#or Ms. Fortune for that matter

[koboldfactory]

Don't ask her if she mains Alisa

[bellaxgiornata]

Not Like Before Chapter Four

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.3k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, canon-divergence (no Abel or Thomas), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, girl dad Jax

a/n: I seriously love how excited y'all are for this series, thank you so much for all the love on it! The feedback is always appreciated! Dividers by the lovely @secretlysamcro.

series tag list: @kmc1989 @secretlysamcro @chloe-skywalker @cindsvibes @aussiefangirl95 @sjester42-blog @danzer8705 @uknowmesstuff @mmarysha @shiggynuggiez @stevie75 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @kaydallas21  @orymgraves @unholycheesesnack @livewaspsblog @leather-n-velvet @staley83 @moongirlgodness @shelbyteller @li22ie2017 @ivegotparticulartaste

Emilia skipped beside you on the sidewalk, happily bouncing along the pavement with her gray stuffed bunny tucked beneath one of her arms–Bartleby, her favorite plushie. Her little pink corduroy backpack covered in its white floral pattern hung from one of your shoulders as you walked her to preschool. Raising the tumbler filled with iced coffee to your mouth, you took a sip of the cool liquid, the coffee counteracting the warmth of the spring morning.

You’d come to enjoy your morning walks with Em to preschool over the past few weeks, and you’d noticed how much she enjoyed them, too. It was a pleasant change from the chaotic mornings you’d always had trying to get her to her old preschool back near Fresno. The mornings always used to be a crazy rush to get both of you ready and out the door, dropping her off before you had to high-tail it to the hospital in time for work. 

Since today was Wednesday, it meant that you had the day off due to your weird schedule at St. Thomas. Not that it really mattered what your schedule was like anymore since this hospital had a daycare which remained open on the weekends, allowing you to leave Em there during your shifts. Your previous hospital didn’t have a daycare and had been far less accommodating with your schedule, so you often had to shell out extra money for childcare expenses besides the daycare you paid for during the week–which had already cost you a fortune. The included childcare at St. Thomas had played a massive deciding factor into why you’d moved further north to this small town, especially after how quickly they'd wanted to hire you.

And with Emilia attending preschool every weekday morning until noon, it also meant that today you could walk her to school before having a few hours to yourself–a rarity as a single mom. It was yet another reason you’d begun to like this move to Charming from the Fresno area. You were able to relax at home with Harley, or run some errands without having to tote around a four year old who continually reminded you just how boring it was to grocery shop.

Skipping ahead of you on the sidewalk by a few steps as her school came into view, Emilia turned around and began to walk backwards, Bartleby still clutched to her chest. She grinned up at you as she walked, a bright smile stretched across her face. One that now reminded you of the man you’d just reconnected with the other day.

“Are you enjoying Mrs. Herman's class, bunny?” you asked Em, trying to shift your thoughts away from her father.

Emilia nodded enthusiastically at the question, the bow in her hair bouncing at the gesture. You’d been worried that changing her preschool more than halfway through the school year would have made for a difficult transition for her, but so far she’d seemed happy with the move. And with how outgoing she was, Emilia didn’t struggle to make friends.

“Yes! I like Mrs. Herman,” she answered in her small voice. “She's nice.”

You'd come to find that yourself when you'd met her teacher. She seemed far more patient and content with her job dealing with young children than Em's previous preschool teacher did. Ms. Wells had always come across as easily frazzled and frustrated.

“Are you excited about class this morning?” you asked.

“Yes,” Em said, one of her fingers absently curling Bartleby's worn, gray ears around it. “We're gardening this week!”

You smiled back at Emilia, holding your hand out towards her for her to take. Uncurling the stuffed bunny's ear from her finger, she skipped back over towards you before slipping her small hand into yours, following you down the path that led towards Charming Elementary School. She didn't once lose an ounce of excitement the closer to the building she became–Em loved school.

“I saw that in the newsletter Mrs. Herman sent out for this week,” you told her. “You're planting some vegetables, right?”

“Yeah, and then we get to watch them grow really big!” she exclaimed.

To emphasize her point, she raised both of her hands–including the one still holding yours–high above her head in exaggeration. Your smile spread wider across your lips before you squeezed her hand in yours, the pair of you gradually approaching the entrance to the public preschool on the far end of the building. A handful of other parents and grandparents were already standing there with their preschoolers as they waited for the doors to open for drop-off.

“That’s pretty big, bunny,” you said. “You think they’ll fit in the classroom if they grow that large?”

Emilia’s brows drew tight together on her forehead, her nose scrunching up on her face as she tilted her head in thought. Biting your lip, you fought back the laugh threatening to spill out of you while you watched her genuinely consider the question.

“Probably not,” she finally decided, shaking her head. 

“What do you think will happen if they get too big?” you asked her.

“I dunno,” she replied with a shrug. “Break the building, I guess.”

An amused breath fell out of you at how casually she’d said that. “Yeah?” you asked. “And what would you do with tomatoes that large?”

“Make pizza sauce, of course,” she answered easily

Humming in response to her answer, you led the pair of you over to the school before leaning your back against the brick, waiting for the doors to open for the morning preschool classes. You took a sip of your iced coffee as Emilia contentedly swung your conjoined hands back and forth between you both. A few of the other parents you’d begun to recognize from drop-off and pick-up smiled over at you, and you gave them a faint nod in greeting. 

“Can we go to the garage after school?” Em asked suddenly, looking up at you. “To see the Harleys?”

You nearly choked on the sip of coffee you’d taken at her question, attempting to clear your throat while you stalled for time to think of an answer for her yet again. She unfortunately had not forgotten about the open invitation that woman had given you days ago in the hospital parking lot. Periodically throughout the week you’d had Em asking if you could take her there so she could see their bikes and watch the mechanics work on cars, and you’d had to repeatedly make up an excuse as to why you couldn’t–which had often resulted in a few meltdowns. More than once you’d mentally envisioned running that dark-haired woman over with your car for putting that thought into your daughter’s head. The fact that you’d now come to realize that Emilia’s father would be there with his bike had only made everything twenty times worse.

“No, Em,” you told her, a strained smile spreading over your face. “That’s not really a place for little kids. I told you, people work there and they’re busy. It’s not a playground.”

Confusion crossed Emilia’s face as she continued to stare up at you. “But…the nice lady invited us.”

‘Nice’ was certainly a relative term to describe her.

“Bunny,” you began, lowering down into a crouch to be at her eye-level as you spoke, “sometimes people say things like that to be polite. It doesn’t always mean that they meant what they said.”

“So…she was lying?” Emilia asked.

You sighed deeply, trying to figure out how to safely navigate this topic of conversation. Why was explaining things to a four year old so damn difficult?

“No, Em,” you told her, shaking your head. “She wasn’t lying, she was just making a polite offer. One she probably didn’t intend for us to actually follow through on. It was just to be friendly, but not really something she expected us to do.”

“But I wanted to see the bikes,” she said, her expression shifting into a pout.

You had a feeling she was on the brink of another meltdown if you didn’t find a way to get through to her. Though you figured that if Jax wanted to be in his daughter’s life, she’d be seeing plenty of bikes soon enough. Which you knew she’d absolutely love, but you couldn’t quite tell her any of that yet because he still had no idea she even existed, and you had no idea if he would even want to be in her life. It had been two days since you’d ran into him in the hospital hallway, and with no way to contact him still, you hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to talk to him about everything to even find out.

“I’m eventually going to need an oil change, bunny,” you reminded her. “And that’s the only garage in town. You’ll get to see them then, alright?”

“Promise?” she asked hopefully.

Behind you, you heard the door to the school open as one of the preschool teachers greeted the adults and kids waiting outside. You were grateful for the timing, wanting to drop this conversation with her before it led to a tantrum.

“I promise,” you told her. Opening your arms wide, you raised a brow at her. “Now can I get a hug before you go to class?”

The pout left her face before she jumped into your arms, wrapping hers around your neck. You held her for a moment before letting her go, and then you slipped her backpack off of your shoulder before sticking Bartleby inside. Afterwards, you helped her slip the straps over her small arms.

“Have a good day at school, bunny,” you told her, standing back up. “I’ll pick you up after and we can walk home and have some lunch, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, a grin on her face like the past two minutes of her disappointment had been erased. “Love you, mama!”

“I love you, too, Em,” you replied.

She darted off past you and straight towards the door, her backpack bouncing along her back with her quick steps. You stood there watching her until she’d disappeared inside the school, then you turned and started to make your way back from where you’d just come. 

Unfortunately, as you began making your way down the path that led to the school from the sidewalk by the main road, the one which led in the direction towards your house, your mind returned to Jax now that Emilia wasn’t here to distract you. You really did need to find a way to get in touch with him. You couldn’t keep putting off telling him about your daughter. But what were you supposed to do? It was beginning to feel more and more as if your only choice was to show up at the Sons’ clubhouse and ask if he was around just to find a chance to talk to him alone. It didn’t seem likely that you’d magically run into him on your own in the right circumstances in order to have such a serious conversation with him.

Drawing your coffee up to your lips for a drink as you walked down the sidewalk along the main road, the morning sun gradually began to warm you a little more than it had when you’d first left your house. But as you tried to cool down and wake up with the drink you’d brought with you, you heard the approaching rumble of a motorcycle. The sound had begun to catch your attention more than usual ever since you’d run into Emilia’s father, your eyes shifting towards the street almost involuntarily. A black bike going just over the speed limit along the otherwise empty street was quickly making its way towards you. It wasn’t until the bike neared that you saw who was riding it–Jax. 

Despite the sunglasses covering his face, it was unmistakably him, his blonde hair peeking out from beneath his helmet. As he neared, he’d clearly recognized you walking on the sidewalk in return. His head turned in your direction, his gaze locked on you as you continued walking and staring right back at him. He was no longer paying attention to the road ahead of himself now that he'd spotted you.

Time felt like it slowed to a crawl as you locked eyes with him. Lowering your tumbler of coffee to your side, you felt an odd jolt in your stomach at the sight of him before a flutter of nerves followed after it. Something felt like it was drawing you both together, his eyes fixed on you for only seconds but they felt like minutes, your own gaze unable to tear away from him. 

Why had he remembered you? Why was he looking at you like that? And why the hell did that night have to keep replaying in your mind ever since you'd run into him?

Inevitably forced to turn his attention back to the road after he passed you, the rumble of Jax’s motorcycle gradually disappeared into the distance the further he grew down the street. Focusing back on the sidewalk ahead of yourself, you were left with that strange feeling settling in your chest. 

What the hell had that just been?

Jax sat smoking a cigarette outside of the clubhouse, the afternoon sun in the sky overhead bearing down on him. As he wrapped his lips around the end of his smoke, he took another deep inhale from it as his mind drifted back to this morning. Back to when he’d seen you outside walking along the sidewalk. That weird pull you had on him–the one he couldn’t fucking explain–had made him want to turn his bike back around just to talk to you, or to offer you a ride to wherever the hell you’d been going. Anything just to have a few minutes more with you.

He didn’t understand it. How the hell could you make him feel like this? So goddamn pathetic and stupid? Jax wasn’t the sort of guy to get hung up on some girl, and he certainly wasn’t the type to let one haunt him like you’d been doing for five long years. Whatever connection you’d both had all those years ago had to have just been a one-time thing, right? Maybe further enhanced by the alcohol and the hours of sex. There was no way some girl he barely knew had this much of an effect on him.

