#Sustainable Mining Practices

[townpostin]

Tata Steel Mines Win 5-Star Rating for Sustainable Practices

Noamundi and Joda East Iron Mines honored by Ministry of Mines for excellence in operations Tata Steel’s Noamundi and Joda East Iron Mines receive prestigious 5-Star Rating Award for sustainable development practices from the Indian government. JAMSHEDPUR – Two Tata Steel mines have been awarded the 5-Star Rating by the Ministry of Mines for their exceptional sustainable development…

[emmathompsonegot]

Ok I’m watching the Moffatt episode of dw, and it’s. Uh it’s not doing it for me

[marsixm]

u know when u suddenly become hyperaware of urself breathing? i just did that but with talking to myself lmao

[mysterioushimachal]

Discover Himachal's Hidden Riches: The Wealthiest Villages of Asia

[theinsightcircle]

Beyond the Gold Rush: Barrick Gold's Ethical Predicament

by: Alejandro, Amank, Aubrey, Edwin, Shardul, Shruti

Company Overview Known for its diversified collection of gold and copper assets, Barrick Gold operates in 13 countries and owns 16 active sites. It was founded by Peter Munk who made it a global mining giant. Its production history is quite impressive while its market value is close to CAD$40 billion thus making it one of the kings of the game. Notwithstanding these achievements; however, Barrick Gold has encountered great moral, human rights and legal problems which has led to its bad name.

Ethical, Human Rights, and Legal Challenges

Though Barrick Gold professes to abide by lofty ethical principles, it has been engaged in various disputes over contraventions of human rights and degradation of the environment, especially within the bounds of Papua New Guinea and Tanzania. The corporation’s Porgera Joint Venture mine has faced challenges accusing it of employing too much violence towards surrounding populations and causing significant harm to nature. Furthermore, Barrick Gold has also been charged with polluting water bodies and invading animal territories. Such claims have raised doubts regarding its true commitment towards sustainable mining operations hence resulting into a host of lawsuits in addition to public investigations.

PESTEL Analysis

To gain a deeper understanding of the external factors influencing Barrick Gold's operations, a PESTEL analysis is essential:

Political: In nations where Barrick Gold operates, political instability has the potential to introduce unpredictability and impede the company’s operations. For instance, the company’s past encounter with challenges attributed to government regulations and taxation in Tanzania indicates that political landscapes should be navigated with care. Economic: Barrick Gold’s profitability can significantly be affected by economic factors such as exchange rate fluctuations and prices for commodities. Therefore, it is important for the company to mitigate the effects of economic risks in order to adapt well to changing market scenarios that will enable it survive at long-term. Social: Social issues are critical in Barrick Gold´s operations like community relations or indigenous rights. The firm must balance between its economic goals and the fulfillment of its social obligations with regard to respect as well as collaboration when dealing with local communities. Technological: Enhancements in technology can help an organization increase its effectiveness and productivity in the mining sector. Barrick Gold has invested more funds into technology to boost its profitability while minimizing adverse ecological effects. Nonetheless, the firm must be aware of such issues as job losses due to automation or other adverse effects on neighboring communities that may arise from new technologies. Environmental: The mining sector faces numerous challenges due to serious environmental problems including climate change, water shortage and extinction of species. To ensure that it survives for long; Barrick Gold should adopt sustainable methods so as reduce its impact on environment. Legal: The operations of Barrick Gold can be fundamentally affected by legal regulations on mining, environmental protection and human rights. For this reason, it needs to observe the law in order to avoid any legal proceedings and build a good image.

Conclusion Barrick Gold Corporation is in a difficult position trying to balance between making money and being responsible. They earned a good sum of money anyhow they also face different problems such as human rights abuses, ethical and lawful problems arisen from their operations. Another strategy which can help Barrick Gold in minimizing reputational risks and boosting trust among its partners is enhancing responsible corporate conduct through more engagement of stakeholders and sustainable development initiatives.

[devikasyy]

2 Million and Counting: The Deep Sea’s Astonishing Biodiversity

Did you know there could be over 2 million species living in the deep sea? The dark and mysterious world of the deep sea holds countless secrets, and scientists estimate there could be millions of undiscovered species living down there! What bizarre creatures might be waiting to be found? What role does the deep sea play in our planet’s health? Explore the fascinating – and sometimes weird! –…

[bet-on-me-13]

Undead Galaxy

So! Within the Ghost Zone, there exists a Lair unlike any other.

To a Ghost, a Lair is supposed to be an integral part of their Existence. When a Ghost Builds their Lair, they take a part of the Ghost Zone Itself and mold it into a Realm of their own, transforming it into a reflection of their Core.

As such, a Lair usually matches the personality, and more importantly the Obsessions, of the Ghost it was created by. It is meant to be the Eternal Home of the one who built it, a place to spend the rest of their eternal unlife, and as such it needs to be able to fulfill the Ghosts Obsessions.

Think of Skulkers Lair, an Island Jungle filled to the brim with Monsters and Beasts of all sorts, ready and waiting to be hunted down and skinned. The perfect home for a ghost with an Obsession based on Hunting.

Some take this a step farther, like the Ancients (which is just another name used for Gods in the Zone), who transform their Lairs into Entirely Seperate Afterlives for others to inhabit. Hades, Osiris, the Demon Lords of the various Hells, they all took this approach.

But there is a problem. For beings like God's, who are sustained by Worship, what would happen if their world were to die? If the planet their people resided on were to be hit by an asteroid, or blown up by an Alien warlord?

A God without its worship would Fade, and as such the Afterlife they used to maintain would fall apart as well. The Millions of Souls who trusted that God to protect them in death would be left to the mercy of the Void between Afterlives. Somebody decided that they didn't like that, and stepped in.

Within the Ghost Zone exists a Galaxy.

A Galaxy where all the souls and Afterlives of worlds that have died continue to exist. Worlds that were destroyed by a cataclysmic War that resulted in both sides dying, by unstable Mining Practices destabilize the Core, by a Psychic Virus that wiped out all life on Planet leaving a baren husk.

When their populations died, and the Gods who maintained their afterlives would have faded, they were saved by another and brought into his Lair.

The Ghost King, Phantom.

He was a spirit with two simple Obsessions. The Protection of others, and the Majesty of Space.

But there was no Space in the Ghost Zone, only the Infinite void. So he made his own. He constructed a Lair of incredible size, decorating it with Stars and Planets and Supernova and Nebula. He recreated the Majesty of the Space he adored, and the invited the wandering souls of dead worlds to enjoy it with him.

He gave them planets of their own within the Unliving Galaxy. All the souls of crumpled afterlives wandering the Ghost Zone were allowed to recreate it again, to find eachother and build their communities again.

With this he could fulfill both of his Obsessions at the same time, and he would he doing his duty as their king by helping his subjects.

He saw it as an absolute win.

...

They had been trapped in this strange dimension for days now.

Nobody had any idea how they ended up there. Clark had just fallen asleep, Diana was training, Hal was on patrol. Even J'onn himself was on Moniter Duty, when the next thing he knew they were all waking up on a floating purple rock in a Lazarus green void.

Thankfully Constantine that had been dragged alongside him when J'onn when he was taken, and managed to explain that they were in some kind of void in-between the afterlives.

"The Ghost Zone" "The Unending End" "The Collective Dead", it went by many names apparently. The most famous name for it was "The Infinite Realms", named for the way the infinite souls residing there would build their own personal Realms, or Lairs, to spend eternity in.

Not even he knew how they had ended up there. Constantine was confident that they hadn't died recently (the fact they needed to use "recently" was a sad thought), so it wasn't the old fashioned way at the very least.

Still, they needed to get moving. This place was dangerous and they didn't want to stay in one place for too long.

After days of traveling across the strange void (had they even eaten since they arrived there?) Constantine finally caught a hint of something. There was a draw on them, pulling them towards a specific direction. They had been unconsciously following it for days now, and now that they knew what they were doing they soldiered on even faster. If there were answers wherever they were being drawn, they would find them.

Once it came into view, it was obvious what had been calling to them this entire time. It was massive.

Spanning across the endless horizon, they could see something that looked like a Galaxy spanning in front of them. From their position on a floating island, they could see it in all its glory. Contrasting the green they had become accustomed to, the Galaxy swirled in a variety of Bright Blues and Deep Purples, with multicolored stars shining so brightly they stood out even as far as they were from it.

It took all their breaths away, and J'onn would admit to having stood there staring for longer than he should have. It was just so starkly different than anything he had seen thus far in this dimension of greens and purples.

"Beautiful isn't it?"

In an Instant their weapons were drawn and fighting stances set, facing the person who had appeared in their midst.

He was a young man, seemingly in his early 20's, with snow white hair and Lazarus green eyes. Above his head sat a crown glowing the same color as the galaxy spanning in front of them. They all knew instantly that this man was connected to it on a deep level.

