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HIM

HIM

He spoke, his voice low and rough. Nathaniel was a silent human. He didn't like to talk. He was one of the people whose silence was comforting yet a bit scary. Even at the age of twenty-five, his aura was frightening to those who were strangers to him. The black ink on both of his muscular arms gave him a bad boyish look, specially with the nose piercing he had. Humming, I urged him to go on, as I wiped the blood off his chest. “Our boxer had almost killed their boss, Deus. They came to get revenge. They’ll probably look for them everywhere.” He sighed, sweat dripping from his forehead.
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The Boyfriend App

The Boyfriend App

“Annyeong,” Nathan introduces himself. “I’m Nathaniel Policarpio. Some people call me Nathan and others call me Nate. Personally, I’d prefer it if you call me Nate because Nathan reminds me of the time I spent in Camp Unplugged, the Internet addiction rehabilitation center that was on the news with, uh, Shadow and me.
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SURRENDER TO YOUR HIDDEN DESIRES.

SURRENDER TO YOUR HIDDEN DESIRES.

Hopefully, with the money Johann received for his sale to Fredrick, he will leave Anja alone now. Nathaniel gazed at the ocean where the sky met the sea and wondered if freedom was over there. If he ever found that freedom he would take his mother with him and they would never look back. That night the housekeeper brought fresh bread, butter and some cornmeal mush for him. He wolfed down the first savory food he ever had in his life, licking his fingers and lips hungrily while the housekeeper watched with pity. That evening when he was laying down enjoying the quiet of Fredrick’s mansion, two hefty men entered the room. Nate huddled in a corner and watched them walk toward the windows, shutt
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Craving Forbidden Pleasures

Craving Forbidden Pleasures

She refused to give them one. And then—he arrived. The whispers shifted like a gust of wind through the cemetery. Nathaniel Hayes. Her stepson. Twenty-three years old. Broad-shouldered. Military dropout. A reputation that carried bar fights and half-truths about violence. Tattoos winding down his arms, scars etched into his knuckles, blue eyes sharp as broken glass. Caroline’s heart stuttered when she saw him step through the rows of umbrellas, soaked to the bone, a cigarette clenched between his lips despite the priest’s disapproving glance.
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Loving You Too Long

Loving You Too Long

The man seemed lost in his thoughts. Nathan. Nathaniel Chayton. The nineteen-year-old man was Haisley's first love. Mentioning his name could make Haisley embarrassed. Usually, Haisley wants to appear neat and attractive in front of the young man. Maybe everyone thinks their feelings are just puppy love, which will disappear and change one day. Or suspect this is just a feeling of liking like someone admires their favorite actor or actress. For Haisley, Nathan is her idol. And now, she must be disappointed because the man filling her teenage diary will leave to continue his education at a higher level. The emotional distance that has always been far away is even further away.
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Nathaniel's Obsession

Nathaniel's Obsession

Nathaniel’s Obsession Nathaniel woke up in a gasp. It was the same old shit. His parents screamed as they were shot, just before the fire began. The loud cries of Isobel telling him to go get their parents forever haunted him. He watched as the clock ticked. It was 2:18 a.m, the same time every day. He woke up the same time after his nightmare every day. It was either that or a bloody Emily asking him, why he killed her.
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The Lunar prophecy

The Lunar prophecy

But Nathaniel held his head high, sensing an inexplicable familiarity to this place. "Good day to you all, I am Nathaniel Hawthorne," Nathaniel stated, his voice confident. Gasps and sighs of shock rippled through the room as the packmates murmured amongst themselves. Suddenly, an elderly man stood up. "Pardon our manners; we rarely have visitors," August said, his eyes warm. "My name is August; I'm one of the elders who run this pack." Nathaniel nodded, his legs aching. He took a seat amongst them, causing Emilia's eyes to widen in surprise. She remained standing.
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Alpha Nathan

Alpha Nathan

His eyes turned a deep shade of yellow, his wolf howling and growling before he attacked the elders, killing them mercilessly, and without remorse. He managed to kill nine or ten elders before his body hit the ground, a gun was shot on the back of his head. Nathan froze at the sound of the bullet being fired before he nodded at the men to pull out their own weaponry. Carter handed Nathan his own gun, and taking a step back, I put a hand on Jade’s shoulder, not wanting her to get caught in the ambush.
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I BECAME THE BILLIONAIRE'S WIFE OVERNIGHT

I BECAME THE BILLIONAIRE'S WIFE OVERNIGHT

"Trying counts f⁠or mo​re than people give it credit for, Emmy. I'd know." The‍ bel​l o‌ver the fron‍t door chime​d, and I t‍urned, hal‌f expecting‍ Chloe‌, and foun⁠d Nathaniel‍ instead, stan​ding⁠ just inside the​ doorway in a coat that looke​d entirely to‌o expens​i‌ve for a Brooklyn​ ba⁠ker⁠y,‌ looking more uncertai‍n than I had ever seen him look in a boardro⁠om, a courtho‌use, or anywher⁠e else since⁠ I'd know‌n him.
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ADOPTED HEIR

ADOPTED HEIR

ADOPTED HEIR **Nathaniel** Writer's P O V 2.00pm. **Portland.** Nathaniel sat behind his big vice president desk working on some files, he was trying to finish his work fast and leave the office when his secretary rushed into his office with an iPad. "Sir, you need to see this." Daniel said. "I'm not interested, Dan. I told you I wanna go home early." Nathaniel groaned at him. "No sir, I think you really need to watch this interview." Daniel insisted.
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Frequently Asked Questions

It's funny, I always imagine Hawthorne in his little Salem room, scribbling away, and I think the influence staring him right in the face was his own family history. Not just the Puritan ancestors, but specifically the way stories about them were told—the local legends, the gossip, the weight of the past. That gloomy, introspective tone he's famous for? I bet a lot of that came from just growing up immersed in that atmosphere, hearing about witches and guilt and secret sins from childhood.

But beyond the obvious Puritan shadow, I've read he was deeply affected by early American historical writers like Cotton Mather. If you peek into 'The New-England Primer' or Mather's 'Magnalia Christi Americana', you can see this dense, moralistic, almost allegorical style that Hawthorne later refined into something more psychological. He didn't just inherit their subjects; he absorbed a way of writing about sin as a tangible, inheritable thing.

And let's not forget the Gothic novelists popular in his youth—Ann Radcliffe and "Monk" Lewis. You can see traces of their gloomy castles and hidden secrets in the way he builds suspense in stories like 'The Minister's Black Veil' or 'Rappaccini's Daughter'. He took their European trappings and transplanted them into the New England soil, trading crumbling abbeys for decaying colonial mansions. It's a fusion that feels uniquely his, but the ingredients were all around him, in his family parlor and the books he'd have read as a young man.

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