#feel like i need to put 'warning!! opinion ahead!!' before every post now good lord

[ri-ahhh]

van life

I wasn’t gonna post this because it’s just like an overload of unrealistic softness but now that we know that they’re selling the van I think now is the best time if I’m gonna do it lol.

Also I’m sorry I can’t make this shorter on your dash by putting a ‘keep reading’ break. Tumblr is shitty and permanently fucked on my desktop where it just won’t load the page once I’m logged in so I have to do everything through mobile🙄

6k

warnings: fluff, smut, kinda unedited

***

MJ sighs as warm morning sunlight kisses her skin through the passenger window of the tiny house van. She and Grayson had decided to have a beach day to themselves — the first one of summer — and she could’t be more excited. Nothing makes MJ Macias more content and at peace with her life than laying under the Pacific sun until her nose freckles and her skin takes on that healthy golden hue. Wrinkles are a risk she’s willing to take as long as she has a nice, long podcast, something to munch on, and, of course, a good view of her boyfriend in the surf.

That view of him rivals the one of the ocean in her opinion, which is just past his window as they cruise down the PCH on their way to Malibu. MJ wiggles her white-painted toes on the dashboard and smiles as she watches him sing along quietly (and off-key) to the Tame Impala song filling the cabin of the van. She loves his profile so much: the perfect slope of his nose; his full lips; the chunk of hair that swoops across his forehead.

She lifts their clasped hands from where they rest on her thigh with their fingers threaded together, and kisses the back of his wide palm.

“You’re so handsome, Bear,” MJ murmurs against his skin.

Grayson stops singing long enough to look over at her and smile brightly, his eyes hidden behind his black Louis Vuitton sunglasses. He pulls their hands towards himself so he can copy her kiss, only to her her own soft skin.

“My pretty Peach,” he returns with a squeeze to her palm, making MJ flush the color of her pet name. “Always so beautiful in the mornings.”

MJ hums and takes her turn returning their hands back to her lap, trailing her long nails up and down his muscular, veiny forearm. Apparently they’re equally as headass for each other today. “Just in the mornings?” she teases, tickling the sensitive patch of skin near the crook of his elbow.

She can’t see his eyes roll, but she imagines they do as his grin turns playful. “Of course not, but especially in the mornings. Your hair is in that cute braid and your skin is all silky soft and your eyes are extra green.” He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to appraise her looking exactly as he described. “And, you know, usually on the weekends you’d still be naked at this time. I like that part about mornings, too.”

“Oh, Lord,” she laughs with a shake of her head. “Grayson!”

She gasps his name and giggles harder as he completely catches her off guard by moving their hands right over his hardening cock. MJ squeezes him reflexively, and Grayson gives a little grunt as he shifts in his seat with a smirk.

“What?” he asks in mock defense, placing both hands back on the steering wheel. “I had to show you how much you affect me! I only have to think about you naked in our bed and it goes up.”

“That’s sweet,” MJ says, stroking his dick one more time before moving her hand further down his thigh, “but if you think I’m giving you road head in this car on this twisty road, you’re very mistaken.”

Grayson makes an obnoxious little whiny noise in defeat, pouting playfully and muttering dejectedly, “I knew we should have taken the Tesla.”

MJ raises an eyebrow. “Well, we wouldn’t have been able to bring your surfboard. Or be the first ones to christen the tiny house.”

“Oh, shit,” Gray says quietly, surprised. MJ smiles at the small victory of teasing him, her eyes diverting back to the beautiful scenery ahead of them as her mind wanders to all the things they can do in that makeshift bed.

“How about road hand, then, to start it off?”

She lets out a frustrated huff, his request interrupting her daydream. If there was ever a scenario where she didn't trust Grayson, it was one in which he was receiving any overt sexual pleasure whilst controlling a giant motor vehicle.

“Gray, I love you, but you’re pushing it.”

“Understood.”

***

It takes about half an hour for them to reach their destination, but MJ knows it was worth the drive as soon as they exit the car and she inhales the clean, salty air. They park at a little camping lot they had reserved a spot in for the day, the glittering ocean a mere few hundred feet away.

“Surf looks good,” MJ remarks, her hand shielding her eyes as she gazes out at the water. It always makes her a little nervous when Gray goes out in big swells, so the mild waves are a happy sight for her. “Nice and small; just how I like ‘em.”

Grayson looks out as well as he climbs on the roof of the van to retrieve the surfboard. “Funny, I happen to know for a fact you like ‘em long and wide,” he jokes. He just couldn’t help himself, apparently, his wide smile looking down at her from the top of the ladder a clear display of how proud of the stupid joke he is.

MJ watches the exposed muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple under his skin as he begins wrestling with the hooks and ties securing the board to the roof racks. The sight combined with his words and thoughts of what transpired earlier in the car makes her center pulse dangerously.

Needless to say, he’s successfully turned her on despite her best efforts.

“You’re insufferable, Dolan,” she says with a shake of her head. Her body feels heated from his innuendo and also the midmorning sun that is steadily raising the outside temperature. She pulls off the hoodie she had thrown on in the chilly early morning and steps into the back seat to haul out the cooler and beach bag.

“Yeah, but you love me,” his voice comes from right behind her. She turns around and yelps in surprise when she sees Grayson peeking his head upside down into the cab from the roof. He’s inches from her and is just dangling there like an overgrown monkey, which makes her fall back in the seat in a fit of giggles. He wags his brows at her playfully. “Ooh! Spider-Man kiss!”

MJ rolls her eyes good-naturedly and happily scoots over to clasp his cheeks in her hands, granting his wish by planting a sweet kiss to his lips. The scruff on his chin tickles her nose peculiarly, but she’s not mad at it. “Too much. I love you too much, you goof.”

Finally, with all their beach supplies in hand, they walk together towards the ocean. The private beach that they can access with their camp site is quiet and secluded. Best of all, it isn't clogged with tourists or people in general, which they both greatly prefer. Less people means they’re less likely to be bombarded by fangirls, or paparazzi, or any other unwanted distractions from what MJ hopes will be a perfect day.

As soon as the texture under her feet changes from firm concrete to sunken sand, MJ is stopping to remove her flip-flops so her toes can dig into the fine powder. This moment of first stepping on the beach is one of her favorite experiences, as minute and insignificant as it seems.

She looks up at Grayson, who glances back down at her questioningly. “Race ya,” she challenges suddenly, hauling ass to a perfect open spot on the wide expanse of beach. If there’s one thing she and her boyfriend have in common, it’s a highly competitive spirit.

“Cheater!” Grayson calls after her. He has the surfboard under one arm and the cooler slung over his shoulder, but everyone knows Grayson Dolan is the last person to turn down a competition. Which is why he does his best to catch up to her even with the obstacles in his arms holding him back.

The finish line is also only in MJ’s head, so she stops when she finds a spot she likes. She drops their bag and turns around with her arms raised like Rocky. Grayson isn’t very far behind her, being as in-shape as he is he’s reached her quickly, but he slows down earlier than he really needs to so he can take her in. Her breasts heave beneath a leopard print bikini top, loose hairs escape from her messy french braid, and her long legs glitter with the sand she had kicked up on her run.

She’s the most beautiful, dorky, amazing woman he’s ever seen and she is his.

MJ watches smugly as her boyfriend stalks over to her. “I wi—“

Grayson releases everything he’s carrying to the sand and grasps her face in both hands, pulling her in for a long, lingering kiss. MJ lets out a little squeak of surprise, but she melts into him half a second later. Nothing warms her soul more than his lips on hers, and she wraps her arms around his middle to bring them as close together as possible.

When he pulls back, Grayson stares at her with complete, obvious adoration. Ethan would have called him a simp if he were there, that’s how sappy his twin looks. Grayson can’t help himself, though; he is a simp for MJ, and, truthfully, he doesn’t give two shits who knows it as long as he makes her smile up at him like she is now, every day.

It’s why yesterday he had casually opened a new browser window, convincing himself he was just curiously window shopping on the ring section of Tiffany’s and the like… even after he got sucked into the customization tool on one website for nearly two hours.

Shaking his head and biting his lip through a grin, he traces the freckles on MJ’s cheek. “I want a rematch later.”

MJ squeezes him and smacks his ass playfully before releasing him and reaching into the bag for the big blanket. “You’re always such a sore loser,” she teases, unfolding the cloth and weighing it down with Grayson’s help. She digs through the bag again and hands him his wetsuit. “Go catch some waves. I have to catch up on this podcast by this really sexy guy and his twin brother.”

If there could be snapshots of the rest of the day, they would have been out of a picturesque rom-com. For a while, MJ rests on her tummy as she watches Grayson glide through the water, his deep voice simultaneously reverberating in her ears through her AirPods.

Eventually, when he’s done surfing — looking like a beach Adonis when he walks up the shore with the top half of his wetsuit folded down at his hips, surfboard under his arm and his wet abs glistening in the sun — he joins her on the blanket.

In the early afternoon MJ props herself up on her elbow, appraising his form with hungry, appreciative eyes as he tans on his back next to her. He has his hands pillowed behind his head, which causes his biceps to bulge and her thighs to clench. MJ is lost in him as she trails her finger over the features of his face — down his button nose, smoothing over his arched brows, across his rosy cheeks, against his pillowy lips. She smiles as he sighs contentedly and drops a peck to the tip of his nose before settling with her cheek on his chest. He smells like tanning oil and ocean and that clean, woody musk that MJ knows as him.

Later, they wade around in the sea between batches of sun bathing. At some points, he’s holding her waist-deep in the water with her legs wrapped around his middle and arms around his neck, lips connecting occasionally amidst easy conversation. Other times they have full-on water fights that have her squealing and him laughing as they splash each other back and forth.

