#and 40 is max where i live

[idkimnotreal]

third world countries have lower average iqs because our education systems are worse. that’s a known fact.

what’s relatively unknown, though, is the damage that third world public education can do to potential potential 130+ iqs.

i myself am one such case. do you know what it’s like to go through school, the entirety of it, in zombie mode? do you know what it’s like to develop social anxiety because i could simply skip group assignments and presentations because a recovery exam awaited me at the end of each term, which i was guaranteed to pass with minimal effort? do you know what it’s like to be top of the class, and all the praises that it incurs, without ever learning to study because school wasn’t challenging enough? do you know what it’s like when every single one of your teachers is painfully apathetic to your talents because they’ve lost hope at this point?

i feel like my school system set me up to fail. for a short time near 2010, my family had the means to afford private school for me, but my father chose not to because of affirmative action for pupils from public schools to enter university. little did he know, pupils from military schools in brazil are also eligible for that, and the drop in grades necessary to pass is barely 5% if that. so it was useless in the end to keep me dumber for something that was never coming anyway.

and it just all enrages me. my teachers, my parents, the world. i can’t study now. i feel like it’s pointless. i know why it happens - i was praised for being smart without studying. it’s that simple. it’s core behaviorism stuff. and yet i can’t fix it. i can’t ever feel useful if i’m studying. feels like wasted time and effort (not even with adhd meds; it’s not a focus issue, i just don’t want to study because i can’t see the rewards at the end). because i can be smart without studying... that’s what they told me, unconsciously. it’s caught up with me at last.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Hrmm... put together a roommates quiz finally after years of thinking it would be an interesting idea lol.. Though obviously not meant to be taken super seriously, I just like thinking about this aspect of personality compatibility. Like yeah, maybe you could get along with someone just chatting with them, but living together is such a different thing. .. curiouse...

[meowmeowriley]

Ghost wants a dog. He's thought about it for a while, done some research, put out feelers. He's allowed to have a dog where he live, has a house to himself not five minutes from base. Waste of space, he used to think, but space enough for a dog.

He needs a big dog. He's a big lad. When some people think "big dog" they're thinking of a German Shepherd Good dogs, he's sure. But only 40 kilos, max. He needs something bigger, he thinks.

At first, he thought he'd like himself a Rottweiler. Hefty. Big bodied and boisterous. Easily trainable if you've got the time and the grit, both he figured he had in spades, so long as he wasn't on an op. But then he read about tail docking and, well... he couldn't bring himself to think about it any more. Those poor puppies, he thinks.

He goes home with Soap, visiting the MacTavish farm. They're friends, he wants to see the sheep, he tells Soap. Tells himself. He won't admit that he just wants to spend more time with Johnny.

The MacTavish's have Border Collies to herd their sheep. Practical. Cute, he likes the pups, but much too small for him. Not to mention intelligence to rival the rookies he had to whip into shape on base and tripple their energy. He wasn't sure he'd want to deal with that.

But while out, on their way into town, he saw it. A huge dog standing amongst someone else's flock, head heald high and nose in the wind. Soap knew the farmer from his childhood, drove them up the lane when he caught Ghost staring. Due to his staring, Ghost had missed the sign they passed, though Soap didn't. 'Pyrenees puppies 4 sale' it read.

The farmer smiled when he noticed John, the boy who left the fields to play soldier and came back a man. John introduced him as Lieutenant 'Ghost' Riley. Ghost rolled his eyes and stuck out his hand. "Simon. Saw your dog in the field, never saw one like it. Wanted to know more." A short introduction, straight to the point.

The response was the opposite. The farmer gave him what felt like his life's story. Took what seemed to Ghost to be a year before he got to telling him about the dog, a Great Pyrenees, apparently. A large bodied, heavy white coated livestock guardian breed. He had two, the one in the field was the sire, the dam was in the barn. As he spoke, he lead the two men towards that very barn.

The farmer entered first, to separate the mother from the pups, for their protection, he said. In the barn was a sight that melted the hardened Lieutenant into a puddle of goo: a litter of snow white, fluffy puppies. Huge puppies. Sticks and hay and debris were stuck all over their fluffy bodies, Simon picked out what he could from the pups as they wallered and slobbered all over him.

Soap took over speaking to the farmer as Ghost slowly accepted that he would never again have crisp black clothes. That everything in his future would be covered in white fluff. The life expectancy of his washer and dryer had just been halved, he suspected.

The farmer explained their personality: that females tended to be more protective, they'd be a home body, not exactly a jogging companion. Loyal but brutish, often misconstrued as lazy. The beast out in the field with the flock would lay about and let the sheep climb all over him, wouldn't even bother to get up if someone hopped the fence like. But if he heard a sound he didn't like, or saw another dog or a predator in the field, he'd let loose a bark that'd freeze a man's blood, and hunt the perceived threat down come hell or high water. "And you should see her in action," the farmer laughed and shook his head. "Almost killed the male over getting too close to his own pups. Protective to a fault. 'S why I had to turn her out, you see."

Ghost saw an oversized cotton ball trip over it's own feet as it tried to get to his fingers because it needed to be pet. It was the only one without any tan or grey patch. Ghost saw his future best friend.

The farmer started to explain that these pups ought to be sent off to other farms, they wouldn't do as family dogs, but John walked him out of the barn. Explained that the man they'd left behind had no family to speak of, needed something other than work to focus on, and if anyone were able to handle the instincts and behavioral issues of a livestock guardian without livestock, it'd be Simon. The farmer agreed, so long as he made sure to choose a male, for safety reasons.

The two drove off another twenty minutes later, after Simon had listened with rapt attention to the farmer detailing everything about what the pups had been through up to that point, and what he'd need to do moving forward to make sure his little guy was happy and healthy, Ghost holding young Spirit to his chest.

From that point on all of Ghost's belongings had long white fur and drool on them, courtesy of his personal polar bear.

On the day of their wedding their ring bearer was their own pseudo-bear, and nobody left the venue without drool or fur on their clothes.

[multifandomgirl08]

Girlfriend? [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: You meet Nico.

Warning(s): Google Translated Dutch, Fluff

A/N: Thank you @maximeverstappen for the request. And a big thank you to @severalforraelee for helping me with this request. I was having a bit of writer's block with this. This is the second version of this that I wrote. That's why it's a little bit shorter than normal. I didn't like the first version so I completely re-wrote everything but the first paragraph. This will be the last thing for this series that I published out of order (hopefully), unless someone sends in a request for something that hasn't already been planned.

Words: 0.7k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

The first time that Nico met you was an accident. You had been over at Max’s apartment after getting lunch and had decided to stay for a bit since Nico would be with his sitter for a while longer. Nico’s sitter had called letting Max know that she was dropping him off just as you were grabbing your bag to leave.

"Papa!" You heard a boy yell as you stood in the doorway of Max’s apartment saying goodbye knowing that Nico would be home soon.

You turned your head to see Nico standing halfway down the hall holding the hand of who you assumed was Nico’s sitter. She was an older woman in her 40s. Nico stood there, a backpack that was too big for him around his shoulders.

Max looked at you in question before leaning down and opening his arms for Nico before the little boy dropped his bag and ran into his father’s arms.

“Heb je genoten van je dag vandaag?” Max asked before Nico started to nod.

You just watched as they interacted, Nico absorbed in Max while you and Nico’s sitter stood there.

Max looked over at you with a knowing smile. You had talked about meeting Nico before but it was always an eventual thing. Never planned and never set in stone.

“Nico, this is Y/N.” Max looked at Nico, and then turned to you.

Nico looked over at you, keeping his head up as your eyes met the little boy’s blue ones. As you looked at Nico, it just solidified in your mind that those Verstappen genes were strong, even Victoria’s kids looked like Max.

“She’s Papa’s friend.” You were okay with Max introducing you to Nico as Max’s friend. He probably didn’t know what a girlfriend was.

“Girlfriend?” Nico asked.

“Where did you hear that word?” Max asked carefully. He wasn’t sure who Nico had been spending time with for him to know what that meant.

“Dan,” Nico remarked as if that explained everything.

Daniel looked after Nico when Max had something going on for work, or if you wanted to spend a quiet evening together, and it was pretty easy to set it up since Daniel lived downstairs.

“Yes, like a girlfriend.” Max echoed, giving you a wide smile.

Max had told you that Nico was pretty smart given that he had just turned 2. You had just thought it was Max gushing about Nico. But you couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange of words that was going on.

If there had been any tension what so ever as you stood there with Nico and Max, it was definitely broken after that moment.

Max had invited Nico’s sitter inside but she said that she needed to be on her way.

She had left the three of you together before Nico leaned into Max’s ear whispering something that you couldn’t catch.

“Weet je het zeker?”  Max asked before Nico nodded in confirmation.

You gripped your bag a little tighter before Max looked over at you again. “Would you want to come with us out, to dinner later?” Max offered.

“I would love that.” You quickly agreed.

A little while later, around 5:30 Max had texted you with where you were going to meet the two of them of dinner. It hadn’t taken too long for Nico to open up to you once dinner had started and the food was delivered, he kept talking to you in his adorable broken english, and if he didn’t know that word would ask Max what it was.

As the meal went on Max seemed to recline further into his chair watching as the two of you interected across the table from one another. Nico had hugged you goodbye before Max made a gesture that he would call you.

You had gone back to your hotel for the night, and had been sitting on your laptop getting a few last minue work things done when your phone had gone off.

It was Max. You had spent the next hour talking first about dinner and then about the next time that you would be able to see one another again. Before you had switched topics halfway through you couldn’t help but ask Max, “Do you think he liked me?”

Mas stayed silent for a few seconds. Nico not liking you was something that could really make or break the relationship. “I’m sure he likes you Schat, he couldn’t seem to fall asleep when we got home.”

As you talked on the phone with him, you were excited to be able to spend more time with Nico. Even at the age of 2, Max had raised him well.

translation:

Heb je genoten van je dag vandaag? - Did you enjoy your day today?

Weet je het zeker? - Are you sure?

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 42

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 39, part 40, part 41

“And I know he doesn’t mean any of it,” Wayne explains, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I’m just tired of it.”

Hopper scoffs. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Wayne needed to get out of the house. Do something other than go to work. Go somewhere where he can just calm down from it all. Not have to get in the middle of a fight or have one.

Eddie doesn’t fight with Wayne as much as he does with Steve, but it’s there. Wayne’s just used to it. Knows how to bite back enough to get Eddie to stop. Has the history where Eddie knows where to draw the line. Where to stop.

But Steve just lets him yell. Lets him scream and insult and hurt. Does it right back, not giving a shit what happens afterward. It’s giving Eddie exactly what he wants.

“I know why he does it. He’s angry and in pain, so he takes it out on us. I just wish he would stop. It’s not helping anything.”

“Hey, dad,” Jim’s kid pops her head out of the doorway. “Can I go over to Max’s?”

“Yeah, see if Jonathan can take you.”

Jim’s kid, who Wayne knows by at least three different names and can’t for the life of him figure out which one is the real one, shakes her head. “He already said that he is busy.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Course he is. Give me like twenty minutes and I’ll drive you over.”

“Ok.” She lets the door swing back shut.

“Jonathan Joyce’s son?” Wayne asks. Willing to take a moment off from dealing with his own stuff.

Jim nods. “Her oldest. He hasn’t been busy since Wheeler broke up with him. Probably just getting high in his room.”

Wayne scoffs. “You let him do that?”

“He’s an adult, he can make his own decisions. As long as I don’t catch him while on the clock, I won’t do anything. I’m more worried about him.”

Wayne doesn’t know much about Jim’s personal life. Other than before he met Joyce, back when his kid was in the hospital. He knows that him and Joyce have been together for a few months now, and that they merged families. But he doesn’t know about his relationship with Joyce’s kids. Jim doesn’t talk about them a lot.

He’s pretty reserved, Wayne realized. Which isn’t a problem, Wayne can be reserved most of the time as well. But it was nice to have someone to relate to. Someone his age, who can understand his viewpoint more. They’re on the same understanding level.

Wayne’s never been the type of person to make and keep a friend. There were the people he grew up with in high school. People he worked with. His neighbors. But beyond basic friendliness, there really wasn’t a bond. It was different with Jim. Their understandings turning into camaraderie. Maybe turning into friendship.

It’s almost stupid to think of it that way. Two men in their fifties becoming friends. For some reason, it doesn’t sound right. But Wayne has liked being able to lean on someone during this. Someone that isn’t the twenty year old that he lives with.

He sees the kids all rally around each other. They way that they are there for each other. Adapting with their new lives and moving forward, together. Able to cope with the changes of their lives as a group, rather than the individual.

It would be nice to have something like that.

“What do you mean?” Wayne offers, hoping Jim will open up.

Jim exhales a line of smoke. “He doesn’t have many friends. Only this one kid that he met out in California. But no one here. Other than Wheeler, he just had his family. I just wish he had someone to talk to about all of this. But he just shuts himself in his room and gets high. And don’t even get me started when I try to ask, he just snaps and pushes me out.”

“I have some experience with that.” He flicks his cigarette. “Honestly, it just takes time. If you keep showing up for them, they eventually start to open up to you.”

“I guess.” Jim stubs out his cigarette.

“Mr. Munson,” Jim’s kid calls out the door again. “There’s someone one the phone for you.”

Wayne tosses his bud into the ash tray, nodding. He heads inside, following the kid to the phone. “Hello.”

“Hey, it’s Steve. Sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, that’s ok. What’s happening?”

Steve sighs. “Eddie hasn’t come out of his room all day. He’s locked the door and I can’t get him to come out. I thought maybe he might for you.”

Wayne rubs a hand down his face. “I’m heading back. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ok. See you soon.”