"Who are you" Asked Diana. Her thoughts were filled with theat assessments and carefulness. She thought he was strong.

"Oh, my name is Phantom." He replied, "Sorry for startling you, this is one of my favorite spots to stargaze and I forgot that normal people usually can't see me when I zone out like that."

"What is that?" Clark asked, pointing to the Galactic Structure on the horizon. He was curious. The man before they didn't act hostile, so he had decided to match his energy.

"Oh, that's my Galaxy. Like it?" He asked excitedly, "Took me ages to get it looking just right, but I'm so proud of the results."

"Do you know why we are here?" Asked Hal, his mind was swimming with worry over his Sector of space. He had been taken while patrolling it. He wanted to get back quickly.

"I didn't bring you here, if that's what you're asking." He replied evenly, "But I know who did. They wanted to see you again, but with their Realms crumbled and their people scattered, they never had the chance. Now they do, and they wanted to say hello again. Sorry about the long journey, they messed up the Summoning process and you ended up a bit farther than intended."

"Who summoned us?" Asked Constantine warily. His thoughts were full of the various demons and gods he knew inhabited these Realms. He was worried.

"Well, You, accidently got dragged along through proximity, sorry." He apologized to the magician, "But as for the rest of you? Well, you'll just have to wait and see for yourselves. Trust me, it'll be a welcome surprise."

"Can you tell us where can we find the ones who summoned us?" Asked J'onn finally. He was curious, and wary, of who had decided to pull them into this dimension. But if the man before them was being truthful, then he wanted to meet them.

"Just keep following that pulling sensation that brought you here, you'll find them." He said, "I'll stay here for a while longer though. Just want to stargaze a bit more."

They left him on the island and kept going.

As the approached the Galaxy, it dawned on them how truly massive the realm in front of them was. Hal confirmed that it wasn't as big as a real one, but even he was in awe at its size.

As they drew closer is quickly became apparent that they were being drawn in different directions. After a quick discussion they decided it was best to split up.

J'onn approached the Planet he was being drawn to, and realized very quickly that it very closely resembled his old homeworld, Mars. The Red Sands, the Rocky Terrain, the two Moons that could be seen orbiting the planet, all of it seemed tailor made to resurface memories of his destroyed home.

It took all of a second for all of it to come together in his head.

The allusions Phantom had made to his summoners missing him. The resemblance to his old Homeworld. The fact he was currently in a version of the Afterlife.

As he made the connection in his head, he felt another two connections form. Ones he had not felt in the the Centuries since he had lost them.

"Hello, J'onn."

"...M'yri'ah..." His wife.

"Hi dad."

"...K'hym..." His Daughter.

It took nearly a full minute before his mind calmed enough to send them a response. It was a Whirlwind of wild thoughts, fear of this being a trick, and above all hope that it was real.

Eventually, he finally managed a response.

"I missed you."

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Grist:

Within weeks, the nation will deploy 9,000 people to begin restoring landscapes, erecting solar panels, and taking other steps to help guide the country toward a cleaner, greener future.

The first of those workers were inducted into the American Climate Corps on Tuesday during a virtual event from the White House. Their swearing-in marks another step forward for the Biden administration’s ambitious climate agenda. The program, which President Joe Biden announced within days of taking office in 2021, is a modern version of the Climate Conservation Corps, the New Deal-era project that put 3 million men to work planting trees and building national parks.

During the ceremony, the inaugural members of the corps promised to work “on behalf of our nation and planet, its people, and all its species, for the better future we hold within our sight.” 

The American Climate Corps was among the first things Biden announced as president, but it took a while to secure funding and get started. More than 20,000 young people are expected to join during the program’s first year, according to the White House, with new openings appearing on the American Climate Corps job site in the months ahead. The pay varies depending on the location and experience required, with open positions ranging from around $11 to $28 an hour.

The administration is promoting the corps as a way for young people to jump-start green careers. In April, the White House announced a partnership with TradesFutures, a nonprofit construction company, a sign that the program might help fill the country’s shortage of skilled workers who can help electrify everything. The White House will also place members in so-called “energy communities” like former coal-mining towns to help with environmental remediation and other projects.

“Whether it’s managing forests in the Pacific Northwest, deploying clean energy across the Southwest, or promoting sustainable farming practices throughout the heartland, the president’s American Climate Corps is providing thousands of young Americans with the skills and experience to advance a more sustainable, just tomorrow,�� White House climate advisor Ali Zaidi said in a press release on Tuesday.

[hitomisuzuya]

Wanderer and scara (Scara gets summoned bc of some nod Kri lore) fighting over who gets to mark up reader, wanderer and scara are both biting and practically drooling all over reader, I just need them to fight over touching reader

scaramouche x fem!reader. wanderer x fem!reader. threesome. smut. biting\making. egotistical male bickering. cunnilingus. fingering.

omg i am sorry it took me practically all day to write this. requests will be open until later tonight. i hope this turned out okay, it was quite fun writing it.

wanderer just couldn't help himself. it was the subtle sway of your hips when he arrived in nod krai with you that set him off. the moment he got you alone, he is pinning you down naked on the bed of an inn, holding your wrists about your head while his teeth possessively bite at your neck.

he is so wrapped up in how soft and warm you feel underneath him. in how pretty you sound when his teeth grind into a sensitive spot near your throat. in how sinfully wet your pussy feels against his fingers as he plays with your clit that he doesn't even realize that scaramouche is sitting on the windowsill of the room.

nod krai is obviously not your typical place.

"you sure are getting comfortable marking up what was mine first," he sneers, watching the display with narrowed eyes. he is experiencing a weird sense of jealousy. wanderer essentially was him, but it was wanderer making you moan and squirm while he plays with your cunt, not him.

wanderer tenses as you jump, startled underneath him. he turns his head and levels scaramouche in a haughty glare that would've stopped anyone's heart. "it sounds like i was doing a good job," he bites back before looking down at you. how annoying his incarnation shows up now. "what do you think, kitten?" he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers, leaning down to swipe his tongue against your inflamed skin.

you cry out as your clit throbs in the wake of his fingers, his tongue sending a shiver that curls right to your core through you. you rock your hips up, seeking friction from him. wanderer smirks, turning to look at scaramouche as if he achieved some sort of easy victory. "i know what makes her tick. all it would take is a single finger to make her scream for me."

scaramouche bites the inside of his mouth before scoffing. "don't forget, you only know how to do those things because of me," with crossed arms, he walks over to the bed. "do you even know how long her skin can sustain bruises? have you even marked her up so good that she's cumming just from the sensation of your teeth?"

you could only watch, already limp and breathless from wanderer biting and pawing at you while he rubbed your cunt into a wet mess. "would you two please just st..stop," you final word comes out in a broken moan as wanderer pushes a single finger inside you.

this is clearly an alpha standoff, and you are helpless to stop it.

"back off," wanderer snaps possessively, "she is mine. you aren't in the picture anymore," he presses his thumb on your clit, wanting to keep your attention solely focused on him.

scaramouche laughs as he sits on the edge of the bed. "you are threatened by me, i understand," wanderer growls softly in warning, which scaramouche. he knows what to say to piss off wanderer because those same things piss him off. he can't resist using you to poke at him. "trust me, she wants me to fuck her just as bad as she wants you to. you aren't going to be the only one marking her tonight," your sweet little moans never fail to make his cock hard.

"if you think i am just going to let you touch what's mine, then you are wrong about that?" wanderer's thumb rolls around your throbbing clit, tearing a whine from you as your walls clutch around his finger.

the onslaught that pursued is almost too much for you to bear. scaramouche has your wrists pinned above your head, soothing his tongue on wanderer's bite marks while he bites needily on places he thought looked too unmarked.

you squirm in scaramouche's grasp, your thighs shaking as wanderer's teeth indiscriminately bite at the insides of your thighs while he laps hungrily at your messy pussy. "don't you think for one fucking second i am sharing her with you again after tonight," he growls, glaring at a scaramouche as his tongue circles your clit.

scaramouche scoffs above you, tightening his hand on your wrists. "i wouldn't be so sure. she is only moaning like this because i am working over her throat," his cock aches hearing you whimper as you tilt your head to give him better access. he chuckles at the action. "always so willing to submit to me."

"please, please just make me cum," you rock your hips up into wanderer's mouth, writhing as scaramouche's teeth connects with a sensitive spot that builds your orgasm up to overwhelming proportions. "i can't.. can't take it!"

"shh, relax kitten," scaramouche cooes soothingly, "we have all night to devour you," he zeros in on another point to mark on your neck as wanderer fucks his tongue deeper inside of you. "it's been too long since i have had you. you'll cum when we say you can cum."

