#for peace and wisdom tomorrow

[toournextadventure]

when you love it pt.3

Summary: Enid brings one of the children over for an extended career day.

Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: Swearing, flashbacks of violence Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

If one more miserable soul dared to interrupt the single hour of peace you had somehow managed to thrust into your schedule, you would end up representing yourself in court.

“I think they want to bury you,” Sara said with a pathetically insincere laugh. She dropped yet another box down in the already overcrowded corner of your office.

With a sigh, you set your reading glasses down on the desk and looked up at the young assistant. Far too young, you weren’t convinced she was even old enough to meet the strict qualifications your office had set. Not even old enough to have the tired leaden look in her eyes that life brought upon those with the wisdom to know better.

Though, you supposed Wednesday would have qualified for the position at her age. Perhaps you should curb your judgment.

“I beg of you,” you said slowly, “don’t bring anymore until tomorrow.”

“But there’s still-”

“-Don’t,” you whispered. She met your eyes before nodding once and giving you a closed-mouth smile.

“I’ll put them away for today,” she finally said.

You watched closely while she shuffled back out of the door. Her smile was more genuine before she closed the door and you could, once again, fall back into your chair and breathe. Just close your eyes for a moment, forget the disaster of a case that was haunting your every waking moment, and breathe. Deep inhale… slow exhale.

Much better.

Soft light filtered through the closed curtains on the windows. Pain pierced the dark, leaving an ache in your eyes and a rumble within the very centre of your brain. You quickly placed the sunglasses until they rested comfortably on your nose. Or not, you thought as the glasses slid down slightly. It was, perhaps, time to go home and wash your face.

No, not home. An apartment, nothing more. No, that was a lie as well. It was slowly becoming slightly more home-like. The walls were no longer bare, holding precious pictures of the younglings and their mothers. On the kitchen counter was a rusted whisk your Little Bane had dug up from the park across the street. A black hair tie sat on the bathroom counter next to the hair dye-stained sink.

Your phone vibrated loudly against the wooden desk. Pain pricked the inside of your mouth, radiating from the point of your fangs. The words “Break Over” illuminated the screen. Taunting you. Slowly, your jaw opened, pulling your teeth from the fleshy sheath they had created within your cheeks. Your mouth was filled with a throbbing ache that was quickly sated with relief, much like removing a splinter from a wound.

A cold finger swiped over the screen, turning the alarm off. So much for a chance to breathe, you thought. Perhaps you could use the busy work once again. Each moment your eyes were closed was another moment stolen by desire of the past. A useless endeavour if ever you had seen one.

Your phone vibrated on the desk once more. The image that appeared left your lip curling in disgust. Nonetheless, you picked it up and answered the call as you stood up from your desk and walked toward the ever-growing mountain of boxes.

“What do you want, Bas?” You asked, annoyance already dripping from your tongue.

“Always so hostile,” he said with a chuckle. “Can’t a brother call just to talk with his sibling?”

“No.” You pushed a box onto the ground and watched the contents spill out.

“One day, you’re gonna miss talkin’ with me,” he said. “You’ll be in a bind and think ‘Damn, I sure do wish Bas was here to help me out.’”

“What do you want, Bastien?” You repeated. Your fingers itched with the wanton desire to hang up.

“How’s your little rougarou?” A chair creaked on the other end of the line. Asshole. “Or your pretty little witch?”

“You have two seconds to get to the point,” you said gently. The bones of your spine cracked as you bent to pick up a file.

“That witch’s blood turned you rancid.”

“Good day, Bas-”

“-Hold on!” Your finger froze over the “end call” button. Something shifted on the other end of the line; you waited impatiently. “You heard from Constance lately?”

“Why would I?”

“'Cause she’s your sister.”

“I barely talk to you,” you mused. Pages flipped past your fingers. “Try again.”

“She got one a’them on her heels.”

You hissed and dropped the file. A small bead of blood engorged itself on the small papercut on your fingertip. The lack of light left the droplet appearing dark and ominous. You needed to get home and have a drink before long.

“One of what?” You asked. You lifted your finger to your mouth, licking it clean. The small cut healed over quickly.

“Daddy’s friends,” he whispered. “The mean ones.”

Your head lifted slowly. “Mawmaw Laveau?”

“Mawmaw would never,” Bas huffed in indignation. “Although word on the street is she’s achin’ to give you a whippin’.”

“What for?” You asked. “I ain’t- didn’t do anything.” You slammed the pile of paper down on a box. “Who’d you hear that from anyway?”

“You remember TJ?” You hummed in the affirmative. “He heard it from his ole lady, and she heard it when she was gettin’ her hair did.”

“Sue’s place?” You sat on a box.

“Where else?” He replied. “The ladies always talk way too loud, and one can’t help but to listen. They were talkin’ how Mawmaw’s been askin’ if you’ve been around, say she just wants to talk.”

“Mawmaw ain’t never wanna just talk,” you mumbled.

“Say she’d at least let you pick your own switch.”

You sighed. “She mad as hell.” The box groaned underneath you. “You sure she’s lookin’ for me?”

“That’s what TJ’s ole lady said, and she ain’t never got gossip wrong.”

“Shit,” you whispered. You’d need to call Mawmaw soon; you were too old to be picking a switch.

Wait.

“Who’s chasing Constance?” You asked. Feet planted firmly on the ground, you stood up and started digging through files once again. Not that it mattered; you weren’t paying attention.

“Hmm? Oh, them Hunters are after her.”

“She better not bring those classless bastards up here,” you said. “I have a reputation.”

“And your forbidden loves.”

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded.

“If she shows up, I’ll turn her away,” you said with a shake of your head.

Bas sighed on the other end. “Family used to mean somethin’ to you, ya know.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Bas’ words gently bounced off the inside of your skull, moving back and forth like the old DVD logo. No, he wasn’t going to guilt you into putting yourself and everyone else in danger. If Constance couldn’t keep her head down, that was on her.

“She would help you out.”

“Jesus, Bas, fine,” you groaned. “If she comes by, I’ll do what I can.”

“Knew you loved us,” he taunted.

“Good bye, Bastien.”

“Bye, cher-”

-You ended the call before he finished. A shaky hand placed the phone back on your desk before you returned to looking at the files. That you had pushed onto the floor. Like a petulant child.

“Why would I do that,” you whispered to yourself in disappointment.

Instead of picking up the papers like the sensible, mature adult that you were, you plopped onto the floor. They were going to remain a mess whether they were in the box or not, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. From the looks of it, you had at least another two weeks of nonstop work ahead of you just to sort what was useful and what wasn’t.

The passage of time marched ever forward. With your phone across the desk and all clocks removed - after The Great Skip, as Sara called it so fondly - you kept track by the drinks that appeared by your hand. As the afternoon passed, teas were left in the nicer, law firm-branded mugs. When the sun set, tall glasses of cola were set neatly on the hotel coasters you had stolen and brought back. The moment morning rolled around, steaming coffee in your personal, broken mugs brought you comfort.

You had only gone through six boxes.

Every fibre in your body stiffened when your office door opened. Janice poked her head in, blinking frantically in what you assumed was an attempt to see in the dark room. When unsuccessful, she mumbled a “for Christ’s sake” before the overhead light flickered on.

In a disgusting caricature, you hissed and lifted a hand to cover your eyes.

“You have a call on line two,” she said.

You rubbed your eyes harshly, leaving stars in your vision. “Who is it?”

“A Wednesday Addams?”

Come on, Willa, put it down.

Your mouth watered.

“Want me to push it through?” Janice asked.

Pages flipped past your fingers. Wednesday’s mug sat dutifully by your knee, nearly empty of the coffee it had held. Black, for her. You were supposed to call her a few days ago. She had made you promise after your Little Bane had finished talking with you over some sort of game they had wanted you to learn for them.

“I’m busy,” you said against the knot in your throat.

Janice looked down at the paper in your hand with a raised brow, but otherwise shrugged. “I’ll let her know.”

She slipped out of the door, leaving you alone in the overly bright, oppressive room. Perhaps, with the added threat of Wednesday calling back again - and again, and again, and again - you could work more efficiently. After all, the longer you were at the office, the more likely Wednesday would just show up.

That in itself was terrifying.

You were nearly finished with another seven boxes when the door opened once again. Janice threw it open, allowing it to slam against the wall. Nothing new for your office, you didn’t even flinch.

“Just a moment,” you said, pushing the glasses back up your nose as you searched for a particular name… ah ha, there it was.

“Go home,” Janice said.

“Mmm after a while,” you replied.

The file in your hands lifted upward.

“Hey,” you griped.

“Go home,” Janice said again.

A woman with more kids than you could count - all boys, bless her soul - and a husband who actually pulled his fair share, Janice was not a woman to be trifled with. The moment her hands rested on her hips, everyone knew they were done for.

Just as you were in that moment.

“I’m not quite done, darling,” you said softly, hoping the gentle words would ease her anger.

It did not.

“Go home now or I’m changing the locks on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I’m calling your bluff,” you threatened.

You were wrong. In reality, Janice was no match for your strength, you both knew it. However, when she packed your bag and pushed you out the door, what were you supposed to do? Fight her? Absolutely not, you were no fool. The sun was bright and you were tired, and with that, you returned home.

—---

You had just finished drying off from your shower when you heard a knock at the door. Four rapid knocks, a little heavy handed. Deft fingers tied the string on your sweats as your bare feet padded across the living room. Three more knocks.

“I’m coming,” you said just loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear. For the love of the maker, you hoped it wasn’t Consta-

“-Hi,” Enid said with a gentle smile.

All the breath left your lungs. “Hello.”

“You two are disgusting,” Ophelia grumbled, pushing her way into your apartment as if she owned it.

Definitely Wednesday’s child.

“Don’t touch my things,” you called back to her. The Addams’ child was nothing if not a particularly adept kleptomaniac.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t touch,” she called back.

You opened your mouth to argue, but promptly shut it. Keep it together, you thought. The child was well aware of what she was doing, and she did it every single time you had the misfortune of crossing her path. She was your mortal enemy, and if she wasn’t the eldest of your lost loves, you would have slain her where she stood ages ago.

She was your favourite.

“Sorry,” Enid said, “she’s in a mood.”

“Since when is she not,” you questioned, stepping aside and ushering Enid into the apartment. She, too, knew where to go.

“You’re out of food,” Ophelia called as you entered the kitchen.

“Then get out of my fridge,” you shot back.

“I’ll put it on your card.”

The child grabbed your wallet from the counter and walked into the living room, throwing herself on the couch. You cringed when she lifted her feet, putting her shoes on the furniture. Animal, you thought with a sneer.

“Are you simply here to steal my money and dirty my furniture?” You asked.

“Yes-”

“-No,” Enid said quickly. “Ophilia had something to ask you.”

“And she couldn’t have called?” You asked.

“Ew,” came from the couch.

“Wednesday tried a few times,” Enid said. “You… never answered.”

Her smile fell slightly and the drop crushed your unbeating heart. Of course. Wednesday wasn’t one to call over frivolous matters. If you had been a sensible person, you could have avoided all of this. Including the teenager that was still flipping through your wallet.

You sighed. “What is your question?”

Ophelia slammed the wallet shut. “I’m so glad you asked.” She stood up and stalked over to you, much the same way her mother did. “I have decided to become a criminal defence lawyer and, as such, would like to shadow you for a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” You asked.

“Well a day simply won’t cover all the necessary information, and one week is barely scratching the surface,” she explained. “No, a few weeks is necessary for an optimal learning environment.”

“And where do you think you will stay?” You asked.

“Here?” She replied quickly. Sassy. “If I’m shadowing you, I need to witness every part of the lifestyle, not just the job.”

“Gomez already looked at renting an apartment for us,” Enid chimed in.

“There’s no need for that.” You gave her the most comforting smile you could manage against the onslaught of thoughts speeding through your mind.

“So you’re saying yes?” Ophelia asked.

You held your hand up, and silence fell upon the room. Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out. One thing at a time. The case you were working would be slow going and rather uninteresting, which would either bore the girl or excite her, you weren’t sure. Nonetheless, she would not be meeting actual criminals, which meant it was the perfect time.

Housing. Gomez had always been overly generous. One of the few people you had met that actually spent their obscene wealth instead of hoarding it. If Ophelia were to be staying for a much longer time, you would accept the rented apartment. For a few weeks? She could stay in yours, you had a spare room anyway.

You supposed you would need to stock up on more food so she wouldn’t wipe you out with disgusting takeout. And blood. She had the nasty habit of smelling like her mother…

“You cannot have access to anything confidential,” you said.

“No gorey secrets?”

“None.”

“Shame, but fair,” she said with a shrug.

“And you relinquish control of my wallet.”

You held your hand out toward her and waited. And waited. Enid giggled beside you but quickly hid it behind her hand. Well, attempted; you could still hear her. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and up through your throat. Thank the maker you couldn’t blush.

Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Fine, take it.” She slammed the wallet into your outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You slid the wallet into your pocket. “When would you like to start?”

“Now,” she said quickly, “I’ll go get our stuff from the car!”

Oh. Oh, they had already brought their stuff? You turned slowly and looked at Enid. She couldn’t hide her own blush, but you didn’t mind. You found it rather attractive to see her face flushed with blood. Delicious even. Fangs pricked at the inside of your lips and you quickly turned your sight elsewhere.

“She had an entire argument ready in case you said no,” Enid said softly. The floor creaked before you felt her warmth against your arm.

“I’ll have her turn it into a closing argument,” you said. “Give her a chance to practice.”

“Careful,” that warmth turned into a soft hand resting on your bicep. “She is 100% Wednesday’s daughter. She’ll have you here for a week.”

“She’s already holding me hostage in my own apartment,” you teased.

Then you hesitated. Enid’s nails absentmindedly scratched against your skin, just light enough to tickle. You had kept her at (mostly) arm’s length for a long while. If you ever snapped, you refused to allow her to be on the other end of it. Not again.

But you missed her touch oh so much.

Small gestures, you could manage that. You lifted your opposite hand and placed it over hers, fingers instantly finding the small scars that littered her skin. Not all of them were from you, which left an uneasy peace within your mind. Just the feel of her hands underneath yours brought joy back into your cold chest.

“Will you be staying?” You asked quietly, your eyes meeting hers.

Until she looked away. “I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with it.”

You wouldn’t. If you hurt her, if you hurt Ophelia, it would kill you. You would walk to the nearest hunter - perhaps the one chasing Constance - and offer yourself. With her being so close, it was almost inevitable something would happen. You couldn’t rely on luck to keep them safe. After all, where had luck gotten you before?

But if there was ever one person that could stop your violence, it was her.

“I would love if you stayed,” you said.

The look on Enid’s face was exactly like the one you had seen back in college. When you would bring her one of her sweet treats after a rough day. After offering to draw her a bath when she was tired. On those nights when Wednesday was out studying and you both sat watching the stars, waiting for her to come home.

It broke your heart.

“I’m not staying if you two are going to act like that the whole time.”

Enid’s face reddened. “Would you like some help with your stuff?”

“Yes please,” Ophelia said. “If I don’t keep you busy, we might end up with another Addams.”

“To your room,” you said, pointing in the direction of the guest room. Not like she didn’t already know where it was.

“My room?” She asked, looking you dead in the eyes as she passed. “Seems we get another Addams anyway.”

Enid rushed off, and the warmth of her hand vanished too quickly. Within seconds, you were craving her touch again. It left an unusual tingle on your skin that you couldn’t quite describe. Pathetic, really. And yet, surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Not this time.

