#my limited time i think is the root of all my concerns

[wonder-worker]

"...Walsingham, the monastic author of the St. Albans Chronicle, was by far [Alice Perrers'] harshest contemporary critic, who in his venom has (somewhat ironically) left us with the longest and most detailed account of her background and personality, her influence as Edward’s mistress, and her subsequent trial. He describes Alice as a shameless lowborn meretrix (a word variously translated as mistress, whore, or harlot), who “brought almost universal dishonour upon the king’s reputation […] and defiled virtually the whole kingdom of England with her disgraceful insolence.” Although Walsingham was not always accurate and, specifically in this case, clearly heavily biased against Alice, he nevertheless provides a truly contemporary account, and his importance as a source should not be underestimated. Likewise, the anonymous monk of St. Mary’s York recorded that in the Good Parliament the Commons (represented by their speaker, Sir Peter de la Mare) stated that it “would be of great gain to the kingdom to remove the said dame [Alice] from the presence of the king both as a matter of conscious and of the ill prosecution of the war.” During the same assembly, the bishop of Rochester, Thomas Brinton, preached from St. Paul’s Cross that “it is not fitting nor safe for all the keys of the kingdom to hang from the belt of one wife.” Although the word wife (uxoris) is used, it is widely accepted that this is a reference to Alice.”

-Laura Tompkins, '"Edward III's Gold-Digging Mistress": Alice Perrers, Gender, and Financial Power at the English Royal Court, 1360-1377", "Women and Economic Power in Premodern Courts" (edited by Cathleen Sarti). Italics by me.

[bubblegumgothglados]

This is my RACK focused judgment free primer for heavy impact play. It covers every part of the body from head to toe and at no point does it say you can’t do something just the risks of doing so. I don't normally put warnings on my posts but most of my writing is fantasy, this isn't. I'm going to talk about any number of painful deaths and heaps more ways of becoming disabled.

In this primer "you" means the one doing the hitting, "victim" is the one being hit, and "tool" is the thing you're hitting with which could be a fist, foot, hammer, bat, anything. I'm writing it this way because its fun for me.

This primer also assumes you know the different types of impacts and how they affect the body, if you don't go look at my other writings.

Finally i take no responsibility for anything you do. All this information is what i could put together from medical journals and car crash reports if I've got anything wrong (and you can prove it) please let me know.

Enjoy

Head. With hits to the head, the two major concerns are concussions and neck injuries. A concussion occurs when a person’s brain impacts with the inside of their skull, this happens because the brain is suspended in fluid so if the skull stops or starts moving suddenly the brain will move out of sync with the skull. Symptoms of concussions can include headaches, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, sleepiness, and excessive fatigue. If your victim lost consciousness for any length of time and is having trouble speaking or understanding your words, you need to get them to the ER. There is no cure for a concussion but the best treatment is pain medication and activities that won’t tax the brain to give it time to recover. There are any number of ways to damage a neck, but generally it happens when a person’s neck is moved suddenly and violently or pushed past its limit. Minor injuries should heal by themselves within a few weeks but if unlucky pain and stiffness can last months or even years. For more major injuries, physical therapy or a neck brace might be necessary but only if the pain lasts longer than a few weeks. It’s also possible to hit someone hard enough to break their neck or fracture their skull but that takes a lot of force. All of these injuries can be avoided by supporting your victim’s head and neck by bracing their head against a surface or holding their head with your hand.

Jaw. It takes surprisingly little force to dislocate a jaw, you can do so with a good slap Dislocations are talked about in Note 3 at the bottom of this primer. Heavy bleeding from gums or a tooth that feels loose could indicate a fractured root. This is a fairly minor issue and if you see a dentist quickly they should be able to fix it back in place with no lasting damage. A tooth that has been knocked out completely should survive; get your victim to rinse their mouth out and rinse the tooth off and shove it back into the gap, and then have them see a dentist to make sure it’s properly seated and avoid chewing with it for a while.

Eyes. A fun combination of fragile and complicated. There's no first aid tips I can give you and it'll be real obvious if something is wrong. I will say you don't have to hit someones eye to give them a black eye, it’s bruising around the eye socket that matters. Also check Note 1 about the use of ice when treating injuries.

Nose. It’s more difficult than you think to break a nose. You definitely can with a good punch but you'll have to really commit. A broken nose isn't that serious (I've broken mine twice now) and isn't even ER worthy. If your victim is leaning backwards after breaking their nose the blood will run down the back of their throat potentially making them vomit or very sick. There is a chance a broken nose will heal in a way that restricts breathing in which case your victim may need surgery.

Cheek bone. Below the temple but above the gum line, running from just bellow their ear to their nose. Special mention to this spot because it’s the best place to hit your victim in the head (in my opinion). This piece of bone is very sturdy and not that risky to fracture. Plus, when you hit them here they have to watch it coming.

Neck. The windpipe, jugular, cranial nerves, vagus nerve, carotid arteries, and spine all live here and damage to any of these can cause permanent disability or death. Seek medical attention if your victim has trouble breathing or swallowing, or a lot of pain or swelling. Stingy tools are far less risky here than thuddy tools.

Shoulders. Note 2 on joints. The shoulder blades can either be an ideal impact location or one of the most risky depending on how it’s sitting. If the shoulder blade is jutting out away from the rest of the back, it’s very easy to damage If it’s laying flat against the back, it’s protected by a thick layer of fat and muscle.

Biceps. Top 4 impact location. The main concern is damaging the elbow and shoulder joints, if hitting in a way that will pull on those joints. Much like with the head, bracing the impact area against a surface will minimize the risk. Repeated hits to this area can temporarily disable the arm, which is fun.

Forearm. As above, the main risk is damaging the adjoining joints. There are also several important blood vessels and nerves running through this area and not a lot of fat an muscle to protect them.

Hands. Very little fat or muscle, mostly tendons, nerves, and cartilage. See Note 2 on joints. Special note to the palm, which hurts like hell but is relatively safe because of the extra muscle and fat in that area, great for punishment. Once again, stingy tools are much less risky than thuddy tools.

Breasts/ biceps. Top 4 impact locations. Thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone protect anything vital.

Sternum. That is the bone running down the center of a person’s chest that connects to their ribs. Not in itself very fragile but the cartilage that connects it to the ribs is easily damaged and will take a long time to heal. A fractured sternum will likely cause shortness of breath and pain when taking deep breaths. There's not much to be done about these injuries just rest and avoiding strenuous activity.

Spine. The single most risky impact location. Any damage to the spine risks permanent paralysis of everything below that point. As ever, stingy tools present less risk than thuddy tools.

Rib cage. Designed to protect a person’s most vital organs, the rib cage is very strong. Fractured ribs will cause pain breathing but aren't particularly serious. Snapped ribs can pierce organs If this happens, it'll be immediately obvious and medical intervention is required to prevent painful death. Special note to the 'floating' ribs at the bottom of a persons rib cage which don't connect to the sternum and are therefore much less resilient. Second special note to the spot right above a persons heart. A significantly hard impact at exactly the wrong moment in their cardiac cycle can stop their heart. They will loose consciousness and you will need to give them CPR until they can be defibrillated. This is ridiculously unlikely but better to mention just in case.

Abdomen. If you feel around your victim’s belly, you can figure out the line where their abdominal muscles sit. If you have them tense these muscles, you can hit them fairly hard with relatively little risk because the muscles plus the fat in that area create a thick layer of protection. (Pro tip: "Stay tense or this will might kill you" is not only true but hot and terrifying). Outside of that area or if they don't tense, there's real risk of bruising or even rupturing their intestines, which carries a 50-70% survival rate depending on how quickly you can get them to the ER. Symptoms to look out for are bloating, diarrhea, loss of appetite, and fatigue. Special note to the kidneys, which sit next to the backbone just below the rib cage and are very easily bruised. The primary symptom to look for is blood when peeing. As always, stingy tools carry less risk than thuddy tools.

Gluteus maximus. That's their butt. Hit it as hard as your victim will let you. Enough has been said about this region; I don't feel the need to recover that ground. Note 4 on bruises.

Genitals. I'm not going to get into CBT, that's a separate kink. But the vagina is very durable as it’s pretty much just flesh and fat on the outside Minimal risk, go to town.

Thigh. Top 4 impact location. Outer thigh will hurt more and bruise more. As with the head and arms, the primary risk is damaging the adjoining joints. Note 4 on bruises because this is the primary place for DVT.

Calf. As above. Shins are also a great location for punishment because they hurt like hell.

Feet. Very similar to hands. The soles of a person’s foot are intended to impact with the ground frequently and with some force, so they can take a fair bit of punishment.

Note 1. Ice. It is no longer suggested injury procedure to use ice to reduce swelling. Yes, it is effective at reducing swelling but we now understand swelling is an important part of the healing process and although ice might make it feel and look better in the short term, it actually increases the amount of time the injury will take to heal. You want the blood to be able to flow to the injury to take away dead cells and bring nutrients and energy.

Note 2. Joints. Neck, spine, shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, hips, knees, ankles, and toes. The reason these are almost always labeled "red" or "no go" on impact play body maps is because these are choke points for blood vessels and nerves; they are made of fragile tendons and cartilage, and they have very little padding for protection. They're also important for movement day to day and very difficult to heal properly. If a joint is damaged, you can buy braces for every joint from most pharmacies.

Note 3. Dislocations. If you're lucky, a partial dislocation will relocate by itself if you move the joint around as you normally would, not forcing it or trying to manipulate it with your hand, just moving it with its own muscles. If it does naturally relocate but you still have pain a few weeks later seek a medical professional. If you're unlucky or if it’s a total dislocation, you will have to see a medical professional. DO NOT TRY TO FORCE IT BACK INTO PLACE!

Note 4. Bruises. Normally, bruises are nothing to worry about but there are situations where a deep bruise can be a health concern. If the bruise continues to get worse after a week, there could be a hematoma under the skin, which is like a blood clot, and might need to be removed. The other possible complication is Deep Vein Thrombosis, which is a blood clot and can be lethal, if not treated quickly. With DVT, the symptoms are tenderness, warmth, and a "pulling sensation" which are pretty normal impact play symptoms. But if you're doing impact play at the level that could cause DVT, then you and your victim should know their healing process intimately, so if something feels off or isn't healing right, get them to a medical professional; better safe than dead.

[moonchildstyles]

hiii i was wondering if you would write a blurb about vamp h taking care of a drunk y/n lol i think it’d be awfully cute omg or a girls night out (+ one vampire) and he’s like trailing after her trying to keep her out of trouble

wordcount: 3.9k+

—————

"Darling, are you certain you are not going to be cold?" 

Twisting and turning in the mirror, her dress ruched over her body in tight folds, it took all of (Y/N)'s effort to keep her smile at bay. "I'm sure I'll be fine, H. It's not that cold out, and we won't be spending much time outside anyway." 

It was clear he still wasn't pleased at her answer with the way he folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth in a grim line. (Y/N) had to bite back her smile lest he see her amusement from where he was leaning against the doorframe to her closet. He hadn't moved much from where he'd started the night watching her try on practically every outfit she had stuffed into both their wardrobe and closet. 

She could feel his eyes on her as she smoothed her dress over her thighs, pulling down the hem another inch before ruching it back up. Counting down in her head, she had to keep herself from laughing when he followed the same pattern he'd curated for the past ten minutes.

"What if you fall ill? Or the weather changes while we're out? Y'could freeze before I have a chance to warm you."

This time, she couldn't stop the laugh from falling from her lips. She stopped her assessment in the mirror, turning to Harry with her amusement clear on her features and a cant of her head.

"H, c'mon."

His own expression tightened, his stubborn streak peeking out. "Come on, what?"

Stepping towards him on bare feet, (Y/N) peered up at him. "I know you think humans can't handle anything, but, honestly, do you really think it's that easy for me to get sick or freeze to death?"

They both knew well that Harry had done his share of research when it came to anything human. Especially after bonding and ensuring (Y/N) wanted to be at his side for their forever, he'd deep dived into anything and everything human to refresh his knowledge and become the most perfect beloved he could be—including knowing just how to take care of her. He knew better than to assume she would drop dead after a gust of wind. 

Despite the stubborn line of his jaw, he relented, "No." 

"Then, why are you so nervous about tonight?" she crooned, wrapping her arms around his middle with her chin set on his chest. 

His palms ghosted down her back, leaving a chilled trail just barely felt through the fabric of her dress, until he stopped at the bottom of her spine. His touch was delicate. She could see the whole of him softening the longer she looked up at him. 

"You know I worry about you," he murmured, "Anything is possible when it comes to humans. I dread testing the limits when it comes to you." 

As much as she teased him and found his concern over something as simple as a breeze something to laugh over, the root of it all was something that had her softening. It was hard not to hear his words and grow tender. 

"I promise I'm going to be okay, Harry," she told him, "I'm going to bring a jacket, and you're meeting us after dinner, anyway. If I feel like I need more than my jacket I can text you and let you know." 

Though she knew he would never be one hundred percent pleased with her answer unless it was her layering up with all dangers padlocked away from her, this seemed to be enough for him as he sucked in an unnecessary breath. 

"I suppose that will work," he sighed, overdramatic as always, "You are rather strong." 

Stretching to the tips of her toes, (Y/N) pecked a quick kiss to the soft of Harry's lip. "I promise I'll be okay. Thank you for worrying about me, though." 

He chased after her when she pulled away, craning his neck to steal one more kiss before she landed on the flat of her feet once more. "'S a privilege, m'love." 

It was poetry like that that almost had her agreeing to wrap up in layers and layers complete with a shell of bubble wrap before she left the house. 

————— 

Harry couldn't keep the frown from his face as he parked across the street from the nightclub he was meeting (Y/N) and her friends at. He'd never been to an establishment like this before (minus blood clubs but that was an entirely different concept that appealed to his more baser needs, so it didn't count), and, judging by the specimens he could see pouring in and out, he would have liked to keep it that way.

But, this was where (Y/N) had asked him to meet her and there was no way he was going to let her down. 

He was just going to have to hold his breath, he decided. Before setting foot inside, he was sure he would not be a fan of the scents perfuming the building. 

It would only be a few hours, he reminded himself as he stepped out of his car. Hours like this were a minute compared to the eternity of his existence. He could handle tonight without a doubt.

The slight breeze in the air (he didn't even want to think about (Y/N)'s bare legs enduring this wind) pushed open the unbuttoned lapels of his shirt. He hadn't been sure what he should wear for the night, but he took some cues from (Y/N)'s dress and heels when he decided to pull a shimmering satin piece from the wardrobe and fitted black trousers. Looking at the young men walking in and stumbling out of the nightclub, he wondered if they were underdressed or if he was overdressed. 

