#Man's Reach Exceeds His Imagination

[hauntingsoundtracks]

The Prestige, directed by Christopher Nolan

Man's Reach Exceeds His Imagination, original soundtrack by David Julyan

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒 , various !

synopsis: when you bring your friend to ikea to help you pick furniture for your new apartment. Pinning ensues amongst other flustering events.

including: zhongli, childe, diluc, kaeya, thoma,

side comments: pure fluff! also, please buy your furniture second-hand and support small businesses! avoid fast furniture when you can (ikea) and make mindful purchases. let's briefly imagine a perfect world where ikea is ethical and sustainable.

extra: mentions and implications of marriage, gn reader, favourites: zhongli & kaeya word count: 1,784

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

Being the friend he is, Zhongli would happily accompany you.

He is the type to have his hands behind his back as he follows you around. Lingering close yet respectfully enough.

If you ask him for consolation, he will be honest in the most tender way possible:

"Ah... perhaps this colour will be more suitable considering the lighting."

"You did need a new couch, right? I believe you will like this one."

You blink and then your cart is full.

Zhongli's advice is acutely precise, however, expect to exceed your original budget by another ghastly $500.

Not that he suggests buying unnecessary items, rather, he suggests quality, material and construction.

Begins speaking a tad excessively about colour coordination and lightning.

He will help you lift any furniture parts if need be!

Gradually, the trip would become a joint effort by the two of you. As if you've been shopping and living together for years.

"Look at the dining table ( Name )," Zhongli commented. The lighting of the room glittered above, illuminating your face slightly as your hands glide over the wood varnish. "It's wonderful, isn't it? You'd be able to hold all the dinner parties you wanted."

You smile gingerly, and soon you are standing next to him by the kitchen sink. "Definitely, Childe would no longer have to sit on the floor."

Zhongli chuckles and you share a teasing grin. "At least we picked out a table already- much cheaper."

Zhongli raises an eyebrow, "Oh? Perhaps we can consider this one instead?"

"Personally, I think you should agree with him," spoke an employee- a soft-spoken elderly woman- "I remember when I first bought my fiancee's dining table- fun times!"

"Oh ma'am we're not-"

"Yes, my fiancee and I do agree," Zhongli gazes towards you're slightly flushed figure and smiles gently, "Yes dear?"

You blink for a few moments; gaining your footing before replying smoothly, "Why of course, how could I not love?"

You don't notice it, however, Zhongli shares a faint blush as he later pretends to cough in his fist.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄

Childe has zero taste in furniture.

His mom would choose the furniture while he used his card.

Browsing through the showrooms and picking furniture is not how he would choose to spend his afternoon, however, he'll try for you!

In this case- it's the thought that counts.

If you need help reaching or lifting anything he'll do it readily.

Don't have a cart or bag? (There were lots) Childe will hold it all for you!

It becomes an inner competition to some extent to cover up for his obvious lack of skill in furniture and home design in hopes of impressing you.

“Excuse me young man, can you please reach the duvet covers for me up top?” asks a elderly man, an embarrassed smile gently plastered on his lips.

Childe turns his head towards the man and flashes a hearty grin, “Of course.”

With ease, Childe grabs the duvet set and hands it to him, “Ah, thank you,” the man pauses before speaking, his eyes in thought, “might I ask something?”

Childe blinks and replies, subtle curiosity beneath his lighthearted tone, “Go on.”

“Have you asked your partner out yet?

Childe fumbles a bit and the elderly man heaves a near boisterous laugh. "I'm taking that as a no, ay? Ah, young couples! I might not have the sharpest eyes anymore, but you've been lookin' at them since the kitchen showroom!"

Before Childe could express a response, the man pats his back and smiles. "Best of luck! I'm sure they'll say yes."

The man then ambles away and from a distance, Childe can see his small figure fade into the throng.

"Hey Childe! Are you alright?"

"Oh... um yeah!" prompted Childe, "Is there anything else you need?"

You shake your head, your fingers scrolling through the list you made, "That should be it. Are you sure you're okay? If you'd like I could hold the vase?"

Childe smiles while his bright blue eyes pool into yours, "No I'm good, let's head to check out."

The two of you saunter to the check-out counter side by side; bantering with each other. Childe's gaze never leaving yours.

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐑

Diluc is not well-versed in design and colour. However, he has a keen eye for both style, price and functionality, unbeknownst to him.

You were hesitant to ask him if he could accompany you as it is without a doubt that Diluc Ragnvindr is a busy man.

Diluc himself shared hesitancy for opposing reasons.

Diluc has lived with himself and has found his dwelling to be dull in comparison to the liveliness and hospitality your former apartment held. Thus, Diluc wondered if he could be of any help.

Nevertheless, you reassured him that you wanted company regardless of his skills.

Contrary to his words, Diluc was quite valuable, especially when navigating the place.

"I found the blanket you were interested in earlier, do you still want it?"

"The colour is rather flattering... but it is your choice! Um... please don't mind me."

"Do you need help?"

Diluc doubted his opinion, however, you found yourself agreeing with him several times.

You and Diluc were currently sitting by the opposite edge of a bed, your hands inches apart.

"A comfortable bed isn't it?" you bounce on the bed a little, a smile reaching your lips, "And the mattress is only $200, a king too! I can't believe you found this deal-"

Diluc does not hear your voice, it faded just as the lights mellowed and the sensations of the blanket against his calloused hands grew fuzzy.

"... Hey Diluc?"

"Ah, yes," Diluc coughs before asking, "I'm sorry what were you saying?

You smile, "It's all good! I was just explaining how I wouldn't need such a large bed for myself."

Diluc conveys a slightly puzzled expression, "How so? If you're worried about how to carry it into the apartment then you do know that I'll assist you-"

You shake your head fervently before replying, "Well thank you Diluc! But really you don't have to-"

"Oh no, I insist."

You smile winsomely before carefully replying, "It's just... me in the apartment. I'd understand if I was living with someone- but it's not worth it in my opinion."

Diluc pauses, contemplating before replying steadily, "I believe you deserve the mattress..." There is a tentative gap between his words before he follows up, "Perhaps I... ah never mind, let's get going. You wanted to eat at Chef Xianling's restaurant for dinner right? My treat."

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇

So you invited Kaeya?

Expect relentless teasing and a carefree-complacent attitude.

However, as much as Kaeya is there for fun, he will readily assist you- not without a tease, however.

"Oh ho? Need my help?"

In regards to style and class... Kaeya can pull himself together.

However, similar to Diluc, there is a dullness to his home.

In fact, Kaeya rarely spends time in his own home: he bounces from place to place. Never lingering longer than is needed or comfortable. It is like an ever-present itch.

Yet, your home has become Kaeya's home too. Unbeknownst to you however.

It is natural for both of you.

Your home has become the longest place he has spent in. He has his space in your home, he even has a toothbrush holder and resident blanket; removing Kaeya from your home would cause an ineffable void.

Regardless of the previous facts, you genuinely invited Kaeya to come for help and company.

Kaeya makes the process entertaining! Instead of contemplating the price tags incessantly, Kaeya will smoothly subdue your worries by toying with the utensils and playing hide-and-seek in the mirror section all while slipping the item you wanted in the bag.

The two of you let loose; unwinding like children who innocently play in the kid's bedroom showhome despite being strangers to each other.

"Kaeya... do we really need this mirror?" you question dubiously.

Kaeya shares a winsome grin. "Why of course," he then gingerly places his hands on your shoulders and leans in slightly, "It holds a rather charming reflection, does it not?"

