he's being congratulated for an accolade he's accidentally achieved, staggering home to hang himself because that Stupid Bitch is late and—

"Oh, Aaaaaaandy!" She crashes into him with the crumple of plastic bags and cold sandwiches, and he thinks of how that sugar and methamphetamine lilt snuffed out under his palms would sound for the thirteenth time. "I have returned with spoils untold! ...The fuck are you loitering around for?" She pouts her lips in that crude imitation of cuteness. "So much for not drawing attention, you greasy hobo."

There are a lot of things to be said about your loved ones.

"Yes, because we should all go around charging each other like raging bulls, that'll surely get the cops off our tails."

Happy-go-lucky couples who tongue off on the mere thought of each other, a pretty list of perfection dripping down in a sweet, honeyed daze. (Not that Ashley qualifies as a human, or any sort of girlfriend!)

"HahAhaha! Someone's got a real stick up their asshole tonight. C'mon, I can't express my love for a job well done?"

"Need I point out that you are the obnoxious stick in this metaphor?"

Ashley, has none of those things. In fact, what Andrew has is a list of horrors, eight fully formed essays on why things like her shouldn't be alive (the collection of poetry didn't count if he burned them all fast enough). Gaslighting, manipulative, vile, selfish, leech, more boobs than brain, the self awareness of a rock and the complete disregard for other's opinions or should's and shouldn'ts, that freedom to do whatever she pleases whenever, the primal comradery that bound them in their own sins—

Her pout sours. "Real fucking rainbows and sunshine, aren't you? Isn't this the part where you fall to your knees and praise me about what a incredible job I did, and how you can't live without me?"

"I can hardly live with you! Why the hell were you gone so long?? If I have to clean up another body because you can't behave for five fucking minutes, I swear to God—"

"Ugh, get off my ass, it was barely five, tops! Couldn't you have thrown this fit yesterday? Or like, not at all?? Nothing happened! I bought our dinner. I got the change. i left."

He breathes wisps of smoke through his nostrils. Knowing that thirty second interaction with the cashier was not the cacophony of screams and bitchery he chewed on the daily, in fact, more courtesy than he had ever received off her end in his entire fucking life, sent another white hot wave of rage through his bones.

"...Okay. You're right."

"...Aaaand?"

"And I'm sorry," he rolls his eyes, but of course this is the night she takes it like a champ, corralling him into the cramped space of the car and rifling through the bags like an early morning Christmas present.

(Not that he knew what it felt like. He'd dwell on it, maybe, suck the bitter out like trashy candy, but he couldn't face that nagging twitch of a thought—some phantom sense of fear, that if he looked down, turned over whatever he could remember of the shit he ate from whoever wasn't his sister, it'd disappear, just like everything else around him.)

That toiling murk in his head of daily life. Teeth and smiles and the motions of love. Did you really love someone if you couldn't kill yourself for them, over and over and over again?

(The pill is in front of him. He will never swallow, because this bottomless stretch of tar and tits is the closest thing left to a spark he has. Maybe it's the only thing he'll ever be able to take out of someone.)

That's right. It's all your fault.

He pops the top off the sandwich container. It looks like ash and horseshit, smells like canned tuna.

The fuckup next to him plucks it out and bites down with a snide, smeared grin.

"Hey," he jades.

"C'mon! Ladies first, y'know?" She pauses mid-chew as the flavor sinks in, a grimace wrinkling her nose. "...My apologies, brother dearest! How ill mannered of me." She drops it back in the container and shoves it over to him. "Out of the kindness of my dainty little heart, it's only fair you eat first!"

He snorts, despite himself. "As if. You got your slobber all over it, you little shit."

"Excuse you!? I'll have you know that refined beings such as myself just don't need tasteless, lowclass trash! You should be thankful I've indulged you thus far!"

"Right, because you'd rather eat what? The refined hors d'oeuvres of human intestines?"

She smirks like he's proven her point exactly. "I'm not like other girls, you see."

He barks a loud laugh. "You got that right. You're a fucking mistake."

"Takes one to know one." She sticks a jeering tongue out at him. He regrets in advance all the ways he could scrape the stains right off those lips.

Instead, he bites a chunk off her sandwich, parading nonchalance with belligerent ignorance. It's second nature, a game she hasn't realized she's played him into.

It tastes like shit.

But hey, so does everything else in his mouth. The mildly repulsed look she gives him as he swallows the whole thing just makes it all the tiny bit sweeter.

fucking hate and love nemlei for making one of the most beautifully crafted deep dives into abuse an incest simulator LIKE HOW THE FUCK DO I EXPLAIN THIS TO MY HOMIES???

and not to mention what a special goddamn project it is because i am so tired of media bitching and moaning morals and preaching into their writing. like i get corporations physically unable to not have a moral message by the end due to sueful behavior but this is just a breath of beautifully moldy air. all you need to know is that these people are NOT healthy role models, they are not a hero's journey of victory or happy-ever-after peace, or here to teach you something about life. these bitches are NASTY and if you need a video game to tell you not to fuck your sister, i assure you there are bigger problems going on there

just kidding this is just me hammering down my brain puke so it stops seeping into everything else. i'd do ashley POV too but i got it all out with this one and her character just doesn't fit with casual introspective study for me.