That concern didn't last long, though, pushed aside once he heard a familiar peal of laughter pouring out of the swinging door of the nightclub. What he was wearing was pushed to the back of his mind then, his priority shifting. He needed to get inside and ensure (Y/N) was alright just like she had promised. 

Making it to the entrance of the nightclub, Harry was stopped by a man tucked away in a cubby by the door. He was dressed in all black, a bored expression on his face when Harry approached. 

"Hey, how are you?" the man asked, barely looking at Harry as he spoke. 

A furrow pinched Harry's brow. "I am well, thank you." 

At his abrupt tone, the man finally chanced a look at Harry. He lingered for only a moment on his stern expression before seemingly shaking it off. "That's great, man. Can I see your ID?" 

The man set his hand out, palm up in expectation. The knit in Harry's brows tightened that much more at the ask. This never happened at the blood clubs from what he could remember; why did it matter who he was before stepping inside? 

Nonetheless, he pulled out the (forged) ID out of his wallet, passing it off to the man with a quick flash of his hand. The man barely glanced at the piece of plastic before he flicked his eyes back up to Harry with a slight smile curling his lips. 

"So, you're Harry," the man pointed out, passing back Harry's ID. 

Pocketing it, Harry wasn't sure what this man was trying to get at, but answered him nonetheless, "Yes. That's me. Why?" 

The man shook his head, a small laugh falling from his lips before he stepped away from the door. "Nothing. Your girlfriend just made sure to let everyone know you were coming tonight. She'll be excited to see you."

Mumbling a thank you to the man, Harry stepped around him and entered the nightclub. While it was a sweet thought that (Y/N) had boasted about him to the nightclub staff, he wasn't sure why she would go through all of the trouble. It wasn't like her to bubble off to strangers. 

The lights were off, leaving the bar lining the back of the space with only a dim glow for the tenders to work by. The main floor, full of people dancing (at least that's what he thought that was what they were doing. Harry couldn't be sure, and he truthfully didn't want to look close enough to find out) was the darkest space with only pumping strobes and multicolored spotlights to be the only guides. Here and there were tall tables stationed by the bar and rounded booths tucked into the walls, no seat left unclaimed despite the busy dance floor. Scanning his eyes over the packed bodies, Harry searched for a familiar dress or the peak of a familiar scent, hoping to find (Y/N) somewhere. 

His hunt didn't take long, finding (Y/N) with a few other girls he was familiar with only through photos on the far edge of the dancing crowd. He was only able to catch a view of her profile, where she had a lazy smile on her lips and her lashes sitting half lidded over her eyes. There was a cup in her hand, the neon liquid almost empty between shards of ice, though she still managed to slosh it almost to the edge with every uncoordinated sway of her body. 

Harry didn't waste any time before he was meandering his way through the throng of bodies, keeping his breath stilted so as to not bother his senses with the scent of so many others that were not his beloved. It was bad enough he felt the heat of their bodies and the unnecessary brushes against him, he didn't want anything more from him to invade his senses. 

Just as he hit the edges of their little group, (Y/N) stumbled on her heels, her features falling. In a rush, Harry was at her side, saving her balance and settling her back on her feet. A bewildered expression crossed her face, one he was sure matched her friends who all had eyes on him as well. Though the second she recognized his chilled touch and the familiar hands wrapped around her arms, she loosened back into her oblivious state. 

"Harry!" she cheered, completely forgetting about her almost finished drink when she twirled on her feet and threw her arms around his shoulders, "You're here!" 

His bunched muscles finally relaxed, allowing him to reciprocate her hug. Dipping his head down, his cheek pressed to hers with his lips by her ear, he murmured, "'M here, love. Are y'alright?" 

"Yeah, why?" she bubbled, seemingly having wiped the stumble right out of her mind already.

It didn't take Harry's extra senses to notice the vodka on her breath, though he was sure he was the only one that could notice the sharp edge added to her scent from the alcohol. With how saturated it was, she hadn't just started her night at the club. That would at least explain why she had made sure to alert the man out front that her boyfriend (a silly title, but cute nonetheless) was on his way.

"No reason," he smiled, dropping his hands to sit on her waist, "Are y'having fun?" 

"I am! I'm so happy you're here now! I've been telling everyone that you were coming, and now you're here!" 

The glaze over her eyes was enough to draw Harry in, his lips curling into an amused smile. He'd never seen her anything past a bit tipsy. Drunk (Y/N) was a person he'd never met before.

Before he had a chance to offer any kind of response, using a surprising amount of her strength given her state, she pulled him along before presenting him to her friends. 

"Guys!" she bubbled, catching the attention of the rest of the women, "Look who's here!" 

One of the women looked decidedly more sober than the rest, though Harry could smell a tint of alcohol on her as well. She was the first to step forward, giving a small smile. 

"Harry, right?" she said, the ends of her short blonde hair dusting her collarbones, "(Y/N)'s been so excited to see you tonight." 

"As I've learned," he laughed, offering a hand out for her to shake, "And you are?" 

"Oh, I'm Charlotte! It's nice to meet you!" 

At that, the surrounding group made their own introductions with (Y/N) clinging to his side. He dedicated each name to memory, hoping that would help him pass the test that he was surely going through that night. Meeting her friends had been foiled before with the changes in weather keeping him stuck inside, or his insistence that (Y/N) live her life outside of him lest she feel trapped in the manor at his side. Tonight had been the first time everything had fallen into place: a girls' night with an open invitation after dinner. 

Shifting his arm around her shoulders, Harry pulled (Y/N) to his side as he guided her out of the way of those still dancing behind them. His features set pleasantly neutral, he looked towards Charlotte first. 

"(Y/N) told me your significant others might also be joining us tonight," he drawled, his version of asking of their whereabouts as he seemed to be the only boyfriend having shown up so far. 

"I'm not sure, actually," Charlotte mused, the evidence of her own drinking beginning to show. "I know my boyfriend will be here to pick me up later, but I haven't really heard anything about the other girls’. It might just be you, if that's okay." 

Feeling eyes on him, Harry glanced down at his side to see (Y/N) still gazing up at him with a dreamy smile on her lips. He hoped he didn't come off as rude when the sight distracted him as Charlotte spoke, taking a beat to reciprocate her look and keep her snug to his side. 

"I am okay with that. I hope 'm not intruding on your night then," Harry charmed, shooting his gaze around the room in search of a vacant booth or barstool, "Perhaps, I can find a free spot and let you all have fun without me interrupting." 

"No," (Y/N) piped up, "You have to stay with us now! I don't want you to go."

Her words are slightly slurred but her passion was clear enough. He didn't bother to look at what the rest of the women had to say, only worrying about  keeping the smile on his beloved face. "Okay, then I will stay, love. I will still try to find a table, though, so y'can sit with me for a little."

She was more than quelled by his answer, her body pliant against his own as if she were already ready for him to drag her wherever he wanted. 

"I don't know if anything is going to be open," Charlotte interjected, having heard his proposal over the music, "I've been hoping someone would move, but they've all been taken since we got here." 

"I'm sure I can make something work," Harry smiled, already spotting a booth he would prefer over the others, "We'll be right back." 

As soon as Harry stepped out of the small circle formed by their group with (Y/N) on his arm, it was closed up once more, though he could feel eyes pasted to his back watching where they went. Aware of her stumbling steps at his side, Harry took it slow as he escorted her towards a booth situated in the back corner, just out of view of the others. 

"I think people have—hic—they're already sitting there, H," (Y/N) murmured. 

"'S alright," he answered, tightening his hold on her hand, "I think they're about to leave." 

He didn't waste any time in reaching the group, a charming smile on his lips when he picked out the leader. An underdressed (in Harry's opinion) blonde man with a drink in hand seemed to be the center of attention, the first one to acknowledge Harry approaching. 

Before he could utter any kind of greeting, Harry took over the situation. "Hello," he smiled, "M'girlfriend and her friends would like to sit here, please." 

The man looked bewildered for a moment, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "Um—I'm sorry, but—" 

"No need to be sorry," Harry cut him off, voice taking on a quality he didn't utilize very often, but this was a special occasion, "You can find another space. Right?" 

As soon as the man met his eyes, Harry could tell the effects he wanted were taking place. It was all within the span of a heartbeat that this man took Harry's words as his own idea and nodded his head. 

"Yeah, we can find another spot," he relented, a faux cheer to his voice as he beckoned his friends to follow him out, "C'mon, guys, let's try the bar." 

There were a few questioning glances thrown to both the man as well as Harry, but no one questioned. Instead they only murmured amongst themselves as they followed their leader towards the bartop. As he led her into the now free vinyl seating, (Y/N) was one of the few that had a question in her eyes and pinch in her brows. 

"How did you do that?" she asked, her voice low under the music but still audible to Harry's ears, "Is that a vampire thing?" 

A breath of laughter fell from his lips at her words. "A little bit, yes. I don't like to do it often, but I want to make sure y'have somewhere to sit and relax while I get y'some water." 

"You're getting me water?" she questioned, thoroughly distracted at his new offer as if she didn't have a cup of half melted ice in her hand. 

"Mhm," he hummed, releasing her hand once she had tucked herself into the corner of the booth, "After I grab your friends, 'm getting y'some water before y'have any more fun." 

With the way she was looking at him, he would have figured he had proposed and offered diamonds and jewels to her, and not just a glass of water from the bar. This night was already going better than he'd thought. 

—————

"Did you guys know that Harry's a painter?! Like, he does huge murals and things all over the house! He's amazing." 

Only Charlotte seemed to catch (Y/N) words—the same declaration she had cheered about only ten minutes prior. She and Harry exchanged a small glance while the rest of the table treated this as new information. 

It'd been a long time since Harry had drank, and even longer since he'd been intoxicated to (Y/N)'s degree. Was short term memory something that was now lost when mixed with spirits, or was that just her? 

"Do you really?!" one of (Y/N)'s friends (Cecilia, maybe?) bubbled, her cup of ice water cradled in her hands as she leant over the table with wide eyes, "What kind of stuff do you paint?" 

"A little bit of everything," Harry answered, just as he had the last time a similar question was posed, "M'style has changed a lot over the last year or so. I can show you all some time if you'd like—'m sure (Y/N) would love to have you over to the manor." 

Even Charlotte perked up at this offer, looking to (Y/N) for confirmation. "That would be so much fun, (Y/N)! We could do that the next time we get together!" 

At that, Harry sat back while the chattering arose amongst the group. Under the table, his hand rested on (Y/N)'s thigh, the warmth of her skin anchoring him through the pumping music, strobing lights, and unfamiliar smells surrounding him. As much as he was aiming to leave a good first impression on her friends, he was still very much out of his element in the nightclub. He hoped (Y/N) would call for him to take her home sooner rather than later. 

As if she knew he had her on his mind, (Y/N) leant into his side, looking up at him with a toothy grin and affectionate eyes. The chattering was going strong on the other side of the table, the conversation sounding as if the women were making plans for their next outing together—one that would take place at the manor with bottles of wine and movies. 

"You'd really be alright with everyone coming over?" (Y/N) asked, moony eyes trained on his face. 

"Of course," he answered, a smile landing on his face on instinct, "It is your home too, petal. Y'can have your friends over as well—'s not jus' Mitch and Niall that are allowed over."

She curled into his side, her thigh under the table practically draped over his own. "Do you think Sarah would want to hang out with us?" 

The thought of Sarah playing around with a bunch of human girls was more amusing than he thought it would be. He wondered if that was how she and Mitch felt when they realized he was courting a human girl. 

"She might," he told her, keeping his amusement to himself, "I can ask for you." 

In an impossible feat, (Y/N) looked that much more in love with him at his offer. As much as he missed her regular scent without the sticky edge of alcohol, he did like just how tender she became—adoring his every and any move. 

"That would be so nice, H. Thank you," she told him earnestly, her hand coming to rest on his middle with his shirt in her grip, "You're the best ever, you know that?" 

"I have been told as much a few times." All by her, but that was a detail that he would leave out for the moment.

"Well," she pouted, "It's true. I'm so happy you came tonight. I think the girls really like you, too." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, hoping it was more than just her drunken tongue making the claim. 

"Mhm," she hummed, stretching to rest her head on his shoulder with a squeeze of her hand over his shoulder, "You're better than all of their boyfriends." 

At that, Harry couldn't help but to release the laugh building in his chest. While he understood the sentiment, that wasn't quite the impact he was going for. 

"You think so?" Harry questioned, unable to wipe his amusement from his voice. 

(Y/N) didn't seem to notice—or, most likely, care—responding with a definitive nod. "I know so." 

Another breathy laugh left his lips as he ducked his head, burying his nose in her hair. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Charlotte glancing their way; an adoring smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she saw the way her friend clung to him. 

Taking in a lungful of (Y/N)'s scent, Harry decided that nightclubs weren't so bad. 

At least when (Y/N) was there.  

“Wait, (Y/N),” Cecilia babbled, a look of urgency on her face, “You said he cooks, right? You cook right?” 

Her attention was splashed over Harry then, forcing him to draw away from (Y/N)’s hair. Clearing his throat under the music, he nodded his head. “I do, yes.” 

A squeal fell from her lips with her companions being just as excited. “Would you make us food when we come over? (Y/N) says you’re so good!” 

Just as (Y/N) perked up at his side, turning her wide eyes on him, Harry stifled his own laugh. God, how he wished he had been a fly on the wall while she apparently spouted off all these facts about him—the ones reserved for her. 

“If you’d like.”

Just as he expected, more noise erupted from the table.

—————

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any fun ideas or requests you have!!

[nakedbibi333]

Thinking Fourth Dimensionally - Neville Goddard

“The condition which I desired and assumed that I had, becomes  objectified within my world and bears witness to the power of my assumption.”

Summary: think outside the boundaries of the 3D world. Think beyond the things that have happened in the physical world, what could happen, what's possible. Think outside of reason, the rules of the world, think outside of logic. Allow your desires to be impossible, magical, and instant. Allow yourself to be free from the constrictions of what life has taught you it is.

Concepts Discussed: The Inner world, Self-Concept, The 4D, Instant manifestation, The Carnal Mind: The conscious mind, The Mind of Christ: The subconscious mind, The sabbath, and The importance of your inner world (mental diet).

The conscious mind is strapped by reason and the 3D world.

It can only experience the present moment as reality

Because it is physically in front of you and you can experience it, it feels more real than anything else (but it isn't).

