#Solar Control Board

[ramautomations123]

Skytron Energy CAN Protection PV18 PCB Card | Industrial PCB Module | Ram Automations

Explore high-performance industrial protection with the Skytron Energy CAN Protection PV18 PCB Card — a specialized PCB module crafted to ensure secure communication and safety for photovoltaic systems and energy control setups. Now available at Ram Automations, this tested, genuine Skytron Energy PCB card is perfect for engineers, OEM panel builders, and energy automation specialists looking to maintain the efficiency and reliability of solar power and industrial control networks.

The Skytron Energy CAN Protection PV18 is designed for CAN (Controller Area Network) communications, ensuring optimal protection, system longevity, and improved fault tolerance for critical energy systems. Whether you’re upgrading an industrial automation cabinet, servicing energy management units, or refurbishing solar monitoring systems, this PCB card is your go-to choice.

🛒 Product Link:  https://ramautomations.com/products/skytron-energy-can-protection-pv18-pcb-card-used

🌐 Visit Our Website for More Automation Products:  https://ramautomations.com

🔧 Product Overview

📦 Model: CAN Protection PV18

🏢 Brand: Skytron Energy

📌 Type: PCB Protection Card for CAN Networks

🆕 Condition: Tested, Verified

⚙️ Function: Signal Protection, CAN Bus Safeguarding, Energy Automation System Support

📍 Applications: Solar Plants, Energy Monitoring Systems, Industrial Automation Panels

✅ Key Features & Benefits

✔️ Genuine Skytron Energy PCB Card  ✔️ Designed for critical CAN Bus communication  ✔️ Optimized for energy control and monitoring systems  ✔️ Enhances fault tolerance and system resilience  ✔️ Ideal for solar and industrial automation  ✔️ Compact, rugged, and highly efficient  ✔️ Tested and reliable for long-term operations

🏭 Best Suited For

✔️ Solar Energy Plants  ✔️ Energy Automation Systems  ✔️ Industrial Automation Cabinets  ✔️ CAN Network Controllers  ✔️ Renewable Energy System Integrators  ✔️ OEM Panel Upgrades  ✔️ Industrial Retrofits

If you need a reliable replacement or a solid upgrade to maintain your energy automation system, the Skytron Energy CAN Protection PV18 PCB is the dependable solution you’ve been looking for.

🛠 Why Choose Ram Automations?

At Ram Automations, we specialize in providing genuine industrial and marine automation spare parts. Serving more than 1000+ global brands, we are your trusted partner for sourcing both current and legacy parts.

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📽️ In This Video You’ll Learn:

🔧 Full Visual Overview of the Skytron Energy PV18 CAN Protection PCB Card  🧰 Installation Tips for Energy Control Systems  ⚡ Real-World Applications in Solar and Industrial Automation  📊 Importance of Reliable PCB Components in Energy Networks

📣 Subscribe to Ram Automations YouTube Channel for More!  💬 Drop your questions below — we’re here to help!  👍 Like the video if it helped you understand the product better  🔔 Subscribe for weekly uploads of rare automation spare parts and tutorials

[nemrindustries]

Compact Substation Transformer in India - NEMR Industries

The NEMR Compact Substation Transformer connects public, industrial, and residential users to the medium-voltage network and facilitates power distribution. Its primary function is to accurately reduce high voltage levels or transmission voltages to distribution voltages. It can also reduce these voltages to sub-transmission levels, frequently employed in industrial applications. Our Compact Substation Transformer effectively lowers the voltage to the sub-transmission level that is delivered to regional substations. Surge arresters, which are safety devices, are installed on both sides of the transformers. This transformer demands very low maintenance costs, is straightforward to install, and easy to operate. It is also highly economical to use.

Contact Us Today.

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[moon-lord-big-naturals]

God, I fucking love explaining Warframe to people who know nothing about it. Literally nothing I'm about to say is exaggerated in any way.

It's a looter-shooter with pretty cool sci-fi worldbuilding regarding a bunch of factions at war after one huge solar system-spanning empire fell and left a power vacuum in post-post-post-apocalyptic space, sure, and that's the core gameplay, but that ain't shit.

There's mining and fishing and hunting and picking up everything that isn't nailed down, Skyrim style.

You can decorate multiple spaces. Some of them get so large and detailed that people build mazes and Gundams and kaiju and city skylines.

You can skateboard Tony Hawk style and do sick tricks on Venus. And elsewhere, later.

There's Flappy Bird and Gradius and Street Fighter and Mario Kart and more games inside the game and you can play them, too.

There's Guitar Hero. It's played on space shamisen.

You think at first that you're a cool space ninja robot but then find out you're an extremely traumatized teenager dreaming they're a cool space ninja robot, which is actually how you control the cool space ninja robot.

There's a second timeline version of you with different trauma who got a little too into their favorite story to cope, but sentenced themselves to death approximately a jillion times because they got bored and hangry. They have the best one-liners in the game.

Your adoptive space mom has hella dissociative identity disorder.

You can crew a spaceship with three of your friends and engage in space battles. There was a bug where with some creative use of a motorcycle in space, a particular frame capable of eating enemies was able to eat an enemy ship with players still on board. Spatial shenanigans ensued.

The biggest evilest extraplanar entity ever might just be lonely and very bad at interacting (and justifiably butthurt that someone stole his finger). The playerbase kind of loves him and nicknamed him Wally.

One single pathetic sopping wet weasel of a man is responsible for a disproportionate amount of evil bullshit, but the playerbase kind of loves him too and nicknamed him Salad.

A horrifying infection exists that mutates flesh and machine into one terrible amalgamation but then they tried to use it to make video games and clone a boy band, mostly to save money.

The boy band clones will stalk you if you pick up their sick mixtapes.

The guy responsible for basically the entire clusterfuck is explicitly gay. His ex is an uncommonly old and prissy twink. The old man yaoi is canon.

There's actually a lot of old people in this game. And a lot of conventionally unattractive people. It's kind of refreshing actually.

You have to save the world from the Y2K bug by engaging in a dating sim with a bunch of people in a time loop to stop a reactor from blowing up, with the power of love and friendship and a whole ammo rack of really cool guns you crafted along the way.

David Bowie is also there.

Warframe sure is a game that exists!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How Google’s trial secrecy lets it control the coverage

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

"Corporate crime" is practically an oxymoron in America. While it's true that the single most consequential and profligate theft in America is wage theft, its mechanisms are so obscure and, well, dull that it's easy to sell us on the false impression that the real problem is shoplifting:

https://newrepublic.com/post/175343/wage-theft-versus-shoplifting-crime

Corporate crime is often hidden behind Dana Clare's Shield Of Boringness, cloaked in euphemisms like "risk and compliance" or that old favorite, "white collar crime":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/07/solar-panel-for-a-sex-machine/#a-single-proposition

And corporate crime has a kind of performative complexity. The crimes come to us wreathed in specialized jargon and technical terminology that make them hard to discern. Which is wild, because corporate crimes occur on a scale that other crimes – even those committed by organized crime – can't hope to match:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/12/no-criminals-no-crimes/#get-out-of-jail-free-card

But anything that can't go on forever eventually stops. After decades of official tolerance (and even encouragement), corporate criminals are finally in the crosshairs of federal enforcers. Take National Labor Relations Board general counsel Jennifer Abruzzo's ruling in Cemex: when a company takes an illegal action to affect the outcome of a union election, the consequence is now automatic recognition of the union:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

That's a huge deal. Before, a boss could fire union organizers and intimidate workers, scuttle the union election, and then, months or years later, pay a fine and some back-wages…and the union would be smashed.

The scale of corporate crime is directly proportional to the scale of corporations themselves. Big companies aren't (necessarily) led by worse people, but even small sins committed by the very largest companies can affect millions of lives.

That's why antitrust is so key to fighting corporate crime. To make corporate crimes less harmful, we must keep companies from attaining harmful scale. Big companies aren't just too big to fail and too big to jail – they're also too big for peaceful coexistence with a society of laws.

The revival of antitrust enforcement is such a breath of fresh air, but it's also fighting headwinds. For one thing, there's 40 years of bad precedent from the nightmare years of pro-monopoly Reaganomics to overturn:

https://pluralistic.net/ApexPredator

It's not just precedents in the outcomes of trials, either. Trial procedure has also been remade to favor corporations, with judges helping companies stack the deck in their own favor. The biggest factor here is secrecy: blocking recording devices from courts, refusing to livestream the proceedings, allowing accused corporate criminals to clear the courtroom when their executives take the stand, and redacting or suppressing the exhibits:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-09-27-redacted-case-against-amazon/

When a corporation can hide evidence and testimony from the public and the press, it gains broad latitude to dispute critics, including government enforcers, based on evidence that no one is allowed to see, or, in many cases, even describe. Take Project Nessie, the program that the FTC claims Amazon used to compel third-party sellers to hike prices across many categories of goods:

https://www.wsj.com/business/retail/amazon-used-secret-project-nessie-algorithm-to-raise-prices-6c593706

Amazon told the press that the FTC has "grossly mischaracterize[d]" Project Nessie. The DoJ disagrees, but it can't say why, because the Project Nessie files it based its accusations on have been redacted, at Amazon's insistence. Rather than rebutting Amazon's claim, FTC spokesman Douglas Farrar could only say "We once again call on Amazon to move swiftly to remove the redactions and allow the American public to see the full scope of what we allege are their illegal monopolistic practices."

It's quite a devastating gambit: when critics and prosecutors make specific allegations about corporate crimes, the corporation gets to tell journalists, "No, that's wrong, but you're not allowed to see the reason we say it's wrong."

It's a way to work the refs, to get journalists – or their editors – to wreathe bold claims in endless hedging language, or to avoid reporting on the most shocking allegations altogether. This, in turn, keeps corporate trials out of the public eye, which reassures judges that they can defer to further corporate demands for opacity without facing an outcry.

That's a tactic that serves Google well. When the company was dragged into court by the DoJ Antitrust Division, it demanded – and received – a veil of secrecy that is especially ironic given the company's promise "to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful":

https://usvgoogle.org/trial-update-9-22

While this veil has parted somewhat, it is still intact enough to allow the company to work the refs and kill disfavorable reporting from the trial. Last week, Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – published an editorial in Wired reporting on her impression of an explosive moment in the Google trial:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

According to Gray, Google had run a program to mess with the "semantic matching" on queries, silently appending terms to users' searches that caused them to return more ads – and worse results. This generated more revenue for Google, at the expense of advertisers who got billed to serve ads that didn't even match user queries.

Google forcefully disputed this claim:

https://twitter.com/searchliaison/status/1709726778170786297

They contacted Gray's editors at Wired, but declined to release all the exhibits and testimony that Gray used to form her conclusions about Google's conduct; instead, they provided a subset of the relevant materials, which cast doubt on Gray's accusations.