It isn’t until the orange and pink hues of the sunset paint the sky that they’re brought back to the beach for good. Once they rinse off and have all of their things collected, they head back to the van.

MJ removes her bikini inside while Grayson reattaches the surfboard to the roof. She slips on her sweatshirt and a fresh pair of soft shorts just in time for him to carefully crack open the back door to make sure she’s decent.

Grayson smiles widely as he crawls in on the already made bed where she sits and is piling her damp hair into a messy bun. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, giving her a lingering kiss while her hands are still mid-twist in her long hair.

A pleasant warmth swoops through her belly at his compliment; it had taken her a while to get accustomed to not only how often Grayson rains sweet praises like that down on her, but how sincerely he means them, too.

She hums into his mouth right before he pulls away. “I left your shorts there, baby,” she says, gesturing behind her with her head. Gray thanks her and she starts to dig through the cooler as he tugs his swimsuit down his inked legs, following them back up with the clean shorts.

They eat dinner with the back doors wide open, a perfect view of the sun setting below the ocean’s horizon right in front of them. A pleasant breeze floats around them in the van, cool and refreshing from being picked up right off the water. MJ nuzzles her cheek on Grayson’s bare shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head as she chews her last bite of tofu.

“Thank you for such a perfect day,” MJ says a minute later, gazing up at him while he takes a sip of La Croix. “Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I felt so…carefree. Loved. In love. Not that you don’t make me feel those things every day, but… y’know. Today was just great.”

Her hand reaches to caress his stubbly cheek, a soft smile at the corner of her full lips. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Gray.”

Grayson looks down at her silently, but his eyes say everything his lips don’t. He tucks his can and their empty tupperware back into the cooler, tossing the bag into one of the back seats behind them so it’s out of the way.

He cups her cheeks in both hands, wasting no more time in bringing their mouths together. MJ sighs and shifts so she’s that much closer to him, just as his tongue prods gently at her pliant lips to coax them open.

They make out like that, slow and deep, with the soundtrack of crashing waves wafting through the open doors. Gray lies her down and supports the back of her head with his forearm, his free hand swooping up and down her side before settling in the dramatic dip of her waist as he pulls away just barely.

Eyes closed, their breaths come heavy and mingle sweetly in the minute space between them. Grayson suddenly lets out a little incredulous huff, shaking his head and diving back in blindly to suck softly on her bottom lip. MJ lets out a little moan and digs her nails gently down his bare back, her eyes fluttering open.

“What?” she asks with a little smile of her own, nuzzling her nose against his in an Eskimo kiss.

Grayson’s hazel orbs meet her green ones, and the hand resting on her waist comes to cup her face once again so he can stroke the new freckles that litter her high cheekbone.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he answers, chuckling at her shocked little gasp. He hurries to clarify himself. “One day, when we’re ready. You’re my world, MJ. Maybe it’s selfish, or self aggrandizing, but hearing you say that makes it so obvious to me that you’re the only person I’d ever want to spend the rest of my life with. Because I feel the same about you. I only ever want to make you feel that way; nothing makes me happier.”

MJ is stunned into silence. Grayson isn’t exactly the most eloquent person, so somehow she reasons that his perfect delivery of such meaningful words means they’re truly heartfelt. Not that she would have doubted him either way, but their relationship has suddenly shifted even deeper in the matter of one day. One simple, amazing day.

She feels the prickle of tears behind her eyes, and bites her lip through a watery smile as she raises her hand to run her fingers through the back of his hair. No matter how happy she is, her instinct for dealing with any emotions is to deflect with humor. “Can’t wait ’til I pop out a few of your babies. From the sounds of it, you’ll be worshipping the ground I walk on.”

That hits him right in the baby fever, his dick hardening even more behind his shorts at the thought of her belly swollen with his child. Joking or not, she’s absolutely right.

“Fuck,” he whispers, grinning as he ducks his head to nibble her favorite spot just behind her jaw and right under her ear. “How many of my babies? Hm?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, scratching lightly at his scalp, considering the question seriously. “Four little Dolan babies, I think. Three boys and a little girl.”

“Yeah,” Grayson agrees easily, making his way across her jaw with soft little suckles. “But make that three girls and a little boy, and you've got a deal.”

MJ giggles and grabs his face so they’re staring each other in the eye again. “No actual baby-making until there’s a ring on this finger.” She wiggles the digits of her left hand, which Grayson grabs and kisses the back of with a smirk. If only she knew just how close that moment might be. “But we can always practice in the meantime.”

Grayson nods and hitches her leg up his hip as he ducks down for a surprisingly chaste kiss considering her invitation a second before. As much as he wants her, he has a need deep in his chest just to be close to her for the moment. To feel her hold him and nuzzle into the warm crook of his neck, sucking gently on that freckle there to make his head swim like after a nice glass of wine.

MJ is just as happy with that arrangement, and she lets her body be still and her breaths tickle the sensitive skin at his collarbone. The ocean breeze billowing through the open doors of the van is cool and salty and comforting.

“It’s crazy,” Grayson whispers after a few peaceful minutes, his fingers starting to trail up and down her covered back slowly. MJ pulls back a little so she can see his face. He isn't looking at her, but rather out the open van doors at the last moments of the sun setting behind the water. “I remember feeling exactly this way the first day we met, only now it’s…more. You felt right then, so right it was scary. And here we are. How did I know that you were my person as soon as you let me walk you back to that tent?”

MJ smiles and her belly swoops. She thinks back to that night, how scared she had been and how instantly — well, as he said — right Grayson had felt the minute they crossed paths.

“I did kind of seduce you,” she chuckles, lifting her head to nibble at the underside of his chin and reveling in the sensation of his deep chuckle vibrating against her lips. “Maybe you’re just under my Black Widow spell. Have I never let it slip I’m only after your money?”

Grayson laughs louder, squeezing her to his body tighter. “Nope. But that’s the MJ I remember falling head over heels for in a matter of hours. Smart and witty and sweet and so fucking pretty with her green eyes and bright smile.”

MJ stares up at him with stars in those emerald eyes he adores so much. He is unreal to both see and hear; his skin has turned olive and his hair has the crisp of the ocean still in it, and the fact that he can still pinpoint the little things he liked about her from so long ago…

“Do you love me?” she asks quietly. It’s so ridiculously unnecessary to ask, he tells her multiple times a day, every day.

“So much, Peach,” he murmurs back predictably, finally swooping down to capture her lips like she wanted earlier, tongues meshing instantly.

He tastes so familiar and sweet. She wants to devour him slowly, intimately, like she has a thousand times before.

“Close the doors?” MJ gasps after the simple swipe of his thumb over her nipple through her sweatshirt makes her thighs tremble and her hips grind onto his half-hard erection. Something about the heartwarming intimacy of the day has translated to her body being physically sensitive beyond belief.

Grayson nods and sits up, reaching for the switch of the fairy lights MJ had hung up a few weeks ago before slamming the doors shut on the nighttime scenery.

While he does as she asked, she scoots up to rest her head on a pillow and watches his bare, chiseled torso glow in the dim, sensual lights. Right as he turns around he catches her struggling to free herself from her hoodie.

“Let me do it, Peach. I wanna do it,” he breathes, dipping down to kiss her soundly before tugging upward on the hem of the soft fabric. MJ drops her head to the pillow to break the seal of their lips, lifting her arms up so he can pull the garment over her head.

Grayson flings it to the front of the van and brings their mouths together so quickly, like he simply can’t be away from her lips for longer than a second. His hands reach up and cup the pliable mounds of her breasts, which are several shades lighter than the rest of her chest. Clearly, he could care less, and MJ sighs softly as he massages them firmly, his calloused palms creating delicious friction on her hypersensitive nipples.

“Still the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, too,” he smirks, making his way across her jaw. MJ smiles too, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the familiar trail down her sternum. Predictably, his warm lips suction around the bud of her left breast, and she lets her mind wander through the pleasure to flash back on the first time he did this.

“We’re still kind of in a tent, too, y’know,” she gasps as he switches sides, letting out her first moan of the night when he scrapes his teeth against her. “Just…more bougie.”

Grayson hums, quickly getting lost in the feel of how soft her tits are and how much he loves the sensation of her hard nipples under his tongue. He drops his hips down so he can grind his full erection against her hot center, eliciting wanton gasps from both of them.

MJ groans again, the feminine sound literal music to his ears and the perfect reinforcement to keep going. She hooks her legs around his waist to hold his hips against her, thrusting up against him as he continues to bite and lick and suckle her breasts.

“Holy shit, Gray, right there… I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, grasping at his hair to hold him down where he was sucking perfectly on her breast, and continues to grind roughly on his dick. Sure enough, a few seconds later she’s shuddering with the most intense orgasm she’s ever had without manual stimulation. Even from Grayson.

Grayson himself can hardly believe it; they have a great sex life, but he can’t remember the last time he had gotten her off just through some intense dry humping.

He isn’t going to question it, though, because it only means one thing: she’s as voracious for him tonight as he is for her. He growls when she starts to come down and surprises her with his mouth planting roughly back on hers. MJ kisses him back lazily as her mind clears some, smiling and fluttering her eyes open to meet his dark gaze when she feels his middle finger replace his tongue in her mouth. She closes her swollen, pouty lips around the digit and sucks, holding onto his hand and maintaining complete eye contact with him when he moans softly. She pulls his hand out of her mouth and pushes it into her shorts.

