hidden frame



Slow Hands - Stuart Twombly

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stuart Twombly/Reader

Word Count: 6,721

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral (both receiving), Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Hair Pulling, Choking, Face Riding, Boob Jobs, Shower Sex, Making out on the Couch

Notes: STUART WEEK. STUART WEEK. Thank you @rememberstilinski and @sarcasticallystilinski for giving us these times to focus on cuties like Stuart. As thanks, I give you the opportunity to bathe in holy water because… Stuart is a dirty little shit. Also a big thanks to @minhosmeanhoe because she was a babe and proofread this for me while I was on my way home! I love youuuuuu. PS This was a request. 

Request: could you maybe do a smut with stuart twombly based off the song “strip that down” or “slow hands” i dont like 1d but i heard them and i’m like “ooh so sexual i know just the right person” and now i’m here. thanks💕💕

Keep reading




Send me your bias + favourite era ( & a little bit about yourself ! )  for a personal moodboard !

Lee Jaehwan x The Closer for @thisfeeling-of-forever .

Insecure Pony – You’re Middle Class

Ponyboy could read a novel in a couple of hours, and he could solve a math problem with his eyes closed. He could explain to you what happened in the Civil War without ever making it boring, and he could paint a picture of anything you asked. Ponyboy was good at nearly everything – everything but understanding your sheer adoration of him.

It wasn’t a fake love that you had for Ponyboy – not the rebellious, mischievous love that most middle class girls would have for greasy boys. Not the love that was only love because it was a way of any non-Greaser girl to say ‘F-you’ to the her parents. It was a delicate love, one so deep that sometimes it felt heart wrenching; not because he ever caused you pain, or ever dared to hurt you, but because sometimes it felt like you couldn’t possibly get enough of his thoughts and his voice and his skin and his touch.

Yet, this love was exactly why Pony wouldn’t let you come to meet his family. To him, this love was everything that you had said, but also something more.  Laced with his insecurity and knowledge that you deserved much, much better than him. The stubborn, unchanging idea that you needed a boy who had enough more money to buy you dinner regularly, or to take you to a movie theater on the nice side of town. But you wouldn’t listen to this, so he made up for what he couldn’t buy for you with money in devotion. But he couldn’t seem to grasp that for you, that was enough.

And one day, all this, these silly, unnecessary, real things, - all the insecurity and the deep rooted love and confused feelings - they lead up to something. A fight; but not a fight to end your relationship, not one with violence actions or hurtful words; one filled with the fragile, broken pieces of the two of you clashing and scraping together, trying desperately to become whole again; but this time together.

“Ponyboy!” You had yelled, not because you were angry, but you need him to hear you even if you could see by his eyes that he was trying to do anything but that. “I love you! This isn’t a debate, and it shouldn’t be an argument!”

Pony didn’t respond to this. He was always a boy of few words, but now the silence was deafening.

“Pony, please talk to me!” Your voice felt horse even though you hadn’t been fighting or yelling or anything for that long, if you could even consider what you were doing now yelling. Yelling just wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Pony either.

You couldn’t take it anymore, his unresponsiveness. You kneeled down in front of his sitting form and then grabbed his face, gently, but firm enough so that you could pull his face down, so that his eyes were looking into yours rather than at nothing at all.

“You don’t have to be ashamed.” You murmured, and somehow, this was too much. Ponyboy stood up, somehow pulling you up with him.

“Yes!” He exploded. “I do! You’re this middle class girl, with a mother to cook you dinner and a father to come home with money every night!  You have honor roll siblings and cheerleaders as best friends and what do I have? Huh? I’m being raised by my brother, who doesn’t know the first thing about raising a kid, yet has to do that and balance two jobs and yet we still don’t have enough! My brother, the handsome dropout who isn’t ever going to be anywhere but the DX, my friends who will all probably die before they’re 25 or they’ll grow up to marry some greasy girls because that’s what we do! We’re Greasers - we don’t get middle class girls like you, especially not beautiful, smart girls who have futures! I’m from a real shitty place, and I’ll accept that, but there is no way that I am going to let you see that. Keep picturing whatever it is that you were, Y/N, because it’s gotta be better than what there is.”

