#whist chapter one

[gay-dorito-dust]

YO! can i request bestfriend stuff with freddy ilhsm he makes me giggle 😼

The origins of your friendship with the cynical and sarcastic Freddy freeman was rather a straightforward one. He was being bullied by the Blyers brothers one day and you just so happened to be there before they had the chance to decide whether or not to shove him in the bin, by yanking the hoodie over the eyes of one brother and whilst he was disoriented; you shove him into his brother, causing them to fall over themselves as you were quick to grab Freddy’s crutch, handing it back to him whist hastily holding his hand, as you both rushed to get out of there before the bothers could figure out what had gone on and seek revenge.

The rest, as they say, was history…however it wasn’t. It was merely the beginning of a new chapter.

‘Billy is so going to kill us.’

‘He’ll only kill us if he catches us in the act,’ Freddy retorted, handing you a marker pen as he uncapped his, ‘other then that it’s just pure speculation with no condemning evidence that we were the ones committing the crime.’

‘Oh yeah just like the time we stole his clothes whilst he was showering, only to have him chase us throughout the house afterwards when he found out it was us? You need to lay off the true crime binging Freddy, it’s only going to rot your brain.’ You replied, uncapping your pen as you made your way to Billy’s bedside, crouching down so that you were lined up with his face that was soon to be vandalised by yours and Freddy’s crude drawings.

‘Hey! He was easier on you then he was me and besides, you may say that now but when we do find our selves in those situations one day then you, y/n l/n, are going to thank me for being prepared in advance.’ You shot him a look as he shrugged his shoulders at you, ‘I’m just saying, don’t knock it till you try it.’ He defended as he made his way to your side, perching himself on the edge of Billy’s bed, his crutch leaning against the bed frame at foot of his bed for easy access should his best friend and brother awake unpleasantly. You sighed, not wanting to get into another tangent with your dear friend and instead looked over at him expectedly.

‘Well what’s the inspiration we’re basing our masterpiece off of today teach? Natalia Goncharova? Vincent Van Gogh? Andy Warhol?’ You asked rhetorically, making Freddy scoff as he reached to lightly shove your shoulder but played along none the less. ‘Today class, we’re basing our piece off of the topic of ‘what happens when you get one of my priceless, ultra rare, one of a kind comic books soiled by spilling soda all over it.’ The boy never once took his eyes off of his slumbering brother when he spoke those words, almost as though he were stabbing poor Billy with a thousand tiny daggers.

Oh yeah, you thought to yourself, that’s why Freddy asked me to help him get back at Billy. You kinda almost…sort of forgot about all that with how impassioned Freddy was in getting even with Billy. You had to agree with your best friend on this one though, you don’t fuck with a man and his rare and hard to come by comic collection. ‘You ready to do this?’ You asked Freddy as he only smirked at you in response, holding up his marker. ‘Born ready baby.’

You and Freddy spent most of the night drawing on Billy’s face that ranged from dicks of verifying sizes across his forehead, to drawing a cat nose and whiskers across the one of his cheeks and tip of his nose, to then finish off by playing a game of tic tac toe on his other cheek when he shifted in his sleep. So when Billy woke up the next day to a chorus of snickers, mainly from you and Freddy, he was quick to piece two and two together and rushed to the bathroom to look at himself in the bathroom mirror to see the ‘masterpiece’ you both left on his face from the night before.

‘Y/n! Freddy!’

#dc imagines #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fic #dc fanfic #Shazam imagines #Shazam imagine #Shazam x reader #Shazam x you #Shazam fic #Shazam fanfic #freddy freeman imagines #freddy freeman imagine #freddy freeman x reader #freddy freeman x you #freddy freeman fic #freddy freeman fanfic

[mega-aulover]

3.14 Pie Day - Hope Day

So today is 🥧3.14 day. And in my head it's Peeta's birthday. Here's a little Cannon Compliant after the last chapter but before the epilog...during the growing back together phase.

Peeta looked across the street toward the primroses he'd planted at Katniss's home. He was whistful today. His mind and heart were at war. Partially because today was his birthday and no one would remember him. He had no one left.

His eyes sought her home. The plants weren't just for Prim, but for him as well he had lost his family too.

The war, although victorious for the rebels, was senseless. So many lives were taken from them. The living paid for the sins of the war. War meant death and destruction. The words crept up on him and he could feel the resurgence of an episode. Peeta quickly grabbed something solid as the metal taste filled his mouth, a condition of the residual tracker-jacker venom in his system.

His hands gripped the door handle. Sweat poured down his face as he followed the steps Dr. Aurelius taught him. He began taking deep breaths and exhaling, to slow down his heart. Next, he began telling himself things he knew were true.

"I'm Peeta Mellark. I'm 18. I'm a baker. I'm a painter. I never drink sugar in my tea. I sleep with an open window. I double-knot my shoelaces. I don't like vanilla. I like chocolate. I love the sunsets. My favorite color is soft orange."

His forearms shook. As he started the next step.

"I live in District Twelve. I survived two Hunger Games. I survived the war. My family is gone..." Fat tears ran down his face. "I'm alone."

A set of warm arms wrapped around his middle. The scent of wildflowers and honeysuckle wrapped around him like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer, and filled his nose. She was here.

"You're not alone," she said in that husky tone when she was emotional.

"Katniss is not the enemy..." he whispered to himself. His eyes closed tight as he fought against the destructive conditioning the Capitol drilled into him. Slimy shiny bubbles of lies threatened to fill his mind.

She began singing. "Deep in the Meadow, under the willow..."

Her voice penetrated his head like a small beam of light penetrating the darkness. The melody filled him with light and he began to breathe easier. The episode began to fade away. Katniss's voice always had the ability to make him feel happy. He slowly released the door handle and rested his hand on top of her dainty ones.

"Katniss," he whispered her name.

"Yeah."

He gently turned around and held her. Her head came to rest under his chin. "Thank you."

"It's what we do, we take care of each other."

After a moment he looked into her face her grey eyes were wide and earnest. She looked vulnerable and she bit the side of her lip. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped away and picked up the flowers on his side table. "Happy Birthday!"

"You remembered!"

"I would never forget your birthday." There was a lovely rosy shade on her cheeks.

His eyes then took the box of things next to the table. A box of her things. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought..." her blush became deeper. "I'd move here. I'm here most days and I never sleep over there." She looked down and frowned. "Dang it Peeta this is my home..."

Hope bloomed in his chest. Katniss Everdeen had brought him flowers for his birthday and was moving in, it was the best birthday ever. "Well alright."

"Really, you don't mind."

Peeta shook his head. He would never deny the person who made him happy and brought him hope.

#Pie Day #3.14 #Happy birthday Peeta #3.14 Pie Day - Hope Day #Drabble

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, cussing. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 1 and for giving this little fic a chance. ❤️

This chapter dives into some heavy stuff in that I've sped up the timeline and brought some of the serious health issues that Elvis experienced more prominently later in his life to the forefront in 1960. I've always wondered what might have happened if they had recognized his many complex conditions for what they were early in his life. Truth be told, I am endlessly fascinated by the medical conundrum that was Elvis and that he lived most of his life with some pretty severe shit that at the time no one understood or had names for. Of course, I simplify the shit out of it here and try to put them in laymen's terms. I've taken some major artistic liberties with history in that there is likely no way in 1960 they would have be able to diagnose, especially so quickly, his complex conditions. Also, I am not a medical professional, so I've done my best to describe things whist moving the plot along. I HIGHLY recommend reading Sally Hoedel's book Elvis: Destined to Die Young if you are interested in the specifics regarding E's health journey and how he ended up where he did in terms of that. It's a superbly researched and somewhat heartbreaking book that I think every Elvis fan should read. It certainly inspired part of this story.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Shit.

Elvis winces as he cracks open his eyes just enough to see the sun blazing in on him. The infernal light pierces straight into his head, worsening the headache that already throbs against the inside of his skull. He quickly shuts his eyes again, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to keep the curtains open on a sunny late winter’s day.

Gotta have Lamar cover those damn windows with something more than those flimsy-ass cutains, he thinks, already pissed off.

It takes him a moment to register where he is and why he’s there. That, in fact, the sun’s rays are rather weak and dim, making him wonder just what time it is. Holding the bridge of his nose against the pain in his head, he manages to squint his eyes open to find himself in a rather small hospital room.

Bits and pieces start to come back to him, though the days and nights run together into one big jumble. How he’d finally escaped the confines of his service in Germany, so damn excited to be coming home that he hadn’t properly slept in days. He’d just kept popping those great little pills he’d obtained from a more than generous pharmacist in Bad Nauheim and, fueled by those and pure restlessness to get back to the states, he’d managed to easily keep the smile on his face for the cameras in Germany and the UK.

But the flight over the Atlantic had him chewing his nails to the quick, his legs going a mile a minute. He feared flying ever since the emergency landing that he, Scotty, and Bill had to make in that small, dinky little plane back in the old days, when things had just started to kick up for them in the business. It was made worse by his mama being convinced that he was gonna die in a horrible, fiery crash, so he’d taken to trains and boats and cars as his main forms of transport. The U.S. Army wanted to get him home sooner rather than later, however, and if there was one thing he’d learned in the last two years, it’s that you don’t try to fight Uncle Sam.

Whether it was the flight or the pills or the lack of rest, he’d started to get queasy and dizzy on that pass over the ocean. Then, the scratchiness of his throat, the burn of his forehead, and the chilled sweat that began to stain his perfectly pressed and tailored uniform were the telltale signs of a bout of tonsilitis striking him at precisely the wrong time.

That’s where things get a little fuzzy. Between the pain behind his eyes and at the base of his skull and the heavy fatigue consuming him, it’s not coming to him as quickly as he’d like. His eyes begin to adjust to the sunlight, and he puts together enough to know whatever happened between that flight and landing in New York was enough to land him flat on his ass in the hospital.

New York. That explains all the racket, he thinks as the sounds below on the streets echo off the buildings, creating a cacophony unique to the big city.

The door to the little room swings open then, making him jump out of his skin. It’s as though his state of consciousness was magically communicated to the staff because in walks an older gentleman in a long, white coat, along with his daddy and the Colonel. Their faces are all different degrees of solemn, which sets a churning dread down into the pit of his stomach.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Presley. You’ve been asleep quite a while,” the doctor says, the man’s education only belying a hint of a New York accent. “You’ve had us a bit worried.”

“Mister Presley is my father, Doctor. Please call me Elvis,” he manages to croak out. The fire in his throat flames from the use, causing him to cough and sputter. There’s an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest that tightens with each breath, and that knot in his stomach coils ever tighter.

“Take it easy, son,” his daddy says softly, pouring a glass of water from the table against the wall and handing it to him. The action triggers a memory: a pretty, little dark-haired nurse all in white doing the same in the middle of the night.

Elvis is pulled from the memory as the doctor begins speaking in a serious tone: “Elvis, I’m Dr. Paulson. You had quite the fall in the airplane yesterday morning and hit your head. Do you remember?”

“No, sir.”

“Hmm, that isn’t unusual with a head injury of this type. You might find that your memory has some gaps, bit that is to be expected and will likely resolve with time. But your injury is not what has me concerned, young man, it’s the cause of your unconsciousness that is the real culprit, I’m afraid.”

“What do y’mean, sir? Just feels like a flare of the ol’ tonsils to me.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Elvis knows it’s not the whole truth. He’s never felt quite this terrible in his life, with the way he’s struggling for breath and his body aches from head to toe.

“Elvis, along with your fall, you also went into respiratory distress last night.” Suddenly, Elvis remembers the laughing fit, how he couldn’t catch his breath, how the air just couldn’t seem to fill his lungs as that pretty nurse held his hand. But he thinks maybe it happened before that, too, him gasping for breath as the roar of airplane engines rang in his ears. Icy fear runs down his spine at the remembrance of not being able to draw breath. His attention snaps back to the doctor as he continues.

