#but like the shine of mania has worn off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

matildashoney · 3 years

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𝙸 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎? // 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚊𝚢

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 // 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 // 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙱𝙸𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝙰𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 @theharriediaries , @meetmymouth , @hunflowers 𝚊𝚗𝚍 @truckerhatharry 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

Harry’s jaw nearly breaks from how hard he’s clenching his teeth together, right now, trying desperately to control his emotions, his hormones, and his voice while he and Caroline have at it, yet again. Harry believes it to be a miracle that they get along nearly a third of the time, the other two-thirds very much consisting of petty arguments like the one that they’re having, right now. Outbursts like these are common in the Styles-Ryan Household, especially since they’ve not been apart for three weeks and four days – not that she is counting at all – and Harry is driving Caroline insane. More insane than she already is, according to her.

Harry hates when she says that, and yet, she does, every single day.

“Harry, you’re unbelievable!” Caroline says, smacking her hands against her bare thighs like a child in a tantrum and walking towards the edge of the bed where Harry’s ankles are crossed, where he is laying comfortably against their headboard, and taking his feet and throwing his legs off the side of the bed. Harry lays dramatically on his side, refusing to stand. “Get out of bed, Harry! I’m not letting you miss your bachelor party. That’s final.”

“Oh, that’s final?” Harry mimics, breathing out a laugh and shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Caroline through hooded lids, his nostrils flaring with his anger as she stands with his knees touching her thighs, her hands reaching for his and wiggling her fingers dramatically to try and grab his hands and pull him upright, at least. “Caroline, I don’t want to go, and you can’t make me. That’s what’s final.”

“God, you’re so difficult,” she huffs frustratedly, turning on her heel and walking towards their wardrobe, leaning over to take her platforms – that he loves on her body – and zip the backing on her heel. Clad in his favorite dress, she, along with their friends, have designed everything perfectly for the evening if he would just get up and get ready. Harry’s left Caroline with no choice, but to yank out the toxicity card – as Caroline likes to call it, Harry hates it, though. “Fine, Harry. If that’s what you want, stay home without me.”

“Hold on a second, Cal.” Harry narrows his eyes, knowing that Caroline isn’t quite finished. There’s no way she’s leaving the conversation alone this easily. Contrary to what she believes though, Harry would prefer not to argue about it, so he stands and walks over to her, kisses her cheek and smiles at her graciously. “Thank you.” Caroline looks at him with her pretty brown eyes and smiles, shrugging her shoulders and walking towards her vanity in the corner of the room, sitting on the bench and reaching for the tube of lipstick ready to be worn on her skin. “Are you still going, Callie? I thought–”

“Shakespeare, you’re the one having an issue. Obviously, it’s not me,” Caroline hums the interruption, shaking her head and patting the lipstick with her thumb to make sure that it’s perfectly marking her mouth. “Guess I’ll have to go by myself. Manic and all that. Ugh, that’s such a shame, too, isn’t it? Quite a shame that I have to go out, by myself, to a bar, with all our friends, and get drunk and dance without my fiancé because he’s being a baby about going out, tonight.”

“Callie,” Harry says warningly, shaking his head and gently squeezing her shoulder as he stands behind her in the mirror. “Quit it. Don’t say that when you know how it makes me feel. Cross that boundary and we’ll have a bigger argument on our hands.”

“Ugh!” Caroline groans and knocks her head against her neck dramatically, running her fingers through her hair and letting the curls cascade down her back, the singular braid where her part meets her scalp adding what she likes to call ‘character’ to her look for the evening. “Harry, I’m only saying these things because they’re true. Technically, the mania cycle has started. Technically, you’re being a child about going out. Technically, I’ll have to go and get drunk by myself because you won’t come with me. All the things I’ve said are true, whether you’d like to admit it or not.”

Harry knows that Caroline’s right, which infuriates him even more so. Caroline is right – as much as he hates to admit it – simply because of the fact that their argument technically began while in the shower together when Harry said that he wouldn’t be going out, tonight. Harry refused to discuss it further when Caroline stepped out and wrapped herself in her robe – the one that she loves so dearly that he bought her for the holidays – and she looked at him with wide eyes, as though he had grown three heads in the midst of their conversation. Caroline, technically, is right, but that doesn’t mean that the manipulation of saying things to get under Harry’s skin is any more right or just.

“Cal, you’re saying these things to get under my skin,” Harry says affirmatively, as though he knows without a shadow of a doubt – which he does – and his eyes narrow at Caroline in the mirror. “That’s not right. Tell me, what would Kate say if you said you were going out, tonight.”

“Kate agreed that it would be good for us to see somewhere other than the eight walls we see every day between the bookstore and our apartment.”

Of course, Kate said that, Harry wants to say. Kate doesn’t see you every day, she doesn’t know how scary it was to find you that day. Of course, Kate thinks it’s better for you to go out and not stay where you’re safe with me.

“Harry, I know that I’m safe when I’m with you,” Caroline says, dragging Harry out of his thoughts and into reality. “That’s why I’d like you to come, if for no other reason than to make sure I stay safe. ‘Course, you can mope and whine and complain the entire time, if you’d like, but I would like to have you there. Bachelor and Bachelorette parties are something we can only do once. That’s not something we get to have back.” Caroline looks at Harry and narrows her eyes before saying, “’Cause obviously you can’t divorce me, so you’ll only get one.”

“Can it, Callie.” Caroline laughs at that. Harry would never think about divorcing Caroline, especially not after everything they’ve been through, so the comment alone is always enough to annoy him, and she knows it. That’s the perk of being in love with someone that’s neurotypical, she would say, their things that annoy them are always the same, whereas she is something different every day. “Fine, fine. I’ll come. I’m not happy about it, though.”

Caroline kisses Harry’s cheek and frowns when a lipstick stain is left on his skin, her thumb rubbing at the maroon tint gently and then squeezing his shoulders in a hug. Harry’s arms immediately wrap around her waist and he’s nearly cleared of his annoyance, enough to smack her backside – all in good nature – playfully and let out a laugh. Caroline squeaks and pinches his hip, earning a perfect smile from Harry and a shine of his dimpled cheeks. “Get dressed and let’s go. Today’s the one day I’d rather not be late.”

* *

Harry’s hand is tight in Caroline’s as they walk towards the front door, the light outside flickering on and a bustle of commotion coming from the inside of the townhouse. There are at least three or four cars that are not Niall and Liv’s stacked in the driveway, all huddled close together to try and prevent parking on the street. Caroline squeezes Harry’s hand, and she smiles at him softly, kissing his cheek once more – without any tint of her lipstick left behind, this time – and knocks on the front door, waiting for either Niall or Liv to answer. Caroline smirks when Harry squeezes her hand back, wrapping their arms around her shoulder and bringing her into his chest and kissing her head lightly, comfortingly, and she knows that he’s no longer angry with her.

Niall’s townhouse apartment is only a few blocks south of where Harry and Caroline made a home. Liv and Niall can afford a bigger place, with Niall working at the publishing house and Liv working at one of the biggest magazines in the city, and it’s nice. Harry is happy for his friends, his best friends, and yet still feels the twinge of jealousy that he can’t give more to his fiancée than his best friend can give to his girlfriend. Harry’s guttural reaction is to feel this jealousy, this hindrance to his pride, his ego, and there’s something about it that makes him feel ill. Caroline would remind him that she loves their little hole in the wall, as she calls it, their little safe space. Callie and I will have more someday, someday soon, Harry reminds himself, shaking his head and tucking his nose in Caroline’s hair as they wait for the door to swing open and their friends to greet their arrival.

Naturally, Caroline and Harry are late. They’re always late.

“Callie!” Niall shouts from the foyer when the door swings open and his arms wide open for a gracious introductory hug. “Harry, long time no see, mate! Callie hasn’t been able to drag you out of the house in a month!”

Niall must be drunk already, Harry assumes, shaking his head and laughing as he steps inside the house and hugs his best friend tightly. Although, Niall is right; it’s been nearly a month since Harry has seen anyone but Caroline and the two other workers at the bookstore beneath their apartment. Harry hasn’t wanted to see anyone, to face reality. Living in a bubble of distance has been nice for a while, but Caroline is surely getting tired of it. “Things have been tough! Leave me alone!”

Niall looks side to side, as though to make sure that Caroline is gone and their privacy is ensured. Caroline’s voice is travelling through the tiny walkway into the kitchen, Liv already chatting with her about things that make no sense to Niall and Harry and Mitch joining in their conversation. “Is Callie okay? Only go into hiding like that when Cal isn’t doing so great.”

Harry sighs, pulling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, nodding cautiously, peering around the corner to get a glimpse of what his fiancée is doing and smiling slightly to himself at the sight of her, smiling and giggling with their friends and enjoying her time out already. Maybe this is good for her, for us. “Callie wasn’t doing great for a while. I wanted to stay home, where I could keep an eye on her and keep her safe. Things were scary, there, for a while, and you know what? Despite every single time I’ve tried to deny it, I can’t, I can’t be without her. She’s my everything. I have to do what I have to do to keep her safe and happy and healthy.”

“We know, Harry.” Niall smiles, and Harry knows it’s a pitying smile, but it’s a smile, nonetheless – a smile that Harry hasn’t seen in nearly a month that he’s missed dearly. “Come on, before Mitch thinks we’ve lost our shit, out here.”

“There’s the man of the hour!” Mitch calls from the barstool next to Liv, immediately grabbing Harry’s attention and bringing a genuine smile to his features. Harry realizes, then, that he hasn’t smiled once since they arrived nearly ten minutes ago.

“There you are!” Caroline smiles, nearly jumping into Harry’s chest and slinging her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek and smiling brightly at him.

Harry swears he hasn’t seen her this happy in months, likely since their engagement six months ago, and he’s beginning to think that keeping her away from their friends might’ve been more harmful than beneficial in her recovery. Guilt is always on Harry’s brain, lately.

Caroline leans onto her toes and grabs his cheeks to ensure his attention, her sweet, honey eyes making his heart speed up in his chest. “You know, I was beginning to think you left me and went home, Shakespeare.”

“Never,” Harry smiles softly, leaning towards her and pecking her lips, smirking when a slight blush creeps onto her cheeks. He kisses her temple and wraps his arm around her waist, settling at the curve of her hip. “Can’t get rid of me that quickly. Can’t get rid of me at all, but especially not when you’ve promised me a night of dancing and drinking.”

Caroline raises her eyebrows suggestively. “At all? That’s a staggering promise when the divorce rate for significant others where one partner has bipolar disorder is nearly one hundred percent.”

Of course, Caroline would know that, Harry says to himself, rolling his eyes and patting her backside playfully. “Cal, since you know this fact off the top of your head, I’m assuming you also know that there is a ten percent part of that statistic for partners that don’t get divorced, which will be you and myself, as far as I’m concerned. Honestly, I’m not all that concerned.”

Caroline’s lack of response, at first, makes Harry chuckle. Her eyes narrow slightly, and her lips turn into a devilish smirk and she leans onto her toes to whisper, “Confidence looks good on you, Harry,” she says, kissing his jaw and reaching around his back for her drink on the counter, a condensation ring wetting the rim of the glass. “Find it very sexy.”

Harry shakes his head and shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the way her hand has shifted slightly to lay on the curve of his back and his trousers feel slightly tighter. Caroline knows what she’s doing, she always does. “Cut it out, Caroline. Our friends are around.” Caroline shrugs her shoulders and giggles, the quiet laugh that makes his heart swell in his chest and feel loved by her. Her hand squeezes his waist before taking a sip of her drink and she looks at her best friend, as if they’ve already talked about how to get him to loosen the reigns a bit. “Okay, okay, you’ve got me out of the house, finally. Anyone care to tell me what we’re doing tonight?”

Clapping a hand onto Harry’s shoulder, Niall grins smugly and says, “Mate, we’re taking you out and getting you absolutely plastered.”

“Wonderful,” Harry says dryly, a breathy laugh passing through his lips and his eyes trading from the drink shoved into his hand – tequila, no doubt – to his fiancée, who is already getting clingy with her best friend and talking about how much she’s missed her. “Haven’t seen you all in almost a month and there are no stories to tell? I’d hate to say that I’m almost insulted.”

Mitch scoffs and shakes his head, “One month without you around, barely talking to us, and you think there are no stories to tell? I didn’t fly out from California to not have stories to tell.” Niall nods his head towards Mitch in agreement. “Haven’t you got some stories to tell? It’s been nearly a month without you talking to anyone, H.”

“Oh, surely,” Harry smirks sarcastically, clicking his tongue and taking a sharp breath in, “the adventures of running six bookstores across the country and getting to love this one, right here.” Harry smiles brightly at Caroline and her cheeks flush with a twinge of red that glimmers beneath the crème on her skin. “Always an adventure and worth a story.”

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Look, H, we all know you’re in love and everything, but fuck’s sake, tone it down a bit.” Mitch’s girlfriend is going to meet the group at the very first bar they’re attending, insisting on giving the friends time alone for a while before embarking on the hellish evening that would be their joint celebrations. “Think we should head out soon? Sarah is meeting us at the restaurant at eight. If I’m not mistaken, there are some others meeting us there, too.”

Caroline looks to Harry with confusion, only to see him shrug his shoulders and stare equally as confused. Maybe it’s your cousin, Molly, Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t want to get Caroline’s hopes too high before anything is revealed, and he certainly doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, if that’s it. That would make their friends very angry with him. Rightfully so.

“God, imagine if it was Molly. Could you imagine if Molly was here?” Caroline laughs aloud, and Liv’s eyes go wide, and Harry knows. Caroline ignores the teetering smile on Harry’s mouth, going on about how she’s so happy to be spending the night with their best friends and how they mean everything to her. Harry knows that everything is going to be right in the world as soon as Caroline lays eyes on her cousin, the one that she grew up with that was like a sister to her, whose mother loved her as her own. Harry knows that if anyone is closer to Caroline beside him and her father, it’s Molly and Aunt Daisy. “That’s absurd, though. Molly wouldn’t come all this way for the bachelorette party. Having a baby and all that? No way.”

Molly’s daughter, Ocean, is nearly two, now.

Harry and Caroline were there for her birth. Flying out to California and waiting in the labor and delivery lobby while Molly and her husband, Dylan, welcomed Ocean into the world. Caroline swears it was the best day of her life, to see her cousin – who’s more like her older sister – become a mother and be the happiest she’s ever seen. Caroline always swore that she would never have a child, but Harry saw the look in her eyes when she held that baby for the very first time, when they took pictures of Molly and Caroline and Ocean altogether, when Harry held the baby for the first time. Maybe it wasn’t that her mind had changed, but something made her think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have one.

That’s all Harry could really ask for, anyway.

Harry laughs lightly at his fiancée and her dramatics, knowing fully well that she still sees their niece as the infant she once was, “Ocean is talking and walking, now. She’s nearly two, Cal.”

“That’s still a baby, Shakespeare. Trust me, if we ever have a baby, you’ll still think they’re a baby at two years old, too.”

Of the voices in the room, Harry’s is the only one to stay silent, after that. Niall, Liv, Mitch, and Caroline fall into mindless chatter, talking about the wedding and the upcoming events that they have sorted through, even though the event is maybe a max of thirty people. Harry stays silent and leans against the counter, sipping his drink mindlessly and listening to Caroline as she roams about the room and tells story after story to her best friend.

Harry doesn’t say anything about the comment Caroline’s made, even though it’s all he can think about, knowing that it would make her panic knowing that she’s brought up having a child, once again. Coming home from the hospital, it’s become a more reoccurring topic in their household, and Harry doesn’t want to push anything on Caroline when things are finally starting to get better. He isn’t oblivious, though. He sees the way she looks at the babies that come into the bookstore when they’re working, or the way she holds the baby that her publisher had only two months ago. Harry sees the way her eyes light up at the mention of their future and their wedding and all the things that come along with being a family, because that’s all she wants.

Caroline wants to have a family, a family that she can love and rely on, that isn’t only her father and her aunt and her cousin, that mean something to her and love her as much as she loves them. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ll have three children and a huge farmhouse and a life in the midlands, no, but it means that the company that Caroline surrounds herself in, now – her fiancé, their friends, her cousin and aunt, even her fiancé’s immediate relatives – are the family that she always wanted to have.

Harry wants to give Caroline that. If Harry could give her anything, he would give her a family.

Niall’s voice commands the attention of everyone in the room, making everyone else, including Harry, fall silent and bring their eyes to him. “All right, let’s get going to dinner. Made the reservations a bit later in case anyone was late.” Niall winks at Caroline. “Cal, everyone worked really hard, especially your fiancé to make this surprise happen for you and we don’t want you to miss it.”

Caroline looks to Harry, walks towards him, and wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing his hip sweetly and leaning her chin on his chest. “Especially you?”

“Aren’t you the one that said we’ll only get married once?” Caroline nods without saying a word, solely intending on listening to what Harry has to say. “Then, I’m going to go all out for you, Cal. You deserve everything and more than that, Buggy.”

“All right, all right. Enough of that, H. God, you two are disgusting,” Niall laughs, reaching out for Liv to take his hand and making his way towards the front door. “Oh wait!” He reaches around the coffee table for something and brings out a blindfold. “You’ll need this.” Caroline looks at Harry and Niall with furrowed brows, confusion written across her face. “Trust me, okay?”

Caroline, for once in her life, nods quietly, and decides not to make an argument.

* *

Harry knows it was wrong to lie. Harry knows that it was wrong to lie and say that he didn’t want to go to the bachelor party. Harry is sure of that. Harry is well aware that it’s wrong to lie to Caroline and tell her that he doesn’t want to go, and that she shouldn’t go either, when in actuality, he has been working all along with her best friend to make sure the surprise worked out in her favor. He wasn’t told what the surprise might be, but he had an inkling, a guess as to what it could be, and he wanted that for Caroline, so badly.

Caroline deserves the world, and Harry would do anything to give it to her.

Considering that, one lie wouldn’t really hurt her, right? At the end of the day, the surprise is for her. That would make this all better, wouldn’t it?

Harry’s hands are gently guiding her through the entryway, holding her waist securely, her hands holding onto his hips as they walk inside, the rustling and commotion of other guests and customers ringing through the restaurant. Caroline slowly readjusts her position, clasping her hands together beneath her chin and sighing nervously, the noise level coming to a halt and the only thing she can hear is the quiet chatter of Liv and Niall standing next to her. Harry doesn’t say a word, but she can feel him loosen his grip around her, and it makes her know that they’re at their spot for the night.