The past only feels like an illusion and the future doesn’t exist yet 

It does not think that it can access or change the past or future

The 4D is the subconscious mind.

In here, the past, present, and future are all happening at the same time, now.

Leave the 3D alone and take time to nurture the 4D, your inner world. 

When you go into your imagination and create a new reality there, you are effectively changing your state. By assuming the wish fulfilled and walking in that assumption (thinking from and acting as if), you will be persisting in that state.

“A concrete reality, displaced in time”

5th Chapter of the Gospel of Mark (3 stories)

“Be not afraid, only believe”

Fear is the absence of faith.

To be fearful is to go against your belief in the law of assumption, in your own belief in yourself.

“Are you living in the dead past?”

The past no longer exists at this moment. It is completely changeable and it has no power over you now. The only way you can give it power is by assuming that the past is immovable and unchangeable. Your own assumptions based on your past are what are holding you back.

“If you are living among the dead, your prejudices, your superstitions, and your false beliefs that you keep alive are the tombstones behind which you hide.”

When you refuse to let go of the old man, state, beliefs, and assumptions you have carried with you for so long, you refuse to change your inner reality. If you do not change your inner reality, you won't change your outer reality.

The 4D reveals a new approach to life.

Dying to the old state and resurrecting to the new state is how you change yourself.

Think outside the boundaries of the senses. 

Don't allow yourself to be stuck within the laws and rules of logic and reason.

Get rid of limitations.

Cleanse your mind of your former concept of self

“As your mind is cleansed of your former concept of self, you assume you are what you want to be, and remaining faithful to this assumption, you give form to your assumption.”

“But now having assumed that I AM what formerly I desired to be, I cannot continue desiring what I AM conscious of being. So I do not discuss it. I talk to no one concerning what I AM. It is so obvious to me that I AM what I wanted to be that I walk as though I were.”

You stay true and faithful to your assumption and then you walk through life as though you have it. THINK FROM IT.

“When you do become cleansed and you are free, then the womb, your own mind is automatically healed. It becomes the prepared ground where seeds, your desires, can take root and grow into manifestation.”

Die to your old state, feed your mind for your new state, tell no one, walk in that assumption, and persist.

“Things I am not attentive to fade and wither within my world, regardless of what they are.”

Since you created everything in your experience, you have the ability to remove your attention from them.

“They are not born and then remain unfed. I gave them birth by reason of the fact that I became conscious of being them. When I embody them within my world that is not the end. That is the beginning. Now I am a mother who must keep alive this state by being attentive to it.” 

By removing your attention from what is undesirable in your life, you are starving it. 

Things in your life are fed by attention. Remove your attention from that which you do not desire and turn your attention on that which you love.

Your attention must remain on your new state

Do not revert back, only feed your desired state.

“Close the door to your senses”

The 3D world is merely a reflection. It is not the source. It is not concrete and immovable. It is not unchangeable. The 4D world is the true source. Imagination is the source. 

So, close the door to the physical world and move only in your imagination. Grant yourself your desires, become who you desire to be, and leave reason, limitations, judgment, and other people’s opinions out of there. Here, anything is possible. Anything can happen and you can have anything you desire, no matter how unattainable it may seem. Think about it right now. In your mind, you can have all the money in the world, and you can bring anything you desire into existence. You can have anyone you want, You can be successful and loved and revered. You can love and be loved. You can be anywhere in the universe that you can possibly imagine. You can literally close your eyes and imagine yourself on the moon and it would take absolutely no effort on your part. In imagination, all things are yours and all things are possible. This is the source from which all things in the physical 3D world come from. So, if you truly allow yourself to create, to be, and to give yourself anything you desire, then your 3D world can reflect a magical world filled with all your desires fulfilled. 

“I no longer look for confirmation. I completely deny the evidence of my senses, which mock my assumption and do not discuss with others whether my assumption is possible or not.”

You don’t look for confirmation, you don’t ask anyone (even yourself) if it’s possible. It is possible because you said it’s possible. And that’s that. Be stern with yourself. Begin standing up for yourself, your desires, and your imagination. You deserve to have your 3D reflect to you exactly what you want. No less. 

“I shut out of that state everything that would deny it” = You literally ignore anything that would go against your desire. You have to be so stubborn. You have to be like a spoiled child, denying anything that does not exactly align with what you want. You don’t take no for an answer, you don’t allow it to half-manifest, and you definitely don’t allow “signs” and “small manifestations” to come. You don’t settle for anything less than you deserve, which is everything you desire, down to the smallest detail. 

Creation is man’s I AM

We were always meant to be creators.

Man’s consciousness is GOD. There is no other power out there.

Are you free of conditions?

“Do you believe now that you, without the assistance of another, need only assume that you are what you want to be, to make that assumption real within your world? Or do you believe that you must first fulfill a certain condition imposed upon you by the past, that you must be of a certain order, or a certain something?”

Ask yourself this: are you truly allowing yourself to be the sole power of your experience? Do you truly believe that you can have, be, and experience anything you desire? Do you actually think that you don't need to do anything except imagine yourself as you wish to be and it will come? Or are you still reasoning, doubting, and conditioning?

SELF-CONCEPT

“Of what are you conscious of being?”

Neville begins talking about the importance of the self-concept.

Everything you experience comes from you. Your entire world and reality is created by you. Are you ready to completely accept that everything is coming from imagination?

“Although you cannot see your objective with the limited focus of your three-dimensional mind, you are now that which you have assumed you are. Walk in that assumption and remain faithful to it.”

Even if you can’t see your desire immediately manifested in the physical world, you ARE what you have assumed. Your assumptions, beliefs, and manifestations are true and real. You continue to remain faithful to these new assumptions, this new conception of self, so that it can show itself to you in the physical world. It must be made manifest, there is no exception. If you assume something, and persist in that assumption, it MUST manifest and reflect in the outer world.

“I alone possess the power of the first person.”

I AM - only able to refer to myself. It is a first-person experience as GOD. This is your reality. Your own personal world and experience. Only you can manifest for yourself. 

“No man can get in [the pool] before you”

No one can take your manifestations from you

No one can beat you to manifesting something or someone

It’s only you

The Sabbath

“When you are not at all concerned about the opinion of others, when you walk as though you were, you cannot raise one finger to make it so, you are in the Sabbath.”

“I cannot be concerned as to how it will be, and still say I AM conscious of being it”

You are not truly in the state of having what you desire if you are still worrying about how it will come to you.

You would know that you are in the Sabbath if you are no longer questioning.

Because if you already had it, you wouldn’t be concerned about any conditions, because you already have it. If you find yourself in confusing thought patters regarding your manifestations, ask yourself this question: If you already had it, would you be thinking like this?

The Story of the Woman of Samaria

Harvest happens now, not in a period of time

Your imagination gives you fulfillment immediately

You can think of anything and it comes to mind instantly. There are no conditions, reasons, steps, there is no how. You don’t have to do anything but bring it to mind. That is manifestation. That’s all.

The well of everlasting quenched thirst

This refers to your imagination. There is no thirst or hunger in imagination because you can instantly imagine yourself fulfilled. If you are thirsty, you can imagine yourself drinking water. If you are hungry, you can imagine yourself eating anything you desire. If you desire something, you can instantly bring it about in imagination. There is no wait for harvest in imagination, only instant fulfillment.

Your subconscious mind “Sees [your desires] as now in a dimensionally larger world, existing now, taking place now.” It has ways that are outside the limitations of the 3D mind, the conscious mind that you have access to. Allow it to do what it was made for.

“Your five senses impregnate you morning, noon, and night with their limitations” 

You are constantly bombarded with the limitations, reasons, rules, and opinions in the 3D world. It takes effort to remove yourself from this cycle and allow yourself freedom from this.  They “dictate to you that which you must accept as true.”

Basically, your 3D world is trying to gaslight you into thinking that you have no power. 

The story of feeding the ducks (mental diet)

“Man is a psychological being, a thinker.”

“It is not what he feeds upon physically, but what he feeds upon mentally that he becomes. We become the embodiment of that which we mentally feed upon.”

The mental diet is extremely important. If you truly want to live a dream life, you need to create a world in your mind that is aligned with the fulfillment of your desires. Manifestation is not only about getting one thing you desire and then going back to the life you were living previously. It is about changing completely.

Notice your thought patterns, notice what you are assuming and imagining and change those things that do not align with your fulfilled desires.

Abdullah and Barbados 

Now this is the most famous Neville story there is and, unless you’re new here, you’ve heard it a thousand times. 

“You are in Barbados”

Neville was unemployed, lived in a tiny room in New York, and he wanted to go to Barbados.

Abdullah tells Neville, “As you walk through this door now you are not walking on 72nd Street, you are walking on palm lined streets, coconut lined streets; this is Barbados. Do not ask me how you are going to go. You are in Barbados. You do not say ‘how’ when ‘are there.’ You are there. Now you walk as though you were there.”

He kept repeating to Neville that he was already in Barbados, when he would complain that he had no money, “you are in Barbados” he would complain that he’s no closer to getting there “you are in Barbados” he asked how he would get there, “You are in Barbados.” That is all he would say. Because that’s all he needed. To believe he was already there. And once he did, everything aligned, and he went to Barbados. His family members begged him to come, gave him money for clothes and essentials he needed, his brother would pay for his entire trip, and then he somehow got into 1st class because somehow there had been a cancellation. He didn’t even move a finger to get all of this done for him. He didn’t even ask his brother for help. It simply happened.

“You are in Barbados, Neville. You want to be there; wherever you want to be, there you are. Live as though you are and that you shall be.” - Abdullah

“I was identified with the feeling of being there. I slept as though I were there, and the entire behavior of man was molded in harmony with my assumption.”

Identify with your fulfilled wish

“Feast on the idea [your fulfilled desire], become identified with the idea as though you were already that embodied state. Walk in the assumption that you are what you want to be. If you feast on that and remain faithful to that mental diet, you will crystallize it. You will become it in this world.”

Identify that which you desire to have in life (or who you desire to be), walk as though it is already true, assume it as your new state, and stick to your mental diet.

“Suspend judgment, refuse to accept what reason and the senses now dictate, and if you remain faithful to the new diet, you will become the embodiment of the ideal to which you remain faithful.”

You need to ignore anything that does not completely align with your fulfilled desire. 

Logic and reason do not exist in imagination. The 4D world does not follow these rules. The 3D is lying to you by telling you that you are constricted within conditions.

“To one’s imagination all things are possible.”

“The dimensionally greater self took my assumption as the command”

Your 4D self, your inner man, is only there to take commands. 

What you assume to be in your conscious mind and persist in, will be taken as a command by the 4D self and then manifested into the 3D.

Neville mentions that the only way you can genuinely believe in the law is by testing it. Don't simply listen to his lectures, read blog posts, and watch videos about the law of assumption. Actually apply the knowledge.

[lightless-flame-official]

gerry keay (classic flavor):

skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life

eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers

his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:

- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.

- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.

- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.

- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.

he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.

black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.

we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.

the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.

sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.

he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.

gerry keay (tmagp):

goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.

we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!

no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.

the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.

loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."

he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.

his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.

there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.

[study-diaries]

Math Tips

(Pictures are not mine)

Well, let me tell you, we all have this love-hate relationship with this subject, right? The worst part is that when you don't know what the heck is going on, so, as a girl who studied maths (2 Volumes/textbooks) on her own during the year she was homeschooled, here are some tips and tricks that I did to get an A+ in my math finals!

Get your syllabus together

In the beginning I had no damn idea what was going on and it was just confusing. I had to do the first thing I did was taken my index/table of contents and mark the chapters which i knew very well and the ones I had no clue about. And then i arranged them with the marking scheme, like which one carries the most marks etc etc and study accordingly.

Complete lessons/chapters that you already know

When you finish off the things you already know then that's gonna give you the confidence you need even if you know only 1-2 chapters, learn it throughout and make sure that you'll get the answer no matter how twisted the sum is. If you're doubtful about the whole textbook like any normal person.... Start with the easy ones. (I know there are literally really no "easy" chapters, spare me)

Harder chapters need hard work

Most chapters like Trigonometry proofs, Geometry proofs, Algebra, Graphs, Mensuration and Calculus etc need more than minimum effort but here's a trick, what is the common thing in this? Yes, they're all formulae and theorem based which goes to my next point. These chapters are completely based on how much you've understood your basics.

Formulae and theorem cheatsheets

Make a list of all formulae and the theorem used in the book, write them chapter wise and no printouts or digital notes. Take a paper and write it down, no excuses. It helps you while you're practicing, revising and in the last minute review, it helped me damn much. Remember, maths is a sport. The basic formulae must come to you like reflexes.

YouTube is your best friend.

For every single chapter, go and watch the basics and how a sum is done step by step. A recommendation for this is Organic Chemistry Tutor who literally is one of the reasons i passed. He has videos from basic geometry, trigonometry, statistics to calculus. Search for your own YouTubers and be clear with concepts.

Math is fully memorization

Memorize formulae and theorems with the back of your hand, you should be able to recall them within seconds. Be thorough.

Memorize basic math values (if calculator isn't allowed)

Do this if you have a majority of chapters like Statistics, Mensuration, Profit/loss calculation etc, where large numbers are concerned. Memorize the first 10 square, cube, decimal and multiplication values. It may be dry but there are literally songs available for these things, I'm serious, i learnt the first 10 cube roots by listening to Senorita xD Search for rhymes and they'll definitely be many!!

Work it out!!!!!!

Can't stress this enough, atleast 30-40 mins is the minimum for maths. I'm serious, work out each sum, don't ever think it's a waste, you'll see the results. Practice makes perfect. Work out every single sum, from examples to exercise ones cause let's be honest, our examiners love to take problems from every nook and cranny of the book.

Whiteboard method

So, I made this up and it actually works, if you have a whiteboard or anything else, once you completed a chapter, take a random page and whatever sums you have on those two pages, you need to complete within a given time limit. It helps you to identify your weak points and where the hell you're losing both time and effort and not to mention that it gives you confidence boost up.

Hope this helps :))

[stevebabey]

and on the final day on august (not where i am hehe) i bring you my fic for @thefreakandthehair summer fanwork challenge! my prompt was nightswimming, its steddie (duh) and she's a baby 2.2k piece <3 | ao3

— hold my hand and tread the water

The water ebbs around his ankles gently and the ripples move across the lake surface like black slicks of ink, twinkles of moonlight catching on crests of the small waves.

Steve swallows thickly.

Why did he think this was a good idea?

It's not Lover's Lake. He knows it's not— he knows that Hawkins and all its crawling rot, through roots and beneath lakes, is miles away from him.