[moonlight-joy]

In the Hunter's Arms

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: As rain pattered against the cabin windows, you cleaned Sergei’s wounds, his fierce protectiveness evident in every glance. Despite his injuries, he promised to try and temper his recklessness for your sake. When the bandages were tied, he pulled you into his lap, his arms a protective shield. In the warmth of the cabin, surrounded by firelight, you found comfort in his unspoken vow to always keep you safe.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

The cabin was quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the windows and the occasional crackle of the fireplace. Sergei sat slumped in a wooden chair, his shirt discarded on the floor beside him, revealing his battered torso. Angry red gashes and bruises marred his skin, a testament to the brutality of his most recent hunt. You knelt before him, a bowl of warm water and a cloth at your side, your hands trembling slightly as you prepared to clean his wounds.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, dipping the cloth into the water. You wrung it out and pressed it gently against a particularly deep cut on his side. Sergei flinched but remained silent, his jaw tightening as you worked.

“He was going to harm you,” Sergei finally replied, his voice low and rough. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and you could see the fire burning in his eyes. “I would do it again without hesitation.”

You sighed, your movements careful and deliberate as you cleaned the blood away. “But at what cost, Sergei? You can’t keep putting yourself in harm’s way like this. It’s not sustainable.”

His hand shot out, catching your wrist mid-motion. The strength in his grip was undeniable, but his touch was controlled, deliberate. “You think I care about that?” he asked, his voice softening slightly. “Your safety is worth any price. Do not ask me to stand by while someone threatens what is mine.”

You frowned, your heart aching at the conviction in his words. Sergei was many things—ferocious, unyielding, and proud—but he cared deeply for those he held close, even if his way of showing it often came at his own expense.

“I’m not asking you to stand by,” you said, your voice firm but laced with emotion. “I’m asking you to think. To take care of yourself, too. Because I can’t lose you, Sergei. Not like this.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the fierce hunter before you seemed almost vulnerable. He released your wrist, letting his hand fall to his side, and nodded. “I’ll try,” he said, though the words sounded foreign on his tongue. “For you.”

You gave him a small, relieved smile and returned to your task. The wounds weren’t life-threatening, but they were deep enough to require stitches. You set the cloth aside and reached for the needle and thread you’d prepared earlier. Sergei watched you intently, his expression unreadable as you threaded the needle and prepared to begin.

“This might sting,” you warned, though you knew pain meant little to him. He nodded, his jaw tightening in anticipation. As you worked, sewing his skin back together with steady hands, Sergei remained silent, his only reaction the occasional twitch of a muscle or a sharp intake of breath.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” he said after a while, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Too good.”

You glanced up at him, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve given me plenty of practice,” you replied, finishing the last stitch and tying it off. “Maybe you should stop getting into fights you don’t need to win.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Every fight is one I need to win. But I will admit…” His eyes softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “I’d prefer fewer reasons to make you worry.”

You reached for the salve and began applying it to his wounds, your touch gentle but firm. “Then stop scaring me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sergei’s hand found yours, stilling your movements. He looked at you, his expression earnest. “I’ll try,” he said again, and this time, you believed him.

When you’d finished treating his injuries, you leaned back, surveying your work. His wounds were cleaned and dressed, the stitches neat and precise. You were exhausted, but relief washed over you knowing that he’d be okay.

“You should rest,” you said, rising to your feet and gathering the supplies. “You’ve been through enough for one day.”

Sergei caught your hand as you turned to leave, pulling you gently back toward him. “Stay,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Just for a while.”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. Setting the supplies aside, you allowed him to pull you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was soothing, and you felt the tension drain from your body.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “For always being here. For taking care of me.”

“Always,” you replied, your voice soft and full of promise.

The rain continued to patter against the windows, the fire crackling in the hearth, and in Sergei’s arms, you felt safe. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together. For now, though, you allowed yourself to rest, content in the knowledge that Sergei was here, and he was yours.

Please support my work with like and comment

[townpostin]

Jamshedpur Intensifies Fight Against Illegal Mining

New Task Force to Enforce Stricter Regulations and Conduct Regular Raids District officials launch comprehensive strategy to combat unauthorized mining activities, protect revenue, and ensure environmental compliance. JAMSHEDPUR – A newly established task force has been established by local authorities to implement a comprehensive campaign to prevent illegal mining operations and enforce…

[grimmsbride]

i saw ur that ur request were open and i just need you to hear me out on multipaul 🫣 that man is to dam fine for there to be literally nothing of him 💔 if you write a paul fic MY LIFE IS YOURS 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🙏

𝄃𝄀⠀⠀my mine⠀╲ multi-paul ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary you decide to give your beloved convict boyfriend, paul cha, a little gift <3.

tags canon-divergence | pre-established relationships | ooc characters | paul literally jerks off to pictures of you | mentions of him being an assassin | masturbation | chubby coded reader | etc

authors notes i was so nervous writing this imagine cause i realized i have like, zero input on how paul would act in a relationship 😭 so im sorry if i didn’t do his character justice but i really appreciate you requesting for him, it gives me much needed practice 🫶🏾. as always please excuse any typos and grammar mistakes

Imagine sneaking polaroids to MultiPaul in prison. You don’t know what had driven you to this; whether your mind was clouded with the thought of missing him, or simple human horniness— you had no idea. The only idea that struck you was taking scandalous images with your camera, printing them, and getting them to your lovely, convict boyfriend.

Through the entire prison visit you were practically beaming with excitement, something the man picked up on easy. He was a killer for god’s sake, human nature was something he had to know. Plus, Paul was your boyfriend after all.

So the moment a simple what’s got you so excited? climbed from his lips, you burst out into a little giggle, reaching over the table for his hand— which Paul accepted with zero issues.

“Nothing.. just, so happy to see you.” Despite your words, your hand was busy, pushing something small right into his palm.

Paul was quick yet discreet in accepting it, squeezing your hand for extra measure before slyly pulling his hand away and under the table, tucking the mystery gift right into his pocket.

Now it was his turn to be excited, pretty features pulled into a smile as he tilted his head at you.

“From the way you look, I’m assuming I’m really going to enjoy this gift?”

Your smile was worsening at this point, practically leaning over the table as a sweet; “Oh, you’re going to love it..” escaped you.

You weren’t lying. While Paul was expecting maybe a key or some sort of cliche file to help take his collar off, he certainly wasn’t complaining the moment he tore the film off of his little gift.

There you were, in all your glory, images of yourself in some type of lingerie, position, or even completely bare— that left him salivating. It was no secret Paul missed you, the visits the only solace to the distance between you.

At times it seemed it wasn’t enough, given the amount of restrictions placed on the two of you. No excessive touching, you had to stay across the table, extra bullshit Paul wasn’t in the least impressed with, yet was stuck complying to.

But you, his sweet girlfriend, just knew when to push boundaries. And he was eating up every second of it.

The laminated film shined against the light of his cell, highlighting every perfect curve of your body. Paul’s eyes were practically glued to the photo, thumb sliding across the smooth surface as a soft hiss slipped from him.

Fuck, did he miss you. Every single inch. He missed coming back to you after a particularly hard mission, spotting your waiting body under the blankets to which he would climb under, securing his arms around your waist and pulling you in. You would always cuddle close, hand carrying up and down his body, assuring he sustained no major injuries. Sometimes, your gentle touches would illicit something deep inside his stomach— the man using the little bit of energy he had left to show you how excited he was to be back home.

But now, Paul was stuck in this damned cell, paying for his crimes with only fleeting images of you to keep him company. A sad case indeed, but he knew to make due.

Plus, Paul didn’t particularly plan to stay cooped up so long.

For now however, he would satiate himself with what you provided. Paul backed up until his knees hit his bed, sitting down and turning to press his back against the wall. Flipping through the polaroids, the man felt that familiar ache right between his legs. His hips shifted uncomfortably for a moment, blindly reaching for the zipper of his orange jumper. Revealing his white undershirt, and plain black boxes— the man hissed softly the moment his palm dragged across his growing bulge.

Blindly his fingers swept through the waistband of his underwear, curling around his length whilst his freehand flipped to the next photo. The light of your camera shined against your skin, the man wondering if you’d used some type of glittery lotion the way you just seemed to sparkle. A pretty purple set of lacey lingerie cupped your body perfectly, accentuating your breasts and the curve of your ass— and it certainly didn’t help the way your body arched; showing off every inch of your body.

Slowly, Paul’s palm dragged against his dick, teeth tucked tight against his bottom lip, quieting down his soft grunts. His mind was running wild, thoughts of you consuming him entirely. Replays of your past nights together, the man trying to perfectly remember every twitch and every moan you emitted.

He flinched the moment he made contact with his sensitive tip, hips rising right up into his hand. Precum was trickling from his slit, creating a mess he would concern himself with later— for now, the man was focusing on the next polaroid of you.

