#because I cannot reiterate enough how much I do not need this many pairs of doll bell bottoms

[tj-crochets]

Hey y’all! If you have any advice about where to find deals on American Girl dolls, either the regular kind or Wellie Wishers, or any advice on good knock off versions of Wellie Wishers, can you let me know? I’ve been using a Target version of an American Girl doll to model/test the doll clothes I make, but I suspect her measurements aren’t quite the same as the American Girl dolls, and I think I might like to have both for comparison purposes. I’d also like to try some Wellie Wishers scale sewing, but I don’t want to pay $60-100 for a doll I’m just going to use for clothes pattern testing, you know? 

[transhawks]

I remember that Hori referred to Hawks (and Ochako) being a 'light of hope' in 2021. It's also interesting that it was Hawks who commented on Ofa and how it connects people's hearts. Do you have any thoughts on this?

I think that arc was very dark for Hawks specifically and the anime's rendition of it is very dark. However these chapters... in 323-325 it is a bit different. It's where I think Hori was honest and where I do think Hawks and especially Ochako are at their brightest, narratively. So, uh, to go back to my writing for Graduation Day, I remember debating whether to analyze this scene because I thought it was relevant. I eventually decided that six thousand words is enough and to spare y'all, but let's get into it because I think it confirms my thesis that vulnerability is needed for connection in BNHA.

Ochako's first panels in 324 have her saying, admitting actually, that she cannot reassure people. She acknowledges they're all scared and worried.

This was the best thing she could have done.

The deification of heroes was something that led to the system they have now. Somewhere in the glitz and hero rankings people forgot these are regular people.

We see this repeatedly as an issue of identities - why Toshinori seems a shell of himself outside of All Might, most of Enji's issues boil down to him not knowing how to be Enji versus Endeavor and screwing his family up for it, and Hawks is...well, everything about Hawks is about being a Hero rather than a person, which is why Horikoshi had him kill someone literally named "humanity".

Ochako doesn't allow this to go on. She makes it clear they're all scared, they're all people who want safety, comfort, and want to be clean from mud and dirt, same as any other. It's why she's one of the Savior Kids; she's geared to try and humanize the other side. It's why she's paired with Toga. See below, as she thinks of Toga while giving a speech.

Essentially she reached the people in that crowd by reminding them who Deku is - a kid with way too much on his shoulders, a person just like them. Not a symbol, not a quirk, like AFO is treating him as. A boy. Or "regular high school kid" - yeah, I should have put this in Graduation Day, lol.

Symbols aren't meant to be fragile or have to come out from the rain. Deku does because he's a person.

So what about Hawks?

This isn't the last time Keigo is going make metaphors about One for All. Remember the line so many people read in bad faith about him comparing Endeavor "linking" people together too? He was talking about connection, pure and simple, realizing that much of his own motivations and Inasa's are connected through Endeavor, or their perceptions of him.

Truly, it's just him remarking that seeing society as holistic, as a whole rather than a part, is the key to solving their issue.

I think the emphasis on showing your soul, ugliness and cracks and all is one of the keys to reaching the villains. Something that doesn't position them as moral superiors, which is where Keigo failed drastically with Jin. He didn't give him a good choice at all. He also wasn't willing to be fully vulnerable with him. But I also think there's another dimension to this. More and more I think Horikoshi is actually criticizing individualism and the idea of "the great man". In his depicting of bystander system that has become an issue from society delegating acts of kindness and heroism to an actual career, I think he's critiquing the idea that one person can shoulder that burden.

It shouldn't be a person but a village, so to speak. It says a lot that the characters we know as villains are both seeking connection but also saying, in the depths of despair, that their individual will can change the world.

I still interpret this scene as Dabi deep in denial. Uh oh, he actually FELT something, time to double down and reiterate he doesn't give an actual fuck when truth is he DOES, he just doesn't want to. Otherwise he has to FEEL.

Anyway, the emphasis on the single person and single convinction is another one of those clues I think Horikoshi is leaving us about the "Great Man theory".

The great man theory is a 19th-century approach to the study of history according to which history can be largely explained by the impact of great men, or heroes: highly influential and unique individuals who, due to their natural attributes, such as superior intellect, heroic courage, extraordinary leadership abilities or divine inspiration, have a decisive historical effect.

I remember balking when I read this. Maybe it's because here in the West, there's little uhh agreement over Napoleon being heroic. Maybe it's because my history teachers were unsual but I've never really seen anyone seriously consider Napoleon heroic. There always seemed to be agreement he was a power-mad tyrant who took advantage of the Revolution to enact a military coup and then actual progress made by the Jacobins. So the fact chapter 3 of BNHA has Mic quoting him as a great hero was always weird. At the time of my first read through, I wrote it off as maybe Japan doesn't take this approach to Napoleon and the Revolution. One person's tyrant is another's hero, you know? But more and more I think Horikoshi has been debunking Great Man Theory with his manga. First off the premise of Great Man is usual that the Great Man is born, that his Greatness is congenital. That there's a natural aptitude for greatness, like superior intellect, etc. BNHA is absolutely refuting that, has from the first page. In fact the characters who get into the trap of believing they are born "anything" are shown to be trapped or not in a good way (see Redestro, or see Tomura and Keigo believing they are born to destroy/have dirty wings respectively). So much of who Deku has become is supposed to change this idea of biological predisposition to greatness.

Even Dabi, who has struggled against the circumstances of his birth, falls into the trap of believing some people are born with everything and are born to everything, essentially internalizing the worst of his father's own beliefs.

The story isn't kind to people who give us this rhetoric - that depending on others is wrong, or weakness. It's why Deku had his arc, after all.

Which brings us to my second point - the story isn't the triumph of individuals against evil. It's about people coming together. That's why Ochako and Keigo had their moments of realization in 323-325.

It's not about one person. It's about people.

Lastly, and this is conjecture, but there's a curiosity to the Great Man theory from a cultural standpoint. Now each culture has its Great Man to some extent. I've spoken about how All For One is likely trying to emulate Oda Nobunaga with his Demon Lord talk. But the emphasis on individual actions over collective ones, the commercialization of heroism, and the idea of competition breeding innovations/results are distinctively Western Capitalist ones. And in...a clumsy way, I think Horikoshi has been hinting at this being part of his own criticism.

Did you ever notice how the Japanese anime has them say "Hero/Hiro"? It's an imported word. Japanese has other words that mean hero, like yusha or eiyu, which have different meanings that all relate to the English hero as either a brave person (yusha) or a person of greatness/importance (eiyu). Why then use hiro, a foreign word as the title for this career?

Because the hero system is canonically imported. And so perhaps are the ideals it brought with it.

[xaibaugrove]

Everyone in the Krew is Problematic

I was inspired to go on this rant by someone who recently brought up a question in a server I’m in, asking why so many people in the fandom seem to hate Mako and Makorra and why. This wouldn’t be the first time I defend Mako and it most likely won’t be the last, but it might be the first time I tear him and everyone else in the Krew down in the process, only to bring them back up. Hear me out though.

I think I’ve totally accepted that a lot of people in this fandom will always hate Mako and that I will have to perpetually defend him, I understand that this is the relationship I’ve chosen with this world. But what I still will never understand are the reasons why people hate/dislike him because compared to how much they love other characters in the Krew who honestly aren’t that much better than him (in some cases, even worse!), it doesn’t make any sense.

Let me also preface this by saying, I love these characters with all my heart and soul, probably more than I should love fictional characters, but this is the life I live and with that being said, I am going to tear them apart just to prove a point. Okay, here we go.

MAKO

Most of his detractors list the usual criticisms, which are valid when isolated. He cheated on Asami, he lied to Korra, he was a terrible boyfriend and essentially he treated the women he claimed to love or care about horribly. Gee, it’s almost like the man was a teenager with no experience in having long-lasting, healthy relationships and was raised in the streets by gangmembers while doing anything to survive and provide for his younger sibling after seeing his parents killed right in front of him and suddenly being orphaned…

I think Mako has been torn down enough, so I won’t get too deep into the tearing down part for him. It really does baffle me how someone can claim to be woke and not comprehend how someone coming from poverty could possibly be a product of their environment. Like, does everyone think that poor people automatically have hearts of gold and turn out like Little Orphan Annie? Why are people surprised that when someone has a shitty life, they might do shitty things?

Also, sooo many people love Zuko, who actively tried to cause harm to Aang, Katara and Sokka numerous times, and sympathize with his troubled past. But like, sure Zuko had an abusive father and his mother peaced out of his life for whatever reasons but at least he had his uncle. Mako had his parents for maybe 8 years before they were murdered in front of him and then had...no one for the next 10 years? Except for Bolin, sure, but no other parental figure in his life. Dude literally had to become him and his brother’s own parent and joined a gang to survive, and after all that, the worst he does is acts as a bad boyfriend toward Korra and Asami and he is instantly thrown to the wolves. Something doesn’t add up. It’s just...I don’t get it.

Yes, the way he treated people was bad, but people can grow? That’s a thing humans can do. And he was a teenager, my god. No, we cannot allow our past to be an excuse for how we treat others, but we have to be aware that there is a growth process to being human. And being human in and of itself, isn’t pretty. You think Mako is problematic? Don’t get me started on your fave.

KORRA

Ok, I love this woman to death but she is ridiculously problematic. She pursued someone in a relationship and essentially forced Mako to cheat on Asami by kissing him against his will, that’s already pretty awful and shows a lack of empathy on her part, also kissing people without their consent is no bueno. But also I just have to say it for the people who might not know this. One of the fundamental reasons why Makorra didn’t work was because KORRA WAS ABUSIVE. Okay? It wasn’t just that Mako was inadequate at relationships and didn’t know how to people, it wasn’t that she was secretly confused and wanting Asami the entire time (biphobia at it’s best) one of the main problems in the pairing was that Korra was crazy abusive towards Mako. Seriously, why don’t I see this more often in those discussions??

If we need examples, I have dozens. Honestly, it’s really easy to see how terrible Korra was to Mako, I’d actually argue that she treated him worse than he treated her. I mean, they were both terrible to one another, but in Korra’s case she went through the motions of being completely infatuated with your first teenage crush, getting with said crush, then crashing and burning once you realize that you have no idea how to treat a romantic partner so after the butterflies wear off you subject them to all the wonderful aspects of your anger issues. Not only did she scream at Mako during every argument they had, she also threatened him with bodily harm if she got really angry. Remember how their relationship crashed and burned in Book 2? Here are the things that Korra did during that time. Let me reiterate, this was not okay.

Mako is visibly shaken by this!

This woman burst into her boyfriend’s place of work and violently kicked his desk out from in front of him with all his coworkers present. That is not normal behavior. That is a red flag. And after she came back, had amnesia or whatever and forgot they broke up after that scene, let’s not forget that Mako was legitimately Afraid to break up with her again. Korra made her partner frightened that they might suffer bodily harm if they upset her. Again, and I can’t stress this enough, this is not okay!

The little scene in Book 3 when Korra is lifting Mako like 100 feet off the ground with airbending while he’s screaming in fear just to make Asami laugh is cute, right? I’ll admit, I loved that little moment too, it’s one of the only instances of Korrasami development that we got, but also, there were sooo many things wrong with that scene lol. Not only does Korra terrify Mako for literally no reason, it’s also sort of just her continuing to exercise some degree of power over him for her own amusement. Almost like a subtle reminder to him saying, “I am stronger than you in every way and I can break your femur like a twig if I wanted to… but I won’t, so look how much fun we’re having!”

Now of course, there are reasons why Korra acts like this. She was isolated for almost her entire life and never learned how to treat people and be around people. The Avatar is human because they must live amongst the people they protect and that helps them develop empathy and cherish life. The White Lotus deprived her of that fundamental aspect of her duty as the Avatar and it showed throughout the beginning of the series. Clearly, she was young, didn’t see how her actions could negatively affect others and hurt the feelings of not just her partner but also friends and family (she was really awful towards a lot of people in her life!). But as the series went on, we see her having less outbursts and learning to control her temper more.

One can only assume that she does not have the same behavior with Asami because for one, I don’t think Asami would play that shit, she seems like she would electrocute a bitch in a heartbeat and not hesitate if needed, but also Korra is not the same shitty partner she used to be as a teenager. Again, kids do stupid things. Adults do stupid things. And we learn and we grow. Korra will probably make some more mistakes in her relationship with Asami. I don't think anyone can have one bad relationship and suddenly learn all the lessons they can from it and have a perfect one the next go around. I can totally picture Korra losing her temper and raising her voice at Asami if she gets frustrated and forgets who she’s dealing with. Managing anger issues is hard, I know this from experience, and it doesn’t magically get easier. Of course, if Korra does pop off, Asami would definitely put her in her place because she’s a bad bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s shit, next character.

ASAMI

You know her, you love her, you fantasize about her and you probably have her on your list of fictional characters you would totally bang if you had the chance (I know I do), yes, even your best girl is problematic. It’s interesting to me that a lot of people sympathize with Asami and very few openly criticize her (so few that I’ve never seen anyone say a bad thing about her). What’s there to criticize though? The poor girl was cheated on by Mako, had her feelings disregarded by Korra, who claimed to be her friend but pursued her then-boyfriend behind her back and then made up for it by simping for her for the rest of her life? Also her mom was murdered when she was just 6 years old, her father threatened to kill her once and physically abused her, then died right after they started repairing their relationship, essentially making her an orphan at the ripe age of 22. Suffice it to say, Asami has been through it.

So, how could she be problematic, you ask? Why, of course, through the classic Bryke technique of romance progression in storylines called Kissing People Without Their Consent

To be honest, I did gloss over this with Korra, simply because there were sooo many other issues with that woman and I just couldn’t go through every single one in as much detail but that doesn’t negate how serious this whole sneak attack kissing thing is. Sure, Asami is very emotional and lonely and sort of desperate too, (it's a little sad, really) but Mako is clearly uncomfortable and completely caught off guard by the kiss. This is also the second time this happens to him in the series! There are a couple factors that might contribute to why Asami does this and acts this way, maybe Korra’s general awfulness rubbed off on her (don’t make a dirty joke) but this is still wrong.

AND that’s...pretty much it. Kissing people without their permission is a big no no, though. Not wanting to gloss over that, but Asami really is a good person who just did a not-so-great thing. Getting burned by Mako twice probably made her a little less inclined to be as forward with anyone though, and it looks like she now takes her time and is patient in her relationship with Korra. It even seems like Asami is the only person Korra is afraid to upset, as Korra does seem more gentle and calm when around her. And who knows? Maybe Asami living a life where a majority of the time she got whatever she wanted when she wanted it might have also influenced her to be more assertive or even imposing within her relationships.

If anything, those three fools getting into relationships with each other just showed how not ready they were to be in relationships in the first place and also how not okay they were.

BOLIN

Originally I titled this as “Everyone in the Krew is problematic (except Bolin)” but then I remembered that Bolin totally kissed a woman without her consent so I deleted the shit out of that!

This asshole looks genuinely pleased with himself after essentially assaulting Ginger. Not a good look.

Sure, Bolin is baby. He will always be baby to me. But that does not erase the fact that he also actively supported a fascist dictator. Not only was the kissing without consent thing bad, but there’s also that. No matter how many times people around him warned him about the fact that he was on the wrong side of things, that he was helping someone who was putting people into concentration camps...Bolin wanted to believe the best of Kuvira. He ignored obvious signs that the woman was a dictator committing human rights violations like crazy and you know, there’s gotta be a reason for that too.

Maybe Bolin wanted to feel like he was doing something good for once. When you think about it, with his role as the comic relief in the Krew, and sort of constantly being infantilized by his older brother, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man developed some insecurity in his ability to do anything good or useful for anyone without screwing it up in some way. In Kuvira’s army, it seemed like he was actually taken seriously, he felt like he was doing something that mattered. Korra had being the Avatar, Asami had her business and mindblowing philanthropy (honestly, her ability to be as charitable as she is profitable is insane) and Mako had his police work (ACAB, tho). Bolin had...the role of being a joke. A superficial actor. A former pro-bending meathead.

Bolin lived his entire life following after his brother that once they were adults and Mako finally decided to live his own life for once, it left Bolin completely lost. And lost young men are perfect recruits for fascists.

So, in conclusion, my whole reasoning behind destroying the integrity of my favorite characters is to prove a huge point. All of these characters are problematic. They have flaws, some bigger than others (looking at you, Korra. Just...wow), but ultimately, even if your fave is problematic... that’s okay. A lot of people, mostly younger people it seems, are really obsessed with being right about everything that they do and stan. And that’s a wonderful thing, so much change has come about by the younger generations calling out people who do fucked up shit, don’t want or try to improve, and get away with it. But it’s also caused a lot of people to be unforgiving and completely unwilling to acknowledge when people do improve and try to be better.

Personally, I love my problematic Krew because having issues that you’re constantly working on internally is human. It’s human to make mistakes, it’s human to grow from those mistakes. And it’s inspiring to me, who is wholly imperfect, to see myself reflected in fictional characters who aren’t perpetuating unrealistic ideals of human nature, characters who are messy, crazy and ultimately human.

As one of my favorite manga artists and queen of impeccable character creation Rumiko Takahashi once said:

“I think that perfect people are not very interesting.”

And I will always wholeheartedly agree.

[halstudandruz]

Had Me By Halftime

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Kevin Atwater x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Based off the song Had Me By Halftime by Morgan Wallen

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: I know this game was on a Monday but we’re gonna pretend it wasn’t. Also I know there’s different rules to cornhole, but I did the 21 or bust version for sake of the story.

You were talkin' trash, we were tossin' bags

When I caught your name at a corn hole game

You and your friends had decided to tailgate at the Chicago Bears game. You were in your last semester of college and your group had collectively decided to forego buying tickets. Not wanting nosebleed seats, but knowing your broke college student bank account would not offer many other options. The parking lot was crowded with Bears fans; scattered Minnesota Vikings fans sticking out in the crowd. It was surprisingly warm for a Chicago October. You had just finished a game of flip cup and informed your friends you were going to get food from a nearby food truck, your best friend, Madison tagging along. You hadn’t made it far from your group when you made eye contact with a handsome man. Slowly walking you heard him talking to a man about the same age as him,

“Adam come on!” He exclaimed.

“I am not playing against him, he might as well be a pro.” The brown haired man shook his head.

“Don’t take it out on me cause I’m better than you.” Another good-looking brown-haired man from the group laughed shrugging and throwing an arm around a pretty blonde girl who wasn’t even paying attention to the men, already conversing with a group of girls. The handsome dark skinned man groaned seemingly pouting. Grabbing Madison’s arm you stopped her to pull her over to the group.

“You need a couple players?” You smiled gesturing to the corn hole boards.

“Actually yeah we do.” He nodded.

“Let’s roll.” You challenged taking your place by the board and picking up the orange bean bags. Madison sighed already reading your dirty thoughts about the man as she walked to the board opposite of you and the broad muscled man took his place next to you, gathering the navy blue bags. “Let me just get you a menu cause you’re about to get served.” You joked and luckily he let out an adorable laugh.

“That’s the best you got?” He sported a wide smile causing you to instantly blush.

“Yeah...sorry I’m not the best at trash talking. My game usually speaks for itself.” You shrugged, turning to throw the bean bag on the board Madison stood by. Watching it slide right through the center. Humming he looked at you impressed, gearing up when you threw him a seductive smirk.

“Let the games begin.” He grinned.

The game was close, full of playful banter, and maybe a little flirting from you and the man you now knew was named, Kevin. Luckily you and Madison came out on top thanks to Kevin’s partner’s accidental bust over 21 taking their score back down to 13.

“Ruz, you might want to take up a math class in your spare time.” Kevin teased, knowing he only aimed for the board because of his poor math skills.

“Shut up.” He attempted to throw a bag at him, but it fell short. “I’m never playing this game again.” Adam huffed, walking away.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You shrugged, winking at him.

Said "Girl, where you sitti'g? I got an extra ticket

It's right on the 50"

“Sorry. He gets a little competitive.” Kevin smiled, “Thanks for playing though.” He leaned against the side of a truck crossing his arms. Madison stood awkwardly a couple feet away as you two flirted with each other.

“Thanks for letting us. It was nice to do something other than a drinking game for once.” You chuckled gesturing to where your group was now playing beer pong.

“Where are you guys sitting?” He asked gesturing to the stadium behind him.

“Oh we actually don’t have tickets. Just here to tailgate.” You explained and his smile got slightly bigger.

“Well I actually have an extra ticket. It’s right on the 50 if you want to join me?” He offered.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to just leave my group hanging..” You contemplated looking back at Madison who was nodding quickly mouthing the word “Go!” Sighing you turned back towards him with a smile, “you know what. What the hell why not?” You pushed the tingling of your body deeper down at his happy grin.

You had a 16 home team jersey on

Singin' every word to the fight song

Had your airplane bottles from your purse out

“Okay. I have to ask. Why are you wearing that jersey?” Kevin asked, sitting down beside you.

“Because we’re at...a Bears game?” You looked at him skeptically, causing him to laugh.

“Obviously.. I mean why O’Donnell? I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone actually wearing his jersey.” He explained.

“Well I do like to be an outlier,” you joked, “punters never get the credit they should. Same with kickers. They deserve more love.” You answered.

“Good to know you’re not a bandwagon fan.” He said.

“We won one super bowl 35 years ago and we just benched our newly signed QB for a rookie. I don’t think there’s any wagon for someone to hop on.” You retorted.

“You got me there.” He agreed watching you pull a few tiny bottles of alcohol out of your small bag you had strategically hidden to make it past security.

“You a fan of fireball? I hate it but it came with the pack.” You asked, turning to see an amused grin covering his face. “What?”