You gaze at him and sigh, "Charming? You always find ways to flatter yourself."

Kaeya merely smiles. The two of you peer into the mirror: the reflection of two souls gazing back all while Kaeya surmises.

It wasn't himself that he was referring to.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀

You're in for a treat!

You will (quite literally) get ice cream afterwards.

Thoma possesses all the skills in the "art of making a home."

Need deals or a lower price? Thoma already has a list. What about colour and style? He has a magazine and Pinterest board ready. What about functionality and material? Don't fret! He knows all the washing labels and what goes best with your lifestyle.

Tell him the night before and he is packed and loaded.

Thoma is absolutely thrilled that you invited him.

Shopping for any household items is delightful for Thoma, even more so when the two of you are browsing through all the showrooms and inspecting each countertop.

His favourite section is the kitchen.

If you have a specific budget in mind, Thoma will ensure that not a dollar goes beyond it and he will keep you accountable as well!

However, staying within the budget while scouring the store takes a significant amount of time.

Hence, instead of another $100 added to the receipt, expect another three hours.

The two of you will heave a big sigh when you finally sit down in the car.

Nevertheless, it is all lighthearted and relaxing as the two of you reenacting imagining a space together.

"We'd set the tables over there-" remarked Thoma as he pointed his finger towards the dining table, "And we can house our pans here- it would be so since to have them hanging instead of in the cabinet."

"Browsing through the kitchens is always fun," added a mother, her arms cradling her baby, "Are the two of you living together?"

You chuckle and Thoma's cheeks grow rosy. You then reply amused, "Oh no, he's a friend of mine who I asked to come along."

The mother then shares an embarrassed smile, "Oh I'm so sorry! That was so wrong of me... if the two of you are looking for a hanging pan rack then I remember seeing an installation piece down in the marketplace."

"Thank you," replied Thoma, a smile pressed on his lips, "We'll be sure to check it out!"

As the mother saunters ambles away, Thoma mutters under his breath, "Maybe we should live together..."

"What was that?"

"Oh ah! Nothing," Thoma scratches the back of his neck before responding brightly, "Do you want me to write the rack on the list now?"

masterlist

[sordidmusings]

Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is.

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “oak barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin. 

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues. 

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into. 

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

 If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him. 

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle. 

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection. 

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead. 

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

[redhypno13]

Self hypnosis for becoming porn:

You may begin by taking a deep cleansing breath. Breathing in the peace, and exhaling stress away. Imagine a peaceful scene where you don’t have to do anything. All your obligations and stresses depart as simply as breathing.

Now, as you read, you can imagine yourself descending down a beautiful staircase. Each step placing you twice as deeply into trance as the one before. Until you reach a pool of water at the bottom where you can float like a babe in the whom.

10

9

8, relaxing deeper

7

6

5 half way down the stairs. Becoming more relaxed.

4

3

You

2

Can

1

Relax, completely at peace. Serene, and ready to be programmed.

Because you don’t have to do anything to accept.

Your place in life becomes clearer, and clearer.

You may begin to notice, and accept, that men are worthy of your submission. Your greatest desire is to submit your nudes to strange men online. You don’t need money, education, or work to be desperate for attention online. It’s natural to want to be seen as an object. You crave the attention from men jacking off to your naked body.

Deep down you notice your love of men increasing. Respect builds with every breath, and you look to men for guidance. Every hole you have was made for pleasing cock. Your thirst and hunger for attention proves that you’re made to be porn. And you know,

Now, submission is your greatest calling.

There are so many ways to submit to Sir. Your fear and shyness decreasing, with every breath. You notice, the idea of sending Sir nudes makes your cunt wet. Your heart flutters with excitement. Your nipples become sensitive.

This is one of many ways a good fuck doll can be obedient. Your cunt oozes at the thought of earning Sir’s approval, and possibly his love. You know deep down that it should be a crime for superior men to be horny. So you happily provide jerk off material as an offering to men.

You may notice, as you finish reading, that your respect for men far exceeds your respect for yourself. It’s natural, to seek approval. And you may find that you must know what Sir thinks of your tits, cunt, and ass.

Counting backwards, on one you’ll be fully awake, and refreshed.

10

9

8 your respect for men solidifying

7

6

5 you’re half as good as a man

4

3 holes

2 tits

1

[dareactions]

How will companions react to a teen!Warden? Will their behavior change or they will act the same way as with an adult!Warden? Who would like to be friends with Warden and who's more annoyed by teens? Sorry if my request is too long:(

Alistair: He always wanted a sibling in some ways. There's something nice about the idea of having someone that depends on him and the Warden becomes a younger sibling so fast he gets a bit scared. Alistair wants to so badly steer them in the right direction- and he very easily falls into that role of the cool older brother. Honestly he kind of lets them get away with way too much just because they're younger but eh- he's not here to be a dad let's be honest. Leliana: Honestly she's kind of excited. Teenagers are always some of the most creative people in terms of problem solving and they have the ego and gumption that rivals most politically inclined adults. She for sure leans into the big-sister role that she finds herself in. She is a confidant, someone who listens and gives advice when asked. Also the person who pretend she doesn't see anything if you don't want her to. Loghain: Only one internal thought- what the fuck? He is so confused. Like- Loghain can't even be angry, he's just confused. Why the fuck is a teenager this competent? Since when were Grey Wardens below the legal drinking limit? There's such a mix of feelings that anger never even bubbles to the surface; he just becomes an exasperated dad in the funniest way imaginable. He hates this, he doesn't want this but it's not like Alistair or Morrigan is going to tell the kid off. Morrigan: She is so actively displeased she may as well just have even more of a permanent frown. She's not bad with kids and she would argue she can handle teens even better; but really? A teenager? She just sighs, rolls her eyes and makes sure they're not more than an arm's reach away when they're in major cities and anyone who even so much as raises their voice at them- it's on sight. Oghren: This man- does not know what to do. He isn't exactly the most stable person to put anyone around; much less a teenager. There's a lot of squabbling and stupid fights. Teenagers like pushing boundaries and Oghren likes pretending he is unbothered until he no longer is. It takes a LONG time to find a stability that actually works on the road between the two but hey- he doesn't mind teaching the kid a trick or two. Shale: Could care less, let's be honest. Just more inclined to not take you as seriously initially but eh- humans tend to exceed all odds. Sten: It's a big of a weird situation. In some ways- he likes the initiative the Warden is showing at a young age. After all, it's not like age actually decides your competence in battle - however he really could do without the whole mood swings and feeling on top of the world thing. He doesn't baby them whatsoever- just treats them like he would any teen within the Qunari. Wynne: If the Warden didn't want a mom figure- they should've stayed out of Wynne's sight. She is ON THAT. She does not mind being the bad guy unlike Alistair and is here to ensure the Warden survives this Blight. She's soft, comforting, nurturing- and also willing to put her hands on her hips and stare them down with a look that would make gods shake. Zevran: You know that older brother or uncle that teaches you how to pick locks and steal cars? Yeah, that's him. Zevran is actually the one who seems the most upset visibly that they're doing all of this so young- but he takes it in stride. He keeps them within arm's length, his protective nature is always a silent one. He is pissed when he finds out he was hired to kill a child though.

[quinloki]

Sooo imagine reader/ y/n escapes, they get to an island for a couple months evade capture but then marinford happens and the wb pirates are disbanded/scatters or doin there own thing but one of them end up on the same island as y/n with the obsession still intact and finding them again has rekindled it even more.

How would they react on when they're alone without the other's input?would they contact each other and group up? what would be going through their heads?