The picture featured you straddled a pillow, pretty thighs squeezing the plush item whilst covered in black sheer stockings. Hung up by gaterbelts that dug into your plump flesh, attached to the prettiest black underwear that rested high on your hips. Except this one was different then the other, given the undergarment was entirely crotch less; and the moment that realization hit, Paul was knocking his head back against the wall, closing his eyes tight.

“Fucking tease..” The man muttered to himself, eyebrows pushing close as he continued to fuck his hand. As the pleasure grew, he felt his legs widening, even pushing his boxers down further as his actions grew more vigorous. Paul could just imagine it, fingers playing with the lace and with your exposed pussy; fingers sliding across your wetness before dipping in, rubbing against your walls so perfectly you would cry out his name like some sort of prayer.

Paul’s stomach was clenching as time passed, lips parted as soft breaths escaped. His hand formed into a tight, wet fist, hips rising up into it as glossy eyes took in your last final polaroid.

You were completely bare, legs spread, arms opened— completely exposed to the watchful eye of your camera and Paul himself. He couldn’t help but focus between your thighs, wondering if you played with yourself during this process. The man could just guess how excited you were getting the entire time, pretty lips pouted as sweet moans escaped every time you rubbed at your little button.

Maybe you even played with your breasts; pulling and squeezing your nipples until they peaked, that thought alone caused him to twitch, hand falling to his side as the images laid out amongst his bed.

Paul dragged his hand up and down his length urgently, bated breaths and quick swears falling from his lips before he clenched, making a complete mess of his lower half.

Slowly, his hand slid down to his waist, slumping against the wall entirely as soft pants escaped him. His eyes closed, attempting to regain his breath after that little event.

Soon enough Paul’s eyes were opening, peeking at the pictures amongst his blankets, the corner of his mouth twitching into a little smile.

Which slowly fell the moment he glanced down at his legs, releasing the loudest sigh ever.

Now.. to get cleaned up.

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 21)

Synopsis: You didn’t expect much, not today. But a glance, a word, the way her eyes linger… maybe there’s still something left to hold on to.

Word count: 4.9K

Warnings: Subtle angst, Mild language, Unresolved emotions, Lingering tension, Physical injury 

The air felt lighter today. 

You didn’t know if it was the clear skies over Washington or just the way her “okay” still echoed quietly in your chest, soft and stubborn, like something that wanted to stay. Maybe it was both. Maybe you were just imagining things. But you walked into the Capitol building with more calm than you’ve had in weeks. 

In your hands, the usual: a paper cup of her favorite coffee and a bouquet of azaleas, her favorite.  

There was a note tucked inside, nestled between the stems where no one but her would see. You didn’t write much. You never did. 

“I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.” 

The receptionist was in the middle of a conversation when you approached the desk. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but— 

“Three days? At Lynden?” her coworker was saying, mid-laugh. “Are you volunteering?” 

The receptionist scoffed, leaning her elbow against the counter. “Please. It’s unpaid. Why would I go stand in a field for a few days?” 

Her coworker shrugged. “Yeah, no thanks. Not when I could be home in bed.” 

They both laughed lightly. The kind of bored laughter that sounded like it belonged to people who weren’t waiting on a single word from someone just to breathe properly again. 

You took one quiet step forward, and the receptionist noticed you. Her expression shifted instantly—straightening up, smile polite and practiced. 

“Good morning,” she said. “You’re here to see Governor Harkness?” 

You nodded, returning her smile. “If she’s available.” 

“I’ll check,” she said, reaching for the phone. 

You stood there quietly, fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup, the flowers brushing your wrist. A moment passed, then she hung up the phone and gave you a small nod. 

“Please have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.” 

“Thanks,” you said gently. 

You sat down in one of the sleek chairs by the window, watching the sunlight play against the marble floor. You’d sat here so many times it didn’t feel like a waiting room anymore—it felt like purgatory with pretty lighting. 

A few minutes later, a familiar voice greeted you. 

“Morning.” 

You looked up. “Billy.” 

He grinned. 

His eyes dropping briefly to the bouquet and the coffee you handed him. “Same order?” 

“Always.” 

He accepted both gifts like usual, gentle and respectful. Not nosy. He never asked about the notes, though you were sure he knew they were there. There was a kind of quiet loyalty in him you appreciated. 

He turned to leave, but you stopped him with a light voice. “Hey, before you go…” 

He turned back. “Yeah?” 

“I overheard something… about a campaign next week? In Lynden?” 

His brows lifted. “Oh, yeah. It’s a three-day thing—supporting local farmers, educating about sustainable practices, raising funds for new equipment. Kinda a big deal for the area.” 

You tilted your head. “Will she be there?” 

Billy gave you a knowing look, but didn’t tease. “Yeah. She’s heading it.” 

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. “And you need volunteers?” 

He smiled. “We always need volunteers. Why, you thinking of signing up?” 

“I am,” you said softly. “How do I…?” 

“Just let the front desk know. They’ll have the forms. I’ll keep an eye out for your name.” 

“Thanks, Billy.” 

He smiled again, a little wider this time. “You’re welcome.” 

And just like that, he was gone—disappearing through the double doors that always stayed shut to you. 

You stood, walked back to the desk. The receptionist blinked up at you, a little surprised. 

“Actually,” you said, voice calm but sure, “I’d like to sign up for the Lynden campaign.” 

There was a beat of silence. Then she nodded, reaching under the counter. “Oh. Okay. Uh—here you go.” 

You filled out the form in silence. Your handwriting was neat. Measured. You wondered if she would ever see it. 

But that didn’t matter. You’d already decided. 

You were going to Lynden. 

The drive from Olympia to Lynden was six hours long — seven, if you counted the stop you made at that 24-hour diner for gas and coffee and a moment to sit in your car, wondering what the hell you were really doing. You’d left the city just after midnight, the streets empty and blurred with fog, headlights slicing through darkness like you were cutting your way to clarity. 

But now… the morning light hits different in Lynden. 

Your car pulls into the open lot beside the community center, tires crunching over gravel. The sky’s soft with mist, pastel pinks bleeding into pale blue, and your muscles ache from being in the same position all night. A yawn slips from your lips before you can stifle it. 

You parked facing the modest sprawl of tents and signs beginning to bloom across the field, volunteers bustling around with clipboards, poles, crates of supplies. There’s a banner being slowly unfurled. 

You kill the engine and let yourself sit there a moment. Breathing. 

In the passenger seat is a small duffel bag — three days’ worth of clothes, your phone charger, a notebook, a pen, hand cream, and a travel-sized perfume you forgot you even liked. The bouquet and coffee cup are balanced carefully on the console between the seats. Same kind of flowers you always brought. Same quiet note nestled between the stems. 

“Hope everything goes well today.” 

You’re not even sure if she reads the notes anymore. But still — habit. 

You finally step out, stretch your back, and start toward the volunteer check-in tent. 

You adjust the strap of your bag, rub the back of your neck, and take a deep breath of the farm-country morning — dew on the grass, hints of soil, faint coffee from a thermos somewhere nearby. 

It’s early. The sun is still rising. 

You walk across the lot toward the main check-in tent, clutching the bouquet and coffee in one hand, your small overnight bag slung over your shoulder. There’s movement all around — volunteers setting up tables, teens in matching shirts arranging crates of supplies, someone testing the mic on a small makeshift platform. 

Behind the desk stands a young woman in a ponytail and purple North Face jacket, flipping through a clipboard and mumbling something under her breath. She notices you as you approach and immediately straightens up. 

“Hey! Morning,” she says with a smile, eyes bright despite the hour. “Here to volunteer?” 

You nod and return her smile, soft. “I am, yeah.” 

She lifts her brows and flips through the clipboard. “Name?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” 

She finds your name almost immediately. “Perfect. You’re on the general setup crew today,” she says, handing you a green campaign T-shirt, a volunteer badge, and a folded paper map of the site. Her eyes flicker to the bouquet and the cup of coffee in your hand. She doesn’t say anything, but there's a flicker of curiosity there. “Hope you brought gloves. Or, well, we have extra.” 

“I brought some,” you say. “Not my first rodeo.” 

That makes her grin. “Nice. I’m Kate. Kate Bishop. I'm one of the locals volunteering for this campaign” She says it casually, but her tone lingers just a little too long, like she’s trying to clock you. Not suspicious. Just curious. 

She eyes you again, almost subtly. You feel it. The way her gaze holds just a second too long at your eyes before flicking away, the slight flush of interest she tries to mask with efficiency. She’s young — early-to-mid twenties, you guess. But there’s something about her that’s sharp and lively, like she’s used to being underestimated and decided to make it everyone else’s problem. 