He hangs the phone back on the receiver. Double checking that he has everything.

“That was Steve, wasn’t it?” A voice Wayne doesn’t recognize comes from behind him.

When he turns, he sees what he is assuming is Jonathan. Wearing clothes that look like they’ve been slept in. “It was.”

Jonathan scoffs. “So he calls our house now, great.”

“Jonathan,” Jim tries to scold. His voice rounding around the edges, trying not to be too harsh.

“No, I’m sick of this. It’s always Steve this and Steve that. I don’t get why he’s so great now. After all that he did. After that shit he pulled over spring break with Nancy. I don’t get what’s so great about the guy that he’s suddenly revered.”

“Oh my god, not again,” another voice comes from the living room. “You need to give it a rest, Jonathan.”

Wayne makes his way toward the door, feeling very out of place right now.

“Will, you don’t know what he said.”

“But I know what he’s done since then. You haven’t heard the things he’s done to protect the rest of us. You’re so blinded by the shit that happened three years ago to think that he could have changed.”

He hears a door slam as he makes his way to the porch. Letting out a long breath when he makes his way to his car.

“Sorry about that,” Jim apologizes.

“Do you know what that was about?”

He wants to know. Surprisingly. He’s living in Steve’s house. Trusting him with Eddie. If there was something that happened, especially whatever it was with Nancy. Considering that she and Steve seem to be really close now. With all that flirting he’s been doing with Eddie.

He needs to know that whatever Steve’s intentions are, they’re not going to screw Eddie over.

“Not really. I think it’s just an old grudge that he’s let fester.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Thanks for the smoke. I hope things get better for you.”

“Same goes for you. See you around.”

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[dani3lricciard0]

A Day To Remember | Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel Ricciardo x singer!reader

Summary: Daniel has recently returned to Red Bull. It's the Silverstone Grand Prix, and Daniel has a surprise in store for you.

Warnings: none but there is a brief Christian Horner appearance (I made him be nice)

Authors note: Literally no one asked, this is entirely self indulgent but I hope you enjoy <3

Silverstone Circuit buzzed with excitement as the British Grand Prix was set to begin. The sun made a rare appearance and beamed down on the tarmac, making the metallic surfaces of the Formula 1 cars glisten. Among the crowd, the tension was palpable; it was race day. Daniel Ricciardo, recently reunited with Red Bull Racing, has qualified P2, just behind his teammate Max Verstappen. Lando Norris, the home hero, started from P3.

For you, standing in the VIP area, this race was even more special. Not only were you here to support your boyfriend, Daniel, but you had been invited to present the trophies on the podium. As a renowned British singer, your presence added a touch of glamour to the event, and you couldn't wait to see Daniel shine now that he was back where he belonged.

Your day had started early, with a flurry of interviews and appearances. You had arrived at the circuit separately from Daniel, in a sleek black car, greeted by fans and photographers. Your outfit - a chic jumpsuit paired with designer sunglasses - turned heads as you made your way to the paddock. The atmosphere was electric, with team members hustling about and the smell of burning rubber in the air.

"Y/N!" Daniels voice called out, snapping you out of your reverie. You turned to see him walking towards you, a wide grin on his face. He looked great in his fireproofs, the Red Bull logo emblazoned on his chest, just as it should be.

"Hey, champ," you teased, wrapping your arms around him in a warm hug. "Ready to win today?"

"Always," he replied, giving you a quick kiss. "Even more so with you here. It's going to be a good day, I can feel it."

The race was a spectacle from start to finish. Silverstone's grandstands roared as the lights went out and the cars surged forward. Daniel had a decent start, maintaining his P2 position, not far behind Max who held on to the lead. Lando was hot on their heels, making it clear that he intended to fight for a top spot at his home race.

You watched from the VIP lounge, a mix of anxiety and excitement coursing through you. Every turn had you on the edge of your seat. The roar of the engines, the cheers of the crows, and the sight of Daniel's car chasing down Max made your heart race.

The first half of the race was intense, with Daniel and Max engaged in a thrilling battle for the lead. Max defended his position fiercely, while Daniel looked for every possible opportunity to overtake. The tension was palpable was the two Red Bull drivers pushed their cars to the limit, reminiscent of old times.

Your phone buzzed with messages from friends and family, all watching the race and sending their support. You took a moment to reply, smiling at their encouraging words, but your eyes never strayed far from the screen displaying the live feed of the race.

As the race reached its midpoint, Daniel came in for new tyres. The pit crew executed a flawless tyre change, getting him back on track with minimal time loss. Max decided not to pit, adamant he could keep pushing on his current tyres for a few more laps.

With fresh tyres and a renewed determination, Daniel began to close the gap. Lap after lap, he inched closer to Max, and the atmosphere was electric as the crowd sensed the impending battle for the lead.

On lap 40, Daniel made his move. Coming out of Copse corner, he found an opening and seized the opportunity. The two cars raced wheel to wheel down the straight, the roar of the engines echoing through the stands. Daniel braked later into Stowe, edging ahead of Max and taking the lead.

The grandstands erupted into cheers as Daniel's car pulled in front. You could hardly contain your excitement, jumping up and down with joy. The battle was far from over, but Daniel had proven himself, taking the lead when it mattered most.

The final laps were intense. Max was relentless, pushing hard to reclaim his position, while Daniel defended with everything he had. Lando, meanwhile, was closing in on the two Red Bull drivers, adding another layer of excitement to the race in front of his home crowd.

Your heart pounded as you watched Daniel skilfully navigate the circuit, maintaining position despite Max's best efforts. The crowd was on its feet, the energy palpable as the race drew to a close.

On the penultimate lap, Max made one last attempt to overtake Daniel. The two cars were side by side again, but Daniel held his nerve, keeping the inside line and forcing Max to back off. As they rounded the final corner and approached the finish line, it was clear that Daniel had done it.

Daniel crossed the line first, arms raised in triumph. The crowd erupted into cheers, and you couldn't contain your excitement, tears of joy streaming down your face.

As Daniel pulled into parc fermé, the team swarmed around him, cheering and congratulating him on a well-deserved victory. You made your way down from the VIP lounge to join the celebrations, feeling an immense surge of pride.

You found Daniel amidst the chaos, his face still flushed with the adrenaline of the race. He saw you and his smile widened, eyes sparkling with joy. "We did it!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"You were amazing out there," you replied, your voice shaky with emotion. "I'm so proud of you, Danny."

Reporters and cameras swarmed you both, capturing the celebrations. You took a step back to let Daniel have his moment with the media, watching as he answered questions with his usual charm and enthusiasm. Meanwhile, the podium ceremony was being set up, and you were guided to where you would be presenting the trophies.

The anticipation built as the ceremony began. The Australian national anthem played, and the three drivers - Daniel, Max, and Lando - stood proudly on the podium, their faces beaming with joy and exhaustion.

You stepped forward to present the trophies, first, handing the third-place trophy to your good friend Lando, who gave you a warm smile. "Great race, Lando," you said, your voice barely audible over the crowd's cheers.

"Thanks, Y/N. Means a lot coming from you," he replied, placing a hand on your shoulder as he took the trophy from your hand and raised it into the air.

Next, you presented the second-place trophy to Max, who winked playfully. "Keeping it exciting as always Max, well done," you said, handing over the heavy silver trophy.

"Thanks, Y\N. The best is yet to come," he said cryptically, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Finally, you turned to Daniel, your heart swelling with pride as you handed him the winner's trophy. He took it with a grateful smile, holding it high above his head. The crowd's applause was deafening. You turned to walk away giving them space for the traditional champagne celebration, but Max grabbed your hand, pulling you back.

Confused, you looked at Max, who grinned and gestured towards Daniel. Your boyfriend was down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. The crowd fell silent, the moment suspended in time.

"Y/N," Daniels began, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "Fro the moment we met, you have been my biggest supporter, my best friend, and the love of my life. I can't imagine my future without you. Will you marry me?"

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, words escaping you. "Yes, Daniel, yes!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Daniel slipped the ring onto your finger, and the crowd erupted once more, louder than ever. Max and Lando joined in the celebration, spraying champagne with reckless abandon. You and Daniel were soon drenched, laughing and holding each other close as the fizzy liquid rained down on you both,

After the podium ceremony, the celebrations continued in the Red Bull hospitality suite. The entire team gathered to congratulate you and Daniel, the suite decorated with balloons and banners, and a large cake sat on the table in the centre.

Christian Horner raised a toast to you both, his eyes twinkling with pride. "To Daniel and Y/N," he said, lifting his glass. "May your future be as bright as today, filled with love, success and countless victories."

The room erupted in cheers as you clicked glasses, the taste of champagne sweet on your lips. You glanced at Daniel, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness.

As the night wore on, the party showed no signs of slowing down. Music played, and people danced and laughed, celebrating not just the race but the love story that had captured everyone's hearts. You and Daniel were inseparable, sharing your happiness with everyone around you.

You stepped outside, needing to take a breather from the overwhelming joy and excitement. The cool night air was a welcome relief, and you leaned against the railing, taking in the serene view of the now mostly empty paddock under the moonlight. Daniel joined you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"Can you believe all of this?" you asked, turning to glance at him.

"It's surreal,' he admitted, swiping your hair out of your face. "But it's perfect. Today was perfect."

You smiled up at him laid your head back against his chest. "Today was the best day of my life," you sighed, replaying the day in your mind.

"This is just the start, Y/N. We have so much to look forward to" Daniel replied, placing a kiss to your temple.

"I can't wait, Danny. You make me the happiest woman alive."

[lost-in-fandoms]

https://www.tumblr.com/lost-in-fandoms/762168056269144064/thinking-about-streamer-max-who-lowkey-does?source=share

Omg. Omg!!!! Streamer Max my beloved! What does Daniel do when he stumbles onto Max's stream? I'm just imagining him clicking on a random link or something and suddenly bam he's got a face full of this pretty streamer with slutty short shorts!

(Anyway love your work and hope you have a great day!! 🥰)

You are so sweet I hope you have a great day too!!

Some slutty streamer Max to try and have something good to end the day with

Daniel sighs, rolling over towards the bedside table and grabbing his phone, checking the time for what feels like the twentieth time that night already.

4:42 am.

Just twenty minutes after the last time he checked.

He sighs again, sitting up slightly to drink some water, resigned to the fact that he'll probably won't get any sleep tonight either. If he's lucky, he'll get a couple hours when the sun is rising and then sneak a nap in somewhere during the afternoon.

He knows that jet lag is not helping, having landed in Perth from Los Angeles just two days ago, but he's been dealing with this insomnia for way too long to lie to himself any further. Sleep simply isn't coming.

He's tried most things already tonight, from the relaxing herbal tea his mom had recommended, to the white noise machine, to the podcasts, to the meditation. Nothing has worked.

He grabs his phone again, going through some of his messages and emails before clicking on the twitch app.

It's something new he's been trying the past couple of weeks, doesn't even remember who recommended it to him, and so far it hasn't worked, but at this point into the night he's willing to do anything. Whoever it was who first told him about it had been speaking about ASMR streams and music channels, but Daniel has been mostly browsing around, not really finding anything that catches his eye.

Tonight, he moves past the few streams he has followed already, scrolling through the live channels without looking for anything in particular, until something catches his eyes.

At first glance the stream doesn't look like anything special, even if the game itself looks cute, just a guy in a dimly lit room in a corner of the screen, mouth moving to say words Daniel can't hear yet, but.

The guy is sitting on a gaming chair, leaning back slightly in a way that Daniel doubts is fully comfortable, legs splayed, his short shorts bunched up to leave milky skin on display. He's using both hands to play, but just as Daniel is watching, slightly transfixed, he laughs, probably at something in chat, and brings one hand away to lightly scratch at his neck and then down to his leg, pulling it more to the side, fingers grazing on his crotch.

Daniel swallows.

He taps on the screen, opening the stream without really thinking about it, finally letting the guy's voice play through the speakers.

"...just for 40 more minutes. No, you cannot bribe me for one hour, Kiks, not even if you use the cute emote. I have work."

He has an accent, a lisp that comes out when he says Kiks, bright blue eyes and a lovely smile. And a hand that is still on his dick.

Daniel's eyes fall on the name of the stream, Farming some slimes, which tells him nothing, and the name of the game, Slime Rancher 2, which tells him that at least he's not in some sort of secret porn category, before going back to the camera square.

The guy is now playing again, hands just barely in view from where they're wrapped around the controller, and Daniel takes a breath, trying to gather his bearings after feeling like he's just been hit over the head with an hammer.

The chat is scrolling by slowly, his 236 viewers obviously not all interested in talking, so Daniel has no problem catching the last few messages. It's mostly people complaining about the guy leaving early, the person he was talking to earlier, KicksforKiks24, offering to gift some subs if he stays longer, and Daniel wonders if he is the only one noticing the absolutely sinful thighs on display here.

Nightnectior: What if I ask really nicely Max?

The new message pops up in chat, and Daniel watches as the streamer, Max apparently, laughs again, shaking his head.

"No, Night, I told you, I have things to do early in the morning."

Okay, maybe Daniel is the weird one here. Maybe he is the only one thinking about Max's legs and reading his posture wrong. Maybe he is the only perv in this chat, and everyone else is absolutely normal.

Severson: would love to see you do /things/ in the morning

Daniel chokes on his spit.

He's expecting Max to ignore it, or to delete the message, or to have any kind of reasonable reaction, but Max.

Max grins.

He blinks slowly, shifting on the chair almost casually, bringing one foot up to rest on the seat, shorts bunching up so much Daniel can see a hint of pubes, the outline of his balls and dick now fully visible, and then sliding a hand down his thigh to rest on his lower belly, fingers grazing his crotch again.