“Can I take the blindfold off?” Caroline wonders aloud, taking a deep breath and beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic under the darkened light. Harry leaves her side, she can feel it, and the anxiety starts again, nervousness wracking through her body. “Shakespeare?”

“Take your blindfold off, Cal.”

Caroline slowly takes off the blindfold – the makeshift blindfold that was really one of their friend’s bandanas from festivals they all go to every summer – and her eyes well with tears at the sight. Molly standing in front of her, grinning, arms wide open waiting for a hug. “Hey, Cal.”

“Molly,” Caroline whispers wetly, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around her cousin tightly, squeezing her and holding her as they cry tears of joy and excitement and giggle quietly to themselves. “Molly, I can’t believe you’re here. This is insane.” Molly gently wipes Caroline’s tears and then wipes her own cheeks, smiling brightly and hugging her once more. “How the hell did you get here? How’s Ocean? Dylan? Are they here?”

“Harry gave your best friend my number and she organized everything for us. Dylan and Ocean are here, too,” Molly grins, cupping Caroline’s shoulders and sighing contently. Molly looks genuinely happy, and that makes Caroline smile and the anxiety suddenly calm throughout her body. “Ocean, Dylan and I are staying for a week, but tonight, it’s all about you and Harry. All of us are here for you two. That’s what matters tonight. That we celebrate you two and your love and all that means for you. Caroline, do you know how much happiness you deserve to have in life?” Molly frowns when Caroline shakes her head. “All of it. All the happiness. That’s what this is going to be. Happy.”

“I love you,” Caroline says barely above a whisper, wrapping her arms around Molly’s shoulders and bringing her into a tight hug, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I love all of you.” Caroline turns to Liv and Harry standing side by side, a huge smile spread across her features, threatening to ache her cheeks. “Shakespeare, did you know?”

Harry is trying to hide the grin on his face. Harry’s trying so hard not to smile, not to break into a sloppy grin and pull Caroline into a hug and whisper how much he loves her. “Partially.”

Caroline walks over to him, wraps her arms around his waist, smiles and says, “I love you, H,” and guilt washes over him, weighing heavy on his chest as though lied to the most important person in his life.

Harry is selfish when it comes to Caroline. He knows that. Harry knows that he’s selfish and that’s why he’s beginning to feel guilty for not wanting to come, tonight, for wanting to keep Caroline at home where they can stay in their tiny bubble of security and never leave. Caroline is so happy to be around her friends and Molly, that Harry knows it was wrong of him to want to stay home and even try to get her to stay there, as well. He’s working on it, especially in therapy with her, day by day, to be less nervous when it comes to going out and about after an episode and working on being more secure with the highs and lows.

His heart is heavy, and Caroline can tell by looking at him.

“Don’t feel badly,” she whispers, reaching onto her toes and having her lips touch the shell of his ear to make sure that no one else can hear her. Molly and Niall and Liv are talking amongst themselves, while Mitch is waving down his girlfriend from the entryway, and Harry is wrapping his arms around Caroline’s waist to hold her tightly to his chest, ensuring that no one can hear what she’s trying to say. “All you want is to keep me safe, H, which I appreciate. Everyone knows that. Want you to know, though, that I am happy that we’re here, that we’re with our friends. And I want you to enjoy tonight with me. Guilt isn’t something you need to feel, okay?”

Harry doesn’t say a word, at first, simply lifting his head from her neck and kissing her, pressing his lips to hers and soaking in the way she immediately kisses him back, their lips moving wordlessly on each other’s. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Caroline smiles and says what she always says to Harry when he says the three words she needs to hear, making him smile and feel his heart flutter. “Love you more.”

Quickly, Harry and Caroline turn around, trying to avoid any attention on their conversation and finding their table and taking a seat with Liv and Niall, Mitch and his girlfriend following closely behind. Molly takes a seat next and stands, laying her hands on the table and smiling as if with an announcement. “Okay, okay! I want to hear a story about you two that I haven’t heard before. Obviously, I know that Harry used to be an ass and I know Callie hated him, but we haven’t heard stories about the first kiss and things like that! Callie likes to keep secrets.”

“More like privacy,” Caroline laughs, taking a sip of her water and sighing, trying to think of a story to tell. Truth be told, Caroline didn’t tell anyone much about her relationship with Harry before they were officially dating, so most stories are ones that their friends and family don’t know. Caroline didn’t tell anyone, not because she was embarrassed, but because she was utterly confused by her emotions, by her feelings, and it was easier to ignore everything than to face the impending change that was about to make her life completely different, forever. “I guess I could tell you about our first kiss.”

“On your first date, right?” Liv says, handing her menu to the waiter and ordering her food quietly. Niall’s arm is around her shoulders and Caroline can see that they’re happy, too. Caroline notices those things, she’s realized lately, she really notices when people are happy. Niall and Liv, Molly and Dylan, Harry – all of them are happy. Caroline wants to be included in that. “That one, we know, I think, Cal.”

“Harry and I kissed way before that, Liv. Like, years before that.”

“Three times, actually,” Harry says with a smirk. “Caroline kissed me three times.”

Niall and Mitch snicker, knowing that they’ve heard this story from the days they happened, and Liv’s eyes go wide. Molly whistles, and Caroline can’t hold back her own laughter and she settles into her seat and knows that this story is about to get interesting.

Harry and Caroline haven’t seen each other since that dreaded day at Caroline’s apartment with Liv and Niall watching what Caroline would call the “show”. Caroline and Harry somehow managed to keep their interactions strictly to email, corresponding simply through the computer, which allowed for the two to pass Rigsby’s class and make it to their final semester without a qualm or quarry about whether or not they would be able to graduate in the springtime. Liv and Niall are still going strong, dating for nearly six months, now, and Niall basically lives with Caroline and Liv. Caroline doesn’t mind Niall all that much, what she does mind is the way he is constantly bringing up Harry. Harry Styles, that ridiculous man with a God complex and an ‘I’m better than you think I am’ attitude that surely gets on her last nerve.

Caroline hasn’t seen Harry since that day they fought, and yet, Harry is all she can think about. Harry would’ve said this, Harry would’ve said that – it’s beginning to get annoying.

Max caught on to the way things were going, the downwards spiral that Caroline was heading in, and suggested an appointment with the psychiatrist to change her medicine, which only made Caroline more angry with the situation and say that they need to call it quits for a while. Her boyfriend didn’t argue like she was expecting, like Caroline was wanting (slightly); instead, he simply kissed her on the cheek and told her to call him when she was feeling better, when the episode was over – that much he didn’t say, but it was implied, she assumes.

Only now, three months later, Caroline never called. Only now, three months later, in the middle of February, with the wind chilling against her cheeks and mascara marking her skin, Caroline is alone in the world, isolated and hidden from outsiders, sitting in the bed of her rusty maroon truck, with nothing but a headache and faulty brain.

Bipolar Disorder is funny. Caroline thinks so, at least. Caroline thinks it’s funny that media, particularly social media, has labelled anyone with the more common disorders as more or less harmless to society, that it’s normal and almost quirky now to have these disorders that can debilitate and affect your everyday life, and yet, the disorder that she and nearly six million other people have is labelled as unstable and violent and dangerous in the worst-case scenarios. Caroline thinks about all the things she’s heard in her twenty-some years of life, all the, ‘you’re crazy’, ‘you’re so bipolar’, ‘can’t you just like, be normal’, or her personal favorite, ‘just be happy!’, and cringes to herself, shaking the feelings away and trying to think about something else. If Caroline could just, be happy, she wouldn’t be taking medication, she wouldn’t be in therapy, she wouldn’t be in this position. Caroline wouldn’t be alone if people with Bipolar Disorder could just ‘be happy’.

Gabriel and Caroline Ryan would be in the Grand Canyon, today. They would be in the Grand Canyon, screaming and exploring and travelling across the national park to see sights they’ve seen nearly twelve times. Caroline misses her father dearly, misses him more than anyone could ever miss a person, and it makes her think about the day her life changed forever over a year ago. The Grammys’ Music Cares would have a dedication for him this year, for the change that he brought to the music industry in the short time he was part of it. Caroline wants to go, but she’s nervous to go alone, to have to talk about her father by herself without anyone there. Molly and Aunt Daisy might come if she asks, but she’s nervous. All of it is a lot to think about. All of it is too much.

Heavy footsteps, likely from an early morning runner, bring Caroline back to reality. Quickly wiping her eyes and blinking away the tears – maybe a bit too quickly and hurting her eyes in the process – Caroline gathers her emotions and takes notice of where she is. Is Caroline really at the beach, again? This is the third time this week that she’s woken from a manic episode and found herself at the beach an hour away. Caroline didn’t notice the sun rise or the waves change into high tide, only her emotions and the way her brain is devilish, even on a good day.

“Caroline?” Harry nearly trips over his own feet when he sees Caroline sitting in the bed of her truck. Harry takes the headphones out of his ears, walking towards the truck and knocking on the side, peeking his head around the corner and smiling softly when her eyes lift to meet his. “Is that my best friend?” Harry always says stupid shit to make her angry; it gets a reaction; it gets Caroline to speak to him.

Going on to notice a few things, first, before she even responds, Harry makes a point to realize that this must be the mania thing that Liv was talking about when he asked what was wrong with Caroline the last time they spoke. Liv, privately, indulged Harry and told her what Caroline’s ‘problem’ is, telling him that if he wanted to understand it, then he should do his own research or maybe try to be nicer and talk to her. Harry voted for the research on his own accord and the fact that Caroline barely glances at him. Caroline’s body is clad in nothing but shorts and a silk camisole, something that would be normal for the summertime or even to wear around campus – which he’s seen a million times with her before – but it seems different this time. Maybe it seems different because the weather is barely permitting to be outside without sweatshirts and sweatpants, but it seems different, nonetheless. Caroline’s olive skin seems slightly pale, and Harry swears that he’s seeing things when there are black tracks on her cheeks. Lastly, it’s February, and Caroline is at the beach at sunrise without even a blanket to lay over her body.

Harry can simply tell something is off, and he wants to know what it is.

“Are you stalking me, now?” Caroline says spitefully, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip to hide the shivers wracking through her body.

“Always so hostile, Caroline,” Harry says, shaking his head in a mimicking tone. “Can’t you just be nice for once?”

“Can’t you just mind your own damn business?” she says hurriedly, her chin dropping to her chest and her hands combing through her hair frustratedly as she sighs. Achingly so, the thoughts are intrusive and cruel as they ripple through her brain. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry again. Especially not in front of Harry. He’ll just think you’re crazy like everyone else. He doesn’t get you, Caroline. He never will. He’s not anyone you can trust. Caroline mistakenly trusts the thoughts and looks at Harry with annoyance, “Look, what do you want, Harry?”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh and then walks around the edge of the truck and takes the bed down, leaning on the edge of the hood, and sitting on the ledge. “Honestly, I wanted to go for my morning jog to clear my head. Apparently, you like to drive to the beach I like to run at. I saw your truck, which has you in it, crying on the beach at,” Harry looks at his phone, “seven in the morning. Do you want to talk?”

“Don’t think you want to hear about my problems, Mr. Shakespeare,” Caroline laughs, sighing audibly when Harry takes his sweatshirt off and offers it to her without saying a word, making it known that it’s not an option, that she’s going to wear it, and her arm reluctantly reaches out for it, hands climbing through the sleeves and pulling it over her torso. “Thanks.”

Harry shrugs it off and takes the initiative to sit closer to her, taking a seat in the corner of the bed and sitting across from Caroline as she stares into space, her eyes focused on the crashing waves of the high tide and the way the sound whooshes over their silence. “Well, Caroline, you’ve never told me your middle name, Ryan, it’s freezing and you’re in shorts at the beach, in your truck, with barely anything, not even a blanket, to cover you. I think that warrants a conversation. At the very least, give me the outline of what’s going on. As your friend.”

“Oh,” Caroline nods, a sarcastic smirk toying at the corners of her mouth, “so we’re friends, now, Harry?” Harry shrugs and Caroline looks at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, “Made it through one semester barely speaking to each other and you think we’re friends?” Caroline’s tone is harsh but there is a hint, the slightest hint, of a playful tone beneath her words.

“Oh, haven’t we always been, Caroline?” Considering how tense things were between the two a little less than two weeks ago when the semester ended, when they had to give their final presentation of their annotations together while only communicating through emails – and their professor never even noticed – it certainly would make sense that they weren’t friends. Caroline forces a half-smile at him, and Harry swears that his heart could have stopped beating at the sight. “Think our friendship started right before you called me privileged. That really started it all, for me, at least.” Caroline’s smiled before, surely, she has, while writing or while she was talking about her book in class just before everything went to shit, but never to Harry. That is a sight for sore eyes, certainly. “C’mon, Caroline Ryan. Make yourself be vulnerable for once. That’s how people become friends.”

“Vulnerable isn’t really my thing.” Caroline sighs audibly, her fingers running through her hair and taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to make her life seem a little less pathetic than how it really feels to tell the tale. Caroline always hated this part, with girlfriends and boyfriends and friends and family, having to tell the sob story that always warranted a sympathetic stare and a pitying apology. That was never something she wanted. Caroline never wanted anyone to look at her and feel sorry for her; Caroline had a good life, has a good life.

Beyond the whole, brain not working properly, thing.

“Make it your thing.” Harry looks at Caroline and cautiously sets his hand on her knee, not caring that his sweatshirt is now pulled over her knees and her thighs are tucked under the material, certainly stretching it out beyond fixing. Liv told Harry that Caroline doesn’t like to be touched, that it stresses her out to be hugged or touched or bothered without rhyme or reason, and he knows that this is a risk, but he wants her to look at him, to meet his stare, and know that he’s telling her the truth. “Caroline, I want to be your friend. I can’t make that any clearer than what I’ve been trying to do.”

Harry is referencing all the apologies he’s made, all the efforts at parties and gatherings to talk to her and try to make conversation, all the work that he dedicated to their project for Rigsby and the conversations he’s had with her best friend to try and understand why she is the way she is. Caroline has ignored everything, in and including knowing that Harry has asked Liv about her and her disorder. Caroline hasn’t ignored everything to be rude, no, but to save Harry the time.

Harry is just going to leave like everyone else. Like her father, like her mother, like her boyfriends, like her friends. Harry is no different than anyone else she’s met.

“Harry, you don’t want to be my friend.”

“How do you know?” Harry is insulted by that, by the harshness of the words. How could Caroline even know what Harry wants, when she’s barely taken the time to get to know him? “Caroline, you have no idea what I want.”

Something about the way Harry says that sets Caroline off on a tangent.

“Harry, if we become friends, everything will change; there’s going to be this attachment between us, something neither of us will be able to control. It’s not the ‘let’s hang out every few days or so’ or the ‘let’s see each other with our friends’ type of attached. It’s more than that.” Caroline waits for Harry to say something, and when he doesn’t, she continues, “There will be no reason, but something in my head will say to text you at two in the morning, just because, and I’ll want to talk every day and be around you. It’s addictive for me to be around people. It’s not normal. There’s nothing normal about me, Harry. There’s never a normal amount of anything, it’s over indulged and incessant and it’s why I don’t have a relationship anymore. It’s why my life is pretty lonely; it’s why I like to be alone. That’s why I’m moving out of the apartment with Liv and getting my own place. Quite hard to annoy people if you’re not around them much.”

Harry looks shocked when Caroline says this, this revelation, a certain and outright explanation as to why she’s been holding herself back from a relationship with him in any way, especially when it’s felt like he’s been trying so much. “Is that what you think? That you’re annoying?”

“My mom thought having a daughter with bipolar disorder was annoying, and that’s why she left,” Caroline says beneath her breath, nearly quiet enough to prevent Harry from hearing, but the waves had receded, and the wind had slowed, and the silence was forgiving enough to allow him to listen. Harry’s wide, green eyes alone told Caroline that he heard every word. “My dad was the only person that ever understood me. His brain was like mine, absolutely fucked. My dad had the coolest brain, though. My dad’s brain, even though he had bipolar disorder, too, it just worked. My dad could write songs and go on tour and raise a daughter by himself for seventeen years. All of that, he could do all of that, with a brain that tells you you’re worthless, all the time. My dad was a whole fucking superhero.”

“Only been a year, right? A little bit over?”

“One year and sixty-two days,” she mutters, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and wrapping herself tighter in a ball, her thighs pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. “Matters to no one but me, though. That’ll always be how it is. Only me.”

“Matters to a lot of people, Caroline,” Harry says, sliding in closer to her body and having his feet touch hers. “Mattered to me when I heard the news. Mattered to all his fans. Matters to you.” Caroline sucks in a heavy breath and lets it out between slightly parted lips, ignoring the way Harry has inched closer to her and his hand is dangerously close to reaching out and laying a comforting touch to her thigh. Harry opens his mouth, hesitating to even bring the sentence back into conversation, “Caroline, I had no idea about your mother, I’m sorry.”

There it is. The pity.

Caroline quickly changes the subject. “Come in the ocean with me.” Harry looks as though three heads had suddenly appeared through her body, six eyes staring back at him with wide green irises as she raises her eyebrows and gives a pointed stare. “Well? Are you coming?”

Harry grabs Caroline’s hand and there is a rush of electricity that passes through their fingertips, a current that is warm and attractive, adrenaline-like, encouraging another touch. “Caroline, it’s freezing in there. Have you got any idea how cold the water is going to be in February?”

“And your point is?”

Harry stares at her in amazement, pursing his lips together and trying to understand where the lack of care is stemming from, where the lack of empathy for her wellbeing comes from when she’s got so much going for her. “Go if you want to go; I’ll stay here and wait.”

“You’ll stay? You’ll stay while I go into the ocean,” Caroline repeats with a laugh for confirmation, knowing that he must be insane to stay and watch her go in the ocean during a moment of pure mania, the feeling of wanting to feel anything in her veins, particularly the adrenaline that the freezing, salt water will give her. Harry seems supportive, surely, but will that last? “Are you sure?”

Harry’s heart sinks and his lips purse tighter in a straight line, nodding silently, his mind set on proving her instinct wrong – her instinct that says everyone will leave if she shows the slightest bit of the uncontrolled side of herself. “Caroline, I’m sure.”

“God, Harry, you have to stop calling me ‘Caroline’,” she says sternly, tugging his sweatshirt off her torso and tossing it in the back of the truck, watching as he smoothly grabs it and holds it on his thighs. “Dad barely called me ‘Caroline’ and he named me.”

“Alright, I’ll call you,” Harry waits for a moment, thinking carefully, “Callie, only Callie, from now on. That’s something I can do. Can I call you Cal, too? Is that off limits?”