His face was red. He never yelled like that, but you weren’t really focusing on that. The last words, even though they shouldn’t have, stung. You knew what it was like over on the East side. You knew because you were smart. You knew that you had it good, especially compared to the kids like Pony. And they hurt because the idea that Pony thought of himself like that, like a no good hoodrat whose not going any, it killed you. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you look up at him, your eyes wide. You hand found its way to his cheek, cupping it, your thumb stroking against his the sharp cheek bone.

“Please,” You say. “Let me in.” Once again, his eyes won’t meet yours, but you continue to stroke his cheek. You finally lean in, placing a chaste kiss right below his left eye. His eyes drift shut, his lashes brush against his cheeks. “I don’t have to meet them, Ponyboy, but I want to spend a very long time with you, and it’ll be hard if I never meet your family. Ponyboy, all those boys are your family.” You chew on your lip, reaching your hand around to the back of his head and bring his forehead against yours. “I don’t care if you’re from the East side, Pone. I adore you.”

And Ponyboy sighed.

“I just can’t lose you, Y/N.” He says. “Especially not for something like this.”

“Pony,” You murmur. “You’re never gonna lose me.” And with those words, he pulled away and grabbed your hand. You started to walk. You walked for a while, his hand tangled with yours and him not saying a word, but he wasn’t angry, or upset, just quiet. You keep walking until you’re on the East side, which you know because the houses are suddenly dinger and people are nodding at Ponyboy like he’s an old buddy, and suddenly you’re seeing a different side of him. One that’s tough – a greaser. A real greaser; but you don’t mind. He’s still him, and he’s still yours.

Finally, you see a house. It’s small and sort of beat up, just like all the other ones, but it’s a house with walls and a roof and a front door, and as you approach that door you hear laughter.

Laughter; loud, howling, joyous laughter that makes you want to laugh to. Ponyboy opens the door for you and as you walk in, you turn and see the source of the gleeful sounds. 6 boys, crowded in a small living room, some of them holding beers, the two wrestling around on the floor, others just bantering, and your previous statement was only further proved: this is Ponyboy’s family.

Ponyboy clears his throat. Nobody hears him. He clears it again, louder, and all the heads turn towards him. A beautiful boy with large brown eyes goes the greet Pony, but stops short upon noticing you, your frame half hidden behind Pony.

“This is Y/N.” Ponyboy says, and the boys all introduce themselves, smiling politely, though you can tell from their eyes that they’re dying to make a jab at Ponyboy. Delicate conversation is made before Ponyboy squeezes your hand, ready to pull you away, but Darry stops you.

“Y/N, would you like to stay for dinner?” He asks. Pony cringes, and he would later tell you that he was worried that you’d see that they don’t have fancy dinners and might not even have all that much food for the night, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’d love to.” You say, smiling, while one of the boys grumbles about how they’re never invited to dinner like that.

So you stay for dinner after having pulled Pony aside to make sure he was alright, and after calling your parents, and you ate chicken and broccoli and rolls, and you couldn’t help but think that you wouldn’t mind living in a home like this, just so long as Ponyboy was there with you.



At the child psych hospital, we have a kid who came in with a photo of his parents, freaked out when staff tried to take it away from him, said he carries it with him everywhere he goes.

Those of you who haven’t worked in institutions before are probably saying “Awww, how cute, he really loves his family.”

Those of you who have worked in institutions before are probably asking “Was there a shiv hidden in the photo frame?” And yeah, there was.

Super Soldier’s Coffee


Fun fact: Let’s imagine this gif, but Seb with long hair? 

Request: Could you do one where reader acfidently drinks super soldier coffee (coffee with way to much caffine that it can kill someone.) And Bucky feels really guilty and blames himself. Reader gets really ill :( Bucky looks after her x

Words: 1143.

