#it's not just celebrities suffering down there

[aheathen-conceivably]

The last rays of daylight were shining across the desert, casting shadows that would soon turn into uninterrupted patches of darkness in the moonlight. Rippling alongside them was joyful laughter coming from a farmyard tucked into the hills. The inhabitants had been outside since midday, when Violette had returned home from school to find two horses waiting for her.

Despite the waning sun or the cooling temperatures, she still insisted they all stay out there, just so she could spend every last minute around the foal she had named Ozma, after the princess of Oz.

As the sun drifted further toward the hidden reaches of the distant orange hills, even the horses began to grow tired. The lively laughter and trotting of horse hooves faded to quiet happiness in turn. Further toward the fence where they were just outside of ear shot, Zelda and Antoine sat looking across the yard and talking quietly. “I take it you still don’t approve?”

Zelda kicked at the sand softly, just as uncomfortable to say anything now as she had been the first time. “It’s not that I don’t approve. I simply wish you would have asked me. I just worry - I worry we’ll spoil her to the real world. How’s a boy supposed to live up to all of this when that time comes?”

“He isn’t. That’s the point. Why would you want her to settle for less than the world?” He cleared his throat, tamping down the protectiveness that was beginning to verge too close to anger. “I’m sorry. I just - I know how hard she’s taken the change - with Jo and I leaving. I had hoped this would help keep her company. But you’re right. I should have spoken with you first.”

Zelda gave him a small nod, glancing back to where their daughter looked the happiest she had in years. Her beaming smile quieted any remaining reservations she may have had. 

Antoine cleared his throat again, as though eager to change the subject. “So have you heard from him? About the grant?”

Zelda lowered her head into her hands, continuing to watch the happy scene play out in front of her as she shook her head. “I did. He wrote to say that his proposal was accepted. He asked if I could meet with him next week to begin cataloguing all his works.”

“Zelda! Why - why haven’t you told me? We should be celebrating you today.”

She shot him a look, as though to tell him to keep his voice down. “Because I’m not going to take it, that’s why. ” She raised her head from her hands, a sense of misplaced conviction in her voice as she gestured in front of her with her chin. “Look at them. They’re happy, Antoine. Happy for the first time in how long? Everything is going back to normal after so much pain and suffering and I can’t ruin that.”

He looked out across the yard with her, although he spoke in her direction to ensure that no one else could hear. "My love. You can’t make choices for everyone else’s happiness your whole life.”

Deep inside the pit of her stomach she swallowed a retort that had crept up the back of her mind. And what about the choices I made for your happiness?

“Hey. Look at me.” As usual, she did as he asked, immediately forgetting the brief nausea that had arisen with her ire. “They love you, alright? We all love you. You won’t ruin anything by doing this. And Gio came out here because he believed in something. You’re a lot more alike than you realize, and he won’t begrudge you for doing what he himself would do a hundred times over.”

He looked at her, sensing the lingering fear behind her distance. “And you don’t have to worry about me or Lottie. We aren’t going anywhere. You deserve a chance to try, just like everyone else.”

Just as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, she moved closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. They both knew that meant her reservations had softened, and his words had worked. As she looked across the yard all she could hope was that she was wrong, and that this change would be good for them all.

Previous / Next

[heart-of-ep]

• Elvis & The Rise of the Nautic Sunglasses •

I randomly had a thought the other day and somehow fell down a rabbit hole of researching when Elvis began wearing his famous sunglasses that everyone knows and loves, so here’s some interesting information I discovered! Enjoy ~ ♡

January 16th, 1971 in Memphis, TN for the Jaycees' 10 Outstanding Men of America award ceremony.

The Nautic style frames of sunglasses were made popular in the 70s through the German company ‘Neostyle’ and were created by head designer Konstantin Livas. Along with Elvis, other famous celebrities such as Ray Charles, Telly Savalas, and Don King wore the stylish frames, making them a staple of 1970’s fashion.

Elvis first seemed to discover the sunglasses in 1970 when visiting his optician ‘Optique Boutique’ on Sunset Boulevard. The shop owner, Dennis Roberts, brought out a pair of sunglasses for Elvis to try on, specifying that he should wear a pair that covered his eyebrows since it was one of the most important parts to consider when purchasing a pair of shades. He loved the sunglasses so much that he ordered five pairs of the Nautic 2 style, and three more pairs with solid gold frames (in typical Elvis fashion).

After searching through various photos from 1970, it seems like Elvis began wearing the Nautic style sunglasses sometime in July of that year. From what I can tell, they make their first appearance while Elvis is in Culver City at the MGM lot working on his new upcoming concert documentary: 'That's the Way it Is'.

July 15th, 1970 in Culver City, CA at the MGM lot for the reheresals and filming of That's the Way It Is.

Curiously enough, the famous ‘EP’ and ‘TCB’ insignia didn’t appear until December of 1970. The first appearance of the customized sunglasses looked to be at George Klein’s wedding on December 5th, 1970, with its previous appearances being the classic Nautic style without the insignia.

It is to be noted, however, that Elvis would go on to wear the two styles interchangeably over the next several years.

December 5th, 1970, at George Klein's wedding, where Elvis was serving as his best man.

At first, the sunglasses seemed to be a stylistic choice by Elvis, but in September of 1970, Elvis was diagnosed with iritis (anterior uveitis) which is the most common type of inflammation of the iris and can cause redness, pain, light sensitivity, blurred vision, and dark floating spots in the field of vision. Just a few months later in March of 1971, he would suffer from acute angle closure glaucoma while in Nashville at RCA Studio B. He was immediately treated at the nearby Nashville Baptist Hospital by Dr David Meyer. During his stay and after some initial testing, he would officially be diagnosed with secondary glaucoma.

Elvis leaving his ophthalmologist's office in Beverly Hills, November 27th, 1971.

While sunglasses had always been a part of Elvis’ fashion in the past, according to Elvis himself (and many of those around him), he would continue to wear the Nautic sunglasses to help shield his eyes from the bright lights on stage and also the flashing lights that came from the cameras.

"𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵 s𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳. "𝘔𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥!" 𝘐 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

"𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘒𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦." 𝘐'𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘊𝘉 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘸.

"𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴," 𝘌𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, "𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳."

Elvis and Kathy (by Kathy Westmoreland)

Due to the sheer number that Elvis owned, many fans and collectors over the years have obtained a pair of the famous sunglasses. Probably the most significant auction occurred in 2018 when one of his pairs of glasses sold for a never before seen price of $130,000. They were 14k gold, chrome and plastic and much like his other pairs, were customized with his initials ‘EP’ on the front and ‘TCB’ along the sides. The sunglasses in question were worn by Elvis during his last vacation to Hawaii in March of 1977 where he can be seen wearing them in several photos while lounging on the beach with his fiancé Ginger Alden.

March 4th, 1977, in Honolulu, HI, while on vacation with his fiancé Ginger Alden and other friends and family.

Elvis Presley was nothing if not adaptable, and he showed time and time again that he was always able to make the best of a bad situation. The Nautic style sunglasses were a staple of his fashion from 1970 - 1977, and it’s absolutely synonymous with the image he created for himself during that period of time. The sparkling jumpsuits, the dark hair and sideburns, and the aviator sunglasses all come together to create an iconic image for the KIng of Rock ‘n’ Roll that is still remembered almost fifty years later. ⚡️

[itertarot]

Tarot | You

Where should you live?

Close your eyes and take a deep breathe, listen to your intuition 🧞‍��️

Pics in another post:

Pile One: Trigger Trauma/S.A

It seems like you know deep down in your heart where you should live. You must stay where your heart belongs, and for me, it is quite hard to say where it is that makes your heart feel calm and at home. A lot of you should live where you have roots and grew up, places connected to your family or loved ones. Most of you need a calm life, maybe even the countryside, a farm, or small villages. It won't apply to everyone, but some of you have had a really difficult childhood or past traumas regarding the place where you live that makes it very hard to stay there, even though you want to. I see it is very difficult to follow traditions that hurt you. I see here too that you could have had problems with a figure that was liked where you live, almost being an authority figure of some sort due to the influence they had on other people's lives. Unfortunately, some of you could have even suffered sexual violation, and I'm so sorry 😞.

Please, take a look into healing and therapy. Your feelings are valid, and I'm deeply sorry for any hardship you had to face. Know that you can heal and have an enjoyable life. Your heart is so beautiful and generous, you deserve the best in life. I see that most of you are going to stay in this place of yours, but you will change almost everything about it and give this place a new and happier meaning. You're very strong.

Pile Two:

You, my dear number 2, should live somewhere near the beach but with lots of buildings and stores where you could spend your money on nice things, some of you even luxury items. You need a city that’s alive, a city with great opportunities for jobs (especially corporate ones). You need a place that has the energy of a metropolis but also the peace of being able to run to the beach and enjoy a sunny day. It’s the perfect balance of excitement and tranquility for you!

Pile Three:

Hello, pile number three! For you, the reading came out a little differently because it suggests more places than the other two, so it won’t fit everyone. I could divide this group into three:

One: you need to live where is best for your career. I see a lot of lawyers in this pile, so you need a place that has plenty of opportunities and where you can find the best ones in your field.

Two: You need to live in a place that has a lot of commemorative dates, where the whole city comes together to celebrate something, many people celebrating as one. This makes me think of festivals like Carnival.

Three: Even though you seem to need to live in a bigger city, it doesn’t have to be overly metropolitan, just a place with a lot of job opportunities, like the other two groups. However, you also need peace, a place where you can feel calm and disconnected from the chaos of the outside world. Some of you may even have or will have a Pilates, yoga, or meditation studio. So cool!

Pile Four:

Welcome, pile number 4! You, my dear, have infinite possibilities. That’s because you are destined to marry and travel a lot with your future spouse. It doesn’t matter where you choose to have a house because you won’t stay there for long, you’ll be on the road often.

Some of you might move to another country or live far from where you are now. I see that many of you will have a beautiful home that you’ll build from scratch. To be honest, I don’t think this pile will buy a house, even if you do, you might end up demolishing it to create your dream home.

Your house will be everything you’ve ever wanted, with large windows offering a breathtaking view of the moon at night. It might be surrounded by trees or overlook stunning natural scenery. The city you live in could have a vibrant nightlife, plenty of fancy restaurants, and for some of you, it might even be a 24-hour city.

Pile Five:

Dear pile 5, you should live by the beach, in a very sunny place that hosts amazing concerts. The energy of this pile is young and adventurous, full of parties and fun! You need a lively, warm city where there’s always something happening and plenty to do.

Some of you might already know where this place is, but for some reason, it worries you. Maybe you fear you’ll never make it there, or you’re concerned about whether you can afford to live there. Some of you might even worry about safety or feel anxious because moving to such a place is a huge step.

Rio de Janeiro.

Pile Six:

My dear pile 6, you should live somewhere that feels ancient, a place that preserves its buildings through the years. It seems like a calm city with opportunities for professional growth, but it’s not the kind of place where work consumes your entire life. No! The work-life balance here appears much healthier, it’s not a fast-paced, overwhelming city.

For some of you, this city could have an old castle, while for others, it might feature a significant historic church.

[untitled-childrens-show]

He shouldn’t turn to this thing. It’s a show for babies… he thinks so, at least. He remembered seeing an episode or two, but it felt like some fever dream- maybe they were. Maybe they were actual fever dreams his mind made up when suffering in bed.

Regardless, no one is home since new years was happening in about an hour, Elijah’s too busy with his family, and Leon really didn’t know what else to do to ‘celebrate’ his eighteenth birthday. So he just turned on the television.

(@vapor-web)

A woman he halfway recognizes sits on the other side of it, smiling that same familiar smile, and right next to her is a doll whose head's on fire. Not painted up to look like fire, actually on fire. It's a shock it doesn't burn this whole building down.

"Hello. This is my friend Mr. Flame. Have you met him before?"