Wired removed Gray's piece, with an unsigned notice that "WIRED editorial leadership has determined that the story does not meet our editorial standards. It has been removed":

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

But Gray stands by her piece. She admits that she might have gotten some of the fine details wrong, but that these were not material to the overall point of her story, that Google manipulated search queries to serve more ads at the expense of the quality of the results:

https://twitter.com/megangrA/status/1711035354134794529

She says that the piece could and should have been amended to reflect these fine-grained corrections, but that in the absence of a full record of the testimony and exhibits, it was impossible for her to prove to her editors that her piece was substantively correct.

I reviewed the limited evidence that Google permitted to be released and I find her defense compelling. Perhaps you don't. But the only way we can factually resolve this dispute is for Google to release the materials that they claim will exonerate them. And they won't, though this is fully within their power.

I've seen this playbook before. During the early months of the pandemic, a billionaire who owned a notorious cyberwarfare company used UK libel threats to erase this fact from the internet – including my own reporting – on the grounds that the underlying research made small, non-material errors in characterizing a hellishly complex financial Rube Goldberg machine that was, in my opinion, deliberately designed to confuse investigators.

Like the corporate crimes revealed in the Panama Papers and Paradise Papers, the gambit is complicated, but it's not sophisticated:

Make everything as complicated as possible;

Make everything as secret as possible;

Dismiss any accusations by claiming errors in the account of the deliberately complex arrangements, which can't be rectified because the relevant materials are a secret.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#but-id-have-to-kill-you

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

Image: Jason Rosenberg (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/underpants/12069086054/

CC BY https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Japanexperterna.se (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/japanexperterna/15251188384/

CC BY-SA 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[bayporwave]

ZENITH REF UPDATE

Goober got a cooler fit and a smidge of lore.

Zenith lives upon Olympus, a massive AI controlled space station owned by the Xerox Corporation. She's mostly a recluse on the station, mainly doodling and gaming in the spare time. At work she's running errands for her boss, A-7142, a sapient data analytics AI whom Zenith fauns over.

Minor Olympus lore: The space station's AI is named Eureka. She was Xerox Corp's greatest achievement until she replaced a massive portion of their human personnel after they left the solar system 200 years ago. Most of the residents on-board are either RC units ran by her, or AIs that budded off her code over time.

[synthient]

The "Midnight entity" is just a mirror

The first shot of Midnight is an establishing shot of the diamond planet. The second shot is Donna, reflected in the pool.

This pool becomes our bookends, with the episode concluding with the Doctor and Donna's poolside conversation. And the pool also gets this shoutout:

This is what we in the "watched revolutionary girl utena at a formative age" business call a Big Flashing Hand That Points At Symbolism.

That pool/water symbolism only becomes more prominent in the sequel episode, The Well: where the water is now part of the title itself, and where the plot hinges on a waterfall becoming a mirror.

It's not a real pool. It's a concept. What does the pool represent? It's a mirror.

What does the "Midnight entity" - or It Has No Name, as it's credited in The Well - do? It reflects you. If you knock three times, it answers with three knocks. The Doctor immediately puts this to the test by knocking four times. As in, He Will Knock Four Times.

Key to understanding this episode is that - according to Tennant and RTD in the dvd commentary - Sky boarded this bus with the intention of killing herself when they reached the waterfall. Another key is that the Doctor is also suicidal. It's been a major focus of series 4. In the episodes immediately preceding Midnight, the Doctor has tried to kill himself twice, only for someone else to kill themself in his place - first Luke Rattigan, then River.

Why does the entity target the Doctor and Sky? (I'm using "target" with a big grain of salt - I'm not actually convinced the entity is sentient, or that it wants to hurt anyone if it is). Because they're the two people on that bus with the most fraught relationship with the Self.

And that's all the Midnight entity is. It's the shadow self.

It's "self-induced hysteria."

It speaks with your voice. Not because it's trying to "steal" your voice (not because it strictly "wants" anything), but because it is your voice. No more, no less.

....well, except for the part where something throws the bus around a little and rips out some of the seats. That's the one straightforward, physically supernatural thing that happens in the whole episode. And it makes a return in the sequel, as the "kinetic force" that kills people who go behind Aliss's back. There, the kinetic force seems to be tied to Aliss's emotions. Here, it's tied to Sky's. But Sky's poltergeist-powers never actually hurt anyone.

But didn't it kill the driver and the mechanic? Well, no. The implication is that they got so paranoid about the mysterious shadow, that they kept the window open trying to get a good look at it, until the solar radiation killed them.

The Doctor encouraged them to open that window, because he wanted to learn more about this exciting new planet. The Doctor broke the entertainment system, because he wanted to talk to everyone and learn about their lives.

The Doctor looks into a mirror, and projects a meaning onto it: it must be "learning." Because that's what the Doctor does.

First, the mirror repeats people's words and actions with a slight delay. Then it starts speaking in sync with them, like a true reflection.

(^ Minor conspiracy sidenote: I'd like to link that one to 15, "Petrol," and "blimey, your face is gorgeous.")

And then the Doctor realizes it can keep reciting the alphabet after he stops speaking. Because it's echoing his thoughts, a beat before he voices them.

Meanwhile, everyone else sees someone behaving strangely, but harmlessly - a weird look in her eyes, a weird compulsive speech pattern - and projects evil and sinister intent. With no evidence. The (in-)group decides to respond to the "threat" of her strangeness with violence: throwing her out of the bus, out of society.

There's a reason that The Well is explicitly about ableism.

And then their suspicion turns on the Doctor. For reasons partly under his control - the way he talks down to people and tries to position himself as an authority figure; the "glee" they notice him taking in a life-threatening situation - and partly out of his control. He's an "immigrant." He's weird too.

The Doctor is the same as Sky. If she's a mirror, then what she's reflecting here is the terrifying reality of how quick society is to turn on the Doctor, if he steps even a little out of line.

And the second this realization hits, Sky stops mimicking anyone else. She only reflects the Doctor.

Will they boo and throw tomatoes if I say this is a timeless child thing? I've said before that I think the concept of "the Doctor turned the Master back into a baby" goes back at least as far as Boom Town, and "the Doctor granted the Master immortality" at least as far back as Utopia. The timeless child learned to mimic the Shobogans, and the baby-Master in particular (Sky - the messy suicidal lesbian divorcée - is, of course, a Master mirror). The adult Doctor learns from and mimics his companions. This is the Doctor projecting one of his worst fears: that he can only get life, or form, or consciousness, or voice, by stealing it and hurting people.

This is the point where the entity "gets ahead of" the Doctor, and seems to take the stage as a full-fledged, conscious villain.

But I think this is actually no different than the entity continuing to recite the alphabet. "What's happening, Doctor?" The Doctor has theories, and his mirror recites those theories for him, before he actually speaks them.

But if she's still just reflecting the Doctor's thoughts, then why does she start encouraging the group to throw him out?

Because the Doctor is suicidal.

The Doctor's curiosity killed the driver and the mechanic. His fatal flaw. So the best way to save everyone else, must be to remove him from the picture. Right?

...is it wrong to say some of Tennant's line reads here are a little orgasmic?

I don't think the Doctor's consciously in control here. But I do think there's a sort of mingled horror and euphoria/relief, at everyone treating you the way you always feared they would. The way you always sort of thought you deserved.

But at the last second, the mob doesn't help the Doctor carry out his suicide.

They help Sky carry out hers.

That's the thing about having a mirror that reflects everything the world hates about you. Everything you hate about yourself. You watch the mob beat her to death, and you sit there, in the aftermath. Knowing just how easily it could have been you.

[murmurlilies]

excited to announce that Maya's shoes officially have... Lore™

they're custom sports shoes specifically designed for "gravboarding!"

I used to imagine her driving a hover-moped, but I've now decided that it's a lot more fitting for her to instead be a gravboarder, riding on what is essentially a floating/flying surfboard. think liftboards in Eureka Seven, Jim's solar surfer in Treasure Planet, skimmers in Destiny 2, etc. etc.. those sick-ass gray kicks she wears attach to the surface of the gravboard (idk how yet. magnets???) to keep her feet firmly planted. in addition, there are special indentations designed into the soles which allow them to grip the board's various control pedals.

as you can imagine, it takes a lot of skill to know where and when and how to place your feet to be able to guide the board's movements. thankfully Maya is an expert in that department, thanks in no small part to the fact that she built her gravboard herself!!

HEHEHE. SHOE LORE!!!!! 👀👀👀

[alderplanter]

hello! i love your fics so much, and i heavily agree with everything you said about the dark star jack arc. it’s probably my absolute favorite arc to come out of these shows, but sometimes i wish it never happened because it feels a bit pointless. the torment they put jack through rarely gets acknowledged, and when it does, it’s usually in a joking manner. the only time i remember jack’s situation being mentioned in a serious manner was during the video where they capture the beast. i genuinely believed there would at least be one video surrounding jack’s trauma from the creator. like- this young child was used as a weapon and was exposed to nothing but war and death for months. he was forced to murder children and their families. he was in constant fear. he was in pain. i’m hoping that they’ve actually been slowly building up to a breakdown this entire time. i believe all of these obsessions jack has been developing (sponges, the cats and the foxy plushie) are things he’s using to avoid confronting his trauma

Yes! I see we share the same brainwaves.

I really wish they would actually address what happened. I know that this show is capable of great emotional depth and character development, but they act like they’re grasping at straws when there is still plenty to go off of, i.e., Jack’s trauma, Sun’s connection to Wither Shards, Lunar’s Astral duties, literally everything about Nexus, etc. I still feel like the move was pointless, but anyway —

During “Jack FIGHTS FOR CONTROL!!??” (yes, there are in fact two exclamation points and question marks in the official title), we see a very traumatized version of Jack that never appears again. His voice is shaky and he appears to harbor a lot of guilt over the people he killed. He repeatedly tells Solar that he’s scared and even initially tells him to go away because he doesn’t want to be forced to hurt him. Then, in “The TRUE DEATH of the Creator! In VRChat”, Jack apparently loses some of his memories from the event? They left it very unclear, as if the writers intentionally wanted to be able to ignore what happened if they so desired. A lot of us fans were excited for a post-infection arc, so this was a bit of a slap in the face, especially since we already got that little taste of it earlier.

Part of me wonders if the writers are scared of Jack being too “out of character”, since the fandom loves him as a silly little dude. Maybe they think that Jack feeling guilty or being less inclined to violence would make him fundamentally different? I remember watching the Jaq, Jack, and Jackie trilogy and thinking “why is Jack so on board with the idea of killing the Wet Floor Bot and attacking that random guy? Wasn’t this sort of stuff exactly what the Creator forced him to do? Doesn’t he regret all that?” It was less fun to watch and more confusing.

My gosh, I hope they’re planning a breakdown, too. It’s certainly not too late to show how the infection arc affects Jack; not at all. There are still reasonable explanations for how he’s been acting so far: it’s possible that Jack is avoiding addressing or even thinking about what happened. Like you said, he constantly exhibits behaviors that are akin to distracting himself, like with the sponges, cats, or plushie (though it is perfectly fine if those are just examples of the way he is). It’s possible that Jack doesn’t feel like the family would listen to or even care about his experiences, considering how often they dismiss him due to his quirks or intelligence level. It could lead to a very interesting arc!