But the way he’d felt when he’d seen you in that hospital hallway the other day felt very goddamn real. He swore his heart had stopped beating for a minute the second he’d locked eyes on you, unable to believe that he’d just stumbled on you again after all of this time. What the hell were the odds of that? He’d been telling himself for years that he needed to let that night with you go, that it was just a fun night he’d had once and nothing more. But then there you fucking were, appearing in his life unexpectedly like some outside force had put you back in his path again on purpose. 

You’d smelled the same as he remembered. That florally citrus scent of yours had made his head spin when he’d been talking to you in that hallway. It had been almost impossible for him to focus on the conversation when memories of you clinging to him, panting in his ear as he fucked you, kept resurfacing in his mind just because of how you smelled. He wondered if you’d still taste like vanilla if he got his mouth on yours again, or if you yourself tasted as good as he remembered. 

In the time since he’d unexpectedly ran into you again, he’d admittedly thought about you quite a bit. Mostly about finding a way to get you back into his bed, wanting to bury himself between your thighs in more than one way. Would fucking you one more time get you out of his head? Was that all he needed to do here? Maybe he just needed to prove to himself that there wasn’t anything special about you, that you were just some girl like all the others he'd had. Maybe he’d been misremembering the connection he’d felt that night–but goddamn had he felt something the other day when he’d seen you.

Someone clapping Jax roughly on the shoulder broke him straight out of his thoughts as he pulled the cigarette from between his lips. Jax glanced up from his place atop one of the picnic tables, catching Opie’s eye as he came to a stop beside the table. Opie gestured at him to scoot over, so Jax slid along the worn tabletop and made room for him. Hopping up beside him, Opie pulled a cigarette out of his own pack before sliding it between his lips and lighting it.

“Look lost in thought over here,” Opie said around the smoke. “Thinking about club shit or your dream girl?”

Jax rolled his eyes at the comment, instantly regretting that he’d ever opened up to Opie about you the other week. He’d managed to go the last two days without him bringing you up, and he’d thought he was in the clear with that, but apparently he was wrong. Opie was just biding his time before he did what Jax had been expecting him to–mentioning how he’d unexpectedly run into you in the hospital.

“She ain’t my dream girl, asshole,” Jax snapped. 

“Ahh,” Opie replied, grinning as he expelled a cloud of smoke. He was used to Jax’s snippy attitude, the look on his face making it apparent that he’d expected it. “So you were thinking about her.”

Looking over his shoulder at Opie, Jax’s eyes narrowed into an annoyed glare. “Not what I fuckin’ said, man.”

Opie shrugged as he raised the cigarette back up to his lips. “Not really denying it, either,” he pointed out. 

Shaking his head, Jax quietly took another drag from his cigarette as he sat beside Opie, the sounds of Teller-Morrow’s busy garage drifting along on the warm breeze. He wondered if it was possible that he might get away with not having a discussion about you, but he also knew Opie. He knew his best friend wasn’t going to just let this slide, especially not after what Jax had told him about you before he’d known that you were here in Charming. It didn’t help that Opie had seen the look on Jax’s face when he’d spotted you at St. Thomas–there was no hiding that he’d had a reaction.

“Must’ve been a pretty big shock when you saw her the other day,” Opie began carefully, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the garage. “Never thought you’d see her again and then boom. Suddenly she’s right fucking there.”

Jax didn’t respond as he flicked some ash off the end of his cigarette. He wouldn’t admit it to Opie, but he’d first thought he’d lost his damn mind and had finally started hallucinating you for a minute until you didn’t just vanish into thin air on him. And when you’d spoken, confirming you were indeed that girl from his past, for the briefest moment he’d wondered what the hell he’d done to deserve that kind of luck for you to just reappear in his life again. Because he certainly didn’t think he’d done anything to warrant that sort of good fortune. 

Seeing you had come as more than just a shock–it had felt like some sort of goddamn sign. He just wasn't entirely sure for what.

“She say how long she’s been here for?” Opie pressed when Jax didn’t answer.

Expelling a long, frustrated sigh, Jax glanced over his shoulder at his friend beside him. The look Opie returned clearly told Jax that he wasn’t about to just brush over this like it didn’t happen. He knew he’d have to give him something if he wanted Opie to stop pushing with his questions.

“Few weeks,” Jax told him. “I didn’t really talk to her for long, okay? I don’t know much.”

“But you wanna talk to her again,” Opie said, arching a brow back at Jax. “Don’t you?”

Yeah, he absolutely fucking did. He’d thought about it nonstop since he’d run into you, kicking himself mentally for not having asked for your number or something more than just getting your name. There was no realistic way for him to reach out to you, and he highly doubted you’d ever just show up at one of the clubhouse parties. 

“Course I do,” Jax muttered. 

Jax drew the cigarette back to his lips, taking another drag on it as he felt his frustration rising. As if he could read his thoughts, Opie continued.

“But you got no way to reach out to her,” he stated, his attention shifting away from Jax and down to his own cigarette. “Short of making a prospect tail her home from the hospital to find out where she lives and showing up on her doorstep, which I don’t advise, you’ve only got one option.”

With his brows furrowing together on his forehead, Jax focused on Opie beside him as he blew the trail of smoke from between his lips. Was Opie trying to tell him to do what he thought he was? Because even though Jax had considered it himself, he knew how pathetic and desperate it would look for him to actually go through with it.

“And what’s that?” Jax asked.

The corner of Opie’s lips curled up into a smile as he met Jax’s stare again. “Go back to the hospital, dumbass,” he replied. “You know she works there. You’re bound to run into her on a shift during the day. Just pull her aside for a minute, ask for her number.”

“Fuck no,” Jax spat, pulling a face at the thought. “We’re not in some goddamn chick flick, Ope. I’m not gonna go there and try to track her down just to get her number.”

Opie shrugged nonchalantly in response, that grin still on his face. “Then I guess you’ll just have to leave it to chance, brother,” he told him. “And hope that you get the opportunity again.”

Jax frowned at the idea of that. How long until he ran into you again in a situation in which he could actually talk to you? Days? Weeks? Months? He knew it shouldn’t even matter to him because it wasn’t like the clubhouse didn’t have its own fair share of pussy to go around. Who cared if he ran into you again or not? But you’d been steadily eating away at his goddamn mind for the past two days, making him feel like he was going insane. He didn’t know if he could go weeks or months just hoping for his chance to see you again.

“Go there and fucking do what, man?” he asked. 

“Shit, I don’t know,” Opie said with a chuckle, stretching his feet out on the bench of the picnic table. “Thought you were the one who was supposed to be smooth with the girls, Jax. Get her fucking number. Ask her out.”

“Ask her out?” Jax repeated skeptically, his eyes narrowing at him. “You want me to ask her out on a fucking date?”

“I don’t care what you do,” Opie answered, pointing his cigarette at Jax. “But it’s clear she’s not just some damn hookup for you, brother. You think fucking her again is gonna get her out of your head finally? Because the way you’re acting,” he continued, his expression entirely serious, “makes it seem like she might be there for another ten years if you do. And now here she is–” he said, gesturing his cigarette in the direction of the hospital from where they were at Teller-Morrow, “–right goddamn there. Within reach. So maybe pull your head outta your fucking ass and accept the fact that you might actually like a girl for once, Jax.”

Sitting there on the top of the picnic table, his cigarette hanging from between his lips, he let Opie’s words settle over him. He couldn’t really deny it, could he? There’d been something unexplainable there five years ago with you, something that had never left him. Maybe it was still there and maybe it wasn’t, but what the fuck would he ever know if he didn’t just suck it up and do something about it?

“Fine,” he relented, the cigarette still between his lips. “But I’m pretending I went there for another reason. Not gonna fuckin’ show up like it’s just for her.”

Opie huffed out a breath, shaking his head as his grin returned. “Girls love that romantic bullshit, Jax,” he replied. 

“I picked her up at a bar for a fuck,” Jax countered sharply. “Slipped out on her when she was asleep. Nothin’ romantic about that.”

Opie held Jax’s stare, that grin still stretched over his mouth. “You spent five years thinking about her, man,” he pointed out. “Sounds like some cheesy, chick flick bullshit to me.”

Jax pushed himself up from off the picnic table, turning around to crush his cigarette out in the ashtray beside Opie with a scoff. He was regretting ever telling him about you with all of the bullshit he knew he’d be dealing with now.

“Shut the fuck up and go check in with Bobby, asshole,” Jax ordered. “We’ve got some important shit to actually deal with right now.” 

Opie opened his mouth to say something more, but Jax raised a finger and shot him a look.

“Don’t even fucking say it,” he warned him. “We’ve got other things to focus on.”

[alderaans]

Congratulations on your wedding, Ms. Son Hae-yeong. A world where you wouldn't suffer losses for being unmarried or an actual marriage with your true love would've been preferable. But we all make decisions to find happiness, don't we? If this fake wedding leads to you finding true happiness, then that's all that matters. I hope you find fortune in all of your choices. As your fake, temporary husband, I'll wholeheartedly wish you luck forever.

No Gain No Love (2024)

[saintlucretia]

Devil Wears A Suit

part Ⅰ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mention of murder. Hot devil's son. Sexual harassment? Michael Langdon.

Summary: Y/N is a purple at Outpost 3 and gets interviewed by Mr. Langdon.

A/N: I will go to hell for this and I am not opposing if he will be there too.

After 18 months at the underground Outpost life was as dreadful as being killed by a bomb explosion. Or worse. A bunch of snobs and shallow cowards. It was clear as day, that it was just a matter of time before everyone was at each other's throats. 

It wasn’t the Outpost itself or the fact that we are the last human beings on this planet that made everything so depressing. It was boredom. A hole in my head. The only bearable person here was Mr. Gallant. Without his company at the dining table, I could have stuck a fork into my neck.

That evening Ms. Venable announced to us about a visitor. The agent of the Cooperative. Even though she remained calm as usual I sensed a note of fear in her voice. So it means this new man has great authority. I was grateful for any kind of entertainment, even if it meant a bloody revolution. After 18 months with the same people, fresh meat is always dainty.

Ms. Venable ended her speech when a tall man with long blond hair entered the room. He had a dark aura. The aura of power.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” he said, circling our table. “Humanity is on the brink of failure.”

I glanced at the other residents of the Outpost. They all looked tense and nervous, especially Ms. Venable. She seemed almost afraid of him. Only Mr. Gallant seemed as amused as me. We glanced at each other and I immediately understood what was on his mind. After all, he had a good taste in men.

“My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.” His speech was persuasive, words sharp and his blue eyes pierced into all of us. Such an ability to capture everyone's attention was making me delighted.

He stopped at the head of the table and continued. “The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

“What happened to the people inside?” asked Timothy worried. 

“Massacred,” answered Langdon and I think I caught the shadow of a grin on his face.

I bit my lip to stop myself from chuckling. I had to admit, this Langdon was a very attractive man. And Mr. Gallant was obviously admiring his appearance too. But there was something about The Cooperative representative that made me feel uneasy. It was as if he was hiding something. Something very bad. 

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe… The Sanctuary,” he said, placing his hands behind his back. “I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us. The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call ‘Cooperating’. Simply, I will determine if you belong.”

I remained silent, analyzing the situation. Everyone seemed wary and looked at others with distrust. Only Coco didn’t have enough brains to remain silent and tried to openly express her dissatisfaction. Fortunately, her tirade was abruptly suppressed.

“I volunteer to go first.” Mr. Gallant raised his hand. 

