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#deep thoughts

Hurting someone can be as easy as throwing stone in the sea but…do you have any idea how deep that stone can go?

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“Have you ever met someone so into you that things go from sensual to serious to funny, you laugh, you cry happy tears, you argue a bit.. she is the voice of reason, you are chaotic.. but she makes you smile a ton and in every way she is perfect down to the stuff that makes you mad. But not mad in an angry way, a way where you know she is right.. she makes you do and act in ways you never thought you would be and you know what? That’s part of what makes her truly perfect, perfect for you..”

I have that in her and she has love in me - eUë

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Babygirl (derogatory)

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Ch. 35 Excerpts

New chapters Fridays at 5:00, Chicago time.

Ominous Orbs

Crystal eyes.
Histories bygone reprise.
Gods, she’s got her father’s eyes.

Volary now stabilized.
Roots dug deep,
branches twined as blood allies

Gods, time stops at those first cries.
Futures swirl and galvanize.


Cinnamon, cloves, foxglove. I’d have killed her when I killed your aunt.

He’d known. Deep down, at least.

Molly spoke, having carefully found the words. “Daffodils look innocent, you know. The tender stalks and bobbing bright blooms. The whole Narcissus family of flowers is like that. But every part of the plant is quite poisonous. Flowers, leaves, stalks, bulbs. Every bit of them, death.”

He nodded, tears welling as she confirmed his suspicions and continued.

“Roses, however. They have a terrible kind of beauty, don’t they? Sharp thorns. Gnarled branches. Tempting flowers. They warn us that they’re not especially good to eat, but they don’t truly harm us if we do.”


Draco had fallen asleep to the sound of them discussing werewolf-friendly DMLE policies and options for family leave requirements. It was rather nice. A different kind of love. A different kind of bedsport.

They were a formidable team.

An uncomfortable obsolescence bloomed in his chest as Hermione rolled to put her back to Harry, and he tightened the arm around her with a sigh. Who was Draco Malfoy to bed the Head Auror and a Wizengamot councilwoman?His gaze flicked out between the bookcases to the table, still with its dildonic adornment. He was just a man in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, with a table covered in dicks.


A deeply frustrated sigh flowed through her flared nostrils. “It’s important for marks, but not to… the world.” She flopped down next to him, nestling her head on his chest. “I hate school, Harry.”

“This is an amazing polyjuice.” He picked up a curl and stretched it out. “You look so much like Hermione Granger, but you really haven’t done your background research.”

Her fingers tweaked his nipple, and he squeaked.


Ron had already resigned himself to finding nothing but smithereens, but there was plenty more quartz where this had come from. Instead, he drew it out to find some damn near perfect pearl-sized crystal orbs under the powder.

The powder was a curious thing itself. So fine, it was nearly a liquid. Dark, glittering, and just exceptionally clingy. And it was the source of the scent. He brushed his hand off on his pants, but the powder stuck in the whorls of his finger prints.

He licked a finger clean, tasted cherries, and his vision went black.


The heat and deep tension that had pooled came roaring back, and she touched it.

The front door clicked shut, and he ignored it. Nothing existed beyond the burning need between her finger and her hand, and her steady coaxing.

“Oh, gods,” he chanted as her hands moved. “Oh, gods. Oh… FUCK.”


Harry snuffled his nose into Draco’s hair, and felt the other man tense up. “Don’t you dare, Potter.”

He wrapped his arms around the head of blond hair, and rolled himself on top of Draco, pinning his upper arms, and catching his hips between Harry’s legs. Auror hand-to-hand training wasn’t entirely useless.

Slowly, Harry lowered his face toward Draco’s ear, sniffing dramatically. “Potter! You mother fucker!”

Harry dropped suddenly and buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, snuffling and snorting into his skin as Draco squealed and writhed under him.

“You fucking pig!” he yelled, flailing as best he could.


That was it. Harry could be impatient and easily-annoyed. He still had a tendency to lash out. He had all the makings for a horrific father, really. And he’d had great examples on how to mistreat a child. There was no reason he couldn’t grow up to become Uncle Vernon.

Draco’s fingers threaded through Harry’s hair. “It hurts to give children what you were never given, and that you had to grow for yourself. But it gets easier, and you won’t be doing it alone.” His lips found Harry’s, and laid a soft kiss.


Harry kissed his way down Draco’s ring finger. His left ring finger. “I’ve never owned jewelry in my life, and I can only think of one reason I’d wear a ring.”


Draco nodded, returning the grin. “She calls you ‘Daddy’.”

Harry barked a laugh and threw his mobile on the foot of the bed. He shoved Draco onto his back and rolled on top of him. “At least she doesn’t call me a fucking pig.”

Draco’s body melted under the weight of him, warm and heavy. His knees bent to cradle Harry’s hips. “No, I’m the only one-“


Tip of the Tongue, Bone-Deep

Names of the dead.
Carved in mind and etched in souls.

Names of the dead.
In drink or skin, all prudence fled.

Threads pulled. Frayed. Taut. All feigned control.
Then who am I? To remain whole?

Names of the dead.

Ch. 1

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Baby steps, or giant leaps. Progress to me is progress. I’m talking about me. When I finally take certain steps, although uncomfortable most times, it refreshes my soul. I received correspondence yesterday about a, umm, let’s call it a “project.” It was a small step, or goal in a much larger process. Nevertheless it feels good because I never made it to that step previously. My mind is on the…

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𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

𝐒𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐝

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

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I’m thinking about posting some deep thoughts about life from my perspective but I’m not sure that if that is even appropriate 🤷‍♂️ I mean…………🤦‍♂️😹

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Dedicated to @lovely-lethality-blog

Living like I do is funny you see sometimes when the lows become ravines miles deep, or the highs make me feel like I’m soaring cloud 9 I’m never fully content, because I know with those comes the intermittent screaming matches with my closest loves and the breakdowns at 3pm on the bathroom floor. What I live with isn’t an aesthetic or a quirk, it’s the inability to leave my bed some mornings and a love for wanting to live and a plan to be free the next. My life is a rollercoaster of emotions with left turns and upside down twirls at every unexpected moment; no stop in sight. Sometimes late night laughs with my friends turn into fights with my head. My life isn’t unicorns and rainbows but it’s also not death and despair, it’s a little mix of both and there is something of almost beauty in the destruction and the fire in the flower field. -x

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What hurts the most is that I told you I was in pain but you didn’t care. You didn’t take me seriously. You said I was overreacting. You know, it hurts when you struggle to open up but when you finally do they tell you that you have no right to feel that way.


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she strummed her tunes, only with three fingers

anger, hatred, cruelty. the green of the broken buildings hid what once was. fireflies that fulfilled the past, now extinguished.

her father, a betrayer, who left her in anguish. she cried out and threw herself into bloodlust. her love, who laughed and left crying. her enemy, a soul that took an eye for multiple.

a father that fulfilled her, the loneliness that remained.

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you, me? or is it just me reminiscing about something that probably won’t happen.

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Da sitzt du wieder, bist am verzweifeln in der Dunkelheit und denkst nach… über deine Taten, deine Fehler und deine Art… und dann fängst du immer mehr an dich zu hassen. Es bist nicht du selbst, der dir leid tut. Es sind die anderen Menschen, die mit dir zu tun haben müssen

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