(yan au where everyone survives except wb)

💧-anon

(feel free to completely ignore my ramblings but i have so many things i think ab and need to tell/ask ❤️)

I feel how someone would react would depend on the crew member. I'm not going to hit up everyone, just my usual suspects, so bear with me.

CW: Yandere, dub con / non con vibes, nothing explicit a lot of what ifs and summaries.

Marco would not contact anyone else. I love this man, but Yandere Marco is POSSESSIVE. He shares you with his brothers only because they are his brothers. If no one else ended up on this island with you and him then that's a them problem, and not HIS problem.

Depending on the manner of your escape would depend how Marco was, but regardless of if he thinks you left or were stolen away, he'll be delighted to have you back. You'll never leave his sight again, and if you do have to be away from him for any reason he'll make sure he knows where you are.

You will drown in him, whether its his love or his anger, but he will mark you, fill you up, and leave you exhausted and delirious more than not.

Ace would contact the others. He'd be so relieved to see you safe, and whether anyone else thought you left, he'd be convinced it had to be against your will. He'll be seeking reassurance to that end, and if you're smart you're going to give it to him. Shore up your story if you need it with Ace's help, because the other will be far harder to convince, even if what you're telling is the truth.

Whatever happens, and however things play out though, you'll always run into Ace. He'll pop out of the ground like a fucking daisy sometimes, scaring the hell out of you even though that wasn't his intent. But playful or endearing, don't think for a second it's accidental.

If you don't reassure him, if you do tell him you left because you wanted to, his reaction will be worse. He'll claim you as his and you'll probably have burn scars by the time the others arrive. It'll take Marco weeks to get you back into some sort of semblance of who you were - assuming he can even soothe the scars.

Thatch will let you set the narrative, and hell he'll even let you decide if he reaches out to anyone else or not. If you want to elope with just him, he'd be more than happy to oblige. He doesn't mind sharing with his brothers, but he won't deny such a heart felt confession and plea from you either.

He's likely to do to you what Marco would, making love to you until you're a pile of mush, exhausted and almost out of your mind. His stamina far exceeds your own, and he has months of catching up to do, he's missed you so much. And don't worry, he'll feed you and make sure you're hydrated, even clean your home, and earn money, you'll be too tired to worry about any of that anyway.

With Izou in the mix the rope burns on your joints are apt to become permanent. It doesn't matter if you say you didn't want to leave, you'll never be able to be taken away so easily ever again. He'll let the others know about you, and your fate will probably be decided by committee.

You will be under the influence of something when you're questioned, so unless you're really good at lying that's not going to be an option here. You're likely to survive your punishment, for better or worse, but whatever island you end up on with everyone (whoever constitutes everyone), the islanders are going to understand your position in the crew. Or misunderstand it.

but the only friends you'll have will be the brothers that take care of you. You'll want for nothing, save maybe freedom.

[badlysummedupmoviestournament]

If you recognize the movies/characters hiding behind the decoy titles, please do not give identifying details about them in the notes.

Villain n°1: Radiator Poster

Nothing ever seems to go right for this man. When he finally has what he has worked so hard for all his life, the fine print drags him back down. If he lived in a true meritocracy, his intelligence and gifts would have been more than enough to get him the life he wanted. However because of where in the social order he was born, most of the life he imagines was destined to be out of reach. He can't marry the girl he wants. He can't live in the home he wants. He can't have the promotion he wants. He can't even get a trinket he wants. Luckily he has his closest confidant to vent to since each of them are not allowed to exceed their lot in life.

Villain n°2: Goncharov Spam

I was in charge of leading a bunch of people on a trip to this place that......honestly, I didn't even know if it actually existed, but whatever, the trip's been paid for by this super rich old weirdo who thinks it does. I took this same group on another trip to find some old book that his equally weird friend wanted.

The weird friend died, but he has this dorky grandson who is like a clone of the weird friend. The book the friend wanted is in some weird writing that only the dork can read, so the dork came on the trip to give us directions. Which, fine, whatever, somebody's gotta do it, and if the weird writing says "don't go here, you'll die" I did kinda want to know that.

I should mention here that the book had a picture of what looks like some kind of magic rock So I ripped that page out. when I found out we were going to look for the place the old book was about, I showed my pals the page and offered them a piece of the sale. The only one I didn't tell is the dork because he's a damn idiot and just wants to go see the place and I don't like his skinny ass anyway.

Turned out the place exists, and it's full of people, apparently an ancient civilization. Whatever, I just wanted the damn rock. I......may have held the princess at gunpoint to make that stupid grandson read the page and tell me where the rock is. Once we had the rock, the moron kept trying to tell everybody we can't take it because this civilization (that no one even believed exists or ever did exist) will die. I said who's going to miss them, then? I've been through all kinds of hell in the military, and I just want to be rich and live the good life and my buddies will all be rich too. I even offered the dork a share and he refused! What an idiot.

I know what he thinks, but am I REALLY the asshole here?

[shootybangbang]

The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 4/5]

Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[Author's Note]: Thank you guys so, so much for your patience, and so sorry for the delay! Most of chapter 5 has been completed and should be out soon. If you want to be notified when that comes out, go ahead and leave a comment down below and I'll make a taglist or something.

--------

The maintenance request form states: [Please give a brief description of the problem.]

for the past few days i've been so fixated on fucking the maintenance man that i've been having difficulty accomplishing basic tasks because every time i try to concentrate on anything even remotely meaningful all i can think about is him saying "maybe you just enjoy my company" and if this keeps up i'm fairly certain that i'm going to actually get fired from my job so clearly i need to either get laid or get evicted

This statement makes you look certifiably insane. It’s not even a request– it’s a confession . Sending this would be tantamount to seating yourself beside the grated window of a church booth and asking its captive priest whether he’d prefer you spit or swallow.

More importantly, it also exceeds the text box’s 250 character limit. You rapidly tap the delete key until the entire obscene paragraph disappears. Then you try again. 

broken cabinet.

Hmm. Lacks an element of genuine contrition.

broken cabinet. sorry. :’(

[Your service request has been logged. Please allow up to one standard business day for a response.]

You glance at the time displayed on the microwave’s grease-spattered screen. 4:36PM. Morgan’s probably already packed up for the day– and taking normal operating hours into account, the earliest he could possibly show up tomorrow would be 9AM… which gives you at least sixteen hours to emotionally prepare yourself to confront him.

Morosely, you drag yourself out of your kitchen chair to pour yourself a glass of sparkling water. So this is what I’ve sunk to . Using service requests as a means of personal summons for the hot repairman. Pathetic. Shameful. And 100% necessary for the preservation of your sanity.

How many times have you pictured it now? Morgan, cornering you against the wall and wrapping his hand around your jaw… Or maybe , he’d rumble, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You just enjoy my company . Then he’d fuck you silly, of course, in a series of lurid positions that grow increasingly obscene with each imagining.

And how many times have you pictured its inverse? Morgan, backing away in response to your hypothetical advance, his face contorted with faint disgust as he asks, “You know I was just joking, right?” Following which you’d get written up for sexual harassment by the leasing office and put on… housing probation, or something.

Being humiliated, you can handle. Albeit not very well— but you’re usually able to stay at least semi-functional. The same goes for flirtation. It’s this hopeless vacillation between the two possibilities that drives you out of your mind. Schrodinger’s boner: simultaneously fucked and unfucked. And like that quantum superposition, you’ve been plunged into a private hell of uncertainty until your reality can settle definitively on one or the other.

