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princessanonymous · 1 year ago

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When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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Epilogue : 𝓘𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓪

"What has gotten your pretty little head so worried, doll ?" Curiously asked her father as they were feasting.

She lifted her head, startled by his question. Shrugging, she said : "Nothing important, I just..."

Her fathers fixed their gaze on her, awaiting an explanation. Uncertain of how to express herself, she opted to play with the mashed potatoes on her plate, sensing their confusion mirrored in her hesitation.

"I used to have another family," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mortals," responded her father without care. "We took you in and you have us now."

She bit her lip. While her memories of the time before her turning were becoming slightly blurry, she could still retell the events in moderate detail. With time, her relationship with her sire had mended and her bond with the two older vampires had greatly improved. She couldn't say when she had begun to refer to them as her fathers. Perhaps, it was because of the blond vampire's insistence. His determination must have worn her down with time. (Y/n) had subconsciously learned there was no use arguing with her father; he always found a way to get what he wanted. What was repeated enough often became a reality, and now, (Y/n) was an integral part of their immortal tableau. They were family.

She acquiesced, breaking the somber mood. "Forgive my gloominess."

The atmosphere in the dining room shifted, tension intermingling with the scent of the evening's feast. Then, a shrill scream from upstairs echoed through the ornate halls, a stark reminder of (Y/n)'s penchant for mischief.

Her father's gaze hardened, a silent reproach conveyed through his piercing eyes. Beside him, her dad sighed, his exasperation apparent. "(Y/n), we've discussed this," he admonished, his voice carrying a weariness that suggested this was not the first time such an incident had occurred.

The young vampire toyed with her food, a nonchalant air about her as if feeding on the tailor was merely an inconvenience to her parents. And it was. Years ago, the mere thought of drinking blood repulsed her. Now, it had become the norm, something that had been instilled within her by Dorian. She placed a finger on her lips, a mischievous smile playing on them. The two older vampires exchanged a glance, a silent communication that spoke of shared exasperation and a need for discipline.

Her father's frustration erupted as he demanded, "What have we said about feeding in the house? Was it the tailor we hired for your new dresses?" The mere thought of a potential delay in her wardrobe seemed to agitate the blond vampire more than the breach of their feeding protocol.

With a nod, (Y/n) confirmed her choice of victim. The consequences of her actions, however, did not weigh heavily on her. She glanced between her fathers with innocent eyes. “I didn’t make a mess.”

"Now, who will finish those dresses?" The blond threw his hands in the air dramaticallly.

☼ ‎‎

That same evening, once the little mess with the corpse was arranged, the girl still appeared preoccupied. Truth to be told, this feeling wasn't new or sudden. It was something that had lingered within her for years now. It all came to a head tonight. As they were served tea in the living room, (Y/n) eyes lingered on the maid who served them the tea.

She sighed wistfully as the maid departed. The woman was slender, with curves and a mature air around her. (Y/n) reminisced, "I remember when Henrietta was younger. She was twelve when she started working here."

Her dad raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head from the journal he was reading. "Who ?"

She rolled her eyes. "Henrietta, the maid that just left."

Her father hummed disinterestedly, and her dad returned to his journal. Brushing the hair of her doll, Clementine, she commented with a pout, "I wish I were like her."

"Like a servant?" questioned her sire with barely concealed disdain.

"No," she retorted, affronted by the notion. "Like a woman."

A sudden stillness settled in the room as both vampires sharply turned their attention to her. An array of emotions assaulted her – worry, guilt, annoyance, sadness, and resignation. She couldn't discern from whom each emotion emanated. They had discovered soon after her turning that her unique gift was that of empathy – an ability to sense and, with practice, manipulate others' emotions to her liking.

"What do you mean by that?" inquired the dark-haired vampire, lifting his head from his reading.

(Y/n) hugged herself while looking away. "I want to change." She longed for transformation, to break free from the perpetual sameness that defined her immortal existence. Every night, she woke up and walked up to her mirror to observe the same unchanging face.

When she was turned, she hadn’t even been made aware that this would change her normal growth. Later on, she simply understood it would slow it, which would explain the fact her vampiric parents didn’t look different from what they were when she first met them.

Her dad, with a cold hand on her cheek, reassured her, "You are perfect as you are." However, an undercurrent of guilt accompanied his words.

Swatting his hand away, she clarified, "That isn't the issue."

"Then what is?" asked her sire abrasively. "You shouldn't concern yourself with humans, much less desire to be like them."

"I want to change," she insisted, feeling the weight of her unyielding desire. A tense silence hung in the room as they stared at each other. "When will I?"

Her sire responded coolly, "What I think is that you are having another senseless tantrum. Drop this matter." He dismissed it as he always did every time she even implied something concerning this topic.

"No!" she protested, standing up in frustration. "I can sense that you two are keeping something from me every time I mention this. What is it? I have the right to know."

"You know you aren't allowed to use your gift on us," her sire responded, sidestepping her question. He disapproved of her using empathic powers to discern his emotions.

"Why am I not changing? Why can't I grow older?" she demanded tearfully. "I'm an adult."

"You are not acting like one," her sire rebuked sternly.

"Dorian," her dad interjected while placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ignoring her dad, (Y/n) focused her attention on her sire, anger and desperation bubbling inside her. "You made me like this! You made me into this!"

She hated it so much. This resentment had started to fester inside her ever since the first time she noticed her growth had been altered. It all pulled out at once in a cascade. This wasn't fair.

"Yes," her sire agreed with a challenging smile, stepping forward. "And what you are is nothing but a child. Do not forget that."

In a fit of anger, she screamed before storming out, leaving behind a room fraught with unresolved tension.

☾‎

As (Y/n) stormed out, Killian observed her departure with a heavy sigh. Beside him, Dorian collapsed into an armchair, exhaling in exhaustion. A palpable heaviness lingered in the living room, an unsettling aftermath of the emotional outburst.

They should have expected this from the child. It was bound to happen. She hadn't known about the fact they stopped aging once they were turned and they had known she wouldn't react well to it. The two had known that eventually, she would start to ask why she wasn't aging. They both knew it. None of them thought it would be so soon, though. Like any vampire turned at such a young age, she had started to become restless. As her soul aged, her mind remained static, and her body persisted in its perpetual youth. Physically and emotionally, she was trapped in the realm of childhood, yet a part of her knew that something was wrong, that she wasn't meant to stay that way.

"She deserves to know it by now," Killian said, his voice breaking through the gloomy atmosphere. "She will get over it eventually."

Dorian, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on a distant point, acknowledging that the statement held more of a wish than a genuine assurance. The sounds of porcelain shattering and a commotion emanated from the girl's room, drawing their attention, but neither moved.

"Completely hysterical," Dorian muttered to himself with frustration. "This child has gone completely—"

Their momentary stillness shattered at the sudden, piercing cry of horror that resonated through the house. The gut-wrenching sound struck both vampires to their core. They sprang to their feet, a shared urgency compelling them to rush to her bedroom. Attempting to open the door, they discovered she had barricaded it with an object. Dorian pounded on the door with a sense of desperation.

"(Y/n)," he bellowed, "open this door at once !"

No response came from within, but the cries and the metallic scent of blood permeated through. "(Y/n)," Killian called in a more soothing tone, "please open this door."

Using force, they managed to open the door, the chair strategically placed beneath the knob crashing to the floor. They entered a room in complete disarray, with shards of broken porcelain dolls strewn across the floor. The coffin lay shattered, and the curtains torn. A crimson liquid coated every surface—windows, floors, walls—and (Y/n) herself, who panted heavily while crouching over the lifeless body of the maid she had mentioned earlier.

The maid's form was mutilated, her face and chest bearing the brunt of the savage attack. The room told a tale of unbridled rage; only a person consumed by fury could commit such an act with nothing but broken porcelain shards.

Killing humans wasn't an uncommon occurrence for vampires. Killian, while he avoided partaking in these acts, knew that. He also knew that Dorian and (Y/n) both feasted on humans. Yet, he recognized that this was more than feeding. She hadn't consumed a single drop of the woman's blood—this was an act of brutality, driven solely by her rage and envy. The girl had unleashed her pent-up frustration.

"That is enough !" Bellowed his partner, storming up to the girl and pointing a stern finger at her. "Quit this abhorrent behavior at once !" The force of his words reverberated through the room, cutting through the chaos like a sudden gust of wind.

☾‎

She stood defiant, unmoved by his anger, as the fire within her raged stronger than anything external. "What have you done to me?" Her scream echoed through the room, a visceral sound that threatened to shatter the windows.

"I saved you!" Her sire retorted, his own voice rising to match hers. "I saved you from a pathetic human existence, and this is how you repay me!"

"I want to grow! I want to be like them!" She shot back, the two locked in a battle of voices, each trying to outshout the other.

"YOU WILL NEVER GROW!" He finally snapped, the declaration revealing the cold, hard truth.

Stumbling back, she attempted to process his words. "What do you..." Her lip quivered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her dad stepped forward, his voice a regretful whisper. "You were turned at the tender age of twelve. For vampires, time halts at the moment of their turning, passing without taking much note of our kind. We are forever frozen in that moment.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, she croaked, "No... There must be a way to... if I—"

"You will never age," her sire declared with a lack of sympathy that cut through her like a knife.

Clutching her chest, she sank to her knees, realizing the extent of what the vampire had taken from her. He had stolen her family, her humanity, and now, her ability to age.

Somehow, the tears didn't come to her. She had no more tears to cry. (Y/n) was a vampire, a fact she had once thought she had come to terms with. She was destined to feed on mortals to survive. She was destined to never age. Eternally youthful.

In response to her silence, her sire crouched in front of her. "(Y/n)?" He lifted her head to meet his gaze. As her eyes clung to a last sliver of hope, the blond's eyes hardened. "Embrace the essence of your being, and express gratitude that I, in my benevolence, have rescued you from the confines of your mortality."

Her gaze turned to the shattered dolls, and she said to him, "Forgive me," a whisper devoid of emotion. His smile, void of any malice, prompted no anger from her, only a heavy resignation.

"Smile," he urged, wiping blood from her face. “This is a gift, doll.”

She complied, displaying white teeth and sharp fangs. There seemed to be no other recourse in this situation. She could either succumb to tears and rage or find a way to move forward. She had learned to adapt once; after her parents were savagely slaughtered. Then, once again when she had been turned. This would be her third time, and hopefully, her last.

The fragments of porcelain dolls lay scattered like fallen stars across the room, a constellation of broken dreams. Each doll, a silent witness to the tempest of emotions that had swept through. In the midst of this wreckage, (Y/n) stood, a solitary figure amidst a sea of fractured reveries.

The dolls, once delicate and cherished, were now fragments strewn carelessly, much like the promises of a life she had relinquished. The act of breaking those dolls, symbolic as it was, held no real consequence. For (Y/n) understood that she, in this haunting realm, was the only doll that truly mattered. An elegant marionette, navigating a vampiric existence with a façade of poise. A mere doll in this vampiric tableau, expected to wear a smile and play her assigned role.

She refrained from allowing herself to cry or even care anymore, for in caring, she feared she would shatter into irreparable pieces.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Yup, this is over guys ! Finally done! Took me some time bcuz I went on a trip but here I am with the epilogue! Hope you liked this story and enjoyed it just as much as I did as I was writing it.

While the story is over, I would be happy to answer questions and write more about it if asked. My asks are open so feel free to ask for more on the characters, their backstories that were only briefly mentioned, or even on what-if scenarios to see how some actions could hava affected the ending. ;)

Thank you for reading.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere vampire #yandere father #obsession #yandere #vampire #platonic #x reader #female reader #reader insert #child reader #yandere x reader #fanfic #stockholm syndrome #toxic relationship #abusiveness #manipulation #(y/n)

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primaviva · 1 year ago

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gingerbread; gwen stacy

featuring. gwen stacy x fem!reader

synopsis. making gingerbread with your girlfriend—gwen stacy.

warnings. none, just fluff! one suggestive joke and intense kiss description

gingerbread—a cherished christmas classic that invokes a symphony of senses, whisking you away to a world of holiday enchantment. as much as you would hate to admit it to someone who is passionate about christmas, the art of constructing a gingerbread house has eluded you. well, perhaps there was a time in your youth when you attempted such a creation, but it never truly became an integral part of your holiday traditions. sure, you delighted in the occasional indulgence of premade gingerbread cookie snacks found at the local market, striving to awaken the spirit of the season. however, those moments were akin to coloring within the lines of gingerbread-themed books from your childhood—a fleeting taste of the magic.

but today, it seemed that this would change.

gwen, surprising a fervent advocate of all things christmas, extended an invitation to her home while her dad was out working late. the purpose? to make gingerbread.

as you stepped into gwen's apartment, a winter wonderland unfolded before you. the air was infused with the delicate fragrance of freshly cut pine, mingling harmoniously with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. not to mention the little festive touches to the apartment like the wreath that was in your face as you knocked on the door.

in the heart of gwen's kitchen, a tableau of culinary goodness awaited. the ingredients for gingerbread lay scattered across the countertop, more than enough boxes than there should be of premade mix. the scent of ginger mingled with the warmth of the earthy undertones of almond, blending into a fragrant melody that coated the room in an irresistible aroma.

the room buzzed with excitement as you and gwen meticulously measured, combined ingredients, and kneaded the dough. the rhythmic sound of the wooden spoon swirling through the mixture created a rough cadence, accompanied by the gentle clinking of utensils against the mixing bowl.

time seemed to both pass by and stand still at the start of things. with each roll of the pin, the dough spread out, its surface becoming a blank canvas waiting to be shaped into something deliciously beautiful for you to destroyed. gingerbread walls, roofs, windows, and doors emerged from the malleable dough, ready to be transformed into a festive yet architectural masterpiece.

as the premade gingerbread pieces were placed in the oven, the minutes stretched out like taffy, building an air of suspense. the addictive scent of freshly baked gingerbread wafted through the kitchen, enveloping you in its warm embrace.

finally, with a melodious ding, the timer announced the completion of the baking process—a moment that marked the birth of something truly extraordinary.

impatience tinged your words as you exclaimed, "goddamn, i could practically feel my toenails growing in place while waiting for that damn timer!" your frustration evident, you turned your head to the side, seeking any distraction from the anticipation that had reached its peak. with a determined stride, you made your way to the oven, bending down to peer inside. the radiant light within the oven cast a mesmerizing glow upon the smooth, golden-brown texture of the gingerbread, causing your mouth to almost involuntarily salivate.

as you stood there, captivated by the sight before you, gwen playfully observed your expression and couldn't help but chuckle. "take it easy," she teased, joining you by the oven. "even as your girlfriend, i don't think i want to eat gingerbread covered with frosting and... saliva."

her playful remark lightened the moment, allowing a smile to grace your face. the warmth of her presence, coupled with the tantalizing aroma filling the air, intensified the feeling of holiday joy. with a deliberate grace, gwen adorned the oven mitts, preparing to retrieve the gingerbread from its warm haven. as she carefully lifted the tray and placed it on the countertop, the sweet fragrance enveloped the room, an atmosphere of festive delight. it was as if the very essence of christmas had materialized in that humble batch of gingerbread.

"voilà!" gwen declared, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "our gingerbread base is ready for some serious decorating." the prospect of adorning the freshly baked canvas with a burst of color and creativity brought a renewed sense of excitement, infusing the air with a contagious energy.

gwen's eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned to face you, a playful grin spreading across her face. "so, my creative partner in crime, any design in mind for our masterpiece?" her words inviting your imagination to run wild. "i was thinking a haunted gingerbread house, complete with gummy worms and licorice spiders. but i'm open to suggestions, of course." a sigh left your lips, of course spiders.

you couldn't help but wear a sly smirk on your face as you locked eyes with gwen, indulging in the banter between you. "y’know, you sound so corny right now," you jest, a hint of truth lacing your words, eliciting a dry laugh.

gwen couldn't help but laugh at your reaction. "alright, alright, no more cringey names, got it," she replied, feigning seriousness.

sauntering toward the countertop, you leaned on it, peering closely at the freshly baked gingerbread, contemplating the possibilities. "how about we recreate your apartment? a cute lil’ surprise for mister stacy when he returns home."

the thought of transforming the gingerbread canvas into a miniature replica of her own living space definitely excited gwen, even if it was up to debate if she had the skill to execute that.