Steve knows that even with the gate closed, if something slipped by- somehow, he can't think of how- but it doesn't matter, if it did, it surely wouldn't be able to reach him here.

It looks an awful lot like Lover's Lake in the shadow of night.

Steve blinks harshly and curls his toes in the sand, grounding himself by burrowing his feet into the soil. The sound of lapping water was once a sound of comfort, connected to a bout of nostalgia — the sort of comfort that can only come with a routine of familiarity.

Swimming used to mean... it was the exhilaration of the dive. It was the pleasant burn in his muscles and the blaze deep in his lungs as he held his breath as long as possible, pushing the limit every time.

It was the gasp, the relief of breaking the surface, a moment of loud noise before he submerged once again, muted rushing water the only sound. It was the long and solid strokes that he carved through water with. Swimming always used to to make him feel strong.

And now... there's this new fear rooted within him.

But, hell, there's lots of things that the years of fighting and surviving the Upside Down had taken from him. Steve will be damned if he adds swimming to the list.

"—Steve?"

Eddie's voice is suddenly beside him, right in his ear, and Steve flinches, dragged abruptly from his wandering thoughts. He tears his eyes from the swirling lake surface to find the other man beside him, brown eyes searching with that glaze of concern. There's a furrow in his brows. Steve feels the warmth of his hand before it lands on his shoulder, tentative and wary.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks quietly, like speaking any louder might spook Steve more. He has this tone to his voice, the one that Steve thinks might be reserved just for him. He hasn't heard Eddie use it on anyone else. His usual loud and raucous voice, so normally used for jeering and loud heckles, completely softened.

It softens Steve every time Eddie uses it.

"We don't gotta do this tonight, if you don't wanna."

"I want to."

The words rush up his throat and stick a little on the way out. Steve clears his throat and digs his feet further into the sand.

One of his hands creeps up his chest til his fingers brush against Eddie's own hand, still holding his shoulder. He meets Eddie's gaze for a moment before an intensity seizes his chest and that recognizable lurch in his heart forces his gaze away.

That lack of courage is new too. Though, that's one thing he can't seem to blame on the Upside Down.

"It's the last one." Steve murmurs, eyes back on the lake ahead of them. Faint crickets fill the orchestra of the night around them, an occasional frog tuning in with a ribbit! Something splashes in the distance.

It is the last one. The last fear to conquer to reclaim back that piece of himself. Through out their whole silly and impromptu road-trip, they've pushed that slimy fear further and further down in Steve. Burning it away, making it smaller, til Steve was feeling bigger and better. They started in a pool, in the daylight, Eddie's open palms and soothing eyes coaxing him back into the water.

Here is the end. The last one. A lake in the night time.

Steve can feel the fear curdling in his gut, the tenseness in his muscles, every single instinct that's kept him alive for the past five years screaming at him to not get in. He feels like a house of cards, ready to topple in the slightest breeze, just drinking in the sight before him. Eddie's hand on his shoulder might be the only thing keeping him steady.

He could leave, could avoid swimming during the nighttime, could retract into himself every time that sticky fear licked up his spine— bringing back memories of vines tight around his ankle, pulling, tugging, drowning him, and— Steve clears the memory with a violent twitch, muscles jumping in their tenseness.

He's so sick of being in survival mode.

Eddie's fingers on his shoulder flex, gifting a comforting squeeze. Steve can see the chipped black polish on them in his peripheral, bare of their usual rings, prepared to swim because Eddie always gets in with him. They always swim together. God, Steve's not sure what he'd do without him.

Steve swallows again, the stone is his throat budging this time as the want surges up deep in his chest; he wants to make some goddamn new memories too.

"Can you..." He murmurs, finally turning his head to peer at Eddie beside him.

"Of course," Eddie answers his unvoiced question easily, beginning to wade into the lake a little further.

The water sloshes around his ankles, climbing up his calves, and Steve's gaze drags up with it, lingering on Eddie's milky white thighs. There's another tattoo there, a sphinx-like character, curled up and stark in it's dark colour against his pale complexion.

Steve hadn't been able to hide his staring the first time they'd swum together — a tiny bright-tiled pool in a motel, one or two states back — completely entranced by the swirling ink and the bareness of Eddie's thighs.

Eddie had caught his gawking with a smug sort of grin and ribbed him for it, tugging the fabric of his swim shorts up higher to show off the full piece. Mercifully, he didn't point out the flush it brought onto Steve's cheeks. Steve had apologised, both for his staring and for doing it in one of the more improper places, but Eddie had only given that wicked beautiful smile.

"M'used to stares, Steve." He said, not nearly as bitter as Steve thinks he's entitled to be considering the man-hunt set on him. "You don't look at me like them."

Looking at the stretch of his thigh now, tattoo partially hidden away, Steve ponders Eddie's words to keep the itch of panic at the back of his neck away. What had Eddie meant? Just how he does look at him?

Some girls like long looks, like feeling eyes raking them up and down hungrily but most of them like skirting glances, always glancing away if they've caught Steve watching. Eager glances at thighs and down chests are certainly not encouraged. It's a game of back and forth. One can't be seen to be too eager, too ravenous.

Except for, Eddie seems the complete opposite. He catches Steve's keen gaze, he spots the staring and relishes in it — like Steve's attention is something is something divine and Eddie will drink in all he can get.

It doesn't feel like it's a prize the way it did in high school, girls vying for King Steve's attention. It feels... Eddie makes it feel like something to revere.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Eddie croons, beckoning Steve into the lake and away from his distracted thoughts. He's got his hand outstretched, palm up, calloused fingers relaxed and inviting Steve to hold them with his own.

He does. He's not sure when it became a thing, holding hands — probably sometime when they upgraded from pools to rivers and lakes — but Steve's grateful for it. Eddie's fingers blanch beneath the tight grip but if it pains Eddie, he makes no move to show it on his face.

Steve grips tighter. When Eddie drifts back a step, the dark water licking an inch higher on his legs, he lets himself be pulled along. Step by step. He keeps his eyes ahead, even as the other peers down into the dark water momentarily.

Eddie gasps and a jolt of fright fires off, deep in Steve's gut. He clutches Eddie's hand tighter and Eddie's head pops up, squeezing Steve's hand back.

"Fucking chilly, is all, okay? My balls are freezing, Jesus. H. Christ."

He does this silly little hop like it's going to help the chill of the night-time lake-water. It's a funny enough sight that Steve doesn't try to stifle his shaky laughter and some of his panic melts away with it. He still doesn't look down.

Eddie scrunches his nose up and then narrows his eyes at Steve. "You're laughing now."

Steve sticks out his tongue — and bites it harshly as the water sweeps up past his waist, submerging his swimming trunks and everything below. Fucking hell, it is cold. Eddie wasn't lying.

As far as each of their swims have been — there's been six altogether, or seven if you count the high bath they took together, which Steve doesn't — this one is going smoother than what he's come to expect. There's still that prickle down his spine, like ice ghosting atop his skin, but Steve can shake it in a shiver.

The water looms higher, swallowing the plains of his stomach and Steve can feel his neck craning up, trying to get taller. Still, he takes the next step. And the next.

Suddenly, there's a brush against his leg— scaly and mucky and he knows it's not what he imagines it to be but there's no clamping down the instinct built in. His heart slams in his chest and his practiced even slow breaths transform into rapid bursts, this dread clawing deep into his gut. Steve can feel his hackles rise, knows his hand must be twisting tighter and tighter in Eddie's grip.

It all shows as a minuscule reaction on his face. Steve knows because Robin told him once—regarded him with that crinkled look once when the panic attack had crept up on him during a shift, then uttered an oh shit! once she realised what was happening.

You're too good at that. She'd told once he'd managed to calm down, head between his knees in the employee room out the back.

What?

Good at hiding it. Robin said, nudging his shoulder. He can't tell from her tone it's a good or bad thing. Maybe, it's neither. You look so calm all the time, even when you're panicking.

Eddie's come to learn the signs too. The specific pinch in his eyebrows, the twitchiness of his lips.

"Woah, woah, hey, hey," He brings the two of them closer, no longer leading them out. Eddie's dark eyes dart across his face, a wrinkle in his brow as he tries to soothe. "Just a stupid fish, nothin' to worry about, you're good."

His hands travel as he speak, shaking off Steve's tight grip to slide up his tan arms. Steve's hands shoot out, desperate to hold something, to cling to something, his big hands enveloping Eddie's wrists as the other rubs gently at his biceps. Fingers curl around the tanned skin and beg Steve closer, beginning to sink down in the water as he does.

"C'mon, you're safe." He murmurs and Steve, hanging onto tight, sinks down with him. The water climbs higher, lapping at his collarbones. Steve clings tighter, clenching up in preparation. "S'just you, me, and the fishies."

"If you think that's all that's in here, you know even less about lakes than I thought," Steve grits out.

"Shit, really?" Eddie asks. Then after another moment, "You think there's crocs in here?"

"You didn't even check?"

Eddie's grin rivals the moonlight, cheeky and delighted. "Course I did," Then he scoffs dramatically, tossing his head back. Some of his hair hits the water with a splash. "Can't believe you don't trust me at all, after all this time together."

A sly smile fights to reach Steve's face; he lets it win. His panic isn't dissolved completely, just lingering in the back— but it's been beat out by his interest in conversation with Eddie, in the strange flirt they keep seeming to do.

"I don't have any trust in you at all since you picked Motel Evergreen and—"

His words get smushed beneath Eddie's palm, warm and soft against his mouth, as the other boy narrows his eyes. "Shut your pretty mouth, Steve. You promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

Even as he threatens, Eddie's eyes light with a mirth and there's that glorious grin on his face and oh god, Steve wants to kiss him.

Like a vacuum, the panic sucks out of him in a single moment as the tide turns and his nerves turn to that. Fuck. Eddie's hand slips from his face, nervous he's gotten too close, too touchy. And, well, Steve's always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, so he says;

"Make me."

Something glitters across Eddie's face, a bewilderment dipped with glee. For a moment, his expression shutters as he tries to comprehend what's been said. What's been offered.

He lands on an astute, "What?"

Steve sinks into the lake and kicks off the bottom, water swishing as he starts to tread water. His feet kick and he has half a mind to spray Eddie with a face full of icy lake water but he's got that doe-eyed exuberance that Steve adores, like he's daring to let himself believe what Steve's saying.

So, instead Steve holds his hand out. He treads the water and says, "I said, make me."

Eddie doesn't waste another second.

[lunacyxxx]

Forget Me Not

contains mild violence nd yandere behavior from ur fave sorcerer, reader is fmab nd 18+

MDNI

You were very much unaware of your sensei’s growing obsession with you, Gojo Satoru was smitten as soon as he saw you. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest at your beauty and cursed energy, he could easily tell you had more than enough potential.

He did not want to let you go at all, does he feel bad for what he’s about to do? Maybe a little bit but he was going to make sure that his plan was going to work, he took up a mission with you concerning a special grade curse that had been lurking around a forest outside of Shibuya.

There was a sinking feeling in your gut as the two of you got out of the car by the forest, Satoru threw his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close to him.

“Don’t look so scared y/n, I’m here with you and plus I personally chose you to come with me because I know you can handle whatever is thrown at you. You are my best student after all, so let’s go.”

You blush lightly and look away shyly, the scent of his cologne wafting into your nose when he pulls you close. You were still trying to get used to how touchy he was at times, “I know and I appreciate it. I just have a bad feeling that’s all.”

Gojo clicked his tongue and patted your back, “You have nothing to worry about. I got your back.” Satoru smiles and ruffles your hair before leading you into the forest.

After what felt like eternity, the both of you found a dark cave with dark cursed energy leaking out in strong waves. By now, your nerves were screaming and there was a bead of sweat running down your temple. Gojo was watching you intently before letting his own cursed energy pulseate a few times.

The ground begins to rumble and you let out a startled squeak when your teacher grabs your arm and jumps out of the way just as a huge grotesque worm looking curse barrels out of the cave. Mouths and arms decorated the dark gray and purple skin of the monster, it had no eyes and let out a roar, “You ready?”

It was obvious Satoru was holding back against the curse, letting you take the initiative to defeat it, just when you were about to hit your limit you realized you were alone. Your eyes frantically look around for your teacher before the curse smacks you into a tree with one of its arms disorienting you. You stagger up and hold your side coughing up saliva, turning on your heel you quickly run away, having barely enough cursed energy to deal a powerful blow.

Your mind and heart was racing, where did Gojo go? Why did he just up and leave you? The whole time, your teacher was in the sky above you watching with a sick grin on his face.

Tears pricked in your eyes as you finally found a place under large tree roots, your body was throbbing in pain. Pain shoots through your trembling form as you lean against the harsh wood, you were pretty sure a few things were broken. The curse lumbers to the area you’re in and you cover your mouth to quiet your panting, just as you think you’re safe; the tree above you is knocked over and the roots are ripped from the ground.

Your vulnerable self is revealed to the curse that grabs you and slams you to the ground with a sickening thud causing you to lose consciousness and bleed from hitting your head so hard. Satoru feels a slight pang of guilt but he shakes his head and comes from the sky obliterating the curse just as it's about to eat you.

Your teacher catches your limp body in his arms and coos softly, “I hope you can forgive me y/n but I know for a fact you won’t forget me. He leaves the forest with you cradled to his chest, hoping things turned out how he planned.

Bright lights assault your eyes when you finally awaken, why were you in the hospital? Why was your body so sore and why were there bandages on your head? You turn your head to the left of you to see a man with white hair wearing a blindfold?

“Oh great honey! You’re finally awake, I’ll go let the doctor know,” he gets up and comes over to give your hand a squeeze before leaving the room. Gojo couldn’t hide the smirk adorning his face until he left the room and went to find the doctor that was in charge of your stay at the hospital.

The both of them return and the doctor smiles seeing that you were sitting up now, “Thank goodness you’ve finally awakened. You were in a coma for two weeks, how do you feel? If your boyfriend hadn't brought you here as quickly as he did then we wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

Your gaze turns to Satoru, your “boyfriend” and he smiles with a cheeky wave. “Yeah babe, that was a nasty car accident you were in. I'm so glad that you’re safe now though and we can go home right Doc?”

“Accident? Boyfriend? What happened and where exactly am I? Who are you?”

“Oh my, the injuries have given you amnesia. Good thing your boyfriend is here to help you right? We just have to check your vitals and everything before we can fully release you.” Satoru wasn’t happy about waiting but he bit his tongue and watched the doctor leave. He sat down in the chair beside you and lightly grabbed your hand, “Don’t worry y/n. I’ll make sure you get your memories back while making new ones.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but with the way he removed his blindfold and stared at you with a soft smile and his bright blue eyes; you couldn’t help but to trust him.