“We’ve run some tests, and that, coupled with your family history…” the austere man hesitates, “Well, I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

The Colonel glances away and out the window at that, his mouth set in a frown Elvis has never seen before, but it’s the look of sadness on his daddy’s face that finally sets a wave of panic rolling through him.

“Lay it on me, Dr. Paulson,” Elvis says, steeling himself.

“You seem to have a condition that is affecting your lungs, heart, and liver, all of which are vital to our survival. Looking at your mother’s medical records, we think she may have been afflicted with the same condition, and possibly more family members on her side. In fact, it’s likely what caused her early demise,” Dr. Paulson explains.

At the mention of his mama, Elvis’ heart constricts, his barely buried grief stinging his eyes. He blinks away the tears as fast as he can, trying to follow what the doctor is saying.

“Along with that, your immune system also appears compromised, which would explain your frequent and severe bouts of fever and tonsilitis. Altogether, it’s a perfect storm that is likely to only get worse with time. Of course, medical science is improving every day, and there may be better treatments down the road…” Dr. Paulson trails off.

Dread falls over him like a heavy blanket. “What’re ya sayin’, sir?” Elvis asks quietly but is afraid to hear the answer he thinks he’s gonna get.

Dr. Paulson takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but it’s likely these conditions are going to shorten your lifespan considerably.”

The words hang in the air like a suffocating dark cloud. His daddy’s face crumples and he turns away, while the Colonel winces—actually winces—at the words.

“So, y-y-you’re saying this gonna k-k-kill me? That I-I-I’m gonna die?” His vocal incredulousness covers how the sheer panic overcoming him sets his heart galloping. “I’m only 25, Doc…y-y-you gotta be w-wrong ‘bout this. I just spent two damn years in the Army, and they sure as hell didn’t say nothin’ about no ‘condition’!”

“This condition is very rare, Elvis, and we are learning more about it every day. I’m not saying it’ll be today, but considering the episode you’ve just had, this disease will factor critically into your overall health and survival going forward. It has already started a cascade of chronic health issues of varying severity that will worsen as you age, and in the end, this combination of factors will almost certainly be the thing that kills you.”

Hearing those words out of the doctor’s mouth sets him numb with disbelief. This can’t be fucking happening. Not when everything is gettin’ set to be back on track. Not when I got so much left to do.

“No disrespect, Doctor, but I-I-I don’t accept that. I w-want a second opinion,” Elvis shakes his head, the words popping out of his stubborn mouth before he has much chance to think on them, to actually consider the possible truth of them.

But a deep part of him knows.

He knows his mama died too young and that her illness didn’t make sense. He knows he’s got family who died before their time. But most of all, he knows how he feels, and something ain’t right.

“Colonel Parker and your father have said as much, so I will contact some specialists to meet you in Memphis upon your return. But in some ways, young man, this is a good thing,” Dr. Paulson intones softly.

“Now, how the hell d’ya figure that?!” Elvis rasps out, nearly belligerent. He’s not one to be disrespectful, usually, especially to a man of such education, but he feels like shit and the blazing red heat of his temper pushes in before he can stop it.

Dr. Paulson blinks at him with his brows raised, and Elvis feels a wave of shame crash over his already rolling fear and anger. His mama didn’t raise him to talk to people that way. He takes a breath.

“I-I-I’m sorry, sir,” Elvis apologizes deferentially. “I-I’m just h-havin’ a hard time with what y-you’re saying, is all.”

“That’s understandable. What I meant by it being a ‘good thing’ is that now we know what we are dealing with and can set you up with lifestyle changes that could both improve your quality of life and perhaps extend it. We can set you up with constant care in order to avoid…things taking a downturn.”

Elvis’ head is spinning, pounding, making him feel wildly out of control. “Lifestyle changes? Constant care? I ain’t no invalid, Dr. Paulson, I’ll tell you for sure.” He nearly growls the promise as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, meaning to walk the hell out of here and show this doctor just how wrong he is.

In the back of his mind, he realizes instantly how stupid it sounds, considering that the moment he stands, his entire body betrays him and sends him careening to the floor, if not for the doctor and his daddy grabbing him under each arm and hauling his ass back into the bed. There, he is faced with the terrible reality that he’s sicker than a dog with the world spinning out from under him in more ways than one.

“None of us want this to be true, son, but maybe you should listen to the doctor,” his father says quietly in his ear, putting a hand on his shoulder.

This is the last thing Elvis wants to do. He wants to kick and scream and rally himself well. I can prove them all wrong, he thinks, if only he could stop the world from spinning and his breath from wheezing and his body from aching.

Fuck.

Elvis can’t bear to look at anyone, choosing to stare up at the high, vaulted ceiling, blinking away the blast of dark spots in his eyes as he tries to catch his damn breath.

“What’s next?” he finally wheezes out, counting the dots on the ceiling tiles to keep him from floating away.

“Well, first we need to keep you in the hospital as long as it takes to get you stabilized before you can go home to Memphis.”

“Absolutely not!” the Colonel exclaims from near the window. “We’ve already kept the press at bay long enough with talks of flight delays and other nonsense. We can’t hold them back much longer. You listen here, that boy needs to make appearances, and he needs to look the picture of health doing so, or he’s not going to have a career to go back to!”

The doctor scoffs. “Mr. Parker, look at him—Elvis’ career is the least of his worries.”

“It’s Colonel Parker, Mr. Paulson,” he hisses, “and his career is most certainly your concern. You have your expertise, and I have mine, and I’m telling you right now, I didn’t spend two years keeping him in the public eye despite his service to have you flush it down the toilet. I’m sure you don’t want to be the doctor that doomed Elvis Presley. The one who ripped him away from his legions of loyal fans.” The threat is crystal clear, and by the resulting silence, the doctor seems somewhat shaken.

“Sir, there will be no career if the young man is dead.” The doctor’s words hang heavy, and Elvis closes his eyes, willing himself to be anywhere but here. But there is no escaping this. No amount of money, talent, or fame is gonna get him out of this one.

Finally, he brings himself to speak, “I ain’t givin’ up my career, Dr. Paulson. But I also feel like something the cat dragged in last night and can’t get outta this damned bed. So, we’re gonna need to figure out a compromise.”

Dr. Paulson stares at Elvis and the Colonel like they’ve lost their minds. Vernon stays characteristically silent.

“Anything short of you staying here until you at least recover from this episode will be against my medical advice. You are in too fragile a state to consider anything else,” Dr. Paulson says, almost pleadingly. “And with this condition, if you try to jump back into the breakneck lifestyle of a superstar, your life will be short indeed.”

Elvis sets his jaw. “Sir, no offense, but you don’t know me very well. I can do just about anythin’ I set my mind to. We’ve all worked very hard to get me where I am, and I ain’t ready to give that up just yet. I got too much to do. Now tell me, what do I gotta do to get you to let me outta this hospital?”

The doctor looks at him and shakes his head, silent. Finally, he relents. “First off, you have to be able to get out of bed and stand on your own two feet without collapsing.”

“Fine. I can do it.” Even the Colonel looks at him with a tinge of disbelief on that one. “Maybe not this instant, but I’ll do it.”

“Secondly, if you are able to do that and still choose to leave against advice, I recommend having a doctor with you at all times, someone who can monitor your vitals and give you care when you take a turn for the worse,” the doctor concedes, “which you most certainly will.”

“Done,” Elvis agrees quickly. Anything that will get him out of here and back home to his life.

“Now, listen here, my boy, there is no reasonable way to spin a doctor following you everywhere without the press having a field day. You could lose everything the minute the public knows you’re…sick,” the Colonel points at him, faltering on that last word.

He means ‘dying’ not ‘sick,’ an unwelcome voice in the back of his head adds. But Elvis understands the Colonel’s point. Even as private as he is, it’ll be difficult to go to a movie set or recording studio with a stuffy doctor in tow and not have anyone find out. Shit.

Dr. Paulson looks exasperated and crosses his arms. Colonel just glares. But it’s his daddy that finally pops up in the uncomfortable silence.

“What…what about a nurse? Elvis always has girls hanging around him…” Vernon trails off.

Silence fills the air. Elvis blinks slowly and can see the wheels turning in Colonel’s head, the way they do when he’s about ready to come up with the perfect plan, the perfect snow job.

“It…could work, if we get one young and pretty enough. Don’t love it because I wanted to keep Elvis publicly available in the eyes of his fans—no attachments—but looks like we may not have a choice. Better you taken than single and…” The Colonel chooses not to finish that sentence, but they all know the ending he’s avoiding, what he’s choosing not to say.

He races to continue, “But you’ve got to keep up appearances in public, my boy, since she’ll have to be a steady fixture in your life. No more frolicking around with every pretty thing with legs. No more girlfriends in every county, state, and country from here to Timbuktu. No one, girlfriends included, can know what we’re up to or all could be lost. Even your wild friends are going to have to believe this is real for it to work.”

Elvis’ heart begins to race with the thought of being so thoroughly confined to a relationship, especially with some random woman who he might not even be attracted to, physically or otherwise, even if it is just for show. He’s always hated the Colonel being in his private romantic business, knowing that the man has managed to somehow get rid of more than a few of his steadies with some unknown manipulations to keep him “unattached.” So, for Colonel to agree to this plan, Elvis realizes just how dire the situation is.

And God knows, he already has more girlfriends than he can handle as it is. He has yet to be reunited with Anita, pines for Priscilla from afar, and dragged Elisabeth from Germany and sent her ahead to Graceland, not to mention the multitude of other flings he indulges in. But he loves women, to a fault, and he doesn’t want to be tied down to just one (no matter how he tells his girls otherwise). Worrying his lower lip in his teeth, he realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll have to find a way to make it work.

The Colonel must sense this from him. “Oh, come on now, my boy, we all know your talent for juggling women is near as good as your talent for performing. Think of it as a challenge to hone your acting craft. There are worse things than being made to spend time with a pretty girl,” Colonel drawls, daring to wink at him.

Elvis feels sick to his stomach with the dishonesty of it and with the oppressive feeling that his life is no longer his own. To be fair, he’d been feeling like the walls were closing in, pressing him into submission, since the moment he received his draft notice, but this...this is different. The hell of this knowledge strokes awake a deep, dark sliver of him that has always believed his time here is destined to be limited, that no one should achieve his level of fame and success without paying a terrible price. But the worst is the horrible thought that perhaps it should’ve been him who was supposed to die in the womb and not Jesse, and that all this had been a mistake from the start. Some sort of cosmic joke.

No, God wouldn’t do that. God has a plan. He has to, he thinks, banishing the shameful thought back into the dark recesses of him mind from whence it came. A lump forms in his parched throat and he gulps, trying to get it down, trying to chase away the demons that threaten at the edges of his vision. Please God, please, he prays, though he’s not entirely sure what for. Perhaps the prayer begs to know that this is all one of his damn night terrors, or maybe it’s to chase away the horrors inside his mind that seek to consume him whole.

A small part of him is tempted to throw in the towel and to just fade into obscurity. Lord knows he’s already achieved more of his fair share of fame and fortune, more than most achieve in a lifetime. Maybe he should just live out the rest of his now-shortened life in peace and quiet. Start a family with one of his girls like his mama so desperately wanted. He realizes this is what she feared all along—like she’d had some sort of maternal premonition that he had been living on borrowed time from the start.

But that feels like a prison of another sort. No, he loves music too damn much, the way it tingles in his soul, clicking into place like the pieces of a complex puzzle that only he has the ability to complete, and the performing electrifies him in such an addictive and indescribable way that he can’t fathom trying to give it up. And beyond all that, he knows he’s got it in him to be a great actor if given the chance.

Quittin’ isn’t an option, he thinks, even if it kills me. Better to burn bright doin’ what I love rather than have nothin’ to live for.

Blood pounds at the inside of his skull like a ticking clock, his mind spinning with the fear and rage of it all. He is in no space to make these decisions, he realizes, but because so many want him to keep going, to keep working, to keep living, he knows what he’s gotta do.

Elvis finally nods his agreement, adding pointedly, “As long as I get a say in who she is. There’s gotta be chemistry for this to work.”