“i would love for my dad to come home to see a miniature gingerbread version of our apartment,” she put it simply. gwen leaned against the countertop next to you, examining the gingerbread pieces. "we'll need to get creative with the decorations. maybe some pretzel stick furniture, and we can use icing to make tiny portraits of us hanging on the gingerbread walls," she suggested, eyes sparkling with excitement.

gwen walked off to her cabinets and grabbed an array of things ranging from sprinkles, pretzels and cookies, to gumdrops she had stored all the way in the back where you swore you could’ve seen some cobwebs. "so, how's it feel to be in the presence of a master gingerbread architect? i hope you can keep up with my design skills, babe,” gwen smirked playfully, raising an eyebrow at you.

you couldn’t help but let a laugh escape from your throat. “master gingerbread architect? please, if you can’t make your webs stick to the side of a building for more than fifteen seconds i can only imagine how you think you’ll be able to stick two gingerbread walls together with some frosting,” you tease, playfully bumping her hip.

gwen couldn't help but burst into laughter at your remark, pretending to be offended. "hey now, my web-slinging skills may not translate perfectly to gingerbread construction, but i'll have you know i've got a few tricks up my sleeve," she quipped, winking at you.

as she picked up the box of icing, she playfully flicked a bit of it in your direction. "watch out, or i might just stick you to the gingerbread walls too," gwen teased, sticking her tongue out at you.

but in all seriousness, she was grateful for moments like these, where you could just be yourselves and have fun together. as you focused on decorating the gingerbread pieces, she couldn't help but steal glances at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. it was moments like these that made her appreciate how lucky she is to be in your presence.

you chuckled lowly at her little threat. “i think you should watch out then, cus’ who said i wouldn’t enjoy being webbed to the wall by you?” you questioned, making a bold comment to the tall blonde.

you watched as she got together the frosting, mixing it before putting it in baggies. you began copying her movements, helping her mix the already selected holiday colors such as red, green, and white and put them in their respective baggie before cutting the tip of it so it can dispense the frosting.

gwen couldn't help but blush at your daring response, her pale skin transitioning to a pretty rose while feeling a rush of affection toward you. "oh, you’d enjoy it, huh?" she replied, voice laced with amusement. "well, maybe i'll have to put that to the test sometime."

as you worked together to mix the frosting and fill the baggies, she admired the way you effortlessly picked up on the process. it was one of the reasons she loved being with you—you always embraced new challenges with determination and a willingness to learn.

or at least get through those said challenges… if anything.

gwen grabbed a decorative plate, seemingly a fancy traditional plate that looked irish, probably a gift from her grandparents to her dad. once the frosting was ready, she grabbed one of the gingerbread walls and the floor from the parchment and put a dollop to the plate to make it act as glue for stability. then, she began piping a decorative trim along the edges, using the red frosting. gwen delicately squeezed the baggie, letting the smooth, creamy texture glide onto the cookie. the scent of the sugary frosting mixed with the warm gingerbread, creating an intoxicating aroma.

she glanced over at you, noticing your focused expression as you worked on your own piece. "looking good over there," gwen complimented with a grin, playfully nudging your shoulder. “gingerbread, not you, well you are but- i’m talking about your lovely art right there.”

you let out a choked laugh as your hand faltered from piping the frosting down the side of one of the big gingerbread squares for the apartment. it wasn’t too difficult, but for someone who doesn’t do this annually you clearly struggled with some things. “all i've done so far is stick the back wall to the other side that you did,” you state plainly. “if this is art to you then i would hate to hear what you think of picasso.”

gwen couldn't help but let out a boisterous laugh at your self-deprecating comment. "hey, don't sell yourself short! i’m sure picasso would be so proud to see your one singular gingerbread wall," she reassured you, trying to suppress her giggles.

gwen put her piping bag down and walked over to your direction. you felt her chest hit your back as both her arms snaked from behind your waist to your arms. she reached over and gently took your hand, guiding it back to the frosting baggie. "here, let me show you a little trick. just apply a little pressure and let the frosting flow out smoothly all on its own. you got it," she encouraged, setting an example for you.

you tried to pay attention, but it was hard when her smooth yet raspy voice was whispering in your ear, so close you felt her breath tickling your cheek.

you both continued decorating the gingerbread walls, adding intricate details and personal touches. gwen used the white frosting to create a snow-like effect on the roof, while you expertly piped green frosting to resemble a wreath on the front door.

as you worked side by side, the room filled with laughter and the sweet scent of gingerbread and frosting. it was moments like these, where both of you could be silly and enjoy each other's company, that truly made gwen's heart flutter.

you carefully spread a layer of frosting inside the gingerbread house, creating a smooth carpet-like surface. a mischievous grin plays on your lips as an idea takes hold. secretly, you squeeze a dollop of frosting onto your pointer finger, ready to execute your playful plan. "gwen, come see the carpet i did," you command, diverting her attention from the oh so important and intricate task of assembling miniature furniture out of cookies, pretzels, and other random yet surprisingly edible materials. she turns towards you, her gaze fixed on your direction, unsuspecting of what's about to happen.

swiftly, you rise onto the balls of your feet, reaching her height, and with a quick and unexpected motion, you press the frosting onto the tip of her nose, smudging it up towards the bridge. a mischievous giggle escapes your lips as you revel in the spontaneous act, marveling at the frosting adorning gwen's nose.

gwen's eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping her lips as her fingertips touch the sticky yet velvety texture of the vibrant green frosting adorning her nose. its hue is so vivid, it could rival even the grinch himself. her eyes widened in mock shock, but a mischievous grin quickly spread across her face. "oh, it's on now!" the blonde exclaimed, playfully narrowing her eyes at you.

without missing a beat, she grabbed a dollop of frosting from the table and quickly retaliated, smearing it on your cheek. "oops, looks like you've got a little something on your face," gwen teased, unable to contain her laughter.

the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, frosting-covered fingers and all. you couldn’t take each other seriously. as the frosting war continued, you both ended up with streaks of frosting on your faces, looking more like abstract art than gingerbread decorators. but it didn't matter—you were having fun, and that's all that truly mattered in that moment.

“hey, i put a lil’ dot on you and not this fat ass blob,” you defend, wiping some of the frosting from the pile she planted on your nose and adding it to her nose. “cute nose job, rudolph. not lookin’ botched at all,” you teased.

gwen couldn't help but laugh at your quick retort, wiping off some of the frosting from her nose and smearing it on your lower jaw. "oh, so you're a critic now, huh?" she playfully responded, a smirk as clear as a snow globe. "well, i'm just gonna add some extra flair to your already sexy nose. rudolph will have nothing on you."

your laughter filled the room as we continued the frosting battle, merrily colorful streaks on each other's faces. no matter how silly or ridiculous you two might look, you were always able to find joy and laughter together.

but amidst the chaos, gwen couldn't help but steal a moment to appreciate your playful spirit and the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. you were truly her partner in crime, and she wouldn't want it any other way. or how she would put it, her “creative partner in gingerbread crime.” well, whatever that means.

the frosting war continued, we eventually ran out of ammunition, leaving you both covered in frosting from head to shoulder. you and your girlfriend stood there, breathless from laughter, and she couldn't resist pulling you into a tight, frosting-covered hug. "you're the best, you know that?" gwen whispered, her voice filled with genuine affection as raspy as it came.

you instinctively step back from the hug, finding yourself nose-deep in gwen's sweater. the thick frosting that had made its way into your nostrils tickles uncomfortably, and you valiantly suppress the urge to let out a loud sneeze. hastily grabbing a napkin, you wipe away the frosting, finally lifting your gaze to meet gwen's as her words register in your mind.

in that moment, clarity dawns upon you, and you realize what she said. the initial distraction of the frosting mishap fades away as you comprehend the deeper meaning behind her innocent words.

“what?” you questioned, urging her to repeat it.

gwen quickly snapped out of her daze, realizing that she had been staring at you. a slight blush crept up on the blonde’s cheeks as she realized that she had been caught. "oh, uh, sorry," gwen stammered, sounding a bit softer than usual. "i was just… admiring how cute you look, even covered in frosting."

a nervous chuckle escapes gwen's lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she finds herself feeling more embarrassed than that one time her headphones failed her during class, blaring my chemical romance for an unplanned five seconds. "i guess i got lost in the moment there. but hey, you're always a sight to see, whether you're covered in frosting or not," she stated, trying to play it off like her hands still don’t falter to shake when you make her nervous. gwen reached out and gently wiped a bit of frosting off your cheek with my thumb, her touch lingering for a moment. "you’re my favorite mess," gwen added.

a warmth spreads across your cheeks in response to gwen's comment. "oh, really?" you retort, secretly wanting to hear more from her. however, you quickly regain your composure, reminding yourselves of the task at hand. "enough, we still have shit to do," you interject, trying to steer the focus back to the gingerbread house.

gwen raised an eyebrow at your response, but couldn't help but notice the underlying hint of vulnerability in your tone. “learn to take a compliment,” she comments.

but gwen's soft smile tugs at your heartstrings, drawing you closer to her. she leans in, her gaze fixed on your eyes, as if she's searching for something deeper within you. in a surprising move, she uses her thumb, still adorned with the frosting she had wiped off you, and gently smears it across your lips. her voice carries innocence as she remarks, "looks like you've got a little something."

the touch of gwen's thumb against your lips sends a subtle jolt of electricity through your body, leaving you momentarily breathless.

but as she stepped closer to you, faces mere inches apart, gwen couldn't resist the magnetic pull between you.

as you close the remaining distance between you, gwen's lips meet yours with a gentle, lingering pressure, initiating a tender kiss. the sensation of her lips against yours sends a shiver of delight down your spine. the world around you seems to dissolve into a hazy blur, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a moment of pure connection.

your lips move in perfect synchronization with gwen's, their dance a delicate and intimate rhythm. each brush and caress of her soft lips against yours ignites a cascade of sensations to your skin—subtle yet electrifying. the taste of the frosting lingers on your tongues, a delectable blend of sweetness merging with the warmth of her own unique lip balm, a hint of vanilla intertwined with the minty sweetness.

lost in the tender embrace, you become acutely aware of every detail—the velvety texture of her lips, the way they meet and meld with yours in the most gentle and affectionate manner in which she moves. it's a moment where time stands still, where nothing else matters except the intoxicating closeness and shared intimacy between the two of you.

as you gently pull away from the kiss, your eyes instinctively rise to meet gwen's gaze. her lips, now adorned with a generous coating of green frosting, seem to attract even more of the sticky sweetness due to the presence of her lip balm. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, betraying your flustered state, while gwen smirks knowingly at you. a dry scoff escapes her lips, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on you, clearly surprised by the effect she has on you.

your attention is captivated as gwen's tongue emerges, delicately gliding along her lower lip, collecting the frosting in a deliberate and tantalizing manner. the sight of her tongue ascending to her upper lip, methodically removing the sweet coating, holds you in a mesmerized state. you watch with unwavering focus, afraid to tear your gaze away, as she withdraws her tongue back into her mouth, savoring the taste once more.

gwen, fully aware of the effect her actions have on you, wears an expression of both satisfaction and amusement. it becomes evident that she takes pleasure in being the sole catalyst for such a reaction from you, relishing in the power she holds over your senses.

as gwen finished licking off the frosting from her lips, she let out another low laugh. "mmm, still tastes as good as ever," she commented, her voice tauntingly husky. "you’re right, enough is enough. let’s get back to work, shall we?"

with a playful wink directed your way, gwen swiftly turns around, retrieving a towel and extending it towards you. you accept it, grateful for the gesture, as she grabs another towel for herself. without missing a beat, she proceeds to wipe her face clean, the remnants of frosting vanishing from her lips and leaving behind a pristine canvas. with a determined focus, she resumes her position, ready to dive back into the task at hand.

as you and gwen huddle together, the gingerbread apartment sprawled out before you, a wave of excitement washing over you both. the gingerbread walls, perfectly baked and golden brown, stand tall and sturdy, ready to be transformed. with nimble fingers, you take the lead, carefully applying royal icing along the seams of the rest of the walls, joining them together to form the structure. gwen follows suit, her touch deft and precise, ensuring the stability of the gingerbread apartment. the icing, a pristine white, resembles freshly fallen snow, enhancing the enchanting charm of the scene.

together, you meticulously construct the details—a miniature door, adorned with candy cane stripes, opens up to reveal a sugary haven within. the windows, crafted from translucent sugar sheets, allow glimpses into the home.

inside the gingerbread apartment, you and gwen become masterful decorators, so much so even the hgtv channel overlords would envy you two. tiny tinsel garlands, carefully woven together, drape along the walls, reflecting the glow of imaginary holiday lights. delicate icicle-shaped ornaments, made from crystallized sugar, hang from the ceilings, shimmering with a frosted sparkle. the living room area boasts a miniature christmas tree, painstakingly fashioned from piped green icing and dressed with tiny edible baubles, crafted from old halloween candies. a crackling fireplace, created by using chocolate shavings and red m&ms, casts a false warmth to the empty room. moving into the kitchen, a gingerbread dining table, complete with intricate icing lacework, holds a feast of miniature treats. tiny gingerbread cookies, iced with intricate designs, sit in a bowl, waiting to be enjoyed by you and your girlfriend. plates of assorted candies and chocolates are arranged, slowly dwindling as your hands continue to dig into the bowl for more material.

the two of you continued working on the gingerbread house, your playful banter and teasing gradually fading into a comfortable silence. as you placed the final touches, the gingerbread apartment began to take shape, looking like a cozy little abode.

both of you stepped back, admiring your handiwork. the walls were neatly decorated with frosting trim, the roof had a snowy white frosting coating, and the windows were outlined with colorful candies. it was painfully over-stimulating to the eyes of anyone who hates christmas, but also beautiful.

gwen reached out and took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "look at that! we make quite the dynamic duo, don't we?" she remarked, a bit too prideful of her mediocre work. "our gingerbread house is the envy of all gingerbread houses.”

you continue to stare at it, finally realizing why it bothered you. “it’s missing something,” you put simply. “we need to add the little people who will live in this apartment.”

gwen nodded in agreement, leaning a bit onto your shoulder to see from your perspective. "you're right, it needs some little residents to bring it to life," she replied, her mind already racing with ideas.

she reached for the bowl of extra gingerbread dough and started rolling it out. gwen looked over at you, a soft yet evident grin on her face. "how about we make gingerbread versions of ourselves? it'll be like a little homage to us," she suggested, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

gwen began cutting out the shapes, carefully crafting miniature versions of the both of you with the dough. as she added the details, gwen couldn't help but chuckle at the tiny gingerbread drum set she included for her miniature self.

once the dough was baked and cooled, you set to work on decorating our gingerbread doppelgangers.

as gwen rummages through her cabinets, retrieving an array of icing tubes, a flicker of suspicion tugs at the corners of your mind. the sheer variety she has in her possession leaves you slightly amazed, as well as curious and a bit concerned. nonetheless, you set aside your intrigue and begin piping the features of your gingerbread creation, starting with your own skin tone, meticulously crafting every detail.

glancing over at gwen's side, a knowing smirk graces your lips as you catch a glimpse of her artistic endeavors. with precision and flair, she expertly pipes her iconic half-shaved hairstyle onto the gingerbread figure. the piercing blue eyes she possesses, which sometimes give you the creeps, are replicated with remarkable accuracy. the adorable ensemble of wide-legged jeans, converse shoes, and a shirt adorned with a hand-drawn heart catches your attention. squinting slightly, you can read word for word what it says.

"i heart my girlfriend?" you repeat aloud, surprise evident in your voice.

gwen's laughter rings out, full and infectious. "you took the words out of my mouth," she playfully teases, reveling in the shared sentiment.

unable to resist the warmth that spreads across your face, you steal a glance to your right, discovering that gwen has already crafted a little gingerbread man of her father. turning your attention back to your own mini-you, you work diligently, not wanting to fall behind the swift pace set by your girlfriend.

as you finished and placed the gingerbread versions of yourselves inside the gingerbread house, it truly came to life.

you stepped back, taking in the sight of your creation one final time. "perfect," you declared, a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction filling you.

"it’s so perfect,” gwen adds, mimicking what you said.

you let out an exaggerated eye-roll, your playful annoyance evident. "well, thanks for that," you quip, though your words are tinged with a hint of amusement. but then, as a mischievous thought strikes you, you freeze in mock disbelief, placing your hands dramatically on your head.

in a sarcastically shocked tone, you inquire, "but wait... who will protect them from harm?" your voice drips with playful melodrama, heightening the comedic effect of your question.

slowly turning towards her, you meet her gaze, awaiting her response. with a mischievous grin, she finally breaks her silence.

"i'm so glad you asked," she declares.

in one swift motion, gwen lifts her mini gingerbread representation of herself and playfully makes it leap onto the roof of the gingerbread apartment. as she rotates it, a delightful surprise is revealed—the infamous ghost spider suit, meticulously piped onto the other side down to the mask to the teal ballet slippers.

"don't worry," gwen reassures you with a touch of theatrical flair, "i'll be there to save my damsel in distress."

you try to maintain an unamused expression, your face fighting back a smile as you struggle not to burst into laughter.

gwen couldn't help but break into uncontrollable laughs at your reaction, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

"surprise!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her amusement. "you didn’t think i would add the one and only spider woman of new york? you had to have seen this coming."

gwen playfully made her mini gingerbread ghost spider do a little victory dance on the roof of the gingerbread apartment, reveling in the silliness of it all. but beneath the lightheartedness, there was a hint of truth to her words.

she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, laughter subsiding into a warm smile. "but y’know, i don't need a superhero suit to be your hero," she whispered.

gwen couldn't help but lean in again, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, the taste of frosting still lingering.

both of you erupted into laughter, unable to contain your amusement at gwen's joke. the joyful sound filled the room until it was cut short as the door knob turned and the door abruptly swung open, revealing gwen's father returning home from his shift at the station.

"how's it going, girls..." his voice trailed off, his steps slowing as he took in the unexpected scene before him.

the air was thick with the scent of frosting, and the room bore witness to a delightful chaos of flour, candies, and scattered decorations. but amidst the mess, the most prominent sight was your meticulously crafted miniature replica of the apartment.

you both froze in place as her dad's voice filled the room, a mix of embarrassment and panic coursing through your girlfriend's veins. she turned to face him, cheeks burning with a bright shade of red she usually rocked when embarrassed. "uh... hey, dad," gwen stammered, trying to sound casual despite the chaos surrounding you both.

gwen quickly glanced at you, hoping to find some solace in the situation, but it seemed like you were just as caught off guard as her. she could practically hear the gears turning in her dad's head as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.

before he could say anything, gwen took a deep breath and mustered up all the confidence she could. "surprise, dad! we made a gingerbread apartment!" she blurted out, gesturing towards your creation. "and, uh, we may have gotten a little carried away with the frosting and...stuff.”

“stuff?” george repeated, stepping closer to the counter to get an even better look at the creation. you could see her dad's expression soften as he took in the sight, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. "well, it certainly looks like you two had a blast," he chuckled, shaking his head. "just make sure to clean up after yourselves, alright?"

in perfect synchrony, your voices blend seamlessly as you both respond simultaneously with the words "of course, mr. stacy" and "yes, dad.”

relief washed over you both as you realized her dad wasn't angry or upset. he understood that sometimes you both could get a little carried away with our antics. you both nodded vigorously, already planning on how to tackle the mess.

as her dad left the kitchen, she turned to you with a sheepish smile. "well, that could have gone worse," gwen affirmed, relief evident in the way her chest exhaled. "looks like we'll have a lot of cleaning up to do, huh?"

“a lot seems like an oversimplification of it,” you groan, looking around at the absolute mess you both made of the kitchen. “and here i thought we was finally gonna eat the damn thing”

gwen grabbed a nearby towel and started wiping the frosting off the table, motioning for you to join her. "but you know what they say, babe. teamwork makes the dream work," she added, causing you to instinctually roll your eyes yet again.

as you diligently sweep the floor, meticulously wash down the counters, and even kneel down to scrub away any lingering evidence of your reckless baking, your eyes continue to wander back to the oh so enchanting gingerbread house. its intricate details and sugary allure beckon you, tempting your senses to just skip the cleaning and go straight to dessert. from a distance, gwen chuckles playfully as she attentively wipes down the inside of the stove.

"ahem," she interrupts. "i must kindly request that you refrain from placing your little grimy hands on our masterpiece," gwen mockingly asserts.

she pauses, allowing a moment for her words to sink in. "please, let it exist in its full glory for at least thirty more minutes," she pleads, a hint of jest coloring her voice. "or, if you can't resist, at least capture its beauty on your phone before you rip it apart."

a deep sigh escaped from your lips as you surrender to your girlfriend, continuing to guide the broom across the floor.

- comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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irisbleufic · 12 days ago

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Chapter 15 of “More Certain Than the Light” is up, and it's the single longest installment to date:

(Pairing: Benítez/Lawrence; Characters: Ensemble Cast ft. Vincent, Thomas, Agnes, Ray, Aldo, Goffredo, and others in passing; Rating: E; Chapters: 15 / 20 posted; Word Count: 52,000 so far)

CHAPTERS:

Don’t Be a Martyr (2025-04-29)

The Trouble We Need (2025-04-30)

This World and the Next (2025-05-02)

Irreverence Incarnate (2025-05-04)

Living Reminders (2025-05-06)

Simple, Yet Striking (2025-05-09)

Trouble Without End (2025-05-14)

Acts of Extreme Integrity (2025-05-16)

Diplomatic Concerns (2025-05-25)

Nothing Too Scandalous (2025-05-31)

Never Pretend Otherwise (2025-06-01)

Better at Finding Words (2025-06-02)

Paradox Upon Paradox (2025-06-04)

Prayer and Contemplation (2025-06-05)

Gladly Be Laid to Rest (NEW, 2025-06-10)

TEASER:

They pause side by side as the close, dust-moted silence of incense and ancient stone envelops them. This isn’t Thomas’s first time inside the shrine, although he is startled to realize that the four low-hanging braziers overhead have been lit, as have four tall white tapers on the marble altar just below the statue of the Black Madonna and Child in all their gilt majesty. Two floral sprays of white irises and yellow roses have been placed between the sets of candles, flanking the crucifix placed at the center of the tableau at Mary’s feet. And then he looks at Vincent.

“They haven’t set up the prie-dieu a few feet back,” Vincent says, entranced as he takes Thomas’s hand, leading him across the diamond-patterned floor toward the low, centuries-worn marble steps leading up to the altar. “I saw it in pictures online, from when the late Holy Father was here.”

“Holiness,” Thomas says, pausing as Vincent pauses before mounting the first step. “Don’t underestimate how welcome you are,” he murmurs, coaxing Vincent up the stairs until they’re on the broadest one directly before the altar. Underfoot, it’s covered in a hand-knotted Persian rug as fine as the Burano lace draped over the altar itself. “Vincent,” Thomas whispers, angling them to face each other. “How loved you are.”

#conclave #conclave 2024 #conclave fanfic #lawrenitez #lawrence x benitez #benitez x lawrence #innocent xiv #cardinal benitez #cardinal lawrence #vincent benitez #thomas lawrence #fanfiction

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trash-alt · 2 months ago

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she said she does erotic photography so i thought maybe later i could ask her to take a slutty pic of me for my horny alt Tumblr... so i play it cool and while she's tying me up I'm like does your erotic photography involve much rope? :3 :3?

and she's like no i don't find that visually interesting I do more like narrative stuff. and I'm like oh okay!

so after we fuck and all that im like hey so show me your erotic photography! and it's all naked people pretending to stab each other with knives in abandoned industrial settings or erotic cannibalism tableaus or cute couple poses except they're naked with plastic bags over their heads

at which point I decided not to insult her artistic integrity by asking her to take basic bitch sexual humiliation/exhibitionism nudes 😅😅😅

#if we keep hooking up I will inevitably wind up in an artistic nude photoshoot pretending to eat hair or something #your kink is not my kink but I support your artistic endeavours #posts from the trash #bd/sm kink #bdsmblog #bdsmkink #bdsmplay #bd/sm community #bd/sm blog #rope bottom

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yoonavii · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

Regency Era! Law x Reader

Description: Lady Y/N defies societal norms with her down-to-earth nature, setting her apart from other noble ladies. During her debut, she captures the attention of numerous suitors, but her heart is unexpectedly drawn to Lord Trafalgar Law, a brooding and mysterious Duke known for his coldness towards women. As their relationship develops, they face the challenges of unraveling Lord Trafalgar’s enigmatic nature and navigating their contrasting personalities amidst societal expectations. Will their connection withstand the obstacles they encounter? or will it crumble?

A/N: this is chapter one of the law x reader fic. more chapters will come out in the future! important note that paragraphs that are italic and in third person is narration.

In the heart of London's upscale neighborhood, an estate of remarkable stature commanded attention. This magnificent home, a testament to great wealth and refined taste, stood as a beacon of opulence and grandeur. The exterior showcased high-end architecture, its facade adorned with intricate carvings and decorative elements that spoke to the exquisite craftsmanship of the time.

Stepping through the imposing entrance, one would find themselves immersed in a world of luxury and sophistication. Expensive furniture, meticulously crafted and upholstered in sumptuous fabrics, graced every room. Plush velvet sofas and ornate chaise lounges invited guests to relax in regal comfort, while gilded mirrors and marble-topped tables added an air of elegance to the surroundings.

Amidst the resplendent interior, a large painting adorned one of the walls, becoming a focal point of the estate. The painting depicted a prestigious family, their esteemed lineage evident in their refined fashion and exquisite jewelry. Most of the family members, portrayed with stoic expressions, showcased the composure expected of their social standing.

Yet, amidst this tableau of solemn faces, one figure stood out—-a young lady named Y/n. With her radiant smile and lively countenance, she brought an unexpected burst of joy and vibrancy to the portrait. Her presence in the painting captivated all who gazed upon it, drawing their attention with her captivating charm.

Y/n's image exuded a magnetic energy. Her vibrant dress, adorned with delicate lace and intricate embroidery, mirrored the effervescence that emanated from her every feature. It was as if her smile had the power to breathe life into the static canvas, leaving an indelible impression on all who beheld her likeness.

————-

Momentarily the front door swings open. you step into the grand entrance hall, accompanied by your family, returning from a long and tiring trip in Germany. The housemaids, lined up to greet your arrival, stand there, eager to offer their salutations. Your family members, weary and preoccupied, pass by the maids with indifference, their focus on reaching the comforts of home. But you pause and break away from the crowd.

A warm smile graces your face as you approach the housemaids. You understand their tireless efforts and the integral role they play in the functioning of the estate. Despite your high status, you have developed a genuine bond with the maids and staff, treating them with the respect and kindness they deserve. you silently greet the housemaids, your smile a reflection of the camaraderie you share. Your actions speak volumes, conveying your appreciation and gratitude for their hard work. You recognize that no matter their station, every member of the household contributes to its smooth operation. Through such actions, you instill a sense of belonging, making the maids and the rest of the staff feel seen and valued.

“Welcome back Viscountess” a few maids spoke to your mother, their voices brimming with warmth and respect. she completely ignores their well-intentioned greetings. Instead, she launches into a tirade about the bone-chilling coldness she experienced in Germany, directing her complaints toward your father, the Viscount. Her voice carries a tone of dissatisfaction, echoing through the grand entrance hall. “Darling,” she begins, her breath visible in the slightly chilly air, “I can’t believe how frigid it was in Germany. The weather was unbearable, and I simply couldn’t enjoy a single moment!”

Your father, already grumpy from the long journey and his own frustrations, offers a dismissive wave of his hand, clearly uninterested in her grievances. “Oh, stop your complaining,” he retorts, his tone laced with irritation. “We’ve returned now, haven’t we? No need to dwell on it.” Summoning the butler with an impatient snap of his fingers, your father abruptly changes the subject, demanding that the meeting for the town’s gentlemen club be arranged. His voice carries a brusque authority as he addresses the butler. “Smithson, I need you to arrange a meeting for the gentlemen's club. The sooner, the better.” Smithson, the butler, trained to fulfill your father’s every command, quickly approaches, his expression neutral and professional. He acknowledges the order with a deferential nod. “Of course, my Lord. I shall make the necessary arrangements promptly.”

Your younger sister and brother were escorted by their nannies to their rooms, their playful voices echoing through the hallways. However, your governess awaited you by the stairs, a figure you disliked immensely. She was strict and overbearing, making you feel suffocated in her presence. As you approached the stairs, she held out her hand, expecting you to take it and be guided up the staircase as usual.

Summoning your courage, you address the governess with a polite tone. “May I go up the stairs on my own this time?” The governess gazes at you with an unyielding expression, her stern demeanor unaltered. “Absolutely not, Y/n,” she responds firmly, her voice carrying a tone of authority. “As a young lady of your age and high status, it is imperative that you adhere to the rules and traditions that govern your position. You are not to go up or down the stairs without a servant or trusted adult present.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of her words pressing upon you. “But I am capable of managing the stairs on my own!” you assert, your voice laced with determination. “I desire a sense of independence and responsibility.” The governess’s gaze intensifies as she counters your plea. “Independence will come in due time, Y/n.” she insists, her tone unwavering. “For now, it is my duty to ensure your safety and proper conduct. The rules have been set for a reason, and it is my role to enforce them.” Resigned to the reality of the situation, you reluctantly extend your hand toward the governess, a subtle gesture of submission. “Very well,” you concede, your voice tinged with disappointment. “Lead the way.”

As your fingers lay atop with the governess’s, you continue up the stairs together, a blend of frustration and determination swirling within you. While the governess’s presence remains an unwelcome reminder of your restricted autonomy, you quietly resolve to find small ways to assert your individuality and independence within the confines of the estate.

As you finally make it to your room, a surge of frustration and determination courses through you. Standing in the doorway, you block your governess from entering, asserting yourself with a resolute tone. “I require privacy,” you declare, slamming the door shut in her surprised face. To your astonishment, the governess, taken aback by your display of defiance, obeys and leaves you alone.

Sighing with relief, you take a moment to collect yourself. Walking further into your room, you intend to find solace and a moment of peace. However, your tranquility is short-lived as you suddenly hear a rustling sound, causing you to jump back in alarm. To your surprise, a maid emerges from your bathroom, holding a towel and an empty bucket. The maid’s presence startles you momentarily, but she quickly apologizes for the scare.

Taking in the maid’s appearance, you notice that she is fairly young, perhaps around your own age. Despite your initial shock, the maid exudes a sense of politeness and shyness. Curiosity piqued, you addressed her. “Are you my new maid?” you ask, your voice filled with genuine interest. The maid nods shyly in response. “Yes, Miss. I have been assigned as your new maid,” she confirms, her voice soft and respectful. She pauses for a moment before adding, “I apologize for any inconvenience or startle I may have caused you.” You offer her a comforting smile, instantly appreciating the maid’s polite demeanor. “No need to apologize. I understand it’s part of your duties,” you reassure her, wanting to alleviate any discomfort she may be feeling. “What’s your name?”

The maid’s eyes meet yours briefly, her shyness apparent. “My name is Emily, Miss,” she answers, her voice barely above a whisper. Your curiosity deepens, and you feel a connection forming between you. “Well, Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say warmly. “I look forward to working with you and getting to know you better.” Emily’s shy smile brightens her features as she responds, “Thank you, Miss. I too look forward to serving you.”

As your mother sits in her chamber, discontentment permeates the air, her maids carefully changing her into a fresh set of clothes. Grievances escape her lips under her breath, a reflection of the frustrations that weigh upon her. Seeking control and release, she casts a scrutinizing gaze towards her head maid, her voice laced with authority as she issues her command. “Ready a carriage for me tonight,” she demands, her determination evident. Her intentions remain veiled, but her head maid, well aware of her secret desires, nods in understanding. Unbeknownst to your father and the rest of the family, your mother has been entangled in a scandalous affair since the previous autumn. The object of her affections is a married man, adding an element of forbidden allure to her illicit connection. Complicating matters further, he happens to be one of the main founders of your father’s gentlemen club.

This clandestine liaison both thrills and torments your mother. The intoxicating pull of forbidden love clashes with the guilt and uncertainty that come with such entanglements. Yet, she finds herself unable to resist the magnetic allure, drawn deeper into the affair, risking the stability of her own marriage and the tranquility of the household.

As the maids finish their tasks, they exchange knowing glances, their loyalty split between their duty to your mother and the secrecy they guard. Silently, they continue their duties, maintaining a facade of loyalty and discretion.

As someone abruptly opens the door without knocking, anger flares within your mother. She inhales sharply, ready to unleash her frustration in a torrent of words, but her fury swiftly subsides when she sees that it’s your father standing there. The sight of him, though unexpected, immediately stifles any outburst she had prepared, and she quickly composes herself.

Realizing the presence of her maids, who discreetly avert their gazes, she turns to them with a controlled tone and instructs, “Leave us.” The maids, well-trained in their duties, cast quick glances at each other before promptly exiting the room, leaving your parents alone to face the impending conversation. Attempting to change her tone to a more conciliatory one, your mother addresses your father, her voice carrying a hint of apprehension. “My dear, is there something you require?” she asks, her gaze shifting from his face to the room’s elegant decor, momentarily avoiding direct eye contact. However, your father, with a cold demeanor, wastes no time in cutting to the chase. “I have a plan for the gentlemen’s club,” he declares, his words firm and decisive. “I intend to host a grand gala, and I will need your assistance in the arrangements and sending out invitations.”

Your mother’s eyes meet your father’s, a flicker of uncertainty shadowing her expression. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to set aside her own desires and reservations for the sake of their shared goals. “I understand,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and determination. “Expanding the gentlemen’s club and establishing connections with nobles from other regions is indeed a prudent move. I will assist you in every way I can.”

Your father nods, his stoic demeanor remaining intact. “Good,” he replies curtly. “We must secure the support and patronage of influential figures if we are to successfully expand the club’s reach.” As the weight of your father’s plans settles upon them, your parents exchange a lingering gaze, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Their union, intertwined with societal expectations and shared responsibilities, remains a delicate balance of compromise and ambition, even as personal desires and hidden secrets simmer beneath the surface.

—————

Sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your back resting against the bed, you immerse yourself in the book you managed to acquire through your friendly bonds with the household servants. It's a book on finances and politics, a subject your governess would never approve of, but your curiosity compels you to read it regardless. As you delve into the pages, your mind absorbed in the complexities of the world beyond the estate, a knock on your door interrupts your concentration.

Swiftly, you slide the book under your bed, hiding your forbidden treasure, and invite the person to enter. To your delight, it's your new maid, Emily, bringing tidings of great news. With an animated expression and a hushed tone, she leans closer and shares the exciting revelation. "Y/n, your parents are planning a gala of the season," she whispers, her voice filled with anticipation.

A smile dances across your lips as you lean in, eagerly soaking up Emily's words. The prospect of attending the gala stirs a flutter of excitement within you, and you can't help but imagine the allure of the event, filled with young gentlemen and eligible bachelors vying for attention in a whirlwind of refinement and courtship. Emily continues, her voice barely above a whisper, her excitement palpable. "I hope the Duke attends," she confides, her tone betraying a mix of admiration and hesitation. "Though he can be rather unpleasant, it's a shame because he is quite attractive."

You can't help but chuckle softly, amused by Emily's candid remark. The Duke, an enigmatic figure known for his charm marred by a disagreeable demeanor, holds a certain intrigue for you as well. "Indeed, it would be a shame if his behavior overshadows his overall attractiveness," you agree, sharing in Emily's sentiments. "But perhaps, at the gala, we might witness a different side of him."

In that moment, a shared excitement and anticipation fill the air as you and Emily exchange conspiratorial glances. The possibilities and potential of the upcoming gala ignite your imagination, where love stories may unfold, and connections may be forged in the enchanting ambiance of the event. Together, you revel in the dreams and hopes that the gala of the season holds, savoring the anticipation of what the night may bring.

——-

As the Duke stands in the tailor’s shop, being meticulously fitted for a new outfit, his sharp ears catch snippets of conversation between two gentlemen nearby. Intrigued, he subtly adjusts his position to listen more closely, feigning disinterest while keeping his attention focused on their discussion.

The first gentleman, his voice tinged with excitement, exclaims, “Have you heard? Lady Y/n is finally making her debut this season!”

The second gentleman responds with equal enthusiasm, “Indeed, it’s been long-awaited. I’ve heard she possesses an unparalleled grace and beauty. Many young gentlemen are eagerly anticipating the opportunity to court her.”

The Duke’s interest piques further at the mention of Lady Y/n. Her name carries a certain mystique, whispered through the corridors of high society, and he has caught glimpses of her during previous social events. Her radiant smile and captivating presence have left an impression on him.

The first gentleman chimes in, “I’ve heard she has quite the intellect as well. A rare combination of beauty and intelligence. She’ll surely have no shortage of suitors vying for her hand.”

The Duke, ever the observer, listens intently, allowing the words to sink in. A flicker of curiosity dances in his eyes as he contemplates the allure of Lady Y/n. Inwardly, he wonders what lies beneath her elegant facade and infectious smile. There is something intriguing about her, something that sets her apart from the other debutantes.

With measured steps, the Duke approaches the tailor to finalize his measurements, all the while his thoughts swirl with anticipation of the upcoming season. His mind races with questions: Would Lady Y/n’s presence bring a breath of fresh air to the social gatherings? Would she possess the depth and substance that he seeks in a potential companion?

As he exits the tailor’s shop, the Duke’s mind is filled with thoughts of Lady Y/n. A newfound curiosity blooms within him, kindling a desire to unravel the enigma that surrounds her. He resolves to keep a watchful eye on her debut, intrigued by the prospect of encountering her and discovering the woman behind the captivating smile.

©𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

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wolf-hearted-woman · 3 days ago

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Thirty Nine

"Its so dark, I'm scared of the dark Marissa."

"Its ok Laurel I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

The woman's fingers flew over the keys, her words sincere but haggard. Slumped next to the couch a chassis, gently spasming, pneumatics and pistons triggering at random.

"Its dark in here, why is it so dark?"

"Laurel honey, I'm trying to fix it, I'm trying I'm trying I'm try-"

"Shhh its ok, if your working on it I know your doing your best, I'm in good hands" Laurels voice steadied. " I'm gonna give you administrator acce-. Honey, why do have admin already? and what's with these comments?"

Marissa's lips thin, her fingers slowing on the keys for a moment before finding their pace once again. She doesn't answer.

Laurels voice hitches, and its clear that its not just a glitch in her voice modulator " How, why, why don't I remember? honey?"

The only sound was the clatter of keys, and perhaps, tears dripping off of someone's cheeks.

"Marissa I can't dump anything to my long term storage, its getting confusing in here, please; please talk to me." Laurel's voice is clouding with static. "Tell me something, anything what's going on?"

She starts slow, shaky "You were going down for a charge cycle remember? There was an update you wanted to integrate and and and"

"The data got corrupted didn't it?" Laurels voice is soft, spitting and fuzzing.

Marissa sobs out "yeah and it fucked with your boot sequence and I just... I just have to fix it, it'll be fine..."

The sunset bleeds through the window staining the tableau in orange and streaks of crimson. Pancakes sit on the table, heavy, wet, cold.

"Ho-H-ow many times Marissa? How long have you been trying to fix me?"

"IT DOESN'T, it doesn't matter I'm sorry baby, i don't mean to yell its gonna be ok Laurel, I can do this, we can do this."

"Thats what the comments are" Theres dawning horror there amidst the static "I'm adding another. Honey, if this doesn't work I love you this isn't your fault."

Marissa's lips thin and her teeth cut her cheek till she bleeds. "Don't you dare give up on me, you and me we can get through anything your going to be fine." The words are confident, but the undercurrent, the tone tells tales.

"I'm not giving up... its just. its so hard to remember, i can't dump anything to my longterm stor-r-rage its getting crowwwded in my head. 40. I commented 40 Marissa I love you I love you I love y-y-y-y-ou."