“Okay, Cal and Callie are fine.”

Harry can tell that there’s something underlying that she wants to say in the way she says ‘okay’ and the way she bites her tongue, but not wanting to push the slight progress they’ve already made, Harry makes the choice to leave it alone. “Callie, are you really going in the ocean?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“’Cause it’s bloody freezing. That’s why,” Harry says matter-of-factly, as if all of his logic is going down the drain talking to her. “Like, you’re really going in?”

“Not all of us feel everything in the world, Harry,” Caroline says, shaking her head and bringing her arms to fold across her chest. “Like me, for instance. On days like today, it’s lovely to feel absolutely nothing.”

Harry stares at Caroline with curiosity and interest in his eyes, a look purely made of concern and misunderstanding. His furrowed eyebrows and wrinkled forehead say his confusion, enough to tell her that he’s absolutely oblivious to what she really means by feeling nothing. “Nothing?”

“Not a damn thing, Harry.”

Caroline rushes into the water, then, without saying another word. Hair twists along her shoulders, slightly messy and greasy and unwashed from a few days, her skin dry and likely drinking in the feeling of the water against her ankles as she slowly lowers herself into the ocean, reaching to where her knees meet the sea, and the waves crash into her thighs. Harry doesn’t say a word, simply watching her as she soaks in the way the water feels on her numb skin, and he shivers, thinking of the temperature against his body. Harry knows, now, what this is.

Caroline stays in the water for well over ten minutes, Harry sitting in the bed of her truck, watching her as she soaks in the water crashing over her thighs and wetting the hems of her shorts. Harry can see her shivering, the way that if the waves slow, he could probably hear the chattering of her teeth from across the beach. Caroline looks happy, though, and Harry isn’t sure if that’s a side effect of the mania or medication or what, but he certainly isn’t going to ask. That’s off limits. Liv made that very clear. Consciously bringing up Caroline’s mania will make her shut down and tune whoever it is out for good – hence the break with her boyfriend – and that will leave Harry with no connection to Caroline at all. That’s not what Harry wants at all.

“Are you daydreaming, again, Mr. Mitty?” Caroline’s voice tugs Harry out of his daydream, the reference to the fictional character making him laugh breathily. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing at all,” Harry shrugs, handing her the sweatshirt and watching her as she yanks it over her head, the material falling to her thighs and sitting very much oversized on her frame. “If we hadn’t just become friends,” he says confidently, swinging his legs over the edge of the truck and adjusting their bodies slightly so that she is tucked between his thighs, “I think I might’ve tried to kiss you, Callie.”

“Might have?” Caroline laughs, shaking her head and shoving his shoulder back with her hand, the sleeves endearingly tucked over the heels of her hands. “Come on, Harry, be vulnerable. Honestly. Can’t lie to me and tell me you wouldn’t have tried to kiss me that day we were having a screaming match outside my apartment if I had let you.”

“If you had let me. Alright, Miss Ryan, whatever you say.”

“Fine, then,” Caroline says surely, taking a deep breath, climbing onto the edge of the bed of the truck and straddling Harry’s waist, grabbing his cheeks in her hands firmly, and finally laying her lips on his. Caroline’s eyes are squeezing shut, trying to ignore the sparks flying through her skin and the way Harry’s hands have found their way to her waist, holding her to him, his mouth immediately reciprocating the kiss and giving the same energy she’s putting out. On the long list (three) of people that Caroline has kissed in her lifetime, this may be the most interesting, the most unusual. Coming from someone that she hated mere weeks ago, kissing Harry feels worldly different, like something that is almost, right, in a way; it feels okay to be kissing him.

Caroline’s first kiss was a boy in the tenth grade, Connor was his name, on her very first date; very, how do you say politely, inexperienced. Caroline’s second kiss was Maxwell, on their third date, and many others after that, and they were always lovely. Max’s kisses made her feel loved when she was feeling lonely. Max made her feel warm inside, made her feel happy. Caroline loves Max, and she may always love him. Her first love. Caroline’s third kiss is with a man that she absolutely was disgusted with until about thirty minutes ago.

And that alone, the mere thought of kissing someone that she once hated, is how Caroline knows that she is manic. Harry doesn’t know that, though. Harry doesn’t need to know that. That’s something that she doesn’t need to share, not right now, now when they’ve just become friends.

“There,” Caroline says, pulling away and wiping at her bottom lip, slowly climbing off his thighs and jumping onto the tarmac. “Is it out of your system, yet?”

Harry shakes his head confidently, a smug smirk sitting prettily on his features. “Callie, you’ve just opened pandora’s box with that, sweetheart.”

“Ew,” she says, gagging at the thought of being called anything other than her name by this man that she’s suddenly become uncomfortably close with, and walking around to the side of the truck to grab her keys from the passenger seat. “Think about calling me a cutesy name like that again and I’ll key you, Carrie Underwood style.”

“Got a lot of rage in you, Callie.”

“Got a lot fucked up things going on in this brain of mine, Harry.” Caroline leans over the side of the truck, laying her arms on the rim and leaning her chin on the back of her hands. “Are you sure you want to be my friend? This is what it’s like, like, sixty percent of the time. Maybe seventy. I’m kind of insane, Harry.”

“Callie, you’re not insane.”

Caroline looks at Harry as though he’s grown three heads, and he’s insane for saying such a thing. Clinically, Caroline is mentally ill. “I just told you I have Bipolar Disorder,” she says astoundingly, as though the fact alone would make him want to run and hide away from her forever. “That makes me insane, Harry. Clinically insane.”

“Clinically insane is used for criminals,” Harry says with a laugh, shaking his head at the dramatization of their entire conversation. Caroline was surely dramatic, way over dramatic for someone that would barely hurt a fly. Harry kind of likes it. “Are you a criminal?”

“Hard criminal.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry chuckles, leaning his hands on the edge of the truck and sliding off the bed, his feet landing on the tarmac with a hard smack. Caroline turns to face him, and a breath catches in her throat as she notices how close they are; with one wrong move, their chests, their entire bodies would be touching. “Hardened criminal, you are. More like a pesky bug. That’s what I should call you from now on. How’s that for a nickname? Not nearly as cutesy as sweetheart.”

“Easy there,” Caroline says, shutting the truck and climbing into the driver’s seat, moving her things around and shoving the mess to the passenger seat floor, rolling her window down to speak to him. “You and I aren’t close enough for nicknames like that, just yet. You just convinced me to be your friend, Harry. That’s enough for one day, I think. I think that’s good.”

“You called me Shakespeare! That was a nickname!”

“That was more of an insult, Mr. Literal.”

Harry shakes his head and leans over the windowsill of the driver’s seat, smirking wildly and staring into Caroline’s light green eyes. “You’ll learn to love me Callie Ryan, you’ll see.”

* *

New York is freezing, even for the springtime. Harry knew this, but for some reason, it didn’t occur to him how cold it would be until he and Caroline were walking through the exit doors of the airport and the wind was whipping against his cheeks. Caroline turns to Harry, pulling his hood over his head and ears and smiles quaintly, patting his cheek and nodding towards the car waiting for their arrival on the curb.

Harry can tell that Caroline is anxious, and he instinctively grabs her hand, trying desperately to comfort her, squeezing her lightly and taking the initiative to walk to the man outside the car and talk to him about their situation. Caroline is reluctant to let go of his hand, and immediately grabs his hand when they’re seated in the backseat, forcing a smile at him – that he knows is fake – and talking to the driver about her father and the event and thanking him for the ride. Harry gets out first and checks the two into the hotel, sighing and trying to convince the receptionist that there should be two rooms in reservation, or at the very least, a room with two beds.

“Harry, it’s okay,” Caroline insists, shaking her head furiously and squeezing his hand, silently begging him to not cause a scene in the middle of the all-too-fancy hotel that they’re in. “Can you just get the keys so we can go upstairs?”

Harry knows that Caroline is having a literal panic attack as they stand there, and his first reaction is to wrap her tightly in his arms and hold her there until she’s okay. Caroline stands next to him, handing the receptionist her identification and anxiously twitches her knee and cracks her knuckles, Harry’s hand immediately goes to her back to try and alleviate some stress.

Harry likes how things have changed since that morning at the beach. Harry likes things a lot. Harry doesn’t mind that he knows the intimate details about Caroline’s mental health, the days she has therapy, the times she takes her medication. Harry knows these things because of how much their relationship has changed since that morning, since they decided to become friends and let everything change for what feels like the better.

“Here you are, Miss Ryan. Enjoy your stay!”

“Thank you,” Caroline swallows thickly, smiling and nodding and turning on her heel quickly to walk towards the elevators in the corner of the lobby. Harry follows quickly behind, lugging their suitcases behind him and nudging the elevator closed with his elbow. Caroline is quiet for the first few minutes, and then says, “Thank you for not causing a scene.”

“Giving you basic, common courtesy, Cal,” Harry says, gesturing for her to exit first when the elevator dings and reaches their floor, the sliding doors opening slowly. “Think we have about three hours before we have to be downstairs at the venue. Can you squeeze in a nap in that time, do you think?”

Caroline opens the door shakily and walks inside, setting her belongings on the table and waiting for Harry to shut and lock the door behind her before she says a word. “I want to go over my speech, I think. Maybe I’ll call Molly and read it to her, again.”

Harry nods knowingly, “’Course, whatever you want.”

Harry wasn’t originally supposed to go to this event with Caroline. It was meant to be her cousin, Molly, and her aunt, Daisy. It was meant to be her family, coming to honor Gabriel Ryan for the evening, but since Caroline’s grandparents passed away, Aunt Daisy became ill, and Molly couldn’t have time away from work, Caroline was left with her only other option: her friends. Liv is proposing her thesis in the morning and couldn’t miss the meeting, and Niall really didn’t to impose. Caroline was left with only one person to really be there for her when she needed it the most. Caroline was left with the one that she was unsure could really handle the mess that she would be. Caroline was left with certain uncertainty.

Harry.

MusiCares for The Grammys is a huge event. Likely one of the biggest events of the year in the music industry, beyond The Grammys and the award shows, themselves. Caroline has been once or twice with her father when she was a young girl, even with her mother, once. Harry is standing next to her, holding her hand tightly, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles trying to soothe the anxiety that he knows is coursing through her veins in this very moment.

Coming from the moment she walked out of the bathroom with her dress hanging loosely off her shoulders and her lace shoes untied around her ankles, Harry knew that Caroline would be a mess and the mania that she felt earlier in the week would be long gone. Especially gone by the time she is listening to Dave Grohl – her father’s mentor, his best friend, her godfather – give his speech about her father and all that he gave to the world of music. Caroline wouldn’t be able to handle listening to that, especially from the person that arguably knew him better than she did.

“Honestly, I don’t think I can do this, Harry. I don’t think I can get up there and talk about Dad to all these people who didn’t give two fucks about him when he was alive, but suddenly care now that he’s gone,” Caroline says suddenly, staring at Harry with wide eyes, nervously biting her cheek and feeling as though the walls are caving in around her. “How am I supposed to do this? This isn’t fair! This is his award. They don’t even know that they’re releasing his new album, this year. Am I supposed to announce that? Harry, help.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do. Harry doesn’t know what to say, what to do in this situation, how to make everything better. Harry wants to make Caroline feel better, to make her feel like there’s someone there for her that will be cheering her on and making her feel like every word she says is important, that people will listen, and that the words she will say will be just as important to everyone in that room as it would have been if her father was there to make the acceptance speech, himself. Harry does what always seems to calm Caroline, grabs her cheeks and brings her into his chest, holding her tightly to him and squeezing his arms around her.

“Usually, this would work, Harry,” she says with her cheeks squished to his chest, trying to pull her face away from his neck and meet his stare, “but this is something desperate and, honestly, I think I’m going to lose it.” Caroline’s eyes flick between Harry’s lips and his emerald eyes, and she knows what she wants in that moment, a simple kiss, a barely-there peck, something to keep her mind away from the speech and onto something different. “Could you kiss me?” Harry hesitates, looking from side to side, and Caroline begins to panic, thinking that she’s overstepped a boundary and Harry is surely going to hate her and dislike her forever and ever. “Actually, never mind, that was a stupid question, that was ridiculous. I’m so sorry I even asked. I shouldn’t be able to speak. That’s so embarrassing and certainly not something you want to do, and it was inconsiderate of me to ask. I’m very sorry. I’m going to go. I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Caroline,” Harry says without thinking, grabbing Caroline’s cheeks and hurriedly pressing his lips against hers, their mouths moving rhythmically together, the emotions and the adrenaline coursing through their veins making everything feel a million times more intense than it truly is.

“Thank you,” Caroline mutters against his mouth, silently hoping that Harry knows that she is expressing her gratitude for more than simply the kiss. “Okay, I have to go,” she says, looking at the stage and the imposing thoughts intruding her mind about the speech tucked away in her chest. “You’ll stay here?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Harry kisses Caroline’s forehead, squeezing her in a tight hug before nodding towards the stage and gently nudging her towards the staircase, Dave Grohl standing there, smiling, waiting with the award held in his hand to hand to her. Harry whistles loudly when she steps on the stage, and she turns to look at him with a knowing smile, the erupted cheers of the audience not anywhere near what she wanted to be hearing. Caroline would have preferred to give the speech to Harry and Harry only. Harry wouldn’t judge her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Caroline says nervously, trading the heavy plaque in her hands and sucking in a deep breath as the tears prick at her eyes. “Gabriel Ryan said many things about the world, specifically saying, ‘this world will take you for granted’, and ‘sometimes it’s the ones you love most that hurt you the worst’. Gabriel Ryan felt abandoned by the world in many ways, especially when his mental health went through the worst times. Gabriel Ryan, however, found a silver lining. Music.” Caroline looks away and stares at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes and her voice becoming shaky. “My father loved being a musician. He felt like his purpose on this planet was to make others feel less alone, to make a crowd of twenty thousand people feel like they were best friends with everyone in the room. Dad’s goal in life was to make someone feel like their life was worth living, that their life meant something, that they weren’t simply a thing in whatever mess life is. I don’t think my father realized that he did that for every single one of you, at one time or another; that he changed the lives of so many people.” Caroline looks over to Harry for support, and she can see the tears in his eyes, and she blinks, the tears that were once welled inside her eyes now coming along her cheeks. “Mental Health is a tricky thing. There’s still this stigma around it, around Bipolar Disorder, that makes you think that anyone that has it is crazy or something. That you’re crazy, or violent, or different, or otherworldly. God, please know, that you’re not crazy, you’re not any of those things. That’s something Gabriel Ryan wanted people to understand. That was something that my father dedicated his whole life to – educating about mental health. That’s why he’s receiving this award, today. ‘Cause someone, somewhere, felt better by what he did, what he does.” Caroline sucks in a breath through her teeth and says under her breath, barely loud enough for the microphone to grab what she’s saying, “Dad, I wish you could see how much you mean to all these people.” Harry nearly walks on stage to comfort her, but Caroline blinks back her tears and gathers her emotions. “I want to thank the Academy for dedicating this award to my father and everything that he worked for. I want to thank everyone that was his friend, for always supporting his endeavors and making him feel less alone. Lastly, I want to thank my father, Gabriel Ryan, for being the man that the world needed, to teach us everything about mental health. I hope that your message transcends past anything you could ever say with song.” Caroline holds up the award one final time and says, “Thank you.”

Caroline receives a standing ovation, whistles and cheers and eruptions from the audience standing on their feet to support every word that she spoke. Harry is screaming from backstage, whistling and hollering for her, his voice travelling louder than any other voice in the entire room. Caroline walks quickly towards him, his hand reaching for the award to hold for her, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and tucking her face in his neck instinctively. His hands rub along her back, rocking her back and forth comfortingly as she sobs into his neck. Harry knows that no ounce of that speech was easy, that nothing about it was something she wanted to give.

Harry sighs and leans against her ear to speak, trying to hide the smirk that itches to form on his mouth when she relaxes at the touch, “That was amazing, Callie. You brought me to tears. You brought everyone to tears. That was fucking fantastic.” Caroline pulls her head away from his neck, his thumbs going beneath her eyes to wipe the mascara tracks that are forming beneath her lashes. “I’m so serious, Cal. That was better than I imagined it would be.”

And then, Caroline kisses Harry. Again. Caroline kisses Harry like she’s never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and messy and saying things that neither of them could say aloud if they tried. Like, ‘I love you’, ‘Thank you for being here’, and ‘I needed you’.

Harry always says exactly what he’s thinking, though, and Caroline isn’t sure what to say back. “Caroline, I think I love you.”

Caroline is feeling so many emotions, so many thoughts are swirling around her brain, and the only thing that feels comforting is hearing those words come out of Harry’s mouth, even though they’re the most terrifying words that she’s ever experienced in her life. Harry said the words that Caroline thinks that she’s feeling, the ones that have been sitting heavy on her chest since they started getting close, since they shared their stories about their family and their friends and the way their minds words against them. Harry, too, has his mind working against him, sometimes, and Caroline has been there to see him through it. Caroline, although not nearly as worried about losing him as she was about losing her father, never left his side and saw to it that the feelings went away, and he would go back about his day. Caroline loves Harry. Of course. Caroline has probably loved Harry since before they even became friends that day at the beach. Caroline was, well, infatuated with him. Could Caroline say that to him in this very moment, though? Could Caroline say that aloud without absolutely ruining the things they have going?

“I, I.”

“Don’t feel like you have to say it back. It’s okay. I know you don’t feel that way about just anyone. I just, I want you to know that you’re not alone. That I love you,” Harry says hurriedly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly to bring her attention from her shoes to his eyes. Harry’s eyes look pretty, right here, a glossy green that are shining beneath the stage lights. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Cal, we can talk there, privately. Okay?”

That’s the thing. Caroline loves Harry. Harry is one of her very best friends. Caroline just can’t say it.

Harry and Caroline go straight to the hotel, waving goodbye to all the celebrities trying to gather around her and speak to her and sharing a few words here and there, but ultimately, Caroline can’t handle speaking to anyone except Harry, in this moment, and saying exactly how she feels. Caroline owes it to herself, to Harry, to say how she’s feeling before she fucks everything up the way she always does, the way she knows that she will.