[queerprayers]

i've grown up in quite a secular family, never went to church etc, and only in the past couple of years started celebrating serbian orthodox christmas with my mum where we attend part of the christmas eve mass. i want to get to know christianity a little better, and i know ur lutheran and not orthodox but i was wondering if u have any tips for just. starting somewehere? it feels very strange to sit down and think "Im Going To Pray" when ive neither done it nor seen anyone do it before, but i want to explore a bit, if that makes sense. your blog is very nice and calming i feel like you might have some insight :)

Welcome, beloved!

Prayer is quite strange sometimes and Sitting Down and Doing It does not come easily to most, especially if you didn't grow up doing that. I'm honored to be asked and I have a few thoughts.

At some point as a kid I was taught the acronym ACTS—Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication. I was told a prayer should contain these elements. And I don't technically disagree; I think those are all good necessary things. If you want a formula, there's a formula. But I always found "I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping" a much more real description of prayer.

We're told to pray always, without ceasing—prayer is something to bring with us. It is to be in relation with the God who is Love, who knows our suffering, and who hears. To pray is to be heard—and to listen in return, even if what we receive may be holy silence. 

Mass is a prayer, one the Church does together. Liturgy is where I learned most of the prayers I say, where I first chanted the psalms. I learned to read in church. Even once a year, it shows us many parts of prayer—it fulfills the acronym, sure, but attending services has shown me that prayer can be somber, joyful, certain, wondering, penitent, musical, silent. We can also think of things prayer can be that we don't want to replicate—Jesus talks about hypocritical ways of praying, of calling attention to oneself, of "heaping up empty phrases."

It doesn't always look like Sitting Down. There are not always words. I sit down (or lie down, depending) and pray at certain times—this was a hard-won habit, that still doesn't come easy—but it's easier for me to use my own words in the woods.. You can be anywhere, and be doing anything. You don't have to commit to a form—do it a little bit differently each time. Ask a question. Confess something. Picture someone you love in your mind, and feel that love. Look at each person on the subway and wish something for them. Set a timer on your phone to spend five minutes tentatively thinking about God—this is a prayer that can be more deeply felt than all the books in the world.

Whatever strangeness or embarrassment there is in addressing an unseen being, in coming to the Universe with your one quiet voice, it is the strange embarrassment of caring, of attempting what seems impossible, of being earnest about this whole being alive thing. The uncertainty of a new relationship, the doubt of whether it all matters, the unfamiliarity of learning a new skill. But you can do strange things, new things, vulnerable things. Love is continuing movement, and each step takes more bravery. You need communication with Love to live in it. 

Of course there are countless people who do not purposefully pray and yet show more love than I could ever hope to. God has met many, and sustained many, without their ever asking, sometimes without them ever knowing his name. But the asking is another kind of love, and I am one of the many who devote myself to even slight knowledge of his face. You have all you need to join me—because you have God.

The need that flows out of you, all the time—the draw you feel to start—is a prayer already. Really, there is no start—only a joining of a current already in motion. A dipping into a well that never runs dry. Others have the words, if you don't. I learn the psalms because, for all my poetry, I can't say it all, and never as perfectly as they do—and because it's a connection with centuries of voices. The practicing of the divine hours is another connection.

But really, putting aside the walks in the woods and the going to church more and the acronyms and the metaphors—how do you pray on purpose? Ultimately, there is no better answer than the one Jesus gave: Go into your room, shut the door, and (without an earthly audience, without looking a certain way or believing a certain thing) pray to the secret, listening God, in whatever language/version you have,

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever, Amen.

You've never done it or seen it before, sure, but it's built into you, to need this. Once you've done it, you will have seen it. Once you've seen it, I expect you'll realize you have done it before, without noticing. You don't have the words, so they have been given to you. You don't have to believe wholeheartedly each word—that comes later for those of us who grow up in it, and it can come later for you, too. Start in the somewhere you have been placed. 

The first thing we learn how to ask for as babies is the result of every prayer: being heard. So cry out.

<3 Johanna

[hislittleraincloud]

Melissa Barrera, Gideon Adlon, and Joy Sunday posting community resources for the L.A. fire victims

[orcelito]

I realized that what I Really want rn is lighthearted domestic modern au

So im coming up with yet another au

t4t best friends & roommates vashwood who are both so in love with each other but both so dumb about it. Cue accidental toddler acquisition bc Vash's cousin (Domina)(sorry Domina) died & they're looking for a relative to foster said toddler. And Chronica and Nai are certainly not the nurturing types (general idea rn of the twins still being adopted but keeping in touch with their cousins, tho Chronica and Domina are cousins too in this) SO they ask Vash and well. He is nothing if not a bleeding heart. So he ends up saying yes.

Cue Vash not rly knowing how to take care of a toddler, but it's ok Wolfwood is here. He's a Professional. & them parenting together is the push they need to actually sort out their feelings....

(Putting the rest of this under a cut lol)

Not fully decided yet, but I was thinking mid to late 20s wolfwood and early 30s vash. Vash was a computer scientist that got so tired of the soul-killing salary job that he quit his job. And now he's a local oddball, almost a local celebrity, bc he does dog walking and other odd jobs in a very ostentatious way (based off of my own local legend of a dog walker who is known and beloved for this). He's also largely in local entertainment. A hobbyist roboticist who makes his own rigs, both for the over-the-top dog stroller he uses for small dogs that don't want to walk (something I saw from my own local legend dog walker) & also for any sort of festivals or w/e he's hired for. And if he needs the extra money, he takes on freelance programming work online, but overall he's just trying to have FUN.

And then there's Wolfwood, working some low wage job just trying to make his way through part-time school. Some sort of kids-focused career. Undecided still. But he's much shorter on money than Vash, aka why they started living together a few years back. Bc Wolfwood couldn't afford rent alone and Vash was more than happy to live with him. & tbh, Wolfwood is probably the reason Vash quit his corporate job in the first place. He Inspired him... to be true to himself!!!!

.......... I could make Wolfwood work at a bubble tea shop. Finally do a bubble tea shop au like I was wanting to ages ago to vent my woes. He's fucking miserable there. Vash really likes the free drinks Wolfwood takes home, though.