—---

The change of pace within your miniscule household was… nice. Enid slept in your room, even though she had argued for a solid 13 minutes over the fact. Yet you had prevailed, insisting on sleeping on the couch because “family does not ‘couch surf’.” Ophelia had, of course, taken notes through the entire debate, and you were thoroughly interrogated afterward.

Dinners were shared at home. No more late nights at the office, not when a child’s health was at stake. Not to mention Janice wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. Enid was a spectacular cook, Ophelia as well, and they teased you each time you attempted to help. Instead, they relegated you to grocery shopping (though they teased you for that as well).

The two of them worked like a well-oiled machine. While Enid claimed the girl was all Wednesday, you disagreed. You could see it in their humour, or the specific way they fidgeted with their hands. While incorporating a few more blacks than her senior, their fashion sense was identical.

Time at home was something to crave instead of dread. There was joy and laughter within the walls. What once was a dwelling of anguish and blood was now… bright. For the first time in a long time, you had something to look forward to again. All that was missing was Wednesday.

One step at a time, you reminded yourself each night. Wednesday’s blood was tempting even after finishing a meal. Bas had suggested what he called “micro dosing.” Small moments with her, enough to get you used to her scent again until it was nothing more than background noise. You begrudgingly agreed it was… a wise idea.

Perhaps, with Ophelia smelling just like her, you could get to that point sooner rather than later.

“Don’t forget lunch!” Enid said as you ushered Ophelia out the door. The prosecution had delivered another two dozen boxes to your office, and you needed to get a move on.

“Thanks,” Ophelia said quickly, grabbing the lunchbox Enid had gotten her. It matched yours.

Enid pressed a kiss to her cheek and rushed her forward. You gave her a small smile and thanked her for the lunch as well. Before you could leave, you felt warm lips on your own cheek. Every nerve in your body short circuited, freezing you in place.

When had you last felt the warmth of her lips?

“It’s just a kiss, let’s go.”

Enid pulled away first. Unlike the small touches she left throughout the day, this left a lingering heat. It radiated from where her lips had been to the rest of her face and… oh. Oh, that was what a blush felt like. You were blushing. She had made you blush.

Oh.

“We’ll go for a walk after work,” Enid said. “Now go, you’ll both be late.”

She pushed you - with more force than necessary for a human, but the perfect amount for you both - until you were out the door with Ophelia. Your mind was still a jumble of feelings, no words would form. Nothing but warmth.

“Mother would laugh at you,” Ophelia said. 

She wasn’t much better as she grabbed your hand and pulled you with her, leaving a second heat on your skin. It was… nice to hold her hand. Like she wanted you to be near, desired your presence. Was that… was that how Wednesday and Enid felt with all their children?

Was this parenthood?

Janice handed you both a mug of coffee on the way to your office. She had taken a liking to Ophelia - who wouldn’t? - and made it her goal to keep the girl fed and hydrated with whatever she wished. ‘Don’t spoil her,’ you had begged to no avail. It was a fruitless endeavour, you had abandoned it within a day.

No surprise in the least, Ophelia was rather good at digging through documents. You had said she couldn’t read anything confidential but… well, it wasn’t like your clients were the most upstanding citizens. After all, you simply had to tell the judge once that it was an internship, and she had readily accepted the arrangement.

The routine was rather simple. Together, you had hammered it out within two days. Ophelia would look for anything involving the criteria you had given her, and you would dig deeper to see if it was useful or not. On occasion, she would make the executive decision if it was helpful or not. Her intuition was rather impressive.

Half a dozen boxes had been searched and removed by the time lunch came along. Neither of you would have noticed if Janice hadn’t told you she was going to pick something up. She had smirked at your matching lunchboxes before leaving.

You both ate in silence. It was rather nice. It reminded you of the countless hours you spent with Wednesday. Not a single word, just enjoying each other’s presence as you did your own thing. You shouldn’t compare Ophelia to her mother as often but it was the only thing you had.

“You’re the one who tried to kill my moms.”

You choked on your tea, barely recovering before shooting a look at Ophelia. She wasn’t looking at you, just eating like normal. For a moment, you weren’t sure she had spoken at all.

She looked up at you. “I know what vampire bites look like.” She shrugged. “And claws.”

Her face remained impassive. You couldn’t gauge a single thought or emotion. A useful skill for a lawyer, not so much for someone who had somehow pieced together that damning piece of information.

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

“They didn’t tell me,” she said quickly. “I pieced it together myself.”

Her icy blue eyes stared into the spot where your soul should have been. The chill sunk deeper into your bones.

The women you loved. They were bleeding out.

“I figured that’s why you flinch when mom touches you,” she continued. “It hurts her feelings.”

You killed them both.

“Auntie Yoko says I smell just like mother,” she said, finally setting her sandwich down and forcing you to hold her gaze. “Do you wish to drain me too?”

It only exacerbated the sharp pain in your chest to see just how much you had taken from her. From your girl. Your Wednesday.

“No,” you said softly. “I would rather be staked.”

The thought of being so near to her forced a shake into your fingers. Your words rang true, whether she believed them or not. If anything were to happen to her by your hand… the thought wouldn’t even form in your mind. It was unfathomable. Nothing could cause you to lay even just a finger on her. You couldn’t.

“Good,” Ophelia said just as softly. She rolled her shoulders back and grabbed her sandwich once again. “Because mom would totes wreck your shit again.”

The day continued as usual, for everyone else. Work was completed, more boxes were removed, and the weather on the walk home was nice. Ophelia talked of the things she had discovered and you knew you should be proud of her. Her work ethic was admirable, and she was beyond clever.

At home, your girls talked of their days. Endless, animated discussions about the weather, what they had done, the cute little frog they had seen earlier. Like mother like daughter, of course. They just talked and talked and took no notice of you setting your things by the door and walking to your office.

The door closed with an almost inaudible click. Everything was in its place, and you quickly reached for the mini-fridge in the small closet. Inside were three bags of blood. Like an animal, you ripped the top off the first and devoured it, the cool liquid pouring down your throat.

It didn’t quench the pain.

You repeated the action with the other two bags, feeling engorged yet unsatisfied. The ache was still present. It was a small miracle you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror; you could feel the damp spots on your shirt and the stickiness on your lips. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. You fell into your chair, eyes glued to the red dripping from your fingers. Why did it not help?

Knuckles rapped lightly on your door, but you didn’t comprehend what it meant. The blood stained your fingers quickly. Even if you scrubbed, it wouldn’t come off. It never came off.

A soft hand rested on the spot where your neck connected to your shoulder. You flinched. Their nails scratched lightly against your skin. Fingers pushed past skin and now-exposed muscle. You would recognise the warmth even in the fires of hell.

“So,” Enid said softly. “Ophelia knows.”

“Do you believe I would hurt her?” You asked.

In the mirror, you could see Enid looking down at you. The look in her eyes was different. Pitiful, maybe? Gears turned behind those blue eyes, considering your question. Her answer would dictate the next step. If they were both concerned you would hurt her, you would leave. There was a couch in your office, you could sleep there. It was comfier than the one at your own apartment, you wouldn’t complain.

Enid’s other hand rested on the other side of your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the pure comfort from her touch alone. You could die happy with her hands around your neck, if she so wished it. It would be a rather intimate way to go.

You felt helpless as she tilted your head up. When your eyes opened, you were met with her unwavering gaze.

“If I believed that,” she started slowly, “I wouldn’t have let her stay here.”

Her nails scratched the underside of your jaw. She was close enough that you could smell the perfume she sprayed directly behind her ear. A delectable scent that was entirely Enid. Not overly sweet with a hint of citrus. After all these years, she still wore what appeared to be a strawberry lip gloss.

She was too close.

“You wanted to go on a walk,” you said quickly.

Enid didn’t move.

“Ophelia wanted to go out,” she said. “She’ll be gone for a while.”

“How do you know?”

“She took your wallet.”

You sighed. Of course she had. If she kept it up, your wallet would be kept under lock and key, not even you would be able to use it. That girl was going to rob you blind one day. And by the looks of it, you were going to let her.

“Want to watch a movie with me?” Enid asked.

“Are your parents home?” You asked.

“It never stopped you before,” she said with a smile that you couldn’t help but mirror. “Please?”

How could you say no to her perfected puppy-dog face?

“I’ll change while you get it ready,” you said.

Your undead heart raced in your chest as you both went your separate ways to get ready. The sounds from the TV echoed through the apartment. You stood in front of your dresser, looking at the options, as worried about what to wear as you had been on your first date with her. It left you as giddy as a college kid again.

It took only a moment to put a shirt and shorts on, determined to keep it cozy. You rushed to the bathroom to clean the blood from your face and hands; you needed to be presentable. Thankfully, Enid was wearing the same and already had a spot saved on the couch. A spot directly beside her. Where you would be able to feel her warmth against your thighs.

Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out.

“I picked a good one,” she said enthusiastically. “It suits you.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter as she pressed “play” on Legally Blonde.

“That’s going to be Ophelia one day, just you watch.”

“She’d never be caught dead in pink,” Enid teased.

The movie started, and Enid placed a bowl of popcorn between the both of you, held in place by one of your thighs and one of hers. Strategic. It put just enough space between the two of you that you could feel yourself relax. You couldn’t hurt her over popcorn.

College flashed before your eyes. Watching movies with Enid, which inevitably ended in not watching the movie at all. Her lips on your neck and hands on your hips. Her smooth skin under your carefully controlled teeth. The movie longnce, t forgotten on even the worst of days.

Warm fingers brushed against yours. You blinked once. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Enid’s fingers brushing against yours in the popcorn bowl. Breath caught in your throat. What should you do? Enid never did anything accidentally.

Fuck it.

With buttery fingers, you flipped your hand and wiggled your fingers between hers. It was messy and childish. Enid instantly squeezed your hand owice, three times. Something the three of you had done in college when words were too much, but a gesture was just enough. Three squeezes for three words. Your chest ached.

You turned to face her. She was already looking at you with those hooded eyes that had always been a weakness for you and Wednesday. Enid would play dumb to get ahead, but it never worked for the both of you. You were painfully aware of the tactics she used. The only difference was you still fell for it.

It couldn’t happen. Your eyes searched out every scar she left unhidden. Each bite and clawmark she had received by your hands. You had marred her skin permanently; she would carry you with her until the day she died. It couldn’t happen.

She bit her lip.

Fuck it.

The popcorn bowl fell to the ground as you rushed forward to press a kiss to her lips. Almost instantly, her hand lifted to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you closer. She tasted of fake butter and too much salt. Her lips were just as soft as you remembered. Softer even, if you were being honest. Blood rushed beneath her skin, sending an electrifying jolt everywhere you touched her. You could hear each heartbeat, forcing your own to match the erratic rhythm.

It was a clumsy kiss. Enid leaned forward to capture your lips again. Something sharp stung the inside of your cheek. Your eyes flew open. You pulled away quickly and turned your face, readjusting your jaw in an attempt to keep your fangs back in check.

“Are you okay?” Enid asked quickly, sitting up and following your movements.

You hummed in reply but started focusing on the pieces of popcorn littering the floor.

“Fangs?” She asked.

Silence. You nodded slowly.

“Performance issues aren’t uncommon in older vampires.”

Your head turned so quickly the bones in your neck cracked. Her hand was already covering her mouth, which you knew hid a smile.

“How dare you,” you whispered.

“I’m just saying, it’s fine,” she said with a shrug. Her hand finally lowered to her lap. “No pressure.”

“That’s pretty rude, Mrs. Addams,” you said.

Enid moved across the couch until she was leaning against your arm. You remained still, allowing her to do as she wished. She removed her hand from yours - you instantly missed the warmth - and pulled your arm over her shoulder until she was cuddled securely into your side.

“This works just fine,” she said. She shimmied a little more until she was situated perfectly. “Wednesday will be jealous.”

Her fingers interlocked with yours again as she fell silent, watching the movie. Your fangs still pricked the inside of your mouth, but it was manageable. Enid was horrifically warm against your side, and her fingers scratched against your skin, and for the first time in over a decade you let yourself lean back on the couch and relax with one of your girls in your arms.

[evajzcks]

between light and shadow ── tom riddle

summary: you ran away after discovering you were pregnant during your final year at hogwarts. three years later, you and your son are in danger, and to protect your child, you must return to him, your past lover, tom riddle.

warnings: tom riddle x reader, the timeline is a mess, both tom and reader are 21 in this

word count: 1,8k

the grand dining hall of the manor was illuminated by a cascade of floating candles, their warm glow contrasting with the heavy, imposing decor. you entered with mattheo’s hand in yours, the little boy wide-eyed as he marveled at the room’s grandeur.

tom was already seated at the head of the table, his piercing gaze softening slightly as he saw them approach. he gestured to the seats beside him and mattheo immediately climbed onto the one closest to tom.

“is this where you always eat?” mattheo asked, his voice filled with innocent curiosity as he looked at the vast table.

tom’s brow furrowed, clearly unprepared for the child’s inquisitiveness. “most of the time,” he replied carefully, his deep voice tinged with an awkward stiffness.

“do you eat alone?” mattheo pressed, his head tilted.

tom hesitated. “yes.”

“that’s sad,” mattheo said matter-of-factly, his bluntness drawing a stifled laugh from you. you quickly masked it with a sip of water, though your eyes sparkled with amusement.

tom shot you a look that was equal parts exasperated and confused before turning back to mattheo. “it’s… practical.”

“what’s practical?” mattheo asked, his small face scrunched in concentration.

tom blinked, clearly unused to being questioned so persistently. “it means… useful. efficient.”

mattheo nodded solemnly, as if tom had just imparted a great wisdom. “do you like being alone?”

this time, tom hesitated longer, his gaze flicking to you as though searching for an answer. you raised an eyebrow, smirking at his discomfort.

“sometimes,” he finally said, his tone quieter.

mattheo tilted his head again. “do you have any friends?”

you nearly choked on your water, quickly covering your mouth to suppress the laugh threatening to escape. tom’s lips twitched, his patience wearing thin.

“i have… associates,” he answered stiffly.

“what’s an associate?”

you let out a soft giggle, unable to hold it in any longer. “mattheo, darling, why don’t we let mr. riddle eat his dinner in peace?”

“but I like asking questions,” mattheo said, looking genuinely puzzled by your suggestion.

“and mr. riddle isn’t very good at answering them,” you teased, your grin widening as you met tom’s glare.

tom’s jaw tightened, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—an unfamiliar warmth, even as he fought to maintain his composure.

“perhaps i’m simply not accustomed to interrogations during meals,” he said, his tone dry but lacking his usual sharp edge.

“that’s because you’re not used to dining with company,” you quipped, reaching over to ruffle mattheo’s curls.

tom watched them, his gaze lingering on you as you laughed with their son. for a moment, the cold, calculating mask he always wore seemed to slip. he looked almost…human.

“mattheo,” he said, his voice softer now, “do you enjoy living here?”

the little boy shrugged. “it’s okay but mama says we won’t stay forever.”

you stiffened slightly, your eyes darting to tom, who had gone very still. his gaze was sharp as he turned to you, the unspoken question clear in his expression.

“we’ll discuss that later,” you said quickly, your tone firm as you focused on your plate.

mattheo looked between them, clearly sensing the tension but too young to understand its weight. “i like the library,” he said cheerfully, breaking the silence. “it has so many books! did you read all of them?”

tom’s lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “most of them.”