A/N: Requests are open. If you want to be tagged, tell me and I will arrenge it!


How do people wake up early? And even more intriguing: how do they it?

Mornings are always a difficult time of the day for you, since you always want to sleep in (until noon is still sleeping in, right?).

You have a meeting this morning, at seven a.m. Doesn’t Steve know that sleeping keeps the skin healthy? - and your mood in a better state for anyone around? Dressed properly and your files in hand, you go to the kitchen in the compound. You deserve a reward for getting up so early, so something sweet is a good breakfast choice.

The donuts on top of the table are like a mirage. Are they real or are you this tired? You walk to the counter and touch the box. Solid plastic, from a grocery store. A box of donuts with a note on top. Wait. Note?

Hope you like those, doll. Went to train with Sam. Have a nice meeting with Stevie.

See you later.


You smile at the note and fold it into your pocket, reaching for the box with your other hand and taking your favorite favor out. You almost moan at your first bite, the sweet thing is exactly what you need at the moment.

The smell of coffee suddenly catches your nose. As your brain is still working slowly, you decide that some might actually be a good idea. You take a mug from the cabinet and pour yourself some steaming black liquid from the pot. It’s a strong scent or maybe you’re just too close to it. Either way, you mix sugar and take a sip.

Half the mug and another donut down, you’re wide awake.

When the mug is finished, and you feel a pinch in your head, the beginning of a headache, you think that maybe so much coffee wasn’t a good idea.

Another pinch gets the back of your head, making you wince and hold onto the counter so you wouldn’t fall.

Dark spot start blurring your vision and soon you’re seeing the kitchen in a horizontal position, being so numb that you don’t even feel the fall or the impact.

Your eyelids become heavy and you can’t help but close your eyes and let darkness take you.

The beeping sound is annoying even before you open your eyes. It gets faster when you woke up though, so the squeeze in your hand was a comforting gesture.

Bucky patiently waits until you were ready to face the world, holding your hand with both of his and rubbing the pad of his thumb on your palm. Your other hand has an IV.

You open one eyes to look at Bucky, who has his eyes trained on you and messy hair all over his head. He must have been pulling while you slept. The window of the room shows the dark sky outside.

After F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms you’re as good as you can be and contacts Dr. Cho to confirm her prognosis, Bucky visibly relaxes.

“What happened?” you croak out, opening the second eye.

He moves to seat on the edge of the chair, detaching one hand from yours to pull some hair behind your ear.

“You’re in the medical wing,” he says, gently, “The story behind it can be funny or tragic, depends on your point of you,” Bucky smirks, but it’s wobbly.

“What about my point of view?”

He brings a cup of water to your mouth and answers while you drink.

“I hope you laugh, doll.”

“Okay,” you say, now much clearer, “What happened?”

His finger is still rubbing at your hand, a soothing gesture for you and for Bucky. He’s always uneasy when you’re in the medical wing.

“Do you remember this morning? When you had to wake up early for a meeting with Steve?” With a nod, Bucky keeps talking, “There was coffee in the pot, right?”

Bucky Barnes doesn’t fidget, HYDRA made sure the Winter Soldier always knew how to control 100% of his body. His eyes though, you could read his eyes as if his emotions were words written on his blue-grey orbs. You knew he felt guilty because of what happened to you, someway, somehow.

“Yes, and thank you for that. And the donuts. Especially for the donuts.”

“I should apologize for the coffee, doll,” Bucky’s voice is barely inexistent, his eyes cast down. And you were right about him feeling guilty.

“Wait. I got sent to infirmary because of coffee?”


“Of course it had to be me,” you sighed.

“It’s a valid reason, since it wasn’t normal coffee.”

“Pray tell, Bucky, was it magical coffee?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Bucky shakes his head twice. “Not magical, but definitely stronger.”

