#this man looks like roughly 24 different people

[bebethsas]

@foundtherightwords I know right?? it's the darndest thing-- I swear, these photos look like they could have been taken last October/ November, it's astounding.

seriously, you could have held up any of those pics against something like this:

and I never would have known that they were taken 7 years apart.

Joseph Quinn as Jamie - Kin (2017)

part 2

[ultravi0lence14]

Primadonna Girl

dean winchester x fem!reader

1.1k | fluff

summary: you and dean couldn’t be anymore different. but that’s why he loves you so much.

*loosely based on the song Primadonna by Marina and the Diamonds

sam couldn’t help but smile anytime he saw you and dean together.

the two of you couldn’t have been anymore different. yet, you two somehow ended up in a relationship. a year and a half long relationship that is.

dean winchester had always been rough around the edges. even as a young boy, people would look at dean and know to not get in his way, to not get him angry or the outcome wouldn’t be pleasant. his wardrobe always consisted of leather jackets, flannels, and big boots. something some people would find intimidating.

that had followed him into his teen years, and most importantly, as an adult. growing up with a berating father who saw you as nothing but a soldier didn’t help, and dean was sometimes jealous of sam for how level headed he was.

the thing was, you couldn’t be anymore opposite. growing up, you were as bubbly as a shaked can of soda. always laughing, smile on your face 24/7, and a knack for anything feminine.

you were a girl after all, and you couldn’t help but love anything that had to do with lace or dangling bows from wherever you could place them.

the narrative that a girl being hyper feminine and — for lack of better words — girly in nature was dumb or didn’t amount to much always made you angry. a girl could do anything a man could do if she was wearing slouchy jeans and a flannel or platform shoes and a skirt. it wasn’t how you presented yourself, it was your integrity, and how hard your drive to help people was.

crossing paths with the winchester brothers was never on your bucket list. you had heard too many stories of how those boys started more than one apocalypse, how they had a way of ending up in hell every other month. with your knowledge, you didn’t want anything to do with that.

if it wasn’t for you running into them on a case, you would have never given them a second thought. but you’d realized how dedicated the two were, how kind and how they were all around sweet boys. so you stayed. bonding with sam over your love for books and how you were both severely lactose intolerant.

dean on the other hand, he was harder to crack than his giant of a brother. the first couple of months the man did nothing but berate you. finding any chance he could to make a jab in your direction. you honestly thought he hated your guts, only for sam to finally admit that this was how his brother acted when he really liked a girl.

that same night, you confronted him. spewing multitudes on how treating a girl like that just because you have feelings for her is something a middle schooler would do. what you were not expecting was for dean to wrap his arms around your waist and press his lips roughly to yours.

since then, you two have been inseparable. sam couldn’t help but snicker when he caught his brother carrying around your purse, or walking behind you like a lost puppy. dean was wrapped around your finger, and anyone with eyes and a brain could notice it.

sam most importantly didn’t hold back in telling dean how whipped he truly was. all the older winchester did was keep on going with a smile on his face. knowing he’d do anything to just be near you.

all of this lead you two to this very moment, a calm night in the bunker as you and dean sat in his so called ‘dean cave’. on the couch and watching some cheesy teen drama on the flat screen tv.

you were sat in dean’s lap, legs moved sideways over his as he played with the lace trimming on your black knee high tights. dean’s grey henley and dark, plaid pyjama pants were in no synchronization with your frilled, white skirt and your big, fleeced, dark pink sweater.

the two of you were sat in a serene silence, eyes averted to the tv while dean’s fingers travelled up your calf and your hands found purchase in the tuffs of his hair.

neither of you had noticed sam’s figure in the doorway until you heard startle of laughter. looking up, you both saw sam leaned on the door frame, shit eating grin forming on his face as he analyzed the scene playing out in front of him.

“wow,” he started, shaking his head and having a strand of hair fall in his eyes. “if someone told me you’d be all domestic like this five years ago dean i would’ve laughed in their face.”

all dean did was roll his eyes, pulling you impossibly closer and nuzzling his face in your neck. promptly ignoring his brothers annoying remarks while also being in close contact to you. what else could he possibly need at the moment?

you just laughed, shooing sam away and watching him turn around a giggle all the way to his room. when the younger winchester was out of sight, dean moved his head so he could plant multiple kisses all over your face.

a squeal tore through your lips as you jokingly attempted to push him away, only spurring dean to hold on tighter to your legs as his mouth placed two sloppy kisses on both of your cheeks.

somehow in the midst of loud laughter and entangled limbs, you had ended up on top of dean. legs straddling his waist as he moved his hands from the top of your stockings to hold on tightly to your waist.

your hair had created a curtain around his face, and all he could see at the moment was your radiating smile and gorgeous coloured eyes. with a slight tug at his lips, he moved his hands under your sweater to soothingly move his hands up and down your skin. “you are the best thing to ever happen to me, sweetheart.”

a smile broke out onto your face, pressing a quick kiss to dean’s forehead before lying down and cuddling up to his chest.

all the winchester could do was hold you tighter, relishing in the fact that he had you. you, the greatest thing to ever come to him. dean sometimes thought he didn’t deserve you, that you were too good for him in so many different ways. but when you let him hold you like this, kiss your face and see you in any way possible, he knew that pushing you away would be the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

“i love you, dean.” you murmured, eyes back on the tv as his deft fingers on your back was calming you down. if possible, dean’s smile got even bigger. moving down to put a soft kiss on your head as he whispered back, “i love you too, Y/N.”

[elvenbeard]

Old and Happy

😭 my feels have been all over the place since I finally finished this! Don't even remember when I started, as I kept working on and off on it over a couple of months. But I think it was after writing something particularly angsty and going "you know what, they will get their happy ending though, so it's all good".

Some details and thoughts below the read more cause it got long hhhh ;A;

This is in about 2087 maybe, roughly "ten years later". Vince changed his hair, ditched the rattail for good (or again xD) for something still colorful but a bit more easy to style. But he might change it up again, he's done so repeatedly and still likes to experiment with his hair.

Not visible, he probably would've added some elements to his back tattoo after surviving all of 2077. Johnny's tattoo he covered up as well, he would've done that first probably before the back piece. Adding some things here and there over time, with colors and patterns and wings, some cherry blossoms ('cause a thing of beauty will never truly fade away - hence just not getting laser removal but covering it with something that suits him more, but keeping some elements like the J and V visible). It started with three roses below the "V" as a little homage to Jackie, and 2077 as the year that finally put him on the right track in his life, even if it almost killed him in the process.

Overall he is a healthier weight than he was for most of his life, and finally got some therapy he desperately needed to deal with all the crap he went through pre-2077 already. He's not dyeing his first grey hairs because hell, that he's even still around to get some is amazing with his line of work and life story. And he realized that there's no need to be super well put togeher 24/7, clean shaven and whatnot, when you know you're just gonna be hanging out with your man and cat all weekend (and actually allowing yourself to something like that - leisure time and pizza in bed, unheard of to 2077!Vince). He's doing good and feels good and comfortable, physically and mentally.

Kerry also changed, also embracing the dad bod over abs, probably still experimenting with his looks a lot now and then whenever the label feels like they need to draw attention to him for whatever reason. But to the brown eyes he returned in 2078 already in my headcanon for the Sun ending timeline, and he stuck with them.

Overall I think he might finally care a little less about other people's opinions too, the buzz and the drama, cause he knows that at the end of the day there's always gonna be someone waiting for him at home who loves him unconditionally. He's a bit calmer and at ease, but of course still up to no good whenever he gets the chance to stir shit up xD Vince and him remain to be a dangerous duo you don't wanna mess with. At that point Vince is a well-respected, even if somewhat elusive, fixer, so he's probably even more dangerous now than he used to be as a mere merc with an arsenal of connections and resources at his disposal that can almost rival Kerry's.

I also gave Kerry a lil new cyberware piece on his hand - he is an old man and I think, using his hands as a musician on the daily, at some point there's just gonna be some wear and tear to your bones and joints only tech can fix anymore... Especially if you're stubborn and refuse to retire cause no, you're not done yet, you still have so much to yell into the world and music to make, stuff to add to your legacy and all.

Last but not least: Nibbles is an old lady already as well here, but living her best life with her dads spoiling her rotten, of course!

And then öalkshjdfagsdföasgdfaösfh ;___;

Y'know, "to bad decisions" and all, and two very different pieces still fitting together perfectly somehow, and light and shadows, and the sun and moon and yeah. ;___; Brb crying, the feels are back xD

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far!! They mean so much to me and aösdjhfajsfhasfk could go on forever about every little detail xD On to the next drawing!

[blueraineshadows]

Chapter 15

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

12k words. Chapter Master List and Ao3

Tags: NSFW / torture / physical injury / sexual scenes / angst / dark magic

Chapter 15: Love's the Death of Peace of Mind

MC

She had not seen it coming. 

Still rattled by the suspicious robed woman in St Mungo’s, MC had been so eager to get back to Sebastian, the weight of feeling like something could happen pressing on her chest, that she had been distracted. She should have been more prepared, more aware, but when she Apparated into Sebastian’s tent and saw the bed empty, her first thought was not to take out her wand, but to feel a sense of panic. The last 24 hours were beginning to take their toll, and she had been wallowing in her own whirlwind mess of emotions, exhausted.

The camp executioner was a big man, tall and solid, but he could still move with the stealth of a cat. His large, gloved hand had smothered her mouth from behind, his arm wrapped like a crushing snake around her, pinning her arms to her sides as they  Disapparated from the tent. There was no time to take a breath let alone shout a protest, and when they landed, she barely struggled in the executioner’s iron grip, a cold wind whipping at her hair. 

Shock had her rigid, but as she was roughly spun about with the turning of the executioner, her eyes landed on the Sallow twins on the ground. Anne was bound and gagged, Sebastian desperately clinging to her whilst shaking, his face a harsh grimace of pain. Her shock still rang in her ears, but she began to struggle harder against the executioner’s hold, fear creeping like a vine along her spine. 

“There she is,” Rookwood said, stepping into her view. He gave her a reproachful look. “We have been waiting for you, sweet one. Where did you slip off to in the dead of night? Your little bodyguard claims he didn’t know.” 

MC yanked at the hand covering her mouth, quickly trying to get control of her fear as she glared at Rookwood. The executioner freed her mouth, but his hand didn’t go far, it slid down to her throat, clamping it with just enough force to keep her still. She gulped against the leather clad vice, instinctively trying to suck in bigger breaths. She flinched as Rookwood stepped up really close, his hand sliding up her thigh and slipping her wand from its holster. He wiggled it before her eyes with a smile. MC eyed her wand, but kept her mouth tightly clamped shut, her magic already beginning to pull and surge in her blood.

“I’ll be keeping hold of this for the moment, if you don’t mind,” he said smoothly. “We wouldn’t want any more little slip ups like before. Luella is still most upset about her boots.” 

MC’s gaze glanced across to where Luella stood, her wand aimed down towards Anne. She had a different pair of boots on, her coat stylish and clean, hair neatly pinned. Her smile was smug, eyes glittering with triumphant malice as she looked down at Anne. Sebastian held his twin closer, his hands shaking. MC could see the fear in his eyes, but also his fury. 

“What did you do to them?” MC demanded, glaring at Rookwood. 

Rookwood strolled towards the twins, relishing the moment as he nudged his boot against Sebastian’s side. Sebastian flinched, gritting his teeth as he whined in pain. Anne struggled against her bonds, snarling like some kind of beast. 

“Think of it as a warning,” Rookwood said, turning to flash a smile at MC. “I’m not too pleased with how things seem to be happening around here. I thought perhaps a bit of leverage might be in order. I find people are far more cooperative when they have an incentive. Everyone has their weakness, MC. Even you.” 

Fighting against the tremble in her limbs, she tried to twist against the solid mass of the executioner, but a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and the grip he held on her throat gave a subtle squeeze. “Easy now, little kitten,” he purred near her ear.

Revolted, MC almost gagged, her eyes watering against the chokehold and the stinging chill of the wind. Her magic bubbled and sparked along her veins, a pressure building in her chest. 

“I am doing as you asked,” she gulped, her hands gripping the thick forearm of the executioner. “We found deposits. That’s what you wanted.” 

Rookwood spun to face her fully, stepping up until she could feel the full force of his icy glare. “I did not ask for your impertinence,” he hissed. “You dare to issue orders to me, insult my flesh and blood. Let’s not forget who feeds you, provides shelter to you. You may hold ancient power in your grasp, but without me you are nothing. Just an ex prisoner the Ministry would seek to control. I offer you the chance to become more than what you are, and you disrespect me and mine.” 

MC narrowed her eyes knowing full well that he intended to strip her of everything she had, but she kept her silence. The whispers of her own insecurities began to echo in her head, that feeling of being nothing and nobody. Still trying to grasp who she truly was, Rookwood’s words scraped along sensitive wounds. Her gaze dropped to Sebastian on the ground, the rigid pose of his limbs. She knew how that felt. The torturous, blistering pain. She could see the frustration and fear in his eyes, and knew he would hate feeling so powerless. 

“Why bring them into it? What more do you want?” She asked, craning her neck against the choking grip.

Rookwood leaned even closer, lifting a hand to drag a finger down her cheek. His finger was cold, but smooth. Flinching, she tried to turn her head, but the executioner held her firm, her whole body now shivering with cold and fear. 

“Don’t…don’t touch her,” Sebastian grunted. 

Rookwood’s smile was cold and cruel. “And there it is,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. His eyes wandered lazily over her face. He was far too close. Her heart pounded painfully. “Loyal, protective, Sallow. A man so willing to step foot inside the black walls of Azkaban to retrieve a girl who murdered his own blood, and not for one minute does he seek revenge on you. A man who insists on staying by your side, no matter how menial the task. We find you in his tent, in his bed. You are not just old school chums. I think he has feelings for you, my sweet. Does he love you? I think the real question here is, do you love him?” 

Rookwood grasped her chin, her face and neck now claimed by two ruthless men. She gasped and stared up at him, gritting her teeth against the scream of fearful rage that was building in her throat, her magic blistered but she fought for control. If she let it explode, she could hurt the twins on the ground close by. It would also reveal that she could unleash it without her wand.

“Look at her left hand, father,” Luella urged, her boots scraping on the rough ground as she moved to crouch beside Sebastian, her wand still aimed on Anne. Sebastian cried out as she seized his left wrist, his limbs painfully sensitive to touch, turning his palm upwards to reveal the neat, red welt of his scar. “See? A wound that never fully heals, and she has one to match.” 

“The plot thickens,” Rookwood smirked. His fingers ghosted down her left arm, making her cringe back against the executioner. As MC tried to pull her arm away, Rookwood wrapped fingers like iron around her wrist and wrenched her hand up and out. She made a fist, her eyes stinging with tears as she glared at him. 

“Get off me,” she spat. 

He ignored her, turning his gaze towards Luella. “How sad that she isn’t playing nice,” he said, his voice laced with mocking woe. 

Luella smiled and calmly cast Crucio. Anne screamed against her gag, her whole body arching viciously, her head thrown back. Sebastian screamed, too, trying to comfort his twin, ripping his arm from Luella’s grip to hold Anne. 

MC might hold a bitter resentment towards Anne, but the sight of her twisted agony made her wince, a stray tear sliding down her cheek. Sebastian’s horrified scream echoed in her ears. “Alright, alright,” she gasped, unfurling her fist to expose her left palm. 

Biting back a whimper, she watched as Rookwood traced his cold fingers across her own red scar, his eyes lit with gleeful curiosity. “Such lovely, soft skin you have,” he crooned. “To mark such beauty shows real commitment. I have heard of these blood pacts, but to see one cast in such a young witch is fascinating.” 

MC could hear the twins sobbing on the ground, her own body so rigid, frozen in the moment as she stared at Rookwood. She had known that all this had been too easy. 

“What did you promise him, hmm?” Rookwood asked, tilting his head. “Is it something hopelessly romantic, such as never ending love? A fool’s game if you ask me, destined for failure, and failure isn’t an option when it comes to these pacts. No, I think this was perhaps something a little more in keeping with Sallow’s need for control. He found something pretty and shiny, and never wanted to lose it. Am I right?” 

MC glanced down at Sebastian, saw him stroking his sister’s hair. Anne lay limp in his arms, her breathing laboured. Much more torture, and perhaps she would die. Her physical state was already weakened by her curse. But, then she met Anne’s eyes. Brown eyes so like her twin brother, glaring up at MC from where she was held against Sebastian’s chest, lids narrowed as they blazed with ferocity. No. That bitch had an inner strength that made her cling to her pathetic life with a death grip, her stubbornness matched only by the twin she seemed determined to control. 

Hardening her gaze, she glared at Rookwood. “I can only assume you know little about love,” she said flatly. 

Rookwood laughed, his shoulders shaking as it bubbled up his throat. He let her go, twirling around, arms out as he laughed at the sky. “Ah, but there is nothing quite like the bold and heedless recklessness that comes from young love,” he crowed, theatrical as ever. “And that is where your weakness lies. Your feelings towards young Mr Sallow will be your undoing.” 

The words slid along her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach like a prophecy of doom. Everywhere she turned, it seemed there would always be reasons to doubt her connection to Sebastian. Ominis had warned her, Anne had sent her to prison to keep her from him, Leander begged her to choose him with those soft eyes of his. Solomon had tried to kill her. 

Every choice she made, every path she took, there had been pain and darkness. Magic had been her light, a self discovery that offered hope, and Sebastian had been like a conduit. Born with Gaunt blood in her veins, but somehow destined to be entangled with a Sallow. To whatever end. 

“I wouldn't expect you to understand,” she choked out. “Just say what you want and be done with this.” 

“Always so cold and to the point, aren't you?” Rookwood mused, rubbing his chin. “It's all rather easy, really. You do as I ask, or I shall be forced to use leverage.” 

“What kind of leverage?” 

“Well, let's play a little game, shall we?” Rookwood grinned. He gestured and Luella dragged Anne up off the ground, Sebastian trying to crawl after her. “Oh, look at her, poor thing. Don't imagine for one moment that I don't recognise you, little bird. How's that curse feeling? Cooking along quite nicely, I expect.” 

Anne struggled and growled behind her gag, Luella smirking with smug glee as she held her firm. MC couldn't help but wonder what Anne would say if she could speak. Sebastian crawled jerkily towards them, but Luella put out her booted foot, pressing it against his forehead before shoving him back to the ground. 

Rage swept over MC and she twisted harshly in the executioner’s hold, choking as he restrained her. “Leave him alone,” she hissed.

“I do love it when my toys fight back,” the executioner murmured into her ear, squeezing her throat in warning. “Keep wriggling like that and I might start to enjoy you.” 

“Fuck you,” she said harshly, pulling on his forearm, horror creeping over her flesh at his body pressed against hers. 

Rookwood chuckled. “Hurt him again, Luella. I don’t think she liked that.” 

“With pleasure,” Luella said silkily, aiming her wand down towards Sebastian where he was trying to get back up onto his knees. “Crucio!” 

Both MC and Anne yelled in protest as Sebastian fell to the dirt, flickers of red sparking along his frame as he screamed. His throat sounded raw, hoarse, his fingers like claws as he tried to fight the pain. Flickers of memory danced behind MC’s vision as she recalled the pain of that curse. The darkness of the Scriptorium, Ominis sobbing quietly, and the dusty bones of Aunt Noctua resting uneasily in the corner. Anne was thrashing like a wild cat, screaming in rage behind her gag as she watched her brother twist in agony on the ground. MC was tearing at the executioner’s fingers around her throat as she yelled through her restricted airway. 