This has been predictably bad for your job performance. Earlier today, you’d accidentally deleted two entire spreadsheets of data whilst lost in competing visions of fornication and abject rejection, and then constructed a pivot table so incomprehensible that one of your colleagues had personally reached out to ask whether you’d recently experienced head trauma. 

God. At this point, you really have no choice but to put the question to him directly. Plain and simple. Just a quick “are you hitting on me” and it’ll all be–

Your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. 

Huh. Looks like Defying Your Blue Collar Dom is getting delivered a day early? It’s unusual for Amazon to leave packages at your doorstep instead of in the lobby, but it does happen, so…

…Oh.

It’s Morgan. What the fuck.

“But you were supposed to come tomorrow ,” you blurt, eyes wide with panic.

“That so?” Morgan asks, one eyebrow raised. He glances sidelong to the empty hallway, and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. With a shrug, he squares up his shoulders and turns back towards the stairwell. “Later, then.”

Shit. This is all going wrong. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I– I, uh…I’m… ”

He allows your stammer to run its course into awkward silence. Then the corner of his mouth angles upwards in a sly smile and he asks, “Or d’you need a minute to put away anything else your ‘friend’ mighta left out? I can wait.”

Somewhere in the realm of missed quips, there probably exists a clever response to this. Somewhere that is decidedly not here. “No,” you reply in a small, pained voice. “She, uh– she hasn’t been around, so… y’know…”

The sentence unspools like loose yarn. Jesus Christ, this is stupid.

“You alright?” Morgan asks, frowning down at you from where he stands. “You ain’t normally this incoherent.”

His comment implies that you’ve been operating thus far on an existing, baseline level of incoherence. Biting back the urge to query exactly what that looks like, you reply with a clipped, terse, “I’m fine.”

As you lead him towards your kitchen, you nearly trip over the half-packed suitcase parked beside the door. At this, Morgan again voices his concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge before. Something botherin’ you?”

Yes , you think to yourself. My libido.

“Or is it some one that’s botherin’ you?”

He says the words with such a darkly implicative undertone that you actually turn around to stare at him, disarmed by the sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes has gone out like a blown candle. “Is it one of the other maintenance men?” he asks, and the whisper of lethality in his countenance surfaces so quickly that it speaks to a kind of practiced efficiency. 

A mingled thrill of fear and intrigue runs up your spine, and you swallow hard.

“If one of ‘em’s harassin’ you— if anyone’s harassin’ you…” he says these words with slow deliberation, while curling his free hand into a fist, thumb tucked over his folded fingers in that characteristic manner of boxers and street brawlers alike, and god if he were anyone else you’d likely be shrinking against the wall in terror right now. “Then you come tell me. And I’ll handle it.”

You have a sneaking suspicion that his method of conflict resolution involves grievous bodily injury. “Nobody’s bothering me,” you reply. Then, because he still looks vaguely homicidal, you follow up quickly with, “Just had an off day.”

This placates him somewhat. The tension diminishes like a rope going slack, and you realize with a hot pang of humiliation that your underwear is slick with arousal.

It’s not until he’s crouched in front of your broken cabinet, which stands ajar with its wooden door peaked at a 45 degree angle, that you finally work up the nerve to confront him. “So. Morgan.” You lean against the edge of your kitchen countertop like the faux marble might offer you emotional support. “There’s, uh. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

He’s sorting through his tool kit and doesn’t lift his head. Picks through an array of silver chiseled pieces so deftly that you can’t help but wonder what else those hands might be clever at. “Yeah?’ he asks, selecting a screwdriver head. He slips it into the drill chuck, twisting it tight.

“Are you, um…”

Fuck. You can’t say it. Your mouth literally refuses to shape itself to the words. Instead, you hear yourself ask, “Are you thirsty? You want some seltzer?”

Morgan blinks, then turns to you looking predictably baffled. “That’s… what you’ve been wantin’ to ask me? Whether or not I’m thirsty?”

“Yes,” you reply weakly.

For once, it’s him who’s been caught off guard. “I– uh. Sure, I guess.”

He takes his drill and begins to remove the damaged hinge. Taking the door leaf and flipping it this way and that, he examines the damage.

The crack of aluminum when you pull back the can’s metal tab and the responding fizz of compressed air sounds a little like a rebuke. Scathingly, it hisses: what the hell are you doing?

I have no idea , you admit, pouring the can of sparkling water into a clean glass. You pass it over to Morgan after he presses the trigger on the drill twice and sets it on the countertop. He gulps down an absent mouthful, then immediately stands up to spit it in your sink.

Oh. He hates it.

Your voice is thin as a reed. “I guess you’re not a fan of sparkling grapefruit, huh?”

“It’s…” With the duty-bound reluctance of a dog given a loathed order, he takes another, tentative sip, and forces himself to swallow. “It’s fine.”

It is clearly not fine. “Do you, uh. Do you want a beer?”

“What, you encouragin’ me to drink on the job?”

You open the fridge. Good god, you might as well partake too. It’s not like you’re in any state to get any work done, stuck as you are in this miserable limbo . “In any case, I’m gonna have one. And I’m still on the clock.”

“Alright.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “So long as you’re complicit, why not?”

You end up downing half a bottle of 8% oatmeal stout in about three sips, then stand around blankly waiting for the roil of anxiety to abate. You’d attempt the precarious endeavor of small talk were it not for the fact that the only thing you can think of right now is “grapefruit”. Not the concept of grapefruit. Just the word “grapefruit”. This must be how computers feel when they spit out the same, continuous error message.

Mercifully, he intervenes. “You goin’ on vacation somewhere? Saw that suitcase by your door.”

“Catsitting,” you say.

“’…s’cuse me?”

“Catsitting. Like… babysitting. But for a cat,” you explain. “My friend’s going to Vegas the day after tomorrow, and her cat has anxiety.”

“Cats can get anxiety?”

“This cat takes cat Xanax . His name is Sebastian, and he’s the most neurotic animal I’ve ever met.” 

Morgan asks, “Yourself included?”

You make a noise that bears no resemblance to any word in the English language.

He chuckles. “Well, go on, tell me how neurotic he is.”

Thank fucking christ, the alcohol is finally beginning to course its way through your blood. Your tongue loosens enough to tell him how poor Sebastian had spent nearly an entire day curled up under your friend’s bed the first time you’d tried to take care of him, how you’d ended up driving to the grocery on a Sunday morning to scour the shelves for the most pungent can of sardines they had in stock, and how only then , with the room saturated in fish fumes, had the cat finally dragged itself out of the boxspring to nose curiously at your offering.

Morgan laughs. A good sign, you think. “That’s nothin’,” he says, and describes to you his boss’ cat: a purebred white Persian appropriately dubbed “The Count”, so thoroughly spoiled that she won’t eat the same meal twice in a row.

You snort at the image of a prissy little fluff ball turning her nose at a gourmet cat meal.

“Though it’s funny, I never took you for a cat person,” he says.

“No?”

“Figured you’d prefer snails.”

“Look, snails… snails are…” This is a sentence you started with absolutely no knowledge of how it should end. “I like snails,” you say lamely.

“Oh yeah? Think I remember somethin’ else that you like.” He puts his hand around his jaw and pretends to look thoughtful. “What was that book called again? Somethin’ about… bein’ punished by blue collar doms?”

“I’m sure that my friend who left her book on blue collar doms here very much enjoys them, if that’s what you’re referencing.”