“How in the hell did you sneak those in here?” He inquired.

“Can’t give away all my secrets on the first date.” You shrugged, wiggling your eyebrows. He took it from your hand nudging Adam who sat on his other side. Adam took it graciously.

“Hell yeah. We’re keeping her!” He exclaimed, twisting the cap off to take the shot.

The first half of the game was rough. Only lucking out with a safety in the first quarter.

“I hope to god Trubisky starts to prove he has more than just a pretty face.” You shook your head preparing yourself for the second half. You and Kevin had talked throughout all of halftime, and you caught him staring with a wide smile more than once as you might’ve got a little too competitive throughout the first and second quarter.

“I could play better defense than his line is. Kev, get down there you know how to tackle people.”

“He does realize he’s supposed to be throwing it to his own team right?”

“Fucking 2 yards isn’t gonna get you anywhere!” Were just a few things you remember spouting off.

“This is ridiculous.” You threw up your hands when Rudolph took it into the Vikings endzone.

With 5:33 left in the 3rd quarter O’Donnell took the field for the punt, but instead to everyone’s surprise the punt is faked and #16 puts up a pass to Cunningham who runs it in for the touchdown. “Oh my god!” You jumped up and down, “No fucking way! That’s my man!” You yelled pulling Kevin in for a hug who was in utter disbelief.

“I cannot believe that just happened.” He laughed, cheering with the crowd. The fans were hyped watching Barth kick it between the posts.

“Believe it baby!

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation with your T-formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, and let them know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down.” You sang along loudly to the Bears’ fight song roaring throughout Soldier Field. The second half was much more heated than the first, but unfortunately thanks to a successful kick from Forbath in the last few seconds the Vikings took home the win.

You would've thought that post-game

Kiss would've made me wanna make you mine

But you had me by halftime

Everyone was starting to file out of the stadium, Kevin’s group included.

“You comin?” Adam turned to you both.

“You wanna wait till the crowds disperse a little?” Kevin asked and you smiled nodding.

“We’ll be waiting for you.” Adam winked, a knowing smirk covering his face as he grabbed tightly ahold of Kim’s hand to lead her through the crowd.

“You would’ve had to keep a tight hold on me. I’m small and can get lost easily.” You joked, body frame tiny compared to his broad muscular one.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I do regardless.” Kevin flirted, looping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him.

“I told you. Punters and kickers, they don’t get enough credit.” You reiterated, “I mean how often does the game come down to a field goal? Too often in my opinion.”

“I can give you kicker I’m not sure about punters though.” He looked at you amused.

“Did you miss that play?” You scoffed.

“And how often does that happen? I’m sure you didn’t buy his jersey banking on that.” He replied.

“Yeah, alright. I just thought O’Donnell was better looking than Barth.” You admitted.

“You really know your football though.” He observed.

“I grew up with three brothers. It just came with the territory.” You explained.

“Three brothers?” He looked over at you, a faint look of fear appearing on his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure you could take any of them though.” You bit your lip squeezing his bicep to get your point across.

“Is that so?” He grinned face inches away from yours.

“Mhmm.” You hummed searching his eyes, begging him to make the move and he did. Closing the distant for a gentle, smooth kiss. His hand caressing your cheek to pull you closer. This is nowhere near what you expected your day to turn into when you got up this morning. You were just supposed to be tailgating with your friends too drunk for your own good. Instead you were seated inside the stadium making out with a guy you had just met this morning. Not that you were complaining, but what were the chances?

“Was that okay?” He asked lips still slightly brushing against yours and as an answer you gripped his face pulling him in for a deep bruising kiss that had him groaning low in his throat. Pulling away to get a breath you looked around to see very few people still seated, a warmth buzzing throughout your body despite the chilly fall air becoming more prominent.

“We better get out of here before we get in trouble.” You whispered. And he nodded tightly clasping your hand in his as you made your way out of the stadium back out into the parking lot.

Now every time the leaves start fallin' down

I get to thinkin' 'bout

5 years later

“Kev, can you check on the pizza while I get Carsyn dressed?” You asked after seeing your daughter stir from her nap on the monitor. Walking in her room you retrieved her from the crib. She was all smiles and giggles. “Well I take it you had a good nap.” You kissed her chubby cheek, attempting to flatten her bed head before laying her on the floor to get her dressed. “Daddy is just gonna be head over heels when he sees you. Not that he isn’t already.” You smiled trying to slide her tights on despite her wiggling legs. Succeedingly picking her up 10 minutes later. “Look who’s awake daddy.” You caught Kevin’s attention as he turned away from the stove to take her from your arms.

“You didn’t.” Kevin laughed, a smile wide on his face when he took his daughter into his arms admiring the outfit she was sporting. A blue tutu accompanied by an orange jersey that repped the #16, outfit topped off with a Chicago Bears bow. “Well don’t you just look adorable. Yes, you take after your mama.” Kevin laid kisses all over her face erupting numerous giggles from her. “Where’d you even find this at?” He asked and you knew what he was talking about without even turning around as you took the pizza out of the oven.

“I had to specially order it as one of those custom name jerseys. Seems they don’t make O’Donnell’s jersey for babies.” You laughed checking on the wings in the air fryer when a knock at the door interrupted. Adam and Kim strolling their way into the kitchen minutes later.

“Where’s my girl?” Adam asked, spotting her in Kevin’s arms. Carsyn immediately reached out for Adam. “There she is and aren’t you just the cutest Bears fan in the whole world?” He tickled her stomach taking in her outfit, “Gotta say [Y/L/N] it looks better on her.” He joked gesturing to your identical jersey.

“Joke all you want this jersey got me a husband.” You leaned up on your tippy toes to lay a kiss on Kevin’s cheek.

The rest of your crew arrived not too much later. Hailey and Jay bringing along their son who was a few months younger than Carsyn. This was now a football season tradition and you loved every minute of it.

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[paradife-loft]

In the blood orange sky

Well. Does anybody remember a couple months ago when I made this post? Because apparently I’ve been thinking about it a fair bit.

And also thinking about... maybe doing a thing? A thing that involves writing various vignettes as I’m moved to, very low pressure, but all in the same continuity, about sequences of various events that are related to one another and a central premise...? So kind of maybe like a “multi-chapter fic” as they call them, but y’know. No particular goals for “finishing” something, or requiring they be in chronological order or any other strict structure binding them together. Just exploring things for fun, and I’ll see where it goes!

But yes, so, I have written a bit this week that I think does what I would like for a first portion of something like this, and... here it is!

1.4k words, Xiyao, post-canon, dark-ish mystery/intrigue/character and relationship exploration I guess?; warnings for injury and general unpleasant body stuff, and also unpleasant mental health stuff, and also discussed off-screen (mass) murder.

*

When he comes to this time, he is sitting - propped up in the gentle rays of early sun against something he can vaguely identify as soft, with enough give to cradle his shoulders. That alone is a departure from each time previous… and Jin Guangyao supposes he ought to be thankful he continues to wake up at all; that his condition upon doing so this one time at least is no longer face-down, body practically smeared into the dirt.

An unpleasant prickling in one of his legs prompts him to open his eyes again, lift his head from where it’d fallen back against a pillow. His neck throbs with the motion. He sees a pair of hands - familiar enough that the distortions between his sight now and his memories cannot help but unsettle him - moving steadily with needle and thread through a deep rent in his left calf.

Ah. That would explain that particular discomfort, then.

Viewing the sight on top of feeling the muted, distant sensation it evokes, gives him the perverse and contrarian instinct to kick out and abort the effort of cleaning him up as it’s only partway done - but he recognises well enough that it would be a waste, and even now he isn’t so far gone as that. And he doesn’t want his leg to remain ruined. And to repair it himself now would be… possible, but far more difficult.

All arguments he has to pull out in front of his mind’s eye, like a text one might recite, to convince himself not to protest this time; but he does hold himself still, does remain for the time being a silent, compliant patient.

(Not entirely still, he must admit: his eyes follow the tiny shifts in those hands, trying to reconcile the absence of both manicured care, and the unique pattern of callused ridges he had memorised once upon a time. And yet more important, more incorrect when compared to the state he is familiar with: Lan Xichen has never known how to sew.)

(And yet. And yet.)

He presses his lips together as Xichen approaches the completion of the task, drawing the words he resents needing to speak up like pitchers of water from a drying well. They crowd his tongue, sour the inside of his mouth.

"I take it you found me quickly this time, after your target was done with me?"

Lan Xichen starts when he hears his voice, head jumping up and eyes round. Jin Guangyao had not taken him to be so absorbed that he hadn't even noticed him waking, but -

(He should have, perhaps.)

Xichen's expression hardens into something resigned after that, the dam holding back a great dredged mass of displeasure. Pain and anger in a hundred or more shades, silt and loam and sand.

"You tore apart the gravesites of three prominent clans, scattering the bones, and then did the same with the bodies of their living families when they came to drive out the robbers who defiled their ancestors' remains. The entire village has been terrified since last night. The news was not difficult to follow."

Jin Guangyao resists the urge to close his eyes, staring down the spray of blood to his face with the same dispassion he once used to with regularity. He is out of practise, however: he can't stop the reflexive flinch in his mouth, or his one remaining hand. It curls stiffly in the blankets pushed to one side of the bed pallet.

It’s not that he hadn't expected something along these lines, from the moment he’d woken up and taken in his surroundings. He hadn’t particularly relished the anticipation of hearing it, and so allowed himself a few moments watching Lan Xichen work in silence before disturbing him, it’s true - but he regrets the pain and exhaustion on Xichen's face and in the set of his shoulders and limbs more than he cares to spend his sympathy on another (inevitable) group of dead strangers.

He glances down at the long column of stitches holding the greying flesh of his leg together around the bone, and wonders which hapless, doomed villager from this new feat of resentful destruction had managed to inflict the injury.

"So it didn't require all that much searching, then. Nobody was angry with you, stealing away with the corpse that had killed all those people instead of burning it?"

"Not enough to express it to me. I imagine it helped that I spent several hours in the interim helping right the disturbed graves, and set wards around several of the neighboring houses," Xichen replies. Stress still lines his eyes, flickering more prominent like a candle flame as he speaks. Reconstructing the sequence of events implied, Jin Guangyao feels a twinge of - something - surprise, or hurt? he can't quite say - that Xichen had apparently seen fit this time to seal him away and then leave him, presumably alone, for some significant time afterward, while he tended to the village. Even though it was presumably an effective distraction, not to mention well-deserved.

"I was intending on returning this afternoon, to add more wards to some of the other houses, and suppress any other spirits roused in the process,” Xichen adds. Half an afterthought, half an explanation.

The emotion, whatever it is, crystallizes into a spike of irritation. "Temporary wards aren't going to be enough to turn away a determined corpse-raiser of this strength if he has unfinished vendettas against anybody left there," replies Jin Guangyao, snappish.

Lan Xichen’s lips thin. "I would still prefer to comfort some of their fears, however unrealistically, in the time before the problem has been solved, than leave them with no help or explanation at all after such a loss."

Jin Guangyao knows this. Agrees with it, even; it had been one of many principles they shared in the nighthunts they used to investigate. If Lan Xichen is frustrated at having to reiterate such a thing to him specifically, rather than in general, it doesn't show amidst everything else on his face.

He does stand though, turning away from the bed, tucking the medical supplies he’d been using back into their pouch and going to check on an iron kettle perched over a fire.

“Where are we?” Jin Guangyao asks, preferring the abrupt change of subject to a continuation of the prior topic. Xichen glances back at him - not for long.

“The abandoned house of one of the walking corpses I suppressed a few months ago,” he replies. He pours hot water into a skin, tying it off, and then another steaming portion into a tea pot - drab by Gusu Lan standards, but still likely worth more than the entire roof they’re under. “Don’t get up on that leg yet; you’ll split it open.”

Silence clouds between them, as Jin Guangyao stops shifting his way toward the edge of the bed pallet and lets the leg stretch out in front of him, holding back his weight against his arm. His fingers itch.

He’s asked Lan Xichen before, how long he’s been living like this, although not in those terms; and Lan Xichen has responded only with obvious deflections, despite giving perfectly cogent answers to less savory questions, such as how he’s managed to take a room at an inn with a resentment-spilling corpse in tow. There are many people in need with no one else to turn to throughout the countryside. A simple glamour works well enough when neither the inkeep nor other patrons are cultivators. Spending nights at the house left abandoned after a prior nighthunt certainly sidesteps the minor inconveniences of the latter, but leaves him even less sanguine about the former.

Would you rather neither of you were here at all, and in all likelihood even more people were dead? his own mind poses snidely, while he sits and watches Lan Xichen putting the hot compress over his lower leg, manually drawing up the blood in his body toward the region. He sips the cup of medicinal brew pressed into his hands, despite strong doubt in its capacity to do anything now for him in particular.

When he can acutely feel the spiritual energy circulating through his through him - pushed by Xichen’s intent and core, urging tissue to repair itself in the same way it would in a living body - Jin Guangyao finally admits the need to push on the issue of what they both have surely understood by now.

“I need to come with when you leave,” he says. He doesn’t make it a suggestion.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, and Jin Guangyao’s still heart seems to squeeze like a vise. Go back to Gusu! he wants to yell; fuck the villagers, and fuck whatever further bloody deaths he won’t be conscious enough to care about causing.

Lan Xichen only nods, like it pains him. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 7

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FIVE DAYS LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE TEMPLE

Eivor cradled the basket in his hand, meticulously examining its contents to ensure that everything was in order.

At the moment, he was preparing to make an offering to Thor as thanks for their good fortune on the day of the ambush, and had arranged a humble collection of different gifts for the mighty god.

Inside the basket, he had placed a variety of meat, beer, mead, sweets, and a dagger from his own personal armory. Normally, Eivor wasn’t the type to depend entirely on the gods for safety, but considering recent events, he wanted to secure a strong relationship with them in case a tempest were to strike the village. He had no idea if Kjotve was planning any other attacks in addition to the ambush, and he could think of no one better to appeal to other than the Defender of Midgard. 

He just worried that his offering might not have been sufficient. It was a well-known fact that the thunder god enjoyed things in great quantity, and Eivor didn’t have that much to give at the moment. Ingrida always said that no offering was too small, but even then, the man prayed that his gift wouldn’t be considered measly. Things were precarious enough in Bjornheimr as it was; Eivor did not wish to vex the gods as well.

Working his way up the hill, the Wolf-Kissed spread a layer of cloth over the basket’s opening and held it tightly underneath his arm, careful not to disturb its contents.

He could hear the drinks sloshing inside their bottles to the rhythm of his footsteps, and a handful of scattered clinks reached his ears as they softly bumped into each other. Meanwhile, tiny snowflakes began to gather on the fabric lying above, and sunk into the cloth’s neatly-knit threads. They dotted the surface with jeweled specks of ice and clung onto Eivor’s skin, giving him a slight chill. 

The weather wasn’t exactly ideal for spending any time outside -- the snow seemed to be piling up higher than usual today -- but the young man carried on with his plan nonetheless. 

Reaching the top of the hill, Eivor strolled past the charms decorating the sides of the path, only to stop in his tracks when a nearby pair of voices caught his attention.

Up ahead, Eivor saw Ingrida and Sigurd talking with each other underneath the roof of the temple, just barely avoiding the snow that came blowing their way. The prince wore a wary expression on his face and spoke to the seeress about a matter of deep concern, causing a sense of anxiety to swell in Eivor’s chest.

It was fairly clear to the Wolf-Kissed that his friend spent a lot of energy concealing the many troubles in his life, but the fact that he felt the need to reach out to their völva worried him to a significant degree.

He hadn’t seen Sigurd ever since their conversation in the tavern after all, and he was oblivious to any new issues that may have risen during their time apart. It was unusual to see the prince in such a state, and Eivor had to admit that his curiosity was beginning to get the best of him.

He only hoped that Ulfar wasn’t the source of his perturbed nature. The man made his feelings about Sigurd quite plain back in the tavern, and Eivor had never known him as a person to shy away from confrontation. It was a blessing of a trait in most situations, but a hinderance in this one.

“...You’re certain there’s no other explanation?” Sigurd asked, clearly unhappy with the response he got.

Ingrida crossed her arms, reiterating her point. “I will tell you the same thing I told Eivor. I cannot speak in absolutes, for I do not know the gods’ intentions. I can attempt to decipher the messages they convey, but ultimately, it is impossible to offer anything unambiguous.”

The prince let out a troubled sigh. “I... I see.”

“I realize this must be disturbing news, but look at it this way. At least you are prepared now. You have an inkling of what to expect, and sometimes, a mere suspicion can be enough to save one’s life. Obviously, I do not mean to stoke any paranoia within you, but a little caution would be wise.”

Sigurd nodded, taking the woman’s words to heart. “Of course, but you understand if I say this is difficult for me to accept. I don’t doubt your prediction, seeress, but... I just can’t fathom why anyone would--”

The man came to an abrupt pause, stopping mid-sentence when his eyes fell upon Eivor in the distance.

“--Oh,” he said, his voice still laden with unease, “Eivor. I didn’t see you there.”

Ingrida followed Sigurd’s line of sight, smiling in the Wolf-Kissed’s direction. “Ah, hello, little cub.” She eyed the basket in his hands. “Come to make an offering?”

Eivor hugged the object close to his chest, admittedly growing somewhat weary of bearing its weight.

“Yes, seeress. I hoped to thank Thor for our survival in the forest.”

The woman appeared pleased. “An excellent idea. Go on and present your gift to the gods. I will ensure that nothing disturbs it.” Ingrida brought her eyes back to the prince. “As for you, Sigurd, try not to let this revelation suppress you. You are a man of many responsibilities. Your clan needs you to stay focused.”

“...Of course. You’re right.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ingrida began making her way back inside the temple, strolling through the arch. “This war is nearly over, but the battle has not ceased. Do not surrender just yet. Either of you.”

Shutting the door behind her, the seeress disappeared behind the temple’s walls and returned to her duties, leaving Eivor and Sigurd alone. Meanwhile, the younger man approached his friend and glanced at him in an inquisitive manner, hoping to calm his nerves somewhat.

“Sigurd?” He asked. “Are you alright? A cloud of unrest hangs over you.”

The prince took a moment to gather his thoughts, not wanting to alarm his companion too much. “I’m... I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.” He glanced at the basket in his grasp. “What’ve you got there?”

Eivor lifted the cloth. “Just some food and drink for Thor, and a blade as well. I figured I should bring something of great quantity considering our luck that day. What about you? What brings you to the temple? You looked... frightened when I arrived.”

Sigurd sauntered towards the other man, speaking as he walked. “Nothing of immediate urgency. I’ve just been having these strange dreams lately. Visions.”

“Visions? Really? Of what?”

“A wolf.” He answered. “At first, I merely dismissed the dream as a simple nightmare, but it’s been occurring over and over again. In the same way, and in the same order. So, I came to Ingrida for answers.”

Eivor’s interest was hooked. “Tell me about this wolf. What did it do? What did it look like?”

“The wolf was as white as snow,” Sigurd described. “Its eyes split the darkness with a predatory glare, and its stature challenged that of a fully grown man. Its snout and teeth were stained red with the pigment of fresh blood, and hiding behind its features, I... I could almost... recognize someone.”

“Recognize?” Eivor repeated. “What do you mean? This was a wolf, was it not? How could it resemble a human?”

The prince shrugged. “I have no idea, but... I felt it. There was something familiar about the wolf’s face. It was a sensation that I have no proper words to describe.”

The young man tilted his head towards the temple. “And? What did Ingrida have to say about these visions?”

Sigurd was quiet for a second, hesitant to tell the truth.

“...She believes this vision foretells a betrayal.”

Eivor’s eyes widened in surprise. “A betrayal? At whose hands?”

“She doesn’t know, and neither do I. I have no reason to suspect anyone just yet, but somehow, that almost makes it even worse.”

“How did the seeress come to this conclusion?” Eivor questioned. “What makes her believe betrayal is the only answer?”

“Because she had a similar vision,” Sigurd explained. “Ingrida tells me the gods sent her a dream the night before I arrived. Apparently, she saw a man who looked just like me. He bore the same mark upon his neck, and his eyes glowed with a raging fire. The ground beneath him was soaked in blood dripping from the stump of his own arm, and standing behind him was another white wolf, prowling in the shadows.”

A thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “...I suppose that explains why she called you ‘the one who walks with Tyr.’ It also explains why she was skeptical of you when you first met.”

“I suppose it does,” the prince agreed. “But what connection could I possibly have with Tyr? And why me? What makes me so special?”

Eivor shrugged. “I don’t know. You mentioned you used to have dreams about a kingdom constructed of iron when you were a child. Do you think that could be related?”

“...Perhaps? But I don’t see how it would fit into all this. The kingdom I saw looked nothing like any of the places I’ve ever heard about. Not Helheim, and certainly not Valhalla. It likely originates from a place beyond this realm, but the purpose of its existence continues to elude me.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, resting his hands on his hips. “...Forgive me. I don’t mean to dump all of this onto you. You probably have enough on your shoulders.” He switched to a lighter subject, deciding to put his fears to rest for the time-being. 

“How have you been, Eivor? Is your wound feeling any better? I planned to check on you multiple times, but I fear that my duties always got in the way.”

“No worries. It’s just started to heal. Ingrida says it’s going to leave quite a prominent scar in its absence, but well, it’s better than dying.”

A smirk twinkled on Sigurd’s face. “...I like it.”

“Really?”

“Why not? It gives you character. It makes you look like a warrior.”

Eivor chuckled. “That, or a fool who wasn’t able to handle himself in a fight.”