Hfkshfmsbfms honestly I'm tossing a lot of things into this au idea, but I just really want something lighthearted and domestic. And also put a kid in there bc I still really love vashwood dads.

[prismatoxic]

i had to recently admit to myself that i haven't really celebrated halloween or christmas in years now, and as such, they both depress me immensely because they were my favorite holidays and it guts me seeing the world around me get to experience them while i can't.

it's a money issue, it's a location issue, it's a mental health issue... we get candy and presents most years but that's not what i'm missing. i'm missing everything else. the holidays, the atmosphere and decorations and dressing up... i haven't gotten any of that in a long time.

this year we couldn't do christmas at all. no presents. the whole debacle with having to get a new car pretty much wrecked that. and you know, i can't really blame anyone directly involved--so really just me and my partner--but it still hurts real bad, even if there's not someone to blame.

when we got together, we'd get each other gifts for the first day of hannukah too, just for fun. and then more on christmas and then i'd get him even more on his birthday at the end of the month. we had trees to enjoy and christmas music to share and... it was nice. neither of us wanted that to end. financial stability just couldn't last forever.

can't even put up our tree because our roommates destroyed the living room. we wanted to, this year.

[queeraliensposts]

Friendly reminder, by celebrating the possibility of a celebrity you don't like might get deported, you are also celebrating the fact that innocent children, and workers are getting deported.

[pickapea]

my absolutely biggest online pet peeve is US centric people projecting their rich sorority girl bully stereotype of nurses onto everyone else, as if nurses aren't working class and mostly immigrants of colour everywhere else. and when did it become cool to hate on underpaid and exploited workers anyway

[actual-corpse]

I really fucking hate it here man.

I keep seeing commercials BEGGING for support and aid and donations for the wildfire victims.

But... why us? Why are WE called on to provide aid? We, who can barely take care of ourselves, are begged to help when there's TONS of money at the top in the government. And all those blessed celebrities? Why aren't they doing anything? These people with all this money are doing jack shit with it, and they believe they deserve praise when they "promise" to donate... Fuck that.

[mimiatmidnight]

Will you be commenting on the Taylor drama?

I love the way this was worded, like I'm one of the siblings on Succession and the press has cornered me outside my penthouse to ask if I'll be releasing a statement on my family's latest scandal. Hehehe anyways.

Sorry but I just don't understand how anyone is shocked. Truly what has that woman ever done to successfully convince people that this is out of character for her. Like I don't want to diminish anyone's pain or anything but I see all these stans on here and over on Twitter in all this distress, having their very first epiphanies like "Hold on . . . does Taylor . . . suck??" And I kinda just have to chuckle at them cause like bless your hearts babes, but omg catch UP 😭

Lol because 1) she is a severely emotionally stunted person who thinks edgy British "bad boys" are hot like she's 12 years old, 2) she has no true deeply-held moral principles outside of issues that directly affect herself, and 3) truthfully, she seems to be suffering from a serious crisis of identity after the end of the longest and most significant romantic relationship of her life, and in my opinion is pretty clearly desperate to prove something to the world/her ex/herself.

The first reason is cringe but not news to longtime viewers, the second reason is pathetic but also not news (to those who can be honest with themselves), and the third is . . . understandable in some sense, but not pitiable enough to make me willing to humor this insufferable little episode she's having. I wish her luck on this humiliating rebound journey, but she is gonna have to walk that road on her own.

Normally, I always roll my eyes when people make these kinds of jokes, but given the circumstances I feel justified in saying: I can't wait to hear the breakup song about him, sis 🤡

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also to go "wow this is just like in pentiment" about absolutely anything and/or "wow this is just like iphigenia crash land falls on the neon shell that was once her heart (a rave fable)" about absolutely anything further:

the Narratives within crash land falls where like, in the end iphigenia being Given the story of both "this is going to happen anyways" and "so why don't you see it as a noble sacrifice to accept." the situation happening to Create a story that she was killed, so her father must be tragic, and sympathetic. that iphigenia does take on that Narrative of taking on the Noble Willing Sacrifice, and it kills her, but she also would have been killed anyways, as everyone also knows. that we even get a bit of pentimentesque [other characters observe & assess things] like, the fresa girls as a chorus, and one at the end like yeah She Was No Saint, i saw everything, but being cut off by The News that's like yeah looks like iphigenia was killed, that seguing into her father saying yeah she was killed, god's will was done, She's A Saint now. seguing to the emcee who introduced the play, but that superceded by achilles, and that superceded with iphigenia's extasis monologue as the end of the play. that whether iphigenia's a saint or not, she dies. that [the whole play] tells us as much, like, this isn't a What If kind of retelling where she escapes her fate, this is a retelling examining itself like, she Will die because the story's preset, so what to do with this as the story that has to take her there, what to do with this as iphigenia who has to go there

that iphigenia takes on another narrative in addition to the one offered by like, violeta as guide and oracle telling her she has to die (As A Noble Sacrifice), that again (as per iphigenia in aulis being like uh hey daughter. let's go to aulis so you can uh marry achilles (it is to be sacrificed)) achilles is this bait, but it's only in the ending that there's any Story about being with achilles, and when iphigenia goes to the mercenary soldier who she knows will kill her, she's the one telling him what to tell her about where she's going and why, i want you to tell me achilles is waiting for me....and she still dies, because This Is The Story. as also applied to the reality, iphigenia as another dead and missing girl following & preceding many; any disappeared deaths when consumed as disposable & replaceable, not given part of any narrative about it. while also iphigenia only gets a chorus of fresa girls from there being crosses put on the factory wall with their names, with one girl even remarking like hey they spelled my name right for once. but at the same time they're also like, both mere Apparitions but also like standins for people who are simply alive. real [shades]esque kind of, i suppose, but like they're not Sanctified for dying either, they'll comment on iphigenia but not with any like, divine knowledge, just as this out of place rich girl. whether iphigenia's A Saint or Not A Saint, she's still dead either way. she wants to be a fresa girl, they maybe want to be her, but everyone's doomed anyways thanks to way larger forces and the Stories that have been told and will be told again