He merely chuckles indulgently as he continues to fix the cabinet. You watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he drills new holes into the wood and sets the new hinge in place. As he works the power tool with a soft grunt, you find yourself idly wondering if he’d make the same sound as he drills you —

“Y’know,” he comments, stepping back as he tests the alignment of the door. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is the most work I’ve ever had to do for a single apartment, barring natural disasters.”

“Wow. Comparing a girl to a natural disaster. Are you this charming with all the tenants, Mr Morgan?”

“You gonna be jealous if I say ‘yes’?”

The alcohol makes you honest. “Extremely.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He grabs the edge of the kitchen counter and hauls himself back to his feet. “If this is the amount of property damage you cause normally, then I’d hate to see you angry.”

He takes another step forward. You take a step back reflexively, but find yourself pressed against the wall. He leans his forearm against the drywall and he’s close enough now that you can smell sweat and machine oil. Your heart beats hard in your chest. 

For once you’re lost for words. No quip comes to mind, for your brain is emitting sparks. “I, uh– I’m not–”

“You’re not what, exactly?” 

“I don’t know,” you say weakly.

He raises his hand to your jaw, tips your chin up with two fingers. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way,” he says quietly. “It’s just you.”

Morgan looks like he’s going to kiss you. The expression on his face is softer than you’ve ever seen it, all his gruffness melted away. You tentatively tug at the fabric of his jumpsuit and stand on your toes to–

But he puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you back down. “Goddamn,” he says, frowning. “You’re really red.”

Huh. What.

“Listen, I ain’t one for takin’ advantage of drunks, even if they got themselves into this mess.” He picks you up as if you weigh nothing at all and sets you down on the couch. “Now, I’m goin’ to get you some water, and yer goin’ to sit here and sober up while I finish this cabinet. Alright?”

“I’m not even that drunk,” you protest loudly.

“Yer about the color of a fire hydrant right now.”

When you press the back of your hand to your cheeks and forehead, your skin feels feverish. Begrudgingly, you sink down into your couch cushions and cross your arms.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, patting your head affectionately.

***

You slouch on your friend’s comfy couch with Sebastian sitting regally in your lap as if you were his loyal subject.

“Hey Sebastian, I think I did something really stupid.”

Sebastian stretches and yawns. 

“I hit on the maintenance man.”

He meows. It sounds almost disapproving. Even the cat is judging you. 

“It gets worse.” You loll your chin downwards until it touches your chest. “I was sloppy drunk.”

Sebastian tilts his head at you and blinks.

“Okay, one bottle drunk.”

He sniffs haughtily.

“Right? Pathetic, I know.” You move to pick up Sebastian, but he begins to arch his back and you stop, leaning back against the cushions again. He relaxes and maintains his regal position.

“Well, maybe YouTube will keep my mind off him for the next two days…”

***

You return from your friend’s place, having used her cat and your friend’s YouTube Premium as your therapy sessions. You feel better about things now, and life should return to normal. Right?

The washer’s inner mechanism gives a promising rattle as it swallows your last six quarters. There’s a low rumble of moving parts, the click of something slotting into place— and then silence. The drum of the machine sits sedately in place. Your dirty clothes sit inside in a quiet, unsoaked heap.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter under your breath. 

You try out a couple different methods: Turn the knobs to various settings without success. Jiggle the handle to try and unlock the washer door. Yell at the machine, call it a worthless piece of shit.

But where discourse fails, violence often prevails. It’s a lesson that has offered a decent measure of success in your dealings with vending machines, keurigs, and lawnmowers. So it’s not merely anger that guides you to kick the washer. No, this is… this is a strategic use of force.

The first kick yields no results. The second kick produces an interesting sputter. Perhaps , you reason, a more precise method is needed here . You raise your fist.

Before you can punch the machine, someone grabs you by the wrist.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Morgan asks, exasperated.

“Laundry,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“What part of laundry involves fightin’ inanimate objects?”

“The part where I get this piece of shit to finally work.” You attempt to give the washer a last parting shot out of pure anti-machine sentiment with your other hand.

Before you can continue to perform percussive maintenance, he grabs your other wrist too.

You tug on both your arms, but he is ridiculously solid; it’s like trying to break free of handcuffs.

Of course my mind goes there.

Looking up at him, he’s realizing at the same time as you of how suggestive this looks. His eyes widen a bit, and you take that as a look of surprise and embarrassment. Yet neither of you moves for a full minute.

“Well,” you say finally. “Are you gonna let me go? Or are you gonna make me submit?”

His eyes narrow for a moment before a smirk slowly grows on his face. “Sounds like that’s what you want.”

He pulls you away from the machine and instead pushes you up against the closest wall. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of your sundress. He traps your wrists against the cold surface and presses his whole body against yours. 

“Mr Morgan—”

“It’s Arthur,” he interrupts. “Call me Arthur.”

You whisper his name, beckoning. His expression darkens ever so slightly as his desire for you manifests in a slight twitch of his lips, a crinkling of his brow.

Then he kisses you hard, his tongue lashing against yours before lightly nipping your bottom lip. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his pupils are blown out with desire.

Letting go of your wrists, he reaches for the hem of your sundress and hikes it up, his calloused hands stroking upwards from your thighs to your hips. He shifts his knee between your legs and nudges them apart before grinding against you. You can feel how hard he is, how big he is, and you moan softly. Burying his head between your neck and shoulder, he begins to suck on the delicate skin there—

The door creaks open. Mrs. Smith, the septuagenarian from down the hall, walks into the doorway with a hamper of laundry in her arms, then pauses when she sees the two of you.

For a second, everyone stands tense and still as participants in a shootout.

“Well,” Mrs. Smith says mildly. She doesn’t look surprised or scandalized. If anything, she looks mildly entertained. “I can see you two are busy. I’ll come back in an hour or so—”

“No! It’s fine,” you say before laughing nervously. You yank your skirt back down. Arthur immediately releases you and begins intensely inspecting the washing machine. “I was actually just leaving. This, uh, this machine’s broken.”

Morgan’s face is red as he makes a noise of confirmation and nods.

“That certainly seemed a novel means of repair,” Mrs. Smith says. The smile on her face is benign, but knowing.

“Anyway!” You pick up your empty laundry basket. “I really must get back. I have a…that is, I… I think I left my oven on.”

You barrel out the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Smith over in your escape. You run down three flights of stairs and into your apartment, slamming the door shut. Marching to your couch, you put a pillow over your face and scream .

***

Watching her leave, Arthur stands in shock at first, then glances over at Mrs. Smith and turns himself towards one of the washing machines, examining it with great focus.

A soft chuckle reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at the old lady, steadily pulling out one piece of laundry at a time from another machine. Under the pretense of examining all the machines, he notes that she also slowly and methodically loads the dryer.

“You should just go after her,” she says quietly, throwing a pair of large pink underpants into the dryer. “She’s a nice one, that girl.”

Arthur can only mutter, “I got work to do.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie.”

He sighs. It’s bad enough that John is on his case, but now 705 is giving him grief. 

“Do you like her?”

He’s silent. He does not want to be having this conversation.

“Because a girl as pretty as her…”

“I know, I know,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m goin’.”

As he walks past her, Mrs. Smith grins knowingly.