After all, the matching rings on your ring fingers had to mean something too right?

[cyb3rtarot]

Asking the Right Question for the Best Personal Readings—Part 1

Phrasing questions well is important whether you're a reader or querent. Confusion often goes back to the question. To avoid lack of clarity and be extra kind to your reader, keep these in mind!:

Ask exactly, specifically what you want to know; Ask from the most productive angle.

You may get “noise” or irrelevant info if you’re not precise. Many people get readings on feelings or the most changeable, abstract parts of a situation, when there's concrete things you can ask about. Here's a common example:

Querent A asks how their crush feels about them. It seems like their crush likes them and wants to make a move, but there’s mixed signals. Querent A just want to know if they’re planning on taking this farther. Ding ding ding, we have the issue. Querent A is interested in what their crush is DOING; the thing weighing on them is lack of movement and clarity. But, they asked how their crush feels. Someone can feel all sorts of things, but feelings and action are different questions. Reading into feelings does not necessarily provide insight on reality, especially if you're only getting a few cards pulled. Querent A could discover their crush has strong feelings for them, but with no further insight into the actual issue, this could be confusing. A better question would be something like, “what do I need to know about moving my relationship forward with my crush?” This addresses the root of their concern and also applies the wisdom of point 2.

When in doubt or if you can't make your question specific, asking what advice you need to hear about the situation is good. This brings in overall helpful messages as opposed to limiting yourself to one aspect. It's also great when you want a topic read but don't have specific questions.

You are not powerless

Your question should not remove agency from your life!! Questions that frame life as something completely out of your control or provide an answer you can't take action on can be mentally harmful. It's helpful to ask about things we can affect, remaining grounded in reality and responsibility. These questions also fall into the trap of point 1; asking something from an unhelpful angle. Notice how the revised question in example 1 puts the querent in a place to take action if possible. Example:

Querent B has been insecure about many different things, from work to relationship. They're getting 2 questions read, "will my girlfriend and I break up?" and "will I ever get my dream job?" Both of these treat fate like a yes/no scenario instead of something you co-create. If the querent doesn't hear what they'd like, they'll feel worse off. These questions are also not specific— if the answers are yes, that could be tomorrow or in 65 years. Questions like, "what do I need to pay attention to in my relationship?" or, "what can I do to improve my chances for my dream job?" support the querent in working on their life.

It's important to think about what answers you may get. Questions you're not prepared to hear tough answers for are best left for when you're ready or rephrased. If we focus on ourselves as the writer instead of a character in a story, we get better readings and better outcomes in all things.

Don’t ask the same thing over and over in a short span of time.

"Some of y’all bout to be real mad at me, but it must be said-" Asking the same question repeatedly is a recipe for disaster! Put the cards down 💥💥🔫!

Tarot is an introspective tool; it works best when we look within ourselves and the symbolism for meaning. The more reflection, the more learned. When we repeatedly read the same question in a short time, we get hungry for answers but not learning. It’s like reading a book and never stopping to think about it.

Often, we redo readings in two main cases. One, we're confused. The nature of tarot is any card can offer a truth about anything. Sit with the cards, research their meanings within your topic. Break it down into elements or numerology, which you can look up. Sometimes we need refreshers or clarifiers, but this is more reasonable for say a second reading after digesting the first, and not 4+ in a couple weeks (assuming this is not a routine, like daily pulls). Doing a lot of readings can be great for learning tarot—when varied.

The second common case is not liking what the cards said. Some say their cards never refer to the question asked. They don't believe the cards pulled can be their answer, or they're new readers and don't know how to relate the cards to the topic. Some try and try again for positive answers like slot machines.

Overdoing readings is draining to mental health. As a buyer, it also makes you susceptible to scammers who tailor messages to what you want to hear. So, approach with an open mind and sit with answers before asking again. As a querent, ask your reader if they could explain some of their card interpretation if you're confused! You can post in tarot communities and ask for opinions or education. Every reader has their own style, so different interpretations are normal as long as you can trace a thought process! If you feel your deck is hard to personally interpret as a reader, you may need to try other decks or readings that connect with your intuition, but don't forget to learn basics as well!

Thank you for reading!—Tip Link  |  Paid Reading Info in Pinned Post!

[justimagineitblog]

KEEPER OF MY HEART - TOMMY SHELBY

KEEPER OF MY HEART - CHAPTER ONE

I take a deep breath, clutching the job advertisement in my hands.

INNKEEPER NEEDED.

ENQUIRE WITH SHELBY LIMITED. 

I’m new to Small Heath, Birmingham. I’ve only been here a week and I’m desperate for a job. Although I have years of experience keeping my families Pub, I know not many establishments wants a woman as the face of their business. 

I roll my shoulders back, straightening my posture to stand as tall as I possibly can at a mere 5 ft 3. Trying to assert myself in a display of confidence. God knows I’m going to need it.

I force myself forward, pushing the heavy doors open, entering into the Garrison. 

The smell hits me straight away. Cigarette smoke and whiskey. 

It’s weirdly familiar and comforting. 

There is no one at the bar, just a group of men sitting in the middle around a table. Laughing, drinking and smoking.

These must be the Shelby brothers. 

I waits for them to turn to look at me, to address my entrance into the room. To begin the interview. But they don’t.

That is until one of the younger men notices me, and nudges the tall and slim man next to him.

And just like that, all of the men slowly turn their attention towards me. 

I try to ignore their unimpressed gazes. Their eyes looking me up and down judgementally. I give a tight lipped smile, feeling as though a theatre spotlight has just been shone on me. Now is not the time to back down. 

“I’m here for the job interview” 

By the look on their faces, you would have sworn I had spoken in a foreign language. 

Confusion, amusement, prejudice. 

The tall, slim member of the Shelby family speaks first, after what felt like hours of painful silence. 

“I think you’re in the wrong building sweetheart” he says, trying to be nice but unsuccessfully hiding a smirk. 

I knew to expect this. 

I pause before speaking, as I catch the eyes of one of the Shelby’s sitting at the back of the group. He puffs on his cigarette, smoke shrouding his sharp features. Our eyes lock in on one another. How could they not. They’re piercing through the dimly lit building. It takes a lot to make me feel small, but his gaze alone makes me want to shrink. 

I try to offer him a smile, but he doesn’t return it. He just grazes his eyes over me, thinking god knows what. 

I try to shake off the interaction, turning back to the brother at the front.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m in the right building, Mr Shelby” 

“Well unless you’re… Z Jones…” he says, referring back to the list of applicants on the table beside him, then looking back up to me doubtfully. 

“Yes, thats me” 

“You’re Z Jones?”

“Yes, Zoe Jones”

“Well fuck me” he laughs, entertained and dumbfounded “Z for Zoe Jones” 

I feel a sense of relief. He hasn’t completely kicked me out of the building. And my tactic of not revealing my full name on the application worked. Now I at least have my foot in the door. 

I tempt a quick look at the brother in the back, and he still sits unwavering. Not amused in the slightest like the other men. He hasn’t so much as moved or said a word. He just studies me. 

“And you are aware of the job you have applied for?” The tall brother questions, his amusement morphing into concern.

“Innkeeper, Matron of the bar, Bartender” I list of all the names that this job falls under “I am well aware of the role I will be taking on”

“How old are you sweetheart?” He questions. I knew my age would be in question. But I already have years of experience. 

“Old enough to pour a beer” I retort, smirking. There’s not one question they can throw at me that I haven’t heard before. 

One of the younger brothers smiles, beaming up at me. “I like her Arthur” He tells the eldest brother. So that’s Arthur. The eldest Shelby brother. 

“Shut up John” The older brother nudges his younger brother, who I now know as John. 

But his smile doesn’t fade, in fact, he gives me an encouraging nod. Like he’s rooting for me. 

“Alright I’ll level with you, darling. The kind of crowd we get here is not… they’re not just your usual crowd of singing drunks. We need someone that can handle the money, as well as the fellas that come in here. I don’t doubt that you can pour a beer, but they’re going to take one look at you and chew you up. We need someone that folks will take seriously” 

I just smile back politely. Nodding at his speech. I feel my hopefulness start to falter, but I won’t show them. If I don’t get this job, I will have no where to go with no way to pay my rent. I need this, and they need me. 

“If I could level with you…” I begin, taking a breath before I continue “I’ve worked my fathers pub since I was 14. When he died I took over. Business died off, so I had to sell. I think I’m more than capable. And I say let them underestimate me. With all due respect, sir, letting them underestimate me has been my greatest strength. I can run the money. I can pour beer. I might not be able to fight with my fists, but I’ve never had to. The mind is where half the battle is. I was smart enough to put my name down as Z because I knew if I put my full name down I wouldn’t even get a foot in the door. And I’m not sure what kind of business you’re running here at Shelby Limited, but I know a lot of places deal in secrets. And you’ll be surprised what people will talk about around a woman. What they say when they think you’re not listening because they think you wouldn’t understand. Let them underestimate me. So… if you could just give me one night?” 

The men stare up at me. If they kick me out, at least I stood my ground. They all look around at each other, trying to come up with an answer. 

“Tommy?” Arthur asks, turning to the Shelby who has been sitting stone faced the entire time. 

Thomas Shelby. 

I had done some asking around before I applied for the job. Everyone had a lot to say about the Shelby brothers. But not many could say anything about Thomas. He was the mysterious brother. The silent assassin. Not the oldest, but the leader of the family. What was said about Thomas was much of the same. He’s deadly. He’s a killer. He’s the puppet master of the entire company. 

I straighten my back, trying not to falter or waver underneath his unforgiving gaze. If there’s anyone I need to convince, it’s him. 

He stands, taking a swig of the drink in his glass before he begins to stalk his way towards me. 

His eyes wander all over me, scaling me up and down. Sizing me up. 

The room has fallen silent. Their eyes darting between Thomas and I. 

“Zoe Jones” he repeats my name, inching closer to me. 

“Thomas Shelby” I address him back, unsure of where the courage to do so came from. 

“If anything goes wrong, you’ll pay the price” His voice is husky as he threatens me. This is what I can only assume everyone in town was talking about when I asked about The Shelby Brothers. 

I swallow, trying to find the right words. 

“Good. I like a challenge. But that won’t be necessary” 

I raise my chin, tilting my head upwards to meet his stern gaze. I won’t back down. It’s not even about the job anymore in this moment. I won’t be made to feel small. I know my worth. 

For the entire 10 minutes that I have known Thomas Shelby, he hasn’t shown one ounce of expression on his face, besides slight disapproval at my presence. But for a second, I swear I can see a hint of interest in his eyes when I spoke back. He didn’t expect me to push back when he descended on me with his intense, heaviness. 

“One night” he says finally “Tonight” 

I nod, smiling up at him. 

That’s all I need. 

[traumaticemphaticfantastic]

These are four portraits/caricatures I did, back in May and June, of four key figures in the founding of the Reform Jewish movement.

Two of them are from Germany (Geiger and Holdheim) and two of them are from the USA (Mayer-Wise and Einhorn). Reform has its roots in the German enlightenment era, when the German government sought to grant Jews equal rights, and largely succeeded for a time. One of the products of what would come to be known as “The Emancipation” was the birth of a new class of Jewish intellectual, coming out of the darkness of the ghetto and into the enlightenment era, many Jews felt that their tradition was becoming quite archaic and outdated, and sought to update their practices to better fit into the changing world.

However, some of the decisions made by early reformers, particularly the more radical subset, greatly disturbed the more traditionally-minded. Radical early reformers were very concerned with assimilation over the more multicultural inclusion mindset that the movement is known for today, in the beginning a lot of Reform Temples felt more like Christian Churches because they had removed so much that made the Jewish people so distinct from the Christian majority that surrounded them. No head coverings, no tallit, no davening, no Hebrew, it was all in an effort to further emancipate Jewish people into mainstream goyish culture, it seems as though for a lot of radical reformers the key to stopping antisemitism for good was to simply stop being so unique.

This led to a lot of tensions within the growing movement, and it all came to a head in the USA after the infamous Trefa Banquet, where almost every dish served violated Kosher law, several Rabbis walked out, and thus the Conservative movement was born.

As for Reform itself, many Ashkenazi reformers ended up in the USA (Such as Isaac Mayer-Wise), they saw in the growing nation a world devoid of the centuries-old, set-in-stone Jewish law that largely held them back in Europe. Today, Reform Judaism holds its largest communities in the USA and parts of Canada, though there are remaining pockets all around the world. And as for their more assimilationist policies, Reform has largely revoked much of their previous bans in favour of a more personalized and optional approach, many Reform Temples have racks of tallit for those who wish to use them, give the option of head-covering such as kippahs to all regardless of gender, and most Temples recite their prayers in Hebrew, and sometimes the dominant language of the region. In the modern time, Reform Judaism largely prioritizes the individual journeys of its adherence, rather than on telling people what to think and feel (In most cases there are limits of course).

There is also the issue of Zionism, which I will touch upon briefly before ending this post: Early Reform Jews were very strictly anti-Zionist. Abraham Geiger, for example, removed the prayers for the return to Zion completely from his services. This was because of, again, The Emancipation. The Reform Jews in their respective countries firmly believed that Jews were equal citizens of their countries and for a group of people from one country, who insist that they are part of that country, to pray every Friday/Sunday for a mass exodus and return to another nation, well that doesn’t seem very “Patriotic” as it were, does it? And so the Jewish Reformers of old declared that they were no longer a nation, but instead a religious group, completely denouncing the wish of returning to Zion. And so it was, but unfortunately, this decree would not survive the Holocaust, when the world that the early Reformers so strongly desired to be a part of changed irreversibly or, in some cases, ceased existence entirely. It is, in my opinion, one of the many great tragedies of the 20th century.

Sorry it got a bit sad at the end there, I hope you enjoyed learning a bit about Reform Judaism with me today. That will be all, be well.

[phoenixfl3009]

Decided to do a warm up by writing a fun little “Fizzarozzie first kiss” scenario 💋💙💚

- - -

Fizz was understandably nervous.

Sweat beaded along his pasty white temple as he stared headlong into what remained of his breakfast. A single raspberry adorned his plate, desolate and destitute amidst a sea of syrup. With a dour frown, he continued to poke and prod and press at the glistening red berry with the end of an ornate-looking fork, trying vainly to suppress a shout of frustration at the maddening flutter of wings inside his lower stomach.

Do it, he thought. Just rip the band-aid off.

Naturally, predictably, Fizz remained as still as stone; his metallic fingertips a vice over the ivory utensil.

At his side, a discontented hum could be heard, followed by the familiar crinkling of paper. “Another gala?” Asmodeus intoned wryly, incredulity and exasperation weighing in equal measure as he regarded the news article. “Didn’t Luci just hold one’a these last week?”

“Actually, it was three days ago.” Fizz answered, surprising even himself as the words poured freely from his mouth, unbidden. He vehemently tamped down on the urge to slap a hand over his own mouth and instead settled for reaching across the length of the table for the pitcher of coffee, only too eager to drown his anxieties beneath the brunt weight of caffeine. He swallowed greedily, even as the ebony liquid scalded his tongue.

Fortunately, Ozzie didn’t appear to notice, having been too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice how skittish his jester was behaving. The chimera uttered a disbelieving scoff and proceeded to set the article aflame with a plume of cyan-imbued heat. “Yeah, that tracks. Knowing him, he’s probably using it as an excuse to celebrate his marriage, like always.” Ozzie conceded with a sigh. He brought his chin to rest in the center of a colossal palm and seemed to stare listlessly into space. “I can’t say I blame him. If I had someone like Lilith, I don’t think I could resist bragging neither.”

Fizz nearly choked on his mouthful. Nearly. Miraculously, he managed to save face and swallowed past the burning itch that had taken root in his throat.

Then, Asmodeus turned and offered Fizz a devilish grin. “What do you think,” He drawled in a tone as sweet and as spellbindingly heady as mead, drawing his index along the scope of Fizz’s spine. “My queen?”

This time around, Fizz does, indeed, choke spectacularly. His throat constricted tightly mid-swallow, lending the sensation that he was being drowned before he inevitably proceeded to hack his lungs up.

Satan’s balls, why refer to him as that, of all things? Of all days?

This was arguably not how Fizz imagined any of this would go; he was fucking this up left, right, and center.

A hand found purchase along the line of his back, the fingers drawing soothing circles as Asmodeus crooned softly. “Take it easy, babe. That’s it, breathe slowly,” He instructed as Fizz struggled to steady his breathing. Ozzie frowned, his features rife with concern as he regarded the red-faced imp. “You feeling okay? You’re usually not so jumpy.”

Despite himself, Fizz feigned a toothy grin. “I’m fine! Just, uh, a tickle in my throat.” He played it off with a wave of his hand, wondering if perhaps there was any conceivable way he could possibly salvage the situation. He had been thinking about this moment for so long already, and he feared if he waited any longer, the opportunity would pass him by completely and he would never have another chance, ever. It was inevitable, after all; how long could the Sin of Lust allow himself to be limited to just one demon? Really, it was a miracle Ozzie hadn’t grown tired of him after the first month, let alone three months.

Despite his assurance, Ozzie remained nonplussed and continued to look to Fizz imploringly. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?” The Sin inquired, sounding so genuine and so sincere, Fizz’s heart seized momentarily and the butterflies that had taken root inside of him tripled in their efforts; every velvety pass of their wingtips sending shivers throughout his entire body.

Fizz didn’t know what compelled him to speak, but when he did, the words felt foreign on his tongue, as if they weren’t entirely his own. “You could kiss it better,” He said, his voice ringing clearly in his ears.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Dismissal and flat-out rejection being the two most obvious contenders, followed by pity, disgust, and disbelief. Asmodeus represented lust in its purest form; wild, unkempt, and untamed, and while kissing could be construed as lustful to some, for Asmodeus, it was tantamount to blasphemy. He didn’t kiss anyone, ever, and no one was permitted to kiss him. It simply wasn’t done.

Fizz knew that, had known that since the beginning of this arrangement, and yet, had the absolute gall to voice his request anyways, knowing full well that if it backfired, he could very well lose what he had with Ozzie in the here and now.

He continued to wait with bated breath, anticipating only the worst as Ozzie continued to stare coolly at him. Neither the ram nor the bull betrayed him, each having adopted a surprisingly neutral expression as Ozzie mulled it over. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he said, simply, “Okay.”

Fizz blinked, mouth agape, his mind racing a mile a minute as it struggled to process what the other had said when suddenly, he felt a mouth being pressed against his own.

Despite the stark difference in size and height, Ozzie’s mouth slotted perfectly with Fizz’s own. His beak was smooth to the touch and inexplicably warm, sending waves of molten heat throughout his entire body. He couldn’t help but compare the sensation to that of the circus, except unlike those flames that had only sought to inflict pain and suffering, these flames were gentle and kind and promised only safety and security.

It was heavenly.

It was otherworldly.

It was everything.

The kiss seemed to span lifetimes, and at the same time, mere seconds, ending far, far sooner than Fizz would have liked. His mind swam and a pleasant buzz entered his lips as he contemplated just how and why Ozzie would think to do something as wildly out of character as kiss him without wanting anything in return, sexually or otherwise.

The answer, astonishingly, came from none other than Ozzie.

The Sin smiled warmly at him, the expression reflected neatly across all three heads as he continued to gaze at Fizz as though he was the most precious thing in the entire world—as though he was Ozzie’s entire world. “Whatever my queen desires.”

[adore-laur]

FAÇADE

— a lustful enemies to lovers au set in the 1880’s 📖

I

Blair Lancaster unabashedly loathes Mr. Styles. 

He always licks his slender index finger before flipping the weathered pages of a romance novel. She internally sympathizes with whoever is doomed to take home the book that had been in his filthy grasp. 

He loudly clears his throat in the hushed space of the library, far too often for her liking. She is beginning to wonder if he caught the fatal consumption disease and has a secret scheme to spread it across the city. 

He viciously studies her and the other women like a predatory bird hunting its unguarded prey. She compares his calloused hands to the talons of a hawk and his blatant staring to their beady little eyes. 

Perhaps Blair does not entirely loathe him. The feeling is more akin to a deep-rooted dislike for the man who supervises the alcove filled with women crammed around a small, oval table. No seats are provided, leaving them to stand on their aching feet for an unsuitable number of hours. 

At the public library in Boston, New York, women are strictly required to segregate themselves from the men by sitting in the alcove if they wish to read books or write letters. Reading, however, proves rather bland when they are all given books about how a lady should properly act or ones that revoltingly mock their intellect. 

Yet there is a more covert reason why they are confined to the alcove. 

Library loafers is the coined term. Women have only recently been allowed access to the library, and there is a concern that they may be in danger from the men who lurk and loiter around the bookshelves and desks, leering at young ladies who just want the freedom of absorbing printed imagination. 

The hickory walls are decorated with paintings of foreground femininity, yet the intended purpose is a façade. 

See, the nook is still visible to other sections of the library. It resembles a shadowbox for the male gaze, or a stage of sorts, so they can observe the moral spectacle of well-behaved women. That is why Blair Lancaster detests the man sitting on his chair, more like a throne, flicking through pages of a far more exciting story than the one she holds. Mr. Styles is the one who polices their behavior, making sure no one is stepping out of line or provocatively reading something they are not supposed to. 

Well, Blair enjoys pushing that limit every once in a while out of sheer apathy. 

Whenever the book she reads starts to bore her to death, she ponders ways to aggravate him. In the past, she sighed dramatically after turning each page for ten whole minutes until he had to snap his fingers, warning her to stop. She has also pretended to fall asleep with her head on the table, purposely reaching her arm out to knock the book onto the floor with a loud thump, resulting in him huffing and picking it up for her. In one instance, she purposely gave herself a paper cut and dripped blood onto the first page of the book she was given so it would have to be thrown out. She could tell by the look on Mr. Styles' face that he knew she had only done it to be a pain in the neck. 

Today, she decides to clear her throat every time he does. Only four other women are in the room, and Blair knows they like it when she breaks the quietness to bring entertainment to the dull atmosphere. 

"Enough," Mr. Styles commands after her third act of mimicry. 

She smirks and continues reading the same sentence repeatedly until she becomes bored. After a few minutes pass, he clears his throat again, and she does the same. 

"Ms. Lancaster, may I have a word with you?" 

Blair subtly rolls her eyes. She hates it when he treats her like a schoolgirl in detention, lecturing and speaking down to her as if she is inferior. 

"What is it, Mr. Styles?" she asks as she walks over to him, feigning innocence to pester him even more. 

He stares at her intensely. "Do you fancy being expelled from this library?" 

"I think there is something in my throat," she says with a dramatic pout. "The book I was given is quite dusty." 

He hums monotonously. "I must say, that was a terrible fib. I expected a better excuse from you." 

Blair's lips twitch as she fixes the collar of her dress. "I do not fib, Mr. Styles. Allergies are dreadful this time of year; have you not heard? Or maybe you and I have caught..." She leans forward to theatrically whisper, “The consumption disease." 

"Your hands fidget when you lie." With an unimpressed look, he jerks his chin toward the table. "Behave. Otherwise, you will be kicked out." 

The conversation, if it could even be called that, dies quickly as Blair returns to her spot. Her remaining time in the alcove causes drooping eyes and raw, bitten nails. There is nothing she could possibly do to make time pass any faster, so she watches the grandfather clock until it chimes when the small hand ticks to the number twelve. Blair promised her father she would be home for lunchtime, so she sets the book she only read two pages of in the wooden bin, then gives Mr. Styles an icy glare before leaving the library. 

On her stroll home, she reminisces about every encounter with him today. Every facial expression and unspoken word that was told with each glimpse. She buries the invasive thoughts that dangerously cross the streets of her mind. However, at dusk, he creeps into her brain's crevices like noxious venom. When her satin curtains are drawn and the burning sun says farewell, Blair cannot help but think about him after she blows out the candles beside her bed. 

His eyes of marjoram green that cast her discreet glances only she noticed. She wonders if she will ever get close enough to find specks of gold in them or if they crinkle when he laughs, lighting up with radiance that has never been revealed to her. There is a chance they soften when he reads a particularly romantic line in a novel, perhaps of a private touch or confession of love. 

His long fingers that flip through the worn pages of said novels. Blair wonders how they would feel slowly trailing along her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, or how they would feel in her mouth, the pad of his thumb erotically settled between her teeth. There is a possibility that they would stretch inside another part of her body so deeply that her entire soul would ache with pleasure. 

His pink lips, which pout and glisten in the sunlight filtered through the clerestory windows of the library. She wonders how they would form around certain words or if they feel as soft as they look, pillowy and sweet if she were to taste them. She will not taste them, but it is nice to dream about the flawless physicality of a man such as himself. 

Mr. Styles may be unbearable and shrouded in arrogance, but that does not dismiss his obvious allure. He is nothing but a pretty face that haunts her at nightfall, hung high in the gallery of her mind like the moon in the starlit sky. 

He has a complicated façade. 

II 

A spring thunderstorm has blown over the newspaper stands and matted down Blair's curls as she traverses up the slippery brick steps of the library again. Violent rain hits the cobblestone streets, which are filled with umbrellas over heads and coats over the less fortunate as they all maneuver to the closest shelter. 

Blair has forgone any protection from the storm, so she passes through the familiar threshold with a saturated dress and dripping strands of blonde hair that appear a shade darker due to their wetted state. As she looks around, she finds the library completely barren of townsfolk except for a stout man who bustles up to her and huffs a displeased breath when he sees the puddle of rainwater forming by her feet. She hopes he overlooks the trail of muddy footprints she left behind. 

"Good evening, Ms. Lancaster," he greets with a formal cap tip. "The unfortunate weather has sprung a leak in the alcove ceiling, so you will be relocated to the main room for the day." 

Blair nods, attempting to hide the eager smile that threatens to pull at her freckled cheeks. It will be alleviating to not have to tolerate being confined in a stodgy room with Mr. Styles. She prays she will have the whole room to herself so she can conceive a plan to sneakily grab a horror fiction book while the thunder rumbles outside. 

She follows the man who, if she remembers correctly, is the chimney sweeper usually found by the stone fireplace, soot dusting his forehead and coughing up a storm stronger than the one currently shaking the bookshelves. Speaking of which, the first thing Blair notices when she enters the candlelit room is that the bookshelves are all locked up with hexagonal metal cages. The flickering flames dance off them menacingly.

She furrows her eyebrows when the man's presence is no longer felt beside her. Then she feels someone else's burning gaze. A sudden flash of lightning conducts her attention to the other side of the room, and simmering rage immediately courses through her veins. 

Mr. Styles is sitting on the windowsill with his legs crossed over one another. His jeweled fingers delicately hold a book as relentless rain pelts the windowpane behind him. He wears a silk shirt with small, puffed sleeves the color of ballet slippers—or perhaps the shade of blush that spreads across his cheeks when Blair catches his not-so-subtle glance at her pebbled nipples under her soaked dress. 

Blair's first step toward him creates an echoing creak on the wooden floor. "What business do you have being here?" she asks bitterly. 

He smirks before licking his index finger and flipping the page of his book. "Have you forgotten that this is my place of work?" 

She swallows down her disgust. "I would rather sit in the alcove and let the leakage slowly drown me than be here with you." 

He looks up amusedly, running his eyes across her figure. "From how you look like a sopping mess, it seems as though you already have." 

"A bit preposterous coming from a man with puffy princess sleeves." 

A hummed and humorless laugh sounds from his closed lips. A cup of tea is steaming on a porcelain saucer next to his thighs. The sight of the brown liquid coats her throat with warmth. 

Blair is quiet as she treads closer and walks her fingers along the top of the leather couch. The popping and hissing of the nearby fireplace fills the dead silence, its blazes of orange releasing glowing embers that beautifully fizzle out on the kindling. 

"I presumed you would be the only one here today," Mr. Styles mentions after an elongated and intimidating pause. 

Blair stands next to the fire, hoping it dries her dripping dress. "Yes, well, a thunderstorm is quintessential weather for reading. Is it not?" 

"I will not argue with you there." He stands, replacing his book with the saucer. "This tea is for you. I figured since you will be stuck with me in this room, I shall attempt to make it as pleasant as possible." 

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. "You made tea for me?" 

His throat bobs. "Walking here in the rain is the quickest way to become ill, Ms. Lancaster. You should know better." 

"Is it poisoned?" 

The click of Mr. Styles' boots becomes muffled once he steps on the oriental rug she stands on. "No. I am not as cynical as you make me out to be in your head." 

She pushes her wet bangs away from her forehead. "Do you know what is cynical?" 

"Divertis-moi, ange de la pluie."

Blair ignores his French, which she does not understand. She has heard him use the language countless times before if any immigrant women are misbehaving in the alcove. His fluency and intelligence spark envy, but she will never admit it to his face.