. . . and then there’s the possibility that Davis and Reed will confirm on stream that all of Jack’s therapy happened offscreen, because that seems like the kind of thing they’d do. Oh, well. If worse comes to worst, we still have fanfiction.

[edgar-allan-possum]

Bit of a sci-fi thing I've been working on. It's not much other than world-building tbh

...

"Midshipman Kerr, reporting for duty to Skit'tra Hiveship Abhorrent," I spoke into the small intercom next to the airlock, the only bit of clean plastic or metal on the ship's stony exterior. It hissed open and I stepped on board, ready to begin my new life among the stars.

The airlock was human design, of course. Skit'tra hiveships didn't dock with each other, and the "rockets" being specialized Skit'tra embedded in pits in the surface of the asteroids the ships were hollowed out from meant there was no exposed machinery to be damaged by debris strikes, so spacewalks were a minimal concern. They were standard feature on all ships carrying humans, though, just for that added level of safety.

A Skit'tra drone met me on the other side of the airlock. She, like all her species, was an insectoid with six limbs; four of which were used for walking, while the foremost pair could be used alternately as manipulator arms or extra legs when traversing difficult terrain. Her carapace was black with a hint of metallic purple, and bioluminescent yellow stripes ran down her sides. The pulse pattern of the stripes should have denoted her rank, but I was supposed to receive my training to differentiate the patterns on board.

She chittered, and the Head-Up Display in my goggles lit up with the translator readout.

"Greetings, Midshipman [UNTRANSLATABLE]," she said. I noticed she'd made a click and a trill that sounded like "Kerr" with a rolled "R" and wondered if one of the reasons I had been hired was because they could almost pronounce my name. "Your presence among the Abhorrent Kind is most appreciated."

She gestured for me to follow, and we set off through the tunnels of the hiveship. The walls and ceiling bore fresh marks showing where the passages had recently been enlarged so humans could comfortably traverse them. Wires connecting soft yellow lights were strung along the walls for visibility. The Skit'tra didn't need them, of course. They navigated their home by the scent of pheromones and the light of their own bioluminescence.

I switched on the speakers in my breath mask. "It's good to be here, and I'm looking forward to learning more about the Skit'tra," I said, the translator turning my speech into alien clicks and trills. "Do you..." I hesitated, hoping my question wouldn't be rude. "Do you have a name?"

"You are speaking directly to the Abhorrent Mind," the drone said. "Unlike humans, who have their own minds, I directly control all but a few of my children." Her light-stripes pulsed twice as another drone passed us going the other way, and the other drone lit up in return.

"This drone will be your guide and companion aboard the hiveship," she continued. "You may give her a name if you wish."

I nodded, then realized that the Abhorrent Mind may not know what that meant. While it had been in contact with humans for around ten years now, it had mostly been over radio waves until the hurried retrofit of the hiveship in the last year after the request for humans to live among them. In exchange, a few of the independently thinking Skit'tra had been sent to Earth.

"I'll have to think about a name," I said. I looked around the rocky corridor. "Where are we heading, anyway?"

"We are going for a tour of your solar system," the drone explained. "The scientists are eager to see the moons of Jupiter."

I laughed, the translator speakers buzzing with nonsense output. "Right, but where are we heading inside the hiveship?"

The drone cocked her head to one side and her light-stripes fluttered. I reminded myself not to anthropomorphize her. This wasn't embarrassment. She was just processing the new question.

"To the human quarters," she chittered. "We are almost there."

A few moments later, we rounded a corner and found a metal and glass door. Another airlock.

"Please enter," the drone said. "This drone will be waiting for you here when you exit."

"What will you... What will she do while I'm inside?" I asked.

"This drone will sleep," she said. "Another drone will bring this one food if it needs to eat. Please do not be concerned, Midshipman [UNTRANSLATABLE]."

I nodded and made a mental note to put my name in the translator's database as soon as possible. Stepping into the airlock, I waited for it to cycle before pulling off my breath mask and taking a lungful of good air. The exterior airlock was to make sure the hiveship was pressurized better than Skit'tra resin could keep it, but this airlock kept the good old Earth air separate from the alien air outside.

I made a quick check of all the systems, making sure everything was working properly before throwing myself on the nearest bunk and grinning up at the ceiling.

"Real space aliens!" I said aloud. Other humans would arrive later. There would be hard work, both mental and physical, before this voyage was up. But for the moment, I was the only earthling on a spaceship full of aliens.

[relenafanel]

As promised, the threadfic from my Twitter/X account. I just copy/pasted all of it, so the flow might feel a little weird due to the word limit and ~dramatic pauses~ you know the drill.

Modern AU - wangxian, classical musician lwj x idol wwx

Secret fanboy!lwj finds out the family connection to idol wwx.

thread ��️

______________

Lan Zhan doesn’t use social media often. He has a professional account that he posts his appearance schedules to, where he follows other musicians of his calibre. His cohort will tag him in posts, some of them professional and some of them personal, but he rarely answers.

His professional bio has a link, so he amasses followers anyway. Such is the price of being a famous classical musician.

“It’s because you’re young and hot,” NHS reminds him during an event they’re both obligated to attend when he expresses his disinterest at his 15k followers.

Lan Zhan doesn’t know what being either of those things has to do with his field.

No one is looking at his face when he’s playing music!

👀 <- nhs’s expression in response to that.

It’s late and he’s stuck in an airport. Despite having a set bedtime, he’s not the type to sleep while in public, and the annoyance and disregulation of the flight delay have made it so he’s having trouble focusing on reading. In a rare instance, he ends up scrolling his socials.

Wei Wuxian is trending #1.

Lan Zhan doesn’t know who that is so he ignores it.

“Dizi” is trending #5. Lan Zhan’s eyebrows go up in vague surprise. He’s aware of how little the world cares about traditional music, even if he thinks they’re all wrong. So of course he clicks on it.

The video that opens is of a man playing something slow and upbeat on a dizi. His expression shows that he’s entranced with the music he’s playing and that he’s enjoying himself.

And oh

Oh

He’s beautiful.

It should NOT matter to Lan Zhan. He’s only ever cared about the music. But it matters. It feels like the dizi is being jabbed into his solar plexus with every second the man plays with his lovely face and long, graceful fingers

He finishes the video, surprised to see it’s almost 4 minutes long. The man holds his final note with impressive breath control. Then he laughs, gasping for breath. “It’s been ages since I’ve tried that” he says.

It hits LZ that this isn’t a normal video

Or, it’s far too professional of a set up for most amateur instrument players. Compared to his own v expensive marketing the lighting and sound is 🙌🏻 quality.

Lan Zhan glances down to read the discription to find the man’s name.

Wei Wuxian.

He isn’t clueless about the internet. He realizes that wwx must be someone. Someone big enough to trend #1 and make the word dizi trend at all. He should dismiss it as a lovely moment and move on.

He doesn’t dismiss it.

Instead, he watches it again.

He goes back to trending topics and clicks into the WWX tag.

He watches more videos. He reads comments.

He learns.

By the time his flight boards he's learned:

WWX is an idol turned actor

He's never played the dizi publicly before

His fans aren't shocked to learn he CAN because he typically pulls out random skills from no where

LWJ is SUPER attracted to him.

Before he gets on the plane he likes the video and it feels like a big deal. He stares at it for a moment and thinks about sharing it.

He thinks, and thinks, and ends up feeling like it's too big of a step that would tell all his followers exactly how he feels.

(worse, it would also tell his brother, who sometimes teases him for being young and so disconnected from modern music.)

That should be the end of it. He airport-exhaustion flirts with being attracted to an actor, he rationalizes himself out of it in the cold light of day.

It's not the end of it.

A timeline of lwj's fall into fanboying: 💎he lurks for a week, going video to video/post to post 💎he considers putting wwx's pic as his phone background; doesn't 💎he makes a burner account to like posts so he won't lose them 💎he likes a lot of posts

💎he gets furious when someone says something bad about wwx and thinks about answering; doesn't 💎does 💎does 💎he has RECEIPTS 💎he considers getting a burner phone so his brother can't look over his shoulder so he can save images; doesn't 💎hopelessly thinks wwx is GORGEOUS

has the following convo with LXC: LXC: i see you liked the video of wwx playing the dizi LWJ, ice spreading through his extremities: you have not spoken of him before - is he a friend? LXC: no, he's - nevermind

Maybe the first time he managed to get one over on his nosy brother

It feels thrilling to him, this secret life.

💎He plays the same song on his guqin that wwx played on the dizi and thinks about filming and posting it; doesn't. 💎He goes to see wwx's most recent movie in theatres; hates the experience but enjoys seeing him anyway

💎sees an announcement for a fanmeet out of an auditorium he plays and considers buying a ticket; doesn't 💎regrets; doesn't change his mind 💎on the day of the fanmeet he stays away. he has access - it's a surprising test of wills for him

until he gets called in for a favor

The favor* is to pre-record a short accompaniment on the guqin. It should have been done far in advance, it wasn't. It's very wwx to do something fantastic at the last second. lwj should feel more annoyed by the haste but is instead charmed.

*he is getting paid.

He's standing in the corridor w his guqin when wwx's entourage arrives, walking quickly past.

He looks.

His heart races. His palms sweat.

wwx meets his eyes and smiles, friendly & impersonal.

lwj stands there after he leaves for what feels like a long time but prob isn't.

He thinks about it for days. should he have said something? should he have asked for his ad hoc contract to include 5 minutes of time?

It all seems so impossible. force inserting himself into a moment of wwx's life makes him feel ill.

He wishes.

(he doesn't know)

[time skip]

LXC asks him if he'd be willing to play a few songs at his boyfriend's brother's son's bday party, stresses that he's not the entertainment. He agrees. It's very likely that LXC will force him along to socialize and at least if he's playing he won't need to talk.

The Jins are ostentatious; the party is not.

"friends & family," lxc explains. "JYL's brother is famous. you don't know him."

he WOULDN'T, his brother is right. He doesn't think about the surety of the phrasing until he walks through the door and comes face to face with WWX.

LWJ stills.

WWX pauses mid-sentence and looks at him. "I saw you at the fanmeet," he blurts out, surprised.

Everyone turns to stare at him. His ears flame hot. "I recorded the guqin piece."

He doesn't say how beautiful wwx is in person

"Oh thank you! I know it was so last minute. A lifesaver. A prince!" wwx effuses.

This seems to be a good enough explanation for everyone but LXC who is still staring at him. He feels pleased. His brother can tell.

He bows briefly at the praise.

Later, wwx approaches where he's sitting. "I thought you might like to hear the song."

"I heard it," he says. Wishes he hadn't. wwx was going to play it for him and he spoke without thinking. He knows better.

"Oh, did your management share it?"