“Fuck,” he rasps, collecting her slippery cum against his finger, swirling it against his thumb before trailing his middle finger up to her clit. He soaks in her expression as her eyes roll back at the first contact, his favorite reaction she has to his touch. “Fuck, MJ. So fucking wet for me.”

MJ nods quickly, opening her eyes again to watch him watch her. “Lemme taste,” she whimpers.

She pulls his hand back up and doesn’t wait for permission or leave him time to process her demand as she sucks the slick moisture straight off his finger, the taste of herself gracing her tongue causing her pussy to gush even more. When his brain finally catches up, he’s immediately ripping his hand away from her with a harsh groan and hooking it around the back of her neck to kiss her deeply. His tongue plunders her mouth as he searches for traces of that sweet, earthy tang he knows oh-so well. MJ’s hands distractedly push at the waistband of his shorts, desperate for the feel of his dick in her hands.

“Please, baby,” she whines against his lips when they break for air, using the moment of clarity to tug more determinedly at his shorts. “Need you.”

“Need me where?” he teases, backing up so she can’t reach him as he pulls her own shorts down her long, newly tanned legs. Once he flings the scrap of fabric to join her sweater, he ducks down and swipes his tongue quickly over each of her nipples. “Here?”

MJ groans and shakes her head, her brain not operating at enough capacity to tease back, it’s so clouded with desire for him. “Gray…”

Grayson smirks and grabs one of her hands that are coasting down his back and attempting to pull him down against her. He cups her petite palm against his pulsing erection, sighing a little when her fingers wrap around him through his shorts instinctively. He drops his hand and brings it to her pussy, his fingertips dancing delicately against her swollen lower lips. His head swims at how wet she is and how the solid feel of him seems to have brought her mind back to earth, because as soon as he lets go of her hand she delves past his waistband to grip him directly.

“My dick, baby, you need my dick?” he asks softly, his voice a little high and his breath pitchy as she strokes him steadily now.

MJ moans and her pussy throbs simply at his words. She nods hastily. “Need it in me,” she manages, meeting his heated gaze as she gives him a firm squeeze. “Love your dick.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, his touch leaving her as he helps her in getting him completely naked, kicking his shorts off when they reach his ankles.

He takes a moment to gather himself and to slow down, trying to get himself back in that intimate headspace they were so deep in earlier, so that this doesn’t turn into just a hot, hard fuck. They love that, and it’s kind of their bread and butter in the bedroom. But he wants to hold her close and savor her body, to pass that loving energy between them in the most special, physical way.

MJ’s chest heaves as she watches Grayson hover above her, staring at her, and she parts her legs to welcome him back into her space. He looks like a fucking Greek god in the low light, his hair curly from the saltwater and sweat, his skin golden and his muscles bulging. She can’t possibly want him any more than in that moment.

“C’mere,” she whispers, reaching her arms out and making grabby hands at him. She can’t allow another second to go by without the sensation of his smooth skin against hers.

Grayson smiles sweetly at her, eyes sultry as he lowers himself at her request and presses their bodies together from chests to centers. She cups his cheeks and scratches her fingers against his scruff as they kiss slowly, deeply, desire building intensely once again as they grind together at the middle.

“Please, Grayson,” she finally says again.

All thoughts of any more teasing are out the door as Grayson obliges her. He dips his fingers in her pussy, testing her readiness and using her sweet juices to coat his dick.

MJ spreads her legs up and out, bent at the knees, and she throws her head back with a gasp as he enters her in a short thrust; a little more on the second, until he bottoms out with the third.

“Fuck me,” she whimpers, her hands pushing on the firm globes of his ass.

Grayson obeys with a groan, drawing his hips in and out steadily. “Wanna fuck you slow,” he says in her ear, thrusting all the way in and all the way out. The warm clutch of her perfect pussy is so intense at that tempo that he shudders and his eyes roll back. “Slow and deep, Peach.”

“Yes,” MJ agrees, her breaths coming in fast despite the maintained speed of his dick. He’s working her up so good, and she leans forward to bite into the junction of his neck and shoulder out of habit to keep her sounds muffled.

“Yes, baby,” she squeals quietly when her minute adjustment shifts the angle just right for him to hit her spot over and over. Her nails claw at his back, scraping over the work of art that is both his rippling muscles and the picture of the lions inked into them. “Oh my God, keep fucking me like that.. like that…”

The air confined in the van is warm and thick. Sweat drips from the ends of his hair, his hot breaths fan over her forehead, and his chain dangles enticingly across her face as he stares down at her all blissed out beneath him. Nothing turns him on more than her words of encouragement, which are usually muted due to the fact that his omnipresent twin brother lives across the hall. But now that they’re alone, in nature — just like the night they met — all filters are off. It makes him even more determined to get her to cum so hard she forgets any of those sweet praises she’s mumbling other than his name.

It’s already so, so good, but as soon as he gets on his knees just enough to gain more leverage to thrust even harder into her, that knot in MJ’s stomach starts growing in a fantastically unfamiliar way. Her eyes roll back and Grayson reaches a huge hand up to support her head against his shoulder, sensing how perfect the angle is for her and wanting to help her maintain it. She’s getting tighter and wetter around him, so much so that he has to grit his teeth and hiss to avoid having to pull out and stop.

“MJ,” he moans into her ear, tugging on her lobe with his teeth, an unspoken warning that he’s close. He’ll hold on as long as he can, but he absolutely needs to get her there first.

In the back of her mind, she comprehends his cue. But she’s so focused on reaching the bursting point of that expanding ball behind her belly, she can’t help but selfishly draw every ounce of pleasure she can from him. She thinks she knows what’s going to happen, and it will be a first-time experience for both of them.

It’s only going to take a few more deep, hard thrusts, and she’ll be there. Almost there…

“Gray!” she squeaks, squeezing a hand between their bodies to push against his abs, just in time for him to pull out and her to gush all over him and the blankets serving as makeshift sheets beneath them. It’s an indescribable release that washes over her, her own loud, shaky squeals of pleasure distant noises in the back of her head. She can only see colors behind her closed eyelids, greens and blues and lavenders sparkling in her mind’s eye like a mystical fog.

Grayson can’t believe what he’s seeing. His shocked and aroused groan sounds obnoxiously loud and foreign in his own ears; the fact that he doesn’t bust his nut right there on the blanket next to hers is a miracle. Instinctively, he reaches his fingers down to help her through it by rubbing her clit, huffing out an incredulous laugh when her thighs clamp instantly around his hand and a little more of her juices come out, soaking his hand. His name tumbles repeatedly out of her lips, just like he was aiming for and unwittingly exceeding his own expectations.

He’s painfully hard as he leans over her again, kissing her through her mindless whimpers as she starts to slowly come-to, her damp thighs opening once again and allowing him to slip between them. Right where he belongs.

“MJ?” he whispers, stroking her brow softly and watching her face intently. “You okay?”

Eyes still closed and breasts heaving, MJ takes a second to respond, but she moans quietly and nods, puckering her lips in invitation for him to meet with his. He obliges, indulging her for a moment until he can’t wait anymore. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside,” she breathes at once, reaching down to grasp him and bring him to her dripping pussy. Grayson flinches at her sudden grip on him and the overwhelming wetness against the sensitive head of his dick. “Come on, Bear. Want you to cum hard inside me.”

With a groan, he slides back inside her, and a few hard, sloppy thrusts later, he’s shooting deep in her pussy. He’s never cum so hard in his life, and he whines into her mouth with the timing of his spurts. She hums contentedly, obsessed with that feeling of warmth that comes with, well, his cum.

“So good,” he murmurs when he’s finally done, pulling out of her slowly. He grabs a spare towel and cleans up the liquid white that follows him dripping from her center. “That was incredible, MJ. You’re incredible.”

MJ shakes her head in agreement, clapping a hand to her forehead and giggling softly, her knees bent and swaying side to side. “I thought we had done everything to try to get that to happen. Turns out we just had to go back to the beginning.”

Grayson lies down next to her, turning her head with a gentle hand on her cheek so he can press their lips together. “I love you,” he says simply. “My pretty Peach.”

MJ grabs a blanket and tosses it over the both of them, brushing her nose against his once they’re cuddled together. “And I love my Gray Bear. Mine.”

“Yours,” he whispers in affirmation, tucking her head into the crook of his neck until they’re both lulled to sleep in their cozy little bougie tent.

[scionofchaos]

A Series on Witches - Part 2

This is the second in a series of posts on the nature of witches and magic practitioners as I have witnessed, as well as some notes on common spiritual practice, and the nature of humanity. Lots of broad material to cover, so I'm going to go ahead and get started. If you get to the end of this post, and you find you have things to say, I welcome you to please comment, reblog, however you feel appropriate, or private message me if you'd prefer, and let's get the discussions started!

Last time, we covered the basics about human boundaries and why we experience frustration when those boundaries are unknowingly breached. I also gave some of my educated opinions on ways to adapt, given the covered material. Today, I would like to assert that this concept of boundaries also extends to mystical practice. In the animist cultures of Native America, Russia, Japan, and similar places, the general understanding is "Spirits exist, and can affect this world anywhere you go." There is no concept among shamans of "a place where there are no spirits" or "a place where spirits do not go." There are some protective measures: talismans restricting spiritual activity, blessings and prayers to call on a powerful spirit's protection, curses to call on specific spiritual activity, and so on. There are trees with ribbons tied to them, and holes with coins buried in them, etc. But these are not sanitary; they do not have a claim to working 99.99% of the time. Nor would circling your bed with Purel be a good replacement. These naturalistic peoples understood that the spirits are everywhere, and to an extent, spirits will do whatever they want. What they attempted was to beg and beseech for the spirits to hear them, and to accept their desperate pleading and sacrifices and appeasements as payment for not causing harm. This is no different than paying tithe to a feuding warlord, or offering one's family members to a rampaging force of humans for protection from harm that rampaging force would cause. Payment to a lord or to the mafia is only slightly distinct from this.