Dr. Paulson shakes his head and throws his hands in disbelief at this insane plan. “I think the most important thing is that she is competent, not her looks or ‘chemistry.’ Not to mention, she’ll have to be single and willing to give up her entire life to not only care for you 24/7 but to also pretend to be your girlfriend. I hope you have plenty of money to throw at this problem, Elvis.”

The Colonel grins wickedly. “I think you underestimate the power Elvis has over young ladies, Doctor. I have no doubt you’ll help us find someone suitable.”

“In the next few days? You must be joking,” Dr. Paulson huffs.

The stabbing pain behind Elvis’ eyes gets worse with these considerations brought to light. Yes, he does well with women, but the reality of any girl in her right mind agreeing to such conditions feels slim.

It feels serendipitous, then, that it happens to be this exact moment when you walk through the door.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis says, his nickname for you somehow, by the grace of God, popping into his muddled brain the instant he sees you. The name stutters from his lips almost in awe.

God has a plan.

The rest of the men turn in unison to stare at you. Elvis watches as you stop short, your intelligent sky-blue eyes going wide with surprise, annoyance, and apprehension at the intimidating scene before you.

Your mouth opens with a retort, then closes quickly at the strange silence that follows. The men take you in, from head to toe, as you stand frozen in the doorway like a deer in headlights.

After a moment, you seem to remember why you came in the first place, shaking off the uncomfortable gazes of the men and finally clear your throat to speak. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize…I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but Nurse Hunt sent me to find you, Dr. Paulson. She said it was urgent.”

Dr. Paulson, Vernon, and Colonel one by one turn their heads to look at Elvis. Colonel’s wicked little smile turns the corners of his mouth when he sees the way Elvis’ eyes take you in, a little bit of life returning to his pale cheeks.

Of course, Elvis liked you from the moment he’d laid eyes on you yesterday. With your deep brunette hair and stunningly big, bright blue eyes, you instantly piqued his interest, as you fit his usual type well. Your olive skin and striking features are different though, and remind him a bit of a young Sophia Loren, the beautiful Italian actress who he’d met on the movie studio lot a few years back.

In the looks department, you’d fit the role quite well.

The only problem he can see is that you’d made your distain for him quite clear last night.  

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally says, realizing you were waiting for any sort of response beyond staring. Relieved, you scurry away as quickly as you’d arrived.

“What do we know about Nurse—” Colonel starts the moment you leave.

“Cannava,” Elvis and Dr. Paulson say in tandem. Elvis is surprised your name falls off his tongue so easily, especially with how clouded his memory is.

“She’s the youngest to ever graduate our program here at Bellevue, and for that itself she is a standout. But being so young, she is still relatively inexperienced despite her excellent training,” the doctor warns, and seeing the look on the Colonel’s face wanting more, he continues, “Beyond that, I’d have to ask around.”

“She’ll never do it,” Elvis interjects with disappointment. “She doesn’t like me much.”

“Nonsense, my boy, I’ve never seen you anything but persistent in your need and ability to win a woman over,” Colonel says encouragingly, patting Elvis’ hand. “And perhaps it will work in our favor in her ability to remain…professional around you. Use that winning charm of yours to win her over. That and a healthy sum she can’t refuse.”

Elvis doesn’t even know your first name, but he can’t help the fact that he’s been drawn to you since the moment you met. The little flutter of his heart, the revealing sign of his already budding infatuation, loves the idea of you being his.

But she won’t be mine, not really, he reminds himself.

Either way, it’s a challenge he’s not quite sure he’s up for in his weakened state, but time is running short, and he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s going to have to figure out a way to convince you this is a good idea.

“Find out everything you can,” Colonel orders the doctor, “and then bring her to me.”

What the Colonel wants, the Colonel gets.

And Elvis has the distinct feeling he’s already in over his head and is taking you with him, willing or not.

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#Broken Glass #Broken Glass Chapter 2 #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x oc #elvis 1960 #post army elvis #missmaywemeetagain #madisyn may

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / Chapter Ten

a peaky blinders Modern AU balletcore story?

Chapter List

Previous Chapter (in case u missed it bc tumblr is being weird)

John

"Don't like this John," hummed Esme where she sat in the bedroom window, her hair wild and long, trailing down her back her curls knotting down to her lower back, brushing over her bare thighs when she turned to look at me over her shoulder. She'd been up half the night with the baby and now that the littlen had finally settled down she was sitting alone watching the dark garden, wearing one of my tshirts, one which had been worn to death and had grown with her baby belly throughout her last pregnancy. She still wore it now, when it was late and she couldn't sleep. She'd taken to sitting in that window all through the night, starring out at the garden like a caged bird, smoking her cigarettes one by one.

"I know love," I sighed stepping up behind her, letting my hands hold her shoudlers, thumbs rubbing over the bones. "Won't be for long, we'll go back to the farm soon..."

"Thats what you say," she said turning back to the garden with the dark shadowy eyes of a girl. A girl pining. Which is what I knew she was. She was restless and she had been for a long time, long before this shit with the Italians. I'd been trying my best on the farm, trying to help her feel free, connected to the earth. I humoured her when she walked out in the garden barefoot, curling her toes into the muddy vegetable patches when it rained. I'd promised her we'd travel, that we'd pack up and take the kids with us, and I'd meant to keep that promise. But now there were other shadows looming over us, and not just over me and her but the whole family. And keeping my promise to Esme would mean betraying my brothers and sisters.

I couldn't even toy with the idea. Of course sometimes the way Tommy was made me want to say fuck it and leave, but the rest of them, no. I couldn't leave Ada and the twins. Couldnt abandon Arthur who needed the family to stay together more than any of us.

And even Tommy, at the end of the day, no matter how cruel he could be, how unfeeling, he was still my big brother. And he wasn't as selfish as he seemed, it just takes a lot to lead a family, especially one like ours. He was just doing his best to be the person steering our battered ship.

"We're never leaving here," Esme said, her voice low and dark and gloomy like the empty garden at night. That expanse of lawn, so tame. That wall of trees just that, a wall that hedged us all in. Marked out our bit of land and kept it ours. A perimeter that  Esme understood, kept her caged.

That was why she spent her evenings starring out at it with dark eyes and a heavy heart. Smoking her cigarettes. Making me feel all kinds of guilt and inadequacy.

"We will flower, just as soon as this is all over, gonna take you and the littlens far away," I said leaning over her, tilting her head right back so that i could kiss her from above. I meant it, in my heart when I said it I meant it but we were neither of us naive and so we both found ourselves looking out at the garden then, whistful and doomed.

This wasn't going to be over quickly. Might never be over at all.

The house was quiet but only just and only for now, the twins had gone to bed, too shaken up for my liking - and I felt guilty for that because I'd aided in the shaking - but Arthur hadn't returned with Ada and I knew that she had all the fight of little Sylvie and all the zeal of having grown up in a shithole like small heath. That is to say I knew she wouldn't be affraid to tell Tommy exactly what she thought of him. How much of a cunt she thought he was.

When our mother had died Tommy had stepped up for the girls because they were only small and suddenly left without a mother or a father to care for them. He'd tried to be that father figure to the best of his ability, which was limited because he'd never really had a sturdy father figure himself. As a result the girls had wound up with this fear of him, that fear only a father can instill. In healthy relationships its known as respect but theirs was a distant and troubled relationship and so fear was the only way of describing it. Ada hadn't had that, didn't fear him and probably wouldn't ever. So I knew that when she got here she'd do the shouting and the fighting for all three of them. Wouldn't give a fuck that it was 4 in the morning and the littluns were in bed, that I was in bed, only just managing to drift off. Would blame me for that, would tell me it straight.

"Ada will stay," said Esme then, "she's not stupid she knows whats at risk..."

"Yeah," I sighed, "its the girls ain't it," I said, "gonna be trouble..." I said and she smirked as if to say 'you don't know the half of it' but I did because every step of the way we'd done everything wrong. We'd sent them away, let them grow up wild in some far away city, in a boarding school that taught them how to lie and cheat their way to the top, taught them they could have everything they wanted if they were cut throat and selfish, if they thought only about where they were trying to go and took wild risks, pushed themselves too far.

And it was obvious looking at Sylvie, that the both of them had taken on board everything that theyd been taught. That they weren't affraid to push themselves too far, test their limits. That they didn't mind their own safety when it came to taking risks to get what they wanted.

And they'd take these risks because we'd always tried to keep them sheltered, always tried to keep them seperate. The twins had never seen their brothers with bullets in their chests, they'd never seen the men we'd snatched from wives and children. They didn't really know what we did with the bodies. They didn't know about the arms severed, the threats sent. They didn't know the things we'd done to our enemies, they thought our wars were all money and talk but they were usually always retaliation to meetings gone sour, deals fucked up, families we'd made the mistake of only half slaughtering.

And because they didn't know any of those things, then they could never really understand what they were risking, what our enemies would do to them, how they would be used, how they'd be tortured.

It wasn't even a year passed since our Aunt Pol had narrowly escaped death at the hands of the Changretta's. They'd had her neck in a noose, left her balanced on her tip toes for days, a sinister act of torture we were all certain had tipped her over the morbid edge she'd been teetering on for years. They'd told her they had all of us, tricked her into believing that whilst she stood their desperately trying to keep her balance, feeling the strain of the noose against her neck every time she faltered, that each of us was fighting for our lives in an equally painful way.

No one knew, not even her, how she'd actually managed to escape. But it hadn't been any of us who had cut her down. Tommy said she must have done it, must have worked out a way to cut the bonds on her hands, to sever the rope around her neck. Polly insisted that it hadn't been. That it had been the ghost of her mother, that now she'd spent several days with death hovering around her, waiting for her muscles to spazm and falter, she could see death all the time. That she could hear the voices of those past, that she could see their shadows lingering around the living.

And though it all seemed a little mellodramatic to me, seemded like rot to Arthur, I could tell Tommy empathised with the darkness. And we couldn't laugh her off because of what she'd gone through. The days of pain, her muscles sore to burning, her adrenaline savaging her body so that when she finally returned home she was a shell of her former self. Something changed behind her eyes.

That was the darkness our fens were risking every time they fought back against Tommy. If they disobeyed him, if we couldn't keep them here, safe with us, well, thered be no ghosts that came to save them.

"Sylvies got her brothers temper," said Esme, her strange impersonal judgements reminding me that they'd never really met. That the wedding had been the first and last time they'd seen one another. So it was all the more strange, all the more uncomfortable.

"Aye but which brother..." I smirked making her laugh, making her dark brooding eyes light up for a moment as she shook her head.

"Well," she let her smirk linger, her dimple etched into her expression so that she appeared impish in the pale nights light, "ain't arthurs is it..."

"Shes nothin like Tommy," I said shaking my head, refusing to believe that that could be true, refusing to believe that there was anything about my brother that could possibly have been passed onto little Sylvia who had always been so wild and sweet.

"They're like our mum," I said trying to reiterate my point. Trying to prove Esme's observation wrong, "I guess you wouldn't see that yknow," I shrugged turning away from the window, pulling my shirt over my head, knowing there was no point trying to get to sleep. Lying down anyway and asked her to lie down with me. For want of nothing else to do.

"Come on love, can't sit in that window all night you'll get cold..."

"What and I spose you're gonna keep me warm?" she asked turning with that clever little smirk, outsmarting me again.

"Aye," I said with a cheeky caught out grin of my own, "Somet like that aye..." I chuckled opening my arms out for her, letting her crawl across the bed to me, that too bed tshirt hanging from her soft curves as she moved feline and feminine over covers to come curl up in my arms.

I kissed her hair and let my hand trail over her thigh, fingers teasing a line up to the hem of her underwear. I knew how to ease her troubled mood, even now when her eyes were dark and I could see that she was worrying.

So we didn't get any sleep, and when Arthur returned with Ada and Karl, their voices ricochetting down the corridors, their disturbance caught me and Esme off guard. Her beanth me, her thighs trembling on each side of my neck as I ground my hips against her hips a little harder than before, burying myself deep inside her.

We'd been close when that front door had slammed and Karl had woken, started crying but the moment Ada's sharp words began tumbling vitriolic and shattering the silent house, we knew it was over.

"Fuck sake," whined Esme burying her face into my neck, clutching at me still, her body clinging tight to mine. She didn't want to let go and I didn't want to pull out and away from her but I knew that any second now Ada would be hammering her fist on that bedroom door demanding to drag me into the battle.

I laughed, let my grin linger because there was nothing else I could do. Just had to keep smirking through it and appreciate the humour of it all, forty fuckin one years old and still being cockblocked by my big sister.

So I accepted my fate, kissing Esme on the nose as I pulled out and she whimpered again. Smirking at her sweetness because it wasn't a side to her that came out very often. Had never been a side she liked to show. One it had taken me a long time to find hidden and secret beneath all those rough and wild layers of defense.

"To be continued," I said pecking her cheek, trailing teasing kisses down her body, leaving one between her legs that made her whine and then push me away, kicking at me playfully as she let out a dissatisfied sigh.

"Fuck sake John," she groaned as she pushed herself up and wrapped the covers around her. "I'm going to sleep, better not wake me up when you get back..." she threatened, her smouldering eyes teasing me, her sullen lips leaving me longing to kiss her again, push her buttons just a little more.

"Oh you'll be awake lass," I grinned, "Ada'll make sure of that..."

And Ada did make sure of that. She'd no patience because despite what he said, Arthur had done nothing to calm her on the journey home and even then, when I came stumbling into the corridor tugging my tshirt over my head, laughing at the drama of it all, Arthur was watching her despairing and nervous.

"Fuckin hell Ada some of us are tryna sleep here, its 4 in the fuckin mornin..." I said still chuckling, knowimg that I was risking her temper and carrying on anyway. I was her little brother afterall, I could get away with it if I tried.

"Perhaps you'd be having an easier night if you didn't always bend over backwards to accommodate our canniving pig of a brother," she said sharply, standing in the hallway lit up by the the little light coming in through the front door and the windows in the cieling.

She looked pale as a ghost and just as cold and I didn't know what to say to her because she wasn't wrong. Wasn't right either. I wouldn't have had an easier night because Tommy would have killed me and then he'd have sent someone else, someone like Isaiah, and then my ghost would have been haunting the halls all eternity with the guilt of having left my little sisters in the hands of someone else.

It wasn't that I wouldn't have trusted Isaiah with my sisters, it was that really when it came down to it, I didn't trust anyone with them. Not even my brothers. Not to do things right anyway.

If Arthur had gone for them he'd have lost his temper because he'd have been scared, because he'd have been paranoid that they didn't respect him, because he'd have been angry at himself for not being able to do as Tommy had asked. For not being the kind of brother his little baby sisters would trust.

If Tommy had gone, then the speech which had brought Sonya to petrified tears in the office that night, would have been given much sooner, with no care for the audience, no care for who was watching, recording or making notes. He'd have lost his temper because he'd have realised they only feared him, didn't respect him. And they were more delicate than either of them liked to let on. Sonya and Sylvia had always been a little less Shelby like our father. Much more like their mother than anyone wanted to admit.

I had noticed it in Sylvia straight away. The thin quality, that washed out pale tone, the greyish brown which shadowed her eyes, which lingered and left her looking tired. Sonya had hidden it better but I'd still seen it there. They were both just so much smaller than they should have been but I knew that if I mentioned it to my brothers they'd tell me I worried too much, that they were tougher than I gave them credit for.

"Ada love come on now eh its late, you'll wake the twins..." said Arthur, all sheepish and tired, one hand on the back of his neck, his features flushed, embarassed to be approaching 50 and still unable to quell his sisters temper. If there was one thing you could say about Ada it was that she'd always been the one to put us in our place. Humble us when we let our position and our reputation get to our heads.

"You care for their wellbeing so much then why in gods name would you drag em back to this fuckin place?" and then she sighed and shook her head, "fuckin go to bed arthur it aint you I need to speak to..."

"Tommys in his..." I trailed off when my eyes met my brothers down the hall, he was walking slowly, a shadow approaching, a cigarette unlit hanging between his lips.

"Ada love," he said making her jump but doing nothing to hush her or shake her determination. "Good to see you made it up safe an sound..." and when I saw his patronising little smile I resigned myself to a sleepless night and a long morning of achey heads and sore throats. Tension bristling.

It was exactly what we got, but not what we didn't deserve.

🔪🦢

"She won't forgive you you know..." said Polly the next morning when it was only myself and her left in the dining room.

Sylvie had left with an angry static buzzing all about her, Tommy had sent her to fetch Sonya and, in his usual tactless charm, had said something so patronising that I was surprised our Fen hadn't torn his head from his neck right in front of us.

"No," I said with a sad smirk, "Fens right, gonna fuck Sonyas whole career up ain't it, poor lass must fuckin hate us..." but when I said it Pol just chuckled and shook her head.

"I wasn't talking about Sonya," she said lighting up her cigarette and drawing in a long leisurely inhale, "Sonya knows she can't go back, I don't even think she's going to put up a fight..."

"Its Sonya who's losing her job not Sylvia," I shrugged a little confused, not understanding when Polly laughed.

"Ha," she said, "stupid lads the lot of you..." she turned her head from me, looking across the dining room and out the window at the gardens where the mist was just beginning to thin.

"What?" I couldn't keep the confusion off my face despite wanting to hide it, I hated it when she made me feel stupid like that, perhaps I deserved it, perhaps I was as daft as she said. Even so I didn't like the fact being highlighted so bluntly.

"Since their mother died those two girls have had only eachother... Their big brothers weren't there were they? In London? Learnt to look after one another didn't they..."

It was painful to hear it from her, our Aunt Pol who has always been the matriarch, the one who looked after us all, the one we all looked up to. She it was painful to hear her tell it so straight, how we'd let them down. How we'd abandoned them. Left two little girls down south on their own, fending for themselves among strangers.

"I should never have let him do that," said Polly then, her voice as dark and gravelly as her eyes, that harsh kind of doom lingering around her like a shadow. One of those auras she claimed to be able to see around people these days.

"When our Tom puts his mind to somet..." I started only to trail off, only to remember that none of us had really fought against it, "we all believed it was for the best..."

"Fools," murmured Pol sucking in another drag on her cigarette, watching the cloud of smoke linger and then disperse just in front of her, "the lot of us."

#peaky blinders imagines #Trouble #tommy shelby modern au #peaky blinders modern au #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders x oc #Alfie solomons x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine

[vampirerodeo779]

❤️🎼🎨📚 (for the ask thing :))

omg i feel so special thank u mutual (answers for @sunsets-and-satsumas Star Trek ask game is under the cut because this is a very long post haha)

original post

who’s your comfort character in star trek?

easiest question ever. spocj ❤️❤️❤️ Live laugh love spock. I also really like Kirk but more in like a microwave way. that doesn’t make sense. anyway.

I also love Data, Troi, Wesley, Neelix, T’Lyn, Boimler, and Mariner. I love autism.

What are some songs/music that you associate with Star Trek?

Other than the half of Subspace Rhapsody that’s on my playlist? good question. I love Leonard Nimoys music. I have so many of his songs saved and he’s so talented.

A lot of the TOS cast has music actually. Both Nichelle Nichols (Uhura) and William Shatner (Kirk) have cover songs of varying quality. please listen to Shatners Bohemian Rhapsody, it is a necessity.

I mostly watch TOS (and SNW and LD when they come out)(i’ve watched every star trek thing but those are the ones i think about most) so I really associate slower songs with Star Trek. vaguely sad or whistful slow songs especially. I would link my Spock playlist but I barely add to it and it only has 3 songs I think.

What is your favorite piece of Star Trek fanart?

Oh god 😭 I genuinely don’t know. When I was first re-entering the Star Trek fandom, it was mostly for k/s. (just spent 20 minutes trying to find two very specific drawings but i can’t find them). I don’t think i have a FAVORITE though. If i had to pick I’d say any Star Trek art myself or my mutuals make are the ones I love seeing most ❤️

What is your favorite Star Trek fanfiction?

Purposely not linking any of my own works (yes, some of them ARE my favorite; i made them for me lol). But i pretty much ONLY read k/s. I like other ships but k/s is just my comfort 🤷‍♂️ here’s some that I’m reading or have bookmarked!:

Controlled Environment by Obsessed_Wraith— I know they have tumblr but I don’t remember/couldn’t find their handle, please tag them if you know it. This fic is currently unfinished, Chapter 6 was uploaded just today, but it is so amazing! please read it.

We Will Meet Again by Darksknight— I love long fics, and this was amazing. It’s very rare that I fully enjoy an AOS fic, but I think this is just a right balance between AOS and TOS. The Tarsus IV chapter(s?) were beautiful and are probably my favorite part, they were so amazing

Undone by my mutual @greengoddesssmoothie — also an incomplete fic, but the emotional turmoil in the beginning chapters were so amazing! the way Spock is characterized in this fic is just so so so fascinating.

If anyone has fic recs, i am in desperate need for more reading material lol. and also a special shoutout to my favorite tropes: Fake dating/marriage, slow burn, soulmates, and angst ❤️

(also, i personally do not read smut so none of the three above have smut i don’t think)

thank you so much for asking me these questions!! this was SO much fun to answer

#star trek #star trek tos #spock #k/s #leonard nimoy #nichelle nichols #william shatner #star trek tng #star trek voyager #star trek lower decks #star trek snw #star trek aos #ask games #ask game

[akallabeth-joie]

The Blue Castle, Chapter 20

Slowly catching up.

I like that Valancy's first purchase is something her family denied her: colorful, modern clothing. Also the nightgown that never gets mentioned again--whether it's meant to show that she's finally having the chance to enjoy pretty things for herself (even where no one will see it!) or is still holding onto the hope of having someone to show it to, it's a fine departure from the ugly bedroom and plain nightgown of the opening chapter.

The solitaire thing makes me mad. Valancy's reading is "idleness", but playing [cheating at] solitaire isn't? And then there's the selfish angle that the [apparently] only permitted recreation in the household is a solo activity limited to Mrs. Stirling. I know they're one person short for a standard bridge or whist table, but it strikes me that a three-player game with Valancy and Cousin Stickles would allow everyone to participate. -1 to Mrs. Stirling for past misdeeds.

Valancy found a church that suits her. Nice. Including Abel Gay's objections makes a nice foil for the Stirlings: that one can disagree without ruining the relationship (they're clearly in the wrong), and that Valancy's interest in the Free Methodists isn't just a rebellion against her mother (not she apparently changed her plan to attend the Presbyterian church).

I'm not sure what to say about the party. I wonder that Cissy suggested it to Valancy in the first place, if she was so worried about how rough it could get. And that neither she nor Abel mentioned that to Valancy... It does, however, result in a dramatic escape with Barney, so from a story perspective, I approve. I also like that Valancy gets to hear some more compliments, even if the situation rapidly deteriorates from "the girl in green is cute" to our heroine getting accosted by jerks.

In regards the aforementioned jerks, is the demand for dancing meant to be a stand-in for sexual assault? Or are we supposed to understand these 'rough' characters truly only want to dance? The level of pushiness they display feels like there's more going on, as does Barney's and Valancy's response.

Out of gas, in the woods, there was only one car and it's a chance for Valancy and Barney to enjoy some quality time together.

Scoreboard: No change to the rankings, but a new low score of -41 points to Mrs. Frederick Stirling.

Mrs. Stirling: -41

Cousin Stickles: -14

Uncle Benjamin: -10

Aunt Wellington: -9

Uncle James: -8

Olive: -5

Uncle Wellington: -4

Byron Stirling: -2

Aunt Isabel: -2

Cousin Gladys: -2

Cousin Betty: -1

Aunt Mildred: -1

Aunt Alberta: 0

Uncle Herbert: 0

Second Cousin Sarah Taylor: 0

Second Cousin Jane: 0

Cousin Georgiana: 3

#the blue castle #blue castle book club

[murdockparker]

Foolish Endeavor - Part 3

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t an expert on navigating his emotions, but he surely had a better chance at doing it alone than with the help of his older brother, right?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: mixed canon, not historically accurate, pining

A/N: no reader/benedict interaction this chapter my guys, sorry :( next chapter should make up for it though... at least, I hope so lol

first part - previous part - next part

__

Benedict found himself in his chambers for the rest of the day, even forgoing afternoon tea with his siblings. Apparently he missed quite the conversation revolving around Anthony and his supposed courting of Miss Edwina Sharma, but Colin gave him the highlights whist shoving his face full of leftover scones. Benedict’s hands were covered in charcoal, white shirt dusted in the black—he’d have to apologize to the staff of the laundry—but the second eldest Bridgerton couldn’t find any reason to care even remotely of his disheveled state. If he had thought that his inspiration had increased since his stint in the park with the two ladies of the (Y/L/N) family, his mind couldn’t fathom what he was dealing with now. 

Papers were strewn about the room, half-finished sketches cluttered his desk, his chair, even his bed. All of the sketches had been made in haste, all without abandon, as if his hand were possessed in a manner of speaking. All of his works were of the same subject:

Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Lord, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d be fooling himself if he couldn’t admit this would be the first time she had consumed his thoughts and very being, but it had been the first time in many years since the last episode had taken place. It was at the height of his infatuation with the young (Y/L/N) girl, him being the ripe age of one and eight, she only a few years behind. He had come home on a holiday from school, anxious to reconnect with his friends and family from the long time away.

(Y/N) had melted every worry and anxiety he could have even thought to have had. Seeing her smile—hearing her laugh—he was content. He knew it wasn’t wise to be pining after his friend, no, she was to marry another, another man who decidedly could never be him. Benedict hoped that she was delighted to see him after such a time away, hoped dearly that she could’ve felt even a sliver of how he felt about her. 

But he supposed it did not matter. Not in the grand scheme of things, anyway. 

So he pushed every notion, every hitched breath, every ungentlemanly urge he had for his friend, he pushed them deep down into the depths of his very being. She couldn’t know, she couldn’t even remotely suspect his rather obvious pining. He had his schooling to worry about, to throw himself into. It was easier, Benedict thought, to try and forget about Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N) while he was away. He didn’t have to see her about town nearly every day, avoid her gaze amidst their drawing room, he could simply exist in peace—studying and lectures aside. He tried to fill his brain with other desires, with other fair—fair enough—ladies to warm his bed. Perhaps he was rakish, indeed.   

When he had moved back, every ease his new life he had concocted for himself had been for naught. Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), daughter of the Earl of Kent, had blossomed into a beautiful debutante, finally joining society and joined the Marriage Mart that season. He regrets missing that first ball of the season, missing her official debut. She was to be a vision, he suspected, finally dressed like lady of the ton ought to be, prim and proper, hair styled just right, jewelry glittering with her new look. Oh how he imagined her that night, grasping for every detail he could scrounge out of his brothers—Colin was most unhelpful in that regard—he could only dream of her first look as a maiden on the Mart. 

But dreams was where the image would have to reside as he couldn’t bear to see her at practically any ball that year. It hurt him, to see her dance with every other eligible suitor in the ton, even if she loathed every moment and waltz. Benedict found himself holing away with the married men, rather boring himself with the matters of their marital complaints than to be a muddled mess in the middle of the dance floor, heart hurting greater than a lost limb. He hadn’t loved her, that he was sure of. If he were to have loved Lady (Y/N), he would’ve known it, he would’ve felt it. It was merely an infatuation, a desire to have what he possibly couldn’t. 

Thankfully, his efforts in evading his dearest friend had payed off, for when he finally grew the courage to attempt to dance with her that first season, his heart was steady, breathing even. Hell, he even was able to jest with her amidst their dance. It had felt like he was a boy again, playing make-believe with the girl across the way. He couldn’t bear to play with fire, however, so he kept his interactions with her brief, usually surrounded by the company of his own family.

The Cowper ball was a momentary lapse of his better judgment. He had successfully managed to reign in his feelings and his oh-so-stoic evasion of Lady (Y/N)’s presence, mostly, anyhow. But with how she was standing next to the glasses of lemonade, glowing—decidedly not from the fluorescent pink dress but something else entirely—and possibly lost in thought, he simply had to go speak with her. Lord Greenwood beat him to the punch, distracting (Y/N) while Benedict grew up the courage to ask her for a dance. A dance. They’d danced before, but something about her demeanor, her very presence in the ballroom, two seasons under her belt, urged Benedict to want to dance with her. He supposed he never not wanted to dance with her, but he allowed the action to humor himself, just for the night. 

He almost couldn’t believe his ears when she—the girl of his affections—asked him to dance. It was only to be ruse for her mother’s benefit, dancing with a Bridgerton would surely please the worried mama on her daughter’s attempts at finding a husband. Even under the false pretenses, to dance with his dearest friend was a pleasure all in itself. He had gotten to hold her close, practically smell her floral perfume and feel just for a moment, that she was his. Benedict Bridgerton was in too deep, knowing that the almost dream-like dance would all but be left on the ballroom floor, a sweet memory indeed.

Had it not been for Whistledown, he would have been satisfied with their dance the eve prior, a memory he’d cherish and recall with fondness. He’d be able to move on, eventually find a wife that didn’t bore him entirely and consider himself the happy sort. But with the gossip rag enlightening the ton with the notion that the Bridgerton and (Y/L/N) families could possibly one day intertwine? All eyes were seemingly on the two, boring into the sides of every outing the week after. With the added pressure of nearly all of London, his feelings for his friend were dialed up to an eleven, all his hard work the years prior nothing more than a wave beat against the sand. 

So, he drew. He poured his emotions onto the paper, almost as if he could sketch her out of his system. Benedict couldn’t recall the last time he drew so much, perhaps this was his record in the making. If anyone were to walk in, they’d think he was mad. If anyone were to walk in, he’d be mortified. If anyone were to walk in— 

“Your crush has dissipated, eh?”

Benedict turned his head so rapidly, it’s a wonder he didn’t snap it. “Anthony! Do you not knock?”

“It’s my house,” his brother all but shrugged. “One would think I have the right to enter and exit rooms as I please.”

“These are still my bedchambers,” Benedict pointed, “you should have at the least, knocked. My door was shut, I could’ve been—”

“Could’ve been, what?” Anthony’s voice was teasing, a delightful change of pace, Benedict wished that he could appreciate it. “Could’ve been pouring your heart into sketches of your,” he held one of the many sketches littering Benedict’s bed, “dear friend?”

“What I decide to sketch is,” he ripped the paper out of his brother’s grip, “none of your concern.”

“No,” Anthony clicked, “but I take my family’s welfare quite seriously, and yours,” he turned to Benedict, “seems to be a mess.”

“My welfare is fine—” 

“Is it?” Anthony’s hands found another sketch easily, Benedict had done quite a number of them. “You’ve gone mad.”

“She’s merely a—will you stop grabbing them?” Benedict quickly began to collect as many of the drawings as he could, lest his brother grab another. Anthony looked terribly amused. “As I was saying, (Y/N)—Lady (Y/N)—is merely a rather wonderful subject to draw, I simply couldn’t help myself.”

“And if she were to see these? The amount of them?”

He knew his face was red, it had to be. Benedict’s face felt like the surface of the sun, surely it looked like the ripe tomatoes his mother once tried to grow. She never really could get them to flower quite right. “She—I wouldn’t—I couldn’t…” It was Benedict’s turn to sigh, falling onto the plush green chair near his bed, the one (Y/N) had so keenly modeled on that afternoon. The velvet felt magical under his fingertips. “She’d think I’d gone mental.”

“Which,” Anthony shut his brother’s door, their conversation turning into one the rest of their surely family didn’t need to hear, “in a way, you have.”

“I have,” Benedict was beside himself, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, dazed and mouth gaping, “my God,” he turned to Anthony, “I have gone mad.”

Anthony only nodded, allowing his brother to stew in his self realization for only a moment longer. He hesitantly sat on the edge of Benedict’s bed, trying to be level with his brother. “Part of me thinks you’ve always been mad, at least, when it comes to Lady (Y/N).”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, ever since we were young you were practically stuck to her like glue,” he waved nonchalantly, “mother and father were all but taking bets on when you’d start to court her once you both came of age.”

Benedict scoffed. “I have not been that obvious,” Anthony’s brow quirked, “h-have I?”

“It’s a miracle that a girl as intelligent as (Y/N) hasn’t taken any notice of your,” he took a deep breath, “condition.”

“You say that as if I’m hysterical.”

“Are you not?”

Benedict wanted nothing more in that moment than to have his hand travel across his brother’s—rather smug—face. He, instead, took a deep breath. “I’ll leave the hysterics to the women vying for your attention, Viscount.”

Anthony groaned. “Do not remind me,” a hand ran through his already unkempt hair, “ever since mother made it known to the ton that I was looking for a wife, it has been non-stop.”

“You’re courting Miss Sharma, are you not?”

“As a matter-of-fact, I—” Anthony’s eyes narrowed, annoyed that the conversation was taking a sharp turn, “I am not here to talk about my romantic endeavors, but rather your lack of them.”

“Anthony, I don’t have the patience to talk to you about this tonight,” Benedict shifted in his seat.

“Why? Don’t care to indulge your dearest brother?”

“That,” Benedict shot Anthony a look, “and the fact that I simply just don’t know what to say about the matter.”

“I have nothing better to do,” Anthony shrugged. It was a lie, they both knew it. The viscount, naturally, always had things to do. Balance accounts, overlook the estates, deal with his ever vexing family… the list was seemingly endless. “And it almost pains me to see you so… worked up. Almost.”

Benedict crossed his arms. “How kind of you.”

“Truth be told, I would’ve assumed you’d be the first of the Bridgerton brood to be married off,” he rose from Benedict’s bed, taking his strides towards an easel with a blank canvas. “With how deeply in love you are with the earl’s daughter, it seemed like the obvious choice of the eight.”

“Well, obviously Hyacinth or Gregory weren’t going to be the first, they’re hardly out of their leading strings.”

“You know exactly what point I was trying to make.”

“Then perhaps choose your words with a bit more grace.”

The two were at an impasse, that was obvious. Anthony’s gaze was fixed on the blank canvas before him, Benedict’s on Anthony. Truly what an extraordinary sight it must be, deeply riveting. After quite a bit of silence, Anthony cleared his throat.“You do love her, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not sure if this is love or…or if (Y/N) is simply my,” he paused for a moment, trying to find the right word, “muse.”

“Muse? Surely you’re not fooling yourself with that notion—” 

“I feel as if I’m fooling myself a great deal of the time, brother,” it was Benedict’s turn to rise from his seat, “it’s been this way since I returned to London—”  

“Since Lady (Y/N) debuted?”

Benedict could only nod. 

“You know as well as I that out of our entire family, I am the least eligible person to try and wrap one’s head around any sort of love-related issues,” Anthony laughed, “why, I would think mother would be best suited for that.”

“I am not going to go to mother to complain about my,” he shuddered at the thought, “issues revolving around Lady (Y/N).”

“Why ever not?”

“She’d be of little help, all but practically planning our wedding as I would lament on,” Benedict almost caught himself smiling at the thought. His mother would be pleased at the thought of him marrying anyone, but to have her son marry his dearest friend? She’d probably instantly combust. 

“As I was saying,” Anthony’s voice was firm, “I may not be the best option, but I would argue that I am your best friend,” he caught a glimpse of Benedict’s gaze, “save for Lady (Y/N), obviously. Honestly, I’m hurt. I have known you your entire life, you know.”

“Lest you forget to remind me,” his voice was twinged with a smile. 

“I want to help you, Benedict,” Anthony’s posture fell, just for a moment, “I only want to see you happy, to see our family happy.”

The weight on his elder brother’s shoulders was one that Benedict did not take lightly. Anthony Bridgerton had a great deal of responsibility, being the man of the Bridgerton clan, the title of viscount, dealing with every little thing that came with it… Benedict couldn’t even begin to imagine the pressure that Anthony felt on his person nearly every day. He had never thanked Anthony for being the eldest, not honestly, anyway. Thank him for allowing Benedict to feel free enough to indulge in his pleasures, his art, his hobbies.