"It's online."

It isn't online.

Or, it is online, but only in a certain kind of fan recording.

"You wanted to hear it that badly?"

Yes. It's the cumulation of both their talents. He's never felt that level of impatience in his life. "Yes," he says simply.

"OH!" wwx gasps delighted. "It's so good, isn't it?"

"Mn," he agrees.

"I'm going to release it. Do a concert with me!" WWX asks, shining. "Oh! An album!"

He can't. "I follow you on social media," he tells wwx, tone grave.

"You say that like it's bad. 30 million ppl follow me on social media." He pulls out his phone. Frowns.

"It doesn't say we're mutuals," he shows LWJ.

LWJ pulls out his phone and shows it to WWX.

"A FAN ACCOUNT" WWX crows in delight. "oh my god that's amazing. That's so good. You have to make music with me now that I know you like me. Yes, right? You're going to say yes?"

"Yes."

He doesn't realize until later, when he's home and still reeling from how overwhelming wwx's presence is, that he doesn't have a new follower notification on his main account.

How long has wwx been following him?

"Oh, since you played at [x] Gala two years ago. You were breathtaking. I was a guest." wwx tells him when he finally asks. "You didn't notice?"

"No."

"Haha I asked your brother when I met him and he said you wouldn't." wwx thinks this is the most hilarious thing.

"You notice me now, right gege?" wwx asks, fluttering his eyelashes.

LWJ kisses him.

[fin] 💝💝

(also share on X if you're so inclined. it's been retweeted once at this point and that's v sad 😭😂)

[late-to-the-party-81]

The King's Last Concubine

AN: Welcome, welcome to the short one-shot that spiralled a little out of control. I’m sure none of you will complain. If you like cheesy historical romance and Bucky then you’ve come to the right place. In all honesty I could have made this story much, much longer, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, so it’s wrapped up a little fast and without as many misunderstandings as the usual Harlequin/Mills and Boon normally contains. I hope you like it anyway.

Beta’d by the lovely @seriouslydex - thank you for your assistance in wrangling this into coherence.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square U1 - Kink: Concubine

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: When Bucky takes over the throne after his Father’s death, he has better things to deal with than the group of concubines he’s inherited. He thinks the tradition is abhorrent and vows he wants no part of it. When he meets the newest member of the harem he finds his moral stance tested. How can he want the woman who was bought to please his father?

Relationship: King James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Female Concubine Reader

Chapter word count: 10.2k

CW: Historical AU, Flowery historical language, Angst, Servitude, Lust, Male masturbation, Fluff, Miscommunication, Self-loathing, Jealousy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Sexual Content, Declaration of feelings.

A quiet tension filled the air as you wandered your way around the gardens and corridors of the place you’d called home for the last six months. That’s when you’d been purchased - a gift for the elderly and ailing king, meant to boost his spirits and reignite his youthful zeal. However, all the youth and beauty in the world could not turn back the sands of time.

For the last few weeks the king had been getting weaker, not leaving his private rooms or entertaining any guests apart from his long faithful Queen, his heir, Prince James and his daughter, Princess Rebecca. It was a waiting game now, for the Royal Family, the country, and for you and the other members of the Harem.

Entering the solar, where all of you could spend your days in conversation, needlework, painting and reading, you could see Merith, the King’s favourite in an agitated conversation with Katya, the next concubine down in the pecking order. They had the most to lose when the inevitable happened, because it would be very unlikely that the Prince would wish to keep them around. Not only were they older than him, they had both also borne the King numerous children - it would be very strange for a new King to keep the mothers of his half siblings as concubines for himself. At best, the two women might hope to be housed somewhere pleasant in their retirement, maybe with a semi-wealthy husband. At worst they could be turfed out of the palace along with any of their children that the King hadn’t yet made provisions for.

As for your fate, that was also completely unknown. However, due to your age and the fact that you had only been here a short time, with very few interactions with the King, there was a chance that the Prince would want to keep you. You’d never seen him in the flesh, but you knew he was handsome from the glimpses you’d had of his portrait when you’d been led to and from the King’s chambers on those few occasions he had requested your company. However, despite what you had been purchased for, you had never actually lain with the King. He had tried and, as it was in your best interest, so had you, but the King was old and tired. 

Instead you’d provided him with company as best you could, rubbing his back, stroking his hair and reading him stories until he fell asleep and you could call the guards to escort you back to the Little Palace.

Of course, no-one knew what had occurred within the privacy of the King’s chambers, and if other concubines had had similar experiences they didn’t talk of it openly - it wouldn’t do to discuss the failing manhood of the person who held your life in their hands. However, what this meant was that you were still untouched by a man, with no experience other than what you had gifted yourself.

With a sigh, you crossed to the far side of the room, taking your place amongst the other younger and newer members of your unconventional community, picking up the sampler you’d been working on. There was no music being played and all conversations were kept to a minimum and spoken in whispers, out of a combination of respect and anxiety. The limbo dragged on.

Suddenly, the doors to the solar crashed open, and the King’s Equerry walked in, flanked by several guards.

“The King has died,” he announced. “Long live the King.”

The ladies fell into disarray.

“I really have to deal with that now?” Bucky asked of Coulson, his father’s, and now his, Equerry.

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty. It’s been two weeks since the late king passed away and decisions need to be made about those whose services you do not wish to retain. There may be some obvious candidates, but with others you may not know how you feel until you meet them.”

Bucky, now King James, sighed. It hadn’t come as a surprise when his father, King George, had passed away. His various ailments had worsened over the last few months and Bucky had actually felt relief for him at the end. The funeral had been last week and since then he’d been stuck in back to back meetings with the men who were now officially his advisors, sorting out matters of state. Admittedly, the fate of those who resided in the Little Palace hadn’t really occurred to him as important. It was an archaic tradition as far as he was concerned. Servants were one thing, but owning women just so you have a choice about who to fuck without any repercussions, just struck him as something that belonged firmly in the past. He still couldn’t get his head around how his mother had never once complained or commented about the practice - had never flinched when another Royal bastard was presented to the court so his father could make provision for them as he saw fit.

There was no question that any of the women who had provided his father with children - he wasn’t going to call them siblings - would have to be looked after in some way. He wasn’t a monster. The problem would be the others. There were about twenty or so of them, his father collecting them like fine artwork over his years on the throne and a few - and this thought turned Bucky’s stomach a little - were as young as his sister Rebecca. He didn’t feel as though he could just turn them out, however he didn’t want to keep them either. Without some kind of royal approval the women could be ostracised from normal society if their past were to become known, but could he really justify supporting all of them from the Royal purse for the rest of their days? Although, undoubtedly, there would be some noblemen more than happy to have his father’s cast offs as wives, especially as there had been no lack of suitors for their daughters. Those that had offered for them had obviously been hoping it would grant them a modicum more influence at court. Little did they know that wouldn’t be the case with him.

It also didn’t help that while Coulson could understand wanting to remove certain members of the Little Palance, he didn’t understand why the new King didn’t want to ‘get to know’ the rest of them. According to the Equerry, they were all very beautiful, demure, and accomplished, any one of them a suitable companion for lonely evenings. Apparently telling the dour man that if he was that taken with them he should feel free to fornicate with one himself, was not the done thing, but Bucky thought the look on Coulson’s face had been worth it. He’d then tried arguing that the ladies of the Little Palace deserved better than what they currently had, but his personal advisor had brushed the comment aside.

“These women want for nothing, Your Majesty. They sleep in the finest sheets, wear the finest fabrics, and eat the finest foods. Some would say they have a charmed life and what they gave up for it is very little in comparison to what they gain.”

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I will at least deal with Merith, Katya and the other few that my dearly departed father put babies into, and maybe speak to the others. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Coulson smiled, obviously thinking that he’d won this round, and Bucky decided not to disabuse him. You have to pick your battles, as his mother was fond of telling him.

This time when the Equerry appeared, a fortnight after the death of King George, he sent nearly all of you out to the gardens, only keeping Merith, Katya and a few other of the ladies inside. It was clear that the women who were mothers to the late King’s bastards were about to find out their fate.

You walked slowly between the roses with your friend, Lila, the concubine who’d been obtained just a few months before you, swapping inconsequential small talk, neither wanting to verbalise what was actually on your minds - to say it out loud would be to court disaster. When the Royal Guards suddenly came outside you all stopped what you were doing, wondering if Master Coulson was going to deliver news to you all as well, but when a different, unexpected man appeared, you all lowered your gazes and dropped into deep curtsies. The King - the new King - was here. 

Anxiety rode through you, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. You were vaguely aware, from your peripheral vision, that Master Coulson was introducing the King to each member of his harem. You caught snatches of conversation, when the King asked each woman in turn their name and how long they had lived here. When they got to Lila next to you, you heard your friend giggle when the King asked her the same questions and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You liked her, but she was always a little silly. Maybe she thought to flirt her way into the King’s affections?

When the two sets of feet stopped in front of you, you waited for Coulson’s say so before coming out of your curtsey and raising your head.

“And here, Your Majesty, is our newest young lady. You may greet the King, my dear.”

You stood, glad to get out of the deeply uncomfortable pose, and prepared to finally see him in the flesh for the first time.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice a little more breathy than anticipated, but that was because it had been knocked from your lungs at the vision that greeted you. 

King James was tall and broad in the shoulders. It was clear that the painting you had seen had been created when he was still a young man, only just into his adulthood. The man who stood before you now was no stripling. He was fully grown and oozed confidence and authority. His eyes, a cross between pale blue and grey, which had not been adequately portrayed by the Royal artist. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his jaw exquisitely chiselled, even if it was partially obscured by his facial hair. The hair on his head was short at the sides, but fluffy and slightly untamed on top, just tempting you to run your fingers through it. Now you knew why Lila had giggled. 

He took your hand in his, and you marvelled at how large and strong it looked in comparison to your own. You could clearly see the resemblance to his father, but this was a man in the prime of his life and the thought that he would have none of the problems in the bedroom that had beset the late King flashed across your mind, unbidden.

When he asked your name in his deep but clear voice, you had to swallow before you answered so you didn’t stutter like a schoolgirl.

“Master Coulson said you were new. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over six months, Your Majesty.”

“And you like living in the Little Palace?”

You hesitated for a moment, working out the best way to answer. The other’s hadn’t been asked this question. “It’s very pleasant. Thank you for asking Your Majesty.”

His lips, full and pink, twitched, picking up on the diplomacy of your answer. “Only pleasant? Oh dear. Well maybe we can improve upon that in the near future.”

He skillfully removed his hand from yours and turned back to his Equerry, and you returned your gaze to the floor. As he walked away you realised your heart was still beating fast within your chest. However, it was no longer anxiety that made it do so, but rather the newly unfurled bloom of desire.