There are subcultures within the magical community that have beliefs different than this. Beliefs like "Evil spirits fear the name of my God, and if I speak it, they will cower." Beliefs like "If I draw a circle in chalk, with these symbols in it, and perform the necessary rituals, then the spirits will have to respect that space/cannot violate that space." Many believe these things because a recognized magical authority told them to. Just like paying the Lord taxes because he says he is the Lord, and your neighbors do it, and they say he is the Lord. But what if we go with a different example? What if you told the mafia "no," and they burned down your shop? Maybe now you'll be more willing to pay them, if you're still alive or in the same city. What if you didn't bag up and hang your food when camping, and a bear came into your camp? Maybe now you'll camp responsibly. Just the same, there are practitioners who played with fire, and the spirits caused them problems. They tried something to protect themselves against the spirits, and it worked, so they've done it ever since. Not all threats are equal. You might pay the mafia dues, but then some punk off the street breaks into your house. You offer to pay him. He shoots you, takes your stuff, and leaves. You might put your food up in bear bags, but a new bear "comes to town." This one has killed before, and has a taste for human blood (as well as a mind-debilitating infection, we'll say). When this one comes to your camp, he's not looking for cans of Spam, he's looking for tasty humans in a flimsy tent. Your bear bags do nothing.

What is all that rambling meant to say? If a circle worked for you before, don't be deluded into thinking it works on all spirits. If an incantation worked before, don't think it works for every spirit. I have met spirits who have been confronted with tens of names for the Christian god, for the Jewish god, for the Muslim god. Whether or not these are the same being is not important in this example. Faithful servants, deacons, priests, Imams of such religions have confronted these spirits in the name of their god, and it did nothing. The spirits laughed. Some have told me they played nice anyway, then attacked when a later offense provoked them. Some told me of their deliberate breach of that confrontation, immediately and without mercy. When you invoke a god like that, you are telling the spirit in front of you two things:

a) "This is the name of a spirit who is bigger and stronger than you, meaning that both you and I are smaller and weaker than they." and b) "I am calling on assistance from this powerful spirit, so you had better attack quickly before their intervention takes place."

You better be sure that your god is not only stronger, but is ready and willing to act quickly enough that the offending spirit will not harm you. Because if your god arrives five months later and says, "You called for help? Where is the enemy?" then that is a problem. That is why I swear by having the power and the skill, by yourself, to handle anything that comes your way. If you are prepared, the only other thing you can do is choose not to provoke a spirit. Stay clear, give them space, convey your intent not to involve yourself in their affairs. If you choose to engage with an unknown spiritual power, as I often do, then you are willingly putting yourself in a position to be attacked by something you are not prepared to handle. Because I have made that conscious choice for myself, my preference is to deal with all spirits openly and honestly, to observe them carefully, and to make it clear immediately what I deem to be a threat, and how I deal with threats. Even so, I have been attacked. Even so, I have encountered beings I could not handle, and I paid the price. It is much safer to show deference and back off.

That being said, how do I relate magical boundaries to physical ones? I apply a "natural lawn" approach to my environment. When living with others, I have asked them if there are any wards they wanted me to put up. I put up nothing else. Now that I live alone, I have my own personal defenses and nothing further. I have standing rules that any spirit which enters my home must not be seen. If it is seen, it will be confronted. If it remains unseen, but chooses to sneak-attack me, it will pay the price for this subterfuge. These rules are clearly written external to my wards, and my intentions are projected into my home at all times, like a warning alarm. I make no attempt to construct wards or defenses around my yard, or around my street, or around my town. Natural lawn. If the spirits lived here before I arrived, if they migrate here on occasion, then they have as much right to be here as I do, and will not be challenged unless they make themselves known to me (intentionally or not) or invade my personal space (intentionally or not).

I am not recommending my way as "The Way." It is a spiritual practice developed for my personal abilities and needs, and I am not acting as safe as possible, due to a level of confidence in my ability to communicate and defend myself as needed.

[moonmothmama]

ok. so. The Princess Bride. i read it yesterday.

and right up front, before even a review, i’m gonna go ahead and list everything objectionable in the book that i can recall. please don’t take the length of the bullet pointed items to follow as an indication that the book was wildly problematic and offended me at every turn; it wasn’t and it didn’t. but there were some things that made me go: 😑 or 😒, and here it all is, presented with context, before anything else, because to be honest, i didn’t expect any of it. the film is relatively spotless, which is pretty rare for that era, and if any of you are thinking of reading it, you could do with being more prepared for this than i was.

first off, racism. two passing remarks. one isn’t even in the story proper; it’s in the first whole long intro bit from the author/narrator. that takes some explanation, i suppose: like in the film, the story is presented as a book having been written by “S. Morganstern,” except instead of a grandfather reading to his sick grandson, the narrator is interjecting with notes on the original text that he has abridged. the beginning is a whole long shpiel that, in my opinion, could have been significantly pared down with absolutely zero loss to the story (which! hey! the film did perfectly! go figure!). anyway, the first racist remark is an absolutely tasteless line in which the narrator pisses and moans about his fat son, making a crack about “painting him yellow” and making him a sumo wrestler. y i k e. the other passing remark is from Miracle Max (really, truly, the film version of this scene is miles better than the book version, but contains an important plot detail, so you should prob still read it, but i’ll give you the lowdown if you wanna skip). he refers to Iñigo as a sp*ck (rather bafflingly, i might add, bc Iñigo is a Spanish man... from Spain... not a Hispanic or Latino man from Latin America. so. i mean i’m certainly not an expert on slurs but... i have never in my life heard that term in reference to a person from Spain, and am virtually certain it was invented to refer to ppl from the americas) and in the same breath uses an objectionable term for a Polish person. sooo... again: y i k e. what gets me is that... these could’ve just been edited out? why weren’t they? i mean i know why but

fat shaming! see above. though to be honest, any true negativity about fatness is restricted to the author/narrator’s interjections; there are a few minor fat characters in the story and those depictions, without being too long-winded or spoilery, didn’t offend me (fyi: i’m fat). if you want the details, please feel free to message me about it.

if we can go back to the whole long beginning shpiel from the author/narrator, it’s just... eh. he comes off as kind of a jackass, tbh. not even halfway through it i found myself more than a little impatient for the story to begin, and that could be at least partly because the film spoiled me with a lovely, not annoying, not problematic scene of Granddad Columbo reading to Baby Fred Savage where no one made any racist remarks or ragged on fat kids. the basic gist, if you want to skip it, is that the author, as a kid, had this book read to HIM by his father, who was a Florinese immigrant, and nearly illiterate in English, but still labored over reading the English translation to his American-born son, who adored the book and requested it read to him dozens and dozens of times over the years, refusing to read it himself (though he read plenty of other books). as an adult, he buys his son the book, and is crushed when the son doesn’t like it. he then reads it for the first time, and realizes his father skipped over huge, boring blocks of text. he read his son only The Good Parts. so he decides to edit that shit out himself and release the abridged version he loves so much. add into that some complaining about his wife and some extra blah blah, and that’s pretty much it.

you remember the scene in the movie where The Man In Black/Westley almost slaps Buttercup for what he believes is lying? in the book he actually slaps her. not that his actions seem supported or endorsed by the text, but still, there you are. Buttercup does push him off a cliff soon after, though, so. i wouldn’t call that ‘even’ exactly but, shrug

Vizzini, in the book, has a fucky leg and his back isn’t quite straight, and he’s referred to repeatedly as a “humpback” or “hunchback” which needless to say is Not Kosher

that, as i recall, is it. i hope i’m not forgetting anything. now onto content/trigger warnings:

alcoholism. this shouldn’t be a surprise if you’ve seen the movie: Iñigo has some, shall we say, issues

Fezzik’s parents were... terrible. CPS would be all over them. spoiler: basically they emotionally blackmailed their son into fighting professionally, which they knew he hated, by telling him they’d abandon him if he didn’t

Buttercup has some kinda messed up (read: unsettling but in no way graphic) nightmares after leaving Westley when they’re found by Prince Humperdinck at the Fire Swamp, mostly involving bearing children to the Prince who she once again is set to marry

the slurs and whatnot i mentioned above

violence, obviously. nothing worse than the film as i recall.

that’s it i think. 

okay. all that said. did i enjoy the book? yes i did. a lot.

now, you might be thinking: jesus, Kathleen, after all the shit you just listed? and to this i reply: listen. there is no Unproblematic Media, so you either enjoy some things that are flawed, or you enjoy nothing at all. there is plenty of objectionable shit in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit! fucking plenty! and i love those books! and so do plenty of other people! in my own humble opinion, the good story is worth the shitty bits, because the shitty bits aren’t like, fundamental to the plotline. the story isn’t built on offensive humor or nasty, bigoted attitudes. and they’re also not the most egregious examples of Objectionable Content i’ve come across- not by a longshot. there are levels to offense. there are tiers of bullshit. this is on a far lower tier than a whole host of other things i could mention. but if any of this stuff i’ve listed crosses a line for you, i totally understand and respect that. that’s why i’ve bothered to list it at all. imo, how you respond to objectionable content is important: you don’t ignore it or excuse it, you acknowledge and criticize it. and if you still enjoy whatever the thing is, you allow yourself to enjoy it, without getting hissy or defensive with people for whom the objectionable content ruined the book/movie/whatever. 

there you go, there’s my disclaimer for having enjoyed the book. your mileage may vary.

okay. so. review time.

