You have an assignment to hand in to your professor but you realised the deadline is tomorrow instead of next week as you had believed.

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The unseen world inside a kitchen stove, trying desperately to maintain the correct amount of heat output.

Oh, I commented on another reply - I agree on the world building part. The world Butcher created is absolutely amazing, and I've bought and read every single book on the series, despite of hating the style he writes in. I can't describe it, and I know it's just me, but something about the way he writes is just grating to me.

"Engage the FTL drive!"

"But captain the drive as never- I' DON'T CARE! JUMP!"

Thus the crew ends up in multiversal shenanigans

Will do

I have a paracosm that has the exact opposite of this😂

show your looking for is lucifer, fantastic show and didn't get canceled. give it a watch

Work starts at 8:00, you step out the door at 8:03 and it's 10 minutes away.

An affront to literature?

Nah, to be fair, there's something about Butchers writing style, that makes Dresden files just god awful to read to me, personally. But I buy every single one anyhow, because I absolutely love the world he's built.

Looking out of the classroom window, you see a bird perched nearby looking back at you.

An accountant helps his father-in-law do his taxes

[removed]

"Ahh! Not my bread!" cried out Emily. She had shaky hands thanks to her condition, and always would. "Somebody, catch it, please!"

A small being rushed forward and caught it, tiny hands outstretched. They were pink in color with an emaciated form and a long, rat-like tail. They had large, almost bulbous, sclera-less black eyes that shone in the dim light of the room.

"Yay! My hero!" The being in question walked up to the little girl and offered her the buttered bread. "Thank you!"

Em's mother sighed and asked without looking, "Did you really make our brownie catch your bread when I could just make you another slice?"

"Mom, his name is Tiernan, and I didn't make him do it."

"You know how brownies can be, Em."

"But it was falling... and it was going butter-side down..." Her mother gave her a look over her shoulder, that made Emily sink in her chair. She looked to the brownie in question, who was far too pink to be called such a thing in her opinion. "... I'm sorry, Tiernan."

"S'ok," Tiernan responded. He climbed up her chair to pat her head affectionately, before bounding away.

"You're lucky he's fond of you, you know. Most brownies never show themselves to their families."

"We're his family?"

"Yes, Em. Which is why it's important we treat him with love and respect."

"Okay!" Emily said with a big smile.

Her mother went over and gave Emily a hug. "You're so much like your father. I hope you live a long, happy, healthy life, Em."

Emily hugged her mother in return, hands still trembling against her will. "Don't worry, Mom. I will!"

A painter runs out of painters tape and needs to find a solution.

They say that you never imagine something bad could happen to you until it does. Whether that be a natural disaster, a terminal illness diagnosis, or a violent crime. I had been proven wrong that day, as many others in the past have, but nothing could prepare me for the purpose behind it all. Magical Girls had been long known to exist, of course. Watching one fight a giant monster on the news is one thing. Being there to witness it is another. But to not only be there, not only watch it unfold both in real time and on the nightly news, seeing your own face on the cameras... But to be the mother of one of them. To know that for the past month, she had been running around risking her life under an assumed alter ego...

Her Guardian Angel, her patron, Lasciencia, stood before me and spoke, "Yes. She is one of the Divine Children. The only one. Surely you noticed?"

I did. "Divine Children". What a joke. They were disappearing, some being found dead all over the world. Some are still missing. I replied, "Yes." as flatly as I could manage with my rage still soaring higher than Icarus.

"Then you understand." she had the gall to insist.

At that point, I stood up, no longer capable of holding back, "Understand!? You could have chosen anyone, but you chose a girl just entering adulthood, with a loving family and everything to lose, to go die in a ditch without telling anybody!? Without even asking!? How can you call yourself an angel!?"

But she had the patience of a saint to wait me out before answering as if nothing was wrong, "We do not recruit them to die. Before now, many would live long and fulfilling lives. Our powers are more than enough to protect them."

"Then why are they all dead!?" I spat back, intent on cornering her.

She quietly sipped from her porcelain teacup before answering, "The situation has changed."

At that point, I couldn't imagine a circumstance that could lead to such a drastic turn of events, "How!? You could have chosen any adult if you were truly so desperate! A soldier, an officer, an athlete, and yet... Why a child!? Do you---"

Though she did not yell, she firmly interrupted me; uncharacteristic of her usual propriety, "Do you really believe we would have chosen a child had we the option otherwise?"