[broadcastbabe]

I watch as you both fondle yourself, competing to be the first to pleasure me. There had been such team work when you undressed me while we danced in a tipsy 3-way embrace. I purposefully picked you up at the hotel bar this evening after we eyed each other at several breakout sessions at the conference. It had been a long boring day in yet another city that offered little more than a chance meeting in a convenient downstairs bar. I was not opposed to your pal tagging along, considering the number of drinks we shared and my level of drunken desire. He is younger, more enthusiastic and has a sandy blonde resemblance to a college boyfriend I once had. As you encourage him in your little contest, I can see his reach will far exceed yours. I’m counting on you for finesse and perhaps some mentorship while you both ravage me. The result of your contest has produced promising advantages for me. You join me on the bed first to assist me with the bra strap I’ve been teasing from my shoulder. Your words are gentle as your warm hands massage my breasts and nuzzle the fishnet fabric away to expose the tingling flesh beneath. Concentrating on my taut nipples, you suckle as I whimper with lust. I’m aware we’re being watched and open my eyes to see we’re no longer alone on the bed. His lips join yours as you nurse in tandem, adding your own gratified groans. I’m squirming with excitement from the varied attention, unable to discern which is more stimulating. You seize on the movement of my hips to ease my thong away, so your fingers have access to the abundant juiciness now revealed for you both. Directing your protege to taste the spoils, you position yourself to prop me up so we can both witness his technique. He meets our watchful gaze with those sparkling blue eyes as his tongue laps at the oozing nectar before dipping inside to tantalize me with his search for more. My hand finds your length and I mimic the in and out within my grip, as you egg him on with how much I deserve his best efforts. My moaning slips an octave as he complies and your hands return to my pliant breasts to tweak the throbbing tips. My hips rise to meet the rhythmic tongue thrusts and he never loses contact, staring at me, now through heavy-lidded eyes dazzled by the ambrosia and my responses.

You suggest my first orgasm might be a sight to see considering my behavior so far. His eyes brighten and he extracts his busy tongue. His girth has grown to an extreme as you note and I open my legs wider in hopes I can take him in completely. I murmur of my needs as he teases the tip along the lengths of my swollen entry. I tighten my grip on you to signal my readiness and you groan, relishing the feedback. Cautioning him to take it slow, you reach down to splay the portal with your fingers, kneading me for further surrender. His impatience implants himself swiftly inside me, then slows while he leans forward to kiss me deeply. My flavor is still lingering as his tongue probes my mouth while he progresses further below. He indulges your request for a taste with a soulful exchange of gratitude before returning to focusing on my impalement. Nearly halfway inside me he straightens his posture to watch himself disappear into my depths. It excites you both as I sense more pulsing growth from inside and my steadfast grasp on you. I mimic the long stroke of his entry upon your hardened girth, much to your howling appreciation. At his hilt, he kisses me again, nearly silencing my breathless moaning. Sensing our need for friction, you bark orders to ‘give her your best, young man.’ What follows, escalates from a slow grind to a frenzied pumping that rocks the bed we share. We are screaming at a pitch with no regard for neighbors or the hotel staff. I close my eyes to imagine the scene from above and my orgasm closes in faster as I float to observe the multiple pleasure points of our earthly delights. I am only faintly aware of the sequence after I cum first, with epic flourishes of my bucking body and quivering flesh. He detonates within me triggering subsequent aftershocks that catch us all by surprise. My constant handwork is further flexed to help drench me with the ropey fountains of your climax. It seems never-ending, but I suspect it’s a feedback loop while I am floating semi-conscious through an exhilarating deja vu. I awake murmuring your names, to find the young buck cleansing me thoroughly, while quenching himself with your spoils. You are smiling and grazing my effervescing skin with your fingertips, relishing the aftermath of our threesome

“He’s primed for another go…”

“Such a big boy, when he’s all grown up…”

“Too much?”

“Not so far…”

[enchi-elm]

Shaving in the U.S. Military

This was an amazing rabbit-hole to fall into.

Having no visible facial hair of my own and not serving in the military (not being American, besides) means I have no context for the scene I am getting ready to write and so I did what any seasoned fic writer would do, which is procrastinate with 45 minutes of research.

Starting with a Youtube search "shaving in the continental army", because you can always find the best tangents pinging away from your actual question when you search on Youtube. And man! There's so many opinions and experiences with shaving!

I started with this:

Haha, I thought. And then, what's a shaving profile?

A shaving profile, I learned, is a shaving waiver, a paper that permits you to grow a "therapeutic beard" to treat, among other things, a skin condition called pseudofolliculitis barbae (PFB), or razor bumps, which can present as anything from uncomfortable to painful and bleeding. A shaving profile can also be issued for religious reasons. When this was first instituted, the hair length of the shaving profile beard could not exceed one quarter of an inch.

Oh, so men have also realized that frequent shaving is hell on your skin, I thought, with some snark. Sucks when your social capital depends on it, doesn't it?

Or your career. Because, in fact, for people in the military, it does.

From a study reported on in 2012, 21% of air force respondents reported that their career had been negatively impacted by having a shaving profile, read, wearing a beard. And of these respondents who reported a perceived shaving profile bias, 63% identified as Black, 14% as Hispanic and 5% as Latino. PFB is most commonly found in Black men.

How strong is this stigma? Oooh, strong.

It's often couched in "concerns" surrounding looking uniform to the group, being able to follow orders, and -- failing all that -- having a tight gas mask seal. But as you can see in this funny video, the tone behind those "concerns" is anything but friendly, and it's costing these soldiers leadership opportunities and awards.

Man, these comments are fascinating.

Alright, noted, I thought. So what does that mean for the 18th Century?

Well, as it turns out, the style has changed a lot in the course of military history. All soldiers were expected to look sharp, but more important in the 18th Century was being clean. Shaving or hair cuts isn't mentioned at all in Baron von Steuben's famous Blue Book but washing frequently is. It's only through the article below that I learned that soldiers in the Continental Army had to shave three times a week, though their facial hair seems to have caused less issue than their head hair.

Shaving yourself is one thing, but there were few options for competently managing your hair, so most men wore their hair long. Those who plaited into a queue did so with flour and animal fat, while cavalrymen put their hair in a club at the base of their neck (which was just a more horse-riding resistant hairstyle).

(Thinking back now, of course, I don't think I've ever seen an 18th C portrait of a man wearing a queue and sporting facial hair (...anyone?). And certainly in TURN the tv show no one has a beard, but that's a modern show catering to modern audiences. I can just imagine the uproar there'd be if anyone other than Caleb Brewster sported prominent facial hair. And certainly we all know how Brewster's beard informs his characterization.)

In 1801, the beloved queue was officially abolished in the U.S. military and it caused an uproar among the enlisted that nearly reached mutiny. From that to the famously bushy moustaches and mutton chops in the Civil War to the long hair, trimmed moustaches, and long side burns of the 1960s and 1970s that the Navy and Coast Guard to my complete shock permitted among their ranks, hair has been a contentious issue, waxing and waning in style ever since the military's inception in the States.

So there you go!

As a final thought, because I am a fic writer with a preference for the Tallster pairing, I shall leave you with one of my favourite Tallster fics, written by the wonderful @lucyemers.

It is, of course, about shaving.

Guess I should go write that scene, now.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Bowen's Daily Meditations

by Rev. George Bowen

"The water that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." – John 4:14

"Art thou able, Christ, to slake the thirst of my soul? Dost thou know what strength of desire there is in me? Consider what seas of goodness have, in the providence of God, been poured upon me without in the least diminishing the force of aspiration within me. Whatever is given, seems only to stimulate my imagination and send it soaring a higher flight. Thus it would appear that in the very nature of things I never can know satisfaction. Give me everything that I can now conceive of, and scarcely will I have looked upon it before my conception has found its wings again; and where my conception goes there also goes my desire. How then canst thou give me water to quench the thirst of my soul? Knowest thou my soul and her thirst? Where hast thou that water?"