“And so you shall,” Langdon said threateningly, looking us over. He had a cold, calculating look in his eyes. I had a feeling that he already knew who he was going to select.

“The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” I felt his gaze on me and barely restrained myself from looking away. 

Langdon left the room and everyone immediately started to argue. A bunch of morons, all of them. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair, observing the conversation. Everyone began to share their suspicions and guesses, but of course, they were all too wrapped up in their own fear to notice the whole thing. The Cooperative looked at us as laboratory rats and no one seemed to see that. Pathetic. 

I let out a sigh of annoyance and left the room.

                                                      ✦✦✦

I ran into Malcolm in the hallway an hour later and looked at him questioningly. 

“Oh, darling, I almost had a heart attack." He came closer and started whispering "I'm a bit scared of him. He is definitely hot as hell, but twice as evil."

I chuckled. "Well, that's quite a review. Did he tell you anything new?"  

Mr. Gallant leaned even closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He asked me a lot of personal questions...I mean really personal."  

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

“Like my sexuality for example. And my nana. And other… things. Pretty intimate. I felt so uncomfortable, but I tried to keep it cool.” 

My eyebrows furrowed in interest. So these "Cooperating" sessions were, indeed, quite unique. It seemed like Langdon wanted to know every minuscule detail about each person. I began to wonder what kind of "personal" questions he would ask me. I also began to wonder why I was so looking forward to the moment. 

“I felt like he was trying to rip out my soul.” Added Malcolm in a whisper.

I smirked. "Well, that's quite a dramatic way to describe it." Malcolm chuckled nervously but I had a feeling that he wasn't exaggerating. Langdon was certainly not the type of man that you could fool easily. He could see right through people.

But something was intriguing. I felt a strange thrill at the idea of uncovering the depth of Langdon's scrutiny. 

 "I guess I'll have to brace myself for my turn then," I said nonchalantly.

“Good luck sweetheart.” We kissed each other on the cheek and went in different directions.

I slowly walked to my quarters, lost in thought. I was feeling an inexplicable mixture of excitement and curiosity. The thought of being examined by Langdon, being exposed under the watchful gaze of his sharp eyes, was somehow appealing. God, I have to stop.

I shook my head firmly, trying to dismiss these thoughts. "This is ridiculous," I mumbled to myself softly.

Suddenly I heard something. Something like a scream perhaps. I stopped and looked around. There was no one except me in this dimly lit hall. And then this sound again. More like a whisper now. Millions of whispers. My head began to spin slightly. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Silence. Everything went quiet. I turned around and flinched as I saw Langdon behind me.

“Mrs. Y/S, I’d like to talk with you next.” 

I looked up at Langdon with a surprised expression, silently cursing myself for being so lost in my thoughts to the point of not noticing him coming closer. His presence was so powerful that it still made my heart flutter even now.

"Lead the way," I replied, trying to maintain my composure. 

Langdon didn't bother answering, simply gesturing for me to follow him. I walked behind him through the maze of halls and rooms. 

We finally reached the entrance to what appeared to be his cabinet. Langdon stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. Entering the room, I noticed how dark and ominous it felt. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with old leather-bound volumes. The main source of light was a fireplace.

Langdon gestured for me to sit down on the armchair across from him. I lowered myself gently, straightening my purple dress. 

He studied me, wanted me to be nervous, wanted me to crack. I knew this game. I have played this game with many different powerful men, who think they are Gods because they have dicks. I never lose in a game like this.

His eyes searched my face, trying to find any sign of weakness. But I held his gaze firmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated.

I leaned back in my seat, a small smirk on my lips. "I see you're expecting me to be quivering in my boots," I said with a hint of sarcasm.

Langdon chuckled darkly. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. 

A silence fell between us, and I held his gaze without flinching. Something about his demeanor made my heart beat a little faster, but I was determined not to show it.

“I prefer conversations to be effective, Mr. Langdon.”

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my remark, a smirk forming his lips. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Straight to the point, are we?" 

He studied me for a moment, his eyes still locked onto mine.

"Well, I can appreciate a straightforward woman," he said, his voice surprisingly smooth. "It makes the process much more efficient."

He paused for a moment, his gaze never faltering. "Ms. Y/S," he began, my name rolling off his tongue like a sinful whisper. "Allow me to ask you a personal question."

“Ask,” I replied.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes were laser-focused on me, and I could practically feel his gaze trying to pierce through my soul. 

"What do you fear the most?" he asked, his tone almost gentle.

I was caught off guard by the question and made a mistake. Langdon noticed the slight flicker of surprise in my eyes. He chuckled softly. "That's what I thought," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "You may have mastered the art of bravado, but everyone has a weakness," he continued. "And I'm here to find yours." 

I watched him back and after crossing my legs answered "I fear being surrounded by idiots for the rest of my life." I needled.

Langdon raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "Well, you certainly have a way with words, don't you?", he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

He leaned back in his seat, studying me closely. "Being trapped in a group of lesser minds for eternity may be torturous, especially for a woman of your... intelligence."

“For a man of your power, it’s a pity that you use flattery as a term of manipulation,” I said, tilting my head in a mocking manner. 

Langdon chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Ah, so observant," he said, still maintaining his smirk. 

He leaned slightly forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'm not just using flattery, Ms. Y/S. I do recognize your intellect. But don't mistake my compliments for manipulation. I simply use the tools at my disposal."

“Huh.”

Langdon chuckled again, clearly appreciating my dry response. "You have a sharp tongue," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “It may be your unique feature or a pathetic attempt to hide your fear.”

I could feel a flicker of irritation at his words, but I forced myself to remain impassive. Langdon was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"Perhaps it's a little bit of both," I replied, my voice cool and steady. "Or perhaps you're simply not used to people who don't cower easily in front of someone higher in rank."

He stood up from his seat and started circling me slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. “Be careful, Ms. Y/S. Your bold attitude is admirable, but at some point, this can play a cruel joke on you.”  His gaze burned into me as he studied me from every possible angle.

“I appreciate the warning,” I said coldly. “I don't fear intimidation tactics.”

“You are a brave woman.” Langdon's voice was suddenly close behind me, his breath lingering on the nape of my neck. A small shiver ran down my spine, and I had to suppress the urge to turn around and look at him.

“A little too brave, some would say.” he continued, his words almost a whisper. “Tell me, Ms. Y/S, is it hard to be the smartest in the room? To be forced to communicate with idiots?”

There was a hint of mockery in his tone that made me nauseous. But I still refused to let him see any sign of weakness. I sat up straighter in my chair, lifting my chin.

“It can be... annoying at times,” I admitted.

“It is irritating how arrogant the upper class is, isn’t it? Especially toward women.” I felt the touch of his fingers on my arm and I barely restrained myself from snatching my hand away. “The world before the bombs wasn’t that much brighter than this one, was it? They all mistreated you, and never took you seriously… Does the idea of them having everything infuriate you?”

His words hit a nerve, the subtle truth in them cutting through my defenses. Yes, the world before the bombings was far from perfect, and I had my fair share of disappointments.

But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had managed to hit a weak spot. I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And what makes you think you're any different from them?”

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing along my skin, tracing patterns against the fabric of my dress. His nonchalant arrogance was both infuriating and strangely enthralling. 

“Oh, I never claimed to be any different," he responded, his voice low and husky. “But I will say this - I appreciate intelligence, especially in women. I can see your potential.”

“Potential,” I repeated, struggling to keep my tone even. “For what, exactly?”

Langdon ignored my question. His hands, now both on my arms, crawled up to my shoulders. “Have you ever thought about punishing them? About finally showing what you are capable of, so they would never think you are only ‘pretty face’ again?” His breath tickled my ear. “Have you ever thought about making them scared of you?”

His hands on my shoulders were deceptively gentle, yet they seemed to burn against my skin through the fabric of my dress. His breath was warm against my ear as he whispered his words, making my breath hitch in my throat. 

I felt a strange mixture of anger and... excitement at his words. The thought had crossed my mind more than once if I was being honest with myself. To show them ALL how strong and brilliant I truly was. To shuffle a knife into someone’s throat. I remained silent. 

“I sense this force in you, Y/N.”

His voice seemed to fill the space between us, wrapping around me like a dark, intimate spell. He leaned closer, his chest almost pressed against my back. His hands remained on my shoulders, his fingers gently massaging my tense muscles. 

There was something about his voice, the way he said my name, that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he could see right through me, past the cool exterior I had been trying to maintain. He knew about the anger, the desire, the fire burning within me.

“I can tell you have a dark side,” he murmured, his voice deep and low. 

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

“Yes, you do.” His hands continue to stroke my shoulders gently. He was amused by my denial.

“You don't have to play coy with me, Ms. Y/N," he said, his voice velvety smooth. “I can feel it radiating off of you. That simmering anger, that burning desire."

Langdon leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against my ear. “You want... power. And I can promise you that.”

His words were a seductive murmur, weaving their way into my mind and planting thoughts of power and revenge. It was as if he knew exactly what buttons to push, what desires to awaken within me. 

"Power," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. My mind was swimming, both alarmed and intrigued by his proposal. I felt like I was hypnotized. "Why… What’s the point?"

Langdon chuckled softly, noticing the effect his words were having on me. He stepped away from me, his hands finally leaving my shoulders. He walked around the chair, standing in front of me again.

"Because, my dear," he began, "I've observed your potential. Your intelligence, your resourcefulness, your strength. You're not like the other people in this house. You have ambition. And ambition can lead to power."

He tilted up my chin gently, so I could meet his gaze. "And I can help you achieve it." His thumb traced my jawline, sending a shiver down my spine.

When his finger brushed against my bottom lip I grabbed his hand, stopping him. He smirked and leaned closer, his face only a few inches away from mine.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Did my touch... unsettle you?”

With a swift, almost graceful movement, Langdon sank to his knees in front of me. His hand found its way to my knee, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my dress.

“I think the interview is over,” I said, trying to stand up, but he pressed on my knee, not letting me get up.

“I will decide if it’s over or not, Ms. Y/S,” Langdon smirked at my silence, slowly running his hand higher up my thigh. He could clearly see the effect he was having on me, the slight tremble in my body.

“What?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “No witty comeback? No clever quip? Seems like you're losing your grip.”

"Losing my grip?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady. "Hardly. I am just amused by your behavior." Even a blind person would see my bluff and feign confidence.

“Oh? Really?” He stood up a bit, leaning closer to my face, almost whispering in my mouth. His proximity was intoxicating, his breath hot against my lips. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, the desire coursing through my veins like a current. He slowly brushed his lips against mine and I felt a touch of his tongue on my bottom lip. 

It felt like drugs. It felt better than drugs. His tongue teasingly tracing along my bottom lip sent a shiver down my spine, making my legs tremble beneath me. It was overwhelming. I have never felt like this before. In that very second I could do anything for this man.

Suddenly he stopped and looked me right into my eyes, smirking satisfiedly almost like he read a thought that just got in my mind.

He stood up, turning away from me and I bit my tongue not to moan in disappointment. 

“We’re done for today, Ms. Y/S. It was a pleasure talking to you,” He said, opening the door for me. Smirk remained on his face, but Langdon seemed very calm. As if he didn’t just kneel and almost kiss me two minutes ago. 

I needed a few seconds to understand what had happened, so I blinked and then quickly stood up walking toward the door.

“Hope you have a good night, Ms. Y/S,” he said watching me and I can swear, as he was saying that, his hand slid to cover his groin and he definitely wanted me to notice that. 

“Good night, Mr. Langdon,” I mumbled and left the room. 

What the fuck has just happened?

part two

[tedwardremus]

Love in Secret: The Secret Wedding Everyone's Talking About

By Rita Skeeter

The Vanquisher of Voldemort, Harry Potter, and his Hogwarts sweetheart, Ginny Weasley, have secretly eloped!

Mr Potter, hero of the Second Wizarding War now a celebrated Auror, and Ms Weasley, a star Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies, have long been a favorite couple among fans. Their popularity endured even through persistent rumors that Ms Weasley used love potions to secure her longtime relationship to the famous wizard.

Ginny Weasley, the youngest daughter of the famously large and somewhat eccentric Weasley family, has always had her eyes set on Harry Potter. Friends from their Hogwarts days recall a shy young girl with a crush that bordered on obsessive. But could this infatuation have driven her to take more sinister measures?

Anonymous sources from the Ministry of Magic have hinted at an investigation into the matter. “It’s not uncommon for witches to resort to such measures when their affections are unreturned,” said one insider. “And with Harry Potter’s fame and fortune, who could blame her?”

When reached for comment, Ron Weasley, Ms Weasley's brother and Mr. Potter’s wartime sidekick, told this reporter to perform a vulgar sexual act on oneself that is too crude to write in this prestigious paper.

Despite their high-profile lives, the couple has always sought to keep certain aspects of their relationship private. Their decision to elope reflects their desire to cherish their love away from the prying eyes of the public.

The newlyweds have yet to make an official statement, but sources indicate they are currently enjoying a romantic honeymoon at an undisclosed location.

[akagm]

The Tragic (and Hilarious) Origin of Spam Emails: A Prince’s Desperate Attempt to Save His Kingdom—And His Bank Account

After years of painstaking research, a ridiculous amount of tears, and the questionable decision to send $100,000 to an email address that clearly had too many underscores, I have finally cracked the mystery that has haunted us all: the origin of the spam email scam. The road to discovery was paved with hardship, frustration, and way too many emails offering “a once-in-a-lifetime investment opportunity.” And while I’ve been receiving threats from questionable princes promising to transfer me “millions” from their non-existent estates, I won’t let spam stop me now. You deserve the truth, reader. And here it is: it all started in a far-off kingdom with a prince who couldn’t email his way out of a paper bag.

Our story begins in an ancient kingdom that’s now so long gone it’s practically a myth. The kingdom, once full of riches and splendor, met its untimely demise during an uprising known as the Red Sealing. Ah, yes, the Red Sealing. Not to be confused with the much less dramatic “Blue Resealing” (which is just an old-fashioned way of fixing broken pottery), the Red Sealing was a full-blown disaster. But let’s rewind a little, shall we?

In the midst of this doomed kingdom, there lived a housekeeper named Ms. Enohor, who was reading a story to her charge, young Egbo, the second son of the king. Prince Urhie, Egbo’s older brother and heir to the throne, strolled in and was promptly greeted by his younger sibling asking, “Do you know this story, Urhie?”

With all the wisdom of a prince who’d probably never had to deal with anything more complicated than royal etiquette, Urhie smiled and said, “Indeed. When I was your age, I would have Ms. Enohor tell me this story every day. It inspired me. The King had everything, but the only thing that mattered to him was his people. One day, I too will be a king just like that.”

Ms. Enohor chuckled in a way that implied she had heard this very speech a hundred times before, and then—bam. The kingdom’s last moment of peace ended with the deafening sound of what could only be described as a chaotic disaster outside.

Cue the dramatic soundtrack as a guard bursts in and shouts, “The castle is under attack! It’s the Red Seal!” The royal family, who clearly had more pressing matters to attend to, like, I don’t know, running for their lives, decided instead to have a family meeting. Prince Urhie, being the “we’ve got this” kind of guy, immediately thought through his options, which seemed to boil down to one thing: money.

“I’ll be damned if they get to our people,” Urhie declared dramatically, just before doing what any sensible prince would do: pulling out a laptop. Yes, in the midst of a full-on rebellion, Prince Urhie decided the best course of action was to send an email. Forget the swords and shields—this guy was going digital.

In an attempt to save his family’s wealth, Urhie typed what would go down in history as the very first spam email:

Subject: Urgent: Kingdom Under Attack—Help Me Secure Our Family’s Fortune

“My name is Urhie Sucker, and I am a Prince from my home country. My family’s kingdom is currently being raided by a faction attempting to overthrow us. I would be in your debt if you could hold on to our money while we deal with these invaders. Once I get my money back from you, I will give you 20% of it. Please email me back with your debit card number, expiration date, and security code so I can transfer.

Your friend in the prince business.”

Spoiler alert: The money was never transferred. The kingdom was raided, the family was overthrown, and Urhie’s email never reached its recipient. But, as they say, “The seeds of a scam were sown that day.”

While the kingdom fell, this single email lived on as historians eventually found his laptop. Once this story got out- thieves everywhere saw the potential in Urhie’s pitch, and it quickly became the blueprint for every “Nigerian Prince” scam to follow. And so, my friends, the floodgates were opened. Fast forward centuries, and here we are, bombarded daily by emails promising untold riches from relatives we didn’t know we had and inheritances we definitely didn’t deserve.

But let’s not forget Urhie, who unknowingly set the stage for an entire industry of digital con artists. I implore you: the next time you get an email asking for your bank details in exchange for an obscene amount of money, just know that it’s all because of one clueless prince, a laptop, and an email address that clearly wasn’t verified by anyone at tech support.

Gone but not forgotten—Urhie Sucker.

And remember, folks: always double-check the sender’s email address. And maybe, just maybe, don’t send $100,000 to someone you’ve never met, even if they sound like a prince.

[vingler-mirror]

Reverse 1999 KR released a special video for Pepero Day (Pocky Day), so here's an amateur translation of it by me:

Sonetto: Timekeeper, we organized all the letters we received on the day of the celebration and distributed them to everyone in the suitcase.

Vertin: Except for those who didn't receive the letter because of their duties, everyone replied with sincerity.

Sonetto: That's right! X sent us this "Scene Recreation Phonograph." How about we read the letters aloud with this?

Vertin: Then let's listen to it together.

"Regulus, take off your sunglasses!"

Regulus: Huh? You still haven't seen this Captain's face? That's okay, you'll get plenty of opportunities to see this Captain's cool appearance in the future. Save that moment for a bigger party!

"I never thought I'd like apples in my life... Mr. APPLe... don't drink too much and live a healthy life with Captain for a long time~!! To Mr. APPLe"

Mr. APPLe: Ah, a letter full of affection for me, Mr. APPLe. Thank you very much, but don't worry. The juice of this Apple flows smoothly and won't be thickened by alcohol.

"The Best First Line of Defense Discipline Assistant in the world!"

Matilda: Huh! It's obviously a letter addressed to me! But you must have been nervous? I think you forgot to write your letter. It's okay, I know what you want to say to this great Matilda Bouanich.

"To Alphabet No. 1. Stop drinking coffee and exercise."

X: Hahaha... the "Automatic Eating Sandbag" and the "Step Controller" are both working well. I don't think I'll need any more athletic inventions for the time being.

"Dear Ms. Campbell, you've always worked hard. I'm a human, but if you want, I can show you how I eat 100 tooth fairies. May all the people in the world eat tooth fairies as you wish... I love you, Ms. Campbell"

Tooth Fairy: Tooth fairies have good healing properties and taste delicious. But if you eat too many at once, it's not good for your health. I appreciate the thought, but please don't eat 100 tooth fairies, okay?

*The letter is a doodle of Marcus saying "Maaang"

Marcus: "Maaaang." "Maaang?" "Mang..." "Maaang!" (I beg you to listen to the VA saying this line, you won't regret it)

Marcus: I saw this word written a lot in the letters I received, but what does it mean? No matter how much I read it, I can't understand it...

"37 = 1² + 6²"

37: What a witty letter! The person who wrote this letter must have a cool number. 29, 41... or maybe 53?

"Dear Lucy, are you thinking of adding a USB-C charging port in the future?"

Lucy: It is true that experiments on the efficiency of data transfer via USB are being conducted in Laplace. The so-called USB charging method USB-C...

Lucy: Data error

Sonetto: Timekeeper, are you all right?

Vertin: It's okay, X's invention must have broken again

Sonetto: I'm glad you're okay, but the play button on the phonograph seems to be broken. Fortunately, the record function is working fine, so we should be able to record our replies to the letters.

Vertin: I trust X's machine, but we still have to be careful.

Vertin: Okay, let's get started.

Sonetto: Look at this, Timekeeper. It's a letter with a drawing of me! Next to the drawing, it says, "you found a good poem for me."

Sonetto: Thank you so much! I should probably write a poem in return, but... it'll take some time, so I'll express my gratitude instead.

Vertin: *reading the letter* "Vertin, please eat well and have a good time."

Vertin: Of course, I don't only eat sugary candies instead of food. I'll take care of myself. Thank you.

Sonetto: Don't worry, I'll be responsible for the Timekeeper's diet.

Sonetto: By the way, can I deliver this recordings to the people who wrote the letters?

Vertin: X's machine always give us surprise, so let's trust it again this time.

[myobsessionsspace]

maybe a tough question but hypothetically, do you think it would be the end of BTS if Jungkook and jimin ever came out as a couple?

Hypothetically speaking.

For some reason I don’t think the majority of the fandom would be accepting, sadly. 

What are your thoughts? Again, hypothetically. I really doubt they ever would. 

the travel show almost feels like a cushion? If that’s the right way to put it. Like it’s them saying, we’re close. And if upon our release from MS, you catch us out and about together or closer than ever, well, we served together, we travelled together, we are simply close.

a cover. Of sorts.

thoughts?

Hi Lovely,

If it’s ok I’d like to talk about coming out first before I talk about the hypothetical in relation to Jikook.

Coming Out

As a member of the community myself I can only speak for my own experiences, own up to my lack of experiences, refer to what I’ve learnt from others and resources and it still wouldn’t be enough. Because identity, orientation, expression etc is totally individual. Sometimes it’s constantly evolving and sometimes due to situations left dormant or stifled.

Sexual orientation for some people is not a one and done. There are many people I know that have come out with one label then have come out later one with another, then another.

I say all that to say one of the key focuses in coming out is to label yourself unambiguously.

This originally was meant to be for the person in question only.

This was meant to be so the person in question could live in their full authentic truth, to no longer have to deal with societal pressures and expectations.

To understand themselves and to have people understand them. To find a community, to be embraced and loved.

Coming out was meant to feel LIBERATING to the person in question, freeing, coming out of a box, a closet if you will.

Sadly that’s not always the case for everyone.

Sometimes it’s because of the environments they are in, that doesn’t allow for them to be fully embraced, to have that fearless freedom, to have that community. Sometimes it’s just not safe.

Not safe due to the emotional anguish that may be inflicted on the person by those closest to them, those in their everyday environment, those in their wider environment.

It may have physical safety repercussions, financial repercussions, familial and social repercussions, religious conflicts etc.

It may just not be safe because the person in question is not ready to deal with the psychological and emotional effects that may ensue after they coming out because we live in a world where the majority oppress the minority, and being queer is a minority.

No matter how progressive people may view the world to be, through the lense of the internet, in the human body, physically dealing with everything that comes with labelling yourself is a big deal.