[resident-rats]

I don’t even know what to say lol, I hate this godforsaken country

[cursemewithyourkiss]

Blanche Sweet and Ronald Colman behind the scenes of HIS SUPREME MOMENT (1925) with director George Fitzmaurice

[kpop-bbg]

[sonic-takeover]

Shadow, you know short people are cuter, right? Take it from me, I’m like soooo short. My friends mess with me for it- SO IM GLAD THEY MESSIN’ WITH YOU NOW! *maniacal laughter*

I doubt you're as short as me. But I appreciate you sharing this with me. Alongside that, how dare you laugh in the face of my mockery?? It's bad enough that Sonic knows now that my shoes give me some height.. he won't stop teasing me for it. Hmph. As if his don't as well.

[textfromthelookout]

I love that we think of Sheen as a sweet poor «babygirl» with the energy of a wet stray puppy. And I want to offer you the idea that Sheen though is a creation god who would embody all these cute ideals about forgiveness and divinity, like look at him, he's small and cute, he's traumatized and needs help, but he's also the kind of god who will offer your planet, up for destruction once it exhausts all its resources.

Compared to Vis, who is having fun and expecting to benefit from his help, for whom Bulma is nothing more than a purveyor of tasty food and therefore just another planet waiting to be destroyed by Beerus or Zenon anyway, Shin seems like an empathetic being. Yes, he's putting a lot of effort and energy into the creation, socializing with the Earthlings, perhaps finding friends and affection in it.

But he will also be responsible for the destruction of Earth

Food for thought! Pun not intended. Leaving aside whatever Daima says about the matter (again, haven't seen it yet), I do think it's worth considering that Kaioshin and Beerus don't seem to coordinate their roles at all. Kaioshin's--yknow maybe it'd be easier from now on to use his name, since apparently that's something Daima gave us. Nahare? okay cool.

Nahare doesn't have much if any say over what Beerus does and doesn't destroy, from what I can gather--just as Beerus has no say/is entirely uninterested in what Nahare does or doesn't create to replace whatever he destroys. He and Beerus seem to operate essentially independently from one another, which would make sense, since they're meant to be balancing forces. Given that there's concern over the average power of each universe in relation to one another, a la Tournament of Power, it's a safe assumption that they split the role of gardener to the unruly shrub that is Universe 7: Beerus does the deadheading, Nahare does the cultivation and shaping, each at their own discretion, with mutual understanding of their amd each other's job in the grand scheme of things--keeping the organism that they're responsible for in its top condition. It's doubtful Nahare would PUT Earth on a chopping block, because that's not his job or his call to make, it's Beerus'. Whether or not they're 'good' at this is another discussion entirely, but this IS what they're assigned to do.

Destruction comes before creation, after all. Most likely scenario to me: Beerus slates Earth for destruction for one reason or another, then carries it out. Nahare would probably be upset because he's formed bonds with some of the mortals on that planet or doesn't understand Beerus' reasoning for doing it, but it's done already. So he judges if the balance must be redressed, and if not, then he accepts that it isn't his jurisdiction and continues to fulfil his role.

Whis is the same, except he wouldn't be upset by it. He is even more aware and accepting of his place in the universe. That's what the whole deal with Merus was about, which I'll get around to in the Moro/Granolah post(s) whenever those manifest.

I do like the idea of a Nahare that's a little more coordinated with Beerus though, that would be a fun what-if to explore.

[hayanwulf]

Too Naive and Trusting

This is pre-accident.

---

Stephen stared as the creature — who was now starting to seem more and more like a completely normal human child — devoured his food. For a moment he even wondered if he had hallucinated what had just happened. He would certainly have never believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes.

Five minutes ago, a star-shaped portal had formed dead in the middle of his living room, spitting out a young girl, who had looked like some possessed character straight out of horror movies with those glowing eyes.

Stephen had been terrified and had hid behind the couch, cursing at himself for leaving his phone in the kitchen.

He had half expected the possessed girl to find him and pound on him but she..

She had beelined straight for the kitchen.

Now, she was seated at the kitchen island, eating his Italian takeout fervently as though she hadn’t eaten in days.

She had no awareness of the rest of the world, nevermind the fact that she was basically a trespasser in his house, raiding his stuff. Those warm brown eyes looked.. exhausted and relieved at the same time.

Too soon, all of his takeout was gone. She helped herself to a glass of water, and then, she apparently started looking around for more food. She had no idea that Stephen was even present there. He was sitting on the couch of the living room, peeking at the open kitchen, watching dumbfounded as she went through his cupboards.

In all honesty, he had no idea how to react.

She got her hands on bread and a jar of peanut butter. Stephen watched as she scooped up some peanut butter with bare fingers and tried to spread it clumsily on the slice of bread. She frowned when it didn’t work as she must have expected, then shrugged, then just licked the peanut butter off her hand followed by taking a bite of the bread.

