#but he can’t afford for other people in his life to be having issues

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #50

[hellenhighwater]

Hi Hell, I wanted to get your thoughts on something. My friend who has been vegetarian for close to 30 years is thinking about becoming vegan. His main reason is that the pain and suffering of an animal in the large majority of the animal product industry is not worth the enjoyment he gets from cheese, milk, etc. He hypothesizes that most people are not vegan due to lack of education about the industry’s methods, and because eating meat is so normalized. I mostly agree, but something about what he’s saying makes me feel bad. Maybe because I don’t see myself ever becoming vegan, due to how much I love certain foods, but I like to think of myself as an empathetic and moral person. So I think I just feel quite selfish.

He is a very analytical and logical thinker, and says he wants to find more anti-vegan arguments before deciding for sure, but can’t seem to find many. What do you (and your followers) think? I was thinking you aren’t vegan, but I don’t actually know.

This is very much not my lane, but if you want my two cents then for me it comes down to a few things.

One: there is a basic mass of food that any human needs to consume in order to stay alive. That can be plants, it can be animals, it can be animal byproducts. For the a significant proportion of commercially produced food, there is a negative impact. It's hard to quantify; in some cases it is certainly direct, quality of life issues for animals. In other cases it's more broad environmental impact from commercial farming, or quality of life for the human laborers involved in harvesting etc. It's hard to come up with any objective measurement for harm when comparing individual animal suffering vs human quality of life vs large scale environmental issues. There's plenty of information out there on some of the vegan diet staples and how increases in farming things like quinoa have enormously detrimental effects on their native communities, if that's something your friend is not already aware.

Two: There is a degree of this that is just...unavoidable. Things eating other things is the way living creatures survive, and on a systematic level there's not a ton we individually can do to change things--and on a practical level, there's only so much you can afford to spend on food, and organic, cruelty free stuff is more expensive. There is a level of privilege in being able to choose to spend your money in that way that is not always an option for everyone.

I'm not vegan. I'm not vegetarian. I care deeply about animals, and I'm aware of what commercial husbandry looks like--it's pretty terrible. I still eat meat. I try to do so as ethically as I reasonably can.

I don't have an issue with eating other animals. It's a part of nature. To me, I see the obligation more to do our best to try to get meat (or byproducts) that have been raised as well as we can manage. Free range eggs are pretty easy to come by, if you live in the country. Same with locally made cheeses and butters, even farm fresh milk--some places have self-serve milking that allows cows to roam in pastures and then be milked at will. Price and availability will vary by where you are, but it's more and more common; as more and more people start to care about how the people and animals involved in making our food are treated, better options become more available.

It also should be noted that the animals involved in farming are almost universally completely domesticated. There's no alternative for these animals and their progeny except for life in human care. These breeds require human aid for their own health and safety, because we have been breeding them for (in many cases) thousands of years to rely on us and to develop traits that will not aid them in the wild. If everyone decided, tomorrow, to become vegan, then these animals would need to remain in human care for however many thousands of generations it would take to breed them back to the ability to survive without us, or we would have to sterilize them en mass and terminate these breeds through lack of reproduction. It is not an option to just release these farm animals into the wild. Domesticated animals require human care. Some of them, like pigeons, have gone feral when we abandoned them, but they are not like their wild cousins, and it shows.

Because of the selective breeding involved in domestion, most of these animals are producing byproducts--eggs, milk, honey, wool, etc--in quantities that they do not need. While some species have been bred to do that to their own detriment, most heritage breeds are fully capable of producing more than they need of these things, and there can be true symbiosis between these animals and their human caretakers. Some of these things they need to have removed for their own health. It's an ancient bargain--we keep them safe, and warm, and healthy, and protected, and they give us that which they have in abundance. The problem isn't the animal product, it's how it's produced commercially.

So yeah--veganism is one option, but it is, in my opinion, a narrow scope at an issue that is far more nuanced. I think it's equally ethical to aim for a diet that focuses on local, ethical farming practices--for growing crops, for caring for meat animals, for beekeeping, for chickens and sheep and whatever else we need. We've spent longer than any of us will live making these animals part of our world--discarding them and what they can give us is not going to benefit them. We just have to learn how to treat them respectfully.

[frownyalfred]

oooh i haven’t stopped thinking about the whole sups accidentally hurting bats thing. but hear me out, i don’t think it would be clark. clark has gone through his entire life deathly afraid of hurting the fragile humans around him, knowing that he was fundamentally different. he probably hugged his mom too hard as a kid and broke her ribs or something, and since then has known he can’t trust himself. and i mean there’s a loneliness and tragedy there, bc he can never fully relax. he can’t hug someone properly, he can’t loose himself during sex, he can’t afford to get angry in public and accidentally crush the chair he’s holding. when he’s rescuing someone, even if he only has split seconds to save them, he can’t grab them too hard and hurt them or everyone will accuse him of being a monster. he’s constantly hyper-vigilant and grows up alone and different.

jon on the other hand doesn’t have any of these hang ups as a kid. like yes he knows his mom is more fragile (physically), but he has his dad, the whole superfam, and a grows up with a whole host of durable superheroes around him who he doesn’t have to watch himself around. and obviously he cares about people and is careful, but he doesn’t have the same fear that echos clark’s every move. and clark tells him to be careful of course, but he doesn’t want to pass his loneliness and trauma down to his son either. and while jon obviously knows that damian is human, he’s such a tough superhero that he subconsciously slots him into the same category as his dad and women woman and kon etc. and if he grips a little too tight, damian won’t let him know bc pain is weakness etc. so jon is just the tiniest bit less careful around his best friend, until one day, with everyone there he, seriously hurts damian. and bruce is yelling at clark, and saying cruel things in his fear and worry bc he can’t express it any other way, jon is crying, and clark is just horrified bc this is all his worst nightmares. someone he cares about is injured, he’s loosing the trust of his friend, his son now has his trauma, and he’s worrying that bruce now fears them and sees them as monsters. much angst.

that was long winded and idk how realistic it is, but i just couldn’t stop thinking about the scenario and how it would play out and i had to share my brain worms lol. and just the juxtaposition of how it would happen/not happen with different characters based on their past is so interesting

I agree, it wouldn’t be Clark. Clark is so hyper-vigilant that the only time it might have happened would be during a quick unexpected save (grabbing Bruce at the last second midair etc). Jon is a much more likely candidate because they’re uncertain about him being half Kryptonian and as you said, Clark doesn’t want to pass along his issues to his son if he doesn’t have to.

I think Kon accidentally hurting Tim could happen too - esp if Lex was involved a lot in his early years and not Clark. Clark’s caution is so useful but only if he passes it along! That’s all Bruce wants.

[wickedscribbles]

whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) ch. 1

Masterlist Ch. 2, Ch. 3 Summary: Saving the timeline and moving in with Wade Wilson is one thing. Going on his first, real, official date with the man is another thing entirely.

*or*

Logan struggles to tell Wade that he doesn't want Wade's idea of perfect. He just wants what they already have. Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, porn with plot, mental health issues, dirty talk, biting, bottom Logan/top Wade, blowjobs, come swallowing, praise kink, dry humping, PTSD

Word Count: 3.5K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

It wasn’t always this easy to wake up.

Before his new and surprising way of life, there were thousands of days when Logan hated this particular reminder of his immortality. Like he and the sun were in competition – which of them would outlast the other? And the worse the night before had been, the more bitter and ironic the morning. Day after day after day.

Lately, though, things are different. Things are good.

Today, Logan stirs awake in a warm bed shared with one other man, an ugly little dog, and a cat. Something that could almost feel like a family, even in their cramped apartment with all its issues. A hot and aching feeling hits his chest to even think the word; too many times he’d had that and lost it. Though he can’t lose Wade the way he’s lost others in the past, that fear isn’t quick to go away.

Wade’s face is buried in the collar of Logan’s t-shirt, and Logan doesn’t have to pull away to know that he’s drooling in his sleep. Maybe if it were someone else, he’d be irritated. With Wade, he’s just gotten used to it. Hell, he likes Wade too much to even care. Despite the constant chatter (yapping, as Wade says people call it now), the large generational gap, and the unconventional way they’d met, Logan does more than tolerate him.

He really, really likes Wade Wilson.

Though regenerative capabilities are a massive bonus, Logan also just enjoys being around him. He’s got a wicked sharp wit and sense of humor that get to Logan even when he’s trying to pretend they don’t. Wade’s damn good in a fight, light on his feet and agile in a way that Logan’s not sure he’ll ever be. He’s sweet, underneath all the talk.

The guy's interesting, talented, caring, and – fuck. This is a long list. Yeah, Logan knows where these sorts of feelings tend to lead. He’s not quite there yet, but he wants to be. He wants to try. Even if there's still a part of him that tells himself to get the hell away before something goes wrong. Because something always goes wrong.

In the tangle of fresh blankets and soft sun, Logan just lets himself lie there for a while. Get a little uninterrupted peace before the day has to start. It won’t be long before Puppins is hauling herself up and licking their faces, demanding breakfast and her morning walk. Currently she’s tits up at the foot of the bed, snoring. Bonnet is curled into a tight ball not far away, tail and paws tucked in.

Tranquility can’t last forever, though. Logan’s arm is at an uncomfortable angle under Wade’s body, and when he gently tries to pull it free, Wade begins to stir awake.

“Mm,” he mumbles, taking the time for a long, dramatic stretch. “Morning, kitty cat.”

“Morning,” Logan answers, leaning down to kiss him on the side of the head.

At their feet, Puppins is already beside herself with excitement, flipping and twisting to get upright so she can stick her tongue in someone’s nostrils. Logan takes advantage of the few seconds he has to shift a little closer, slinging a leg over Wade’s hip.

“You sleep okay?”

“Mmhm.”

Wade kisses him back after nodding, something sweet that could be their version of chaste. Logan would have a better time believing he actually meant it to be, if not for the way Wade slowly grinds his morning wood into Logan’s own, teasing even with a sleepy grin on his face.

“Yeah, I sure d–hey!” He’s interrupted by the inevitable dog in his face, tail going crazy as she plants her pointy little paws on each of them for leverage. “Okay, sweetie, we get it, you’re a bigger whore than Papa and you really want to go out.”

Bonnet cracks an eye open. He briefly looks at Logan as if to say what the actual fuck? before slipping off the bed and out the door.

“I’ll take her, you stay here.”

Logan eases his way out of bed and holds out his arms for Puppins to hop into, and she does so with gusto.

Wade gives puppy eyes almost as good as the dog does.

“Aww, you’re the best, angel face.” He gives them both a little wave from the bed as Logan carries her out. “Be good for Daddy, okay girl? No staring into the distance for thirty minutes like you’ve seen the ghost of a Victorian child.”

Trying to look annoyed at the antics and falling short, Logan shakes his head. The juxtaposition of being called kitty cat and then daddy within the same five minutes does something to him that he’s not even going to attempt to rationalize. Better to stuff it into the waistband of his shorts so that he doesn’t scare the neighbors.

She’s pretty fast about it, thankfully. Logan trots her outside the apartment in her little matching harness and leash and she does a lap around the block, sniffing at all the familiar spots. By the time they make it back inside, Wade’s got her fancy wet food ready and waiting, and Puppins launches herself into it like she’s never had an honest meal.

Not that he can really single her out. Bonnet eats in much the same way, his body hunched possessively over the bowl, growling through bites as if someone’s about to take it away from him. Like they’d risk their hand trying.

“Our sweet little freak shows,” Wade says fondly, bumping his hip into Logan’s as they take a minute to make sure there’s not going to be any roughhousing.

(Roughhousing loosely translates to Puppins finishing her food and wandering over to Bonnet, then screaming out her drama when she gets smacked in the face. She somehow fails to remember, every day, that he likes a firm boundary with his breakfast.)

Logan hums his agreement, sparing a sideways glance at Wade in nothing but Logan’s own boxers and a loose tank top that reads Satan Loves My Gay Ass. If he’s right, they’ll have about two more minutes before his cat– as Wade sometimes refers to Bonnet – horks down the rest of his food, leaving the household in peace. Then they can have their fun.

Seems like Wade’s right there with him. As soon as Bonnet prowls away from his empty bowl, extra claws clicking on the linoleum, he snatches the bowl up – just in time for Puppins to collide with his forearm on her way to lick it clean.

“No no no, my delicate little scrotum-faced wonder,” he coos at her. “We all know what cat food does to your already tumultuous digestive tract.”

No fucking kidding, Logan thinks. They’d had to rip out and replace a good strip of the carpet the first time they’d caught her in it.

“Anyway!” Wade deposits the pet bowls in the sink with a clang. “I’m pretty sure our dicks were in the middle of something?”

Logan grins, often unable to help himself where Wade is concerned. “They mighta been.”

That affirmation is all it takes to get them back to the bedroom, this time shutting the door with a click. Logan pins Wade to it in two seconds flat, his mouth hungry as they kiss, running his hands up and down the other man’s exposed biceps with a quiet sound of want.

He can’t help how good Wade looks wearing his boxers. They’re too fucking big for him, for one thing, slipping a little on his slightly slimmer build. Almost giving him the whole show, depending on the angle. Not a problem now, because he’s straining them hard with his tented cock. Like he’d planned on getting Logan this worked up before breakfast.

Their lips dance and tease each other for a while in that way they both adore; a little pain, a little fun, all of it mixing together until things are indistinguishable. Teeth nipping and pulling before tongues get involved, Logan’s hips pressing deep into Wade’s, a push and pull of oxytocin. One of Wade’s hands works its way into Logan’s hair, sending a thrill of pleasure up his spine as he gently scratches at his scalp.

“Should we take this party to the bed?” Wade asks as they break away for a moment. “Or would you rather I fuck you against the door so hard that the neighbors think we have a really insistent visitor?”

Honestly, that sounds fun – until Logan pictures banging his shoulders into the unforgiving door frame hundreds of times.

“Bed,” Logan decides.

It’s only a few steps away. Wade walks him backwards until the back of his legs collide with the mattress, and Logan lets himself fall. The bed gives a hellish squeak underneath the sudden weight, reminding them both of the four bed frames that they’ve gone through since they’ve started dating. They may be on their way to the fifth if this one keeps up.

They’re quick to arrange themselves more comfortably at the head of the bed. Logan surrendered long ago to the idea of how nice it felt to have Wade on top of him, like a weighted blanket that won't shut the fuck up. The same stays true now – Wade’s talking up all the things they could do and the many ways he could make Logan feel good, all pressed between fervent neck kisses that make him arch and pant and whine.

“Yeah, big guy?” Wade purrs down at him. “Aww, look at you. We’re all riled up this morning, aren’t we?”

As an answer, Logan locks his arms around Wade’s back. He grapples him, swinging a leg over until their positions are switched yet again, drinking in the broad grin on his boyfriend’s face.

Boyfriend. What a vast and terrifying concept.

“And whose fault is that?”

Logan pulls at the edge of Wade’s tank top, stretching it down until he can lick and bite at enough of his chest to be satisfied. Covering his skin with little nips and marks, then sinking down lower, hovering over his abdomen, pushing the shirt up to Wade’s ribs so he can lavish over his scarred and puckered stomach. The scent of arousal colors the air, thick and sweet, and Logan nudges his head against the waistband of Wade’s boxers – his boxers – with a moan.

Breathing faster with the anticipation of what’s about to happen, Wade’s having a difficult time keeping up with any potential banter. One of his hands returns to Logan’s hair, where he knows he likes them. Logan rises into the touch, his eyes dark and needy.

“I’d like to plead not guilty, Your Honor,” says Wade, watching with unmatched interest as Logan pulls down the boxers and slips his cock free. “Pretty sure you’re the one who started this whole shebang.”

Pausing to shrug as if to say you got me there, Logan smiles up at Wade before pressing a kiss to the base of his dick. If he really wanted to, he could argue that the way Wade looked in his boxers had compelled him to be a little hornier than usual. But honestly…he’s too eager to suck him off.

Because he fucking loves this.

Getting to turn his brain off and do something with his body that feels incredible instead of awful. Quite literally the polar opposite of what he’s been doing for the majority of his life – the fighting and violence, the brutal misery of it all. Sex with Wade still feels like something he shouldn’t let himself be doing, especially when Wade indulges all the guilty little pleasures that have long gone untouched in the back of Logan’s psyche.

Most of all, it feels so good to let go with a partner. Sure, he’s tangled with other mutants in the past, but there was always a part of him that had to hold back. Whatever he could possibly do to Wade, Wade can not only take, but will likely even enjoy. The possibility of anything and everything melts on his tongue like mint chocolate, something to savor. Something rare.

And now that he’s had a taste, he is never, ever letting go.

He tries to take his time, to make this sultry and teasing, but it’s so hard. Wade’s cock is inches from his face, dripping and straining for attention. Logan doesn’t stop to do any of the usual tricks – no fanning his breath over the length of it or lapping up the pre-come. No pausing to tease that extra-sensitive spot right under the head. Logan only has the patience to kiss a fierce, hungry line, look right at Wade, smirk, and then swallow him down.

“Fuck, kitty cat,” Wade hisses. “Going straight for the kill shot today, huh?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, giving him wordless snark. Pausing for a moment to see if this particular merc is keen on giving him more mouth before he continues what he’s trying to do. When the answer seems to be no, he continues, sinking down deep between Wade’s spread legs to take as much of him as he can. Opening up the back of his throat to make more room, aware that he’s going to start drooling any second.

The attention leaves Wade nearly senseless. When Logan remembers to look up – to get the eye contact that the other man loves, but still sometimes leaves him feeling vulnerable, even despite the intimacy of what they’re already doing – Wade’s gazing at him with the most punched-out expression of need. As if Logan’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen (though he's got greying hair and wrinkles and all the other things he secretly worries make him unattractive).

The way his mouth hangs open a little bit drives Logan fucking crazy. He can hear every gasp and whine, Wade’s earnest brown eyes on him, his throat bobbing, sweat beginning to shine on his exposed skin. Logan makes a desperate sound of his own, achingly hard in his boxers as he sucks Wade’s cock sloppy and fast.

“Baby, that’s so good, you feel so fucking good, fucking perfect on my cock, aren’t you?”

He increases the pace in response, growling low and pleased in the back of his throat.

“Such a good boy,” Wade gasps, the hand in Logan's hair twisting harshly. Logan whines again, feeling his cock jolt at the sensation. “God, you're perfect, first taking the dog out and now this – oh, I'm definitely about three paragraphs away from coming in your mouth –”

Logan can’t wait anymore. He ruts against the firm line of Wade's calf, aching to be touched in any way he can get. His eyes slip closed, a shiver of pure relief traveling down his sun-freckled shoulders. The simple friction is clumsy, reminding him for one burning second of the way he’d jack off as a much, much younger man – but he can’t be bothered to give a fuck. Especially not with the way Wade’s fucking into his mouth now, his voice threatening to pitch into a whimper.

Forcing himself to look up to catch the look on Wade’s face, Logan’s just in time to see him arch, gorgeous, off the bed, hands scrabbling out of Logan’s hair to cover his face.

“Logan, sweetheart, so fuckin’ hot, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop–”

Breathing hard through his nose, Logan fucks his leg in earnest, slobber dripping down from his mouth to pool all over the base of Wade’s cock. Only seconds later, Wade bucks his hips one last time and comes, gushing praise that Logan can hardly make out. He's too focused on wrapping his free hand around what he doesn't have in his mouth, milking Wade for everything he's worth, swallowing down what he’s given. Pausing his own enjoyment for a minute to focus on his partner’s – because that in itself is beyond sexy.

When it's clear that he's too sensitive to take any more, Logan lets up. Wade, still a little starry eyed, pats the mattress in a gesture for him to scoot up.

“C’mere, peanut. Your turn.” And he goes, like a domesticated animal, crawling up until Wade can reach him. Hardly pausing to peel off his underwear, annoyed when they hinder the process. Knocking his forehead gently to Wade’s as he collapses on his side, sighing out a sound that turns into a moan of relief as a hand finally wraps around his cock. Knowing he won’t last more than a minute and knowing that he won’t get any shit for it, at least not any that would actually hurt his feelings.

On their sides, Wade jerks him off fast and rough, just the right way to get Logan to come if he needs it right now. He can feel more than see Wade grinning at him, quick open-mouthed kisses landing on his face and mouth and neck as Logan feels the rush of orgasm coiling up tight. One hand curls and uncurls into a fist, an unconscious effort to keep from slicing through Wade or the mattress below them.

Of course, Wade notices. He never misses a fucking beat.

“You’re alright, princess,” he says softly. “Go ahead. Give me your best.”

“M’gonna come,” Logan chokes out. He’s meeting Wade’s hand with his hips, shaking the bed. “Wade –”

The orgasm hits like a waking dream, and as promised, Logan covers Wade’s hand and stomach in warm spurts.

This is far from the first time he’s come, hard, while slicing through various parts of his boyfriend’s body. Today it’s his side, spearing into his skin like it’s butter. In the back of Logan’s mind, he registers which organs he’s punctured before the claws are sliding out, Wade’s skin knitting itself neatly back into place. Blood dribbles down his stomach and onto the sheets below – lucky for them, they got smart about buying dark sheets several romps ago.

Unfortunately for Logan, his fight or flight response doesn’t always think these sorts of things are consensual. His heart will sometimes stay pounding for long minutes after they’re done when the claws are involved. Which is fucking annoying, because they’ve already talked circles around it. Jess, his therapist, says it probably has something to do with a lot of unresolved trauma he’s had over the years. Like he’s supposed to just unpack all of that in the span of a year or even ten.

Wade notices him again. Their foreheads bump.

“Good?” he asks.

Logan nods. “Good.” He takes a deep breath, willing his pulse to resemble something normal. “What time are we headed out?”

“Hmm…” Wade rolls over on his back, contemplating. “Probably gonna need at least… two hours to up my glam factor? Maybe three?”

Scoffing, Logan hauls himself out of the bed on wobbly knees. He extends a hand to help Wade do the same.

“Thought this was a date, not your runway premiere,” he says, grinning at the resulting look on Wade’s face as he strips out of his blood-stained, come-covered tank. They open the bedroom door to a very excited Mary Puppins wagging her tail. Wade acknowledges her while Logan steps into the bathroom to get the water running for their shower. These things go easily now; most of the time, neither one of them has to ask the other how sex is going to go down. They flow through it, and help one another untangle any knots that might appear along the way.

“It could be both! I do things in my spare time that you don’t know about.”

Together, they step under the water, comfortable enough to know who wants to go under the water first and who’s washing what when.

“Haven’t seen you on Drag Race yet, so you must not be that prevalent.”

“Oh you are a catty bitch –” Logan ducks as Wade attempts to ram his face into the tile wall, laughing a little. Their shower is definitely not big enough for roughhousing, but that’s never stopped them. It does, however, piss off their landlord every time there’s a new crack in the wall. They’re on the verge of being some of her least favorite tenants – surely held back only by all the sweet talking Wade does and all the peace offerings Logan brings around in the form of homemade meals.

(Standing 4’11’’ at full height, nothing scares Wade more than Logan yelling it’s Rhonda over his shoulder from the front door – and Rhonda peering under his elbow, barking out Wade I swear to God if your ugly ass little rat dog pisses in the hallway one more time –)

He invokes her wrath now, and it’s enough to make Wade settle down and wash.

Once they’re thoroughly scrubbed clean, Wade drops the towel over Logan’s head, playfully tousling his hair.

“Seriously though,” Logan hears as he fights his way out of the towel. “I’m gonna need a hot minute, so you go ahead and get your war paint on first, peanut.”

“If you’re sure,” he shrugs. Not like he’s been on a date for far longer than he’d like to confess to, but Logan’s go-to takes less than twenty minutes.

“‘Kay bye!”

Wade shuts the bathroom door, leaving Logan alone with his reflection in the mirror. He’s smiling, all soft and stupid, the look almost unfamiliar on his own face.

Yeah, mornings could be pretty damn good around here.

[dfortrafalgar]

Bring Your Daughter(s) To Work Day

Law x Fem Reader (kinda)

When the babysitter cancels last minute, Law is forced to bring his daughters to work with him, and deal with the emotions they unknowingly make him feel.

A/N: SURPRISE- BONUS CHAPTER FOR IMLY!!! this came to me suddenly and i hammered it out. this can be read as a standalone, but i wrote it with the intention of it being directly connected to the universe of my long form fic "I'm Losing You"

Warnings: nothing but pure fluff here, folks. established relationship, third person POV, reader is only present in the beginning and end of the story, some suggestive language sprinkled throughout but nothing explicit

[IMLY Masterlist]

Law watched with dejected eyes as his wife dropped her head into her hands, a harsh groan leaving her lips.  Under her breath, quiet enough so her kids couldn’t hear her profanity, she uttered, “Fuck.”

“Let me guess,” Law mumbled.  “She canceled?”

“This is the last time we use this babysitter,” she growled, turning off her phone and flipping it upside down so the screen faced the table, ignoring whatever incoming messages might appear.  “It’s going to be too late to find any sitters now, and their school doesn’t start for another week.  It’s not like we can just drop them off somewhere or leave them here alone.”  She picked up her gaze, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concern.  “Law… I can’t miss this interview.”

“I know, baby,” he whispered back, reaching his hand across the kitchen table to stroke her clenched fist.  “You’re not going to.”

“Do you have a plan, then?”

Law bit the inside of his cheek as he searched his mind for any feasible solution.  One of the biggest interviews of his wife’s career was on the following day, ever since she cordially parted with her last job after having their twins.  She spent the first year of their life physically recovering from the birth, as well as having her tubes tied to prevent any more reproductive issues, the couple happily deciding that they were fine with two children.  The following toddler years were spent at home with Cora and Rose, his wife being assisted by Uncle Shachi, Uncle Penguin, and Auntie Ikkaku whenever they were free.  On days where Law was out of work, he made sure his wife was completely hands-off, taking his daughters out so his wife could spend some much needed time alone or out with her own friends.  The two had a comfortable balance, allowing for ample time spent with each other, their daughters, as well as valuing their personal lives.  Law’s cardiothoracic surgeon salary was more than enough to afford comfortable living in their small house filled with two six-year-old girls and a dog, but he could tell his wife was desperate to get back to a working schedule again.  There was never an issue with having more income, after all, and the doctor knew his wife was never one for the stay-at-home lifestyle for the long-term.

“I’ll bring them with me,” he stated suddenly.  His face remained completely neutral.

“What?” she yelped, standing from her chair.  “Law, you can’t.  You’re a doctor.”

“I don’t have any operations tomorrow, and I’m only working 12 hours.  I’ll bring them with me when I leave at 9, and you can pick them up after your interview,” he explained.  “I have plenty of staff, and there’s a children’s room in the cardiac ward.  They’ll have things to do and people to talk to.”

His wife frantically searched her husband’s face for any sign of indifference or reluctance to his own claim.  Finding none, she slowly sank back into her chair.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’re absolutely positive?”

“I am.”

“And you promise to not traumatize them?”

Law pursed his lips.  The week prior, he found his girls in the backyard poking a dead, gutted rabbit with a stick.  He didn’t think he had much to worry about.  “I promise.”

Finally letting her shoulders relax, his wife slumped over and rested her forearms on the kitchen table, plopping her head against them and shielding her face from the world.  A small chuckle exited Law’s lips as he stood and rounded the furniture, coming to rest behind his wife and placing his deft hands on her shoulders, massaging the knots out of her tired muscles.  She visibly relaxed even more from his touch, almost as if she was melting from the motions of his hands.

“You always know exactly what to do to make me feel better,” she sighed, tossing a glance at her smirking husband from over her shoulder.

“Everything’s going to work out.  You’ll do amazing at your interview, the girls will behave themselves at work, and we’ll all live happily ever after,” he hummed, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on the back of her head.

“Can you bring home ice cream tomorrow?” she asked, her voice finally regaining its light and airy demeanor as her sullen mood finally lifted.

“Of course.”

—

“Girls.”

Law’s stern golden eyes looked in the rear-view mirror, watching as Cora and Rose immediately snapped their attention to their father from the backseat.  Rose clenched a book in her small hands, well above her age’s reading level, while Cora fiddled around with the broken arm of a Stealth Black action figure.

“Remember to be on your absolute best behavior today, alright?” he stated firmly.  “I’ll be around to check on you both for most of the day, but when I’m not there, you need to be good for the nurses.”

“We know, daddy,” Cora chirped.  “Mama told us you’d be coming home with ice cream if we were good.”

“I’ll be coming home with ice cream regardless,” he replied, a small smile growing on his lips.  “But if you’re not good, you won’t be getting any.  It’ll just be for Mommy and I.”

He laughed as his daughters screeched from the backseat, flabbergasted at the mere insinuation that they might not get a share of any delectable treats.  Fondness welled in his heart as he listened to the twins bicker over their shared behavior.  Through their short six years on Earth, they had already grown into strong, individualistic young ladies who were practically inseparable.  Law cried on every single birthday.  They had turned him into quite a softie.

His foot gently depressed the break of his car as he turned into the sprawling hospital’s parking garage, driving up the ramps to the third floor and slipping into a parking space reserved for staff.  He diligently grabbed the large childcare bag from the passenger seat, slinging it over his shoulder before proceeding to free Rose from her restrictive (but very safe) car seat, followed by Cora, who clambered to get out of the car and holler into the echoing abyss of the parking garage, giggling at the way her voice bounced off the concrete pillars and walls surrounding her.  Rose held her hands over her ears, cringing at the sound.

“Get it out of your system now, baby, you can’t be yelling like that in the hospital,” Law uttered, grabbing each girl by the hand and slowly walking with them toward the hospital’s entrance connected to the parking garage by a small hallway and two elevator shafts.

Rose firmly gripped her father’s hand in her right, clutching her book in her left.  Cora skipped along, tripping over her feet, and sang into the air.  “Gather up all of the crew!  It’s time to ship out Binks’ brew!  Sea wind blows, to where?  Who knows!  The waves will be our guide!”

Rose mumbled, her small voice whiny and irritated.  “Cora, you’ve been singing that all day.”

“I love that song!” the younger girl retorted, almost stepping on Law’s foot.  “Uncle Luffy taught it to me.”

Law bit back a smirk, yet rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.  Leave it to that boisterous man to introduce his daughters to the life of high-stakes maritime activity.  He’d be lying if he said playing pirates with his girls wasn’t some of the most fun he’d had recently, however.  It only took a bit of a negative turn when Cora, pretending to be the infamous Blackbeard, landed a punch against Law’s groin so harsh it made him double over.  It wasn’t like she knew any better, but amidst his wife’s worried yet hysterical laughter, he wondered if that blow was enough to make him infertile.

He shrugged the thought into the back of his head, releasing Rose’s gentle hand to press the elevator button, leading his girls into the small space and watching in silence as the doors closed in front of them, carrying them down two levels to the cardiac ward.

“Daddy?” Rose asked, looking up at him.  “What do you do all day?”

Law pondered briefly.  “On days where I don’t have operations, I usually do rounds for patients.”

“What are rounds?” asked the curly-haired girl.  

“I go from room-to-room and assess each person’s health and how they’re doing,” he explained.

“Can we join you?” Cora suddenly asked, staring up at her father with her own large, golden eyes.

“I’m afraid not, sweetpea.”

The younger twin pouted before suddenly growing frazzled out of nowhere.  “I LEFT MY ACTION FIGURE IN THE CAR!!!”

Rose quickly covered her ears again at her sister’s shrill scream.

“We’ll get it later, baby,” Law tried to console.  He nervously glanced at the LCD screen above the button panel, about to reach the first floor.  “I can get it for you on my lunch break.  Can you wait until then?”

Cora’s face was growing flushed as she puffed out her cheeks, her eyes welling with heavy crocodile tears.  “But I want him now!  He’s going to die in the car!”

Law rubbed a hand over her hair.  “He won’t die.”

“He will!”

“I’ll save him before he does,” he said back.  “Shhh, keep your voice down, baby.”

Rose removed her hands from her ears with an audible, relieved sigh.  Cora was appeased… for now.  She’d have to deal with profound, inescapable boredom until noon, or at least until her mom came to pick the two up and save them from the children’s room at the hospital.

All things considered, the girls were fantastically behaved.  They watched on quietly as Law scanned his badge to enter the high-security corridors leading to the cardiothoracic ward, nodding a wordless hello to the various nurses and doctors who passed by, each offering fond, excited smiles to the young girls.  The long, winding hallways of the hospital were ginormous in comparison to the twins, who were used to the much smaller hallways of their kindergarten building, but they kept their hands in their father’s as he led them to his ward.