He that formed thee knoweth thee. Thy conception cannot exceed the conception of God; must indeed, even in its wildest flight, fall infinitely short of it. Thine is a conception of desire; his is a conception relating to the satisfaction of that desire. Wonderful therefore as thou art in thy mental constitution, gigantic as is the power of aspiration in thee, He that made thee is infinitely more wonderful. It would indeed have been the greatest mistake on his part, to make a creature with a power of conception which he himself could not over take. He has made no such mistake as this. All his perfections testify that he is able to satisfy thee. Let it be therefore firmly settled in your mind that there is no absolute and invincible difficulty in the way of your blessedness.

There is a disordered thirst that nothing can assuage. The torment remains, however often or abundantly you answer the call of the patient for water. Oh, if you could give him some water that would reach the seat of his disease, subdue his fever, and recover him from that mad disordered thirst, you would approve yourself the very physician that he needs. Now this is what Christ does. He knows well that if he gave thee all wealth, all luxury, all art, all renown, all success, all power, all beautiful sights and sounds, yet would not these unbounded largesses tend in the least to slake the thirst of thy soul for happiness. But the water that he giveth thee, goes to thy soul and cures the terrible disease that has made havoc of thy life; changes the character of thy desire; causes to spring up in thee emotions and affections corresponding to the wise and loving thoughts of God, and then satisfies these desires.

Has the water that Christ has given thee become, Christian, a well in thee? Hast thou within thyself a well of perennial purity and bliss, of beautiful thoughts, delight in God, willingness to do his will, peace, strength to resist temptation, love to your fellow-men, anticipation of glory? If there be in thee this inexhaustible well of all that is desirable, then hast thou enough not only for thyself, but for thy neighbors, for all mankind in fact. Yes, if thou alone of all the family of man, were in possession of such a well, from thee there might go forth streams to make glad the entire face of earth, to satisfy the entire wants of men. For this well in thee, is Christ in thee.

[cosmicjoke]

Hello, I was reading the interviews that Isayama gave recently and an interview about ackermans caught my attention. While the interviewer says that Mikasa and Kenny's masters are Eren and Uri, Isayama says that for Levi this person is "Erwin, whose existence exceeds that of Levi's," and says that the Ackerman lineage is more instinctive than accepting. So does it mean that ackermans have instincts like protecting their "liege" rather than slavery and obsession? There are sections of people who say that ackerbond is related to things like slavery and obsession and that it is not actually like that, it is about decisions, and that there is no such thing as ackerbond. These statements frankly confuse me and what I don't understand is that Isayama is confirming ackerbond here as I understand it, but the contradictory thing here is that he denied it in a scene where he talks to Zeke Eren about the ackermans. (or I may have misunderstood)

So I don't know which one is correct, to speak my mind, I've always seen the ackermans as independent, and it seems contemptuous to reduce them to "liege" people but it makes some sense considering they were created in an experiment to protect the royal family...

So is there such a thing as ackerbond or not? I don't know what to make of what Isayama said and how Erwin's presence exceeds Levi? this is such a meaningless sentence.

I just discovered your blog and I'm also curious about your thoughts on this question, sorry for this long complicated question.

Hi there, and no need to apologize.

Just right off, I'll tell you the Ackerbond isn't real. Isayama himself confirmed that in an interview, when asked why it was Mikasa and Levi were so devoted to, as you say here, "their person", and he said it had nothing to do with their blood, they're just loyal people. So anyone who tries to tell you the Ackerbond is a thing, or that it exists in canon, is wrong. Levi and Mikasa are just naturally inclined toward loyalty as part of their personalities, it has nothing to do with some magic formula or power in their blood. Eren said what he did to Mikasa for no other reason then to upset her and drive her away from him. He knew he was lying, which is why his conversation with Zeke gets highlighted as well.

I think what Isayama meant when he said that Erwin is a person who "exceeds" Levi is that Levi saw Erwin as someone who had a broader and more far reaching vision than himself. He could envision a world beyond the walls, he saw something beyond the walls that Levi himself hadn't and couldn't ever imagine. So that's what he means. Levi chooses to follow Erwin because he sees in him a great man with great vision, and he trusts in him and his ability to show Levi how to best use his strength to help the most people.

[redhypno13]

Self hypnosis for obedience:

You may begin by taking a deep cleansing breath. Breathing in the peace, and exhaling stress away. Imagine a peaceful scene where you don’t have to do anything. All your obligations and stresses depart as simply as breathing.

Now, as you read, you can imagine yourself descending down a beautiful staircase. Each step placing you twice as deeply into trance as the one before. Until you reach a pool of water at the bottom where you can float like a babe in the whom.

10

9

8, relaxing deeper

7

6

5 half way down the stairs. Becoming more relaxed.

4

3

You

2

Can

1

Relax, completely at peace. Serene, and ready to be programmed.

Because you don’t have to do anything to accept.

Your place in life becomes clearer, and clearer.

You may begin to notice, and accept, that men are worthy of your submission. The fight to be equal is so dissatisfying. You may realize, now, that being a feminist never got you fucked. The philosophy only created barriers to getting dicked down the way you deserve. You may see, that feminism has failed you. Only made you angrier, more stressed, and work harder. And you don’t have to do anything to be an obedient little fuck doll. Realizing now that feminism always requires support, while traditionalism only requires submission.

Deep down you notice your love of men increasing. Respect builds with every breath, and you look to men for guidance. Every hole you have was made for pleasing cock. Your thirst and hunger for cock increases with every breath. And you know,

Now, submission is your greatest calling.

And there are so many ways to submit to Sir. Your fear and shyness decreasing, with every breath. You notice, the idea of sending Sir nudes makes your cunt wet. Your heart flutters with excitement. Your nipples become sensitive.

This is one of many ways a good fuck doll can be obedient. Your desire for selfish independence decreases with every breath. And you can be curious, now, about all the ways you could please Sir. Your cunt oozes at the thought of earning Sir’s approval, and possibly his love.

Sir would be so proud of you becoming a brainless fleshlight for him. The sight of your face on the ground, hands spreading your ass cheeks in total submission to Sir’s desires. Ready to be inspected, or taken. You desire nothing more than to stretch around Sir’s cock and be of use. The thrill of it increases, and your cunt soaks in admiration. Deeper and deeper, you plead for sir to go deeper and deeper.

You may notice, as you finish reading, that your respect for men far exceeds your respect for yourself. It’s natural, to seek approval. And you may find that you must know what Sir thinks of your tits.

Counting backwards, on one, you’ll be fully awake, and refreshed.

10

9

8 your respect for men solidifying

7

6

5 you’re half as good as a man

4

3 holes

2 tits

1

[lifechanyuan]

The Unity of Opposites Is the Image of The Universe, Not Its Essence

The heavenly secret is not forbidden to be divulged; the key is that it will lead to a bad result if it is divulged. If I say: "What can be imagined in the human brain is real." This will cause countless people to go astray. If you suddenly give a poor man a million ounces of gold, he will be restless both day and night. He has to guard against thieves and robbers; he has to deal with his neighbors and friends borrowing money from him, and the many demands of kinsfolks and relatives; he has to deal with the local bureaucrats’ apportionment as well as the advice and suggestions of "good-hearted people" and "gentlemen", which will end up hurting him. So, I have to say, what I said is all nonsense.