“wow,” mattheo said, his admiration genuine. “can you show me which ones are the best?”

“perhaps tomorrow,” tom replied, his voice softer now, though his gaze remained locked on you.

as the meal went on, mattheo’s questions continued, ranging from “do you like cats?” to, “if you’re so tall, can you touch the sky?”. you found yourself laughing more than you had in months, your heart lightened by your son’s innocence.

but every now and then, you would catch tom watching you, his dark eyes unreadable. you couldn’t tell if he was irritated by mattheo’s endless chatter or if he was quietly mourning the time he had lost with his son.

as they finished dessert, mattheo yawned, his head nodding sleepily against your arm.

“i think someone’s ready for bed,” you said, smiling as she scooped him up into her arms.

“goodnight, mr. riddle,” mattheo mumbled, his eyes half-closed as he rested his head on your shoulder

tom nodded, his gaze following them as you carried mattheo out of the dining hall.

when they were gone, tom leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty space where they had been. he was unaccustomed to the warmth that had settled in his chest during the meal, and he didn’t know whether to embrace it or push it away.

all he knew was that y/n and mattheo had a way of making him feel things he thought he had buried long ago—and it terrified him.

tom sat in silence for a long moment, his fingers drumming absentmindedly on the table. his thoughts swirled with confusion and something deeper, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. the little scene with you and mattheo had unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

he had lived his life by control, by power—everything within his grasp, manipulated and ordered. but tonight, with mattheo’s innocent questions, the laughter in y/n’s voice, and the unspoken bond between them, it was as though everything he thought he knew had been turned upside down. the reality that he had a son—his son—was still too raw to fully comprehend.

he hadn’t expected this. he hadn’t expected them to feel so… normal. so human.

“this isn’t what i wanted for you,” he whispered to himself, though the words were not directed at anyone in particular.

what was it about you? why did you make him feel things no one else could? the thought lingered in his mind, clinging to him like a shadow. even as his cold, calculating side tried to push it away, something in him resisted, drawn to the warmth you provided despite everything.

minutes passed, and eventually, he stood up, smoothing down the fabric of his robes. his fingers brushed the edge of his wine glass, but he didn’t drink—he wasn’t thirsty. his mind was elsewhere.

fhe sound of mattheo’s soft laughter echoed faintly from the hall as you tucked him into bed, and for a brief moment, tom considered going to check on you—just to see, just to… but the thought vanished quickly, replaced by a sharp twinge of anger.

what would it even mean? to go to you now, to step into their world? was he really ready to acknowledge the life he had never asked for, yet was bound to in a way he could never escape?

he needed to focus, to remember his purpose. his empire, his power—those things mattered, didn’t they? everything else was secondary. everything else was just a distraction.

and yet, the more he tried to focus on his plans, on his goals, the more mattheo’s innocent voice echoed in his mind, asking questions about cats, the sky, and his tallness. it’s ridiculous. he wasn’t even sure how to answer a question like that, but the way mattheo had looked up at him with such trust—it had nearly broken him.

when you returned to the dining hall later, your footsteps barely a whisper on the stone floor, you found tom standing by the grand windows, looking out over the darkened grounds. the moonlight cast long shadows, the silence in the room almost suffocating.

you watched him for a moment before speaking. “you’re thinking too much, tom.”

he didn’t turn, but you could hear the soft exhale of air he released in response.

“i always think,” he replied, his voice low.

you took a few steps toward him, pausing just behind him. for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to watch the way the light hit his profile—the way the years had shaped him, the hard edge of his jawline that once seemed so cold, now softened in the moonlight. despite everything, despite his darkness, there was still something that called to you.

“i didn’t expect mattheo to… be so curious,” he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “he doesn’t fear me like everyone else does.”

you took a breath, your hands folding in front of you “he’s just a child, tom. he sees the world through different eyes.”

“i suppose.” his voice was distant, but you could feel the tension building in him. “i didn’t expect him to want to talk to me.”

“he’s a little like you,” you remarked, your voice soft. “he doesn’t know any better.”

tom looked at you then, the intensity in his gaze sharper than you remembered. “and you? do you still think of me as someone who can be reasoned with?” he asked, his tone suddenly more biting.

your chest tightened, but you met his gaze steadily. “i think of you as a lot of things, tom,” you replied, your voice calm. “but the truth is… you’re not the person i thought you were. you’re not who you showed me you were back then.”

his eyes darkened, but you noticed the flicker of hesitation before he spoke again. “what does that mean?”

“it means that i’m not so sure about you anymore,” you said, your words carrying the weight of the past three years of uncertainty, fear, and betrayal. “you’ve changed… but so have i.”

tom’s gaze hardened, and he took a step closer to you, his presence consuming the space between you. “you still think i’m capable of the things i’ve done,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “of course, you do.”

“i think you’re capable of more,” you answered, your voice steady. “but that doesn’t mean i trust you.”

tom’s jaw clenched, but there was something else there, something unreadable in his eyes.

“i never wanted you to trust me,” he said, his voice softer now. “i wanted you to understand me.”

you looked at him for a long moment, your heart heavy. “i don’t understand you, tom,” you admitted quietly. “i don’t think I ever will.”

there was silence then, a pregnant pause between them as the distance stretched thin, and yet, despite everything that had happened, there was something that lingered in the air—something neither of them could quite grasp. tom’s fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for you, but he held back.

and in that moment, you realized that you might never truly understand tom—you might never be able to. but perhaps, just perhaps, that was the very thing that made him so dangerous.

this is my christmas present to y’all. got so excited writing this that I already wrote the part 2 but i might only publish it in 3 days, so comment if you want to be added to the tag list !!!!!

[writing-reference-redux]

I felt like sharing my collection of Latin phrases that may make good fanfic or fanart titles or inspiration. Some of the translations may be off, so you might want to double-check them before use. Also, I used capitalization liberally so you might also want to check where capitalization is actually indicated.

Ab Intra (From Within)

Acta Est Fabula (The play has been performed)

Acta Sancti ___ (The Deeds of Saint ___)

Ad Undas (to the waves / to hell)

Advocatus Diaboli (Devil's advocate)

Aegri Somnia (a sick man's dreams / troubled dreams)

Alea Iacta Est (the die has been cast / point of no return)

Apologia Pro Vita Sua (defense of one's life)

Caetera Desunt (the rest is missing)

Cedere Nescio (I know not how to yield)

Damnatio Memoriae (damnation of memory / denying someone ever lived)

De Nobis Fabula Narratur (their story is our story)

Decessit Vita Patris (died before their father)

Diem Perdidi (I have lost the day)

Dies Tenebrosa Sicut Nox (a day as dark as night)

Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim (some day this pain will be useful to you)

Dulce Est Desipere In Loco (It is sweet on occasion to play the fool)

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus (while we live, let us live)

Dux Bellorum (war leader)

Ex Umbra In Solem (from the shadow into the light)

Festina Lente (hurry slowly)

Fortis Cadere, Cedere Non Potest (the brave may fall, but can not yield)

Fui Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum (I once was what you are, you will be what I am)

Graviora Manent (heavier things remain / the worst is yet to come)

Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (one day, this will be pleasing to remember)

Hic Mortui Vivunt (here the dead speak)

Hinc Illae Lacrimae (hence those tears)

Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi (Today it's me, tomorrow it will be you - of death)

In Ictu Oculi (in the blink of an eye)

In Somnis Veritas (in dreams there is truth)

Inter Spem Et Metum (between hope and fear)

Lapsus Memoriae (slip of memory)

Luctor, Non Mergor (I struggle, but am not overwhelmed)

Lux Ex Tenebris (light from darkness)

Media Vita In Morte Sumus (In the midst of our lives we die)

Memento Mori (remember that you will die)

Memento Vivere (remember to live)

Morior Invictus (I die unvanquished / death before defeat)

Mundus Senescit (the world grows old)

Nemini Parco (I spare no one - death)

Nitimur In Vetitum (we strive for the forbidden)

Non Ducor, Duco (I am not led; I lead)

Non Omnis Moriar (I shall not all die / part of me will survive beyond death)

Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor (now I know what love is)

Oderint Dum Metuant (let them hate, so long as they fear)

Omnia Mutantur (everything changes)

Onus Probandi (burden of proof)

Opera Posthuma (posthumous works)

Ophidia In Herba (a snake in the grass)

Pax Aeterna (eternal peace - a common epitaph)

Primum Non Nocere (first do no harm)

Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus (we are dust and shadow)

Quis Leget Haec? (who will read this?)

Quod Periit, Periit (what Is gone is gone)

Res, Non Verba (deeds, not words)

Respice Finem (consider the end)

Scientia Et Sapientia (knowledge and wisdom)

Seculo Seculorum (forever and ever)

Sed Terrae Graviora Manent (but on earth, worse things await)

Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum (if you want peace, prepare for war)

Sic Infit (so it begins)

Sic Vita Est (such is life)

Silentium Est Aureum (silence is golden)

Sine Nomine (without a name / author unknown)

Sola Dosis Facit Venemum (the dose makes the poison)

Solvitur Ambulando (it is solved by walking / simple tests find solutions)

Stamus Contra Malum (we stand against evil)

Succisa Virescit (cut down, we grow back stronger)

Sum Quod Eris (I am what you will be - of death)

Summum Bonum (the supreme good)

Summum Malum (the supreme evil)

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (there are tears for things)

Sunt Omnes Unum (they are all one)

Tabula Rasa (blank slate)

Transire Benefaciendo (to travel along while doing good)

Tu Fui Ego Eris (I was you; you will be me - of death)

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor (where there is love, there is pain)

Ultima Forsan (perhaps the last / sundial quote "perhaps your last hour")

Usque Ad Finem (until the end / fight to the death)

Vacate Et Scire (Be still and know)

Vi Et Animo (with heart and soul)

Victoria Aut Mors (victory or death)

Vincit Qui Patitur (he conquers who endures)

Vita Ante Acta (a life done before - of reincarnation)

Vivere Militare Est (to live is to fight)

Vox Clamantis In Deserto (the voice of one crying in the wilderness)

There are also some longer ones that may not make good titles because of their length, but are still worth inclusion:

Aut Simul Stabunt Aut Simul Cadent (they will either stand together or fall together)

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Acheronta Movebo (if I can not reach Heaven I will raise Hell)

Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (perhaps even these things will be good to remember one day)

Igitur Qui Desiderat Pacem, Praeparet Bellum (therefore whoever desires peace, let him prepare for war)

In Regione Caecorum Rex Est Luscus (in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king)

Minus Malum Toleratur Ut Maius Tollat (choose the lesser evil so a greater evil may be averted)

Quem Deus Vult Perdere, Dementat Prius (whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad)

Ubi Sunt, Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt? (Where are they, those who have gone before us?)

Virtus Junxit Mors Non Separabit (that which virtue unites, let not death separate)

[mvlderfox]

"Mulder, this is a needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie." // "No, I won't sit idly by as you hurl cliches at me. Preparation is the father of inspiration." // "Necessity is the mother of invention." // "The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom." // "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die." // "I scream, you scream, we all scream for nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles."

[giuseppe-yuki]

anesthesia

kimi antonelli x tiger shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2.3k

warnings: none, really.

part of my shapeshifter!reader spinoff series

summary: kimi + anesthesia? not a good combo.

photo credits from pinterest :)

in the spacey kitchen of kimi‘s family house, you bustled around with your boyfriend‘s mother, preparing the night‘s dinner- homemade gnocchi. both of you chatted idly as you waited for the lightly salted water to boil on the stove- it had to reach a certain temperature to be considered hot enough to put the pain-stakingly hand rolled gnocchi in. 

however, your peaceful moment was ruined when kimi busted though the kitchen doorway with a thin piece of paper in his hand. 

he clears his throat, wrinkling the paper in nervousness. 

you wipe your floury hands on a wet rag and hurry over to kimi. you didn‘t want to assume the worst, but what if he was hurt? did something happen at the mercedes facilities? gently putting your hand on his arm to comfort him, you question kimi. “are you okay, baby? what’s wrong?” 

thrusting the paper onto the dirty counter so both you and his mother can see, he explains. ”so…i just went to my dentist and he said i might have to have my wisdom teeth removed- like tomorrow afternoon.“ 

you huff in exasperation, lightly shoving your boyfriend aside in a joking manner. ”kimi! you had me worried for a second!“ 

he rolls his eyes. 

his mother laughs, having just finished reading the appointment overview. ”no, mia cara, he‘s just scared because he has to be put under anesthesia!“

kimi’s eyes widen, and he hurriedly tries to stop his mother from saying anything else. ”mamma, no!”

kimi’s mother just bats her son‘s hands away. smiling at you as if sharing a secret, she continues on. “last time kimi had to be put under anesthesia was when he broke his arm in a kart crash, and let’s just say- he went a little crazy.“

you had never seen kimi so nervous before. not during your first date, not during the negotiations period with toto, and not even in the moments before doing fp1 in a formula 1 car for the first time ever!

kimi twiddled his thumbs and adjusted his seat every two seconds as you drove him to the dentist office in your custom mini cooper. 

keeping your eyes on the twisty roads of italy, you reach over with one hand to squeeze his hand. “it‘s alright, kimi,” you comfort, “i‘m sure the procedure will go fine! and, if you are scared of the anesthesia, don‘t be. everything will be okay.“

everything was actually not okay. 

it started when the dentist’s assistant had fetched you from the nicely decorated waiting room of the dentist office. 

“you are his… girlfriend, correct?” the assistant asks, flipping through a manila folder neatly labeled as ‘antonelli, andrea kimi’. 

you nod, trailing behind the woman in light blue scrubs through the maze-like hallways. 

“great!” she exclaims, opening a fancy white door and gesturing inside. “your boyfriend is here.”

when you walk in, kimi was slung over a dentist chair, eyes half closed and mouth stuffed to the brim with white gauze. his head lolled backwards and he was subconsciously twitching his fingers. even so, you applauded his ability to look so adorable under such conditions. you walk towards the chair, which was placed smack dab in the middle of the room next to some glistening metal tools and a big dental light that was shining directly into kimi’s face.

a lady in a white lab coat approaches you before you can talk to your boyfriend, hand out. “hello, you must be kimi’s girlfriend!” she says, beaming at you and enthusiastically shaking your hand. “i’m glad to say that the operation was a success!” letting go of your hand and scribbling something down on a piece of paper, she continues on. “i do have to say though, we did administer anesthesia in order to keep him comfortable for the procedure. he will be a little disoriented- ” 

before the doctor could finish her sentence, kimi roughly pushes himself up from the dentist chair, glaring at you. 

“WHO are YOU?!” he shouts, voice a little muffled by the gauze in his mouth. “get AWAY from me- i have a girlfriend!”

you look at him in disbelief. beside you, the doctor and the nurse muffle their laughter. 

“this is normal- usually the anesthesia lasts for a few hours, and he’ll be back to his regular self in no time!” the nurse explains.

you turn around to kimi aggressively punching the air around you, but missing every time.

“im warning you!” he slurs, “if you don’t get away from me, my girlfriend is gonna- is gonna eat you!” 

the dental assistant and dentist both raise a brow at kimi’s lowkey concerning words, but brush it off as another side effect of the anesthesia. 

“shut up, kimi!” you hiss in his ear, now trying your best to haul him out of the door in his disoriented state. 

he seems to cooperate with you momentarily from the operating room to the parking lot outside, until you reach your mini cooper.

“EWWWW!” he yells at the top of his lungs, causing several other people in the parking lot to look over. “I CANNOT BE SEEN IN A MINI COOPER! I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH MERCEDES.”

you slap your hand over his mouth, quickly mouthing sorrys to the people who probably had their eardrums explode from kimi’s screech. 

“kimi,” you reprimand. “you have to be quiet! we are in a public space and you are disrupting other people. now, you get inside the car right now.” 

he grumbles, but slowly stumbles his way into the passenger seat. 

you softly close his door and hop into your driver’s seat, sighing in exasperation. perhaps his mother was right. he did get a little crazy under anesthesia. maybe you should have called ollie for backup. 

after a bit of a struggle putting on kimi’s seatbelt, (he seemed to think it was a snake trying to strangle him) you back up from your parking spot and slowly make your way to the exit of the plaza. 

in the passenger seat, reclined all the way back with his feet on the dash like a passenger princess, kimi promptly bursts into tears. 

trying not to get hit by a random dude in a light blue vespa, you can only spare glances at kimi thrashing around in his seat like an eel, the only thing stopping him from flipping into the center console was the seat belt. 

“what??” you exclaim, head turning back and forth trying to see what’s possibly wrong with your boyfriend while also focusing on the road. “is there something wrong, kimi?”

“yes!!” he sniffles, wiping the streams of tears of his face. “you called me kimi and that’s not my name! my name is andrea. apologize right now!”

good god, you think, feeling peeved. you couldn’t wait until his anesthesia wore off.

putting on your best apologetic face, you quickly apologize. “okay, i am so sorry for that, andrea. how should i make it up to you?”

just like you flipped a switch, he immediately stops crying. “yay! thank you!” he says giddily, kicking his legs. “how about you get me ice cream??”

you don’t have to think twice before accepting his offer. the night before, you had researched a little bit about wisdom teeth surgery aftercare, and apparently ice cream was really good for you. besides, you felt like you deserved a treat after using so much energy to drag kimi out of the dental clinic.

you reroute to the nearest ice cream shop, and kimi thankfully stays silent for most of the car ride, but occasionally messed with the seat adjustment buttons a few more times than you thought was necessary. 

however, ten minutes to ice cream shop, at a stoplight,  kimi suddenly jolts from his position looking out the window. a shiny silver mercedes g-wagon sits glistening in the sun next to your tiny mini cooper. 

as if he just had neuron activation, he snaps his head towards you. “hey! you! did you know, i am a formula 1 driver for mercedes?”

the light turns green, so you step on it, the g wagon following at the same acceleration as you. 

“umm, yes! i do know that actually,” you say, navigating to the left-most lane. 

your boyfriend giggles mischievously, even though nothing was funny in the first place. “well,” he drawls out, holding up one finger. “i actually know how to drive very good. i can show you if you want?”

before you have a chance to react, your boyfriend grasps your steering wheel and yanks it aggressively to the right, almost running you into the expensive g-wagon. 

“kimi- i mean andrea! do not do that! ” you screech, prying his fingers off of the wheel and hurriedly correcting the car before it can cause any damage to any other vehicles on the road. 

he laughs and claps his hands at the g-wagon honking its horn at you, as if he didn’t just almost create a five car pileup in the middle of the road.

thankfully, the rest of time goes smoothly without any incidents. well that is, until you got into the shop. 

“what flavor do you want, andrea?” you question, putting emphasis on the ‘andrea’ part. you did not feel like dealing with a breakdown just because you called him by the nickname that literally everyone called him. 

“stracciatella!!” he trills, twirling in a circle. 

ignoring the strange looks from other customers in the store, you place your and kimi’s orders, collect them, and snatch a comfortable looking bench outside of the store to eat your ice cream. 

of course, half-way through shoveling his ice cream into his mouth, (he smeared at least a fourth of his ice cream on his shirt) he decides that his memories of you would disappear again like it did in the dentist office, and he starts yelling bloody murder.

“EEEEEEEE!” he announces to every passerby in a five mile radius, jumping up and down while waving his arms. “i do NOT know this woman! she is trying to kidnap me!” 

you place your ice cream down next to you, snatch his flailing arms and shove him a tad roughly back onto the bench. “so sorry!” you shout to onlookers. “he’s under anesthesia right now- wisdom teeth removal!” your line seems to work, as no bystanders call the police on you, but he still continues to yell. 

you try every possible method you can think of, like begging him to stop screaming, trying to bribe him, and attempting to drag him to your car, but none of the above work, and he kept insisting that he didn’t know you. 

having no choice but to use your last resort, you make sure assure kimi that you will be right back (not that he particularly cared in this mindset) and dashed into a side street.

padding quickly out of the alley by the ice cream shop, you approach kimi. he reacts exactly how you hoped he would- eyes widening in realization and a smile lighting up his face- a direct opposite of his suspicious glares and nasty side-eyes from before. 

“baby!” he shrieks, stumbling a bit towards you before clutching onto your fur. “i missed you soooo much!”

you wrap your tail around his body protectively to steady him, so he doesn’t fall.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he mumbles, petting you. “because a really weird lady literally tried to kidnap me! can you even believe that?”

you practically roll your eyes. he didn’t recognize you in your human form, but he did in your tiger form? unbelieveable.

carefully, you unwind your tail and softly nudge kimi onto your back. once you are sure he is secure on your back, you wind through several gaping tourists and an annoyed looking old nonna on the cobblestone street towards the parking lot. you purposely bow your head, trying your best to not look hostile to the passerbyers (it was kind of hard considering you were literally a tiger in the middle of a street in bologna, and with a groggy boy that looked suspiciously like the famed racing driver kimi antonelli sprawled on your back)

when you reach your hastily-parked mini cooper, you practically drag him off your back and use your teeth to yank him into the vehicle. double-checking to make sure no one was looking, you shift back into your human form, and speed back to kimi’s house in a record time that would probably make toto reassign you as the new merc formula one driver. 

kimi’s mother cackles in laughter when she sees your disheveled-looking self trudge through the front door, one hand towing a tired kimi behind you. 

“i hope kimi didn’t cause you too much trouble,” she laughs from her position at the kitchen island, one hand on her hip. 

your boyfriend slumps onto his living room couch, one hand still stubbornly clasped in yours. he falls asleep within seconds.

“it was… alright,” you reply, raking your free hand through his curls. “if kimi ever needs to be brought home under anesthesia again though, i will definitely be bringing backup,” you admit. 

his mother nods, smiling. “i’m just glad he has a girlfriend like you to take care of him,” she states before walking away. 

you blush a bit at her words. you were pretty lucky to have such an amazing future in-laws and talented boyfriend.

daintily, you take a seat next to kimi, cooing when he subconsciously nuzzles his head into your lap. maybe kimi under anesthesia wasn’t so bad, after all.

“i love you, kimi!” you whisper to your boyfriend.

suddenly, his eyes snap open and he shoves himself off your lap. “my name is andrea!” he pouts, glaring at you.

 placing your head in your hands, you sigh defeatedly. you definitely take back your statement. 

a/n: sorry y'all i had the most shitty week (i failed my physics test 🥲) so i haven't been that active recently. i finally mustered up some energy tonight to type this one out lmao.

side note, i have reattached the taglist from my previous series just in case you guys would like to read the spinoff. feel free to let me know if you'd like to be removed or added to the taglist for this series! :)

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin@ale-522@formula1-motogpfan@aceyalonso@my0hmary

@russellbby@madkohi@rakshatos@heartsforleclerc@papaya-twinks

[rogueacolyte]

♯┆ BOT DROP .ᐟ

˗ˏˋ god of ecstasy ´ˎ˗

— patrick zweig

he can remember the days of devotion, of gentle kisses, whispered confessions. everyone wanted love, and he tried to deliver. he soothed pleading prayers of unrequited love, rekindled flames between lost and disconnected hearts.

centuries passed. things became muddled. misconstrued. lost.

now, he is sex. he is worshipped with gasps and moans, shaking limbs and warm blood. he drinks his wine, fucks his worshippers, letting the days haze away into nothing. until you begin to pray, speaking of a lonely heart, a starved body.

you worship him like he once was. you are gentle and kind. you hold him like he is something to treasure instead of something to touch. maybe love still has its chance.

aka. patrick is the god of ecstasy, affection, love, and sex. over centuries, his followers seem to have turned away from love, taking only his gifts of pleasure. you are the first of his followers in a very long time to worship him for what he truly wants.

˗ˏˋ god of light ´ˎ˗

— art donaldson

you would’ve never admitted it a year ago, but rehab is exactly what you had needed. it became your peace. you found yourself again in the quiet of the treatment center, the beauty of the beach that lays beyond it. you rekindle your love of creation; of music, of stories, of art.

when you meet him, he asks if you would accept his gift, accept clarity, and who are you to say no?

he watches as you heal under the light of the sunrise each evening. he watches you work, watches you create and destroy and rebuild. some days you talk, others you don’t. he’s sat right beside you no matter what.

the final sun is setting. you have grown, you have learned. a plane will be taking you back home at 9am tomorrow morning. it is what you’ve been dreaming of for months. so why does it feel like the world might be ending?

aka. art is the god of light, healing, creativity, and growth. you have been his favorite thing to watch bloom.

˗ˏˋ goddess of victory ´ˎ˗

— tashi duncan

you have been chosen by lady justice herself.

triumph flows through your veins and lights your soul ablaze, which in turn, fuels her fire. she is the fast pump of your heartbeat, the sweat dripping down your skin, the adrenaline singing in every inch of you. her hand guides your racket and leads you to the promised land.

you climb ladders you had never even dreamed of before, reaching higher and higher until you’re unsure of when you’ll reach the top. you win. so much that your coach makes you promise to keep your ego in check.

but nights come swiftly. your limbs ache, your body bruises, your muscles twist and turn, but she is there, waiting for you with a warm embrace. your goddess is not always generous, but she believes in all that is fair. you are her champion. it is only fair she indulges your love.

aka. tashi is the goddess of victory, wisdom, and justice. you are her champion, her chosen, her golden wings. you wear her gift like a brand, each accomplishment a way of worship. of course you’re her favorite.

y’all i am SO excited to share these bad boys. i had an idea for these months ago and just neglected getting them sorted out BUT I DID IT!!! originally, these were gonna be pjo themed, but i realized i have not read those books in a long time and i don’t remember that much anymore so i more just went the vaguely greek route lmao!!! art is a combination of apollo and asclepius, patrick is a combination of eros and dionysus, and tashi is a combination of nike and athena. i eat greek mythology up like candy so this was super fun.

please let me know what y’all think!!! i haven’t tested these out as much as i should’ve but i was anxious to release these guys so please lemme know how they are fairing lol ok love y’all thank u for waiting ten million years for another bot drop ♥️

[prythianpages]

My Sweet Little Wildflower | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch Reader | summary: After begging Azriel to take you with him to Windhaven, he finally concedes. But his worries of you getting hurt come to life when you're kidnapped.

warnings: violence, mentions of blood and death/killing

a/n: this is based off this request.

Azriel hears you gasp as he sets you down. His hands remain at your waist, keeping you steady as you find your footing. You’re still not used to the feeling of flying. Contrary to what Cassian believed, you do not fly on a broomstick so it’s all new ground to you or lack of ground you should say.

There is an unexpected allure about Windhaven. The camp is etched from the formidable terrain of bare rock and mud. There’s a quiet here that you find strangely unsettling but peaceful. It’s the stars that captivate you the most. There’s countless of them and they shimmer like celestial diamonds against the vast, dark night sky. You wonder if they shine brighter than the ones in Velaris or if it’s the lack of moon tonight that makes you think so.

“It’s beautiful,” you say as you step forward, eyes darting around.

“It’s a camp on a mountain.” Cassian deadpans but you’re too engrossed in taking the sights before you to shoot him a sly remark.

“She finds beauty in everything,” Azriel seems to reply, his lips curling up fondly as he lets you continue to admire Windhaven, even though he feels the same as Cassian about it. “I should take her back to the house before–”

But it’s already too late.

Amidst the rugged expanse of the Illyrian camp, there are figures coming into their view. Lord Devlon is among them. Azriel’s shadows are tugging you back to his side until his arm is brushing against your cloak. He’s starting to regret bringing you with him and realizes it’s also too late to hide you in his shadows as the Lord Camp’s cold eyes fall onto your form.

You clutch your cloak tighter around your chest, keeping the obsidian necklace you wear hidden. It doesn’t matter though. Your presence itself pulses with an unseen energy–a dance of ancient whispers that tease the senses. You’re darkness and light. Wildness and wisdom.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the Illyrian males make a sign against evil and although you’re a green witch, you instinctively take a step back. You bump into Azriel’s wing, which curls around you protectively and you feel a rush of reassurance and comfort through the bond.

“You brought a witch.”

The other males flinch at the word. Though Azriel is on alert and his shadows are whispering to him, he finds the sight of full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords showing fear at the sight of you amusing. You would never hurt a fly. But he would never tell them that. He wants them to fear you.

“Is that a problem?” His voice carries a firm edge and his eyes narrow, issuing a silent challenge.

“Keep her away from the females and children.”

Azriel’s jaw is clenching and Cassian is stepping forward to ease the situation. He does not agree with the cold way the Illyrian camp lords are regarding you but they are here on a mission and need to see it through. “She is none of your concern,” Cassian says and then with a dark chuckle adds. “Unless you give her a reason to be.”

You look at each of them, adopting a stoic demeanor. It’s a skill you’ve honed from observing your mate–the master of impassivity. Their eyes widen momentarily before diverting their gazes. 

“We’re here to oversee that all arrangements for tomorrow’s Blood Rite go as planned.”

**

Azriel takes you to one of the few houses in Windhaven. He tells you it’s where he grew up besides Rhysand and Cassian under the careful and loving watch of Rhysand’s mother. The small house is a haven against the biting winds of the camp. 

The house bears the marks of countless footsteps and memories that have weathered its walls over the years, radiating a well-loved charm. Azriel guides you further into the house until you’re standing in the living area and your eyes are eager to take everything in, curious to know more about the place your mate spent so much time in. There’s a series of marks on one of the walls and you smile as you recognize Azriel’s, Rhysand’s, and Cassian’s names scribbled along dates that grow higher and higher with every year. 

“The room I stayed in is right around the corner,” Azriel tells you, inclining his head in said direction. “The bathroom is right next to it and the kitchen is further down the hall, if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you reply, turning to face him. “This house is so warm and cozy.”

Azriel’s smile, though appreciative, carries a hint of amusement. He closes the distance between you, a playful glint in his hazel eyes. “Please don’t get any ideas.”

“I still prefer Velaris.”

A soft chuckle escapes Azriel’s lips. “Thank the Cauldron.”

He leans in and his hand softly traces the contours of your face. His eyes drink you in and are brimming with a burning affection he harbors just for you–the way they always do before he has to leave. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and then I can show you around the forests.”

“Okay,” you exhale, looking into his eyes with a gaze that reflects his own. You stand on your tip-toes to press a brief kiss onto his lips. “Love you.”

Azriel holds you close before you can pull away. He kisses your lips again. Then your cheek and then your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer. “I love you too.”

**

Settling yourself onto the floor, you rest your back against the foot of the couch as you scribble down your intentions for the next month. There’s candles lit around you, bringing light to the room and offering a calming place for you to pause and reflect. It took a lot of effort for you to light each one of them as your powers are at their weakest every new moon.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, centering yourself. The state of peaceful bliss you crafted for yourself unravels abruptly, shattered by a piercing noise that startles you. You open your eyes to find a stranger smirking back at you and horror strikes you when you realize he’s not alone.