"It is cynical that I come here every day and do not have the freedom to read what I desire," she says firmly. "Some days, I do not want to read in my dreary bedroom, so I seek serenity in a library that does not even respect me. How cruel, yet I still come here for a view other than my pathetic lawn!"

All Mr. Styles does is clear his throat while setting the tea down on the fireplace mantel. Blair wants to pour the scalding liquid down the back of his neck. 

"What am I supposed to read if all the books I yearn for are locked away?" she adds defeatedly. 

He twists his rings and nods his head at a red book on the couch. "I was instructed to provide The Scarlet Letter." 

Blair examines the chipped spine and faded cover. "I have not read that one yet."

"Veiled misogyny is what fills the pages. I find Hawthorne to be glorified as an author to a ridiculous degree." 

"How promising," she mutters. "I suppose it is better than reading about everything I should do for my dutiful husband when he returns from war." 

Mr. Styles looks at the floor and scrunches his nose before asking, "You have heard of Jane Austen, yes?" 

"What?" Blair blurts confusedly. "Of course I have. No one captures blooming romance quite like her." 

"And did you see anyone else in the library when you arrived?" he questions further while taking a step closer. 

"N-no," she stutters, scanning the empty room. "Only the chimney sweeper." 

"Then follow me." 

In the blink of an eye, Mr. Styles is halfway up the spiral staircase in the corner that leads to a place Blair has never been allowed to discover. She carefully grabs the tea and a stray candelabra, then catches up to his long strides. Eventually, she is led to the top and down a dark, narrow aisle where books upon books line the walls. Some are even stacked high on the floor. 

Mr. Styles takes a silver key from his trouser pocket and unlocks a shelf on the left. He briefly peeks at her. "It will be our little secret, hmm?"

Blair marvels at the various romance and gothic titles that reveal themselves when she raises the flame. Wuthering Heights, Little Women, and Vanity Fair appear to have been gracefully worn over time and through use. 

"I was once told by the owner that there was nothing important up here," she tells him as her fingertips trace the spine of Persuasion. "I never quite believed him." 

Mr. Styles stands behind her. She can feel his steady breaths on her neck. "I apologize on behalf of him. He is not a charming man, that one." 

Clark Bennett is his name. The tall, middle-aged rich man who set the misogynistic rules in place. She sees him roam past the alcove on rare occasions, silently inspecting the women through his monocle. Never one to initiate conversation, yet always the one to give disapproving glances. It angers Blair to think someone could be so despicable. The other women are too afraid to speak out about the abhorrent environment he has created. 

So, Blair turns around and looks at the man she despises, but he is the only one who seems to care about what she has to say. 

"Mr. Styles," she begins, lifting the candelabra to light his face, "I feel unbearably suffocated in a place meant for comfort. As a woman, I cannot even read in this library without arbitrary rules that bring me unfathomable misery and rage. Having to sit and read sentences with no emotional attachment to me is torturous. Surely, I do not sound ludicrous."

"You can call me Harry," he responds. 

She scoffs at his blatant disregard. "Did you listen to a word I said?" 

He nods. "Yes, Blair. I realize this world hinders your ability to prosper as a woman, but I cannot change the rules. I do not have the authority, so please accept my offer of letting you read something other than shameful, discriminatory novels. Is that all right with you?" 

She takes a sip of the herbal tea, now lukewarm, before saying, "Is this a trick to get me in trouble? I will not be fooled, Mr. Styles." 

"Harry," he corrects. "And no, I am not a scoundrel. There is no reason for me to con you." 

"There are plenty of reasons. Money and praise can make a man do evil things." 

"Do you take me for a man who would do evil things?" 

"Yes." She takes another sip. "I take every man for a schmuck. You are no exception." 

He leans his head against the bookshelf and smiles handsomely. "A schmuck?" he repeats humorously.

"A cretin," she continues, enjoying herself very much. "A muttonhead. Personally, I like to call men ratbags." 

Harry's eyes crinkle when he lets out a loud cackle. So they do crinkle. What a sight to behold! 

Blair blows a strand of hair out of her eye. "This is not a laughing matter." 

"Oh, but it is." He pushes his body off the shelf and towers over her. "You fascinate me with your unwavering temerity." 

"Is that why you stare at me in the alcove so often?" she daringly inquires. "Because I fascinate you?" 

Harry inhales slowly and deeply. In French, he says, "I stare at you because of your ethereal beauty. I cannot help but count the freckles on your cheeks or watch your eyelashes flutter as you flip through the pages of those terrible books. Does this answer your question, beloved blue eyes?"

Blair blinks twice, shaking her head. "You are speaking nonsense to me. I do not know any French." 

"I spoke the truth. That is all you need to know." 

She sets the tea and candelabra on the floor before smoothing her dress. "Anyway, I would very much like to read Jane Austen. There is only so much time in the day, yes?" 

"Of course," he whispers. "You seem particularly interested in Persuasion." 

"Is it good? I have not gotten around to reading it yet." 

Harry takes the book and offers it to her. "You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope," he quotes from memory. "That alone should convince you." 

Blair absentmindedly nods, becoming distracted by the gold necklace he wears. The pendant is a cross symbol, one relating to Christ. Her curiosity grows as it glimmers from the quivering candle flame beside her feet. 

She lays the cross on her open palm and asks, "Are you religious?" 

His sloped nose almost touches hers in close proximity. "Moderately. I sin, but I see no redemption in asking for forgiveness. I suppose you can interpret my level of religion however you please." 

She stares at his lips a second too long before meeting his eyes. "What sins do you commit?" 

He covers her hand with his own. Blair feels his calloused thumb brush over her knuckle. "My sins are sensuellement privé." 

"What does that mean?" 

"It means they are done in private, curious girl." 

Her skin grows warm. "Very well, then. I will not ask further questions." 

He removes his hand and locks the shelf as Blair picks up her tea and sets it on the flat surface of her new book. He clears his throat, but it does not bother her as much this time. 

"Let us read, shall we?" 

III

The field of jasmine flowers is in full bloom, as is the month of May. 

Budding dogwood trees sway under the cloudy sky as Blair walks to her favorite open patch of land to sit against the tree trunk and read a book, like she does every Friday afternoon. The bottom of her white dress skims the dirt path weaving throughout the flourishing meadow. Her lace parasol shields the top of her head in case the sun peeks out. 

She has been coming to the serene area for months, sometimes needing an escape from the four walls of her bedroom. She can bring the books she has received on her birthdays. Although she prefers to read in the library, she is slightly more fond of nature's quiet atmosphere. 

Once she arrives at her signature spot, where the line of dogwood trees provides the perfect amount of coverage over the jasmine bushes, she stops when she sees someone already there. 

Her blood boils. Mr. Styles, now known as Harry, is sitting against the gnarled trunk of her favorite tree with his ankles casually crossed while he reads from the book in his lap. He wears a ruffled, cream-colored blouse with a black vest over the silk fabric, and his matching flared trousers are provocatively tight against his muscular legs. 

His eyes shoot up from his book when a twig snaps underneath her feet. He then raises it to block his face, and Blair almost laughs at the childish action. She is seething with rage because how dare he invade the only place she can get much-needed peace and quiet? 

"What are you doing here?" she interrogates, a slight growl in the back of her throat. 

"Reading," Harry replies flatly, still not showing his face. 

"Yes, but why here? This is my spot." 

"I usually only come here on Wednesdays when I do not work, but I was told my help was not needed at the library today. So, here I am." 

Blair grinds her teeth. "Can you go elsewhere?" 

He sets his book down and glances behind each of his shoulders. "Did I miss a sign on my way here that said: Blair Lancaster's Designated Reading Spot?" 

She gives up arguing and sits against the prickly bush across from him. She is thankful he is not talkative, so finishing her book in his presence should not be a problem. 

After a few minutes of unpleasant silence, she feels his gaze on her, but when she looks up, his eyes dart back to the pages before him. She subtly tries to read the title, but his attractively large hand envelops the front. 

"The Portrait of a Lady," Harry murmurs as he noisily turns a page. 

Blair quirks an eyebrow. "Pardon me?" 

"The book in my hands," he says, finally showing her the cover. "It is the new novel written by Henry James." 

"I did not ask." 

He exhales a laugh through his nose. "Well, you keep looking at the cover, so I thought it would be gentlemanly to save you from straining your eyes so much. Getting cataracts at a young age would be no fun." 

Blair brushes off his sarcasm and opens her own book. Harry immediately leans forward and snatches it straight from her loose grip. 

"Give me that back!" she exclaims, her mouth parted in shock. 

He lifts it above his head and opens it. "What does the brash Blair Lancaster read when she is not provided chauvinist books in the alcove?" 

She stands and puts her hand on her hips. "That is nothing of concern to you." 

"Venus in Furs," he reads from the spine with a drawl and growing smirk. "This is quite an erotic choice, chérie." 

Her cheeks redden as he flips through the pages filled with risqué words of desire and submission. "Give me my book back, or I will scream until the flowers wilt." 

Harry ignores her as he dramatically reads, "And every man—I know this very well—as soon as he falls in love becomes weak, pliable, ridiculous. He puts himself into the woman's hands, kneels down before her. The only man whom I could love permanently would be he before whom I should have to kneel."

Blair takes the opportunity to yank her book from him while he is distracted by his immature ways. "I truly pity your wife and children for having to live with your irritating nature," she says exasperatedly. 

"I do not have a wife or children, so you are wasting your time pitying the foolish illusion you have created in your head." 

"Well," she says with a bitter laugh, "it is no surprise that you are not married. I think I would burn myself alive if I had to share a life with you." 

"For someone who speaks so ignoble of me, you think about what it would be like to be around me quite often," he responds smugly. 

"You are an insufferable man, that is all." 

"Menteuse."

Blair draws her lips back in a snarl. "It is a terrible shame you have a handsome face that is nothing but a façade for who you actually are." 

Harry slowly stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. "And who am I, Blair?" 

She exhales and looks up at the wispy sky. "A lonely man who sits in the alcove and makes sure the women there are miserable. A boring man who does nothing but be a nuisance to everyone around him." 

Harry steps forward and jerks his chin up, like he's desperate for a challenge. "Go on." 

"I detest you." She leans in close so he hears every word. "Every dratted thing you do or say gets under my skin." 

He quickly glances at her mouth. "Do you use such foul language around your mother, Ms. Lancaster?" 

She clenches her jaw and turns around, beginning to walk down the path she came from. "You make me furious!" 

His footsteps in the weeds get closer, so she speeds up. Even the sound of his boots stomping on the plush grass aggravates her. The way he can never let her have the last word, or how his eyes tell a different story than what comes out of his pretty mouth, will be the death of her. 

Blair thinks she is far enough away from him, but suddenly, two large hands clasp onto her hips and stop her in her tracks. Her book falls to the ground, and she is left breathless. 

"If I make you furious," Harry murmurs deeply in her ear, "then you make me a fucking madman." 

His chest is pressed against her back as they inhale and exhale heavily, butterflies flying around the flowers and hidden cicadas chirping in the meadow. 

"You test my patience, and I pretend it provokes me," he continues, flexing his hands. "It does the opposite, Blair. It makes me lust for you." 

She lets Harry's confession seep into her skin like pleasurable poison. "I... you are reprehensible. I cannot stand it when you tell such insolent lies." 

He presses his nose into her neck. "You render me weak. I think about you until I ache." 

Blair swallows roughly when his damp lips trail along her pulse point. "Every word that leaves your mouth is concocted to debilitate me." 

"Your blue eyes are an ocean I would gladly drown in." 

Her knees almost give out, but she persists. "I will stuff my book down your throat if you do not stop blathering." 

"You would like that, I reckon."

"Jesus wept, I hate you!" she shouts as she releases herself from his spell and continues walking. 

He grips her wrist and spins her around. "Look at me when you say you hate me." 

"I hate"—Blair points her finger at his chest—"you." 

Harry takes three of her fingers and brings them up to her bottom lip. "These," he whispers, his eyes locked on her mouth. "I could write endless poetry about them." 

"Stop it this instant." 

He moves one of her fingers to trace the freckles dotting the apples of her cheeks. "The most marvelous constellations should be envious of these." 

Her eyes soften, much to her distaste. "Please," she says, not knowing how she intends the word to come across. 

"Tell me what you want, mon rêve céleste." 

"I want you to shut your mouth." 

His knuckles brush her collarbone. "Do you? Or do you want me to use my mouth for something else?" 

Blair steps away from him. "How dare you assume that!" 

"Quit looking at my lips, then." 

"I am not! Quit analyzing me!" 

"Your cheeks are pink. Why is that?" 

She feels like fire is encompassing her. "Because..."

Harry bends down slightly to be at eye level with her. "Look at me, Blair." 

Her walls crumble at that moment when she sees nothing but lustful hunger in his eyes. She gives in because if she goes down, let it be in a blaze of flaming desire. She cannot bear the thought of not touching him at least once in her lifetime, as much as she hates to admit the fact. 

Blair unclasps the button by her cleavage, never breaking eye contact with him as his posture straightens and his prurient gaze gradually lowers. She maneuvers the dress over and down her shoulders, letting the loose garment pool at her feet. Harry drops to his knees before her, pulling down her chemise and gently removing her ivory-colored slippers. 

"Lie down," he commands gruffly.

She obeys. The budding flowers surround her naked body as her blonde hair fans out on the grass. 

Harry spreads her legs open and places his forearms next to them. "How do you need me, Blair?"

"Your fingers," she responds. "Please. I need them inside of me." 

He tuts mockingly. "Not even a minute ago, you were telling me I was reprehensible, but now you beg like a whore." 

She should slap him for his degrading language, but it only fuels her internal fire. Her hips desperately lift to meet his knuckle running along her inner thigh, and he moves it up even further until it reaches the coarse hair growing around her pelvis. She is already dripping with arousal. His fingers are so close to where she needs them most.

"Harry," she says breathlessly, her body writhing when his mouth brushes her clit. "God, just touch me. I beg of you." 

"Say my name like that again, and I will do whatever you ask of me, darling." 

"Harry," she moans while arching her back. 

His fingers finally stretch her open, two knuckles deep in her pulsating walls, creating a burning sensation throughout her body. She had dreamed about how deep they would go, curling and thrusting to bring her inconceivable pleasure. It feels better than she imagined, and she sees stars as his thumb applies pressure to her clit. 

"Blair." Harry uses his free hand to grasp her jaw. She opens her eyes and gets lost in his fervent gaze. "Who else has touched you? Hmm? Tell me." 

He hits a particularly deep spot that has her whining like a pleading idiot. "M-many others, however, they all left me empty and unsatisfied." 