“Stop it! I’ll do what you say! Just stop it!” Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. 

“See? Isn’t it all so easy when everyone understands the rules of play,” Rookwood said, utterly calm and unfazed at the torture unfolding at his finely polished, booted feet. “I make a request, and you oblige me. Failure to do so will mean pain for those you care about.” 

“What more would you request of me?” MC asked warily. “You already have me seeking deposits, what more would you have me do?” 

Rookwood’s smile was slow. “I want you to absorb that repository under Hogwarts. The huge vessel of power that Ranrok wanted. You’re going to go down there and take it.” 

MC stared aghast, her blood freezing in her veins as she pictured that shimmering darkness in the cavern beneath the school. She could have taken it into herself back in her fifth year, but she had stepped away from it, repulsed by the swirling mists of other people’s pain, stolen against their will. What good could ever come from absorbing such a thing? In that, the Keepers had been right. It should never have been made in the first place, no matter how good Isadora’s intentions had been in the beginning. 

Anne began spitting venom behind her gag again, fighting with whatever strength she had left, her eyes glowing like hot coals of vicious hatred towards MC. Rookwood chuckled and glanced between Anne and MC, his head tilting slightly. “Is it just me, or does my little cursed one not like you much, MC?” 

“What gave it away?” MC muttered, glaring at Anne and wishing she would just shut up. Revealing too much was dangerous, it only gave Rookwood more leverage to play with. 

“Isn’t she the one who testified against you before the Wizengamot?” Luella asked, gripping Anne by the hair in an attempt to hold her still. “Unlike our dear Sebastian down here, this Sallow twin clearly isn’t so forgiving about the murder of their uncle.” 

MC clamped her lips together, refusing to take the bait, her eyes dropping to Sebastian who was groaning into the dirt, his body twitching with aftershocks. 

“Ah yes, this is interesting,” Rookwood said, narrowing his eyes and twirling MC’s wand in his hand thoughtfully. “Perhaps we ought to play another little game. Untie Mrs Gaunt, if you would, and give her a wand.” 

MC’s pulse quickened and she stilled, her eyes widened as Luella obliged. Immediately, Anne yanked her gag free of her mouth and snatched her wand from Luella’s grip. “Are you happy now?” She hissed, staggering forward and aiming right at MC. “This is all your fault, but nobody would listen to me when I warned them about you. Not Seb, not even my Ominis. The only one who understood was Uncle Solomon, but he is now dead. Because of you. You and your poisonous magic.” 

“Anne,” Sebastian whimpered, rolling stiffly on the ground. “No…” 

Rookwood was lit up like Christmas in the Great Hall, watching with fascination as Anne advanced on MC. MC swallowed tightly under the choking grip, her eyes fixed on Anne’s wand. Surely, Rookwood wouldn’t let Anne hurt her. He needed her. To her shock, Rookwood stepped forward and held her own wand out towards her, a malicious grin on his face. 

“Stop her, little bird,” he urged, his voice like silk. He held out her wand, handle first. “It wouldn’t take a lot, she’s hanging by her last thread. Make her suffer for the way she speaks to you. Demand her loyalty. It’s a lesson you must deliver on your path to greatness, MC. You deserve so much more respect. Take it. Show her.” 

MC felt her lips tremble as she stared at her wand, her hand already reaching out for it. The burn in her blood was a rushing, fearsome force. A blend of her ancient magic, her bitter desire for revenge, and her blood bound promise to never turn against Sebastian. To hurt Anne, was to hurt him. If she hurt Anne, she would suffer the consequences.

“Expelliarmus!” 

The spell shot from Anne’s wand, snatching MC’s wand and sending it flying through the cold, morning air. It landed and rolled across the dirt, Rookwood turning to Anne in surprise. Anne was intent on her course, her gaze fixed on MC, ignoring Rookwood’s protest as he held up a hand towards her. MC struggled in the executioner’s grip, the man mountain not even flinching as Anne’s first cast hit MC near her hip. The stinging burn was breathtaking, and she gasped, her knees buckling. If she wasn’t being held, she would have gone down. 

MC felt the pressure in her chest expand, her eyes glowing with blue and white flames, and the world seemed to slow down. Both Rookwood and Luella made a lunge for Anne, arms outstretched. Sebastian was dragging himself across the dirt, his face so pale and grim with pain. If she didn’t do something, her body was going to sizzle up in the furnace of her emotions, boiling with the urgency of her magic as it raged under her skin. Just like in Azkaban, when the Dementors had been about to take Leander, her magic exploded out of her control. 

The first blue lightning bolt struck the earth between MC and Anne, the glare of it blinding hot, the crack of its impact deafening. Anne was blown backwards into Luella, both women sprawling out across the ground. The executioner staggered slightly, but didn’t let her go. MC didn’t have the time to appreciate the awestruck horror on Rookwood’s face as the second bolt of lightning struck, this time taking out the executioner. MC felt the sizzle of the blast on her flesh, her ears ringing from the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Pain bloomed down her side as she rolled, but she got to her knees, gnashing her teeth against the burn as she scrambled to snatch up her wand. 

Bolt after bolt of searing blue lightning struck the earth, scorching the ground and filling the air with the scent of burning. The executioner lay still, the flesh of his face steaming, and MC gagged as she threw herself at Sebastian. He wasn’t moving, and terror filled her as the air crackled and burned around them. She shook him, grasping his face with one hand. The ringing sound in her ears blocking out the screams of Anne and Luella as they resorted to cat fighting in the dust. 

Sebastian’s eyes opened to look up at her, hazy and unfocused, but he reached out a shaking hand towards her face. It was enough. He was alive, and he was her only priority. Grasping him to her chest, MC closed her eyes, fighting against her exhaustion as she Disapparated, leaving the chaos of the clearing behind. 

Leander

After managing a light breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, Leander sat propped up against the pillows of his hospital bed as he sipped a cup of tea. He had watched the dawn break through the window, the sky lightening with shades of pink and autumn gold against a backdrop of the London skyline. The pain in his head had receded to a dull ache that had almost gone, his ribs were still tender but well on the mend. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how lucky he was to be alive. 

Ivy had filled him in on the events of their capture and escape, her eyes burning with curiosity whenever she mentioned MC. Leander kept his feelings to himself, unwilling to reveal just how close he had become to MC despite the Auror’s offer of help. So caught up in the knowledge that MC had risked everything to save him, Leander had taken a while to find sleep after Ivy had departed. Loving MC was a complicated and painful process, each step forward resulting in a stumble back, only to be yanked forwards again. She may insist that they could never have a future, but something deep in his bones told him that she felt something for him. He kept that little flicker of warmth safely tucked away in his heart, nurtured it, savoured it. Even if it came to nothing, maybe it could be enough just to know that she had dared to feel something for a man like him. 

Daydreaming into his tea cup, he jolted when his hospital room door opened and a nurse swept in, her pale green robe swishing softly as she approached the bed. She had black hair with strands of grey threading near her ears, pale blue eyes that seemed to appraise him with a calm curiosity. A new face, seemingly kind and warm as she paused beside him. 

“Good morning, Auror Prewett,” she said, her smile quick and bright. He couldn’t help but stare at her. There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of her eyes. “How are you feeling today? I read your notes. You took quite a beating by all accounts.” 

“I’m feeling much better this morning, thank you. I count myself very lucky indeed. They weren’t kidding when they said that designated Auror beds were a necessity,” he said, placing his tea cup carefully onto the saucer. A crease appeared on his brow. “Have we met before?” 

Her smile was there and then gone again, like the flicker of sunlight on a cloudy day. “No, we haven’t met before,” she said, gesturing towards his arm and holding up her stethoscope. “May I?” 

“Oh, of course,” he said, giving himself a mental shake. He had been staring, and a hot blush stained his cheeks as he placed his tea on his bedside table and offered her his arm. Her hands were warm and gentle as she rolled up the sleeve of his hospital gown, and with a quick flick of her wand, he felt the tightening band of pressure about his upper arm. She placed the stethoscope against the inside of his elbow and checked a little watch pinned to her robe. 

Leander felt himself staring at her profile again, noting the gentle slope of her nose, the constellation of beauty marks near her ear. There was a captivating beauty about her that pulled strongly with recognition. He felt like he knew her in some way.

Her pale blue eyes shifted his way, and her mouth curved upwards. “Your heart is beating rather quickly, Auror Prewett, and I can feel your eyes staring right into my soul” she said softly. “It’s nice to know I can still turn a head.” 

His face burned with shame. He slapped a hand to his forehead. “I’m so sorry. Please…gods, forgive me,” he spluttered, cringing at himself. “I didn't mean to stare, it’s just…well, you remind me of someone. Someone special.” 

Her eyebrows lifted and she released the pressure on his arm, rolling down his sleeve with deft fingers. “The young lady in your life?” She asked. 

He nodded, and then frowned, looking back up at her questioningly. She smiled again, fussing with his bed sheets, smoothing them neatly. “I was here through the night,” she said. “I saw two young ladies visit your room. One of them was your colleague, and she did not fall asleep holding your hand, unlike the other one. That one is very pretty up close, nothing like the unflattering prisoner photograph printed in the Daily Prophet of her, for sure.” 

Leander shifted in the bed, rubbing the back of his neck, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. “You recognised her?” 

The nurse paused in her work and gave him a piercing look. “You won’t receive any judgement from me, Auror Prewett. We are all human after all.” She moved back up towards the head of the bed and checked his pillows, her hand firm as she placed it on his shoulder to settle him back against the plush softness. 

“You called her someone special,” she said, furtively glancing at him. “I get the feeling that she thinks rather highly of you, too. She cried at your bedside before falling asleep.” 

Leander felt his pulse quicken, his senses kicking up a notch as he studied this nurse a little more closely. He tucked that little nugget of information away to savour over later, for now, his Auror trained mind was edging towards suspicion. “Who are you?” 

“Call me… Beth,” she said, a curious little smile on her lips as she moved away from the bed. 

Her hesitation was enough to suggest that the name had been plucked from the air. He leant forward slightly, concern etched on his features. “You’re lying. Why are you asking about MC? Did Rookwood send you?” 

Panic flared in his chest and he gripped the bed sheets, preparing to launch himself from the bed. She hurried forward and placed her hands on his shoulders, her pale blue eyes wide. “Do not fret,” she said quickly and quietly, glancing over her shoulder towards the door much like MC had done when she had been here. “I mean no ill will, nor do I wish any harm upon your young lady. I’d rather die than be a soldier for Rookwood. He is a stain on the earth.” 

“Then, who are you really?” He demanded. 

Something in her gaze softened as she stared back at him. “You are a good man, Auror Prewett. I’ve done my research on you. An honourable man, and I give you my thanks. You take care of her. She is safe with you.” 

Leander could only stare, his lips parted. The pieces to the puzzle were floating within his grasp, he just needed to slot them into place. Her smile was warm as she stepped back from the bed. She nodded at him. He had known as soon as she walked through the door, hadn’t he? It just took some time for his brain to catch up with itself.

Her eyes, her smile, the black hair… She even had beauty marks on her face like Ominis.

“Wait,” he called out, gripping the sheets again. 

Her hand was on the door, opening it. She turned back once, their eyes meeting in a strange, but final understanding, and then she was gone. Goosebumps spread swiftly along his arms as he stared at the now closed door. He felt like he had seen a ghost, but that nurse had been no ghost. 

Beth.

Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth Gaunt. 

He had just been visited by MC’s birth mother. She was definitely alive. And she knew about MC, she had been watching them both, and he had just let her walk out of the door. 

Sebastian 

The warmth of the bath water seemed to envelope him, soothing over skin that felt raw and sensitive as though he had the flu. His hands still had a tremor, but the worst of the shaking seemed to be over. Sebastian winced as he leant back in the cast iron tub, trying to allow himself to relax, but fear held his insides in an icy vice. 

Rookwood had Anne. If they were all still alive that is.

A shudder rattled through him as he recalled the horror of every moment laying in the dirt whilst pain ripped through him, but his fear for Anne had been greater. To see her twisted with the same pain had torn him in two. Closing his eyes, he could hear her screams, the whole sky alight with blue fire, the same fierce glow burning in MC’s eyes. Blinking away tears, he pressed his hands to his face and took a few steadying breaths, panic beginning to swell in his chest. He hated feeling this weak, this powerless, but he would take all the pain he had to if it meant keeping it from Anne.

He stared at the unfamiliar walls of the bathroom, the dark wood panelling and cast iron fireplace where a crackling fire blazed for warmth. Pale sunlight streamed through a window catching the dust in delicate sparkles as they danced in the air. This house was aged and unused, bought with old money. Gaunt money.

He could hear the muffled sound of voices from the other room, Ominis and MC, still bickering, still unable to come to any sort of agreement. When MC had brought him to Ominis and Anne’s house, the fallout had been on a scale Sebastian had not seen since the day of the catacombs. Ominis went from being anxious about Anne’s whereabouts, to downright livid with rage when he discovered what had happened. Sebastian felt certain he had blacked out through some of it, the uncontrollable shaking and the unbearable pain stealing all rational thought from him. When he had come around again, they were no longer in Anne’s kitchen, but miles away amid the peat marshes of Norfolk, safely away from prying eyes in Noctua Gaunt’s riverside house. 

Weak, and exhausted, Sebastian had slumped on the settee as potions were poured into his mouth, MC’s hands carefully smoothing back his hair with worried glances. Ominis had paced, muttering and pressing his hands to his ears, reliving old horrors as MC recounted the torture. It seemed the darkness would never recede, it would always be there waiting in the wings to claim them, and for the first time, Sebastian felt a deep and true sense of guilt and shame. For so long he had walked the darker path, shrugging off the consequences of his actions, but to feel that pain, to experience first hand the true horror…

Sinking lower into the bath water, he let the burn in his eyes succumb to tears until his shoulders shook with his sobs. How much more of this could they take? How much more could he take? The weight of it all crushed over him, dragging him under until he felt like he would never breathe clear again. 

But, he still had to fight. He had to keep the game in play. Now, more than ever. He had to get his sister back. 

The click of the bathroom door made him look up. MC peered around the dark wood, her face pale and drawn, her eyes dark. “I just thought I would check on you,” she said softly. “Are you alright?” 

He didn’t think he would ever feel alright ever again. “I’m feeling better,” he nodded, managing a weak smile. 

Her teeth worried at her lower lip as she studied him. “Ominis left for the Ministry. He is going to report Anne as missing,” she said, still lingering behind the door. “Harrington is going to be all over this. I should contact Leander, too.” 

“If it means they get Anne back home, then maybe that’s a good thing,” he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I just said that.” 

MC pushed the door a little wider. “May I come in?” 

Sebastian reached a dripping wet arm out of the tub towards her, his fingers splayed outwards. “Come here,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. 

Closing the door behind her, she moved carefully across the floorboards, putting a hand to her side as knelt beside the tub, taking hold of his hand. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, frowning in concern. 

She waved him off. “I’m fine, don’t you worry,” she insisted, pressing her lips to his palm, over and over. “You’re cold,” she grimaced. She reached to dip her hand into the water, her eyebrows lifting in surprise at the heat of it. 

His smile was grim. “Must be that cold blood of mine,” he said darkly. 

She met his gaze. “You are definitely not cold blooded,” she whispered. “Too hot blooded for your own good sometimes, if anything.” 

He watched her through lowered lids as her gaze dipped to his chest, travelling slowly downwards where he lay back in the water. He made no moves to cover his modesty, watching with curiosity as a flush of pink coloured her cheeks. She cleared her throat, blinking rapidly as she averted her eyes, swiping back loose strands of hair. It put the beginnings of a fire curling in his belly to see that spark of desire in her eyes, to know that she still wanted him, even if she did try to hide it.

She had bathed and changed, too. Wearing a blouse of snowy white, it contrasted with the midnight ebony of her hair. There were dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes, her cheekbones still looked too sharp, and tension lingered around her mouth, but she was beautiful still. His heart ached for her in ways he could never explain but he didn’t move as her fingers stroked his hand. She slid them slowly over his skin, tracing over his wrist and along his forearm until she came to the tally of black marks he had cast onto his flesh. Her fingertip brushed over them as she frowned. “What is this?” 

“A mark for every soul departed by my own hands,” he admitted, swallowing thickly. She met his gaze, dark horror shadowing her face. “I don’t want to forget what I have done, MC. I carry the memory of them always, a reminder of my shame. It never gets any easier to carry the burden, and that’s how it should be.” 

“Oh, Seb,” she whispered, staring down at the black markers. Her horror turned to sadness, her eyes glassy and pained. 

“Don’t cry for me,” he said, touching a knuckle under her chin. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you, either. All those marks on my skin are a stark reminder of all the bad shit I’ve done, but I would do it all over again, every single one, if it means that you and Anne are safe. I love you both. I would do anything for you, anything at all, but that’s my choice. So, don’t cry for me.” 

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she said, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. A determined gleam lit her eyes and she leant against the edge of the tub. “Once upon a time, you and I used to do fucked up shit together. For whatever reason, fate put you and I on the same path. I think it was set in stone long before we were both even born, and even when events try to separate us, we find each other again.” 

The seriousness with which she spoke made his heart clench, his pulse kicking up and fluttering in his neck, but he tilted his head and fixed her with one of his mischievous little smirks. “Careful, now, sweetheart,” he teased, trying to keep things light. “That sounds awfully romantic. Are you going soft on me?” 

“Someone is feeling better,” she said sourly, her brow creasing slightly. 

A hoarse chuckle left his lips and he tugged on her hand, needing her to be even closer. The bath water sloshed as he brought his other hand up to touch her jaw, his humour fading into raw honesty. “I always feel better when I’m with you,” he said. “Like you just said. Fate brought you to me, and I’m not letting you go without one hell of a fight. Rookwood was right about one thing. I did find something beautiful and precious, and if I’m selfish for trying to keep it, then so be it.” 

He sat up, the water sloshing noisily as he met her gaze nose to nose. “You’re mine. Body and soul. Bound by blood, bound by darkness, bound by the souls we have sent into Death’s hands to keep each other safe. I know it’s fucked up, MC, but it’s ours. I’d rather face all of this with you beside me than alone. You are the only one in the whole world who understands.” 

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “That’s why I’m going back,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’m going back to Rookwood, and I’m going to find Anne. Not for her sake, but for yours, and for Ominis.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He frowned, apprehension stiffening his already tortured muscles. “Give me a few hours and I can go back myself.” 

“No,” she said firmly, placing her hand against his wet chest. “You need proper rest after what happened back there, and I don’t want you anywhere near Rookwood right now. I’ll go. Anne may hate me, but she won’t have a choice. She knows something, Seb, and I want to get it out of her.” 

He gave her a dubious look. “Good luck with that, Anne is more stubborn than I am.” 

“And that is saying something,” she smirked, her fingers gently digging into the solid flesh of his chest. His skin tingled harshly in protest, still raw, but he bore it. Anything to keep her hands on him. 

“You’re lucky I’m still weak and shaky, sweetheart,” he said, curling his fingers into the front of her blouse, his blood heating in slow, flickering pulses. He pulled her closer, his mouth barely grazing hers. He heard her soft gasp and smirked. “Keep sassing me with that smart mouth of yours, and I’ll be dragging you into this tub with me. I’m certain I could find another use for it.” 