Harry walks inside first, holding Caroline’s hand, gently guiding her through the chaos that exists downstairs and around the hotel to avoid a panic attack before they’ve even gotten to the privacy of their room. Harry’s eyes flick towards the back of her dress, and Caroline moves her hair away from her neck to give him access to the zipper to bring it down her back. Her body shivers at the touch, and he offers a shy smile as she walks around the room and reaches for her pajamas without so much as glancing at him. Harry can tell that Caroline is panicking, and it makes him upset that he wasn’t able to avoid it with her. Harry has come to realize that some things are simply unavoidable with Caroline.

“I, I don’t think we can kiss anymore.” Harry turns his head away from the string of his pajama bottoms and looks at Caroline, who is standing with his oversized sweatshirt hanging loosely over her torso and nothing but a tour shirt – presumably – and shorts underneath. “I think it means something different to both of us and I don’t think we can kiss anymore. I’m sorry that I kissed you today. I shouldn’t have. That was stupid of me. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a minute, then two, then three, only giving a hum and standing from his seat on the lounger beside the bed, and Caroline knows by his hardened jaw and tense demeanor that he’s angry, or something is wrong, and she’s the reason. All Harry can say is, “Okay, Caroline.”

And like that, Caroline ruined everything for her and Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t say another word to Caroline as readies everything for the night and gathers his things for the morning. Caroline was supposed to show Harry around New York City in the morning, her favorite city, before leaving for the airport, and if they want to be awake in time, they need to go to sleep. That’s what Harry’s telling himself, at least. Harry doesn’t want to admit that he’s heartbroken by Caroline’s words, that there wasn’t a small part of him that prayed that she would feel the same way as he does, that would want him in the way that he wants her. Harry has to justify everything to himself, the three stolen kisses over the course of their relationship, the hours they spent together talking and the studying and the growing closer and closer. Harry has to make himself believe that he was the only one to have feelings in this way, that everything he imagined in his head was make believe. Like Shakespearean Fiction – painful and heartbreaking.

“Are you not going to talk to me, now? Is that it? I try to avoid everything changing between us and you won’t even look at me. And after everything you promised me? That’s fucked, Harry.”

“All I need is a little time, Caroline,” Harry says frustratedly, looking away from his hands and staring at a heartbroken Caroline on the opposite side of the bed, the single bed that they’ll have to share, tonight. “That doesn’t change how I feel about you, how you’re one of my best friends.” Caroline can feel the tears slipping down her cheeks when he says those words, because as much as Harry wants to be angry, he can’t make her feel alone. That’s not who Harry is, anymore. “Come here, Cal.”

Caroline pulls the comforter away from the edge of the bed, climbing beneath the sheets and nervously circling her arms around Harry’s waist, his back propped against the headboard, his ankles crossed beneath the sheets as he wraps his arms around her body and brushes his fingers through her hair softly, nearly leaning down to kiss her head before stopping himself. Harry knows that everything is going to change from here on out, that nothing will be the same and everything will feel different, because Harry’s just confessed his love for Caroline and Caroline has rejected him in the worst way, by saying she’s afraid. Harry has done everything to make sure Caroline isn’t afraid, that she’s comfortable and safe around him, and if he couldn’t even make her comfortable as a friend, how could he ever do so as a lover?

“I love you,” Caroline says suddenly, barely above a whisper, barely audible to Harry’s ears. “I just think I love you differently than you love me.”

Harry doesn’t say a word, simply turning off the bedroom light and laying further into the pillows beneath his head, Caroline laying comfortably on his chest, his hands holding her tightly as though she’s going to disappear in the morning.

Maybe Caroline is. Maybe everything that they’ve worked for is going to disappear the second they wake, and they realize that they’ve made a grave mistake by kissing and sharing their feelings for one another. Maybe Caroline is going to disappear in the morning, disappear from Harry’s life for good.

* *

Caroline hasn’t heard a word from Harry since their journey from LAX, since New York, since he held her hand and she held the plaque for her father on her thighs and they talked mindlessly about how things have changed since their very meeting. Caroline thought things were alright, thought things were going to be okay. That’s how it felt, at least.

Caroline looked to Harry as she was getting out of the car, watching carefully as he took her suitcase from his trunk and walked it up the long driveway to her father’s house – that he somehow convinced her not to sell in the time being – and set it on the stairs leading to the front door. Harry doesn’t make the effort to come closer, to give Caroline a squeeze as he always does, simply smiling and waving and turning on his heel to walk back to his car.

Caroline shouts out, “Are you not going to give me a hug?” Harry turns on his heel again, walking back towards Caroline and opening his arms wide for her. Caroline rushes into him, breathing him in and soaking in the way his arms fit around her, strong and secure, that make her feel safe. “Harry, you’ll call me, right? You don’t hate me, now?”

“’Course not,” Harry says without hesitation, leaning his nose into her hair and breathing her in, a secret weighing heavy on his chest and his heart as he stands there. Harry can’t tell her. Harry can’t break her heart, like that. “I’ll call you soon, Cal.”

And Caroline waits five days for Harry to call. Five painfully long days. Five days and then Caroline is picking up the phone, ready to yell profanities at Harry around the world for ignoring her and leaving her to think that he doesn’t want to be around anymore. Caroline is ready. Caroline really is.

Caroline is ready; that is until three alarming beeps sound on the other end, and a devastating message plays through the speaker.

we’re sorry. you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @goldenbabys-world , @burberryharold , @stylesfics-xx , @grace-ful-gold , @summertimestyles , @laur-sogolden, @yourhsficsplug, @morethanamelodyy, @truckerhatharry, @plzplzme2

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mintytrifecta · 3 years

Text

Blood and Whiskey

Summary: washed up actor and a time-warping talk show host who likes disco walk into a bar

Aka: I was getting tired of writing one setting and the same people for forever and wrote this drabble as a break

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If you were to ask the actor standing in front of you why he did what he did, there’s seldom doubt he’d be able to clearly tell you.

A grand finale.

A final show.

A shake of his fist at the cruel fate life handed him.

Just like him, all it became was an extravagant joke.

Actor growls, shoving away the echoing feeling of shadows with eyes burning into his back, grabbing and ripping him apart, pulling him back together vertebrae by vertebrae until he danced to a vengeful tune once more.

The entity, to put it lightly, has not made it easy to escape it’s grasp. A fool, he was, to think he could use its power to his own whim and not face the consequences.

Even so, with a new body and purpose he can see it lurking in the shadows.

Even now, as he trudged through a dimly lit street in the dead of winter he can hear it ringing in his ears.

After all, it takes time to escape from memories.

God he needs a drink…

Actor stops in his tracks and looks to his side. Blaring music vibrates in his ribs, shaking and stirring his insides.

It’s a bar.

A very neon, very bright bar.

A perfect place to sulk, He thinks to himself.

Tightening his grip around the pockets of his red velvet jacket, Actor takes a breath.

And walks in.

The music is even louder on the inside than from the outside. For some unknown reason, that fact surprises him.

All around the hall people can be seen dancing in a frenzied craze. Lights flashing in a showcase of every conceivable color available to the blind eye. Under the lights, a live band was playing some indistinguishable disco with a fervor and passion Actor wishes he still possessed. He scoffs and sharply inhales through his nose.

The air reeks with the familiar stench of alcohol and mania.

Actor squints his eyes and burrows his face deeper into the black scarf tied around his neck and shuffles his way to the leather bar stool. Slamming his hand on the wooden surface of the table to get the bartender's attention.

With a sigh, they dreadfully approach.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Actor mumbled deeply, head miserably laying on polished oak. "Red wine. Any year, I don't care."

The bartender curtly nods and leaves to get the drink. Actor's in no hurry tonight, why should he care if it's taking forever?

"Here you go, sir. Red wine, 1926."

Ah, prohibition wine. Nothing quite like tasting secret rebellion acid slipping down your throat, whispering sweet illegality and chaos in the wake of conformity.

Actor downs the wine in one gulp and haphazardly slams the cup onto the table. Beside him, a man chuckles.

"You sure needed that one, huh friend?"

Turning to face the voice, Actor attempted to hide his widening eyes in reaction to the speaker’s appearance.

A man in a silky pink long-sleeve shirt tucked into… the ugliest shade of yellow Actor had ever seen paired with white shoes, stained and worn from long nights out dancing, no doubt.

The top of his head layed home to the biggest and most extravagant pink afro Actor had ever seen in his life.

And on his face… an eerily familiar, upturned, almost pink-like at the edges mustache.

What a strange-looking person, Actor thought.

“Yeah… hey, aren’t you one of the stage performers?” He questions offhandedly. Actor was sure he’d seen him perform when coming in.

“Oh, not for tonight. Maybe tomorrow’s yesterday though…”

Actor stares at the man, trying to piece together his offputting comment.

“You… what?”

The man grins at him, swishing in his hand a martini that definitely wasn’t there before.

“What did you say, friend?”

“Your-your comment on when you’re going to perform. What did you say?”

He gazes at Actor, brows furrowed in concentration before his eyes glaze over. He sits still on his creaking barstool, focusing on nothing and everything before jumping in his seat and grinning at Actor.

“Bah, who can remember things like that? I know I can’t. Anyways, I don’t think I caught your name, fellow. Or maybe I forgot that too, it’s entirely possible.”

Actor blinks with incredulity. His words caught in his throat, unable to pass.

“My name is… irrelevant.” He finally decides on saying.

“Irrelevant, hm? Sounds french! Have you ever been there? I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

Actor raises his hand to get the bartender’s attention and signals another round. It’s going to be a long night.

“Firstly, it’s winter. Second of all I didn’t even get your name, how am I supposed to talk to you without it.”

The man sits gasps for air, dramatically arching his back in shock before responding with a curt bow in his chair.

“Oh my apologies, Irrelevant, it must have slipped my mind! Name’s Wilford Warfstache!”

“Wilford Warfstache?” Actor echoes.

“That’s what I said!”

Actor snorts, picking up his second glass of wine, inspecting it as if passing final judgement.

“Well, Mr. Warfstache, what exactly do you want with me? Out of all the seats in the bar why’d you sit next to this one, huh?”

Wilford smiles and pats him heartily on the back. “My friend, you looked so lonely sitting at the bar with nobody else around you! I-I figured you could use some good company!”

Actor rolls his eyes. “How thoughtful…”

Wilford nods brightly, looking the Actor up and down with a slight hitch in his breath.

“Say… do I know you from somewhere?”

Actor winces, tirelessly holding on to a shred of hope that tells him he hasn’t faded into obscurity.

“I’m an actor. There’s a good chance you’ve seen me on the silver screen.”

With this revelation, Wilford’s face lights up in wonder.

“An actor! That’s fantastic! What movies have you done, my friend? Was there love? Was there murder? Was there treacherous betrayal at the hands of an ally?” He questions, voice getting louder and louder with each passing query.

“You could say that… It’s been a while since I landed a good role, however.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to stay like that! I’m sure you can find something big to be in soon!” Wilford cheers passionately.

“Yeah right… the last time I did some big movie was… god I don’t even know how long it’s been since then.”

Wilford pats Actor pitifully on the back, softening his voice to the best of his ability.

“Well, whatever role you played I’m sure it was wonderful!”

Actor took a sip of his wine. “I played a detective.”

“A detective! That’s a wonderful role to act! Why, I happen to have a friend who’s a detective and he’s one of the best people you’ll ever meet, trust you me.”

Actor nods solemnly, eyes and throat caught in a crossfire of guilt and rage. “So did I. Met him on set as a professional consultant and stayed friends afterwards. At least until...” he trails off.

“Until what?” Wilford asks.

“I… did something. Something bad that I can’t take back. I got stuck with a shitty hand, tried to use it and it backfired and no matter what I try to do I can’t get new cards. It’s not fair!” Actor growls.

Wilford hums, circling the edges of the martini glass with the paper umbrella. “Such is life, my friend. You can’t always make sense of it’s chaos, hell knows I don’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Actor spits with venom. “Oh, please. What bad thing could you have possibly done?”

“Everyone has some blood on their hands, my friend. There’s no need to dig for specifics.”

“And yet, here we are. Hell, the only good outcome from anything I did slipped out of my fingers and forever from my grasp.”

Wilford held out a finger, motioning for Actor to shut it.

“Never say never, my good man! If I know anything, it’s that things always come back to you. If they don’t you keep looking for them!”

“How inspirational.” Actor deadpans.

“It’s true! I say you should keep looking for the positive, even if it’s hard!”

"I don't know…"

Wilford tuts sotfly. "Come on now, don't you trust ol' Warfy?"

"Not really, no."

He shockingly gasps, bringing a shaking hand to his chest and spilling his martini on the floor. "W-well whyever not? I give pretty good advice, why not trust me?"

"I met you tonight."

"But it feels so much longer than that, doesn't it?" Wilford sighs, leaning his head on Actor's sunken shoulders.

He shakes the afro-d man off and takes a swing of his wine.

"Whatever you say, Will."

The two sit in silence, taking in the music echoing in the hall with comfort.

"You know, I did get an offer for this television series a while ago."

"Did you, now?"

"It was for some kind of choose-your-own-adventure thing. It seemed silly at the time and I didn't say anything yet but maybe I'll give it a shot." He mumbles.

"Wonderful idea, my friend! That seems marvelous to work on."

Actor sluggishly smiles. "You think?"

Nodding brightly, Wilford responds. "I do! And if it's any consolation, my friend," he pauses and shuffles through his afro, pulling out a small, pink flower. "I think you'd make a wonderful hero."

Actor lightly picks the flower from his hand, petting the rosy petal. It's soft and delicate, smooth under his touch.

"Whatever you choose to do, you'll be great at. I'm sure of it."

He gazes at his newfound friend, eyes shining with reinvigorated light for the first time in years.

"Thank you, Will."

"Anytime, good man! Anytime."

Actor stands up and brushes his jacket, smiling at Will. "I think it's time I left. I've got a friend to pay a visit to."

"Good luck! And remember you always have a friend here!" Wilford raises his full martini glass high into the air.

"You got it, Will."

And with that, Actor left. Perhaps it's time to resume his search for a certain Mayor.

Back at the bar, Wilford chuckles into his glass.

"What a strangely familiar person…"

#Markiplier #Who Killed Markiplier #Fanfiction #My Writing #WKM #Actor Mark #Actor Mark WKM #Wilford Warfstache #William J. Barnum #Wilford Motherlovin Warfstache #dude why is wil so fun to write

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glitterandrocketfuel · 5 years

Text

YBC Hot Takes: Young Volcanoes

Session Two of YBC Hot Takes is about to begin, here at the Peterick Institute for FOB Meta and Fine Purveyors of Flexible Metallurgic Haberdashery. This time, we’re taking on Young Volcanoes as we proceed into the movable feast of one Patrick Stump, soul punk and solo artist. Glammed up, cleaned up, and ready to take the stage and be his own spotlight.

Young Volcanoes: For Your Consumption

The happy-go-lucky beats and melodies of Young Volcanoes is a soothing contrast to the barely-leashed rage of My Songs and The Phoenix. After bursting back on the scene with these curb-stomping anthems, the ruffled feathers are soothed back down into something sleek and welcoming, promising an ease up on the throttle of the band’s pre-hiatus speed-freak pace of album-making and touring and living in the public eye. With the addition of a little space and rest, this is the sigh of relief right before the narrator breaks in with the declaration that “Relief, however, was short-lived...” Follow me below the cut to see what happens when Little Red Riding Hood strays from the path into the deep, dark wood...

youtube

Fresh off the operating table and the carving block, Patrick is polished, cleaned-up, and set on display at a finely laid-out table, ready to be tasted and devoured by the hungry world. He's got an IV drip full of happy-drugs that allow him to use his remaining hand to keep a beat and sing his joy, and feeder lines full of social distortion drugs that show him the polished, prettified version of the banquet laid out before him because he’s Patrick From Fall Out Boy.

He's done his best, put his work out there and presented it with beauty and grace and the ingredients beneath made up of his own viscera, just waiting for his audience to taste of the bounty.

Juxtaposed with this is his unwilling band members being wrestled into the dining room, tied to their chairs and blindfolded, and force-fed feeder lines of their own while the Serpent of Doubt begins to slither through the banquet.

The vixens force-feed the other band members Patrick’s music, eliciting reactions from them in a scandal-hungry orgy of stimulus and response, whether they want to consume it or not, and without regard to their wishes to consume it on their own terms.

The dream of Patrick’s own music quickly turns manic. Patrick tap-dances faster and faster, to fewer accolades while his blindfolded bandmates are given more and stronger substances (which only Patrick can see--do they have to be on drugs to like what he's made? Has he forced them into listening to music the same way he all but forced them into making music to his directive on the last album?) until the main course (Soul Punk) comes out.

And for an instant, they're all glowing golden and joyful as they're celebrating their friend's solo debut. Joe looks dazed and amazed and proud (just as he did in the shots captured when he watched Patrick perform solo during the tour). It’s a feast, and if nobody notices Patrick struggle with his fork, well, that’s just the happy talking, right?

The sheen of Patrick's fame from Fall Out Boy opens doors, unlocks highs that are out of reach for a nobody just starting out without the notoriety, and elevates his chances. The chandeliers are glowing, the happy-drugs are flowing, the girls are dancing and the fare is delicious (don't look too hard at those stitches in Patrick's side, there, nothing to worry about). Hey, there's even boobs!

Except...they're masks. And not only masks, but bloody masks. Animal masks. Animals, attracted by the scents of food and prey. The joy goes a little too far and slips into the prelude to mania (MAN I A).

Unlike Pete, Patrick has never really been the one in the camera's crosshairs, and by the time he notices the artificiality, it's a little too late. The food isn't being consumed, it's being force-fed. The chandeliers aren't glowing, it's weak candlelight. His friends are tied to the chairs, not dancing around. The feast is a wreck and the shine is worn off and did they ever like it at all?

The celebration isn't a celebration, it's a feeding frenzy.

#peterick institute #ybc meta #YBC hot take

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out-there-tmblr · 6 years

Text

Mystrade wip: To break a curse (3)

***

Mycroft doesn't give much thought to the snippets of Latvian coming from the kitchen. The service industry across London is fueled by people working long hours for minimum pay, and those people are frequently immigrants with limited English. Hearing a foreign language from the back of a restaurant is expected.

The date is better than expected. Paul is charming with a nice smile, and he talks about his position at the Wallace Collection with passion and admiration. They've discussed favourite painters and the sheer emotion in the latest exhibition, and it's all going well until Mycroft hears himself laughing a little too loudly at Paul's joke.

“If you'll excuse me,” he says, standing up and making sure he feels the weight of his phone in his pocket. “I'll be right back.”