“Can you remember what I said in the car?” the surgeon asked, scanning his badge over one last electronic box on the wall, the click of the door’s lock signaling its opening.

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Rose obediently replied, more excited to be able to get back to her reading in peace.

“We promise,” Cora added.  She opened her small mouth one more time, as if to add a second thought, but quickly shut her jaw and stared straight ahead.  Law cocked an eyebrow at the display, but didn’t question it further.  If the little girl had an issue, she would immediately let him know.

There was a children’s room, which was really just a small space situated behind one of the nurses stations, used primarily for families with very small children.  When a person would be admitted to the cardiac ward, any potential juvenile visitors were welcome to use the children’s area to remove them from the otherwise clinical, scary environment of the hospital.  The entire space was stocked with coloring books, light reading for ages 4-10, building blocks, and other miscellaneous playthings, all thoroughly sanitized before and after each visit.

When Law rounded the corner into the doorway of the children’s area, Rebecca was crouched down on the floor, diligently wiping down a set of large plastic building blocks with a sanitizing wipe.  Her large, brown eyes glimmered as she saw Cora and Rose, having not seen them in quite some time.  It wasn’t like Law brought them to work often.

“There are the guests of honor!” sang the pink-haired woman, discarding the wipe into a nearby trash receptacle and hurrying toward her superior and his two excited daughters.  The girls pulled away from their dad and hugged Rebecca’s legs, instantly remembering the warm smile and bright laughter of the nurse who happily knelt to their level and pulled them to her chest.  “It’s so wonderful to see you two again!”

“Let me know if they give you any trouble, Rebecca,” Law sighed, smiling at the sight albeit scrunching his eyebrows at the potential his children had for causing petty issues.  They were their mother’s daughters, after all.  Their well-behaved exterior made room for some very sinister six-year-old schemes.

“How could these sweet angels cause any trouble at all?” Rebecca giggled, ruffling Rose’s head of thick, curly black hair.  “I will, though, sir.  No problem at all.”

“I’ll be back in about two hours for my short break.  Cora, Rose…” the surgeon called their names, alerting their attention once more.

The silence in the room was palpable as Law brought two of his fingers to his eyes, gesturing his hand toward their faces as if giving a silent threat that he had his eye on them, even if not in the same room.  He had a playful smirk on his face as he did so, leading Cora to stick her tongue out at her dad.  Rose gave her sister a light shove, harshly whispering about the ice cream reward still looming over their heads.

—

Two hours and far too many patient rounds finally came and went before Law was able to take a short break, proceeding to the children’s room with his ample amount of paperwork in an accordion binder held in his arms.  He’d be able to get some time to work on it while sitting on the floor at the squatted table while he gave his nurse a much needed reprieve from his daughters.  While marching through the long hallways of the cardiac ward, the surgeon pulled out his phone and smiled at the text that had come in from his wife, about 30 minutes prior.

Mama What do you think of this fit???  I mean, im going with it, but do i look hot and professional?

Mama [1 Image Attachment]

Mama Right answers only.  Also, are the girls behaving alright???

His wife did indeed look stunning.  Her curves fit elegantly into a sharp, black pencil skirt that flared slightly below her knees.  Sheer tights complimented her supple skin, and sophisticated yet casual wedge heels boosted her height by a good inch or so.  She was posing in the mirror of their bedroom, one hip jutted out propping up her free hand that she graced over her waist.  A trendy blouse was tucked into the skirt, the top few buttons still undone.  Grinning down at his phone and holding his folder tighter against his abdomen, he fumbled to type out a response while walking.

You know you look stunning, baby.  Absolutely gorgeous.  You’re going to do up those top buttons, though, right?

He watched the incoming message bubble appear and disappear a few times before her response came in.

Mama Duh, i was just hoping that showing off some cleavage would give me extra points with you <3

Law fought to bite down the chuckle that rose in his throat, not wanting to attract attention. As long as I get to undo those buttons later.  He was feeling bold today.

Mama Ice cream first, sex later.  Love you baby <333

Law quickly shoved his phone into his pocket after thumbing out a quick good luck message for her upcoming interview, which she was surely traveling to at that very moment.  He pushed open the door to the children’s room, quickly pushing back any inappropriate thoughts of his beautiful wife and smiling at the sight of his daughters.

Cora was in the middle of utilizing every single building block the room had to build a convoluted structure that took a plethora of odd shapes.  She was being assisted by another young girl who’s curious violet eyes watched inquisitively at each new block added to the structure.  Rose was in the adult-sized chair across the room, her nose buried in a new book.  Judging by her original book on the floor by the legs of the chair, she had finished that one after only two days.  A new literary record.  Rebecca was absent from the room, most likely having left to continue her own duties, but judging by the faint smell of light cleaning alcohol in the room, she hadn’t been gone long.

With a smile, Law sat on the floor across from his daughter’s, and the new girl’s, strange structure.  “What are you building?”

“A submarine.  Can’t you tell?” Cora replied, placing a pink-colored block on top of an ominously leaning stack.

The new girl, who’s hair was a deep shade of purple, stared at Law with huge, curious eyes before a cheeky grin broke out on her face.  “Are you the doctor taking care of my papa?” she asked.

Law grinned.  “Could be.  Who’s your papa?”

“Tenguyama Hitetsu,” she confirmed cheerily.  “Well, he’s not actually my papa, but he also is.”

A lightbulb clicked on in his head.  He had just been in Mr. Tanguyama’s room, and had no idea that the elderly man had any child under his care.  It was then he remembered that the man had described a young girl as his ‘student’ rather than ‘daughter,’ but he still spoke about her with such fond language.  Kurozumi Tama.

“Tama’s been helping me build,” blurted Cora, bringing herself to her feet to place another block on the tower attached to what was supposed to be a submarine.

“You two make a good team,” Law replied fondly as he turned his attention to his oldest daughter.  “Rose, what are you reading?”

Her new book was substantially thicker than the one she brought with her.  There were no pictures on the cover.  She tilted the object down only slightly to speak with her father.  “Rebecca brought it for me when I asked.  It’s a book about common heart conditions in adults.”

Somehow, Law was not surprised.  He didn’t even question it, watching as the black-haired girl turned her attention back to her book, disregarding any potential response from her father.  Without another word, and without wanting to distract the kids from their intense focus, he scooted across the floor to the squatted table and opened his accordion folder, flipping through his paperwork to pass his two hour break, counting his blessings that he had such easy, albeit… strange, children.

He couldn’t stay focused long enough to begin filling out his patient charts, however.  Especially not when he was swarmed with thoughts about his family.  As he picked his gaze up and glanced across the room at his daughters immersed in their own little worlds, happy as clams in their special ways, he couldn’t fight the swelling in his heart.  His wife, after worlds of difficulty, had given him two of the greatest gifts of his life.  Those gifts were now six years old, about to start first grade, reading above their level, building and drawing, holding conversations, and were filled with boundless love.  They hadn’t yet reached the age where they were embarrassed to hold hands with their dad in public, and they were still too young to fully understand the world around them, but it was clear as day to the surgeon that his little girls were bound to learn the tough realities of their lives sooner rather than later.  It made his chest pang thinking of how quickly they had grown up.  It felt like just yesterday that Law was by his wife’s side in the delivery room, finally holding his babies after they were allowed to leave the NICU, happy, healthy, and already beginning to babble and whine for their next feeding.  He remembered looking at his wife, the woman of his dreams, who had gone through far more than any human should in bringing these girls into the world, kissing her lips and thanking her, thanking whatever deity was in the heavens that she was still alive and well.

“Daddy?”

Rose’s voice broke Law from his trance, his sharp golden eyes darting up to meet hers.  The book was folded in her lap, her hands tracing the embossed letters on the hard cover.  

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice small and concerned.

A lump developed at the base of Law’s throat.  His girls looked so much like his wife.  He forced the rock down his esophagus and smiled at his little girl.

“I’m just fine, sweetpea.”

—

Law had needed to stay for an extra hour and a half after his shift was supposed to end, much to his distaste.  After his close-call to an emotional outburst that afternoon, he wanted nothing more than to run home, embrace his wife in a hug, and cuddle with her on the couch with the ice cream that he had promised her.  When he was finally able to slip into his car, the backseats empty (save for the Stealth Black action figure that was completely forgotten about by noon) with Cora and Rose having been picked up by their mom, he pulled out his phone to send his wife a text only to find that she had sent him one first.

Mama Look how tuckered out they are!!!

Mama [1 Image Attachment]

Mama What did you do to them???  LOL

The image was immediately saved to Law’s camera app.  Cora and Rose were curled up on the plush carpet in their living room on both sides of Bepo who was sprawled out on his back.  Their little arms wrapped around the dog’s torso, their faces squished into his warm, white fur as they snoozed in one conjoined unit.  He quickly tapped out a text that he was coming home, placing his phone in his bag and proceeding out of the parking garage as quickly as he could.  With the only places still open at that hour being the gas station, he stopped at the nicest one in town and picked up three pints of ice cream, as well as a few extra treats to surprise the girls with when their new friend, Tama, came over for a playdate in a few days.

When Law finally entered his house, the only light still on was the lamp beside the couch.  All the curtains were drawn, shrouding the living room in a pleasant, dim warmth.  His wife was on the couch, laying back with her phone in her hand.  She quickly stood up when Law entered, excitedly yet quietly closing the gap between them and capturing her husband’s lips in a tender kiss.  He cheekily took the freezing bag containing the ice cream and pressed it against the thin cotton t-shirt she wore to bed, cooling her skin and making her suppress a surprised yelp.  She giggled as she playfully batted Law’s chest.

“You tease!” she whispered.  “I don’t wanna wake the girls.”

“With the way they were sleeping in that picture, I doubt we’ll wake them up,” he replied, his voice low as his lips stole another kiss, lingering a few moments longer.  His heart fluttered at the feeling of his wife smiling into his gesture, her hands trailing over his chest, shoulders, and up into his fluffy black hair.

When she pulled away, he finally noticed the blouse she still wore, all the buttons done up.  “Good, because you still have to take this off of me.  I’m uncomfortable.”  She snatched the bag out of his hands, procuring her own pint of ice cream.  “After this, obviously.”

“Of course, of course.”  Law followed her lead, grabbing his own treat after placing his other goods into the freezer and following his wife to the couch with two spoons in hand.  Bepo was on his dog bed snoring up a storm, which he had been doing much more often in his older age.

“How did your interview go?” he finally asked, smiling as his wife snuggled into his size, using a blanket to grip her ice cream without freezing her hand.

“I think it went well, I was so nervous, though.  I had to apply an extra layer of deodorant in the car because I was sweating so much,” she explained.  “But the manager seemed pleased with my resume.  And she knew Ms. Boa, so hopefully that means my recommendations will be worth it.”

Law held her close while opening his own ice cream.  “I’m sure it will be.  You’re a shoe in for that position.”

“You’re just saying that,” she mumbled, taking a spoonful of the frozen treat.

“You like when I say things,” Law replied with a smirk on his lips.

She sunk further into his chest, letting his warmth embrace her.  Her mind swirled with images of the man, when they started dating, when he proposed, on their wedding night, in the hospital multiple times, holding his daughters… the woman blinked away fond tears and swallowed her emotions with another hefty spoonful of ice cream.

“What are you thinking about, gorgeous?” asked the man behind her, his voice gruff and tired from a long day in the hospital.

“Nothing…” she mumbled back, hiding her face in his neck.  “Just how lucky I am to have you.”

[scentedpeachlandcreator]

A deep dive into the subconscious mind :

Okay so I’ll be just explaining what I’ve read from the Book “The Power of the Subconscious Mind” by Joseph Murphy, this Book was Amazing, it had many success stories of people and many more.

If you want to read the whole thing of this book in the form of a PDF, well you will get it on this site.

The chapter of this post:

1. What is the subconscious mind?

2. What is the difference between the subconscious mind & the conscious mind?

3. How does the subconscious mind work?

4. What is the relation between the subconscious mind & the Law of assumption?

5. Success stories from the Book.

6. Answering some questions you might have.

Ⅰ. What is the subconscious mind?

The subconscious mind is the part of the brain that controls the aspect of your life 95% of the time. It's the most responsible part of your mind that controls your body, organs, heartbeat, and many more.

The subconscious mind isn’t logical, it’s completely blind and it doesn't argue, it just follows what you tell it to, what you believe so, it stores so many memories and information, and even the most bad ones that are stored deep beneath the mind.

“Your subconscious mind is like a huge memory bank. It permanently stores everything that ever happens to you, and its capacity is virtually unlimited.

By the time you reach the age of 21, you’ve already permanently stored more than one hundred times the contents of the entire Encyclopedia Britannica.

Under hypnosis, people can often remember, with perfect clarity, past events that happened many years before” from this site.

Ⅱ. What is the difference between the subconscious mind & the conscious mind?

The two-part of the brain have a Big difference between them, but they work in harmony — the conscious mind is what you are aware of, it is logical and rational, and with it you make decisions, solve, and think, and on the contrary of the subconscious mind which is illogical and irrational, it relies on the conscious mind, it does what you tell it to, let say the subconscious mind is like a servant working for a royal family, it just does what it tells it to, doesn’t argue, doesn’t have eyes, just obeys and start working, on the other hand, the conscious mind can be compared to the chief servant, overseeing and directing the actions of the subconscious mind and other faculties, the conscious mind’s role is to guide and protect the subconscious mind from harm.

Ⅲ. how does the subconscious mind work?

the subconscious works 24/7 it does not stop working, it’s responsible for your body's operation, it does not rest, it just keeps working until you die, it does work in mysterious ways, and nobody knows how, but it’s surely smart, it possesses an incredible intelligence, wisdom and many more than you can imagine.

an example by Joseph Murphy of how the subconscious mind works:

“You will perceive the main differences by the following illustrations: The conscious mind is like the navigator or captain at the bridge of a ship.

He directs the ship and signals orders to men in the engine room, who in turn control all the boilers, instruments, gauges, etc. The men in the engine room do not know where they are going; they follow orders. They would go on the rocks if the man on the bridge issued faulty or wrong instructions based on his findings with the compass, sextant, or other instruments. The men in the engine room obey him be-cause he is in charge and issues orders, which are automatically obeyed. Members of the crew do not talk back to the captain; they simply carry out orders.

The captain is the master of his ship, and his decrees are carried out. Likewise, your conscious mind is the captain and the master of your ship, which represents your body, environ-ment, and all your affairs. Your subconscious mind takes the orders you give it based upon what your conscious mind believes and accepts as true. When you repeatedly say to people, “I can’t afford it,” then your subconscious mind takes you at your word and sees to it that you will not be in a position to purchase what you want. As long as you persist in saying, “I can’t afford that car, that trip to Europe, that home, that fur coat or ermine wrap,” you can rest assured that your subconscious mind will follow your or-ders, and you will go through life experiencing the lack of all these things”.

“Your subconscious mind accepts what is impressed upon it or what you consciously believe. It does not reason things out like your conscious mind, and it does not argue with you contro-versially. Your subconscious mind is like the soil, which accepts any kind of seed, good or bad. Your thoughts are active and might be likened unto seeds. Negative, destructive thoughts continue to work negatively in your subconscious mind, and in due time will come forth into outer experience which corresponds with them.

Remember, your subconscious mind does not engage in proving whether your thoughts are good or bad, true or false, but it responds according to the nature of your thoughts or suggestions. For example, if you consciously assume something as true, even though it may be false, your subconscious mind will accept it as true and proceed to bring about results, which must neces-sarily follow, because you consciously assumed it to be true” by Joseph Murphy.

Ⅳ. what’s the relation between the subconscious mind & the Law of Assumption?

this is the most interesting part – the subconscious mind is the one responsible for bringing your manifestation/desire to fruition, BUT that requires you to change your mindset from “I can’t do this, I don’t deserve this, how am i supposed to have it” to “i can do this, I’m successful, I deserve my desires, I already have it”.

if you affirm that you won’t succeed then guess what? yeah duh you won’t, why? because you assumed so, you believed it, accepted it, then the subconscious mind started working on it, and it showed up in the 3d.

assumptions = reality.