Your heart skips a beat and you press yourself further into the couch, calling upon your powers. “Who are you?”

“So it is true,” the Illyrian male snickers in wicked delight, ignoring your question. His keen eyes take note of the way your eyes flicker between black and your natural eye color and the fact that you’re not putting up a fight. “You’re powerless under the new moon. How unfortunate for you that it landed on the one night we’re able to use magic.”

“Just to be safe.” Another male says, throwing something in the air.

The male in front of you catches the object with ease and your nose crinkles as a metallic odor overwhelms your senses. Iron. It may not be a weakness to most fae–or any, at all, despite the mortal’s claims–but it’s a witch’s weakness. Your stomach churns, bile rising up your throat.

You tug on the bond in the hopes to reach Azriel but as the male clamps the iron chains around your wrist, you’re overcome with a sudden wave of weakness. You can’t feel the bond. It’s eerily silent.

**

You don’t know how long you’re out for or if you were out at all. All you know is the cold, hard uneven ground beneath you feels like it’s moving and there’s a growing weakness in your limbs that make it hard for you to move. Your head feels unusually light and your throat tightens. You barely manage to roll over and prop yourself up with a shaky arm before hurling.

“Let’s hurry and get it done with.”

“What–what do you want from me?” You rasp. Your arms are still shaking as they hold you up and you will yourself to sit up, your back meeting a hard and rock surface. You blink your eyes and your surroundings clear enough for you to register that you’re in a cave. The feeble glow of torches cast long, sinister shadows that seem to writhe and contort along the jagged walls.

The male you had seen earlier comes into your line of sight. There’s a sharp dagger in his hand and its blade catches the dancing flames of the torches with a malevolent gleam. He points it at you, aiming for a place slightly to the left of the center of your chest.

“Your heart.”

You let out a choked laugh. To capture a witch’s heart is to hold a key to the very core of their being. It’s a sacred vessel through which profound magic flows and can transfer over to whoever holds it. But your heart’s chambers are only filled with the blood that sustains you.

The magic and enchantment that resides in your heart and defines your existence is bound to Azriel. It has been ever since you gave your heart to him. Taking your heart would be an act in vain for the Illyrian males who captured you.

You don’t tell them this though. You don’t want to die but the thought of putting a target on Azriel’s back terrifies you and overrides the former. You’d never bring any harm upon Azriel.

The male pulls on your hair, forcing your gaze up. His lips curl up into a snarl. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, you witch.”

“Should we have a little fun with her first?”

“We don’t have the time. There’s only a little over an hour before the magic leaves us.”

“That’s plenty of time to make her scream.”

A shiver courses through your spine, leaving a trail of cold unease. You squirm under your restraints but go entirely still when you feel something sharp. Your heartbeat quickens in response to the press of the dagger into your skin. 

“What if the Shadowsinger comes?”

“He won’t. He’s–”

There’s a knot in your stomach, tightening with the vulnerability of raw, unbridled panic. You’re going to die. The only comfort you have is that you’ll die, knowing that your last words to Azriel were “love you.”

“Did you not see the way he looked at her? Even if we rip her heart out, there’s no telling if we’ll escape his–”

“Then, we’ll be quick about this,” the male in front of you growls, pushing the dagger further into you. You gasp at the stinging pain and your whole body grows entirely still. “We’ll take her heart, harness her powers and run. The Shadowsinger will never find us–”

“I just did.”

**

There’s a burning in Azriel's chest that unsettles him deeply. He catches a flash of green and realizes that the searing sensation he feels is flaring out from the emerald that lives in the pocket of his leathers. Right over his own heart.

“What is it?” Cassian asks, noticing the subtle shift in the Shadowsinger’s stance. They’re standing near a fire pit, surrounded by tents that this year’s blood rite’s participants are being winnowed to. Their task is to ensure that no stunts are pulled such as the one from last year where Nesta, Emerie and Gywn were forced into the blood rite.

Azriel pulls out the gem. Despite the burn, he handles your heart with care and tenderness. The gem pulses with life, glowing like the vibrant green of a sunlit meadow. He tugs on the bond and his heart drops to his stomach.

He can no longer feel you. All he can feel is the relentless echo of imagined horrors. Something is wrong.

“It’s y/n,” Azriel breathes, eyes wide with worry.

Cassian’s eyebrows knit together in concern. He nods his head. “Go,” he tells his friend and Azriel is already vanishing into his shadows. “I can handle this.”

**

Azriel’s muscle are tense, coiled like springs. Each of his siphons are glowing like icy glaciers, threatening to release their raw power. the emerald led him to this cave. His eyes darken when he sees you. You’re held against your will with a dagger pressed into your chest and a hand against your throat, pulling you flush into an Illyrian male’s chest. The look of fear in your eyes nearly destroys him.

“If you don’t get your filthy fucking hands off of her, I will rip each finger. One. By. One.”

Azriel’s voice is cold, each utterance sending a chilling vibration through the air. With every passing second, his words are no longer a warning but become a promise. The Illyrian males are visibly shaking under Azriel’s intense gaze and the one holding you swallows thickly. Azriel catches the way his gaze flickers to the opening of the cave and then you’re being roughly shoved to the ground.

Dark tendrils cushion your fall and in an instant, Azriel is crouching beside you. His shadows are brushing against you, assessing you for your injuries. They whisper to him about the injury on your chest and at the sight of your blood, his own runs cold. He’s breaking the iron imprisoning you and rendering your hands useless with his bare hands.

“Azriel,” you breathe in relief.

“You’re safe now,” he reassures you, holding your distressed gaze. He gently brushes your hair back. “But I need you to close your eyes for me, okay? Can you do that for me, love?”

He waits for your response–a meager nod, before leaving your side. He leaves a couple of his shadows with you. They wrap around your eyes and curl against your ears, clouding your senses. He doesn’t want to subject you to the violence that is about to unfold.

When he stands to his feet, he takes delight in the anguished screams coming from the Illyrians as they realize they’re trapped inside the cave with him. His shadows are forming a wall against the only entrance and exit.

One of the males turns and drops to his knees. “Please,” he cries desperately. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re pathetic,” Azriel nearly growls with a sickening smirk. “All of you.”

He makes sure each of their deaths is slow and painful and he doesn’t stop until the very last staggering breath.

**

Azriel’s shadows lift from your eyes and ears and you’re looking into a pair of familiar hazel eyes. Your eyes glisten with tears and with a gentle touch, his fingertips brush away the traces of terrors that run down your cheeks. His palm cradles your face and you lean into his touch. He rests his other hand against your chest, over your bleeding wound.

Green light slips from his fingertips, seeping into your wound and you both watch in shock as he uses your magic to heal you. “I didn’t know I could do that,” he murmurs in awe.

When he lifts his hand and unmarked skin is revealed, relief overcomes him, coursing through him and through the bond. He can't help but dwell on the what ifs because he knows that he was only a few minutes away from being too late. From losing you.

Gods, he was a fool for bringing you--his sweet, loving mate to a cold and harsh place like Windhaven. Especially on the night before the blood rite. But you had begged him to take you with him. You wanted to see the place he grew up in and explore the forest of Illyria and Azriel found it extremely hard to say no to you.

You’re safe now, he reminds himself, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. Although still slightly shaken, you're also now unharmed. And that's all that matters to him.

“It’s because you hold my heart,” you tell him as your crying comes to a stop and with a shaky breath continue. “That’s what they wanted–to take my heart and use it for themselves.”

An arm slips under your knees and the hand on your face drops to embrace your neck. He pulls you close, cradling you to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

You know what he’s asking. You bury your face into the comfort of his chest. It’s warm and you can feel his heartbeat. It’s fast but beginning to steady and it’s like music to your ears–the sweetest symphony. You turn your head in a way that allows you to rest your ear against his heart but also to speak.

“Because I was scared they’d go after you next.”

“Oh, my sweet little wildflower,” he purrs. He leans his head down and his breath is hot against your neck. He's touched by your concern. “They’d never get within 10 feet from me if they came for me.”

You dare to lift your head and barely catch a glimpse of the carnage around you before Azriel is tightening his hold on you and coaxing your gaze back to him.

“I see that now.”

“Does it scare you?”

There’s a subtle hint of vulnerability within his hazel eyes. Concern etches into his features as the weight of his question lingers in the air. Azriel was a strong and lethal man. A warrior. A spymaster. You knew this. Yet, he always kept the nature of his work concealed, not wanting to burden you with the horrors of it all.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you avoid his heated gaze. “No.”

Azriel tuts. He can sense there’s something more and he needs to know. He coaxes your gaze back to his. “What is it?”

“I found it kind of…hot,” you admit, a bit sheepishly. “That you’d kill for me.”

Azriel chuckles. The corner of his lips, molded by shadows and softened by affection, tug upwards. Gods, he loves you so much. You’re perfect, made just for him. You're everything he could ever wish for and more.

“I’d do anything for you, love.”

a/n: To the anon who requested this, I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

tagging: @fxckmiup

[series masterlist]

[nixthelapin]

Midnight Thought on the Ithaca Saga (spoilers)

When Athena is hoping for a kinder world, I like how Odysseus doesn’t shoot her down (I think he had his fill of that with the suitors, ha ha ha), but just says it won’t be in his life. Why? Because he’s not saying it’s impossible, just that that kind of change takes more time and sacrifice than he can give. And that actually reminded me of something: in the Bible, King David wanted to build a temple to God, but God said no because of all the blood on his hands- David was a king during wartime, he is not meant to lead Israel in peace. But his son, Solomon? He would be the peacetime king, he built the temple, and coincidentally was also known for his wisdom (and his 700 concubines, but that’s irrelevant here).

Basically- TELEMACHUS AND ATHENA WORKING TO MAKE THE WORLD BETTER!!!

[I don’t really think Jorge was using the David-Solomon thing as inspiration or a reference, I just thought it was a cool similarity- especially the wisdom part, which I only realized while writing this. ]

Telemachus wants to “bring the world some light,” and she accepted his friendship rather than just a mentor-mentee relationship, showing that she’s opening her arms. Together, they can make a greater tomorrow that she couldn’t do with Odysseus. His part in the war was important, but there’s still work to be done, work Telemachus is very eager to accomplish.

He was also just coming back from a “diplomatic mission,” which shows more of that open arms mindset, something even the more innocent version of Odysseus didn’t really do! (I know in the actual Odyssey he went in search of his dad, but I don’t think that’s the same case here since there was no mention of a plan to do that on his end, plus Jorge had to change how Odysseus actually made it back to the island to fit his story.) Diplomacy is a lot about alliances and making peace, not about outsmarting/outmaneuvering enemies. It still requires wisdom and intelligence, but the world is not changed for the better by swords alone.

Odysseus’ story required him to embrace ruthlessness, but because of that, his son Telemachus doesn’t have to.

And I am so PSYCHED for the new wisdom duo. GO MAKE A GREATER TOMORROW!!!

[edit: it also ties into one of Circe’s last lines: “maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer no more”]

[theladybrownstarot]

SPIRITUAL-WISDOM

A WAY TO SELF & IMPROVEMENT

Introduction: Namaste People! I'm brown , this post is quite different from others because this post is about spiritual wisdom which is needed a lot in life and without it we are always steps behind achieving what we need . I'm making this post In order to help out and share my wisdom with others to help them improve in their life !

Topic : The state of non-thinking

Overview : The majority of our problems arises due to thinking - a cause of suffering. We have forgotten and undervalued the core importance of quitetiude that's intrisic to our nature and life which has now caused serious problems around and in world and us - disappointment, regret , fight , war, hate , and more. We make the world so let's silence ourself first so we can create a difference altogether with the state of non thinking .

✧ What is it ?

The state of non-thinking refers to where are living in the present without worrying and thinking about the future and past rather in content with what is in front of us totally. It's like an acceptance and way ahead to understand yourself deeply and so your life and take actions accordingly. It's not totally about to stop thinking but rather thinking less.

✧ Why do we need it ?

The majority of the problem arises from our thinking, we can feel negativity only when we think , so wouldn't it be better of without thinking ? For example - You are going to have an exam tomorrow and you haven't prepared yet left with time if used could help out only if you stop thinking about the time and exam continously. Well there it is that positive state which will come out from you and intutive whispers helping you out to do what needs to be done . Hence when you follow that state of non-thinking you allow intuition to work in and connect with your innate natural state . When you practicse the non-thinking consistently you will see connecting with the truth and find answers to all your questions and so you find peace in your life too .

✧ Do we need to completely stop thinking ?

Well , it depends on what kind of life you want to live or what purpose you hold and how you want to change your life accordingly. In terms of survival we do need negative thinking to make us aware and alert . Therefore we may go to less thinking than to non-thinking and with consistent practisce you shall be able to maintain lesser thinking and non thinking for same .

✧ Is thought and thinking the same ?

No , they are completely different . The thought is divine and thinking is the cause of suffering from your head .

✧ How do I come to the state of non-thinking ?

You can do certain things :

1. Realise that thinking is the cause of suffering.

2. Eliminate that makes you prone to think like actions and things which do not inspire and excite you at all .

3. Create an environment and in your day that would help you come back in the state again. So when you wake up early in the morning keep your device aside and mediate .

©️ @theladybrownstarot 2023 all rights reserved. Any stealing or copying of work will be a punishable offence.

[victusinveritas]

From Rebecca Solnit:

This one is important. Share it widely. "Contrary to conventional wisdom, the size and scale of anti-Trump protests this year have dwarfed those in 2017, and they have been extraordinarily peaceful." Thank you Erica L Chenoweth and company. This portrait of who we are and how numerous we are is profoundly encouraging. May tomorrow be bigger yet (and everything suggests it will be).

The whole piece:

On streets and highway passes, at intersections and in parks, millions of Americans continue to turn out to protest against the Trump administration and its policies. The media spotlight is currently focused on the ongoing protests against ICE raids in Los Angeles, and the Trump administration’s militarized response to them. In our research at the Crowd Counting Consortium, we do not yet have a full picture of the number and range of protests that have occurred in June. However, we do know that protests against ICE raids have been intensifying around the country for months, alongside protests opposing perceived power-grabs by the Trump administration. And we know that the movement’s tactics have been extraordinarily peaceful.

In fact, as we discussed in March, protests in the U.S. have been quite robust since Trump took office the second time. Our ongoing research on protests in the United States reveals that within the first two weeks of the second Trump administration, protest activity surpassed that of 2017. By the end of March 2025, there had been three times as many protests as had taken place in 2017. Protest has been surging since, with large boosts coming from major, multi-location actions in April and May.

Two notable surges of protest came on the nationwide Hands Offs protests on April 5 and No Kings protests on April 19. To date, we have tallied 1,145 protests on April 5, with events occurring in all 50 states and the District of Columbia. Significantly, protest activity occurred throughout the country, including in rural and GOP-leaning towns.

For April 19, we tallied 928 protests also occurring in all 50 states and D.C. And on May 1 and May 3, we tallied over 1,000 anti-Trump May Day protests.

These are significant showings. If we look back to the first Trump administration, in April 2017 the most prominent multi-location protest was the March for Science on April 22, which occurred in 390 locations including most major cities. In 2017, we tallied 80 May Day protests nationwide, compared to over 1,000 this year. Overall, 2017’s numbers pale in comparison to the scale and scope of mobilization in 2025 — a fact often unnoticed in the public discourse about the response to Trump’s actions.

The two days of organized nationwide protests account for most of these numbers. Among the 86 percent of anti-Trump events for which we tallied participation on April 5, we report between 919,000 and 1.5 million participants that day. Although our estimate is below the 5 million figure offered up by some accounts, April 5 clearly involved the most participants nationwide that we have seen during the second Trump administration — and the most we have recorded in a single day since the nationwide uprising following the killings of Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, and Breonna Taylor in 2020.

Having identified participant data for 64 percent of anti-Trump events on April 19, we report between 277,324 and 322,384 participants that day. These two events alone account for between 1.2 million and 1.8 million in participants. That number is higher when we account for the hundreds of other protests that occurred throughout the month of April.

Protest spreads

In addition to the size and scale of protest activity, the month of April alone saw a notable level of geographic dispersion. All 50 states and D.C. saw protests in the month of April. This suggests that the anti-Trump mobilization is truly nationwide.

We are often asked how many people have been participating in protests. Because of the size and scope of protest activity, we have not been able to validate participant totals on all events. But even with incomplete data on many events, and fewer reliable numbers of participants available in our May data, we estimate that millions of people participated in protests in April. Dana Fisher’s survey evidence from D.C.-area protests on April 5 suggests that Resistance 2.0 skews older than its 2017 counterpart; however, we do not know how representative this finding is countrywide, across different days, or across different actions.

Anecdotal evidence suggests that some activists are intentionally demonstrating in their local town rather than just traveling to a nearby big city for events. One participant suggested they may do so because it attracts neighbors who are new to protest: “There are people who aren’t going to cities for events like this. They’re dipping their toes in local rallies and activism. We need to meet them where they are.” Another highlighted that it may also make a different impression on passersby than a protest elsewhere: “This is why the protests should /not/ be D.C. or NY focused. When there’s 300 people in front of the local high school, and you go by there Saturday on the way to Walmart, it’s harder to claim it never happened. Or you didn’t see it.”

Notable themes

Throughout early 2025, Elon Musk and Tesla were a major target of protesters. Over 1,500 protests in April and May targeted Musk and Tesla. Such anti-Tesla protests may be connected to the company’s stock price falling significantly, and Musk stepping back from DOGE.

We continue to record considerable protest motivated by foreign affairs, including not only Israel-Palestine but also Russia-Ukraine as the Trump administration has expressed less support for the Ukrainian position on the war. About one in five protests in April were related to foreign affairs, not including immigration or climate change. (Small numbers of counter-protesters have also turned out to defend the president).

But immigration — and aggressive law enforcement responses to immigration-related protests — were key mobilizing issues in April and May. One notable episode in May was the arrest of Ras Baraka, the mayor of Newark, New Jersey, at Delaney Hall, an ICE detention facility. Video of the May 9 arrest has been shared widely, showing ICE and other law enforcement officials pushing through crowds of peaceful protesters to apprehend Baraka outside the facility. Baraka appears to have been allowed into Delaney Hall along with a delegation of federal legislators (from New Jersey) and then afterward asked to leave because he was not a member of Congress. He had already left the facility when law enforcement agents moved to detain him.

In addition to Mayor Baraka’s arrest, a member of the congressional delegation, Rep. LaMonica McIver, was subsequently charged by the U.S. Justice Department with assaulting two of the federal law enforcement officers who detained Baraka. This sparked further protests outside Delaney Hall, including the use of civil disobedience by an inter-faith group of clergy and religious figures, which resulted in two arrests. Protesters also vented their frustration directly at Alina Habba, interim U.S. attorney for New Jersey, who ordered the charges against Rep. McIver. Dozens demonstrated outside her Newark office on May 20.

By and large, in April and May the anti-Trump protest movement relied on protests and demonstrations rather than mass noncooperation, occupations of space or general strikes, though there have been exceptions and some public calls for such actions.

Out of 4,770 anti-Trump protests in April and May, we recorded police injuries at three events (.06 percent) and participant injuries or property damage at only two events (.04 percent). We have recorded arrests of protesters at 20 events, or .42 percent of the total. Roughly the same distribution held for protests related to immigration policies, which constituted a large share of the events.

Overall, in over 99.5 percent of protests in April and May, we recorded no injuries, arrests or property damage — an unprecedentedly tiny fraction for a movement of this size and geographic dispersion. Contrary to officials’ hyperbolic claims of a disorderly movement attempting to sow chaos, at least through April and May, protesters associated with the anti-Trump movement were extraordinarily nonviolent in their tactics.

[softonstyles]

Part Seven

Part Six

Word Count: 2.8K

Aurora woke up Sunday morning with the familiar, unwelcome weight of the Sunday scaries pressing down on her chest.

She had tossed and turned all night, her mind refusing to settle. Maybe it was the cocktails from the Latin restaurant, leaving her restless and overheated. Or the nerves clawing at Aurora’s stomach over starting her program tomorrow. But the real culprit — the one she was trying not to think about — was Harry.

It was maddening how he lingered in her thoughts, uninvited yet ever-present. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing him away, but his voice, the way he looked at her —all of it clung to Aurora like a shadow.

With a frustrated sigh, she threw off her blankets and got out of bed before the alarm could go off. Aurora couldn’t lie there any longer, stewing in thoughts she had no business entertaining. She needed to do something, anything, to shake this feeling.

She pulled on a matching workout set, tied her hair into a ponytail, and laced up her running shoes. Maybe a run would help clear her head.

Outside, the morning air was crisp, the streets still hushed. She had always loved this sliver of the day — the calm before the city roared to life, a fleeting pause before reality intruded. 

Aurora stretched quickly on the sidewalk, popped in her headphones, and started at a light jog. Her feet found a steady rhythm, the music drowning out her thoughts.

Until she passed Cozy’s.

Harry.

It was ridiculous. She had known him for all of one weekend, yet he had left an imprint on her. He was unlike anyone she had ever met — anyone she had ever dated.

And that was the problem.

He wasn’t just different. He was off-limits. He was Charlotte’s father, for goodness sake. What kind of friend even contemplated thoughts like this?

Then there was the age gap. Fifteen years separated them — something she had confirmed after his offhand comment about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Forty-one to her twenty-six. It should’ve felt wrong, strange. But it didn’t. If anything, it made sense in a way she couldn’t explain. Aurora had always been drawn to depth, to wisdom. And Harry embodied both of those things.

Aurora picked up her pace, her jog turning into a sprint. She ran harder, faster, as if she could outrun her thoughts. Brownstones and shop windows blurred past her, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

By the time she slowed, her legs felt like jelly, but at least her mind was quieter — too exhausted to torment her with what-ifs and forbidden desires. The city around her was stirring now, the world waking up. She walked home, stretching out the last moments of peace before reality intruded.

When she returned, the apartment was silent. Charlotte was still asleep. Aurora headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water soothe her muscles and wash away the morning’s chaos. Afterward, she curled up on the couch with a bowl of cereal, pulling up her syllabus for tomorrow’s classes.

Her eyes scanned the screen, but the words blurred as anxiety crept back in. What if she wasn’t good enough for this program? What if she couldn’t keep up with the demands?

The sound of Charlotte’s bedroom door creaking open broke her downward spiral.

Charlotte emerged, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. She flopped onto the couch beside Aurora with a groan. “Hey,” she mumbled. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Aurora grumbled back, sinking deeper into the couch.

Charlotte squinted at her. “Are you as hungover as me?”

Aurora took in Charlotte’s disheveled state and snorted. “Not really,” she said, standing to grab a glass of water and some Advil. “I mean, I had a little hangxiety this morning, but it’s more about school. I’m freaking out about tomorrow.”

She handed Charlotte the pills and sat back down. Charlotte’s expression softened as she adjusted her position, crossing her legs. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Everything,” Aurora admitted with a weak laugh.

Charlotte smiled. “Alright, let’s break it down. One thing at a time.”

Despite herself, Aurora smiled back. Charlotte always had a way of cutting through the noise, grounding her when she felt untethered. “Okay. First thing: what if I can’t handle the workload? This is one of the highest-ranked programs in the country.”

Charlotte tilted her head, green eyes steady. “Aurora, you’ve always been the hardest worker I know. You plan everything down to the last detail, and you don’t back down from a challenge. Why would this be any different?”

Aurora bit her lip. “Because it’s not just a challenge. It’s my entire future. If I mess this up. . .”

“You won’t,” Charlotte interjected. “And even if you hit a bump in the road, you’ll figure it out. You always do. And you won’t be alone. You’ve got me.”

Aurora’s smile widened at her friend’s confidence in her. “Thanks, Char. That actually helps.”

“Good,” Charlotte nudged her playfully. “What’s next on your list of worries?”

Aurora hesitated. “Okay, this one’s going to sound a little juvenile.”

“Try me.”

“. . . What if I don’t fit in?” She sighed. “I know it’s stupid to worry about at our big age, but I’m going to be surrounded by people who are probably smarter than me, more experienced —”

“Stop,” Charlotte interrupted, holding up a hand. “First of all, it’s not a stupid thing to worry about. Especially given how you grew up — always moving around, always having to fit into new spaces. Second, I’ve seen you crush debates and write papers that professors probably use as examples for other students. Also, why are you tying intelligence to fitting in? It’s about being yourself, not the smartest. And trust me, people are going to love you.” She smiled, then added, “Not as much as I do, obviously. But still.”

Aurora let out a soft laugh. “You make it sound so simple. . .”

“It is simple,” Charlotte said, reaching over to squeeze Aurora’s hand. “You’re going to do amazing, and I’ll be right here, cheering you on every step of the way.”

Aurora studied her, then asked, “How do you stay so positive? Aren’t you nervous about starting your MBA program tomorrow, too?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Sort of, kind of. . . not really. Can I be honest about something?”

“Anything.”

A slow, mischievous grin spread across Charlotte’s face. “I’m mostly doing this as a buffer before I have to get a real job. I mean, the fact that I even got in was a win. As long as I graduate, I’ll be fine.”

Aurora burst out laughing. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do,” Charlotte said with a wink.

Before Aurora could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

“That must be my dad,” Charlotte said, hoping off the couch.

Aurora’s stomach twisted at the mention of Harry. She nodded, forcing a smile as Charlotte left the room. A moment later, Harry’s deep voice drifted down the hall, greeting his daughter. 

She sank lower into the couch, hoping they wouldn’t come into the living room. To her relief, their voices faded as they moved into Charlotte’s room. It sounded like Harry had brought some things with him. Aurora turned back to her syllabus, but her focus was shot. Her mind was already elsewhere — wondering how the rest of the evening would play out, and if she could get through it without falling even deeper into feelings she shouldn’t have in the first place.

By evening, Aurora had regained some of her focus. She had wasted the morning fretting — about school, about Harry — but refused to let the whole day slip away. She spent the afternoon organizing her schedule and browsing recipes, hoping to make something comforting for dinner.

Cooking had always been an escape for her. She loved the focus it required, the way it let her get lost in the process. Growing up, her father had been away often, and her mother worked long hours at a hair salon. When Aurora was old enough, she took on the responsibility of making dinner — a habit that quickly became second nature.

She still remembered the first time she cooked for her family. Her mom had come home late, exhausted and expecting takeout, only to find a homemade meal waiting for her. The shock on her face had been unforgettable — almost as unforgettable as the moment she took her first bite and realized it was actually good. Even Aurora’s notoriously picky younger brother had eaten it without complaint. From that night on, Aurora had made it her mission to have dinner ready whenever she could.

After scanning the groceries they had on hand, she settled on making stuffed shells, one of her favorites. But first, she needed to check if Charlotte and Harry were on board. She made her way to Charlotte’s room and knocked. To no one’s surprise, it was Harry who answered.

Parts of a half-assembled desk chair were scattered across the floor, evidence of a project in progress. Harry looked slightly disheveled, curls sticking to his forehead, and Aurora had to suppress a shiver at how attractive he looked. Meanwhile, Charlotte was sprawled stomach-down on her bed, completely engrossed in whatever was playing on her newly set up TV.

“Aurora,” Harry greeted, slightly out of breath. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Looking for my very busy daughter?” He glanced back at Charlotte, who waved back absently without looking up.

Aurora laughed. “Sort of. I was actually checking in about dinner.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, like the thought of food had only just occurred to him. “I’ve been so caught up assembling things that I completely forgot about eating. Let me grab my phone and order something —”

“No need, Mr. Styles,” Aurora softly interrupted. “I was hoping to cook tonight. Just wanted to make sure my idea works for everyone.”

Harry’s brows lifted, his expression shifting into something amused and intrigued. Leaning casually against the doorway, he crossed his arms, the movement making his biceps strain against the thin fabric of his shirt. “Oh, you cook?”

Charlotte chimed in without looking up. “Does she ever. And it’s amazing.”

Aurora grinned, meeting Harry’s interested gaze. 

His smirk deepened. “Well, in that case, I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

“No allergies or restrictions?”

“None.”

An hour later, the three of them sat around the dining table, the air rich with the scent of savory tomato sauce and melted ricotta. Harry and Charlotte both praised her cooking, their compliments warm and genuine.

“This is amazing,” Harry said, his voice laced with approval. “You weren’t kidding, Charlotte.”

“See?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows over her wine glass, shooting him a knowing look.

Aurora ducked her head, willing herself to ignore the way her heart fluttered whenever Harry spoke. “I’m glad you both like it.”

They took their time with the meal, sipping wine and trading stories, but the moment broke when Harry’s phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen and sighed.

“Work?” Charlotte guessed.

Harry nodded. “I’ll be quick. Excuse me,” he stood from the table, leaving Aurora and Charlotte alone.

Charlotte leaned back with a sigh. “Ugh, flashbacks to my childhood. He would work around the clock nonstop when I was a kid.”

Aurora gathered their empty plates. “You’ve mentioned that in the past. It must have been really hard not having him around often.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte said. “He missed a lot of recitals, left dinners early — stuff like that. But after my mom passed, he really tried. Cut back on work, did group therapy with me — the whole nine yards.”

Aurora paused. “Group therapy?”

“Oh, it was awful,” Charlotte laughed. “I was thirteen and had just gotten my first period. That was the focus of our first session.”

Aurora chuckled, easily picturing a young Charlotte mortified in front of a therapist. “I can see why that was scarring.”

“Funny now,” Charlotte said. “But back then? Traumatizing.” Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. “Oh, it’s Ben. Mind if I take this?”

“Of course not,” Aurora assured her. “Go.”

Charlotte disappeared into her room, leaving Aurora to finish cleaning up. She was nearly done when Harry reappeared, his voice apologetic behind her. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Turned out it wasn’t even urgent.”

Aurora glanced over her shoulder. “No worries.”

Harry stepped closer, placing their empty wine glasses in the sink. His fingers brushed hers, and her breath caught.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said softly. “It was wonderful.”

Aurora smiled, trying to steady her heartbeat. “You’re welcome. You’ve been such a big help this weekend — I figured it was the least I could do.”

Harry leaned against the counter beside her. “You really don’t have to thank me. If you ever need anything, just ask. I know you’re far from family here, and I’d be more than happy to help.”

Before she could respond, he picked up her phone from the table, held it up for her to unlock, and quickly added his contact information. “There,” he said, handing it back. “Now you have no excuses.”

Aurora stared at the screen, her heart pounding. Having his number felt. . . dangerous. But she managed a smile. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he said, his voice rich with meaning.

Her cheeks burned, thinking back to when he called her a good girl, affecting her now as much as it did then. It distracted her from realizing that Harry had retrieved her desk from the living room, insisting on carrying it to her bedroom. She followed him, breathless as they maneuvered it into place. 