Sigurd’s smile only brightened. “Nonsense. Each scar you bear is a battle that you survived. Wear it with pride.” He patted his friend on the arm. “But enough about that. I was actually planning to visit you after speaking with the seeress.”

The Wolf-Kissed quirked a brow. “What for?”

“I wanted to take you up on your offer. For fishing. I was down at the docks earlier today, and saw some decent-looking fish roaming in the water. Still in the mood for it?”

Eivor nodded, grinning joyously at the man. “Without a doubt. We can find a boat and take it into the fjord. There are plenty of spots I can show you. Just let me finish my offering for Thor first.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you there when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll gather some supplies. See you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE DOCKS

Pacing eagerly towards the pier, Eivor strolled excitedly through the village with an unusual spring in his step, smiling to himself as he briskly made his way past all the other buildings.

It had been a while since he last got the chance to spend any time with Sigurd, and he imagined that the two of them would have plenty of catching up to do. Even though they hadn’t bumped into each other for the past few days, Eivor always spotted the prince zipping back and forth around Bjornheimr, tending to his never-ending list of duties.

The man always looked so busy. Eivor was well-aware that a prince’s life wasn’t nearly as laid-back as other people expected, but even Sigurd’s schedule seemed to be overflowing with a ludicrous amount of responsibilities. He hardly had any time to even sit down, and the sockets around his eyes had darkened slightly due to a lack of sleep.

Eivor just hoped Sigurd was okay.

Finally arriving at the docks, the Wolf-Kissed came to a halt and gazed at this surroundings, trying to single out the prince’s head of red hair from the crowd. He eventually located the tall man standing at the edge of the pier with a basket and a pair of fishing rods, but to Eivor’s surprise, he wasn’t alone.

Dag seemed to have also joined the party, in spite of the sour expression plastered on his face. He was conversing with Sigurd in an agitated tone, and his brow had crinkled in a manner that displayed obvious annoyance. Strangely enough though, the prince didn’t appear to mirror his temperament. 

Just what was going on?

“Sigurd!” Eivor called out, causing both of them to turn their heads.

“Ah,” Sigurd replied radiantly, “Eivor. There you are. I was just asking Dag if he wanted to join us. I hope that’s not a problem?”

The younger man would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat disappointed, but he didn’t have the heard to tell him “no.” He knew Dag was a close friend of Sigurd’s after all, and he didn’t want to interfere. But still... part of him had been looking forward to spending the day with the prince alone.

“No,” Eivor lied, “not at all. He can come if he likes.”

“Great.” Sigurd brought his gaze to Dag. “So, what do you say? Care to go fishing with us?”

To Eivor’s relief, the man refused.

“I appreciate the offer,” Dag said flatly, “but I can’t accept. I have other things to do. You two go on without me.”

“Are you sure?” Sigurd asked, somewhat put off by his friend’s dour mood. “The weather has calmed down since this morning. Now’s the perfect opportunity to take a break. We’ll only be gone for a short while.”

Dag nodded in a dismissive fashion. “Yes, I’m sure. I have many things to take care of, and I’m afraid they cannot wait. Like I said, you two can go without me.”

Sigurd’s eyes dimmed at his friend’s response. “...Well, alright. If you’re certain.”

“I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” 

Storming off like a pouty toddler, Dag practically stomped away from the scene and swiftly made himself scarce, leaving Sigurd and Eivor with an uncomfortable silence. The two of them watched in confusion as the man disappeared in the distance, and not too longer after he vanished, they exchanged glances with each other, bewildered by what just happened.

“What was that about?” Eivor asked. “Is something wrong with Dag?”

Sigurd sighed in frustration, reaching down to grab the basket. “You know what? I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Dag’s been acting this way ever since the feast, and I don’t know why. This kind of behavior is unusual for him.”

“Have you talked to him?”

The older man lifted the basket onto his shoulder, walking towards the end of the pier as Eivor followed him from behind.

“Not yet, no. And even if I did, I’m not sure he would give me a straight answer. Dag’s never been the type to open up so easily. I’m just wondering if it’s because of something I did.”

His friend was quiet for a moment. “Does Dag always behave like this?”

Sigurd shook his head. “No, actually. He’s still the same man I know most of the time, but... recently, he’s been going through these random bouts of anger. And they’re always directed at me.”

The prince placed the basket down on a boat waiting beside the pier, carefully stepping onto it as it gently bobbed up and down with the water’s movement.

“I just wish he would talk to me. Dag is a dear friend of mine, and I don’t want anything to be wedged between us. Especially not after hearing Ingrida’s prediction.”

Eivor gave him a sympathetic look. “Try not to let it worry you. I’m sure Dag’s just stressed out from the constant battling with Kjotve. I know we all are. He’ll open up to you when he’s ready.”

Sigurd let out a breath. “...I hope so. I have enough on my plate at the moment. I don’t have time to be running around in circles with Dag. The sooner he opens up, the better.” 

He suddenly glanced up at his companion, deciding to leave the subject alone. “But push that aside. You came here to fish, not to listen to my life problems. Are you ready to go?”

The younger man stepped off the dock and took a seat across from Sigurd, excited for the ride ahead.

“Ready when you are.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for coming with me, by the way, Eivor. I apologize if I seem more stern than usual. I fear that this past week taken a toll on me.”

Eivor took no offense. “There’s no need to apologize. We’re all going through a lot. It’s only normal. Just try to forget about it for now.”

“I’m glad you understand. You seem to be the only one these days. But... you’re right. Today is a day meant for relaxing. Let us not spoil it. Come on, why don’t you show me those fishing spots you mentioned? I’m eager to see them.”

The Wolf-Kissed grabbed the oar and smirked at Sigurd, pushing their boat away from the pier. “As you command, my prince.”

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE FJORD

Venturing deep into the fjord’s divine embrace, Sigurd and Eivor traversed across the water’s glassy surface, steadily gliding along with its rippled waves. They made sure not to put too much distance between them and the village as they did with the waterfall, but even then, the sheer size of the fjord was enough to make them feel as if they had stepped into another world.

All around them, mountains extended into the sky for what seemed like miles, and appeared to kiss the base of the clouds. Their peaks were frosted with fresh snow that floated down from the heavens, and their base remained concealed beneath the ocean, forming a basin fit for the gods themselves.

Meanwhile, a thin curtain of fog draped itself over the mountains’ rugged forms and obscured the landscape waiting ahead, encompassing the world in a layer of mist that stood as a barrier between the two men and the secular village they left behind.

It was the perfect place to clear one’s thoughts, and Eivor could see that Sigurd was already beginning to unwind. The disquieted expression that once hung on his face had vanished, and at the moment, he was currently sitting peacefully on the boat, watching contently as fish poked their fins out from the water’s surface. 

They were completely alone out here, and Eivor wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“So,” the younger man said, “what’ve you been doing these past few days? I haven’t had the chance to talk with you in a while.”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Sigurd answered, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve joined your father and Ulfar at the war table quite a few times now, and I’ve also been getting to know Randvi more. It’s difficult to juggle between the two, but things have been going according to plan so far.”

Eivor threw a puzzled look at him. “What about your father? Does he not take part in your conversations in the war room?”

The other man hesitated for a second. “Oh, h-he does, but... well, he’s been occupied lately. Sometimes I take his place.”

Eivor couldn’t deny that he found the response a bit odd, but he decided not to pry any further. “I see. And what about Ulfar? I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble.”

It was Sigurd’s turn to be confused now. “Ulfar? No, none at all. Why would he?”

The Wolf-Kissed sighed sheepishly, unsure of how to explain. He assumed Ulfar would have already expressed his concerns to the prince about his ability to be a leader, but evidently, he was wrong. 

“I, well... I suppose there’s no harm in letting you know. The day you and I went to the tavern, Ulfar stayed for a drink after you left. Initially, he was in a rather foul mood, and it was directed at you. He said you almost got me killed in the forest.”

A look of guilt spread across Sigurd’s face. “...Ah, I see.”

“I spoke with him, though,” Eivor reassured. “I convinced Ulfar it wasn’t your fault, and he told me he’d withhold any further judgement for now. That’s why I asked if he had given you any trouble. I was curious to know if he still harbored these doubts. But don’t let it bother you. Whatever Ulfar does, it’s only to keep me and my siblings safe.”

Sigurd shook his head in disagreement. “No, he’s right. I should’ve been more careful that day. I made a foolish decision, and you nearly paid the price. It’s a good thing you’re a skilled warrior. Otherwise, I’d probably be responsible for your death by now.”

Eivor’s expression sank with pity. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault what happened in the woods that day. You could’ve run off at the first sign of danger, but instead, you risked your life to save me. And everyone knows it. Even Ingrida.”

“Well, I may not be at fault,” the man conceded, “but I was ill-prepared for such an ordeal. If I’m going to be king someday, I need to be able to protect people. That includes you.” Sigurd shifted his position slightly, sitting more upright. “I promise, Eivor, I won’t endanger you like that again.”

The young man grinned. “I appreciate it, but we’re in the midst of a war. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice. Anything can happen at any time.”

“True, but I’ll still do everything I can to keep you and your people safe.” Sigurd displayed a small smile. “Death may be inevitable, but that’s no reason to let it take us so willingly. That’s why we have shields.”

Eivor chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”

The two of them trailed off into silence briefly, only for the prince to bring up another topic.

“Hey, speaking of Ulfar, did you hear his report?”

“No.” Eivor said.

“Well, apparently, he and his men found two camps in the woods not too far from where we were attacked. They both belonged to Kjotve.”

“Really? How many men were there?”

Sigurd conjured a rough estimation. “About ten each.”

“Ten?” The Wolf-Kissed repeated in alarm. “That’s nearly two dozen in total. That’s enough men to carry out a small raid.”

“Indeed. We’re lucky Ulfar was able to drive them out before their numbers grew anymore. Thankfully though, he didn’t uncover any plans to attack Bjornheimr. He believes these particular men were just scouts sent here to keep an eye on the village and send information back to Kjotve. Our encounter with them wasn’t coordinated. A few of his people simply decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Eivor found some comfort in that. “Well, that’s a relief, at least. Still, I wonder how Kjotve will respond to this.”

Sigurd raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If these men were sending regular reports to Kjotve, he’s going to realize something’s wrong when they come to a sudden stop. He might even send reinforcements.”

The older man couldn’t help but admit he had a point. “Hmm. That does sound likely. I’ll have to warn your father and Ulfar about the possibility of retaliation. We may be preparing for a wedding, but Freya knows that won’t stop Kjotve from spilling blood.”

A shiver traveled down Eivor’s spine. “What if... what if he comes to Bjornheimr? What do you think we’ll do?”

The answer seemed fairly clear to Sigurd. “We’ll fight, of course. What else?”

“No, no,” his friend corrected, “I didn’t quite mean it like that. I just...” Eivor gazed down at his father’s axe, tracing a hand down its grip, “...I’ve spent so many years thinking about how I would take my revenge on Kjotve; for what he did to my parents. I’ve convinced myself that I’d slit his throat without a second thought, but... if he actually shows up, I don’t know if it’ll be that easy. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

A sense of empathy softened Sigurd’s eyes. “It won’t be easy. But whatever happens, make sure you fight for what matters. Ideally, Kjotve will never set foot on your shores, but if he does, fight not for revenge. Fight for the honor your father lost. Only then can you know true peace.”

Eivor stared aimlessly at the water surrounding them, trying to block out the memories of that horrible night. “...I’ll try. Even if it kills me.”

The younger man watched the soothing rhythm of the waves dancing around them and fell into a deep train of thought, only to be pulled out again when Sigurd’s voice reached his ears.

“Hey,” he said gently, leaning closer to his companion, “are you alright, Eivor?”

The Wolf-Kissed blinked a few times, still somewhat lost in his own past. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just... difficult to think about, you know. My parents were killed over a decade ago, and yet, their words from that night remain fresh in my head. It’s hard to ignore them sometimes.”

“Of course,” Sigurd replied. “I understand.”

“Anyway,” Eivor said, not wishing to dwell on the grim subject any longer, “you mentioned you’ve been seeing Randvi more earlier. How are things going between the two of you?”

“We still don’t know each other that well,” Sigurd confessed, “but she strikes me as a kind woman; an honorable one. I think we can make this marriage work. Although, I must admit... it’s bizarre to think about how she’ll be my wife in only a week from now. The future felt so far away when I first got here, and yet, these past seven days have fleeted by within a heartbeat. It just makes me wonder how fast the wedding will arrive.”

Eivor caught onto his tone. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, and so is Randvi. But I think we’re both slowly coming to terms with it.” A glint of curiosity formed in the prince’s gaze. “What about you, Eivor? Have you ever considered marriage?”

The man laughed. “Me? No, not really. I’ve had partners in the past, but... nothing serious. It’s difficult to imagine someone marrying me, if I’m being honest.”

Sigurd scoffed. “Psh. Nonsense. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their spouse.”

“You think?”

The older man shrugged. “Why not? You’re compassionate, humorous, handsome, and--” Sigurd suddenly froze in shock, utterly embarrassed by his own words.

Meanwhile, Eivor simply gave him an appreciative smirk, undeniably amused by his slip-up.

“You consider me handsome, do you?” He teased.

Sigurd stammered bashfully and brought a hand to the back of his neck, barely able to hold eye contact with the Wolf-Kissed anymore. “Gods above... erm, f-forgive me, Eivor. I... I didn’t mean to--”

“--It’s alright.” He interrupted. “The truth is, I think you’re handsome too.”

The prince paused at Eivor’s remark, calming down somewhat. “You... do?”

Eivor chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “Yes, you fool. Who wouldn’t? You’re strong, kind, caring, and you...” the young man caught himself before he could say anything else and stopped mid-sentence, abruptly retreating from his comments as Sigurd watched him quietly.

“...No,” Eivor said, his tone much more sullen now. “I can’t do this.”

Sigurd found himself growing concerned. “What’s wrong?”

The other man sighed in despondency, looking shamefully away from his friend. Eivor assured Ingrida that he wouldn’t allow his emotions to interfere with the upcoming wedding, and yet, he had barely been able to stop himself just now.

His thoughts slipped free from his lips as if they carried a mind of their own, and if it weren’t for the fact that everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance, Eivor had no idea how far he truly would’ve gotten. 

His ability to restrain his desires was already being crippled just after a week of knowing Sigurd, and the looming reality of his feelings was enough to send Eivor into a state of panic and loneliness. 

These next few days were going to be nothing but absolute turmoil for him, and sooner or later, he’d have to accept it. He just didn’t know how.

“Sigurd...” Eivor whispered sorrowfully, “...can I be honest with you?”

The older man nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”

The Wolf-Kissed looked him directly in the eye, taking a deep breath. “...The truth is, ever since we met at that feast, I’ve been infatuated with you.”

Sigurd’s brow furrowed in shock. “...You have?”

“Yes. Whenever we’re apart, I’m always thinking about when I’ll see you next, or how you’re doing. I care about you, and I worry about your well-being despite being no more than an acquaintance.”

The prince knotted his hands together in thought. “And what about when you’re with me?”

Eivor showed a faint smile to him, but its facade was quickly betrayed by the pain in his gaze. “I feel at peace. I feel like nothing in the world can touch us. I feel a certain way that I’ve never felt before with anyone else, and it... it frightens me sometimes.”

The young man continued. “But I can’t allow these feelings to develop any further. No matter how persistent they may be. We’re both bound by our duties, and yours is to secure an alliance with my clan. The only thing I can provide for you is a distraction that you can’t afford.” Eivor slunk back to his end of the boat, hiding inside the shell that he constantly wore. “...I’m sorry, Sigurd. But our relationship can’t go beyond this.”

Sigurd offered nothing other than silence in return and simply delved into his own thoughts, gazing downwards in a desolate manner. It was clear that he mirrored the same affections that Eivor expressed, but he felt even more reluctant to share them now that he knew about the other man’s views.

It was the burden of being a prince, he supposed. Everyone always told Sigurd that his choices were his own, and yet, he was being forced to repress something that others would’ve been more than happy to admit. His life had been nothing more than one big preparation to rule the kingdom someday, but he felt as if he hardly had any control over his own life.

Still, Sigurd knew Eivor was right, and he knew he couldn’t afford to deviate from the path set out in front of him. The war with Kjotve was much bigger than either of them, and everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance.

“I... understand, Eivor.” He said quietly.

The younger man hung his head low, unable to ignore the guilt settling into his mind. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, Sigurd.”

“Don’t be. What you’re doing is noble. Not everyone would have your restraint.”

Eivor’s mood barely lightened at that. “It doesn’t feel noble. But I know it’s necessary.”

Sigurd nodded solemnly, unsure of what to say anymore. “...Indeed.”

Having had enough of this place, the older man took hold of the oar and stuck it into the water, eager to return to solid land.

“We should starting heading back.” He said abruptly, earning a tilt of the head from Eivor.

“Already? Are you sure? We haven’t even been out for that long.”

“I know, but I fear that my free time is rather limited today. An abundance of tasks awaits me in Bjornheimr, and I’m almost certain that my father will require my presence as well.”

Eivor peered at Sigurd with concern, clearly able to see that he had been affected by their conversation.

“Okay.” He agreed tentatively. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Come on, I’ll row you back to the village. Just sit back and relax.”

Guiding their boat away from the fjord, Sigurd steadily drove them back to the shoreline without uttering another word as Eivor sat quietly on his side, admittedly feeling somewhat remorseful for having dimmed the mood.

Initially, he had been excited to spend more time with the forlorn prince, but now, he wondered if he had made a mistake. It was no question that a special type of bond connected the two of them, and Eivor mentally scolded himself for allowing it to strengthen even further.

At this point, part of him was considering the idea of severing their relationship. It was difficult enough battling the constant temptation that he felt whenever he was with Sigurd, so Eivor thought that, perhaps, it might’ve been best if he simply eliminated the chance for it to show up again.

There would be no need to practice restraint if the prince avoided him altogether. They would be complete strangers just like before, and Eivor wouldn’t have to worry about clashing with his desires on a daily basis.

But... he knew he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. He cared about Sigurd too much, despite only having known him for a week. That man housed something special within his heart, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to cast it aside.

Still, he didn’t know how he would proceed from here. Sigurd was aware of his admiration now, and any interactions between them would’ve bred nothing but awkwardness.

They both needed some time to get their thoughts in order, and frankly, Eivor was starting to feel grateful that the other man decided to make such a swift exit. He needed to be alone for a while, and it was evident that Sigurd also had plenty to think about himself.

It was one of those moments where Eivor felt the urge to seek out guidance, and he knew exactly who to get it from. 

He just worried that they would tell him precisely what he didn’t want to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE DOCKS

“Here we are.” Sigurd announced, letting the boat drift towards the pier as he gazed into the distance. “...And it looks like Dag is waiting for me. Just like I expected.”

Eivor stood up from his seat. “What does he want from you?”

His friend put down the oar and climbed back onto the docks, taking their supplies with him. “Nothing. It’s my father who probably wants something. Dag is merely the messenger. I just hope it’s not what I think it is.”

Walking briskly ahead of the other man, Sigurd strode down the wooden pier and made a beeline straight for Dag as Eivor hurried to his side, abandoning the boat. 

A newfound irritation had worked its way into the prince’s usually serene demeanor, and the Wolf-Kissed wondered if he’d finally learn the reason behind Styrbjorn’s aforementioned absence at the war table.

“Dag,” the redhead called out in a firm tone. “What are you doing here?”

The bulky warrior removed himself from the tree he had been leaning on and approached Sigurd, appearing no more pleased than before.

“The king requests your presence at the longhouse.” He informed. “There’s a problem he needs your help with.”

Sigurd sighed in defeat, plopping the basket down in frustration. “Of course he does. Is it the same ‘problem’ as yesterday?”

Dag nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

The prince shook his head angrily. “That drink-addled fool...! He promised me this wouldn’t be an issue. What is he doing now?”

“He’s waiting for you in his chambers. Same as always. I suggest you hurry. He’s in a worse state than usual.”

Sigurd’s face stiffened with ire. “And it’s no one else’s fault but his. What is that man thinking?” He paused for a second, recomposing himself. “...Thank you for letting me know, Dag. Hopefully, we’ll never have to have this conversation again.”

The raider began strolling away from them, pessimistic about the idea. “Hopefully, but not likely.”

Removing himself from the scene, Dag disappeared once again while Eivor took his place, confused as to what just happened. It was quite obvious to him that Styrbjorn seemed to be at the core of this issue, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what the issue was exactly.

“What’s going on?” Eivor asked. “Is your father safe? Do you need any help?”

Sigurd quickly rejected the offer. “No, no. He’ll be fine. He’s just being an idiot. It’s best if I deal with this alone. Believe me.”

The younger man’s curiosity remained fervent, but he decided not to press anymore. The prince was evidently in a state of heightened exasperation at the moment, and Eivor suspected that any further questions would’ve only earned him more animosity.

“...Alright. If you say so. But don’t hesitate to ask for my aid if you need it.”

“Thank you, Eivor. I appreciate it.”

Forcing himself to relax, Sigurd rubbed his temple out of stress and turned to face Eivor, softening the jagged edge of his voice.

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to be so irate, but things are chaotic enough as it is, and my father is only making things worse. He’s ignoring all of his responsibilities, and piling them on my shoulders instead. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me.”

Something clicked in Eivor’s head. “So that’s why you’ve been so busy.”

“Yes. That, and a few other things. But those matters are irrelevant right now. The only important thing I have to say is... thank you. For taking the time to come with me today.”

“Of course, Sigurd. You need only ask.”

The older man beamed warmly. “...You truly are a blessing. You know that, Eivor? I genuinely believe you’re the only person I can fully rely on. You’re a man worthy of trust.” He placed his hands on his hips, returning to his usual temperament. “But I’ve idled for long enough. My father’s probably wondering where I am. Feel free to take all the fish we caught. You deserve it for putting up with me today.”