It takes too much concentration to keep his steps steady as he takes the narrow hallway to the gents. He can feel his pulse hammering at his neck, the hot flush on his cheeks. He looks at the dimly lit wallpaper around him, the way the design shifts and swims in front of him, blurring and overlapping in endless repetitive patterns. He notes the way it makes him feel: amused and entertained. He wants to call Paul over, show him this wonderful wall.

An entactogen, then. MDMA, maybe. Something slipped into his drink to allow for quick metabolism into the bloodstream. He thinks of Paul, Paul's easy smile, Paul reaching across the table to run fingertips along Mycroft's palm. No wonder the date was going so well; they're both under the influence of something.

It must have been a member of staff. Latvian. There was a corrupt general in Belarus with ties to Latvia, a general whose illegal arms deal fell through due to Mycroft. It's hard to think straight, let alone strategize right now.

Mycroft pulls out his phone. Texts his assistant with the details, orders the surveillance on the current employees. It's a risk for him to be anywhere near his office in this state, and Sherlock is in Scotland investigating missing emeralds.

“Need me to rescue you from another bad date?” Lestrade asks and Mycroft doesn't remember dialing. But the phone is in his hand, and Lestrade's on the other end, and when he drags his free hand down the wallpaper, the flocking feels incredible under his fingertips.

“With some urgency,” Mycroft says and manages to drag the restaurant's address from his memory. He relays it to Lestrade who hums as he writes it down. “You must have a lovely singing voice.”

“Are you okay?” The sharp concern in Lestrade's tone sobers him a little. “Is that some kind of distress code?”

“No, but it would be handy right now.” Mycroft can't remember where the kitchen is relative to this hallway. Doesn't know if he can be overheard. Doesn't know if he's said too much already. “I think I've had too much to drink.”

Lestrade mutters something about lightweights but Mycroft can hear his keys jingling. “Fine, I'm on my way. Stay there.”

When Mycroft gets back to the table, Paul is glassy eyed. There's a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Now that Mycroft's looking for it, he hears the faster speech pattern and the touch of mania in Paul's enthusiastic retelling of a light installation south of the river.

“It's an amazing piece,” Paul says fervently. “We should go see it.”

“I'd like that.” He would. He wants to see Paul again. He suspects Paul will change his mind when he wakes up hungover tomorrow.

“We should go right now.”

“I can't,” Mycroft says but he's saved from explaining the situation by Lestrade walking through the doors. He's clean shaven this time, in a wrinkled shirt that he's worn all day and his phone in his hand. His amused smirk turns into an outright grin when he spots Mycroft.

Mycroft wonders at the grin and then realises that he has listed somewhat to his right. He takes his weight off his elbow and sits upright.

Paul's nice smile shines even brighter when he sees Lestrade. Mycroft understands it, of course he does, but it's still galling. Lestrade is not there to be leered at.

“Paul, this is DI Lestrade.” He waves a hand between them. Gets distracted for a moment by the glide of his hand in the air. “Lestrade, could you explain to Paul the common effects of MDMA?”

“What?”

“MDMA. Ecstasy. Common effects.” Mycroft can't. He doesn't trust himself to explain the drugging without explaining the reason for it -- and that is far beyond what a civilian like Paul should know.

Lestrade is now looking at Mycroft. He must see Mycroft's flushed cheeks, the loosened tie because he'd been desperately hot. “You were roofied?” he asks, suddenly serious and professional and devastatingly handsome.

Mycroft nods and ignores Paul, who's staring at Lestrade's mouth but not paying any attention to the words spoken. “The drinks.”

Lestrade frowns and starts rifling through his coat pockets. He pulls out an evidence bag, wonder of wonders, then takes the empty glasses from the table and seals them inside. “Okay, gentlemen, we're going to the A&E.”

***

The car ride over turns Paul's pale complexion to the colour of chalk. He looks distinctly nauseated, so Mycroft stays in the back of the car while Lestrade takes Paul in.

He wants to sleep this off but he doesn't feel the least bit tired. Instead he watches the streetlights reflect on shop windows or runs his fingers over the car's upholstery. Leather seats would be easier to clean but Lestrade has the standard fabric option. No special requests. No special treatment. No expectation of higher recognition or higher rewards for doing his job and more.

Mycroft has both hands flat against the seat, dragging his palms over the febric just to feel it against his skin, when the car for opens. “Okay, got that sorted. They're keeping him for observation overnight, and his sister will collect him in the morning.”

Mycroft scowls at the thought of Sherlock having to do the same. It seems wrong. He's supposed to be the sober one getting calls from a hospital; it's never been the other way around.

Then he remembers Sherlock is in Scotland. Saved from that possibility.

When he looks up, Lestrade is staring at him. “Yes?”

“Your turn. Come on.”

“No.”

“No?”

“A hospital has too many staff. Too many entrances. If this was a planned attack, I'd be too vulnerable there. Take me home.” Mycroft drags a hand against his forehead, trying to think through the haze in his mind. “No, my laptop's there. Too much information. Take me to a hotel instead. Somewhere they charge extra for WiFi in your room.”

Mycroft fishes his phone out of his pocket. He holds it out to Lestrade who blinks and then takes it. “What's this for?”

“Hold on to that for me. I shouldn't be left with… with…” He can't remember the words. They're there, he can hear them in a variety of languages, but in English that word is just blank.

“With means of contacting someone?” Lestrade asks, still leaning into the backseat through the open door. From this angle, he looks tired. Shadows catch on the soft bags under his eyes. He should sleep more, Mycroft thinks. He should have someone to kiss him on the cheek and suggest an early night. “Mycroft?”

“Confidential information. No, that's not the right word. Sounds similar. Or similar meaning.” Mycroft shakes his head. His vision spins a little so he holds himself very still as he adds, “Classified. That's the word.”

“Classified?”

“The amount of information on that phone, the secrets I am privy to… I should not have access to them while I’m incapable of logical thought.”

***

Mycroft's not entirely sure how he ended up on a sofa in Lestrade's flat. Oh, he can guess the turns Lestrade took, how long he had to wait in traffic but he's not sure why. Yet he's sitting on Lestrade's sofa -- a deep grey blue fabric, easy to accessorise, new but not terribly high quality -- being handed a pillow and a duvet.

“I know you probably can't,” Lestrade says, “but try to get some sleep. I'll come check on you in a bit."

***

@lilynevin , @theopoiesis, @agent-elaine , @lavenderandvanilla , @ngaijuuyan , @egmon73 , @immaplane , @bigblueboxat221b , @lmirandas , @lizbetrx

#mystrade #wip #to break a curse

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andreagillmer · 4 years

Text

Shoeshine Boys and Dockhands, Market Tops and Precious Metals

Source: Michael Ballanger for Streetwise Reports 09/14/2020

Precious metals expert Michael Ballanger discusses the correlation between stock tips and market bubbles.

There is a great story surrounding the late Joe Kennedy, father of former U.S. president John F. Kennedy, and a Wall Street robber baron of the highest order. A dedicated market player in the 1920s, as rumor (or myth) would have us believe, one fine morning in late September 1929, he was having his shoes shined, reading the Wall Street Journal when the young shoe shine boy, noticing the paper Joe was reading, proceeded to offer a “stock tip” on a particular issue that has already advanced 4000% in the past year. The “tip” turned out to be a corporate event that Joe had heard about and investigated six months prior and in the end, of little (or no) value.

That marked the day that Joe Kennedy liquidated his entire portfolio and began to short the U.S. markets because, as he so Boston-ly put it “When the shoe shine boys are handing out stock tips, you just know it’s time to leave the pah-dee (“party” in Boston-ese).”

Recently (as in two weeks ago), I was at our marina in Honey Harbour stacking boxes and coolers and clothes bags in anticipation of the arrival of the dockhand who loads the golf cart and transports all our “stuff” to the truck. Upon his arrival, this very hard-working and very sharp young college student (“Decklin”) fires up his usually quite amicable personality and asks me if I am sticking around or heading home for the week to which I respond that the upcoming week is going to be “insane.” After he inquires “why?” I try to sluff it off by throwing a few slangy market phrases at himas in “I have a big cross to do in my favourite silver deal”but instead of a non-plussed look of total bewilderment, I get a “Oh, yeah? WHICH silver deal?” Here is a kid in working attire wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat, Kodiak boots and a pair of Aviator sunglasses whipping out his iPhone and proceeds to search out the name I mentioned. After he departs with our “stuff,” I assume that his Ritalin has worn off and he will be distracted away from my sexagenarian slip-up and I go about preparing the boat for lock-up.

Fifteen minutes later, there is a “Knock, knock, knock” on the hull and there here isthe dockhand from helland I know I am in serious trouble because now he wants to take advantage of this “stock tip” I accidentally provided and I am panicking because the last thing I need is to find my “stuff” floating in Georgian Bay because some “silver deal” went south instead of north and that Decklin gambled his 2020 tuition on that tip. Nevertheless, I had no choice but to help him find the quote symbol, off he went. I (incorrectly) assumed that he would simply watch it and learn but I was sadly mistaken.

The following week, after parking the Ram in the upper lot, I turn around and there he is with a big smile on his face and looks me square in the eyes and proceeds to thank me for making him (and his father, too)(!) “A couple of grand” on the trade. I mumbled something like “My pleasure” (it really wasn’t) and then prayed he wouldn’t ask me for my next “hot tip.” I was mercifully thankful that I dodged a bullet and avoided having to retrieve my laptop from the bottom of Georgian Bay because the tuition money got flushed down the “Latrine of Stock Market Mania.”

There is a narrative out there that suggests that an entire generation of unemployed workers, locked at home from the pandemic absurdity, have turned to stock market speculation as a means to supplement (more like replace) the reduced (more like non-existent) incomes that have been vanquished thanks to the brilliant foresight and unadulterated acuity of our political leaders. Now that Sweden has proven just how sublimely stupid our government seers were in a) locking down the population and b) enforcing masks), I applaud the resourcefulness of those that are striving to fend for themselves and eke out a living. However, what worries me is that there is now an entire generation of novice investors that are chasing stocks to unheard-of valuations while insider selling is at record levels.

Is the marina dockhand story the 2020 version of the 1929 Joe Kennedy shoeshine boy? Only time will tell. There is no mistake that young people are far more educated as to the stock markets and financial matters in general than they were in September 1929 but in principle, there is little difference and the blame has to fall at the feet of the central bankers and the banco-politico minions that do their bidding. Pre-2020, U.S. national debt stood at around US$25 trillion; today, depending on your source, that obscene number has swollen to between US$35 and US$45 trillion and it is continuing to balloon out. With each dollar of newly created debt now creating progressively less impact on GDP, there comes a point in time where the perpetrators are faced with a staggering stagflation of sub-par growth and rising living costs. The 1970s era is the closest parallel to where we are today and as I have perpetually harangued for what seems like decades, it was not a very fun time to be raising families or managing retirement and only those very brave and ostracised souls that owned gold and silver were able to survive and, in some cases, prosper.

Now, do you feel like getting angry? You will all recall when I first used the famous Winston Churchill quote to describe my feelings about government responses to the COVID-19 epidemic that was so wonderfully and cynically accurate “Never let a good crisis go to waste!” Well, here is a YouTube link to a recent study of the last six months around the world related to mortality rates and the pandemic. (COVID Study) I was one of the few people that called BS on the actions of the Fed during the late 2019 REPO insanity and then I echoed my skepticism shortly after the outbreak arrived in March. “Why don’t we try to let our immune systems do what they were designed for?” I opined a few weeks ago and now we have empirical evidence that Sweden is sporting numbers with no masks or lockdowns that are no different than the U.K. or the North America, where masks, social distancing and social gatherings have been legislated into a freedom-numbing cacophony of government over-action and stupidity.

Also, I urge all of you to spend the time to listen to Grant Williams’s recent interview with the gentleman known as “TC” (@TeslaCharts”) who recently published a 2-part interview with Karl Hansen, the whistleblower that is suing Tesla and working with both the SEC and the FBI on the Tesla (and Elon Musk) investigation. The link is here Tesla Whistleblower. Once you start delving into the dark, malodorous pit of corporate malfeasance and securities fraud, the name “Musk” leaps off the page and considering that General Motors sells more electric cars than Tesla and is valued at a little over 13% of Tesla’s market cap, you get the impression that this (Tesla) is a cliff dive waiting to happen.

The actual interview with Karl Hansen is long and somewhat repetitive at times but one thing that stands out is that Elon Musk cares not about the environment nor the product nor the lives of the drivers that are dying from faulty guidance systems; Elon Musk cares only about the price of his stock. Back in the day, when mining operators would call me to discuss business, I always noticed when the topic of conversations was anchored around either cash flow or operations or CAPEX or exploration potential but where the promoter was focused purely on the stock price or the marketing programs supporting the stock price, I almost invariably went out and either sold my position or lost his contact info. Operators that focus solely on the stock price are almost guaranteed to experience catastrophic failure but in the case of Tesla, it seems that Musk enjoys an umbrella of immunity from SEC enforcement actions because if all you do is take the Tweet where Musk talks about a takeover bid coming just as his stock was about to break support back in 2018 (“Am considering taking Tesla private @ $420. Funding Secured.”) (that turned out to be an outright lie), you have a classic case of a member of “The Club” being excluded from prosecution after blatantly manipulating his stock.

So, if my subscribers ask the question “How does this affect my precious metals holdings?” the answer is “It doesn’t.” But the significance lies in the level of corruption that permeates every facet of society these day, be it the trillions of counterfeit dollars manufactured and handed to the banking elite since last August in the name of “crisis,” be it a “liquidity crisis” spurring REPO turgidity or the “health crisis” spurring unprecedented money printing and national currency debasement. Before you all start pointing the fingers solely at Jay Powell, recalibrate your pinkie to target Canada and its European and Asian brethren at the same time. In the barnyard, you will find pigs of all colors and sizes but when the dinner bell starts to clang, they are all soon found grunting and snorting away at the same taxpayer-funded trough.

The gold and silver markets are biding time until the current consolidation runs its course but I am convinced that it will be resolved to the upside with US$2,350 gold and US$36 silver and US$50 GDX and US$85 GDXJ as 2020 year-end targets.

The big news on the week was Getchell Gold Corp.’s (GTCH:CSE) announcement that drilling at Fondaway Canyon in Nevada has commenced and that it plans a systematic approach designed to confirm and augment the 1,069,000 ounce resource while getting important clues to further validate the model that resulted from the massive amount of data assessed and compartmentalized for the first time ever. It is a pretty exciting story especially for a gold developer trading at under US$30 per ounce of in-the-ground resource.

Originally published Sept. 11, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger’s adherence to the concept of “Hard Assets” allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Disclosure: 1) Michael J. Ballanger: I, or members of my immediate household or family, own securities of the following companies mentioned in this article: Getchell Gold. My company has a financial relationship with the following companies referred to in this article: Getchell Gold. I determined which companies would be included in this article based on my research and understanding of the sector. Additional disclosures are below. 2) The following companies mentioned in this article are billboard sponsors of Streetwise Reports: None. Click here for important disclosures about sponsor fees. 3) Statements and opinions expressed are the opinions of the author and not of Streetwise Reports or its officers. The author is wholly responsible for the validity of the statements. The author was not paid by Streetwise Reports for this article. Streetwise Reports was not paid by the author to publish or syndicate this article. Streetwise Reports requires contributing authors to disclose any shareholdings in, or economic relationships with, companies that they write about. Streetwise Reports relies upon the authors to accurately provide this information and Streetwise Reports has no means of verifying its accuracy. 4) This article does not constitute investment advice. Each reader is encouraged to consult with his or her individual financial professional and any action a reader takes as a result of information presented here is his or her own responsibility. By opening this page, each reader accepts and agrees to Streetwise Reports’ terms of use and full legal disclaimer. This article is not a solicitation for investment. Streetwise Reports does not render general or specific investment advice and the information on Streetwise Reports should not be considered a recommendation to buy or sell any security. Streetwise Reports does not endorse or recommend the business, products, services or securities of any company mentioned on Streetwise Reports. 5) From time to time, Streetwise Reports LLC and its directors, officers, employees or members of their families, as well as persons interviewed for articles and interviews on the site, may have a long or short position in securities mentioned. Directors, officers, employees or members of their immediate families are prohibited from making purchases and/or sales of those securities in the open market or otherwise from the time of the decision to publish an article until three business days after the publication of the article. The foregoing prohibition does not apply to articles that in substance only restate previously published company releases. As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

Michael Ballanger Disclaimer: This letter makes no guarantee or warranty on the accuracy or completeness of the data provided. Nothing contained herein is intended or shall be deemed to be investment advice, implied or otherwise. This letter represents my views and replicates trades that I am making but nothing more than that. Always consult your registered advisor to assist you with your investments. I accept no liability for any loss arising from the use of the data contained on this letter. Options and junior mining stocks contain a high level of risk that may result in the loss of part or all invested capital and therefore are suitable for experienced and professional investors and traders only. One should be familiar with the risks involved in junior mining and options trading and we recommend consulting a financial adviser if you feel you do not understand the risks involved.

As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

( Companies Mentioned: GTCH:CSE, )

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phaseinked · 4 years

Text

Shoeshine Boys and Dockhands, Market Tops and Precious Metals

Source: Michael Ballanger for Streetwise Reports 09/14/2020

Precious metals expert Michael Ballanger discusses the correlation between stock tips and market bubbles.

Originally published Sept. 11, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

( Companies Mentioned: GTCH:CSE, )

from The Gold Report – Streetwise Exclusive Articles Full Text https://ift.tt/33x15WP

from WordPress https://ift.tt/33vqfoS

#Uncategorized #The Gold Report - Streetwise Exclusive Articles Full Text

0 notes

internetsmoothie · 4 years

Text

Shoeshine Boys and Dockhands, Market Tops and Precious Metals

Source: Michael Ballanger for Streetwise Reports 09/14/2020

Precious metals expert Michael Ballanger discusses the correlation between stock tips and market bubbles.

There is a great story surrounding the late Joe Kennedy, father of former U.S. president John F. Kennedy, and a Wall Street robber baron of the highest order. A dedicated market player in the 1920s, as rumor (or myth) would have us believe, one fine morning in late September 1929, he was having his shoes shined, reading the Wall Street Journal when the young shoe shine boy, noticing the paper Joe was reading, proceeded to offer a "stock tip" on a particular issue that has already advanced 4000% in the past year. The "tip" turned out to be a corporate event that Joe had heard about and investigated six months prior and in the end, of little (or no) value.

That marked the day that Joe Kennedy liquidated his entire portfolio and began to short the U.S. markets because, as he so Boston-ly put it "When the shoe shine boys are handing out stock tips, you just know it's time to leave the pah-dee ("party" in Boston-ese)."

Recently (as in two weeks ago), I was at our marina in Honey Harbour stacking boxes and coolers and clothes bags in anticipation of the arrival of the dockhand who loads the golf cart and transports all our "stuff" to the truck. Upon his arrival, this very hard-working and very sharp young college student ("Decklin") fires up his usually quite amicable personality and asks me if I am sticking around or heading home for the week to which I respond that the upcoming week is going to be "insane." After he inquires "why?" I try to sluff it off by throwing a few slangy market phrases at himas in "I have a big cross to do in my favourite silver deal"but instead of a non-plussed look of total bewilderment, I get a "Oh, yeah? WHICH silver deal?" Here is a kid in working attire wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat, Kodiak boots and a pair of Aviator sunglasses whipping out his iPhone and proceeds to search out the name I mentioned. After he departs with our "stuff," I assume that his Ritalin has worn off and he will be distracted away from my sexagenarian slip-up and I go about preparing the boat for lock-up.

Fifteen minutes later, there is a "Knock, knock, knock" on the hull and there here isthe dockhand from helland I know I am in serious trouble because now he wants to take advantage of this "stock tip" I accidentally provided and I am panicking because the last thing I need is to find my "stuff" floating in Georgian Bay because some "silver deal" went south instead of north and that Decklin gambled his 2020 tuition on that tip. Nevertheless, I had no choice but to help him find the quote symbol, off he went. I (incorrectly) assumed that he would simply watch it and learn but I was sadly mistaken.

The following week, after parking the Ram in the upper lot, I turn around and there he is with a big smile on his face and looks me square in the eyes and proceeds to thank me for making him (and his father, too)(!) "A couple of grand" on the trade. I mumbled something like "My pleasure" (it really wasn't) and then prayed he wouldn't ask me for my next "hot tip." I was mercifully thankful that I dodged a bullet and avoided having to retrieve my laptop from the bottom of Georgian Bay because the tuition money got flushed down the "Latrine of Stock Market Mania."

Now, do you feel like getting angry? You will all recall when I first used the famous Winston Churchill quote to describe my feelings about government responses to the COVID-19 epidemic that was so wonderfully and cynically accurate "Never let a good crisis go to waste!" Well, here is a YouTube link to a recent study of the last six months around the world related to mortality rates and the pandemic. (COVID Study) I was one of the few people that called BS on the actions of the Fed during the late 2019 REPO insanity and then I echoed my skepticism shortly after the outbreak arrived in March. "Why don't we try to let our immune systems do what they were designed for?" I opined a few weeks ago and now we have empirical evidence that Sweden is sporting numbers with no masks or lockdowns that are no different than the U.K. or the North America, where masks, social distancing and social gatherings have been legislated into a freedom-numbing cacophony of government over-action and stupidity.

Also, I urge all of you to spend the time to listen to Grant Williams's recent interview with the gentleman known as "TC" (@TeslaCharts") who recently published a 2-part interview with Karl Hansen, the whistleblower that is suing Tesla and working with both the SEC and the FBI on the Tesla (and Elon Musk) investigation. The link is here Tesla Whistleblower. Once you start delving into the dark, malodorous pit of corporate malfeasance and securities fraud, the name "Musk" leaps off the page and considering that General Motors sells more electric cars than Tesla and is valued at a little over 13% of Tesla's market cap, you get the impression that this (Tesla) is a cliff dive waiting to happen.

The actual interview with Karl Hansen is long and somewhat repetitive at times but one thing that stands out is that Elon Musk cares not about the environment nor the product nor the lives of the drivers that are dying from faulty guidance systems; Elon Musk cares only about the price of his stock. Back in the day, when mining operators would call me to discuss business, I always noticed when the topic of conversations was anchored around either cash flow or operations or CAPEX or exploration potential but where the promoter was focused purely on the stock price or the marketing programs supporting the stock price, I almost invariably went out and either sold my position or lost his contact info. Operators that focus solely on the stock price are almost guaranteed to experience catastrophic failure but in the case of Tesla, it seems that Musk enjoys an umbrella of immunity from SEC enforcement actions because if all you do is take the Tweet where Musk talks about a takeover bid coming just as his stock was about to break support back in 2018 ("Am considering taking Tesla private @ $420. Funding Secured.") (that turned out to be an outright lie), you have a classic case of a member of "The Club" being excluded from prosecution after blatantly manipulating his stock.

So, if my subscribers ask the question "How does this affect my precious metals holdings?" the answer is "It doesn't." But the significance lies in the level of corruption that permeates every facet of society these day, be it the trillions of counterfeit dollars manufactured and handed to the banking elite since last August in the name of "crisis," be it a "liquidity crisis" spurring REPO turgidity or the "health crisis" spurring unprecedented money printing and national currency debasement. Before you all start pointing the fingers solely at Jay Powell, recalibrate your pinkie to target Canada and its European and Asian brethren at the same time. In the barnyard, you will find pigs of all colors and sizes but when the dinner bell starts to clang, they are all soon found grunting and snorting away at the same taxpayer-funded trough.

The big news on the week was Getchell Gold Corp.'s (GTCH:CSE) announcement that drilling at Fondaway Canyon in Nevada has commenced and that it plans a systematic approach designed to confirm and augment the 1,069,000 ounce resource while getting important clues to further validate the model that resulted from the massive amount of data assessed and compartmentalized for the first time ever. It is a pretty exciting story especially for a gold developer trading at under US$30 per ounce of in-the-ground resource.

Originally published Sept. 11, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Disclosure: 1) Michael J. Ballanger: I, or members of my immediate household or family, own securities of the following companies mentioned in this article: Getchell Gold. My company has a financial relationship with the following companies referred to in this article: Getchell Gold. I determined which companies would be included in this article based on my research and understanding of the sector. Additional disclosures are below. 2) The following companies mentioned in this article are billboard sponsors of Streetwise Reports: None. Click here for important disclosures about sponsor fees. 3) Statements and opinions expressed are the opinions of the author and not of Streetwise Reports or its officers. The author is wholly responsible for the validity of the statements. The author was not paid by Streetwise Reports for this article. Streetwise Reports was not paid by the author to publish or syndicate this article. Streetwise Reports requires contributing authors to disclose any shareholdings in, or economic relationships with, companies that they write about. Streetwise Reports relies upon the authors to accurately provide this information and Streetwise Reports has no means of verifying its accuracy. 4) This article does not constitute investment advice. Each reader is encouraged to consult with his or her individual financial professional and any action a reader takes as a result of information presented here is his or her own responsibility. By opening this page, each reader accepts and agrees to Streetwise Reports' terms of use and full legal disclaimer. This article is not a solicitation for investment. Streetwise Reports does not render general or specific investment advice and the information on Streetwise Reports should not be considered a recommendation to buy or sell any security. Streetwise Reports does not endorse or recommend the business, products, services or securities of any company mentioned on Streetwise Reports. 5) From time to time, Streetwise Reports LLC and its directors, officers, employees or members of their families, as well as persons interviewed for articles and interviews on the site, may have a long or short position in securities mentioned. Directors, officers, employees or members of their immediate families are prohibited from making purchases and/or sales of those securities in the open market or otherwise from the time of the decision to publish an article until three business days after the publication of the article. The foregoing prohibition does not apply to articles that in substance only restate previously published company releases. As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

( Companies Mentioned: GTCH:CSE, )

from The Gold Report - Streetwise Exclusive Articles Full Text https://ift.tt/33x15WP

#The Gold Report - Streetwise Exclusive Articles Full Text

0 notes

goldcoins0 · 4 years

Text

Shoeshine Boys and Dockhands, Market Tops and Precious Metals

Source: Michael Ballanger for Streetwise Reports 09/14/2020

Precious metals expert Michael Ballanger discusses the correlation between stock tips and market bubbles.

There is a great story surrounding the late Joe Kennedy, father of former U.S. president John F. Kennedy, and a Wall Street robber baron of the highest order. A dedicated market player in the 1920s, as rumor (or myth) would have us believe, one fine morning in late September 1929, he was having his shoes shined, reading the Wall Street Journal when the young shoe shine boy, noticing the paper Joe was reading, proceeded to offer a "stock tip" on a particular issue that has already advanced 4000% in the past year. The "tip" turned out to be a corporate event that Joe had heard about and investigated six months prior and in the end, of little (or no) value.

Recently (as in two weeks ago), I was at our marina in Honey Harbour stacking boxes and coolers and clothes bags in anticipation of the arrival of the dockhand who loads the golf cart and transports all our "stuff" to the truck. Upon his arrival, this very hard-working and very sharp young college student ("Decklin") fires up his usually quite amicable personality and asks me if I am sticking around or heading home for the week to which I respond that the upcoming week is going to be "insane." After he inquires "why?" I try to sluff it off by throwing a few slangy market phrases at himas in "I have a big cross to do in my favourite silver deal"but instead of a non-plussed look of total bewilderment, I get a "Oh, yeah? WHICH silver deal?" Here is a kid in working attire wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat, Kodiak boots and a pair of Aviator sunglasses whipping out his iPhone and proceeds to search out the name I mentioned. After he departs with our "stuff," I assume that his Ritalin has worn off and he will be distracted away from my sexagenarian slip-up and I go about preparing the boat for lock-up.

The following week, after parking the Ram in the upper lot, I turn around and there he is with a big smile on his face and looks me square in the eyes and proceeds to thank me for making him (and his father, too)(!) "A couple of grand" on the trade. I mumbled something like "My pleasure" (it really wasn't) and then prayed he wouldn't ask me for my next "hot tip." I was mercifully thankful that I dodged a bullet and avoided having to retrieve my laptop from the bottom of Georgian Bay because the tuition money got flushed down the "Latrine of Stock Market Mania."

Now, do you feel like getting angry? You will all recall when I first used the famous Winston Churchill quote to describe my feelings about government responses to the COVID-19 epidemic that was so wonderfully and cynically accurate "Never let a good crisis go to waste!" Well, here is a YouTube link to a recent study of the last six months around the world related to mortality rates and the pandemic. (COVID Study) I was one of the few people that called BS on the actions of the Fed during the late 2019 REPO insanity and then I echoed my skepticism shortly after the outbreak arrived in March. "Why don't we try to let our immune systems do what they were designed for?" I opined a few weeks ago and now we have empirical evidence that Sweden is sporting numbers with no masks or lockdowns that are no different than the U.K. or the North America, where masks, social distancing and social gatherings have been legislated into a freedom-numbing cacophony of government over-action and stupidity.

The actual interview with Karl Hansen is long and somewhat repetitive at times but one thing that stands out is that Elon Musk cares not about the environment nor the product nor the lives of the drivers that are dying from faulty guidance systems; Elon Musk cares only about the price of his stock. Back in the day, when mining operators would call me to discuss business, I always noticed when the topic of conversations was anchored around either cash flow or operations or CAPEX or exploration potential but where the promoter was focused purely on the stock price or the marketing programs supporting the stock price, I almost invariably went out and either sold my position or lost his contact info. Operators that focus solely on the stock price are almost guaranteed to experience catastrophic failure but in the case of Tesla, it seems that Musk enjoys an umbrella of immunity from SEC enforcement actions because if all you do is take the Tweet where Musk talks about a takeover bid coming just as his stock was about to break support back in 2018 ("Am considering taking Tesla private @ $420. Funding Secured.") (that turned out to be an outright lie), you have a classic case of a member of "The Club" being excluded from prosecution after blatantly manipulating his stock.

Originally published Sept. 11, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Originally published Aug. 9, 2020.

Follow Michael Ballanger on Twitter @MiningJunkie.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Disclosure: 1) Michael J. Ballanger: I, or members of my immediate household or family, own securities of the following companies mentioned in this article: Getchell Gold. My company has a financial relationship with the following companies referred to in this article: Getchell Gold. I determined which companies would be included in this article based on my research and understanding of the sector. Additional disclosures are below. 2) The following companies mentioned in this article are billboard sponsors of Streetwise Reports: None. Click here for important disclosures about sponsor fees. 3) Statements and opinions expressed are the opinions of the author and not of Streetwise Reports or its officers. The author is wholly responsible for the validity of the statements. The author was not paid by Streetwise Reports for this article. Streetwise Reports was not paid by the author to publish or syndicate this article. Streetwise Reports requires contributing authors to disclose any shareholdings in, or economic relationships with, companies that they write about. Streetwise Reports relies upon the authors to accurately provide this information and Streetwise Reports has no means of verifying its accuracy. 4) This article does not constitute investment advice. Each reader is encouraged to consult with his or her individual financial professional and any action a reader takes as a result of information presented here is his or her own responsibility. By opening this page, each reader accepts and agrees to Streetwise Reports' terms of use and full legal disclaimer. This article is not a solicitation for investment. Streetwise Reports does not render general or specific investment advice and the information on Streetwise Reports should not be considered a recommendation to buy or sell any security. Streetwise Reports does not endorse or recommend the business, products, services or securities of any company mentioned on Streetwise Reports. 5) From time to time, Streetwise Reports LLC and its directors, officers, employees or members of their families, as well as persons interviewed for articles and interviews on the site, may have a long or short position in securities mentioned. Directors, officers, employees or members of their immediate families are prohibited from making purchases and/or sales of those securities in the open market or otherwise from the time of the decision to publish an article until three business days after the publication of the article. The foregoing prohibition does not apply to articles that in substance only restate previously published company releases. As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Getchell Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

( Companies Mentioned: GTCH:CSE, )

from https://www.streetwisereports.com/article/2020/09/14/shoeshine-boys-and-dockhands-and-precious-metals.html

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two-faces-story · 6 years

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Two Faces - Chapter 9

The Murder of Sir Danvers Carew

Wattpad link in FAQ

Heavy warnings for repeated mentions of suicide, incarceration and manipulation, tread carefully if these set you off.

Hyde spun and posed dramatically, holding up his cape with one hand as he examined his blurry reflection in the mirror. A fitted violet vest with shining gold buttons, a collapsible top hat with a matching purple band, a long cape with a smaller cloak that covered his shoulders and hid the clasp, and finally, pants that weren't being held on by old suspenders. There was something else though, something that seemed to tie the whole ensemble together; the ribbon that had tied the package was perfect for holding back his longer, lighter hair, like the ribbon he'd gotten during the scuffle at the Mountain.

He still refused to wear Jekyll's glasses, it'd make them look far too alike and he'd be recognized much easier than without them.

Besides, he could still see well enough to get by, that was all that mattered!

He smiled in the mirror, hands on his hips and announced to the quiet apartment: "I! Am Edward Hyde!" He grinned and did a little jig of happiness, looking around at the strange room he now stood in with a sense of pride.

On one side, a makeshift lab constructed on top of someone else's old desk and a worn, slept in bed. There was a leak in one wall, the bathroom creaked, the kitchen squeaked, and there was a smear on the wall that looked distinctly like blood. But it was now home for Hyde, and a second home for Lilly and Rosie, somewhere Henry Jekyll had no place.

After becoming friends with them, or first a recurring client and then an acquaintance, he realized he'd need somewhere to stay that wasn't Jekyll's home. Lilly, overhearing hearing his thoughts out loud and assuming Henry was his landlord, informed him of a cheap, dismal apartment for rent nearby the Flower Girl House. She said this with a knowing wink and was met with an eager smile.

And she was coming tonight! He'd cleaned up a little, fresh sheets on the bed and soap in the bathroom, but it was still dingy as hell. It wasn't really a home, it was a base, a headquarters, a checkpoint!

But also somewhere to take Lilly when they weren't renting a room at the Mountain.

A fresh bouquet of lilly-like flowers sat on the desk, and Hyde picked them up before he left. This bouquet in one hand, a key in the other, top hat adorned with pride, he strode for the door. It had been worth the wait for a full, custom tailored suit and hat, but he finally felt like he was truly him.

Which was ironic considering he was only half of his real self, but regardless.

He walked out of the apartment, bidding farewell to the crotchety old man that owned the place as he strolled onto the streets. As he walked, he thought of the week before, the last time he'd seen Lilly.

Edward sighed at the thought of her, her smile she tried so hard to hide, her adorable giggle and her deep love of flowers. She was so sweet and childish when she wasn't working, her persona being nearly a warrior, but around Hyde she'd allowed herself to just, be. Rosie was still Rosie, loud and brash, but Lilly was soft and sweet.

And her laugh made Edward's heart flutter. He knew it, he was totally smitten for this woman, and though Jekyll held no feelings for her, his thoughts too kept returning to her. Though, he was embarrassed, Hyde was not.

They'd met almost every night and spent hours together. Sometimes it was wild, violent and passionate, other times soft and sweet. And they talked, they drank, they dreamed.

Good God had it been fun, and miraculous considering he got out of there with little more than bruises on his collarbone and sore hips.

Hyde sighed at the memories, a spring in his step as he walked. Ahead, someone was walking down the street, and they wore a familiar blue scarf. Or at least, it looked like a familiar blue scarf, Hyde couldn't quite tell without his glasses. Edward snickered and called out: "Hallo sir! Are you not Hastie Jacob Lanyon sir?"

Lanyon looked up in surprise, blinked, and nodded with a small smile. "Why, yes I am." The two stopped, face to face, and Lanyon's expression turned stunned. "Pardon, have we met?"

"I don't think so, but my cousin has told me of you," Edward lied smoothly, smiling. "I am Mr. Hyde, assistant to Dr. Jekyll, you know him don't you?"

"I know him well, he is a close friend of mine," Jacob answered, shrugging. His eyes never left Hyde's face, as if they were locked on some impurity, but couldn't quite place it.

Hyde tucked his flowers in the crook of his arm and offered his hand to Lanyon, forcing himself not to snicker or grin, "A pleasure to meet you Hastie, perhaps we'll see each other again yes?"

"Perhaps," Lanyon said, frowning but shaking his hand anyway. He noticed the scarring on Hyde's hand and asked: "Lord, what happened to your hand?"

"They say madness runs in the family," Hyde said with a wink, giggling. How he didn't know his own friend's face! Was a wig and a lack of glasses really such a difference?

He nodded farewell and continued on, humming gaily to himself and knowing well that Lanyon was watching in confusion. In fact, he only barely heard him say: "Jekyll, your cousin looks like a madman. Who have you hired?" Hyde laughed aloud, hearing it echo in the street around him, surely spooking some other pedestrians.

Why was it so funny? The irony that not even Jekyll's closest friend could recognize his face like this! His attitude too was so different, so jovial and so relaxed, why would one even think it was the same morose individual?