Buttercup is a far more interesting character in the book than the movie, for which the movie can’t be faulted all that much, because you can’t easily translate a character’s inner monologue/unspoken thoughts to the screen, especially not with the time limit that comes with the medium of film. but watching her struggle with her feelings and life choices (and... lack thereof, since her choice is between marrying the prince and being put to death, which isn’t much of a choice, even if she tries to reason it out later by telling herself she COULD have said no... and initially did) creates far more of a bond between her and the reader in the book than, personally, i felt watching the movie. also she has a great line after Westley calls her beautiful at their reunion- she says something like, ‘everyone’s always calling me beautiful, i have a mind too, why don’t you talk about that’

Both Westley and Buttercup are immature, naive, and foolish in the beginning, and if Westley strikes you as Extra Dickish, a) rewatch the film! he did act like a bit of a dick, there, didn’t he? b) remember that in the story he’s a young man between the ages of eighteen and twenty five, which in my considerable experience is the age at which young men are generally at their peak of Asshole. sorry dudes

and not that Buttercup herself is a complete peach! she deals very poorly with her emotions in general and acts kinda shitty herself once or twice. i won’t say too much lest i spoil everything that’s different between the film and the book.

Prince Humperdinck is also a more three dimensional character; still a rat bastard tho.

onto Fezzik and Iñigo.

as i have said in other blog posts, these boys are... pretty much the whole reason i sought out the book. and... jesus. 

you get all the way into the tragic backstories that were only hinted at in the film. okay, Iñigo’s backstory was more than hinted- but of course you go so much deeper in the book- and Fezzik’s was less than hinted, reduced mostly to a peek at the insecurity that Vizzini exploits and preys upon to keep him in line. not that you’d have to expend a great effort to him to keep him in line; his personality is docile and non-confrontational. truly not the slightest bit aggressive by nature. he’s also kinda clingy and needy, which is a thousand percent understandable given his childhood, and tbqh doesn’t need to be browbeaten for Vizzini to keep him on his short, cruel leash. which makes it all the more painful! hurrah! 😭

also you actually get to meet Iñigo’s father, Domingo Montoya, in a flashback, aaaand... i kinda love him. probably predictable if you know me.

anyway. tragic backstories. which further illuminate the emotional and psychological issues that make them so dependent on Vizzini, and turn them to lives of crime in his employ. poor boys! oy gevalt. sympathy abounds; i honestly don’t know how you could go through the book and not fall at least a little bit in love with this duo, whose friendship is precious and adorable and a balm to the soul that is aching from their painful life stories and unhealthy coping mechanisms. they’re each, very plainly, the only friend the other has in the world, and are constantly helping and bolstering one another. it’s heartbreakingly sweet. i think those boys will be alright as long as they stick together.

and now, the repeated theme of the book, that is presented with far less intensity in the film: life isn’t fair. which, one supposes, is true. but while the narrator’s framing of that assertion may give you the same misgivings they gave me- bitching about his fat son and his less than ideal relationship with his wife- you can also step back and appreciate it as a wee pearl of wisdom. life is often unfair, but that doesn’t mean it’s altogether bad or that you can’t enjoy it. idk, that’s my attitude, man. 

i could talk about the ending here, but i won’t. at least not too much. not to spoiler-ish-ly. if you don’t want to know anything about the book’s ending at all, feel free to not read the last bit here, except for the very last lines which are bolded.

ready? yes? no?

...

the ending to the book is different than the movie. there is a more philosophical, open ended conclusion than you could really get away with in a movie. at least this movie.

just throwing it out there: i believe in happy endings. ones in real life. but i kind of disagree with the author a little bit, in that i don’t think happy endings necessarily have to be perfect and unblemished to qualify as happy endings. that may be the way “happily ever after” is generally presented, but to me, “happily ever after” means, maybe some shit happened, but none of it was completely devastating, and in the final analysis, life was satisfying. that’s the kind of real life happy ending i’m aiming (and hoping) for. this might sound vague but i hope it’ll make sense if you read the book.

if you wanna do that, btw, i read it for free online at allnovel dot net.

[makebelievetimeformymind]

Don’t believe me, ask him. Pt 1

THIS IS JUST A RE-BLOG BECAUSE I WENT AHEAD AND MADE A PAGE FOR MY WRITING. For now on I will be posting it all to this one... so please follow :) again, thank you all for reading writing!! <3<3<3 @soythedemonqueen @dragongirl420 @srj1990 @deathly-smirk @sofreddie

Update:: shout out to @soythedemonqueen for the Aesthetic, forgot to leave the credit! All other gifs were found through google.

Characters: Dean & Sam Winchester, Jaslyn (OFC), Silas (OMC), Unknown Characters (due to still making my mind up): Daddy & Mama

Word count: 2,014

Summary: After skipping town after town Jaslyn finally found one she could see her self settle in. For awhile that is at least. Only for the normal supernatural life to follow her there due to her normal old habits always catching up to her. She didn’t see this coming a millions miles away though. Was her luck about to change for the better or was she gonna be stuck packing up going off on the run again? Only this time with the Winchester's on her trail?

Warning: (Not too sure what all to put here) Language, speaking of drug use and alcohol, simple flirting, (18+ only), this one don’t apply too much for this one but there's no telling what may come.

A/N: I do not own supernatural or any of it's characters besides the OFC's I have created. Do not repost my work anywhere without my permission please. That is if it is even good enough for such wanting. This is my first try at any fan fiction writing. Please be honest with how you feel about it. The only way to get better in my mind is by taking others opinion's into thought. Unless it's just hate crap, then save it for the birds.

I was walking up to the bar when I spotted him. A place I said I'd never be at but right now I was desperate and this was where Silas wanted to meet. 'Of all towns…'

 From time to time I just want to feel... feel.. Well, just fucken feel something. Anything! Sometimes I need to remember what it is like to be able to have feelings. To have emotions pump through and fill my body with ounces of adrenaline. Living the boring life of work and home is starting to wear me down. Maybe he was right, perhaps I'm not meant to live the normal life. 'I'll be damned if I wasn’t gonna prove his ass wrong’ I just had to find the right amount of balance.

He was sitting at the bar alone, a file in one hand and a glass in the other. Judging by the lineup of upside down glasses he done had his share of a few and then some, food taking up the rest of the space. Looking like he hadn't ate in days.

"Double shot of Jack, please sir." I said, casually leaning up on the bar with my elbows and fist under my chin. The bartender nodded silently. 'I hope I'm not about to be waiting forever an a day' Peaking down his shoulder I could see the picture of a chick laying face down on top of a bloodstained mattress. Next to it was a covered end table full of beer bottles and an over flowing ash tray. Blood covered the side of the wall and head board; a murder scene. My stomach twisted into a knot forcing myself to watch the bartender instead. He wasn’t in any rush about getting my drink made either. Taking his time pulling the glass from under the bar and strolling over to the ice bucket, few cubes later he was finally pouring my liquor.

There it was. The reason I was here…. The image of her body was drilled into my head already. Seeing those didn’t help my case.

I slammed it back quickly while the gentlemen watched me from the corner of his eye. Slowly drinking his drink it didn't take long for the file to be put down. I couldn't help but eye ball his arms through the mirror in front of us. My lord, those biceps. 'Wouldn't Daddy looove that!' That thought alone gave me tingle up and down my spine.

"Another one please sir, if you don't mind." I called out to the bartender as he was passing by. Giving me a slight glance he poured a shot. "A double please my good man." I said, in the sweetest voice possible. He poured some more. I put it back as if it was water. "You might as well go ahead and pour another one", I said quickly before he walked too far away. Digging into my pocket to slide him a twenty all I could think was this fool next to me must think I'm a basket case. 'Hope this covers it… where in the fuck is his ass'

"I'll take a refill before she finishes off the bottle.." He said, tilting his glass back all the way. "You might wanna slow down there little lady. Wouldn't wanna end your night too quickly. I haven’t even got your name yet." A chuckle slipped through his lips. His eyes started to trail from my head to feet. Narrowing my eyes back he smirked licking his lips. "I don’t mean any disrespect." 'Rumors hold up to be true, no doubt'

I brought the glass to my lips taking a small sip this time. Looking down at the table I rolled my glass around on its bottom. I could feel the numbness start to creep up my feet through my ankles. If tonight wasn't a success the pain would soon be unbearable. He would only be right if I didn't succeed. I kept checking my phone for any sign from Silas every five minutes it seemed, still nothing. 'Small sips are for bitches' I thought, back the liquid gold went.

"The faster you toss em back the quicker the buzz hits." Truth was if I didn't get a quick buzz I would walk out. I hated places like these. So dirty. The low lighting making the thick smoke seem thicker than it already was. I had a stab in my chest as I inhaled it and the clouds always irritated my eyes. So much fucken smoke. The fact that it wasn’t even the good kind was a deal breaker for me. I'm no saint and will cut a line or two with the best of them but that's one thing… I just can't stand cigarettes.

The smile he flashed sent sparks through me. Pure perfection. I heard the rumors through the grapevine but they didn't give him any justice. Forcing me to look elsewhere my heart fluttered. 'Where did that come from??'  

"Honestly, I don't drink much. I'm more a natural type of chick myself. But that’s just like a man, to assume.” I said. My phone started to go off. 'Awesome this loser is bailing' I know the look on my face was unpleasant as I glanced at my phone. Holding my words took some work but was do able. Keeping my face expression under control was a different story. It could a story of its own.

"Sorry, I gotta take this." He nodded at me as I turned my back to him. I could feel my jaw clinch.