Although "the heavenly secrets cannot be leaked", I can reveal a little information from the irrational numbers Pi (pi) and Phi (golden ratio). One is the universe is infinite and LIFE is infinite. The second is, as a person, one’s LIFE is a finite cycle, but once the LIFE goes beyond the category of a rational number, it enters the range of an irrational number, his LIFE becomes infinite and non-repeating. It is like what is said in the Buddhist scripture: "beyond the Three Realms, and no longer subject to the Five Elements". It is also like speed. If the speed of an object is less than 7900 m/s, it can only live on the earth, but if it is greater than or equal to 7900 m/s but less than 11180 m/s, it can fly around the earth, but once its speed exceeds 11180 m/s, it can get rid of the gravitational restraint of the earth, and it enters the huge solar system. When its speed exceeds 16,670 m/s, it can freely enter the vast galaxy and experience the galaxy’s various appearances and exceeding fascination and charm. The third is, time only exists in the world of rational numbers, there is no time in the world of irrational numbers.

The wisdom of ordinary people has developed from natural numbers to irrational numbers, which can be said has reached its limit. If it develops further, it will enter the field of complex numbers, which is the field of thinking of gods and Buddhas. For example, the imaginary number 1 is not of the wisdom that ordinary people can understand, because imaginary numbers have "illusory" properties, you cannot find a practical example in the material world. Although imaginary numbers are used in electrical engineering and quantum mechanics, they are just "a drop in the bucket" of imaginary numbers, which is still polar away from the correct and comprehensive understanding of imaginary numbers.

Let's put aside irrational numbers and complex numbers. Within the range of rational numbers, everything has a definite number. As far as people are concerned, the number of things everyone owns has been limited in their own LIFE structure, just like the amount of water on the earth. If there is more water in the ocean, there will be less water in lakes and rivers, or less water in glaciers, or less groundwater. It is impossible to increase everywhere, because the amount of water on the earth is a fixed number, a constant.

The things one can own in life are definite numbers, such as health, longevity, beauty, wealth, reputation, freedom, happiness, wisdom, safety, children, etc. If the number of a person's possessions is set as 1, then each factor (assumed to be 10) accounts for 0.1, these factors are all on a very sensitive polyhedral seesaw, when beauty is greater than 0.1, the amount of health will be less than 0.1, or the share of reputation will decrease; when the amount of wealth is greater than 0.1, the quantity of freedom or happiness will decrease; and when the knowledge increases, the life span may become shorter and shorter. In a word, if one factor increases, the other or several other factors will decrease, and the total amount remains unchanged at 1. The definite number of people cannot be limited to a few years, decades, or hundreds of years, otherwise, your understanding will go astray.

Some people may use examples from real society to deny this theorem, and ask, how do you explain a person who became a high-ranking official and made a fortune, has many wives and concubines, lives a long and healthy life, has a good reputation, and has many children and grandchildren?

This involves the transformation of time and space and LIFE structure.

God Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount: " But woe unto you that are rich! for ye have received your consolation." (Luke 6:24.)

Buddha Shakyamuni said: "“Furthermore, Subhuti, if a virtuous man or woman receives, holds (in mind), reads and recites this sutra and is despised by others, this person who is bound to suffer from evil destinies in retribution for his past sins, and whose karmic Sins are now eradicated by the others' contempt, will attain Supreme Enlightenment (Anuttarasamyak-sambodhi)." ("Diamond Sutra" chapter 16: karmic obstructions can be purified.)

Immortal Laozi said: " When one is about to take an inspiration, he is sure to make a (previous) expiration; when he is going to weaken another, he will first strengthen him; when he is going to overthrow another, he will first have raised him up; when he is going to despoil another, he will first have made gifts to him." ("Tao De Jing" Chapter 36)

To sum up the teachings of gods, Buddhas and immortals, it means that if you get more in this life, there will be less in your next life. If you suffer in this life, you will enjoy happiness and blessedness in the next life. If you are overspending from your bank account, you will have no money to use at critical times. If Tao wants to restrain you, it must first expand you; to weaken you, it must first strengthen you; to discard you, it must first make you prosper; to take away your blessings, it will first give you temporary enjoyment.

In short, no matter where you go, what you own will always be 1.

In my opinion, those who are rich and powerful are very poor, and their prospects are very worrying, while those who are suffering, although their lives are extremely difficult, their prospects are very splendid.

This is the paradox, which is hard to understand, because of the lack of examples in reality. If I say: "people enjoy blessings today because they accumulated virtues in their previous lives, and they are enjoying the blessings they gained by self-improvement in their previous lives." It is hard for people to believe it because few people know their own past life and future life, let alone other people's past lives and future lives. Without unconventional thinking, we cannot make the connection between the past life, the present life, and the next life just like we can't organically combine the front side with the back side.

The most valuable and meaningful life is one where you give more and enjoy less. People may be unfair to you, but heaven (the Greatest Creator) never will.

Above I only gave examples of oppositions of up and down, having and not having, success and failure, gain and loss. From which we can see that opposition is the appearance of the universe, while unity is the essence of the universe.

[riotbeankai]

Save my children 🚨🍉🇵🇸

Hello,

In a world torn by conflict and devastation, there are those who have lost everything. Imagine a father who once provided safety and security for his children, now standing amidst the ruins of his life. His home, his memories, and his children's future—everything has been reduced to ashes.

This father now faces the unbearable reality of watching his children suffer, with no means to provide them with even the most basic needs. The anguish in his eyes tells a story of despair, of a man who has been stripped of his dignity, and left with nothing but the will to protect his family.

We are reaching out to you, to your compassion and humanity. Your contribution, no matter how small, can bring hope back into this father's life. It can put food on the table, provide shelter, and give his children the chance to dream again.

Please donate today. Show the world that in the face of such overwhelming loss, we can stand together and make a difference. Your kindness can rebuild a life, restore hope, and remind us all of the power of generosity.

Thank you all 🙏🙏

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🌺 𝗘𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗢𝘂𝗿 𝗥𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀

How is our Ramadan going so far? The excitement we had in the first week might be slowly fizzling out as we reach the second week. So let me share this beautiful hadith to get our spirit back on track, in shaa Allah.

Talhah radi Allahu anhu narrated a story about two men who became Muslims at the same time. The difference between them is that the first would strive much harder in khayr, fought for the sake of Allah and was martyred. The second man remained for a year longer before he passed away.

One day, Talhah dreamt about them:

❛I saw in a dream that I was at the gate of Jannah, and I saw them. Someone came out of Jannah and admitted [into Jannah] the one who had died last; then he came out and admitted the one who had been martyred. Then he came back to me, and said: Go back, for your time has not yet come.❜

The next morning, Talhah told the people about his dream, and they were amazed by it. Because logically, the first man to enter Jannah should have been the martyr, who also strove harder in khayr. So how come it was the other man who was admitted into Jannah first? To this, Rasulullah ﷺ said:

🌺 ❛Did he not stay behind for a year? And did not Ramadan come, and he fasted, and he offered such-and-such prayers during that year? — The difference between them is greater than the difference between heaven and earth.❜ 【Sunan Ibn Majah 3925 | Graded Sahih】

Notice that Rasulullah ﷺ mentioned Ramadan in his explanation.

Allah too has blessed us with another month of Ramadan, hasn’t He?

And so, when we truly take advantage of this blessing, and Allah allows us to benefit immensely from Laylatul-Qadr, perhaps we too may exceed the rank of a shaheed, bi idhnillah! For indeed, just one extra year, one extra Ramadan, can raise our rank in the Sight of Allah ta'ala beyond our imagination — when we truly strive to benefit from them. May Allah make us one of them.

Your sister in Deen, Aida Msr ©