On the flip side there are those that are fortunate that they don’t even have to come out. Or any fears aren’t actualised because they’re blessed.

There are people that have never been taught to be fearful of learning themselves, expressing themselves.

They’ve never been taught to view people and their differences in any negative way. They’ve been taught they are in a safe and loved environment that no matter what they do, how they live or who they do or don’t love

They are and will still be loved and have a place.

There are some people that when they do come out their family and or friends would be like ‘oh honey, why are you being formal about it, even the cat knew’

Even with people that have all of the above they may come out to every Tom, Dick and Harry they meet, they may come out to a select few or they might not come out at all.

Because essentially coming out is the person in questions choice. It’s their privilege, it’s their right. It’s theirs.

It’s not the requirement so others around them feel better. It’s not a job requirement, a legal requirement any requirement at all. It’s not a must to prove you’re actually queer. If someone never comes out in their whole life it doesn’t negate their queerness.

Labelling oneself is not for others. It’s for the person.

For them to define themselves if they so wish to, for them to understand themselves, to learn themselves, to appreciate and love themselves.

To find others like them, to cut down time explaining to others if they so wish to about their preferences, expression, identity and so on.

Ok so with that out of the way

Jikook

- No I don’t think the show is them coming out

- Yes I think the show is to show what we already know and what is one hard fact, that Jikook are best friends and closer than close

- Yes, I’m hoping that it helps those that do know of them and don’t, to accept their closeness as not just co-workers in a group but as a very close duo within the group

- Yes I agree with you, the fandom as a whole, if they were to undeniably be known as a romantic non-heterosexual couple, wouldn’t fully embrace them how we would believe in 2024.

Sadly one of the things that comes along with boy bands is the fan girl in varying forms. The fan girl that no matter their proximity to the boy band member, their relationship status, their age, whatever, the fan girl puts their wants, beliefs and ideals onto them. They idolise their idol. Sadly the majority boy band fans and BTS’ fans idolise them, fantasise about them. Be it with themselves or a stand in they deem suitable, a woman.

Because heteronormativity is so rooted in their thinking, they can’t see their idols as anything but. What else could they do but be successful then have the wife, kids, pets and picket fence? If not that then the idol will remain the bad boy lothario of their fantasies even grey haired and weak backed.

For too many people in the world and too many in the fandom being gay first and foremost is seen as defective. To believe that about their idol would be ‘wrong’ in their eyes. If it was to be proven true it would cause an array of negative emotions, thoughts and actions. The most tame being to leave the fandom.

I’m a very pessimistic person, though I need and seek for positivity. Thats that’s chronic that anxiety & depression baby✨

I have grown up and am surrounded by a culture similar to the SK conservative culture when it comes to nearly everything, gender roles, sexuality etc. I am a minority from a culture that legally, religiously and socially oppresses queer people. I can without the Korean male element wholeheartedly understand being closeted in SK.

I can’t however understand being a celebrity of any kind, let alone a celebrity of their magnitude.

Jikook & Labelling

We have no clue. From context clues we can assume Jimin to be bisexual, but from nothing directly and explicitly verbalised by him. Through his art, many have drawn this conclusion. There are other assumptions that have been made by some to do with his gender expression and identity. He has only ever referred to himself as a 남자 [man] any and everytime in public. Yes we have evidence of him bucking masculine stereotypes and my understanding of him is that he’s growing and defining HIS understanding of what it is to be a man and it’s not what the society he’s grown up in deems it to be. I have my own views on Jungkook and his orientation *100% mlm gay*

However not everyone feels the need to label themselves or chooses to and we have no idea when it comes to Jikook, only assumptions. So Jikook may not feel the need to come out because they may not label themselves and feel the need to make that public knowledge through official statements, interviews, on tv etc.

I can’t see this ever being Jikook, just my opinion 🙈

Like you anon I believe they’ll just keep Jikooking. I don’t believe they would if they wanted to ever come out in a public official statement type of way, they’d just live their lives and let people think whatever they wanted to think.

And if they ever did, it’d most likely be when Bangtan are no longer continuously active, seeing as they want to perform on cruises etc in their 60s, who knows when that’ll ever be.

There are some of my friends that think the same as me and some that think they’ll totally come out in a big way one day and not decades and decades in the future.

If you were able to get to the end of this you’re a real one🙌💪

A topic like this is something that I couldn’t answer in a short way. I’m not even close to being finished with what I could say, it’s so nuanced and there’s soo much more that could be talked about but this is already wordy AF 😩

Thank you anon

💜

[baranthedude]

I ranked every WordGirl Villain from Least Evil to Most Evil:

Now when i make list like this, i usally only have 3 categories, but i decided to add a 4th one, and that category is

Plain Old Mischef Makers:

Guy Rich - Guy Rich is the best, richest, and most colossal evil businessman...except he's 𝘯𝘰𝘵, he's just some guy who wants to be cool so he pretends to be this super cool villain with his brother, the only reason he's even on this list is cause TV Tropes counted him as a villain.

Timmy Tim-Bo - The stoner character without being a stoner, ok so all he does is sleep alot, he tried to rob the musiem, but that ended with a bust, and i don't even remember if he did anything evil after that, how is Amazing Rope Guy the worst villain when this guys around?.

Raul Demiglasse - He's just a jerk that likes to make people cry on live TV.

Glen Furlbalm - Dr. Two Brains' biggest and stupidest fanboy, he tries to be as cool as Two Brains, but he just ends up sucking, as both a replacement, and someone trying to get revenge.

Nocan the Contrarian - Nocan is interesting, as he does do damage, like when he became the mayor, but he doesnt seem to be malicous, he just likes not doing what he's told.

Amazing Rope Guy - I'm shocked he got this high, like i knew he wasint gonna be last, but this is very high for someone who's supposidly the least succsesful villain in the city, anyways yeah he attempts to rob people but sucks at it, atleast he's consistent?.

Big Left Hand Guy and Invisi-Bill - The gay couple, they also suck at robbing people, but they succeeded once atleast i guess.

Barely Evil:

Energy Monster - Maria just wants energy, like toasters and stuff, which doing so causes chaos, so like not good, but also not intentional.

The Butcher - Butcher is acutally kinda very sympathetic, he's one of the nicest villains, and his dad, is like awful, he's still a thief, but a tragic thief, speaking of villains with daddy issues.

Victoria Best - Yeah she's the same as The Butcher, a villain with a abusive dad that let's their anger out by being evil, but this time Victoria's a bitch.

Ms. Question - Ms. Question is just your standard thief with cool powers, her powers arent even that damaging, they just make you forget for like a minuite or two, oh and her relationship with Brent is cute.

Lady Redundant Woman - Not much to say as she's also kinda just a standard thief i guess, she's more abrasive? i don't know.

Royal Dandy - Not the child being ranked worse then their mum, anyways the Royal Dandy is very annoying, and framed WordGirl or something i don't know, can we get to the cool villains now?

Eileen the Birthday Girl - Yeah, she's umm, a whiny girl, that likes to destroy, but isint like, inheritly bad?, eh.

Neutral Evil:

Granny May - Granny May does some adcanced theivery, she also framed WordGirl, and also captured her, there is a reason that shes the announcer of the Association of Villains.

Captain Tangent - I forgot why i put him this high.

Steve McClean - I was tempted to put him above Two Brains, but that would be stupid, anyways this guy straight stole an elephant among other things, he also has the voice of a pedophile.

Seymour Orlando Smooth - I originally had him in Plain Old Mischef Makers, but then i realised that what he did in "Fortune Crookie" was kind of creating a cult, so i put him up here, he also kidnapped Beau Handsome.

Kid Potato - The Butcher's dead-beat dad, everyone dislikes him, he just sucks, yada yada.

Leslie - Mr. Big's assistant, she helps him in his evil plans, no matter how 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 they are, but she never really does anything on her own except in "Leslie Makes It Big", and only cause Mr. Big thought she couldint, NOT cause she's malicous herself, NOT Francis Mallmann.

Tobey - Tobey McCallister III, 𝘸𝘩𝘰'𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘢, ‘𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘻𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘱-𝘱𝘦𝘱-𝘱𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪 𝘱𝘪𝘻𝘻𝘢! i think im going insane, anyways Tobey's whole deal is that he makes robits and has a crush on WordGirl, his crush on WordGirl is nice, except in "Go Gadget Go", that was fucked, something else that is fucked is the possible amount of people he killed with his robits.

The Coach - Bro litteraly runs a school about teaching villains how to be evil, also in the episode "The Robot Problem" he proves he sucks more then Tobey when he steals one of his robits.

Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy - You may be thinking to yoursef "how can Chuck be so high? he's suck a cutie" and yeah, he is, but still has a giant crusher that he uses frequently, and straight up tried to turn the town into a sandwhich in "Chuck with a Sidekick of Brent", his niceness is why he isint any lower.

Rhyme and Reason - The final villains of the series, their only this high cause Rhyme nearly destroyed the city out of sadness and anger, other then that they are just thieves.

"Pure Evil":

Hal Hardbargain - Yes, i'm shocked he's this high too, but he litteraly sells villains weapons, and unlike The Coach, he's succsesful, there is a good argument to be made that he sold some villains their stuff, as he is shown to have useful weapons, he only helps WordGirl cause he wants to swindle more people.

The Learnerer - He's canonicallyly a murdererer, by that i mean he destroyeded the Royal Dandy just to learn art's parts, otherer then that he's just a thief, but that one kill gives him a very high boost, he's also voiced by Weird Al, who has a history of cuttinging people's arms and legs off with a chainsaw and bittinging people in the jugularar vein.

The Whammer - His whole character trait is destroying stuff, he once tried to wham every single city in the world, yeah he's an idiot, but a evil idiot.

🥉Dr. Two-Brains - The main villain arguably, he has attempted to turn the town into cheese multiple times, almost caused the cheeseteroid to wipe out half of Fair City, Nearly condemed time to stop forever all so his cheese doesn't expire, and teamed up with Mr. Big, he's still tragic and helpful to WordGirl at times, but there is a reason he's number 1 in the city, but not on this list.

🥈Mr. Big - Why does Mr. Big have a differant vibe then all the other villains, anyways Mr. Big likes to mind control people, mostly for petty reasons, like in "WordGirl Makes a Mistake" where he mind controlled the entire fucking world just to get his casserole dish back, also in "Invasion of the Bunny Lovers" he tried to mind control the world with Two Brains for fun, and to get swish cheese from acutal Swish... people.

🥇Miss Power - Was there any doubt? she has taken over multiple planets, bullies multiple villains, threw multiple people in jail, tried to kill Two Brains, and was probably gonna kill everyone else, possibly even commiting fucking genocide on humans, and again this isint the first time, she's done this before, and maybe still does (i like to headcanon that her humliation on Earth weakend her greatly and now is harder for her to take over planets), oh and she bullied Exposition Guy aswell, TV Tropes litteraly describes her as a "murderous intergalactic dictator"...𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘢 𝘙𝘰𝘱𝘦.

Yeah...i probably put Hal too high.

[howlingday]

What if Weiss didn't accept Blake and her past? What if she went to Ozpin and the Public about Blake's past? What do you think would happen?

"How may I help you, Miss Schnee?" The headmaster set his mug aside as the partner of Team RWBY's leader stood in front of him.

"We need your help finding Blake."

"Oh? I was unaware of her absence. How long has she been missing?"

"Since Friday, Headmaster, but there's more to it than that."

"I suppose there always is." He bridged his hands together and leaned in close. "Go on."