As soon as Bucky returned to the Palace proper, he dismissed Coulson and headed directly for his private chambers. His time in the Little Palace had mostly gone as well as expected, Meredith and her cohorts fawning over him dramatically in thanks for his generosity and then meeting what seemed like a legion of beautiful, yet dull as dishwater, young women, who his father had acquired to make himself feel young. What he hadn’t been expecting though was that last young lady - he didn’t even want to think about the word concubine and all of the linked meanings it held. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, and it had been clear from the short exchange of pleasantries that you had intelligence and humour to match.

He felt the rolling heat of lust raise its head and desperately tried to push it aside. As unique in his experience as you may be, he shouldn’t - couldn’t - think about you in this way. Not when he knew you’d spent time with his father. It was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t get the image of you from his mind. The curves of your body that deserved to be traced and explored with reverence. Your large, expressive eyes that tempted him to drown in their depths. Your lips that called him to kiss you over and over until you couldn’t speak or even breathe due to how much you wanted him.

Entering his room he shut the door harshly, but he didn’t care. He was unbearably hard within his trousers, and while not a new sensation by any means, it wasn’t one he’d felt in some time. As the Crown Prince he’d had to be circumspect in his affairs,but there was no-one he’d been actively courting. Now he was King the pressure would be on for him to find a suitable wife and start producing heirs. However, he didn’t intend to be like his father. Once he was married he would be faithful and treat his wife with respect. The devil on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t married yet and was free to do what he desired, but he tried to push it aside.

Bucky threw himself down on his bed but every time he closed his eyes you were there, hovering behind his eyelids. He palmed himself over his trousers, trying to get some relief from his state of arousal, but it was no good. Almost unconsciously he undid the fastenings, letting out a small sigh as the pressure was lessened, but then it was just too easy to take himself in hand. A few small strokes, just to take the edge off, became harder and longer, and the vision of you behind his closed eyes smiled at him coyly, tempting him to ruin her. 

He imagined kissing you and touching you. Tracing every peak and valley with his lips and tongue. He imagined you doing the same to him, taking him in your mouth, lips stretched wide and tears in your perfect eyes. He imagined driving into you, again and again, while you gripped his shoulders and tangled your legs around his waist. Marking you - claiming you - as you called out his name over and over and trembled around him.

Bucky came with a cry, his spend spilling over his hand and stomach, and leaving him with an aching, hollow feeling of disgust with himself. He needed to release you and the rest of the ladies of the Little Palace and there-by banish you from his thoughts.

The next day he put his plan into action. He set Coulson the task of going through the remaining residents, from oldest serving to newest and finding them a new situation. Respectable marriages were the first preference - the Crown could provide a dowry - but failing that independence and a stipend until they became financially solvent on their own. If this plan had the effect that you would be the last to leave, that was just an unfortunate by-product of the most logical way of sorting the whole thing out, wasn’t it?

The edict by the King that the Little Palace was being disbanded was met at first with some trepidation. The women were all of a flutter, wondering what it would mean for them, but when Marie, the most senior of the concubines now that Merith and the others who had children had retired, was informed that, should she approve him, a husband had been found for her, any anxiety morphed into jubilation. Over the coming weeks, the number of you dwindled and you couldn’t help but feel a little lost amongst all the celebration. You were a strange sisterhood, that was certain, and you hadn’t gotten along with everyone, but you wished them well with a smile, and mulled over your sense of unease in private.

You weren’t sure what it was that was making you worried. It wasn’t as though you’d be forced into anything you didn’t want. Letitia had rejected three potential husbands before settling on a fourth, much to Master Coulson’s despair, and Tiffany had outright declared she wanted no husband at all, her and Dana wishing to set up house together and start a school. This came as no surprise to any of you.

It also wasn’t because you were so entrenched in this life that the thought of anything else was scary - you’d had more life outside these walls than in it - however you had found a camaraderie here, a sense of belonging, as strange as that may seem, that you hadn’t had before. And despite the fact that the idea of being intimate with the old King had been stomach churning, once he realised each time that it wasn’t going to happen, you’d found you’d enjoyed providing him comfort and some sort of friendship. Maybe being here had spoiled you? You’d admit it wasn’t a hardship to live somewhere where all your meals and clothes were provided and all you had to do was entertain yourself unless your services were required, although you did wish for more sometimes - a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded and glittered.

Maybe having a husband wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully he’d let you have some freedom - have some hobby or interest to keep you occupied, other than keeping house and popping out babies. You couldn’t help but be nervous though, especially as the numbers of you lessened until it was just you and Lila left. 

Each time one of the ladies was preparing to leave, the King would come and thank her for her service. How any of you managed to keep a straight face when he said that was beyond you, but it did give you the chance to watch him unobserved. He really was handsome, and seemed so kind and earnest in his thanks. A true King and diplomat. But that wasn’t all he was. Every so often he would catch your eye and you would feel… something. And you couldn’t explain what it was, other than that you felt like a moth captivated by a flame, longing to get nearer and nearer, even if it would mean your doom. It wasn’t just physical, either - although you couldn’t deny that you’d had thoughts about that. You wanted to get to know him. The real him. His hopes and dreams. What motivated him.

You got your chance when you were sitting in the solar, enjoying the sun that streamed through the windows as you read your book. Lila was outside in the garden, taking a walk with her potential fiancee, a man named Lang who was apparently some minor aristocracy. Guards trailed them at a discrete distance, but you didn’t think there was anything to worry about. From the glimpses you’d caught of them, Master Lang appeared to be a convivial and respectful fellow. He walked with his hands behind his back, not trying to touch or grab at your friend, but he leant in close to talk intimately.  He also appeared to be letting Lila hold an equal part of the conversation and you watched as she giggled behind her hand at a number of points in response to what you guessed were jokes.

“They appear to be getting on well.”

A voice from behind you, made you jump and turn in your chair. At the realisation that King James was standing there, you leapt up and then immediately leant forward into a deep curtsey. 

“Your Majesty.”

How had you not noticed him enter? Why was he here?

“Please stand. There’s only the two of us here. I wanted to see for myself how Master Lang was comporting himself and this seemed like the best place to watch unobserved.”

He walked closer to the window and you continued to stand, your hands clasping each other, as you watched him from under your lowered lashes. Despite the number of times you’d seen him recently you were no less dazed by his beauty than you had been the first time. You allowed your gaze to travel over his body, admiring the way his clothes were cut to show off his defined figure. Silver threads were woven through the black fabric of his coat and they shimmered in the sunlight. You itched to smooth the cloth over the broadness of his shoulders.

As if sensing you watching him, the King turned back to you.

“Please don’t let me disturb you from whatever you were doing. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Your lips twitched. “That would be difficult, Your Majesty. You do stand out.” You gestured to the walls of the solar, a pale pink colour, and then at his attire. He looked down at himself and you were taken aback by the flush that made its way to his cheeks.

“Aah, yes. I see what you mean.” He moved away from the window then, and toward the chair opposite the one you’d been occupying when he’d surprised you. “Maybe then we could sit and talk for a while? What have you been doing with your days these last weeks?”

You gave him a small nod and took your seat. “Very little, Your Majesty, other than helping the others pack up their belongings as they leave. Some reading, some needlework. I have been practising my languages too. What have you been doing? Important affairs of state I would imagine.”

“It is not nearly as glamorous as people think. Lots of meetings that seem to stretch on forever, but that is nothing to the never-ending paperwork. I swear everyone in the country will have my signature soon. Lots of time to relax and do what you will, seems wonderful to me. I admit to being a little envious.” He smiled as he spoke, his face lighting up in boyish amusement.

“I assure you,” you stated, “that after a while even relaxing becomes as dull as any paperwork.”

The King chuckled at that. “Does it now? I’ll have to take your word for it. Now, tell me, what languages do you speak?”

“French and Spanish. A little Portuguese. And I’m trying to improve my Greek.” You lifted up your book to show him the writing on the front. He smiled at you and your heart beat faster.

“Impressive, my lady. My Greek is somewhat rusty, although my Russian is still good. Come, read for me and we shall see if I can follow you.”

Feeling shy, you lifted your book and began, haltingly at first, to read out loud, your tongue trying to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables. It had been a while since you had spoken out loud, normally preferring just to read, but as you became more confident the words flowed easier and you managed to glance up at him now and again.

The King was sitting, relaxed in his chair, legs outstretched with his ankles crossed. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on the chair back, arms settled on his chest with his fingers steepled. For a moment you could almost pretend this was a domestic scene of a wife reading to her husband after a long day. However, you were not his wife and he was not destined to be your husband. That would be someone else.

When you reached the end of your chapter, you gently closed your book, placing it on the side table, and the King opened his eyes and sat up again.

“You have a wonderful reading voice and you navigated the words very well - better than I’d have done, I’m sure. I’ve always thought learning languages a worthwhile endeavour and it is my deepest regret that I do not know more. I’ll take note to ensure that my Equerry looks to place you in a situation where your skills will be appreciated. I have a feeling,” he said with a glance back towards the window where his friend was still busy gently wooing yours, “that you will soon be the only one here.

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Majesty. I know that not all men wish for an intelligent wife, but it would be nice to not have to appear vapid just to gain favour with my spouse.”

King James snorted. “I’ll admit that I do not understand those who only wish for a doll for a wife. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days together, would it not be better to have someone to converse with. Someone to challenge you mentally. It would be rather dull otherwise.”

“I suppose,” you ventured, “that those men are probably the type to find other ways - other people - to keep them occupied.” A small smile crept across his lips at your statement.

“And I suppose you are correct, my lady. But if that is the case then those men have chosen poorly. I cannot imagine marrying someone, only to then spend all my free time avoiding them. Somewhat defeats the point of it all, in my opinion.”

“Well, I had guessed some of that about you, Your Majesty. What with you getting rid of this age-old tradition.” You gestured once again to the room around you but when you turned back to him, it was to see that the King’s eyes had narrowed slightly, studying you.

“And how do you feel about that?”

You sensed his words were a test and you licked your lips nervously before you answered.

“I have no real opinion, Sire. I live to serve and am happy to do what my King commands of me.”

There was a strange look on his face. He was no longer smiling and while he didn’t appear angry with you, his demeanor was now far more chilly than it had been a moment ago.

“And were you happy to carry out the commands of my late father?”

You hesitated before answering. “His Royal Highness was most kind to me. I was happy to serve him.”

You barely heard him mutter “I bet you were” under his breath before he suddenly stood, and you scrambled to your feet after him. 

“This has been an illuminating chat, my lady, and I thank you for your company. Soon you will be free of this place and can put this part of your life behind you.”

He nodded his head and once again you dropped into a deep curtsey, your eyes locked to the floor. You stayed that way as his footsteps retreated across the marble floor and you wondered what it was you had said that had turned him so cold.

Once again, Bucky found himself stalking into the sanctuary of his private chambers. Damn you, damn his father, and damn this ridiculous fascination of his. Whilst he’d tried to tell himself that the only reason he went to the Little Palace was to get a feeling for whether his friend was getting along with his potential betrothed, he also couldn’t deny the fact that he’d known you would be there as well, all alone.