but there's also the moment right before the final section wherein, before she's having to say what she wants within the bounds of [she has to die], there's achilles asking "you still want me" and iphigenia answering with "i want everything" and her vision for, like, getting to be alive actually, i'm on the gulf where the sea is gray, and no one wants a piece of me....the whole inciting event here where iphigenia wants to evade her fate however she can, exiting the bounds of her life, the physical bounds and the family unit and walking away from the rank of status / class / wealth, trying for [have her body for herself] and what the body wants, the sensuous indulgences of (a rave fable), let's hear some more about the roman state like "we don't like the examination and challenge and upending of class and convention in a bacchanalia, so only do the official versions we permit;" the Threat of people's desires for themselves, when that's going to be counter to those in power who'd want these people to be resources at their disposal; the burden on the disempowered to suffer [the only way out is through] with the Additional pain & loss that has to be taken on in pursuit of their autonomy, while also of course suffering for the autonomy they lack, that restricted and controlled and mitigated versions of what you might want are deigned to be provided or permitted so that you have Something, but that everyone's actual undeniable personhood will always be spilling past those bounds, the potential power of transgressive pleasure when one's wellbeing and autonomous choices are counter to the power structures that have to constantly try to suppress and preclude this. achilles just as bait, doomed to die like iphigenia is also still doomed, sex was never going to save everyone and the [recognizing connection as these two parallel people / We're The Same] with your lover here is not going to save everyone but it still makes more things possible for them both; iphigenia does know what she wants, and gets some of it because she wants it, same with achilles in turn, while it can't save anyone from their fates still. but it can mean something even if it doesn't transcend, like even a fleeting night of insignificant dancing that doesn't change anything can mean something, and we all die, but that doesn't mean it's Nothing to be killed any more than it's Nothing to have your desires or choices one way or another to be wrung out of your life before you are

anyways, the stories. the Looking and Presenting here. achilles and iphigenia first encountering each other as images put together and presented by someone else for their own purposes. the presence of what's seen through film/camera/recording versus in person; the potential power relations and even violence in framing, presenting, and the intended looking and assessing. repeated language about eyes/looks that burn, while also that connection between iphigenia and achilles, and their finding the least room in what they do have of their lives for more of their own wants and selves and something genuine and not predetermined, is also connected to eyes and looking and being seen and light and burning. while they're also connected to the protection and possibility of night and darkness, getting to exist and be Without being lit up or seen; that with the power that's still in play, it's never like, well then you should have nothing / no reason to hide; the penultimate moment in the play with achilles being one that's in person and fades into darkness, rather than coming in from the light of a projection / video onscreen as the introduction....iphigenia needing to be guided through a crossroads to even get to achilles in person; violeta giving the Advice and Story and Tradition to pray to eleggua, as iphigenia does before getting to encounter achilles for real, who also doesn't get to break out of a role or a fate in full in any way, but their tragedies are like, pointing towards [autonomy, imagine it] in both the ways they manage to find a little bit of it for themselves, in no small part for simply recognizing each other as in the same boat here, and in the ways they still don't have it and still can't get it

and anyways it's also inevitably saying like, telling a story?? this Play is a told story!! looking? assessing? interpreting? you're doing that in the course of experiencing it! and it's really so fucking true.

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest at the bullet hole that was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from all those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make up all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family… just like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she would never die or be hurt by anyone again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite how this man was her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. The muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her original, neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this…

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire, Playboy husband, was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed...” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce placed her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.

[lastoneout]

I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.

We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.

The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.

Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.

And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.

As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.

Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, age gap (college senior with rafe in his 30s), secret dating, angst, fighting, suspected cheating, name-calling, swearing, pet names, rafe grabs the reader’s face, spanking, spanking with a belt, bdsm, wet and messy, squirting, edging, multiple orgasms, threats, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial and control, rough sex, fingering, manhandling, soft!rafe at the end, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, teasing

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The brisk December air bit your cheeks as you stepped out of your apartment and headed downtown. Christmas lights glowed warm along the street, but your mood was anything but light. You stuffed your hands into your pockets; your arm looped in your friend’s, head tilted on her shoulder as you suffered in silence.

All your finals were done, a long, relaxing break to look forward to, but all you could do was think about him…

For months, you had been navigating your whirlwind romance, secretly dating your Professor—sexy, intelligent, successful… And you had fallen hard against your better judgment. It was wrong… It was risky as hell… But it was real. Or, at least, you thought it was.

Lately, though, Rafe has been pulling away—canceled plans, vague apologies— his lingered gaze that you had gotten so used to fizzling away. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. A night away, just the two of you, celebrating your completion of the semester and a week of rest and relaxation for the both of you.

He hadn’t even brought up winter break… Rafe wasn’t looking toward the future anymore. He was completely checked out.

But tonight was different… He canceled, and unlike before, you didn’t ask for an explanation. And to your disappointment, he didn’t give one either.

“Forget him,” you grumble, momentarily wallowing in self-pity.

“Forget who?” Your friend asks with a laugh as she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

You bite your lips, taking a shallow breath as you let those two words slip your lips. “This guy from my econ class,” you lie. “He blamed our B on me…” Another lie.

”Who complains about a B in college?” Your friend scoffs and laughs, tipping her head on yours. “Forget him? Fuck him…”

“Agreed,” you smile, the wavering in your tone making her raise an eyebrow, pressing again.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come out?” She asks as she softens her voice. You flutter your lashes, feeling the emotion you’ve been pushing down bubble up in your chest.

It’s not like anything has happened… Nothing has happened, as a matter of fact. He was giving you nothing, yet you felt his silence was speaking louder than any words could. And who could you talk to about it? No one.

“Babe?” She tries again as your friends walk across the bustling street, heading into the flooded downtown area.

“Just not feeling like myself lately…” Your voice floats away with the winter wind as you see Rafe open the door, holding it open for a woman to pass through.

He looks handsome in his fitted suit and black wool overcoat, his hair brushed back, giving you a glimpse of his perfect face and chiseled features.

Your friend coaxes you forward, but your body freezes in the middle of the sidewalk. You watch as Rafe and a beautiful woman in a powder pink dress fall out of sight, disappearing behind the doors of The Flora Room.