He waited for the bite back, a smart comment, maybe she would shove him back down into the bath with one of her stubborn little looks, but she didn’t. Her hand slid slowly down his chest, fingers splayed, blistering heat following in a lazy trail as she dragged her fingernails gently across his stomach. His muscles contracted, pleasure and lingering pain sparking like tiny bites in his flesh, drawing a whimper from his mouth. Her pupils dilated, and he was entranced, caught in her gaze. Utterly in her hands. 

“In your state, I don’t think you could handle me,” she murmured, the low tone of her voice sending a shiver down his spine. 

“I’d happily die trying,” he gasped, his words more a desperate moan as her hand slid lower, fingers teasing at the edge of dark, curling hair. His dick twitched eagerly, hot blood rushing to swell him with an aching throb, the wet, silken tip grazing against her forearm. His eyes rolled, lips parted in a stuttering breath of sheer, teasing pleasure. Her mouth was a hot sin, her tongue so soft as she slid it over his lip. For a few blissful seconds he thought he might forget the pain as she kissed him, losing himself in her taste as desire blazed against the lingering ache in his muscles.

He trembled, one hand grasping the rolled edge of the iron tub as she reached for the bar of soap, and he watched with bated breath as she lathered it up in her hands before slowly spreading it downwards over his torso, the frothy bubbles swirling through the trail of dark hair around his navel and lower. He groaned and lay back in the water, biting his lip as the blend of pleasure and pain her touch conjured sung across his skin. 

“Am I hurting you?” She asked, her hands pausing at the apex of his thighs. 

“No…yes,” he whimpered, a crease appearing on his now sweat beaded brow. Desperation had him breathless. “Don’t stop.” 

Her slow smile did things to his insides, made him quiver with anticipation as her hands encircled his length, slippery and soapy as they glided up to the tip and all the way back down again. He didn’t even recognise the sound of the moan that left his own mouth, his pelvis lifting upwards from the base of the tub to chase the exquisite sensation of her touch. His head lolled against the tub edge, all rational thought eradicated as she worked with deliberate, slow strokes. 

“Good?” She murmured, watching him with dark eyes, a delicate pink flush highlighting her cheekbones. 

“So…so good,” he rasped, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the tub. 

Heat was pooling thick and fast at the base of his spine, every muscle and sinew strung to their tightest point as tremors of flickering pain lingered in his limbs. He would have thought that the effects of the curse would have killed his desire, but no, he wallowed in the tub as pleasure and pain blended into one mind blowing sensation. He never knew how delicate the balance could be between two very different sensations, but put them together, and he was dangerously close to climax after a few delicious strokes. Of course, it helped that it was MC’s deadly little hands doing the fucking. 

She picked up her pace, two hands fisting with just enough pressure over the head of his dick to have him bucking greedily, chasing the blistering peak with desperate, breathless moans. It took all of his remaining strength to cling on to the edge of the tub, with one hand he moved to reach for her, needing to feel her, but gasping he clamped onto the tub once more as she slid one soapy hand lower to cup his aching balls. 

“Fuck,” he panted, staring up at the white washed ceiling now, sweat streaking down his neck, a vein throbbing at his temple. What was that he had said about dying happy as he tried to keep up? 

The pressure in his lower back expanded, waves of heat rolling outwards as his balls tightened. So violent was his release, he cried out, almost blacking out as he coated his chest and her arm in impressive amounts of cum. The bath water rolled in mini waves after the shuddering arch he had made with his back. Sinking back down to the bath base, he panted, trying to reassemble his scattered thoughts with his eyes closed. Exhausted wasn’t the word.

He heard MC washing her hands off in the water, felt the soft swipe of a wash cloth against his chest, but he remained still, lungs burning with every deep breath. Only when he felt gentle hands take hold of his face did he crack open his bleary eyes. She smiled at him. 

“There, that’s better. You feel much warmer now,” she said, smoothing a thumb over his heated cheeks. 

“I fucking love you,” he mumbled. 

She huffed in amusement through her nose and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I think I quite like this submissive, well behaved Sebastian. Can I keep him?” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he warned, but his words were no more than a soft mumble. He lifted a shaky hand and touched his fingertips to her lips. “Once I’m back on my feet, I’m going to put you on your back and repay the favour.” 

“I shall hold you to that,” she said, kissing him softly on the mouth. Then she stood, fetching a clean towel that hung on a rail. She held it up. “Let’s get you out of there and into bed. You need rest.” 

He wasn’t even sure he could stand. The day's events slammed into him, the post climax glow making his muscles feel loose and sated, but the horror of earlier still clung to him. A lurking darkness hung over his head, but a deep, glowing sense of warmth settled in his chest at her words. The promise of more. It was in her smile as he clung to her, his legs shaking as she helped him out of the tub. It was in the way she touched him, the softness in her voice as she towelled him off and pressed kisses to his flushed skin. She was finally coming back to him, and this time, he wouldn’t let her down. 

MC

Only when Sebastian was settled in sleep could she gently let go of his hand. She had tucked him into the freshly made four poster bed, ignoring his requests for her to climb in with him. They had compromised with her sitting beside him, their hands clasped as he began to drift. Staring down at his face relaxed in sleep, it struck her how vulnerable he seemed. So used to his cocky smirk and hands on approach, it gave her pause to see him weak and soft like this. 

It reminded her of those dark days after Solomon’s death when Anne had abandoned him, her heart contracting with pain to recall the nights spent wide awake in horrified tension in the Undercroft. So much pain and suffering seemed to find them both. 

She watched the delicate flutter of his closed eyelids, the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath the soft bed sheet. Alive. It struck her deeply how terrified she was of losing him forever. To use his own words, he was the only one who understood. To lose him would mean loneliness with cutting finality. 

When she had found him in the bathtub, his eyes red from crying, the urge to take his pain filled her with longing. If she probed that thought deeper, perhaps she could understand the lengths that Isadora had dared go to erase pain from others. MC didn’t think she could ever go as far as that, however, and when she had seen Sebastian naked in the water, her own body had fancied a rather different approach. It still gave her shivers to think of how he had moaned, her hands coaxing him to pleasure, pushing back his shadows and reinforcing that connection between them.

If he was indeed fated to be her undoing, then so be it. She was in too deep now, connected to him in ways inexplicable, but rooted so far into her soul that it seemed impossible to imagine her life without him in it. 

Is this what they call love? As a teen she had believed it so, but had never been entirely sure. She held a strong affection for Leander, cared about him, but it could never be like this. It brought a tear to her eye to contemplate such heavy thoughts, the web of emotions thick and binding in her chest. As she stared down at Sebastian in his sleep, she supposed she really must love him if she was preparing to go and seek out his stubborn, vicious mouthed sister. 

Slipping quietly from the bedroom and closing the door, she wandered the old house that had once belonged to Noctua Gaunt. Ominis had brought them here where nobody would think to look for them, allowing Sebastian to recover before they made any other moves. Considering his rage, Ominis had been rather gracious. As she awaited his return from the Ministry, not wanting to leave Sebastian alone, she began to pay more attention to the house around her. After all, Noctua had been her aunt, too. 

The furniture and decor held a charm of its own. The house was reasonable in size, and yet it felt like a home despite years of being empty. Cosy and welcoming, the house was nothing like she had thought to expect from a Gaunt, but then Noctua had broken the mould when it came to her family. The art was light and pleasing, seeming to favour themes of flora and landscapes. MC trailed her hands against fine curtains and plush cushions, her boots crossing delicately woven rugs. 

Opening a door, she came across a room lined with many bookcases, a leather settee placed before a cast iron fireplace. A bureau style writing desk was placed against one wall, above it hung a portrait of two dark haired girls and a stern faced boy. MC moved closer, noting the resemblance to Ominis in their faces. First, she stared at the boy, likely Ominis’ father. There was none of the gentle nature in his hard eyes that she had come to know about Ominis. The set of his mouth was cruel, even at a young age. She guessed Mr Gaunt to be around fourteen in the picture, his arrogance apparent in the way he placed his hand on the back of the chair where the smallest girl sat. 

The older of the two girls had to be Noctua. MC had seen a portrait of her before that Ominis had shown her not long after their visit to the Scriptorium. It was the smaller girl in the wing backed chair that made her pulse quicken, her throat working as she studied the delicate features of the raven haired girl, sitting so straight backed and yet demure as she posed. A proper lady at approximately eleven years old.

“Hello, mother,” MC whispered, seeing her own blue eyes reflected back at her in the painting. They had the same shaped nose, the same hair. She found herself longing to know how she moved, the sound of her voice. What would it feel like to hear her laugh? It brought a lump to her throat. 

Pressing her fingers to her cheeks, she could see with her own eyes the similarities in her features to those of the three Gaunt siblings. If Ominis had been able to see, would he have noticed long before just how much she looked like his relatives? It chilled her to think that his family would have seen her photograph in the newspaper. Would they realise? But then, she remembered what Ominis had told her. That he had always believed his Aunt Elizabeth’s daughter long dead. 

Pushing back against the burn of tears, MC turned her attention to the fine writing desk, smoothing her fingers over the lid before carefully pulling it down. It made no creak or groan as she lowered the writing table, everything inside neatly stored, the wood finely painted with floral designs on the drawers and pigeon holes. Quills and bottles of ink, neat stacks of correspondence and notes, envelopes and a wax seal with the Gaunt family crest were all stored here. MC picked through the various items, not really reading any of the private letters still kept, until her gaze fell upon one that gave her pause. 

Her fingers shook as she held the parchment, her mouth going dry as she sank down into the antique chair placed before the bureau. 

My dearest Noctua, 

I felt compelled to reply to your recent letter at once. I fear that I may already be too late, but if I am not, then please…you must do nothing. You know how Father is. He would cut you off, or worse, he would see you cold in the ground before you betray your blood. Do not fret for me, sister dearest. I made my choice. I could never regret my love for William, and I already adore the babe that grows within me. He, or she, will be the light of my life, and if I need to run in order to protect my child, then that is what I must do. William and I plan to marry at the first opportunity. We shall go to Gretna Green to become handfast. It will be the start of a new life for me, away from the dark corners of Gaunt manor, and the wickedness that pours from Father’s wand. 

I shall remain, as ever, your most loyal and loving sister. I implore you again to be careful, and I beg that you press a million kisses to baby Ominis’ cheeks. 

Love always, your sister, Beth x 

This glimpse into her mother’s world only threw up more questions. What happened? How did a woman so intent on her new start manage to disappear, and the light of her life ended up in an unforgiving children’s home in the poorest part of London? Where was her father now? This William her mother spoke so fondly of. And how did Solomon Sallow fit into all of this? 

MC read the letter again before returning it carefully to the collection of letters in the desk, thumbing through the rest to see if she could find any more. Tucked to the rear of the desk was a rolled parchment, a broken wax seal displaying a circular symbol she had never seen before. Unrolling it quickly, she scanned the inked words and the mystery deepened. 

It was addressed to Noctua, and it spoke of a matter discussed at a previous meeting, however the details were not mentioned here. The sender of the scroll was signed only as Head of the Circle, whoever that could be, and they claimed that Elizabeth was safe and well. MC studied the document, noting the neatly scribed words, the delicate designs drawn at the top along with the words ‘The Circle of Avalon.’ 

Sitting back in the chair, MC let her hands drop to her lap, her gaze staring off across the room as she considered this. She had heard Avalon before, and she dredged through her memories as she tried to remember where. Sebastian would likely know, but she was loath to wake him yet. He needed to recover his strength. As she pondered this Circle of Avalon, the nagging feeling that she needed to talk to Anne hung over her. It didn’t appeal, but that stubborn bitch knew something, and she was hiding it from both her and Sebastian. 

Turning to the desk, she pulled out her secret communication parchment that she shared with Leander and smoothed it out on the table top. Tapping her wand to it, a single sentence appeared in his neat script. 

We need to meet as soon as possible. Lee x 

Expecting this to be about Anne’s disappearance now being known, MC took up a quill to write her request for Andrew Larson to look up The Circle of Avalon in the Ministry files, and promised to meet with him soon to explain. There was something she needed to do first. 

….*….

Time slipped into late afternoon by the time Ominis arrived back at Noctua’s house, his face drawn into one of tight fatigue. MC had been standing out on the back terrace, looking out over the river as the sun began its descent. The sky was a glorious sweep of golds and pinks, the Norfolk landscape a flat marshland as far as the eye could see, broken only by the many windmills scattered here and there, and the odd late sail boat making its way through the broads. 

“You’re still here, then,” Ominis said, holding out his wand, the tip blinking red. He could not hide the downward turn of his mouth, his grimness understandable. “Where is Sebastian?” 

“Sleeping,” she replied, pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders as she moved to stand before him, wincing at the bruising to her ribs. “Now that you have returned, I thought to leave him in your care. I intend to return to Scotland and see if I can’t find where they are keeping Anne. How did it go at the Ministry? Did you speak with Harrington?” 

“Harrington has put out an alert about Anne’s disappearance. From what I can gather, Prewett will be released from St Mungo’s this evening. I’m sure they will want to speak with you,” he said, fidgeting slightly, rubbing long fingers against his forehead. “Perhaps I ought to warn you. I also spoke with my brother whilst I was in London. We don’t tend to stay in touch, and so the meeting was rather strained to begin with before I even mentioned Anne. He is a despicable human being, much like my father. However, Marvolo is in cahoots with Rookwood, and I want my wife back.” 

“What did he say?” MC felt a shiver start at the back of her neck. As curious as she felt about her blood family, she had hoped to avoid Marvolo as much as possible. 

“He claims he knew nothing about Anne being taken, and quite frankly he didn’t seem to care,” Ominis scowled, his mouth a tight line. “He seemed more interested in how Sebastian took his torture, and if you were compliant in Rookwood’s game play. My distress has always been a source of enjoyment for him, I can’t see how this will change anything.” 

MC placed a tentative hand to Ominis’ shoulder. He immediately tensed under her touch, but she kept her hand there. “I am sorry, Ominis, for whatever part I have played in this mess. But, I want to fix it. Anne may not like me, but she means a lot to you and Sebastian, and you both mean a lot to me.” 

“You will do the evil that Rookwood asks of you?” He asked, tilting his head, his pale eyes luminous in the light of the setting sun. 

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” she said, letting her hand slide from his shoulder. “I can’t promise there won’t be anything dangerous about this, but it is the path we find ourselves on. Just make sure Sebastian stays here. He needs to rest, and I don’t want him anywhere near Rookwood until I know the state of things. I’m not having his death on my conscience.” 

“Nobody should have any deaths on their conscience,” he said bitterly. 

“In a perfect world, perhaps, Ominis,” she said sadly. “I shall take my leave, then.” 

Her boots scraped against the stone flagging underfoot as she took a step back. Ominis reached out a hand and grasped her sleeve, his fingers clenched tight. “Be careful. Come back to us.” 

The expression on his face brought a lump to her throat. “I promise,” she whispered. 

Slowly, he let her go, his shoulders seeming to carry a heavy weight. With a last glance back at the house, MC Disapparated out to the cluster of trees near the Ashwinder camp. 

The shadows were long and creeping as she stepped through the carpet of leaves, wand in hand. It was quiet. Too quiet. A chill wind rustled the canopy above, and she pulled her cloak closer as she peered around the trunk of a tree, a sinking sensation made her stomach clench. The camp had gone. The clearing ahead had been filled with pitched tents and cook fires, chatter and even some singing filling the air, but now, it was barren. Evidence of stamped out fires and flattened wild grass where tents had stood were all that was left. The Ashwinders had moved on and she had no idea where. 

Slumping against the tree she considered travelling to London and paying a visit to the Black Rose. Someone there would be able to tell her the new camp location, but that would risk word getting back to Rookwood that she was looking, and she had been rather hoping for subtlety. Perhaps that was Rookwood’s plan. Frustrated at being stumped at the first instance, MC sighed and rubbed her face. She would have to go back to Norfolk and ask Sebastian if he had a clue how to find them. 

A twig snapped to the left of her and she spun, wand out, but couldn’t see anyone in the rapidly descending darkness. On full alert now, her pulse quickening in her ears, she stared wide eyed into the trees. It could be an animal she supposed, but the hairs had lifted on the back of her neck. She didn’t feel alone. 

The flickering beam of a spell shot through the shadows, catching her off guard. Jumping to one side, she yelped as the sensation of coiling rope wrapped around her calf, slithering easily to bind both of her legs together. Losing balance, she thumped down into the bed of leaves with a cry of pain as she crushed her already sore ribs. Gasping against the winded feeling, she wriggled into a sitting position to aim at the binding curse with her own wand and release it. Strong hands grasped her shoulders, dragging her back to the ground and pinning her there, face down. Her spell scorched through the crispy leaves, missing its mark.

“Well, would you look at that? I’ve only gone and caught myself a cute little bunny in the woods.” 

MC twisted her head to try and see who it was, the voice vaguely familiar, furiously trying to buck against the hands holding her down. “I wouldn’t get too cocky,” she grunted. “This isn’t over yet.” 

He laughed, leaning down until she could feel his breath against her cheek. His cologne was fresh, citrus scented, and his fingers massaged into her muscles. “I love a feisty bunny,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “We have to stop meeting like this, chosen one. Why are you always lurking in dark places? Oh yes, one should always expect that you are up to mischief. That was what you said, wasn’t it?” 

Her breath left her in a gasp, leaves fluttering at her nose. “Rosier?” She squeaked. 

“We meet again, MC,” he chuckled, rolling her onto her back. 

Leaves were caught in her hair and there was a fresh smudge of dirt on her cheek, but her eyes flashed indignantly as she stared up at his handsome face whilst he knelt over her. Even in the deepening twilight you could see the fine cut of his jaw and charming smile, his dark blonde hair swept romantically to one side. Her hands clenched. She hated being taken at a disadvantage, and had the urge to slap his smug face. 

“Release your spell,” she demanded through gritted teeth. 

His smile widened. “You’re lucky you Apparated into my surveillance patch, love. Otherwise you would be dealing with a lot worse than a little binding hex.” 

“What do you mean?” She frowned. 

He bent closer. “Rookwood expected you to come back, so he set watchmen to wait for you,” he said. He tilted his head, his eyes curious. “I’m surprised to see you alone, though. Where’s Seb?” 

“After what he went through? You seriously expect him to be up and about already?” 

Rosier’s face fell, no longer cocky, but serious. “He’s hurt?” 

MC studied him, unsure if he was bluffing. “Rookwood didn’t brag about his little torture show?” 

“No, he did not,” Rosier said tightly. His hands let go of her shoulders as he shook his head in annoyance. “Rookwood didn’t say an awful lot, to tell the truth. Is Seb alright?” 

Perhaps Rosier’s concern was genuine, but MC didn’t have time to debate it out. Whilst he was distracted thinking about Sebastian, she sat up, using her momentum to slam into him and take him by surprise. He grunted and lost his balance, falling sideways into the leaves. Her legs were still bound, but she threw her weight on top of him, aiming down at the ropes, and cast quickly. The ropes disintegrated, and as he grabbed her by the arms, she fought back, swinging her leg over until she could straddle his chest. She pressed a hand to his throat making him choke, forcing him to still, her wand tip pressed into his cheek. 

She smirked down at his surprised face. “I told you not to get too cocky.” 

His eyes gleamed as he smiled. “Nice moves. Sallow’s girl through and through, ain’t you, love?” He said, his throat bobbing under her palm. His gaze swept down over her, his eyebrows lifting up playfully. “This is quite the view, though. Can’t say I’m complaining.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she pressed the tip of her wand deeper into his cheek. “Keep it in your pants, Prince Charming,” she warned. “Look all you want, but keep your hands to yourself.” 