You squeezed his hand, “Okay, you made super strong coffee. We like different kinds of coffee, or rather, I can’t drink the usual amount I drink when you make it. We’ll carry on,” you shrug.

He sighs, “It’s not only stronger. It’s supposed to wake me up,” Bucky explains.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

“A super coffee for a super soldier,” you conclude, “Now it makes sense.”

Bucky nods, your hand in his as his thumb works on your skin.

“It’s still not your fault though,” you tell him, placing your free hand on his chin and lightly tilting his head up. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just coffee, and, now that I know, I can be aware of what might happen.”

Bucky looks at you with sad eyes. “I’m still sorry.”

“I forgive you for something that wasn’t your fault, Bucky,” you smiled, leaning in and kissing his lips.

He makes a surprised sound at your words, the beginning of a laugh forming in his throat. It usually is a beautiful sound, and the laugh meant that Bucky won’t blame himself (so much) anymore, but all you want at the moment is Bucky’s lips against yours.

A knock on the wooden door makes you break away, Steve’s face and hand holding a tray of cookies are visible. The rest of him is hidden behind the frame.


You smirk at him. “Good think you got food, Rogers. I’m starving.”

“Coming, ma’am.”

The tray is enormous, but it doesn’t last long between two super soldiers and someone who hasn’t eaten during an entire day. You talk to Steve and Bucky during your ‘meal’, conversation flowing easily as ever between the three of you.

Even though you feel better, you’ll have to spend another day at the medical wing. Apparently the coffee did some damage. It’ll be uncomfortable and long, but with Bucky as your personal nurse, you can’t really complain.

Before Steve leaves, leaving you and Bucky to some privacy, you call him.


Steve turns to you, one hand on the doorknob. “Yes, [Y/n]?”

You’re perfectly serious when you speak. “No more morning meetings.”

“Fair enough.”


If you want to be tagged/removed, tell me and I will arrenge it!

@macacodebanana @lilasiannerd @ria132love @amistillmyself @shopwesteros @cassandras-musings @learisa  @nyu-kun69 @janeschwartz1 @buckyappreciationsociety @courtneychicken @jaybird6232 @pacifikaproudaotearoa

#284: He Is Sad About Leaving You For Tour


I feel like I never write about enough tour preferences. I’ve considered for a while to make a series about it but I feel like that might be kind of boring? It would just be nice to make a preference series again as it’s been nearly a year or two since I did it the last time.

Read When We Collide here //  Find my Masterlist here  


“Wait why did you stop?” The confusion was written on your face as you walked into the bedroom. You would have assumed that the many piles of clothes would have been nicely placed in his suitcase that was still wide open on the top of your bed. Things were scattered in a horrible mess and you had to cut through it by jumping from empty spot to spot. He was sitting with his back facing you but as he heard your voice he sighed softly and looked over his shoulder. Right away you could tell something was up the way he was sinking further into the mattress with a frown on his face spoiled everything. He was having the picture frame standing on your side of the bed in his hands, his thumb was caressing the frame and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to go.” Instantly you felt guilt creep up your spine. You had been talking about this a couple of times it never seemed to have a conclusion. “Luke you know I can’t go with you. I’ve got school and stuff to look for.” You leaned your head against his shoulder and took the picture frame out of his hands. Such a nice picture, taking from one of your first dates. “I know it’s just… It’s just such a long time you know.” He looked up and you ran your hand through his hair. It was a long time there was no doubt, and it would be hard. But you were prepared, optimistic and ready for it. “I know it is but you will have so much fun I doubt you will share a single thought about me.” “That’s impossible.” He whispered and gently kissed your cheek by your comforting words.