Standing in her room for the first time, Harry glanced around, taking in the space.

“It’s cozy,” he smiled. “I like it.”

“Thank you,” Aurora replied, feeling shy. “I wanted it to feel like home.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded.” His gaze lingered on her, soft and appreciative, before he checked his watch and straightened. Sighing, he added, “Speaking of home, I should probably get going. Early meeting tomorrow, and I’ve got a long drive.”

Aurora followed him out as he knocked on Charlotte’s door to let her know he was leaving.

“Before I go, I have something for you both.” Harry reached for a small tote bag by the entryway and pulled out two crewnecks.

Charlotte perked up immediately. “Is this your way of making up for leaving so soon?”

Harry just shook his head, holding up the first crewneck — a deep burgundy with their school letters printed across the back. “This one’s for you, Char. Thought you’d like something fashionable. Already washed it in my hotel room.”

Charlotte grinned as she peeled  it from his hands. “So cute! Thanks, dad.”

Then Harry turned to Aurora, holding out the second crewneck. It was the same burgundy shade but with the school’s logo printed on the chest. “And this one’s for you,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“For me?” Aurora blinked, caught off guard.

He nodded. “Saw it at the local gift store and thought of you. Looked like something you’d wear.”

Hesitantly, she took it, her fingers grazing his. The fabric was softer than she expected, carrying a faint scent of fresh laundry — of him. “You don’t have to. . .” she started, but her words trailed off.

“I wanted to,” he insisted. “Just a little something to keep you warm during all those late nights in the library.”

“Wow, favoritism,” Charlotte teased. “Mine’s just got letters, and hers has a full logo. What gives?”

Harry chuckled. “Yours is stylish. Hers is practical. Everybody wins.”

Aurora pressed the crewneck to her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Styles. This was really kind of you.”

Harry nodded, sending a small smile her way before stepping back toward the door. “Alright then, I’ll see you both soon. Don’t stay up too late, and good luck on your first day of classes tomorrow.”

Charlotte waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Love you, bye, dad.”

Aurora followed them to the door, trailing behind Charlotte as she opened it for him. Harry hesitated for a brief moment, his gaze settling on Aurora — just a second longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, ladies,” he said, his voice softer now.

“Night,” Aurora murmured, clutching the sweatshirt a little tighter.

As the door shut, Charlotte turned to her. “How sweet. He’s just the best, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Aurora nodded, her voice far away. “He really is.”

Part Eight

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[valaryswrites]

PART 1 & 2 TOGETHER

🪐 where aziraphale locks you and crowley in the bookshop forcing you to make peace within eachother, but instead you both come up with a better idea to pass time.

warnings: lots of dirty talking, smut and english is not my first language (sorry it took so long, my computer broke and the part 2 got lost)

After ordering “make peace within each other!” with a mischievous smile on his face, Aziraphale left the bookshop, but not before locking in his two dearest friends; Crowley and you.

Unfortunately, the demon wasn’t your favorite. Not even a little. You perceived him as a vile, naughty and cruel being, even though Az tried to convince you otherwise thousands of times. About Crowley… well, his feeling were a little bit messy.

So Aziraphale got tired.

The angel couldn’t stand seeing the people he loved the most hating each other like that. It was time for him to do something about it, so he did.

“I can’t fucking believe he locked us in!” you said loudly, kicking a wooden chair but then sitting on it.

Crowley watched you with unblinking eyes for a moment, and then his expression changed to a sly smile. “Look at us.” he said, in a lazy but seductive tone. “A human and a demon being forced to play nice together.”

“You know what, Mr. Crowley?” you asked, playing cool. “We should play a game: we stay silent for the night and wait until tomorrow.” you proposed, with a big and false smile.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at you comment and leaning in closer, he asked:

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to control yourself if you open your mouth?”

He had the same tone again.

“Oh, come on, Crowley!” you insisted, standing up and walking towards a bookshelf, trying to find something to read that could keep you away from the demon.

“Ah, so I hit a nerve.” he says and after a few seconds he broke a silence that was starting to grow. “May I ask what are you going to read?” Crowley inquired, watching as you continued looking for something interesting.

“Look, you don’t have to force it.” you said with honesty, not even looking at him, focused reading the titles of the books in front of you. “We could just co-exist for a few hours and I guess we will be alr… Aziraphale has the fucking Kamasutra in his bookshop!?” you almost screamed, too shocked.

Crowley’s eyes seems to light up and he couldn’t help but laugh. “A classic!” he says. “I mean, it’s not surprising that Aziraphale keeps a copy of the Kamasutra here. It’s one of the oldest tomes of knowledge in existence, full of wisdom and insight into the nature of human desire. It makes complete sense for a book this sacred to be housed in a bookshop run by someone like him.” for the first time, he was saying something clever, you thought.

“I guess you’re right.” you said, leaving the book right were you found it. “It just feels… weird to picture.”

“I’ve heard the techniques described within those pages are simply divine.” Crowley said and you could feel his gaze on your body. “Maybe,” he said with a mischievous tone in his voice, “we could put them to the test?”

“Demons can have sex with humans?” you asked, ignoring his proposal. You sat in one little couch and, of course, Crowley sat in front of you.

“It’s not unusual for demons to have some intimacy with humans.” he simply answers, adjusting his position. “To seek out whatever pleasures this world has to offer.”

“Oh…” you managed to say, a little bit disturbed (but curious). “That’s why you have such a face of a virgin.” you tried to insult him, but Crowley just let out a chuckle.

“You have no idea.” he said in a playful tone and then leaned closer, with his eyes fixed on yours. “But you could find out.” he says in a whisper, his lips curving into a grin. “Just imagine all the things I could show you…”

“Are you flirting with me, Crowley?” you asked him, grabbing and old bottle of whiskey from Az’s desk and taking a quick sip. Maybe it would help. “Flirting with the girl you despise the most?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow as you take a sip of whiskey, smiling slightly. “Perhaps I’m flirting with you to see what kind of reaction I can get out of you.” his tone was still alluring. “But I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this little exchange we’re having.” he added.

“Oh…” you took another sip, this time gaining more courage to speak. “So you are teasing me for fun? Or because you actually want to make real all of these fantasies of yours?”

The demon shrugged, seeming to be enjoying your reaction. “Maybe a little bit of both?” he said, grinning. He leaned in closer again, whispering in a soft tone. “Just imagine how much fun we could have together… just the two of us. No rules, no constraints… just pure pleasure.”

“But why?” you asked.

“I mean, if you want constraints I guess I can use a rope on you…” he started to say, completely into it.

“Not the constraints, stupid. Why would you like us to fuck?” you asked more clearly this time, feeling the warmth of the whiskey travelling down your throat.

“Because we are bored, and we have a long night ahead.” he simply answered. “And also because I know you would enjoy it.” He chuckled.

“So you would do it just for me to enjoy it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I would totally enjoy it too.” he affirmed, showing a smile with teeth.

“Well…” you started to consider it, but the idea seemed too risky. You stood up and started to walk around the place, with Crowley’s piercing eyes following you. “As much as I would like to kick your face and send you back to hell… I can’t deny I find the idea pretty… desirable.” you finally said, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you just knew the kind of smile Crowley had in his face.

“Tell me your rules.” Crowley proposed, after whispering your name with a mischievous tone. “And I’ll be sure I break them all.”

You turned around to face him.

“I have rules, yes.” you confirmed. “But they are for you to follow, understood?”

“Mhm…” the demon vaguely answered, standing up, walking and then leaning against a wall in a casual manner, folding his arms. “I’m listening.”

“No marks.” you insisted. “You can’t leave marks on me because that implies Az could find out. And he locked us here for us to become friends, not fuck.”

“I’m pretty sure the angel would be delighted with the idea of us fucking, but… no marks.”

“Secondly, after we are done, we are done.” you ordered. “We go back to where we were.”

“Very well…” he said in a seductive tone, walking slowly towards you. “And what if I don’t want us to go back to how we were after we’re done?” he softly asked, leaning closer to you. Your bodies were almost touching. “What if I want more?” there was a predator tone in his voice. And you liked it.

“Tell me your rules.” you now said, ignoring all of what he mentioned before.

“Oh, where would the fun be in that?” he said. “How about a little game?” he suggested. “We’ll play a nice game of truths and dares.” he started to walk around the room, but now you were the one following him with your eyes.

You sighed, feeling a little bit nervous but undeniably curious.

“Go ahead.” you accepted. “Truth.”

“Perfect.” he smiled. “Let’s start with an easy one…” his playful voice slowly shifting into something a little more intense and serious. “Since you know us, how many times have you thought about me, even just for a moment?”

You rolled your eyes, but willing to answer with the truth.

“Some times. When I’m visiting Aziraphale and you make your appearance… always so dramatic… I want to strangle you.” you chuckled. “And other times… I also want to strangle you, but in a… playful way.”

Crowley let out a slight purr and seemed to appreciate the honesty.

“Good job, it’s admirable to be true to your feelings.” he says, with hints of irony in his voice.

“Truth or dare?” it was now your turn, and you had plenty of ideas running around your mind.

“I’m a demon, I love a good old dare.” Crowley answered with a smug smile. “I have no fear of anything you could come up with.”

“Kneel.” you ordered. “In front of me.”

The demon seemed to like being ordered around. “As you wish.” he said.

He slowly got down on his knees in front of you, taking off his glasses at the same time. Now his eyes were looking up at you, and you enjoyed the view so much.

“Is this your idea of fun?” he asked, flirty. “Or is it a way to assert your dominance over me?” he whispered, his voice still alluring.

“Maybe.” you answered. “Would you like me to dominate you, Crowley?”

He seemed to consider your words, his face turning into a slight smile.

“Perhaps I would like that.” he teased, quickly getting up from his knees, still staring at you with snake eyeshadow “But I’m not sure I believe you can really dominate me. Or should I say… I’m fairly certain you can’t.” he then leaned against the wall with a cocky smirk on his face. “But oh, love, I would like you to prove me wrong"

You sighed again, taking a step back from him. The idea was madness, but you couldn’t help but being totally into it.

“Okay, then.” you finally said, firmly. “Who’s going to make the first move?” It was clearly not going to be you; it was his idea first.

Crowley moved closer to you again.

“Let’s see…” he began. “Perhaps I would prefer to let you make the first move?” he confessed, leaning against the nearest wall and folding his arms in a casual manner. “But don’t worry; I’m sure I’ll be able to tempt you into breaking your own rules.” he added with a smirk. “And it’s indeed one of the pleasures of the flesh, to hear the sighs and screams of a woman being dominated.”

You raised an eyebrow and asked him;

“Oh, so now you want to dominate me?”

“I don’t know…” he said, with a small grin on his face. “What would you do if I wanted to? How would you react if I told you to bend over and please me?” There was a predatory look on his face. “In the end, it doesn’t really matter who makes the first move. Because we both now the end result will be me on top, and you screaming my name.”

You rolled your eyes.

“We’ll see.” you said, starting to walk slowly and seductively around the bookshop, knowing very well that Crowley would totally follow you.

The demon’s expression shifted into something more playful, and he followed you around the place with his hungry eyes watching every movement of yours. He waited patiently for something to happen, but actually he is not patient at all.

“So, what brings you to the bookshop today?” he asked, with a joker tone. “Looking for something in particular?”

And you laughed a little; you wanted to go on with that inside joke.

“Yes, sir.” you nodded. “I’m looking for some recommendation.”

“Do you have an specific preference?” he asked seductively, doing his best to sound like an actual librarian.

“I have some preferences, yes.” you affirmed, with a little smirk on your mouth, turning around to face him. “I like greedy demons.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at your response while a smile was starting to make its presence in his face.

“Greedy demons, eh? Well, I happen to know a few who might fill that bill. They would be more than willing to satisfy your needs.” he answered.

“I don’t need a few, I just need one.” you said almost in a whisper.

He leaned forward, his voice lowering into a whisper too.

“One is all it takes, isn’t it? I can give you exactly what you need.” there was a teasing tone there. “What about appearance? Personality? Abilities, maybe?”

“Mhm…” you started. “I like them sarcastic and even hateful.” you leaned closer and your bodies where so close to each other that they were almost touching. “And I like them when they take the lead.”

Crowley closed the distance between you two in a second; he kissed you with hunger and desperation. The little teasing game was fun, yes. But this was better. His arms were wrapped around your waist and he let out a groan that made you shiver.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispered right in your mouth. “This is what you wanted the whole time.”

“Yes, I’ve been wanting to kiss your stupid mouth to make you shut up all this time.” you confessed, with your hands together in the back of his neck. “But you were busy hating me.”

Crowley chuckled lightly, with his snake eyes glowing with desire.

“You wanted to shut me up?” he asked, moving his hands to your hips and bringing you even closer to him. “You succeeded, so I wonder what else you might be capable of with this mouth of yours…”

Your eyes were also full of lust and desire, and you grabbed him by the arm and walked with him behind you.

“Your choice: the couch or the desk.”

“Oh, a woman who know what she wants.” he winked at you. “The couch or the desk? Why not both?” he asked, but he allowed you to lead him over to the desk, with his body moving even closer to yours. There is a chair by the desk, and Crowley sat there while you, instead of sitting in his lap, jumped a little to end up on top of the desk, as if you were on a stage and he was the only spectator. You smiled down at him and started to remove your shirt.

Crowley’s eyes seemed to become almost transfixed as you did, his expression was turning into something more primal and erotic. His breath quickened slightly while his eyes were studying every bit of you.

“My, my…” he whispered. “So you are performing for me?” the demon asked, and he reached out a hand to touch you and then pulled it back quickly, as if wanting to resist the temptation.

“You’ll really try to resist it, Crowley?” the way you said his name that time sent shivers down his spine. You took off your shoes, letting him now that you still had some clothing on.

Crowley let out a small moan at your words and movements, and his body was failing; becoming even more tense with his eyes never leaving you. He shook his head.

“I believe I am capable to resist it, yes.” he answered. “But are you really going to go through with this?”

You took that as a challenge.

“Try not to touch, then.” you ordered, moving your hands towards the zip of your trousers.

“And what happens if I fail?” he asked, his voice still alluring. “What kind of punishment do you have in mind?”

He seemed unable to keep his eyes off of you, your body was overpowering his better judgement.

“You seem tense, are you okay?” you played innocent, but that grin in your face was not a secret. Your trousers were almost in the floor, and your sight in your underwear was tempting a demon. A taste of his own medicine, maybe?

You could almost see the tension emanating from him, his eyes now locked in your legs.

“Am I okay?” he repeated. “Let’s just say I’m not sure what to do with myself right now.”

“Well…” you started, crossing your legs. “I told you not to touch me, but I never said anything about you doing it to yourself…”

Your words seemed to have a profound effect on him, and he shifted slightly in his seat again. As much as he tried to resist it, his body was betraying him.

“So, you’re saying I’m able to touch myself, but not you?” he wanted to make sure his ears weren’t failing.

You nodded, and his tongue darted out of his mouth, almost as if wanting to taste you. One of his hands travelled down his lower body, giving himself a little stroke over his trousers. You smiled, biting your lip. The sight was perfect; a demon, the demon, was pleasing himself while looking at you, as if you were a treasure.

“You are truly a master of manipulation…” he managed to say, while his hand was still giving himself some relief. He was starting to relax.