In my anger, she had me. I couldn't formulate a proper response then, so she continued with an ominous phrase, "I am the last guardian angel alive."

I sat down, not only from the shock of such an unbelievable statement, but to imagine how such a thing could possibly be true. I could only mutter, "How?"

She took no pity on my state, and only stated the facts of the matter, "I am the last of the earthly guardian angels. Our kind were methodically wiped out in a matter of years. I only managed to escape extermination by a miracle, and in my helpless state, I could only receive your daughter's help."

She got up, hovered over to the open window, and stared at something in the middle distance, "She believe I was a shooting star. An object of fate, crashed into earth from the heavens. In a sense, she was not wrong. At the time, the only chance I had to survive was to be in her care. To give her the halo and trust her with the power to heal. She saved my life."

She turned back around. Outside the window, I reminisced about the meteor shower that was predicted just weeks before. I had wondered why she didn't come home that night, and why she acted strange the day after. But I suppose it all made sense. I could at least visualize the event. It would certainly be just like her to want to help a fallen angel.

That angel came to my side once again and continued her monologue in my silence, disregarding if I could handle any more of it, "It is not I who chose your daughter."

At that, I was at least slightly offended. But I was beginning to understand, those thoughts clicking into place like puzzle pieces upon her next words: "No, she chose herself. What qualifies a divine child above all else is the strength of their conviction. Not their physical ability or wit, but the resolve. Their Love, their Joy, their Hope, and their Determination. She had all of those in spades. I was powerless in her wake, as I still am."

It is at that point I realized, and it seems that she noticed, "I take it you know what you must do, now?"

I nodded painfully, "Is there nothing I can do?"

"Unless you can turn the hands of fate itself and bend her will to your own, no. And given what I see of your potential..." she began to uncomfortably probe my mind with her unnaturally shaped eyes "...you do not possess a superior emotional strength."

A feeling of helplessness washed over me. Not unlike that which I assume the angel felt when they crashed into earth. How could I possibly convince a 17 year old girl to give up unspeakable magical powers fueled by their hormone-addled emotions? No mind, no matter how logical or tactical, could hope to do that. And even then...

"Is this really a bad thing?" I asked, entering the acceptance stage of grief.

"That is a question only you can answer." she replied.

Poignant, is all I could think of at that moment. Even now, I do not know the answer to that question. But what I do know, is that the next answer she would give me would chill me to my core.

A time had passed before I finally asked, "Why did they all disappear? Why are you the last one? Why her?" all at once, as if I had not already asked, or perhaps as if I could not believe what I knew.

The angel looked troubled. "Do you recall the demons?" she asked, seemingly unrelated to my question.

Of course I knew. They had attacked cities before. They were now.

"The demons were thought to have been eradicated completely." she said.

I could only stare at her for a moment. "...But they're here! I saw one---"

She interrupted me again, "That was not a demon. It was the memory of one. A shadow. A resurrected zombie. The coalesced rage of their ancestors. No..."

I had more questions posed than answered. She stood up again and turned away, unable to make eye contact as she continued, "But there is one."

"One?" I asked, not sure if I even wanted to know at this point.

"Yes. There exists one demon left. One demon... and one key to the gates of the divine realm."

It is then that I finally realized what the stakes were. At the very least, I wanted to know... "Who?"

She did not turn to me. She did not move or speak for a solid minute. Then, a deafening explosion shook both of our hearts from outside, when she finally answered.

"The Godslayer."

eating dinner with your cat

A knock, knock, knock came to my door.

"Looks like we have visitors," remarked Veno.

I sighed and stared at the orange tabby cat that was my familiar. "Thank you for that, why, I would think we didn't have visitors if it were just the knocking."

"You're welcome," he purred in response.

The knocking resumed. "I'm coming, I'm coming! Hold your horses, geeze." I got up from my cushioned stool at the table, leaving my mortar and pestle behind, along with the collection of small empty glass vials of various shapes.

When I opened the door, I saw three familiar faces. "... what brings you three here?" I asked, less-than-enthused.

"We're sisters, what are you talking about!" said the red-headed Morghan.

"I dropped out of college," I reminded them. "And that means that I stopped being part of the sorority."

"Like, you'll always be our sorority sister," said the tall, bespectacled brunette Yorana.

"Sisters foreverrr," the black-haired brown-eyed Effy practically triled as she gave me a tight embrace I refused to reciprocate.

"... you didn't have to come check on me," I said, disapproval growing across my features.