“I don’t think this will work out.” You squeezed one eye to look out from the suitcase you had been placed in, trying your utter best to be as small as possible so he could shut it close. It was an idea that had come out of boredom; Calum was the one claiming that the only solution to not missing each other would be for you to join. And that had to be in his suitcase to make sure you would be in the same plane. “No that’s what I feared.” A sad expression came to his face and you could tell that he was disappointed. Not because you couldn’t fit in his suitcase no it had a deeper meaning behind it. You moved your head up from the suitcase and removed a pair of Calvin Klein that had stuck to your head and placed them back in the suitcase. “Is it okay to be sad?” “Of course it is. You’re leaving for god knows how long and there’s no way I can see you besides over FaceTime during breaks. That’s not really the best thing for a relationship but I’m sure we will manage to get through it.” He looked up at blinked twice just to make sure that you were telling the truth. You both were aware it was going to be hard but Calum couldn’t avoid feeling guilty and sad for leaving without any power to make a change. “And if you’re lucky I’ll try to skip a few classes and see if I can come to the closest venue. Surprises are here for a thing.” He smiled brightly by your words and grabbed a few more piles of clothes to place it down at your legs. “I’m still not leaving without you. We’ll try again.”


“Come on you can’t just continue to frown. You are supposed to be happy about today.” You had been trying for so long but it was like no matter what you said it wasn’t satisfying. Michael had been standing with his tall frame hidden with a hoodie in front of you in the line of people turning in their suitcases. He was barely saying a word but you could tell that he was trying to replace his sadness with frustration instead. You gently grabbed his chin and leaned it down to make him look at you. It was like they changed when he noticed your expression and he softened. “I’m leaving you for 8 months, 52 days and three hours. How am I supposed to be happy about that?” He wasn’t supposed to come off as rude, he just didn’t know how to cope with his sadness. “You’re supposed to be happy because you’re going to see your fans every single day, you’re going to be surrounded by the people you love even on distance. I take so much of your time I think it’s time to let the fans get the same time of love.” Even if he didn’t want to admit it he knew that you were right. But instead of saying anything he wrapped his arms around you tighter than he had before and pulled you close to his chest. He was sighing heavily as he leaned his head on the top of yours but it was everything about you that he took in for the last time. To let your smell linger in his nose, how your heart was beating against his and how much he was going to miss you. God how it would be a long couple of months waiting ahead of him.


“I can’t even enjoy this. Our last coffee together and I’m letting it stay until it’s cold.” He shook his head in disbelief and clenched his jaw. You sighed softly by his reaction and leaned your hands forward to grab this. It had become a tradition of some sort for your relationship to spend the last hours together at the airport sitting at Starbucks Coffee. It was kind of depressing because you both knew that it would end up in a goodbye. He was almost hidden in his hoodie not that it was that cold and he was trying to take sips but it was like when the coffee was finished the goodbye would be forced. You ran your thumb over the veins on is hands and cocked your head to the side. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be sad because it’s me who’s leaving you and not reversed.” “That’s why I’m sad. Because I feel so selfish I feel like I’m letting you down because I know you have such difficulty not having me around all the time.”  “The scent of you is still in the house.” It was like an idea popped to his mind by your words. He let go of your hands to stand up and carefully moved the hoodie he was wearing over his head. You had no idea what he was up to but when he wrapped it over your head instead and pulled it down your shoulders to fit a small smile came to your face. “You’re ruining my bun.” You giggled as the hair elastic was basically pulled out from your hair. “I know but I hope it’s okay.” He smiled and placed his hands on your cheeks to give you a kiss on the forehead. “This way you will always have something to remind of me.”



Rowaelin Fanfic, Modern AU, But She’s Looking at You, Part 9

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 

 Maeve owns the best club in the city, but when Aelin shows up demanding answers from her Aunt, she is forced into one month of working as a DJ in her Aunt’s club in exchange for information. Along the way she meets Rowan and the rest of the cadre, who are working as bartenders in the club… and Rowan is given the task of babysitting Aelin for the month.