He groaned and bit his lip. “Merlin’s balls, you’re turning me on, love. Didn’t I tell you?  I love a feisty bunny.” 

She gaped at him and he laughed, his hands wrapping snugly around her wrists. “Relax, love. I’m messing with you. Seb would have my bollocks on a platter if I so much as laid one finger on you. He ain’t the revealing type, likes to play his cards close to his chest, but he has got it bad for you. I can tell.” 

She looked pointedly at his hands around her wrists. “You’ve laid more than a few fingers on me so far. A little daring for one who seems overly confident about his dick appeal. Maybe I should platter you up right now, hmm? I don’t need Seb’s help for that.” 

A delighted bark of laughter escaped him. “Oh, you are delicious. There will be no need for that, though. What can I say? I love a good game of flirting, and you are far too lovely to pass up on the opportunity for a spot of banter.” 

“You call tackling women to the ground flirting?” She wrinkled her nose in disapproval. 

“I couldn’t risk you disappearing on me now, could I?” He said, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got that all powerful ancient magic thing in your favour. I had to give myself at least a little fighting chance.” 

She eyed him carefully. “So, what’s the plan? Are you to take me to Rookwood now that you have caught me?” 

“That is what he wanted,” Rosier said, attempting to ease her hand from his throat. “Care to do a man a favour, and come quietly?”

She gave his throat a gentle squeeze. “What if I won’t go willingly? I’m not too impressed with his performance earlier this morning. He made me watch as he tortured Sebastian and his sister in the dirt. Rookwood can go fuck himself. What do you say to that?” 

Rosier was quiet for a moment, considering her words. “Sebastian’s sister?” 

“Yes, his twin. Anne,” MC nodded. She frowned as a look of stunned realisation swept over his face. “You do know about her, right?” 

“Anne is Sebastian’s twin? I had no bloody idea!” He exclaimed. “Seb never really spoke much about his family. He always got cagey whenever the subject came up. When Rookwood mentioned this girl, Anne, I had no idea of the connection.” 

“What did Rookwood say about her? Do you know where she is?” 

She felt him swallow under her hand, his eyes wary as he spoke. “What makes you think I would know that?” 

“Sebastian will start ripping heads from necks if Rookwood has done anything to hurt his sister,” she said. 

He nodded awkwardly, still holding her wrists. “I can quite imagine it.”

“You and Sebastian seemed friendly enough. You shared a tent after all. Is there any honour amongst thieves?” She asked, shifting her weight on him. 

His eyes narrowed. “What are you asking me?” 

“I’m not going to let you drag me before Rookwood. There has been enough of that for one day,” she said bitterly. “I want to know how loyal you are to him. You may be buddies with Sebastian, but I don’t know if I can trust you.” 

“How about I prove my worth to you?” 

“I’m listening,” she said, tense and ready, her wand still pressed to his cheek. 

He cleared his throat and she eased her grip a little. “I know where Anne is. But, if you think you’re going to just waltz in and get her out, you’re mistaken. Luella is the keeper of the charm holding the house, and like I’ve warned you before, she isn’t a bitch you want to cross.” 

Hatred made MC’s skin crawl as she thought about Rookwood’s entitled bitch of a daughter. “I’ve come face to face with a few bitches in my time, Rosier. Luella Rookwood made her first mistake thinking she could put her hands on Sebastian. She picked a fight with the wrong woman when she pissed me off.” 

Rosier flinched back, letting go of her wrists as he stared up at her. “What the fuck is that in your eyes? They are glowing blue.” 

Her smile was slow as she dragged the tip of her wand down his face. “A reminder not to fuck with me,” she warned. “I still don’t trust you. Ashwinders are aptly named. Slithering snakes born out of chaos, spreading your flames until you’re all burnt out.” 

“You’ve made your point,” he said, swallowing hard. “Let me up, and I’ll take you to where Anne is being held. There isn’t a lot of honour amongst thieves, but Seb has always had my back and I’ve always had his. You can trust me on that.” 

“Time will tell, I guess,” she said, releasing her hold. Keeping her wand at the ready, she got to her feet, hesitating for a moment before holding out her hand towards him. “If this is some kind of trick, don’t think I won’t hurt you. I didn’t get sent to Azkaban for making daisy chains.” 

He eyed her hand, and then smiled as he took hold of it, allowing her to haul him up. He got to his feet, brushing loose leaves from his coat. “I’m only a fool when it comes to bedding pretty women. When it comes to survival, I know which side of my bread is buttered, love.” 

Now that he was back on his feet, his face held that ridiculously charming smile. She figured that smile could be dangerous to the unsuspecting victim. He made you want to smile back, the smoothness of his voice a clever ploy to lure you in. 

“So, where are we going?” She asked, expecting it to be somewhere like Rookwood’s old family estate, or maybe even somewhere in London. 

“Hogsmeade,” Rosier said, holding out his arm like a fine gentleman escorting his lady. “Shall we?” 

He returned her look of surprise with another disarming smile. She hoped to gods she didn’t regret this, but slipped her arm through his under the shifting shadows of the trees, that gut twisting tug behind her navel making her gag as they vanished. They landed on the windswept, craggy hill above Hogsmeade, the tall pointy roofs of the village spread out below them under a shroud of misty rain. The lights appeared like yellow, hazy glows, and in the distance stood the huge, hulking mass of Hogwarts. A magical, slumbering giant under low, heavy clouds. 

Rosier held a finger to lips and pointed to an abandoned building clinging to the edge of the rocky hillside, the flickering light of a candle dancing in a low level window. MC creased her brow in memory. She had been here before, a long time ago. Rosier took out his wand and cast the Disillusionment charm, his form vanishing in the misty rain. MC swiped at the dampness gathering on her cheek and did the same, apprehension settling in her chest. 

A hand sought out hers, warm fingers clasping firmly, but gently. “Follow me,” Rosier whispered. 

To be continued...

Tagging: @eternalremorse @slytherin-paramour @writing-intheundercroft @evaslytherpuff @loving-him-was-red13 @sevprince-91 @lucy-withthediamonds-inthesky

[abby118]

Loki Ask: do you have any headcanons about jotunheim?

Ooh many! Most of them are directly associated with my fic (which would be the case with a lot of the questions from this list) but I suppose there are some that don't need that context, especially when it comes to the war. "Once, mankind accepted a simple truth; that they were not alone in this universe. Some worlds, man believed to be home to their gods, others, they knew to fear."

I think, both the Jotuns and the Aesir are roughly the same age race-wise with maybe the Jotuns being slightly older. I think each of these races had the ultimate goal of becoming the one ruling over Yggdrasil. The key factor in that was, that they had a different approach of achieving that.

While Asgard wanted to paint this picture of being the protector and the saviour to which the realms would look up to as their trusted and respected superiors (which ultimately worked), Jotunheim aimed to rule with an iron fist, with their tactics being rushed and more violent as a result of that. They wanted to base their rule on fear-induced respect and weren't as patient (or subtle) which contributed to their fall. It stems from their nature and helped the Aesir by giving them the opportunity to prove themselves as the protectors where they saved, in this case, Midgard from Jotunheim's attack when that wasn't the sole reason why they arrived. (But of course, Midgard lacked the broader context. They were thankful that somebody came to their defence in the first place.)

I think, both Asgard and Jotunheim's rulers were very aware of one another and that carried itself over through the generation until it escalated into the Asgard-Jotunheim war that took place during Odin's rule. This is why I think it was a little bit more personal than the other wars. Asgard takes pride in victory and in battle which manifests into their warrior society and so, just like Thor and Loki, Odin must have grown up with similar stories. This war finally solidified the already somewhat well-established position Asgard had created for itself by earning them Midgard's trust and worship and by bringing one of their last enemies, Jotunheim, to its knees.

I believe Jotunheim used to prosper before these wars and before they initiated their attempts of conquest but fell apart completely after the Casket was taken from them. I believe, this downfall started even before Laufey ascended and that's part of the reason why he seemed as power-driven as he did. His tactic was not thought out at all and he took way too many risks out of desperation to not only save his realm and kingdom but to win his people more than they already had. I think this resulted in riots in the realm and therefore deaths of many of its inhabitants. Despite the treaty, they were cut off from the rest of the alliance and probably saw their king as a coward apart from a selected group surrouding the palace, or better said, its ruins.

I think you can see this in the way in which Odin handled finding Loki. His decision was based on political action that would come to fruition in the distant future. If the roles had been reversed, Laufey would have killed Odin's son without mercy or judgement of the consequences that it would bring. Another example would be when he immediately ordered Loki to be killed upon his arrival. Initially, he was not interested in finding out what was the reason behind his visit and he was too quick to agree with Loki's offer and travel to Asgard (as the realm's king, meaning putting its future at a major risk).

----the ask game----

3,5, 23, 24, 4

[kathleenkatmary]

My Top 30 Movies of 2024 (as of 12/31/24)

Disclaimer: This is by no means my 'completed' list. There are still a lot of movie I want to see that I won't have access to for awhile yet. I don't usually 'close out' - though I never really 'close out' my yearly lists - until around Oscar time. But I always like to take stock of what my list looks like at the actual end of the year. So here that is. I'll have more complete version around the end of February/beginning of March. Also, I tend to do go by non-festival domestic (US) release dates to determine the year of a movie's release, roughly going by Academy Awards eligibility. But I am kind of loose with that if a movie becomes widely available, even if only on the high seas, before it gets a non-festival US release.

30. A Different Man

A Different Man is the year's most effective exploration of identity and loneliness. It's hardly the first story or movie to look at the idea that changing the physical things that you don't like about yourself won't necessarily make you feel less lonely or more equipped to connect with other people, but it does it in such an interesting way. It's equal parts sad and anxiety inducing.

29. Blood for Dust

This is definitely one of the most underrated movies of the year. It seems that the perception of this is that it's just another low-grade suspense/thriller, but it's actually a really dark look at what modern poverty looks like for so many people, the desperate state the broken system we live in leaves people in, and the lengths people are willing to go to in an attempt to escape it. Every moment is infused with a feeling of dread, but even then it's so easy to relate to Scoot McNairy's character and his choices because of the situation he's in.

28. Civil War

I wouldn't say that Civil War is an apolitical movie, but it's completely uninterested in the one side versus the other side politics that led to the titular war. Instead, it explores the politics of journalism during such a time, the role journalism plays in such a world, and what existing in that line of work does to a person. Through a character like Kirsten Dunst's Lee it shows war as a fact of every day life, and it looks at the United States would look like in that kind of situation.

27. Caddo Lake

Caddo Lake is probably the biggest surprise of the year for me. I went into it knowing pretty much nothing, and what I got was a deeply melancholy time travel tale that used it's sci-fi storyline to dig into ideas of how we're tied to the generations of our family that came before us and how those connections and the things that happened to the people who came before us echo through the generations and continue to impact us. It's such an incredibly effective use of time travel to tell a very human story.

26. The Substance

I doubt I have much to say about The Substance that others haven't already said. Is it subtle? Of course not, but I don't think it needs to be. The over the top atmosphere and slightly bizarro world it sets up feels like the perfect fit for the story it's telling. It's not saying anything that plenty of other pieces of media haven't said, but I do think it captures that feeling of living in a femme body in this culture better than most other movies of this type.

25. Alien: Romulus

I've been a fan of the Alien franchise since I was a kid in the 90s, but it's been in a weird place for a long time. Alien: Romulus feels like a return to form, prioritizing the horror over the sci-fi much of the time and not getting to bogged down with lore and backstory. Most of the characters do feel kind of like stock characters, but the movie does a good job of giving them all solid motivation for their actions and behaviors. And Cailee Spaeny and David Jonsson give such great performances, providing the movie with its emotional core.

24. Wicked Little Letters

Wicked Little Letters is a fun movie that unapologetically places women of all kinds at its center. Yes, it's a movie about a feud between two women, but at its core its a movie about the way society pits women against each other, and how we'll always be stronger together. It's also got one of the best ensemble casts of the year, lots of women with amazing chemistry and perfect comic timing.

23. Between the Temples

Definitely the most anxiety inducing moviegoing experience of the year. But it's also one of the sweetest. It's another exploration of loneliness - a theme that's been popular and will probably continue to be - but this one is quite hopeful about finding connection in unexpected places. At its heart it's a love story, but not in the traditional way.

22. Nosferatu

The 1922 original is one of my all time favorite movies, so I was both excited for and a bit skeptical about Robert Eggers's remake. While I don't think it ever reaches the heights of FW Murnau's original or Werner Herzog's version from the 1970s, and while some of the performances could be better in spots, Eggers has such a feel for the dark atmosphere of the story and such an interesting take on the titular vampire. And I think he went in a really interesting route by putting the ideas of grooming and sexual assault that are just sort of naturally an aspect of this story at the forefront.

21. Witches

Looking at the witch hunts and trials of the 1500s and 1600s in Europe and North America through the lens of mental illness isn't really anything new, but the documentary Witches looks at it through a very specific lens: that of post partum depression and psychosis, the continued lack of systemic and cultural support for people suffering from such things, and the way cultural expectations of gender norms surrounding motherhood put people in a position of feeling isolated and even unsafe in seeking help. It's a fascinating way to look at witch hunts, but more than anything it's a deeply personal and cathartic look at experiencing post natal mental health crises in our current world.

20. La Chimera

La Chimera is the most magical feeling movie of 2024, while still feeling very firmly set in the real world. I love that, because it allows for that feeling of magic in our ordinary world. The Italian setting now doubt contributes to that feeling, and the way it's filmed is full of so much whimsy and freedom of spirit that it only enhances the mystical, magical tone that encompasses the story.

19. His Three Daughters

One of 2024's great films about grief. But it's not just about grief. It's about that uniquely agonizing experience of waiting for someone to die, of grieving before the death has actually happened, of being unable to escape that feeling of just wanting it to happen already so that you can get back to your life and all of the guilt that comes with that. Take all that an mix in the complex relationships and rifts between the three sisters at the film's center, and His Three Daughters is one of the best explorations of family dynamics and the impact that a major death can have on them in years.

18. Things Will Be Different

I knew almost nothing about Things Will Be Different going into it, and was very pleasantly surprised to find a quiet little sci-fi story that inserts its genre elements in really clever ways that allow for the low budget. It uses time travel to explore that feeling of the way we can sometimes commit the same mistakes with the people we love over and over and over even when we try to do thing differently, and it ends up packing in incredible emotional punch as a result.

17. I Used to Be Funny

From what I've seen, most of the very few movies out there that focus on the aftermath of sexual assault are very revenge-based. So it's nice to see something like I Used to Be Funny, which has no interest in ideas of revenge and is far more interested in really exploring the long term impacts such a thing can have on a person, on their ability to live life day to day, their relationships, the things they can't get back and the things they can. It's refreshing to see a movie like this that, for the most part, is pretty uninterested in the perpetrator himself, focusing more on the trauma they caused to the people around them, and the way those people find their way to healing.

16. The Last Stop in Yuma County

This is probably the most tense I was watching a 2024 movie (so far, anyway). From pretty much the very start, the tension just keeps building and building and building, at such a steady and methodical pace as more information is revealed, more characters are introduced, and things become more chaotic. The tension then breaks in one of the best end-of-second-act turns I thing I've ever seen. It then goes on to build a completely different kind of tension through its final act. The Last Stop in Yuma County really is a masterclass in tension building. I'm not kidding, this should be studied in schools.

15. The Dead Don't Hurt

The Western has, historically, been a pretty male-centric genre. And while we have seen more westerns focused, at least in part, on women in recent years, The Dead Don't Hurt is the first one I've seen that's really focused on what the experience of a woman really would have been like when the man in her life went off to have the kind of western adventure they usually make movies about. This is very, very much a love story, but what it's about above all is about what a woman alone in that kind of world would go through. It's rough and horrific at times, but in a way that never feels fetishistic or voyeuristic.

14. Dune: Part 2

Villaneuve's Dune movies are stunning achievements not just because they're adaptation of a difficult-to-adapt work that feels complete and true to the source, but also because of how effectively they explore the novel's themes, themes that are still startlingly relevant today, and because of how fantastically it sets up the universe the story takes place in, laying the groundwork for future entries into the franchise.

13. Small Things Like These

I feel like a lot of people might not like Small Things Like These because "nothing really happens", but I feel like it's all right there in the title. This isn't a movie about some grand heroic act where some everyman hero saves a huge amount of people or exposes some major organization. It's about the small things we can do, that a completely ordinary person like Cillian Murphy's character can do to help. It's about the value of every person, every life, and the tremendous, life saving impact even one normal person choosing to do the right thing can have. It's a small, quiet movie. But it's a tremendously powerful one.

12. Late Night with the Devil

I'm not sure I can explain exactly what it is about Late Night with the Devil that captivated me so much. I'm not generally a horror fan. Not because I think the genre is somehow 'lesser', I just don't enjoy being scared. If I love a horror movie, that means there was something in it that I loved so much it overrode how much I don't enjoy being scared. I think this movie really excelled with its main character, exploring him from a really interesting angle and creating a lot of depth with a pretty simple central conceit.

11. Lies We Tell

I'm not 100% sure if this is actually a 2024 film or a 2023 film, but it looks like it was released in he US in 2024, and I didn't have any way to view it until 2024, so I'm counting it as 2024. Lies We Tell is an adaptation of the gothic novel Uncle Silas, and it manages to be even darker than its source material. I think above all this is, obviously, a very woman-centric story, exploring they ways society, especially at the time the story takes place, can leave a woman completely powerless even in her own home. But it's also a very interesting look at family secrets, at the horror of learning that what we thought about the people we loved isn't true, and the ways that those truths being kept from us can put us in danger.

10. I Saw the TV Glow

Again, I doubt I can say anything about I Saw the TV Glow that anyone else hasn't already said. It works most obviously and clearly as a story about the trans experience, but I think it's something that anyone who struggles with their identity, who feels like society or the world they live in keeps them held back from being who they really are, can connect with. And it does that in an incredibly powerful way by focusing really hard on the nostalgia we feel for our youth and the way that, as we grow up, we're constantly looking back to what we remember as 'simpler times' for comfort, even if those times weren't all that simple.

09. Late Bloomers

I'd probably say that Late Bloomers is the most underrated movie of 2024, as I don't think I've seen anyone else talking about it. It's a simple, quiet movie that I found so easy to relate on such a deep level. While, obviously, people in situations more similar to what the characters are going through will find it easy to relate, I do feel like a lot of the ideas being explored here - difficulty connecting to other people, feeling like you're failing or that you haven't done enough or the right things with your life, being selfish at times that you shouldn't be, and at times that you should be, etc. - are probably relatable to most people.

08. Love Lies Bleeding

What a weird little movie Love Lies Bleeding. Most of it has the tone and feeling of a gritty crime movie, but there are strong elements of magic and spirituality. Honestly, in that way it kind of reminds me of a Frank Borzage movie. Borzage never really veered into actual fantasy, but his films were very much about the healing, purifying, spiritual power of love and all of the unlikely and seemingly impossible things it can cause to happen, especially within harsh and unforgiving environments. That's Love Lies Bleeding all over, it just leans a little bit further into the fantastical at points.