"I love you to, stay with me damn it I can fix this. Laurel? Laurel??"

"Its so dark, I'm scared of the dark Marissa."

#Finished pieces

5 notes · View notes

oxford-garments · 11 months ago

Text

How This Central African City Became the World’s Most Expensive

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S & M GOALS TEAMPLATE

Stretch Goals: Central African Republic Ranks Top 8 in FIFA World Rankings for Men's and Top 5 for Futsal

Micro Goals: All Time Laureus World Sports Awards Winner for Africans, Laureus Team Award, All Time African Footballer of the Year, AFCON Host Nation Champion*, African Transfer Record*, Insead and WSJ Conferences*, Jeune Afrique Cover*, Verified LinkedIn Member*, and Agriculture Startup Reality TV

CAPÔI HABITANT CURRENCY MODEL

Pigou Effect, Corporate Tax Havens, Capital Gains Tax Havens, Private-Public Sectors, Joint Venture Plantations, Market Extension Mergers, with Business Incubators, and Enterprise Foundation, Holding Company, Subsidiaries, and Horizontal Integration for Monopoly.

A currency union (also known as monetary union) is an intergovernmental agreement that involves two or more states sharing the same currency. These states may not necessarily have any further integration (such as an economic and monetary union, which would have, in addition, a customs union and a single market). [Pigou Effect Currency (Short FX), Currency Board Currency (Retirement Fixed Exchange Rate), Market Currency (FX Long Currency)]

Gross national product (GNP) GNP is related to another important economic measure called gross domestic product (GDP), which takes into account all output produced within a country's borders regardless of who owns the means of production. GNP starts with GDP, adds residents' investment income from overseas investments, and subtracts foreign residents' investment income earned within a country. Whilst GDP measures the total value of goods and services produced within a country's borders, GNP focuses on the income generated by its residents, regardless of their location.

Gross National Income (GNI) is the total amount of money earned by a nation's people and businesses. It is used to measure and track a nation's wealth from year to year. The number includes the nation's gross domestic product (GDP) plus the income it receives from overseas sources.

Agriculture Central Hedge Fund, Mining Unions: Peninsula Agronomique Engineering, Commodities Options Exchange (Credit Spread Options, Farm REITs, Crop Production; Fertelizers and Seeds; Equipment; Distribution and Processing Stocks, Ag ETFs and ETNs, Ag Mutual Funds), Tableau Économiques, Investments Farms REITs, Art Financing Mardi Gras

Index Franc: Tobacco-Tobacco Soil Index/Franc Tabac Currency Pair (TBS/TAF)

The overlapping generations (OLG) model; consumption-based capital asset pricing model (CCAPM); Endogenous growth theory; Material balance planning; Leontief paradox; Malinvestment; Helicopter money; Modern monetary theory

Mercantilism Spectrum of CDF/CFA

CDF Raw Materials and CFA Products. (Prices); CDF Holding Company and CFA Conglomerate Company. (Equity and Dividend Yield); CDF is Gold Standard and CFA is Helicopter Money. (FX Rate/Hedging); CDF Helicopter Money [Supplier Currency] and CFA as Purchasing Power [Consumer Currency] (Currency Union & Currency Board and Negative Interest Rates); CDF is Congolese Franc and CFA is Central African Franc

DOS SANTOS FREE-ROLE

Supporting Striker (Inverted Winger)

Central Winger (False 10)

Overlapping Run/Defensive Winger (Half-winger)

An inverted winger is a modern tactical development of the traditional winger position. Most wingers are assigned to either side of the field based on their footedness, with right-footed players on the right and left-footed players on the left.[65] This assumes that assigning a player to their natural side ensures a more powerful cross as well as greater ball protection along the touch-lines. However, when the position is inverted and a winger instead plays inside-out on the opposite flank (i.e., a right-footed player as a left inverted winger), they effectively become supporting strikers and primarily assume a role in the attack.[66]

The "false 10" or "central winger"[55] is a type of midfielder, which differs from the trequartista. Much like the "false 9", their specificity lies in the fact that, although they seemingly play as an attacking midfielder on paper, unlike a traditional playmaker who stays behind the striker in the centre of the pitch, the false 10's goal is to move out of position and drift wide when in possession of the ball to help both the wingers and fullbacks to overload the flanks. This means two problems for the opposing midfielders: either they let the false 10 drift wide, and their presence, along with both the winger and the fullback, creates a three-on-two player advantage out wide; or they follow the false 10, but leave space in the centre of the pitch for wingers or onrushing midfielders to exploit. False 10s are usually traditional wingers who are told to play in the centre of the pitch, and their natural way of playing makes them drift wide and look to provide deliveries into the box for teammates.

In Italian football, the term mezzala (literally "half-winger" in Italian) is used to describe the position of the one or two central midfielders who play on either side of a holding midfielder and/or playmaker. The term was initially applied to the role of an inside forward in the WM and Metodo formations in Italian, but later described a specific type of central midfielder. The mezzala is often a quick and hard-working attack-minded midfielder, with good skills and noted offensive capabilities, as well as a tendency to make overlapping attacking runs, but also a player who participates in the defensive aspect of the game, and who can give width to a team by drifting out wide; as such, the term can be applied to several different roles.

On occasion, the false-10 can also function in a different manner alongside a false-9, usually in a 4–6–0 formation. Midfield collective of False 9, False 10, Box to Box, Holding, Half Winger, Attacking, Defensive. We are not stretching the defensive line itsself, but the space between the defensive line and the goalkeeper.

Thiago Motta’s ‘Super Offensive’ 2-7-2 Formation Explained: Instead of the traditional way of looking at a tactical set-up horizontally, the Brazil-born manager instead split the field into three vertical lanes. This means he effectively has seven players in the central channel with two players out wide on each flank.

Adjust Free Role System to The Scoreboard.

The Central African Games was an international multi-sport event for countries within Central Africa. (Boxing, Athletics, Tennis, Football, Rallycross, Olympic Weightlifting, Volleyball, Trap Shooting, Basketball)

The Central African Football Federations' Union, officially abbreviated as UNIFFAC[a], is a sports governing body representing the football associations of Central Africa.

RUSSE NOIR FOOTBALL

VEDETTE: 3-4-1-2 has 4 Pivot Formations so 5 Total: Transition to a 4-4-2 Diamond, Transition to a 4-4-2, Transition to a 4-2-3-1, Transition to a 3-3-1-3

Positional Game is Diamonds Tic-Tac-Toe with Enforcer and Avoider. Striker [Enforcer](Inverted Winger and Centre Forward), Deep Lying Playmaker [Avoider] (Holding Midfielder and Inverted Winger), and Sweeper Wingback Deep Lying Playmaker [Avoider] (Centre Back). Use Playing Styles, Manipulated Positions, and Combinational Games for Positional Play as Johan Cruyff students.

Angolan 4-4-2 Diamond Tic Tac Toe Variant: 1-3-4-2; (1) Falar Pelos Cotovelos (Sweeper Deep-lying Playmaker Wingback) (4) Diamond Rover (Diamond Rotation from Midfield, Wings, and Defensive Third) Counterpressing Pivot Pressing Triggers, Sweeper-Winger Pivots, Overlapping Runs, W; I; M; V; Box Keeping Formation with 3 Centre-Backs) [Key Stats: Front Foot, Pressing Triggers, Clearance, Aerial Duel, Interceptions, Blocked Shots, Tackles, Final Ball, Key Dribbles, Overlapping Runs, Set Piece Taker] Spacing, Possession, Pass Completion, and Counter Pressing with Pursuit and Ambush Predation One Team Box Touches and Capture the Flag with Analytics-Geometry Total Football Trixie Bet on CNS Drugs (Xanax and Modafinil); 1-1-2-1 Diamond Rover Futsal Pivot Formation

Define a run in one of two ways: (i) as a set of consecutive goals scored by one team, without the other team scoring a goal; (ii) as a set of consecutive scoring events by one team, each event being either a goal or one or more Set Piece. Play aggressive and with counter pressing and run it up on the score board in the first half and after halftime play defense. You get a break at half and it's easier to win when someone plays defense and looks for opportunities instead of Attacking.

Posterior Chain Super Compensation and Speed-Endurance (Elastic-Connective Tissue) Force-Velocity Curve; Crescent Moon Horizontal Plane Vertical Force Sprinting Mechanics.

Set Piece Stylistic Biomechanics: Shooting Knee at Wall for Curve and Placement Knee for Corner. Follow through with Shot with proper Body Alignment

Knee to Feet or Shoulder to Feet Cradling for Touch/Entertainment

Placement Mechanics: Arch-Heel Linedrive and Arch-Knuckle Raised Curve

UEFA Front Office Curriculum

Museum d'histoire: Broken down into three major section — “A Lineage of Coaches Players and Places,” “Proving Grounds” and “Cultures of Basketball” — City/Game documents how basketball first found its origins in the neighborhoods of NYC and then went on to produce a roster of local legends who played everywhere from Rucker Park and the Cage on West 4th Street to Christ the King High School and St. John’s University.

Agility Ladder Eyes Pocket: Eyes Between Defenders Feet and Ball, Numbered Footwork V-Step (Shifting Defenders with Momentum) et L-Step (Explosive First Step), All moves should form a Triangle or an Incomplete Triangle (Coup de Pied)

*Push-Pull Sprint/Shooting Cycle: Pull Glutes et Hamstring; Push Calf et Quads for Sprints.

Sprint Size Up: A series of feint Karaoké dribble moves with Eye Tricks (Fake Pass) but Sprint Position Finish

Triangle Philosophy: All Dribbling Moves should form a Triangle or an Incomplete Triangle while using V-Step (Shifting Defenders with Momentum) et L-Step (Explosive First Step).

Thé Crescent: In Close Dribbling; Crescent Footwork with L Shapes (Paul Pogba)

On the Run Dribbling Moves: Letters and Shapes; Still Play 1 on 1: Numbered Footwork

Piedi Felici Courts: Drills Side/Box Play with 1 Net; Design Vaporwave Action Painting Angels; Knee for Direction and Sole Drags for Dribbling Touch and Crescent Moon Sprint Mechanics

Gambling Games: 5 Roll (Captain, Ship, Crew); Live-Pool Betting Monopoly

Stylistic Biomechanics: Dribbling Foot To Ball Contact (Balls of Feet and Arch of Feet); Knee for Direction; Foot Drags; & Hip Angle, Crescent Moon Running Mechanics, and Laces Kick.

Diamond Football (15 mins)

Set Up

-Lay out two overlapping sets of 4 flat markers in the positions shown above.

-Ask the players to stand on a flat marker for their teams colour (Red on Red, Yellow on Yellow).

Instruction

-Whenever the ball goes out for a kick in or for the defenders ball, the players must stand on their markers before play begins.

-As soon as the ball has been played in, players are free to move.

-Reset everytime the ball goes out.

Coaching Points, Progressions Ect.

-Ask players to shout out what each position on the park is to devlop understanding of their roles.

-If you decide to go to a normal game , leave the markers out for a visual aid for the players.

-If more than 8 players, Add in Goalkeepers who would then play the ball out to the DF,LM,RM.

-Rotate Positions, Ask Players to stand on a marker they haven't been on before

RUSSE NOIR ACCENT

Lingua Franca of Renaissance Latin (Vocabulary) and Atlantic–Congo Fon (Grammar).

Volta–Congo is a major branch of the Atlantic–Congo family. Fon (fɔ̀ngbè, pronounced [fɔ̃̀ɡ͡bē][2]) also known as Dahomean is the language of the Fon people. It belongs to the Gbe group within the larger Atlantic–Congo family.

In linguistic typology, subject–verb–object (SVO) is a sentence structure where the subject comes first, the verb second, and the object third.

Haitian Creole (/ˈheɪʃən ˈkriːoʊl/; Haitian Creole: kreyòl ayisyen, [kɣejɔl ajisjɛ̃];[6][7] French: créole haïtien, [kʁe.ɔl a.i.sjɛ̃]), or simply Creole (Haitian Creole: kreyòl), is a French-based creole language spoken by 10 to 12 million people worldwide, and is one of the two official languages of Haiti (the other being French), where it is the native language of the vast majority of the population. The language emerged from contact between French settlers and enslaved Africans during the Atlantic slave trade in the French colony of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti) in the 17th and 18th centuries. Although its vocabulary largely derives from 18th-century French, its grammar is that of a West African Volta-Congo language branch, particularly the Fongbe and Igbo languages.

Prose Accent Congo and Modern Accent Congo.

Full Lips Endings with Vertical Narrow Mouth and Soft Rs.

A noun phrase – or NP or nominal (phrase) – is a phrase that usually has a noun or pronoun as its head, and has the same grammatical functions as a noun.

BELMÔNT'S SIN INDEX FUND PORTFOLIO

Sin stock sectors usually include alcohol, tobacco, gambling, sex-related industries (Cabaret and Burlesque), and weapons manufacturers.

Diageo

Phillip Morris

Sports Betting Investment Trust

Pharmaceuticals

Business Clusters with Scrum Management and Accelerators to produce Festivals.

Example: Create a Index Fund Portfolio of 15-20 Stocks and using Supply Side Economics to create Decentralized Gambling Economy.

BELMÔNT'S DECENTRALIZED GAMBLING ECONOMY

Corporate-Capital Gains Tax Haven

High Stakes Minimum Buy In

Card Gambling (Signal and President): Top 2 highest bids fight for the Coup d'état and the other two are lesser men, the lesser men are subordinates that aid in playing cards for the warlord, the winning team splits the money, the warlords switches based on the 13 cards dealt and bets placed, the first team to shed all of their cards win.

Domestic Gambling: Boxing

Retirement Gambling: Boat Racing

Residency Program for Tax Benefits

BELMÔNT'S TURF ACCOUNTING MODEL

+EV

Python Programming Gaussian Distribution

Exotic Options Trading Live Betting

Parlays Minimum for Round Robins

Daily Fantasy Sports Rakes

RUSSE NOIR PALACE

Definitions of ballroom. noun. large room used mainly for dancing. synonyms: dance hall, dance palace**. types: disco, discotheque.

Go Go Music Influenced, Eurphoric Trance Chord Progression Melody, Progressive House and Drum n' Bass Percussion-808 Call and Response Staccato Polyrhythm or Layered Kick and Punch 808.

In his 1972 study of French lute music, scholar Wallace Rave compiled a list of features he believed to be characteristic of style brisé. Rave's list included the following: the avoidance of textural pattern and regularity in part writing; arpeggiated chord textures with irregular distribution of individual notes of the chord; ambiguous melodic lines; rhythmic displacement of notes within a melodic line; octave changes within melodic line; irregular phrase lengths.

Have the Snare and Kick say, "Hi, How are you?" And the 808 say, "I am good thanks for asking.”

Use progressive House to push the Drums Conversation to either Fast and Punchy for Happy or Slow and Deep for Sad.

In technical terms, "go-go's essential beat is characterized by a five through four syncopated rhythm that is underscored prominently by the bass drum and snare drum, and the hi-hat... [and] is ornamented by the other percussion instruments, especially by the conga drums, rototoms, and hand-held cowbells."[5]

Polyrhythm: In music, a cross-beat or cross-rhythm is a specific form of polyrhythm. The term cross rhythm was introduced in 1934 by the musicologist Arthur Morris Jones (1889–1980). It refers to a situation where the rhythmic conflict found in polyrhythms is the basis of an entire musical piece.[1]

Four-on-the-floor (or four-to-the-floor) is a rhythm used primarily in dance genres such as disco and electronic dance music. It is a steady, uniformly accented beat in 4. 4 time in which the bass drum is hit on every beat (1, 2, 3, 4).[1] This was popularized in the disco music of the 1970s[2] and the term four-on-the-floor was widely used in that era, since the beat was played with the pedal-operated, drum-kit bass drum.[3][4] (Punch 808-Kick)

Polyrhythm 4 on the Floor examples 2:4 or 5:4

Hard trance is often characterized by strong, hard (or even downpitch) kicks, fully resonant basses and an increased amount of reverberation applied to the main beat. Melodies vary from 140 to 180 BPMs and it can feature plain instrumental sound in early compositions, with the latter ones tending to implement side-chaining techniques of progressive on digital synthesizers.

Singles Only Email Raves Blogger then Multi Market Distribution Deal: A distribution deal is a contract to release the music to platforms, but not own the publishing or exclusively lock the artist in. Record Artist Producer Label: Have Polyrhythm Artist earn Streaming Percentage under a Recording Artist Deal. Label has Distribution Above Me and I have Manufacturing over Polyrhythm Artist. Have a end of the Year Album for New Year's Raves!

BELMÔNT'S SYSTEM: CAPÔI RETAINER AGREEMENT WITH ASSET PROTECTION TRUST

Capo: Describes a ranking made member of a family who leads a crew of soldiers. A capo is similar to a military captain who commands soldiers. Soldier: Also known as a “made man,” soldiers are the lowest members of the crime family but still command respect in the organization.

A capo is a "made member" of an Italian crime family who heads a regime or "crew" of soldiers and has major status and influence in the organization.

Consigliere: Defense and Corporate Lawyers

Head Boss: Ministry of Medicine

Underboss: Pharmaceutical Industry

Capo: CAPÔI RETAINER AGREEMENT

Soliders: Artisans

Commercialism is the application of both manufacturing and consumption towards personal usage, or the practices, methods, aims, and distribution of products in a free market geared toward generating a profit.

Commercial art is art created for advertising or marketing purposes. Commercial artists are hired by clients to create images and logos that sell products. Unlike works of fine art that convey an artist's personal expression, commercial art must address the client's goals.

The word 'Commercial' is defined as follows: Concerned with or engaged in commerce. Commerce is the exchange of goods or services among two or more parties.

Craftsmen are committed to the medium, not to self-expression. Artists are committed to their self-expression, not the medium.

A medium of exchange is an intermediary instrument and system used to facilitate the purchase and sale of goods and services between parties.

Stretch and Micro Goals

Music Medium System: Distribution and Retailers Contract Theory (System) for Music (Instrument)

Football Medium System: Analytics and Geometry for Free Role (System) Trixies (Instrument)

Age 16-19

Bond Funds

Farmland REITS

CFDS

Real Estate Brokerage Trust Account

Age 20-30

Farmland Recession Proof Stocks (Cosmetics, AgTech, Ag ETFS, AgETN)

Incubator and Startup Accelerators

Real Estate Joint Ventures

Age 30-40

Farmland Blue Chip Indexes w/ Credit Spread Options

CURRENCY, OIL, & GOLD COMMODITIES CANDLESTICK CHARTS

Swing Trading: Use mt4/mt5 With Heiken Ashi Charts, Setting at 14 or 21 Momentum Indicator above 0 as Divergence Oscillator and Volume Spread Analysis as Reversal Oscillator and Trade when bullish candlesticks above 200 exponential moving average and/or 20 exponential moving average (EMA) on H1 (Hourly) Time Frame; use H4 (4 Hours) and D1 (1 Day) as reference.