“Well,” Kate continues, handing you the schedule sheet, “orientation starts in about fifteen. You can drop your stuff off in the volunteer lounge inside, then come back here or hang around till the first tasks are called. Oh—” she points to the shirt and laughs a little. “You don’t have to wear it right away, but I think it adds five points to your charisma stat.” 

You huff a soft laugh. “That’s generous of you.” 

Before Kate can say anything else, a familiar voice chimes in from just behind you. 

“Miss Y/L/N” 

You turn, and there he is — Billy, Agatha’s assistant, warm smile in place like he’s genuinely glad to see you. 

“Hey,” you greet, surprised but not displeased. 

He steps closer, eyes dropping to the flowers and coffee in your hand. He smiles again, knowing. “Still keeping the streak alive, huh?” 

You shrug, casual. “I guess” 

He chuckles and gently accepts the items from you. “She’ll get them. Promise. I’ll make sure.” His voice lowers a bit, reassuring. Then he nods at the volunteer shirt in your arm. “Green suits you.” 

You shake your head with a smirk. “We’ll see.” 

“Go get changed. I’ll catch up with you later,” Billy says, already stepping aside to go wherever he’s needed. 

You give him a nod of thanks before heading toward the tent nearby — a simple community center repurposed for the event. You slip into one of the single-stall restrooms, close the door behind you, and stare at your reflection for a second. 

It’s weird. Being here. 

Part of you is still buzzing from last week. From that word. That single, quiet, “Okay.” 

It wasn’t much. But it wasn’t nothing. 

You slip the volunteer shirt over your tank top and clip the badge to your jeans. It’s all a little stiff. A little mismatched. You don’t exactly blend in. But you breathe through that. You didn’t come here to blend. 

You wash your hands, fixed your hair, and then press your palm against the cool tile wall for just a moment. 

And then you walk back out, shoulders rolled, expression even. 

Time to work. 

You follow a slow trickle of volunteers back toward the main tent, now restructured with folding chairs facing a simple stage platform. A podium sits at the front, a banner hung above it that reads: 

LYNDEN AGRICULTURAL CAMPAIGN — Nourish the Land, Nurture the Future 

You sit near the edge, not too far back, not too close. The shirt scratches faintly against your skin, the badge clipped to your belt catching the morning light. 

Kate walks past and offers you a brief smile before she’s pulled into some logistics conversation with a clipboard-wielding guy in flannel. She definitely noticed you again—subtle, glancing over her shoulder more than once—but you barely register it. Not really. 

Because your stomach drops the moment you see her. 

Agatha. 

She walks in from the side of the tent, her stride measured, her posture sharp as ever in a black coat over black slacks and boots. The clipboard in her hand looks like an extension of her fingers. She doesn’t see you at first. 

You watch the moment she’s handed the bouquet and the coffee. 

Billy whispers something to her. You can’t hear it. You don’t need to. 

Agatha’s eyes drop to the items. The familiar blooms. The lid of the coffee cup. 

She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t frown. But there’s something in her face—something unreadable, tight, fleeting. 

She hands the bouquet to someone beside her without a word and walks toward the stage. 

The murmuring dies down. Everyone quiets when she approaches the podium, clearing her throat softly into the mic. 

“Good morning,” she starts, voice calm but carrying just enough strength to draw every eye. 

There’s a beat. Then applause—brief but polite. 

“My name is Agatha Harkness. I’m the current governor of Washington state. But more importantly, I’m someone who believes deeply in the value of community, and in the need to protect the people who feed us, clothe us, and keep this state alive. That’s why we’re here today.” 

She pauses. Eyes scanning the crowd. 

Then her gaze lands on you. 

Just for a second. 

It’s not dramatic. No sudden gasp. No stutter. 

But it’s there. The hitch in her breath. The brief falter in her eyes. 

And then she keeps going. 

“These next three days are about education. About service. We’re here to raise awareness, raise funds for new equipment, and provide real, on-the-ground support to the farming communities of Lynden—folks who’ve been hit hard in the last few years. Whether you’re teaching a workshop, rebuilding fences, or just handing out sandwiches—you matter.” 

Her voice is steady. Almost too steady. 

She doesn’t look at you again. But something in her tone has shifted. 

“We don’t expect perfection. We expect presence. Dedication. And maybe—” she allows herself the smallest, faintest smirk, “—a little mud on your boots by the end of it.” 

The crowd chuckles. 

You don’t. 

Because your hands are cold in your lap. And your heart’s somewhere between your ribs and your throat. 

Agatha thanks the coordinators, the volunteers, the local donors. She finishes the speech flawlessly. 

But when she steps down from the stage—brushing past where Billy is standing, whispering something back to him—you swear you feel her eyes on you again. 

Just a whisper of attention. 

Just enough to confirm she knows. 

That you’re here. 

That you came all this way. 

The first round of assignments is handed out midmorning. Billy reads through a list at the front of the tent, calling out tasks and pairing people off as he goes. You’re standing just behind the crowd, arms crossed loosely, when you hear your name. 

“Y/N, you’re with Kate—banner duty,” he says, pointing toward the front of the tent where the display tables and crop demos are set up. “We need it strung up between those poles. Ladder’s already there.” 

Kate grins as she turns toward you, adjusting her campaign cap slightly. “Guess we’re the decorative team.” 

You smile back politely, then follow her toward the poles flanking the main tent’s front entrance. A long rolled-up banner sits beside the ladder, still coiled from transport. It’s light enough, but you’ll need to string it across the top beams—six or seven feet up. You glance at the ladder and already feel the ache in your legs from the drive. 

“I can climb up first if you want,” Kate offers, hands on her hips. “You look like you’ve driven all night.” 

You chuckle, stretching your neck. “I did. But I’ve got it. You hold it steady, I’ll just get this done.” 

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Tough girl.” 

You don’t respond. Just move past her and set the ladder more securely into the grass. 

She holds the base steady, her fingers brushing the sides, and watches as you climb. It’s an old ladder—just a little wobbly—and you curse quietly under your breath when the top rung creaks. 

“You good up there?” she calls up. 

“Yup. Totally safe,” you lie. 

You get the first end of the banner hooked up with a bit of fiddling, using the ties from the supply bucket nearby. Kate’s handing them up to you, her fingers brushing yours with every pass. You’re focused, though. Hands steady. 

But you feel it. 

That itch on your skin. That feeling of being watched. 

And when you glance to the side—you see her. 

Agatha. 

She’s standing across the field, maybe thirty or forty feet away, clipboard in hand, deep in conversation with one of the logistics heads. 

But her eyes are not on them. 

They’re on you. 

No—on Kate. 

And then back to you. 

Just for a second. 

And in that second, you see something flicker. Her brows pull just the tiniest bit. Her grip on the clipboard shifts. Her lips part like she’s about to say something—but then she doesn’t. 

Instead, she turns slightly, nods to the man next to her, and points to the other side of the field like she’s refocusing herself. Her voice is low, unreadable from here. 

You look away. Back to the task. 

“You okay?” Kate asks again, noticing your pause. 

“Fine,” you mutter. “Just… trying not to fall.” 

You reach for the second beam and twist to tie the corner of the banner—but the ladder shifts under your feet. It’s just an inch. But it’s enough. 

Your balance tips. 

You feel it before it happens—the helpless momentum, the rush of air, the soft crack of impact when your back hits the grass. 

“Ow—shit.” 

“Y/N!” Kate kneels down beside you, hands hovering over your arms. “Are you okay? You hit the ground pretty hard.” 

You blink up at the sky for a second. Then wince. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just bruised.” 

A few other volunteers rush over, offering hands. You wave them off gently, sitting up. 

And that’s when you see her again. 

Agatha is closer now—about ten feet away. She hadn’t rushed over. She hadn’t made a scene. 

But she’s here. 

And she’s watching you with a look that’s too blank to be neutral. 

You look at her. Waiting. Wondering if she’ll say something. 

But she doesn’t. 

Instead, her eyes drop to the clipboard, and she starts writing something. The pen moves fast. Almost like she’s distracting herself. Almost like she’s angry. 

You swallow hard. “I’m fine,” you say again, mostly to the air. 

Kate helps you to your feet, brushing a bit of grass off your shoulder. “Next time, let me climb.” 

You don’t answer. Because Agatha is still there. 

Still pretending you’re just another volunteer. 

But her grip on the pen looks like she wants to snap it in half. 

The sun had climbed higher by noon, the light filtering through a thin cover of clouds. A breeze passed over the field, making the banner you helped hang sway gently above the entrance. At least it held. 

Billy called out from under the canopy tent, waving his clipboard overhead. “Alright, folks! We’ll break for lunch—food’s over there by the east tables. Take your time, but don’t disappear!” 

There’s a collective sigh of relief. Everyone begins drifting off toward the long folding tables at the far side of the lot, where the volunteers had been setting up trays of sandwiches and water bottles. 