“You do know you’re supposed to use butter knife, right?”

She jumped in surprise and zapped her head to him like a deer caught in headlights. The slice of bread fell from her grip and landed on the floor.

Stephen sighed and got up.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” She spluttered out, taking an unconscious step back. “I’ll leave— I’m sorry!” The last part almost came out in a shriek as Stephen stepped around the couch. She was backing away, cowering.

Stephen paused where he stood.

Her eyes were fixated on him, wide and teary, her hands fidgeting nervously. She looked very much like a cornered animal.

Stephen considered what to say, but his mind didn’t provide him with much except for straightforward facts.

“It’s fine, kid. And you don’t need to leave, I’d hardly be one to kick a starving child out in the streets.”

Yeah, words of comfort were never his strong suit.

The girl blinked up at him, wariness still in her eyes, but otherwise didn’t reply.

Stephen moved. Her eyes traced his every action, but she didn’t flee as she had seemed ready to only moments ago. When he walked past her, she stepped back to give him space, her movements rigid and awkward. Stephen glanced at her sidelong as he grabbed the jam.

He was sure that this was her version of ‘no idea how to react’.

He got the butter knife, moved to the kitchen island with it and the jam, and quickly made a PBJ, holding it out for the girl.

She stared down at the offering, licking her lips. “This is.. is this for me?”

Stephen bit back a sarcastic reply that had been at the tip of his tongue. Don’t, he told himself. She’s just a kid, she’s scared, and is likely starving too.

“Yes,” he said.

The girl immediately snatched the PBJ off his hand and started devouring it. Stephen got to making another one.

When she had finished the first one, he handed her the next one and asked, “What’s your name?”

She took the second PBJ easily from his hand, replying, “America Chavez.”

Stephen watched as the girl — America — contently ate the simple sandwich, all traces of fear and wariness gone from her features, easily leaning herself on the kitchen island not two feet away from Stephen, when only minutes ago she’d been too scared to do anything but utter apologies. The corner of his lips twitched up slightly.

Too naive and easily trusting.

“And what was that portal thing you fell out of?” He asked.

“My powers,” she casually replied, having finished her second sandwich and already demanding the third that Stephen now held. He passed it to her. “They allow me to travel the multiverse.”

Right, the multiverse, and portal powers, Stephen thought with no little amount of skepticism.

But he had seen it happen with his own eyes. And as far as he knew, this was neither a dream nor a hallucination, so it could be the only other thing possible: reality.

It was still.. inconceivable to him. He couldn’t quite bring his mind to come to terms with it.

“And why did you come here?” He asked, if only to stop his mind from spiraling trying to grasp the concept of a goddamn multiverse.

“I can’t control my powers,” she said in between chewing. “Sometimes it activates by itself and throws me to a random place in a random universe.”

Stephen blinked once, then rubbed both hands over his face with a sigh because this was becoming a lot more of his problem that he had intended — or wanted — it to. “So you’re telling me that you can’t go back home?” It wasn’t a question.

She shrugged, focused on her PBJs. “I don’t have one.” 

That gave Stephen a pause, and he stared at the little girl.

She looked to be in her early teen years, though he couldn’t be sure. Why did she have these powers? How long had she been roaming homeless like this? No wonder she was so hungry.

How long had it been since she had last seen her family?

Stephen felt a pang in his chest.

This was stupid. He needed to stop empathizing with this girl. But all he could think about when looking at those young brown eyes was Donna.

“Um, thanks for the food, mister,” America spoke once she was done with the PBJs. “And sorry for, y’know, showing up in your house. I’ll just uh,” she turned her head to look around the living room once, then back at Stephen. “Which one is the exit door?”

This wasn’t his problem. He should get rid of it. He should send her away and forget all about this encounter and they would never see each other again—

Donna would want me to help her.

“Where will you sleep, kid? It’s almost midnight.”

She just shrugged casually. “I’ll find somewhere.”

It had been a rhetorical question, but Stephen felt no little amount of exasperation at the answer he got.

He took a second to calm himself, not wanting his mouth to spit out something that would scare the kid. Then, he spoke.

“Sleep.. here. I have a guest room. It’s unsafe for kids your age to just roam the city at this hour.”

Hope blossomed in her eyes, face brightening. “Can I really!?”

“Yes.” Stephen pointed at one of the doors in the living room. “That’s your room for now.”

“Thank you so much!” She chirped with a smile. “Can I have a look?”

“Go right ahead.”

She scurried over to her new room.

Naive and trusting indeed.

Possibly to her own detriment. It would have been so easy to harm her, had she been found by someone not as well-intentioned as Stephen.

He stared down at the kitchen counter thoughtfully. The empty takeout containers almost seemed to taunt his empty stomach. Next to it sat the empty plate of PBJs. She had inhaled an entire half of a loaf of bread.

“What have I gotten myself into?” He asked the air.