TUNNEL STRATEGY (OFFSHORE BANKING)

Purpose: Permanent Residency Card

$250k Deposit

$125k: 60/40 portfolio, 60% Fixed Income & REITs and 40% Blue Chip Stocks

$50k: Guaranteed Investment Certificates (GICs) and term deposits are secured investments. This means that you get back the amount you invest at the end of your term. The key difference between a GIC and a term deposit is the length of the term. Term deposits generally have shorter terms than GICs.

$75k: Spending Cash

SIN STOCKS PORTFOLIO

Sin stock sectors usually include alcohol, tobacco, gambling, sex-related industries, and weapons manufacturers.

Sports Betting Investment Trust

Pharmaceuticals

Example: Create a Index Fund Portfolio of 15-20 Stocks and using Supply Side Economics to create Decentralized Gambling Economy.

FESTIVALS DEAL

NEUROPLASTICITY DRUG-CRIME NEXUS BASED ON TRAFFICKING

CPP, CNS Depressants, et FENTALOGS: Cul-de-sac

Defensive Penalty Capture The Flag Raiding Warfare

Grey-Decentralized Markets

Bastilles: Cul-de-sac Artist Résidences Penthouse Complexes

Polyrhythm Raves

Acid House Art Gallery

International Film Festival

Hôtel Chefs

Seigneurial System/Tableau Economique Raw Material Économics Production Spot

Surautomatism

Discount Networking Acid House Party

Opium Dens and Fragrance Festivals

Pill Pressers

CNS depressants

Upper-tier County System

Defense Lawyers are Traplords (Trafficking P4P and Malicious Prosecution)

Cash Conversion Cycle (CCC)

Brain Receptor Dealing

Neuroplasticity Drug-Crime Nexus

Religious Ecstasy

Entheogens are psychedelic drugs—and sometimes certain other psychoactive substances—used for engendering spiritual development or otherwise in sacred contexts

Live-Pool Betting Monopoly Board Game

Summary Sentencing

Urban Level: Street Culture Art Gallery (Street culture may refer to: Urban culture, the culture of towns and cities, Street market, Children's street culture, Street carnival, Block party, Street identity, Street food, Café culture, Several youth subculture or counterculture topics pertaining to outdoors of urban centers. These can include: Street art, Street photography, Street racing, Street wear, Hip-hop culture, Urban fiction, Street sports, Streetball, Flatland BMX, Freestyling), Art Pedagogy, Artist Residency, Art Schools, and Art Plugs

Art Pedagogy: Arts-based pedagogy is a teaching methodology in which an art form is integrated with another subject matter to impact student learning. 28-30. Arts-based pedagogy results in arts-based learning (ABL),11 which is when a student learns about a subject through arts processes including creating, responding or performing. Aesthetic Teaching: Seeking a Balance between Teaching Arts and Teaching through the Arts. In aesthetic education, learning must be developed especially with the inclusion of sensations and with the help of feelings. Sensations and feelings should lead to movement, representation, and expression. Aesthetic learning often entails learning to distinguish certain qualities or objects aesthetically in different ways depending on the situation and the purpose. Certain things can be experienced in negative ways in one activity and in positive ways in another.

A designer drug is a structural or functional analog of a controlled substance that has been designed to mimic the pharmacological effects of the original drug, while avoiding classification as illegal and/or detection in standard drug tests

Patchwork tattoos are a collection of tattoos collaged together to create an overall design. Each individual 'patch' of the tattoo can be a different design, symbol or element with a little space in between. Patchwork tattoos are a collection of tattoos collaged together to create an overall design. In short, the gun-toting angel was a multifaceted metaphor. “It undoubtedly also reflected the Catholic Counter-Reformation militaristic rhetoric,” wrote Donahue-Wallace, “which promoted the church as an army and heavenly beings as its soldiers.”

DECADENCE AESTHETICS THEORIES

Slogan

J'Cartier, Je cours après les vœux de champagne,

Subjective

Based on or influenced by personal feelings, tastes, or opinions

Gastronomy

Precarious Balance

Precariously: If something is happening or positioned precariously, it's in danger. A glass could be precariously balanced on the edge of a table. If something is on the verge of danger, then the word precariously fits.

Grey & Decentralized Markets

Tableau Économique

Semblance

Semblance is generally used to suggest a contrast between outward appearance and inner reality.

High Socioeconomic Status & Tattoos

Phantasmagorical

Having a fantastic or deceptive appearance

adjective. having a fantastic or deceptive appearance, as something in a dream or created by the imagination. having the appearance of an optical illusion, especially one produced by a magic lantern.

Socioeconomic Status Development Immigration Multilingual Sensory Play

Law of Polarity in Relationships

In any successful relationship that has an intimate connection and sexual attraction, there is polarity. What does this mean exactly? Polarity in relationships is the spark that occurs between two opposing energies: masculine and feminine. Gender does not affect whether you have masculine or feminine energy.

Second Reflection

Burden Aesthetics with Intentions

The Second Reflection lays hold of the Technical Procedures

Tattoos

SOCIO-PSYCHOLOGY

Keystone Theory Habits

Game Theory

Behavioral Finance

Self-actualization is the complete realization of one's potential, and the full development of one's abilities and appreciation for life. This concept is at the top of the Maslow hierarchy of needs, so not every human being reaches it.

Potential Psychology: Psychological potential is a very broad concept. It may include one's capacity to conform, change, re-invent oneself, bounce back from adversity, etc.

SOCIO-FORMAL SCIENCE

+EV Optimal Game Theory Poker

Civil, Agriculure, Solvent Levelling Effect Chemical Reaction, and Biomechanical Engineering

SOCIO-PHILOSOPHY

Ontology

IMPERIALISM, THE HIGHEST STAGE OF CAPITALISM

Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism,[1] originally published as Imperialism, the Newest Stage of Capitalism,[2][3] is a book written by Vladimir Lenin in 1916 and published in 1917. It describes the formation of oligopoly, by the interlacing of bank and industrial capital, in order to create a financial oligarchy, and explains the function of financial capital in generating profits from the exploitation colonialism inherent to imperialism, as the final stage of capitalism. The essay synthesises Lenin's developments of Karl Marx's theories of political economy in Das Kapital (1867).[4]

Tax Mergers Law; Market-extension merger: Two companies that sell the same products in different markets. 4.2.2 Corporate Taxation At the corporate level, the tax treatment of a merger or acquisition depends on whether the acquiring firm elects to treat the acquired firm as being absorbed into the parent with its tax attributes intact, or first being liquidated and then received in the form of its component assets.

SOCIOCULTURAL THEORY OF DEVELOPMENT

Seconds Liberal Arts are often viewed as pre-professional since, while conceived of as fundamental to citizenship, they address the whole person in recognition that our moral and spiritual identities develop best through participation in a society that perpetually renews the rights and responsibilities of membership.

Executive management master's degree programs often result in an Executive Master of Business Administration, or EMBA. They are primarily designed to act as accelerated graduate programs for working professionals who already hold management or executive positions.

Engineering college means a school, college, university, department of a university or other educational institution, reputable and in good standing in accordance with rules prescribed by the Department, and which grants baccalaureate degrees in engineering.

Monopoly Family Boarding Schools: The socio-historical context refers to the societal and historical conditions and circumstances that influence events or individuals. It involves elements like the cultural, economic, and political circumstances during a certain time period.

Agriculturism is an ideology promoting rural life, a traditional way of life. It is characterized by the valorization of traditional values (the family, the French language, the Catholic religion) and an opposition to the industrial world.

CAPÔI CLASS STRUCTURE

Demonym Examples: CAR Congolese, Gabon Congolese, Afrikaans Congolese, and Congolese

Monopoly Family (Apartheid)

Chief Executive of State (Apartheid)

Political Class (RUSSE NOIR)

Upper Class (RUSSE NOIR)

Working Class (RUSSE NOIR)

JEAN-CLAUDE TRAORÉ BUSINESS ADVICE

Blue Ocean Strategy; Solvent Levelling Effect Chemical Reaction Engineering and Economic Science.

TENNIS AGRICULTURE

A clay-court specialist is a tennis player who excels on clay courts, more than on any other surface.

Due in part to advances in racquet technology, current clay-court specialists are known for employing long, winding groundstrokes that generate heavy topspin; such strokes are less effective on faster surfaces on which the balls do not bounce as high. Clay-court specialists tend to slide more effectively on clay than other players. Many of them are also very adept at hitting the drop shot, which can be effective because rallies on clay courts often leave players pushed far beyond the baseline. Additionally, the slow, long rallies require a great degree of mental focus and physical stamina.

CASAPIANOS MARTYROLOGY ORDER (CATHOLIC COUNTER-REFORMATION)

The Casa Pia is a Portuguese institution founded by Maria I, known as A Pia ("Mary the Pious"), and organized by Police Intendant Pina Manique in 1780, following the social disarray of the 1755 Lisbon earthquake. For almost three centuries, thousands of young boys and girls were raised by Casa Pia, including many public personalities, called casapianos. Casa Pia is Portugal's largest educational institution dedicated to helping youngsters in risk of social exclusion or without parental support. The organisation is composed of ten schools and enrolls approximately 4700 students. In addition to standard schooling, the organisation also provides boarding for children in need. It strives to enable these youngsters to become healthy and successful members of society, by developing intellectual, manual, and physical traits, in an environment promoting spiritual, moral, and religious values. The institution is proud to have had amongst its students many outstanding Portuguese personalities, including politicians, journalists, and artists. A martyrology is a catalogue or list of martyrs and other saints and beati arranged in the calendar order of their anniversaries or feasts. Local martyrologies record exclusively the custom of a particular Church. Local lists were enriched by names borrowed from neighbouring churches.[1] Consolidation occurred, by the combination of several local martyrologies, with or without borrowings from literary sources.

The Canons Regular of St. Augustine are priests who live in community under a rule (Latin: regula and κανών, kanon, in Greek) and are generally organised into religious orders, differing from both secular canons and other forms of religious life, such as clerics regular, designated by a partly similar terminology. As religious communities, they have laybrothers as part of the community.

Clerics regular are clerics (mostly priests) who are members of a religious order under a rule of life (regular). Clerics regular differ from canons regular in that they devote themselves more to pastoral care, in place of an obligation to the praying of the Liturgy of the Hours in common, and have fewer observances in their rule of life.

Lay brother is a largely extinct term referring to religious brothers, particularly in the Catholic Church, who focused upon manual service and secular matters, and were distinguished from choir monks or friars in that they did not pray in choir, and from clerics, in that they were not in possession of (or preparing for) holy orders.[1][2][3][4][5]

In female religious institutes, the equivalent role is the lay sister. Lay brothers were originally created to allow those who were skilled in particular crafts or did not have the required education to study for holy orders to participate in and contribute to the life of a religious order.

Lay brothers were found in many religious orders. Drawn from the working classes, they were pious and hardworking people, who though unable to achieve the education needed to receive holy orders, were still drawn to religious life and were able to contribute to the order through their skills. Some were skilled in artistic handicrafts, others functioned as administrators of the orders' material assets. In particular, the lay brothers of the Cistercians were skilled in agriculture, and have been credited for the tilling of fertile farmland.[1]

Lay sisters were found in most of the orders of women, and their origin, like that of the lay brothers, is to be found in the necessity of providing the choir nuns with more time for the Office and study, as well as creating the opportunity for the illiterate to join the religious life. They, too, wore a habit different from those of the choir sisters, and their required daily prayers consisted of prayers such as the Little Office or a certain number of Paters.[1]

All canons regular are to be distinguished from secular canons who belong to a resident group of priests but who do not take public vows and are not governed in whatever elements of life they lead in common by a historical rule. One obvious place where such groups of priests are required is at a cathedral, where there were many Masses to celebrate and the Divine Office to be prayed together in community.

In modern astrology, Mars is the primary native ruler of the first house. Traditionally however, Mars ruled both the third and tenth houses, and had its joy in the fifth house. While Venus tends to the overall relationship atmosphere, Mars is the passionate impulse and action, the masculine aspect, discipline, willpower and stamina.

Mars rules over Tuesday and in Romance languages the word for Tuesday often resembles Mars (in Romanian, marți, in Spanish, martes, in French, mardi and in Italian "martedì"). The English "Tuesday" is a modernised form of "Tyr's Day", Tyr being the Germanic analogue to Mars. Dante Alighieri associated Mars with the liberal art of arithmetic. In Chinese astrology, Mars is ruled by the element fire, which is passionate, energetic and adventurous.

According to John Clements, the term martial arts itself is derived from an older Latin term meaning "arts of Mars", the Roman god of war, and was used to refer to the combat systems of Europe (European martial arts) as early as the 1550s

A religious congregation is a type of religious institute in the Catholic Church. They are legally distinguished from religious orders – the other major type of religious institute – in that members take simple vows, whereas members of religious orders take solemn vows.

In the Catholic Church, a religious order is a community of consecrated life with members that profess solemn vows. They are classed as a type of religious institute.[1]

Catholic School Girls Moon Evangelical Prophets: Consecrated life is "placed in a privileged position in the line of evangelical prophecy," whereby its “charismatic nature” and communal discernment of the Spirit "makes it capable of inventiveness and originality.”

Men Mars Angelology Conversion System: Church Enterprises (Planetary Intelligence Church District Real Estate; Liberal Arts Catholic Immersion Schools; Gold; Athletics; Cooking);

Church Gatherings (School Nights Virgil, Weekend Noon Mass then Weekend Sports League) Francis de Sales and Don St. Bosco Influence

Harquebusier Angels Patchwork Tattoos: Biblical Crowns, Praying Hands, Gun Toting Angels, Dirty Dancing Angels, Drug Using Angels, Heavenly Choir, Summa Theologica Sherman, Saints and Pastors, Hebrew Tetragram, Council of Trent

HARQUEBUSIER ANGELS GANG BLUEPRINT: PARDISUS MEDIAE; Spirit Unity Oversoul Angelology Shaman, Eros Influence Angels: Ecstasy-Painkillers Trafficking Angel Spirit Type Oversoul, Jupiter-Mars-Venus with Planetary Intelligence; Erotes are Horcruxes, Google Imprint Oversoul, Choice of Choir is Heavenly Host, Lightning-Ice Element, Wings Transfer Invocation, MARS-JUPITER Syncretism Planetary Intelligence, ESTJ Sensory Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator Syncretism, Church Expenses Occupation (Festivals, Venues, Freeports, Art Gallery, Underground Garages, Tobacco Store, Restaurants, Réal Estate Brokerage, Impure Aesthetic Thrillers Publishing Imprint et Production Company, Body Etching, Lipodissolve, and Hyaluronic Acid Fillers Cosmetics Surgery

ANGOLAN HARQUEBUSIER ANGELS STRUCTURE; Commission on the Social and Cultural Affairs; Commission for Ecumenism; The Commission on Christian Education; Liturgical Commission; Missionary Committee; Chief Executive of State and Military Religion Legislation; Stretch and Micro Goals

Material religion is a framework used by scholars of religion to examine the interaction between religion and material culture. It focuses on the place of objects, images, spaces, and buildings in religious communities. The framework has been promoted by scholars such as Birgit Meyer, Sally Promey, S. Brent Plate, David Morgan, etc.

Physiocracy (French: physiocratie; from the Greek for "government of nature") is an economic theory developed by a group of 18th-century Age of Enlightenment French economists who believed that the wealth of nations derived solely from the value of "land agriculture" or "land development" and that agricultural products should be highly priced.[1] Their theories originated in France and were most popular during the second half of the 18th century. Physiocracy became one of the first well-developed theories of economics.

The Bible typically describes the Heavenly host as being made up of angels, and gives several descriptions of angels in military terms, such as their encampment (Genesis 32:1–2), command structure (Psalms 91:11–12; Matt.13:41; Rev.7:2), and participation in combat (Job 19:12; Rev.12:7). Other passages indicate other entities make up the divine army, namely stars (Judges 5:20, Isaiah 40:26).[1][full citation needed] In Christian theology, the heavenly host participate in the war in Heaven.

The doctrine or theory of immanence holds that the divine encompasses or is manifested in the material world. It is held by some philosophical and metaphysical theories of divine presence. Immanence is usually applied in monotheistic, pantheistic, pandeistic, or panentheistic faiths to suggest that the spiritual world permeates the mundane.

The Dionysian Mysteries were a ritual of ancient Greece and Rome which sometimes used intoxicants and other trance-inducing techniques (like dance and music) to remove inhibitions and social constraints, liberating the individual to return to a natural state.

Religious nationalism can be understood in a number of ways, such as nationalism as a religion itself, a position articulated by Carlton Hayes in his text Nationalism: A Religion, or as the relationship of nationalism to a particular religious belief, dogma, ideology, or affiliation. This relationship can be broken down into two aspects: the politicisation of religion and the influence of religion on politics.

Dioceses ruled by an archbishop are commonly referred to as archdioceses; most are metropolitan sees, being placed at the head of an ecclesiastical province. In the Catholic Church, some are suffragans of a metropolitan see or are directly subject to the Holy See.

The body of light, sometimes called the 'astral body'[a] or the 'subtle body,'[b] is a "quasi material"[1] aspect of the human body, being neither solely physical nor solely spiritual, posited by a number of philosophers, and elaborated on according to various esoteric, occult, and mystical teachings. Other terms used for this body include body of glory,[2] spirit-body, luciform body, augoeides ('radiant body'), astroeides ('starry or sidereal body'), and celestial body.[3] The concept derives from the philosophy of Plato: the word 'astral' means 'of the stars'; thus the astral plane consists of the Seven Heavens of the classical planets. The idea is rooted in common worldwide religious accounts of the afterlife[4] in which the soul's journey or "ascent" is described in such terms as "an ecstatic, mystical or out-of body experience, wherein the spiritual traveller leaves the physical body and travels in their body of light into 'higher' realms."[5]

The canon law of the Catholic Church (from Latin ius canonicum[1]) is "how the Church organizes and governs herself".[2] It is the system of laws and ecclesiastical legal principles made and enforced by the hierarchical authorities of the Catholic Church to regulate its external organization and government and to order and direct the activities of Catholics toward the mission of the Church.