 Here she is!! The final instalment of But She’s Looking at You! I Just wanted to say thank you to all the beautiful messages you guys send me, because they honestly keep me going. Since this was the first thing I’ve ever written, I wasn’t even expecting anyone to see it, let alone like it J So thank you from the bottom of my heart <3

Keep reading

Behind Bars Part 3

A/N: I honestly don’t know how this came out, if it’s good or not. But this is where it’s going, so I let it be this way. I hope you guys will understand the composition because I guess it’s slightly confusing at the beginning, and one dialogue at the end, I just tried something different… Make sure to read the warnings before reading.Thanks to @queencflair to beta this, and as always, feedback are very welcome.

Tags at the end.

Words count: 5451

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Summary: Opposites attract each other. The reader found her true mate being a criminal, and after three years waiting for him, she will have to fight to be reunited with her alpha…

Warnings: smut, lost of control, strangulation, death (kind of), slight angst, bit of violence, tension, assault (kind of), things getting ugly, a/b/o dynamics, bad writing. 

Catch up here 

Originally posted by frozen-delight

Dean growled. A real, deep, animal, guttural sound. He was in this kind of mood for what might have been centuries. Then when you stepped in the room, he didn’t want to speak. He was too angry to be thinking.

You were in heat the second you walked through that door, and he drove Dean mad that you spread your smell inside the long hallways of his prison. When Dean thought about all the alphas around who got to smell you, he was going to make sure every one of them, was going to Hell.

With one look on your face, he guessed you were desperate for him. You were desperate for him to touch you, for him to claim you again, and again. So he thrown you down the small bed, ripped off your clothes, and slid between your fold without waiting for a word from you.

His rut was taking away any human part left of him. His hand was tight on your throat, he was  pounding restlessly into you, the small bed noisily moving with each of his thrust, the sheet a complete mess.

Keep reading

there is no money in poetry
only saving my own life
in someone else’s living room

the need for every word 
or rhyme to be hidden
 behind old picture frames

how can i explain 
the fire in my mouth
or the miracle of living this long

it keeps me awake 
but the morning puts me to rest
and i spew curses in my sleep

there is no money in poetry
only restless tremors
and snakes in every corner of the house

—  a. h. // no money in poetry
My daughter could tell you the exact hour you will die.

Nearly all parents say their child is special, so “special” has been cheapened. But our daughter Ivy was special in the most profound sense of the word.

My wife and I always knew Ivy was bright since she began speaking at 3. She’s would have been 8 now…that means it was 3 years ago since she first turned to my wife and said “mommy, you’re gonna live for a really long time. Parts are you are gonna be like a robot, but you will say that you are still you. Daddy…you only have 18 more years to live. Mommy says you should have done something about the lump on your back.”

My wife and I grilled my daughter endlessly to clarify what she said and Ivy held firm: if she is allowed to see someone in person, she can see the exact hour you are going to die. We decided to test it.

My wife was a cardiologist at Saint Leopolds, so she had some pull to bring Ivy into some of the resident rooms. Ivy had an amazing bedside manner and made the last days for some of these people more bearable. After the meetings, Ivy wrote down every death date for the 42 patients; she was 100% accurate with the dates, which ranged from 3 hours to 19 days. Ivy even claimed that one of the women who was given a month left to live actually had 3 more; 2 days later, that patient was released and recovered. She eventually traveled the world and played in a band, her top two bucket list items. She died last week, on the exact hour Ivy said she would.

My wife and I took our daughter to the James Randi Educational Foundation to prove Ivy’s psychic abilities and claim their long outstanding prize of a million dollars. After six successful trials at hospitals of their choosing, the foundation people were just as amazed as we were. Shortly thereafter, the foundation promptly discontinued the prize (with no relation to Ivy, of course).

We didn’t get the million dollars, but we did get serious attention from a group of academics who verified Ivy’s ability to call out people’s dates and sometimes a few scant details of the world that will be; surgeries, medication and old fashioned miracles would sometimes make Ivy push back the original date, and in one case where a doctor left a clamp inside of one of his patients, move it much closer.

 We were able to keep Ivy out of the spotlight of the public, but you don’t keep secrets from the wealthy for very long. When they caught wind, a million dollars rolled in every week.