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She asks, shaking you playfully to get you out of your daze.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” One of the girls in your party calls out. You look around the little town square, seeing bar after bar, knowing it would be a tough sell to get your friends to sit down even for a single drink in there when they could buy three shitty drinks for the fee of one overpriced martini.

You watch your friends drift to one of the downtown sports bars, but you keep your feet grounded. Your friend reads the room, hanging back with you, following where you lead, her curiosity piqued.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” She mumbles from the corner of her lips as the two of you pass through the doors.

There’s no bouncer at the door; your shoes don’t stick to the ground with each step. Screaming, laughing, and a deep bass rumbling from the speakers are exchanged for light conversation and piano music. It’s rich and elegant, the polar opposite of what the two of you are used to on a typical night out.

“We’re just gonna sit at the bar,” you smile at the hostess, who extends a hand, ushering you back. Your eyes dance around the space, looking for Rafe and the women as you feel your anger and unease fester.

So busy you couldn’t see me, huh? You seethe as you position yourself just far enough away from him.

The situation is hard to read—a party? You look at the group he’s with; the lot of them dressed to the nines. Watching with your breath held as she laughs, his head tilting slightly as if the woman said something clever.

She looks sophisticated and expensive, her curves hugged in a dress that seems to have been made for her. She reaches out, squeezing Rafe's bicep as she chuckles again, making your stomach churn.

The bartender rests your martinis in front of you. You keep your eyes locked ahead; the tears in your eyes sparkle in the bar lighting. It's impossible to see without blinking, but you know the second you do, they’ll fall.

Your friend's hand rests on your thigh, and with that little bit of physical contact, your eyes shut. Tears roll down your cheeks and fall off your chin. She looks ahead, following where your attention was paid before looking back at you and back at him again. “Oh…” she breathes, before her eyes widen.

“Yeah,” you whimper, knowing she put two and two together. ”Just don’t-”

”I won’t say anything,” she assures before you can even finish, reaching over, blotting the tears off your cheeks with a bar napkin.

You reach in your purse, hands tightening around your phone, and without thinking, you open the text thread… The one where Rafe left you on read.

You: We’re done.

You watch as Rafe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He adjusts slightly, looks at the lock screen, and sees the notification with your name on the front before stuffing it back in his pocket, not giving it any more attention.

Missed call after missed call; text after text… It only took a few blocks before Rafe finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you the time of day.

You couldn’t help but give him a similar treatment, watching as all his attempts rolled in, you not making any effort at all. You look over your shoulder as you walk into your apartment; there are so many texts from Rafe that you know he can’t be far behind.

You pace your apartment, just waiting for the inevitable. Regardless of what that was or what that wasn’t, he’s been ignoring you. How simple would it have been to let you know where he was going and the real reason why he canceled?

That woman—who the fuck was that? A friend, I’m sure… But you couldn’t even fathom Rafe watching that all go down. He would feel the same fucking way, especially if you were giving him reasons to worry before.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You hear Rafe’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, making your stomach sink, jarring you out of your thoughts.

“Baby,” Rafe’s familiar voice called from the other side. “What the hell is going on, huh? Open the door.”

Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, annoyed at how easily Rafe could demand your time. How he only seemed to care when you sent those three words. “Go away!” You shout, feeling goosebumps spread across your body.

“Not fucking happening,” his tone was firm—the frustration bled through his words. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You kiddin’ me?” BANG. He bangs his fist against the door in frustration. You hear his voice soften as he gets closer to the door's seam. “What the fuck is going on?” He hisses.

“Why don’t you tell me,” you step a little closer as well.

“If I knew, I would apologize. Alright? I got nothin’ to hide from you-”

”Bullshit,” you cut him off. “Who was she, Rafe?”

“What?” He cries out as he jiggles the door handle rapidly, testing it and then testing it again. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“The women from the bar, Rafe. I was there.”

“Princess… What the hell?” He breathes. “You don’t understand, baby. C’mon.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Rafe,” you snap as you bang against the door yourself. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, you barely look at me anymore, you're canceling our plans, not telling me where the hell you’re going, and then I find you on the night we were supposed to actually spend some goddamn time together flirting with someone else. Yeah, Rafe. I understand. You’re a liar.”

Silence falls heavily outside the door. You furrow your eyebrows, looking through the peephole straight at your neighbor's door, your heart breaking when you don’t see him on the other side.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, making your heart leap.

Rafe: Have a great night, sweetheart.

“You’re joking me,” you huff as you push out into the hall, gasping as Rafe pushes you back in.

“I love you. But you’re being a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts as he lets the door clap shut behind him before dragging you a few steps to your room, slamming that door as well.

“You have five minutes to explain, Rafe,” you shout, “then I’m kicking you out.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart? After all this time? That’s generous of you.”

“Talk or leave,” you snarl before Rafe shoves you down on the bed, making you gasp again as he mounts you fast, his hand slapping against your mouth, holding it shut.

“Stop fucking testing me and listen. Alright?” You mumble underneath his trembling palm. “If I lift my hand, you’re gonna listen to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes narrow on his, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll tape your mouth shut if you won’t listen to me. You know that, right?” He asks in a gentler tone, contrasting his dark words.

You roll your eyes, finding yourself getting more annoyed by the second. “The fuck has gotten into you, huh?” He asks as he looks down at you below him, wearing a new defiance you’ve never shown before.

He lifts his hand, and you huff out a breath, scowling as you look up at him. The older man looks back at you with the same disgusted look.

“What, Rafe?”

“There’s been a rumor circulating around the campus that a professor has been sleeping with a student… I’ve been dealing with that—I have not been avoiding you for any reason other than that. And that woman… That woman who could never be you, princess, is not who you think. Okay?”

“So, who is she, then?” Your glare softens slightly, the bite of your tongue still there. “Because you sure seemed like you were enjoying her company, Rafe.”

Rafe sighs deeply, dragging his hand through his hair as he steps off the bed. “She’s the new University President… That was the faculty Christmas party. I forgot to tell you because I was too caught up in all this shit.”