Edward walked swiftly now, a smile on his face and in his heart, he felt nothing could make this evening sorrowful!

Until, in his haste, he bumped shoulders with another individual walking and the flowers went flying from his hands. They fell into a deep puddle in the street, many of the petals falling from the delicate flowers as it crashed. Hyde stared at it for a moment, then slowly turned to look at who'd crashed into him.

A hunched, elderly individual in a dark coat, with a cane bearing a silver head. They looked back and Edward felt a cold, familiar chill shoot down his spine, sparking fire in his gut.

Sir Danvers Carew, the man who'd vetoed him at the Board, who'd refused to hire him as a doctor, who'd called him psychotic during a mania episode, who clearly didn't care that he'd just thrown expensive lillies into the street! He looked back at Hyde, his expression neutral but undeniably sour.

"Watch where you're going."

And he walked on without so much as an apology.

Edward stared, and for a moment he was confused.

Before, such an action would've resulted in him gathering up the flowers, tidying them, and walking on. But now, now a deep bitterness had blossomed in his chest and it was transforming into pure hatred.

Such a night, such precious hours of feeling alive could not be wasted on being bitter, but bitter he was!

Long had he hated Carew, for he knew better than the rest what the esteemed Sir Danvers had done to get what he'd wanted. This was not Hyde's hate, this was Jekyll's.

When Henry Jekyll was younger, he'd lived with his mother and they'd both run a small shop, an apothecary. In his early juvenile years his condition struck and his mother sought help in a family friend, a frequenter of the shop, Sir Danvers Carew. He easily diagnosed it and for a while things were better, but the medicine was expensive and after two years it became hard to make ends meet.

That is, until Carew offered to help in the form of marriage, he wanted a wife and a son, the Jekylls could be both. When Jekyll's mother refused, firmly believing she was still loyal to her missing husband, there was an immediate change. Henry sank into a despair deeper than anything and within a year had tried repeatedly to kill himself. Carew had him committed, supposedly to get him off his mother's hands and protect him from himself.

Henry was locked in the St. Luke's psychiatric wing, treated like an animal while his mother was married to Carew.

Five years passed and Jekyll's mother passed away from unknown causes, though the consensus was that she'd fallen into a melancholy akin to her son's and wasted away. He was released the year after her death, declared sound in mind and body, to inherit his real father's fortune and his mother's business.

He studied medicine under Carew to spite the old man, to prove he was not an animal, only to be rejected from Luke's when he returned to try and make changes to the inhuman practices in the psychiatric ward.

Step after step Carew had stood in the way, helping himself while others fell apart.

Hyde refused to let that happen again, even if it was just over damn flowers.

Subtly, his hands bunching into fists, he walked after Carew, teeth grinding in his mouth with anger he'd never known. He quickly caught up to Carew and passed him, walking swiftly and turning sharply into a space between houses. He he heard the clicking of Carew's cane approaching he let out a shout of agony and collapsed, clutching his abdomen in pain.

Through falsely shut eyes, he watched Carew pause in the mouth of the alley and call in: "Are you alright sir?"

"My chest! It is burning!" Edward cried dramatically, reaching towards him. "Sir! I, I need assistance, I fear I may be dying!" He made his voice crack with fear, sounding desperate, he truly sounded like a dying man.

Carew seemed to hesitate, but he hurried in and offered his hand to Hyde. Edward smiled gratefully and took it, pulling with all his strength and kicking Carew's cane out of his hand. Hyde rolled out of the way as the old man fell forward with a cry, snatching up the cane and standing over the old man, his hat falling from his head.

Sir Danvers let out a groan, "Why, why would you do that?"

Hyde knelt and forcefully turned the old man's face towards him, "You don't recognize me?"

Carew squinted, his tiny glasses having fallen from his face, "Doctor Jekyll? What happened to you?"

"I stopped hiding," Edward answered with a manic grin, standing. He raised the cane, testing the weight in one hand, "And you will too."

With a motion too swift for either of them, he swung Carew's cane and struck him in the head, slamming the old man's skull into the pavement. Again and again and again he swung, the sound of cracking bones came before a scream could even make it out. Energy raced through Hyde's chest and he couldn't stop, not until the cane snapped clean in half did he falter.

His chest heaved with heavy breath and his heartbeat was pounding in his head. The ribbon had fallen loose and hair was drifting in front of his face; blood splattered his dark pants, drying slowly in the cold night air. Slowly, Edward straightened, casting the snapped cane aside and staring at the body.

Without a moment more of hesitation, he grabbed his top hat, and the ribbon, and he ran. The satisfaction of vengeance gave way to pure fear, panic that coursed through his heart like fire. Realization sank in slowly at first, then all too quickly, he'd just murdered Sir Danvers Carew with his own cane.

With the old prick's own cane!

Hyde laughed maniacally as he ran, voice echoing again in the empty street, his mind racing. Alternating questions about why he'd just done that and thoughts of pure glee at his actions. God he felt good! No, no he was horrified!

If he was caught for this, he'd be hanged for sure!

No life without a little risk though, wasn't that what he wanted? Lilly would have to wait, he needed to get this blood out and-

His foot slipped in a puddle and he pitched forward, falling hard and suddenly onto the pavement and feeling his legs become soaked with muddied water. His head began to throb around his eye as he picked himself up, and his hand came away sticky with something when he touched the cut over his eye. That'd be an excuse enough, he thought as he picked himself up off the ground, was there anywhere nearby?

Lanyon, of course!

"Well, I can now say with confidence that our dear Henry is doing something incredibly stupid," Lanyon said, leaning against the door as it shut behind him. Utterson, waiting patiently at the table, looked up from the letter he had been examining, "How so?"

"I met his assistant Hyde this evening, and there's undoubtedly something off about him." Lanyon pulled off his jacket and strolled into the parlor, "I could not place it, it was as if I knew him but I didn't, I had never seen that man before in my life!"

"Are you certain it wasn't just the family resemblance that bothered you so?"

"Far from it, it was something else." Jacob sighed and threw his jacket over the back of an armchair, sitting heavily. "I'm worried about Henry Gabriel, moreso now than ever."

"Speak for yourself," Utterson replied, gesturing with the letter he'd been reading. "Our dear Jekyll's will is enough to make me suspicious of this Edward Hyde."

"How so?"

"Well, it states that, should Henry go missing for an extended time, everything of his is to be given to this Hyde fellow," he explained. "A man we've never heard Henry speak of is now going to receive every study Jekyll has ever done and every penny of the fortune he has if he disappears."

"Sounds like the set up for a murder, or worse, blackmail," Lanyon said somberly. "What secret does Hyde know about our dear friend Gabriel that's so devastating Henry would do that to prevent its telling? I mean, it's not as if my past with him is any secret among us."

"It is not our place to speculate Jacob," Utterson said, setting the letter aside. "We can only hope for the best."

"And the best would be that you never meet Mr. Hyde," Lanyon said, dramatically throwing his arms into the air. "But, I must admit, I want to know more. Perhaps I need to be the Mister Seek to his Mister Hy-"

Both gentlemen jumped in surprise as there came a rapid knocking at the door, not so much a knocking as a frantic pounding. They shared a worried look and Lanyon stood, hurrying to the door, forgetting to take off his scarf.

He pulled open the door and froze.

Hyde stood outside, a bruise spreading up the left side of his face and blood dripping from a cut over his eyebrow, mud was splattered on his pants up to the knee. "Lanyon! I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you but I was attacked!"

He pushed past Lanyon into the parlor, attempting fruitlessly to wipe the blood from his cheek, "He leaped out of an alley and threw me to the street, I barely managed to escape but I-" he stopped suddenly, finally noticing Gabriel Utterson sitting at the table to the side of the small room. "Oh, hallo."

"Hyde, the bathroom is down that hall," Lanyon said, awkwardly putting his hand on Hyde's shoulder. "I can have my servant bring-"

"No no no I'll be fine," Edward insisted almost frantically, brushing off the hand and hurrying down the hall. They heard the slamming of a door and the sound of running water not a moment later.

"That is him?" asked Gabriel, sounding somewhat intimidated.

"That's him," Lanyon answered, folding his arms.

"I see what you noted about the, hard to place wrongness," Utterson said.

Lanyon turned, suddenly wild, "I know! It's as if I know him but I am certain I do not! He looks like the dead yet the picture of health! A man of contradictions, at time appearing as a madman and a victim at others! Jekyll, by God I wish to know who you have hired."

"Did you not go to see him to ask?"

"He asked not to be bothered, and Ms. Poole insisted I don't disturb him," Lanyon said, sighing. "I fear there is something darker at work here."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Utterson mused. "That bruise looked, less like an attack, more like running into something. And where did the blood on his hands come from?"

"You presume he attacked someone?" Jacob laughed awkwardly, "Why would Henry hire his cousin as an assistant if he were a murderer?"

"That is why I think it is blackmail Jacob." Utterson shook his head, "Think about it, we know so little of Jekyll beyond his past at the hospital and his reputation."

"Gabriel, I know him better than you do, I know much of his family and his childhood, you know this! We were very close."

"Then you know he's never talked of his family beyond his mother and father, and of them he never spoke of aunts and uncles."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't believe Hyde's actually family."

"Then what would explain the resemblance?" asked Lanyon, gesturing dramatically with his hands. "He is undeniably related to Jekyll, they look as if they could be brothers I-" He stopped, eyes going wide, "Perhaps, a lost brother?"

"Illegitimate at the least," Utterson added, thinking. "From another father likely."

"But-"

"We aren't brothers," a voice said. The two gentlemen turned and saw Hyde standing in the hallway, his cape hanging on his arm with his coat, top hat collapsed on top. His pants were soaked to the knee and dripping slightly. The cut over his eye had been cleaned, but it was clearly swelling.

He smiled at them, thin and icy, like a snake about to bite, "Cousins, I promise. Use the term as you will, but you are not wrong about the blackmail."

"Why are you blackmailing Henry?" asked Utterson, his eyes wide in shock and seemingly aghast anger. Hyde shrugged, setting his clothes on an armchair. "Money? Survival? Pick your poison. He only owes me for years of being an uptight and selfish prick."

"Jekyll is far from selfish," Lanyon snapped, jabbing his finger towards Hyde. "I've never known someone who dedicated so much of their time to discovering a medicine for-"

"For himself!" snapped Hyde, scowling. "Sure sure! He says it's for the betterment of others but the whole reason he's ever done anything is for his own benefit."

"Name one thing."

"Vengeance," Hyde said with a grin. He placed his hands on his chest and then out like wings, "Me! Hiring me was all for him to protect his precious reputation! I could tell the world his secrets and-"

"And you plan to murder him?" snapped Utterson, standing. Hyde stopped, made a sound like choking, then laughed aloud. His laughing got harder and he had to lean on the chair for support, a hand clutching his abdomen as he cackled. Lanyon backed away, casting a worried glance at Utterson who shrugged in confusion.

Hysteria, that's what this had to be, but from what? Being mugged? Or something worse?

Hyde's laughter petered out and he straightened, wiping tears from his face. "Oh Lord, you don't know, I shouldn't be so cruel. Your dear friend Henry Jekyll is more likely to kill himself than I am."

"I am familiar with his melancholies," Jacob said, folding his arms. Edward grinned devilishly, "Oh you don't know how far he's sunk my friend."

"How do you know-"

"Suicide runs in the family," Hyde said with a grin, holding up his hands. Two darker, wider scars crossed both of his wrists, a telltale sign of a survivor of suicide. His grin only got wider as Lanyon and Utterson went pale.

He shrugged and pulled on his coat, "You want to deny that such evil could be in your friend who you know so well? Go right ahead! But..." And here he hesitated, his self righteous smirk falling away to a look of slight fear. "Well, watch the letters he sends you."

Hyde's terrifying facade was shattered by a twisted snicker and he donned his cape, "Anyhow, many thinks for allowing me to use your washroom. It was, a pleasure meeting you, Utterson I presume?" Gabriel was silent and Edward shrugged, donning his hat. "Nevermind, don't care. I'll be on my way. But, it's likely we'll see each other again."

And with that, he left in an air of confidence.

Lilly sat alone at a table, lazily spinning around a bottle, bored out of her mind. He said he was going to be here two hours ago, and she'd already had to take two client while waiting because she had to. Lilly sighed and righted the bottle, staring at the glass.

"Lilly, hon? You finished for tonight or what?" asked Andy, setting a new drink on the table beside her. "Rosie's already headed home hasn't she? You still waiting for Edward?"

"He promised he was going to come, and that he had something important to tell me," she answered, sitting up. "And no, it's not marriage I fully know that but, you know, it's not every day someone like that wants to tell a secret to me. And I mean a genuine secret and not the, you understand right Andy?"

The bartender smiled and nodded, "I do. Tell you what, you can stick around till I finish closing up, if he shows he shows, if he doesn't, I'll walk you home."

"Ms. C will let you do that?" asked Lilly, smirking a little. Andy rolled his eyes, "Lilly we live in the same building. And you know who my heart belongs to." He winked and went back to sweeping.

Lilly's smirk faded and she sighed, standing from the table and pulling on her shawl. She jumped in surprised as someone pounded on the door to the tavern before throwing it open. "Lilly! I am late I fully understand it but I have something important to tell you!" She turned to see Edward, standing in the door, breathing heavily and looking frozen.

"Eddie what-" He ran forward, grabbed her face and pulled her into a kiss.

Lilly pulled back in surprise, stammering. Hyde smiled at her, his face flush and blushing, "I never told you that I loved you did I?"

"Edward! It's been less than a month!"

"And we never know how much time we have before we're through!" Hyde said, a mad smile on his face. "Lilly, we must live for the now! Run with me, come on!" And he pulled her from the tavern, laughing aloud.

She laughed with him, nervous and unsure, but happy. She followed him into an alley, unsteadily following him up windowsills onto the roof where a cold wind was blowing. He held her hand and they sat up there for a while, silent. Lilly spoke first.

"Edward, we haven't really talked," she said, hugging herself against the cold. "I mean, we've talked sure, but I barely know you and now you're saying you-"

"So ask," he said, smiling. Lilly blinked in surprise, watching as he unclasped his cape, standing easily on the roof and wrapping it around her shoulders. He sat again and nodded, "Go on, what do you want to know?"

"I er..." And she hesitated, so many things she'd wanted to ask him, where to start? Before she could decide she asked: "Where are you from? We can start with that."

"London," Hyde answered.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty one, and you?"

"Thirty four."

She asked every simple question she could think of, filling in the basic gap of information she'd been lacking about her friend. Lilly found herself smiling, relaxed and warm, wearing his cape on the rooftop of someone's building. An odd situation certainly, but a pleasant one.

After a while the simple questions ran out, and she found herself hesitating before asking: "What were your parents like?" She'd told him about the other girls raising her, Edward should at least tell her the same of the people who raised him.

The question mad him paused, tilting his head as he looked out into the street. "At first, my mother, alone given that my father had vanished when I was very young. We ran a small apothecary together, I helped her out behind the counter until I fell ill at, fourteen. I spent a few years in the hospital and my mother died soon after marrying another man."

It was good, Lilly didn't know this was Henry's past too, or she would've become suspicious.

Hyde sat a little straighter and sighed, "When I finally recovered, I was alone. I've been wandering since, picking up small jobs here and there until I heard my cousin had struck well in London as a doctor." His tone became bitter, "Bastard never considered the rest of us, when I came to him for aid he treated me as a liability, as a threat to his perfect reputation."

He folded his arms, "I wish I could leave, but I can't. I'm, trapped here, dependent on him. And I don't think it'll last."

Lilly sighed, reaching out to wrap her arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. He chuckled and slid over, sitting next to her and wrapping the cape around his shoulders too before looking up at the sky. "It's a lovely night, isn't it?"

"It is," Lilly said with a sigh. "Thank you for telling me, Eddie."

"Of course, Lilly."

#Jekyll and Hyde #Jekyll & Hyde #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #Two Faces Story #mod art #mod writing #suicide #tw suicide #suicide mention #Edward Hyde #Miss Lilly #Hastie Jacob Lanyon #Gabriel Utterson

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illizitaffairs · 6 years

Text

Taylor deserves better by fucking everyone

When I think about the success I’ve had, the life I have built, it all comes back to the path Taylor shaped for me. And I’m really fucking tired of holding back my thanks for her and not defending her.

As a dean’s list post-secondary student studying media, communications and PR I am exhausted of seeing Taylor’s legacy continually beaten and worn - but more so, I am disappointed in myself for not defending her the past couple of years.

I am fucking exhausted of seeing her work not recognized in the way it should.

I am fucking sick of this culture of not being able to accept that a strong, young woman is better at this than people who have been in the industry for double the amount of time she’s been alive.

And I am so, so fucking disappointed in myself for not saying this sooner.

The more educated I become in the background work involved in making Taylor the phenomenon she is, the more I understand the hardship, innovative thinking and uncelebrated strategy involved in her legacy. As a woman, I should be celebrating this. Instead of using my education and voice to defend this, I have done nothing to stop a culture of assumptions, stereotypes and uninformed opinions that clearly hurt her.

This is my (educated) analysis of how under appreciated Taylor Swift is and how the world (including me) has done her legacy wrong.

I write this from a class discussing how best to formulate social media cross-promotion, and the importance of shaping trends that your target market will follow versus following trends they establish for themselves. As I listen my anger and frustration is bubbling over. This is what Taylor has done since she was still on myspace. This is what she has continued to do through the cross-promo for anything she has ever released or done.

I don’t have the time to find stats to back up my points, but in summary:

1. Taylor defined cross-promo marketing. Look at what she’s done with Reputation. Millions of people are buying multiple copies of her album and merch to have a higher chance of getting access to pre-sale. Not even to buy the actual tickets! Just to improve their fucking chance at getting in. She’s making millions off of the hope her fans have of seeing her live. This is because of the decade-long career of tours that have sold out in minutes due to other equally-as-successful cross-promo campaigns. This also applies to her reposting photos of fans buying albums on release week - just the chance of getting noticed is enough to make people go out of their way to make a big scene when buying her album.

PEOPLE. THIS IS LEGACY DEFINING STUFF. The excitement of music-buying or tour ticket purchasing may not be new, but the way the Swift team navigates it and uses social media to push it is iconic. THAT is why she is only artist to sell over 1 million copies of her album during release week. THAT is how she has set so many records. Her strategies are flawless and executed perfectly. It’s like all of what I learn in my degree done right. She deserves a standing ovation for this work.