"Sir, I have reason to believe that Blake is a member of the White Fang."

"The White Fang, you say?" His brow quirked. "What gives you that idea?"

"For one thing, she's a clear sympathizer for them, justifying their violent actions."

"Is that so? That is a great concern. Have you approached her about this?"

"I have, but she's too stubborn to face reality." Weiss scowled. "The Whtie Fang are a bunch of violent thugs who want nothing less than total human extermination."

"And what did she say when you brought this to her attention?"

"She called them misunderstood." She waved a hand. "Saying that they didn't start off violent but had no choice in the matter of becoming so."

"I see." He nodded. "And do you believe they have always been violent from the start? That they had long since been plotting our eradication since time immemorial?"

"Well, no." She softened. "I do remember Dr. Oobleck explaining they had start as a charity for those less fortunate Faunus harmed by persecution."

"Ah, good. Then it seems Bart is doing his job of telling the story of history from BOTH sides." He stood. "Miss Schnee, I'm sure you already know the answer to this question, but do you know which aspect of humanity has hurt the Faunus more than anyone?"

Weiss clenched her teeth. "The... The Dust industry, Professor Ozpin."

He turned to the mirror. "And which company is the leading, if not only global supplier of Dust?"

"The... Schnee Dust Company, Professor Ozpin." He nodded. However, before he could ask, she stepped forward, hand to her chest. "But it's not as though I seek Faunus extermination!"

He turned to face her. "And does Ms. Belladonna know that, or has she not heard your side of the story?" Weiss retreated her encroaching foot. "History is written by the victors, Miss Schnee, and unfortunately The White Fang are not the victors. However, this is not to say their actions are to be forgiven. Too many lives have been lost due to their violent 'revolution'. Thus, the Schnee Dust Company have branded them, and those close to them, as terrorists. And if what you say is true, then Miss Belladonna must be expelled and arrested for her involvement with them."

Weiss' heart beat wildly in her chest. Her throat tightened and her stomach turned as she considered what her course of action would cause for Blake. Her mind began to buzz with thoughts of great cruelty performed by her runaway teammate. Could Blake be capable of such actions?

"Unless, of course, you have reason to believe she no longer affiliates with them?"

'It's because of people like Cardin, people like you, that force the White Fang to take such drastic measures!'

'Well maybe we were just tired of being pushed around!'

'Unfortunately, the real world isn't the same as a fairy tale'

'Banzai!'

'Fight well!'

'The White Fang is hardly a bunch of psychopaths. They're a collection of misguided Faunus.'

"No."

"No?"

"No, I..." Weiss swallowed the lump in her throat. "I don't believe Blake is a member of the White Fang. And if she was, then... Then I don't think she is anymore."

"Mm." The headmaster gave a grin. "I was hoping you'd say that. You know, as headmaster of Beacon Academy, I have many resources to huntsmen and huntresses across Vale. If anyone has seen your friend, they would inform me, and then I would inform your team leader. I should be contact you if need be."

"I... I would really appreciate that, Professor."

"Of course." He nods. "Oh, and speaking of, I noticed her spending a lot of time at the docks today. Almost as though she hasn't moved in... six hours?" Weiss noticeably stiffened at this. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Professor," Weiss gave a light bow before turning away, "but I have a feeling Ruby knows where Blake is."

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

NYT: The Disappearance of Literary Men Should Worry Everyone

Over the past two decades, literary fiction has become a largely female pursuit. Novels are increasingly written by women and read by women. In 2004, about half the authors on The New York Times fiction best-seller list were women and about half men; this year, the list looks to be more than three-quarters women. According to multiple reports, women readers now account for about 80 percent of fiction sales.

I see the same pattern in the creative-writing program where I’ve taught for eight years. About 60 percent of our applications come from women, and some cohorts in our program are entirely female. When I was a graduate student in a similar program about 20 years ago, the cohorts were split fairly evenly by gender. As Eamon Dolan, a vice president and executive editor at Simon & Schuster, told me recently, “the young male novelist is a rare species.”

Male underrepresentation is an uncomfortable topic in a literary world otherwise highly attuned to such imbalances. In 2022 the novelist Joyce Carol Oates wrote on Twitter that “a friend who is a literary agent told me that he cannot even get editors to read first novels by young white male writers, no matter how good.” The public response to Ms. Oates’s comment was swift and cutting — not entirely without reason, as the book world does remain overwhelmingly white. But the lack of concern about the fate of male writers was striking.

To be clear, I welcome the end of male dominance in literature. Men ruled the roost for far too long, too often at the expense of great women writers who ought to have been read instead. I also don’t think that men deserve to be better represented in literary fiction; they don’t suffer from the same kind of prejudice that women have long endured. Furthermore, young men should be reading Sally Rooney and Elena Ferrante. Male readers don’t need to be paired with male writers.

But if you care about the health of our society — especially in the age of Donald Trump and the distorted conceptions of masculinity he helps to foster — the decline and fall of literary men should worry you.

In recent decades, young men have regressed educationally, emotionally and culturally. Among women matriculating at four-year public colleges, about half will graduate four years later; for men the rate is under 40 percent. This disparity surely translates to a drop-off in the number of novels young men read, as they descend deeper into video games and pornography. Young men who still exhibit curiosity about the world too often seek intellectual stimulation through figures of the “manosphere” such as Andrew Tate and Joe Rogan.

The marginalization of young men seems to have been a significant factor in this year’s presidential election. No voters were more committed to Mr. Trump than young white men — and he also did well with Hispanic men and continued to make gains with Black men. I think of 2024 as the Fight Club election, in which disaffected guys vented their frustrations and anxieties through a brawler who will one day reveal himself to be not their hero, but rather a figment of their imagination.

These young men need better stories — and they need to see themselves as belonging to the world of storytelling. Novels do many things. They entertain, inspire, puzzle, hypnotize. But reading fiction is also an excellent way to improve one’s emotional I.Q. Novels help us form our identities and understand our lives. Like many other bookish Gen X-ers, I can’t conceive of my formative years without the Douglas Coupland novel that gave our generation its name. This is why we need a more inclusive literary culture, one that will bring young men in from the cold.

I am not saying that we should declare progress for women writers complete and now focus only on men. The question for me is: What will become of literature — and indeed, of society — if men are no longer involved in reading and writing? The fortunes of men and women are intertwined. This is why, for example, I make sure that my male students read The Handmaid’s Tale. It’s not just their edification that matters; women also benefit from the existence of better men.

Here I am reminded of something that the feminist scholar bell hooks once wrote: “There remains a small strain of feminist thinkers who feel strongly that they have given all they want to give to men; they are concerned solely with improving the collective welfare of women. Yet life has shown me that any time a single male dares to transgress patriarchal boundaries” — something I am convinced that literature enables men to do — “the lives of women, men and children are fundamentally changed for the better.”

(Full article)

I share a lot of contempt for many of the ideological trends among young men as well (I'm a man myself), so I agree that these anti-intellectual inclinations are troubling and that this segment of the population is particularly vulnerable to radicalization due to their isolation.

I've always believed that groups demanding greater media representation should put their money where their mouth is and actively support the kind of content they want to see become more widespread. In that light, the announcement of a new independent publisher focused on books by male writers seems like a good (if very preliminary) first step.

[rosietrace]

⟨ The Inheritance Games ⟩ | “I wouldn't marry me, either.”

CHAPTER 1 — The girl from New Castle, Connecticut

The Inheritance Games belongs to Jennifer Lynn Barnes

SYNOPSIS — What if things had been different, when Avery inherited the old man's fortune? What if Alisa did some puzzle solving of her own, and what if Nash started to feel something for Alisa he thought he'd never feel in a long time?

MAIN TAGS — Canon divergence, Exes to Lovers, slowburn, angst with happy ending, suggestive-ish, oc inserts, WHAT-IF, mention of character death

| [ The Following is a fanfiction that drifts away from the original source material. If you aren't interested in anything relating to Alisa Ortega, Nash Hawthorne, or anything about The Inheritance Games in general, this fic probably isn't for you. ] |

“Who is Avery Kylie Grambs?”

Was a question Alisa had asked before her father had elaborated further on the matter of ‘Avery Kylie Grambs’.

Mr. Ortega was understanding of his daughter's puzzled feelings on the matter, and was well aware that Alisa hadn't been in the best of moods recently.

Ever since the death of Tobias Hawthorne, the media hounded the Hawthorne family and everyone remotely Hawthorne-adjacent for even the tiniest sliver of information they could capitalize; what didn't help was the continuous persistence of Skye, Zara, and Zara's husband Constantine on getting the Will reading over with.

Skye, worst of all, revelling in the attention-hogging media outlets and just barely given enough assurances of the Will reading to not, metaphorically, drop a bomb on the press.

Naturally, Mr. Ortega only discussed the facts with his daughter in regards to the situation of the mystery girl listed in the required presence.

“Avery Kylie Grambs is a seventeen year old girl currently residing in New Castle, Connecticut,” her father had begun with his overview, “her mother had died two years prior, and her biological father is notably absent from her life.”

As her father continued to give a rundown of information on Avery, Alisa had quietly listed each of them down in her head, one by one.

Avery — or as Alisa had referred to her, “Ms. Grambs” — had lost her mother when she was fifteen, and for a majority of her life, her father had been notably absent and hadn't bothered to reach out to her. After the death of her mother, Avery was taken under the care of her half sister— Libby Grambs.

The girl was just barely scraping by, working at a hole-in-the-wall diner. Alisa's eyebrows knitted together as she processed the rest of the information her father provided for her about Ms. Grambs.

Everything else had gone deaf to Alisa, too focused on listening to her father's provided Intel than on anything else; all until Mr. Ortega had finished his overview of Avery's life with, “For the better part of three weeks, the firm had been sending letters to Ms. Grambs inviting her to the reading of Mr. Hawthorne's Will.”

“As of yesterday, Grayson Hawthorne had taken it upon himself to pay a visit to Ms. Grambs’ high school— and she is currently on a flight to Texas with her sister, and is expected to arrive tomorrow.”

Alisa nodded. “And what exactly must I do in regards to Ms. Grambs’ attendance of the Will reading?”

Alisa had expected anything but the response her father had provided her. “You will be representing the firm as her liaison during her visit.”

She blinked a multitude of times, eighteen times, total. “What?”

⊱────────────────────⊰

And that was how she'd gotten her in this situation— exiting a black sedan in an all dare-the-devil-to-ruin-it white power suit, and waiting for Avery and Libby Grambs to move past security.

The second they did, Alisa drew near. “Ms. Grambs,” from one girl to the next, she nodded to Avery, then to her sister, adding on an identical greeting. “Ms. Grambs.”

She turned, very well expecting the two girls to follow and keeping up a professional stance once they did. “I'm Alisa Ortega,” Alisa said, “from McNamara, Ortega, and Jones.”

A pause, then a continuation. “You are a very hard young woman to get ahold of,” Alisa cast a sideways glance at Avery.

To which Avery simply shrugged. “I live in my car.”

“She doesn't live there,” Libby Grambs interjected quickly. “Tell her you don't.”

A hum left Alisa's lips before she continued her very obviously perfunctory speech of greeting for the two Grambs daughters.

“We're so glad you could make it.”

Alisa added, “During your time in Texas, you're to consider yourselves guests of the Hawthorne family. I'll be your liaison to the firm. Anything you need while you're here, come to me.”