Let me make you understand with an example:

let’s say you have an upcoming exam and you want to manifest good grades, so you study for the exam and affirm that you’ll have good grades.

you pass the exam and you wait for the results, when the teacher gives you your papers you see that you didn’t have a good grade, and your stupid self starts telling yourself “i knew it won’t work”, “i guess the law doesn’t work”, “why it didn’t work?” that THE BIGGEST STUPIDIEST MISTAKE YOU EVER MADE, don’t you understand that while you're saying this to yourself your subconscious is also listening? your subconscious doesn’t have eyes, it does not know what’s happening in the 3d.

so instead of seeing your bad grades on the paper and you start doubting yourself, take a deep breath and remind yourself of your power, and flip your thought against what your 3d is showing you saying “oh yeah i’m so happy! i did amazing this time on my exam! my parents are gonna be so proud of me!” that what persisting is, you continue being faithful and loyal to your assumption no matter what the 3d throw at you.

Ⅴ. success stories from the book:

number one:

• How he made his dream come true:

A movie actor told me that he had very little education, but he had a dream as a boy of becoming a successful movie actor. Out in the field mowing hay, driving the cows home, or even when milking them he said, “I would constantly imagine I saw my name in big lights at a large theatre. I kept this up for years until finally I ran away from home. I got extra jobs in the motion-picture field, and the day finally came when I saw my name in great, big lights as I did when I was a boy!” Then he added, “I know the power of sustained imagination to bring success.”

number two:

Last Christmas Eve a beautiful young university student looked at an attractive and rather expensive traveling bag in a store window. She was going home to Buffalo, New York, for the holidays. She was about to say, “I can’t afford that bag,” when she recalled something she had heard at one of my lec-tures which was, “Never finish a negative statement; reverse it immediately, and wonders will happen in your life.”

She said, “That bag is mine. It is for sale. I accept it men-tally, and my subconscious sees to it that I receive it.”

At eight o’clock Christmas Eve her fiancé presented her with a bag exactly the same as the one she had looked at and mentally identified herself with at ten o’clock the same morning. She had filled her mind with the thought of expectancy and released the whole thing to her deeper mind, which has the “know-how” of accomplishment.

This young girl, a student at the University of Southern California, said to me, “I didn’t have the money to buy that bag, but now I know where to find money and all the things I need, and that is in the treasure house of eternity within me.”

number three:

• How she restored her memory:

A woman, aged seventy-five, was in the habit of saying to herself, “I am losing my memory.” She reversed the procedure and practiced induced autosuggestion several times a day as follows: “My memory from today on is improving in every department. I shall always remember whatever I need to know at every moment of time and point of space. The impressions received will be clearer and more definite. I shall retain them automatically and with ease. Whatever I wish to recall will im-mediately present itself in the correct form in my mind. I am improving rapidly every day, and very soon my memory will be better than it has ever been before.” At the end of three weeks, her memory was back to normal, and she was delighted.

number four:

• How faith in your subconscious powers makes you whole:

A young man, who came to my lectures on the healing power of the subconscious mind, had severe eye trouble, which his doctor said necessitated an operation. He said to himself, “My subconscious made my eyes, and it can heal me.” Each night, as he went to sleep, he entered into a drowsy, meditative state, the condition akin to sleep. His attention was immobilized and focused on the eye doctor. He imagined the doctor was in front of him, and he plainly heard, or imagined he heard, the doctor saying to him, “A miracle has happened!” He heard this over and over again every night for perhaps five minutes or so before going to sleep. At the end of three weeks he again went to the ophthalmologist who had previously examined his eyes, and the physician said to this man, “This is a miracle!” What happened? This man impressed his subconscious mind using the doctor as an instrument or a means of convincing it or conveying the idea.

Through repetition, faith, and expect-ancy he impregnated his subconscious mind. His subconscious mind made his eye; within it was the perfect pattern, and imme-diately it proceeded to heal the eye. This is another example of how faith in the healing power of your subconscious can make you whole.

number five:

• His dream pharmacy became a reality:

Thirty years ago I knew a young pharmacist who was re-ceiving forty dollars a week plus commission on sales. “After twenty-five years,” he said to me, “I will get a pension and re-tire.”

I said to this young man, “Why don’t you own your own store? Get out of this place. Raise your sights! Have a dream for your children. Maybe your son wants to be a doctor; perhaps your daughter desires to be a great musician.”

His answer was that he had no money! He began to awaken to the fact that whatever he could conceive as true, he could give conception.

The first step toward his goal was his awakening to the powers of his subconscious mind, which I briefly elaborated on for his benefit. His second step was his realization that if he could succeed in conveying an idea to his subconscious mind, the latter would somehow bring it to pass.

He began to imagine that he was in his own store. He mentally arranged the bottles, dispensed prescriptions, and imagined several clerks in the store waiting on customers. He also visualized a big bank balance. Mentally he worked in that imaginary store. Like a good actor he lived the role. Act as though I am, and I will be. This pharmacist put himself whole-heartedly into the act, living, moving, and acting on the assump-tion that he owned the store.

The sequel was interesting. He was discharged from his position. He found new employment with a large chain store, became manager, and later on, district manager. He saved enough money in four years to provide a down payment on a drugstore of his own. He called it his “Dream Pharmacy.”

“It was,” he said, “exactly the store I saw in my imagina-tion.” He became a recognized success in his chosen field, and was happy doing what he loved to do.

Number six:

• Boy of sixteen years turns failure into success:

A young boy who was attending high school said to me, “I am getting very poor grades. My memory is failing. I do not know what is the matter.” I discovered that the only thing wrong with this boy was his attitude, which was one of indifference and resentment toward some of his teachers and fellow students. I taught him how to use his subconscious mind, and how to succeed in his studies.

He began to affirm certain truths several times a day particularly at night prior to sleep, and also in the morning after awakening. These are the best times to impregnate the subconscious mind.

He affirmed as follows: “I realize that my subconscious mind is a storehouse of memory. It retains everything I read and hear from my teachers. I have a perfect memory, and the infinite intelligence in my subconscious mind constantly reveals to me everything I need to know at all my examinations, whether written or oral. I radiate love and good will to all my teachers and fellow students. I sincerely wish for them success and all good things.”

This young man is now enjoying a greater freedom than he has ever known. He is now receiving all “A’s.” He constantly imagines the teachers and his mother congratulating him on his success in his studies.

Number seven:

• Scientists Use the Subconscious Mind:

Many scientists realize the true importance of the sub-conscious mind. Edison, Marconi, Kettering, Poincarè, Ein-stein, and many others have used the subconscious mind. It has given them the insight and the “know-how” for all their great achievements in modern science and industry. Research has shown that the ability to bring into action the subconscious power has determined the success of all the great scientific and research workers.

An instance of how a famous chemist, Friedrich von Stradonitz, used his subconscious mind to solve his problem is as follows: He had been working laboriously for a long time trying to rearrange the six carbon and the six hydrogen atoms of the benzine formula, and he was constantly perplexed and unable to solve the matter. Tired and exhausted, he turned the request over completely to his subconscious mind. Shortly after-ward, as he was about to board a London bus, his subconscious presented his conscious mind with a sudden flash of a snake biting its own tail and turning around like a pin wheel. This answer, from his subconscious mind, gave him the longsought answer of the circular rearrangement of the atoms that is known as the benzine ring.

Number eight:

• How a distinguished scientist brought forth his inventions:

Nikola Tesla was a brilliant electrical scientist who brought forth the most amazing innovations. When an idea for a new invention came into his mind, he would build it up in his imagina-tion, knowing that his subconscious mind would reconstruct and reveal to his conscious mind all the parts needed for its manufacture in concrete form. Through quietly contemplating every possible improvement, he spent no time in correcting defects, and was able to give the technicians the perfect product of his mind. He said, “Invariably, my device works as I imagined it should. In twenty years there has not been a single exception.

Number nine:

• How a famous scientist and physicist escaped from a Russian concentration camp:

Dr. Lothar von Blenk-Schmidt, a member of the Rocket Society and an outstanding research electronic engineer, gives the following condensed summary of how he used his subcon-scious mind to free himself from certain death at the hands of brutal guards in a Russian prison camp coal mine. He states as follows:

“I was a prisoner of war in a coal mine in Russia, and I saw men dying all around me in that prison compound. We were watched over by brutal guards, arrogant officers, and sharp, fast-thinking commissars. After a short medical checkup, a quota of coal was assigned to each person. My quota was three hundred pounds per day.

In case any man did not fill his quota, his small food ration was cut down, and in a short time he was resting in the cemetery.

“I started concentrating on my escape. I knew that my subconscious mind would somehow find a way. My home in Germany was destroyed, my family wiped out; all my friends and former associates were either killed in the war or were in concentration camps.

“I said to my subconscious mind, ‘I want to go to Los Angeles, and you will find the way.’ I had seen pictures of Los Angeles and I remembered some of the boulevards very well as well as some of the buildings.

“Every day and night I would imagine I was walking down Wilshire Boulevard with an American girl whom I met in Berlin prior to the war (she is now my wife). In my imagina-tion we would visit the stores, ride buses, and eat in the restau-rants. Every night I made it a special point to drive my imaginary American automobile up and down the boulevards of Los Angeles. I made all this vivid and real. These pictures in my mind were as real and as natural to me as one of the trees out-side the prison camp.

“Every morning the chief guard would count the prisoners as they were lined up. He would call out ‘one, two, three,’ etc., and when seventeen was called out, which was my number in sequence, I stepped aside. In the meantime, the guard was called away for a minute or so, and on his return he started by mistake on the next man as number seventeen. When the crew returned in the evening, the number of men was the same, and I was not missed, and the discovery would take a long time.

“I walked out of the camp undetected and kept walking for twentyfour hours, resting in a deserted town the next day. I was able to live by fishing and killing some wild life. I found coal trains going to Poland and traveled on them by night, until finally I reached Poland. With the help of friends, I made my way to Lucerne, Switzerland. “One evening at the Palace Hotel, Lucerne, I had a talk with a man and his wife from the United States of America. This man asked me if I would care to be a guest at his home in Santa Monica, California. I accepted, and when I arrived in Los Angeles, I found that their chauffeur drove me along Wilshire Boulevard and many other boulevards, which I had imagined, so vividly in the long months in the Russian coalmines. I recognized the buildings, which I had seen in my mind so often. It actually seemed as if I had been in Los Angeles before. I had reached my goal.

“I will never cease to marvel at the wonders of the sub-conscious mind. Truly, it has ways we know not of.”

Number ten:

• How archaeologists and paleontologists reconstruct ancient scenes :

These scientists know that their subconscious mind has a memory of everything that has ever transpired. As they study the ancient ruins and fossils, through their imaginative percep-tion, their subconscious mind aids them in reconstructing the ancient scenes. The dead past becomes alive and audible once more. Looking at these ancient temples and studying the pottery, statuary, tools, and household utensils of these ancient times, the scientist tells us of an age when there was no language. Communication was done by grunts, groans, and signs.

The keen concentration and disciplined imagination of the scientist awakens the latent powers of his subconscious mind enabling him to clothe the ancient temples with roofs, and surround them with gardens, pools, and fountains. The fossil remains are clothed with eyes, sinews, and muscles, and they again walk and talk. The past becomes the living present, and we find that in mind there is no time or space. Through disci-plined, controlled, and directed imagination,you can be a companion of the most scientific and inspired thinkers of all time.

Ⅵ. Answering some questions you might have:

Can i command my subconscious mind to induce me into the void state Aka "pure consciousness" ?

Yes you Can! You Can even tell it to bring you your desires, just Say "subconscious mind, i command you to induce me into my pure consciousness instead of sleeping".

I want to manifest my desire but i don't know how it will happen?

Don't worry, your subconscious will find any way to bring your desires, just relax and trust it.

Can i use my subconscious to bring me Ideas in writing/drawing/crafting?

Yes! Just tell it to, it may Come to you in a dream or in a flash of an idea.

Can i command my subconscious to make me successful or achieve something?

Yes you Can! You Can literally make your subconscious do anything you want, even bringing your desires.

Do i need to script or write in details what i want?

Well if you want to script in details because you want to, then feel free to do it! But you really don't need to, cause you're subconscious is smart and it is literally you so it knows what you want even when you don't mention it.

Do i need to list every single desire when i am in my pure consciousness?

No lol, you Can just visualize or just Say "i already have my dream life" or "i have my desired list".

Can i recall past memories that i don't remember?

Yes you Can, just tell your subconscious to make you remember them.

Do i really need to reprogramme my subconscious to shift or induce my pure awareness?

Well..i don't think so, that my belief, but it's not necessary, cause i think this is just a limiting belief and it's not true, it's all based on your assumptions, you don't need to reprogramme it, your subconscious is more than smart, it's incredible that it is the only part of the human that the scientist can't figured it out.

Things to remember:

Your subconscious mind is like a powerhouse, it restores many memories, informations, and many more.

Your subconscious mind is sooo smart and has an Infinite intelligence that you're not aware of.

Your subconscious mind start working on bringing your desires the moment you want it or affirm for it.

Your subconscious is blind, it just rely on you (it doesn't know what happening in the 3d).

You Can get answers to your problems through your subconscious mind.

Want Ideas? Don't know what to write for your novel or story? Don't know what to paint/draw? Just Ask your subconscious and it will surely give you the answer.

Want to meet your dream partner? Owning 3 mansion? Just affirm and persist and your subconscious will find a way to bring you your desires.

You Can recall past memories, Dreams, or your shifting experience by just asking your subconscious to make you remember them.

Final note: anyway, i Hope this post was hopeful for you all, the Book opened my eyes, i learned ALOT, and it was very helpful, the subconscious mind does work in mysterious ways and it is just incredible, and i Hope i cleared some limiting beliefs you had about the subconscious mind, i really recommend Reading the Book or the pdf, you will thank me later 😉.

Xoxo, Eli

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

Office sex

Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

A/N hey guys I'm re-posting all my fics. Also comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated xoxo

18+ MINORS FUCK OFF YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH (I WARNED YOU)

Summary bucky comes to visit you at work and you get it on

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APP/SITE THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR

Warnings fluff and Unprotected sex (use protection because you're not fictional)

It was just one of those days. Not only had you overslept but you were late for work and your boss had decided to give you extra paperwork to fill in (as if you didn’t already have enough). You spent every second until your lunch brake completing your work and decided to come back to it after eating your lunch. You reached into your bag and that’s when you realised you had forgotten your lunch. Great. Luckily your boyfriend, Bucky wasn’t on a mission so you could call him. You picked up your phone and clicked on his contact.

“Hey doll aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he questioned sounding worried.

“Don’t worry. I am. I just forgot to pick my lunch up this morning so please could you bring it in for me?”

Bucky chuckled, “anything for you doll.”

“hey its not funny.” You tried to sound angry but you couldn’t ever be angry at Bucky.

“whatever you say doll” Bucky replied with a smile on his face. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

“Thank you babe, you’re a life saver. ”

You put the phone down and took a deep breath. Your day had been very stressful and forgetting your lunch had just made it worse.

Whilst you were waiting for Bucky your boss came into your office with a scowl on her face.

“Miss L/N why aren’t you doing your

work?” she questioned bitterly.

You were startled and just stared at her for a second before replying. “I’m on my lunch break but I’ll carry on after.”

“it doesn’t even look like you’ve done any work.” She said while shaking her head.

“I have I put all my completed work in that pile over there” you pointed trying to stop your hand from shaking.

“well it doesn’t look like you’ve done much at all. I expect the rest of the work to be done by the end of the day or I will have to issue you with a written warning. This business can’t afford to lose customers and money because of lazy people like you. Do you understand me?” she said sharply.

“y-y-yes I understand. It will all be on your desk by the end of the day.” You stuttered trying to stop yourself from crying.

“good” your boss said as she stormed out of the room.

Luckily a few seconds later Bucky had texted you to say that he’s outside. You quickly picked up your jacket and practically ran out of your office.

Bucky’s smile fell as he saw the look on your face.

“what happened doll?” he asked, worried.

“it’s nothing really. My boss just told me off like I was a child and called me lazy for not doing enough work and I’m sure everyone heard.” That’s when it happened. The floodgates had opened and how you were sobbing into Bucky’s chest.

“Oh doll. I’m so sorry” he said wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly.

“It’s ok. It’s not your fault” you replied.

“come on, let’s get you inside so you can eat and calm down.” Bucky grabbed your hand and walked you to your office.