”You forgot?” You ask. Rafe is taken aback by your attitude, even after telling you everything.

“Yes. I forgot,” he answers, his tone sharp. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to protect us,” he chides as he gestures between you. “The scandal, the risks… You kept sayin’ everything was fine, so I wasn’t worried. I have never worried about you.”

You feel a slight guilt creep in, seeing him so vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn’t assure him everything was okay and that the two of you were fine. “Well, maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Assumed the worst?” Rafe’s scoffs, his frustration crystal clear. “You mean accusing me of cheating and ending things over a text? A text? Because that’s a rational response right there, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

”You don’t get to turn this shit around on me, Rafe. You’ve been distant. When I told you I was “okay,” I wasn’t… Didn’t you notice a change between you and me? Couldn't you hear it in my voice that I clearly was not okay? You’re so distant. It’s like we’re not even together-”

“I’ve been distant because I’m dealing with this—this shit has real consequences, princess. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. If anyone finds out about us-”

“Then talk to me!” You yell over him as you step closer. “You’re acting like I’m irrational. I would have understood. All you had to do was tell me what’s going on!”

“And all you had to do was ask instead of throwing a fuckin’ tantrum,” he shoots back.

Your jaw drops, temper flaring even more. “A tantrum?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his gaze unwavering. “A tantrum. You’re acting like a spoiled brat-”

”Fuck you,” you hiss. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“What the hell?” He laughs at you weakly, looking back at you like you’ve gone completely mad. “Where’s my girl? What the fuck is happening?”

“Do you need help finding the door or what?”

His eyes widen; the man struck utterly silent. “Please tell me you haven't been feelin’ this way the whole time we’ve been together,” he asks, the exhaustion of the fight wearing on him as he looks back at you, shoulder slumped, breathing heavy.

“The last few weeks, yeah-”

“But not the whole time, right?” He asks, the tone of his voice letting you know you both know the answer.

“No… Not the whole time,” you mumble.

“Couldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt, princess? I mean hell, sweetheart. You could have looked around the goddamn bar. What the hell would I be doin’ hanging out with your Econ teacher if I could be spendin’ the night with you? Why would I be rubbin’ shoulders with Dean Richardson— your Dean, by the way, unless I had to, huh? Don't you think I’d rather spend my night with you?”

You look back into his piercing blue eyes, your cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but he steps toward you fast, standing above you as you sit on the edge of the bed. You squeak as he grips your cheeks in his big ringed hand, forcing your gaze.

“I love you, princess… But you need to grow up. Use your words. Stop jumpin’ to conclusions and start cuttin’ me some fuckin’ slack.” You mumble, but he pinches your cheeks even more. “Stop cuttin’ off before I can explain myself.” Rafe slots himself between your thighs, loosening his hold slightly.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a little breath as you look at him. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No.” Rafe silences you as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Apologies are fine, but you need to listen. This isn’t some fling. This is real. And if we’re gonna make this shit work, you have to trust me. Even when it’s hard,” Rafe whispers, letting his lips graze against yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, thighs drawing in slightly. “I trust you, baby,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe pulls away, his gaze softening more than before, but his frustration hasn’t completely faded from his beautiful blue eyes. “Then show me… Stop playin’ these games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you protest, but he cuts you off with a look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

“You sent me a breakup text, then ignored me when I came here to fix it,” he chides. “I’m not some frat boy—not some college kid you can pull that shit with. Aight? And if you don’t think that little stunt you pulled is a game, I don’t know what is. Do you know how many times I called you?”

“I texted you too, and you ignored it,” you mumble as you look away, feeling the weight of his gaze as your face heats up.

“N’why do you think I had to do that, huh?” He adds condescendingly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Knowing that answering a text from you, a mid-faculty party in the light of a scandal, probably wouldn’t have been Rafe’s best move.

“We’re done with this little back-and-forth bullshit. If you have a problem, tell me. And if I screw up, I’ll do the same.” You nod, looking at Rafe again as he cups your face, his rough thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Rafe…” You pout.

“Yes, baby,” he responds gentler than before.

“Why aren’t you talkin’ about the future anymore? I know you wanted to take the heat off us but didn’t even ask what I’m doing for break. You didn’t even make plans with me-”

“Shh…” He shushes you as he looks down at you tiredly, about ready to lose his mind that you’re still challenging him in some way. “Take out my phone,” he mumbles. You lower your gaze slightly, reach into the pocket of his dress slacks, and pull out the device. “Your birthday, baby,” he hums his passcode. You unlock the phone, looking up at him again. “Open my email…”

You pull up Rafe’s Gmail and see the confirmation for the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Vail, with your name attached to the reservation made a week ago.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmurs as he grabs the phone off your hands, tossing it to the side.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Rafe. I-”

“You think you can sass me, throw a tantrum, and walk away without consequences?” He mumbles. “I think it’s time someone teaches you a lesson about being a brat, princess,” he whispers as his lips find your neck, licking and sucking your hot skin, making your pulse race.

Rafe’s loosened tie hangs from his neck, sweeping against your thighs as his teeth graze along your ear. You grab it, pulling him toward your lips, making him chuckle against yours.

“Got some shit you wanna say, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly.

“Maybe I like being a brat, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

Rafe kisses you deeply, sucking off your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, nipping with enough pinch to make you whimper into his open mouth. “Then I guess this is going to be a long night for you, princess,” he rasps as he grabs your tights between his fingers, ripping them open. You inhale sharply as he cups your pussy in his big hand, rubbing your sex over your wet panties.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he slaps your cunt, making your thighs draw in just for him to force them apart. He continues to tease you over your panties as he gathers your hair with his other hand, tugging it back.

“These last few weeks… Fuck, they’ve been frustrating, huh?” He asks as he pushes his big fingers into your entrance, the threshold of the wet cotton blocking him from going any deeper than a knuckle deep. “And you’re gonna misbehave? Make it harder on me? You know I could have just taken my frustration out on this pretty little pussy, baby,” he mumbles as he hooks his finger around your panties, pulling the fabric tight, making you whimper.