An institute of consecrated life is an association of faithful in the Catholic Church canonically erected by competent church authorities to enable men or women who publicly profess the evangelical counsels by religious vows or other sacred bonds "through the charity to which these counsels lead to be joined to the Church and its mystery in a special way".[1] They are defined in the 1983 Code of Canon Law under canons 573–730. The Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life has ecclesial oversight of institutes of consecrated life.[2]

In Christianity, the three evangelical counsels, or counsels of perfection, are chastity (NEVER), poverty (or perfect charity), and obedience (RECKLESS ABANDONMENT).[1] As stated by Jesus in the canonical gospels,[2] they are counsels for those who desire to become "perfect" (τελειος, teleios).[3][4] The Catholic Church interprets this to mean that they are not binding upon all, and hence not necessary conditions to attain eternal life (heaven), but that they are "acts of supererogation", "over and above" the minimum stipulated in the biblical commandments.[5][6]

Catholics who have made a public profession to order their lives by the evangelical counsels, and confirmed this by public vows before their competent church authority (the act of religious commitment known as a profession), are recognised as members of the consecrated life.

The Council of Trent (Latin: Concilium Tridentinum), held between 1545 and 1563 in Trent (or Trento), now in northern Italy, was the 19th ecumenical council of the Catholic Church. Prompted by the Protestant Reformation at the time, it has been described as the embodiment of the Counter-Reformation. The Council issued key statements and clarifications of the Church's doctrine and teachings, including scripture, the biblical canon, sacred tradition, original sin, justification, salvation, the sacraments, the Mass, and the veneration of saints[4] and also issued condemnations of what it defined to be heresies committed by proponents of Protestantism. The consequences of the Council were also significant with regard to the Church's liturgy and censorship.

Initiated in part to address the challenges of the Protestant Reformations,[3] the Counter-Reformation was a comprehensive effort arising from the decrees of the Council of Trent. The effort produced apologetic and polemical documents, heresy trials, anti-corruption efforts, spiritual movements, the promotion of new religious orders, and the flourishing of new art and musical styles.

Tradwave is a Catholic artistic style using synthwave and vaporwave art to promote traditional catholicism. Tradwave usually uses traditional catholic paintings, sculptures, or photographs of saints, given with vaporwave effects, often with a bible verse or quote about catholicism. The art usually tries to convey a resurrection of catholic spirituality in the modern atheist world. Figures often depicted in Tradwave art include Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, Ven. Fulton Sheen, Cardinal Robert Sarah, and Mother Angelica.

Tradwave music often takes the form of two main styles. One of them is catholic hymns with vaporwave effects and traditional Vaporwave/Lo-Fi music. It can also have quotes from modern prolific Catholic figures, such as Ven. The other theme is Fulton Sheen and Cardinal Robert Sarah.

Heavenly Virtues: Another phrase to describe this obedience to the voice is “reckless abandon.” It simply means that we let God do what God wants to do through us. It means if He tells us to do something or say something—we do it.

Intercession or intercessory prayer is the act of praying to a deity on behalf of others, or asking a saint in heaven to pray on behalf of oneself or for others. Intercession of the Saints is a Christian doctrine that maintains that saints can intercede for others. To intercede is to go or come between two parties, to plead before one of them on behalf of the other. In ecclesiastical usage both words are taken in the sense of the intervention primarily of Christ, and secondarily of the Blessed Virgin and the angels and saints, on behalf of men.[2] The doctrine is held by the Catholic, Eastern Orthodox Churches, the Assyrian Church of the East, the Oriental Orthodox churches , and some Lutherans and Anglicans (chiefly those of Evangelical Catholic or Anglo-Catholic churchmanship, respectively).[3] The practice of asking saints for their intercession can be found in Christian writings from the 3rd century onwards.[4][5][6] Catholic doctrine supports intercessory prayer to saints. This practice is an application of the doctrine of the Communion of saints. Some of the early basis for this was the belief that martyrs passed immediately into the presence of God and could obtain graces and blessings for others, which naturally and immediately led to their direct invocation. A further reinforcement was derived from the cult of the angels which, while pre-Christian in its origin, was heartily embraced by the faithful of the sub-Apostolic age. The doctrine of intercession and invocation was set forth by the Council of Trent, which teaches that "... the saints who reign together with Christ offer up their own prayers to God for men. It is good and useful suppliantly to invoke them, and to have recourse to their prayers, aid, and help for obtaining benefits from God, through His Son Jesus Christ our Lord, Who alone is our Redeemer and Saviour".[10] Intercessory prayer to saintly persons who have not yet been beatified can also practiced by individuals, and evidence of miracles produced as a result of such prayer is very commonly produced during the formal process of beatification and canonization.

In short, the gun-toting angel was a multifaceted metaphor. “It undoubtedly also reflected the Catholic Counter-Reformation militaristic rhetoric,” wrote Donahue-Wallace, “which promoted the church as an army and heavenly beings as its soldiers.” These "Harquebusier Angels" or "Arcabuceros" are full-length depictions of winged angels, elaborately dressed, and carrying matchlock guns (harquebuses).

The related term astrolatry usually implies polytheism. In anthropological literature these systems of practice may be referred to as astral cults.

A friar is a member of one of the mendicant orders in the Roman Catholic Church. There are also friars outside of the Roman Catholic Church, such as within the Anglican Communion. The term, first used in the 12th or 13th century, distinguishes the mendicants' itinerant apostolic character, exercised broadly under the jurisdiction of a superior general, from the older monastic orders' allegiance to a single monastery formalized by their vow of stability. A friar may be in holy orders or be a non-ordained brother. The most significant orders of friars are the Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinians, and Carmelites.[1]

Romans 8:31; Exploring Biblical Imagery is one of the most important keys to interpreting and gaining a deeper understanding of the Bible. The Bible often communicates truth to us through images and patterns.

Throughout history, armed priests or soldier priests have been recorded. Distinguished from military chaplains, who are non-combatants that provided spiritual guidance to service personnel and associated civilians, these priests took up arms and fought in conflicts as combatants. The term warrior priests or war priests is usually used for armed priests in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and of historical tribes.

Slang: In Romans 8:5-8, Paul presents a compelling contrast between living according to the flesh and living according to the Spirit. The flesh, with its disordered desires and rebellion against God, leads only to spiritual desolation. Martyr, one who voluntarily suffers death rather than deny their religion by words or deeds; such action is afforded special, institutionalized recognition in most major religions of the world. The term may also refer to anyone who sacrifices their life or something of great value for the sake of principle. A religious allusion is a brief reference to a person, event, place, or phrase from religious texts or traditions, without describing them in detail. 5 Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. 6 The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. 7 The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. 8 Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. Martyr/Romans 8 Allusion Slang.

Romeu e Julieta (Casapianos Order 1996 Adaptation 18+ Romance Thriller)

While it retains the original Shakespearean dialogue, the film represents the Montagues and the Capulets as warring mafia empires (with legitimate business fronts) and the Capulets were "a Latin family, sort of,"[15] played by Latin-American and Italian actors.[16] It is set in contemporary United States, where swords are replaced by guns[17] (with model names such as "Dagger", "Sword", and "Rapier"), and with a FedEx-style overnight delivery service called "Post Haste".[18] Shakespeare and Impure Aesthetics explores ideas about art implicit in Shakespeare's plays and defines specific Shakespearean aesthetic practices in his use of desire, death and mourning as resources for art. In fiction, a subplot or side story is a secondary strand of the plot that is a supporting side story for any story or for the main plot. Subplots may connect to main plots, in either time and place or thematic significance. Subplots often involve supporting characters, those besides the protagonist or antagonist. Subplots may also intertwine with the main plot at some point in a story.[1]

THE ENCYCLICAL PASSIONARIES ABOUT YHVH CASAPIANOS

Specifically, the royal psalms deal with the spiritual role of kings in the worship of Yahweh. Aside from that single qualification, there is nothing else which specifically links the ten psalms. Each of the psalms make explicit references to their subject, the king. Royal (messianic) psalms deal with the king as God's anointed or chosen one. Many are prayers for the wisdom of the king, his long life or success in battle. Some are prophetic in nature in that they also point to the ideal future king, the Messiah or the King of kings. A martyrology is a catalogue or list of martyrs and other saints and beati arranged in the calendar order of their anniversaries or feasts. Local martyrologies record exclusively the custom of a particular Church. Local lists were enriched by names borrowed from neighbouring churches.[1] Consolidation occurred, by the combination of several local martyrologies, with or without borrowings from literary sources. Simple martyrologies only enumerate names. Historical martyrologies, also sometimes called passionaries, also include stories or biographical details. (Reckless Abandonment; Mars Shamanism and Casa Pia Wing Transfer Invocation)

In the martyrdom narrative of the remembering community, this refusal to comply with the presented demands results in the punishment or execution of an individual by an oppressor. Accordingly, the status of the 'martyr' can be considered a posthumous title as a reward for those who are considered worthy of the concept of martyrdom by the living, regardless of any attempts by the deceased to control how they will be remembered in advance.[1] Insofar, the martyr is a relational figure of a society's boundary work that is produced by collective memory.[2] Originally applied only to those who suffered for their religious beliefs, the term has come to be used in connection with people killed for a political cause. (Armed Friars and The War for Central Africa between Casapianos and The French; The Fall of Yoruba for Bembé; Arcubusier Angels in Africa)

The Metal Ages is a term for the period of human civilization beginning about 6,000 years ago during which metallurgy rapidly advanced, and human populations started using metals such as copper, tin, bronze and finally iron to make tools and weapons. By heating and shaping metals in hot furnaces, humanity also learned to use precious metals such as gold and silver to make intricate ornaments.[1][2] With these technological adaptions, human society became more productive and human settlements became larger and more prosperous, but also more violent.[3] The Metal Ages are divided into three stages: the Copper Age, the Bronze Age, and the Iron Age.[1][2] (Calcium Age of Angola)

5 SENSES FESTIVAL MONTHLY (CASAPIANOS ORDER)

Heortology or eortology is a science that deals with the origin and development of religious festivals,[1] and more specifically the study of the history and criticism of liturgical calendars and martyrologies*. Religious Ecstacy Entheogens are psychedelic drugs—and sometimes certain other psychoactive substances—used for engendering spiritual development or otherwise in sacred contexts.

Sight: Fireworks on Water Front

Sound: Casapianos Palace Raves

Scent: Overnight Fragrance

Taste: Lamb and Wool

Touch: Tomato Food Fight

🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴

CASA PIA REPUBLIC

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unhinged-summer-fun · 8 months ago

Text

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 19

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger"

Warnings: here there be smut muahaha

A/N: Dividers by me, many thanks to @desertbcrnnobody for beta help and also my high school physics teacher for fuckin me up about the nature of the universe and macrophysics

series masterlist

chapter 19: ins and outages

Osha remembered another lesson from her high school physics class, some weeks after the three-stage collision lesson. Her teacher had said the earth spun incredibly fast, too fast for anybody to really ever notice it. But there were signs of movement: sunrises and sunsets, weather, gravity itself—all those things were already so integrated into daily life on earth that it felt like the earth wasn’t even spinning at all, if one grew bored enough.

What would happen if it actually did stop spinning? Osha asked back then.

The look her teacher had given her seemed better suited to a man who’d stepped on a landmine’s pressure plate.

We would all die, he said. A simple and brutal truth. Everything would die.

And then we won’t have to worry about the midterm on Tuesday, because there’d be no such thing as midterms, or Tuesdays, or even the concept of worrying—because nothing would be alive to feel anything at all. The world would go… smooth, I think, like a marble. If the arrested motion were sudden enough, perhaps some tectonic plates would break off and go spinning into orbit. The earth would stop spinning, but everything not held down would keep moving—and that’s everything. And once homeostasis was reached, and there was nothing left but a homogenous mess of what used to be…

Things would be quiet. They would be quiet, because there would be nothing else left to be. All this would happen in less than a second—microscopic fractions of a second, before there were no more seconds at all.

Qimir’s sudden, total stillness didn’t portend the complete evisceration of the world around him, but his face held some of that devastation—just a microscopic fraction of it.

Osha didn’t know what to say to jumpstart things again, to reset something like gravity, but just before her blood went cold, he took a deep breath. She watched him, unmoving, as he broke the tableau and sipped his coffee—like he hadn’t just terrified her with the complete shift in his body language.

“I assume she was speaking with Vernestra?” he asked, voice carefully free of any inflection.

Osha still didn’t know what to say. Perhaps he’d been the axis, and she’d been the planet wiped out to a glassy, smooth marble. It wasn’t his world that was ending. He seemed… fine. Sipping his coffee, speaking evenly.

“She was,” Osha said, sticking to the bare truth. “They were talking about, um, working together again. I didn’t know what that… meant.” Even though Indara had kind of put the cart before the horse on that one.

He hummed, but there was a distinct lack of life to it.

This was a bad idea.

As he spoke, he kept his eyes away from her, focused instead on the middle distance. “Idise is a private investigator,” he said plainly, mostly to the wall. “About fifteen years ago, Vernestra hired her to follow me and report on my activities.”

Osha nearly vibrated with the sudden, flooding rage that swept in as her fears were confirmed. How dare she show her face at the Temple and get all cozy with Qimir after that?

“That was how we met,” he said. “I’d been gunrunning for the Hutts for six months when they brought her snooping to my attention—they told me to handle her. So I go out one night and lead her to where I wanted to rush her.”

“What?” Osha whispered. She felt like she’d be sick, forcing herself to take steady, even breaths through her nose.

“I had nothing to lose. I was slowly starving to death because, in those days, all I’d eat was black-market pain medication. If that wasn’t going to kill me, something else was bound to. I was just going through the motions.”

Her heart still didn’t slow as he kept going.

“And then she—” he laughed.

Laughed.

Wait, what?

“I lead her to this parking lot, and Idise just—rushes me. Just how I was going to rush at her. She comes at me with some—I think I called it kung-fu shit back then—she ended up breaking my nose before she put me in a one-handed submission hold that still almost makes me pass out—”

He was… smiling. It was a rueful, unhappy smile, but it was clear he took some actual joy from this memory. What the fuck?

“—but the specifics aren’t important here. She asked me who the hell I was to Vernestra Rwoh, and why the hell did she want to watch me so badly. I don’t know exactly what I said, but I told her the truth, I know that much. Told her I was a loose end. And that much is true now as it was then.”

He’d told her as much, more than a week ago—in his office, talking about destruction and conspiracies.

“I told you I was street fighting back then—the Hutts ran kind of the same fight night deal that Unplan does, but people often left that ring in body bags, not ambulances. I was in that ring for-fucking-ever. That time is just as fuzzy as my time at the Temple, probably worse, because of the drugs. I thought Idise was trying to kill me at first, I absolutely believe it’s not beneath Vernestra to put a hit on someone like me.”

He said it so casually it made Osha’s heart stop.

“But then, this P.I. chick breaks my nose, almost has me throw up and pass out, then she starts babbling about some conspiracy with the Temple, how she’d been piecing shit together and found a bunch of people who knew but were hushed up about it. I told her… I told her I didn’t care.”

“Wh—?” Osha wasn’t certain what she was reacting to: Idise knowing about the corruption in the Temple, Idise admitting that knowledge to Qimir, or his ultimately nihilistic attitude towards all of it. He cared, Osha knew. He had the capacity to care, deep as trenches.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because when he met her eyes again, his jaw flexed, chewing back whatever words he was going to say in favor of something else.

“I was in a bad place, Osha. I lived every day like I thought it would be my last, and not in a good way. My spine had been fixed by surgery when I was 17, but by the time I turned 19, I was in immense pain every single day—no support net, couldn’t get a job, hadn’t finished high school since Vernestra ‘homeschooled’ me. No money, no friends, no home. All the titles and accolades I’d won for Vernestra had been sanitized, marking the Temple as the victor against another fighter. And the prize cash was held in a trust I never ever saw. I had nothing.

“All I had was my pain, and I didn’t even want that. So I numbed it with drugs; the Hutts were more than happy to provide them as payment for my services.”

He drained the rest of his coffee, looking mildly disgusted.

“What happened after that?” Osha asked. He got up, getting himself another cup and sitting down before speaking.

“Obviously, I couldn’t kill her in the end. I pursued it for a while, it kept me occupied. She outfoxed me mentally, outclassed me physically, and knew more about me than I knew about myself back then. And somehow, breaking that routine, the dull violence and crime the Hutts tasked me with, it snapped some sense back into me. I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t want to kill anybody. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, not on the streets, not in the ring. I’d seen other guys do it. But I couldn’t—” His voice tightened around an invisible chokehold. “I just couldn’t.”

Osha knew she was probably crazy for it, but she believed every word he said. She accepted every ounce of darkness he shared with her. Without hesitation or reluctance, she took his hand and held it tight. I’m here, she conveyed. I believe you, and I’m still here. It gave him bravery, she thought.

“Idise kept trying to talk to me, even after I tried to tell her off, tell her the Hutts wanted her dead. But she wouldn’t listen. She was focused on me joining her crusade against the Temple. I’d tried doing that before, throwing bricks and making threats against them. And it’s a truth I took too long to learn, that a lot of unfortunate people took too long to understand: the Temple is just too big to beat.”

Osha’s flare of indignance was difficult to obscure.

“But Idise had this idea. If enough people—people who know, you know—stand against the Temple, they might actually be able to do something. They couldn’t sue us all—that was her logic. I didn’t care, though. I was still starving, I was just a little more scared, now. I kept avoiding her, but she’d find me. Tell her off. Avoid her. She found me. Rinse-repeat.” He stopped again, taking a few breaths. Shaky inhale, shaky exhale. “Then the Hutts caught wind that I hadn’t—handled her.”

Osha’s blood finally went cold. “Shit,” she whispered.

He nearly tripped over his words, trying to speak quickly just to get this story over with. “It’s a—it’s a story not worth telling. It’s not important right now. When they were done with me, I was completely fucked up. They left me for dead out in the street. And then—”

With the curtains drawn back from the morning sunlight, they could hardly tell the power in the apartment had gone out—if it weren’t for the power-down bwrhhhh that seemed to come from the walls. Just as fast as the power had gone out, it returned.

Damn winter power outages.

“Keep going, please,” Osha said when he didn’t immediately speak up.

He looked like he wanted to protest for her sake, but nodded. “Idise found me. Took me somewhere safe. I got back on my feet. Got my diploma, then started college. I didn’t want to, but I tried to pay back Idise by helping her dig for information about Vernestra and the Temple. She didn’t have as much as she made it out to seem.”

“What—hold on, what about Vernestra hiring her?”

He nodded, an oh yeah expression on his face. “She’d fed Vernestra enough to get some information in return. When Vernestra’s stories started not adding up with what she had found out herself, she knew she had to get out of the spider’s web while she could. She told Vernestra that my trail went cold when I joined up with the slugs—code for I don’t wanna get involved with the Hutts. Two weeks after parting ways with Vernestra, Idise broke my nose in a parking lot.”

The wry little smile on his face was confounding.

This wasn’t what Osha thought she’d hear from him. She’d anticipated vitriol and a history of deceit, of… anything but nostalgia. She felt incredibly silly for making wild assumptions about Idise and her history with the Temple. Osha’s vitriol toward her at the gym all at once felt so stupid and embarrassing. She’d been telling the truth.