He sat down in the spare seat you had and put your lunch on your desk.

“Thanks Buck”

Bucky smiled, “you’re welcome doll. And anyways you can’t say I’m the only unorganised one in this relationship now”

You smiled back “it’s one time. And besides you would forget your head of it wasn’t screwed on”

You and Bucky talked while you ate your lunch.

After a while, you asked Bucky to check the time. You still had 25 minutes of your lunch break left.

Bucky looked at you with a mischievous grin on his face.

“why are you giving me that look ” you asked.

“I think we should make the most of the last 25 minutes of your lunch break” Bucky replied.

“James Buchanan Barnes I am not having sex with you while I’m at work.” You replied knowing its not the first time you have had sex at work.

“you act like we’ve never done it before” Bucky said with a grin on his face.

“I swear if we get caught I’m blaming you.” You replied smiling back.

Only now had you noticed the wetness that had formed between your legs. Soaking through your panties.

You walk over to Bucky and sit in his lap. He grabs your ass while leaning in to kiss you. It was like fireworks were going off in your stomach every time you kissed Bucky. His soft lips and talented tongue.

You started to grind down on his hard member which elicited a moan from the both of you. You pulled away from the kiss and started to unbutton Bucky’s trousers. You pulled his hard cock out of his boxers and started to stroke it up and down while also twisting your hand when you got to the sensitive head.

Just as you were about to kneel on the ground Bucky stopped you.

“as much as I like to fuck your throat doll. I love fucking your pussy more.” He said as he picked you up and placed you on your desk.

He started to kiss you and make his way down your neck making sure to leave marks that show his love for you. He made his way back to your lips as he started to unbutton your trousers and stroke your pussy through your panties. He grabbed your panties and trousers and stared to pull them down your legs.

Once they were off he pounced on you. His lips met yours in a battle for dominance that he always won. He circled a finger around your entrance and just as he was about to push it in you stopped him.

He gave you a concerned look. “sorry doll did I got too far. We can stop if you want to.” He said stroking your outer thigh with his metal hand.

“You didn’t go too far babe. I just need your fat cock in my pussy right now. I’m wet enough I promise. I just need you Bucky” you said looking him in the eyes.

Bucky chuckled. “you sure do know how to sweet talk me doll.”

He lined his cock up with your entrance and pushed in. His lips were back on yours in a matter of seconds to muffle the moans you both let out. As he started to thrust into you. His hand reached down to play it your clit.

As soon as his hand reached your bundle of nerves, you let out a moan that could only be described as pornographic. Bucky smiled and carried on his ministrations on your clit.

“you feel so good around my cock baby” Bucky said breathlessly. “so good. So so good”

You grabbed Bucky’s face and brought it to yours. You started kissing him fiercely as if it was the last time you were ever going to get the chance to.

“Baby I’m so close” you moaned breaking the kiss.

“is there anything else you need baby” Bucky asked his baby blue eyes almost black with lust.

“I need your metal hand on my clit. Please baby. Please!” you moaned.

“you can have anything you want if you beg that nicely.” Bucky said while grunting. He replaced his normal hand with his metal one. And kissed you once again only this time it was more teeth and tongue than the last ones. This kiss was pure passion.

Then it happened. Your legs started to shake and you let out a moan (luckily it was muffled by the kiss) and then you came.

The pulsing of your pussy was the last push for Bucky before he stilled inside you and pumped his seed into your awaiting body while collapsing on top of you. You stayed there for a few minutes before you realised you had to get back to work.

You let out a chuckle and said “we have got to stop doing this. One day were gonna get caught.”

“but that’s the fun of it doll” Bucky replied.

He removed his soft cock from inside you and tucked it back into his boxers before doing his trousers up as well.

You stood up on wobbly legs and pulled your panties and trousers up. Bucky let out a moan knowing you were going to sit in your office for the rest of the day with his seed dripping out of you.

“well I should get back to work” you said while sorting your hair out.

“ok doll I’ll see you later” he gave you a kiss on your lips and then one on your cheek before he left.

@buckys-wintersoldier @nicoline1998enilocin

[sodamnradd]

“Give it up, Draco. You found what people spend a lifetime searching for, and you just let her leave without you.” Blaise fell back onto the leather sofa and crossed his ankles, looking pensively into the fire. “What I don’t understand is why. You keep saying that if anyone will win, it’s her. And yet here you are.”

Draco opened his mouth to deny, deny, deny. But what was the point? Blaise had seen them together in the prefects’ bath, and later, when Draco tried brushing it off as a casual hook-up, Blaise had only shaken his head and said, ‘I saw your face,’ as if that was supposed to override any lies that came out of Draco’s mouth.

His stomach had been a tangle of nerves since Granger had kissed him goodbye and disappeared with Potter and Weasley to save the world. That was the issue with Gryffindors, forever killing themselves over the next big heroic deed. He wasn’t like them.

“What would you have done?” sniped Draco. It was easy to cast judgement from afar, but Blaise wasn’t living it. “Would you just turn your back on your mother? On your friends? To hell with everyone if you’re in love?”

Blaise gave him a side-long look, grinning. “Are you in love?”

“You seem to think I am.”

“Do you see a future with her?”

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

Draco didn’t really have to imagine it because it’s all he’d been thinking about since he first kissed Granger nine months ago.

It wasn’t just her physical being—the charged, tantalising pull of their bodies like opposing magnets—but a vision of what their life could look like. Granger didn’t need pure-blood persuasion to pave her way into the world. She could be self-made. And Draco would stand proudly beside her, as he did best. He could manage the accounts, pursue his hobbies, while ensuring Granger never felt alone navigating her mountainous ambitions.

Draco lived a satiated life, but with Hermione, all he knew was starvation. She was the one thing he didn’t want to barter or consume in small bites. If he had her, he was going to feast.

“It’s not that simple,” he concluded. “It’s not some playground romance anymore. She’s out there risking her life. I can’t afford to love her how I want if she’s just going to wind up dead.”

“Take this from someone who’s buried seven fathers—death is preventable.”

Draco looked up at Blaise, surprised.

His friend had an eerie look on his face, made worse by the fire casting strange shadows over him, but Draco knew the Zabinis had a complicated relationship with murder. And that’s what he meant: murder was preventable, not death.

“What makes you think I could protect her any better than Potter could?”

“The Dark Lord trusts you, you’re a sneaky fuck, and you’re in love. Nobody will fight harder to win.”

~

Donning a backpack full of survival gear, his wand, and the warmest clothes he owned, Draco used their matching bracelets to Port-Key to Granger the next Saturday morning.

She had woven the bracelets with colourful thread—red and gold for him, green and silver for her—and the next week, Draco had adhered matching charms to them. She didn’t know that he could sense her through it. That when she fingered the cool metal engraved with his constellation at night, he felt her presence. Or that it was a gateway to each other using the right spell.

Maybe he’d known he’d follow her all along.

The bracelet transported Draco to lush, crawling hills and enormous, craggy rocks. The sky hung bright white above him. He could sense Granger’s magic in the air, or maybe it was her perfume drifting in the breeze. He inhaled deeply, feeling closer to her already.

There was nobody around when he heard the gasp directly behind him.

He turned and saw the air wobble. The ward he hadn’t realised was there descended. Granger stood two feet away, eyes wide and lips parted. She was thin and pale and seemed afraid.

Regret washed over him. He should have come sooner.

“How do I know it’s really you?” she demanded, wand clutched tightly by her side, a combination of fear and hope flickering in her eyes.

Draco dropped his bag by his feet, taking three strong strides forward. He framed her cold cheeks in his hands, hoping she saw the look on his face and remembered how much she meant to him. He said, “Because nobody else knows how much I love you.”

He kissed her, and a second later, Granger threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sobbing.

“I’m here to stay,” he reassured her, holding her tightly. “I’m here to fight.”

And he thought of Blaise in the Slytherin common room, the only one who knew of Draco’s whereabouts, and their discussions of love and death. And he thought of the future he’d seen with Hermione, and he thought he could have it, maybe even a better version of it. One that didn’t involve him at home, pursuing hobbies, but being worth something, too. He could be that. He wanted to be that.

Draco wanted to feast.

(873 words, inspired by Don't Swallow The Cap by The National)

[caffeinelemur]

Stolitz Communication Styles

I feel like I need to talk about this.

Stolas’ high education and verbal gymnastics, versus Blitzø’s lack of equivalent education, dyslexia, and difficulty expressing emotions, especially through words. Because it plays a huge part in why they haven’t been, and still aren’t, communicating effectively. Also both of them are neurodivergent as fuck and communication is a bitch for us anyway.

Specifically, this is a dive into that different classes/mindsets dynamic, leading up to a look at that text conversation at the end of Western Energy, and how it leads into their possible growth.

From the very start of the series, Blitzø shows that he has difficulty with writing/spelling and prefers verbal communication. (Even if we look outside the instagrams, which are not technically canon.) The first episode has the billboard that was entirely speech-to-text and not proofread, (he’s too uncomfortable writing that big of a message out, and he thought it was easier to just say it, and was thus not equipped to proofread or edit it, as that would mean he was capable of knowing how to write it out correctly in the first place), his text messages and notes are generally short and often full of typos and phonetic spelling, and his whiteboard is usually covered in doodles and small attempts at writing that varies in levels of spelling prowess. He uses pictographs to help in proving his point or explaining his thought process. He has trouble expressing himself verbally, as his true feelings are expressed through actions, but his direct, vulgar, and often angry or insensitive wording and tone make it difficult for most people to see past this to his actual true feelings, (not to mention he often lies to others and to himself about those anyway). Issues with tone and blunt speech are a big thing with neurodivergent people, autistic and ADHD people especially, of which I think Blitzø is both. Stan an AuDHD king.

Stolas is rich, highly educated, and spent much of his life, especially early on, reading books instead of socializing. His house basically doubles as a library. He said himself that he “loves words”, and got excited about reading legal documents. He uses flowery, posh language and carefully talks around other people using this skill. His emotionally abusive past, both with his father and with Stella, make him a careful people-pleaser, and so he’s constantly giving others the upper hand in a conversation, more give than take, in attempts to not anger or have his intentions misunderstood and then incite said anger. A common thing in both abuse victims and neurodivergent people, especially autistic people, which Stolas clearly is. He does also have issues with tone and knowing when he should and shouldn’t say certain things, and he can often misunderstand others’ points and questions, and then answers or responds too bluntly or literally. Hashtag Just Autism Things.

Blitzø is an imp, the lowest class alongside hellhounds, and was raised in a circus. He clearly did not grow up wealthy in any respect (as his father resorted to selling his son and stealing from the fucking Ars Goetia so quickly, though that could also be attributed to just being living trash), nor is he particularly affluent now, as his small apartment has literally one bedroom, for Loona, and he sleeps on the couch. He outright says he can’t afford art classes. He hasn’t had the same level of educational opportunities as Stolas. On top of that, he’s also dyslexic, based on how, when he does write, it’s either written phonetically, as he would say the word, or he gets letters flipped around. He can write coherently, he’s not illiterate, but usually only when he tries really hard. He mixes capitals and lowercase in the same word sometimes. He’s even worse at texting than he is at writing by hand, with many typos, and resorting to text-speak abbreviations and emojis to lessen the amount of time he has to take trying to type shit out, and, again, doesn’t proofread.

Taking all of this into account, Blitzø is not going to understand a lot of what Stolas says when he uses larger words and talks around a point, especially since, unlike Stolas most of the time, Blitzø is very direct and uncensored when he talks (as in, no brain-to-mouth filter, but also he uses vulgarity in place of more eloquent speech), and when he is trying to say things with actual forethought, he ends up stuttering and has trouble finding the right words (ADHD brain fail ftw), and then gets angry at himself, and occasionally takes it out on others too (poor Moxxie). Stolas tries to talk around the point and backtracks his own words even more in stressful or emotional situations, giving more ground to the other, and this difference in stress response plays a part in their misunderstanding and inability to see from the other’s perspective.

In the first episode, during Stolas’ inopportune phone call, Blitzø thinks he’s being insulted when Stolas uses the word “grimoire,” because he doesn’t know it and always jumps to this conclusion, then has to get Stolas to stop using flowery language to talk around the point by telling him to “stop using your fancy ass rich people talk,” and Stolas has to change the way he’s been speaking to be more direct and clear. (He doesn’t retain this information for later, sadly).

All of this, to talk about the post-Ozzie’s text conversations. We know several things now:

1) Blitzø is not good with spelling and is more comfortable using pictographs to make his point, which you can’t do in a text. He’s also uncomfortable with honest emotional expression and has problems with tone.

2) Stolas uses overly flowery and complicated language to express himself, leading to paragraphs of talking around the main point in an attempt to explain his meaning, often to the extent that it’s extremely unclear what the point is that he’s actually trying to get to. This gets worse when he’s trying too hard to express himself or is thinking too much about the other person’s response.

3) They both have little experience with conversation of an emotional nature that’s not coming with some sort of protective front (Stolas’ open-ended people-pleasing statements, Blitzø’s use of false anger and vulgarity to push people away), so when they do try to say something without the mask, the other is unequipped for the change and misunderstands the intentions, especially when it’s through text.

Blitzø is uncomfortable with writing and especially with texting, and so says very little, using short abbreviated text-speak and emojis to express himself, like he would with his drawings. Stolas overexplains and writes paragraphs of vague statements and loquaciousness in an attempt to get a point across. These are very different approaches to the situation, and from the other’s perspective they come across differently than they intend, due to the conflicting communication styles.

So.

In the text conversations we see in Western Energy, Blitzø says very little, and doesn’t initiates the conversation. Stolas sends walls of text, overexplaining and going back and forth on his intent and the purpose of the text.

Now, we know that Stolas is trying to give Blitzø space and options, and clearly cares a lot about his feelings, and is going out of his way to make sure he’s comfortable with the situation. In doing so, he gives him several outs, minimizes the entire experience at Ozzie’s at his own expense (and therefore Blitzø’s, but he doesn’t understand that yet), and pokes at the idea of talking emotionally far too soon for Blitzø, who is freshly re-traumatizing himself from said experience at Ozzie’s.

Stolas, from his own perspective, is giving so much and getting very little in return (a common theme in his life). He would see this lack of reciprocity in communication as lack of interest or being upset. A common thing irl, it’s easy to read a “K” after a long emotional message as a negative or indifferent response, regardless of the other party’s true feelings. (Which is possibly why a lot of people get upset on Stolas’ behalf in this moment, thinking Blitzø doesn’t care as much about Stolas as Stolas does him. It’s a common thing to experience. It’s not true, though.)

Meanwhile, Blitzø already hates writing, is bad at expressing himself in general, and reads into everything as negative. He thinks that when someone says something he doesn’t fully understand that they’re insulting him or making fun of him, or he misunderstands the intention and wording to be an insult (tonal and indirect or vague speech issues), like with that first phone call with Stolas, the “that’s what she said” joke Loona made, and Crimson’s mention of hearing things about him. He has a lifetime of evidence to back up this thought process. He is constantly demeaned and insulted by larger Hell society, and was treated as unworthy and lesser since childhood. He also just fucking hates himself and blames himself for everything. He’s not gonna suddenly gush his feelings, especially over text. He’s also gonna read into others’ words extremely negatively, until the true meaning is explicitly explained to him. Which isn’t very likely in a text conversation, when he’s not going to ask for proper clarification and the other party can’t tell that he’s misconstruing the intention and so doesn’t know they need to explain more anyway.

So, he isn’t going to initiate a text conversation unless it’s for a serious reason. He clearly doesn’t use it as a method of conversation as much as a quick way to get in touch with other people and exchange information (ex- his seemingly “impossible to misunderstand” text to Loopty in C.H.E.R.U.B. & his conversation about the portal with Millie in Seeing Stars). In Blitzø’s eyes, Stolas says "hey this is/isn’t happening", and he says "ok got the info" and he moves on from there. Information exchange. Then Stolas starts trying too hard, after Ozzie’s, to take his feelings into account without fully understanding Blitzø’s feelings to begin with, and starts backtracking and talking around the point again. He already got Blitzø’s reply, but then backtracks, which doesn’t give Blitzø the direct information he needs, leading to him misunderstand the proffered options as a dismissal instead of a clear confirmation with the option for him to refuse. Blitzø already is going to have issues reading/fully understanding the long wordy messages Stolas sends, he isn’t going to understand the nuance that Stolas’ specific phrasing is trying to say, and is going to see a “but you don’t have to/only if you want” attempt at giving him autonomy and boundaries, as a “don’t/I don’t want you to” full negation.