Eivor took the basket in hand, waving goodbye to Sigurd. “Farewell for now, my friend. Take care of yourself. And remember, I’m here if you need me.”

The prince started heading in the direction of the longhouse, returning the wave with one of his own. 

“The same goes to you. I may be busy, but my door’s always open, Wolf-Kissed. I only pray that our next meeting will be under better circumstances. Until then, stay safe. We all need you.”

[yumi-michiyo]

Bird on the Wire [10/?]

Rating: T for a difficult therapy session

Genre: Romance/Humor/Angst/Slice-of-Life/Slowburn

Pairings: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray

Links: Fanfiction dot net | AO3

As always, if you're just here for the story, links are above; if you want to read the extended notes, click on the cut below.

Extended Notes and Meta:

Writing miscellany

Surprised to see a new chapter so quickly? No one is more surprised than I am.. Basically, some Internet drama happened, and since my writing is fueled by spite, I ended up with an entire new chapter. Thanks also go to Mike Ownby, my Americanizator and all-purpose beta, who happened to have a free spot on his schedule to zip through the chapter at lightning speed.

Sometimes you may see dumb errors in my fics that cannot reasonably be attributed to autocorrect. That happens because I do about 80% of my writing in Google Docs on my phone, and I have the tendency to be struck by inspiration while trying to sleep (as do we all). Not only that, but I am also awesome enough that whatever stroke of genius I get at night will be completely forgotten the next morning, and I will only remember that I had a really great idea the night before. What that means is I will be grabbing my phone in the wee hours to jot down some arcane note for future me to interpret. Sometimes, weird typos (missing letters and capitals, random autocorrected wrong words, lost punctuation) banged down by hammer thumbs on my phone go unnoticed.

This is a slowburn (and I can't reiterate slowburn enough

As of this chapter, the total word count is roughly 64k words and Faberry have only vague feelings and friendly interactions with each other. Heck, they're both dating men. If you're thinking that slowburn means that they won't make out until chapter 2, and in chapter 3 Quinn takes Rachel on the piano (ooh if only), either you're not familiar with my Glee fics, or you're not familiar with the slowburn genre in general. When I say slowburn, I mean slow. Glacier moving through a valley slow. Glass flowing to the bottom of a window pane slow.

Why isn't the Faberry happening already?

I'm not sure if I've talked about this before, but since this is my Tumblr and my author's ramblingsnotes, I'm gonna go right ahead and talk about it anyway. The main reason why I usually write college-aged or working adult!Faberry is these teens are problematic. Yes, a big part of it is because Glee canon is a mess, but IMO you cannot reasonably expect two hetero teenage girls to recognise their sexual tension for what it is, overcome their prejudices, start making out in school bathrooms, AND form a healthy and lasting relationship. As much as we all love and adore high school fics that have come before, this is my fic, and I reserve the right to write (heh) Faberry as I see fit.

Getting Faberry together isn't just giving them a roadmap and letting them work things out. It's nudging together two extremely skittish creatures with their own unique set of hang-ups and neuroticisms in a way that feels organic. And yes, I made things harder for myself by introducing Beth (and Finn and Sam) into the mix. Femslash fic writers have made beautiful romances happen with even less. That's the proud tradition that I'm happy to be a part of.

Therapy (AKA Quinn Fabray and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)

If I had my way, I would put every Glee character in therapy. Even the adults. And no one needs therapy more than Quinn. As much as possible (but without disrupting the focus of the fic) I try to include Quinn's therapy in the story. That's because I think it's important that we see how Quinn's development progresses through the fic, makes the Faberry natural, and puts out issues many of us may be struggling with in a positive way. Personally, a lot of my growth has come through fanfic. I've been privileged to hear from people who have been touched by something I wrote in a fic. Anytime it's possible that something I wrote about two fictional girls making out helps someone, that's a major plus.

Important notice for anyone reading this

I do not take requests, no matter how kick-ass or amazing your idea is. I'm not currently accepting any more help, though I appreciate any offers. I do not take commissions for fic, nor do I have a Ko-Fi or Patreon or whatever the kids are using these days. I will never accept monetary compensation for my fanfic. All my fanfiction is free to access (of course, no minors are allowed to read NSFW work) and will always be free. I do not give permission to any party to monetize my writing (even myself LOL). I will never delete my fics from the Internet. Should the tragic day come when I don't want to participate in fanfic anymore, I will orphan my works, not delete.

Of course, what this all means is that fanfic is my hobby, and I write at my own pace and no one else's. I recognise that I don't write as fast as others, and I certainly don't have definite posting schedules, but that's my prerogative.

That being said, I'm eternally grateful to everyone who's enjoyed my work thus far, everyone who will continue to read and review, everyone who's left wonderful and insightful comments, and everyone who writes to me sharing their personal stories. While I primarily write for myself, I'm happy that so many people are sharing in my happiness. Thank you for reading.

Another important PSA

It is currently Faberry month, so do check out the Faberry month tag and share some love for the amazing writers and artists participating (not me btw).

[designsfromtime]

Mixing Business & Friendships:

“Friendship is friendship, business is business.”

It’s been wisely said that, “friendship interferes with a business relationship by keeping people from making the right business choices for the sake of the friendship.” Kind of like closing the barn door after the cow escapes, but yeah, I definitely agree...NOW. There are plenty more witty quotes that warn against the pitfalls of mixing friendships with business. So, what does my dumbass do? - I mixed a friendship with my business. Two years ago I brought a friend to work with me as an apprentice, and it  blew up back in March 2021 and bit me in the arse - BIG TIME! 

So, why doesn’t it work? - I ask myself rhetorically, then elbow my intuition when it says, “Told you so.” 

In my personal experience, mixing friendship with business blurred the professional boundaries, and led to multiple abuses on the part of my “friend,” i.e., calling out sick for “PMS,” or other reasons that would never be acceptable if that person were NOT a “friend.” They also may not respect your authority because the person disciplining them for, let’s say, unacceptable communication, or sub-standard work, is the same person they were drinking with at the pub last weekend, or chilling on the patio for a BBQ. In a word, friends (or family) can take advantage of the relationship and feel that the rules don’t apply to them, leaving you to choose between taking care of the friendship rather than taking care of your business! I could NOT have anticipated the horrific outcome at the end of that working relationship, and it’s left me gobsmacked.

The foundations of friendships (or with a family member) and that of subordinate and superior are inherently different. How does a child act as the superior to a parent they hire to work for them? And vise versa, how does a child work for a parent without dragging their interpersonal baggage into the workplace? The same is true of a friendship. In a friendship, the continued existence of that relationship depends on whether both parties can successfully maneuver the intricacies of a friend being placed in the position of a subordinate. But, in my opinion, I think it’s RARE to truly keep your business relationship and your interpersonal relationship separate. I would venture to say it’s close to impossible. One way or the other, your friendship will bleed into the working relationship and it can spell DRAMA and betrayal in the end. Mixing interpersonal relationships with business involves a lot of compromise on the part of both persons, and if one lacks in communication skills and does not respect boundaries, it’s doomed to blow up in your face, as it did for me. Not only does it bring hardship to the business when the relationship ends, but you lose that friendship.

No matter how close the friendship, when you mix business and friendships, the primary consideration should always be what is best for the business. In a perfect world, the business should be treated as an entity separate from the friendship and that distinction needs to be laid out plainly and diligently protected! – and respected by both parties. What happens when the work relationship becomes problematic because that person is not delivering what was expected? Well, I can tell you this much: When it get’s rough, and it will, you cannot rely on the “honor system” you expect from a friend (or a close relative). To save the business, it can involve losing your friend – More especially if that friend doesn’t respect the boundaries that are inherently different in a business setting than they would be whilst slamming wine-coolers at a BBQ.

I’m sure there are plenty of examples where friends and family members have successfully maneuvered the boundaries of business and interpersonal relationships. That said, not all relationships (or people) are evolved enough to handle being placed in a position as a subordinate to their friend, so it will take careful consideration when, or if, you choose to mix the two. The most important part when mixing business and interpersonal relationships, ESPECIALLY if you are the business owner and you extend a friend an opportunity in your business, is to make sure both of you have similar expectations and values - - AND that you write it out in a contract and have both parties sign it!  

 Where Did I Go Wrong?: Let me recount the ways.

 When my business grew to the point that I could not singularly keep up with the demand for commission inquiries, I put the intention out there in the universe that I needed a very particular person to bring on as an unpaid apprentice (with the intention of them graduating to a sub-contractor). First of all, I don’t get paid by the hour, and therefore, cannot afford to pay an hourly wage. I get paid by the pattern piece, i.e., how many pieces in any respective garment that I physically sew together. Most of the time I take a 20% non-refundable deposit to hold a reservation on my schedule, but I don’t get paid until the commission is complete and ready to ship. So it can take 4 or 5 months before I am paid in full. That meant that any candidate for an apprentice would have to possess a deep passion for costuming rather than money being the motivation. It also meant I cannot afford to pay for “student” work, so any candidate I chose would have to approach an apprenticeship with an attitude of “I’m taking classes.” Unless you take out student loans and grants, students are not compensated for attending class. The compensation as an apprentice in my studio was the opportunity to work side-by-side with someone more knowledgeable, with the expectation that eventually, when said apprentice possess the requisite skills and knowledge, that they can eventually begin to take on work as a “monitored” sub-contractor and bill the client directly for their labor.

 In my. . . well. . . let’s just call it for what it was…DESPERATION…I took on an apprentice after becoming acquainted through our local Renfaire. I’d been searching for about two years, so when the opportunity presented itself, I took it as a sign from the universe. Boy was I naïve. This person joined our renfaire as a cast member in the Queen’s household (of which I was an administrator). I noted her impulsivity and propensity to be overly enthusiastic and run with an idea without seeking permission through the established chain of command, but I didn’t question how that would come in to play in our working relationship, or in a relationship of superior and subordinate. Her pattern of impulsivity and disregard for procedure wasn’t interpreted by me as the red flag it should have been. Had I been listening to my instincts rather than the desire to be able to take on more work, this pattern would have served as the warning it turned out to be. I see now in the aftermath of the implosion that took place how it should have been.

 Don’t Ignore Red Flags: NOW you tell me!

In the early stages of our working association, she appeared enthusiastic – overly so, resulting in me having to rein her in and reiterate the instructions to: “slow down,” and “ask questions.” I told her if she’d never made a certain item before she needed to stop and ask first rather than blunder through and construct it the way she “thought” it might need to be done, she needed to seek guidance about the way I had established it to be done. I would, unfortunately, end up repeating that same instruction ad nauseum throughout her tenure with me. The longer she worked with me, and more especially after about a year or more when she was allowed to begin to take on work as a subcontractor (which was to be done ONLY in my studio under my supervision), she began to ignore that directive more and more. I found myself in the unique and extremely uncomfortable situation of choosing whether or not to say, “It doesn’t meet the same standards as my work, please do it again,” and feeling hesitant to discourage her or coming off as bitchy or overly perfectionistic for fear of how it would affect the friendship. I walked a fine line between necessary criticism and her over sensitivity to that kind of feedback. 

I cannot tell you how MANY times when I was learning to sew at the side of my grandmother she told me, “Pick it out, Chrissie.” It was frustrating, and I would moan in complaint, but I always did it because she was never harsh in her criticism but would explain where I had made the mistake and show me how to correct it. In consequence, THIS is how I teach. I always lead with positive affirmation. But there are some personalities who are overly sensitive to any criticism and no matter how you attempt to moderate your tone, or what medium you choose to communicate, they will take it harshly. It became exhausting maneuvering around her bruised psyche. Any other supervisor would not have made the effort. See where I’m going with this? 

 I also had deadlines constantly looming that placed me in a predicament of letting work go out that wasn’t “perfect” but was “passing.” I HATED being placed in that situation because I am a perfectionist, and the only way to learn is to learn by making mistakes. But I didn’t have TIME for her mistakes – nor could I afford for her to continue to waste fabrics and supplies! Because of this, a pattern began to develop that became increasingly more problematic. I purposefully took on EXTRA work with the intention of sub-contracting out the labor to her, so I “needed” her help. But by virtue of the friendship, an attitude of “I’ll get it done when I get it done,” began to emerge. Now, I don’t know if that was her actual intention, but it certainly began to appear as such. When I allowed her to take hand sewing home, such as working on the edging of a pair of stays, she began to hold on to the work at home but not actually finish it. I told her that after putting in 6 to 8 hours here in my studio I did not expect her to stay up all night and finish the handwork, but if she took work home there was an expectation on my part that she would return it within a few days. Now she was only in my studio 3 to 4 days a week (at least the last year of her affiliation). While I certainly appreciated when she worked in the evenings after her job as the manager of a Super Cuts, or on the weekend, I did not expect it. But, it became an issue when her turn-around times to complete the hand sewing began to take longer, and longer, and LONGER; spanning weeks at a time! 

 Now, I should mention just for the sake of reference that I can hand sew the edging on a full pair of stays in about 12 hours. She had worked with me over a year before she felt comfortable enough to tackle a pair of stays. While her hand sewing was NOT as neat as mine (even at the end of the relationship), I did make some allowances for the sake of not discouraging her by picking a part her work. I continually had to check in with myself by asking: is it unacceptable because it looks different than yours, or does she have the capability of doing better? She did make progress in her hand stitching with my instruction, but there were definitely times I asked her to fix it, OR I would pick out her work and redo it. There were times I didn’t tell her, which in hindsight was a mistake on my part. Re-doing her work was NOT an efficient use of my time, nor was it conducive to her instruction, but my clients’ satisfaction is my highest priority, so you can see the conundrum I found myself. 

In the end, I was trying to avoid upsetting “her” and not cause more DRAMA because she was intent on a scorched earth scenario to punish me for daring to tell her “No.” Many times I was too hesitant to say anything “in the moment,” but would later ruminate on it after the fact, and THEN a day or so later after scolding myself for being too bloody kind, I would be forced to bring it up and say, “I changed my mind,” or just fix it when she left for the day. I should mention, that if she were not a friend I would have set much stricter boundaries about quality control. So why didn’t I do that with HER?  I’m still trying to figure that one out!! It all boils down to two VERY different personality types, and the fact that my communication skills and knowledge about emotional IQ was far more advanced. Rather than avail herself of my knowledge in effective communication she was the type of person who did not respond to “touchy feely shit,” as she called it. More often than not, I feared poking the bear. What would I do if I was too critical and she walked out in a huff or quit? *HEAVY SIGH* So, the problem wasn’t that I didn’t know HOW to communicate, it was how that communication would be received on any given day, or “which side” of her personality showed up that day.

The breakdown of the relationship ultimately occurred when I allowed her to take on a client’s commission for two 18th century men’s court ensembles for an event at Versailles Palace in France. She was actually doing VERY well on lining up the embroidery, and construction of the outer portion of the jackets and waistcoat pieces, UNTIL she decided that she had the RIGHT to argue with my instructions and design aesthetics. I told her, for instance, “Make sure you add a layer of stabilizer to the lining.” She balked and said, “I wasn’t planning on adding stabilizer.” Now this wasn’t a statement with a silent question mark at the end, this was an “I’m not going to do it” kind of statement. This began happening more and more and I was at a loss “in the moment” how to deal with it. I was walking a tightrope between a friend and my business, and I wasn’t putting the business first. Rather than ASK me why I felt the interlining needed to be stabilized (since it was silk) she simply made the decision to ignore my instruction and ultimately bulldozed forward with the work at her home without seeking any instruction and using ad hoc techniques when she ran into a problem she didn’t know how to deal with. 

 But you see, by the time things began to actively boil, I had finally put my foot down on this project and told her I had the final say in ALL design and construction and If I say “do it” she needs to do it and not argue. I mean, who does that? Who tells the owner of the business “No?” Who thinks they have the right to argue? - A FRIEND. I had 40 years of experience under my belt, 20 in historical costume, she had TWO! But you see, her ego was writing checks her abilities and knowledge could not cash, and I was becoming more and more concerned about the work piling up. COVID did a number on my business. I stayed JUST as busy, but buying basic supplies was problematic, and it put me behind by about 4 or 5 months, which is unheard of for me! I always make my deadlines. ALWAYS. 

Things kind of happened quickly, like dominos. One drops and knocks over the the other and pretty soon sets off a chain reaction. THE FINAL implosion came when we ran into a situation wherein we both needed to use my sewing machine. I had stated in the beginning that ALL work done on the machine needed to be done in my studio. This was not just because she did not have a good machine at home, it was so that I could continue to oversee the quality of her work. I have a semi-pro Juki straight stitch machine that will sew through leather. In the past she had talked about one day purchasing one. Also, in passing conversation last year I mentioned that I was thinking of moving out of Washington. My daughter wants to relocate to Vermont because the cost for horse property here in WA would cost us in excess of about 2 million dollars! I mentioned that there was no set plans and that it would be 4 or 5 years if we did make that decision. I mentioned that if by then she was trained enough that I was considering letting her subcontract work at home and use Skype or Zoom for any teaching or instruction. This was just a passing conversation mind you! 

So when we found ourselves both in need of using my machine one day in March, without consulting with me she took it upon herself to go out and purchase a machine exactly like mine for about $1400 if I’m not mistaken – even though you can get them much cheaper from other sources. But here’s where her long-standing pattern of impulsivity, disrespect for proper chain of command, and her lack of boundaries came into play. She showed up one Saturday afternoon while I was working in my studio and announced, “Guess what I did?” She then proceeded to inform me that she had purchased a machine of her own. Now, we had discussed this possibility in the past two years but I had stated she would need to bring her machine into the studio. Remember, all her machine work needed to be monitored for quality control. Why? While she was making progress, her work was often inconsistent. My expectation was that she would bring her machine into the studio, but SHE had other plans. I honestly believe she felt because she was doing so well on the outer construction of these 18th century coats that she was READY to solo; and in fact, that was her exact expectation. She set up her new machine at home and in the days following the purchase of her machine (before she was scheduled to appear at my studio the following Wednesday), she began construction on the coat pockets at home without my knowledge and without my guidance.

Now, for those who’ve followed me for a while you might remember that I said I’m extremely intuitive? – which is why I’m so mad at myself for not honoring my intuition and setting hard boundaries much earlier. She’s run roughshod over me for two years now, and I wasn’t having it anymore. I sent her a Marco Polo (a video message app) and I set a hard boundary as I mentioned above. I thought that this mode of communication would make it easier to say what needed to be said because both of us were spared the discomfort that usually followed when I DID speak out. So, after I set CLEAR boundaries about who was in charge, I further explained that if it was her intention to start working predominately at home and only coming into the studio when there was embroidery to do or pick up supplies (YES! I was supplying her with ALL the notions and supplies for construction!) then she needed to know that I was not in agreement with that. I told her if coming to work in my studio wasn’t working for her any longer then we would finish the work on the books, and I would cut back and only take those commissions that I could physically handle. I told her to take a couple of days to talk it over with her boyfriend and we would talk on Wednesday about what she decided. 

She came in that Wednesday visibly angry and became insubordinate when I attempted to discuss her assumption that I would agree to her working at home on MY client’s commissions without first seeking my approval. She defended herself by bringing up our conversation last year about her working from home “if” i moved out of state. I told her, “Yeah, four or five years down the road!” But she had just assumed that I would be fine with her moving up that time table. She refused to listen and then proceeded to gaslight me, stating that because I had sent her a message via Marco Polo, rather than waiting until she came in on Wednesday, that our working relationship was OVER. I looked at her in shock and said, “So NOW you’re gas lighting me, turning this around to blame ME rather than accept accountability for your actions?” She then proceeded to THREATEN that if I continued to try to discuss these issues with her she was walking out. She went so far as to gather up the coat pieces and started to pack them up! I was stunned! I said, “So let me get this straight. You’d rather QUIT than admit you were wrong for making assumptions about MY business?” Needless to say, she refused to answer and scowled and pouted like a five year old!

 I have to say I was actually relieved that she quit. Her attitude and her attendance had become more and more problematic. I had set a boundary with her back in January when she, once again, texted me and said “Just woke up. I feel like crap.” Now she’d complained the day before that she was having PMS (i.e., premenstrual mood swings) and would call out ONCE A MONTH for that reason. Having had a craw full of her taking advantage of our friendship in such a manner (something that wouldn’t be acceptable in any other professional setting, nor was it behavior she would tolerate from her own employees as a manager at Super Cuts), I texted her back stating: “Me too. I woke up with a migraine. Took two Aleeve and two RedBulls. Soldier on.” That was actually the beginning of the end. She was PISSED that I told her to work through her PMS like I do the chronic pain I live with on a 24/7 basis. She even admitted it. That’s when her attitude began to shift, but it was when she was allowed to work on the 18th century ensembles that she became more increasingly uncooperative and argumentative. There’s a saying in the south that describes that behavior: She got too big for her britches.

She didn’t stay long that Wednesday, and no-showed for her scheduled workday the following day, and the day after, without so much as a courtesy text or a Marco Polo - which was also a long-standing issue! During those two days after she bought her machine and set up her sewing room at her home, she took it upon herself to sew the pocket bags into the coats without my permission and installed them incorrectly! She had one a full ½ inch off from the other. This was the SECOND time she’d made that same exact mistake! Rather than measure carefully and line them up exactly using a tape measure and a ruler, she eyeballed them and messed it up. We had to hide this mistake beneath the pocket flap! These ensembles were going to be worn and photographed at Versailles Palace! Half-assing construction like that horrified me! Now, she’d already installed the pocket bags, which meant the outer coat where the pocket “slit” was installed had been CUT. The only recourse to correcting her mistake would have been to buy more fabric and start over! But now there wasn’t time for that! It took four months for her to embroider those coats because she only comes in three days a week and our relationship had now melted down.