2. Taylor has built her career on the only reliable thing in her world: herself. Without going into an entirely separate rant, there is lots of pieces of culture that tie into Taylor’s brand whether she wants there to be or not (you know the article I could @ here). Instead of focusing on those pieces she can’t control, she has shaped her success based on her stories, her perspectives, her world. The choices she chooses to PUBLICLY voice (more on this later) only build on to her brand of self-sufficiency and self-love. This is a strategy that will sustain her for generations to come. By not getting overly controversial about anything she allows herself to only be critiqued for her choices and actions - which she clearly believes in and stands in strong in. We’ve seen that this is a double-edged sword and has opened her to the vicious, personal attacks that have nothing to do with her artistry. These attacks are childish and undermine the strategy behind her.

This strategy allows her to build a brand that has longevity to it - so long as she stays true to herself and genuine in her work (which! she! has!) she is timeless.

THAT is why her career is still booming after a decade with little sign or slowing down or losing momentum. THAT is why she will always find supporters.

Her brand is hers alone to define, and she has yet to attempt to stray or change that. Reputation has proven that she understands this and will continue to own it for as long as she chooses to make music.

3. She has gone through a media cycle that has spiralled others out of control. And she has turned out fine. The hypocrisy the media has displayed to this point is outstanding. I just love (sarcasm!) how media rips apart people who over publicize their good deeds - they call they fake-feminists and attention-grabbers, and then say the same about Taylor for choosing to keep her efforts quieter.

It is easy to find hundreds - nay, thousands of good deeds and standings of good will that Taylor has done that she has never publicized. Hospital visits, private donations to fans and organizations both big and small, packages, house visits, school visits - THE LIST GOES ON AND ON. She does wonderful, beautiful things with the position fame has put her in. What qualifies that as shame-worthy?

Which leads me to my next frustration: how many people can honestly understand what it is like to be her? A multi-millionaire with one of the largest young, impressionable followings? She has done remarkably well to not stray into dangerous habits (at least that we know of). She deserves recognition for being one of the only people in the world who understand that. Comparing her to other famous women in the same demographic, how many of them deal with that scale of fan-following and mania? Or wealth? Or both while also being framed as a man-eater, cry-baby or worse?

Most recently, she doesn’t speak out on issues and they dub her as anti-feminism. Yet her sexual assault trial gets little to no coverage the way it should, her donation after the trial got 0 recognition as well. Taylor Swift should be considered a fucking warrior for handling this, and she got absolutely nothing.

Look at what she’s just done on Jimmy Fallon. No agenda, just a beautiful and genuine offer of love and support to someone in their time of need. That is who Taylor Swift is. That is what Reputation is about. That is what her career should be defined by.

I’ve been a Taylor Swift fan since 2009. Middle-school was filled with t-shirts, posters covering my room, demanding only Taylor birthday cards, learning to play guitar and countless other interests. This went on for years. Like many of you, I became “that” Taylor Swift fan.

But it went beyond my material involvement, Taylor’s example helped shaped me into a strong, self-sufficient and confident person. Throughout those formative high school years where we all struggle to find ourselves I managed to unapologetically strut my talents and personality with minimal struggles with self-love. I credit this to learning early on how to express myself and work through difficult emotions - a lesson learned by watching Taylor’s example.

Honestly, watching her career made me want to understand what makes people successful. Carefully analyzing and watching her over the years is what led me to my dream degree. Now, I’m top of my class and research how to build success like she has. I found my niche, my passion, my path in life because of watching her success. I found something I’m really fucking good at and do work I’m really fucking proud of because of watching the work her team does. I’m so thankful for that.

I never thought Taylor wasn’t worth defending. But like so many young, impressionable women, I was scared of making myself a target. I was scared of defending her while she got dragged for her work. This is where I failed her. I was scared of being outcasted for being a marketing nerd, so I shied away and explored other interests. I wish I had continued to vocalize my support for her the past couple of years rather than shying away. It’s a big regret for me.

Taylor has never shied away from a spotlight that has continually targeted her, framed her poorly, victimized her or shamed and blamed her for playing the victim. She barrelled through establishing her dominance, owning her brand, and then reclaiming it like a fucking queen through Reputation.

I never had the strength to do this in my life until recently. In my own life, I’m reclaiming my time, reclaiming MY reputation (which, without going into a backstory, has seen it’s own unfair blows recently and has hurt me tremendously), and reclaiming my fucking life because Taylor has shown me, yet again, how to come out on top of struggle.

As a public relations student, I look back on the work Taylor has done and I see her not just as a music icon or role model. I see her marketing intelligence, thorough understanding of her fans and how to reach to them, and how to manage her reputation which has been thrown under the bus and pulled through the mud for over a decade.

As a fan, I see how she’s grown, strengthened and shined through unchartered waters, and how after all these years she is still underestimated, undervalued and under-loved.

As a woman, I see my sister who needs more support for the brilliancy in which she’s handled the cards she’s been dealt. I see an example set for me and girls after me. Taylor didn’t ask for that when she released Tim McGraw, but she’s done it anyway on her own terms. I value that. I stand by that. I won’t be silent any longer.

I hope there are fans like me out there who see this and agree. I’m tired of being the only fucking person I know who thinks this. And I hope it’s not too late for these words, for my to label myself as a Taylor Swift fan and own it. I just hope I’m not alone in this anymore. (Is the term Swifty or Swifties still a thing? Is that like a ten years ago thing? I’m so out of the loop now.)

#taylor swift #taylor swift rant #taylurking #taylornation #reputation #taylor swift reputation #swifties #taylor #swift #i dont even know what to tag anymore i just hope someone out there agrees lol #taylor defense squad #reptaylurking

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egooksconnolly · 6 years

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10 Best Drugstore Waterproof Mascaras

Mascara is perhaps the ‘Little Black Dress’ of makeup! Whether you like the dramatic effect or a natural, barely-there look, flirt-worthy lashes fit every occasion. Whether it’s adding volume, length or intensity with the blackest of blacks – what could possibly be better than finding a reliable mascara that fits all your needs? The search for the “perfect” mascara may never end, but we’ve tested a few of these drugstore babies and chalked out a list of the best waterproof mascaras for you, and they’re all under $10!

Best Selling Drugstore Waterproof Mascaras

Maybelline Lash Sensational Waterproof Mascara

L’Oreal Voluminous Waterproof Mascara in Carbon Black

CoverGirl Total Tease Waterproof Mascara

Maybelline Volum’ Express The Colossal Big Shot Waterproof Mascara

L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Butterfly Waterproof Mascara in Blackest Black

Rimmel ScandalEyes Retroglam Mascara

CoverGirl LashBlast Volume Waterproof Mascara

Maybelline Great Lash Waterproof Mascara

e.l.f. Waterproof Lengthening & Volumizing Mascara

L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Million Lashes Mascara, Blackest Black

1. Maybelline Lash Sensational Waterproof Mascara

Maybelline New York’s Lash Sensational Black Pearl Waterproof Mascara is a volumizing formula infused with black pearl pigments. Its exclusive fanning brush reveals layers of lashes for a sensational full-fan effect. The Black Pearl formula delivers deep intensity for the most concentrated color.

Pros

Its unique brush makes application easier.

Makes lashes instantly look fuller and longer.

Separates lashes and adds gorgeous drama.

Lasts until you actually remove it.

Available in three shades.

Extremely pigmented.

Suitable for sensitive eyes and contact lens wearers.

Cons

It actually takes a little too much effort to remove even with makeup remover.

More than two coats may result in clumping.

Maybelline Lash Sensational Waterproof Mascara Review

This mascara is a big hit among famous Beauty Gurus on YouTube and even makeup artists. It comes in a dusty rose tube similar to that of Maybelline’s other mascaras, but what makes this one stand out is its curved fan-like brush with longer bristles on one side and smaller ones on the other side. The inner curve reaches the roots of the lashes and coats each lash beautifully. Its formula is intensely pigmented, and it doesn’t get dull or flaky even after a good 12 hours. That said, it has the most impressive staying power and stays put all day long without smearing or budging. You need to try this!

Rating: 5/5

Price: $8.99*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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2. L’Oreal Voluminous Waterproof Mascara in Carbon Black

L’Oreal Voluminous Waterproof Volume Building Mascara is uniquely formulated to soften and build lashes up to 4X their natural thickness, and resist clumping. Its unique maximizing formula quickly thickens and builds lashes in a single application for a full and dramatic effect. It separates and builds lashes, providing bold volume!

Pros

Clump-resistant.

Long wearing.

Adds volume to your lashes.

Intensely pigmented.

Makes lashes look fuller, darker, and longer.

Its convenient brush makes it easy to apply.

Suitable for sensitive eyes and contact lens wearers.

Cons

Makes lashes look spidery if you go for more than two coats.

Difficult to remove.

L’Oreal Voluminous Waterproof Mascara in Carbon Black Review

This mascara comes in three shades – Black, Black-Brown, and Carbon Black. You get this in a sleek matte black tube with a golden cap – the packaging is quite classy. Its formula is incredibly pigmented, and its consistency is thick and creamy. The brush makes it super simple to apply, and it also separates the lashes – making them look darker and longer. It stays on all day without smudging or smearing, and it indeed is waterproof in the truest sense. But here’s the catch – it can’t hold a curl as beautifully as the Maybelline mascaras do, so if you have straight lashes, then you might want to go in for something that focuses on this aspect as well.

Rating: 4.8/5

Price: $7.29*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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3. CoverGirl Total Tease Waterproof Mascara

CoverGirl’s Total Tease Full + Long + Refined Waterproof Mascara can be used to get sexy, teased lashes! Use the lash teasing mascara comb to tease even the tiniest lashes on the corners for a full, voluminous look. It gives you dark, defined lashes that last all day!

Pros

Defines and separates lashes.

Applies evenly.

Pigmented color.

Makes lashes look longer and fuller.

Adds volume.

Does not clump.

Suitable for contact lens wearers.

Cons

It dries a little too quickly.

Volume is buildable, but it does not come effortlessly.

CoverGirl Total Tease Waterproof Mascara Review

This mascara can be worn all day long and stays put without losing its effect. Its packaging is fun and quirky. However, the brush is quite awkward, so you need to work your way around it. The formula is very pigmented, and makes your lashes look darker and more defined. It’s a great option for hooded eyes as the brush really helps in making your lashes appear super long, so they are more visible.

Rating: 4.8/5

Price: $7.94

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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4. Maybelline Volum’ Express The Colossal Big Shot Waterproof Mascara

Unleash your big shot with the new Maybelline Volum’ Express Mascara. Its big shot brush loads volume in one coat. The Big Shot brush features unique, wavy bristles that cradle lashes, while its collagen formula delivers bold volume.

Pros

Long wand with bristles that reach each lash.

Adds definition and darkness to your lashes.

Adds volume and length.

Holds curls and does not weigh your lashes down.

Lasts all day long without even slightly budging.

Creamy formula that’s easy to work with.

Cons

Can only be removed with an oil-based remover.

Dries out quickly.

Maybelline Volum’ Express The Colossal Big Shot Waterproof Mascara Review

This mascara comes in a stunning metallic gold tube that looks very attractive. Its applicator wand has multi-sized wavy bristles that go into your lashes perfectly and coat them evenly from root to tip. This range has three shades, and Blackest Black is the deepest shade. It is super pigmented and instantly makes your lashes look three times bolder. You can use this for a simple or a full-fledged dramatic look, and it works great both ways. It feels very comfortable on your eyes and makes them look bigger and more defined.

Rating: 4.8/5

Price: $8.45*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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5. L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Butterfly Waterproof Mascara In Blackest Black

Stretch and extend your lashes like wings with the L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Butterfly Waterproof Mascara. Its revolutionary Butterfly Brush with asymmetrical lash line shape extends and lifts outer corner lashes to give you a winged-out effect, instantly volumizing lashes at the roots and stretching them outwards. Its unique Cocoon Fibers instantly wrap lashes in a soft, delicate veil to create silky, spectacular lashes that flutter.

Pros

Highly pigmented.

Defines and separates lashes.

Unique wand.

Applies evenly.

Adds volume and lengthens lashes.

Great option for those with sensitive eyes.

Cons

Difficult to remove.

Dries out quickly.

L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Butterfly Waterproof Mascara In Blackest Black Review

This one’s highly popular among celebrity makeup artists – let us tell you why! Once you curl your lashes and go in with this mascara, it instantly transforms your lashes, giving them everything that you’re looking for – from definition and length to volume and application. This formula and the wand are magical. The curved brush is a little tricky to use at first, but once you get the hang of it, it’s a breeze. The staying power is excellent too, and it doesn’t clump. The only concern that we have is how it requires an oil-based remover to take off, and also how the formula tends to dry out rather quickly in the tube. We highly recommend this for fantastic results!

Rating: 4.7/5

Price: $6.74*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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6. Rimmel ScandalEyes Retroglam Mascara

It’s Retro Mania! This bold, waterproof mascara gives you a wide-eyed false lash look. Its exclusive hour-glass brush fits into the lashes, plumps them, and fans them out. It coats lashes individually for a big, false lash look in one simple stroke.

Pros

Volumizes in just one coat.

Does not clump.

Its unique brush separates and defines each lash.

Gives the ‘falsies’ appearance.

Does not make your lashes look dry or brittle.

Smudge-proof.

Cons

Takes a while to take off.

Takes some time to dry.

Rimmel ScandalEyes Retroglam Mascara Review

This comes in a cylindrical, black and white, quirky tube. Its brush is rather unique – curvaceous with a concave middle, and it instantly lifts up your lashes. The texture is of perfect consistency – neither too thick nor too runny, and it does not make your lashes look spidery or clumpy. One swipe creates enough volume, and two coats give you the dramatic effect this claims to give. It takes a few minutes to dry, but once it sets, it stays put all day long. There may be a bare minimum (unnoticeable) amount of fall out at the end of the day, but that’s just about it. Putting the bigger things in perspective, this gives you amazing looking lashes in a jiffy!

Rating: 4.6/5

Price: $5.47*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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7. CoverGirl LashBlast Volume Waterproof Mascara

Get a blast of bold, volumizing mascara – rain or shine! Lash Blast’s patented volume-boosting hypoallergenic mascara formula and brush are designed to max out every lash, leaving you with the ultimate big-lash look.

Pros

Adds volume to lashes.

Gives a beautiful, natural look.

Does not clump.

It’s highly pigmented.

The applicator wand makes for even application.

Cons

Does not do a great job of curling your lashes.

Slightly flakes off.

CoverGirl LashBlast Volume Waterproof Mascara Review

This classic mascara has been a go-to drugstore mascara for so many of us since ages. It gives you the perfect amount of definition and volume, yet your lashes look very natural and soft! However, for those of you who like dramatic eyes, its formula is buildable and doesn’t get clumpy. It’s available in three shades – Black, Black Brown, and Very Black. All the shades are extremely dark and pigmented. It does not weigh your lashes down, and stays put until you remove it. Compared to the other mascaras on the list, this one’s rather easy to take off.

[ Read: How To Remove Waterproof Mascara Perfectly? ]

Rating: 4.5/5

Price: $6.94*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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8. Maybelline Great Lash Waterproof Mascara

After 40 years, Great Lash is still America’s favorite mascara. Its Lash-Doubling Formula glides on to build great-looking lashes. This one conditions as it thickens.

Pros

Applies evenly.

Very pigmented.

Defines and separates lashes.

Adds volume.

Easy to use applicator wand.

Does not clump.

Cons

Difficult to remove.

Dries out quickly.

Maybelline Great Lash Waterproof Mascara Review

This mascara comes in the most adorable packaging, and its wand is a regular, simple one that gives you amazingly thick, natural-looking lashes. The wand’s applicator has a great fit, which makes it easy to use both on your upper and lower lashes. The only drawback of this mascara is that it’s quite difficult to remove, but an oil-based makeup remover does the job. Overall, if you need something that’s super easy to apply and something that’s natural-looking on your lashes, this one’s worth giving a shot!

Rating: 4.5/5

Price: $6.49*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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9. e.l.f. Waterproof Lengthening & Volumizing Mascara

The waterproof mascara creates thicker-looking lashes that last. The waterproof formula helps prevent clumps and is quick-drying. Its brush head gives an edge to edge control and even coating for even multiple applications.

Pros

Lengthens lashes.

Applies evenly.

Very pigmented.

Defines and separates lashes.

Does not clump.

Cons

Takes time to dry.

Difficult to remove.

e.l.f. Waterproof Lengthening & Volumizing Mascara Review

This mascara has a deep black color, and the formula really helps in making your lashes appear longer and thicker. It stays put all day long without flaking or clumping, which is an added plus. It gives your lashes a lovely, natural-look. It’s a cruelty-free product, and for $3, it gives you amazing results.

Rating: 4.4/5

Price: $3*

Purchase Link: www.elfcosmetics.com

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10. L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Million Lashes Mascara, Blackest Black

Voluminous Million Lashes has a revolutionary collagen-infused formula and Millionizer Brush for amplified volume and definition. The luxurious, buildable, no-clump formula amplifies each lash instantly.

Pros

Provides volume and curl to your lashes.

Does not flake off.

The wand is easy to use.

Its creamy formula does not make your lashes stiff.

Suitable for sensitive eyes and contact lens wearers.

Cons

Dries out quickly.

Difficult to remove.

L’Oreal Paris Voluminous Million Lashes Mascara, Blackest Black Review

This mascara comes in a stubby but attractive packaging in a glossy black and gold tube. Its wand is thick and works well to separate and curl your lashes. It’s designed in a way that the wand wipes off any excess product and picks up the right amount of the formula, making it easy to apply. It opens up your eyes and gives a dramatic effect to your lashes that lasts until you remove it. This one can be compared to some high-end mascaras, and it practically does a better job even at this price.

Rating: 4.4/5

Price: $8.95*

Purchase Link: www.amazon.com

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(*Prices may vary)

Drugstore mascaras are famous for competing with their high-end rivals. Getting the lashes that you’ve dreamed of doesn’t always have to cost a million bucks. With so many drugstore options, it’s quite simple to just pick one that would work for you. Choose a volumizing mascara if you feel like you have thin lashes and aren’t afraid of the ‘falsies’ effect. A lengthening mascara would be ideal for those of you with naturally short lashes. If you have long and straight lashes, find one that emphasizes curling because this will help you structure your look. If you are undecided, just go for a 3-in-1 mascara that does everything for you!

That was our pick of the 10 best drugstore mascaras that include all the categories, so it’s easier for you to decide. Have you had a never-ending affair with a specific mascara? Let us know in the comments!