"Did they make you wet?" He presses his warm hand against her lower stomach. "Did they leave you with a lingering ache right here?" 

"No, but do you know why?" she responds, the pressure of his hand unraveling the knot of her forthcoming orgasm. 

"Tell me all your secrets, flower." 

"They never used their mouths," she admits. Harry looks up with impure eyes and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "Fingers can only provide so much pleasure, but a pair of pink lips like yours could make me fall apart completely." 

"Is that right?" he breathes out. 

She bites her lip with a blissful smile. "There is only one way to find out, yes?" 

"I suppose so." 

He takes his fingers out and spreads her thighs further open, her arousal sticking to her sweaty skin. The second his tongue licks a long stripe from her opening to her clit, Blair cries out for all the birds and bugs to hear. He laps up her wetness like sweet syrup on a delectable dessert. He kisses and nips in all the right places, like he has known her body for ages, latching and sucking her most sensitive areas until she is clenching around nothing. Low, guttural groans and whimpers leave him when she grants him a raspy moan and hooks her legs around his body. 

"I need... I have to release, Harry. It aches." 

He hovers over her and rubs slow circles on her lower stomach. "Let me see your eyes while you fall apart from underneath me." 

Blair looks at him as his words push her off the edge. She releases, her body trembling and twitching from the strength of it. Harry sits back on his knees, untying the frilly bow from his blouse and using it to clean the remaining arousal around her inner thighs. After that, Blair stands on shaky legs, panting with tingling skin, as Harry grabs her chemise and dress and helps her put them on. 

"Do you still hate me?" he whispers in her ear, clasping her buttons gently. Blair can hear the smug smile in his voice. 

"Maybe a bit less than yesterday." 

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. "What if I did this?" She is taken aback when he kisses her deeply, holding the sides of her neck and making her stumble a bit from the forceful passion. "Blair?" he says as he pulls away. "How do you feel now?" 

"I dislike you." Another kiss—one that sends heat spreading across her entire body as butterflies go wild in her stomach. She pulls away from him this time and tries not to show how fond she is of him. "All right, I tolerate you." 

One more long kiss, ending in several pecks, until she lets a smile take over her flushed face. "Je changerai d'avis un jour." (I will change your mind one day.)

Blair groans. "Will you ever tell me what you are saying?" 

"No need." His thumb strokes her cheekbone. "I can always teach you." 

"Pardon?"

"At the library," Harry elaborates softly. "I give French lessons every Monday in the study room. There should be some time slots open if that is of any interest to you." 

She contemplates briefly before saying, "I think it would be an adequate way to spend my day rather than in the alcove." 

Harry whistles and looks around incredulously. "Is Blair Lancaster admitting she would not mind spending time with me? Am I dreaming? Have I lost my bloody mind in this meadow?" 

"Enough," she mutters. Her protest ends in a squeal when Harry slightly nips at her neck. "Stop it! That tickles!" 

He grins like a fool and bends down to pluck a jasmine flower from the cluster surrounding her feet. He then grabs Venus in Furs and flips through it for a minute until he stops at a specific page toward the end. Blair watches him lay the flower horizontally, the thin stem acting as an underline for a quote. 

~ 

You have corrupted my imagination

and inflamed my blood.

~

[charmedreincarnation]

Doubt and how to persist

When you’re working towards manifesting your dreams, there will be times where doubt creeps in and it feels like it will never come to fruition. However, you need to stay persistent if you want to make your dreams come true. Here are some tips to help you persist even with doubt in your manifestation journey. it can be difficult to maintain faith and believe in the process. Even when you know that it's real and are dedicating time and energy to manifesting your desires, it's common to experience doubt. In this video, I'll explain why it's so normal to doubt your manifestation, and how to push past those doubts in order to successfully realize what you're wishing for.

First off, let's examine why it's so common to experience doubt when you're trying to manifest something. We live in a society that condones logical thinking and tangible evidence, so when we focus on something intangible and unseen, our minds will understandably become filled with questions and uncertainties. This is why it’s natural to have doubts - your mind may be propelling you to view the world in a more analytical way.

It's also important to understand that manifesting often requires us to have a certain level of faith and belief. When we become aware of the doubts and lack of faith that can exist within our minds, it can create further doubt as we become even more aware of our own lackluster faith. So to work around that doubt I think it’s important right First, focus on your ‘why’. Your ‘why’ is the reason you’re motivated to make your dreams come true. Remind yourself why you’re doing this and the impact it will have on your life and the lives of those around you. It will be the source of strength when doubt creeps in. Also limit your exposure to external factors. Doubt can take root more easily when you’re constantly exposed to outside opinions that may not align with yours. Block out this noise and focus on yourself and your ‘why’. The amount of time I see people question their own beliefs just because a blogger says something else is super concerning. Different perspectives and beliefs from someone else doesn’t take away from the validity of yours.

Also..Don’t forget to practice self-care during doubt-filled moments. Take a little break from your manifestation journey and do something that makes you happy. When you come back feeling refreshed, that doubt won’t be so big anymore. God or not, you’re still a person with emotions and this can be overwhelming. Taking a break says nothing about your persistence or your faith, don’t let that false notion stop you from taking care of yourself. Despite how seemingly difficult it can be, understanding how to persist with doubt is something that anyone can work through. Taking the time to practice far-reaching awareness of one’s thought patterns is key to improving internal dialogue and recognizing those pesky, discouraging thoughts. Developing self-compassion and an awareness of past traumas can help in having a more soothing, understanding approach to handling these types of thoughts. Additionally, engaging in activities like mindfulness meditation, journaling, and nature walks can help build healthy coping strategies for when these unwanted feelings arise are all things I’ll never stop advocating for.

Finally, this isn’t talked about much, but don’t be afraid to find an accountability partner or group and keep working towards your goals. Having someone support and encourage you on your journey makes it easier to push through the moments of doubt. Plus, knowing someone else is counting on you can be a huge motivator to keep going. Community and relationships not only have personally held me more accountable but my resolve is always stronger when I’m also encouraging and fighting for others.

I think it's also important to remember that we must persist if we want our desires to come true. I think this is a concept but we’ve all seen but people interpret what true persistence looks like differently.

So let's talk about the concept of persistence according to Neville Goddard. He famously said, “What you persist in imagining, you will ultimately experience.” This is a powerful statement and it's one that we should remember if we want to manifest our deepest desires. Goddard believed that it was necessary to persist in our imaginings in order to bring them into being. He taught that our subconscious mind is incredibly powerful and can help shape the world around us. We can use this power to create the life we desire if we are willing to persist in our imaginations.

When we imagine something vividly, we are actually bringing it into being in our minds. The more we do this, the more powerful it becomes and the easier it is to manifest it into reality. This is why Goddard emphasized the importance of persistence. remember that our desires will inevitably come true, no matter how many times we imagine them. However, this does not mean that we should not persist in our imaginings. We must be consistent in order for our imagined realities to take physical form. This is how we create the life of our dreams. That’s it. Simply having the desire and constantly longing it for it in the imagination is all it is and it’s what we all do.

Persistence is key when it comes to manifestation. When we persist in our imaginings, we are planting the seeds of our desires deep within the subconscious and they will eventually take physical form. But it will only happen if we persist in visualizing and believing in our desired reality.

At the core of Neville Goddard's teachings is the belief that by believing and feeling something is true, it will eventually come true. He believed that each of us has the power to create our own reality by using our thoughts, feelings, and in some cases, physical actions. This means that we have the power to shape our lives as we see fit and that it is up to us to take the actions necessary to make that happen.

So then why does it take so long for a 3D manifestation to conform to a 4D vision?

Well, Neville Goddard himself said that it takes time for the spiritual vision to become physical. That is because, in order for a manifestation to become real, it has to go through several steps, including developing an emotional connection to the desired outcome, defining what that outcome looks and feels like in detail, and committing to the daily practice of visualization and affirmation in order to bring the vision into reality. Another reason why it may take some time for a 3D manifestation to conform to a 4D vision is because the spiritual process requires us to surrender our attachment to the outcome. When we let go of our expectations and surrender our attachment and need for control, we open up space for the divine to work its magic. as Neville Goddard stated, “Energy follows thought” – so if you invest more energy into something, it will eventually come to you. This means that if you are focused on your vision and put in all the effort needed to bring it into reality, not only will you remain patient until its completion but you will also see faster results.

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 25 - Perpetuity

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste/Warrior of Light Rating: Gen Additional Notes: Spoilers for Post-Endwalker MSQ, patch 6.55. Ao3 Link

“Leo?” 

At the sound of his name, Leofard rouses from the space between sleep and wakefulness, albeit reluctantly. He hates being cold, and no amount of blankets is enough to prevent the Sharlayan chill from seeping into his skin.

But he blinks once, then twice; Moro’a’s curled in on his side, facing him. Still awake. He meets the yet unspoken words in those blue eyes.

“I've been thinking. About what I said at the landing.” Moro’a’s voice ghosts the air, so quiet that Leofard can barely catch it. “I want you by my side, on my adventures — none of that's changed. But I also need you to know that it doesn't have to be forever.” 

Something in Leofard’s head registers that this is important; a weighty conversation spoken in soft words. Drowsy as he is, it rounds down to pillow talk. “Never crossed me mind,” he murmurs, fighting and quickly losing to a large yawn. Figuring that that's enough to settle the matter, he burrows deeper into the blankets and lets his eyes fall shut. “Sleep. Big day tomorrow, aye?”

“Mmm.” Leofard somehow catches the hint of doubt in that word, and he feels just enough annoyance — or is it concern? — to ruffle him into opening his eyes again.

He isn’t the sort to poke at these things. Especially not in bed. But he wants to sleep, and Moro’a won't leave a thought alone, not until he's gnawed it down to the marrow. He makes a discontented noise — for the lost sleep — then forces himself up by one elbow.

“If you want to say it, say it.” He watches as worry flits across Moro’a’s features, before softening into something else. Tenderness. His heart does an odd flip, the kind that happens whenever Moro’a looks at him this way.

Idiot, he thinks. But there’s affection in that too, small and warm and alive.

“It's just…this is a lot,” Moro’a begins. “For me, but especially for you, and—I don't want you thinking that there's a point where it becomes too late to turn back.” He looks at him, searching for something in the dark. “That you'll have to break your promise.”

Leofard knows that what he's being offered is a way out. That it has as much to do with his worries as it does Moro’a’s. It's strange — he's lived almost all of his life pursuing freedom. Clawing his way past the cold, the loss, the stifling cage, until he could lift his wings and truly fly. He'd spent a long time believing that love, this sort of love, would be a cage, too.

Until Moro’a had let him go, and he'd realised that what he was running from was rarer than luck, and more precious than any bauble. 

To think that he'd almost let himself lose such a prize.

“Don’t have to say it twice. I know,” he replies. He isn’t the kind to caress, but something compels him to reach out, and his hand fits along the corner of Moro’a’s jaw just so. “Remember what I said at that landing? That I wanted a taste of your life, the skies only you can reach? That hasn't changed, either.” And this is the most he can bring himself to say, because the squirming in his chest might kill him, otherwise: “I can't do any of that unless I stay close to you, can I?”

The way Moro’a smiles is worth the twist to his pride. But even he has his limits. “Alright, we've had our chat. Now let me get some beauty sleep,” he grumbles. Moro’a doesn’t argue, only reaches out to draw him closer, and he lets him. 

He doesn’t want to love the way Raimille had to, rooted in place as those close to his heart drift beyond his reach. With Moro’a, there’s a chance he might never have to.

He thinks of Tural, of jewelled waters and smooth sands, the cities and skies he can't yet fathom. Moro’a’s tucked under his chin, and the warm weight of him is more comforting than he’d ever dared to consider. It feels good, feels right.

He falls asleep this way, looking forward to all the new and familiar that’s to come.

[olysmile]

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

I cannot process how damaged children are nowadays.... Seriously what is this? Acting mature for their age? Having their faces stuck on an iPad screen 24/7? Ten-year-old girls doing skincare and stealing products from Sephora and other shops? Having sexual intercourse with each other, or even watching this kind of TV shows??? And the most important out of all: Why are the parents ok with all that?

I seriously can’t understand how things work for kids these days. Ok, I’ll admit that my “for you” page on tik tok is full of skincare tips etc. With that feed, it happens all the time to see a video of a mother who is doing her five year old’s skincare routine, or another mother who lets the child use her makeup products so she can go to a birthday party. Many people are going to come at me now and say: “You are overreacting, it’s just a kid” Well THAT’S THE ISSUE! She is a kid.If she starts doing this stuff now, what will she do in the future? A breast job or a nose job when she turns 13? As a mother, you should know better that this is a bad influence. And the worst thing is that you don't let your kids use them just to play inside the house. YOU LET THEM PUT ON MAKEUP FOR SCHOOL!

The saddest thing about makeup products is that they don't have any age restriction, so many kids think that it is normal to use them and try them out from a young age, especially since cosmetic brands like Drunk Elephant, Tower 28 and Rare Beauty will have products that go viral on TikTok. Each kid can scroll through their tik tok (wich I believe is something also insane) and they will find something that 'suits' them and is 'ideal' for them. Some mothers do not allow their children to buy these products, and this is the main reason they end up misbehaving and stealing products from Sephora. I don't know why they chose Sephora specifically, but I am sure that this is not the main concern we have right now.

The other issue that we have with kids and their parents (mostly the generation Z parents) is the TV shows they are watching. Most of the time, parents don't pay any attention. When children have access to endless information on the internet, they can end up finding an animated show and might think: "Wow this seems cool! I will watch it" And the parents see that their kid is watching the show and they think:"Ok it is just an animated show" OH REALLY? Shouldn't you check the age restriction before you decide that? You have no idea how many kids have watched shows such as Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Arcane, Rick and Morty, and also many Anime at the age of 9.

I am mentioning specifically the age of 9 because of the incident at the Galaxycon. For those who don't know what i am talking about, there was a q&a event with the hazbin hotel cast at this con and a nine year old was asking the voice actor Blake Roman, whether it was uncomfortable for him to record the sex tape scene in episode 1.... All the voice actors where in shock. I do not have the full video only, but i can show you what happened and the opinion @_crow.lex_ has expressed about this on his tik tok account:

We can all agree with the fact that one of the main roots of a child's development and behavior comes from the parents and the environment that they grow up in. So this is a call for all the parents reading this: Please pay attention to what your children watches or researches on the Internet, or even set a screen time limit for them. In addition, explain them that some things are not appropriate for them and they will not become 'mature' if they start getting into these right now.