He’d been enjoying your conversation until he’d been reminded why you were even there in the first place and sabotaged himself by bringing up his father. Then you’d all but admitted that you’d enjoyed doing what you did. Bucky felt sick at the thought. 

Images of you tortured him day and night, and spending time with you today had obviously been ill-advised because now he had more memories to draw on. The way you spoke so passionately and knowledgeably about the ways of the world. The way that you smiled and joked when you were relaxed.

Bucky’s fingers longed to pick up a charcoal and try to capture the way the sunlight had slid over the planes of your face, giving you an ethereal, other-worldly look, like some fae creature sent to enrapture him. Instead he tugged on the bell-pull, asking the page who appeared to go and fetch Coulson. He then paced up and down the room, chewing on his thumb nail for the few minutes it took the Equerry to appear.

“How can I serve you, Your Majesty?” Coulson asked with a low bow.

“I want the matters with Lang organised as soon as possible and the remaining occupant of the Little Palace resituated with all speed. It’s high-time this issue was finished, once and for all.

It had been a week since Lila left. A week in which you’d spent nearly every waking moment alone, other than when the servants were helping you dress and bringing you food. Although you mustn’t forget the omni-present guards stationed outside various doors. Which meant it was two weeks since the conversation with the King that had left you feeling more confused than ever.

Lila had returned from her sojourn around the garden gushing about Master Lang and his attributes. About how handsome and kind and funny he was, and how certain she was that they would suit. You plastered a smile to your face and said all the right things, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate on your friend’s happiness, your thoughts consumed by the memory of how the King’s face had looked at the end of your exchange.

He’d been so happy and relaxed, then suddenly so cold and closed. It was obviously no secret that he didn’t like the fact that his father had had concubines, but it had happened and to deny why you were living there would be foolish. Which is why you’d answered so diplomatically - he didn’t need to know what did or didn’t happen in the privacy of the late King’s chambers, and he probably didn’t want to know. What son would want those details? But he had asked a question and you’d answered the best way you knew how.

It hurt because you’d actually been enjoying yourself, and thought that maybe he’d been enjoying himself as well. There’d been a strange warmth inside you as the pair of you had talked and teased and joked, and over the last few days you found yourself wishing you could feel it again.

However, now you had something else to occupy your mind. Almost as soon as Lila had left to get married - and you were sad you couldn’t be with her on her big day - Master Coulson had come to tell you that arrangements were being made at pace for your own future. It was only mildly surprising then, when he’d come to you this morning to tell you that a potential husband had been found and you should prepare yourself to have dinner this evening. He passed you over some papers, giving you details of the man you were to meet.

Apparently he was a Baron, a widower, and a few years older than King James. His seat was on the other side of the country and apparently quite large, with the main house boasting stables, a library, and a formal rose garden. As you read through the information you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. It all looked good on paper, but you needed to be sure. You didn’t want to swap one cage for another - you had to at least like Baron Zemo, and him you. It seemed as though he spoke numerous languages, so at least you had one thing in common with him. Hopefully all would go well, and you could consign this place and thoughts of the King to the past.

A few hours later and you were putting the finishing touches to your toilette. You dabbed some rosewater behind your ears and smoothed your hands down the front of your gown. It was one of your favourites and you’d worn it every time you’d been to visit the late King. He’d always complimented it, saying that the colour of the silk brought out your eyes. You hoped the Baron would like it as well. With a gentle knock on the door, one of the servants let you know that your guest had arrived and was waiting for you in the solar. You took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

As you entered, you saw a man, dressed in deep purple, looking out of the window, with his back to you. 

“Baron Zemo, you are most welcome,” you said as you dropped into a curtsey. You heard him turn and then a be-ringed hand appeared in front of your eyes, offering to help you back to your feet.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” he replied as you stood. “I have been intrigued to meet you ever since the King wrote to me about your situation.”

You took in his features as he smiled gently at you. He had warm hazel eyes, straight, mid-brown hair that lay across his brow, and was clean shaven. He was slightly taller than you, but not by much and you pushed away the rogue thought about how King James virtually towered over you.

“Shall we sit and dine, and hopefully get to know one another better, sir?” you suggested.

“You’ve read my mind, my dear. There is nothing like good food, good wine, and good conversation, is there?” The Baron walked you over to the small dining table that had been set up and assisted you into your seat, and you felt like a grand lady.

The next two hours passed by amenably. The Baron was eloquent and charming, and when he found out that you spoke other languages he insisted on conversing with you in them, gently correcting your pronunciation and helping you when a particular word or phrase was outside your knowledge. At the end of the meal you were full, warm and a little tipsy from the wine - it wasn’t in your nature to imbibe often.

“Maybe,” Zemo suggested, “we should take a turn about the gardens? A walk in the cool night air would probably help aid digestion. What do you think, my lady?”

“I think that would be delightful.” You allowed him to help you with your chair once more and when you stumbled he linked your arm into his and walked you outside, away from the guards and servants who’d been present in the solar with you. 

The garden was illuminated with lanterns in addition to the lights from the solar, and the pair of you walked companionably along the pathways. So far he’d done nothing to worry you, and hadn’t been at all standoffish. You would have to give serious thought into accepting his suit, especially as you were unlikely to receive better. The problem with being the last to be situated was that it also meant that your options for a suitable marriage were narrower.

“You’re awfully quiet, my dear. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” You ducked your head at the compliment and couldn’t help but smile.

“In all honesty, my lord? I was thinking about how lovely this evening has been. I will admit to some trepidation, which I’m sure you can forgive me for. Things like this are all too new for me.”

“No forgiveness needed,” he said with a smile, one much wider than those he’d displayed earlier and you felt your heart pick up in your chest, although you couldn’t immediately say why. “It’s completely understandable. But can I say that you have vastly surpassed my expectations. The information given to me about you greatly downplayed your beauty and intelligence. And, if I may be so bold, I find myself captivated.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but you also felt a little uncomfortable, at his zealousness. Or maybe it was the wine? “That is kind of you to say, sir. However, I’m finding myself getting a little chilled. Maybe we should return inside?”

With a swiftness that startled you, the Baron took hold of your shoulders and steered you backwards until you came into contact with the wall. You gasped in shock at both the impact and his change in demeanour.

“Maybe I can find a way to warm you up?” He quipped before his lips came down onto yours, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and one hand falling to your leg, inching your skirts upwards. You tore your mouth from his and turned your head, but his lips just zeroed in on your throat instead, sucking and nipping.

“Sir! Get off me!” You tried to push him, but his bulk had you pinned. His questing hand breached the hem of your skirts and he started to grope at your thigh, and his lips trailed further down to the neckline of your dress. “I said get off!”

The Baron raised his head and stilled his hand, but didn’t move away. “Surely you must miss this? The touch of a man. And think how much better it will be with someone who is younger and knows how to please a woman.”

“I miss it less than you think,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “And I did not ask you for this. Let me go.”

He smiled predatorily and slid his hand up to cup your mound over your underwear. “Did you really think I would offer for you without seeing if you had all the necessary attributes I’m looking for. I need an heir, and intelligence and beauty can’t provide that. And let’s face it, it’s not as though you’re a missish virgin keeping herself pure for her wedding night.”

His hand started to tug at your underthings and you closed your eyes tight as fear started to take over. However, just as you felt the first touch of his fingers on your intimate flesh his weight was suddenly gone.

“I believe the lady said no, Baron Zemo.”

Your eyes shot open, and there was King James, standing between you and the Baron, who was now sprawled on the ground. The dim light of the lanterns partially lit his face and that, combined with his expression, made him look like an avenging angel. Then he turned towards you and his expression softened.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Without the Baron’s hands on you, your skirts fell back to your ankles and you pushed yourself away from the wall to stand. 

You nodded and gave a little cough to clear your throat. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

The Baron scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust and gravel from his coat.

“Just a little misunderstanding between my fianceé and myself, Your Majesty. No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth and oily.

You took a step forward, your body trembling with anger. “I don’t believe that I’ve accepted your suit, sir. And after that display of ungentlemanly conduct I am now fully disinclined to do so.”

The Baron’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing and he let his facade fully drop away. “Be quiet, whore. Who else would have you? You’re used goods, even if the one who did the using was the former King. You should be grateful I’m even considering you.”

You shifted, intending to step forward again and slap him, but the King held out his hand stopping you.

“You are out of line, Baron. No matter her history, the lady is still just that. A lady. And how you treat her is tells me that, despite your title, you are no gentleman.” His voice was steady, but you could pick up the undercurrent of rage - could see it in the way he was holding himself and the tick in his jaw.

Baron Zemo let out a bark of laughter, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. “My dear James, I cannot believe how much you are defending one of your fathers handmaidens. She was obtained by him for one purpose, but you think it’s unreasonable for me to see if she lives up to that purpose before I marry her.” He peered at the King, then his eyes widened as though he’d made a startling revelation. “Do I sense some jealousy raising its head here?” He laughed again. “I should have realised there was a reason you kept her until last. Of course - she’s your whore as…”

He didn’t get to finish his vile words, because King James’ arm snapped out and he punched the Baron right on the jaw, then watched impassively as the man crumpled back to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he turned towards you fully and without a word scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked and threw your arms around his neck as he walked briskly back towards the solar. As he made his way inside, the guards stood to attention but didn’t turn to look at you, however, you still hid your face in his neck from embarrassment.

“There’s some filth in the garden to be sent packing.” The King’s voice rumbled in your ear as he spoke to the guards, and then he was turning with you in his arms and striding down the corridor that led to the private chambers. 

“Which one?” he asked gruffly, and you uncurled from his chest slightly so you could point. He shouldered your door open and then kicked it shut before letting you down, your body sliding over his as he did so.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing, not even noticing that your hands still rested on the slope of his chest and that his hands were still on your waist.

“You’re sure you're alright?” he queried again, looking down at you with concern.

“Absolutely. You stopped him. You…” You started to shake then as you realised how close you’d come to real harm. Without a word, the king steered you over to the edge of your bed and you both sat down, your small hands held in his larger ones, one of his thumbs rubbing over the delicate skin near your knuckles.

“Just breathe, my lady. You’ve had a shock. I’m glad I was there…” he stopped mid-sentence and freed one of his hands to turn your head and bare your neck to him. You swore you heard him growl. “He marked you. I’m going to kill him.”

You took hold of his wrist and pulled it down so you could turn back to face him. “It’s nothing. Really. It will fade and in a few days it’ll be a memory. Then we can try again.”

He peered at you, confused.

“Try and find me a husband,” you clarified and then smiled in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“No.” King James pulled himself away sharply and stood, his back to you.

Now you were the one who was confused. “What do you mean,’No’? ‘No’ to a few days or ‘No’ to a husband? I don’t understand.”

“Either. Both,” he snapped, still not turning around.

“Alright,” you replied. “We’ll find me somewhere to live, then. Discuss a suitable stipend amount like Master Coulson did with some of the others who refused a husband.”