Not only did she mess up the pockets, because she was too busy behaving like a petulant, rebellious child and refused to seek my advice, she ran across a problem she didn’t know how to deal with and she “added” embroidery floss to the underside of the buttonholes because she had ignored my advice to stabilize the lining, and she said the fabric was too flimsy around the buttonholes! It was a spiderweb looking mess!!! Yes, it was in the inside, but had she LISTENED to me initially or asked me what to do I could have offered her a better alternative. Once again, I was placed in the position that I had to consider my deadlines and make a decision if the work was “passable” or if I needed to step in and fix it. Initially I said nothing because the tension between us was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I ruminated on it for a day, then ultimately decided I was FINISHED allowing her to bully me and told her I needed her to bring back the ensembles so that I could inspect them further, because I wasn’t happy with her workmanship. She REFUSED. She said, “you had plenty of time to inspect them previously,” and then proceeded to hold the client’s property hostage and tried to extort the client and me! She demanded she be given the client’s billing information before she would return the ensembles for me to “fix.” She knew more than likely she was going to be held liable for her shoddy work, in fact I told her that I would be deducting my labor from what was owed. I was angry but I tried to be reasonable. 

The client agreed to release his billing info if she would agree to return his property to me immediately. I offered to write it on a piece of paper and make the exchange with a neutral third party. She refused all fair and reasonable offers, and stated, “I guess we’re at a standoff.”  For two weeks I spent searching for an attorney, but ultimately was told that because there was no contract there wasn’t a great deal I could do. On the flip side, neither could she! Not real comforting when your client’s property is being held hostage and the clock is ticking. She was counting on that!  She knew there was a short deadline and that their event in France was fast approaching.

After two weeks wherein she had made no effort whatsoever to cooperate and refused to respond to my texts, the client and I put our heads together and we decided that perhaps she might be more reasonable if HE texted her and in essence sent her a demand letter. She kept demanding his PayPal ID in order to bill him for the work, and we agreed. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with giving in to her extortion, but at the time we had no choice – which she was ultimately counting on. I pause in this telling to state how devastated I was by her vicious 180 degree reversal wherein she turned against me! I was stunned by the depths of her vitriol and the pettiness of her retaliation – simply for having set boundaries with her!

But you see, Karma has a way of sorting things out. Due to COVID my clients received word that their event was postponed, so she had lost her leverage. About the same time as the client received that notice from Versailles, I was made aware of a situation she had created with another client! At the end of 2019, she took on a commission for a mutual friend at our faire to make him a doublet, hat, and shirt. She begged me to allow her to take the lead on that project and I wanted to see what she was capable of producing. So, I stepped back and let her make design decisions and color combination of black with silver embroidery (which the client ultimately wasn’t happy with). She spent the next year or more doing multiple revisions, even starting over with four different sets of sleeves as well as the torso of the doublet, because she didn’t have the knowledge to do a proper fitting. Every time I tried to intervene, she would snap at me. Ultimately, I was in the dark about the client’s dissatisfaction. To put a finer point on it, she actually didn’t allow the client to try on the garment after each revision. He lived close to her so she would just drop it off on her way home, and when I would ask her if she took pictures so I could judge the fit, she lied and said she forgot to take them, and stated the client was happy! He was NOT happy.

In the meantime, after multiple revisions and the garment still didn’t fit, she lied to him and stated, “Christine says it’s as good as it’s going to get,” and essentially abandoned the client who had spent $1100 for a doublet, shirt and hat that DID NOT FIT! In what reality would I ever tell a client that? NONE! So, I offered to make it right for him, and stated I would remake the entire order at my expense. Look, I’ve spent enough time in customer service training to know that statistically speaking one unhappy client will tell TEN other people about their experience, and indeed, unbeknownst to me it was already being whispered about that I had authorized the crap she had produced, so I had to do some quick talking and negotiating because my reputation was on the line! I knew damn well at this stage I would never recover the damages, but I invoiced her anyway for the $1200 (I had to buy fabric @ $30 a yard and other notions).

So, after the “Versailles” client texted her and gave her his PayPal ID, rather than honor her agreement to return the ensembles to me, she raised her demands! She was now demanding that she be allowed for the payment to go through BEFORE she returned the client’s property to me! Regardless of how angry I was, I was still offering to allow her to at least bill for half of her labor, after informing her that the client’s event in France had been postponed for a year. I informed her about the damage I incurred in the interim from the client she had abandoned and told her I would be deducting the $1200 from any outstanding balances she was to bill the clients. Just like all the other fair and reasonable attempts to garner a response, she ignored me. 

The client and I let another 24 hours pass, and when she failed to respond, I then wrote and informed her that we decided to cut our losses, that she had over played her hand, and that rather than try to negotiate any further with an extortionist, I would be remaking the client’s 18th Century ensembles and she could keep those she had made - and get NOTHING. I should have felt some kind of vindication over that turn of events, but now I had to set aside 6 months out of my schedule to clean up her mess rather than taking new clients who had contacted me. Let me be clear. I happily made the offer to remake these three commissions, it’s just damned frustrating that it is going to take me a FULL year to recover. Not only did I have to refund one client on my books and cancel the order, but I had to contact ALL 20 clients on my books and explain that I am having to spread out work meant for two people over the next several months, and now half my 2022 schedule is full! - Which means I will have to turn away work!

I’m frustrated yes, but I’m stunned by her callousness and the realization that she was never the person I esteemed her to be. No true friend would have turned on me the way she did and scorched the earth to try to hurt me and my business. And for what? Because she didn’t get her way? So in the end, I not only lost a friend, but I’ve also lost in excess of about $1652 in damages all because I mixed friendship with business.

Don’t be Afraid to Establish or Re-establish Boundaries and Expectations:

It’s not fair to you, nor is it ultimately fair to the friend you bring into your business, not to set strict boundaries up front and revisit them often. Now, I DID have a contract I had drawn up and she did review it, but I relied on my expectation of her trustworthiness rather than my intuition BECAUSE she was my friend. I feared offending her. Surely, she wouldn’t abuse my trust? – She’s my friend! If you can’t trust your friends, who CAN you trust? – Right? WRONG!

 If I had it to do over again, I would have had her sign the contract EVEN if she were offended. If she had become offended that would have been a HUGE red flag! I also would have held evaluations a minimum of four times a year wherein I sat down and reviewed her performance with her and communicate where I saw she needed improvement, as well as where I saw she had made progress and I would have put it in WRITING. I would have also insisted she keep a journal of the techniques I taught her. Instead, I kept a running dialog with her with the expectation she would remember and follow them.

In the end I take responsibility for not setting hard and fast boundaries and establishing my position as “the buck stops with me.” Looking back I would make her accountable for every mistake she made. 

So, take heed of this precautionary tale. Business and interpersonal relationships do NOT mix. What’s the lesson you might ask? Well, clearly I need to bone up on my self-assertion skills for women, but I will never, EVER take on another apprentice let alone someone who is a friend. This means that my availability will be less, and I will have to go back to being booked out a year in advance. But flying solo is the only way to ensure my clients commissions are of the highest quality. 

 In the end I think John D. Rockefeller has the right of it: “A friendship founded on business is better than a business founded on a friendship.” I have made “friendships” from clients. They’ve become CLOSE friends as a matter of fact. All of these relationships have worked out with the exception of ONE. I wrote about it here on my blog over a year ago (”When it all goes South”). But bringing friends into your business from my experience is just a recipe for disappointment and will result in the death of that friendship. 

Lesson learned universe. 

[kofubisha]

beheld chapter 2 / 2

here’s the second part of my kofubisha fic for the @noragamibigbang! i hope you guys enjoyed this. i worked really hard on it because i love women. the gorgeous art for this chapter is by @viinas so go compliment it a lot or else.

after many years;

Kofuku has grown accustomed to comfort. She likes having her own place, where she can sleep in a soft bed, and cook whatever she grows, and have things that are hers.

So little has ever been hers.

Before Bishamon installed her in this place, it had been little more than a dump, smothered in graffiti and bearing a pervasive odor of rotten food. But the shinki of a god of fortune are eager to please, and in less than a day they had cleaned out the yard, scoured the interior, repaired the damaged roof and porch, and moved a set of modest—but comfortable—furniture into the house.

At the time, Kofuku wondered if Bishamon would expect more from her than mere auguries. A binbōgami could be a powerful ally—or enemy—no matter how filthy their reputation. However, Kofuku did not really believe an honorable war god like Bishamon would strike that low—and she was right. She has always been an excellent judge of character: a thought that makes her smile.

Between her cupped palms, Kofuku holds a clay cup of sake. Another cup sits opposite her on the low wooden table. At that moment, a voice comes from outside the open front door.

“Do you still want me to knock?”

“You have to!” Kofuku shouts back. “Otherwise it doesn’t count!”

The owner of the voice doesn’t sigh, but Kofuku can tell they want to. After a moment, she hears two deliberate knocks against the doorframe.

“Come in!” she chirps, and Bishamon enters, bare feet silent against the rough wooden floor.

“Is this something you brewed yourself?” she asks without preamble, eyeing the cup before sitting down at the table.

Kofuku grins, watching Bishamon peer skeptically into her own cup. “Yes it is!”

“How strong is it?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what this is going to do to us,” Kofuku admits, before promptly tipping her head back and emptying the cup in one go. The sake hits the back of her throat with a satisfying burn, and she slams the cup back down onto the table with gusto.

As soon as the cup touches the table, it shatters. Shards of clay spray across the table and floor, and when Kofuku looks down at her hand she goes white. A sizable piece of clay remains embedded in the flesh next to her thumb. As she stares down at it, numb with shock, blood starts to bead at the edges of the wound.

“Ow.”

Before she can say any more, Kofuku’s hand is taken in a firm, yet gentle grip. She sobs—more in surprise than pain—as Bishamon expertly pulls the clay shard out of her palm.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you live on your own,” Bishamon mutters as she cleans the edges of the wound. “Or do you just save all your injuries for when you see me?”

“Aw, you worry about me!”

Kofuku smiles at Bishamon, who can’t quite keep her own lips from twitching upward.

“Of course I worry about you,” she says with a hint of fondness. “I have never known anyone so unlucky.”

Bishamon’s attention is focused on the wound, so she doesn’t see the smile slide off Kofuku’s face. Nor does she notice when Kofuku’s voice is a bit too casually cheerful as she says:

“Besides, without me, you war gods wouldn’t know where the next storm is going to break out.”

“It would be all right, I think,” Bishamon says absently, tightening up the bandage. “After all, we are in a time of unprecedented peace and quiet. You rarely predict any surprises.”

Bishamon finishes neatly tucking the edges of the bandage. She doesn’t seem to notice how Kofuku has gone utterly quiet. If she does, she doesn’t comment on it, merely returning to her own cup of sake and sampling it with caution.

“This is…good, actually.” Bishamon’s face lights up with pleasant surprise, and she empties the cup in one generous gulp. “You should expand your business selling this.”

“A poverty god expanding her business…” Kofuku muses, tapping her chin with a single finger. She smiles, but can’t quite make the mirth reach her eyes. “I see nowhere that could go wrong.”

Bishamon nudges her cup across the table, and Kofuku refills it without comment. However, Bishamon makes no move to take her cup back.

“You are upset.”

It’s not phrased as a question. Kofuku goes very still for a moment, before snatching up the full cup of sake and hurrying into the kitchen.

“Don’t be silly, Bisha,” she says cheerily over her shoulder. “Why would I be upset?”

“That is what I don’t know.”

Bishamon is already in the kitchen, blocking her path. Kofuku yelps, the cup tumbling out of her hand. This time instead of shattering against the wood, it hits her big toe. The cup rolls away across the floor as the rest of the sake pools lazily around Kofuku’s feet.

“Ouch!” she cries out, hopping once on her undamaged foot.

At that exact moment, her heel lands on a particularly slippery bit of floor. Both her legs shoot out from under her in a single, smooth motion that might, in other circumstances, be considered graceful. But before Kofuku can even scream, a pair of arms scoops her out of midair, and once again Bishamon is looking down at her with an expression of deep concern.

“You really should not be living by yourself,” she reiterates, moving a safe distance away from the patch of wet floor before setting Kofuku back on her feet. “Are you quite sure you don’t need a shinki of your own?”

Kofuku barely hears the words.

It had been so brief—just a few seconds, but it had happened. Someone had carried her. For one moment, out of the fullness of all time, she had been held.

“Kofuku?”

Bishamon’s concerned voice reaches her ears as though through deep water. Her face, too, wavers in front of her eyes like a warped reflection. How odd, Kofuku thinks. Then she realizes she’s crying.

“What is it? Is it your foot? What can I do?”

Bishamon sounds almost frantic. If Kofuku wasn’t busy with inconsolable weeping, she might be tempted to laugh at how quickly the greatest of all war gods panics at the sight of a crying woman.

“It’s because…because you probably hate me,” Kofuku finally manages to choke out, and as the words leave her mouth, she wishes she could gobble them right back up. The look of wounded shock on Bishamon’s face cuts straight to her heart.

“Hate you?” she repeats quietly. “Why?”

Kofuku quiets a last few hiccuping sobs. She has never felt more miserable in her life.

“It’s…it’s nothing,” she says, cringing at how false it rings. Bishamon doesn’t even grace the lie with a response. Kofuku shuts her eyes, wishing she could sink straight into Yomi and rot there.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “It’s me. I…”

Her lip trembles. If this is really going to happen, she might as well do it right.

“Don’t you realize how strange this is, Bisha?”

Kofuku can feel the other goddess watching her, but when she opens her eyes she keeps them resolutely fixed on a blank spot on the wall.

“Don’t you hear things about me, up there? What do they tell you about your friend, the poverty god?”

Bishamon inhales as if to speak, but Kofuku shakes her head.

“I need to say this now, or I’ll never forgive myself,” she says, the truth of it slowly dawning on her. She almost wants to laugh at her own inescapable, ruinous stupidity. Then she wants to cry until her body dries up and dissolves into dust.

“We need to end this friendship,” Kofuku says. She is proud of herself for how little her voice shakes. “It isn’t right—it isn’t normal for you to be friends with me, Bisha. It’s bad for your reputation.”

Before she even finishes talking, Kofuku sees the stubborn set of Bishamon’s chin. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Have I indicated at any point that I care what the other gods think?” Bishamon retorts. “It is not their place to question my decisions—and frankly, neither is it yours.”

Kofuku’s face flushes with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and tears begin gathering in her eyes once again.

“I’m trying to help you,” she wails. “You said yourself you didn’t need my auguries anymore! You don’t have to visit me out of obligation! I’m telling you that it’s fine…it’s fine if you want to end our bargain.”

She stares down at her own feet, tears silently rolling down her face. Her heart is in shambles, but at least she can move forward with a good conscience. Bishamon, at least, will not suffer because of her.

“You don’t actually think I would do that.”

Kofuku expects to hear anger in her voice, or perhaps hurt. Instead, Bishamon sounds almost…relieved.

Shocked, she looks up to see a smile spreading across Bishamon’s face. Something in her stomach does a funny flip, and she feels the tips of her ears turning pink.

It really isn’t fair. This is supposed to be a goodbye, and all Kofuku can focus on is the warmth and loveliness of that smile.

“I have so few real friends,” Bishamon says, mercifully oblivious. “Sometimes it feels like I cannot talk to anyone. My shinki rely on me, and I refuse to burden them. I enjoy spending time with the other gods, but in many ways they still treat me as an outsider.”

Her smile fades. For a moment, the look on her face is one of savage, almost frightening loneliness. Kofuku recognizes it at once. She’s seen it many times before: staring back at her from every reflection since the first moment she could comprehend the scope of her own solitude.

“Even if that were not the case,” Bishamon continues. “Reputation is of such little consequence to me. If the other gods are petty and shiftless enough to form opinions on my business, then I have no use for them.”

There is a hard streak of annoyance in her voice, and Kofuku realizes it’s already happened. As much as the knowledge fills her with shame, she also can’t help but feel pleasantly warm at the idea of Bishamon defending her.

Suddenly, she realizes that Bishamon has gone silent, eyes fixed on her face with strange intensity. Then, suddenly, she reaches out to cup Kofuku’s face between her hands, cradling it like something precious.

“I will never believe them,” she says quietly, earnestly. “I never have before.”

Kofuku is trembling from head to foot.

“I love you,” she says, because if she doesn’t say it right now she might never say it, and if she never says it she’ll die. To her immense relief, Bishamon does not look surprised or angry.

In fact, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are lustrous.

“I thought you might,” she replies breathlessly.

after some hours;

The glow of sunrise begins to turn the inside of Kofuku’s eyelids pink, and she burrows more snugly into the blankets. Her cold toes encounter something warm: a leg. Its owner yelps, kicking back at her.

“You promised to stop doing that,” Bishamon mutters into the pillow.

She looks particularly precious in the morning, Kofuku decides. Her hair is rumpled, her cheeks pink and soft-looking as she yawns herself gradually awake. Then she gives Kofuku a piercing glare.

“What are you thinking about?”

Kofuku blinks innocently. “Nothing.”

“No.” Bishamon smiles suddenly, quick and bright as lightning. “I know what it looks like when you’re thinking nothing. Your face looks like this.”

And she does an extremely unflattering imitation of the expression. Kofuku flicks her forehead.

“You’re not supposed to tease me, Bisha.”

“Why not?” Bishamon challenges, sinking back onto the pillows. “You told me to practice my humor.”

“I don’t think physical comedy suits you.”

Bishamon pouts, which makes Kofuku laugh out loud, and then she kisses her. They kiss a great deal that morning, sweet and soft at first, then hungrier.

Kofuku learns what makes humans hold each other so fiercely, even while their frail bodies remain so doomed. It is a wonderful feeling, this closeness. Maybe the two of them can cradle it between their hearts, like a small fire.

For a time, at least, she thinks with a smile.

after decades;

It is the dead of summer. Outside, the creaky song of cicadas is the only disturbance in the close, muggy air. Within the house, five figures lie flat, their sweaty foreheads pressed to the cool floor in the hopes that some of the earth’s natural chill will provide relief.

Yukine is the first to roll over, his cheeks flushed and eyes glassy with misery.

“We just need a distraction,” he says.

“Like what?” Hiyori says, her voice muffled against the floor.

“A drinking contest!” proposes Kofuku, who seems to miraculously recover all of her energy at the prospect.

“Absolutely not,” Daikoku vetoes, though he remains motionless facedown.

“I’ll get out the sake,” Yato says, lurching to his feet. Before Daikoku can grab his ankle to stop him, a voice calls from outside the house:

“Hello?”

The front door slides open, revealing the voice’s owner, and Kofuku springs to her feet with all memory of exhaustion forgotten.

“Bisha!”

Bishamon catches her effortlessly, spinning in an elegant circle before setting Kofuku on her feet once more. Her mouth softens with amusement.

“We thought you might like some company down here,” she says.

“Completely unrelated to the fact that Yato texted me and asked me to bring an air conditioner,” Kazuma adds, following her inside. The air conditioning unit appears next, carried between Kuraha and Yugiha.

“We brought alcohol,” Kinuha adds, carrying several heavy-looking paper bags.

The rest of Bishamon’s team troops into the house, and in short order the air conditioner is blasting at full strength. The four bodies plastered to the floor start to regain vitality as the room rapidly cools down.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant haze. Daikoku, Yukine, and Hiyori eventually retreat to the kitchen to scare up enough snacks to pass around. A drinking contest does indeed get underway, which results in several of Bishamon’s shinki having to be put to bed in various states of inebriation. Yato and Yukine both end up sprawled on the floor next to the air conditioner. Hiyori sits against the wall next to them, tiredly fanning herself. With a groan of effort, Daikoku hauls himself to his feet and stretches mightily.

“We’d better start cleaning up,” he says in resignation. “Kofuku!”

"She disappeared about an hour ago,” Yukine mumbles, his eyes at half-mast. “Not sure where.”

Kazuma rouses himself from his own spot on the floor, squinting around the room through his crooked glasses.

“…Has anyone seen Viina?”

: : :

On the roof of the house the air feels slightly cooler. A tiny breeze tangles the curls around Kofuku’s ears and tugs a few silvery strands from Bishamon’s braid. Light spills out across the yard from the first floor, and the two of them can easily hear the voices of the others in the house. Currently, Yato and Kinuha seem to be arm-wrestling. Based on the amount of yelling, there is money involved.

“They must still be having fun,” Bishamon comments after a loud crash and a bloodcurdling scream.

“I think she broke his wrist,” says Kofuku.

Bishamon’s expression is flat. “Like I said,” she repeats. “They must still be having fun.”

Kofuku giggles, then flops backward onto the roof. After a few moments, Bishamon follows suit.

In a few hours, Daikoku will find them both fast asleep, curled into each other, hands firmly intertwined. But for now they lie side-by-side, hearing the laughter of their friends, watching the milk-bright stars wink back at them from a crowded summer sky.

[imagine-loki]

The Slutty Webs One Weaves

Title : The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Chapter NO. 6 of 10?

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s Asgardian wife learns women write fanfiction about him on a trip to Midgard. She’s edgy for the duration and lets him have it when they get back.

Author: lokilover9

Rating: M

Brianna's surprise was a bedroom matching the guest room at Tony's and much more. Loki had conjured a two thousand square foot flat into an underground rock formation with sleeping quarters and private ensuites at either end. The main rooms were open concept, all the lighting adjustable to simulate midday or dusk and she followed his gaze to a set of drapes in the dining area.