"Where the fuck is you dude. You know I don't like waiting at these places" my voice was a little louder than tended and Dean did a cough to signal he heard my insult. Giving him a small tender smile to say I'm sorry, I slowly got up to give some space between us. Getting mentally ready for Silas's excuse I make my way to the junk box. Just as I posted up against it… in he walked. "You little slim ball. How are you going to just sale me out like that" The anger flowing through me made me lose all thought that I was in public right now. Black was all I saw. My own friend leaving me high and dry was enough but for him to call daddy on me is a whole new level of low. This was the last thing I saw coming.

"Jaslyn, I don’t expect you to understand and it's not what you think. I had no choice.. He showed up when I was walking out the door. What in the fuck was I suppose to do?!" His voice sounded guilt free. And had every right to be, sadly. There was nothing he could of done in his power to stop him. "You can only skip so many towns before getting caught up to. How long did you expect this one to last? He’ll always know you know. Just let him talk to you so he feels his duty is done. Plus, I got that if you still want it…." Silas words stung.

"Yeah. Well, you're still a bitch ass pussy in my book though." was all I said. Hanging up I walked back to the bar ignoring the fact he was watching me from the shadows. Taking my place next to Dean again I hoped he wouldn’t come waltzing over. But how would he explain his presence for being here? What was he gonna say?

'Fuck’

Flagging the bartender down I called out as loud as possible, “Two doubles please…" I couldn’t finish my statement before Dean was making chuckles. 'Bet you don’t come say a word.. I dare you'

"Hell of a phone call I take it. Boyfriend problems. Or is it girl…" tilting his head down at his empty glass he frowned. "Let me get in on that." He said to the bartender who was already in top of my command. Guess the look on my face said I didn't have time to wait on his slow ass this time like before.

I rolled my eyes at him grabbing both glasses in hand. "You sure do live up to your reputation" 'Shit, shut the fuck up Jas." It was already too late. His attention was more than caught and his narrowed his eyes made panic rush over me. One after another down the hatch they went. His eyes stayed squinted at me. "As a normal man" I quickly said. I peaked over Dean’s shoulder to see if daddy was still among the shadows. To my surprise he wasn’t. A little of relief eased through my shoulders. I'll see him later. No doubt. If I know Daddy he was outside next to my car.

"Well, what can I say. I am a man, doll face." His face said it all. He done forgot all about the dead broad in his folder. Poor chick. Victim to an unfortunate event that landed me in this bar to begin with. Didn’t matter if I took Silas up on his offer or not her death was out of vain. It was still partly on my shoulders. I couldn’t help but glance at the folder ever once in awhile. "So, you never gave a name" His voice was of tone like he had been trying to get my attention. How long had I been looking at the folder full of gruesome photos?

"Uh, Jaslyn..." I said quickly. Something wasn’t right. Why would Silas give me up to Daddy but still hits me up with his offer. That doesn’t add up. There is no way anybody else beside father was on his trail. "What about you? Do you have a name?" I tried to give a smirk but I just can’t over ride this feeling deep in my pit. Good thing I wouldn’t have to keep this act up for long. On my fifth or sixth glance over Dean’s shoulder checking for Daddy again I saw Sam walk in.

"Names Dean" His eyes followed where my eyes were over his back side. "And out the window this goes”

"Okay, get this. Rene wasn’t alone when she left her last bar stop. Looks like she...” Dean jabbed him in his ribs to hush him quickly. "What the hell was that for?"

Dean nodded over toward me sitting on the bar stool. "Meet Jaslyn, we were just enjoying a small chat before you came and interrupted." I couldn’t help but laugh. It's always nice to see firsthand instead of going by rumors.

"That’s okay Dean. Perhaps I'll see you around sometime. I gotta jet. Anyhow." 'More like I need to find Silas before Daddy finds me'

"Aww, you're not really gonna go just because he shows his face. Look, your ugliness scared her away" He motioned his hands to Sam's direction. I let out another giggle. The liquor surly was setting in. "Come on lady, you just gonna leave? Let’s have one more shot.."

Sam rolled his eyes smiling at me. I repeated and did the same. "It looks to me as if you have some work to tend to Agent Dean..." I let the words 'agent dean' linger off my tongue. Leaning over his arm holding the drink I tapped on the ‘FBI’ folder. The look on Sam's face almost made me lose all composers. Him trying to study my faces as if he is gonna get a read on me. "If you don’t believe me, ask him."

Nodding to Sam I got up off the stool and searched my pocket for another twenty. I gave Dean a wink, "Keep the change." I said to the bartender. Turned around and made my way toward the front door.

Mama always said, "Never turn around as you're walking away." But Mama wasn’t here was she… and I've never been as strong as her. Making a quick glance over my shoulder while pushing the door open I caught Dean looking up in my direction. Sam was already back into detective mode. 'Not the only weak one perhaps.. '

part 2, coming soon!!!

[dfroza]

to illuminate the path “Home”

is the True purpose of writing spiritual words upon the heart and its rebirth by revealing the mysteries (the secrets) of God’s Heart

and to be entrusted to conserve this is something of significance, just as we see in the preservation of the Scriptures in Today’s reading of Paul’s Letter of First Corinthians with chapter 4:

Don’t imagine us leaders to be something we aren’t. We are servants of Christ, not his masters. We are guides into God’s most sublime secrets, not security guards posted to protect them. The requirements for a good guide are reliability and accurate knowledge. It matters very little to me what you think of me, even less where I rank in popular opinion. I don’t even rank myself. Comparisons in these matters are pointless. I’m not aware of anything that would disqualify me from being a good guide for you, but that doesn’t mean much. The Master makes that judgment.

So don’t get ahead of the Master and jump to conclusions with your judgments before all the evidence is in. When he comes, he will bring out in the open and place in evidence all kinds of things we never even dreamed of—inner motives and purposes and prayers. Only then will any one of us get to hear the “Well done!” of God.

All I’m doing right now, friends, is showing how these things pertain to Apollos and me so that you will learn restraint and not rush into making judgments without knowing all the facts. It’s important to look at things from God’s point of view. I would rather not see you inflating or deflating reputations based on mere hearsay.

For who do you know that really knows you, knows your heart? And even if they did, is there anything they would discover in you that you could take credit for? Isn’t everything you have and everything you are sheer gifts from God? So what’s the point of all this comparing and competing? You already have all you need. You already have more access to God than you can handle. Without bringing either Apollos or me into it, you’re sitting on top of the world—at least God’s world—and we’re right there, sitting alongside you!

It seems to me that God has put us who bear his Message on stage in a theater in which no one wants to buy a ticket. We’re something everyone stands around and stares at, like an accident in the street. We’re the Messiah’s misfits. You might be sure of yourselves, but we live in the midst of frailties and uncertainties. You might be well-thought-of by others, but we’re mostly kicked around. Much of the time we don’t have enough to eat, we wear patched and threadbare clothes, we get doors slammed in our faces, and we pick up odd jobs anywhere we can to eke out a living. When they call us names, we say, “God bless you.” When they spread rumors about us, we put in a good word for them. We’re treated like garbage, potato peelings from the culture’s kitchen. And it’s not getting any better.

I’m not writing all this as a neighborhood scold just to make you feel rotten. I’m writing as a father to you, my children. I love you and want you to grow up well, not spoiled. There are a lot of people around who can’t wait to tell you what you’ve done wrong, but there aren’t many fathers willing to take the time and effort to help you grow up. It was as Jesus helped me proclaim God’s Message to you that I became your father. I’m not, you know, asking you to do anything I’m not already doing myself.

This is why I sent Timothy to you earlier. He is also my dear son, and true to the Master. He will refresh your memory on the instructions I regularly give all the churches on the way of Christ.

I know there are some among you who are so full of themselves they never listen to anyone, let alone me. They don’t think I’ll ever show up in person. But I’ll be there sooner than you think, God willing, and then we’ll see if they’re full of anything but hot air. God’s Way is not a matter of mere talk; it’s an empowered life.

So how should I prepare to come to you? As a severe disciplinarian who makes you toe the mark? Or as a good friend and counselor who wants to share heart-to-heart with you? You decide.

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 4 (The Message)

and the same chapter repeated in The Voice:

Rather than power brokers, think of us as servants of the Anointed One, the Liberating King, caretakers of the mysteries of God. Because we are in this particular role, it is especially important that we are people of fidelity and integrity. It makes little difference to me how you or any human court passes judgment on me. I even resist the temptation to compare myself to the ever-changing human standard. Although I am not aware of any flaw that might exclude me from this divine service, that’s not the reason I stand acquitted—the only supreme judge, our Lord, will examine me in the proper time. So resist the temptation to act as judges before all the evidence is in. When the Lord comes, He will draw our buried motives, thoughts, and deeds (even things we don’t know or admit to ourselves) out of the dark shadows of our hearts into His light. When this happens, the voice of God will speak to each of us the only praise that will ever matter.

Right now, brothers and sisters, the best thing I can do for you is to apply these principles to the situation with Apollos and me. Maybe we can show you the meaning of the saying, “not beyond the things written.” If you learn that, perhaps none of you will swell with pride because you fall into the seductive trap of pitting one against the other. Is there any reason to consider yourselves better than others? What do you have that you didn’t receive? If you received it as a gift, why do you boast like it is something you achieved on your own?