You wipe the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the campaign T-shirt, finally allowing yourself to sit on the edge of a planter box nearby. Your legs still throb faintly from the fall earlier. Nothing broken. Just sore. 

You take a deep breath, eyes closing for a second. 

“You should’ve let someone else take the ladder.” 

The voice cuts through your quiet. 

You know it instantly. 

When you open your eyes, she’s there—Agatha. Standing a few feet away again, arms crossed loosely in front of her chest, a slant of shadow across her face from the overhead banner. 

Her tone isn’t sharp. If anything, it’s too even. Measured. 

“I’m fine,” you reply softly, meeting her gaze. “Didn’t break anything.” 

“I noticed,” she says. “Still. That was reckless.” 

You let out a quiet huff, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s called me that.” 

Agatha’s expression doesn’t change much, but you can tell she hears the double meaning in that. Her eyes flinch—barely. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then, carefully: “You drove here. From Olympia?” 

You nod. “Left around midnight. Got here just after seven.” 

She looks away, glancing at the field like it might offer her an excuse to walk off. “That’s a long drive. You didn’t have to come all the way out here, Y/N.” 

“I wanted to,” you say. Then softer, “It’s a good cause.” 

Her jaw tightens faintly. Her hands remain folded, but her fingers twitch once, like she’s considering reaching for something—maybe the distance between you. Maybe not. 

“You didn’t volunteer for the cause,” she says. Quiet. Sharp enough to cut. “You volunteered for me.” 

There it is. 

You swallow, hard. 

“I volunteered because you didn’t turn me away.” 

Agatha’s breath catches at that, so subtly you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t watching her this closely. 

“That ‘okay’ you gave me... it meant something,” you add, voice lower. “Didn’t it?” 

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, her eyes drift to the clipboard in her hand. She stares at it like it holds the words she’s not ready to say. 

Finally, almost inaudible: “Don’t read too much into it.” 

Ouch. 

You nod once, your lips pressing together tightly. “Right.” 

Agatha exhales slowly. The kind of breath that’s too deliberate to be casual. 

“I need to get back,” she says. “There’s still work to assign before afternoon starts.” 

“Of course,” you murmur. 

She turns, but not all the way. Just enough that you see her hesitate. Just enough to let you know it’s not that simple. 

But she walks away anyway. 

You watch Agatha walk away until she disappears behind the tent, clipboard tucked close to her chest like armor. The pit in your stomach stays, even as the world around you settles back into normal midday chatter. 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Hey.” 

You blink and turn. 

Kate stands in front of you now, smiling, her short ponytail a little messy from the morning’s chaos. She holds out a sandwich wrapped in foil and a cold bottle of water. 

“Thought you might want these,” she says, her tone light but kind. “Figured you wouldn’t get in line. You looked... busy.” 

You offer her a tired smile, accepting the sandwich and water. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” 

“Yeah, well... I wanted to.” She shrugs, then settles into the spot beside you on the planter box, close enough that your shoulders nearly brush. “You okay though? That fall earlier—looked like it hurt.” 

“I’m fine,” you assure her. “Promise. Just a bruise or two.” 

Kate glances toward the tent where Agatha disappeared. “Saw you talking to Governor Harkness earlier. You two know each other?” 

You hesitate for a beat too long, then offer a practiced shrug, forcing a casual tone. “Yeah. We’re... old friends.” 

She arches a brow slightly, a smirk tugging at one side of her lips. “Friends?” 

You unwrap the sandwich and take a bite before answering, as if that will help sell the lie. “Yep. Just friends.” 

She hums like she doesn’t quite believe you, but doesn’t press. “She’s intense,” Kate comments, casually, like she’s testing the waters. “Like, you can feel her leadership energy from across the field.” 

You chuckle softly, licking a crumb from your thumb. “That’s one way to put it.” 

Kate leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, sandwich untouched in her lap. “And you? What do you do when you’re not climbing ladders and pretending not to be injured?” 

You blink. “Oh. Uh... I run a company.” 

Her eyes widen, impressed. “Really? Like what kind of company?” 

You shrug, sipping from the water bottle. “Tech work. The kind that deals with smart systems. I inherited it a while ago.” 

Kate lets out a low whistle. “Damn. So you’re the mysterious hot volunteer-slash-CEO with great balance and decent ladder skills. No big deal.” 

You snort, caught off guard by her boldness, but brush it off like you didn’t really hear it. “I wouldn’t say all that.” 

She leans a bit closer, her smile never quite leaving. “Well, I would.” 

You meet her eyes briefly and smile—grateful for the kindness, the distraction—but your mind is already elsewhere. Tracing Agatha’s expression. Replaying her voice. Wondering what she’s supposed to say. Why she hesitated. 

Because even with someone like Kate sitting inches away, calling you hot and clever in not-so-subtle ways... 

You still don’t care. 

Your heart’s somewhere else. Still back there, under that damn banner, with the only person who hasn’t asked you to stay — but who you’d stay for anyway. 

After lunch break, the sun hangs high and stubborn above Lynden, the kind of afternoon heat that makes the air feel a little heavier, like it’s holding its breath too. 

You wipe your hands on the hem of your campaign shirt, then followed the rest of the volunteers trickle back into the central field area. A clipboard gets passed around for afternoon assignments, and Kate ends up next to you again like the universe just keeps letting her orbit there. 

“Alright,” she announces, reading both of your names on the list. “We’re on... irrigation setup and soil prep.” She grins at you. “Fancy.” 

You manage a quiet laugh. “Nothing says fun like dirt and hoses.” 

“You sure you’re not regretting signing up for this yet?” she asks, walking alongside you as the two of you start heading toward the west end of the field. 

“I drove six hours to be here,” you say, glancing at her with a soft smile. “I think I’m in too deep to back out now.” 

Kate tucks her tongue in her cheek, smirking. “Six hours for soil and hoses. You’re either committed or mildly unhinged.” 

“Maybe both.” 

She laughs at that, and it’s an easy sound. Not loud or obnoxious. Just... pleasant. The kind of sound you’d normally enjoy if your mind weren’t busy rewinding and replaying Agatha’s face from earlier—how she looked at you. How quickly she looked away. 

You and Kate reach the designated area, greeted by a few other volunteers already laying out long rolls of hose and moving sacks of compost. You quietly slip into work, grateful for something to do with your hands, even if the sun makes your back sweat and the dirt clings to your shoes. 

Kate sticks close—not too close to be suffocating, but enough to let you feel her presence. 

She hums as she works, makes bad jokes, tosses a bottle of water your way once, and brushes invisible dirt off your shoulder at one point with a little smirk. You thank her with a short nod, but you don’t really look at her. 

Because you feel something else. 

That flicker. 

You glance across the field and see Agatha again—clipboard in hand, sunglasses now perched on top of her head. She’s talking to someone from the organizing committee. You try not to watch too long, but when you do, her eyes meet yours. 

Just for a second. 

It’s not a dramatic moment, not some burning stare. It’s just a second. Barely that. But it’s long enough to make your stomach twist. 

Long enough to make you look away first. 

“You okay?” Kate asks, a bit quieter now. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just the heat.” 

“You don’t talk much,” she says with a light tone, but not unkind. “But it’s nice. Kinda refreshing, actually.” 

“Thanks, I think.” 

She nudges you with her elbow. “Just don’t go passing out. I don’t know CPR.” 

You smile faintly, looking down at the soil. “I’m tougher than I look.” 

Kate grins. “Oh, I believe it.” 

The afternoon continues like that. Digging, uncoiling hoses, checking pressure lines. A little laughter here and there. The sounds of boots crunching on dry grass and the distant voices of other volunteers. You keep working, mostly quiet, heart somewhere else, ears half-tuned. 

Later, when you glance back toward the center of the field, Agatha’s gone. 

And you hate how your chest tightens because of it. 

The sun’s just beginning to dip when the work wraps for the day, bleeding orange and gold over the fields like spilled honey. Volunteers begin trickling toward the check-out station, dusty and sun-tired, murmuring their goodnights and promises to shower immediately. 

Kate stretches beside you, letting out a low groan. “God. If I have to lift one more bag of compost...” 

You laugh under your breath, slinging your bag over your shoulder again. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, her tone easy but lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

You nod. “Yeah. Bright and early.” 

“Don’t oversleep,” she teases, walking backward a few steps before turning to head off in the other direction. “Night, Ms. CEO.” 

You smirk faintly at the nickname but don’t say anything. You just watch her leave, then finally start the short walk toward the partnered inn assigned to volunteers from out of town. It’s about five blocks from the site—small, old, with white siding and creaky steps, but clean. Old-fashioned. Quiet. 

You check in with a woman at the front desk who gives you a kind smile and a key with a dangling flower keychain. “Room 4,” she says, “upstairs, end of the hall. Breakfast starts at 7.” 

You thank her softly and make your way up the narrow staircase, already feeling the weight in your legs from the day’s work. Inside the room, it’s cool and softly lit. One bed, a nightstand, a small desk, a window that faces the side yard. You set your things down, peel off your dusty clothes, and step into the shower with a long, slow breath. 

Hot water hits your skin like a blessing. 

You scrub away the dirt and sweat but not the ache. That stays with you. 

Later, dressed in an old shirt and shorts, you settle onto the bed with your hair damp and your limbs heavy. You try not to think about Agatha. 

You fail, obviously. 

You wonder if she read the note. If she drank the coffee. You think of her speech again. Her voice. That slight edge when she said your name, that delicate pause before she moved on like it didn’t cut her to see you there. 

But it did. You saw it. 

And you wonder—maybe she saw something in you, too. 

You lean your head back, close your eyes, and let the silence of the small town lull you into stillness. 

Tomorrow is another day. 

And you’ll be right there again. 

Trying. 

Always trying. 

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[hurtspideyparker]

Avengers Beach Day !

Tony is under a large beach umbrella, sat on a comfortable chair in bright red swim shorts and a flowy floral cover up. He has a large cooler with drinks, sandwiches and pickles. Also chips. Pepper is beside him reading a book about sustainability.

Natasha is in a simple black two piece swimsuit with large sunglasses, soaking in the sun.

"If anybody stares at my ass I will drown you and make sure your body never washes ashore," she warns as she lays out a towel and stretches out in the sun.

Peter and Thor are the first in the water, but only after Steve makes sure everyone has sunscreen on. "The water actually amplifies the harmful UV rays, so you should reapply in an hour. Don't worry, I'll remind you."

Peter and Clint tell Thor about chicken fighting, which delights him, and they are able to convince Steve to join so they can play. Peter sits on Thor's shoulders, and Clint on Steve's. It takes 4 rounds before Clint realizes Peter is cheating by sticking to Thor so he won't fall down. Peter and Thor switch places, but Thor still wins every time because well... muscles.

-

Bruce sets himself up on a blanket with a book but ends up falling asleep within twenty minutes. He sleeps for 2 hours and gets severely sunburnt.

-

Sam and Bucky sit down in two matching chairs a respectable distance apart, sunglasses on. Bucky is completely still for so long that Sam peeks over to see if he's asleep, his body casting a shadow over the soldier.

"Sam, I swear to god."

"Alright alright just checking, don't get your panties in a twist!"

-

Steve ends up floating around in the water peacefully, spread out like a starfish, while Clint and Peter show off their underwater handstand abilities to Thor. When Thor tries one for himself he ends up kicking Steve in the face. Peter and Clint can't stop laughing while Thor apologizes.

-

Natasha eventually joins the boys in the water, in which Clint begs her to play chicken with him because "all these guys are cheating super freaks!"

Natasha gets on Steve's shoulder and Clint on Thor's.

Natasha wins every round.

Clint grumpily complains about losing for the next half hour until he's distracted by food. (Tony makes fun of him for being such a loser on the ride home and Clint doesn't stop talking about how all his friends are freaks for the next 3 days).

-

Tony calls everyone in for some snacks and drinks, and Peter shakes his wet hair out all over Tony.

"Hey, hey! Watch where you shake that thing, I will hold your sandwich hostage!"

"You can't go to the beach and not get wet Mr. Stark, you're so spoiled. I barely talked you out of bringing that big ugly tent, it was practically a house."

"That's it. Thor, have another ham and cheese," he says as he tosses the sandwich to the god.

"No wait I take it back! Thor stop that's mine!"

-

Afterwards Peter finds a spot with damp sand to start building a castle.

"What are you, five?" Sam asks.

"Hey! I just found these old buckets on the shore and thought it would be fun."

"Mhm, keep telling yourself that boy scout."

"Like you could do any better!"

They stare at each other for a moment.

"Imma 'bout to whoop your ass so hard kid," Sam says as he snatches a bucket from Peter and gets to work a few feet away.

-

Bruce rolls over in his sleep like a gas station hot dog. His other side gets sunburnt.

-

"Kid, I'm ready for a swim. Kid?"

"Not now Mr. Stark, I'm in a sand castle building competition!"

Tony stares down at the teenager with his wild curls covered in sand, filling up a neon pink bucket.

"... move over. Where's your moat? You can't expect to win without a moat."

"The water just absorbs back into the ground," Peter says with a frown.

"Hm. We need insulation. Go back into the water and get stones and kelp. And driftwood for the drawbridge. How much time do we have? Can I get my tools?"

"Hey!" Sam yells, "you can't have help! And definitely no genius engineering toolkit."

"Fine, no tools. But I'm allowed Mr. Stark! Just get someone to help you too," Peter replies as he runs off into the water.

"Son of a- Barnes! Get your ass over here! We need to teach this spiderling some manners."

-

"You should reapply your sunscreen," Steve says while hovering near Natasha lying on her towel.

"Touch me and lose your hand."

-

"Tony, the sun's going to set soon, let's go for a nice walk down the beach."

"Not now Pepper, I gotta finish this brickwork," he says with his face millimeters from the sand as he chisels.

"I wanna go for a romantic walk with my partner. The sunset doesn't wait for anyone, even you Tony Stark."

"Mhm, sure after I finish this battlement."

Pepper huffs.

"Whatever, I'll just go with Natasha."

-

"BRUCE, YOU DIDN'T REAPPLY!"

"Wuh- ow, OW OW OW OW OW OW-"

-

"Okay, times up!" Peter announces.

Tony, Bucky, Peter and Sam all stand up. They step back, scrutinizing each other's work.

"Well obviously ours is better. We have a functional drawbridge," Tony is the first to point out.

"You guys are such freaking nerds. Ours is prettier, and taller. Buck found these beautiful baby conch shells," Sam points out.

"We need judges. Thor!" Peter calls out.

-

"Let's stop here for a second, I need to buy some aloe vera," Natasha points out as she and Pepper pass by a small street of local shops near the beach front.

"Oh, are you feeling burned?"

"No it's for Bruce."

"Now that I think about it, I haven't seen him much today."

Natasha keeps her smirk to herself, purchasing the soothing lotion before heading back out to the street.

"Maybe on our way home we can get some ice cream," Natasha says as she points out the shop. "Bet Cap would like some butter pecan."

Pepper giggles.

-

"Ah, finally, Nat! We need a third judge for our sandcastle competition," Sam waves her over as she and Pepper rejoin the group.

"You have Bruce, Thor, and Steve, what do you need me for?"

"Steve is corrupted!" Peter chimes in.

"He's a partisan of the veteran best friends party. For all we know Bucky used his secret Cap knowledge to rig their castle to the ice pop's liking," Tony explains.

Peter sets his glare onto the man in question, "bet you just go crazy for conch, don't you Steve."

"I'd really rather not be apart of this conversation," Steve tells them.

Bucky turns to the women. "Thor voted for us, and Bruce voted for them. You're the tie-breaker Nat."

Natasha hands the bottle of lotion to Bruce who thanks her sheepishly as she steps up to the castles. She circles them slowly, ducking her head and taking in every crevice.

"Functional?" she asks, pointing at the drawbridge.

"Yes ma'am," Tony smirks.

She steps up to the opposing castle.

"You buy these?" she points to the sea shells adorning the castle.

Bucky lifts his chin, "nope, swam for em. All the work was my own, just short of evicting the previous tennants."

Natasha nods before stepping back.

"I've made my decision. The winner..." they all hold their breath, even Pepper and Steve who have no stakes in the the competition.

"Is Tony and Peter."

Cheers errupt, along with the very loud complaining of the two losers.

"Oh come on man! Ours is bigger, and prettier!" Sam protests.

"Oh really Sam? Is size all that matters? Stark's is functional. I don't know about you but I like a little personality beneath the pretty pretty decorations."

Peter pumps his fists in the air with a "woohoo!" before launching himself at Natasha in tight hug.

"I knew I liked you," Tony interjects as he joins the pair's hug, placing a kiss on both Natasha and Peter's temple.

Bucky rolls his eyes at the gesture and hides an affectionate smile.

"Yeah yeah," Natasha chimes, "let's get out of here so you can buy us ice cream."

-

"What are you gonna go for Rogers? Butter pecan?"

Natasha and Pepper snicker at Tony's comment as they collect their own ice creams from the worker; a chocolate peanut butter cone and a raspberry and lemon sorbet respectively.

"Tony..."

"No, no, I got this. Butterscotch? Rum raisin? Pistachio?"

"I'll have you know my taste buds are very modern. Peter showed me this Thai place and now I'm a regular."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Tony says while grabbing his coffee ice cream.

-

"Kid you're making it too easy. You are genuinely a freaking toddler," Sam says when he spots Peter licking a bubblegum ice cream cone.