I’m not working for her. I wouldn’t do that to him.

“You told me you stopped searching for evidence,” Osha said.

He nodded. “I did. Almost a decade ago. Called off the hunt two years into pre-med. Before, my days were spent cramming science, my nights were spent helping the team follow any lead to take down the Temple. One half seeking to do no harm, one half only seeking harm. It was eating me up—scraping me raw. It was… I was in a dark headspace.

“One day, my advanced chemistry professor shared the basic formula for homemade explosives. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was obsessed. Night and day, my thoughts were consumed by the idea of ending the Temple just to stop having to think about it all the time. I never told Idise the real reason why we needed to stop; I told her it was just not feasible to continue, and I shut it down. She was never satisfied with my reasoning. But I shut it down, and eventually I graduated, I got my job, postgrad—wouldn’t have been able to safely learn all the delicate parts of the body if all I did was think about how I could use that knowledge to break the person who broke me.”

His eyes flickered, first to her, and then away as a cloud of shame settled over his head.

Fuck. Osha remembered similar states of obsessive, all-consuming despair. In the years following her injury, she remained in a floating, numb state of hopelessness. Very often and very easily, her mind would spiral into dark places she couldn’t claw her way out of, though most of her maladaptive daydreaming ended in a grave with her own name on it.

She empathized with him; she wouldn’t have wanted to continue either. Forgetting, remembering. They’re different pains that make you wish you had the other.

“But, eventually, the pain wasn’t all I had. Idise is a seeker. She’s a bloodhound, and she is fantastic at what she does. She saw that I had things… missing. She’d already found Paul, Kana, and Medora for me. She didn’t find it, but she was part of Unknown Planet, and brought me into the fold there. She’d found an outlet for the anger that was still there no matter how much I denied it. I owe her my life, a hundred times over. It’s hard to be friends or friendly with someone like that, but we’re close. It feels like fate brought us together, and now fate won’t let us part.”

It felt fucking cheap to ask, but Osha did anyway. “A lot of people at Unplan think you two were… involved. Were you?”

He startled at the question, his face incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

That seems a bit of an overreaction. “Uh, is there a reason why not?”

“Aside from the fact I’m very much not her type, we know each other too well, have been together through too much for me to feel anything but that bond. There’s no way I could be vulnerable around her like I can be with you. You’ve met her. She’s fucking intense.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Intense is a word for it,” she agreed, trying not to let her fluttering heart get the best of her. “But why do you think she was at the Temple?”

“What was said?” That wasn’t an answer.

Still, Osha relayed what she remembered about that day, and then halted when she realized another crucial piece of information she was leaving out.

“What is it?” he said, fingers laced beneath his chin. He’d been frowning through her story, deep in thought.

Why can’t we go back to dry humping in his bed?

“I’m… she also uh. Kinda cornered me at Unplan when I was working out later that week. She must’ve known I’d thought the worst of the situation and wanted to… I don’t know, clear the air.”

But Qimir’s expression had gone thunderous and dark. Rage simmered on his features like he was made of boiling magma. He was pissed. He held none of that anger for the violation toward his own privacy, but when it came to Osha, his temper flared like the goddamn sun.

“And what else did she say?” he asked, his voice gone tight. This wasn’t protectiveness over her, she realized. Why is he so angry? What the fuck happened between them?

“She asked me if I knew where you were. I didn’t tell her anything, of course. And then she said Vernestra didn’t want to hire her to follow you again.”

His throat bobbed, words swallowed down.

“What?” Osha said. “What aren’t you saying?”

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. The anger wasn’t so much boiling as it was now simmering, cooled off enough for him to form logical thoughts. “If she’s not following me, who else do you think she would want Idise tailing?”

“What—?”

He reached for her hand, squeezing once. “Who else at the Temple has been mistreated, injured, erased, overworked, and brought down enough to have one hell of a motive to tear it all down?”

Oh.

Fuck.

“Yeah, fuck,” he said.

Just like that, the perfect morning they’d started with had been balanced back to a net zero.

Q: Leave Osha out of this.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I was wondering why I couldn’t text you.

UN: You break that phone on purpose too?

Q: She’s not a part of it, no matter what you’re doing.

UN: If she’s involved with you, she has no choice.

UN: What were you doing in Khofar?

UN: Didn’t take you for a cabin-in-the-woods type.

Q: Leave it alone.

UN: No :)

UN: What were you doing in Khofar?

Osha woke up from her afternoon nap, still on day one of limbo. Three days remained before Sol and Mae and the whole Temple returned from Theed. When she checked her phone, there were no new messages, so she suspected Mae hadn’t asked Sol what he wanted to talk to them about just yet.

She didn’t know what to do about Vernestra hiring Idise to keep an eye on her, and Qimir just said he’d handle it. In the context of his story, she didn’t feel too good about that assurance.

“You’re being fucking stupid, Osha,” she muttered, getting up to get ready for work.

Kana and Medora were there when she arrived.

Paul, and Kana, and Medora.

Hold on, who the fuck is Paul?

“You alright there, Osha?” Kana asked when Osha hadn’t finished taking off her coat to hang up. She jumped, turning around to hide her embarrassment.

“Sorry! Still waking up a little bit.” She shook her head.

“Been there. Go make yourself a coffee, girl.”

“I think I might,” Osha said, smiling at Medora.

“Did the power go out at your place, too? I’m glad I was already here when it happened.”

The wintertime sometimes messed with the badly-weatherized power grid, knocking out power in parts of the city. Osha had come back from Qimir’s to a bunch of clocks blinking 12:00 and had spent the better part of her afternoon resetting everything.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Pretty lame.”

Kana picked up their conversation again. It warmed her to know they didn’t feel the need to keep secrets from her.

“So the police got involved?”

“Yeah, they wanted to question her but I told them to fuck off.”

“I mean she’s four, don’t they have any better leads than a traumatized toddler?”

“That’s what I told them!”

Osha closed her locker and tied off her apron. She wasn’t trying to hide that she was listening in, but she wasn’t trying to involve herself in their conversation either—no matter how intriguing it sounded.

Medora seemed to catch onto that, turning to her and bringing her into the conversation herself. “Have I ever told you what my day job is, Osha?”

She shook her head. “I figured you didn’t need one; they tip you so well here.”

Kana barked a laugh. “A flatterer!” he crowed, leaning back in his chair.

Medora just threw him a look before she said, “I’m a youth counselor for the FDO.”

“That’s amazing,” Osha said, smiling warmly.

“I always wanted to help out. I spent all my time in the medical wing of the building growing up. Asked a billion questions of all the doctors there.”

She sounded like Mae, constantly asking questions and endlessly curious. At the end of the day, she was kind, thankful, and caring.

“So you always knew you wanted to be a doctor?”

“Pretty much,” she said, shrugging.

“Medora’s being humble for no reason, she got her doctorate same year as Q. They were neck and neck for summa and magna cum laude their whole last year.” Kana sounded so proud, lauding his siblings’ accomplishments.

“It wasn’t a race, you idiot,” Medora grumbled. “I’m still surprised Paul let you go to art school.”

“Yeah, well, Paul knew the fuckin’ apartment needed someone in the humanities, or we’d all starve. Has Q cooked for you, Osha?”

She remembered the smoke alarm interruption from earlier that morning. “He’s… tried to.”

Kana laughed again, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. “Imagine a house of four grown adults, and three of them have Q’s cooking skills.”

“Who’s, um.” Her mouth went dry the moment before she could say—

“Paul?” Medora said, her voice pitched high. “What the shit, Q doesn’t talk about Paul? Does he talk to you at all? Or does he do that brooding thing the whole time?” She did an (accurate) impression of her brother’s raincloud demeanor.

“We talk,” Osha said, stepping in to defend Qimir. “He’s kind of tight-lipped about some things from his past, but he’s told me quite a bit.” Obviously not enough.

“Well, you know his spine issues as a kid,” Kana said. “Paul ran the pediatric spine clinic Q got treated at. Did the surgeries himself when he—” The sharp cutoff, combined with the grimace, said when he broke his back at 17.

Osha nodded, signaling that he didn’t have to rehash it. “You still keep in touch?”

“Idise managed to track him down after the clinic mysteriously shuttered,” Medora said, playing with the end of her braid. The mention of Idise still brought a sick little twist to her stomach, but Osha was learning to accept that embarrassment and move on. “Q was with him a few months by then, recovering from that horrible car accident. Then she found Kana, and I was just about to age out of the FDO when she found me. She brought us all back together again, after everything.”

“That’s—that’s really great,” Osha said. Car accident. They either didn’t know the Hutts had messed him up and left him for dead, or they didn’t know that Osha knew the real story.

Her awkwardness was overshadowed by fraternal teasing. “Ooo, when she found you, so romantic, Medora.”

Her face flushed a little pink, and she scowled at Kana across the breakroom table. “Shut up.”

Kana checked the clock after antagonizing her with another teasing grin. “Moonrise is in five. Let’s lock in.”

“Got it.”

So Medora absolutely had a crush on Idise. It made sense why Qimir was so adamant that he was never with Idise like that. But if Kana was aware of Medora’s crush on Idise, why would he tell Osha otherwise? The thoughts followed her through her shift, but there were enough things to do at the bar that her daydreams only skimmed the surface of those quandaries—though that surface was obviously still distressing.

“You look grouchy,” Kana commented two hours into their shift. She hadn’t been avoiding him, but the question of his false implication about Qimir and Idise had her wondering what he had to gain from it. “S’on your mind?”

Osha winced, wiping down the same section of the bar as she’d done for the last twenty minutes. It was slow tonight. Had everyone in the city gone to Theed with the Temple?

“Why did you—” Osha cut herself off, turning back from where her body had started moving to face him. She faced away.

“Why’d I what?” he asked, moving to her peripherals.

“It’s uh, nothing.”

“Let’s take a break.”

She heard the order for what it was.

They grabbed their jackets and went to the back parking lot. Osha’s heart pounded, wondering what he would say to her. Kana was her boyfriend’s brother but also her boss. And here she was thinking that things couldn’t possibly be weirder than when Mae was on shift with her at the cafe.

Kana lit a cigarette and offered one to her. She accepted it impulsively.

“You seem overwhelmed,” he said, lighting one off the other.

“I am overwhelmed,” Osha said, all her breath leaving her in a whoosh. She fidgeted with her sleeves until she could take a drag.

She’d smoked a little in high school, out of sheer stress and the lack of anything better to do. Cal had thought she was so cool, smoking behind the school auditorium. She’d kissed him so he could know what it tasted like, but he’d coughed so hard he almost puked, then sweetly asked to try again. That was near the last time she smoked—because smoking led to Cal’s interest, which led to Cal’s kissing, which led to Sol almost pounding a 17-year-old’s face in.

Osha was a touch out of practice, but smoking came back to her as easy as fighting.

“Qimir is an enigma. I wasn’t lying to you when I said he’s lonely and prefers it like that.”

So he knew what she was stressing about. “Were you… testing me? That night?”

He shrugged. “Suppose I was. Medora’ll give you the official shovel talk when the time comes, but you can’t blame me for looking out for my brother.”

She doubted Mae would risk giving Qimir the shovel talk. She didn’t even want to think about Sol meeting him—though, history proves they already know one another.

“That’s fair,” she said, looking out at the dark lot. “How’d I do on your test?” she asked. She hoped she didn’t sound bitter, but her emotions had been out of wack since she arrived.

“I certainly wouldn’t have put you on my shoulders if you failed,” he said dryly. She finally realized what was so uncanny about this conversation. He sounded different from how he’d spoken indoors—he wasn’t running his words together or using that city drawl Osha never got the hang of. Compared to how he was speaking to her now, the voice he used inside was closer to Qimir’s doofus accent.

They really were brothers.

It made Osha laugh—too late to be laughing at his remark. “What?” said Kana.

She shook her head, smiling. “I’m just glad I know you all.”

It put him at ease, a fond smile taking over his face. They smoked in silence for a minute—until the lamps above them suddenly powered down, dimming almost to total darkness before clawing their way back to illumination.

Damn it. She’d just reset the appliances.

Kana didn’t seem too worried about it, continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened.

“I know Qimir would never say as much, but Paul’s absolutely his dad—and Qimir’s Paul’s son. Me and Paul, we don’t got that kind of relationship. We’re tight, and he’s family, but he’s not my dad like he’s been for Qimir and Medora.”

“Did he encourage them to pursue medicine?”

“That’s a way to put it,” he said, chuckling. “I’d say he was the damn reason for it.”

“That’s cute,” Osha said, smiling. The anxiety in her chest seemed to float away with every drag on her cigarette. “My dad’s…” Oh shit. She’d walked herself into this corner. She didn’t want Kana looking at her how Qimir had looked at her after that welterweight comment. She settled on, “Weird.”

“Weird?” Kana laughed. “Weird how?”

Weird how Sol seems deeply involved in this whole fucking mess. Weird how Sol seems way too okay letting the Temple hang albatross after albatross around his neck. Weird how he fucking passes out on my couch on my birthday because he doesn’t know when things have gone too far. Weird how he insists on family dinners but never lets us act like a family. Weird how Qimir clearly hates him but never talks about it. Weird how Sol had a framed photo of him in the room full of memories he didn’t care to dwell on.

“Just… weird. He adopted me and my sister hella fast after our—well, after we lost our family. And it’s been seventeen years, but he still hasn’t gotten the hang of fatherhood. Family dinners with him are really awkward.”

Kana didn’t pry, picking up on Osha’s discomfort. “Well, we all usually get together once every few weeks just to hang out at Paul’s place. Just to shoot the shit, take walks together. I think you’d like it. Paul’s a good guy. I hope you meet him soon.” I hope Qimir invites you soon, he was saying.

It sounded so nice—but Qimir had never mentioned Paul in the first place. There was so much Osha had no idea about. Qimir’s life was still unfolding in front of her—like a map that started out as small as her palm but folded out to the size of a beach towel. She’d been fairly adamant about her position on deception, especially where omitted information was concerned. Even so, each new answer only brought twice as many questions. It was so difficult to keep up with.

And eventually, it’d catch up with her, a warning voice intoned in her head.

But she stayed in the moment. “I’d like that, too. He sounds nice,” she said.

Kana put out his cigarette and tossed it in the metal receptacle by the door.

“Does Qimir join every time?” she asked, doing the same.

Kana’s hand stilled on the handle of the service door. He looked over his shoulder at her, just the glint of his eye shining in the shadows.

“Not for the last three months.”

O: [IMG_9322.HEIC]

?: Is your shift over?

?: You look beautiful.

O: Yeah I’m omw home now

O: All the damn lights are reset ugh

Osha got a wicked impulse.

O: Wanna come over?

She forced herself not to look at her phone for the entire drive back to the apartment, equal parts nervous and excited for whatever his answer might be. When she parked, she finally checked her phone—

The knock on her window made her scream.

After a few adrenaline-fueled seconds, she finally recognized Qimir’s bewildered face through the glass. “What the fuck!” she laughed, near about to pass out.

“Sorry,” he said, muffled through the glass.

She finally looked at the text.

?: Yes I’ll be there when you park.

Sent ten minutes ago.

She got out of the car, fueled by the urge to slap him silly and kiss him just the same. The second urge won, her hand twining in the scarf around his neck and pulling him down to her. She kissed him right there with her car door between their bodies, remnants of her fright still racing through her veins.

He pulled away, humming and happily content. Then he stopped, frowning. “Were you smoking with Kana?”

“Howwww the hell do you know that?”

“You taste like his cigarettes,” he said. It felt ridiculous to imagine him jealous—

Oh.

He was jealous.

“I can go brush my teeth,” she said lamely, basically gawping up at him. Maybe wash my mouth out, maybe get punished over a knee—now that’s a thought—

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, gathering his composure again.

Before it could settle, before logic could win, she rattled the bars that kept the beast in him locked away. Osha stood on tip-toes, moving her hand from his scarf to his hair to pull him down again. If her nails slightly pressing into his scalp bothered him, the low, pleased growl he gave in return didn’t say so.

Qimir’s hands went to her shoulders, maneuvering her around the side of her car door so he could kiss her up against the freezing surface. She squeaked at the sudden cold against her back, but he didn’t care. He was ravenous, kissing and licking into her mouth like he wanted to erase any claim left by someone else. Like he’d go so far as breathing against every inch of her skin that was stained with phantom tobacco so she wore the scent of anybody but him.

For fuck’s sake, Kana was his brother. Why did it turn her on so much to think he was acting this way because Kana gave her a cigarette?

She didn’t give a shit, taking as much as he gave her. She was slightly stunned when he pulled back, fixing her with a sharp glare.

“Smoking is very bad for you.”

Then he resumed, lips trailing down to her jaw, her neck, that soft spot behind her ear that made her shiver when he ran his tongue over it. Osha’s breathy laugh sounded so ridiculously wanton in response to his chiding. She kept her hand in his hair as he worried his teeth over her sensitive skin. He must have reached where she’d sprayed a bit of perfume earlier, because his low moan made her insides go to jelly and her knees threaten to buckle.

“M-maybe we can go inside?” she asked, sounding weak to her own ears. Round two, yes please.

He found a place to pause; lips still formed around her pulse—all he’d need to do is bare his teeth, and he’d be that wolf again, demanding submission.

Maybe it’s about time I bare my neck for him, too…

“Inside,” he agreed.

Qimir walked a half-step behind Osha, one hand perched at the small of her back. She looked down into her bag to search for her keys, cursing under her breath as she rummaged.

There was a sudden yank at her belt loop, tugging her two swift steps to the right—to avoid walking into a neighbor passing them in the hall. The neighbor ignored them, just as wrapped up in their world as Osha was, but Osha turned her surprised look up to Qimir, who released her and re-settled his hand at the small of her back. He just shrugged, a smug smirk threatening to surface on his lips.

She finally found her goddamn keys, but then spent another few seconds trying to decipher which one meant open door.

That hand at the small of her back smoothed its way to her hip, another joining at the other side as he stood behind her. Her ability to concentrate took another horrific blow—practically at death’s door, and all his fault.

“I like these jeans,” he said conversationally, as if he was talking about some medical journal he’d read recently. “You make them look nice.”

She wasn’t sure that was how clothing-based flattery was usually structured. She didn’t respond, eliminating key by key by—

Another yank at her belt loops, this time pulling her back into him. Her hips made contact with his, and she jolted a little when she realized he was hard behind her. Holy shit holy shit key gods, please—

There.

The door swung open, and they stole inside like bandits. She would have thought he would want to continue that next logical step (so logical. The most fucking logical thing ever) from what he’d started on the doormat, but his eyes suddenly filled with curiosity that stopped all ardor in its tracks.

He was in her apartment.