Stolas is also downplaying their experience at Ozzie’s, which is not only negating his own traumatic experiences with being shamed and insulted (not the healthiest mindset), but also minimizes Blitzø’s feelings and experience then as a result. Blitzø is going to see this as confirmation that it wasn’t as important/emotionally painful to Stolas as it was to Blitzø. Stolas making light of a situation that started a breakdown for Blitzø just proves to Blitzø that he’s the one overreacting, and that Stolas does find him less important, as the entire situation was already about Stolas valuing him less, in his eyes.

Stolas trying to overexplain and backtrack in the lack of access to Blitzø’s own thoughts is hurting them both in this situation. None of his pushing and flip-flopping is going to make Blitzø more eager to initiate a conversation or respond more, especially through a form he’s uncomfortable with using. And this makes Stolas feel unheard and undervalued, which leads to him try even harder, which leads to Blitzø shutting himself off even more, and so on. A lovely miscommunication feedback loop.

And knowing all of this is what makes that last text so important.

Blitzø initates the conversation for the first time. He writes what is, for him, a full sentence, with an emoji. He’s expressing himself as best he can, and is showing his actual feelings in the message. He’s going out of his way to say something to Stolas.

Which then… Stolas overwhelms him with more emotions and words. He’s not comfortable with emotional conversation and too much at once would freak him out, and the immediate upfront honest thoughts Stolas sends in the wake of Blitzø’s own emotional expression aren’t what he necessarily needs or wants to deal with, especially so soon after that worldview-shattering realization, the following guilt spiral, and the subsequent opening up that the first text is.

Yet he then, in spite of these hurdles, starts to reply.

But he gives up.

We don’t know for sure what he was going to say, but an easy read of his thoughts would be: he tried to express his feelings again in some way, was failing to do it right, was overwhelmed with feelings he didn’t know how to handle, and angrily gave up. Probably cursing himself out for even trying.

It’s not callous or uncaring or lacking reciprocity. It’s the full opposite. He’s trying so hard, but failing again. He cares so much and is incapable of expressing it verbally and unable to receive similar care in return.

Look back to the other time he tried this hard to write something emotional. The letter for Fizz. The love letter. And see how that situation went? He got overwhelmed, angry at everything and at himself for thinking he could try at all, and it all ended in fucking disaster. That he blames himself for. That he hates himself for. But here he tried to do it again anyway, while thinking, again, what happened to Stolas was his fault. That one message means so fucking much.

To Blitzø, the idea of visiting Stolas in the hospital was out of the question entirely, and him being asked to so immediately and candidly would make his guilty brain fall over itself even more. He’s never been allowed to visit his loved ones in the hospital, and the entire reason they were hospitalized to begin with was because of Blitzø, so how could this situation be any different? He wasn’t allowed to visit Fizz or Barbie, people who at least at one point he believed cared about him, so he’s definitely not going to be allowed to visit Stolas, who he already thinks doesn’t really give a shit.

That text was the best he could do at that time.

To really communicate effectively, these two need to sit down in front of each other and actually explain where they’re coming from. The lack of knowledge of the other’s position and situation, both in their past and currently in this relationship, is hurting them, and making understanding each other more difficult. The class difference and the differences in upbringing, despite both having garbage fathers and fucking meeting each other as children, are impeding their understanding and view of the other. Both Stolas’ obliviousness toward the actual differences in station and opportunity between him and imps as a whole, and inability to realize Blitzø’s personal difficulties with communication (based in the same place he’s blind to), and Blitzø’s (valid) disdain for the upper class and his view of the stronger, and especially of Stolas, as too good and important to bother with him and too powerful to feel actual pain, are the things they need to fucking address.

Blitzø already got this worldview fucked with, between seeing Stolas worry so much over his daughter, and then actually getting badly hurt. He now knows Stolas can care, and that he can feel pain, and that makes him at least peripherally aware that he’s able to be emotionally hurt.

By Blitzø.

Stolas, meanwhile, is vaguely at the point of comprehending he holds more power in their dynamic because of their differences in status, and him holding the key to Blitzø’s entire business and livelihood. He now knows Blitzø didn’t think he wanted anything other than sex, because of his hasty and overly selfish attempt at keeping him around. And it was a sex deal! He realizes he was wrong for holding that over Blitzø and that his actions and words in the past helped cause the misunderstanding that he didn’t care for Blitzø past getting sexual favors.

Stolas is gonna try to fix this power imbalance by giving up the entire premise of their current relationship, in the vain hope Blitzø will understand and then reciprocate his actual feelings, while Blitzø is now vaguely trying to actively prove he gives a shit about people, even while unsure of Stolas’ feelings toward him, and the result of these intentions clashing is gonna be a goddamn mess, unless miraculously they can communicate around the inevitable misunderstanding.

Please somebody let them explain themselves and have the other fucking listen.

They both love each other, but are fucked up from trauma and are neurodivergent, so they express themselves differently and can barely figure out their own shit, let alone explain it to the other. Get therapy and try new communication styles.

But they are slowly learning. They have the tools and ability to figure this out if they both try. It’s not futile. It just might take some fuck ups and more time to fully get there.

Sincerely, an AuDHD emotional abuse victim that sees themself in both of these idiots and wants to scream.

[taxinealkaloids]

so...John’s planning on pulling the plug on the world, right? Like that’s what he’s doing here?

I’ve just been turning these bits of ntn over and over in my head and tbh I can’t stop thinking about the description of 10,000 years of civilization as a first draft. John’s first resurrection didn’t quite end up how he wanted -- closest friends all dead, turned traitor, or both, fighting a war on multiple fronts, his only allies the corpse of his accidental bastard daughter and a twenty-something princess with cannibalistic tendencies whom he canonized as part of a failed attempt to revitalize his polycule-- but hey, it doesn’t matter, because he can just start over. All of NTN he’s in this depression spiral; he’s falling apart, he’s having orgy parties with his senior staff, he’s got at least part of his subconscious camped out in the comatose mind of a half-dead nineteen year old he tried to have murdered, treating it like a confessional booth; because right there, in the background of his mind through all of this, is the off switch. He can have his breakdown, and then just...let Alecto out. Erase it all, start fresh, and this time he’s got one attempt under his belt, he’s got notes for what to do differently, and so let it all fall to shit! Nobody else is gonna remember any of this anyway. Two worlds, now, that only John will remember. Maybe three, later; maybe four, what’s to stop him from redoing it over and over til it’s just right? 

The issue with that, of course, is there’s really no way to treat the world like this and still care about it in the way other people do. You’d lose your ability to be affected by life’s events after a couple reboots and then what’s there to get emotionally invested in? When you’ve turned a person off and back on two, three, four times and you know you’ll probably do it again the next time something happens you don’t quite vibe with, how can you possibly look at them as a real person? Are they a real person, if they only know what you want them to know and do what you want them to do? And once you reach that point, once people aren’t people but project components for you to edit, what are you even bothering with all this for?? John started down this path because he so loved the world; what happens when he reduces the world to something he can no longer afford to love? Might as well pull that plug for good, yeah? 

Anyway. I’m fascinated by the way John’s shitty mental state is dooming the world and it’s everyone else’s bad luck. The rest of the cast is out there fighting for their lives and he’s like *sigh* let’s try that again. take two, everyone! 

[dusty-daydreams]

Beyond the setting of elite school and working class town in Young Royals, education is also a great setting to examine the implications of class.

On the surface, Simon and Sara have this great opportunity to study at this Elite school, it should in theory set them up for life. Except class is not as a simple as getting into the right classes (if you'll excuse the pun).

Sara is clearly talented with horses and attending Hillerska gives her opportunities to develop this talent - BUT horses are an expensive hobby/field. Sara cannot get as far in horse related fields, as say Felice, despite Felice having zero talent with horses, because where Felice can afford to buy and upkeep a horse, Sara can't. Sara's family can't even afford to keep her in long-lasting jodhpurs.

Simon is extremely talented with music and singing, and attending Hillerska gives him opportunities to develop this talent - BUT he has not had formal music lessons, and can't read music, or fully play piano, beyond what he has been able to figure out himself (or potentially with his dad's help). Wille, with no interest in music (beyond getting starry eyed at his boyfriend's voice) can play piano and read music as a result of a royal upbringing.

The working-class kids with the passion and talent, are starting behind the upper-class kids with the resources (but no genuine interest in the areas)

The resource gap is even more overt in the straight academic classes. It is implied that math at least, but possibly all the academic classes are subjects that Simon and Sara excelled at, but Simon's math mark drops, not because his work ethic has but because he does not the resources to pay for the corrupt bribery marking system at Hillerska. He also doesn't have the same time resources as the other students who board and have weekend access to the teachers. Attending an elitist school serves no purpose if you 'fail' at the school.

Which brings back the drug issue in season 1 - Simon is caught in a catch 22. He sells drugs to afford to bribe the teachers. BUT his position is precarious - if he as a working-class second generation immigrant is caught selling drugs he risks prison and criminal charges. Whereas the upper class kids he is selling too (via August!) get caught, they depending on their degree of privilege will be expelled and sent to a different elite school (lower-upper class), be suspended and need to make a 'donation to return' (middle-upper class like Alexander, or potentially be on the receiving end of in-school punishment (upper-upper class). The consequences for Wille at the pinnacle of the hierarchy depends on who finds out - if it is kept under wraps, he is unlikely to receive any direct punishment - as that would expose the secret (which isn't to say that he would be mistreated by his emotionally abusive family), if the public finds out, he is likely to quietly withdrawn and put into a rehab to 'correct his ways'.

Being poor is expensive.

The consequences for what happens to Simon and Sara, may not be worse than the consequences for their upper-class counterparts, but they are more expensive.

Let's take the example of the sex tape -

There are three people involved: Wille, Simon and August

The consequences for August for perpetrating a sexual crime, recording and publishing revenge child porn: the crime is covered up in order to protect him, and the royal family by his association with them. Ultimately he is prepared to promoted to the ready-made job of 'working royal' a career that we know he desires.

The consequences for Wille: He is potentially outed, this poses a threat to the royal family's stability, he denies the video and immediately frees himself from the public consequences of the video, loses his relationship with his lover as a result. This is all very sad, and the undeniable tragedy of season 1 but it is not expensive.

The consequences for Simon (notably the only one that cannot deny any connection to the video): Simon is outed to the entire public, interested world. His undeniable visage is publicly blasted, attached to his name. We are shown that 'Sweden Crown Prince Boyfriend' is a top search. Any potential employer that does a cursory google of Simon (if they didn't already know who he was) would stumble across his scandalous underage sex tape (that most people think was with the Crown Prince, but pre-season 2 finale would be politely pretending it wasn't). Revenge Porn, is in part 'revenge' because it demonstrably limits it's victims ability to be employed.

If Simon were to take August to court, August would have the support of lawyers from the royal court (as we are told in Season 2). Simon with fewer resources, would possibly end up in a long, expensive war of attrition that August would win, and that would even more publicly tie Simon, his name, his face to the video.

I also think that it is significant that Simon and his mother consider withdrawing him from Hillerska in the immediate aftermath of the tape. Something that Wille and August don't need to think about. August's actions could have cost Simon's education as well as his future employment prospects.

TLDR: Class is about more than money, it's about the resources that give people opportunities that others don't have and disproportionately punishes people at the bottom of the hierarchy. It's a system that holds Simon and Sara back even when they get into class with their "class betters". It's a system that makes any mistake made by or against the working class, expensive as well as traumatic.

[socialjusticeinamerica]

Space Karen is a monster. They had opportunities to unionize but they succumbed to pressure from Elongated Muskrat and Texas Republicans and now they’ll be living on the production line. How stupid are you to reject unionization? Now they’re slaves like every other non-union employee in the country.

Republicans in red states pass laws called “right to work”, which is more Republican name trickery. “Right to work” laws prevent unions/organized labor. What it literally means is that companies have the right to make YOU work without any benefits, for minimum wage, without any right to protest wage theft or unsafe conditions, no recourse against unfair labor practices, and to put you on “on demand schedules,” The latter means no set regular hours, 9-5 today then 9-9 the day after, then 1-8, or no hours at all for days or weeks until you quit and can’t collect. “On demand scheduling” is abosolutely cruel. You never get to recover properly, you can never make plans outside of work, you can’t attend school or have a second job, and you miss out on all the major life events of your family. This leads to resentment, divorce, and alienated children who feel unloved.

Even blue states have bare minimum labor laws in place to control abuses by employers. Try going to the state for help in a dispute with your boss. Try hiring a lawyer when you’re poor or even if you’re not lawyers don’t want to touch these cases.

We are already a nation of hopeless wage slaves. Biden and the Democrats are making progress in passing laws to protect workers and unions but it will all be swept away if Republicans regain the White House and Congress. Some people won’t learn until they’re chained to a machine in a building with suicide nets outside the windows like in China.

It took almost two hundred years to get unions, workers rights, and work place safety laws put into place. They’ve nearly all been eroded into a forgotten past since Republican Ronald Reagan, and Fox News, was elected in 1980. Nearly all of you reading this don’t even know a time when workers only needed one job to support a home and family, had pensions, and had health insurance that was provided. Now you live with 2-3 jobs, have no health insurance, can’t afford a home (or rent), can’t afford college or even a new car, and make less than your grandparents. The media glosses this over calling the extra jobs “side hustles” and your lack of a career with dignity is because you’re a generation of “self starters.”

You weren’t born to be a wage slave for billionaire oligarchs and the petty tyrants they hire to be middle managers. Spread the word and unionize. Fight for it. People in the 1800’s literally battled armed mercenaries, cops, and the military for the right to union jobs that let them live and earn with dignity. Don’t let their spilled blood and deaths be in vain. The United Auto Workers and other unions tried repeatedly to get Tesla unionized. Unions are out there and willing to help. It only takes a few phone calls to get the ball rolling.

Muskrat promised his workers free frozen yogurt and a roller coaster ride from the parking lot to factory if they voted against unions, I shit you not. He never delivered either. He did spend millions on union avoidance firms to come in and lie and scare workers into voting no. Now they’re treated like cotton plantation slaves and told they will be literally living on a production line.

To put this into the identity politics millennials are drawn to, unions are the only working environment where marginalized people are protected and have recourse against discrimination and mistreatment in the workplace. If you are mistreated you can file a grievance and if the management doesn’t redress the issue then they are taken to contractually mandated arbitration or court with union supplied lawyers. If you have never worked in a union shop you have no idea what it’s like to not be fearful, to have dignity, and to know people are obligated to protect you from management.

It’s the only non-union automaker in the country.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter Twelve

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Twelve: One Hell of a Midnight

Summary: Sebastian and (Y/N) face Undertaker in battle once more.

            “This school is a respected institution that has produced elites who form the mainstay of Great Britain. Our generation cannot afford to defile the tradition that has been protected for thousands of years since the founding of this school! For the history of Weston College is the history of England!” said Bluewer, desperate to prove that he, Redmond, Violet, and Greenhill had done the right thing.

            Ciel narrowed his eyes before closing them as if exhausted the situation. “…Fine.”

            Sebastian and (Y/N) glanced at Ciel.

            “I was investigating this incident…under the orders of a certain distinguished personage. I can’t keep silent now that I’ve uncovered the truth,” said Ciel. “However, I shall request measures which will take your circumstances into account.”

            (Y/N) raised a brow. They wouldn’t interfere with Ciel’s decision—what happened to the P4 was none of their concern—but they disagreed with giving lenience from the outset. If these four were so noble, they would take the punishment they were given. If the situation gave them a lesser punishment, then very well, but (Y/N) found no sympathy for them.

            However, there were other issues with people (Y/N) did have some connection to—positive and negative—to handle which were much more pressing.

            “Now, that just leaves you.” Ciel narrowed his eyes as his attention went back to Undertaker. “What are you after?!”

            Undertaker smiled as he picked up a cupcake and leaned on his other hand. “You have bestowed upon me plenty of laughter so I will explain for old times’ sake.”

            “It was only for a moment, but Derrick was conscious beyond a doubt,” said Ciel. “He was clearly different from the previous reanimated corpses. No! He has evolved!”

            Undertaker munched on his cupcake. “It pleases me to hear that! Quite so. The dead can also advance by way of episodes.”