07. Woman of the Hour

The true crime genre has been experiencing something of a reckoning lately (and rightly so) for multiple reasons, not least of which is the way victims - especially women victims - are so often loss in the stories of their own deaths, with most of the focus being places on the men who killed them, and with so much attention paid to the gruesome violence of their murders. Woman of the Hour comes out of that reckoning, seeking to tell a story that's usually told because of the murderous man at its center, particularly because he appeared on The Dating Game while he was actively murdering women, in a way that centers his victims, and that doesn't linger on the violence committed against them. It's an incredibly effective film that manages to be quite scary at times and capture the genuine menace of its murderer while still feeling like it's actually honoring the stories of the women he killed.

06. Mother, Couch!

Mother, Couch! did not do well with critics. Most labeled it incomprehensible. Clearly, I disagree. Yes, it's surreal as hell, but I think it all makes sense as a deeply felt exploration of the grief you experience when your relationship with the person you've lost or are losing is messy and complicated and there are more negative feelings than positive ones. It's a look at the very sad reality some people live in where sometimes when someone close to you dies, your life is better for it. Those are some complex and deeply unpretty things to explore, and Mother, Couch! does an incredible job of it, unfolding the relationships between Ewan McGregor's character and his family through a series of confrontations set in a surrealist furniture shop. And it has what I think is the best performance McGregor has ever given.

05. Saturday Night

This felt like the quickest moviegoing experience of the year. It's not the shortest movie from 2024 that I saw, but it was so perfectly paces that it felt like the shortest. The movie is just near-constant action, breaking only occasional to give is a more slowed-down moment between characters. And in that it really captures the frantic feeling Lorne Michaels, played fantastically by Gabrielle LaBelle, is experiencing in trying to get the first episode of Saturday Night Live on the air. It's also got an incredible ensemble cast who do a great job of embodying the real people they're playing.

04. Anora

I think Sean Baker deserves a lot of respect for the work he's done to destigmatize sex work in his films, but what I really want to focus on with Anora is how much it feels like a screwball comedy from the 1940s. Sure, on the surface you wouldn't think it, considering it's about a sex worker and there's a lot of nudity and sex. But when you zoom out and really look at it, from the setup of a quickie green card marriage, to the heroine struggling to survive and hopefully finding a way to do that through marriage, to the fast paced dialogue and physical comedy, this thing is a classic screwball comedy from top to bottom, and I love it.

03. Challengers

Challengers just crackles with energy from beginning to end. Writer Justin Kuritzkes and director Luca Guadignino take tennis being a metaphor for the relationships between the characters and makes almost every scene about that thing, with almost every conversation and argument that happens feeling like a tennis match where everyone is trying to win, trying to exploit each other's weaknesses, seeking that win without thinking much about what happens after they get it. I also think it's a really interesting looks at relationships and how they operate - or don't operate - when one or both parties in a relationship love something - in this case tennis - more than they love the other person.

02. The Beast

The Beast is a twisty, Lynchian adaptation of Henry James's The Beast in the Jungle, taking the general idea and themes of the story and adapting it in three different time periods - the past, the present - and the future - all of which are connected as a presentation of the characters' past lives. It explores feelings of isolation and loneliness, and the way the society and culture we live in specifically puts is in a position to feel those things, in the way the stories connect to each other. With the way this story is told, it's able to be so many different things: tense and scary, achingly romantic, strange and alienating, and always heartbreaking.

01. Conclave

Conclave really was a big surprise for me. I knew almost nothing about it, but my mom wanted to see it so I went with her for her birthday, and I'm so glad I did. I love watching political process in media. Lincoln is my favorite Spielberg movie, The West Wing is one of my all time favorite shows. So Conclave, a movie about the college of Cardinals trying to elect the new Pope and all the political jockeying and intrigue that goes on while that's happening, is so up my aisle. And as someone who was raised Catholic but always struggled with doubts (and who is now no longer religious), the fact that one of the major themes of this movie is doubt, and how doubt is a necessary part of faith, really spoke to me. It's also just amazing looking. Really, a movie about priests should not be this exciting and fun.

[leon-swedfinqs]

osdfhsdh look-

1. I guess Autodesk Sketchbook and Maya/Blender (I cannot 3D model for SHIT)

2. This honestly depends on my mood -- though side profile I find facing left a lot easier than right

3. Uhhh -- I am trying to understand this question...? But I guess some of my ocs/fursona/persona are very much something I have been drawing since I was a lot younger

4. I love the 11th doctor man but I cannot get his JAW CORRECTLY

5. Roughly 60% of my art I keep for myself -- I have a million sketches from class that I mainly just keep to myself or share to my gf

6. Other artists!! Its how I ended up learning anatomy, really, or how my style shifts around -- I just pull stuff from other artists in my memory if I particularly like it

7. Crochet and knitting -- I have tried it, I SUCK at it. I have many people in my life who do both, and I greatly admire them

8. I had a fanfiction/au idea for pokemon that I was working on all last year that I ended up slowly dropping sadly :( I am still happy to talk about it though!

9. lol naming files whats that

10. Shirts with poofy sleeves. Oh, and sweatshirts

11. Usually? Nothing. If I am, its usually my clusterfuck spotify playlist

12. For me? The hair. I love drawing hair

13. I don't remember her name, but that artist on tik tok that posted a lot about her AP art stuff? its like super realistic and she makes giant pieces and usually the subject is herself? that girl

14. Eyes eyes eyes eyes

15. Usually in class in my notebook osdfhsh or sometimes my bed. Back when I was working in texas I would sit outside in a hammock or just in the hallway. I tend to draw basically everywhere

16. I am not really sure I am super good at something that I would not enjoy doing it but I do it well anyway...?

17. YES!! Snacks!! Cheezits usually. Or dry cereal. And I am either drinking lemonade, water, or a strawberry/banana smoothie

18. Tbh other than mechanical pencils I am yet to break anything significant

19. Wings!! Angel wings!! Also do daleks count as inanimate objects

20. Noses :)

21. Realistic art, or at least fairly realistic styles -- man I envy that so much

22. HA

23. Yes! Multiply I utilize a lot for shading

24. Sometimes yea osdfhsdh

25. MLP fanart and generally cringey deviantart styles. I don't have a problem with those things but I have tried so much to grow my style to be different from that

26. This is yet to happen to me oshfsdh

27. It honestly depends on my mood. If I really need to warm up I usually do doodles of the subject I am going to be drawing

28. Let There Be Frames I have worked on, I am currently a part of While We Dance as well -- I really really want to work on a zine

29. Funnily enough? How to Train Your Dragon

30. Personally? I don't really care all that much about the attention of my work, I mainly do this for myself. I like sharing my art because I think it would bring people joy! But generally, if I was to answer this question, it would probably be one of these three (I quite like them and I hope they inspire others!!): this, this and this

Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game

Didn't see a lot of artist ask games, wanted to make a silly one.

(I wrote this while sick out of my mind last year and it's been collecting dust in my drafts, I might as well let it run free) 1. Art programs you have but don't use

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

9. What are your file name conventions

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

12. Easiest part of body to draw

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. Any favorite motifs

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

23. Do you use different layer modes

24. Do your references include stock images

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary356

9/10-11/24

tuesday - wednesday

read some good stuff today.

also just wrote a little. no music so far. maybe i will, just a little though, to eq out some pick sound in the problem song.

first i'll post this:

this was one of the good reads, though i'm not really aware enough to talk a lot about it, or say much beyond the fact that it is illuminating, and helpful to be reminded that i ought to go back to fanon some time soon. i wonder about the bit where "an object in a sea of objects" is brought up, as a way of feeling, and this is something i've thought about before, how i feel about myself and how i've been treated, i wonder if my concept of object here, differs, the experience of object, if i'm using it wrong, i don't think i am, just wondering i guess if like, the object i am, or, the object i feel like i'm made to be, multifold in the makings + beings i guess, i feel i am puttering around a factory floor constantly being altered or i guess, i don't know, i feel like meat too. not in the i'm alive and meat flesh and stuff way, not like a positive proclamation stated in a body horror way, just dead meat for sale.

but then i wonder, if i even have any right to feel that way, since i'm, i don't know. this is part of the whole weird emotional rollercoaster of today, since i let all my close friends just call me 'he' am i really anything, i don't know, i don't know if i like it, i don't think i do but not to the point of having to do anything, it's just something i tolerate, at the same time, asking them to call me she doesn't seem like it would help, they draws attention to itself, in all cases it really feels like the issue i'm trying to deal with is that i exist in the first place. i just want to be pretty, and cute, and basicalyy totally feminine and i guess i am. or, i am. because i only wear women's clothing, this is embarrassing maybe or maybe i only feel like i'm supposed to be embarrassed or something, well i guess it really is since it feels like it, but even the underwear, and it's not... i hate that people would see that as some kind of sexual thing. it's just better for me, somehow, or it's how things have turned out, this is how i am and how i want to be. so there's that, these issues, they're so much less of an issue irl, because irl, i can say i don't want to be a man, i'm not a man, and it's easy, online, people think you're coming out, instead of affirming a method of life you're put in a stronger kind of grid, it feels like the way chatrooms are. but i also wonder, among other people who aren't cis, what do i count as, am i like, a liar? i don't know. i think it's a stupid way to think. i'm not a liar, because i am a girl, basically, or roughly, or i don't know, but i at least kind of am, or something, i'm not not a boy, i'm not a man especially, and i don't know what it means to be a woman, i don't really understand any of it, i think, i feel excluded from all of it. i just know that when i was a kid i was more of a girl for lots of messed up reasons probably, or not that i was more of one then, but that i guess received a kind of treatment because i can look like one, and i try to, and i tried to, and tried to be one over the internet and lots of gross stuff happened, i guess, but it's not the point. i just spent a lot of time today feeling so weird and alienated. maybe it's not good that i can end up feeling this way, but it's because my friend's in a server with a lot of people and i never really told them 'pronouns' because i don't really tell anyone anything because i'm just around and stuff. i let people call me anything, that's what i tell people, i make sure i tell them "let" because it feels important that it's let, i'm not pleased about a lot of it, maybe. maybe meaning, what, i dunno, it's just opaque, i'm hard to please and i'm fickle always. anyway my friend has known me for years and it's not like i've started complaining, i don't really talk about gender stuff with them, i guess i just hope they see me, and see that now at this point in my life i, i don't know, am this? what is this, i dunno, plus, how are they supposed to have any sense anything other than how i dress changed? i dunno. but what is there to say? i'm me, like always, but i don't want to be what people thought i was, i don't think this person even thinks of me like that, clearly, i'm more open about certain interests now, than before. there's only a few people i seem to be able to talk about this stuff with, in any capacity, i only really even talked about, in passing, thinking about estrogen with someone like yesterday, and some friends saw that, so that's out there now i guess. or between these 3 people. and that's all i really need. i think the people who know me best know i'm this, meaning, this is not that, that what was then was just trying to be normal because i was with my family and they'd judge me a lot probably or resist it and now i can be this, and i think i'd have always done this. i dunno. i think about how my cousin asked me when we were kids, if i was gonna be one of "those people" who gets a surgery to have a vagina. and no because i don't have bottom dysphoria but it feels weird.

that people can sense that or sense something (since it's not "that"), and i guess the inaccuracy means a lot in this, that's how i feel now i guess, because it's not my friend calling me what they always called me, it's that there's a bunch of people who don't know me that now think they know what they are seeing, of course they don't, and there's no way to attenuate that, because what is there to say when what i want to be and how i am + what i am is about the hiding and the vague stuff, how do i assert myself or make any kind of space for myself when i feel mostly like something you need to glean from between the lines. i am perpetually between the lines, but i honestly feel so lost, on others. i feel perpetually misunderstood, is that my fault? it feels cruel, in a way. having to say anything about it, as in, to define myself, to say to people, anything at all, it feels so impossible because i feel like nothing. or i don't know what anything feels like. it's just odd, it feels odd, i dunno. i like it when i can just feel like myself, and i guess it's unpleasant for people to feel like the things interfering with that. that's unfair of me i guess, when it's just people thinking they know how to refer to me, but i don't know. it's also my feelings, i can feel whatever. i don't really need to apologize to anyone for feeling burned, or feeling put off that people might think they know me better, when they don't.

it also felt weird, i guess, today they started talking about stuff i used to do, i don't really feel like getting into that, not because it's bad just because it's exhausting to think about how i've changed, and what they like mean, if anything, they do mean a lot, i shouldn't pretend like they don't. i am this now. i keep a diary, and i am open with myself about how i want my body to be, and how i want to be seen, and i can act how i want in life, i can like the things i always liked and wanted to approach, i can keep all these girly things by me as, i dunno, they are with me as meaningful and potent images and ways i feel the world, different sensory images, i don't pretend so much anymore, i used to have to deepen my voice around some people and i don't anymore and i hate that i ever did, and i don't feel grossed out by myself, or when i do, it's because i feel like i'm not what i wish i were and that's just dysphoria but i at least reckon with that now instead of trying to not exist at all, it's just, the disconnect between that being how i am irl, and how i am treated irl, vs the internet. people have it like, they can finally be themselves online, but for me it feels like, harder, there's a fluidity in waking life and online it feels more laid out, or, it does now. it didn't used to feel like that.

i did read more of breton, today, he went on about convulsive beauty being the point where things cease, as much as the movement, i found this beautiful and inspiring, and he went on about crystals being the perfect image of this kind of beauty. there was a little more but i'm tired now and i wanna work on the song in a tiny way then go sleep. my gf woke up.. . it's 5 am...

seeing old posts/images from 4 years ago, i found these photos of around where i used to live:

i miss it around there. i'm still around around there, but less around there. i miss the weather like that. if this area were better for walks i'd be trying to go out more.

okay, i did the little correction, hope that is all i need to do for me to be happy and not annoying and crazyyyyy about this song from now on.

i do keep thinking about how i worry if i'm,, whatever enough, to count as ... something. i don't know what. i don't feel like i fit in anywhere, and i guess i, i dunno. i feel so distant from people who are supposed to be my peers, and some people would just say it's my own fault, is it, lots of people seem really adamant about that part, not to me, just in general when they see that sentiment, i see them get really like, you're the one making yourself alienated, to whoever. it's weird, it wigs me out a little. whatever. the person i think about who does this most kind of seems to do everything in a weird effort to be right about everything always.

now i will sleep,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[shrinkthisviolet]

3 word sentences for Thallen or Morgan and Barry #s 6, 10, &/or 24 :)

One surefire thing about me is that I’ll always take the Barry & Morgan chances I’m given 🥰 6 and 24 place during the next fic (10 takes place in a later fic), so I’ve indicated roughly which episodes they take place in:

6. “Be gentle, please.” (At the end of 1x8)

When Barry came in to talk to her after the Bivolo stuff...a part of Morgan tensed—she couldn't help it.

She loved Barry, really, and he didn't look as murderous now as he had then...but his words, what he'd called her, came flooding back.

Hypocrite, he'd called her, with more hate in his eyes than she'd seen him give some of his Rogues.

So as he slowly walked in, Morgan just barely held back a desperate plea: Be gentle, please.

Mostly because part of her was afraid that he might refuse.

10. “Don’t you dare.” (1x17. The first argument referenced here happens in 1x11)

"Don't you dare," Barry warned, "that's too dangerous, and you know i—"

"It's Iris!" Morgan snapped. "She's in danger, and you're already worried about your dad—"

"I'm a speedster! I can do this mys—"

"Oh, yeah, like you handled Nimbus alone?" She retorted. "Or Multiplex? Even for your other villains, you've always needed a Team—"

"I'm not putting you in danger again, that is not an option—"

"Why?"

"Because I can't lose you! Okay? That..." he spun away from her, sighing shakily. "I can't."

"You've said that before," she reminded him. "Just a few weeks ago. It worked then...but it won't work now."

"It's different now.”

"How?" She demanded. "How is it different? You were scared to lose me then, and you're scared now—nothing's changed!"

"Something has,” he replied firmly. "Don't follow me, Sentry. Stay here, where it's safe."

And as he sped off, Morgan scoffed and shook her head. "Cisco, can I have my suit back?"

24. “Thanks, now leave.” (Between 1x9 and 1x11)

To say things were awkward after the Man in Yellow incident would be...an understatement. But how could they not be? Barry had blackmailed her aunt—her godmother—and he expected her to just be cool with it? Just because it hadn't worked?

No. No such luck, Barry. You hurt Aunt Tina, that's it for you.

Barry, for his part, never faltered in his kindness, which was perhaps the most infuriating part. Such as one fateful day, when she misplaced one of her English books (Dante's Inferno, as it happened) and frantically dug around for it, hoping she hadn't left it at school or someth—

"Here, Mo." Barry, of all people, slid the book over to her with a sheepish smile. "You left it in the Cortex earlier."

"Thanks," she said stiffly, glancing briefly up at him, then back down at the book. "Now leave."

She didn't have to look to know his shoulders had slumped, and he walked away with a sigh, while Morgan gripped the book tightly.

Like she said: infuriating.

(Mostly because that infectious smile of his had almost gotten her to smile too.)

prompt list!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @vexic929 @raith-way @thechaoticfanartist @ironverseocs

[narrowtriangle33-blog]

Conservatives, even when all of the facts are in your face, you still deny the reality of systemic racism.

"I mean really? What in the hell makes a group of people with a history of enslavement , genocide and apartheid in order to achieve what they have belive they have been so sucessful that they can lecture others. Without enslavement, genocide and aparthied, whites in America would have very little, if anything." "People in this forum have the opinion that blacks should do things like whites and if we do so, we can make it in America. So then what we need to do is orchestate a bloody coup, confiscate all property owned by whites, jail all whites who oppose the coup, write a new constitution that declare citizenship and it's protection only for non whites, make whites chattel for the forseeable future, make it illegal for whites to reald, own property or access information and create laws where if whites get out of line they can be beaten and killed." "Because this is how whites have done it." "In another forum, I stated that the root cause of the problems blacks face is white racism. One of the whites there decided to say this: “The root cause of the problems faced by most blacks today are people like you who misidentify or ignore the real problems they face to further their own personal agendas.”" "'This is another of the long, long line of idiotic comments made by right wing whites. White racism was determined to be the problem 53 years ago by the Kerner Commission."

""What white Americans have never fully understood but what the Negro can never forget--is that white society is deeply implicated in the ghetto. White institutions created it, white institutions maintain it, and white society condones it."" ""White racism is essentially responsible for the explosive mixture which has been accumulating in our cities since the end of World War II."" "But the excuse will be made about how that was 50 years ago, and that stupid ass song will be sung titled, "That was in the Past."" "On February 26, 2018, 50 years after the Kerner Commission findings, the Economic Policy Institute published a report evaluating the progress of the black community since the Kerner Report was released. It was based on a study done by the Economic Policy Institute that compared the progress of the black community in 2018 with the condition of the black community at the time of the Kerner Commission. Titled “50 years after the Kerner Commission,” the study concluded that there had been some improvements in the situation blacks faced but there were still disadvantages blacks faced that were based on race." "Following up on this, Richard Rothstein of the Economic Policy Institute wrote an op-ed published in the February 28th edition of the New York Daily News titled, “50 years after the Kerner Commission, minimal racial progress.” It had been 50 years since the commission made their recommendations at that point, yet Rothstein makes this statement: “So little has changed since 1968 that the report remains worth reading as a near-contemporary description of racial inequality.”" "So 3 years ago the same conclusion was made. "The root cause of the problems blacks face is white racism."" "On October 24, 2013, the Kellogg Foundation sent out a press release about a report they had done entitled, “The Business Case for Racial Equity”. This was a study done by the Kellogg Foundation, using information it had studied and assessed from the Center for American Progress, National Urban League Policy Institute, Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies and the U.S. Department of Justice."