“Not that, either.” He ground the words out and you felt your patience waning, frustration overtaking your confusion. You stood up and stepped closer.

“So no husband and no stipend. What are you suggesting? That I just leave?” You couldn’t keep the hysterical note from your voice.

He spun on his heel and moved into your personal space, just as the Baron had done only a few minutes ago. However you didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable, and the warm feeling inside you was back, despite your anger at how contrary he was being.

“Not at all,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on you. 

On your face. 

On your lips.

“I thought you wanted me out of here. You don’t want any concubines, remember?” You arched your eyebrow, challenging him.

He leant forwards and your breath caught in your throat, his stormy eyes now all you could see.

“I still don’t,” he murmured and then pressed his lips to yours.

This kiss was entirely different to the Baron’s assault. It was soft and gentle. Coaxing, not claiming. The King’s hands came up to cup your face and you curled your own into the front of his jacket. The heat within you rose in intensity and you kissed him back, opening your mouth and letting him in. He moaned when you did, one hand sliding to your hair and the other to the small of your back, pulling you close to him. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, but it didn’t scare you. In fact it thrilled you. It was all the deepest thoughts you’d kept to yourself come to life, and they took you over. 

Your nimble fingers worked the buttons of his jacket and as they came undone the King let go of you to shuck it off. That was followed quickly by his cravat and waistcoat, thrown without care across your room, and then he pulled his shirt free of his trousers and toed off his shoes. He took you back in his embrace then, kissing you with more passion and your hands found their way under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in retaliation and you gasped as the brief stinging shot to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. You’d never been as sure of anything as you were now - consequences be damned. They were a problem for tomorrow.

Part of Bucky couldn’t believe what he was doing, because he really shouldn’t be doing it. He was a King and should be the better person. But, oh, how he wanted to be selfish for once and slake this longing he had for you. 

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming to see how you and the Baron were getting on, partially to assuage his guilt and partially to torture himself. When he’d found you both absent from the solar, one of the guards had told him you’d gone for a walk together. As he’d stepped outside and neither of you had been in the closer part of the garden a sense of unease had washed over him. Then he’d heard you shout and raced around a corner to see you pushing at the Baron as he held you against the wall, trying to violate you.

He’d barely been able to restrain himself when he saw that, only daring to separate you and check that you were alright. But then the Baron had started to spew his hurtful, cruel words and his resolve had crumbled. He’d had to make sure you were safe. He’d needed it like air.

Upon getting you inside, he’d told himself that he would just double check that you were alright and then leave, but then he’d seen the bruise on your neck and you’d tried to placate him with talk of trying to find a new suitor and he’d lost any sense of decorum. 

There would be no other husband, no grand house and pension, because you were his. You were his oxygen - his sunlight. His joy and his misery and his desire all rolled into one. So he’d kissed you, almost no better than the Baron, but then you’d kissed him back. Clung to him. You’d made it plain that you wanted him too, first with your actions and then your words.

Mentally calling himself a fool, Bucky spun you around and tugged at the closure of your dress, the multitude of tiny buttons that held it together flying across the room. He didn’t care, though. He could buy you a new dress. A thousand new dresses. He eased the open neckline over your shoulders and pushed the multiple layers of silk down your frame. Taking your hand, he helped you step out of the froth of fabric and you kicked off your slippers at the same time with a giggle that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. 

Bucky pulled you back to him with a groan and walked you towards the bed, laughing with you when you both tumbled onto it with a bounce. Your hands, so small and delicate, found his chest again, and he lent up and pulled his shirt over his head, watching you as your eyes darkened with desire as you took in what you saw. You traced your fingers over the definition of his abdominals and pectorals and Bucky shivered. 

“I want you, Your Majesty.” Your voice was low and breathy, and fuck did he just want to bury himself in you. Feast on you.

“Bucky,” he rasped. “Call me Bucky. There is no King here tonight.”

You came back together, kissing and touching and through it you both messily and awkwardly helped each other remove the rest of the clothes that separated you. As soon as your breasts were bared to him, Bucky couldn’t hold back, latching onto your puckered nipples, one after the other, drawing squeaks and moans from you, more intoxicating than any sounds he’d imagined in his private imaginings. 

His right hand skirted down your body, finding its way between your legs and you opened for him. He moaned around breast as he found your wetness and began to toy with you. Bucky teased your clit and stroked your folds, captivated by how more arousal spilled from you. When he slid a testing finger into you, you gripped his hair and arched into his hand, your soft mewl turning to a strangled gasp and he felt undeniably powerful, a small part of him, one he didn’t want to really acknowledge, feeling as though he was competing with the memory of his father. He was determined to erase it. After tonight there would only be him.

When Bucky added a second finger into your warm channel and circled his thumb on your clit, you whimpered his name. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Sire’, but ‘Bucky’ as he’d asked you. He lifted his head and rose back up your body, capturing your lips and swallowing your cries as he drove you higher and higher. Your hands now clutched his shoulders, your short, manicured nails digging into him, using him as an anchor, lest you float away into the ether. He felt your body quiver beneath him as you neared the precipice of your pleasure and then the next second you were tumbling over it, your body spasming around his fingers, your mouth drawing all the oxygen from his lungs into your own.

Bucky kissed you through it, slowing his hand before pulling it away slowly. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your limp legs, and as you watched him with hooded, lust filled eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your essence. He groaned as he did so, promising himself that he would drink directly from your source soon, but he couldn’t hold back his desire to fully claim you any longer. 

As his hand dropped to his cock, your eyes followed it, and you took your first real look at him. He couldn’t help but smile as your eyes widened and you tentatively raised your own hand towards his erection. He took hold of it and wrapped it around his length, marvelling at how your fingers didn’t meet. Your gaze flicked between his face and his cock, unsure which you wanted to watch. However, after a few minutes it was too torturous, and he repositioned himself to kiss you again and run his cock between your wet folds. Your hips rolled beneath him as you let out small whimpers of need and desire and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Bucky reached between you, lined himself up and sank into your warmth.

The cry of ecstasy you let out caught him by surprise and he looked down into your eyes. The truth shone out of them as you pulled in breath after ragged breath, your body struggling to adjust to his size, despite what he’d done to you only minutes before. He couldn’t really process it, but an animalistic part of him howled in pleasure at the realisation that you’d been untouched and consumed any remaining restraint.

Bucky snapped his hips, watching in awe as your eyes rolled in your head and the breath was pushed from your lungs. It was an addictive sight and he thrust into you again and again, unable to stop, needing to see your reaction. You clutched his biceps as he braced himself, your head thrown back and he never wanted to see you any other way - debauched and ruined on his cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?”

You mumbled incoherently but did as he’d asked, your hand moving between you, and Bucky knew when you’d found your centre from the way you clenched around him. He groaned at the sensation and let it spur him on. He dipped his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and when you let out a wail he knew he’d found the right spot.

“That’s it, beautiful. Come apart for me. Come on my cock.” 

You screamed and spasmed around him and his rational brain knew he should pull out and spill himself over the sheets, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not have this. He cried out, throwing back his own head, and surrendered to the inevitable.

It took you a while to come back to yourself, because what you’d just experience was so different from what you’d been told about. The King - Bucky - was cuddled up behind you, his arms holding you close and his nose pressed into your hair, dozing. You turned in his embrace and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

“Hi,” you breathed cautiously, unsure of how you should be acting. However, when he softly smiled at you, you felt your heart leap inside your chest.

“Hello, yourself.” He dropped a gentle kiss to your lips and you smiled in return and relaxed. He was obviously content to stay in your private, intimate bubble for at least a short time more and you were more than happy to indulge him. You didn’t want to think about how you’d feel when this ended, it would hurt too much.

Pushing yourself up onto one elbow you looked down at him and idly traced invisible designs across his chest with your finger tip.

“So, Bucky, huh? Where does that come from?” 

He chuckled at your teasing tone. “From my sister, Princess Rebecca. Or as I call her, Becca-Boo or Sprout. My second name is Buchanan, and when she was learning to talk she couldn’t say it. Whenever she said ‘Bucky’ it would make me laugh, so she kept doing it and then refused to call me anything else. Then my mother picked it up, because if she called me James, Becca would stamp her foot and tell her off. And I liked it. It helped me separate the two parts of myself - Bucky, the normal man with normal wants, desires and hobbies etcetera, and James, heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities who has to keep himself apart from those around him.”

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and you couldn’t help but bend down and press a light kiss to his lips. “Well I like Bucky.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of your neck, returning the kiss, and you wished that reality could just stay firmly outside for the rest of time.

When Bucky broke the kiss, he looked up at you with searching eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked quietly and you immediately knew what he was talking about. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Does it matter? Would it have changed what just happened between us? Would you have thought differently of me?”

“No, it wouldn’t have changed what just happened, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have treated you differently. I thought harshly of you, driven by jealousy. How could I allow myself to like you, desire you, when you had lain with my father? I was jealous of a ghost for having claimed you first, and I hated myself for feeling that way. That was why I acted coldly to you when we conversed in the solar. What you said. You made it sound as if you’d enjoyed being with him and ugly thoughts filled my head.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he spoke and you itched to smooth out the lines that formed there.

“Well, it isn’t really the done thing to speak out loud about the King’s impotence,” you pointed out. “Especially with his own son. I was trying to answer truthfully, but without going into detail. And I suppose I did enjoy spending time with him. He may not have been the type of father you wished, or the husband your mother wanted, but he was still a man. We’d talk, mostly. I like to think that I gave him some comfort and companionship. I can’t say that I’m unhappy about the way things turned out.” You looked at him coyly from under your lashes and he laughed.

“You liked being claimed by me? You wanton wretch,” he teased.

“It was definitely different, and much better, than what I’d been led to believe.” He growled playfully, and in one deft move rose up and pushed you back to the mattress, caging you in with his arms. You brought your hand up and brushed the back of it over his cheek. “If I’m going to be a concubine, I’m glad that I’m yours.”

At your words, Bucky reared back, as if you’d slapped him and you immediately started to apologise. “I’m sorry, Sire. I shouldn’t have presumed…” Shame and guilt washed over you at how far you’d sunk into your daydream, and you fought your way out of the sheets. Rising from the bed, you found your shift in the heap of clothing on the floor and pulled it over your head. “I will leave you to your dressing and wait for instructions from Master Coulson later.” You bobbed a curtsey and turned toward the door, your hand reaching for the handle, eager to put space between you.

“Stop!” His command made you freeze mid step, your arm lowering back to your side. In a moment he was behind you, his hands firmly gripping your upper arms.

“You are not my concubine. I never wanted one, and I won’t start now.” He spun you, and when you didn’t raise your head, staring instead at a freckle near his collarbone, he tucked a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “You deserve more than that, my darling.” His tone softened. “You will be my wife. That is, if you will have me?”

You looked at him in shock. “What? How can I be your wife? You are the King and I am, well, just me.”