            “Episodes?” Sebastian furrowed his brow. “Do you mean the counterfeit memories you have created? Connecting them to the Cinematic Records of the dead was how the corpses began moving.”

            “Guess again.” Undertaker pouted and crossed his hands in an X. “You’re close, though. Those memories were gibberish. The current corpses are being moved by their longing for the future.”

            “Humans recall their pasts in their final moments. That is their cinematic record. At the same time, they crave the future they were to have had although those futures are incomplete. The fragments of those futures comprise their episodes.”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. “I did not experience such longing.”

            Undertaker grinned. “You took your death into your own hands and welcomed it with open hands. You threw away your future with a vengeance. Of course you experience no longing. You reveled in revenge.” He laughed. “And, as ever, you prove an interesting exception~ Quite the inspiration~.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed fuchsia at his continued focus on their mortal life. After he pushed them through their memories once more, they were fed up with it and itched to return the favor of pulling him away.

            Sebastian’s eyes narrowed at the playfulness with which Undertaker directed his quips to (Y/N). He disliked the familiarity with which Undertaker addressed them. He had already said he reaped their soul originally, and Sebastian despised that degree of “closeness” Undertaker could claim with them—even if it was such a moment as death.

            “But I digress.” Undertaker tilted his head and leaned on his hands. “What if those episodes could be extracted? What if several tens of thousands of cuts can be had? What if the total length of the linked episodes was longer than their Cinematic Records?

            “It’s akin to a future forecast. They are memories of the future, nothing like my counterfeit memories. If I connect such a thing to the Cinematic Record—do you not agree that what will be perfected is a reanimated corpse infinitely approaching a living human?”

            Undertaker grinned at the horrified expressions of the humans and the narrowed eyes of the (Y/N). “Weeeeeell, the probably of success is still very low as it is dependent on the quality and quantity of the episodes.” He shrugged. “I still can’t approximate other ways of returning to life.” He grinned at (Y/N). “Eh?”

            “I have no shred of mortality. The person I was died in every way,” said (Y/N), speaking with an icy, sharp tone. “These experiments are your attempt to perfect what will always fail.” Whatever he was planning, whatever his end goal was, whatever experiments he was planning, (Y/N) didn’t like it. To mess with nature itself was to invite twisted magic. It would never end well; something would break, whether it be the experimenter or the experiments.

            “Oh?” Undertaker grinned. “Perhaps for now. But I wish to look beyond the fated end.”

            “Beyond the end?” said Ciel, furrowing his brow.

            Undertaker flipped the top hat onto his head. “Has it ever occurred to you that something exceedingly amusing may unfold beyond the roll of the credits?”

            Sebastian smirked and raised a brow. “I disagree with you on that point. ‘Death’ is an absolute end. That is why I find it—” his eyes turned fuchsia “—most beautiful.” He gazed at (Y/N). “What do you think? You are the one who experienced it.”

            “To disturb the process of death would be to disturb nature,” said (Y/N). They narrowed their eyes. No one was quite understood how humans became demons as it was so rare, but they knew it wasn’t continued life so much as rebirth into something new. “And you invite your own ruin when you do so.” They had been a witch; they understood.

            “How poetically put~” said Sebastian, smirking.

            Undertaker tutted and stood. “This is all I can tell you with the compensation I have received. Well, then.” He grinned. “It would be a nuisance if certain bothersome individuals were to discover my whereabouts. So I shall be going now.”

            “I won’t let you escape again!” shouted Ciel. “Capture him, Sebastian!”

            “As you wish!” Sebastian ran forward.

            The moment he lunged for Undertaker, Agares ran between them and grabbed Sebastian’s hands. His scholarly cap fell from his head, and (Y/N) saw the stitches—he, too, was reanimated.

            “So, you too, were a corpse, Vice Headmaster Agares,” said Sebastian, narrowing his eyes. “That must be why I felt a sense of discomfort then.”

            (Y/N) grabbed Agares and forced him back with Sebastian, but above them, Undertaker jumped onto the hedge wall.

            “That one is replete with episodes and is my crowning masterpiece, for now,” said Undertaker.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched, and their eyes turned fuchsia. So Undertaker was planning more. What is he working towards?

            Undertaker snapped his fingers, and human hands burst out of the ground. The humans let out a gasp and cry, and (Y/N) and Sebastian narrowed their eyes as the reanimated, simply bizarre dolls of Derrick’s friends dragged themselves out of the ground.

            “These are Derrick’s accomplices!” said Ciel.

            “Run!” Edward was instantly focused on survival after the attack on the Campania. “Leave this garden now! Hurry!” He supported Greenhill on his shoulders.

            Ciel opened the garden door, and the prefects and drudges ran for escape. Harcourt was knocked down by one of the accomplices, who loomed over him.

            “I-I can’t move!”

            “Come on!” Ciel grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

            Undertaker chuckled as he watched. “He may have inherited the Phantomhive blood, but he’s quite unlike his predecessors. Most, anyways.” He tilted his head in amusmenet. “Don’t you agree?”

            (Y/N) and Sebastian narrowed their eyes; Undertaker’s connection to the Phantomhives was quite strange.

            “What a riot this is!” said Undertaker.

            “My, my, you are quite carefree about all this,” said Sebastian. “Do you believe you can stop us with something like this?”

            “How dare you underestimate us like that,” said (Y/N), a cat-like grin flitting across their features.

            Undertaker grinned. “I’ve never underestimated you. I know not to.” His eyes flicked to Sebastian. “All that sets us apart are our goals.” His eyes slid to (Y/N) and Ciel again.

            Sebastian’s eyes widened as Undertaker smirked, and his entire body went into alarm mode. If he brought down Agares now and then sought to capture Undertaker, then Ciel would be left open to attack or (Y/N) would be, and after seeing (Y/N) bleeding in his arms, Sebastian would do anything to avoid that.

            So as Undertaker looked at (Y/N) and Ciel, Sebastian’s desire to protect his contract and his love overtook his need to follow Ciel’s orders—Ciel’s life took precedence, and he could ignore the order (and, fortunately, protect (Y/N), too).

            Sebastian bent backwards and slammed Agares’s head into the ground. His brain was crushed, and he stopped moving. (Y/N) shifting to jump towards Undertaker, but Sebastian’s heart thudded, and he grabbed (Y/N)’s waist.

            “Wha—Corvus, let me get him!” hissed (Y/N).

            “No, Felis,” said Sebastian, leaping towards Ciel. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at the tone.

            Undertaker chuckled as he ran in the opposite direction. “Just what I’d expect from you, Master Butler~” He knew Sebastian would choose to protect Ciel under the contract and (Y/N) due to his heart. It was ever-so-entertaining to Undertaker.

            “Sebastian?!” said Ciel as Sebastian landed in front of him.

            Undertaker landed on the wall separating the outside world and Weston College. “I do hope you’ll continue to protect the Phantomhive house so loyally.” His voice was remarkably somber compared to his usual melodramatics. It still lilted with amusement, but there was something more. Posing beneath the moon as if he held it, he cackled and shook his head. “Fare thee well!”

            He flipped away and disappeared into the night.

            “Corvus, put me down!” snapped (Y/N).

            “Sebastian—” Ciel spoke at the same time.

            “Stay behind me!” said Sebastian, putting (Y/N) down but pulling them close while he grabbed another reanimated corpse’s head to push him back.

            “Sebastian, why did you come to me?!” cried Ciel. “I ordered you to seize—!”

            Sebastian cut Ciel off. “By the terms of our covenant, your life is my first priority. I have gone to great pains to cultivate you.” He looked back at Ciel with shining fuchsia eyes. “I cannot afford to have him steal you away.” His eyes went to (Y/N). “I will not allow it.” Sebastian crushed the skull of the corpse.

            (Y/N) stared at him as blood flicked across his cheek, and they felt a hunger develop. As much as they were frustrated at Undertaker escaping—they wanted to run after him and teach him how unpleasant experiments could really be for all his amusement—(Y/N) saw Sebastian’s protectiveness and pure devotion. He had only been able to move due to Ciel being in danger, but that didn’t change the adoration in his eyes as he gazed at them, the dark, demonic love that spoke of his willingness to spill blood in their name.

            And (Y/N) loved it.

            “Aaah….” Harcourt fainted upon seeing the corpse’s head crushed, and the moment of silence was broken.

            Ciel jumped and examined him. “Hey!”

            “You should let him sleep,” said (Y/N), stepping up to Sebastian’s side. They were a team—a pair. “There is still much cleaning for us to attend to in the wake of this Midnight Tea Party.”

            It didn’t take long. With Derrick, Agares, and one accomplice dead, Sebastian and (Y/N) had only three corpses to take on. A mere moment was all that was needed for the demons.

            Ciel looked around at the bloody garden. “Dear me. How am I going to explain all this to Her Majesty?”

            “Why not give her the facts as they are?” said Sebastian, pulling on fresh gloves. “Tell her that a ‘perverse, erstwhile grim reaper is reanimating the dead.’ ” He took (Y/N)’s hands and removed their gloves to give them clean ones.

            “And that we have no idea what he is planning in the long run,” said (Y/N).

            Ciel huffed. “She’ll never believe—”

            “Ciel!” Edward pushed the door to the garden open and reappeared. He had a sword in hand, ready for danger. “Everyone’s escaped safely…” He trailed off as he looked at the corpses. The situation had already been handled.

            “We’re done here, too,” said Ciel. “Watch your step.”

            “I will.” Edward looked down and paused. His gaze hardened, and he gripped his sword tightly. “Ciel.” The earl glanced at him. “It frightens me to no end that I might have ended up like those prefects, too…” Edward gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “That I might have become a man who deludes himself into thinking that the sin of murder is equal to justice!”

            Ciel looked at him. “Don’t worry. Consider yourself normal, if it scares you so. Unlike me.”

            (Y/N) looked between Ciel and Edward. To see the Aristocrat of Evil looking at the Midford, a knight of justice, made (Y/N) tilt their head. Humans were so complicated, and, despite their darkness, (Y/N) was very much aware that there was more than just good or evil in their hearts. There was Ciel’s desire to serve justice to those that law cannot touch, and there was Edward’s desire to resist tradition brainwashing his thinking. There were grey areas.

            (Y/N) understood those.

            They had existed within them as a mortal. They lived within them now—no good or evil, just Felis.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

@agentdedf1sh

@iamsexytrash

@oceansfloor

@sarkzjam

@temporarilyablog

@elaemae

@urlocalsabito

@roo024

@ittomain1

@whereismymonsterlover

@alythewolf

@serinity750

@cloberrii

@kniselle

@ray-rook

@yappydoo

@kitkatlover015

[ladyazurith]

Vil/Cater headcanons

Vil keeps a stash of high quality chocolate to fend off his sweet tooth. He doesn’t like dark chocolate but keeps it on hand because it's the only chocolate Cater will eat.

Of the two, Vil’s the one that’s the most physically affectionate. He craves touch especially Cater’s. Cater on the other hand doesn’t like to be touched by people even those he’s close to. It took him some time to get used to Vil’s but now he’s happy to indulge his boyfriend. 

Cater likes fashion design and drawing outfits with Vil in mind, even before they got together. Something he was embarrassed about when the model found out when he accidentally left his sketchbook out and open. Vil however was flattered that he’d essentially been the other’s muse.

Halloween was a tipping point for their relationship. Cater’s reliability during the issues with the Magicam Monsters situation, and the fact that he worked to fix things, and didn’t take advantage of the situation to grow his own following was the exact opposite of what Vil expected. Then being stuck with him in the ghost world, and Cater’s actions there were enough to get him to reevaluate the other. 

Cater’s birthday interview with Jamil was edited down. He’d spent more time talking about Vil and why he respected and looked up to him. Vil was never supposed to see the unedited version but someone (Rook or Jamil, neither will own up to it) slipped it into his film club files. 

Cater's magicam page is just as meticulously curated as Vil's something the actor never realized until he got to know his boyfriend better.

The reason Cater knows how to pose, and what angles work best for him is because of his clones, he can literally see himself the way everyone else does.

Despite what it may look like on the surface, Cater is an extremely private person. The vapid and shallow persona he portrays on magicam was all done on purpose to keep people from digging too deeply into his actual life.  Something that surprised Vil when it was Cater who asked that they keep their relationship offline at first. 

Rook knew that Vil was lying when he said he wasn’t interested in Cater because of the way his heartbeat would change, and the look in his eyes. Vil’s insistence that Cater only wanted to use him, was born out of his own insecurities revolving around his villain typecasting. Villains (typically) don’t get the happily ever after love story. It’s also why he never told him no, and brushed it off with comments about how Cater couldn’t afford him. Never taking him seriously.

My HC that Cater’s family is extremely wealthy came about specifically because of that implication from Vil in his “What It Means to Be a Brand” vignette. However, I do think Cater’s family has more money than he lets on, given how he talks about going “glamping” and it takes a lot of money to chase trends like he does. 

Not really a Vil/Cater thing but I also believe that Cater’s clones can fool Rook’s Unique Magic because he can’t tell the difference between him and one of his clones with it. 

I see them talking a lot about make-up and fashion, something that has been shown to interest both of them. Though in all honesty based on their various different outfits, Cater has a much better sense of style in my personal opinion. Something that may be a result of Vil being used to having other people dress him as a model. (A glaring example is how Cater looked in his Halloween grave keeper costume, versus Vil’s grandma’s couch print vampire outfit) 

[rafeandonlyrafe]

legacy

words: 4k

warnings: violence? ig, finding treasure, evil ward

“i know you have it. so you better run y/n.” ward says, pushing his hat further down on his face. “because i’m going to chase you down and get my map.”

you stand there in fear, no point further denying. you know ward can’t do anything more now, as more and more people come out onto the street. he’s lucky that no one has recognized him already, he is supposed to be dead after all.

he walks down an alleyway, and you only stand still to process for a moment, before rushing to your car. you know ward has money. money to track you down and destroy your life, even from beyond the grave. he thinks you have a treasure map leading to some random treasure you’ve never even heard of but apparently is buried somewhere along the outer banks. you haven’t the furthest clue what he’s talking about.

you drive home, knowing you don’t have much time before ward is going to send his people to your house. you grab a backpack, stuffing a change of clothes, all the cash you have on hand and some waters in it, as well as some packable food. 

you grab your cell phone, with the idea to plant it on a bus and watch it drive away, unsure if ward will somehow be able to track it, but knowing it’s not worth the risk.

you pause by the door, before running back to your bedroom and grabbing your favorite book, one passed down from your grandfather. you add it to the backpack as well, wondering if you’re going to regret the added weight later. 

the sound of a car approaching makes you hustle away from the house, walking along the backyards instead of the sidewalk. the car ends up driving past your house, but you know you’re low on time. you rush to the bus station, dropping your phone into someone’s bag on the ground, not staying to see them taking it onto the bus.

you’re not sure what the plan is, other than having to evade ward for as long as possible. you know there’s no point going to the police, they’d never believe you that ward is alive and after you, especially not with your previous run-ins with the law.

you grew up a kook, which is why you were able to afford your own house on the island, but you never were truly in with them, and your calls about class consciousness and wanting more wealth equality was not taken well by your neighbors, but it only radicalized you more, joining in on protest for a number of social issues, resulting in you getting jailed a couple times overnight for disturbing the peace.

you blame your grandpa for the radicalization, he amassed a large fortune that could have secured your family for generations to come, but he chose to distribute most of his wealth to various charities, while still leaving a sizable chunk to you.

you thought it would put you on bad terms with ward’s son, rafe, considering how he was especially cruel to the pogues, but there was always a spark of kindness he showed towards you, like you had wiggled a little way into his heart to make him not as evil. it gives you hope, knowing he’s just a product of his environment, like you are yours.

you head towards a more isolated part of the island, hoping to hunker down for a few weeks until it all blows over, ward unable to keep hidden or to move on to the next crazy obsession.

you enter into an old barn, climbing up to the second story carefully, not sure how structurally sound the old wood is as it creaks loudly under your every step.

you get to the top, cringing at the decomposing hay, but sit yourself down near the mostly boarded up window, watching through the slats as the rising sun moves higher into the air. you pull out your book, making sure to take a hearty drink of water. you know that one major advantage of hiding from ward is being able to go out in public, whenever it’s too busy, he can’t show his face without getting recognized.

you start to read the familiar book, one you first remember being read to you by your grandfather. it’s titleless, and grandpa would always just call it the adventure book. the cover is brown leather, and you dive into the familiar words to pass the time.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve read until your stomach grumbles, realizing you’re already halfway through the book and the sun is high in the sky, glittering through the small holes in the tattered roof.

you pull out a granola bar from your bag, eating it quickly and putting the wrapper back in your bag, not wanting to leave a trail when you eventually leave the barn. you go to pick up your book to begin reading again, but pause as you hear something approaching the barn. it sounds small, but it could be someone creeping carefully closer.

you creep to the edge, peering over the fence, listening carefully to the noises. you let out a breath of relief when a racoon scurries into the barn, only to run out a minute later. it reminds you that this is a wilder side of the island, and that you need to be careful of bears and alligators.

you head back towards your spot, finishing your book as the sun sets in the sky. you situate yourself to sleep, glad for once you’re a light enough sleeper to wake up if someone began to approach. despite spending most of your day sitting and reading, you’re still exhausted and fall asleep quickly.

surprisingly, nothing wakes you up until the sun shines through in the morning. you give a big stretch, downing a water bottle instantly to relieve your dry mouth. you decide you can’t stay in the stuffy barn any longer, packing everything into your bag and heading down the ladder. you make sure to quietly walk, and keep your ears open as you head towards town, needing a real meal.