“Striving for racial equity – a world where race is no longer a factor in the distribution of opportunity – is a matter of social justice. But moving toward racial equity can generate significant economic returns as well. When people face barriers to achieving their full potential, the loss of talent, creativity, energy, and productivity is a burden not only for those disadvantaged, but for communities, businesses, governments, and the economy as a whole. Initial research on the magnitude of this burden in the United States (U.S.), as highlighted in this brief, reveals impacts in the trillions of dollars in lost earnings, avoidable public expenditures, and lost economic output.” "The Kellogg Foundation and Altarum Institute In 2011, DEMOS did a study named “The Racial Wealth Gap, Why Policy Matters”, which discussed the racial wealth gap, the problems associated with it along with solutions and outcomes if the gap did not exist. In this study DEMOS determined that the racial wealth gap was primarily driven by policy decisions." "“The U.S. racial wealth gap is substantial and is driven by public policy decisions. According to our analysis of the SIPP data, in 2011 the median white household had $111,146 in wealth holdings, compared to just $7,113 for the median Black household and $8,348 for the median Latino household. From the continuing impact of redlining on American homeownership to the retreat from desegregation in public education, public policy has shaped these disparities, leaving them impossible to overcome without racially-aware policy change.”" Harvard. "“Racial inequality in the United States today may, ultimately, be based on slavery, but it is also based on the failure of the country to take effective steps since slavery to undermine the structural racial inequality that slavery put in place. From the latter part of the nineteenth century through the first half of the twentieth century, the Jim Crow system continued to keep Blacks “in their place,” and even during and after the civil rights era no policies were adopted to dismantle the racial hierarchy that already existed.”" "HOUSING DISCRIMINATION AS A BASIS FOR BLACK REPARATIONS, Jonathan Kaplan and Andrew Valls, Public Affairs Quarterly" "Volume 21, Number 3, July 2007" "McKinsey and Co. “It will end up costing the U.S. economy as much as $1 trillion between now and 2028 for the nation to maintain its longstanding black-white racial wealth gap, according to a report released this month from the global consultancy firm McKinsey & Company. That will be roughly 4 percent of the United States GDP in 2028—just the conservative view, assuming that the wealth growth rates of African Americans will outpace white wealth growth at its current clip of 3 percent to .8 percent annually, said McKinsey. If the gap widens, however, with white wealth growing at a faster rate than black wealth instead, it could end up costing the U.S. $1.5 trillion or 6 percent of GDP according to the firm.”" "Citigroup" "Cost Of Racism: U.S. Economy Lost $16 Trillion Because Of Discrimination, Bank Says" "Nationwide protests have cast a spotlight on racism and inequality in the United States. Now a major bank has put a price tag on how much the economy has lost as a result of discrimination against African Americans: $16 trillion." "Since 2000, U.S. gross domestic product lost that much as a result of discriminatory practices in a range of areas, including in education and access to business loans, according to a new study by Citigroup." "Specifically, the study came up with $16 trillion in lost GDP by noting four key racial gaps between African Americans and whites:" "$13 trillion lost in potential business revenue because of discriminatory lending to African American entrepreneurs, with an estimated 6.1 million jobs not generated as a result" "$2.7 trillion in income lost because of disparities in wages suffered by African Americans" "$218 billion lost over the past two decades because of discrimination in providing housing credit" "And $90 billion to $113 billion

in lifetime income lost from discrimination in accessing higher education" "Why this is just a bunch of liberal jibberish to to blacks in order to keep them voting democrat. Those aren't the problems, what we conservatives tell you is the real problem. Why if you just had a father in the home none of this would happen." "Black Workers Still Earn Less than Their White Counterparts"

"As employers in the U.S. tackle issues around racism, fresh attention is being given to the racial wage gap and why black men and women, in particular, still earn substantially less than their white counterparts. Nearly 56 years after the passage of the Civil Rights Act, "we find equal pay for equal work is still not a reality," noted Jackson Gruver, a data analyst at compensation data and software firm PayScale."

"Last year, PayScale analyzed differences in earnings between white men and men of color using data from a sample of 1.8 million employees surveyed between January 2017 and February 2019." 'Among the findings, Gruver reported: "Even as black or African-American men climb the corporate ladder, they still make less than equally qualified white men. They are the only racial/ethnic group that does not achieve pay parity with white men at some level."' "The study found that black men had the largest "uncontrolled pay gap" relative to white men, when comparing the average earnings of black men and white men in the U.S."

"On average, black men earned 87 cents for every dollar a white man earned. Hispanic workers had the next largest gap, earning 91 cents for every dollar earned by white men."

"To put that in perspective, the median salary of a white man in our sample is $72,900; the controlled median pay for black or African-American men is thus $71,500," Gruver said. "This suggests a $1,400 difference in pay that is likely attributable to race."" "So daddy lives at home and the family still makes less than whites. Because:" "NWLC calculations, based on the U.S. Census Bureau's Current Population Survey for 2016, revealed that when comparing all men and women who work full time, year-round in the U.S., women were paid just 80 cents for every dollar paid to their male counterparts. But the wage gap was even larger when looking specifically at black women who work full time, year-round—they were paid only 63 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic men." "Stephen Miller, Black Workers Still Earn Less than Their White Counterparts, www.shrm.org/resourcesandtools/hr-topics/compensation/pages/racial-wage-gaps-persistence-poses-challenge.aspx" "So a white working couple will make 90 cents on every dollar while a black working couple makes 75 cents. To allow you to understand this reality a white female worker makes 80 cents on every dollar a white man makes. White females are demanding equal pay and rightfully so." "And you black folk really need to start taking education seriously." "Black unemployment is significantly higher than white unemployment regardless of educational attainment" "The black unemployment rate is nearly or more than twice the white unemployment rate regardless of educational attainment. It is, and always has been, about twice the white unemployment rate; however, the depth of this racial inequality in the labor market rarely makes the headlines." "Over the last 12 months, the average unemployment rate for black college graduates has been 4.1 percent—nearly two times the average unemployment rate for white college graduates (2.4 percent) and equivalent to the unemployment rate of whites with an associate’s degree or who have not completed college (4.0 percent). The largest disparity is seen among those with less than a high school diploma: while whites with less than a high school diploma have an unemployment rate of 6.9 percent, the black unemployment rate is 16.6 percent—over two times the white average." "The broader significance of this disparity suggests a race penalty whereby blacks at each level of education have unemployment rates that are the same as or higher than less educated whites." "Valerie Wilson, Black unemployment is significantly higher than white unemployment regardless of educational attainment, www.epi.org/publication/black-unemployment-educational-attainment/" "African Americans are paid less than whites at every education level" "While the economy continues to improve and wages are finally beginning to inch up for most Americans, African Americans are still being paid less than whites at every education level. As you can see from the chart below, while a college education results in higher wages—both for whites and blacks—it does not eliminate the black-white wage gap. African Americans are still earning less than whites at every level of educational attainment. A recent EPI report, Black-white wage gaps expand with rising wage inequality, shows that this gap persists even after controlling for years of experience, region of the country, and whether one lives in an urban or rural area. In fact, since 1979, the gaps between black and white workers have grown the most among workers with a bachelor’s degree or higher—the most educated workers." "Valerie Wilson, African Americans are paid less than whites at every education level, www.epi.org/publication/african-americans-are-paid-less-than-whites-at-every-education-level/"

"But to say white racism is the cause of things no matter how much proof we show your white asses, you have some kind of idiotic ass excuse, like we are blaming whites for our failures or;" "We misdiagnose and ignore the "real" problem to fit an imaginary agenda racists in tha white community invented so they can deny how THEY are the root cause of the problem." "You right wing scrubs are always talking about responsibility." "Take some instead of running your mouths."

[girlwithateachercrush]

1. Started roughly around last year, last year I was really nervous about participating in his class and one day I was confident enough and he told me well done after class, about a month later I developed feelings. As for initiation, he mainly started it first but now I'd say its 50:50

2. Every single day atleast 5 times an hour

3. He suits cool and slightly chilly weather, sunrise and morning dew but no rain. As for myself, probably the sunshine

4. He loves horror and sci-fi films and I love "thought daughter" films

5. Yes I do, She's Thunderstorms by AM, A lot of Isabel Larosa for obvious reasons, the entire submarine EP, So many by Lana e.g Burning Desire, Yayo, DYKTTATUOB, Watercolour Eyes, High by the Beach, American, Blue Velvet, OTTR, Tulsa Jesus, Dealer, Freak, Honeymoon, Arcadia, Million Dollar Man, Honeymoon, Freak, Margaret, California, NFR, Thunder, Violets for Roses, did I say Honeymoon?

6. I can't say it on this app LMAOAOA

7. Definitely, we would either go to the theatre we have always talked about or just a cozy night in with a film and then lots of deep conversations

8. Sadly I wear a uniform but I try to modify it so the skirt is shorter, I'd wear cute hairstyles and jewellery

9. When he started calling me by my nickname and stayed with me all throughout the last lesson because I was being targeted by a group of boys in my year at this time

10. Yes

11. Yes sometimes but mainly verbal and emotional :)

12. I've told them a little bit about mine and he's only mentioned his family like once

13. Definitely not, although my overthinking always tells me they do even though I know they have boyfriends and crushes on people their own age 😂

14. That I'm attached to him and would literally do anything for him

15. I don't mind what he wears cuz he looks good in everything, but I feel like he'd look amazing in just a white collared shirt, a little unbuttoned with the sleeves up and basic black trousers so not really different to what his style is but he'd look great.

As for myself I would probably wear a pretty and flattering outfit (probably a party dress but nothing too OTT) making sure I looked gorgeous for him but definitely not outshining the bride :)

16. Sadly no, he's not on any social media publicly as far as I'm aware

17. Yes, always

18. I think he's perfect the way he is but if he grew out his beard a little he'd look scrumptious

19. Light pink: happy and bubbly

Dark blue/indigo: missing/longing

Purple: focused/confused

Cyan/light blue: proud of myself

Orange: Seen/recognised

Red: ...yk

20. I personally LOVE everything vintage. We would both fit perfectly in the 50s-60s.

21. Every time I go somewhere I make sure to look good incase I do bump into them but it hasn't happened yet.

22. It was winter and I was feeling depressed and thinking about him so I started girlblogging lol

23. His favourite book, colour, music artist, every single thought he's had of me, his favourite flower, everything <3

24. Honestly very shocked and surprised, even though he is VERY fond of me and seems to favourite me I would still be really shocked, but definitely blush and tell him I felt the same way.

25. Yes, he got me into Foo Fighters!

26. Yes I would date them, no red flags

27. I feel like people would either love our ship or hate our ship no in between

28. Literature, listening to music, writing, just anything in general reminds me of him

29. Wondering if he feels the same way about me and wondering how much he talks about me when I'm not around

30. Yes a lot, eye contact, the way I speak, facial expressions, body language, making him laugh, doing the things he loves that I do

31. For us to go out somewhere together in the summer for a day :)

Yes ik this was in may 2024 but I thought it'd be interesting to share

May TC Challenge

I couldn't really find one for May and I'm super bored so here we go

How did your relationship start? Was it you who did most of the initiating?

How often do you think about them?

What kind of weather matches their vibes? What about yours?

May the fourth be with you! Do they have a favorite movie franchise? Do you?

Do you have a playlist dedicated to them? What are your favorite songs on it?

What's your go to fantasy/day dream about them?

If you had the opportunity, would you go on a date with them? (If they're married/taken, imagine their partner is out of the picture) If so, what would you want to do?

Do you dress up on the days you see them? How so?

What's your favorite memory with them?

Have you ever thought about a future with them?

Does your tc give you physical affection?

Happy Mother’s Day to all who celebrate! Have they ever told you anything about their family? Have you told them about yours?

Do any of your classmates have a crush on your tc?

What’s something you wished they knew about you without you having to tell them?

If your tc was invited to a wedding and asked you to be their plus one, what would you wear, and what would you want to see them in? (Theme of the wedding is up to you, so you can choose your outfits)

Do you have any photos of them? Either those that you've found on their social media or ones you've taken yourself?

Have you ever listened to break up songs/love songs and thought of them?

What style/haircut/tattoos/facial hair/etc do you think would suit them best?

Which color would you assign the feelings they give you? (Ex: happy -> yellow or something bright)

Which decade would they be best in? How about you? (Based on fashion, technology, art, music, the fun stuff.)

Have you ever run into them in public? (Or tried to?) How did it go?

What pushed you to create your blog?

If you could know anything about your tc, what would it be?

How do you think you’d react if they confessed their feelings to you?

Have you ever done/read/watched/listened to something you may not have been interested in because they like it?

If your tc was your age, would you date them? Do they have any red flags?

If your life was a book series/tv series/movie and you had a fan base, would your fans realistically ship you and your tc? (Got this one from TikTok lol because I love the thought)

What’s something that always makes you think of them?

Let’s chat for a sec! What’s something you’ve been dying to talk about regarding your tc?

Do you flirt with them? If so, how?? 👀

What’s something you’re manifesting happening between you two? (If you don’t manifest, what’s something you hope happens?)

[mochikeiji]

Exact Replica

Request: "Hi! I really love you're writing and was wondering if you could do prompt 25+29 for Kuroo Tetsuro from Haikyuu? And could it be angst to fluff? (Maybe Kuroo was ignoring the reader due to lots of work/stress so reader feels neglected?) It's totally up to you tho! Ty so much!!"

25. "Would you notice if I was gone?"

29. "I didn't mean it."

↠ Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x F!Reader

↠ Warning: angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy and kuroo's sad childhood

↬ Word Count: 3.7k

↠ a/n: okay this is my longest one yet. I swear the prompt screams angst to fluff so much that I go into it.

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

Kuroo Tetsuro achieved many great things in life after graduating from his university, with multiple acknowledgements and honors. Landed a position as a young CEO from a sports association at the age of 24, he had enough money in his pocket and bank to stable both of you financially. Life was good to him after having to build from the roots  of his ruined childhood; the only years of defeat Kuroo doesn't ever want to repeat. His father and mother were in the same position as you both are; owning your own shared house, good working environment, investments and stability, married.

Up until this day Kuroo questions why his parents split. They were fortunate that they had every thing completed, sadly it was the family and love that wasn't taken care of. You could be the happiest person, yet the void inside would still be there, Kuroo thought. Foolish people were to neglect something more valuable than any object that is given. Whether it was his father or his mother that stopped nurturing what they both bonded for the longest time, they were both fools to let each other go over something simple. He vows to never let history repeat itself.

But now the tables seemed to have flipped for the both of you. Your lives not far from what he had ran away from. If Kuroo could eat his words back, he would've now that he was running late yet again to coming home, forgetting about the promise he swore to about joining you after a full month of being occupied in his office. Coming home to have you already tucked in bed, but suffering in silence.

Most days he didn't bother greeting you in the morning and night. As a good wife, you understand. He was a busy man with an important position to maintain.

There were times where you'd be tapping your foot down on the floor as the clock strikes at an ungodly hour with your messages still not bothered to be replied to or even read. But you understand. He's working! Always doing what he can for the both of you like the good husband he wanted to be.

Even if sometimes he'd come home without a kiss or a simple, "I missed you." you understand. He's drained. No time for silly, endearing affections. You've done them a lot before back when you were younger. You're adults! Married! A married partner shouldn't be feeling so needy when the other was only doing their part.

Even when sometimes your insecurities would kick in whenever you'd visit your husband to drop his forgotten lunch again, only to see him flocked by different women; probably secretaries, interns, and assistance.

You understand. You always did took such good care of what you two have.

Well had.

His home office door slams shut, awakening you from your nap on the couch. Didn't Kuroo notice you when he walked in? Looking at the clock you noticed it was near 11:30 PM since he's arrived. Late again, maybe he hasn't eaten anything? No worries, you thought sadly. Stretching your aching muscles, you made your way to the dining area. So far dinner was left untouched once more. Just how many times has it gone to waste because you continued on cooking for two?

Or rather, three.

You beam at the sudden reminder while preparing your husband's plate. You'd always miss him whenever he'd come home, never had the chance to surprise him at the right time of your little discovery about a week ago. Fear did struck you because of the possible reactions he'd give, but you were so excited in sharing the news that a couple would share the equal happiness from, you couldn't contain it any longer.

Maybe you should've chosen another time unbeknownst to you how your husband was hunched over his desk, clearly in displease of the previous events that had occurred during the meeting back in his office. Hence why his work stack added more piles of predicaments, only fueling his headaches more wishing he could just lay down peace and quiet without disturbance.

He grumbles at the knock on his door, only typing furiously with emphasized taps on the keyboard. You, not sensing the emitting aura from the room took it as a response for you to enter. It surprised you a bit on how disordered his home office had become. It was obvious his coat had been thrown carelessly as it lays on the floor, wrinkled. Carefully placing the plate full of food on the small coffee table at the side, you gingerly picked up the article of clothing. Lightly trying to smoothen out the lines before hanging it behind his door and turning back to your husband.

"Tetsu?" cautiously calling out his name, you were kind of wary at the fact he didn't turn to see you unlike he does before whenever you'd enter the room. "I brought you your dinner. You came home pretty late." you tried to maintain the light hearted tone of your voice to hide how nervous you were in telling him the big news.

The atmosphere was kind of eerie when all he did was hum meekly from your words. Feeling a bit disheartened from his lack of attentiveness, still forcing a smile, you padded a little closer behind him with your hands clasps together. "I also wanted— well needed to tell you something." averting your eyes away from him as you prepared in your head. With a small hope he'd turn around for once after a long time.

"Can it be another time? I'm in the middle of stuff here."

Another time.

Why is it always next time? It's frustrating enough to not see him or have him speak to you even for a moment, but this made your stomach churn in an unpleasant way. Frowning at his poor reply, you gulped a few of your sentence back. Not fully trusting your emotions getting in the way, "You never really talked to me before, Tetsu.. I get that you're busy, but it wouldn't hurt for you to give a little minute for me."

Even just a second as long as he'd finally notice you.

"(Y/n) if you understand then why bother? You can clearly see I'm busy." chest huffing out a harsh sigh, still not bothering to turn around. Gripping your hands tightly, your patience were starting to snap. "You're always busy, Tetsu! I never had a proper conversation with you again." raising the volume of your voice a little made his actions come to a halt. Chair revolving around to face you. His appearance made it obvious how exhausted he has been; tousled hair that he usually takes longer to style, the light forming bags underneath his eyes from the screen and lack of sleep. The visible annoyance marked in his expression. But couldn't he say the same for you?

"Fine. Here, you have my attention now. Are we talking properly now?" his way of provoking you wasn't in the right place. It only made you look at him in disbelief because you've grown to never meet such side of your husband before. The news you had originally planned to share vanished from your head, replaced with the restrained emotions that has been building up inside your heart, tipping over.

"Tetsu, what is wrong with you?" looking at him now seemed like you were talking to someone else. His words were curt and short with no intention of prolonging the conversation, itching to get back to work so he could be done with it. "I already you I'm just busy. I would be done by now if you didn't want to talk properly with me." he says as if he's the one in distraught. "Seriously, nothing's wrong but I think you aren't. You're never like this."