"I dare speculate what's beyond. Don't you?" He asked.

Another room simulating the outdoors had a domed ceiling painted like the sky, two walls a tropical rainforest and the third a beach scene. Below it was a narrow pool, running the rooms length and to her left, a swing set and exercise apparatus. Brianna ran to him and squealed with delight when he spun her around in his arms. "You did all this for me?"

"With great pleasure."

"It's the best. Our own perfect hideaway, but aren't you exhausted?"

He chuckled. "Had I conjured a palace, perhaps. My magic is very powerful."

She suddenly looked concerned. "Sooo, nobody knows I robbed those houses? I really don't want to go to jail."

"Og Min Lille, no one. You're free now and shall never live imprisoned again." Loki wanted to erase those sad memories, but she was too young. It risked relearning to walk and talk, achievements well established in adults and possibly forgetting vital information that could help locate her 'imprisoners'. "Let's focus on the happier times ahead. I'm hungry are you?" Inside, he opened a suitcase of food taken from Thor's. "Can you believe the God of Thunder eats marshmallows? His face must resemble an oversized zit."

Brianna's giggle was so adorable he wanted to gobble her up. "Do you like pranking him?" She asked.

"Me? The God of Mischief? Nooo."

"Your nose is growing, Pinocchio."

"Who?"

She explained the character, Loki feigned panic, conjured a mirror and made funny faces while checking his reflection at different angles. "It's not a centimeter larger than the last time I looked. Who's the prankster?" They made smores together and Loki's first bite resulted in a glob of marshmallow dangling from his chin.

"It's okay." Said Brianna. "Uncle Cootyoodles wore most of his first time we made them. Pepper too. He was holding one for her taste when a glob fell down her shirt, she smeared some into his hair and what a mess that followed. Tony started chasing her around the island trying to stuff them into her pockets, but Pepper was crafty. She grabbed the partially melted ones and tried smearing more into his hair. When he blocked it, she slid one under his t shirt sleeve and mashed it into his armpit. They'd begun cleaning up when he snuck chocolate sauce from a cupboard and squirted some onto her head."

"Did uncle Cootyoodles get in trouble?"

"No. They chose a third target and boy did she become invisible fast."

Loki laughed.

"Tony's super funny. Did you know he hides boxes of Count Chocula in their apartment?"

"Where?"

"No way, Jose. I plan a return visit. He might not share if you tattle."

Loki suddenly felt trapped in a web of deceit. Telling Brianna that wasn't possible, or of his intention to move her to Asgard permanently risked jeopardizing her trust. Might she become angry enough to vanish at first chance? He could cap her abilities with a spell, but that meant the same and not learning her full capacity. He was damned either way and wondered if all parents shared this dilemma. Making decisions for their child's best interest knowing they'll be resented for them. And what of the biggest? Telling his Daughter she was a Goddess. With time on their side he opted to mull things over.

That evening he gave her a swimming lesson, cut her hair into a bob with bangs, altered his to salt and pepper, conjured brown contacts and together they planned their first adventure. ***** On Asgard, after reading Loki's letter in her private parlor, Frigga had whisked Astrid off to the observatory.

Heimdall saw them coming and stiffened with the Allmother's scowl. 'Odin's toupee, Beelzebub is resurrected.' "Greetings my gracious Queen and my lady. What can I do for you?"

"Find Loki, please?" The Allmother instructed.

"He's left realm?" Astrid replicated her scowl and he gazed into the cosmos. "Right away." 'Before one of you sprout horns.'

The search was taking too long and Frigga caught on why. "Has my son veiled himself?"

"I cannot see him." 'Fuck. How many holes can you dig in one lifespan, Fenrir?'

Astrid looked ready to hyperventilate. "I didn't hide from him down there."

The Gatekeeper did like the Duchess, yet occasionally questioned her sensibility. 'Maybe because you lack such powers?'

The Queen dismissed her nonsense and calculatingly advised. "Worry not. I have a plan."

Heimdall prayed to the Norns it didn't include an inverted pentagram. ***** The next night, Loki and Brianna exited a portal into a dark alley in Paris.

"This way, darling. You're going to love The Ritz."

An inebriated man witnessed the phenomenon from his apartments alley window. "Sacre bleu! No more cheap merde for moi." ***** In New Mexico, Thor was watching How to Train Your Dragon, thinking Toothless would make his Father a great pet. Odin blitzed on ale and the pair swooping down on Asgards Einherjar as he taunts the warriors. 'Catch me if you can, suckers!' Frigga's in pursuit on a skid. 'Land you ancient ripstonker or I'll tan your hairy hide!' He chuckled at the vision, crushed an empty beer can against his forehead and the doorbell rang. "Must be my neighbor Willie with another complaint. Yesterday the stereo's volume, tonight our TV's. Guess I should pity the old bugger, his surname being Stroker. Coming!" He politely shouted. 'Rickety ray of sunshine.' "Evening Mr...Astrid???"

"Hi."

Thor inwardly cringed when she rolled in a suitcase and paused a second to think. Heimdall always delivered him to spots where Loki had hidden vehicles, but Astrid didn't have a license. "How did…" He picked up her luggage when the bell rang again.

"You should answer that."

He did to someone looking less a ray of sunshine than grumpy Mr. Kneads-his-knob. "Mother???" It suddenly clicked why Loki had warned him Astrid might visit. He'd intended to shield himself and Brianna from Heimdall.

"Don't look so shocked. Last summer your Father surprised me with a brief trip to Norway. A beautiful country, but too many nude beaches. While there, he taught me to drive and Seidre granted me a fake license."

"Why didn't you mention it?"

"I had intended to surprise you by coming with Astrid and Loki on their next visit. In light of your mail delivery, I came sooner. Now where's your brother?"

"I don't know and presume he's veiled?"

"You're lying and we know he has a daughter." Said Astrid. "It was in the letter."

She'd never addressed him so crassly and Thor dismissed it to upset. "I'm not and imagine it was, hence your presence. He spelled me to sleep with a tonic I thought ale and upon waking, they were gone. In 'my' letter, Loki apologized for leaving unannounced, didn't explain why and asked I make the delivery."

"Loki apologized to you?" Asked Frigga.

"Yes."

"This I must see to believe. Show me."

"Impossible, Mother. He spelled that too."

"He what?" Asked Astrid.

"It's in the ink." Replied the Allmother. "The paper dissolves within minutes once exposed to oxygen."

The Duchess shook her head. "This is wrong. Loki claims to have had no relationship with a woman he impregnates then runs off with a child they supposedly created without a word to his wife or Mother?"

"She's right, Thor. If your Father and I truly do have a granddaughter, your brother should've said so, brought her to Asgard and introduced us."

"Loki didn't believe me at first, but knew the instant they met. Like myself."

"So he really didn't come for a bondage session with his big brother." Said Astrid. "You lured him here to meet the girl? Who introduced the two of you? Was the Mother blackmailing Loki and that's why they've vanished? How does he know this person and her daughter aren't working together? Any preteen could learn such skills!"

Thor had retrieved her from Heimdall's last drop and en route to see Tony, was subjected to her jealous assumptions regarding the stories. Loki had once mentioned similar behavior during a visit home with Jane, but this was over the top and he responded curtly. "That's bon-ding and could a six year old, Astrid? Enough with your antics."

"Thor Odinson, mind your manners and tell us everything." Demanded Frigga.

He observed the two expectantly glaring at him and pondered being in his brother's shoes. "No."

"And why not young man?"

Astrid spoke again. "Because he's lying, just like I thought."

The God frowned at his sister in law. "No, because I think I understand now why Loki vanished. Did either of you even hear what I just said? Brianna is six..years..old."

"Frigga's tone softened. "Brianna?"

"Yes, Mother, that's your granddaughters name. Which saddens me to say you'd know had you bothered asking."

"Well if you won't help us, I'll bet Tony knows where Loki is. I'll just call him." Said Astrid.

"You will not." Thor sharply reiterated. "I contacted Stark first thing and he knows nothing. The couple are on vacation. Leave them be."

"Son, at least have some compassion for her feelings." Suggested Frigga.

"Why? I haven't heard a shred of it yet for Loki from either of you and suspect he predicted the same. It's no wonder with our consistent lack of empathy towards him. Jane always disliked him yet the more I spoke of our history, her opinion changed. Humbling mine by insisting I see things from Loki's perspective and candidly pointing out Father's favoritism. I regret a lot, but this isn't a self pity rant. He and Brianna need someone on their side and I'm volunteering, so listen. All I'll reveal is she came to me and refused to say from where or how. I found her cowering inside my apartment after a run and willingly obliged her request to meet Loki." He looked directly at Astrid. "Your husband is innocent, knew nothing of her existence until I told him, yet carries guilt for not rescuing her sooner."

"'Rescuing?'" Asked Frigga.

"Brianna's short life hasn't been a happy one." Thor grabbed his keys.

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here. I need to think."

He left and Astrid sobbed. "I've behaved so selfishly and now Loki's facing this alone."

The Allmother squeezed her hand. "I'm just as guilty, darling, but do get your sexual references straight?"

Astrid cried harder.

"There, there. Loki has to come home eventually."

"How..do you think he instantly kn..knew she was his?"

Frigga suddenly straightened. "Hells bells and Bilgesnipe testicles. Could she possess magic?"

Thor hadn't left to think. Distrustful of Astrid, he needed an excuse to do the one thing Loki had asked him not to. Call Stark. "Heyyy, flying human. Have a minute?"

"Nope. Busy drinking tequila out of Pepper's navel. Later."

She smirked when he hung up. "That was rude."

"What? I can't hold my phone, pour belly button shots and slurp all at the same time."

"Put him on speaker." She suggested.

"Stop moving or I'll pin you to the bed with my suit pieces."

"Now he's calling me. "'I'll' put him on speaker."

"A threesome with big guy?" Tony jested. "Can't we choose someone prettier?"

"You want a threesome? I never thought of sharing 'you' with anyone else."

He belched. "That was ugly. Answer the phone, Butch."

"Hi Thor."

"Sorry, Virginia. It's urgent."

Stark had risen from the bed in his boxers and Pepper withheld laughter as he goofily attempted a full monty. "What's up?"

Thor finished explaining and Tony gasped. "Say what? Pepper and I were about to experiment with shock treatments via my tequila laden nipples and you ruined it."

"He's kidding." She interjected.

The God chuckled. "Whatever ruffles your truffle, Virginia. He's taking it better than Loki predicted."

"It's the booze."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here people."

"Astrid's on realm and has thought of calling." Said Thor. "I won't send her your way. This is just a heads up."

Stark scanned his naked self. "Not anymore."

"Tony." Scolded Pepper.

"Sorry, what?"

"I've convinced her you're on vacation and Brianna came to me."

"Thumbs up, uncle lightning wielder. Why Daddy Snowflake lie and run away?"

"I'm not exactly certain, but suspect to avoid family drama over knowledge of Brianna's existence."

"Are they loco en la cabezas? You tell Loki she can come live here. If she turns our apartment into an ice rink, I'm down with that. I'll teach her how to skate."

Thor's respect for Tony was deepening over his unwavering affection for her. "If Loki contacts you, please warn him our Mother's here too?"

Stark shot upright. "Flaming flamingo fishnets! 'Thee' Allmother is on earth???"

"Not for long if I can help it. Astrid as well."

"'Atta boy! Duct tape them together and hurl 'em up the bifrosty."

"My Mother would have me quartered."

"Pooper shnickers. Saran wrap then?"

Thor laughed. "Virginia?"

"We'll play along. If Daddy Snowflake contacts you, tell him we're a phone call away." ***** Thor opted for a local pool hall instead of going home, but Frigga waited up.

"Does Brianna have powers, darling? I'd appreciate knowing."

He headed straight for his bedroom. "Jane comes home in three days. 'I'd' appreciate if you and Astrid returned to Asgard beforehand."

Frigga stood outside his door. "Thor…"

"Cover me in preserves and tie me to an ant hill, Mother. I'm still not talking."

"Sounds like a kinky ritual to enact on your Father."

He opened it enough to stick his head out. "Are you cray cray?"

"Possibly. If you aren't going to talk then come listen?" He begrudgingly obliged and they sat in the living room. "Forgive my rudeness earlier? I've been overcome with shock and bewilderment since Astrid came to me."

"No more so, than Loki."

"I imagine and have a briefened love story to tell you."

"Again?"

Frigga smirked at the hint of disinterest on Thor's face. "Not mine and your Father's, Loki's and Astrids. When your brother was first pardoned, the people were angry. Palace staff addressed him only when necessary and on the streets, there was talk of him being a traitor. He was miserable so your Father and I allowed him back to Midgard if he promised to stay out of trouble. He rarely cracked a smile on visits home and during one, I convince him to attend a ball by threatening to sacrifice a virgin."

Thor's brows rose. "Mother, you didn't."

"Almost. A young handmaiden he coveted. I'm not as innocent as I appear. Loki spent a good part of it alone, brooding in a side parlor. I'd considered suggesting he lose the glare which conveyed to all, 'come any closer and I'll rip off your limbs' when noticing Astrid edging her way around the room, cautiously evading his sight. I later learned she wanted to greet him unexpectedly, so he mightn't be so quick to reject her. Then as she introduced herself and Loki rose as a gentleman should, he smiled wholeheartedly for the first time in over a year. As you do in Janes presence. Soon he began spending more time at home and no matter the ignorance of others, including her Father's disapproval of their courtship, she lovingly stood by your brother. They were walking arm in arm at last year's harvest festival when someone bellowed 'traitors whore!' Astrid said he furiously demanded the coward show themselves. When no one came forth, she announced to all listening. 'Taunt and think of me as you please, but never forget whose presence you're in. Prince Loki of Asgard, son of your King and Queen and I am his proud fiance, Astrid Heskin.' She's made Loki very happy and it shows in every aspect of his personality."

"I'm just as impressed as I am confused." Said Thor. "If the feeling's mutual, why the constant jealousy?"

"It's between them I suppose." Frigga knew why, but withheld it in confidence.

"Sentiment aside, Loki never said where or when he planned to return. I'll have two days with Jane before she's back at S.H.I.E.L.D and I'm doing charity work. Nor can Astrid keep imposing on Mr. Stark when she and Loki have problems. Please take her home?"

"We'll leave tomorrow."

"Thank you. How did Father take the news?"

"He doesn't know and thinks I came to escort Astrid to Loki."

"Weren't we supposed to be bonding?"

"That, he would never believe and have surely gone to Heimdall. We told him Loki was helping you find Jane a new house as a surprise, Astrid missed him and wanted to help too. He waved us onward amidst his newfound kingly pleasure, a pedicure."

"Father gets pedicures?"

"It's not as though they paint his nails slut red. Centuries in leather boots makes for terribly smelly feet."

"Still, that complicates things." Thor explained Loki's conversation about Frost Giants. "My crassness wasn't meant as an insult to his original heritage. After everything Brianna's endured, I merely assumed it information overload for her."

"Darling. Where is the difference in learning she's Jotun or Asgardian?"

"There isn't any. Loki wouldn't reveal all they'd discussed and I'd dreaded he'd informed her Asgardians opinion of Jotuns. That 'we' were taught to fear and hate them."

His words reminded Frigga of her own guilt and shame over lying to her son. "Your Father and I were catastrophically wrong for teaching that. He despised Laufey for senselessly attacking Midgard, but I'm just as guilty for not speaking up."

"His scorn remains, Mother."

"Only because Jotunheim are ruled by a secretive and fluctuating council since Laufey's death and are rumored to be allies with Svartalfheim. They want Nidavellir to join them but the realm will not, claiming fear of animosity from the others and losing their greatest source of income."

"Weapons."

"Yes. Secretly, they are 'our' allies. Through spies, we learn of every weapon they sell and to whom. Should the Jotuns attain this knowledge and see the Dwarves as traitors, your Father dreads an outbreak of war and the senseless demise of millions. The Jotuns tell your Father only enough to appease him and the constant uncertainty has led him to double the size of our Einherjar."

"More you have not told me? Mother, why?"

"You're happy here and in a strategic position as an Avenger. Midgard is safer because of you. Loki knows all of this yet your Father is so edgy, I'm uncertain how he'll react to him being veiled."

"I'm saddened to hear of his duress, yet intend on further mending my relationship with Loki. Wish to join me?"

"Indeed I do."

"Then lie to Father again. Don't tell him Astrid returned and ask her to visit her Mother. Have her agree your back up plan should he question Heimdall sooner is she spoke to Loki, but he'd taken Brianna to Disneyland to bond with her alone. Claim that's why he's veiled and said they'd return 'here' in two weeks. It covers our arses and hopefully buys him time."

"Disneyland?" She queried.

"It's a famous amusement park for children."

"And if Loki doesn't show?"

"We're dungeon bound. Pack a warm sweater."

"Norns. How do I prevent Heimdall from seeing Astrid return?"

Thor groaned. "Snitch about this and I'll never forgive you. Max is sworn to service myself and Loki only or be fed to beasts. He takes bribes, but you can probably intimidate him into staying quiet with one glare."

Frigga jestingly rolled her eyes. "Such hooligans I raised."

"Be grateful to him, Mother. His arse will also be on the line for worse than concealing a mail delivery."

She shrugged. "I'll tell your Father I threatened to confine him to my poisonous spider conservatory."

Thor froze and asked similar question Loki had asked of him. "Are you truly 'our' relative? Asgards warm, kind and Allmotherly Queen?"

"Yes although formidable when required. It's a torture chamber, darling. So our enemies believe. They're artificial replicas of Midgards most deadly with tiny doses of various potions in their fangs. One induces diarrhea, another severe itching, hallucinations and my favorite, temporary paralysis. All with anecdotes, of course and they only attack via my magic. Imagine thousands positioned for battle."

Thor wondered if Frigga had inhaled too many fumes from her potion components and next he'd hear she'd conjured them tiny helmets. "You're right. I am happier here." 'With access to exterminators.'

"Do you think Loki is veiled out of fearing your Father's judgement?"

"Primarily."

The Allmother regretfully sighed. "I'll speak with Astrid in the morning."

She passed him and Thor faced her. "Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Brianna's amazing. Intelligent beyond her years, braver than some Einherjar I've known. You will love her instantaneously and yes, she has powers. The rest is her Father's privilege to disclose."

Frigga's smile conveyed gratitude. "Thank you, son. Goodnight." Astrid slept like a log and with magic, she carefully removed her wedding ring, entered the ensuite, made a replica of it for herself and began whispering. "Loki, darling..." ***** Astrid's ring was on, but Loki wasn't tuned into its frequency, didn't hear his Mother's message, nor of a link to the spell that accessed hers. He was too overwhelmed to endure his families negative rantings. As Brianna slumbered in luxury, he read more of her Mother's diary and lurched forward, seething upon discovering an adversary. 'You?'

Loki added the name to his shit list of most wanted. 'Consider yourself marked, fucker.'

[bestillmyslashyheart]

when a soul breaks

He told himself it was research but really it was just torture. Self imposed torture which was honestly the worst.

Alex sighed and clicked play. He was sad enough and drunk enough and in enough pain that he didn’t quite care that each new movie made the ache in his soul hurt just a little bit more. It was worth it for the incremental hope they gave him that things wouldn’t always be this way.

Saturday passed in a haze as Alex burrowed deep into the bed, sheets and blankets and sweatshirts wrapped around him as he watched movie after movie.

Sunday was almost the exact same albeit with a moment of terror when a car pulled up outside. Alex spent one breathless minute trying to figure out how he would explain himself if he was caught before the car drove away. He hadn’t even had it in him to look outside and see who it was.

Monday morning he set an alarm for well before dawn. When it went off, he forced himself to ignore the dark sky and the chill in the air and throw off the many blankets piled around him. The lethargy was harder to shake. It took almost twice as long as it might normally take for Alex to attach the prosthetic, get dressed, and tidy up. In the end, as he was rushing out to his car, he was grateful for the extra early alarm: Sanders’ opened in just under half an hour and Michael was due back any second. If Alex didn’t vacate the scrapyard before then, Michael just might wonder what the hell Alex was doing sleeping in his Airstream.

Alex would strongly prefer to put that conversation off until never.

---

All the stories and the folk tales and the goddamn Disney movies tell it the same way: soulmates are a rare breed but effervescent in their beauty and their reverence. Some, much older, tales talk of two people who are born to be together, as if divined by God or some other higher power. The Ancient Greeks spoke of people as if each person were only half of a completed whole. Modern day stories focus on the choice of it all. Where before, people believe their soulmates were chosen for them, new research has shown that really, a soul bond is a choice. An almost entirely subconscious choice but a choice nonetheless. Every romance (Disney, Nicholas Sparks, whoever else wants to make a buck off of the phenomenon) shows two people so hopelessly, deeply in love with each other that their souls join together and bind them to the other for life. It’s always nearly unbearably romantic.

And it’s all fucking crap.

Alex has watched more of those movies than he’d care to admit recently and they all said the same thing and none of it was real. Somehow, some way, it never occurred to anyone that a soul bond is technically a one way street. When a person falls so deeply in love with another that they truly cannot imagine themselves without the other, a piece of their soul splinters off and attaches itself to the other. It creates a bond between the two that cannot be severed, not even in death. What is never discussed is that this doesn’t happen both ways, not usually. Even in pairings where the bond is reciprocal, the people involved never bond at the same time. There is always a period where a person is bonded to another, their soul fragmented. 

No one ever talks about what it’s like to live with only half your soul.

Alex imagines it’s because no one wants to think about what exactly that means. Which, he can relate. He too would really rather not think about what it means. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get that luxury.