Casting another glance at Avery, Alisa could guess what the girl was thinking from a mile away; Usually, lawyers bill by the hour, but the Hawthorne family was a family with more means than the average family.

She has a very expressive face, Alisa thought, barely managing to stop a bare hint of a smirk on her face.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Alisa asked, striding toward an automatic door without so much as slowing her pace when it seemed like the door might not open in time.

Avery waited before she could reply. “How about some information?”

What a way to narrow it down. “You'll have to be more specific.”

“Do you know what's in the will?”

“I do not.”

Turning a corner, Alisa gestured to a black sedan idling near the curb, opening the back door for Avery and her sister before she occupied the passenger seat.

She sent the driver — one of Oren's men — a glance. And in reply, they grunted out an acknowledgement to go along with a nod.

Only then did Alisa continue speaking. “You’ll find out what's in the will soon enough,” Alisa said, her words crisp and neat as much as her dare-the-devil-to-ruin-it white suit.

“We all will. The reading is scheduled for shortly after your arrival at Hawthorne House.”

Based on the dazed expressions from both Avery and her sister, Alisa could at least understand their befuddlement. Hawthorne House, not the Hawthornes’ house. Like some kind of English manor, complete with its own name.

“Is that where we'll be staying?” Libby Grambs asked, her head tilted. “Hawthorne House?”

“You'll have your pick of bedrooms,” Alisa assured, leaning the side of her face against her fist. “Mr. Hawthorne bought the land the House is built on more than fifty years ago and spent every one of those years adding into the architectural marvel he built there.”

Alisa looked out of the window, the black sedan passing by a multitude of sky-high office buildings, hotels. With the movements of those outside slowed down.

“I've lost track of the number of bedrooms, but it's upward of thirty. Hawthorne House is… quite something.”

To which Avery pressed her luck by saying, “I'm guessing Mr. Hawthorne was quite something, too?”

Alisa gave the ‘mystery girl’ a glance. “Good guess,” she said, “Mr. Hawthorne was fond of good guessers.”

Assessing the look on Avery's face, Alisa pitied the girl. A girl who knew nothing on why she was listed in the Will, none the wiser to anything the old man had planned for this day.

It was Avery's sister's turn to ask questions, now. “How well did you know him?”

“My father has been Tobias Hawthorne's attorney since before I was born.” Alisa's voice softened. She thought about her father, her mother, the love they shared; the time she spent in Hawthorne House, getting lost in the walls of the mansion and playing games of mystery and puzzle solving.

“I spent a lot of time at Hawthorne House, growing up.”

Tobias Hawthorne wasn't just a client to Alisa. He was more than that. It wasn't just his grandsons the old man had a hand in raising.

“Do you have any idea why I'm here?” Asked Avery. “Why he'd leave me anything at all?”

“Are you the world-saving type?”

Hardly an ordinary question, Avery must've thought. Alisa would've agreed; but she felt obligated to assess who Avery Kylie Grambs was— where she stood.

“No?” The tone of Avery's voice was of the guessing type.

Another question. A continuation, a curiosity. “Ever had your life ruined by a Hawthorne?”

Avery sounded more sure of herself when she answered. “No.”

Alisa smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She thought about that vow she'd made, that promise to both herself... and to Nash. Never lose your heart to a Hawthorne.

“Lucky you.”

TAGLIST

None so far. . .

[kissorkill16]

Tell Him The Truth: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: What if Mr. Murtaugh lived in my Golden Stones AU?

(Since I made one fic of this before Season 2 came out, I thought "Why not make one in my TGS AU version?")

👇

(P.S., I'll update the INVIGORATE masterlist soon, I promise.)

Trinity and Finch ran after Mr. Murtaugh as he flew through the sky and to the Golden Apple Amusement Park.

"Damn it!", Finch said as she ran, already running out of breath. "Unless your witch powers can help you fly on a broomstick like one or something, then I don't think I can do this!"

"We have to!", Trinity said, not daring to stop running, no matter how tired her legs were getting.

Finally, they made it to the amusement park, and they saw Mr. Murtaugh flying through the sky with Ivan in his arms.

They saw how another raven person was about to attack them, so Trinity lit up her fists, they turned violet, and she used her chains to restrain that raven person from getting to Mr. Murtaugh and Ivan.

They flew down to the gates and ran out, Trinity used her chains to lock the gate shut. No matter how much they screamed, tugged and kicked at the gate, no one could open it.

Everyone ran from the amusement park, and didn't stop running until they were in the front entrance of the school.

Mr. Murtaugh turned to look at Trinity, "Oh thank you, Ms. Bales. Thank you so much.", he said.

Trinity nodded at him, but she was more focused on Ivan. She didn't even notice he was wearing Mr. Murtaugh's sweater, all she noticed was that he looked so different from the last time she saw him.

He had eye bags, a scar on his cheek, messier hair, he looked completely dead inside.

Her mind immediately flashed back to Nicky.

She got up and wrapped her arms around her friend.

"Oh my God, Ivan! I can't believe it's really you!", she said. "I thought it was another fake, but -"

Suddenly, Ivan started crying.

"You think I'm a fake?", he asked. "Did he make you believe this? I'm not fake, Trinity! I'm the real Ivan!"

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face into her shoulder. Trinity and Mr. Murtaugh gently rubbed the back of his head as he cried.

"Oh my God.", the science teacher sighed. "I feel so ashamed of myself. I'm a monster, both literally and physically. I hate myself."

"As you should.", Finch mumbled. Trinity hit her with her elbow before turning back to the science teacher.

"Why did you even become a raven man in the first place?", she asked.

"That monster promised me good luck and fortune, and I didn't even hesitate before I agreed for him to turn me into a monster. I was in my 2nd year of teaching, and I was starting to hate kids. I've never liked kids, I never had any of my own and I never wanted any of them near me, but I had to make money somehow. I could've been a doctor, but -"

Finch groaned, "Will you get to the point, freak?", she said.

Mr. Murtaugh sighed. "But during the time I was this, I had started to become more attached to the children, especially the ones who actually tried to get good grades. Like Ivan, Enzo, and Nicky.", he said. "Now I'm very fond of children, they make me feel like I've had kids of my own. Ivan, Nicky, all of you make my job feel so special. But there's no way I could tell my boss. He was stronger than me, he could've killed me if he wanted to. I had to do whatever he said in order to protect myself and you."

Trinity looked at Mr. Murtaugh with sympathetic eyes. If she thought this man was a monster before, she didn't anymore. Seeing how he cared about the kids now and would do anything to protect them, she saw this man in a different light.

Finch had no sympathy for this man. She couldn't believe that this man had the absolute nerve to act like such a fucking saint when he exposed her to Trinity, manipulated Nicky on every therapy session he had with him, and tried to turn him against his friends.

Ivan had just stopped crying, and he wiped away his tears and looked at Mr. Murtaugh.

"Sir, I know this may seem like a bad idea, and I'm not normally the one who has bad ideas, but...", he said. "We have to tell Nicky the truth."

Mr. Murtaugh looked at Ivan like he was insane.

"I can't! If I did, he'd be destroyed!", he said. "He'd think that he was betrayed by the one person he thought he could trust."

"Hello!", Finch said.

Trinity nudged her again and looked back at Mr. Murtaugh. "Sir, I know you want to protect Nicky, I know you want to protect all of us, but we all have powers now. We're working on how to use them, to get our strength up and destroy them. And we know you want to destroy them too, and we can if you just help us out and follow our leads, same way we'll follow yours."

Mr. Murtaugh looked at all of the kids, then he sighed and smiled warmly.

"Okay.", he said. "We'll tell him the truth."

"This can't end well.", said Finch.

In the gym, Mr. Murtaugh stood in the doorway, black wings all spread out.

The kids looked at him in shock, and Nicky fainted when he saw that his therapist was a raven man.

[ask-supervisor-heert]

Dear Supervisor Heert,

I appreciate your prompt response and shall updated our records immediately. I once again apologize for the oversight.

I have taken the time to check the status of your complaint against Supervisor Lagret, as requested. It appears to have been waylaid until we could look into another case, one from [redacted] regarding the consistent presence of a Tooka on ISB premises.

After referring to the precise rules stated in each report, we have deemed that as you do have an official document for an Emotional Support Animal, your complaint overrules the other on file, and we will be taking your concerns into account and speaking to Supervisor Lagret- as well as adding this to his file in our department. We appreciate your patience in the matter.

I know I would be devastated if something belonging to my dear Pepper was ever thrown out. That must have been so upsetting for Mister Phantom. I hope he has fully recovered and you were able to find a suitable replacement. If you ever have another complaint, feel free to contact me directly so that it does not get lost in the shuffle.

Sincerely, Ashlynn Kwa Imperial HR

Dear Ms. Kwa,

I appreciate your care addressing this concern. Mister Phantom is slowly recovering from the loss of his box. I have given him all the boxes I confiscated from Lonni Jung and Dedra Meero’s office after I removed the contents but evidently it is not enough. He has been clawing my furniture at home as a result. I’m fortunate I only have metal furniture in my office for this reason, so it is really best that he spends the day with me. I am glad to hear that HR understands our perspective.

Please give my regards to Pepper.

- Supervisor L. Heert

[remembertheplunge]

Beginning of an answer

9/7/2020. Monday 2:08pm 

out front. Espresso’s Coffee House: Pacific Ave, Stockton, Ca

“There were plenty of onlookers, but no witnesses.” In other words, we may log impressive miles in our travels but see nothing: we may follow all the advice in the travel magazines and still feel little enthusiasm.” Page xxi The Art of Pilgrimage

Our pilgrimage has taken us into a Land which Angela Davis said is one that she never experienced before—the confluence of pandemic and protest.

I agree with Angela—its a phenomenon—We have all awakened here on Bali-Hi.

But, as Ms Davis also said, it will pass—the mystical island will recede back into the fog of “normalcy”

Like the travelers described in the Art Of Pilgrimage (above) we have to see it—to embrace it while it is here. I feel fortunate to have lived to see this beginning of an answer—

Angela also said this is not the time to dismantle the police, but, instead, to evolve that institution.

Mavis Staples sings “Gotta change around here, say it loud, say it clear” as I write.

End of entry

Notes: 1/15/2025

Please see photos of the original 9/7/2020 entry in the next blog

Bali-Hi was a mystical island of magic in the musical “South Pacific"

The above journal entry was written in September of 2020 during the Covid Pandemic and the era of the massive George Floyd—Black Lives Matter protests. Angela Davis, a well known civil rights activist during the 1960’s, was acknowledging the power of the people’s movement then. Although she was right that it would pass and the streets would become quite, the Christian Nationalist response is now raging in the form of Trump 2.0

Kat Brooks, who hosts a show on KPFA radio, said yesterday on KPFA Hard Knock that “We are never going to get free in the halls of power. It’s in the streets…"

[hocuspocusbabyy]

Learn to speak: Cressida x Eloise. 🦢🕊️

Description: Eloise and Cressida are revealed before the entire Ton.

Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x Cressida Cowper

Warning: I just mega bloody sad?

Cressida raced from the Bridgerton ballroom, a familiar brunette not far beyond her trace as they reached the outside. Each stumbling down the stairs one by one till they came to stand still beyond the pond. Eloise’s hand reaching out to harshly grasp and turn the fleeting blonde.

She loved her in the same way, she knows. Unavoidably, inevitably steadfast and utterly annihilating. Neither one of them willing to compromise their own success and needs for an inch for it. They lived as the sun did for the moon, in a tedious notion of inexplicable power and fatuous existence.