"That's because you never cared to noticed in the first place!" wailing out the collapsed emotions that has weighed you heavily. It was too late to stop yourself from voicing out the things your husband left aside. A full month of being a good, understanding image of a wife thrown away to the rubbles without even appreciating the the long nights of you waiting up for him, cooking meals even though the next day they'd end up being in the trash, tolerating the coldness of the used to be warm sheets, putting up with the insecurities you took upon yourself to hide to avoid troubling your husband further when all you wanted was for him to assure you that he still loves you and only you.

The fascade you put up just for him crumbles. And it infuriates you more of how he still doesn't notice.

"(Y/n), you know I've been working! There's so much stuff that needs to be attended for just so you and I could live normally!"

"Tetsuro, we are stabled, it's okay to slow down a bit. How is this any normal to you when you don't even realize how this affects me?!"

The chair slides back roughly against the floor with a loud creak as he towers over you. Glowering eyes with a dark expression looming over his face, clearly now enraged. "You're being selfish right now. I'm here doing what I can to support us and all you could think of was you, you, you. Can't you see I'm doing this for you as well? God what else do you want from me, the world?"

"I only wanted you to give me your time and attention even just for a second, Tetsuro! I've been doing my best for you all this month and I never said anything to trouble you!"

It hurts when he said how you were being the selfish one when it was the opposite. It dawned to you that all those days of giving your all for him wasn't once noticed. "Will you ever grow up already? Attention? Really? We're adults, (Y/n) not teenagers for fucks sake. My time is just wasted because of you!" he doesn't stop there even if you've had your mouth already shut from how he portrayed you as. His words were beginning to leave a deep scar in you as you quiet down to the next line.

"If you think that nothing is troubling me, there is! And you just happen to add in for crying out loud!"

There were no words exchanged after his meltdown. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks away from you— who's eyes were already watery. Unable to even tell your side anymore at the ache of your heart. "So..I'm just troubling you then?" quivering out your words, Kuroo clenches his jaw as the bubbling frustration was being held back with the last bit of restrain he had.

"Would you notice if I was gone, Tetsu?"

Instead of being alarmed by your chosen form of sentence, you watched with sad eyes as your husband pulled back his chair and faced his workload. He didn't even noticed you're already crying silently, "Not now, (Y/n). We'll talk later."

He doesn't even noticed how you walked out sobbing with a shattered heart nor the door in the living room closing. Leaving him alone for the next few hours in peace like he wanted.

Time went on quickly when one doesn't take their eyes off from their consecutive workaholic state. With a groan, he almost slams his laptop shut before stretching his bones, slowly relaxing the tense muscles. It's up to his co workers and assistance to deal with the load he's prepared to dump onto them after they threw all theirs to him. Hoping to freshen up his face, Kuroo tidies his desk up before making his way to the door. Stopping in realization of the now cold dinner that was left on the coffee table.

His stomach growled loudly at the lack of food it's digested in the longest run. It was still good if he heats it up, he does miss eating home made meals than his stale ones back in the cafeteria of his workplace. Grabbing the plate carefully he first made a short journey to the kitchen to heat up his food. Unusual it was to have all the lights out in the house. You'd always leave some opened when he was awake. Then again the guilt started to crawl up to his chest knowing he's the cause of why you'd forgotten.

Now entering the bathroom with water running down his face, he plans ahead the apology he owes you when he wakes up tomorrow morning. He could reschedule his own time since he is the boss. He closes the faucet right after he was done rinsing. Looking around for the towel his eyes caught something below the small organizer you put up next to the sink. Grabbing the towel above the first part of the organizer, bending down slowly to avoid getting cramps, his actions were quick to grab the object that caught his attention the moment it seemed so familiar and surprising.

Pregnancy test. Two lines for positive.

Having a child with you was the last thing he's yet to accomplish from his list, and here it was. As much as he wanted to be in denial, it all felt like surge of contentment drowns him in because he was going to be a dad. However his body began to tremble whilst still holding the test and staring intently at it. The previous guilt that was crawling beneath his bones became a dark, desolated hole of anxiety and fear that ate him whole. The things he's said and done will never be taken back no matter how he apologizes to the past events a few hours ago.

Hours ago. It was already 2:25 when the fight had ceased. Deep down he knows he couldn't wait until the next day to plead for forgiveness. After all, he did vow to never leave you both a day feeling heavy alone. Kuroo felt nauseous of how much of an asshole he had treated you. Like starting a game of volleyball once more, he was beyond nervous when he approached your shared bedroom. There was no excuse of his actions indeed as he solemnly enters the dimmed room. He sighs a little shaky when he closes in your bed, "Baby?" he starts, "Baby, are you awake?" it was one of the little things he's memorized that you'd do when you both aren't in good terms. You never really slept, just pretended because you always had the heart to wait up for him.

When he gets no response he reaches out to pat you, only coming to the sense that the sheets were left untouched; no warmth traced behind. You weren't there, any where. His blood runs cold and immediately fishes out for his phone in his pocket, speed dialing your number while he circles the entire area of the house in case you'd be there. Now he was more terrified when he hears the familiar voice mail from the living room couch where you had slept while waiting for him.

You left your phone. His wife wasn't home— his pregnant wife.

"Fuck." running a rough hand through his tangled hair. The lump on his throat grows but he refuses to let out a string of sobs. It was his fault you were gone at such an ungodly hour. Kuroo felt more than a bigger asshole than before he's made you come to the point of leaving home. Just as his mother did and never returned. The one thing he swore you two would never be the same came to life, only thought now is Kuroo doesn't know whether you've left him for good after being a neglectful husband and to have dishearten his own beloved wife like that.

"Would you notice if I was gone?"

Rang in his head as he stood outside the neighborhood, running. Chasing after a hallucinated image of you any place he tried to remember you'd be in. A fool he has been to have left you in a loveless marriage. He loves you, he really does. He can't imagine a life without you in it. Just as it was about to become the happiest he's wanted, he pushed it all too soon. A bad husband, he cries. "(Y/n), please come home." legs aching and panting from having to study all areas. It was pitch black; there were no opened spots for you to even go at an hour of slumber and chaos. The only convenient store did not even have you in it. You were no where to be seen and Kuroo breaks.

Of course he'd notice when it was all too late. The past he's ran away from was still the place he's returned now that the house was only occupied by nothing but rotten memories of the love he didn't took care of. The exact replica of a married life he desperately tried to dodge. "I'm so sorry." for the lonely nights he's left you to sleep, over thinking of what may have been your fault and always figuring him out tirelessly. For the small efforts of adoration he didn't took a glance at and gone to waste. For the words that were never even meant for you to ever feel. For being a neglectful husband. He was sorry he noticed too late how he ruined his precious wife.

Now he's left you on your own out in the dangers outside. If anything horrible happened to you he will forever be crushed. But the world thinks that second chances are given to those who truly deserve them after you came in quietly, slipping off your sandals and waving back to your friend who had dropped you off home. Your short break to the convenient store changed when you met up with her and drove back to her place to rant about what happened. Being the sluggish person you are whenever sadness hits, you never noticed how long you've over stayed. It wasn't like your husband was going to know if he still was working.

Much to your surprise that he wasn't, you stifled a gasp to find him with his hands holding his head that was leaned down on the table. His shoulders were lightly jolting with escapes of audible sniffles, indicating that he was in fact crying. If he looked exhausted before, it wasn't enough to describe his current state; as if he was a man who'd lost every thing as he sat there with all hope lost. Your foot padded on the creaky part of the floor in attempt to tiptoe over his hunched back to comfort him. Squeaking in the awkward situation you've put the room in when Kuroo turns his head behind to see you standing there a bit frightened, but concerned when you saw how disheveled his face looks.

"Tetsu—" his name got cut off short from when you almost tripped over your balance at the sudden impact of Kuroo throwing himself into your arms with his weight. You couldn't make out what he was mumbling on about, but you melt to his embrace even if he squeezes the living day lights from you, afraid that he was going crazy and you weren't real. "Thank God," litters of kisses were placed on your clavicle, "You're back."

He repeats, slowly convincing himself that you are indeed home in his arms, safe, no harm detected. Just home. "I'm so sorry.."

"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of what I said, I-I'm so sorry." your bodies swayed gently to the sound of your hushes and his cries of apologies. "Please don't leave me like that again. I was so scared."

"Shhh, it's okay, Tetsu. I'm sorry. I'm okay— we're okay." leading him to sit down at the couch, you placed the bag of different brands of sweets and junk on the table before facing your husband. You had to stifle in a laugh watching him wipe his nose, you couldn't help but be reminded of a mini Tetsuro by looking at him. The argument that stung you faded when he took a hold of your hands and mumbled another apology.

"You shouldn't be sorry for anything. I should be.." flickering his eyes from your belly to your bloodshot eyes from your own fiasco back in your friend's place, he slides in closer next to you where your shoulders touched. "I haven't been a good husband lately, have I?" he looks at you expectantly. Frowning, you still nodded. Tired of hiding your own feelings from him.

"I know you're busy most of the time, Tetsu. But I just wanted you to recognize me as your wife." thumbs quick to swipe away the tear that had shed from your eye, "We're in this together, remember?" he pulls you right from the arm, shoving your face to his chest in need to hold you for all the times he should've. Ignoring the dampness of his white long-sleeved polo, breathing in the scent of your sweet shampoo. You were still so forgiving and understanding despite on how equally tired as he was you are.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as if I never cared anymore. You never deserved that." his lips found it's way to the crown of your head. "I don't deserve you, and I really don't want to lose you after me being stupid." giggling through tears, fist connecting a soft punch on his chest, bubbling a chuckle to the surface as he lightly pulls you away from hiding.

"I really didn't mean all of those things I've said, baby. I love you and only you." stroking ever so lovingly your cheek, you don't catch on to the fact that his other hand was placed over your stomach protectively. Making a silent promise to not only you, but the soon to be new addition to the family that he will never again neglect what he should've cherished more and looked after than the constant worries at the back of his head.

Because he will never again repeat the replica of a broken family he once was born in.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[sparkypantaloons]

A Storm

“I promise you.” Bruce had said. “If you come home, I will keep you safe. I will keep them safe. I will keep us whole. I promise.”

Tim is taken. Each of his family react differently.

There’s a rushing in Tim’s ears. Like a waterfall. It’s so loud he can’t see. Can that happen? Can noise affect sight? He doesn’t know.

There’s a hand on his back. Gentle, but firm. He thinks maybe someone is talking to him, but he can’t see. He can’t see anything over the rushing in his ears.

No, that’s not right. He needs to start again. Try again. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, covers his ears, takes a deep breath.

“Tim?” Is it Bruce? Someone’s hands are on Tim’s arms, pulling his hands from his head. The person in front of him is stooping slightly, so they can look him in the eye. “Can you hear me?”

“'m fine.” Tim says. But his eyes can’t focus, it’s too loud in here. “I just need, I… just need t’sleep.” He grimaces, the noise too bright for his eyes.

There’s more sound then. Voices he thinks, but he’s not sure. He can’t see who they belong to. Then there’s a hand around his ankle, gripping him roughly. He flinches in the hold, starts to struggle as his shoes are removed. Then his socks. What is going on?

His feet? What about his feet? He tries to speak, but it’s so loud in here, he can’t form the words. A forehead presses against his, green eyes bore into his own. Jason?

Hands hold his feet to the floor, press down. More talking. It could be shouting now.

The hands let go of his feet. Move to his face. “Your feet, Timmy. Concentrate on your feet.”

Tim opens his eyes. Jason is still there, his bright green eyes, searching and insistent. “'m home?” Tim mumbles.

“Concentrate on your feet, Timmy. What can you feel?”

Tim closes his eyes again. His feet. He can feel… wood. Wooden floor. Wooden floorboards and the thin gaps between them. The Manor floor. The Manor.

“Yeah, Timmy.” Jason says. His hands move from Tim’s face, pull the teenager into a bear hug. “You’re home. You’re home.”

~~

Leslie pushes her glasses back up her nose. Lets out a sigh. “It’s just going to take time, Bruce.” She says. She’s firm, as always. But there’s a softness in her eyes. A sadness. “Like all things.”

Bruce doesn’t speak. Just rubs his face with his hands. Hangs his head.

“Why is he so disorientated?” Dick asks. His right hand is still bandaged up, swollen, but it’s no longer bleeding through.

Jason sucks his teeth from where he’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Leslie and Dick both ignore him.

“Sensory deprivation, especially for so long-- it can take a little while to recover.” Leslie is matter of fact. There’s no point mincing her words. “You have to take it slow.”

“Touch is best to start with.” Jason says, pushing himself off the wall. “It’s grounding.”

Dick, Leslie and Bruce look over at him. He shrugs. “It worked for me.”

A pained look crosses Dick’s face. Leslie interrupts before he can speak. “Let Tim lead, let him set the pace.” Her words hang in the air. “It’ll take time. But he’s strong.” She says. “He’ll pull through.”

~~

Dick wakes up in a sweat, breathless. His right hand is throbbing. He tries to flex his fingers, flinches as his broken knuckles protest. It’s not the worst injury he’s ever had. Not by far. But the way he got it…

He shakes his head, tries to dislodge the memory of a shattered eye-socket, a dislocated jaw, a cracked skull. Tries to shed the jarring realisation that he broke his hand on a man’s face. Tries to make himself at least feel a sense of responsibility for the damage done. He doesn’t.

He makes his way to the kitchen, pads barefoot through the Manor. He pulls an ice-pack out of the freezer, holds it on his aching fist. The cold seeps into his joints, consumes the burn of displaced bone and absent guilt. He feels calmer.

Touch is grounding, Jason had said. Dick doesn’t want to think about how the younger man, his younger brother, knew that. Doesn’t want to know which one of a lifetime of traumatic experiences had taught him that little gem. But he can’t dispute it. The touch of the cold helps.

He makes his way back upstairs. Turns left, instead of right. To Tim’s room.

The door is pulled to. The most Alfred would allow. Bruce had been adamant about staying by Tim’s side, so had Jason, so had Dick. Alfred had refused all of them.

“Wayne Manor is the safest, most secure building on the eastern seaboard, if not the entire continent. None of you will do Master Timothy any good if you don’t get some sleep. He will be safe, in the meantime.”

Bruce had tried to protest, Jason had made threats, all but hissed at Alfred’s suggestion. The older man hadn’t budged. “I will stay with Master Timothy. In case he wakes.”

He wasn’t wrong. They needed rest, all of them. The search had been… long. Too long. Desperate, and increasingly frantic with each passing hour. And there had been so many hours.

He swallows down a memory. Of the howl that felt like it had been ripped out of his soul when they found Tim. Dick hadn’t even realised the noise had come from his own mouth, didn’t notice the tears of rage on his own face, as he took his hands to the men holding Tim captive. Broke his hands on the men who had taken his brilliant, darling brother. Locked him in the dark, alone, for too, too long.

Dick hovers outside Tim’s door. Holds his ear to the wood. He can’t hear anything over his own breathing, his own heartbeat.

“Just open it, Dickhead.” It’s Jason. He's dressed in a spare pair of Bruce’s pyjamas. Despite his size they're somehow still too big for him. It makes him look young. Too young. Dick stares at him for a moment before doing as he says.

The pair of them fill the doorway. Wait as their eyes adjust to the light in the room. Gloomy shadows fall in through the window; the blinds have been left open. Dick’s eyes scan the bed but his ears hear Jason’s breathing hitch. He feels the younger man go rigid beside him, knows his own body has responded the same. Because Tim is gone. Again.

Panic forces itself into what little space is between them, and Dick is only vaguely aware that Jason is gripping his wrist. Holding him too tightly, clinging onto him as though he’s scared one of them will disappear too.

A small cough brings them back to their senses. Alfred. The older man is sat in the corner of the room, by the window. A patient vigil in the dark. He nods to the far side of the bed.

Jason all but drags Dick with him as he marches into the room. They stop just past the bed. Tim is asleep on the floor. He’s curled into a ball, a single sheet held tight over his head. Dick only knows it’s him from the tuft of hair that’s sticking out.

He feels Jason let go of his wrist. The younger man stumbles backwards. He nods to Alfred then leaves the room, gone as quick as he entered.

Dick watches him go, a new worry blooming in his chest. He looks at Alfred, and the older man shakes his head sadly.

~~

Jason is in his old room. His old en-suite more accurately. His knees protest against the tile as he wretches into the toilet.

I am safe, I am warm, I am whole.

He repeats the words in his mind like a mantra. Tries to control his breathing. He fails. Another wave of nausea has him wretching again. Acid burning its way up his throat.

A hand presses to his back and he flinches. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. Bruce places a glass of water on the floor beside him, pushes his hair back from his face.

Jason wipes his mouth on his sleeve, takes a shaky sip of water. Bruce rubs circles on his back.“Don’t.” Jason croaks, and he hates himself when the warmth of the hand is removed. He looks up at Bruce. “You promised you’d keep them safe.” He says, and he can’t keep the hurt out of his voice. Can’t keep the tears from his eyes. “You promised.”

“I know.” Bruce says. He pulls the younger man into a hug, holds him tight against his chest. “I’m sorry.” His son’s tears soak through his shirt.

~~

Jason doesn’t know how long they sit there. Tangled limbs on the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom floor. Only knows that he needs Bruce to let go. He pulls himself out of his father’s arms, pushes himself to his feet. He needs to brush his teeth.

Bruce sits on the floor behind him, as Jason scrubs the bile and acid from his mouth. He presses too hard with the toothbrush, can taste the copper of blood against mint. But the dig of the bristles in the soft flesh of his gums is grounding. Reminds him he’s still alive.

I am safe, I am warm, I am whole.

Jason can remember sleeping on the floor. He’s slept on so many of them. The dingy corner of their apartment growing up, when all they could afford was a single mattress and Willis refused to let him share. The cardboard box by one of the subway vents behind the old Monarch Theatre. The floor of this very bedroom, the bed too soft for him to sleep in, threatening to drown him as soon as he fell asleep. Then the streets again, when he had wandered aimlessly after his death.

He can remember the dark too. Of being locked in a closet and forgotten for days at a time, when his infant crying became too much for Willis. Of his eyes swollen shut as the Joker beat the life out of him. Of his coffin, as he lay there screaming for Bruce to save him.

Jason’s life was a short but terrible history of hard floors and dark rooms and Tim’s was never meant to be like that.

They’d found him in all but a box, eight feet by eight feet by eight feet. There were no windows, the door had been soldered shut. He was being fed once a day. Some bread and water slid through a hatch in the wall, and a bucket too. Swapped out every 24 hours. Nobody ever spoke to him, nobody ever asked anything of him. No-one ever demanded anything from them either, neither The Bats, nor The Waynes.

He spits into the sink. Toothpaste pink with blood. He rinses his mouth. Splashes his face. Takes a deep breath.

They just took him and kept him. Because they could.

Jason had known people like that too, once. If he clings to it, it’s the only thought that makes him grateful Tim has been left alone for so long. Even as it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Coming home, coming back to his family had been as painful and awful as clawing himself out of his own grave. An endless fight against the pit and its madness, that drove him to hurt the people he loved. An ongoing battle against the deep, deep wound in his heart that The Joker still lived. And a terrifying, haunting fear that he would lose them again. That after all they had been through, after he finally got his family back, they would be taken from him and he would be alone once more.

“I promise you.” Bruce had said. “If you come home, I will keep you safe. I will keep them safe. I will keep us whole. I promise.”

Jason turns away from the sink. Walks back into his room. Leaves Bruce sat on the cold, tiled floor.