“hey y/n.” you hear as you enter the small diner.

“hi ma’am.” you smile, taking a breath of relief when the hostess is one of your closest friends mom. maybe you can whisper what’s happening to her, but you don’t want to put anyone else at risk. you decide against it as you order a meal, ignoring the people staring as you scarf down an entire burger at 10 in the morning.

you order another burger to go, packing it up and putting it in your backpack, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. you pay and give your friends mom a big hug, much to her surprise, but you honestly just need some good human contact.

you head out the door, looking in both directions, wondering if heading back to the barn is the safest idea, when you see him. your eyes both widen as they make contact.

“wait!” rafe yells, but it’s too late, you’re already running down the street, hearing his footfalls behind you as you head through an alleyway to evade him.

you tuck behind a wooden fence blocking off an entrance to an apartment, hoping to hear him run past, but his footsteps slow down when he doesn’t see you still running. 

“fuck.” rafe curses, unaware that you’re so close you can hear him.

“rafe?” the voice has your blood running cold. despite running, you’re really not scared of rafe, but you’re fucking terrified as ward. ward would stop at anything, while you don’t think rafe would hurt you personally.

“did you see her, son?” ward asks.

“no.” rafe’s answer confuses you, he absolutely saw you. “i thought it was her, but i think it was just someone who looks like her.” 

you don’t have any time to process rafe protecting you as the door to the apartment opens. you turn with wide eyes, shaking your head no and holding a finger up to your mouth, hoping the elderly man won’t say anything and alert ward to your presence, but as you see his mouth open, you know it’s too late.

“this is private property!” you cringe at how loud his voice is, hoping you can get the jump on ward and rafe by jumping up and quickly running, but they’re on your back in no time. you’re glad you ran track in school, pulling ahead but not by much.

you spot the elementary school up ahead of you, closed for summer, but you know from your rebellious teen years exactly where the tricky window that doesn’t lock is. you make a sudden turn towards the school, ward and rafe overshooting the turn onto the grounds from the unexpected move.

you round to the back of the building, opening the window quickly, letting out a silent apology to mrs. lindstein, who is still in this same classroom after all these years as you step on her bookshelves to get in. you shut the window the best you can behind you, hoping ward and rafe didn’t see. 

you rush out into the hallway, just in time to hear the door slam in an adjoining hallway. they must have found a door left open, most likely there’s a teacher working on her classroom set up as autumn is quickly approaching. you run as quickly as you can into a classroom, glad to see the desks are piled up from the floor being cleaned, making you have to crawl under one to get through.

rafe enters before you can hide, and you know he’s seen you, but he doesn’t shout for ward to your surprise.

“rafe, please.” you whisper as he climbs over the desk. 

“i’m not gonna hurt you, y/n.” rafe says, reaching out to you as he approaches, moving like you’re a wild animal ready to strike.

“your dad will.” you whisper, backing up towards the wall.

“i know. that’s why i’m with him. i knew he’d find you first, so i pretended to help him, let him think i was on your team, but i don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“let me go then.” you plead.

“he’s having us check every classroom. his guys are already on their way to cover the exits, they might even be here right now. i can convince him you slipped away, that i didn’t see you in here, that you must have got out before we covered the exits, but i need you to hide, now.”

you glance around the classroom, having no better option than to trust rafe.

“i don’t know if he’s going to have his guys search the school. probably not, but you’ve got to keep yourself hidden until i can come back for you tonight.”

“okay.” you whisper, letting rafe lead you over to a cabinet. 

“i’m so sorry but you have to get in, baby.” rafe opens up the cabinet door, taking a glance at the classroom door, knowing he’s running out of time before his dad is going to get suspicious as to why he’s taking so long to clear one classroom.

you take your backpack off and climb in, thankful for the air vents at the top providing you not just fresh air, but also cooling it down a little as you situate yourself in a seating position, deciding you’ll wait until nightfall and if rafe doesn’t come back, then so be it.

“wait, rafe-” you call as he goes to shut the door.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling down to get on your level.

“why are you helping me?” 

rafe bites his lip, unsure how to word it, but then decides words won't suffice, leaning in and kissing you gently. “i won’t let him hurt you. i promise.”

you’re not sure what to say in response, so you just nod, letting rafe carefully shut the door. you rest your head against the wood, closing your eyes and breathing gently, not wanting to make any movement until you were sure that everyone was gone.

“was she in there?” ward asks, and your ears strain to hear the conversation happening in the hallway.

“no. i think she must have slipped out already.” rafe replies, your heart now skipping a beat at his voice, remembering the soft feel of his lips against yours.

you can’t hear the rest of the conversation as they walk away. you wait a couple hours, completely bored. once your stomach starts to rumble, and you remember the burger you’ve saved in your bag. you unwrap it as carefully as you can to avoid noise, holding back the moan as you take a bite, still tasting just as good fresh now, but your hunger may be clouding your mind.

you finish it and your second to last water bottle before leaning your head back against the wood, closing your eyes. you don’t even realize that you’ve drifted off until you’re woken up by the sound of soft footsteps approaching. light doesn’t shine through the vents anymore, signaling you must have slept for several hours and night has fallen.

you pray that it’s rafe, you have nowhere to run if it’s someone else. 

“y/n?” you let out a breath of relief hearing rafe’s voice. you throw open the door, running into rafe’s open arms.

“it’s okay, i got you.” rafe says, letting you hide your face in his shoulder as his hands slowly rub up and down over your back.

“where’s ward?” you ask, voice muffled by his shirt, but you don’t want to pull away, not yet.

“i convinced him you had some family in charlotte and were probably hiding out there. he left me behind to watch over tanneyhill.”

“thank you rafe.” you say, leaning back to look him in the eye.

“i’m… i’m sorry it took me so long to see what was happening with my dad. it took him wanting to hurt you to realize what was happening.”

“it’s okay.” you say, pulling him into another hug, relaxing into his touch. 

“here, i brought you food and water.” rafe says, pulling you to the floor so you don’t have to stand and eat.

“thank god, i’m starving.” you say, sitting criss cross and grabbing the sandwich he brought you, eating it quickly.

rafe watches you eat with a small smile on his face, leaning forward and kissing your forehead as you finish up. the little picnic would be romantic if it were under different circumstances.

“thanks.” you blush, thinking about your kiss.

“is it… can i… nevermind.” rafe shakes his head.

“no, what is it?” you press.

“can i kiss you again?” “yeah.” you nod. “yes, of course.” you move closer to rafe, letting him kiss you again, your lips softly gliding over each other, able to take more time now. you pull away, but don’t go far as rafe’s arms wrap around you, and you lean into the side, both of you just needing the feel of each other.

“what is it that your dad thinks i have?” you ask, tracing a shape on rafe’s thigh.

“oh the map? you do have it.” rafe says casually, making you sit up and look at him.

“what do you mean?”

“you don’t know?” he asks, seemingly genuinely surprised.

“no, i have no clue what you’re talking about.” you admit.

“that book your grandpa gave you, you have it with you right?” rafe asks, and you nod, pulling the book out of your backpack, not even hesitating before handing it to him.

rafe opens up the book, placing a finger down on the very first page. you give him a confused glance before realizing he was pointing at the map, describing the fictional land from the book.

“that’s-” you’re about to say it’s not the outer banks, but you grab the book back quickly, flipping it over so you’re viewing it upside down, the shape of the outer banks quickly coming into view.

“how did i never realize?” you ask, mostly to yourself.

rafe laughs gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “wanna go find it?”

you look up at rafe, eyes widening. “for real?”

rafe nods, looking at the book with you. “can you tell where it is?”

surprisingly, it is close to the barn you were hiding out in yesterday. “i know exactly where it is, but it’s under water now.” it’s not uncommon for the banks to change, and if you’re looking at it correctly, the X that marks the treasure is near the edge of the swamp.

“let’s go check it out.” rafe says, standing up and giving you a hand up, leading you out of the school with your hands intertwined. despite rafe saying that his dad is looking for you in charlotte, you’re both extra careful as you head towards the docks.

“it’s old, but this is my family’s fishing boat. it would be the least noticeable if we take this one.” rafe says, leading you onto an old but well kept boat, still large enough to have a small enclosed area in the hull.

you cuddle up next to rafe on the bench next to the helm, enjoying the cool breeze on your face as he easily guides the boat to your location. 

you open up the book again, lit by the moon, as you try to tell where along the coastline it may be. “i think maybe 100 more yards.” you tell rafe, and he slows down. you eventually point to a spot, guessing it should be there. rafe pulls closer before examining the area, right on the edge of a swamp. the water isn’t deep, only around a foot at the spot you think it’s at, and it shouldn’t be too hard to get to.

rafe goes to jump out of the boat and swim the rest of the way, but you place a hand on his arm, stopping him. 

“sharks, rafe.” 

they’re rare in outer banks, but this area is a wilder section, and you really don’t want to risk anything.

“i guess it can wait until morning. don’t want you to worry about me out there.” rafe says with a laugh, pulling you into him. “you can go down to the cabin, i’m gonna anchor us.”

you head down the couple steps to the small cabin, noting that the bed is a single sleeper and very thin. you quickly change your close into a fresh pair you have in your bag, throwing the dirty clothes into a corner just as rafe comes down the steps.

he sits down on the bed before beckoning you over. you stand in front of him fingers coming up to toy with the loose ends of his hair that hang over his forehead.

“how are you doing?” rafe asks, placing his on your hips, thumbs gently rubbing.

“okay, i think.” you admit. rafe nods, but doesn’t look completely happy, knowing that there’s emotions bottled up inside of you, just waiting to come out.

“let’s go to sleep, yeah?” 

you’re honestly not sure if you can sleep, but you nod, letting rafe lie down before carefully getting on the bed, having to lay on top of him due to lack of space, but he doesn’t complain at all having your head on his chest, his arms around you.

it takes you a while to sleep, but rafe’s soft breathing and the gentle rocking of the boat helps you drift off.

//

“i think i see it, babe!” rafe says, much to your surprise, considering he’s only been digging for a few minutes, the water immediately displacing any of the dirt he moves.

rafe has forced you to stay on the boat, insisting that he can do all the dirty work and you can stay safe and dry.

“no way!” you shout in disbelief with a laugh, watching as rafe leans down, reaching into the hole and pulling on something heavy.

“there’s still too much sand on top of it for me to pull it up, toss me that chain.” you toss rafe the chain, and he is able to connect it. he hops in the boat, soaking the floor, but you’re too excited to even care as he puts the boat into drive as you watch the chest come unstuck.

“it’s free!” you shout to rafe, who quickly stops and maneuvers the boat as closely as he can in the shallow water before hopping out, now able to push the chest onto the back of the boat.

“holy shit.” you say as he hops back on, giving him a wide-eyed look. “we really found it.”

“goddamn i can’t wait to open it. kiss me first though.” you completely ignore how soaking wet his clothes are and press into him as your lips meet, bodies flush.

the rush of emotions suddenly bursts out of you, tears rolling down your cheeks as you kiss rafe.

“you okay, princess?” rafe says, wiping away your tears, giving you a couple pecks across your cheeks and forehead.

“yeah, yeah.” you nod. “i just can’t believe my grandpa left this for me to find.”

rafe smiles at you, running his fingers over your cheeks before kissing you again, letting you relax against him for a moment.

“let’s open it.” you say excitedly, turning towards the chest, realizing that there’s a lock on it. “rafe.”

“i don’t have any tools to get it off on the boat.” rafe sighs. “we’ll have to take it back to land.”

“wait!” you go down to the cabin and grab the book, bringing it back up to the light to examine it closely. “grandpa wouldn’t just give this to me, lead me to the treasure, and not give me a way to open it…” you check the spine of the book, pressing and pushing it until a small piece of the leather flips back. 

“the key!” you shout, pulling it out of where the pages bind to the backing.

“holy shit, babe, you’re a genius!” rafe says, taking the key from you and working it into the lock. it takes a minute due to how aged it is, but eventually it clicks open, and you’re able to open up the chest, revealing gleaming gold bars.

“it’s half full?” you question, but still reach in and pick up a gold bar. to be honest, it’s closer to a quarter full.

“y/n… do you know how your grandpa got his fortune?” rafe asks, picking up a gold bar for himself.

it never crossed your mind before. “no… do you think he found it and then reburied it for me to find?” “he must have. i mean, this is still a lot of money but…”

you know what rafe is saying. it isn’t really a life changing amount, not with the amount of money you both already have. 

“i think i have a good idea of what to do with it though.”

rafe looks at you with hope in his eyes, “what is it?” //

it’s been two weeks since you’ve found the gold, and you dropped off the last bar today. while it isn’t a life changing amount for you, it can be for some people, and this was yours, but mostly rafe’s, way of giving back to the outer banks, distributing the gold to the people in the area who need it most.

“i’m so proud of you, you know?” you ask rafe, running your hands through his hair as you lay on your sundeck. rafe has moved in with you after walking away from his dad, who was pissed about not getting the gold, only until he found out how little it actually was.

“for what?” rafe says, nuzzling his nose into your side as his head rests against your stomach.

“you gave up that gold when you could have kept it. you chose to use it for good.” “you’ve changed me.” rafe says, turning so he’s hovering over you. “and i love you for it.”

you smile up at rafe, looping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down into a kiss. “i love you too.”

[ambassadortotrilliusprime]

I hate that I’m doing this again, but it didn’t work last time and it’s so much worse now.

Hey guys,

So some of you may know, some may not, but I’m floundering right now.

In January 2024 I was in a car accident with my boyfriend. He then lost his job for a second time in a few months. We had to move out of our house we were renting and into a small apartment.

The apartment in question was infested with roaches, had people literally beating each other up in the hallways, breaking into cars, drugs, and numerous other issues. With only me working as he tried to find another job, we quickly fell behind on the rent and the eviction process started. When we got evicted, I lost my job, as they said that if I didn’t have a stable residential address I could no longer work for them (remote work, I don’t get it but oh well). We moved into an extended stay. The extended stay ended up having roaches and being too expensive, as my partner got a job but then lost it again due to them hiring new employees at a cheaper rate.

We moved into a room at a boarding house. There was again roaches, people screaming, making noise all hours of the night, leaving the bathroom we shared with the toilet unflushed, mold on the walls, hair everywhere (not from the head). 

He got a new job that came with a hotel for a month. So we left. The project ended in a little over a week and we’re now completely homeless again. I’m freelancing but not making enough money to support living anywhere, and I’m getting desperate. I’ve lived in my car before and I can’t go through that again. I’m now having to ask questions like can I afford to eat, should I eat or can I wait, which bills can wait without losing the essential things (car insurance, phone bill, gym to shower).

I need help so badly, and tumblr is the only place I can turn too. I have no family.

In order to pay my bills and buy me a few more nights with a roof over my head so I can find a place, I need $1k. I have $100.

If ANYONE can help, even if it’s just to send me something so I don’t feel guilty about eating, I’d be forever grateful and you’d quite literally change my life.

Please message me for my CashApp or Paypal or Zelle.