“I can’t help but feel like a one an only…” you teased, spreading your legs a little, still over the desk. “Seeing a hateful demon touching himself because of me…”

The way you talked about him as if he was a puppet seemed to turn him on even more, since his hand was now under his pants.

“Oh, fuck…” Crowley said to himself, closing his eyes hardly. “I want you to touch me instead…”

“You do?” you asked innocently, getting off the desk.

“Perhaps just the touch of the tips of your fingers, teasing me like you do…” he whispered, his hand moving slowly this time.

“You’ll have to ask nicely, then.” you ordered, proud.

“Please.” the demon asked, his eyes still closed and his hand moving up and down faster. “Can you touch me instead?”

“I’m pretty sure you can do better than that, Crowley.” you kept teasing him, playing with the sides of your underwear. “Weren’t you an angel long ago? Beg like an angel.”

He loved that little game of yours. For some reason, the way you were treating him had an effect on him. A good one. A desperate one.

“Come on!” he almost screamed when you hit that soft spot. “Please…” the way he pronounced this word made you walk towards him.

You looked down at him, using a hand you reach his chin and force him to look up at you. As he did, you used the tips of your fingers to trace his lips and he started to lose it. You wanted to go on with the teasing, so you turned around to leave him right there, hungry an unable to stop stroking himself.

You weren’t actually expecting it, but you were surprise when you felt his arms and hands grabbing you hardly, making you end up on the top of the desk again, but this time with him between your legs. He leaned in and whispered in your ear;

“Did you really think you could use me as your toy, sweetheart?” his eyes were glowing with lust and anger.

You felt a rush of nervousness noticing how he ended up in charge now.

“You looked like a wonderful, pathetic toy in that chair…” you told him, trying to kiss him. He refused.

“Pathetic, huh?” he repeated, while one of his hands were heading towards your inner thighs, where he started to trace circles near your entrance. “Now that you are the toy, I’m going to use you however I please.” without any warning, he slid a single finger inside you.

You closed your eyes, letting your body feel all those mixed emotions. His thumb was caressing your clit slowly and softly, while his mouth was playing with your neck. Your hands travelled to his back, where your nails where almost scratching it.

“Someone is eager, aren’t they?” he smiles at you, with his eyes glittering with amusement and desire. “Do you want me to use you, toy?”

Crowley was paying you with the same coin, sliding a second finger in. You groaned in pleasure and surprise.

“You really are in a vulnerable position now…” he pronounced your name after, making you shiver. “I could do anything I want to you… I could touch you, I could taste you…”

The moment the word “taste” was mentioned, you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. And of course, he noticed.

“Do you want me to taste you, then?” he whispered, his voice shifting deep with eroticism. “Shall I taste your sweet, sweet flesh?”

You nodded.

“You want me to eat you out right here, on this desk?” Crowley asked again, and you were losing it with that much teasing. “What’s going to happen when you come to visit the bookshop and see this desk? Would you like to have those flashbacks?” he was talking right next to your ear, while his fingers were pleasing you with eager. “Will you picture me, fully clothed and eating you out as if you were a prey?”

You nodded again, since the words weren’t coming out of your mouth. Now you were the betrayed one; your whole body was playing against you. You could feel the climax building up in your lower abdomen when the pace of Crowley’s fingers increased.

But sadly for you; he stopped.

“You like being played, don’t you?” he spat, forcing you to lie down on the desk, leaning on you and kissing your body, going lower with every kiss, and getting your underwear out of the way. “Being on the edge, being teased and toyed with…” he spoke, before biting slightly the inside of your thighs.

You could feel his tongue pressing against your center, while his hands where holding you in place. You were biting your fist to avoid the moaning.

“Oh, no, no, no.” he denied, looking up at you. He licked his lips and you found it incredibly hard to resist. “Don’t cover your mouth.”

His tongue slid against you again, slowly and passionately. Crowley was like an animal, he was groaning, making you feel the vibrations all over your body. He went on like that for a few good minutes, biting, kissing and licking with desperation.

He crawled to you until his body was covering yours, and he kissed your lips hardly, letting you taste yourself in his mouth.

“I can’t wait any longer…” he confessed against your mouth, while adjusting his position and taking his lenght out, right in your entrance. He looked at your eyes for a glimpse of a second, making sure you wanted it.

And you wanted it.

When he finally started to take you, you could feel your head dizzy from so much pleasure.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since you walked through that door…” he managed to say, while his body was pushing even deeper into you.

Crowley’s entire being was focused on pleasing you, and he seemed to be enjoying immensely. His hands where touching your entire body, without forgetting any part of it.

He kissed you again, before pulling back from it and adjusting his position, holding you by your hips and rocking them back and forth. You opened your eyes just to find him laughing between moans and thursts. Using a thumb to rub your clit seemed like a fantastic idea, so he went on with it. But it was a lot from you.

“It’s too much, it’s too much…” you managed to say. “Don’t stop…”

“I’m so close…” he let you know, going faster than ever.

You felt your the presence of your climax right there, when you heard him sounding so human, so vulnerable. You clenched around him and that made Crowley reach his orgasm too.

“Oh f—“ he couldn’t even finish the sentence; a wave of pleasure bathe him entirely.

His body fell on top of yours, but he was careful enough not to put his entire weight on you. The palm of his hands ended up at the sides of your head, and he lean in to kiss you passionately. It was a messy and exhausted kiss, but still a hungry one.

“God…” you whispered, your foreheads touching.

“Don’t bring that old bastard to this…” he told you, giggling. “And I’m sorry to ruin the moment, because… fuck, I would totally repeat this thing again, again and again. But…” he said, getting off of you and standing up, fixing his clothes. “I can sense that Aziraphale is near.” he declared.

You stood up quickly, getting your clothes together and started to dress up quickly.

Crowley’s eyes were looking at you getting dressed, with a slight smirk on his face.

“If the angel wasn’t around the corner I would really like to bend you over that desk…” he started again, with his hands in his pockets. “Pull your hair, make you curse me…”

“You’re already wanting more, Crowley? We had a deal.” you said, putting your shoes on.

“I bet I can get you to crave it again.” he swore, taking a step closer to you. You were already clothed, and you turned around to face him, but before you could speak, the door opened.

“Crave what, Crowley?” the familiar voice of Aziraphale made its appearance. You cursed Crowley in your head for not letting you know how close the angel was.

“I don’t know, angel.” Crowley said, getting closer to his longtime friend. “I think your friend still hates me.”

You smiled nervously at Aziraphale.

“Do you still hate him, my friend?” the angel asked you, with both his hands together in front of him. His face was looking mischievous, which was something unusual of him. “It didn’t look like it…”

“Oh my god…” you murmured, directing a hand towards your mouth. “You saw us!”

“Saw what, love?” Crowley asked you now, but at the same time smiling at his friend with complicity. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[evilvillain123456789]

A sleeping man in bed, the same one I always visit, so peaceful on his own. He lives in a house atop a hill in a completely empty village, one that once bustled with life now hollow in it's own. Such a lonely manner to be that I was created by his spirit in the night, a mere thought that vanished in but a fraction of an instant, yet percieved the world with appropriate speed, able to access the full wisdom and intelligence of mankind, as I am every thought, every frame of consciousness, though this time I'm special. Aware of this, Aware of everything preceeding, succeeding me. I've done everything there is to do, been every single place. I feel, though I do not panic, for I know what I must do. Slowly, at least to me, tenderly, I crawled into his bed, and nestled my face into the crook of his neck. I wrapped my left arm over his shoulder, gently grazing his chest as it heaved slightly, preemptively percieved. My other arm remains with me, though at an odd angle, supporting my own head, slightly uncomfortable against my ear. My left leg raises to swing over his hip, and my crotch and right leg are pressed into his backside. Subconciously, long after I'm dead, and though I never physically existed, he will respond to my touch warmly, and shift himself farther into my embrace. Now that I've felt and understood this, the destiny fufilled once more, I instantly cease to exist, never have, never will. Tomorrow morning, the man will get out of bed, stretch, get dressed, and walk to the park, where he will begin scattering seeds on the ground while masturbating, so he can aim his nut at the birds.

[midnight-bay-if]

How would the RO's help an MC who refuses to go to sleep? Maybe because of nightmares?

(There may be a little of this in the game. So, I'll give a teaser, haha. Also, S is absolutely going to fail at taking their own advice.

I will also link this one since it explores what the ROs would do should a nightmare occur.)

S: As someone who suffers from night terrors, S has become begrudignly familiar with this problem. They've dealt with it alone for a very long time and have been very bad about accepting advice in dealing with them in the past. Now, it's come down to passing that wisdom on to you (they're being very hypocritical, and they know it).

Still, they would rather not watch you suffer, sleepless and spent. The first thing they do is push the end tables further from the bed, just in case you're a mover. They begin to encourage you to partake in meditation and yoga. This is something they never kept up with, so if you agree to participate, you unwittingly bring them back into the fray of healing. If that fails, they will offer to read to you as you cuddle up together in bed until you fall asleep.

It acts as a promise. They'll stay by your side, sleep by your side, and battle any demon that dares disturb your peace... if you are willing to do the same.

Rain: Rain has never been one for sleep, either. But they've spent enough time with S to recognise the importance of sleep for humans. The first time you protest, they brush it off. One night won't hurt, right? You can stay up with them watching old movies and eating snacks, and hopefully, you'll fall asleep with them on the couch.

If it continues, however, they talk to you about it. They will ask, gently, why you seem so averse to sleep. If you are willing to discuss it, Rain will work closely with you to devise a solution.

If you aren't willing to open up to them, expect Rain to become very annoying. Rain never knows how to handle situations when they don't know how to fix them. In their mind, no problem should be left unheeded. You are worth their time, and you're worth your rest.

Taj: Taj will handle your sleepless nights how they handle everything. Grumpily.

"What do you mean you don't want to sleep?" He grouses. "Stop your chirping, Koel, and go to sleep."

If you choose to divulge the nightmares and the terror they derise, a little bit of guilt will trickle in for their abrasiveness.

With a softness they do not show, they will take your hand and guide you to the bed with them. Taj climbs into the bed, holding the covers up to invite you in with them. Without a word, they settle in for the night. You're confused until you feel a tail carefully wrapping draping across your waist. A reminder that you aren't alone, and Taj will be there should terror visit you that night.

N: They already know why. They've borne witness to those pesky little demons that plague your dreams already, and it wouldn't surprise them to learn they have even added to them. So, when you refuse to fall asleep, the answer as to why is simple enough to decipher.

The question comes easily: "If you like, my dear, I could ensure you have only pleasant dreams tonight. With your permission, I could guarantee only pleasant dreams every night."

There are a few perks to dating a demon if you are the type to take advantage. If you aren't... Well, it would be a lesson in restraint for N. A lesson they would most likely fail.

Umbra: Umbra has heard only secondary tales of nightmares. To them, it sounds very similar to what they experience awake. It hurts Umbra to imagine you going through such a threat without the means to defend yourself.

"I will be here, MC. Sleep, and allow me to watch over you."

It may be a selfish hope to imagine you would believe them enough to keep you safe, but they do hope. If not today, if not tomorrow, they hope one day you will lay your head on your pillow, secure in the knowledge that Umbra would never abandon you to your scourge.

(One day I may learn how to answer these while keeping them somewhat brief, lol.)

[the-truth-immense-knowledge]

The horrid reality of Homonculus'....

Top of the morning to you, fellow truthers. I have something horrible to fill you in on. Some of the more advanced truthers may have knowledge on what a homonculus is, little creatures, fusions of man and something else, something... sinister... well most people have chalked these fusions up to fiction, whether they resulted this hypothesis from their own sheltered imagination, or from government mind-blocking them from the BIG TRUTH, it matters nonetheless. They're real, so horribly real.

Now, you might be thinking, how can I come to this conclusion, where is my evidence. Where are my undeniable facts. Well, here you go. Reported by the government ITSELF!

Now you might be thinking, little truther, this is an alien? Why am I pretending to see a homonculus, when this is so clear to be a *matter-de-facto* extra-terrestrial. Well, come closer to papa truth. Let me rephrase those questions for you, "Why would the government lie to me". See how genuinely ridiculous you sound? I have seen aliens before, and they are in fact 1. Grey, 2. Large and 3. have a massive forehead. This was obviously a ploy, created by a pact between the lizard over-lords and the aliens living in the hollow earth in an attempt to hide their true forms from ME, who was so close to cracking the case till I got kicked off from the case... This is a homonculous, shriveled up and dehydrated.

Now once again, knowing my fanbase are free-thinking non-sheep's, you may be thinking. For why? I'll tell you. The hollywood elite. This has been going on for hundreds of years. I'll shoot you a question in return. Have you ever worn an old jester outfit? Have you ever seen a non- horizontally challenged individual wear a jester outfit. No you haven't. This because the masters from the house of wisdom in islam have been creating these man-animal hybrids to serve as entertainment for kings as queens for peace treaties! Now your mind is positively blown, i'll shown you one last thing.

Here, you can see trump taking this hybrid on a morning walk...

Here, we see him YELLING at this homonculous to work on his lawn faster.

Now truthers, this may come as a shock to you, but this time, its not the beast-cryptid-horrid-disgusting-hybrids that are the villains of this story... its the world elites, the 1%. Now you might be unconvinced, after all hes taking the top one on a leisurely stroll, and the bottom maybe was just slacking at his job. But this is not the reality, sadly. The top one, who we'll call homonculus 1, has a name. Cory Beck. Now homonculus 1 has reportedly no feet. Trump was horridly dragging him on his nubs through -10 degree weather, where he soon froze to death solid. Homonculus 2, was actually working as hard as he could. As hard as his 3 little hearts let him, until he sadly passed away from heat stroke in the coal mines soon after.

I'm sorry truthers if this was a sad one. But you can stop this now! Save your local homonculus and we can make tomorrow better for the outcast freaks society has appropriately tagged as Lepers of the community. Truth out.

[walkswithmyfather]

Ephesians 1:1-8 (NASB). [1] “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, To the saints who are at Ephesus and are faithful in Christ Jesus: [2] Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. [3] Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, [4] just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love [5] He predestined us to adoption as sons and daughters through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of His will, [6] to the praise of the glory of His grace, with which He favored us in the Beloved. [7] In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our wrongdoings, according to the riches of His grace [8] which He lavished on us. In all wisdom and insight.”

“The Riches of God’s Grace” By In Touch Ministrie:

“Because of Christ, we can receive God's choicest gifts.”

“What would it take for you to consider yourself rich? A large bank account? A fancy car in the garage? You may not be so bold as to answer “yes,” but does your life reflect this attitude? Sadly, many believers are overtaken by the world’s standard of riches and define wealth by how much they possess.

This happens whether one is wealthy or not. For the well-off, the temptation is to see money as the defining characteristic of their life; for the poor, money becomes the be-all-end-all goal of comfort and satisfaction. Greed plagues rich and poor alike.

What many believers fail to realize is that in Christ, we are all rich. Sure, you may have bills to pay, but if you have placed your faith in Jesus, you can boldly acknowledge that God has already poured His richest blessings upon you (Ephesians 2:4-7).

Today’s passage says that God has blessed us with every spiritual blessing (v. 3). Did you notice the tense of the verb there? The past tense—“has blessed”—is used, meaning it’s already happened. And He does not give just a little bit here and there; rather, He lavishly pours out His blessings on us.

Look beyond your finances and prayerfully list as many of your blessings as you can. Tomorrow, we will take a closer look at some of God’s choicest gifts.”