"Would you?" he asks, voice low.

Daniel has forgotten what Max's asking about. He's forgotten about anything that isn't the desire of sinking his teeth in the meat of his thigh, to have them wrapped around his head, and the knowledge that his dick is half hard already.

"I don't think that's how it works," Max says, in response to a message Daniel doesn't even care to look at right now. He's barely aware of the chat going faster now, more messages popping up in a rapid succession.

"Oh look at all of you, coming out to play."

Max's hand slides lower, now fully on his dick, as he giggles, a sliver of his stomach exposed too. Daniel's heart is beating in his ears. He doesn't know what's happening.

There's a new sound on the stream, something that startles Daniel out of his daze enough to realise someone has just donated €50 just to call Max a pretty boy.

Daniel wonders how hard it is to figure out how donations work. How much he can donate without his bank blocking his account. How much it would take for Max to do something.

He swallows, feeling slightly insane.

Max's fingers squeeze once.

Daniel's breath stutters in his chest, his hands twitching, wanting to touch himself too but so transfixed he doesn't dare moving.

And then Max shifts, grabbing the controller again and sitting up a bit, shirt falling back into place. Even if the outline of his dick is still clearly visible, something in the spell breaks, letting Daniel breathe again.

He can still feel his heart rabbiting in his chest, his mouth dry. His dick is hard under the sheets.

With a trembling finger, Daniel presses follow.

[steviewashere]

For the kiss prompt....Steddie and 40 please because I saw it and had a burning need for it!

❤️❤️

Okay, this one is far less angsty (I'm hoping) than yesterday's, lol. But I appreciate this prompt a lot. <3

Number 40: "Because the world is ending."

Tags: Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, First Kiss, Slight Love Confession, Steve Harrington has a Bisexual Awakening, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Lives, Last Minute Promises, Protective Steve Harrington

💕—————💕 There was a weight in the way Eddie’s vest laid on Steve’s back. Something that nailed him to the floor, kept him under the clouds but above ground, that anchored him to existence. It provided a sense of security that Steve hadn’t felt in…three or more years.

But there was something about Eddie’s gaze, too, that provided that same amount of comfort. Just one glimpse, one stupid little sentence about lost loves, one panicked nervous fit of laughter—it was enough to make something inside Steve squirm. The same thing he kept away in his own Pandora’s box, deep inside the crevice of his chest behind sinew. It’s where Tommy existed at one point, maybe a few other boys from elementary school. He knew what it was, the pull in Eddie’s gaze. Or, really, the magnetism that Eddie’s eyes held.

It made Steve want to stare back. Made him want to stop the world’s rotation. Made him want to find a way to reverse time, prevent all the evils of his life, find Eddie sooner. He wanted Eddie the same way mosquitos yearn for amber light. Icarus to the sun. Something strong, invasive, all consuming.

Love, he realized. He wanted love from Eddie.

Which makes it all worse when they’re going over game plans. Eddie going with Dustin. Dustin going with Eddie. Nancy and Robin going with him to the Creel house. Max and Lucas and Erica being all too far. There was that pull. A protective surge. Flames in his veins.

It was all so stupid. So careless. Everything they chose to do. The way Eddie knew about some gun store. How his body read nonchalance, but the way his hands shook when pointing out what kind of weapons they could find there. Steve wanted to reach down and wrap his own hands around Eddie’s, squeeze them still, bring his knuckles to between his eyebrows. Do something silly. Like kiss them or kiss Eddie or carve a spot behind his ribs and force Eddie inside of there.

That magnetic pull is back full force once they’re right side up in the Upside Down. Dustin’s a whole four inches shorter than Eddie. Covered in scrap and a hood. And he looks childish, dorky, how he should have been the last several years. Yet there’s a matured gleam to his eyes that haunts Steve, even as he stares it down. And when he glances to Eddie, looking reasonably the same—immature and dorky—green vest that isn’t zipped up, DIY’d leather jacket, ammo belt, and a pair of ill-fitting shiny boots. Steve can only wonder what it would be like to see Eddie not here, not in these circumstances, in his usual appearance. How more…beautiful he’d be if he weren’t so damned afraid.

If Eddie weren’t staring at Steve with something like goodbye. He forces himself to turn away, to stop looking, to stop wanting when there’s no sure presence of tomorrow. It’s like he’s being gifted a litter of kittens, being told not to get attached. Except, he’s already come up with names and collar colors and places where he could put beds. He’s got an idea of where Eddie would be soft if Steve could touch his skin. What nicknames would make him flush and what petnames would make him melt. Steve doesn’t want to be attached, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he ever had the choice.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie calls to him.

A crunching step forward. Steve forces himself frozen to his spot. His back tenses, shoulders hiking, the axe on his back brushes his hair. It’s cold, the metal is solid and real and sharp. His hands are shaking and his eyes are burning and there’s an iron grip around his lungs. Stomach turning and lurching and falling straight to his feet. He doesn’t turn, not yet. Not with the stern and sudden confidence to Eddie’s voice. Don’t get attached, he’s not yours to keep, a voice echoes deep inside him. I want him. I want him, though, that’s not fair, and that’s the petulant part of him. Something he thought he lost when he knocked on Jonathan Byers’s door.

He expects Eddie to continue, but he doesn’t. The rush of blood is loud in Steve’s ears. There’s no other voices. No other sounds. He’d think that the demo-creatures would’ve sounded off by now, but there’s nothing. The weight of everything, he realizes, is behind him.

Over his shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are fierce. No longer pulling on Steve’s arm, rather squeezing him tight by the shoulders, hauling him into his orbit, pressing their bodies and souls tight. Steve is startled and stirring and flippant. He shouldn’t leave. Doesn’t want to. Not when Eddie is…Eddie is what he wants.

And while his eyes are fierce, they are checking out. Somewhere else. And yet, they’re here. For Steve to fall into. And for him to cradle the sure absence Eddie is preparing to make.

“Make him pay,” Eddie’s voice demands. It’s neutral, neither loud and overbearing nor soft and assuring. His voice is a grenade, ring pulled but hammer still intact. Steve wants to pick it up and place it inside his chest. Wants to obliterate at the impact and sound.

He swallows. Wavers. Nods. And turns away.

But he doesn’t take a first step. He just stands, caught between worlds and passions and full body aches. A shiver crawling up his spine and into the back of his mouth. He swears he tastes it, decay. Something leaving and rotting, just as Eddie’s footsteps begin to retreat. To dissipate. Steve doesn’t want to forget the sound.

Without much on his mind, without any preamble or warning, Steve whirls back around. Stomps inside Eddie’s dusty footprints. Their shoes aligning to one another, the same size. His eyes burn lasers into Eddie’s back, but neither of them stop moving. It’s not until Steve is nearly at the front door to the Munson’s trailer that he’s able to grasp to something. His left hand wraps around Eddie’s right forearm. Gripping with the force of hippopotamus jaws. And he tugs Eddie to him. To face him.

Eddie’s eyes look to him in trepidation. There’s something else, like he’s realizing he’s been caught. An apology forming on the tip of his tongue. Before he can part his lips to say anything, Steve takes his right hand and forces his fingernails to indent into Eddie’s cheeks, squishing his lips to be slightly puckered, and drags him towards his face.

Their noses meet first. Soft and tantalizing. Breathing the same air. Steve, for a moment, can smell Eddie’s breath. And he doesn’t care, that neither of them have brushed their teeth in several days. That they’re tasting each other’s rot and stale words. He doesn’t care.

Slowly, he leans the rest of the way in. Pressing his lips to Eddie’s softly. Just soaking in their warmth. How dry and chapped and splitting they are. Pushes in more firmly, fluttering his eyes shut at the sensation. Breathing in gulps through his nose. Messy and wet on Eddie’s lips, but all the same a: ‘The world is ending, so nothing matters, but you matter and my world will end otherwise.’

And when he pulls his head back, he notices that Eddie wasn’t responsive at all. He wasn’t, but Steve doesn’t feel rejected, for once. Or negated. Or pulled taut and snapped in half. His chest glows with a low-level warmth, radiating between them like a candle’s near-dying flame. He digs his fingernails out of Eddie’s skin and cups his cheeks instead. Like protecting that little bit of light melting away at them. He opens his eyes, met with bewilderment and silence and fear and curiosity and…yearning. But also, there’s something shining back on Eddie’s face like a dream has just come true.

Steve takes a sharp, quick inhale. Whispers, “Don’t be a hero.” He’s already said it, he knows that. But…Eddie was never going to listen and he should’ve known that from the get-go. “Don’t be stupid,” he continues, “and you come back here. Come back to me.”

“Wha—“

“Come back to me,” Steve urges. “I want to know you. And I want to have you. I want to…I want to need you all the time, you understand me? Come back to me, all in one piece, away from danger. Or else I will kill you myself.” He nods once. Swipes his thumb over Eddie’s still jutting bottom lip. “Promise,” he demands lowly, “promise I can see you again.”

Eddie’s gulp is loud between them. His breath puffing hot and cold over Steve’s fingers. But his voice has lost all ferocity. Going soft and controlled and loving. “I promise, Stevie,” he murmurs, “I promise I’ll find you back here.”

Steve nods one more time. Short and affirmative and final. He draws his hands away. Zips up Eddie's vest. And brings them back to being limp at his sides. The very foundation of his being shakes. “Good. And I like that. I like that name, Eds. Call me that again, promise.”

“Promise,” Eddie echoes.

“Not a goodbye,” Steve feels the need to say.

“Just a see you later,” Eddie states. And there’s an honest tone to him that settles all the frayed nerve endings inside of Steve. Before he gets the chance to turn back, Eddie gently cradles his face in turn. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Just for luck,” he murmurs, “be safe.”

There’s a weight in those words, too. Steve tethers to them.

And they ring out at the final blow to Vecna, as the flames engulf on all sides of the house. When they return to one another and all that’s wrong is a splash of ugly dark blood on Eddie’s cheek.

They’re safe. The world will always end, but they’re safe.

💕—————💕 Kiss Ask Game <3

[xxavengingangelxx]

Graves Defragged 1/?

As promised, here is the first part of deconstructing Graves. This part touches on the first half of the psychopath traits I want to discuss. Below is my take! I am NOT licensed to make these decisions. This is just for fun. It also touches on why I write Graves like a heartless mf'er in my longer fics. Because Graves is a heartless motherfucker.

Not proofread. I'm posting this before going to bed cause it's the only time I got between working 60+ hours a week, house chores, keeping hubby fed, etc.

To touch on my sociopath vs. psychopath post earlier, there are some in the field who argue that a sociopath is made and a psychopath is born. We don’t have enough information on Graves’s background to see whether or not he’s shown the same callous disregard for human life, disregard for rules, and narcissism earlier on. But he certainly shows those traits now.

And we do have this:

Graves: "That uniform was a limitation. I shed that skin..." Soap: "Like a fuckin' snake-" Graves: "Like a fucking soldier, son." — Soap confronts Graves about his past.

Let’s assume Graves was born a psychopath. It’s certainly possible. And if Adler is his father, then he’s got the genes for killing, anyway. Yes there are theories that say there are genes for criminality but I can post more on that later if y’all are interested.

How many traits of a psychopath does he actually have? Based on the behavior, we’ve seen, quite a bit!

Robert Hare, a Canadian psychologist, created the Hare Psychopathy Checklist (known today as the Hare Psychopathy Checklist Revised). Let’s go through the items with our crush man Graves in mind. Each of these items is rated a 0 if it does not apply, a 1 if it kind of applies, and a 2 if it definitely applies. They are added up at the end. Max score is a 40.

Item 1: Glibness and superficial charm = 2

You’re kidding me, right? Graves is the man of charm and glib. His good fuckin’ looks certainly help him out.

Image credit: @Vault21 on Tumblr

Remember Dark Water? Yeah…they trusted each other like brothers. Soap even hugged Graves! Graves had them  (and us) fooled because not much later he betrayed them like they were enemies.

Item 2: Grandiose sense of self-worth = 1

Graves is narcissistic. We can all agree on that, right? He thought he was too good for the Marines, that the Marines were not good enough for such a special person like himself. And I could be wrong here, but he is massively successful, likely a billionaire so doesn’t he get to be a little narcissistic?

Item 3: Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom = 2

Graves was so bored in the Marines, one of the toughest branches of the military, that he saw his uniform as a limitation and sought out to make his own company of mercenaries who don’t really answer to anyone. Also, how many CEOs do you see in the field like Graves is? Close to none. He lives for getting shot at and chased. He has a scar on his face to prove it!

Item 4: Pathological lying = 2

Is this even a question? Graves lied so well to 141 that they trusted him and saw him as a brother in arms. Also, remember the scene from Congress?

Image credit: BabyZone on YouTube.

Which leads me to…

Item 5: Conning/manipulative = 2

Phillip Graves is a conman. If you look up conman in the dictionary there’d be a picture of Graves or there should…it’d make the dictionary less boring. According to Google’s dictionary, the definition of conman is, “a man who cheats or tricks someone by gaining their trust and persuading them to believe something that is not true.” I can think of a few examples. Again, Dark Water

Image credit: Wallpaper Cave

Also, the Congress scene where he lies (about WAR CRIMES) like he’s talking about the weather.

And when he pulled the rug out from under 141 in Las Almas.

Which in turn takes us to…

Item 6: Lack of remorse/guilt = 2

Graves betrayed 141, the men he had fought next to, defended, befriended all while gaining their trust.

All while smiling about it!

Image credit: halgalvv on TikTok

Look!

Image credit: Call of Duty Wiki

Which also reminds me of the war crimes Graves committed in Las Almas. Some argue that Graves cleaned house by killing off people who were supporting the cartels but based on what I’ve been told there were children in this town as well.