Cressida pulled away, her anger vibrant upon her burning flesh. The object of their miss fortune grasped within the fingers.

A book.

Titled.

‘Anything, Everything, Neither here, nor there.’ By Ms Eloise Bridgerton.

She was to be published. It had been announced at the party, copies were passed around, read aloud and celebrated. The minute the book had been finished; Cressida ran.

“Miss Bridgerton I must implore you to return to the party, I do not trust myself right now.” Cressida begged, her fists balled, her hair slowly falling from its structure with each pass of sodden air. The other woman’s fringe suddenly clumped aside her head.

Eloise watched as the rain displaced around them; every inch of bare skin and drought covered. The amassable green hue of grass and blue eyes she had come to wish she never knew. Dew and tears being one and the same as their bones grew heavy, dampened by more than just the weather. Cressida rooted in the place where she had left her, figure sodden and shivered like that of a disturbed hourglass the sand? her resolution from months before. They hadn’t spoken since her decision, they sort no need to - she had made her choice, a solution for the both of them.

“So this is how we end—-you’re finally going through with it?” She asked, although questioning seemed so tedious now. Hair plastered to her face as the wind around them seemed to whip and tumble in a similar motion to how her stomach felt. Watching the woman she cared for walk away. “You’re leaving?”

The words bitter upon her tongue, as though the sweetest poison. One she could not help but drink from, if words were to hurt let them be spoke to her. Every syllable since they’d met had been for her anyway, each memory plagued with the tall blonde figure before her.

“It was never a matter of if Lou,” The blonde called forward her eyes still transfixed on the increasingly sodden pages of the book within her hand. “Only when.” She mumbled worrying her lip between her teeth.

“Then why now?” The Brunette called back her fists balled in frustration, the other woman still lacking to give her, her full attention. A meter between them, conflicting sources of emotion weaved between them.

They were beginning to attract a crowd. The surrounding guards and servants suddenly facing towards them.

The book heavy and weak within the blondes grasp. The authors title slipped down the page, falling into a pile of mush upon the ground.

“Am I C in your book? I think I must be.” Cressida’s called out, shoulders jutting forward as the rain persisted, hammering down upon her slender frame. Soaked, exhausted by her own mind, her only wish to crawl into the carriage and have no memory of this life.

“Mrs Debling.” Eloise whispered, suddenly unwell in her voice. Her wrists ached to reach ahead hold onto her, to slap her stupid, to kiss her blue.

“Don’t.” Cressida’s whimpered, her lip trapped beneath her tongue as she desperately shook her head in attempt to bush away oncoming tears. “Do not reduce me to that. I take no ownership of his name.”

“Cress, It is fiction. You cannot misjudge this, do not allow my illusions, my—-my. This infatuation is not lost on me, I apologise if my words were misunderstood.”

Cressida cleared her throat, lifting the book between them as she read. “C had an unobtainable attention, every passing hour drew on in her presence. In the most disturbing and literal sense C had entrapped me. You believe I trapped you? That I am merely a hyperactive bore?”

“That is not—- that is not what that means, not in its sense.” Eloise tried to reason, her mouth opening and shutting a few times before finally speaking. The sudden opening of ballroom doors sounding above them. The approaching footing, large and multiple.

“That please explain to me Miss Bridgerton, how else is it to be seen? Explain, as you clearly view me as too dim to understand.”

“Cressida, you are not thinking clearly. My words are of admiration.”

“You admire the—- how did you put it? The Swan with the heart of a duckling?”

“Yes— yes Cress I do, I admire your innocence, your questions. I crave to understand your every thought.”

“Why do you write such things if you do not wish to be rid of me?”

“Rid of you? Cressida, few would be so fortunate. I do not believe I will ever be allowed such an opportunity. I will never, in any of my waking days be rid of you. Every night is dreamless in reserve of you. I am plagued, with the incurable sickness of you. That is my penance, my resolve… I wear this cross gladly.”

“And your impending marriage is that a fiction?”

“No, the marriage is not a fiction”

A faint sound of Anthony and Benedict arriving at the front of the crowd. The other Bridgerton’s not far behind, elbowing and shoving their way through. Coming to stand along with the inevitable swarm of people that had come to gawk could be heard from beyond. The horrified faces of exhaustion clearly painted upon Phillip’s face.

Eloise shied away, she facing turning back towards the blonde. They were causing a spectacle, her mother’s gaze bore into her. As though stripping her down, analysing every moment of her - trying to understand who she is.

“Cressida please.” Eloise begged her guard finally shitting down as the tears spread across her face.

“You will not have me, but you will not leave me.” Cressida’s spoke, her gaze harsh and set upon the brunette. “How it will always be.” She snarled, her gazing flicking up to face the Bridgerton’s. “And how it has always been.”

Benedict shook his head sadly, he knew of course as did Fran of their sister’s chosen persuasion. Not that they had ever let on, merely helping from the side lines. Leaving to allow Eloise and Cressida time together, distracting others to protect them, supporting Eloise through many shapeless conversations and questions about relationships.

“If I don’t do this now you’ll—- you’ll just talk me out of it.” Cressida’s stated shaking her head and turning from the brunette.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Eloise asked.

“Possibly.” The blonde whispered finally pulling her head up to gaze at the other woman, “but i am no longer in business of maybes—“

“Life is an uncertainty, nothing is guaranteed... can’t you see that?” Eloise argued the cotton of her gown gripping uncomfortably at her chest. Unsure now wether the shaking was from her drenched state or nerve of the unknown.

“Everything is certain Lou...” Creased whispered her finger wrapped so tightly that the material of the book warped beneath them. Her eyes glazed with tears - an unnerving peace. “Can’t you just trust me? Trust that I am doing what is best?” She all but begged.

Clawing at the silk of her bodice, pulling it till it sat more comfortably as she stalked ahead. Grasping the blondes face between her hands.

Cressida bit her tongue every cell in her body ached to go to her, screaming at her to step forward, to give in to that look. One she had once retained such comfort in.

Eloise pressed their foreheads together, their noses bumped together. “All I am belongs to, every curve of my pen in ode, each moment of thought, C.” The brunette quoted, her wet fingers latched within the blondes soaked hair, grasping and stroking at the strands desperately.

“It does not matter.” Cressida gritted out, Eloise’s cold lips pressed upon her cheek. Whispering pleas for them to go inside, promises of apologies. “We can never go back now, we’ve said too much. We are aware of one another.”

“I’ll do better.” Eloise whispered, her voice muffled by the blondes cheek. “We can move past this I am certain.”

“Eloise Bridgerton. I love you.” Cressida’s states pulling back her head held high, arms spread wide. As though the swan in the book. Proud for all the ton to see, drenched and exhausted, smiling sadistically, the most beautiful creature Eloise had ever seen. “And there is no coming back from me saying that.”

The blonde turned and stalked towards her carriage, the brunette did not have the energy to follow her. She could hardly breathe, her sickness had weakened her.

“Are you certain?” Eloise shouted casting a glance across her shoulder, rain beating down her face. Watching as Penelope cried for her, Colin’s arm firm in comfort. Kate practically holding Anthony behind her, Benedict turned hastily talking to Francesca.

“What?” Cressida asked her head turned as she stepped up into the carriage.

“Are we certain?” The brunette tried again, taking yet another weak step forward her arms folded in defence rather than threat as she shook. “Are we certain C, you and me?”

The blonde shallowed audibly at the question, the barrier around them flickers as the focus becomes somewhat diluted.

“Yes.” She whispers stepping down from the step, taking in her lovers battered form for the first time in months. She was thinner now, her shoulders lacked the same velocity the blondes fingers has once cut into. Ben idiot had mentioned her health had declined in favour of writing her book. Eloise often grew obsessive of her work.

She walked ahead, back towards her friend. Her hands came up to grasp at Eloise’s harrowing cheeks, the skin there grey and sunken in a tale sign of malnutrition and sleep deprivation.

“Yes.” Cressida repeated her thumbs tracing the warped lines of the brunettes flesh, both ignoring the painful section of their close proximity- not unlike an electric shock as they touched. “Yes dove, we are certain.”

The taller woman sniffed, dragging the brunette’s gaze to hers. “You are the most sure thing about me. You are my unequivocal truth, my inexorable end. I am sorry I ever let you doubt that.” Cressida cried out as Eloise’s hands finally raised to join hers - grasping at her face weakly. Pressing her facing her Cressida’s neck.

“Then stay.”

“I can’t—“ the blonde sobbed, a sticky, sickeningly sweet kiss pressed to the short woman’s forehead head as she pulled away. “Goodbye my love.” Cressida’s whispered as she walked away.

It wasn’t till the sound of her fleeting carriage sounded that Eloise finally broke down. Her knees flat against the ground, dirt seeing into the skirt of her dress. Sinking between her fingers as she clutched the ground, sobs wrecking her body.

It was Daphne who made it to her first, crouched beside her urging her to breathe properly. A hand firmly stroking circles on her back was Penelope.

“Shame on us all for gawking.” Kate called out, urging others to look away. Ordering staff to gather everyone back inside. The crowd still chanting as they walked begrudgingly inside.

“This is a private matter.” Simon bellowed, above the ton, their gossiping soon quietened. “Everyone please return inside, and give Miss Bridgerton the privacy she deserves.” He ordered, his gaze firmly fixed upon Phillip until he too when inside.

“Hey El…” Anthony whispered his body flat against the ground, mud cold and wet beneath his shirt. “Darling we really must move, you’ll freeze out here.” He reasoned, his fingers crossed and prospering up his chin as he tried to coax his sister inside.

“I will entertain our guests.” Francesca stated, as though unsure how else to help in this situation. Her gaze lingering on her sibling’s fallen grace, watching as Benedict guided their mother towards them.

“Oh my Sweet girl.” Violet whispered, bending to touch her daughter’s back comfortingly. That single touch and sound of her welcoming voice, enough to have Eloise moving, turning abruptly to grasp her mother.

The pair hugging tightly as they cried together, “I am so sorry Mama.” Eloise whispered her face pressed into her mother’s waist.

“You have nothing to apologise for Ellie, you are perfect.” Violet promised, pressing kisses to her daughter head. Looking up briefly to see Colin shielding them with his jacket.

Benedict helping lead each of the women back from the boggy grounds. Kate closing the door behind them.

Anthony knelt taller, watching his mother and sister. Swallowing deeply as Benedict reached their side, his shadow casting over them.

“Ben.” Eloise mumbled into her mother’s neck, pulling away to view her brother. Her lip trembled at the sight of his furrowed brow.

“Sister.” Ben greeted, reaching to grasp her and she left her mother’s embrace.

“She—she left me.” Eloise wittered, her hand pressed her her face and the older sibling carried her back towards the house.

Antony and Colin either side of Violet as they all made their way inside.

“I know sister, I know.” Ben whispered, Kate opening the door to them as Ben marched through the crowed and carried Eloise to bed.

The Bridgerton family followed, each choosing to spend the evening in the same room. Violet asleep leaning upon Gregory’s shoulder as he and Hyacinth discussed the crossword with Pen.

Francesca, Colin and Anthony sat with their backs to the sofa as they took turns to read aloud to the room. Daphne and Simon asleep in the armchair.

Eloise slept heavily upon Benedict’s chest, his arm slung across Kate as she began to drift too. His head lulled back as the siblings read…

Cressida would reach wales two weeks later. Eloise would eventually leave her bad.