"If having a personality is childish then it's no wonder you got cookies and cream, ahembasicbitch." Peter coughs the insult out.

"How dare you, you overgrown Little Tikes ad-"

-

Bucky licks his mint chocolate chip ice cream contentedly in the back of the shop while he watches the others fight.

"What do you think they're on about now?" Clint asks from his left.

Bucky glances at the bubblegum cone in the archer's hand.

"No clue."

-

"AHAHHHAAH"

"What! Vanilla is the best flavour!" Steve tries to argue, although Tony's own laughter rings louder than all other conversation in the room.

"M-modern taste buds AH haha-"

-

Bruce watches with awe and slight concern as Thor happily licks his 3 scoop tall rocky road contentedly.

"You hungry man?"

"Aye, I do enjoy the mallow."

Bruce watches the tower lean in every direction, almost falling several times and looking more dismal with every lick.

He almost says something, but Thor always angles the cone perfectly just in time to save it. Instead, he watches silently while scooping a spoonful of cookie dough from his cup.

-

It seems they got the rest of their bickering out at the shop, as with tired and heat-soaked limbs they pile onto the jet for the ride home.

Tony looks back like a mom driving a mini-van.

"The baby's asleep," he smirks at Pepper who looks back at Peter.

The teenager is dead asleep, mouth wide open and head resting on Natasha's shoulder. She glares when she catches Tony's eyes on the pair and he looks away, glancing at the other passengers.

"I could've sworn Bruce's whole schtick was green. Is he rebranding to red?"

Steve looks over at Tony with a shameful pout, "he forgot to reapply."

Tony quirks an eyebrow but doesn't comment, settling back to cuddle with Pepper.

"Mission success," he whispers into her hairline with a soft kiss.

[marimoscorner]

Consumerism & Witchcraft

Written by Marimo (he/they)🌿

I’ve seen a turn for the better in some witchy spaces regarding consumerism in the past few years, but overall it still tends to be an issue for us as a community. I’ve decided to try and breakdown the pitfalls I’ve noticed in my own journey, in the hopes that it will inspire and assist others. I’ve also provided alternatives and ideas on how to make small changes in our practice to help us better protect the Earth, stick it to the failing system and still acquire our bits and bobs we love so dearly.

As always, I am no authority on any subject nor am I perfect—but we’re all learning as we go, so let’s dive right in 🌿

A Preface

There are some things that should be made entirely clear before we begin:

You are not a bad person for wanting an aesthetic

You are not a bad person for unknowingly falling into pitfalls. Only if you continue to purposefully do so after knowing better

You are not a bad person for consuming content/objects or for not always making the most sustainable decisions. At the end of the day, we can only control our small part of environmental impact, while the rest is left up to the major corporations that make more pollution than any of us ever will

You are only human. Show yourself some grace and understanding that the internet so lacks.

My Experience in Consumerist Hell

I have fallen victim many times to consumerism in witchcraft. Starting my journey at the ripe age of about ten years old and heavily in the broom closet, I was quickly drawn in by the shiny rocks, the brand new candles and scents, the promise of new tarot decks and pendulums and other fancy, shiny new equipment. I was consuming an online aesthetic along with my ideals, and it distracted me from starting my journey by learning well.

I began to spend my birthday and holiday money on the aesthetic of things. While, granted, I still did buy a few literary resources now and again from my local secondhand bookstore—I was stubbornly ignoring the sage advice to learn and understand first before diving in headfirst.

I purchased statues, crystals, too many tarot decks to use. I purchased osteomancy bones I later returned to the earth, for I had not done enough research to know that that animal was mine to practice with. I had a tankard full of incense sticks, and even a growing pile of books that would not be read. While I liked to consider myself crafty with my homemade Maypole and various hand-bound Grimoires, something was becoming apparent: this was all a distraction.

The aesthetic I was partaking in was providing me with a false sense of progress and practicality.

When I’d go to do a tarot reading, I’d become far too overwhelmed with choosing a deck to read in the first place. When making an offering to a deity, I’d feel pressured to also bolster the altars of all the other deities I’d set up, and with my wide pool, the connections felt muddy. Often times I’d be off-put on a project or spell because I knew I needed to film it and it needed to look nice.

In the long term, I don’t have many of these items today. I’ve sold and donated a vast breadth of them. Feeling overwhelmed costed me a few years retreat from my craft to recuperate. However, what has stuck with me is the knowledge I picked up along the way.

So, What’s the Issue? TL;DR

I’ve noticed a few issues here in making these mistakes myself.

Consumerism absolutely distracts you from learning and your craft

Overconsumption leads to environmental damage. If everyone hoarded supplies, there would not be enough to go around. And with what gets thrown away every year…it paints an ugly wound on the Earth

We damage our learning abilities by not allowing ourselves to be anything less than perfect

The need for aesthetic creates barriers to entry within the community and creates a divide of haves and have-nots

You won’t be able to truly follow your individual path if you are only consuming and not creating for yourself

Consumerist culture promotes appropriation. Metaphysical stores carry items from closed practices (such as white sage and palo santo, or coyote bones) because someone is buying them. Don’t be that person, and find alternatives relating to your own culture instead

Consumerism can influence your spiritual decisions based upon monetary inclinations (where some may sacrifice a quality ingredient over a higher quantity of a lower quality ingredient)

So, what can we do?

Firstly, I want to clarify that I am not against collecting, nor am I against maximalism or the beautiful visual aesthetic we carry as a community.

I am an artist a very visual person and understand the longing for a beautiful home and workspace. However, this aesthetic shouldn’t come at the cost of irresponsibly harming the Earth or another community.

Thus, I’ve compiled a list of small things that I will be incorporating into my practice to make it more mindful and sustainable. I hope that you’ll join me in a few of them.

Minimize Supplies. While I used to have a huge selection of stationary for my Grimoire, I now limit myself to a simple pencil and watercolor set if I’m feeling artistic. This helps me actually use my Grimoire for study, rather than to keep perfect. It’s also friendlier on my wallet!

Thrift Supplies. There are plenty of perfectly good items that get donated daily. You can get high-quality candles and holders, old crystal bowls for altar offerings, spare crafting supplies, fabric for alter cloths and even clothing if you so wish—all for a fraction of the cost new and while saving the planet just a little bit more. Hell, you can sometimes even find good silver!

Share Supplies with your Community. You can create a sort of barter system with other witches in your area. Perhaps you create a sigil for them, and they provide you with a candle spell. Play to your strengths and grow together!

Look for Creative Outlets. Do you really need to go buy an altar statue that’s been mass-produced? Or can you give your deity the personal gift of a drawing, painting or even hand-modeled or hand-carved rendition? This will also deepen your connection to your craft and your magic, and make it more meaningful and stronger. If you really like something, though, go for it!

If you aren’t the artistic sort, consider supporting an artist before going to a large company. While I haven’t purchased from them myself, Blagowood on Etsy has beautiful deity statues carved from wood by their small team in Ukraine for a comparable cost to the standard mass produced metal statues. I consider this extra labor of love going into these pieces and those of similar small companies to be much better energy for my practice. I myself may put out some art prints and other handmade supplies in the future, but I will likely spread them around my community first.

Try Secondhand Books. While not available in every area and further still not as available for witchcraft and occult books, you may strike luck! Not only are secondhand books less expensive, but you’ll be supporting a local business. That’s not to say you can’t buy firsthand books, but some searching around may be beneficial to the earth and to your wallet in the long run.

Be mindful of where you source supplies and decor. If you are a fan of taxidermy decor, make sure that you source cruelty free. Bats can practically never be sourced without cruelty, so if a shop carries them, I’d be mindful of their other specimens. The same goes for if a shop decides to forgo a culture’s wishes and carry supplies sacred to them, such as white sage or dreamcatchers. Supporting folks who turn a profit off of others’ suffering is not something many would wish to include energetically in their craft.

Search the Wild for Tools. Find sticks, flowers and other plants out in the forest. Learn how to rockhound in your area for crystals. Your craft will be more powerful the more connected it is to the land you are surrounded by. Be sure to reference guides for safety and legality!

Get Creative with Purposes. If you are having difficulty finding exactly what you need by thrifting or searching, make another tool multipurpose if it would do the job good enough. Find supplies that are easy to source and work as substitutes for other ingredients (ex. Quartz as a stand in for other stones)

Spend more time Doing. Go out into the woods (safely) and advance your connection to the earth instead of worrying over the perfect item for your collection. Your craft will benefit

At the end of the day, all of this is your decision. Take what you like, and leave what you don’t. Even if we don’t agree, I thank you for your time and open mind. I will continue updating about how I incorporate these steps, and I will also hopefully post more on witchy crafting in the future.

I wish you well, and hope you’ll decide to follow along on our journey!