"Don't, like, frown so much, 'kay? It'll make you older faster," said Yorana.

Morghan helped herself inside as did the rest of the gaggle.

"Oh, sure, come in, just fine with me," I mumbled under my breath.

Veno climbed off the couch and approached the three women, who squealed and descended upon him with pets and affection.

"You don't want to do that," I said as I closed the front door, watching them.

"Why not? He loooves it, don't you, cutie pie? Don't you!?" said Effy.

The only words I could think of for Veno at the moment were best not uttered. He at least had the mind to keep his mouth shut. Morghan wandered over to my workstation and sat on my stool. "Ooh, did you go to a different college to become an apothecary?"

"No, I didn't."

"But you have herbs and everything laid out!"

"They're not for making medicine. Not exactly." I inhaled and announced, "I'm a witch now."

"No. Way," said Yorana. "Do you fly and everything?"

"I haven't... exactly... gotten flying down yet- HEY DON'T TOUCH THAT!" I admonished Morghan as she reached for a vial in my box of finished potions. She popped it open, cork in one hand, bottle in the other.

"Let's see if this works!"

"Don't drink it! DON'T DRINK IT!"

So, logically, she drank it.

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She had already killed that damn dragon twice . . . but he refused to stay dead.

Perfect explanation of the world and magical comics

I'm honestly at a loss for words with this conversation. Troll or not, I cannot imagine a human being ever being able to put these words in this order. Also I am, in fact, white, what a fucking odd assumption my guy

The executrix sighed, looking at the ragtag group of young adults gathered. On the surface, they seemed fine enough; their clothing was clean and neat, as was their appearance, with their hair being well-kept and their skin unblemished. She, like everyone else in this city, knew the truth of these vultures. They kept their youth using forbidden magic, like their late father had. It was impossible to know what they traded away for their looks, but it was rumored to have been something priceless for each.

"I, Count Henrique Floris, devise and bequeath my property, both real and personal and wherever situated, as follows..." the executrix began.

Just as she was about to continue, a young woman entered the room. Her hair was in a messy braided crown and she wore a brown peasant's dress. She looked vaguely like the other young adults, but somehow, her youth seemed more authentic than theirs.

The others began to mumble and stare, but the executrix silenced them. "She's in the will, be still." She could feel their rising anger but continued. "To my son, Henrique, who shares only his name with me, I bequeath... nothing."

"What!" said Henrique demanded. Two of the other young men present snickered, as did the two women who were present before the late entry.

"To my son Aleist, whose troubles number greater than I do in years, I bequeath... nothing."

"Wow, father is going the scorched earth route, isn't he?" remarked one of the women.

"To my daughter Yura, whose troubles number even more than Aleist's, I bequeath... nothing."

Said Yura grumbled and crossed her arms, making no remarks. She looked to the peasant woman instead with a piercing stare.

"To my son Faus, who left home and surely only returned upon my death, I bequeath... nothing."

"Maybe if he gave me some money before he died I would have stayed around longer," Faus grumbled.

"To my daughter Mielle, the most rotten of my children, I bequeath... nothing."

Mielle scowled. "Rotten!? Rotten! If he wants to see rotten, I'll show him rotten."

The executrix looked from the will to the last person yet to be mentioned. "To my daughter Cecilda-"

"What, daughter?!"

"You can't mean that thing there-"

"-daughter of the late Arie, the only one to receive my gift, I bequeath all my possessions."

The falsely-young siblings looked at Cecilda, gazes intense. They descended into a cacophony of shouting and pointing and profanity, which made Cecilda recoil. The executrix approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Do you mean to insult your youngest sister and Countess?"

"Stop shouting at me!" Cecilda blurted out, and the siblings, who grew even more heated... fell silent against their will. The air was thick with suppressive magic.

"... you have the gift of Command, my lady?" asked the surprised executrix.

"Oh my Gods. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."

The siblings pointed at her and then at their own mouths, which she understood. But she shook her head no. "You can speak again only if you promise not to shout at me."

The executrix applied gentle pressure on the new Countess's shoulder. "Let's depart and leave your siblings to sort out themselves for now. There is a lot of paperwork for you to fill out." The young woman looked down a little and nodded her head. When she did, the executrix lifted Cecilda's head by her chin. "None of that now, you're the Countess, and the wielder of magic far greater than any of us. Walk with pride."

It ain’t much, but it’s honest work.

Good job.