This also brings me to the topic of Graves’s Shadows. These men are okay with war crimes. Shadows are okay with killing people just because Graves said to. In one (or more?) of my fics I portray Shadows as I see them: callous and even sadistic with how they agree to torture a prisoner of war (POW), going so far as using rape as a weapon if Graves gives the word.

Are there some Shadows who can’t engage in this kind of behavior? Perhaps. So Graves knows which men to pick to carry out war crimes. At least that’s how I see it.

Psychopaths have physical differences in the make up of their brain that make them UNABLE to feel guilty, remorse, or fear. So when I hear people asking how serial killers and other criminals deal with their guilt, I say they do not because it doesn't exist to them. They have no idea what guilt is.

Remember: It’s not that psychopaths choose not to feel/ignore guilt. It’s that their brain is completely INCAPABLE of this emotion.

You might be asking why/how: Psychopaths think the same thing about you…how can you feel guilt? Why would you want to?

Item 7: Shallow affect = 1

Only because we are unable to see how Graves functions emotionally away from the battlefield. My forensic psychology professor said that psychopaths have 2 emotions: rage and joy. Have you seen Graves portray anything else, really? In another fic, Graves supposedly says he loves OC. Like he even knows what that means. He doesn’t. He loves controlling her and abusing her, yes.

If Graves had a kid like he does in the same fic, he doesn’t feel much affection towards him. He just likely sees him as an extension of his partner. A future soldier, someone Graves can start training from young. Something he can use to control and keep his partner in line.  That child, from the moment he was born is seen as an asset by Graves. Plus, there are some good chances that kiddo might have inherited Graves’s genes that pass on his psychopathy. And even if that child does not, there’s a good chance he could develop as a sociopath because he’s not likely to see much more other than Graves continuing to abuse and control his partner and battlefield conditions.

Item 8: Callousness/lack of empathy = 2

This relates to a lack of remorse. You might ask how can Graves not feel empathy for how 141 must feel after he betrayed them? Because, like the shallow emotions and lack of remorse, Graves’s brain cannot do it. He doesn’t have the neurons for it. He doesn’t have the brain structure for it. It’s not that Graves chooses not to feel or ignore empathy. He CANNOT. It’s almost like asking someone with very low math ability to do a PhD in physics. It’s not that they’re lazy. They do not have the aptitude for it.

Graves does not have the aptitude for remorse or empathy because he doesn’t have the brain structure that makes that happen.

He think's it's funny.

Image credit: Einstein Ibraheem on YouTube

Item 9: Parasitic lifestyle = 0

Finally, one that does NOT apply to Graves. This man refuses to depend on anyone. He’s a fucking billionare that can get whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants it.

Item 10: Poor behavioral controls = 0

Hear me out! Graves is not impulsive. Lots of psychopaths are due to limitations in a part of the brain called the prefrontal cortex as well as other parts to include the limbic system. Graves is not limited in that manner. He plans, he’s meticulous, he’s detailed, and he gets away with a lot of shit because of it. Graves is not impulsive. Get him mad and he might smack the shit out of you (more than once if you make him mad enough) but when it comes to important decisions, he takes his painstaking time.

So fear we are up to the score of 14! He has scored positive on 14/20 possible points.

More to come!

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO MISCELLANEOUS DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 💤 MORPHEUS: GOD OF DREAMS 💤

A/N: I see you Morpheus demigods out there, this is for you. Also because in the books, there was a reference that there are demigods of Morpheus, but we don't really see any but they exist sort of? So, we all know the drill! Thanks for reading and have a nice day!! MISCELLANEOUS DEMIGOD H/CS MASTERLIST LINK: [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

When you get claimed, you have a very similar experience to the children of Hypnos; where it involves sleep. However, instead of falling asleep as soon as you get a claim like a Hynos demigod, you have a dream where Morpheus used his realm to meet you and basically say, “You are my child” while everyone is forcibly evicted from their sleep and dreams to see the claim hanging above your dead-asleep body.

You were still dead-asleep in the dream realm and after Morpheus left, cause this was a major gray zone he was doing, a chosen child of Hypnos would appear in your dream and give you the down-low, while the rest of them had to trudge up the Hermes cabin where you were in, and basically carry you to the Morpheus cabin. Why you may ask? Well Morpheus’ claim was dreams and touching your vicinity would make anyone else fall asleep and have either a russian roulette of forced dreams; whether they were good or bad dreams, no one knew but anyone who had fallen under the spell would not wake up easily. The only exceptions to this case were the children of Hypnos and a few children of Hecate. 

So your first morning as a child of Morpheus would be greeted by the children of Hypnos looking down on you as you stared up at their eyes and a new roof of the Morpheus cabin. What a way to wake up.

Being a child of Morpheus obviously deals with dreams and sleep, but your powers are more in the former than latter… and no, it’s not Morbin time. Yes you have the power to make someone fall asleep but you can’t hypnotise someone like a child of Hypnos.

 At the minimum, you can give someone a nice daydream or daymare (day-nightmare) and making someone fall asleep and manipulate their dreams. To the max, if you’re a powerful Morpheus demigod, you know and can see people’s dreams, peering into their psyche as if to even bring it into the reality. You can also bring their nightmare to life and truly make it a living nightmare.

With Morpheus being also referred to as the Sand-man, you also inherited this aspect. You can manipulate sand or dream-sand to be exact, and you can use that as your advantage. Think of Sandy from the movie “Rise of the Guardians”.

While the children of Hypnos have this duty as well, they’re basically chronically asleep so you’re the next person to go for deciphering dreams. You make good business in helping people decipher their dreams, to see what the future is talking about and the occasional love drama you get from the children of Aphrodite. On a serious note, the children of Morpheus act as consultations on dreams; especially if they are Prophetic dreams. While prophecies are not your realm, you learn a thing or two from the children of Apollo and Hecate (maybe sometimes even from the gods themselves), deciphering dreams based on symbols, places, and etc.

On the flipside, Morpheus is also considered the messenger of the gods who appeared in the dream of kings in human guise, so you’re also relegated as messengers of the messengers of the gods.  Depending on how you feel, it is either awkward, terrible, fun, or an honour in delivering messages to certain recipients that you get from your dreams. How you feel depends on the context of the message and who you have to deliver it to. You did not enjoy delivering a message to Clarisse la Rue from her godly half-brothers Phobos and Deimos, nor did not absolutely enjoy almost feeling the wrath of her spear and rage. This is why people keep saying, “don’t shoot the messenger”

You’re also chronically tired ™ like your Hypnos cousins, but just 40% of the time. Instead of falling asleep like your cousins, people often find you daydreaming and being in your own little world

Your godly father’s reputation precedes you in more ways, with him being responsible putting all of Manhattan to sleep during the Titan War, and in the Roman’s eyes, they stiffen around you and act very tense on the job, as Morpheus’ Roman side, Somnia, alongside his father Hypnos, Somnus (r.), killed those who weren’t alert at their jobs.

Despite being the child of Morpheus, the god of Dreams, there’s a good chance that you don’t have many dreams yourself. It could be because you are perfectly able to lucid dream or are like the children of Hypnos who enter people’s dreams and float through the astral realms, or your dreams are hijacked being a messenger of the gods, dealing and talking to gods, or having to oversee people’s dreams; no matter how you feel on it. You’re also busy taking people’s bad dreams away and making them good dreams (or vise-versa), taking that energy to yourself as a sort of substance. However, just like the children of Hypnos, don’t spend your time too much in the other realm or you won’t find yourself coming back to the land of the living.

You felt like you were having a headache but you weren’t really sure if you could have a headache when you were technically passed out and asleep and be lucid dreaming all at the same time. 

Especially when you’re face to face with the man you’ve seen in your dream occasionally, only to be revealed that this entire time he was Morpheus, your godly father who revealed to you just now. 

“Wait, so all this time I thought you were some boogey man that’s been haunting my dreams for years, was you? Morpheus? The god of dreams who is also my father?” you asked, trying to wrap your mind around it. 

“Boogey man, sandman, however the mortals like to call me, they’re all me” said Morpheus as he leaned against his seat. 

“Wait, should you be even talking to me? All the other demigods say that the gods don’t really talk to their own children cause of some law?” you said, panicking. The setting of your dream world shook in response to your emotions. The dreamland you were in was created by Morpheus was modelled after a place you felt more comfortable to you; as he said, it allowed him to see more about you. 

Morpheus waved his hand flippantly, switching and stabilising the dreamland to something else that you were familiar with. 

“Bah, as if they don’t do the same here in the world of the wake and the world of dreams,” said Morpheus with slight distaste, “Besides, the dream world is a different reality that is made and managed between me and my father, Hypnos. I would like them to see them have any thoughts and be barred from seeing their own children in their dreams.” 

“Do gods dream?” you blurted out. 

Morpheus gave you a look that started to make the world around you distort. Your ears were ringing while also sounding like it was being put into a vacuum chamber and it kept building and building until-

Everything was back to normal. 

“Of course we dream” Morpheus stated before he cocked his head to the side. “Now my time has come and by now everyone in that camp knows who you are.”

“Wait what-” 

Morpheus waved his hand and the world distorted for a moment before another kid like you came stumbling in, as Morpheus scoffed. “One of my mortal half-siblings will fill you in the rest. Have a good time and learn well from Chiron, [first name]. Until we meet again.” 

Before you could even process what he said, Morpheus disappeared as he came all of a sudden. 

“I’ll never get used to him doing that” said the mysterious kid. 

“Wait, who are you? What did he mean that everyone in camp knows?” you stammered out.

“Hi, I’m Clovis, son of and cabin leader of the Hypnos cabin” he introduced as he yawned. “That’s why Morpheus referred to me, and the rest of my siblings as mortal half-siblings.” 

“Okay…can we get back to what did Morpheus said that everyone in camp knows? What do they know?”

“Oh, right” said Clovis as he seemed more awake. “Well…apparently, while you were talking with Morpheus, he basically ejected everyone in camp from their sleep to see you being claimed…while you’re still sleeping in the real world.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yeah…even us the children of Hypnos were ejected out too. I’m here to explain everything to you while the rest of us are currently carrying your actual body to your cabin.” 

“Wait, why are you carrying my body?” you asked, your mind reeling from everything.

Clovis waved his hand and showed you what was basically you being carried by a bunch of kids who all shared the baby face appearance. There were also some holding people back and some further ahead to clear a path while you were still dead-asleep like a pile of rocks. All in the dead of the night. The rest of the campers were either looking very sleepy and dead on their feet, or were lighting the path in front of you. 

You felt your face burning as Clovis patted your shoulder. “Yeah…basically Morpheus’ claim is so strong that anyone who is close to you or tries to wake you up puts them to sleep…and while that may not be a problem right now, since it’s night, everyone who touches you gets thrown into a nightmare. So it falls onto us, the children of Hypnos and the few children of Morpheus, to carry you to the Morpheus cabin.”

You had your face in your hands to try and hide but because this was a dream, you could see yourself putting your face in your hands and still witness the scene in front of you. Clovis finally releasing you from your embarrassment waved his hands away to clear the image before he spoke to you. 

“Well…you’re the first child of Morpheus that we’ve had in a while, and the last one isn’t used to this procedure yet so it falls onto me to give you the rundown of everything. Welcome to the Morpheus cabin Cousin” introduced Clovis as you groaned. This dream was actually a nightmare in disguise.

[keelt9]

Chapter 8

Masterlist

We can hear the soft thud of some lights turning off, making me react and take 3 steps back making sure to put a proper distance between us. 

“Ok, I… don’t… I’m sorry Max but I don’t like you.” Max smirks as I feel the heat of my face increase. 

“I know, still I don’t believe you’re totally indifferent to me.” I scoff feeling the air full of tension. “If it’s that way you wouldn't feel kind of nervous around me.”

He slowly starts to walk right to me. I have decided to prove him wrong. I stand still, biting the inside of my cheek.

“See? Like a rock.” Max sighs, however he doesn’t know how to give up.

I didn’t even notice until I felt Max’s fingers tingle between mine that made me hiss. “A rock hitting by waves.”

I can’t speak because if I do, he notices the air I’ve contained since his fingers touch mine, he smiles with a bloody confidence that annoys me so much.

“MAX!” The screams of Ruppert give me enough time to take another step back and breathe, feeling a burning sensation on my hand where his hand was, forcing me to close my eyes.

The touch on my forehead makes me open my eyes. “Honey, wake up.” 

I sat on the bed so quickly, scaring mom, standing next to my bed. “Thomas is here.” 

She touched my forehead looking for fever, a sign that I probably have a cold. “Are you alright?” 

I smile rubbing my eyes. “Yes, you scare me, that's all.”

Mom smiles and walks to open the big curtains of the room. It's a sunny day in London, the beginning of summer.

“Don’t worry, he guess you probably are sleeping so he’s having breakfast with you dad, take your time.” Mom said before going to the door one more time pointing next to me; a tray with orange juice, fruit and croissant. 

I laid back one more time in bed looking at the roof; since that night that moment keeps tormenting me for a full week.

“I hate you Max Verstappen.” I whisper to myself, like every morning since then.

After 40 minutes I was finally ready. Thomas is talking with my parents in the living room clearly having a great time because of the way they laugh and Thomas keeps eating Mom famous cookies.

“Sorry for the delay.” As I enter the room I kiss my dad's cheek and push Thomas so I can sit next to him on the couch.

“I kind of expected to find you here, you mess up my <Good morning>” Thomas joked with my tendency of sleeping on the couch.

I stuck my tongue out. “Ha ha ha, so funny.” I take a cookie. “Let’s go, we’re late.” I kiss my parents one more time walking to the door. 