The revelation struck her just seconds after it did him. She felt giddy with it. “You ever see the other floorplans here?” she asked, awkwardly making a show at playing host to him.

“There’s more rooms in this one,” he said, both truthfully and sarcastically.

“Your powers of observation are stunning, Coach Lo.”

He leveled an I’m not playing, you’re gonna get it if you push me look at her, one she responded to with a coquettish smile. They removed their shoes and she turned on a few lights to point out the obvious: kitchen, living room, bathroom. She scowled at the blinking 12:00 on the stovetop in the kitchen.

“That’s Mae’s room over there, and—”

MYAHHHH???

“You haven’t met my other roommate,” Osha said, rushing to the cat tree in the corner. She scooped up the cute ball of fur in her hands and returned to Qimir, who was still taking in the living room—more specifically, he was looking at the bookshelf, pulling out random books to peer at in the light. When Osha approached, he gave her his attention. “This is Pip. Pip, this is my stranger.”

He sighed deeply. “Fuck you for holding something cute while saying that.” He sounded actually tormented by it—I am so oppressed, my girlfriend is using her kitten as a shield against my horny nature.

Osha loved pushing his buttons.

Pip seemed to like Qimir, using his sharp kitten claws to traverse the sleeve of his black denim jacket up to his absurdly broad shoulders. Osha could have died at the image of Qimir’s surprised face when Pip came and bumped his cold little nose against his jaw.

Then Pip descended down the back of his jacket, his claws making little tiny scratch noises. “Oh no—” Osha said, stepping in to help.

Pip had lodged himself right in the center of Qimir’s shoulder blades, where even his long arms couldn’t reach him. He grunted as he tried to get Pip back to safety, and Osha just started to laugh—though it was well past quiet hours in her building. Pip made a series of feline battle cries, hanging onto his conquered jacket with imperious greed.

“Oh my god, this is insane,” Osha laughed, finally prising her cat off of his jacket. “You naughty boy!” she declared, kissing the top of his head. “Good job, Pip.”

Qimir took the opportunity to remove his jacket, laying it over the back of her couch like it belonged there. She finally understood why he reacted so intensely to her wearing his clothes—this was another sign of his possessive nature. Staking his claim, leaving his things about, touching her books.

With intent to sleep in her bed.

It was a queen, and with his size, it’d be a tight fit.

I bet he likes a tight f—

To sleep. They would be sleeping.

Wait, was lewdness on the table? Could she ask for lewdness?

“Are you hungry?” she asked, covering her bases before they slept.

He shook his head, but something in his eyes told her otherwise.

Osha ensured Pip was cared for, sleeping soundly in his bed, before she took Qimir’s hand and led him to her bedroom.

He hadn’t said much since they walked in, keeping all his observations to himself. Even here, he took his time to take her room in.

Qimir lived quite the spartan life, hardly keeping any personal effects in his home, his car—hell, the most clutter she’d seen was in his office, but that seemed like the exception to his rules. Osha hadn’t been joking that first time she met him in his office; her room was chaotic but it was her.

She tried looking at her room from his perspective. The bed looked perpetually unmade, the comforter hopelessly tangled within the confines of the duvet cover. Her desk hadn’t been used since high school, and currently housed her very tiny, very new makeup collection. The desk chair had instead become a chair closet, holding a pile of laundry—oh fuck, was that one of her bras?

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

But he wasn’t looking at the lacy bundle that may or may not have been a bra—his eyes were on the windowsill, one hand reaching for the small purple butterfly—

“Don’t,” she implored, not really sure why. He’d freely touched plenty of things in her apartment until now—herself included—but the little crystal figurine seemed too precious for her to share with him tonight. “Please,” she added, though they were sure she didn’t want to say it.

Qimir retracted his hand, watching Osha now as if she were the new object of his interest. “It’s beautiful,” he said, not looking at it.

“I sometimes forget it’s there,” she said.

“It was the first thing I saw. It caught the moonlight just right.”

She hadn’t ever looked at it in the moonlight before. In the dark moments before sleep, she could never bear to look at it, lest it invite nightmares of her last moments with her mothers.

But he was right; it sparkled and glittered the way it had that day in the shop. The cool moonlight made the purple seem regal, faceted reflections and refractions cast upon the windowsill like bold splashes of light.

She said nothing more, holding out her hand for him to come closer.

Wanna come over? she’d asked him. She wished she’d been more specific, because now that he was here, she had no clue what to do with him.

He seemed to have his own ideas, though.

He stepped into her space, one hand on her hip and the other coming to tilt her face up to his. But he didn’t kiss her; not just yet. He came close, looking her over with a face of yearning intensity she was becoming familiar with.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She didn’t shy from the compliment; she didn’t want to run from this, run from him and all his feelings. If she was allowed to feel as deeply for him as she did, then she wanted him to feel the same. And she’d never know it if she kept running from every declaration he made to her.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Qimir smiled like he knew the amount of growth and healed self-esteem it had taken to reach this point. He rewarded her with a kiss, just a simple lean and they were one.

Osha closed her eyes and fell against him, arms wrapping around the back of his neck. His hands grasped her close, like he dared any other to separate them. Their kiss wasn’t feverish, but the heat rolled like a campfire, an eternal flame to keep them warm in this lonely, dark winter.

Especially when the goddamn power went out—and didn’t seem to come back on after the usual fifteen seconds.

They didn’t move apart, quietly laughing at the absurdity. “All fuckin’ day,” she giggled.

“Well, I guess that means it’s lights out,” he said, teasing.

She shoved her palm against his shoulder playfully. “I’m not sleepy, are you?”

Instead of answering, he simply kissed his way down her neck, humming as if in thought. “Hungry.”

She blinked in the dark, even as stars danced before her eyes at every little zing of feeling he gave her. “I just asked you if—”

“Not for that,” he interrupted, on the wings of soft, dark laughter.

Oh fuck.

His teeth joined the distracting mix, dragging down to where her shirt lay open at the front. “You’re hungry?” she asked, voice going a bit high. Her inexperience had to have shown sometime—why not now?

But he didn’t withdraw. He was offering her something, something he knew was new to her. He nodded, smooth and comfortable just doing what he was doing—but she knew that a single word from her would have him going full bodice-ripper romance hero.

At least, she hoped so.

She moaned softly as his lips wrapped around the delicate line of her collarbone, indulgent like he was savoring her. She buried her fingers in his hair and was rewarded with a hot, sudden exhale through his nose. But he still didn’t bend. A hand in the hair won’t do it, Osha.

She tried pushing her hand up under his shirt, splaying across his toned stomach. But it didn’t make him snap. Touching isn’t consent, Osha, her logical brain reminded her.

“Well, I’m more than happy to feed you if you’re hungry,” she said, a little breathless as she pulled on his hair. She chewed her lip, hoping he understood her correctly.

Even in the pitch darkness, she could tell just how dark his eyes had gotten. Qimir’s face was open with want, not a single ounce of desire shuttered behind his expression. “Alright,” he breathed, and then moved.

He had her lying across her bed in under a second; his body pressed atop hers like he’d done that morning and kept her pinned in place. Her belated gasp came against his lips as he claimed hers in another kiss. This time, he didn’t straddle her, keeping his body angled slightly to the side of her, curling around her supine form.

His hand mimicked what hers had done just a moment ago, splaying across her lower tummy beneath the edge of her shirt. She was still mostly in her work clothes, save her shoes. His hand spanned so wide, his thumb and pinky touching both her hipbones simultaneously. She always felt so small when he did this, truly feeling their size difference.

But then his hand moved, pushing up, up—teasing right at the edge of her bra before it moved back down, pressing gently on every rib his fingertips passed. She groaned, half in frustration and half at how good his touch felt. She must have been starved for it before to react this much to his touches. That had to be it—she couldn’t have been responding just to him.

On the downward pass, he skimmed over the waistband of her work pants, fingertips brushing over the seam at the middle. “I can feel you; you’re so hot for me, Osha,” he murmured. “Will you be wet if I touch you right now?”

She could only whine, overwhelmed by his attentions. When his hand moved to cover the entire area, she repeated the noise, this time raising her hips needily. He moved his hand up and down over her, and yes, yes she’d be wet if he touched her.

“I guess I’ll have to find out, won’t I?” he chuckled. Deftly, he undid the button and fly of her work pants and let them stay like that. His mouth kept up a steady stream of commentary in her ear as he touched her.

“You’ve probably got the prettiest pair of panties on for me—and just absolutely ruined them, haven’t you?” he said, lips brushing her ear softly enough to make her shiver. “There’s nothing like soaked lace over a hot, wet pussy—love to see you like that someday, pretty girl.”

Osha’s moan seemed obscenely loud in contrast to the quiet room, the soft murmurs he was giving her.

“Good girl, telling me how she feels.” He kissed her cheek so gently and chastely that right now, it seemed filthy. “Wanna hear every noise you make from her on out. Don’t you dare hide them from me.” His fingertips brushed over her clit, through her soaked panties—making her gasp. “That’s right, that’s for me.”

For a while, he just rubbed her over her panties, nearly to the point where she was sure he wasn’t going to move past that—but then his hand drew back and then he was pushing beneath them, trapped under that wet cotton he’d only gotten wetter. She moaned helplessly at the feeling of his direct touch on her pussy—how long had it been since she last touched herself not to the thought of him? This was so, so much better.

His rough fingertips spun tight little circles over her clit, occasionally dipping down to where she was wettest to slick the way. His tongue matched what his fingers were doing—drawing wet little spirals that left a cool trail in its wake. It made her shiver and sweat all at once. He would never push them in, though, always just dipping his fingertips in—like a penitent man crossing himself with wetted fingers from a cathedral font.

She grew impatient, bringing her hands down to shove at her bottoms. The elastic snapped against her as it crested the ridge of his knuckles, but she didn’t give a fuck. Her hands went next to her work shirt, unbuttoning the front with fingers that trembled in their eagerness.

He moaned her name at the sight of her undressing for him, though his hand remained where it had been, stilled for now. When she sat up to remove her bra, he sucked in a breath but didn’t stop her. All she knew, in the spinning room that was her mind, was that she needed no clothes and more him.

At the revealed skin, he marveled, expression awed as he beheld her as some kind of sacrament. It should have intimidated her to be so clearly regarded as a holy thing. But Osha was used to being worshiped, even 17 years out of practice.

One thing she knew about worshipers was that they would kneel.

Her hand found his hair, and with ease, she pushed him toward the edge of the bed, pushed him down, pushed him into place between her thighs. She knew this much, at least. He finally looked like how he’d teased—hungry. No, starving.

Then she pulled him back to her.

His lips never once stopped moving, whetting their thirst by wetting them with her. She moaned, low and long as he hauled her legs up over his shoulders. Just barely, she could make out the feeling of the scar on his back beneath her heel. With how hunched over he was as he ate her out, she needed only to lift her head a few inches off the bed to see it. His tongue pushed into her, then out—not testing the waters or stretching, but consuming. She swore softly under her breath and shifted her hips up a little for him to go deeper, to take more.

She wasn’t freaking out how she thought she would. For years and years, thinking about some faceless, imaginary partner would inspire all kinds of anxiety in her. But now, with her stranger here, none of those worries were even on the same planet. She was relaxed, blissfully relaxed beneath him, above him, wherever he wanted her to be. Her orgasm was ready to step in if she wanted it to come, but for now, the intimacy of Qimir’s head between her thighs was enough to pull a satisfied sigh from her lips.

She felt his lips twitch against her—smiling. Qimir was now taking his time, laving his tongue over every inch he could get at. She could live like this forever, teetering on a thinning platform of pleasure and joyfully falling over the edge whenever she wanted.

His eyes met hers through the darkness, glinting with the moonlight streaming in through the window. She wondered what the look was for a moment before he concentrated his lips to suck at her clit, leaving room for a finger to press gently inside of her. She moaned weakly, the unfamiliar feeling making her head spin even as he held still, letting her get used to him.

Testing how it felt, she bit her lip and squeezed around his finger. All his breath left him in a whistling wheeze, eyes practically rolling back in his head. She did it again, and his other hand disappeared from where it’d rested on her thigh. She didn’t see where it went, but by the rhythmic motions of his shoulder, she could guess what it was up to.

He pressed another kiss to her clit before he added another finger. He was a large man, and his hands were absolutely proportionate to that standard—the stretch was a pleasant burn within her, equal to stepping into a too-hot bath and letting yourself bear the heat until it was tolerable. The burn became tolerable very quickly, with how loose-limbed he’d made her.

“Mm?” he hummed against her clit, letting his lips brush back and forth against it for a moment before resuming his sucking kisses.

“Yes,” she rasped, her voice all but abandoned her. “Yes.”

For so long, she’d been denied what she wanted, been second-guessed to the point of defeating herself, been forgotten and pushed aside by those she cared for. Qimir knelt before her as the antithesis to her very negative expectations. He encouraged her to not only want but ask, and take. Experimentally, she tightened her fingers in his hair and pulled her back up to her mouth. He moved with grace, his fingers still pushing in and dragging out of her with the same steady rhythm that was rattling her composure with aplomb. In the absence of his mouth, his thumb took up the mantle, rubbing tight little circles in time with the rest of his hand.

His bare chest pressed against her—when had he taken his goddamn shirt off?—and near his hips, something incredibly hot and wet touched her bare thigh. She was too busy kissing him to look down at him, too busy tasting herself on his lips to care.

Tension thrummed beneath his skin, as if his bones were made of struck tuning forks. She wasn’t certain of the reason, but she guessed it had something in common with his pouty face when she pulled him away from the meal he was making of her.

“Fuck, Osha,” he said, his pitch all over the place as he balanced on the tightrope of self-control. He rested his forehead against hers, meeting her eyes just like that morning. “Can I make you come like this?” he asked breathlessly, his fingers curling a little, searching for—

“Ah! Fuck, please, there, please,” she whined, practically squirming beside him.

“So beautiful when you come, can’t wait to see it again,” he said, his movements speeding up only minimally as he sought to abuse the angle that had her crying out for him. “C’mon, baby, wanna feel you. Wanna taste you all fucking day, stay down there for the rest of my fucking life if you wanted me to.”

She almost laughed, for she’d been thinking nearly the same thing. But she couldn’t laugh, not when he was moving just like that and she swore the power was coming back on with how bright the stars flared in her eyes. She garbled out half his name, the syllables sounding foreign on her tongue. “Wanna come,” she whined.

“I know, baby, I know.” His voice took on a deeper edge, dark and sharp like obsidian. “I wanna make you come, too, wanna know this pussy so well you don’t have a goddamn choice but to come when I want you to.” The words blazed through her every vein like a wildfire, all-consuming and inevitable. “Get you to come on my tongue, too, so only I get every fucking drop of you. I’ll never share you. Never.”

“Mine,” she breathed. She felt that whole-body lurching sensation that typically preceded her more devastating orgasms. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he vowed to her. “Only yours.” He kissed her, hot and filthy and fucking delicious.

She whined, her muscles tensing around his fingers to tease at what’s soon to come.

“That’s it, baby. C’mon—oh, fuck,” he groaned as her back arched off the bed towards him. He brought his mouth down to suck at her breasts, tonguing at her nipple between declarations. “Attagirl, that’s my girl, good fucking girl, come for me so pretty.”

She was pretty sure she had shed a few goddamn tears, between all the praise and the overwhelming orgasm he gave to her. This, too, was another language of him to learn. She wanted more. She wanted to be fluent in his desire, too. She kissed him back as best she could, though it was all very messy and wet and unrefined. Her ears were ringing, and she couldn’t fucking move even as he carefully withdrew his fingers from her. She could only watch as he brought them to his lips, first licking the pad of his thumb, and then sucking his two gleaming, wet fingers into his mouth.

And then there was his other hand, moving over his cock in harsh, quick motions. His self-pleasure looked almost violent, and even in her post-orgasm haze, she found herself flushing even hotter at the obscenity of it all. He’d gone from sacred to profane in an instant, a heathen wildman seeking to—

A groan wrenched its way from his throat, declared to the air a moment before hot splashes of his come striped over her belly, even up to her breasts. She felt marked, claimed for him alone. She reveled in the feeling, depraved as it was. She moaned for him, tugging him into relaxation once he finished coming and only shook in place, the aftershocks hitting him hard.

She kissed all over his face, just babbling whatever came to mind. “Fuck, you’re so good, Qimir. So good to me, I love—I loved watching you come,” she whispered, her words coming quicker after her little blunder. With any luck, he didn’t catch the slip-up.

He melted against her side, their slightly sweaty bodies curling together in peace. He said nothing, more contented to simply lay beside her and melt into the coverlet while she all but vibrated with energy. His hand lay limp against her thigh, curled slightly as if to protect her clean skin from the mess on his palms.

She kissed his forehead and got up for them, navigating through her pitch-black apartment with ease of familiarity so she could wet a washcloth and return to him. He hadn’t moved except to roll over on his back, stretched out across the bed.

Yeah, he’s definitely not going to get any personal space in this bed if I have anything to say about it.

He made a noise as she started to clean herself up in the moonlight. He frowned, moving to take the cloth from her and do it for her, but she shook her head. “I’m okay, you just relax.”

He still pouted, but did as she told him to. The small thrill of power whenever that happened always took her off-guard, but she didn’t mind.

She cleaned off her thighs and pussy first before wiping his come off of her belly.

“Did I miss anything?” she asked once she was pretty sure she got all of it.

He shook his head, still mute—but not concerningly so.

Osha stepped closer, acclimated to the darkness enough to see him. She folded the cloth into a clean square and knelt by his side, very gently wiping down his face while he stayed obediently still for her. She followed with his hands, then his own belly, and when it came to the rest—

He took the cloth from her then, thank god.

She pulled on some sleep clothes for herself, and only after she had did he roll into motion, slinking to the floor beside her. He would sprinkle many kisses against her shoulder between stretches, and thank goodness for her sleepiness, because she would have been giggling and tittering at each one otherwise.

If they didn’t whisper goodnight, then that was their secret.

Osha shouldn’t have been doing this shit again.

The first time was bad enough, with Mae just ten feet away in the shower as Osha went through her phone. This time was worse, going through Qimir’s phone while he figured out lunch.

“Can I give Pip some turkey?” he called to her. She nearly fumbled his phone onto the floor.

“Yeah, but not too much! Not even if he asks nicely.”

She wasn’t sweating as she scrolled through his texts, but it was a near enough thing. Seriously, does he save any numbers besides mine?

And then one caught her eye.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: What were you doing in Khofar?

A quick peek at the thread made Osha 99% certain that this was Idise. So she put the number in her phone and waited until he was gone to send a single text.

O: I think we need to talk. You said there were things I should know, and I want to know them.

Idise responded with a place and time.

CHAPTER 20

#unhingery #common grounds #osha x qimir #oshamir #oshamir fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the acolyte #the acolyte fanfiction

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