We re-arranged our entire lives around Ivy. We moved to a different life, one of luxury and security, where people would be profiled and searched before they were let into our compound to see Ivy, who gives them her answer behind 6” of Lucite. It was a business that was managed effectively and lovingly and with great success all the way until a man by the name of Gaelin Ganes wished to speak to our daughter Ivy for a hundred million dollars.

The old man traced a symbol in the air before every door he entered holding a small stuffed animal bound and choked with tarnished chains, something that looked old and cursed. The gaunt man’s head sported a silvery mane that belonged on one of the heads of a founding father, propped on a spindly vulture’s neck over an unnaturally rigid posture. His legs were wrong, kicked back, so that it looked as if his torso was hovering in the air as his feet stood behind him. The man tried his best to make his voice sound friendly, light and lyrical; it was like hearing “Happy Birthday” played on Hell’s organ, loud, toneless and totally unnerving. Something clicked in his throat when he talked like he had teeth grinding back there. I was glad that Mr. Ganes was behind the protective shield as Ivy sat in her “comfy chair”, cradling her knees as her eyes slowly followed the unhinged man. He touched the Lucite.

 “Hello little girl. I hear you are quite special…I can see that. You see things, don’t you? You see people as they are,in time, yes? You can see their rooted births projected all the way to their wavering deaths…yes, I know you can. So can I. So tell me dear. Tell me my death day…and I shall tell you yours.” I put my finger on the alarm. I didn’t trust that man at all.

“I…” I never saw Ivy at a loss for words before. Her eyes widened, reeled and widened again. I would give anything to see what was running through her mind.

 After what seemed to be forever, a tear ran down Ivy’s open eye. Then another.

 “You don’t have a beginning…no end…what…what..?”

 “What am I? I am what is in YOU. A Ganes, and a Ganes lives inside you, one by the name of Harold Ganes, an elder brother that I thought was lost forever. I see now I was mistaken… he was reborn in you. He is the one responsible for your gift…why he chooses to stay hidden in this frame is beyond me, but I shall soon know.” Gaelin removed his hand from the clear wall and said through Ivy: “It is good to see you again, brother.” With that, Gaelin left. For being bent and old, he was incredibly quick and elusive. As soon as he turned a blind camera corner, Gaelin threw off two security squads and vanished from our premises without ever opening a door.

 Our security company drove us to a secret location- Ivy sat between her mother and I, but my daughter would not stop shivering.

“That man is going to throw me away. He wants me gone because I can see the world changing. That bad man is making it change. He is giving all of us…me, you, mommy…he calls them “sacrifices to power”. Then…they rise. Everyone’s death dates have changed…the entire world will die in 10 years, 6 months, 8 days, 2 hours…I can see more if I concentrate, before the bad man throws me away…” My wife assured Ivy that Gaelin Ganes could and would never get her. I remained silent.

We retreated in in the panic cabin and decided to sleep together in 1 bed for safety. Just as when we began to relax in the peaceful dark, my daughter whispered: “he’s close, daddy. The bad man knows what I said to you, about the world sacrifice. I’m not safe here. They’re coming.” I told my daughter that we were sealed into a locked and triggered room under the security company’s eye, we were fine, and ushered everyone back into sleep. That would be the last time I would hear my daughter speak.

My wife and I woke to find our daughter’s mouth open and eyes locked in a dead stare. We rushed her to the hospital to go through 3 days of hell just to hear that they have no idea how, but that she was now in a vegetative state, to which she is not expected to recover. Two operations and the best cognitive medicine have made no impact on our special daughter.

My wife wife killed herself a month after my daughter died of a cerebral hemorrhage after a nurse dropped her from her hospital bed. We were given a substantial private settlement to keep the accident from spreading to the news. I agreed. This is the first I have ever spoken of it.

I am now using every last cent of it to find the man who took my daughter and find answers behind what my daughter saw for all of us in 10 years.