“Ain't my fault.” We heard the loud laughs from mom and dad. 

I bet sometimes, they see more frequently than they expected, that two kids walking to the entrance with our coats stuck in our backpacks, shorts stained with grass and probably painting, laughing as we back from school.

“Drive safe honey.” Mom asked Thomas in the front door, he nodded, kissing my mother's cheek. 

Inside of the car it took him 3 seconds asking for the dark circles under my eyes along with a calm face.

“I have to ask or I should wait for you explote.” He asked, watching the road but with a smile on his face.

We’re going to Newport; Thomas insisted he wants me to see the advance of the house and talk about a few changes he will do, for the better; he feels comfortable if I see it at the same time he explained to me, making sure all it’s fine.

The sticker on my phone doesn’t help, intact like if it was new. 

“It’s a silly thought, that’s all.” Thomas kept silent. “With time this will be over.” He nodded, didn't say anything else, eyes on the road and music on the car.

We stayed like that for 5 minutes until I exploited it.

I turn around my phone after seeing photos of Max enjoying his vacation, the social media is cruel most of the time. “Tell me something!” 

Thomas laughs as I see the road rubbing my hands together. “Y/N, you know I’m listening, you speak, I’ll listen.”

He watches the map on the car. “We have 3 hours left.” 

Like if I’m about to say the most complicated story I clear my throat and sit straight. “Ok, ok, ok, feel free of interrupting me at any moment, ok?” 

Thomas laughs. “For christ sake Y/N, spit it out.”

I cover my face, I’m doing such a scene for something I swear I have under control.

“I think I like someone.” I whisper to myself, he just hears a mumbling. 

“What?” Thomas lends to his right for I repeat it one more time. 

I close my eyes, hide my face on my hands and…scream it. “I think I like someone!” 

Thomas gasps but doesn't make a big show, like he said he listens… for 1 hour the full story.

“So?” He asked, raising his shoulders. “Oh, come on Y/N, the story of a boy telling you that is more frequent than you want to believe.”

No one could know that better than him, that was a constant anecdote everytime a boy related my last name with Lewis.

Bluffing lost in my thoughts, is the reason he asks a more specific question. “What do you see on him? What’s different?”

“What?” Thomas chuckles, taking his sight from the road for a second and seeing me.

“What happens that makes you believe this is real?” This time I chuckle darting my eyes to him and the window. “Come on Y/N, I know that fake dimple that comes for biting your cheek.”

I release my cheek, just remembering makes me feel shy. Thomas pushed my arm encouraging me to speak. 

“Ok…”

That night after a quick talk with Rupert and Max, I easily found a way to walk away or that's what I thought.

Max screamed my name making me turned around gripping my coat tight but Max didn't say another word, he just keep staring at me, bitting his lip for finally after shaking my head walking away, let it a loud a <Fuck>

Thomas didn’t say anything, just stayed thinking. “It’s silly right?”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “You see something, it’s just… I'm trying to guess what you see.”

“I don't know, but believe me, whatever I see keeps disturbing my dreams.” Strangely and annoyingly, it doesn’t bother me that much.

The house has made considerable progress, Thomas and his team have been working endlessly; the old house is far gone now, it takes the place of the structure of my new home. No walls or anything like that so you can see to the other side of the house where the old painting room and the big lemon tree reminds like always.

“I don’t get it, why do you want me here? Everything seems perfect.” I asked Thomas as we watched the house from the backyard, letting his team work.

“In case of one last change.” I know he refers to the idea of taking the painting room away and not wasting an unnecessary amount of money to keep it.

“No, I don’t have any suggestions.” Thomas scratches his neck, he’s clearly in total disagreement and it’s easy to notice that. 

Coming out of the house a young woman appears, just like us boots, helmet and a vest, giving some instructions to the people who reinforce the structure of the room.

“Oh, there she is.” Thomas waits until the girl is in front of us. “Emma this is Y/N, Y/N this is Emma”

I heard about Emma, who is the second hand of Thomas, if he couldn’t be in some place, for sure she will be.

Emma smiles and shakes my hand. “I heard a lot of things about you is a pleasure Y/N.”

“The pleasure is mine, I mean I know you´re making sure I’ll have a home by the end of autumn.” Emma smiles, feeling shy for the way she turns her sight from us.

“Don’t be shy Emma, tell her.”  Thomas raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, well, Thomas told me about your project… So, I was walking around Newport these days and I found an old farm.” Emma stops thinking I will interrupt her but I let her keep talking. “It’s a nice place for the shelter, from my point of view.”

Thomas giggles but helps her. “It’s big, really big, but yes, old, a big investment if you asked us.”

“But?” They have a good reason for mentioning that place, even suggesting it to me.

“You must see it.” Emma concluded.

I think for a second. “Are you going to take me or I have to find it by myself?” Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Oh my word, see Emma, get used to it because we have to deal with her for a long time.” I follow the theme through the house observing every room just like I picture.

“Count with that.” 

The farm is 9 minutes away by car. When we take the small road to enter I see it, on both sides, big trees overtake it, at the end of it, green land.

It’s big, really big and by how the house and the barn are, clearly the people stopped living here a long time ago, at the distance is charming the way you can see the whole city.

“The owners?” I asked observing every corner in detail.

“Emma contacted them, if we want they’ll be here next week.” That leaves only a couple of days for Lewis to be here.

“It’s perfect.” I see Thomas and Emma who are waiting for a more specific answer. “I’ll make sure Lewis comes, after all, this is a family project.”

We drove back, we must keep working. I even found a comfortable space next to the lemon tree for me to work. Thomas let his team go earlier claiming it’s been months of hard work plus it’s Friday, time to be with friends and family.

Emma was walking outside of the house when I stopped her. “Emma, thank you, it's the perfect place.” She smiles before walking down the street.

“I’m in the mood for a coffee, you?” Thomas asked, standing next to me. I bluff looking at him. “I knew it, let’s go.”

Newport it’s a calm place, with my family we visited a couple of times when I was a kid, my favorite places were the beach and the local market. I spent hours on the beach walking around, swimming and from time to time building sand castles, the issue was I was terrible at it.

We found a nice coffee shop near the beach, where we can talk and fool around as always.

“So, are you officially asking her?” Mika is the topic of the conversation now.

Thomas takes the last bite of his dessert smiling. “Being honest, you seem more relaxed and who will say you have the trait of blush?” 

“Ok, sneaky girl, let’s end this here.” Thomas stands to go and pays the bill. “We’re on time for arriving at my house for dinner.”

“Thomas.” I choke my head, he sighs looking at the ceiling.

“Soon, ok, soon.” He smiles and pinches my cheek. “Don’t make me nervous.”

A wide smile appeared on my face as I observed people walking. It's summer however the breeze could be cold at night, the reason why they have jackets on. Some walk home and others are ready to enjoy Friday night. 

A small group of boys and girls caught my attention. They looked pretty excited for the way the girls grabbed their hands and the boys had his eyes wide open. I follow the direction of their eyes, curious about what makes them so excited. 

I blink it twice and rub my eyes. If my vision doesn’t betray me, near the beach observing his phone is a blond guy with a Manchester University cap, black jacket and blue jeans is stolling glances from people.

“You must be kidding me.” I ran out of the store, I heard Thomas calling for me but I didn’t even turn around.

I reached him, grabbing him by his arms, turning around, not even sure if he's Max or not, with all the phones which already are focused on him; I remember he said from time to time would like to enjoy a day being anonymous, free of cameras.

Instinctively he pulls his arms from my hands. “Max?” He lifted his eyes, smiling when he saw me. 

My stomach flips in an unexpected way. It’s clear I wasn’t expecting him at all, still it doesn’t surprise me; Max always appears in the most unexpected moments.

“What are you doing here?” The cold breeze makes my voice shutter, it’s really cold here.

Even Max looked so relaxed, his eyes made me feel observed in an intense way. “I’m enjoying my vacation…in a new place.” I learned to know that smile, he’s hiding something else.

I realize I’m still grabbing his arms so I let them go, crossing my arms, taking distance; <In a new place> that doesn’t sound so convincing. Before I could say something I felt my coat on my shoulders, turning around I found Thomas putting on me to keep his hands over my shoulders.

“It’s cold outside, you can get sick.” Thomas smiles but I caught him winking at me. 

Confused, I return that smile to him, but my discomfort begins when Max takes a step right to me. It wasn’t just for the proximity of Thomas with me, in his eyes there is something else.

“A lot of people take care of you, it’s really good.” Max noted in a soft tone, still some things bother me.

I couldn’t avoid raising my eyebrow, I looked down for a moment, and I noticed the same tight grip just this time his phone is paying the price.

“Thomas and I have been friends since we were 5 years old.” It’s jealousy, Max Vestappen is jealous. 

“A pretty long time.” Thomas added, hugging me with one arm. 

I can’t help myself. I kind of enjoy that spark of jealousy on Max's behavior. Kind of charming in some way.

“Sorry, I have to pick this.” I didn’t even hear Thomas's phone, until he mentioned walking away so he could pick it up.

Max took another step close to me, the space between us makes more little in all the possible ways.

“Well, maybe it could be my turn to take care of you.” His voice is low and full of intention.

The way he looked at me made my walls tremble. I know my eyes betrayed me, surprise and a sneaky fun. I've been trying to keep him on the line, but Max it’s making this more difficult than I expected.

“Ready?” Thomas said, making me look right into his eyes, I knew it, he will be fine if I stay, finding out what I have too.

My eyes crossed with Max, I know this conversation it’s going for a path that could be risky for me. 

“Could you take care of me?” The double sense of my questions made him clear I wasn’t referring just to my health.

Max smiles, the tension is more palpable, something I can't ignore.

I bite my lip, I see the small smirk on Thomas face, he already knew. “Hhm, do you mind if I stay? Last train it’s…”

“Train? I’ll take you home.” Max interrupts me with a proud face, looking at me then Thomas.

“Could you take her home?” Thomas tone implied the times I take him literally to his bed. “She’s not a big fan of drinking, don’t worry.”

“Oh my!” I cover Thomas' mouth with my hand. “You’re getting late, right?”

I feel Thomas giggles on my hand but he is limited to nodding, as I walked with him to his car, where I let him go.

“Are you going to be fine?” Thomas asked, holding his door open, I smiled pushing him inside. “If you need something, call me, one of my boys can help you.” 

I leaned on his open window kissing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

“This is what it feels like.” Thomas breathes in slowly, while I choke my head in confusion. “Be the older brother of a little girl.” 

“Get the hell out of here.” Thomas smiles at me as the engine starts, I wave my hand until he turns around in a corner, trying to calm the increasing beating of my heart.

I observe the people around me, it seems my silly attempts worked because people stop staring at Max, just from time to time glancing at him unsure if they are seeing properly.

I walked back where he’s standing, behind him the sun starts to hide painting the sea with orange and blue tones. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you come here?” My question made him giggle. 

“In a hypothetical way, I remember the places you have written in one of the papers.” Max shrugged his shoulders. “London, come on too obvious, Monaco, I already could see you, just leave me two options, Seattle or Newport.”

“Really?” I narrow my eyes, looking at him, but his laugh betrays him.

He hid his face between his hands, when he saw me one more time, his face was red. “I asked Checo, and he told me.”

That’s more credible. “I knew it.”

“But coming to the beach it’s mere instinct.” He stands proudly. “It took me two days actually.”

I laugh, touched by his effort. “You found what you expect?”

Max cleared his throat. “Actually more than I expected.”

It's my turn to feel my face turn red, feeling flatter for his own words.

“Ok, so, do you have any plans or am I just wasting a way to go home?” He opens his eyes and mouth shockingly. 

“You’re actually going to leave me?” I raise my shoulders, resting importance.

“It was an idea that crossed my mind.” I was fighting to contain a smile, but seeing him perplexed was enough for me to let it out.

Max laughed with me, he extended his hand. “What about a sundown walk?”

I observed his hand shuttering if I should take it or not.

“Is it too cheesy for you?” Max jokes, the truth is I never walked along the beach with somebody.

“The waves increase at this hour; it could be dangerous.” I tried to change his mind, useless for being honest.

“Then hold on tight to me.” His words resonate in my head more than he could believe.

For years I was the one who Caleb supposed to hold on, holding onto him was something unthinkable.

Max smiles softly when I raise my sight from his hand. “You have any idea how much I love that color on your cheeks.”

He starts to walk with his hand tight into a fist, but I take it on the way, surprise him. 

“Tight right?” Max nods, gripping my hand tight.

We spent the night walking on the beach talking about the most silly and serious topics like we've known for so many years. When our stomachs started to growl we drove back to London, it's hard to believe he even rented a car for moving around freely.

We ate a lot of pasta at an Italian restaurant; Mika won't feel proud of my dinner. The hours passed like there were minutes. I realized it was almost 10 pm when a text from mom asking if I'm coming home set my signal for going home.

Following Max's words he drove me home, safe and sound.

“Is it Hamilton's house?” He said as we entered the gravel road.

A big imposing house is clearly visible, surrounded by a huge garden and a few cars on the entrance.

“It is.” I smile, in his mouth you can read <Fuck> 

He parked next to my dad's car. “Thank you for taking me home.” 

I unbuckled my seat belt, “You want to come in?” Max giggles, shaking his head.

“It's fine, it's late.” I thanked him one more time after getting out of the car.

I hear the door open one more time. “Are you free tomorrow?” Max said coming out of the car. 

I play with the keys in my hand. “Of course, after you finish your day of work.” 

He waits for a couple of seconds and rolls his eyes in a funny way. “I know I know, you're busy.” 

Max got inside of the car one more time, fully conscious of my answer.