~~

Eventually Bruce pulls himself to his feet. Jason’s room is empty when he passes through. He doesn’t allow himself to wonder where he might have gone. Of all the broken promises he has made to Jason, he knows this one has hurt his son the most. That Jason’s single biggest fear is losing the family he has so desperately longed for, both of his lives. That Jason would rather never love at all, than love and lose it all over again. This time had been too close. For Jason. For all of them.

It had taken them too long to get a lead on where Tim was being held. Far too long. And even then, they couldn’t confirm an exact location. They’d had no choice but to split up. Cass, and Damian had joined the Titans on the West Coast. Dick and Jason had come with him on the East.

He pulls out his phone, checks on the location of Cass and Damian for the nineteenth time that night. They’re making steady progress. Will be in Gotham before sunrise. His arms ache with a desperate need to hold them, know that they are safe. To have the physical proof, that all his children are alive and breathing, in his hands.

It had taken him a long time to let go of Tim once they found him. To pass his sweet, brilliant boy over to Leslie, so she could check him over. Confirm he was okay.

Tim was older now than Jason had been when he… Tim was older, but he had still felt just as small and young and broken, when Bruce had lifted him out of that box they’d kept him in. Out of the darkness. His body weak and trembling.

It had been Tim who had been taken, but Bruce had looked at the body in his arms and seen Robin, limbs twisted and broken. Seen Nightwing, lips blue and heart stopped by a hand held to his face. Seen another Robin, sword run through him, splitting his battered body almost in two. Seen Red Robin, riddled with bullet holes, blood running out of every one. He had held Tim and seen everyone of his children dead in his arms. An endless cacophony of death.

He reaches Tim’s room. Stands in the doorway and hopes that Alfred can’t see him in the darkness. He tries to remember back to when he took Dick in. Tries to recall what, in the name of all the Gods, had possessed him to allow his child, his children, out into the night with him. Tries to remember how he reached the conclusion that he could risk their single precious lives for his own crusade. How he could risk their safety for a single second.

He steps into the room. Hears Alfred sigh from his seat by the window.

“Don’t ask me to leave.” Bruce croaks out. His throat is tight, trying to hold a tidal wave of emotion at bay. “Don’t.”

Alfred stands. “Of course not.” He says softly, and he gestures to where Tim is sleeping on the floor. “Did you get any sleep?” He asks.

Bruce doesn’t respond. Just stares down at Tim, eighteen but looking for all the world like the ten year old who had shown up on Bruce’s doorstep all those years ago. The sheet is twisted round his limbs, his face screwed into a frown.

“Why is he on the floor?” Bruce asks. Though he has a good idea already.

Alfred takes a steadying breath. “He’s been…” He pauses. “He’s been sleeping on the floor so long, it’s what he’s used to n—“ He cuts himself off abruptly, turns to the window away from Bruce.

Bruce feels a burn in his throat. Knows that Alfred is fighting down the same tears that he is. He places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ll stay with him now. Get some rest.”

Alfred nods. Places a hand over Bruce’s but doesn’t look at him. “And you, Bruce.” He says and he leaves. Pulls the door closed gently behind him.

Bruce turns back to Tim. His darling boy. He kneels down, gently detangles the sheets from his son’s legs. Tim doesn’t stir. Bruce lies down next to him, lays the sheet over them both.

Touch is grounding. Jason had said. And it’s all Bruce can do not to pull Tim into his arms and never let go. But Leslie had said baby steps. So instead he settles for running his fingers through Tim’s hair and holding his face in his hands. Moves his head closer so he can feel the soft rise and fall of Tim’s breath.

This would have to do, for now.

[si0writes]

@0rb0t ITS EXPLANATION TIME HEHEHEH unsure how familiar you are with genshin's lore so im just going off the basis that you're unfamiliar with 'common knowledge' lore. I hope I explain it all ok! pls feel free to ask questions!! <33 for image credit just click on it! essentially, fischl is a girl (roughly 14-19 based on her character model (genshin does this really funny thing with chara ages where nothing is confirmed and you gotta guess based on the models themselves)) who is constantly stuck in her daydreams and genuinely believes that she's a fictional character due to her upbringing. Her actual name is Amy, however she choses to go by the name Fischl as its the name of the protagonist (a german princess ruling over a kingdom of crows) of a book series called Flowers for Princess Fischl. At some point before the game's events, Fischl gets gifted a vision (a trinket that gives her powers) by the Goddess of Electro (the Electro Archon, the Raiden Shogun). With the recieving of this, a main character from the book called Oz, a dark purple and black coloured raven who helps Fischl in the books and is Amy/Fischl's imaginary friend, comes to life. During an event sometime 2(?) years ago I believe, Fischl got a new in-game outfit reflecting that of the book character's outfit. Me, being an obessed fischl main, grinded and got the outfit as fast as humanly possible HEHEHE the outfit is called Ein Immernachtstraum (but I refer to it as her princess dress for simplicity sake!)

Fischl's personality is quite regal of sorts, and very similar to Ciel's at times. She does her best to speak politely and because of it, ends up confusing a lot of people and having Oz need to 'translate' for her (example here! (link)). This happens so often in fact, that the few times that Fischl has 'broken character', it's been a massive bonding moment to show that she fully trusts the people she's with or been an emotionally charged moment, positive or negative. However, despite all the german references with her talents, signature weapon, skills, etc, Fischl isn't actually german herself. Quite a lot of her (and by extension, Oz)'s pronounciations are incorrect according to many german speakers who have spoken about the issue, furthering the idea that she's just playing a part and isn't actually a regal princess to some massive fortune. (note: a lot of people treat her like a child. because thats essentially just what she is, but there are few characters (such as Bennett) who refer to her by her royal title 24/7 and fully respect her as nobility.) Now, why do I compare her to Ciel? Ciel is a child in an adult's world. I'm in the process of rewatching all the animated stuff and after that I'm gonna waltz my way through the manga so pls forgive me if I'm a little but rusty here!! The motif of Ciel getting kidnapped somewhat frequently is something that's always struck me as I see it as something to show that despite how refined Ciel tries his best to be, he's still just a kid at the adult's table. As much as he tries to have control, he has next to none and so the kidnappings are a way to demonstrate how powerless he truly is. As who does he fall back on every time? Sebastian. Now, that aside, looking at everyone's favourite earl from surface level, he's the queen's guarddog, watching over the underworld whilst working with Sebastian to gain revenge against those who killed his parents. That's why the contract was signed in the first place (if i recall correctly. its almost 3am while im typing this im too tired to fact check rn LMAO); To make Sebastian Ciel's right hand man in exchange for Ciel's soul once the deed was done. I won't focus too much of Wriothesley as I don't have him in game and I haven't actually gone thru the mainline storyquests so I know jack shit about him other than the fact that he's basically pluto with a different colour scheme and a fancy job

and Neuvilette, in simple terms, is a water-based dragon in human form who rules over the justice system of the hydro nation, Fontaine. He's also highly associated with otters!

Neuvi is a fierce protector of those he cares for, and from memory, Wrio is the exact same. As these two get shipped together a lot, mainly due to their ingame interactions (and the fact their jobs actually align quite well from memory? think a cop marrying a judge. that sort of thing), I feel that they've make a daddy dream team hehe Now, back to sebaciel vs fischl x neuvi (x wrio as well if you wanna spice things up hehe i only added him really cause for the Japanese audio, Wrio shares the same VA as Sebastian!!!!!) I cant exactly remember where I was heading with this but in short, I think Fischl and Ciel are quite similar and the same goes for Sebastian and Neuvilette. That and Neuvi and Fischl are next to eachother in my team and the way my team works, its always Fischl placing Oz on the field and Neuvi coming in afterwards to blast the field with water to create Electro + Hydro damage and my own personal headcanon being that I believe Neuvi would treat Fischl with the highest respect and just like a princess. If Fischl and Ciel were to swap places I dont think much would change??? Like sure Oz is very similar to Sebastian, horrifyingly so, but I believe Neuvi would be a better fit. TLDR; ciel and fischl are a perfect match and so are neuvi and sebastian and i think neuvi x fischl as a ship is gonna be my next big brainrot alongside my current sebaciel brainrot!

late night thought i just realised while playing genshin. fischl x neuvi is just the genshin version of sebaciel. or even fischl x wriothesley. fischl x wriothesley x neuvilette if you will.

[songmingisthighs]

[19.06] mafia!hongjoong × reader

⇀ you were interested in hongjoong, a notorious leader of a very successful mafia organization. sadly he didn't see you that way. if only he knew the true you before making a rash judgement

⇁ tw : mafia life, angst, mentions of black market activities, death, violence, dark stuff. read at your own risk.

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author’s imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

The door to Hongjoong's office opened and in walked his right hand, with a teasing smirk on his face. Hongjoong looked up from the paperwork on his desk and looked up to the man with a raised eyebrow, "what are you smirking at?" he questioned.

Seonghwa nodded his head towards the door, "there's someone here for you," he said whilst holding onto his laughter. Hongjoong shifted his gaze from his friend to the door and then back to him again, "who?" "your girlfriend," Seonghwa teased.

Before Hongjoong could throw anything at him, though, Seonghwa had run off, laughing heartily.

Not long after, you came into his office with a wide smile. As per usual, you were dressed to impress, head to toe with a black and white vintage channel mini skirt and blazer, adorned with a channel necklace and earrings. As you walked in, Wooyoung, one of Hongjoong's trusted men, looked at your passing figure with mouth hanging low and a starstruck look on his face. But you didn't care, you only had eyes for Hongjoong.

It has been roughly five months since you started dropping into Hongjoong's office. Your dad, an equally highly successful head of the mafia from where you're from, wanted you to get married to expand his business and make more allies. He gave you several options but you were immediately intrigued by Hongjoong, one of the mafia heads he made a partnership with by providing him with weapons. The comprehensive file your dad gave you did Hongjoong no justice so you decided to get to know him for real.

Unluckily, Hongjoong is very secretive and protective of himself and his family (re: his brothers; his most trusted men in the mafia). He had been betrayed so many times before and his thirst for revenge both became his strength and downfall. While he managed to build a highly acclaimed mafia organization at such a young age, he closed off everyone who he deemed not worthy of his attention even after only seeing them for less than five minutes.

Sadly, that included you. You weren't the only one who got a comprehensive file on the other, he too had one of you. A straight-A student from Wharton with hobbies consisting of horseback riding and charity? He wondered whether you were preparing to take over your dad's mafia or to steal the Crown of England and be its ruler.

Hongjoong tried his best to hold in a groan of annoyance but even so, some still escaped him and you heard it. Though you were used to it so you just ignored him.

"Hi, Joong," you grinned widely at him, walking in and putting a medium-sized box of cake on his desk after closing his door. "Don't call me Joong," he grumbled.

In all honesty, your bubblegum personality sickened him. He knows for a fact that no one is that happy-go-lucky and excited and has rainbows shooting out of their asses 24/7. So there has to be something you were hiding from him.

You only chuckled at his response, "You're a sourpuss, you know that? You're gonna have wrinkles before you hit thirty if you keep frowning all the time like that," you said as you focused yourself on opening the cake box.

Inside it was the cake you made for him. All the times you visited him, you never made him something from scratch. You were trained to be the head of a mafia organization one day, not in the kitchen. So that cake was the very first thing you made and you were beyond proud of yourself.

"Look," Hongjoong exhaled sharply, starting to get annoyed even before you did anything, "You came at a bad time, I need to get a hundred thousand things done before tonight, in case you didn't realize, my organization is-" "in the brink of war with Stray Kids, I know, I've read the reports," you simply said, hands moving to cut the cake in front of you to hand to him.

"I have connections with the leader's soft spot, the foreigner one, I can make a deal that would help your case if you would jus-"

"NO!!!!" he yelled out, slamming his hands onto his desk, startling you so much that you accidentally dropped your knife and stepped back a little.

Maybe it was the stress of having to deal with things alone, or maybe it's just him finally snapping from overthinking about you, but one thing's for sure is that he had had enough. He needed to put you in your place.

"You may be your daddy's little princess back home, all dressed in white and pink and lace, showered with Channels, Tiffanys and your hoity-toity prestigious Wharton degree. But here, you're nothing, got me? You understood nothing about having to work your ass off to get the recognition and rewards you deserve, you had your daddy behind you this whole time and that's very convenient for you. But don't come here and act like you know shit, okay? Our worlds are different, you came from a cotton candy palace, I came from the ditch, your opinion means less than shit to me," he spat out so quickly, he didn't realize that your expression changed to something that he had never seen before.

Your eyes were blank and glazed, lips slightly quivering and chest heaving.

Hongjoong thought that he had really put you in your place and he was about to celebrate the fact that he might finally drove you away when you opened your mouth.

"Cotton candy palace? Not understanding having to work my ass off?" you choked out.

At first, Hongjoong thought you were gonna cry. But a sadistic, maniacal laugh resonated in the room from where you were doubled over, holding onto your stomach.

It was Hongjoong's turn to be stunned into silence.

"Oh my god, I thought you were smarter than that," you muttered as you calmed down, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes, "you think that this is who I am?" you asked with a raised eyebrow at him.

Hongjoong was confused about whether or not he should speak. It was the first time anyone had ever stunned Hongjoong and Hongjoong didn't know what to do.

"I was born from a girl who was en route to be sold in a human trafficking ring, I came out premature and was about to be sold to a satanic cult as their sacrifice but my 'dad' 'rescued' me. I was stored in a facility with thirty other children, we were trained to be assassins since before we could walk, brainwashed with ideals that ruined our brains. One by one, each year some of us were taken out if we show a lack of improvement or no promise," as you talked, you took off your earrings and necklace and put them on Hongjoong's desk.

While you ran a hand through your messy hair, you stared into him deeply, "I was seven when I first killed someone, my last competition. She was two years older than me and she was sold by her parents for coke money, or as the warden told us. We were reminded every day of how worthless we are so we wouldn't rebel and escape. But even in despair, I wanted something more. That's where daddy came in. He was impressed with me and he took me in as his daughter, telling people one of his whores were pregnant with me to assure my legitimacy. I was schooled in my own private red room. I had to fight for my right as a human being, I made deals with my dad to be able to go out with bodyguard escorts for only an hour every month,"

Hongjoong's eyes followed your hands that gripped onto the edge of your skirt, "did your little binder wrote that I went on my first official mission when I was just twelve? My dad cut the ballet lesson that I trade in for 120 hours of combat training short to gear me up, put me in a room of adult men and sent me off to plant an active bomb in 5 minutes in an air vent of the headquarters of his rival, crazy, right?" you chuckled humorlessly whilst ripping your skirt off to reveal your black shorts inside, a knife and a gun holstered on your thighs were revealed, making Hongjoond's eyes widened.

He never would have imagined someone like you to carry weapons under your very girly outfit. Or to even have such a traumatizing backstory.

"My whole appearance is compensation for my very dark upbringing, I wanted to hide it all. My dad told me I was stupid, that I belonged in the dark, dark world. But when I went to Wharton, I tried to change myself. I thought that I might be able to be the person I wanna be by marrying someone my dad approved so I don't have to take over wholly, I could just be the voice by the side, lending my skills and help the organization indirectly,"

You looked down at your heels clad feet for a second, letting your toes point and moving them from left to right to see what it looks like.

At this point, Hongjoong felt bad for having blown up at you. You had only wanted to spend time with him and even if he didn't want to see you, he could've said it nicely. Hongjoong never felt like this before, it was very weird for him.

He was about to walk over to you when you suddenly took your heels off in a flash and threw them both at Hongjoong so hard that it embedded deep into the wall on either side of his face.

Your usual smile was replaced with a frown, the eyes that usually twinkled showed nothing but darkness. He barely recognized you and he was on edge about it.

"You made your standing with me perfectly clear, Kim Hongjoong, while my dad is one to stop things before they become an issue, I like to see how things unravel," you smirked at him.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, not being able to process anything.

"It means that your partnership with my dad is off, good luck finding a new weapons supplier," you spat out before turning around to leave the room, leaving traces of yourself behind at his office.

Hongjoong wanted to call after you, try to make things better somehow. But his head still couldn't even wrap around the shocking information you had just revealed.

Not long after you left, Yeosang came in but stopped at the door, scanning the room that was littered with remnants of you. "What the fuck happened here? Did a hooker tried to kill you!?" he asked, still confused at the situation.

When Yeosang looked up, he saw Hongjoong in a way he had never seen him before.

Nervous.

"I-I- I think I just forged a war between us and the largest mafia weapons manufacturer on the eastern hemisphere," he uttered out.

[pynkhues]

Idk who is older Iverson or Sophie... But what do you think Kendal's and his siblings' reaction were to that child ? What was Logan's reaction? Did Caroline come to USA or did she just call or not even that ?

That's such an interesting question, anon!

I'm perpetually fascinated by the fact that Kendall's the only one of them to have kids, although I probably shouldn't be. The show's done such a good job in the sense of carving out different ideas of family and parenthood in the four of them that I think it makes sense that Shiv wouldn't want to be a mother due to having spent her entire life trying to scrap for independence and survival in a man's world, and Connor, especially after s3, wouldn't want to be a father because he felt he'd already done it with the golden trio.

This might be controversial, I'm not sure (and I'd genuinely love to hear other people's takes on this), but of the four of them, I think Kendall and Roman are probably the only ones who want kids. Kendall's a bad dad, clearly, haha, but I do think he wants them and that he loves them as best he can, and I think Roman deep down wants a family of his own but between his fear of failure, personal and familial insecurities, aversion to penetrative sex and general flightiness, it's just not something that's eventuated.

More to your point though, I do think Sophie and Iverson are supposed to be close in age.

It's an interesting thing to consider because while the show's never explicitly said it, Sophie does seem to be adopted, and given how young Kendall and Rava were when they got married (Roman says Ken's bachelor party was 15-ish years ago in 3.04, making Kendall roughly 24/25) and the fact that Sophie and Iverson are probably roughly 12/13 in the show, it seems like they had them pretty quickly.

We don't know what any of that looks like, of course, but I tend to headcanon that Kendall and Rava had been trying for a year or so, and when they didn't get pregnant right away, decided to adopt. When they started that process - the pressure off - they got pregnant naturally and decided to keep both the pregnancy and the adopted child. It's something I think is more common than people realise (it's what happened both with my cousins, and with a co-worker, and I've heard it anecdotally happening elsewhere too), and I can absolutely see Kendall getting swept up in the rapid expansion of a family and going all in, haha.

As for the rest of the family, I think the responses would've been really mixed! I do think Logan would've been pleased – it furthers his legacy after all, and I suspect it probably gave the impression that Kendall was 'settling down' and 'growing up' in a way that might've curbed the concern around Kendall's partying. Given Kendall's a guy too, I don't think Logan would expect parenthood to have the same sort of impact on him that he would of Shiv.

Caroline it's harder to tell, but I imagine there was a lot of pomp around it. Her family legacy is already cemented, but new additions to that I imagine require a degree of ceremony too. I can see her goading Kendall and Rava into bringing the kids back to England for baptisms, which if you read Rava as Jewish (which I do) was probably the source of a lot of drama.

And Shiv, Roman and Connor! Oh gosh, hahahaha. I think they would've been happy for him on the one hand, but mostly kind of disturbed that he was now a father, haha, especially if he was in his mid-to-late twenties when he had them. It must've been such a weird time in general, but with the added disaster of their parents, Kendall's addiction issues, and just how young the golden trio were - - look, just thank goodness for nannies, haha.

What do you guys think?