He’s discovered that losing part of your soul is not such an easy thing. It creates a bond to the other person, yes, but it doesn’t actually do anything. Without the other person’s knowledge or involvement, Alex doesn’t sense emotions or thoughts and he sure as hell can’t communicate telepathically. Every single ‘bonus’ of a soul bond that he’s ever heard about doesn’t apply to one sided bonds. What does apply? Is an ache in his very soul that never goes away. 

In the five weeks since Caulfield exploded and took half of Michael’s family with it, since Michael said they would talk and then ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, Alex has tried to piece together what happened. So far, all he knows is that his decision to stay in a building about to explode, simply so he wouldn’t have to live without Michael, tore his soul in half and the other half bound itself to Michael. He knows that Michael is entirely unaware of this development. And he knows that the separation between the two of them is literally tearing his soul to bits. Michael has only been in the same room as him twice since then and both times it was with everyone else there as well. The second Alex tried to speak to him alone Michael just said, “I can’t do this with you, Alex. Not now. Not anymore,” and drove away. But those precious few seconds where Michael was close enough to touch, Alex could feel the halves of his soul reaching out for each other, trying to knit itself back together. Each time Michael left, his soul ripped again.

None of the Disney movies (or Nicholas Sparks or whoever) has had any answers for Alex. Soulmates are rare enough that there’s almost no research on them except what has gone into popular media. Which, surprise surprise, does not include the painful part of the phenomenon.

Alex has tried to soothe the ache in his soul by surrounding himself with Michael’s things whenever possible (made easier by the fact that Michael apparently doesn’t actually live at his Airstream anymore. He tries not to think about where exactly he might be living these days) but it’s effects are limited. Cuddling Michael’s sweater for hours is nothing compared to what it felt like to stand next to the man for a few seconds.

“Hey.”

Alex jerked, a thud and a splash answering him as he knocked a cup of coffee to the floor. He stared at it in confusion, positive that he hadn’t bought coffee recently.

“Hey,” this time the voice was much softer and Alex looked up to see Kyle staring at him, worry clear in his eyes. “Are you okay? You look like shit.”

“You really know how to charm a guy,” Alex bit back softly.

Kyle put his wrist to Alex’s forehead and Alex didn’t have the energy to move away. “You’re not warm.”

“When did you get here?” Here being the Project Shepherd bunker. Alex wasn’t even sure when he himself got here, if he was being honest. His days were starting to get very hazy, hours passing by without him noticing.

Kyle crouched next to him. “I got back about ten minutes ago.” Fuck, Alex thought. Back meant Kyle had been here already. “I met you here this morning at nine?” Kyle searched his face for recognition but Alex knew he wouldn’t find any. “Alex, are you okay? Have you been here since I left?”

Alex nodded slowly, his eyes searching behind Kyle’s head for a clock. Fuck. It was almost midnight.

Kyle reached for his wrist, his fingers locating Alex’s pulse with ease. “You’ve been looking a little rundown the past few weeks but this is pretty bad. You need sleep, Alex.”

“I sleep plenty.” He probably sleeps too much, honestly.

“It doesn’t look like it. You look like you’re about to keel over, honestly. How are you even working?” Kyle looks past Alex’s shoulder to see what he was working on. “Are those more Caulfield files?”

They were, in fact. Alex had been searching through them to see if there had been any research on alien soul bonds but so far there was nothing. 

“Alex?” Kyle looked much more worried now. “What were you working on?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Alex forced out, his voice just above a mumble. “Maybe I do need more sleep.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed slowly. “You might need more than that. How long have you been feeling this bad?”

Alex shrugged as he pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the side. Kyle immediately held out a steadying hand but Alex waved him off and grabbed his crutch. He slowly shut down the computers and gathered his things as Kyle pestered him with questions about his health. He had no intention of revealing the soul bond to anyone, except maybe Michael, so he mostly shrugged in answer to whatever Kyle asked.

It worked well enough to get them out of the bunker and to their cars. It stopped working when Kyle refused to let Alex drive.

“You can barely stand, Alex!” Kyle spoke as calmly as his frustration would allow. “You’re too tired to drive and I really don’t want you swerving into oncoming traffic trying to keep your eyes open.”

Alex leveled a look at him. “It’s Roswell and it’s midnight on a weeknight. I’ll be the only car on the road the whole way, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the point and you know it. It’s a long drive to the cabin and anything could happen. At the very least, come to my place and sleep on the couch for a few hours.”

“I’ll be fine,” Alex reiterated as he stepped around Kyle and threw his stuff into his car. “Really. I might not be out here tomorrow, though.”

“Good,” Kyle responded immediately. “Take the whole damn week. You could definitely use a few days off, even if you weren’t sick.”

“Fine,” Alex agreed as he slid behind the wheel.

“Well now I know you’re really sick,” Kyle quipped. The corners of his mouth were turned down in worry but Alex appreciated his attempt at light heartedness. “Call me if you need anything.” Alex nodded. “I’m serious, Alex. I really don’t like you going out to the cabin by yourself.”

“I will be fine,” Alex promised. He carefully didn’t mention that he wasn’t actually going to the cabin, that he hadn’t been out there for more than a few minutes in weeks. “I promise to call if I need anything. Really.”

Kyle paused a beat before nodding and stepping out of the way. Once he was clear, Alex pulled the door shut and started the car. He was gone before Kyle could have time to second guess his decision. 

As he crawled into Michael’s bed twenty minutes later, half heartedly grabbing at whatever blankets and clothes he could reach, Alex finally accepted that something would have to give. Michael wasn’t home enough for his clothes and his belongings to have much of an effect on Alex anymore and the longer he stayed away from Michael the more his soul splintered. Soon, Michael would have more of Alex’s soul than Alex would and Alex wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be alive after that.

---

It was three days before Michael finally went home. Three days where Alex didn’t wake up. Three days where he wasted away without notice.

[f-nodragonart]

Y can't I just put my dragon's wings right above the shoulder? Couldn't the shoulder muscles deal with flying? I don't think putting wings behind the arms is a good idea bc the front half would hand down? Can I put the wings in front of the shoulder?

well u *can* do anything you feel like. this is just an advice blog (focusing mainly on anatomy/biology b/c that’s what our specialties gravitate towards), and as a creator, u can take or leave our advice as u please! the world is yours to design!

but if u specifically want to go for biological accuracy, then yeah, wings directly above the front limbs would generally be a no-go. 

I’m just gonna copy-paste a section that focuses specifically on this topic from my much longer post abt vertebrate wings, so hopefully this clears up any questions u’ve got abt it:

Many fantastical flying creatures are hexapodal, with at least one set of wings along with four other limbs. This poses an interesting dilemma for artists, as there are no real-life animals with this sort of setup: how do you anchor the wings to the body?

The key to answering this is to keep in mind a critical note about wings that I hope I’ve made distinctly clear in my rambling in all previous sections– wings are intricate, fully-fledged limbs. Not only that, but the fact that they’re locomotive limbs means that they must be anchored VERY solidly to the body (since, y’know, they’re throwing around the mass of the whole body from the points where they’re anchored). Wings CANNOT be treated like pasted-on decorations, if you want them to function correctly.

This in mind, my most important tip here is to absolutely NOT anchor the wing shoulders DIRECTLY ON TOP of the front limb shoulders.

For one, the wings will ALWAYS need quite a lot of chest/shoulder muscular connections. Wing shoulders need a LOT of muscle (relatively speaking) to power flight, particularly on the downstroke, so those shoulder muscles connecting down onto the chest need plenty of open room to anchor to the body. Plus, these muscles generally stretch a fair way down the chest cavity in order to help hold/stabilize the chest cavity in-flight (I’ll discuss this a bit more in the following Overall Integration section, but flying bodies are generally stiff and compact for optimum flight design). And this need for muscular space is without even considering whether a particular design requires a keel or not!

Also note the needs of shoulder movement, depending on the design. Bat flight is highly versatile in part because of their rolling shoulders and general high range of shoulder flexibility. If bats couldn’t flex their shoulders to the same range due to there being a whole other set of limbs in the way (or even having to share a clavicle setup with another pair of limbs), they wouldn’t have near the same range of versatility. While this would likely be less of a problem for bird (and potentially pterosaur) flight due to the fused clavicles and subsequently less-versatile flight, I still think this would pose some issues for flight in general, if the wings had to function around a whole other set of limbs.

Setting aside the problems the wings themselves would face, the wing muscles would also interfere with the front limbs, in this hypothetical setup! If the front limbs were anchored properly to the base chest cavity (as they would absolutely need to be if they were to be used for anything involving locomotion, like walking/running), the wing muscles/bones stretching over/around these limbs would interfere with their range of motion, and likely their overall locomotive power as well. Now I could potentially see the front limbs perhaps detaching from the base chest cavity over time, and instead anchoring on top of the wing chest muscles (a little far-fetched still, but not impossible). However, without a strong anchor to the core body, these limbs would have very little strength (certainly not enough to hold up the body, in-motion or not) or range of shoulder motion, if any at all. thus, if anything, these limbs would likely be used for display or very light object manipulation at most. Think teeny T-rex arms, and you’ll get the picture (and even then, T. rex arms are still anchored to the chest cavity and have significant scapulae, soo..).

There’s no reason that wing musculature would warp itself around a set of limbs when the wings would simply not function correctly if there was another set of limbs in the way. And if the front limbs were evolutionarily ‘important’ enough to keep in the first place, there’s no reason that the front limbs would be forced to function nestled within fully-realized wing musculature (which, I must reiterate, would likely not be fully-realized in the first place if there were other limbs in the way).

Now, for quite a while I held onto the theory that wings could ONLY be anchored behind the front limbs rather than in front. I still believe that anchoring the wings behind the front limbs is the anatomically ‘safest’ way to go, especially for artists new to anatomy and creature design, but I’ve recently changed my opinion on the plausibility of wings in front or arms due to exactly one(1) piece of anatomical artwork-- Drferox (collaborating with Shinydinosaurkingdom’s excellent artistic skills~) designed this Pegasus whose front limbs are actually behind the wings, and it actually works!! This may not seem exciting to anyone else, but I’ve literally NEVER seen this idea executed in a way that convinced me it was anatomically plausible, so I’m a little flustered. (if you’d like to see more of Shinydinosaurkingdom’s art and read up on Drferox’s explantion for their design decisions, I’d HIGHLY suggest checking out the link and digging into their blogs!)

Anyways, I’d like to note to other artists here that the ‘front’ limbs on this Pegasus have been shrunk down and pushed quite a-ways back from the front of the body, to the point that they’re useless for locomotion. This gives the chest muscles of the wings the proper room needed to stretch down onto the keel, and for the wings to rotate comfortably. If you want your dragon to be quadrupedal, I still hold that the best way this could work is with the wings behind the front limbs (unless you want your creature to have a sorta ‘insectoid’/virus-lookin stance, which actually sounds kinda sick). However, if you like the idea of a bipedal hexapod, then this approach with the front limbs behind the wings seems an excellent idea!

Of course, this is all under the assumption that the wings have fully evolved perfectly into the hexapodal body plan. Evolution does not happen overnight, and it’s perfectly plausible that a set of “pre-wings” would not yet be properly based behind (or in front!) of the front limb shoulders in a certain species’ ancestry. This idea is best described in Swirlix’s discussion of potential hexapodal evolution from the lobe-finned coelacanth. But note, again, that this is a step along the way to powered flight, not the fully-realized structure for powered flight.

~end quote~

though one bit I do want to clarify, that I don’t think this section covered-- exactly how far back are you imagining the shoulders of the wings, when the wings are behind the front limbs? in most scenarios, it seems plausible to have the wing shoulders just a bit behind the front limbs-- with enough room for the wing shoulders to rolls forwards, of course, but not necessarily feet behind the front limbs, y’know? in this case, there’s not much of the front of the body to be left hanging in the first place, especially if the ribcage is stiff enough to hold steady and handle flight forces. this especially becomes a non-issue, in my mind, if the propatagium (leading-edge membrane) attaches up over the front limb shoulders, thus providing active lift to that area of the body

-Mod Spiral

[healthyilla-blog]

If you're reading this now, you're probably within  for a heart-thumping, blood-pumping, balls-to-the-wall workout. And, friend, we have got you covered. We're all about helping you get sweaty in pursuit of your goals, whether meaning getting stronger, hitting a replacement PR, or losing weight. But let's be real for a second here: The tricky thing about weight-loss workouts is that they are kinda, sorta... a myth. aren't getting me wrong—if you're trying to reduce , a solid exercise regimen should be a part of your plan.

Here's the thing: Exercising isn't enough on its own for weight loss. There are different aspects that goes into weight loss and body fat loss; actually, exercise isn't even technically necessary in many cases. If you would like to lose weight—and it's very cool if you are doing and totally cool if you don't—adopting healthy eating habits possesses to be step numero uno. to urge technical, you would like to make a calorie deficit, which suggests using more calories during a day than you consume—and the consumption part plays a way bigger role therein than burning calories within the gym, or while carrying your groceries home, or any of the opposite myriad ways you set your muscles to figure every day . Other lifestyle habits, like sleep and stress management, and health conditions (think thyroid issues, to call only one of many) also affect your weight. Point is, weight loss may be a complicated and very personal journey that does not look or work the precise same way from one person to subsequent.

And before we get into it any longer, I'd be remiss to not means another really important detail here: Weight loss isn't for everybody . for a few people, it's actually much healthier to ignore your weight altogether, or never believe calories, or specialize in literally anything. That's very true if you've got a history of disordered eating; if that's you, you ought to ask your doctor before trying any weight-loss plan in the least. In fact, albeit you do not have a history of disordered eating you ought to ask a doctor about losing weight in a healthy way.

And once you've done all that, there are some additional belongings you should realize workouts and weight loss.

First, here are some very basic items you ought to know before you start an exercise regimen for weight loss.

Your food choices—how you fuel your body—are even more important than your workout choices. I covered this above, but it's worth reiterating: Healthy eating habits are even more important than your exercise routine if your goal is to ascertain lasting changes in your body composition.

Exercise should become a part of your routine in a meaningful way. so as to ascertain results, hitting the elliptical for a half-hour while you catch up with the Kardashians once every week just isn't getting to cut it. Instead, aim for 3 workouts if you're just stepping into a routine again, or five to 6 sessions if you have been at it for a short time, says Holly Rilinger, a Nike master trainer, master Flywheel instructor, and star of Bravo's compute ny. "And confine mind that rest is vital to reset mentally, physically, and emotionally, so confirm to create in a minimum of one full day of rest ."

you will need to push yourself in every workout you are doing. It's quite an enormous deal that you simply bring your A-game to every workout. "I'd rather see you doing balls-to-the-wall workouts 3 times every week than see you give 50 percent for five days," says Rilinger. "Decide once you rehearse that door you're getting to provides it one hundred pc the whole time, and sign up throughout your workout with one simple question: am I able to give more?"

you will need to seek out a workout you genuinely enjoy if you've got any hope of sticking with it. "Finding a trainer or workout that creates you cheerful is really really important to weight loss," says Rilinger. once you enjoy doing it you will be more likely to stay with it. Below are 6 workouts that will assist you to reach your weight loss goal. If you've tried one among the classes here and there and didn't really like it, don't hand over on the game or practice altogether. you'll not have found a teacher you're keen on yet, which can make or break your goals.

Interval Training

The number one training method the experts address again and again for weight loss: interval training. What's that? "Any sort of exercise where your pulse spikes then comes down repeatedly," says Rilinger. This generally means going hard for a group interval of your time (hence the name), followed by active rest, then going hard again. That active recovery portion is vital. you would like to require it down a notch—OK, several notches—before ramping copy to a better intensity interval.

High-intensity interval training, or HIIT, is one among the various styles you'll do. Another popular one is indoor cycling, though this workout leans heavily toward cardio over strength training, Rilinger explains. She also notes that cycling requires you to use various muscles in your body—quads, hamstrings, glutes, and core, for starters—which once more translates to weight loss. "The more muscles you've got to include, the more calories you are going to burn because those muscles all require energy so as to figure," she says. "And the more energy you employ, the upper those calorie-burning numbers climb. It's all a cycle."

Try it: Here are 4 fat-burning stationary bike workouts that you simply might like. If you're more of a treadmill person, this 20-minute treadmill interval workout will kick your meddle the simplest way. And if you would like to skip the equipment altogether,

Weight Training

Consider weight training "the mother of all weight-loss techniques, the very best within the workout organic phenomenon, the highest of the column," says Rilinger. Resistance training, whether it's together with your bodyweight alone or with added weights, is an efficient method to assist build muscle and burn fat. Lifting weights has been shown to extend your resting rate, which suggests your body burns more calories even when you are not exercising. The effect isn't enormous, but building muscle means more muscle mass to churn through calories as you set about your day. Plus, more muscle means you'll go harder next time, increasing your weight, and return more out of every workout. Plus, if you're lifting at a high intensity, you get the added bonus of the "afterburn effect," which is when you've put down the weights but your body remains consumption extra energy.

Rilinger suggests adding weight training to your routine a minimum of 3 times every week. And since your body adjusts to workouts after being exposed to equivalent moves at an equivalent intensity, becoming less effective over time, she says to combine it up about every three weeks to stay your body guessing.

Try it: First, if you've never done it before, make certain to read these strength training tips for beginners before you start. And inspect this primer on the way to choose the proper weights for your workout.

Boot Camp

For a workout that's getting to keep your metabolism elevated, boot camp, as these classes (think Barry's Bootcamp) combine two of the foremost effective sorts of training: interval and resistance. "You'll perform exercises, some more cardio-focused et al. strength-focused, full-out for brief bursts of your time, including short periods of rest," says Adam Rosante, certified personal trainer and author of The 30-Second Body. But if it is your first time getting to a camp class, speak up. He says an honest instructor will assist you to determine once you got to crank up the load or intensity (tip: if you'll cruise through 10 reps with none trouble, it's too easy), keep your form on par, and may always provide modification for any move which may be too tough or irritates an injury. If you cannot make it to a studio, though, you'll virtually sweat it out with Rosante in his 20-minute C9 Challenge, or do this bodyweight-only 16-minute routine.

Boxing

"At its essence, boxing is basically another sort of interval training," explains Rosante. But it also causes you to feel freaking badass. Here's the trick to remember: it is a common mistake for beginners to punch using only their arm strength, but the bulk of your power goes to return from your core and you will use muscles that are typically ignored in other workouts (hey there, obliques).

Running

All you would like maybe a pair of sneakers before you head out the door. But if weight loss is that the name of your game, the lackadaisical head-out-for-a-light-jog sort of running is not the thanks to go. Instead, find a hill you'll sprint up, or crank the incline thereon treadmill. "Running up hills forces you to figure your glutes and legs—two of your body's biggest muscle groups—even more, which needs smaller muscle recruitment and more energy expenditure," explains Rosante. As noted earlier, the more energy you're using, the brighter that calorie-burning fire burns. But proper form here is vital. "Lean into Capitol Hill, and drive your knees as high as you'll, striking the ball of every foot down directly under your body," he says. "Keep your hands open and arms bent at 90 degrees, and drive your arms simple up to face level, then backward to the highest of your back pocket." and check out to not let your arms cross over your body—that'll just waste the valuable energy your muscles need. If you're training indoors, here are a couple of fat-burning treadmill routines to urge you started.

Try it: While this Covid-19 pandemic you can try this portable treadmill by healthyilla.com so that you don't miss your routine cardio

CrossFit

There's a reason CrossFit has become such a booming a part of the workout industry—it works,  as you do not overdo it. Workouts are varied—you could also be doing anything from kettlebell swings to rope climbs and box jumps to front squats—and the routines are designed to be short and intense. the foremost important thing to seek out when trying to find the box (CrossFit slang for "gym") that matches you best: a well-informed coach who can explain and modify the moves, and confirm that you simply don't push yourself to the purpose of injury. Here are a couple of things to stay in mind before every WOD,

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 37

Chapter Summary -   While Danielle prepares for the arrival of Benedict and Sophie, Tom wants to continue where they were so terribly interrupted.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog  @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom stood, his phone to his ear, completely bemused at Benedict laughing in hysterics at the other end of the phone. “It isn’t funny Ben.”

“You’re absolutely right, it’s not.” Ben agreed before laughing again. “It’s fucking hilarious. You’re not getting any for the whole weekend now.”

“I haven’t seen her in over a week, and I am away for the next three,” Tom growled.

“Don’t want to know,” Benedict commented.

“Why did she have to walk in?” Tom rubbed his hand over his face, Benedict just began to chuckle on the other side of the phone.

“What’s so funny?” Sophie asked, having gotten in the passenger side of the car.

“Tom got cock-blocked by his mother.” Sophie looked at her husband with a raised brow. “She walked in on him and Danielle this morning, and poor Tom is frustrated now.”

“I don’t want to know. You, boys, are still in school mentality wise.” She shook her head disapprovingly.

“I hope she is pissed at you,” Tom growled down the phone.

“Hey, get that frustration out before we get there,” Benedict warned.

“How, she won’t let me near her.”

“I mean it Hiddleston; I am not dealing with you being sexually frustrated for the evening.” Benedict reiterated. “Do something, I don’t care what, but I am not listening to you.”

“Get off the phone then.”

“You rang me, you idiot.” Benedict chuckled back. “And to answer the question, we are about forty minutes away; we just had to stop for Sophie to go to the bathroom, the joys of pregnancy.” Tom could hear Sophie commenting in the background. “I know darling, and I love you all the more for it. We’ll see you soon Tom, just about to start up the car again, so I’ll get off.”

“You better.” Tom sighed, hanging up the phone and rubbing his face. “Elle?”

“Bedroom.” She called back. “Can I ask your opinion on something?”