“And as the King, I can do what I want. And for anyone who gets pedantic about your previous status, there is precedent. Concubines have been turned into Queens before.”

You pulled yourself from his hold, raising your arms up in confusion. “You do not need to speak of marriage, just because you have bedded me and do not want a concubine.”

“This is not solely because we have lain together, sweet fool. I love you.”

His words made you stop and you wondered if you’d misheard, but he continued. 

“I fear I have done since I first laid eyes on you. And I just hope that maybe you can learn to love me too. Bucky, that is. Not just James, your King.” He reached out imploringly toward you. You looked back at him and then at his hand, before accepting it as you stepped forward, a broad smile making its way across your face.

“Learn to love you? That implies that I don’t already. How could I not, even if you were being grumpy and contrary.”

He wrapped you up in his embrace and looked down at you, eyes full of mischief. “Contrary? Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

“It is how a Queen speaks to her husband,” you joked back.

“Is that so? Then I must make you my Queen as soon as possible.” He closed the remaining distance between you, kissing you with vigour before lifting you and returning you both to the bed.

“However, nothing can be done until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do until then?” he drawled with mock innocence.

“I have a few ideas, Your Majesty,” you replied, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. “Bucky, remember?”

“Bucky,” you agreed.

The End

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @mrs-illyrian-baby, @wheezy-stucky, @km-ffluv

[exeggcute]

interesting links roundup #5

reading

A British Nurse Was Found Guilty of Killing Seven Babies. Did She Do It?

A Tick Is Making Farmers Allergic to Their Own Animals

The Big Red Word vs. the Little Green Man

Bringing Up Babies

The Degradation Drug

Does Matt Mullenweg Want a Fork or Not?

The Flying Car Is Finally Here. It’s Slightly Illegal.

How to Talk to People When You Live Alone

I got dysentery so you don’t have to

The invisible seafaring industry that keeps the internet afloat

Kurt Vonnegut’s lost board game finally published

The Pain of Travelling While Palestinian

Personal Best

Rage bait is all the rage on Threads

The Secretive Dynasty That Controls the Boar’s Head Brand

The shady origins of the climate haven myth

Social Media Tells You Who You Are. What if It's Totally Wrong?

We’re not going to run out of new anatomy anytime soon

Who Pays for the Arts?

Works by Pissarro, Renoir, and Avercamp Vanished. Here’s How an Amateur Art Sleuth Cracked the Case

Writing in Pictures: Richard Scarry and the art of children’s literature

tools/reference

An Illustrated Guide to Maritime Signal Flags

If the Moon Were Only 1 Pixel: A tediously accurate map of the solar system

Plotto by William Wallace Cook (1928) [for context, read this]

Snapseed: Android, iOS

These Apps Help People With Disabilities Travel More Easily

other

Euthanasia machine, Australia, 1995-1996

how-i-experience-web-today.com

Reply All #158: The Case of the Missing Hit [I first listened to this years ago but just listened to it again... still soooo good]

Subterranea Britannica

[leighsartworks216]

So tired but thinking about Outer Worlds mixing with that one Sylus anecdote

You're the captain of a scrappy ship that by all accounts shouldn't be flying as good as she does, running all over the place in this damn colony to fight back against the corporations that have run it into the ground. You've sabotaged entire companies. Destroyed the bottom line entirely

Imagine being that captain, going on your way, and coming across a business man being mind controlled and held captive by this tall, handsome guy. You're confused as fuck, he's amused by your scrappy little group, and neither of you like the guy he's controlling or what he's done, or any of these other rich assholes for that matter. He's obviously also really rich, but you mention him possibly working for the Board and he scowls and scoffs and digs into you

Giving him a lift when he's gotta run from the cops out of the solar system. It's not a safe trip, but hey he doesn't have to break your bones to force you to do it. You tell him about the Hope, he tells you about the inescapable prison he broke out of. He modifies a bunch of your weapons to make them a whole lot better and tells you to have fun killing the Chairman, like a proud father telling his kids to have fun at school

I just think it would be a bit silly but very fun

[daffodil221]

So, a list of stuff I’ve found on Stanford Pines’ computer.

- ‘Bill Cipher’ gives you the Sesame Street Jazzy Triangle video

- ‘Stan Pines’ gives you brass knuckles on Ebay

- ‘Weird’ gives you a video of Weird Al stuck in the computer, yelling at Bill

- ‘Dipper’ gives a note to Dipper ordering him to look into the sun in order to read solar ink in the book

- ‘Mason’ shows a slip of paper with Dipper talking about anagrams

- ‘Mabel’ activates stickers and glow-in-the-dark stars around the desk until a message pops up that says ‘lab now fully mabelized’

- ‘Fiddleford’ gives the link to the Cotton Eye Joe music video

- ‘Soos’ gives a few pages of Soos writing about the Book of Bill

- ‘Gravity Falls’ will give you the message: ‘never heard of it’

- ‘TJ Eckleburg’ will give the message: ‘never mention that name again’

- ‘Triangle’ gives one thing: ‘)’

- ‘Weirdmageddon’ gives a Gravity Falls Gossiper article about the event

- ‘Book of Bill’ gives the message: ‘hide it under shirt during pledge of allegiance’

- ‘Sixer’ shows an X-Ray of Stanford’s hand, along with a medical report

- ‘Tad Strange’ shows a video of bread being cut to jazzy music

- ‘Journal 3’ gives a message that says: ‘the journal for me’

- ‘Giffany’ gives a message saying: ‘input deleted. AI antiviral activated’

- ‘Gideon’ gives a link to sweat-resistant bolo ties

- ‘Waddles’ sends you to pigplacementnetwork.com

- ‘Pacifica’ shows a note from Pacifica saying she won’t make a deal with Bill

- ‘Dippy Fresh’ shows an r/nostalgia image of Burger King’s Kid’s Club

- ‘Wendy’ gives a note from Wendy to the book, a sly little trick

- ‘Divorce’ will give a logo to a restaurant? called O’Sadley’s

- ‘Mystery’ gives a ?

- ‘Riddle’ responds with: ‘would you like to play a game?’

- ‘One Eyed King’ shows a video of a black-and-white swirl as Bill tries to mind control his audience, mocking their free will

- ‘Hey Nerd’ gives you an image of an advertisement screen displaying a Galaxy, a Magazine, a Hand, a Sponge, and Cologne, some of which are Bill-themed

- ‘Lies’ shows an image of a ‘Game of Life’ parody board game, followed by a brief spiel about the history of nerds that is wrapped up by the message: ‘Lie until you aren’t lying anymore’

- ‘Dorito’ has a dorito fly slowly towards the screen before a Bill jumpscare

- ‘EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES’ gives an excerpt of a therapy session/interview with Bill, regarding Stanford

- ‘MYSTERY SHACK’ googles the Confusion Hill tourist attraction in Mendocino County, California, USA

- ‘SORRY’ shows an image of Fiddleford and Stanford in college, covered in post-it notes

- ‘CURSED’ shows an anti-triangle pamphlet, warning kids about the shape

- ‘VALLIS CINERIS’ shows a video of a triangle demon with a bow tie and propellor hat being held by two other triangular silhouettes, with a text-to-speech voice asking ‘why did you do it?’

- ‘AXOLOTL’ will respond with: ‘you ask alotl questions’

- ‘PORTAL’ will respond with: ‘portal.exe has been deleted — i bet you could build one’

- ‘ALEX HIRSCH’ googles ‘flannel’ for you

- ‘DISNEY’ will respond with ‘rat.gif censored for your protection’

- ‘THEORY’ gives a video of MatPat, who says ‘Hello internet, this time, you’re on your own. Good luck.’

- ‘SEASON 3’ gives Season 2, ‘SEASON 2’ gives Season 1, and ‘SEASON 1’ gives Season -1: Antigravity Falls

- ‘TITANS BLOOD’ responds with: ‘hoot hoot. password please’

- ‘GOD’ shows an axolotl swimming in front of a Bill statue

(will update) (i’m putting the big ones at the end i guess)

[theempressofthenile]

What Needs Your Attention Right Now? Pick A Pile

Feeing inspired, so just wanted to try something new. Hope you all like it!

PILE 1 - Calm Down. Focus on a higher cause. Resting and Rejuvenation.

So for this group, its time for you to rest that head of yours. How can you move forward if your mind isn't well rested? Think before you speak, and learn to be quiet more. Any intrusive thoughts you might be having are asking for a creative outlet. So go slow. Take your time, and just breathe. For this group, spending time in nature or fully taking in the time to meditate is a primary focus you guys should get into at this time.

Chakra that needs work: Root Chakra. You need to stay grounded and start writing down your thoughts in a notebook. Healing any old issues could come through from the power of writing. Depressive thoughts could be something worth noting with this group, however I see going outside and getting some fresh air takes some of the pressure from low emotions you're feeling off of you a bit. For more ways to ground, try putting your feet in the grass, it helps stimulate the body. In the morning, find something to calm and relax the mind, maybe soft music? Make sure to stretch when you wake up to stimulate to brain. Overall, for this group you need to be patient and let things run its course.

PILE 2 - Letting go brings great success. Goals & Dreams. Focusing on the Higher Path.

So this group needs to put a little more energy into their goals! Brain fog might be significant for this group and this could be causing uncertainty in what you want for yourself. You have the power to receive what it is you want. The power is in your mind. You must know that it is yours, and on a mental scale challenging your brain to do more and feel more deserving of your goals will strengthen you in the end. Ever heard of fake it til you make it? You never know until you try.

Chakra that needs work: Third Eye + Solar Plexus

Work out. Work out. Work it Out! Put some more work in exercising those muscles. Working out the body helps the brain work harder to fight of anything that keeps it from focusing, and you need all the energy you can get to master those goals of yours. Perception is another focus for this group, trying making a plan for yourself and what you see for the next 5 years or so, k? This will help with visualization skills in the future. Speaking of visualization, try making a vision board and keeping it somewhere you can see everyday! Something about your goals are important and need some heavy lifting. Remember all seeds grow at their own pace, so just because you don't see anything after a week, a month, yr, etc doesn't mean its not moving. The garden you create has its own tempo at the end of the day. ;)

PILE 3 - Following Your Destiny. A Higher Calling.

Soul Purpose. Your mission is coming up and its moving out everything thats been in the way. You have to move forward with what your spirit wants from you, as your destiny is more important than you realize. Be thankful for the past, and move higher into the present. Take a deep breathe and forge through the challenges and obstacles that we're standing in your way and lead to a higher destination. You've been brought here for something significant, but do you know that? Take time to listen to your intuition and focus on what is asked of you at this time.

Chakra that needs work : Heart Chakra

So this chakra is in control of your higher purpose. You need love to bring it all into fruition. Let this passion for something deeper burn in you so that you can heal any troubles from the past, as this could have blocked you from knowing what it is you desire. Be more open to enjoying life as is, because this group is suppose to live life on edge. And you are meant to be leading your life with the power of the infinite, which brings it all back to love. Hope this helps !