Anthony took his brother’s silence as a sign that it was time to leave, to quit pestering and go continue the work he ought to have completed by now.

“She, she said something today,” Benedict all but whispered, his eyes were trained on the elaborate rug beneath their feet. “Something that… complicated things.”

“Oh?”

“All this time I thought,” he took a breath, “I told myself that (Y/N) was to marry a nobleman, she’s the daughter of an earl after all. The Earl of Kent.” Anthony only nodded. “It’s funny, how that was the thing that held be back, that she couldn’t possibly be interested in a courtship with me, a second son.”

“You’re selling yourself short, Benedict—” 

“And yet, that was the very thing that stopped me from my foolish endeavors,” Benedict laughed humorlessly. “I pulled myself away from her because she deserved better, a rich and titled husband, something I could never provide.” His fingers felt the sweat on his hairline as he raked them through his unruly locks, “the rich part aside, of course. We’d be comfortable.”

Anthony chuckled, “Of course.” He managed to make his brother smile with the laugh. “What, pray tell, did she say to you that could’ve complicated things?”

“She had told me that it would be best if her future husband had no title at all,” his words were pressed, “no ties to any sort of nobility.”

“Why on earth would—”

The realization struck Anthony as it had similarly struck Benedict. His brother’s features softened in thought, brows raised at the notion.

“Their family title,” it was all Anthony could say, “they need it to continue. I recall Kent mentioning something regarding the issues revolving around their title.” His strong brows furrowed for a moment. “But why would that admission possibly complicate things? Should you not be overjoyed that the woman you love is looking for a match that you so happen to check all of the boxes for? Singing from the hills and screaming to the moon?”

“That,” Benedict rose a finger to Anthony’s face, “is exactly the problem.” Anthony’s brows all but rose in confusion, his face contorted in a way Benedict had only ever seen his brother make to the ledgers in his study. “It complicates things because now I have a chance."

“Brother, you do not make any sense, would that not—”

“After years,” he nearly spat, “of pining and pushing my desires for her down because of my preconceived notions of her future match, I all but lost hope. I had given up.”

“But because you’d given up,” the viscount slowly came to realize, “she is unaware of your intentions and sees you as nothing more than—”    

“A friend,” Benedict shuddered, “or, Lord help me, a brother.”

“And so she’ll be married to some other oaf of the ton soon enough and you just have to watch.”

“Exactly.” 

“Christ,” Anthony found himself back on Benedict’s bed, clearly taken aback. “You’d probably be invited to the wedding, no doubt.”

“Please, feel free to remind me,” Benedict all but bowed, “as if I hadn’t thought this through for the last oh-so-many years of my life.”

“You don’t have the faintest idea if Lady (Y/N) could possibly feel the same way, do you?” The Viscount recalled the morning that Lady Whistledown had reported their supposed courting. “Eloise did say that she looked at you in a way that clearly fooled everyone.”

“She was acting,” Benedict waved dismissively, “her mother—”

“In my humble opinion,” Anthony rose again, decidedly, for the last time that evening, “Lady (Y/N) is a rather poor actress, in the years I’ve had the pleasure of knowing her, it would take only a fool to not realize how easy it is to read her face. Remember when we were young?”

This was true. Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was anything if not honest, she could hardly tell a lie, the truth would surely spill from her lips the moment anyone would press on the matter. Once, in their childhood, Benedict and (Y/N) had managed to rip apart a pillow for one reason or another—the details were foggy—and somehow decided to blame the endeavor on a young Eloise. Of course, Eloise was but a babe and couldn’t have done such a thing. One stern look from Edmund and the truth bubbled out like a babbling brook.

Could she have not been acting? For once, could the whispers of the ton be correct in their gossip? 

Could Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N) possibly, maybe, love Benedict Bridgerton?

“I’ll leave you be,” Anthony took his leave at his brother’s silence, seemingly striking a chord with him. “Don’t,” his hand gripped the edge of the door, “don’t give up, Benedict.”

In that moment, on a seemingly uneventful evening in May, Benedict Bridgerton knew exactly what he had to do.

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #reader insert

[carolinawrenn]

Moby Dick, Chapter 83 Now some Nantucketers rather distrust this historical story of Jonah and the whale. But then there were some sceptical Greeks and Romans, who, standing out from the orthodox pagans of their times, equally doubted the story of Hercules and the whale, and Arion and the dolphin; and yet their doubting those traditions did not make those traditions one whit the less facts, for all that.

I don't think you're making the point you want to make here, friend. Or maybe you are.

For truly, the Right Whale’s mouth would accommodate a couple of whist-tables, and comfortably seat all the players. 

 Now, that's an image.

...a German exegetist supposes that Jonah must have taken refuge in the floating body of a dead whale—even as the French soldiers in the Russian campaign turned their dead horses into tents, and crawled into them."

And that's another one. 

But not to speak of the passage through the whole length of the Mediterranean, and another passage up the Persian Gulf and Red Sea, such a supposition would involve the complete circumnavigation of all Africa in three days, not to speak of the Tigris waters, near the site of Nineveh, being too shallow for any whale to swim in....For by a Portuguese Catholic priest, this very idea of Jonah’s going to Nineveh via the Cape of Good Hope was advanced as a signal magnification of the general miracle.

My main takeaway from this chapter is that next time I go to church, I want to go with Ishmael.  

#he'd whisper the most hysterical comments while he was sitting next to you #and you'd try so hard not to laugh #ishmael #moby dick #whale weekly

[ruru0803]

Unknown Territory: Five x Reader

Chapter 3: Run Boy Run part 2

Five Hargreeves

Y/N

Diego Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

Luther Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Vanya Hargreeves

Allison Hargreeves

Pogo

Grace

Hazel

ChaCha

Comic ChaCha

Comic Hazel

It was a nice day in the fall. The sun was shining, the wind wasn't too strong. People were walking around the carnival with smiles on their faces.

An older man smiled as he saw this and proceeded to set up is concession stand.

He was whistling a small tune as he did so, his favorite time of day was when he came to work. He liked to keep himself busy.

The whisting came to a stop when a broom snapped on the side of his stand, then started hearing a scream. He looked in the sky before jumping out of the way and the next thing he knew the body of the cleaners fell into his stand.

He quickly went and told the security guard what had happened though the security guard was skeptical when he said the man was pushed.

Until he saw the body. He pulls out his walkie and starts to yell into it.

"Excuse me, officer but I believe we can of assistance."

"Who the hell are you?"

The man asked as he turned to find the Umbrella Academy; Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus and Ben. This was their second mission and they felt more than ready to take on the task at hand.

"It's your Eiffel Tower, it's gone insane and must be stopped at all cost."

The man looked at the kids like they were crazy, he had no time for children and their made up games.

"Allow me to introduce my subordinate, Number Three."

Luther holds his hand out and gestures to Allison with it.

Allison turns to face the crowd of people that happened to be surrounding the Eiffel Tower.

"Citizens of Paris... I heard a rumor that the musee d'orsay is giving away many of its finest paintings. They're also serving Crepes."

The crowd of people ran past the children in the direction of the art museum. Luther praises Allison and now that the area was safely cleared out, the kids activated their belts that gave them the ability to fly. Reginald thought this would be the perfect time for the kids to test his new invention before he sold it off.

"Spread out and attack!"

The kids nearly dodged a beam that came from the tower. Above them was a helicopter with the umbrella symbol on it. There, Reginald Hargreeves and Vanya sat watching the action.

"Dad?"

Reginald makes no move to acknowledge her.

"Why can't I play with the others?"

He didn't respond but she knew what he would say if he did. She frowned as she watched her siblings fly over the tower.

"Where's Number Five? I don't see him down there."

Five had been gone for days now. Ben, Klaus and Vanya had gone out to find him but he had vanished without a trace.

Today was not that day.

Vanya began leaving out his favorite sandwiches hoping that one day he'd come back.

"The future I presume..I can't be sure nor can I be bothered."

There was not an ounce of emotion on his face. Sometimes Vanya thought he was more machine than human.

"Why don't you go and play your violin?"

They had been there for a while. Arrived at 8:15 am, Almost shot out of the sky around 8:52 am and now at 9:04 am, Ben was using his testicles to try to tear down the Eiffel Tower but currently he was distracted trying to keep Klaus from falling into the gears below them.

"Any bright ideas now, fearless leader?"

Diego glares at Luther.

"You're slipping Klaus!"

"Don't let go! I'm trying to contact a dead engineer from the spirit world. He can tell us how to stop it!"

"Save your breath we're all gonna die!"

Diego yelled at the two annoying Luther.

"Why don't you shut up!"

He flew up and wounded his fist back and punched the tower with enough force to snap it in half. The others quickly flew a little bit away as the tower came crashing down.

"Show off!"

Diego pouts earning an eye roll in return. Luther punched through the control tower giving them a way in. Inside they find the person they were looking for.

"Just as I suspected— Zombie Robot Gustaye Eiffel!"

"Maudit Enfants!"

Ben stares at the man in shock.

"Alive after all these years!"

"Not for long!"

Diego quickly pulls out a knife and throws it before Luther can tell him not to. The knife collides into Eiffel's head forcing him off of his feet. His body lands on the different levers behind him.

Sparks start to shoot out of his head.

"Initier la séquence de lancement!!"

"EVERYONE OUT! NOW!"

The kids jump out of the building trying to get away from it.

"What's happening?!"

Klaus yells and Luther answers.

"I think it's taking off."

"But why?"

Allison looks to him for answers once they finally get to safety. The kids turn to look at the Eiffel Tower, it starts to lift off the ground and towards the sky.

"That's because it's not a monument, children. It's a spaceship."

The kids turned to look at their dad who was now standing behind them.

"While you have lost the Eiffel Tower, you did save Paris and you know what that means?"

"The Key to the city." The governor states.

"Free ice cream for everyone, one scoop each." The ice cream parlor said.

The kids cheered each one running towards the ice cream stand well everyone besides Luther.

"What's wrong, Number One?"

"When I grow up...I want to go into space."

"And so you shall, Number One..."

He places a hand on Luther's shoulder.

"So you shall..."

💪🏻🗣️💪🏻🗣️💪🏻🗣️💪🏻🗣️💪🏻🗣️💪🏻🗣️💪🏻🗣️

Luther wakes up to his alarm he turns it off gets dressed and knocks his head into the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He walks past Allison's room to look past the hall before turning back to knock on her door.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Allison continues packing her clothes away. Luther is silent for a moment, he wants to talk to her but he's afraid that she's still upset with him. She's the only one he really cares about wanting to appease.

"You know it's funny. I've had the same routine for the last four years. Now that I'm back down here, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself."

"I know the feeling."

Allison chuckled slightly but her eyes still weren't meeting his.

"Well, you must be eager to see Claire, huh?"

"I didn't think it was possible to miss a person this much. But I've got some things I need to do before I can see her."

Luther walks up to Allison believing it was okay because she didn't turn him away.

"You know someday, I'd really..."

She pauses her sentence as she looks up to meet his eyes for the first time today.

"Love for you to meet her."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

Allison chuckled again.

"Why not?"

"Well, does Claire even know about me?"

Luther asks timidly.

Allison eyebrows furrowed at his question.

"What are you talking about? Of course she knows about you."

"I know, it's just that, when you left, it felt like..."

Luther shrugs.

"All you wanted to do was forget this place ever existed, so..."

Allison crosses her arms and nods.

"This place, yes. But not you."

The two stood there in silence just staring at the other before Allison broke contact.

"When Claire was little, I used to read her books about the moon. I'd tell her her; her uncle was living up there."

Allison smiles as she looks back up at him.

"That he was... Protecting us from harm."

The two laugh together and Luther's eyes brighten.

"Really?"

"I mean, you were...her own personal superhero."

Luther nods with a smile feeling happy about the thought of Allison talking about him with her child. It made him feel good.