Now let’s see if I have it straight. You suppose that you already have all you need. You already are rich and prosperous. And without us you’ve already begun to reign like kings. To be honest, I wish you did reign so that we could reign with you because it seems to me that God has put His emissaries at the end of the line, like convicts in their final walk to certain death. We have become a spectacle to the rest of the world—to all people and heaven’s messengers. We are nothing but fools for the cause of the Anointed One while you are wise in Him. Am I right? We are feeble and tired while you are mighty and full of life. You are well respected by others while we’re treated as contemptuous creatures by pretty much everyone everywhere. Up to this very minute, we are famished, we are thirsty, and our clothes are shabby, practically rotted to pieces. We are homeless, hapless wanderers. But still we labor, working with our hands to meet our needs because, despite all of this, when a fist is raised against us, we respond with a blessing; when we face violence and persecution, we stay on mission; and when others choose taunts and slander against us, we speak words of encouragement and reconciliation. We’re treated as the scum of the earth—and I am not talking in the past tense; I mean today! We’re the scraps of society, nothing more than the foulest human rubbish.

I am not telling you all this so that you’ll feel guilty or be ashamed of how you have acted. I am only trying to warn you, just as a father would warn his children. You may have 10,000 instructors in the faith of the Anointed One, but you have only one father. In Jesus the Anointed I have become your father through my efforts in spreading the good news. So as your father in the faith, I want to encourage you to live as I have lived. Imitate my life. This is one of the reasons I sent Timothy to be with you. He is my dearly loved and faithful child in the Lord. His mission is to remind you of the way I experience life in the Anointed. In all the churches everywhere I go, I teach the same lessons the same way, and I live out those lessons. But the reality is, some of you have put yourselves on pedestals and live like you are high above the rest—it’s as if you assumed I would not return to confront your misguided pride. But I am coming. Lord willing, I will be with you soon. Then I will know what power is backing those arrogant folks and their words. The kingdom of God is not a realm of grandiose talk; it is a realm of power. So tell me what you want. Should I visit you, rod in hand ready to discipline a crew of self-important people; or should I embrace you, love you, and gently teach you as we celebrate the blessings of God together?

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 4 (The Voice)

with these lines repeated from The Passion Translation:

So then you must perceive us—not as leaders of factions, but as servants of the Anointed One, those who have been entrusted with God’s mysteries. The most important quality of one entrusted with such secrets is that they are faithful and trustworthy. But personally, I’m not the least bit concerned if I’m judged by you or any verdict I receive from any human court. In fact, I don’t even assume to be my own judge, even though my conscience is clear. But that doesn’t mean I stand acquitted before the Lord, for the only judge I care about is him!

So resist the temptation to pronounce premature judgment on anything before the appointed time when all will be fully revealed. Instead, wait until the Lord makes his appearance, for he will bring all that is hidden in darkness to light and unveil every secret motive of everyone’s heart. Then, when the whole truth is known, each will receive praise from God.

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 4:1-5 (The Passion Translation)

and paired with this chapter in Today’s reading of the Scriptures is Genesis chapter 17 where a promise is made and a name change:

When Abram was 99 years old, the Eternal One appeared to him again, assuring him of the promise of a child yet to come.

Eternal One: I am the God-All-Powerful. Walk before Me. Continue to trust and serve Me faithfully. Be blameless and true. If you are true and trust Me, then I will make certain the covenant with you that I promised. I will bless you with a throng of descendants.

Abram bowed low, his face and body flat on the ground.

Eternal One: Here is My covenant with you. I promise you will become the root of a huge family tree of multiple nations. To symbolize your foundational role in this covenant, I hereby change your name. You will no longer go by the name “Abram.” Your new name will be “Abraham,” which means “father of a great multitude of nations,” because that is exactly what I will make of you. Your descendants will be exceedingly fruitful. Nations and kings will descend from you. I hereby make this covenant—this sacred bond—between Me and you and all of your children and their children’s children throughout the coming generations. It will be an eternal covenant. I will be your God and the God to all who come after you! I will fulfill My promise to give you and your descendants the land of Canaan, where you now live as foreigners. I will place all of Canaan into your hands to be yours forever. I will be your God and their God forever.

(continuing to Abraham) As for your part in the agreement, you and your descendants must keep My covenant throughout the generations. The sign that you and your family keep My covenant is this: each male who lives among you shall be circumcised. The circumcised flesh of your foreskins constitutes a special “sign” of the covenant I made with you, a relationship bonded together by loyalty and love. From this point onward, throughout coming generations, each male child born to you should be circumcised when he is eight days old. You must circumcise all male members of your household, even the slaves born within your household or the servants purchased from foreigners who aren’t your flesh and blood; anyone and everyone within your household must carry this sign. This external mark on his body will be a sign of My everlasting covenant. Any male who is not separated from his foreskin will be cut off from his people and excluded from these covenant promises because he has broken My covenant.

(continuing to Abraham) As for Sarai, your wife, the covenant applies to her as well. No longer will she be known as Sarai; her new name will be Sarah. She will receive My special blessing, and she will conceive a son by you. With My blessing on her, she will become the founding princess of nations to come. Kings of many peoples will be counted among her children.

Then Abraham fell on his face and erupted into laughter in a moment of private absurdity, as he thought to himself, “Yeah, right! How can a centenarian father a child? Am I supposed to believe that Sarah, my 90-year-old wife, is going to have a baby?”

Abraham (to God): There’s Ishmael of course. May my son Ishmael be blessed and live a long life beneath Your watchful eye.

Eternal One: No, Abraham. I mean what I am telling you. Your wife Sarah will certainly become pregnant and bear a son. I want you to name him Isaac. I will continue to establish My covenant with him; through his line My covenant will last forever. As for Ishmael, I have heard your prayers for him! Look, he is your son too. I will bless him as well and make his lineage fruitful. His descendants will also be of a huge number. In fact, he will be the father of 12 princes. I will make sure that a great nation arises from his descendants as well. But My special covenant—this I will establish with Isaac. Sarah is going to give birth to him at this very time next year.

When God was finished talking with Abraham about all of this, He left and Abraham went home. Abraham immediately took his son Ishmael and all of the slaves born in his household or bought with his money—every single male within his household—and circumcised the flesh of their foreskins on that very day, just as God had told him to do. Abraham was already 99 years old when he was circumcised. His son Ishmael was 13 years old when he received the mark of the covenant. On the day Abraham and Ishmael were circumcised, all men of the household, no matter where they had come from, were circumcised along with them.

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 17 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, february 13 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[existentialspiral]