He was driving back to the gravel road when I made him stop. “Max!” Coming out of the car, don't blame me, it's been a day of taking risks

I bet at least one person inside of the house could hear a distant scream and will be perking on the window, still it was the last of my concern.

I run where he's coming out, feeling my breathing increase, not for my 6 meters running.

“Can you pick me after 5 pm?” Max's eyes bright with a glimpse of a smile. 

My eyes moved all over his face, nervous of his answer but he let it be simple. “5 pm will be.” 

It was a shutter movement full of electricity running all over my body.

I stand on my tip toes grabbing his arm because he’s so damn tall, I give him a peck on his cheek.

“You scored a lot of points today.” I whisper to him, feeling one more time his arm tense on my hand.

He froze in his place, I took my chance to run back to the big wood door of the entrance.

“You'll look better in dark blue, I already can see that!” My lip will be sore for the many times Max makes me feel like this.

[littleclosetofbyler]

My friend and I have a dynamic where she reads the official books and I am chronically online to bring her latest news and fanfictions reviews.

Well, already read them all and is finishing Revel Robin. A big part of the book, that we know is canon because otherwise why?, is her internalized homophobia, lack of real life examples for her feelings and of course the idealization of a future that is not different.

How we know the books are canon? Besides using two braincells to tell it's canon, we can say because of Lucas on The Line. The books was published two months after S4 came out, the person who wrote it of course had access to canon material for it and the books actually bring in a lof of information that was missing from the series.

Max lives in a trailer park? Of course she lives in a trailer park, here look at this book and learn about it.

Lucas is in the team but seems a little weird? Well, here you have the reason it happened.

Now, back to the Robin book; like all of the books is a coming of age that presents a very serious issue and a resolution that is not completely resolved, if that makes sense.

Why I relate this with Byler? I don't, not really, but i relate it directly to Mike of course. A canonically lesbian character has her realization after a whole book of personal struggle where she even says awful things about other and herself, I can see that happening to Mike too.

What I meant to say is, in Stranger Things world, internalized homophobia is canon, is not just some weird online thing that some crazy 15 year old decided happens, nope.

Also, remember that we are the over 30 almost 40 crew.

I was Mike and I was Robin.

[elenthyaolyenths]

Day 9: "You too." – Good Omens

[TW: Angst, The Flood, and after]

(A tribute to the sad yet poignant 4th Chapter of “Anatomy 1.0.1”, a fanfiction written by Fyre/ @amuseoffyre.)

“I can’t,” Aziraphale cut across him, holding up his hands, trying to stop the words and the reminders and the bodies and the screams.

“Can’t?”

“Can’t,” he repeated. Can’t say anything about it. Can’t do anything about it. Can’t… understand it. Can’t… can’t anything. He took a shuddering breath, shaking his head. It was… a lot. Too much. To stand by, to watch, to listen, to do nothing.

All at once, there were hands in his hair, carding through it, over and over.

“Hey, stay with me, angel.” Crawly was in front of him, so close, wriggling closer, almost in Aziraphale’s lap. (…) At once, damp skin pressed to his, and Crawly wrapped himself utterly around Aziraphale as if trying to press his heat through every point of contact into Aziraphale’s cold, shivering body. His hands ran in widening circles at the points where wings would emerge, palms rough and warm and gentle.

There was something comforting in the weight of his body, the warmth, the tangible solidity of it.

“It’s a bastard of a thing,” Crawly said softly, close to his ear, the warmth of his breath sending a ripple down Aziraphale’s spine. (…) “They’ll pick themselves up, dust themselves off, get back on with things.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed in a whisper. There was no reason for his eyes to be wet or for his body to feel utterly weighed down with exhausted grief for people he didn’t even know. Not really. Names, yes. A little of their lives, yes. But could he ever know people like that? Mortals lives were so short, a blink and they were gone.

Crawly leaned back a little way, searching his face. “You too,” he said.

Excerpts from "Anatomy 1.0.1", chapter 4, by Fyre aka @amuseoffyre.

[Previous] [Next Day] [First Day] - Don't forget to 💕/ reblog ;-)

Personal challenge: a simple sketch each day

Goal: forcing me to keep things simple - inking, shading, just a few sashes of colour

Improvement pursued: to get the movement, the emotion, finding how to add depth, learning how to leave things barely finished

Max time allowed: 2 hours instead of 8-20 on my previous projects 3h30, because I had to. It's one of my favorites fanfictions ever, and for so many reasons.

Today's theme chosen by me:

There's a relatively classic headcanon in the fandom where Aziraphale and Crowley are present for the 40 days of the Flood. If Crowley then does everything in his power to save as many humans as he can, Aziraphale has to abide by his mission to protect Noah and the Ark – thus, not seeking to save anyone. He can only watch, hear and feel without being able to act in any way while countless people die around him, some quickly, others after several never-ending days, tossed about by the waves.

In a fanfiction written by Fyre, this headcanon is remarkably well used. Aziraphale going through such an event is atrocious, painful. But what comes after is almost worse. The shock of the rescuer who has remained helpless in the face of horror and death – a situation behind real PTSD among emergency doctors and first-aiders – is shown with an accuracy and a respect which left a deep mark on me. Aziraphale remains shocked and torn apart, while questionning his trust in Heaven for forcing him to do nothing but watch. What would have become of Aziraphale, devastated and in a middle of a metaphoric Falling, if Crowley hadn't been there to catch him during the Flood?

"Anatomy 1.0.1" is an E-rated fanfiction striving to describe the evolution and the feelings of Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages, as supernatural beings but first and foremost as a literal couple.  Those who have read and enjoyed this story – like me 😊 – will tell you that the terrible passage of the Flood is not representative of the story's spirit and I would agree, this fanfiction is mostly appreciated for its sensuality and eroticism. And yet, this scene from the 4th chapter brings, for the first time, the sincerity and the depth of the feelings between the two characters to the light. I find it to be one of the most touching and realistic scene I have ever read in this fandom.

[schweizercomics]

(turns out McKay's DIDN'T have Mad Max cars lying in wait on the last leg of the trip to protect their prize money by taking out anyone who made it that far)

The family and I did the Ultimate McKay's Road Trip Challenge and had a great time. McKays had clearly prepared, and probably to the capacity that they could've, but the sheer volume of folks participating far outstripped what they were capable of handling according to their original plan and they were working like crazy to pivot as conditions changed from store to store, lines and parking situations became unsafe or unmanageable, and supplies ran out (ink for the stamps, paper for the forms, etc, in addition to the prizes).

Despite all this, and despite the chaos, almost everyone we encountered (and we encountered a lot of folks) was excited to be there, grateful for the store's generosity, and, for those that made it all the way across, elated to have completed it and received the wildly large grand prize.

The grand prize, BTW, was $800 in credit to be used at any of the stores. I've bought hundreds of books over the years from McKays, mostly priced between 75 cents and four dollars; At their prices, $800 is essentially a lifetime supply of used books.

And they didn't have a cap on the number of winners; if you did it, you got it.

The challenge was to celebrate their 50th anniversary, and I hope that the logistical challenges, which were many & staggering (though far moreso for the stores than the participants, save for the heat for those susceptible to it), don't cast a negative light on a branch of bookstores for whom so many thousands and thousands of people have such enthusiasm and affection as to prompt their participation in a 500+ mile cannonball run in the middle of a july worksweek.

I'm sure that the customers wish some things had been done differently and planned for differently, but not nearly as much as do the McKays folks. But this wasn't a Fyre Festival, this was a Woodstock.

Anyway, it was stressful at times, and we fretted over the possibility of its completion, but McKays bent over backwards to try and make it to where if folks were committed to making the whole trek, they got the whole prize. They made tons of allowances as situations changed.

If you haven't been to a McKays, and are ever passing along I-40, I hope that the mania surrounding this event gives makes clear how beloved this shop is to folks who live in Tennessee and North Carolina, and outsiders (like me) who pass, and stop at, it frequently, and makes you wanna see why.

It's the best used bookstore I've ever been to (no individual McKay's store has the scale and scope that does Powell's or the Strand, but their prices are DRAMATICALLY lower than either). I'm incredibly grateful for their prompting and hosting such a great adventure with my fellow readers, and their generosity in prizes in celebration of fifty years.

[deadlessssoul]

Husband!John Price x wife!reader

You are on a trip to a nice beach resort out of the country, and you, Price, and your two little boys are having a ball.

Tw: FIRST POST SO PLEASE BE GENTLE WITH ME AFAB! Reader, (idk if I used they/them) I didn’t reread this so sorry for any mistakes. Age difference: reader early 30s, Price late 40s (ofc the other tf!141 will be here for protection 🥹🥹)

——

You got a nice seat near the bar, and right into the view of the ocean and the pool. You closed your eyes to see if you can have a moment of rest till you feel two pair of hands grab your body as you jump. “Woah— you two know that I hate the cold!!” You said, as your two little baby’s giggled and ran back to Price, who was laughing his ass off.

“David, Max, get back here let your mommy get some rest.” He said, rubbing his eyes and you hummed. “Well I’m no longer tired… help me up.” You said, as you where perfectly able to get up, but Price came to the rescue. “Gotcha love, don’t want my doll to fall.” He said and chuckled lightly, as you blushed, and slapped his chest playfully. You slowly stepped into the water and shivered slightly, cursing quietly.

“This water is freezing-“ you started to speak, but Priced hummed and went to push you into the deeper end of the water, as you screamed.

“JOHN!!” You said, as you fully fell in, and your two little boys went over to you and played with you under the water as you smiled, you got out of the water and flipped your hair like some cheesy 90s movie, and somehow, someway, you made Price blush. “Lord, you look like a princess that was stowed away in a tall tower.” He said and kissed you, as the two boys made gross faced and made throw up noises. You laughed lightly as he went over to grab them and play with them, as you watched.

Your brain went back to the day he came home from the base, as he grabbed his two sons, then you, and held you all close to him. How his face looked when he told you he had three months of staying home with you and the boys. How he planned a nice trip for a week and a half at a nice resort in Mexico, where the kids can enjoy their time and you can finally relaxed at a nice spa.

He repeated to you this was going to be a better honeymoon than the last, due to he had to go back to work in the middle of it. It broke both of you, but you did get two of the most beautiful twins you two could ever ask for.

Back to the present, you and John where treading the water as you watched the two boys in their pink floats, which the boys had picked, and wearing camouflage themed swimsuits that John thought looked good on them, and you agreed. You hummed as you looked at the beach from the pool, as the birds that lived there dipped into the water and out catching their next lunch. You leaned onto John’s chest, feeling his now wet chest air hit your back and made small little goosebumps appear.

“Hmm… John mind getting me a-“

“A cherry vodka? I know your weird little tastes.” He cut in, as you giggled.

“You know me best.” You said and kissed the bottom of his chin, as he purred.

“Learned from the best.” He said and headed over to the pool side bar, as you watched his muscles move and the tattoos he got of your name, and the two little names of the twins. You smiled and turned around to the little ones, and went to play with them as you waited for John to get back.

—

John hummed as he waited for the drinks he ordered, then felt a hand on his shoulder that scared the shit out of him, and almost went to punch the person behind him, only to stop and go wide eyed.

“Ghost? Wasn’t expectin’ you to pop out so soon.” A small chuckle escaped John’s lips as Ghost hummed. “Mmm… wanted a drink.” He explained, as soap was trialing behind, smiling brightly. “Heyo cap’! Talk about a nice resort! Good pick.” He said and ordered himself something as well, and John hummed.

“All for the missus.” He explained, pointing out you as you held both Max and David in your arms, twirling them around with a laugh and an infectious smile. John couldn’t help but smile as well as Gaz, who finally decided to swim up, hummed. “You gotta pick a nice resort but the water is fuckin’ freezin…”

“Hey! Better than diving into the—“

“No work talk Soap, or I’ll force you to the cold waters.” John snapped, as he tried to defend himself, but nothing came out of his mouth as John got up. “Ya’ll can either stay back or come up to introduce yourself to the missus.” He said and walked back to you

John handed you your glass as you thanked him with a small kiss. “I thought you fell into one of the suctions things.” You said and took a sip of the drink and hummed. “Yummy…” you whispered as he chuckled, kissing your neck as he watched the two boys play in the water with a camouflage ball.

“They are gonna be like you in the future, you know that.” You whispered to him, and he smirked. “Well, I already have three kids I work with that will be me one day, two more that are of my blood will be what I want.” He explained and rubbed your scarred shoulders, kissing each little detail.

“Besides, my three kids are here.”

“I am excited to meet them, shall I wear my best dress?”

“You can wear my shirt and a pair of pants and I’ll still call you a princess.” You both laughed at his statement, as you splashed some water at the two boys with your empty hand, and took another sip of your drink as you hummed.

—

You successfully put your two little ones to bed, after reading them three books and a comfortable pair of pajamas, you sighed happily as you nodded to yourself, and started to get ready. You put on the dress John bought you right before his last deployment, a silky black dress, which went down to your knees, the sides open to reveal your waist that John can’t stop touching when navigating you around the resort. A pair of sandals that were comfortable but stylish, and John’s favorite color lipstick.

You silently walked out of the room, smiling as you closed the door, putting your keycard in your phone case. You remember which room John said he will be staying at while you put the kids to sleep and your dress on, and walked with a small bit of pep in your step.

“301… 301… 30- there!” You mumbled to yourself, and rang the little doorbell it had. The door opened to Gaz, who was the third tallest of the group, who smiled. “Well, hello Mrs. Price. I think you have the wrong room.” He said for you to go wide eyed and start looking around as he laughed. “I’m jokin’ miss. Come inside he’s in the bathroom getting ready.” He said, opening the door wide for you as you walked it. Soap and Ghost were talking to Price through the door, and Soap eyed you with a smile. “The special lady is he-“ the door opened wide, nearly hitting Ghost, as John smiled weakly, then went wide eyed as he stood frozen.

“Are you sure you’re my wife? I seem to have seen an Angel.” He said, to make you flustered and play with your hair. “John you’re making me embarrassed in front of your kids.” You explain, and the three looked at John, who he in return, laughed nervously.

“Captain never told us we were his kids!” Soap said with a loud laugh, and Ghost hummed. “You’re more of a kid than me and Gaz combined.” He deadpanned, and Gaz nodded. “Yea Soap, I’m amazed you’re still in 141.” Gaz explained, and then looked at you.

“Man- we haven’t even introduced ourselves! I’m Gaz, this is Soap,” Soap waves happily with his large smile, “and that’s Ghost. Don’t worry he won’t bite.” Gaz explained and Ghost nodded to you, and eyed John. “You never told us how your wife makes you more nervous than I have ever seen you before.” Ghost explained as everyone looked at John, and he choked on the air.

“Well- I never got to see her in this dress… it’s…” he couldn’t make out words, as he walked over to you, and held your cheeks. “Aren’t you a sight…” he went to your ear, and whispered a very quiet, “mine” in your ear, making you shiver and giggle, slapping his chest as he held his hand. “In front of your kids? How nasty~” you explained, and he went red as he looked at the three, as they were turned away, Soap getting hit in the head by Ghost for a small comment he made that you nor John heard.

“Well, I am gonna take this beautiful princess to a nice dinner.” He said, breaking the silence with a clap and smiled lightly to you. You hummed and walked outside, as John looked at the three with a stern look, then turned to you with a warm smile.

Authors Note: This is part 1!! This is also based off of a trip I had basing it off a little bit about my fam heh :D

[spockiguess]

The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 1 - Introduction

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 2

Summary: After turning away another child from the orphanage her convent runs, the reader finds help in the one person considered irredeemable by the Church, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse Regarding Minors, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Mentions of Violence Against Homeless People (including children), Period-Typical Depictions of Homelessness, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Hello everybody! Sorry for disappearing for over a year, but as per usual, life gets in the way of very necessary fanfic-writing. Anyway, I hope to post more often, especially with this story, which I have already prepared this chapter and another chapter for. Warning: the tags stated in the warnings are an explanation for things that happen in the plot, they are not a "factor" in the romance between the reader and Kreizler.

New York City has always seemed to exist within a perpetual dichotomy of exuberant wealth that can flood the streets with ornate marble statues at a whim, whereas walking a few blocks in any direction might lead you to slums teeming with sickness and desperation. The rich that infest the country’s epicenter for culture and progress never notice this disturbing contrast, even when the hand of a small child reaches out, begging for help. This shameless apathy has always disturbed you, and that distinct, gnawing feeling of injustice only grows more unruly inside of the pits of your gut as you see the affluent dregs of society continue to live in purposeful ignorance.

Luckily, you're not completely powerless to the rich that practically rule the city. Being a devoted Sister at St. Vincent’s Orphanage has allowed you to help ease the struggle the children here suffer on a daily basis, albeit, it's not exactly to your standards. The convent you're aligned with is small, and St. Vincent’s Orphanage is even smaller. At this point, you've lost count of how many children you've had to cruelly turn away, the cramped space you serve already brimming at max capacity. Every time you have to look a child in the eyes and tell them that they can't get the help they truly deserve because of reasons out of your control, your resolve crumbles.

Almost always, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to wipe the child’s tears and take them home, give them the life they deserve–take them away from this overwhelming helplessness. But the vows you swore to years ago keep you as a bride of God, serving Him–and only Him–with the idea of rearing children on your own absolutely unacceptable. Your sole duty is to help these children survive until they ultimately find a suitable home.

And that's where you struggle to reconcile the issues of your faith. If you're to protect the children of this city at any cost and show them the unending kindness of the Lord, why are you having to carry a starved child on your hip while you march through the streets in search of the only place that can take them in–the one place your Sisters dare not go?

To ruminate on such a question, especially at this time, is a waste of precious energy. The young child you carry needs your attention, so you push aside your own deep-seated frustration and attempt to temporarily relieve them of their worries.

“The Kreizler Institute is an excellent place, Mona. Although they act in the absence of the Lord, their facility is magnificent, according to Mother Superior Ida,” you consoled, brushing locks of tangled hair from the child's face while deftly weaving past the crowds that surrounded you on all sides.

The child, whose name you found on the note she carried with her at St. Vincent’s doorstep, solemnly nodded against your shoulder, teardrops beginning to wet through the thick fabric of your veil. Once again, your resolve crumbled.

Having to bite your tongue due to the innate frustration of the situation, you hugged Mona tighter, believing that if she were close enough, you could imbue her with the strength and bravery to take on this unfamiliar place alone.

At the same time, you whispered to the girl in an attempt to empathize with her, “Oh, Mona. I know. I can't imagine how scared you are right now.”

That statement alone was too much for Mona, causing her to burst into blistering wails while her small hands balled into tight fists, grabbing at your garb as if she were bound to be taken from you at any moment. And that wasn't necessarily wrong. As of now, you were the only person she could fully trust, and in just one more block, you'd be disposing of her at another doorstep. All you could do was pray, and pray you did. Your hands shielded Mona, holding her close to your heart and soul while a litany of prayers flowed from your mouth like rushing rivers, perhaps drowning out the fears you both shared.

Mona only cried more, beginning to plead with you as your pace quickened, “Please don't leave me! Take me home with you! Please!”

It was all becoming far too much, and having ultimately arrived at the front steps of the Kreizler Institute, you fell to your knees and enveloped the girl’s body in yours. You didn't care how you might look to the cacophonous onslaught of strangers that filled the city’s sidewalks, the only thought in your mind was about Mona’s wellbeing. You barely knew this child, but your peers and superiors always chastised you for having too big a heart.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but you must be strong for me. They'll take good care of you here. You'll have whatever you could possibly need.” The sentiment was mostly to calm yourself as Mona’s arms just barely wrapped around your neck, but even then you could feel her hands clawing at the back of your veil, a desolate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Your entire being ached; you had no idea how to soothe the girl, much less promise her safety. Just then did the idea enter your mind: you could lie to Mona. The situation showed no signs of getting better and you were at an absolute loss. Any other option you had would directly conflict with your faith, your future. Immediately, you fought off the preposterous notion of such a thing. Lying was a wicked sin, and most importantly, how could you betray a helpless child’s trust if this institute were to harm her in any way?

The only thing you could tell Mona was fickle in nature. It held no real promise and there was no way for you to tell if it would be true. Despite that, you were at your wits end. You couldn't let Mona back onto the streets of this city, not when she was so young–so frail.

You cautioned a deep breath and spoke as steadily as you could muster, “When more beds open at St. Vincent’s, I can come back for you. This doesn't have to be forever.”

There was no telling if and when more beds would free up, moreover, the rules regarding switching such care between temporary housing were complicated and strict. Mona could only be brought back to St. Vincent’s if serious evidence of wrongdoing were to be found at the Kreizler Institute, and to open such an investigation, especially if it were to be found pointless, would draw endless ridicule for not only the orphanage, but for your convent. In any case, your statement wasn't a complete falsehood. In the event of possible abuse, which you loathed to even consider, St. Vincent’s would seem much more appealing as an option for relocation. Much of the governing power in New York City still identified with any given denomination of the Christian faith. That being said, you prayed that Mona wouldn't have to experience such terror.

In spite of your worries, your reassurance seemed to calm Mona down, and her broken sobs ebbed into quiet sniffles. Carefully, the girl reared her head back just enough to look at you, her beautiful brown eyes shiny with tears.

“Do you mean it?” Mona asked, her voice raspy and barely a whisper. Dread sunk through your chest like a lead weight, but you forced a plaintive smile to further reassure the girl.

“As much as one can.” The words sounded bitter coming out of your mouth, and for good reason.

Mona’s head bowed before you brought her to your chest once more. Grimly, you swaddled the child and walked up the impressive steps of the Kreizler Institute for Wayward & Abandoned Children.

Once inside, your fears were somewhat quelled when faced with the sight of playing children racing around the elaborate halls of the Institute. A child’s laughter was one of the sure-fire ways to lighten your mood, and on such a day as this one, you needed the resolve to ensure Mona’s safety.

At first, your steps were careful and measured, the short heels of your boots clacking against the expensive marble flooring beneath you. In a couple more steps, you began to walk with a renewed confidence, especially once Mona’s head lifted from the safety of your veil to survey the interior. Eventually, you began to sport a slight smile when some of the children recognized you, ushering you over to their game of hopscotch, the bounds of the squares made up of colored string.

“Hey, it’s the nun from St. Vincent’s!” one of the children called. After that, the rest of the children recognized you as well and offered cheerful greetings, your presence a familiar sight from the dozens of soup kitchens New York City was home to.

“Nunny!” called one of the girls. She looked to be a year or two older than Mona, and after a pause, you finally placed where you’ve seen her before.

If your memory serves, the girl’s name is Alice, and she was just about the kindest person you had ever met. On multiple occasions when you had been volunteering your services at the kitchen closest to St. Vincent’s, she selflessly gave her food to people who had already been served, therefore barring them from officially receiving more that day. Alice had a particular knack for spotting those who needed it most, and was always eager to be of service. You recalled having to restrain yourself from encouraging Alice to join St. Vincent’s convent once she reached an appropriate age. You were firm on the choice that women had when it came to reciting the vows or not, and you wouldn’t use your position of authority to dictate otherwise.

A wide grin spread across your face as you began to rock Mona on your hip, earning a rewarding laugh from the girl, “Good morning, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”

Alice giggled, inching closer to you, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nunny.” Nunny was the lighthearted title the children you worked with decided on, explaining it was easier to remember than your true name.

Her mere presence made you feel better about the Institute–she wouldn’t be so giddy if the staff here weren’t fulfilling their duties.

“I was beginning to worry after not noticing your presence at the kitchen anymore,” you playfully remarked, chuckling at Alice’s nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, Nunny. My friends told me about here and I sorta forgot to say anything,” Alice paused, quickly interjecting her own sentence, “but I would’ve sent you a letter if I knew your address!”

Barely able to contain your smile, you added, “Well, luckily St. Vincent’s will do. Do let me know if you’re allowed to send letters here so I can make sure to give you the proper address.”

Suddenly, you felt a menacing presence materialize behind you as Alice waved at the intrusion, “Hello, Mr. Kreizler!”

Turning to face the person Alice greeted, you were met with a stern-looking man dressed in exquisite textiles, no doubt imported from some far off land.

“It’s Dr. Kreizler, Alice. It’s best not to forget a person’s proper titles,” the man, presumably Dr. Kreizler, kindly instructed. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was gentle with the girl.

You were about to speak when Dr. Kreizler requested the children leave before returning to the daunting demeanor befitting a man of his stature, “I believe it’s well-known that servants of the Church aren’t allowed within these walls. Your kind has a habit of imposing nonsensical beliefs on the children.”

A feeling of hot shame washed over you, warmth tinging your cheeks, “I’ve been warned, Dr. Kreizler, but I’m not here to spread His word.”

Dr. Kreizler stiffened further, his mouth straightening into a thin line, “Then what is the purpose of your visit, Sister?”

Just as Dr. Kreizler cautioned, the Institute had a reputation for vehemently prohibiting the presence of any religious figures to prevent conflict amongst himself and the children. The wealthy alienist was unafraid of the feathers his atheism might ruffle, and he made sure to shield the children from what he called “propagandist doctrine.” Regardless of his blatant vitriol for religion, you hesitantly agreed with him on that particular stance. In your mind, religion was a choice for most people, nothing more. Even though you have devoted your life to His teachings, you hardly expected anyone else to do the same.

Slightly shaken, you pressed Mona closer to you, foolishly hiding her face from the man who might offer her asylum as you voiced your plea, “St. Vincent’s has been full for quite some time now, and I can’t turn away another child in need, Doctor. My superiors have spoken highly of your institute and I have no other options for her.” You motioned to the girl you still held, gently rubbing her back.

Dr. Kreizler softened at this, taking notice of the small girl you cradled. Prudently, he stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look at Mona.

You continued, speaking more to Mona than to him, “I would personally care for her if I could. I don’t trust anywhere else in the city.”

Nodding, Dr. Kreizler spoke in a hushed tone, his focus entirely on Mona, “I understand,” the man paused before resuming, “it’s fortunate you see only the severity of the situation; I can’t recall a time when someone of your faith entered my facility with good intentions.”

Willing yourself to lighten the situation, if not for your sake, then Mona’s, you quipped, “A certain saying involving good intentions comes to mind, Doctor.”

The alienist smiled, the line narrow and somewhat forced, “Your humility is appreciated, Sister.”

“One can only have humility in a situation like this. I just hope that Mona will be able to stay here for the time being, at least until a bed at St. Vincent’s opens.” Your voice was light, hopefully soothing to the girl you aimed to protect.

At this, Dr. Kreizler attempted a joke himself, his accent making it decidedly sharper than yours, “Ah, I assume my institute still isn’t to your standards, then?”

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you,” Mona harshly stated, snuggling further under your veil. Dr. Kreizler stiffened, caught off guard by the confident proclamation.

You sighed somewhat, speaking to Mona first, “I know, my love, but Dr. Kreizler is a good man. He knows how to help,” then, turning to Kreizler, you whispered, “You can help her, Doctor?”

It was obvious to you that Dr. Kreizler had a weakness for children, if his facility dedicated to their health and safety wasn’t proof enough.

“I can help,” he said mostly to Mona before addressing you, “However, it seems the child has an attachment to you. It might prove helpful if you offered your assistance while I go over the necessary paperwork.” The last part was strained, almost as if he abhorred the idea of someone of the cloth helping him in any way.

After your tentative agreement, Kreizler swiftly led you to his office to begin Mona’s processing. Once inside, you took note of how the space was simultaneously tidy and luxurious, the walls and any available surface decorated with artifacts and hefty textbooks that featured gold lettering on the spines. The chairs you and Mona sat in were similarly fine, made with plush velvet and hand-carved mahogany that was the bulk of their appearance. Now that Mona had separated from your hip with much resistance, she allowed herself to be swept up in the opulence of the Institute. You couldn’t deny the finery of such a place, either. St. Vincent’s was noticeably barren, only housing the absolute necessities that fell in line with the ordinance of your faith and what orphanages require. It had been some time since you visited a place like this, and you weren’t sure whether to include Dr. Kreizler in the group of New York moguls that flaunted their wealth so readily, or if this was a sign that he took pride in the conditions the children here lived in.

The latter seemed to be the obvious choice given Dr. Kreizler’s treatment of the children so far, and his mission with the facility in general. The ostentatious socialites you encountered wouldn’t deign to entertain such a venture, especially if it involved the downtrodden youth of the city.

Dr. Kreizler’s voice startled you out of your stupor, “Did any adults accompany Ms. Walker when you found her outside of St. Vincent’s Orphanage?”

“No. Mona was alone,” you quickly supplied. Dr. Kreizler scribbled the information on a sheet of paper, the sound of his fountain pen filling the nearly silent room.

“Other than a last name, does Ms. Walker know any other identifying details about her parents?” Kreizler asked.

You faced Mona, watching her run the pad of her pointer finger against the raised engravings of the chair’s arm, “I’m afraid not, Doctor. The only information I have regarding her parents is vague. She says they were never around much, to begin with.” Dr. Kreizler gave a curt nod and returned to his form while you reached out and smoothed Mona’s hair.

After a brief moment, Kreizler returned his attention to you, “You’re sure that Ms. Walker hasn’t run away?”

Mona’s head snapped up and you clarified before any upset could be caused, “The only thing Mona had with her was a short note from her mother. It says that neither her mother, nor her father, can afford to take care of her anymore, hence her appearance at St. Vincent’s.”

“And this isn’t a note Ms. Walker crafted herself?” You knew the reasoning behind Dr. Kreizler’s questions, but couldn’t help but feel offense on Mona’s behalf at the coldness of his tone. You had to reassure yourself he was only ruling out any possibility of Mona’s parents returning and claiming her.

Drawing the note from a pocket hidden on the underside of your apron, you reached across the expanse separating you from the doctor, “I’ve saved it–just in case.”

Dr. Kreizler took the piece of dirtied paper from your hand before sitting back in his chair, carefully unfolding the note and analyzing the contents.

As he did this, you allowed yourself to express your thoughts on the matter, “The handwriting is too legible to be from a child this young, especially from one whose had no formal education so far,” suddenly feeling another wave of sorrow take control of your heart, you continued, “I’m not sure Mona can even write.”

Kreizler clicked his tongue before folding the note and placing it into a fresh file he had procured at the beginning of this meeting, “I would have to agree with you.”

Some time passed as you helped Dr. Kreizler finish the paperwork that would allow Mona to stay at the Institute, and before long, the young girl would drift off to sleep in the chair beside you. You figured this was the first time in a while that she had been able to fall asleep easily, and a spring of hope flourished within you at the thought of Mona having a warm bed from now on.

Finally, Dr. Kreizler realized Mona’s lack of response and watched her sleeping form contemplatively, carefully setting his pen down and rising from his seat. The action caused you to rise, too, stepping closer to Mona’s chair and gently patting the top of her head.

Allowing yourself to smile at the sight, you began to speak before matching Dr. Kreizler’s gaze, “Might I help bring Mona to a bed?”

Kreizler smiled, too, this time being more genuine and warm than before, no doubt a symptom of Mona’s peaceful slumber, “I think Ms. Walker would greatly appreciate that.”

With great care, you brought Mona into your arms once again and rested her head on your shoulder, happily listening to the sound of her snoring.

Looking back at Dr. Kreizler, you nodded once, smiling as you spoke, “Thank you for your help, Doctor. I hope you can forgive me for my sudden appearance today, I’ll make sure to keep a great distance between myself and here when possible.” Kreizler softly laughed at your humorous comment, closing the distance between you and him.

“I give you permission to access these premises if another situation like this occurs in the future,” Kreizler paused, his smile widening, “Do take note that that only applies to you.”

Suppressing a laugh, you shook your head in understanding, “Of course, Doctor. Although, I don’t think my Sisters would care to come here. Some admit to being afraid of your kind.” You mirrored the doctor’s earlier comment, teasing him slightly.

For a moment, Dr. Kreizler stared into your eyes, squinting as if he were searching for something within them, before questioning you with a mischievous tone, “My kind?”

An even brighter smile spread across your features, a playful twinge in your words, “Atheists.”

At last, the serious man in front of you laughed without restraint, and you felt a foreign heat rise in your chest, “I should’ve known. A being worse than the criminals that populate this city.”

Shrugging, you teased again, “Their apprehension is unfortunate. If they’d take the time to know someone like you, they’d realize how good natured you all can be, sans religious obligation.”

Dr. Kreizler hummed in agreement and took a longing glance at you before making his way to the entrance of the office, “The threat of eternal damnation has never been a driving factor in my operations, Sister. I believe more people are like that than some would care to admit.”

Thoughtfully, you considered his statement while walking to the door, softly rocking the girl in your arms, “It is a grievous assumption of the human condition, one I hope isn’t true.” Kreizler met your gaze as he absently opened the door, his dark eyes stoking the flames you felt stir within you.

Not sure how to continue, and thoroughly scared of the strange feelings that were beginning to take root in your being, you bowed your head and walked through the door, Dr. Kreizler not far behind.

The journey to one of the many dormitories that the Kreizler Institute housed was long, but not without interest. Children and staff alike were all around you, contributing to the comfortable nature of the space with their rambunctious chatter and lively games. While Mona comfortably rested against the surface of your coif, you surveyed the massive paintings that lined the intricate halls, all pieces of fine art that could easily belong in a museum. The pictures mainly depicted positive scenes, like meditative studies of lush landscapes, or vibrant portraits of greatly important figures.

Kreizler noticed your intrigue and began to comment on the decorations that marked your path, “It’s important that the children here are given just as much access to the arts as anyone else might have. Multiple studies have shown that exposure to art and music drastically improve the quality of life for people of all ages, especially those suffering from mental or physical ailments.”

You hummed, pleased by the new information, “Which is your specialty–the minds of children?”

“That would be correct, Sister. I dedicate my time to helping those who society deems unworthy of such kindness,” Dr. Kreizler informed, curtly waving to the swaths of youth who soared past with beaming grins and loud hellos.

“Then a noble man, you are, Dr. Kreizler. I don’t know many people–rich or poor–who would carry out the necessary work you do on a daily basis,” you bleakly commented. You were all too familiar with the spiteful indifference the country suffered from nowadays.

Kreizler turned to face you, not losing a step in the process, “Not even members of the faith?”

A gnarled guilt churned in your stomach; Dr. Kreizler wasn’t wrong. In fact, most people who proclaimed their allegiance to any branch of Christianity had not only become attached to the pervasive apathy that threatened to consume all, but were, in most instances, the reasons behind it. Many of the folk who attended church regularly looked down on the work you did, citing that it was unbecoming for a woman of your calling to share a space with the sinful and uncleanly. To them, the “beggars” of the city didn’t deserve charity, no matter how helpless.

“Unfortunately, no,” drawing a tentative breath, you explained, “A startling number of them are of the mindset that the impoverished somehow deserve the dismal circumstances they’re often forced under. No matter how hard I, or my Sisters, might try to teach them otherwise, they’d rather have some claim at superiority than help their fellow man.”

Dr. Kreizler questioned further, “And why do you think that is?”

Readjusting the girl on your side, memories of the mistreatment children like Mona face from such a lot consumed your thinking. Supposed Christians would go out of their way to abuse the young and homeless, either through stealing their clothes, food, or makeshift homes, or by pelting them with stones picked up off the streets. Seeing the reactions they could garner, it would only spur them to escalate, for no other reason than abject cruelty. Their only defense was that it was their duty as followers of Christ to punish those who didn’t seek to cleanse themselves of sin. It was a strong enough argument as not many people, Christian or otherwise, would find the bravery to speak out against these actions disguised as a shared religious responsibility.

Finally, you came to an answer, and it wasn’t one you were proud of, “Because it is easier to hide behind an all-powerful God than it is to do what is objectively right, even if the Lord urges His followers to sacrifice for others at all costs. They think that because they attend church and give donations to the congregation that they are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.” The anger was palpable in your voice, and your cheeks burned at the realization.

Quickly, you supplied an apology, “Forgive me, Doctor. I forget myself.”

“Don’t apologize, Sister. Your honesty is refreshing. I haven’t met a nun so critical of her own faith before,” Dr. Kreizler remarked.

Appalled, you defended yourself as the three of you rounded a corner, “I am simply critical of the people who claim to share my faith. I do not renounce His word.”

Kreizler led you to a door marked with a golden plaque that read: Girl’s Dormitory 1. The alienist ushered you and Mona through, a vexing grin on his face.

“You do not find yourself questioning His teachings, Sister?” Kreizler asked, his amusement plain.

Entering the dormitory, you found two rows of beds situated on opposite sides of the room with hefty chests at the foot of each one. Drawings made up most of the decorations in the room, besides the toys that had been left out on each girls’ bed. Beside each cot sat a nightstand with an oil lamp adorning the wooden surfaces, giving the room a warm glow. On the chests were small name cards, written by the owner of the bed. Quickly, you picked one without a name and walked ahead of the doctor, cheeks heating once again.

Dr. Kreizler pushed further, following you in stride, “Your silence is quite the answer.”

Deciding to avoid the question for now, you proposed another instead, “I presume this would be Mona’s?” The Good Doctor nodded and you sunk down to lay Mona on the comfortable mattress that engulfed the girl’s slight frame.

Heaving a hearty sigh, you knelt beside her, pushing hair from her delicate, auburn face. Quietly, you spoke to the alienist while keeping your focus on Mona, “May I say goodbye to her, Dr. Kreizler?”

Deciding to ignore your deflection of the previous subject, Dr. Kreizler responded, “That would be best.”

You whispered a faint thank-you before rousing Mona. The girl’s eyes struggled to open at first and there was no doubt this has been the longest stretch of sleep she’s been able to secure.

Mona took in her new surroundings as she reached for your hand, “Do I get to stay?”

Smiling, you affirmed her question, “Yes, my love,” you paused, remembering another critical piece of information that came during the walk to the dormitory, “Dr. Kreizler also gave you permission to come back to St. Vincent’s whenever there’s space.”

Mona’s face brimmed with unadulterated joy, “Really?”

Dr. Kreizler chimed in to quell any of Mona’s doubts, relaying that she would be able to request visits with you whenever she pleased.

“Well, what if I want to stay here and only visit with Nunny?” Mona had picked up the silly nickname during your brief exchange with Alice, who you hoped would look after her in your absence.

The alienist laughed, “That works just as fine, Ms. Walker.” Only then did you sneak a glance at Dr. Kreizler, just in this instance beginning to appreciate his handsome features now that you were able to see more of his good nature.

Kreizler noticed your staring, however the grin that surfaced while interacting with Mona hadn’t ceased, instead only growing in intensity. The tips of your ears began to grow balmy, forcing you to tear away from his knowing stare in order to rebalance yourself.

“Just make sure to give Dr. Kreizler ample time to prepare for my visits, Mona. You’ll have weekly meetings where this can be negotiated,” you instructed. Mona giggled, nodding earnestly before leaping up to wrap her hands around your neck again.

You leaned forward and rubbed soothing patterns into her back, grateful that her care was finally secured.

The embrace lasted sometime, causing Kreizler to point out Mona’s silence, “It seems Ms. Walker has fallen asleep again. We should allow her time to rest.”

Taking your cue, you rose and followed Dr. Kreizler as he left the dormitory, both of you stopping just in front of the now closed entryway.

Even after sharing a sweet moment, Kreizler didn’t allow you to escape his interrogating so easily, and scratched the scruff of his thick beard while pressing you for answers once again, “If I recall correctly, you hadn’t answered my last question.”

The space between you and Dr. Kreizler had become dangerously small, and in such close quarters, you could smell the heady scent of his expensive cologne. Your brain fogged, an overwhelming combination of feelings still unknown plaguing your body and mind.

“That is because I have never thought to question His teachings before, Doctor,” as you resumed the subject, words tumbled from your mouth without much control, creating quite the mess.

Your eyes widened when you heard the statement slip from you so easily, drawing a deep laughter from the man in front of you. If not caught up in the whirlwind of what you had just implied, you would have noticed how the honeyed sound made your heart squeeze deliciously.

Dr. Kreizler’s already overpowering confidence increased tenfold, and you could hear it in his voice as he remarked, “That’s right. One of the few things they don’t cover during your novitiate. It’s quite interesting.”

Too many emotions were beginning to flood your mind, and that was as much a danger as what Dr. Kreizler was proposing in the first place. You needed to leave immediately and right yourself before something inexcusable happened.

Bowing your head in submission, you eked out an apology that came out faster than what you were apologizing for, “Forgive me, Doctor, but I must leave. I am forever indebted to you.”

You left before Kreizler could answer, unwilling–or more accurately, unable–to handle whatever else could come out of that sly mouth of his.