"You know, after all this time, I know she would love to meet you."

Luther paused for a second just staring at her not knowing what to say. So he settled on....

"Uh, Dad's monocle is still missing, so I can't just forget about that."

Allison let out a sigh at him mentioning Reginald again.

"Dad died because his heart gave out, Luther. Don't turn his death into a mission."

Luther frowned at her words not understanding why his siblings weren't on his side.

"Is that what you think this is?"

Allison searched her mind for the right words before placing her hand on his shoulder.

"I think there's a reason why you never left."

Allison searched his eyes for a moment before leaving the room.

👻🐙👻🐙👻🐙👻🐙👻🐙👻🐙👻🐙

Klaus lies on the couch with a twisted look of terror written all over his face. He starts to mumble something in his sleep as he shivered before waking up abruptly, he shivered in fear as his brother watched him from a few feet away.

"You know you talk in your sleep?"

Ben's eyes follow Klaus as he slides to the floor and starts to look around.

"There's no point."

Ben said softly.

"You're out of drugs."

"Shut your pie hole Ben."

After realizing he snapped he looked at Ben.

"Said with love."

He blows a kiss towards his brother.

"I got a crazy idea. Why not try starting your day with a glass of orange juice or some eggs?"

"I can't smoke eggs."

Klaus lights up a cigarette before walking around to look for something to sell. Ben sighs as he stares at a wall feeling concerned for his brother.

Pogo cleared his throat as he entered the room, Ben smiled at the sight of him while Klaus jumped in fright.

"My apologies, Master Klaus. I have a query for you."

"Oh?"

His eyes brows raised in question before the chimp began to speak again.

"Some items from your father's office have gone missing. In particular, an ornate box with pearl inlay"

Ben turned to look at his brother with disappointment in his eyes.

"Really."

"Really? You don't say."

"Any idea where it went?"

Klaus figured that Pogo wouldn't be asking if he didn't already know but did he want to be honest about it?.....nope.

"No, no, no. No idea. Sorry."

"Liar."

"Dropdead."

"Low blow."

"Would you shut up?"

The last sentence caused Pogo to get offended though he didn't show it as he thought the comment was directed towards him.

"Excuse me?"

Klaus instantly spoke up trying to correct himself and attempt to deflect more from the stolen items.

"The contents of that box are....priceless. Were they to find their way back to the office. Whoever took it would be absolved of any blame or consequences."

"Oh, well, lucky bastard."

"Indeed."

Pogo said in a firm voice, he stared at Klaus for a few more minutes making him feel an inch of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳⏳

Five gripped onto the eyeball in his hand as he stood in the lobby of the lab. His gaze hardens as he looks around waiting for someone to address him.

A man walks out dressed in a lab coat. His brows furrowed at the sight of Five standing there.

"Uh, can I help you?"

Five turns around at the sound of the voice behind him. He took a second to look down at the eyeball before showing it to the man.

"I need to know who this belongs to."

"Where did you get that?"

"Why do you care?"

Five instantly got defensive and glared at the man, the scientist took a moment to study Five trying to figure out the best way to have him give up the information.

After realizing he probably had to say something Five answered.

"I...I found it... At a playground, actually."

He hoped the lie was believable enough for the man to tell him who it belonged to. Though the man in front of him seemed suspicious of that statement.

"Uh, must have just...popped out."

He finished the sentence with a smile hoping to look inviting like you usually did.

"I want to return it to its rightful owner."

The lady at the desk smiled at the gesture and made a comment. Five however was done with the small talk and wanted the information he came for.

"Yeah. Look up the name for me, will ya?"

The smile on the lady's face fell and the man in front of him spoke again.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but patient records are strictly confidential. That means I can't tell you—"

"Yeah, I know what it means."

Five started to feel a little frustrated at this point. The man caught on to the shift in attitude.

"Right well, I'll tell you what I can do. I will take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner. I'm sure he or she will be very grateful, so if I can just—"

"Yeah, you're not touching this eye."

The forced smile slipped off of Five's face the moment the man tried to reach for the eye. The man frowned and started to scold him as if he were a child.

"Now, you listen here, young man—"

Five glared at the man, he grabbed his coat and pulled him close in just seconds. He looked deep into his eyes, making sure the man was looking at his piercing eyes.

"No! You listen to me, asshole. I've come a long way for this, through some shit your pea brain couldn't even comprehend, so just give me the information I need, and I'll be on my merry way. And if you call me 'young man' one more time, I'm gonna put your head through that damn wall."

The lady got worried as she saw the twenty year old man get aggressive with the older one.

"Oh dear."

"Call security."

The lady instantly picks up the phone and starts dialing causing Five's glare on the man to harden. Five let's go of the man but not without giving him a harsh shove.

God he wished you were there.

#five x you #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreaves x reader #five x reader #umbrella academy tv series #the umbrella academy comics #unknown territory masterlist #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #hazel #chacha #the handler #vanya hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

[jasons-exposedspine]

I promise to protect you.

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Amy (my OC)

Warnings: bullying, fluff and angst

A/N: hello again lovely creatures. This is a few chapters long so the next chapter will come out very soon. I'm sorry that my writing is a bit shit I haven't written anything in a while so please be gentle and patient with me 😅 with this fic my OC has poilisis its a rare genetic condition that turns some of your hair pure white and other parts pure black. I myself do not have this but I wanted to she'd some light on it since it's very rare and needs to be talked about. And mind you everyone that has it is so unique and gorgeous. Anyway I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I will be posting the second one soon. Have a lovely day/night 💜 p.s. lmk if any of u would like to be tagged in upcoming chapters :) also I would like to add why they became friends so quick. Because they both understand eachother and I've had to raise my own sibling and in my experience kids will play with any other kid straight away if they want to play with them. As long as they wanna play and have fun kids will become friends straight away.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A 12 year old Amy sat in the back of her mother's black Chevrolet Impala as they drove down a road through the woods to crystal lake, her mother was one of the councillors and her best friend Pamela who Amy adored was gonna be there as the cook.

Amy's mother had told her that Pamelas son Jason was going to be there, Amy had never met him but she was excited to meet him since she usually had no friends at camp they all made fun of her poliosis. It's a condition where your hair has black and white streaks and the other kids called her "Cruella Deville" and a "Dalmatian."

Dust flew up from the cars wheels as the car pulled through the gates of the camp, Amy was fidgeting in her seat excited to see Pamela and to meet Jason. When the car pulled up Amy got out of the car and ran up the stairs to the kitchen cabin "Amy Lou slow down!" Her mum called but she was to excited to listen.

When Amy spotted Pamela in the kitchen she ran over to her "Pamela!" She said excitedly "well hello little Amy" she said giving her a hug "my you've grown" Pamela said with her hands on her hips "and look at your hair isn't it beautiful."

Amy hid her face shyly as Pamela smiled at her, Amy's mum came through the door with their bags and the them down "phew glad I got that over and done with" her mother said. "Hey Pam" she said walking over to give Pamela a hug "Hello Bronwyn lovely seeing you again it feels like ages" Pam gave Amy's mother a friendly hug.

"Amy would you like to meet my son Jason?" Pam asked with a smile "yes I would love to" Amy said excitedly "use your manners Amy" her mother said. "Sorry mummy, yes plz" Amy said excitedly "He's playing on the playground" Pamela said taking Amy's hand.

They walked outside and down the back steps of the kitchen cabin and into the playground "Jason I have someone here who would love to meet you" Pamela let go of Amy's hand and walked into the playground. Jason was hiding behind Pamelas back as they walked back over to Amy "don't be shy dear she's very nice."

Jason slowly moved from behind his mother's back and fiddled with his hands nervously "Jason this is Amy" Pamela said with a smile. Amy smiled as he walked closer to her, usually he was used to people looking at his face in disgust and horror but Amy didn't. She only smiled at him and held out her hand for him to shake, he was hesitant for a second before taking her hand and shaking it.

"Now Amy I have a question do you know ASL?" Pamela asked holding Jason's hand "I do, mummys brother is deaf so she taught me" Amy said smiling at Jason. "Wonderful, Jason doesn't like to talk very much so he uses ASL to communicate."

"That's ok, would you like to go and play Jason?" Amy asked whist signing and he looked up at his mother silently asking "go on dear." Jason ran on the playground and Amy followed running to the monkey bars and hanging upside down and playing on them.

Pamela was filled with joy knowing that her son finally had a friend, one that wouldn't bully him or hurt him and one that could communicate with him. Jason shyly tapped Amy on the shoulder and she turned her head to pay attention 'your hair is very pretty' he signed shyly "why thank you" she said smiling.

None of the other kids ever said that about her hair and that made her feel happy 'may please ask why your hair is that way?' He signed and Amy nodded "I have a rare condition called poliosis it turns some parts of your hair pure white and other parts pure black, mummy said I should dye it because I'm made fun of but I like it just the way it is."

'It's very pretty' Jason signed making her blush "thank you" she said back whilst signing, "Jason, Amy time to get ready for the other kids to come!" Bronwyn called from the kitchen. They jumped off the monkey bars and walked through the grass to the back steps and walked up into the kitchen "now Jason you can either stay at our house or you can have a cabin with Amy" Pamela said putting down a box of lettuce.

Amy and Jason looked at Each other and Amy smiled 'I would like to have a cabin with Amy' he signed and Pamela smiled "well that's settled go ahead and take your bags and pick which one you want." Amy and Jason ran to get their backpacks and ran outside into the camp "be careful!" Pamela yelled.

#friday the 13th #jason voorhees #i like to think he was the sweetest kid on the planet #horror community #he is innocent and always will be #slashers #slashers x oc

[donovanlizzie]

THE CORPSWOMAN

CHAPTER SIX - IT'S MORE DANGEROUS AT NIGHT

It was now night time, Eugene and Evangeline were lent against a cement pillar watching a young marine who looked about 19, counting. Evangeline then called over to him." What you doin' Daniels?" He looked over petrified, traumatised.

"Counting Japs " He timidly states then turned back around to continue what he was doing.

Evangeline  and Eugene both exchanged worried glances and she began to pick her nails.  Gunner Henny then went over to the poor boy and tried to order him to help 2nd  platoon load up but Heldaine stopped him. "Gunner, go find someone else, maybe Jenkins over the other side ?"  Henny nodded and moved away. "He can come with me, help me count the bandages and get himself some shut eye?" Evangeline offered looking over. Heldaine nodded slightly and crept forward taking the gun from Daniels. She  got up and wrapped her arm around the boy.  "Let's get you some sleep ?" She quietly  spoke once she had managed to get him up. " But there are so many to count" he spoke like a small child as she  led him to the sickbay. " I know sweetheart I know" Evangeline choked out, her  heart breaking for him, the poor soul.

By the time 08:00 came around everyone was moving out again, the cook was walking around with a pot handing out pork chops.  They weren't the best but after having to eat tinned shit for the last few weeks Evangeline was happy to eat something solid and not out of date. She ended up walking next to Eugene whist Shelton Parked himself next to him on the other side. "Saw you reading last night" he said looking over at Eugene slyly, " writing too"  "My bible?" Eugene replied glancing at Shelton wearily. " we ain't suppose to write shit down, give the japs valuable intale if they find it" Shelton carried on. "I guess I won't show it to them then" Eugene replied keeping his eyes forward and waking with the rest of the group. Shelton smirked satisfied with his answer. 

Evangeline's smile faded remembering the similar conversation she and Oswald had the night prior. 

"You got a smoke?" Shelton asked. Eugene pulled out two cigarettes, one for himself and one for Shelton. "Thanks Sledgehammer" Shelton grinned popping the cigarette in his mouth. " Sledgehammer?" Evangeline questioned grinning at the new nickname Shelton had given her friend. "I like it" She looked at Shelton and Eugene new deemed 'sledgehammer' and gave him a half smile. " you got it Raggedy Anne" Shelton winked making her  laugh " throwing your self around like a rag doll out there" . " Jesus Christ" Bill spoke up in amusement as he scurried up behind us along with Burgin. " don't worry Bill Layden , we'll call you bull-peen-hammer" Shelton called back. " A little hammer for a little man" Evangeline  chuckled making the guys laugh. " Alright rags .... snafu" Bill shot back," shit n ass .... fuck up". "Is that the best nickname you could come up with?" Evangeline  laughed. "Oh! A little joke from the little man!" Shelton, now deemed 'snafu' , joked back.

             K company  all followed Heldaine like lost puppies up the rocks, he said to them that they would be setting a perimeter for the Japanese soldiers. Evangeline had zoned out of the conversation he was having with Bill and Eugene, when the Japs has caught sight of us and began to fire. "Pull back! Let's go!" Hillbilly shouted dragging her by her bag pack (much to Evangeline's dismay) back down the slope to cover. By that point both Heldaine and Hillbilly , hell, the whole company  were all desperate to get a hold of coms, every attempt made was unsuccessful.

K company was stuck, sat in a small rocky trench trying to say as low as they could do theJaps wouldn't try to blow their heads off.       " I'm gonna have to go back , get more men up here and the orders changed" Heldaine finally announced. " Hillbilly if I don't come back the company's yours" He tapped Hillbilly on the shoulder and quickly ran off. " He's gonna come back right?" Eugene asked  " Disobey and you get  a court-martial" Shelton mumbled leaning back on a rock with another cigarette in his teeth.  Whilst they were waiting the marine who was in charge of handing out the post was wandering around.  " Sledge, Yoet, you two have something" he said handing the both of them their letters. " Thanks" Evangeline  stated bluntly noticing her mothers hand writing and putting in it her Brest pocket to read later.

__________________ It was now pitch black, Flares lit up the foxholes as k company  were now sitting in  darkness waiting for Heldaine to to come back. Henny was making the rounds telling everyone to make sure they had enough ammo and supplies for the night.  Gunner Henny was about 45 years old and had fought in world war 1.  He was part of the old breed, liked to do things the old way and stick to them.  " Did you hear the bullshit about the dog?" He grumbled leaning into our foxhole. " They think a dog can smell a Jap before I see one!" He scoffed.  " I have a dog back home" Eugene started quietly " his name is Deacon"  

Evangeline  glanced over at him and smiled as Henny ignored his input and contained; " if the Japs come through , high point with fixed bayonets and you nail em with H.E you got that?" He explained it like we were children, 

The guys nodded as he got up to walk away but then he bent back down and said " woof" and then walking away as normal. " what the fuck was that?" Shelton asked as the group all looked at each other slightly confused try to hold their  laughter in as it was noise discipline.  "Hey stove top boys - WOOF" Bill repeated mimicking Henny making them  laugh even harder, causing Shelton to wheeze.  _____________ Evangeline was sat next to Shelton as he slept once again, picking her thumbs, waiting for japs to make a move or a marine to hurt  himself.  "Remind me again why on gods earth you joined ?" Eugene asked again.  She turned to look at him with her eyebrow raised, " like I told you before, I want to help people, I was in need of a better paying job and to make my country proud" she replied. " And to find out how my brother died"  "Making your ma and pa proud?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her. "Hopefully" Evangeline smiled slightly " That reminds me I have to reply to that letter that they sent me once I've read it" she mused tapping her breast pocket. "Read it" Eugene stated, " I wanna hear it ... if that ok?" He asked scooting closer to her. " sure" she  replied getting the letter out of her pocket. " Dear Evangeline," She began " your father and i are so happy to hear that you are doing alright where ever you are. Everyone in town is very worried about you but myself and your father know you'll be smart and safe. We hope-"     Evangeline's  reading was cut short by a small whimper that echoed through the foxholes. herself and Eugene carefully peaked put of the foxhole we were in as the cries got louder and louder. "What's that?" Shelton getting up , still half asleep. "Sounds like some guy having a nightmare" Eugene answered, watching Evangeline fold away her letter. "He'd better shut up before every jap on the island knows where we are" Shelton snapped now wide awake. "Quiet that man down!" Hillbilly whisper-yelled as the marines whimpers turned into wails.     Suddenly the man started screaming, wrestling any marine who tried to hold him down. "Yoet!" Hillbilly called over " get some morphine in him!"  Evangeline quickly grabbed her morphine needles and rushed over as more and more marines fought to hold the man down. "NO-NO-NO!" The poor man was yelling hysterically. "Give me his arm now!" She spoke as he flailed about. Once she had finally got hold of his arm and she was inches away from injecting him when he broke free, punching her  straight on the nose. Evangeline groaned in pain reeling back as blood now poured from her face. The marines were struggling again to regain control of the man.    The poor man was now begging for help as Henny began to punch him n a attempt to knock him out and shut him up. " Henny! Stop! Let me get to his goddamn arm!" She shouted in desperation trying to reach him once again. "Hit him with something!" Jay began to shout. Out of the corner of her eye, Evangeline  saw another young marine reach for the shovel he used to dig his foxhole with.  "No! Don't!" She tried to stop him but it was to late. The shovel hit the Boys head with a crack and he was finally silenced - lifeless. "God damn it" she breathed sitting back on the muddy ground and closing her eyes. "Everyone back in their holes" Hillbilly spoke eyeing Evangeline and her bloodied face. It was clear the poor bastard had broken her nose. " It had to be done Yoet, it had to " Hillbilly handed her a handkerchief. She thanked him and held it up to her  face to try and stop the bleeding and slunk back to the  fox hole. ———————————————————————————-

The next morning a blanket had been pulled over the young mans body.  "Rather him than all of us" Eugene spoke his eyes flickering between the body and Evangeline. "Sledgehammers right" Shelton answered " It had to be done".  The rest of the dead and wounded got piled onto trucks and tanks to be taken back to base to either be shipped to Australia to heal or sent back home to their families for their funerals.

Evangeline then walked over to Eugene. " You know, I think I'll take that cigarette now" She spoke breathing out sharply. "Here" Eugene stated putting a lit cigarette between her  teeth and taking the bloodied hankie form her hands. She  took a quick puff as he delectably wiped more dried blood from her face, making her wince slightly. "I'm no corpsman Rags, but you've got a messed up nose" he grimaced now fiddling with the grubby handkerchief. " Wow Sledgehammer, you really know how to talk to a lady!" Evangeline joked taking another puff of the cigarette.

"Na she ain't no Lady, A Lady wouldn't come to a place like this" Bill teased, walking past the two of them, puffing on a tiny stump of a cigarette butt before throwing it at Shelton's feet.

" Thank you" Evangeline mumbled taking the handkerchief back and tossing it to the ground, slightly laughing at Bills remark.

" Can it snafu" She quickly snapped, the group all walked on as Shelton began to snigger.

#the pacific #the pacific hbo #the pacific imagines #joe mazzello #eugene sledge #hbo war #hbowar

[thelreads]

Day 8

Lucifer is apparently a sneaky, sneaky fellow. And there goes another thing that I never thought I would write.

Well this part was a bit of a breather, a moment to relax before the previously mentioned dominoes start falling, and definitely not me stalling for time until I decide what is going to happen next, I already know that for a fact: ninjas will attack.

I think I managed to put some important information in this chapter, some interactions between nice characters, and now the next part following this dinner is to set fire to everything because my characters don't deserve to be happy apparently.

Today's word count was 1683 words, bringing the story to 16647 words and one unseen cat that is just meowing around the house.

#theLreads #inbetween #personal #nanowrimo

[mikmiho]

I wanted to post my drdt chapter 2 theory that I wrote on discord so yeah^^

Sry if grammar is bad it was discord so I didn’t care too much

||so I would assume that arei would have had her arms restrained with the tape found in the bin whist the rope found underneath the carousel would be tied around her neck and to the carousel so that by spinning the carousel would cause arei’s neck to snap. Then tying the rope to the swings to frame as some sort of suicide (idk whether the killer forgot abt the suicide rule or planned for smth else so…). And then using teruko and hu’s old clothes to make it to the fish in the relaxation room without getting sticky, im not sure what the use of the fishes are but yeah that’s all I have rn it’s pretty basic but….

Idon’t have a very strong idea of who the killer is but some ppl talk about how the note never mentioned am or pm so I would assume it happened in the morning whereas no one had an alibi and probably also why Charles said that they’d fucked up. Oh yeah also the missing uhh rose’s liquid pass out stuff was probably used on arei to make her pass out once she entered the playground maybe like using some clothes to cover her mouth as well

||the only suspects I currently have are Levi and Hu. I realise that if my theory is correct then it would have to be someone fairly strong so Levi would work well as a culprit.And for Hu well…partially bc of hu’s somewhat broken butterfly, i feel that its a error bc none of hu’s sprites on the gallery are seen with it+ the only parts of the butterfly that are visable overlap with her hair. Then again that makes Hu seem perfectly innocent but I feel like she take note of where her old clothes were and used that alongside teruko’s, I think anyone could think of that though butI just can’t see her making it to chapter 3…idk that’s a really bad reason but I’m just very perplexed by the murder itself lol

Anyway yeah^^^

#drdt spoilers #drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt theory #drdt chapter 2

[deltarune-au-domain]

Yall crazy Deltarune theory about Mike and/or Deltarune chapter 3

I'm stumbling and crashing and tripping over tables just to get this out of my brain and into words.

So I know Mike probably isn't gonna be an actual character in Deltarune. Or how we expect them to be. So this is just a general thing.

I've noticed that alot of versions of Mike (including one of my own) are game show or talk show hosts. Mostly just entertainers in general.

But in the world of Deltarune, wouldn't it make more sense for Mike to be a televangelist?

Like- hear me out here! Going by some of the theories of Mike helping Spamton get big, and Spamton's whole thing with heaven, a televangelist is probably the perfect person to fit into that slot.

They have big followings and are broadcasted on TV. If they say a brand is good, there's gonna be thousands of people who'd listen without a second thought. This person knows God after all so they couldn't be wrong, right?

Not to mention there's already religious themes in the game. It's already been mentioned Toriel gose to church so it's not far off that she'd watch a televangelist on TV as well.

The part where this becomes general chapter 3 theory stuff is just all this whist removing Mike. There could be a televangelist like character in chapter 3. But, of course, I don't really know how the game will turn out so it's just a silly little theory.

That's all!

#The text is colored like that so its easier for me to read by the way. I gotta practice. #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune #deltarune theory #deltarune fandom #deltarune fanart #deltarune chapter 3 #mike #mike tv #mike deltarune #deltarune mike #deltarune art #theory #deltarune televangelist #tw religion #tw religious mention #tw religion mention

[innerspacecadet]

Only You Always, Chapter 32 (Benedict)

After Hyacinth finished counting down from one hundred, Lord Greymoor crossed the room impatiently. “All I need to do is to find Edwina?” His eyes fixed on the door that Edwina left through minutes ago.

“Yes,” Hyacinth replied. “If you find her first, then you join her in her hiding space.”

“Shall we?”

“You go first,” Colin said with a smile. Benedict winked at his younger brother. This was almost too easy. He predicted a proposal before the night was out.   

The earl looked around the room suspiciously, but did not argue. He nodded and left.

Benedict waited until the door closed before turning to his brothers and sisters. “Well, who fancies a hand of whist?”

No one noticed as Hyacinth slipped out the door, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. 

#fanfiction #Only You Always

[ao3feed-izuku-midoriya]

Title in Progress

Title in progress by TheNewSpook

Instead of Izuku's dad walking out on the family, Inko leaves right after his diagnosis. Hisashi Midoriya is not a good person and an even worse parent.

Izuku takes to the streets as a masked vigilante just trying to find meaning in his life whist dodging all his problems.

Still a work in progress so no title yet

Words: 1698, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Midoriya Hisashi, Tsukauchi Naomasa, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Bakugou Katsuki

Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Hisashi & Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku

Additional Tags: Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, Child Abuse, Midoriya Hisashi's Bad Parenting, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Dadzawa

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43135794

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Izuku #♦ #Izuku Midoriya #Hisashi Midoriya #Erasermic· #R:T #A:New #Vigilante AU #Quirkless AU #Dadzawa #Abuse