Tom took the stairs two at a time to get up to her, when he made his way to her room, he audibly groaned. She was standing in just a pair of tight fitting jeans and a bra, her breasts teasing him in it. “What...” his voice squeaked high with the sight of her, so he cleared his throat. “What is it?”

“What should I wear? I mean, should I go for a blouse, a nice t-shirt, I mean, what do you wear when meeting your famous boyfriend’s famous friends?”

“Hey, Ben is as normal as you are.” Tom dismissed.

“I have met Ben, it’s his wife I am concerned about.”

“I am sure Sophie will like you whatever you’re wearing.” He wrapped his arms around her, looking down at her breasts, his tongue darting out for a moment to lick his lips.

“No, Tom.” Danielle pulled away.

“Elle…”

“No, I have had enough humiliation for one day, and we have to organise the spare room for Ben and Sophie, and…” Tom silenced her by kissing her.

“Darling, I have to go away for three weeks, I have not had you in a week, please, I know you want this as much as I do.” He argued against her lips, his hands going to her waist, his hips inadvertently pressing in against her for friction, his hard cock making itself known against her stomach. “If you don’t, say it now if you do, I am not going to be able to stop.”

“I…Tom.” She grabbed his ass as she loved to, and bit his lower lip, then pulled back slightly, gently pulling on it. “Don’t you need to get changed?”

“I was going to wear these.” He looked down. “Is it not okay?”

She looked him up and down. “The grey shoes, really?”

Tom looked down. “What, I like them?”

“And you know I would never try to tell you what to wear, but Tom, they don’t even match the outfit.” She scoffed. “I mean, you cannot wear, black, blue and grey, pick something in the same neighbourhood of colour.”

“You hate my shoes.” Tom looked at her.

“No.” she nodded slightly as she said the word, unable to keep his gaze.

Tom’s eyes widened, “You do,” he half chuckled, “You hate my shoes.”

“Hate is a strong world. I mildly dislike them.” She shrugged.

“I’m hurt…” he placed his hand over his heart and threw his head back dramatically. “Right here.” He tapped his hand twice over his chest. “Is there anything else you would have me not wear, I suppose you think I wear the gym gear too much too.”

“Actually I like your gym gear.” She stated honestly.

“So, what else?” he asked, arms folded.

“The Ralph Lauren jacket.”

“You said you like it, you lied to me.” He seemed genuinely hurt by that.

“No, I do, but you act as though you don’t have your other three summer jackets.” She argued. “I mean, I do like it, well, I liked it more before…”

“Before what?”

Danielle chewed her lip for a moment, “Before I smelled ‘Eau De Bitch’ on it.”

“Eau De…Oh, well, your grey summer jacket had Hugo Boss on it.” He playfully retorted back, seeing she was just trying to rise him.

“I know, so I got it dry cleaned.” She shrugged, smiling at how Tom’s face fell slightly. “Evanston had to put it in his locker one day at work because I forgot the key for mine and he fumigated it as a result.”

“Evanston?”

“Yeah, he is the stunt coordinator.”

“Is it not…”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ playfully.

“Right, so it’s too cold for my Ralph Lauren jacket, and it needs cleaning.”

“And the shoes?”

“I like them.” He groaned childishly.

“I know, but they are ugly as fuck with that outfit, and in general.” She added the second part quietly.

“Fine, I’ll take them off so.” He untied one shoe, then the other, and kicked them off. “And this…” he proceeded to unbutton his trousers.

“I have no issue with ass hugging trousers.” She pointed out.

“And this.” He unbuttoned his shirt.

“Tom.” She warned. “Ben and Sophie will be here in minutes.”

“Thirty-Five, and since I am dressed like this, you cannot show me up by overdressing, so off these come.” He unbuttoned her black jeans.

“Tom!” She giggled as he pulled them down her legs and forced her to lift her feet one at a time off the ground to remove them.

“You are still more dressed than me.” He looked her up and down, his finger to his lip to make him appear pensive.

“We are both in out underwear.” She pointed out, laughing slightly.

“Yes, I have boxers, you are in a bra and panties, see, you are wearing more.”

“How can any man make the word ‘panties’ seem sexy?” she laughed, shaking her head.

Tom quirked a brow before leaning forward, “Panties.” He repeated, his voice deep, Danielle bit her lips together again, her pupils getting wider. “Darling, I am going to have to ravish you.”

“And why is that?” she asked curiously.

“Because you are incredibly sexy when you are all bashful and turned on.” He grinned wolfishly as he pulled her to the bed, lay down and pulled her onto him. “We have thirty minutes.”

“You seem to be making that seem like you are setting a challenge.” She laughed.

“It is, ‘how many times can I have you scream your brains out in half an hour’, and it’s a considerable challenge.”

“But your mum…”

“Doors are locked from the inside and keys in them, no unwanted visitors.” He kissed her. “And don’t mention my family right now, please.” Danielle laughed in return, kissing him back.

[hildiraphillips]

Quest for the Magic Rock (2)

“I didn’t think your errand was going to take us so far out of town,” Hildira grumbled as she and Tristan journeyed some distance out of Strathmore, making for the foothills to the south. At least the journey out of the town was far less tense than the one into it- it seemed that the sensation of being watched had been Tristan himself and not some abomination still lurking in the area. 

“You see,” Tristan began as the undead and the paladin traipsed across a long-dead field. “I was once a artisan in life- a stonecutter. In death, my skills have not been sullied by my, ah- Condition. I left that lunatic death cult in Tirisfal to find what had become of my home. When I came here, I found I needed space for my work. I made my new workshop far away enough to not be disturbed by... interlopers. I imagine you know the sort. Bandits. Scourge. Idiots.” 

Hildira smiled at his assessment of the Forsaken, but otherwise nodded along, indicating for him to continue.

“My wife, she... had died only days before the plague came. Of natural causes- I searched for so long for a cure for her ailment, yet nothing could seem to stop it. When she passed, I barely had time to prepare for her burial before death itself was dumped on our doorstep. As you might have guessed, I... died around then, as well.” Tristan grew mournful, his tone somber as he spoke of death. 

He was quiet, and Hildira took it as invitation to speak in turn. “You have... my condolences,” she offered after a moment of considering her words. “For both matters. I am sorry you have been left in... your current state, as well.” It was an uncomfortable thing, to speak so directly to an undead, but Tristan seemed so harmless that Hildira felt bad for feeling in such a way. 

“So many have come in the years since then, to the town. Looters seeking things to take with them. Raving lunatics wanting to reclaim Lordaeron. Necromancers seeking more fodder for their armies. I have spent some time burying those who could be buried, hoping to hide them from the monsters that trouble them. Sometimes my efforts do not work- it makes me sad, but... what can I do? I was never a fighter in life, and even in death, I do not wish to become one. There was one particular person I was concerned with, however- one corpse I would not let them take, not as a mindless skeleton or... whatever I am.” 

As they crested the hill, Hildira saw it before her in the afternoon sun. From the dried and deadened ground rose pillars of smooth stone, and between them lay a path. “You built all this?” the paladin asked the undead- and he responded with a quick nod.

“Undeath leaves one with more time than I know what to do with. I have been here for many years, and am lucky my work has remained of little interest to those who pass through here.”

The pair walked along the stone path between the pillars until they came to stand before a statue of a woman- and a great stone coffin. She was clad in a commoner’s dress, yet her visage breathtaking regardless. In an instant, Hildira knew who she was- and who rested in the sarcophagus. Tristan laid a hand upon the box, and closed his eyes.

“You have carved a beautiful tomb for your wife, sir,” she said gently, a gloved hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Fit for a queen. And now I understand your years of toil. You’ve done her every feature justice.”

Tristan shook his head. “it hardly holds a candle to her as she once was. She was our town’s healer, you see. The light of my life. I miss her each day of this wretched existence... but I fear for her. I would not have her joined with me in the shadow of life that I live now. That is why I have kept this here. I hoped its power might ward evil away, just as touching the thing burns me. I knew one day, somebody would come for it- it is selfish of me to keep it here for her alone, but...” 

The undead man knelt as he spoke, and reached into a hollow cut in the sarcophagus’ lower portion, and retrieved a box. It was worn and old, with golden detailing on it. Though a little worse for wear, Hildira could feel what was within- the very relic she sought. Its power was so potent- no wonder Tristan had wished to keep it here. Surely, the Church would put this to good use.

“I don't think I can take this,” the knight said simply. “This is all that wards your wife from necromancy and evil. I will not, in fact. It would be wrong of me to take it back to the Church- they’d probably lock it away in a basement somewhere, or--”

“No. You’ve come so far for such a small thing. Surely, it must be of great importance, is it not? Relics like this are meant to do good... please. I know some other way of protecting her. This is why I have asked for your help. You are a mighty paladin- surely, if anybody can keep her safe, you will.” 

Tristan reached into the bag he kept with him, and withdrew a very old-looking book. “This was kept with your magic rock, in the old church. I brought it with me hoping it could help- of course, I found swiftly that I could not perform any of the magic in it. I cannot quite read it any more - my eyes - but it was in one of the earlier pages.”

Hildira took the book from him, and cracked it open. The old, leatherbound tome was slender, and the worn parchment it was made of described the artifact she sought in detail. Its history and believed powers were all told here- as was a list of rituals. As she scanned the pages, the paladin happened across what Tristan must have been referring to. 

It was a ritual of protection and consecration- among the most ancient of things meant to ward humanity from dark magics. No foul presence could cross a barrier inscribed into the ground by the Steatite, especially if it were reinforced with holy runes. No foul presence, though...

“Tristan,” Hildira began softly, peering towards him. “If I perform this, you will never be able to visit her again. I don’t think that is fair to take away from you either.”

Tristan ran his hands across the smooth face he’d carved into the stone, a tender touch that stirred even Hildira’s heart with sorrow. How could she part them from one another? 

“It is because I love my Catherine that I ask you to do this, paladin. It is selfish of me to ask any less. I have no idea if keeping the box here would have warded undead away forever- it did not stop me from coming here from time to time, after all. If you do this, my greatest fear will be eased. It is a cruel thing, to part with her resting place, but I will carry her in my heart for as long as I am around.”

“Your love, Tristan, is... pure and unsullied,” the paladin observed. “I am glad that you were not robbed of it. If this is what you ask, I will perform the ritual from this book- and travel here to make sure it is renewed every year. 

Tristan offered only a nod, and a few words. “We are not all monsters. I hope perhaps it will be remembered.” He murmured a quiet goodbye to his wife- and walked away from the stony tomb. 

The ritual took time to perform, and Hildira poured every ounce of her focus and effort into it- using the small, unassuming piece of talc to inscribe runes of holy protection and blessing at the entrance. So much strength rested in this small object- thousands of years old, yet blessed like one of the Lightforged themselves. She poured her own power into consecrating the ground as well. By the time she was done, no undead, no necromancer, nothing short of a powerful lich could cross this ground. 

Certainly not a simple, nearly-blind undead man, either. 

She and Tristan said their goodbye as the sun was setting, Hildira reiterated her promise to watch over Catherine’s resting place. As she and her horse rode south towards home, with her prize in hand, the paladin couldn’t help but wonder where Tristan would go next, his work fulfilled. She prayed that somehow, she might see him again. 

[planetsam]

“Come one Alex stay with me, breathe!” - Michael. For malex

Michael is in the bathroom when he gets a sharp jab in his skull.

It’s like someone is poking at him and he recoils from the sink, almost crashing into some other guy. He mumbles an apology when it happens again. It forces him to listen or to feel, he’s pretty sure this isn’t auditory. Discomfort hits him, followed by disgust and it shapes itself into an thought it takes him a moment to fully comprehend.

Get out here.

Michael gets out. Maria is the focal point of several guys who are well into that nasty drunk phase. One of them has her hand on his, it looks seductive but Michael knows she’s got it there for a reason. Maria’s a great fucking actress, nothing about her screams help. The most he gets is surprise that she quickly turns to a grin that’s completely apologetic.

“Sorry guys,” she says, “honey what are you doing here? I’m working?”

“Trying to decide which of these guys sucks more ass at pool,” he says, “I think it’s a three way tie.”

They rush him at the same time.

After Maria puts ice to the right side of his face as he wishes that Max was there. She is quiet and he wonders if he fucked up. But she lowers the ice and takes his hands in both of hers.

“You’ve never come that fast before,” she says, “did you hear me?”

Michael’s mouth is dry. Immediately his mind flashes from the bathroom to the prison. The pain to the overwhelming love he felt. It was easier to understand, like his mother knew how to work the connection. How to control everything. He remembers the gentleness of her voice rather than the way Maria felt like she was desperately trying to get his attention. Like she didn’t think he could hear.

“How many times did you call?” He asks.

“Twice.”

He feels lightheaded. It must show on his face because something painfully hopeful shows on Maria’s. He can hear her. He can hear her and she isn’t alone until she has kids. Oh thank you, thankyoutthankyou—Michael shoves himself back and Maria let’s go of his hands instantly. Her sunshine warm fog becomes ephemeral and dissipates, leaving him alone. He almost snatches it back but he can’t move until it’s gone. And then everything is just cold and jumbled.

“I don’t—“ he shakes his head, “I don’t understand.”

“You’re an empath,” She says, “we may have been along the same wavelength so you didn’t realize,” he looks at her blankly, “my mom used to do that to me until I got strong enough.”

“I’m not an empath, I’m telekinetic,” he protests, “how can I just develop—“ he stops, his stomach dropping, “I gotta go.”

Maria lets him, nothing but sympathy on her face. He stops at the door and turns around.

“I’ll help. When you’re ready,” she says, “you shouldn’t go through this alone.”

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t call Alex on his way over. 1 am is late but Alex is a night owl. He’s definitely awake. Michael thinks back to Max after he killed Noah. He’d been almost in a mania but Michael hadn’t thought much of it. And then he had been dead, which took precedence. Absorbing other people’s powers, that wasn’t something they had thought about. But why would it be? Until very recently they hadn’t known there were other people’s powers to absorb. He tugs his curls and fights the uncomfortable feeling of someone else’s powers in him. He knows all the cheesy shit about parents passing things on and he knows the genetic part of it. But this is like a tangible part of his mother is rooted him and he can’t wrap his head around it. Before he goes crazy, he has to be sure. And there’s only one place he knows to get answers from.

The lights are on in Alex’s cabin and Michael barely stops the car before he walks to the door. He knocks hard. He can only hope that Alex will let him in, that he’ll get it. This is bigger than their romantic stuff, right? The door opens and he has to rethink that. Alex is standing there in a pair of grey pj bottoms and a white t-shirt, a pair of glasses on his nose. His hair is sticking out in all directions. A wave of longing crashes over Michael. He looks good and something is wrong. Alex silently takes a deep breath and calm settles over him, though historically Alex taking a deep breath happens before shit hits the fan. It’s never calming to be on the other end. Which can only mean—

“Oh fuck,” Michael realizes. Maria was right. She was cancelling him out, “shit.”

A wave of affection and hurt crashes over him but he smiles around the anche.

“Hi to you too,” Alex says, “you want to come in?”

“No!” The word is loud and emphatic. Concern joins the other emotions, “can you not—“ he wishes Alex moved towards him so he could have some excuse. But Alex knows him too well, “I need the stuff you have on my mom,” he says. Guilt crescendos. God, Alex, no. “I can wait here.”

“Come inside,” Alex says.

Michael gingerly steps in, trying to pull his emotions back from Alex’s. It feels invasive, like he’s spying on something he has no right to see. Which is exactly what he’s doing, even accidentally. It’s difficult to find the mental wall he uses on his siblings. They are respectful and he doesn’t have to try terribly hard. Alex’s emotions are more like waves that lap at him. He has to adjust with so many factors. Alex opens a locked box inside a locked cabinet and more guilt slips knife sharp along his defenses.

“I’ve been trying—“

“It’s okay,” he says, fighting the way he crashes back into that aching pit, “Alex it’s fine,” he reiterates, ignoring the confusion that rolls in.  Alex boots up the drive and steps back. There is a prickle of trepidation at the ladder, “you don’t have to go,” he says, not taking his eyes from the screen. He gets to it finally and looks at the mugshot. He cannot go to pieces. He looks first for the powers. They are charted with terrible precision, “shit.”

“What?” Alex asked and the guilt hits him.

“My mom passed her power onto me,” he says, looking away from more information than he can digest, “she’e in me,” he stresses. Alex is unsure and guilty, “i’m like Maria on steroids,” he says. Before he can untangle Alex he continued, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about Cauffield. I don’t blame you for that,” and just to be sure, “your ass looks great in those pants.”

“You’re not funny,” Alex tells him, “you can feel everything?”

“I’m hysterical and i don’t know,” he glances at the screen.

“May I?” Alex asks.

Michael nods gratefully as Alex peers at the screen, digesting the information. He looks at Michael and then back at the screen.

“Empathic abilities, memory probing, mind sharing—“

“Max does that when he heals someone. Leaves a glowing handprint.”

“This doesn’t say anything about a handprint,” he says.

“What about the connection lasting?” Michael asks, “or if she could control it?” He turns.

“Don’t!” Alex blocks the chair with his hand. But Michael turns anyway, catching a glimpse of wires and wires and a shaved head— “look at me,” Alex orders, “focus on me.”

He latches onto Alex’s calmness and sureness. Everything is going to be okay. Michael is going to be okay. He is going to be fine and all he has to do is look into Alex’s pretty eyes and old man glasses. A surprises bark of laughter rips from. Old man glasses, he hears emphatically. Affection mirrors his own somewhere deep under everything else. For the first time in his life, Michael sees the red glow start between his fingers. All the emotion retreats like a curtain pulling back. It’s the overture to something bigger. Alex looks at his hand as well.

“What’s it going to do?” Alex asks.

“My hand you mean?” Michael asks. Alex looks but his emotions are a mystery, “I don’t know.”

“I guess we should find out.”

Michael wants to shake his head but it’s Alex. Alex may not know him better than a handful of people but they have a connection. Something even he can’t deny. He misses out on all the ET jokes he could make as he lifts his hand up. Alex does his deep breath thing, which Michael knows is the start of something big as he lifts his hand up and then determination crosses his features and he presses his hand to Michael’s. A zap seems to go all the way up Michael’s arm and then back towards his hand.

Then the explosion happens.

It’s not literal though, God, it might as well be. Everything levels in a single moment like trees being cleared and in the clearing, chaos erupts. It’s a tangle of two lives. Of dark secrets and bright bursts of hope. His leg gets blown off and Alex’s hand gets shattered in the same instant. He grows up terrified and Alex grows up alone. Then they switch back. Over and over again, all in a single instant. It’s molten and It’s going to destroy them both. Though Alex will always fight to the bitter end and matches the maelstrom. Suddenly they’re eleven and seven and sixteen. Michael grabs the seventeen year old memory but he’s to the left instantly. Later that night with Alex collapsed on his bed weeping himself into sickness and exhaustion. Alex is with him in the car, collapsed over the steering wheel with acetone on his lips. Michael tears himself back into the present. Alex is on his knees, fingers slotted through Michael’s and the other hand gripping his forearm. His mouth is in his elbow to muffle the sound but Michael can see he’s screaming.

“Alex, Alex!” He tries to get his attention, “Come on Alex, Alex stay with me!” Michael focuses on the connection, back to the bedroom and seventeen. He shoves Alex through. Through the desert, through the medvac to the blue mats in the VA facility that become his most ardent lovers, “come on Alex!” He grabs him through his doctor, hauling him to his feet, “Alex stay with me!” He forces his their hands together in this world and pulls along the connection, “stay with me!”

They rip back to the bunker violently and Michael’s power sends him backwards as Alex collapses into himself against the floor. Michael scrambles off the chair and crawls to him. Alex is curled around himself and trembling violently. Michael wraps his arms around him and pulls him back against his chest, so Alex’s back is against his front. Alex is barely breathing except for shallow pants of air and his eyes are wild. Worst of all, Michael can feel nothing except static. Like Alex isn’t

“Breathe,” he says, pressing his hand to Alex’s sternum, “come on Alex. Stay with me, breathe!”

Michael forces himself to stay calm but when he feels Alex’s emotions finally hum back, he lets himself sag against him in pure relief.  Alex exhales and sucks in a lungful of air. Michael presses his forehead to his shoulder, remembering why he always fought so hard to never use his power around Alex. He forces his breathing to be steady and exaggerated so Alex will copy him and he does. Propped up on Michael’s chest, he breathes with him.  Michael doesn’t know how long they stay that way, breathing but the hum eventually starts to become other emotions. Michael is better able to push them aside this time and just focus on the tangible person in his arms. Alex shifts eventually so they’re facing each other. Careful not to touch him, Michael reaches out and straightens Alex’s glasses.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Alex gets out, his voice hoarse, “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“What about the bunker?” Michael says, “is the bunker okay?”

Alex’s wave of ‘I am so done with you’ and ‘please keep doing that forever’ breaks over him and Michael leans into it, pressing his forehead to Alex’s.

“Max got Noah’s powers because he killed him,” Michael says.

“Your mother wanted you to have them,” Alex says. Despite what’s just happened, he reaches out and cups both of Michael’s cheeks, his thumbs skimming along his cheekbones, “they were a gift, Michael.”

“How can you say that after what just happened?” He asks.

Alex chuckles, the sound soft and sweet and comforting. And Michael realizes Alex doesn’t think what’s just happened is a bad thing. Scary, to be sure. But he only scares Alex in how he makes him feel. Not in what he is or what he can do. Michael ducks his head and presses his lips to Alex’s as Alex’s fingers slide back to his curls. The kiss is dry and chaste and warm until Alex licks the seam of his mouth and he parts for him. It’s safe here. 

Alex loves him and Michael doesn’t need his powers to know that.

He never has.