Classpect Analysis: Witch of Mind

DEFINITION: Mind, as an aspect, is one of the more literal aspects, having control over the realms of thought, logic, judgement, decision-making, memory, and more, possibly even including the senses and perception if that association is truly a part of the aspect and not related to its users specifically. Mind is one of the easiest aspects to define, having a user who remained within story and focus for the majority of Homestuck’s run, along with a defined opposite aspect and a failed auxiliary user on both sides of a Scratch. Terezi Pyrope, Seer of Mind, who exhibited the use of her aspect long before entering the Medium, is easily one of the best characters to use for analysis, having a long list of achievements and displayed skills related to her aspect. More specifically, in a roughly chronological order, Terezi was able to, using nothing but her mental abilities: dismantle entire teams of FLARPers through politics and head-games, avenga Aradia by proxy through manipulating Doc Scratch (a being approaching omniscience), exile several agents of Derse throughout her session, kill John Egbert, force Dave Strider to realize his actual standing with death, kill Vriska Serket (who, as both an active player and God Tier, was incomprehensibly more powerful than her), define a system of memory-based chronolocation, and was even able to, through less than 10 commands, use John Egbert to manipulate both the timeline and she herself into solving both the issues that resulted in Game Over and all of her personal and romantic problems. By contrast, the other Mind player/s, Latula Pyrope (Knight of Mind) and her post-Scratch counterpart Neophyte Redglare, are rather lackluster, displaying little skill as a Knight of Mind, with their only achievement (utilizing the Marquis Spinneret Mindfang’s underestimation of their threat) being marred by a remarkably shortsighted failure (putting a known mind-controller into a courtroom filled with hundreds of trolls who, as low-bloods, had no protection against mind control). The Witch class, meanwhile, is difficult to place; while it also has multiple users, with multiple displayed uses, none of them are so dramatically defined. The largest, most obvious display of a Witch’s power is that of Jade (Witch of Space) during [S] Cascade, where she uses her newly Ascended powers to manipulate the mass and volume of the player’s Lands and the Battlefield, compressing them into a size approximate to that of a baseball, before doing the same in reverse to a Fenestrated Wall, expanding it to the point that a full-size battleship could pass through it. However, after this event, Jade doesn’t give many expansive displays of power. Moreover, all of Jade’s actions after ascending to Dog Tier are suspect, because Jade has the powers of both a Sprite and a First Guardian as well as those of a Witch of Space, and identifying which powers are derived from which source is a matter of considerable, possibly insurmountable, difficulty. Meanwhile, Feferi Peixes (Witch of Life) gives little in the way of useful information; Feferi never Ascended in the Alpha timeline, and the power exhibited by her alternate ghost-self, that of resurrecting the Mayor, is mirrored by the power over life used by Jane Crocker, a Maid of Life. This might suggest that Witch and Maid are active/passive counterparts, something possibly reinforced by Damara (Witch of Time) and Aradia Megido (Maid of Time) being each other’s Dancestor, but it provides only a faint outline of ability. Damara herself, however, does provide some details across both sides of the Scratch; firstly, as Damara Megido the original, she was stated to have appeared throughout the timeline, sabotaging her session before vanishing away, allowing us to infer that she must have possessed a good degree of control over time travel, manipulating the timeline to suit her ends (in this case, forcing her team to Scratch their session). As well, Damara’s incarnation as the Handmaid also displays a significand degree of control over the timeline, traveling throughout the time stream to deliver whatever destruction or havoc is called for in order to bring about the summoning of Lord English; moreover, the Handmaid is also shown to be quite skilled with, “Clockwork Majykks,” manipulating the fabric of time as a weapon. It needs be noted, however, that this last ability is implied to be a gift from Lord English as well as an inherent ability, and so might not actually be connected to her; nevertheless, we shall assume that it is an intrinsic ability of hers, if only to draw some sort of conclusion to this subject. Now, comparing and contrasting the examples given, the one constant seems to be in the manipulation of the Witch’s aspect, the actual substance of the aspect being bent, shaped, and used as the Witch desires. As such, with full acknowledgement that the justifications here are… not the best… we shall define the Witch class as, “One who manipulates or shapes their aspect.” With all this taken together, Witch of Mind would therefore parse as, “One who manipulates logic, thought, or memory.” Mind players are usually adept at head games, but few of them can hold a candle to the Witch of Mind; manipulation, scheming, plans, gambits, forks, and psychology are the Witch’s bread and butter. A Witch that specializes in manipulating people into doing what she wants rather than actually using magic, I get the feeling there’s a Discworld reference in there somewhere; regardless, headolo- sorry, psychology and planning are all the Witch of Mind truly needs to do her job. She’ll play you like a fiddle and walk away while your life burns down, sell you back the shirt on your back, and make you want to ask forgiveness for bothering her when all is said and done; this is the girl we were warned about, and not a one of us listened. All we can do is watch as her house of cards falls down on us, with her watching from the outside, smiling and playing a fiddle. ABILITIES: The Witch of Mind is a manipulator, a controller, and a user; their job, put simply, is the Great Game of Politics and Princes. As both a highly active class, and one placed into a support aspect, the Witch of Mind is going to have a heavy chain of deals and agreements ahead of her, with a thousand alliances pulling in every direction. It is, then, a very good thing that she has the perfect toolkit for the task ahead. At lower levels, the Witch of Mind is one of the weaker classpects, having little-to-no direct combat ability, with her aspect being one of the worst for directly dealing with game-hazards such as imps and ogres. Instead, even at low-level, the Witch of Mind will find herself far more at home asleep, playing at politics on either Prosopit or Derse, using her own instinctive talents at social manipulation to play Agents against each other, resulting in a healthy harvest of Exiles. For more information, go and read either the Game of Thrones, Artemis Fowl, or Discworld series. Meanwhile, in the waking world, the Witch would most likely utilize a Specibus that would either compensate for or work around her general non-combat status, such as gunkind, or possibly puppetkind. Reaching God Tier is a major turning point for the Witch. Where before she was forced to act through indirect manipulation, such as convincing others to do her bidding, or to change their opinions, or what have you, now she is unshackled from the limits of others minds, allowing her to manipulate her aspect directly. Mind control, memory altering, brainwashing, possibly complex illusions, and more are well within her grasp, allowing her to take to the field in force, not merely as a warrior, but as a commander. Her enemies find themselves unable to remember why they ever wanted to oppose the Witch of Mind, and find themselves doing exactly what she wants. Foes like the Black Queen and her Agents would be less than stumbling blocks, either destroying themselves through infighting, or even acting “all according to plan.” At the highest levels of power, the Witch of Mind has full and total control over the minds of others, able to decide for then what they think, want, and remember. Mere mind control, such as that used by Vriska and Aranea, is beneath her; why should you waste time forcing others to do your bidding, when you can simply make them want to do what you wish? Indeed, at this level, the difference between, “manipulated foe,” and, “willing slave,” is barely even semantic, as she can so easily rewrite what others think to make them do what she desires. Any actual challenge to Skaia’s game is lost, as the Witch of Mind turns every ally of Derse into another minion of her own until even the fearsome Black King must Choose between abdication or annihilation, a Choice he would barely call a choice at all. Of course, the Witch of Mind is not perfect. Obviously, her abilities only affect those with a mind to manipulate; the power to rewrite memories and decisions is rather ineffective when faced with, say, a burning meteor approaching your position at terminal velocity. As well, there is the important consideration that, as stated before, the Witch of Mind is not suited to a main combat role; neither her class nor her aspect are particularly inclined to heavy fighting, and her actual suite of abilities are all indirect, relying on those under her command to do the actual work. As well, it also needs to be noted that, while her abilities are expansive, they probably aren’t that finely controlled; while still able to brainwash her foes with the rest of them, something like a Manchurian Candidate situation is likely beyond her ability, and her ability to manipulate memory could only go so far. As well, it needs to be specifically noted that, while thoughts, decisions, and memories are under the sway of the Mind aspect, emotions belong to Heart, Hope, and Rage, with Heart being in direct opposition to Mind, and so are immune to the Witch’s tampering; she can make a person decide to marry someone, and can make them remember being in love and feeling wonderful, but cannot actually make them feel love or joy. QUEST: Unfortunately, anything I might say on the Quest of a Witch, of Mind or otherwise, would be pure speculation; the only Quest we are shown of a Witch is that of Jade, Witch of Space, whose personal Quest was supplanted by that of Frog Breeding. Of the other Witches’ Quests, neither are shown, they having abandoned their Quests to either spend time with Sollux or to play Quisling to their own session’s efforts. However, simply saying, “There’s not enough for me to go on,” and leaving it at that would be boring, so I shall at least share my speculations on the quest that would be provided here. I would guess that the Quest of a Witch of Mind would have to do with not only mastering her abilities as a manipulator or thoughts and people, but also have much to do with growing as a person, and learning NOT to use her abilities out of convenience (once again, I find myself drawing parallels between the Witch of Mind and the witches of Discworld). As the Witch of Mind is built around manipulating people, it would make sense that her Land would have a large and well-developed society, one which rewards ambition and political ability (such as that of upperclass Ancient Rome or China). Her Quest would likely have to do with both learning to use her powers, working to manipulate her Consorts into handing her a position of power, while also demonstrating the dangers of abusing her powers. My own guess would be a literal Game of Thrones, with the Throne in question being much like Marvel’s Throne of Satan, where nobody is able to take the throne themselves, or else everyone else (and possibly her Denizen) would tear them apart. On this Quest, her quest to “Seat the Throne,” the Witch of Mind would have to learn both to manipulate the consorts into allowing her the throne, and also learn not to simply control them when allowing them their own decisions works better. The Lands for a Witch of Mind would most likely have something to do with the Mind aspect, such as Thought, Logic, Karma, Decisions, Gambits, or even Games. The other half of the name would likely have something to do with the personality of the Witch in question, her specific Quest, the counter-aspect to Mind, specifically Heart, or even something seemingly unrelated to her or her quest, at least until later diagnosed. Some examples include, corresponding to the possibilities above, the Land of Choice and Champaign, the Land of Patricians and Gambits, the Land of Reason and Emotion, and the Land of Midnight and Latin. VERDICT: The Witch of Mind is one of the best non-combat classpects, one which even becomes overwhelmingly useful at the later stages of the game, but is also one that takes time to grow into its role; much like a Magikarp is useless until Lv. 20, a Witch of Mind is going to start the game mostly unable to contribute to the most immediate of struggles, those being primarily combat related. However, while the Witch of Mind will have to rely on noncombat EXP to climb her Echeladder, the moment the game shifts focus to dealing with Derse and its Agents is the exact moment the Witch becomes your most useful teammate; Mind players in general are exceptionally well-equipped to handling the challenges of the Black Queen, but the Witch of Mind is the single best Classpect for dealing with the Dersite royalty, rivalled only by the Mage of Mind and, possibly, the Rogue of Blood or Bard of Blood. On the other hand, the Witch of Mind is, by definition, a manipulator, and manipulators want the world to go according to their desires, and tend to get nasty when things don’t go their way. As such, loyalty is going to be a major issue when a party comes with a Witch of Mind, along with all the other issues that arise when dealing with a team member with mental abilities. As well, on that front, I find it most wise to paraphrase a quote whose source I cannot find at this moment: “It’s fine to have a telepath on the team, just make sure she’s saying, ‘I trust you,’ not, ‘you trust me.’” Maintaining a team with a Witch of Mind is a risky proposition, one which requires teammates who are fully able to deal with someone who, at their worst, could simply make you her thought slave. The aspects of Blood, Breath, Heart, or Rage will be your best choices, filtered through classes such as Mage, Knight, Heir, Bard, or even Lord; anyone who could truly provide some direction to the team and maintain focus on their goals, while also mediating between teammates, would be a mind-saver. As well, if the absolute worst should come to pass, the only possible defense would be in a Classpect with both impossible resistance to mental manipulation and unstoppable power, such as a Knight, Page, Bard, Prince, or Lord of Heart or Rage; it would take what are some of the most dangerous classpects possible to fight off a rogue Witch of Mind. As for synergizing classpects, the Witch of Mind is a controller, not a fighter, so a Knight of most any aspect would provide a very welcome defense, especially a Knight of Rage, and a Bard of Hope, Rage, Light, Life, or Doom would be a useful addition when managing a mind-slave army. As well, if you are insane enough to risk having two of the most dangerous possible classpects on a team, pairing a Witch of Mind and a Page of Rage makes for one of the most impossibly dangerous combinations possible, something verging on unstoppable. On the whole, a high-level Witch of Mind is a very risky player, where her only practical counters are all significantly more dangerous than she is if they were to go astray; however, a Witch of Mind who maintains both loyalty to the team and a proper sense of right and wrong is a player who could single-handedly beat the Black Queen, and possibly even upend the Black King by herself. While not the most powerful player, it is difficult to find one who could accomplish more than her.