“Rafe, please-”

“We’re at the finish line. Two days away from a vacation that I’ve been plannin’ for weeks. That I was gonna surprise you with… and you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat? What’s that about, huh?” He asks as he paws off his tie, tosses it on the bed, and pops open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

You take in his gorgeous body as he exposes more skin—his broad chest and his cut abs, the deep ridges of his v-lines kissing the top of his pants. You bite your lip, stripping yourself of your tattered tights and clothes as he undoes his leather belt, releasing it with a crack before tossing it on the bed.

“Stand up,” he orders, and you do as your tummy flutters. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” Rafe reaches for his tie, running it through his big fingers as he takes in your body. “Wrists, baby,” he mumbles against your neck as he stands close, his rock-hard cock pressing against your ass.

Rafe binds your wrists and grabs your hips, sitting down on the bed, guiding you to lay over his big thighs, your ass in the air. Rafe’s rough fingers drift up the back of your legs, making you tremble, your wetness already weeping from your aching hole.

He chuckles as he runs two thick fingers right through it, taking it between his lips, moaning around his digits. “Fuck, princess… You’re a problem aren't you? Gettin’ wet off this shit, huh? Like gettin’ yelled at and punished.”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Yes, what, princess?” He groans as his hand comes down on your ass, making you cry out.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffle. “I like getting yelled at and punished.”

“Atta girl… Look at you. Already turnin’ that little attitude of yours around, huh?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers in your pussy, making you wail. He fucks them into you fast and hard, your warmth squelching lewdly.

You crane your neck, eyes widening as he goes for his leather belt. You struggle slightly, your natural reaction to move away, but his big arm wraps around you, holding you in place. “Think you’re gettin’ away from me?” He chuckles. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

CRACK.

Rafe delivers a loud smack on your supple flesh. You let out a loud cry, feeling the sting and tears welling on your waterline.

“You had a lot to say before, baby,” he mocks as he drags the leather up the back of your thighs. “Where did my bratty little bitch go, huh?” He mumbles as he lands another hit, making the tears spill over.

Rafe tosses the belt to the ground, plunging his fingers into your slickness again, only to find that you’re even wetter than before. “Stop enjoyin’ this shit so much, pretty,” he breathes, his smug smile heard in your tone as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Yes, baby,” you moan as your head falls forward, feeling yourself about to cum around his big fingers. “Oh, Rafe.”

“Mmm… I should stop, shouldn’t I?” He asks as he continues his brutal pace.

“No… No, please,” you sniffle as you feel your body tighten around him, your peak approaching fast. You lift your ass in the air, following his fingers as he pulls them away gradually, yanking them out right before your body gives way. You gasp, breathing heavily as Rafe robs you of your orgasm, your heart banging in your chest.

“How do you think it felt gettin’ that text tonight, hmm?” He asks as he lifts you off his lap, shoving you on the bed—your chest on the mattress, and your feet on the floor. “The love of my life… The only thing-” CRACK. He spanks you yet again, making you scream. Rafe laughs mockingly into his next couple of words, “The only thing that has ever truly mattered to me,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to his knees. The warmth of his breathing hits your throbbing cunt. “Broke up with me… through a text message. Fuckin’ insane, right?”

His tongue plunges into your drooling hole, fingers swirling on top of your throbbing clit making your thighs tremble. Rafe sucks and tongue-fucks you like a god, taking you right to the edge of ecstasy again. Your muscles clench, fists balled up, rising on your tippy toes reeling, and right when you're about to break, he pulls away again.

“Rafe, please!” You sob.

He steps forward, the front of his muscular thighs flush with the back of yours. You whimper as he draws away just enough; his swollen head rubs through your drenched folds, teasing your clit, toying with your glossy hole ‘til you’re burying your face in your comforter.

"Beg for it, princess. C’mon…” He whispers as he taunts you with his tip.

“Please…” You beg, lips quivering with every breath. “Please… I’m begging you, daddy. M’sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you whimper. “I love you… I love you so—oh, fuck,” you cry as he sheathes his cock into your swollen cunt.

Rafe grabs the edge of his tie, knotted around your wrist, using it as a hold to fuck into you deeper, gliding into your greedy hole, your body quickly cumming around him, pussy flutter wildly, but he just keeps on going.

He yanks the tie, pulling it loose. He flips you to your back, looping your legs over his shoulder before plunging in again. Rafe brings his big body closer to yours, folding you in half, toned hips clapping against your body with each rough stroke.

“Didn’t ask for permission, princess. Creamin’ around my dick when I should be usin’ you like my personal fuck toy...” You follow his gaze, looking down at the place where you context the creamy ring of your arousal glistening around his thick base, the picture alone leaving you feeling like you could cum on sight. “You better ask… I know you're about to cum again. And if you do-”

“Rafe, I-” You grit your teeth, fighting back another orgasm you know he’ll deny.

“I’m not done talkin’. Fuck, have you learned nothing?” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, wetting the bed below as your body shakes. “If you cum without askin’, I'm gonna tape those pretty little lips of yours shut, grab that vibrator from your nightstand, and have you cummin’ ‘til you pass out.”

“Please. Please. Please,” you sob.

“Might do it anyways, princess. It’ll be good for you…”

“Rafe!”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grab the edge of the bed, holding on tight as Rafe makes good on his words, taking his frustrations out on your tight cunt as you squirt around his length.

"There you go, fuckk. There's my girl,” he murmurs, smiling smugly, tilting in and kissing your forehead sweetly, his punishing strokes telling a different story entirely as he chases his climax, emptying himself in your fluttering cunt with one final thrust.

Rafe lowers your trembling legs, dragging back, but you grab his hips, pouting your lips and shaking your head ‘no.’ He smiles down at you, lowering himself to your lips, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Don’t be, baby. I never want you to think I don't care. Okay? I'm sorry… Should have let you know what was goin’ on. I should always be takin’ care of my girl,” he mumbles between gentle kisses. “You were right. Alright?” He whispers before kissing your forehead.

“I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore…”

“That’s crazy, baby. ‘Course I do. I was serious; you're the only thing that truly matters to me…”

You bite your lip, smiling into your kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, princess.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy