#don’t expect this regularly my summer has been remarkably tiring

[m1d-45]

the scars, the wound

summary: heizou has two important skills: his intuition and his martial arts. he prefers not to use the latter when working on cases, but what happens when the first fails him?

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: mention/implication of violence near the end.. minor spoilers for heizou lore?

-> gn reader (you/yours)

-> if this looks familiar, it’s a rewrite of this. i didn’t think i posted that draft because it was in need of so much improvement when i recently re-found it, and didn’t realize until after already posting this… whoops.

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

heizou’s intuition is wrong, for once. it’s impossibly unlikely, something he can’t remember happening before, but it’s the only logical explanation.

he’s walking through ritou, taking a minor detour along the beach. why, he’s not certain, but some string in his stomach insisted he went. and so, following his intuition, he did.

at first, it’s sand. as all beaches are. he finds himself scanning the shore for anything strange, kicking at a few odd looking rocks. he even checks a few times with elemental sight, but all he gets are the faint wisps of hydro lingering on the sand. not that that meant much—his elemental affinity was never the highest, kazuha was far more reliable for this sort of thing—but normally he could at least gather a general idea of what his mind was trying to tell him… but not this time.

no, when he saw you sitting in the sand, it was the last thing he could have expected.

he stops, squinting a bit. the sky is darkening, approaching dusk, and he was meant to be going to a meeting with thoma. to bother a random civilian and make himself late wasn’t ideal, but to scare you off if you were a criminal could possibly be worse. so, he approaches quietly, noting the way you turned as he did.

and then he recognizes you, all at once. your face was reflected in the posters plastered all over the city, in word-of-mouth descriptions from other officers—you’re the one the whole world’s been looking for. your skin is dirty and your clothes could certainly use a few hours with a needle and thread, and paper doesn’t quite capture the blank look in your eyes as well.

still, he crouches down with a wave, crossing his arms on his knees. “hey there! detective heizou of the tenry-“

“i know you.”

your voice sends a chill down his spine. it pulls at something deep in his core, his soul screaming that you are friend, not foe. briefly, he wonders why he stopped here at all, and then shock hits him like a punch to the gut.

for the first time in a long time, his instincts were wrong.

wrong, because you’re a fugitive.

his smile turns strained, unable to shake the feeling that he’s doing something wrong despite knowing he’s within full legal right. his skin prickles, and he digs his nails into his arm guards to keep steady. “do you? gotta say, i can’t blame you. my name is flung around quite a lot.”

you’re tense but not running. you know him, you know who he is, so…

blank eyes peer at him from under the overgrown shags of your hair, half-lidded and tired. his mind constructs a metaphor without his asking, as if attempting to make sense of something far more complex than you; jewelry, rusted and ancient, luster long lost across the years.

he almost feels sympathetic, but he’s not sure why. he should hate you. you fly in the face of everything he stood for—truth, justice, his creator—but he can’t find the will to do anything to arrest you. he knows he could apprehend you in an instant, between his skill and your exhaustion, but he doesn’t. and he doesn’t know why.

it bothers him.

“so, what’re you doing on ritou? need any help getting a permit to the rest of the island?”

he tells himself he’s asking because doing that would force your hand, not because he wants to help. that’s ridiculous. when did he start thinking this way? has he caught a cold, by chance?

“no.”

“then surely there’s a more comfortable place to be than the beach?” what’s he doing? why does he care? who cared if sand plastered your skin, if you got sick from being outside? “tides get pretty high around here, it would do you good to find a place to rest.”

you look out to the sea, some of the tension leaving your body. it’s not relaxation, more like surrender. “i don’t have anywhere to go.”

his chest is beginning to feel oddly tight.

it’s like he’s seeing the stars themselves in your eyes despite the darkness and the fact that that’s not possible. there’s a small shimmer to them, the sun itself contained inside, a glow that shows when they flicker over him like you’re pulling out all of his secrets. he’s not sure why he wants to give them to you. “i’m sure you know that, though.”

he does, he knows, he was at the meeting with kujou sara and the rest of the police force. he was the one she pulled aside to personally ask he put his full attention on it—as if he hadn’t already the second she mentioned his god—and he’s heard of the stories from the mainland. he knows everything, he’s read over every single report he could get imported, and yet every word you say feels brand new. when you say ‘you’ it feels like you’re the first person to ever lay on him, and it’s scary that he doesn’t find that frightening. his mouth is dry, all of his normal quick retorts and easy replies falling out of his reach. he settles for a nod, and you look back to the sea.

you look dull, his mind says, pulling on all of his vocabulary to try and connect a sentence together that properly describes it. your entire form feels… fleeting? no, not that. impermanent, maybe, like fog. so dense from afar, yet vanishing once he gets close. you’re… everywhere, a mist lingering in the air, waiting for him to look away so you can take a solid form again.

are you a youkai looking for a bit of fun? perhaps he’s mistaken. maybe he’d guessed wrong, maybe you’d just stolen another’s face for a prank.

…that’s stupid. since when has that been one of his first explanations for something? no, something’s wrong- he has to get this- this spell off of him. now he remembers, the paper from the alchemist from mondstat, he remembers, he remembers-

he-

he remembers the soft smile on his father’s face, wiping the dirt from his knees. “you must be careful,” he says, careful not to irritate the scrapes with the cloth. “you have been blessed with this mind of yours, but you must be wise enough to use it properly.”

“i’m wise!” he insists, and his father laughs, reaching for the bandages at his side.

“you’re intuitive,” he corrects. “and every day i pray to our god that you to learn the difference.”

heizou tears his eyes away from you, pretending that the sand isn’t blurry.

you’re a fraud. he has to arrest you. you’re tricking the people, you’re impersonating the highest deity, the literal god of gods, youve fooled even his own mind, you have to be stopped. for the good of the world. for the good of the earth. for the hood of his god.

…so…

“why aren’t you trying to kill me yet?”

his heart both flares and breaks, hands twitching for both his cuffs and to hold you close. your voice is so rough, so cracked and tattered and filled with something similar enough to betrayal that it’s paralyzing.

he needs to arrest you.

(he needs to get you water.)

he has to bring you in so the shogun can kill you.

(he has to get you a room somewhere so you can rest. you look so tired.)

his mind is as blurred as his sight, confusion instead of tears muddling his thoughts.

what’s happening? why does his mind like (adore, want, need, worship) you so much, when he knows he has to take you in? he’s been given direct orders, he knows what he has to do, so why can’t he do it? when did he fall for such easy tricks? he’s shikanoin heizou, the most trusted detective of the tenryou commission, and he cannot be swayed by your words. he can’t afford to be.

(it’s not just your words. the air around you is so soft, so welcoming, inviting him to sit in the sand with you until it’s dawn again. he’s at ease in a way he hasn’t been in a long while, even despite the stress of the situation. he should, in reasonable circumstances, be stressed, but you’ve cleared his mind to a simple volley between two ideas: his loyalty to his god, and his newfound loyalty to you.)

he wants to tell you that he’d never want to hurt you. “i try to leave that to the higher-ups” is what he says instead.

you sign, running a shaking hand over your hair. it’s full of sand and salt and needs to be cut, badly. you take an equally unsteady breath, and when you speak you sound like you’re about to cry. “i don’t want to fight you, heizou.”

the way you say his name fills his chest with something hotter than fire and sweeter than honey, a supernova made into sugar and placed into the gap left by his heart.

the last of the sun shines off the water and outlines you in its glow, the only thought in his mind that of your beauty.

he licks his lips—they taste of salt—and forces words to come up. “i don’t want to fight you either.”

it’s the truth, and he hates that it is.

instead of saying anything else, you stand, and heizou scrambles to follow. he tells himself it’s because he needs to be ready to run after you. that’s it. that’s all. you take a step away and he is quick to match it, transfixed as you pick up a long wooden staff, akin to a walking stick. it’s taller than you are, and he’s not sure how he missed it laying beside you.

“you’ll lose your job if you don’t, detective.”

he might.

heizou blinks.

…he won’t.

no… he won’t.

facing you head on, the acceptance in your eyes is clearer, like you knew it would come to this. his hand drifts to his baton hesitantly, and sees your grip on the wood. it’s splintered, he notices, likely a piece of driftwood you found along the beach.

why is he waiting? why is he stalling?

he’s let this go on for too long already. he’s being ridiculous. this is wrong. it’s his job to take in criminals and he’s staring at one of the worst, so what is he hesitating for?

against his better judgement, he tightens his hands to fists. he’ll be gentle, he promises himself, but it doesn’t soothe the storm in his head. he‘ll be careful, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still likely to hurt you. maybe by the end of it, if he’s clever with the use of his vision, you’d barely have a bruise. did you even know how to fight properly? you don’t seem all that confident in your weapon. at least that’ll make his job easier, right?

he’s stalling again.

heizou takes a breath. against his intuition, he takes the first swing.

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author: Tea Rose 

Prompt:  Insects at night; bubble bath; Victorian

Group: C

-

North Star 

The water was deliciously warm, and Belle sighed, sinking lower in the bath and letting her knees rise up. Tiny bubbles were rolling down her thighs into the water, waves of white foam from the rose and lavender soap she had used. They piled against her wet skin, and she lifted a foot, lathering the soap between her hands and stroking fragrant froth between her toes. The sound of swift footsteps made her glance around, and she smiled as her maid, Ruby Lucas, entered with a copper jug full of steaming water.

“Last one, Miss Belle,” she said breathlessly, and Belle sat forward, hugging her knees as Ruby poured in the hot water, making the bubbles seethe and burst.

“Thank you,” said Belle, relaxing back and letting her arms stretch out. “Did I hear the front door just now?”

“Mr Gold arrived,” said Ruby, and seemed to bite her lip to hide a smirk as Belle squeaked.

“Mr Gold? But he hasn’t visited in an age! Is he staying long?”

“Tiana was making some supper for him while I was fetching the water,” said Ruby, with a grin. “So it looks that way, Miss.”

Belle floundered, pushing herself upright and splashing water over the edge of the tub.

“Hurry! My blue dress!”

-

Ruby was used to her mistress’s impulsive nature and swift decisions, and she managed to get Belle dressed and ready quickly, although Belle thought it fortunate that she hadn’t washed her hair that evening. She hurried from her room as soon as the last pin was in place, and paused at the top of the stairs, hands smoothing her skirts nervously. Voices were drifting up from her father’s study, and Belle clutched at the smooth oak banister, her heart pounding and the colour rising in her cheeks as she recognised the warm brogue of Mr Gold. She closed her eyes briefly, remembering the way his smile made the corners of his mouth twist and his eyes gleam with a soft, amber light.

He had been friends with her father for some time; Maurice French’s strange inventions and boundless enthusiasm for the latest scientific discoveries made him somewhat eccentric in the eyes of his peers, but Mr Gold shared his interests, and the two of them had struck up a friendship. Gold had a fine house in London and an estate north of the Scottish border that Belle had regrettably never seen. Maurice didn’t like to travel, preferring to spend all his time at home, shut up in his workroom or reading in his library. Gold travelled a great deal, searching far and wide for a son he had lost and was desperate to find.

Belle had seen a picture of his son once, a drawing in charcoal of a dark-haired boy of around fourteen. It had been crumpled and a little smudged at the edges, as though it was looked at often. Thinking of the pain that Gold had carried for years made her heart ache for him, but he always had a smile for her, and a present from his travels, and fascinating tales of the places he had visited. He had been coming to the house regularly for the past five years, and Belle had been completely in love with him for around four and a half. For all the good it did.

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she entered the room, and both men turned to look at her, Maurice short and round with a balding head and bristling white mustache and Gold a little taller, thin and clean-shaven. He wore his brown hair longer than was fashionable, curling over the collar of his coat and brushing his cheeks. It was turning silver at the temples, and she had always thought how soft it looked, and how much she wanted to touch it. There was an old ring on his right hand, a moonstone in a heavy gold band, which she had noticed him turning between finger and thumb when lost in thought. Gold bowed his head as she entered.

“Miss French,” he said. “You’re looking remarkably well.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s been too long since we saw you, hasn’t it, Papa? Where did you go?”

Gold glanced between them.

“I just returned from the south of France,” he said. “Choppy waters in the Bay of Biscay, but the winds were with us.”

“Oh!” said Belle excitedly. “I’d love to go to France! Please, tell me what it was like!”

Gold turned towards her, the little smile he often wore twisting his mouth and making his dark eyes gleam in the lamplight.

“I rode a horse through endless fields of lavender,” he said softly. “The scent filled the air around me, and seemed to sink into my skin, so that I could smell it at night when I lay down to sleep. The road was hard earth, baked and cracked by the sun, winding between small villages and farms where the locals dozed in the shade of the olive trees with their cats. In the evenings, the sun would set in a blazing puddle of molten gold, and I ate fresh bread and soft, pungent cheese and drank red wine that was dark as blood and tasted of spices.”

Belle could feel her mouth fall open as the sound of his voice washed over her, filling her mind with the images his words created. His eyes were fixed on hers, his gaze steady.

“Must be a shock to come back to London, what?” said Maurice jovially, and Gold looked away, breaking the spell.

“The city is even busier and dirtier than I remember,” he said, with a grin. “It’s strange: I tell myself each time I go that I should sell the house and leave London entirely, yet something keeps pulling me back, turning me home. Like a guiding light. Like the North Star.”

He glanced briefly at Belle, and she felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks. Please don’t leave, she thought. Please don’t leave me.

“It’ll keep your housekeeper on her toes,” chuckled Maurice.

“Poor Mrs Potts,” said Gold, sounding rueful. “I fear the house will still be shut up tight. I’ll have to let myself in and build a fire. It’ll be the devil’s work for my valet trying to make me presentable tomorrow morning; he does like to do things properly.”

“Then stay with us, my dear fellow!” cried Maurice, patting his shoulder. “Goodness, you can’t be expected to open up the house yourself at this hour!”

“Well, it would certainly be a relief not to have to go out again,” said Gold. “The journey was rather tiring. Of course, I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“Not at all, not at all,” said Maurice. “Let me speak to Mrs Lucas. I’ll have one of the guest rooms made ready, and Locksley will look after your man.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind.”

Maurice bustled out, and Gold turned to Belle with a smile.

“I’m sorry to be calling so late, Miss French,” he said. “After travelling for so long, I almost lost track of the day, not to mention the hour.”

“We’re very glad to see you,” she said warmly, almost reaching for his hand before remembering herself and pulling back. “And you must be tired. Please, don’t feel that you have to stand on my account. Do take a seat, I insist.”

Gold’s smile widened.

“I could never refuse you anything, Miss French.”

-

Gold was served a simple supper of raised game pie, bread and cheese, and afterwards he and Maurice drank brandy and talked over the latest news. Belle was eager to hear more stories of the trip to France, and Gold obliged, telling her of the sights he had seen on the roads through Provence to Avignon.

“Sounds dusty,” declared Maurice. “And much too hot. This summer has been wretched. Far better to stay at home.”

“Well, I would love to travel,” said Belle. “I always wanted to see the world. I’ve lived twenty years, and barely left London! What I wouldn’t give for some adventure!”

“You young people are too restless,” grumbled Maurice. “Certainly I have no desire to be always going here, there and everywhere. And certainly young women shouldn’t be travelling alone and - and adventuring. It’s unseemly.”

“This is the Victorian age, Papa,” said Belle severely. “If Her Majesty is considered capable of ruling an entire empire, then allowing the rest of us women the freedom to do as we please will hardly bring about the downfall of civilisation.”

Maurice clicked his tongue.

“Really, Belle!” he said. “What must Mr Gold think of you?” “Mr Gold agrees wholeheartedly,” said Gold. “The world would be far better if women had the same freedoms as men, and were recognised for the infinitely superior creatures they are. Where will you go on your travels, Miss French?”

Belle thought for a moment.

“Perhaps I shall start a little closer to home,” she said. “I have always wanted to visit Scotland.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come to Dundorcha,” he said. “Although at this time of year, the midges will want to eat you alive.”

“Perhaps in the winter, then,” she suggested, and he smiled.

“I’ll make you very welcome.”

-

It was nearing midnight. Maurice was snoring in his chair, and Belle had followed Gold out onto the balcony overlooking the rear gardens. The summer night was cool, the only light coming from the oil lantern that Gold had carried with them and placed on the table where Belle took her morning tea. A moth appeared out of the night, batting translucent wings against the lantern’s glass shade. Smaller insects joined it, the glow from the lantern catching them, brief flecks of light in the darkness. Gold was gazing out into the night, his expression distant, thoughtful. His fingers turned that old ring, the gold band catching the light from the lantern.

“Where did you get that ring?” asked Belle. “I always meant to ask. It looks old.”

Gold looked down, splaying his fingers.

“It is,” he agreed. “Older than you might think.”

“Is it a family heirloom?” she asked, and he smiled in an almost secretive way.

“Something like that.”

“A good luck charm, perhaps?” she suggested, and he shrugged.

“It’s supposed to help the bearer find what it is they want most in the world,” he said, and leaned towards her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s magic.”

“Really?” she asked, a little breathless at his closeness of him. Gold pulled back, a tiny sigh escaping him.

“Well, that’s what I hoped,” he said, sounding resigned. “A fool’s hope. There is no magic in this world. At least, not any more. Perhaps there used to be.”

He sounded despondent, and she wanted to comfort him, to tell him there was always hope.

“Is there no word of him?” she asked gently. “No word of your son? I’m sure you’ll find him. I can feel it.”

Gold shook his head, his mouth twisting.

“I’ve been searching for so long now,” he said quietly. “Every time I hear the faintest rumour I pick up and I chase after it. Every time I’ve been disappointed.”

“You mustn’t give up hope,” she said, and he turned to her with a sad smile.

“I try to keep faith that I’ll find him,” he said. “Alas, this time it was not to be. I didn’t choose the right place. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even in the right time.”

“The world is vast,” she said. “Trying to find one person out of - of thousands - must be next to impossible. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “And perhaps it isn’t merely my own misfortune. If he wanted to be found, he wouldn’t make it so difficult.”

Belle stepped closer.

“You think he’s - hiding - from you?” she asked curiously, and he sighed gently.

“There was a misunderstanding,” he said. “Before he - before I lost him. I think he might still be very angry with me.”

Belle bit her lip, shaking her head.

“But you’re his father,” she said softly. “He must know that you love him. He can’t stay angry forever.”

“I hope you’re right.”

His eyes were downcast, and he suddenly looked very tired. Tired and sad. On impulse, Belle stepped close, turning her face upwards and pressing her mouth to his. She felt him freeze at the touch of her lips, and she drew back, her heart pounding. Gold was staring at her wide-eyed, a stricken look on his face, but then his gaze darkened and he reached out to cup her cheeks with warm hands, bending his head to kiss her.

Belle opened her mouth a little, a moan escaping her as his lips met hers, soft and warm. The touch of his tongue made her rise up on her toes and press her body to his, and he let out a low groan as she slid her hands around his waist. A faint, jagged noise seemed to burst outwards, like the sound of glass shattering in the distance, and Belle’s eyes flew open as what looked like a rainbow-hued ripple spread out from them and dissipated. Gold was breathing heavily, staring at her wide-eyed.

“What was that?” she gasped, and he smiled broadly, gazing at the ring on his finger, which seemed to pulse with a soft light.

“A second chance,” he breathed. “A spark of magic. I can find him. With this I can find him.”

“Magic?” she asked, puzzled, and he cradled her cheeks with his palms, still grinning. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and she couldn’t understand it.

“The most powerful magic of all,” he said softly. “Powerful enough to transcend realms and trigger the spell in this ring. True love.”

Belle clutched at his waist, nodding fiercely.

“Yes!” she whispered. “I do love you! I’ve loved you for so long!”

“And I love you, too.” He pressed his forehead to hers, seeming to breathe in her scent. “I never dared to hope that you might feel the same, my darling Belle. I never dared to dream that you might want me. And now you’ve given me this gift. This chance.”

“I - I don’t understand,” she said. “What did I do?”

His thumbs stroked her cheeks, his nose brushing against hers.

“There’s power in love, Belle,” he said. “Love creates magic. Magic enough to let me find my boy. Will you come with me?”

Belle smiled at his strange talk of magic, reaching up to stroke a hand through his hair. It was every bit as soft as she had thought.

“I’d love to,” she said. ”We’ll see the world, just as I always wanted. I’ll help you find him, I swear it. Whatever you need.”

Gold kissed her again, soft lips gently pulling at her own, and she melted into the kiss, safe in his arms. Magic or not, it would be the most wonderful adventure.

-

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 15

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by Dara.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: You know that thing little kids do, where they throw a tantrum, break a toy, and then cry because they realize that now they're one toy short and got no one else to blame? That's it, that's Ernesto here. 

***

“Car seat.”

“Mmmh?”

“We’ll need a baby car seat. I mean, a car seat for the baby.”

A yawn, and Imelda shifts on her side, eyes still shut. “Yes,” she mumbles. “We’ll need a car seat.”

“We can go buy it tomorrow,” Héctor suggests, eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling.

“The baby is not due for another six months, Héctor.”

“Well-- sometimes babies are born early! Months early.”

“If that happens, I suspect the car seat would be the least of our problems.”

“If something goes wrong--”

“Héctor.”

“Sí?”

“Don’t even say that. All is going well.”

Ah, right - right. No need to fear nightmare scenarios, is there? Imelda sailed through the first trimester without a hitch, after all, but bringing up things that can possibly go wrong is not something she needs. Not something either of them needs.

“Right. All is well,” Héctor sighs, and turns to kiss the bridge of her nose. Imelda’s eyes stay shut, but the slight frown smooths into a sleepy half-smile. “Our baby is well. Got the best mamá,” he adds, only to mentally kick himself a moment later. 

Was that something he was supposed to say? What if something does go wrong, and Imelda thinks of what he’s just muttered now and thinks that she isn’t the best mamá after all and-- no, he can’t think like that, it’ll drive him loco. What was he talking about in the first place?

“... The car seat. Right. I’ll write it down,” he mutters, bolting off the bed and stumbling over his discarded trousers to get to the desk and jot that down. Imelda groans.

“It’s three in the morning, Héctor.”

“I know, I know, just making sure I don’t forget. Oh! Speaking of forgetting, it needs to be the kind with the alarm.”

“The alarm?”

“So that it sounds if we forget the baby in the car!”

“Why would we forget our baby in the--”

“It can happen, I read about it, and small children can die of heat exposure if left in the car too long. This guy in Guadalajara did just last summer, and the baby--” he trails off, too anguished to finish. Imelda notices, and sits up as well, holding out an arm in a silent invitation. Héctor is back in bed with her the next moment with a sigh and he leans down, arms around her and face tucked against her throat. Imelda hums, brushing back his hair.

“No such thing will happen,” she says. “But if it helps you relax, we’ll get the car seat with the alarm. All right?”

He smiles against her skin, a little sheepishly. “All right. Sorry, I’m just-- worried. Ernesto always says I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t firmly screwed to my neck. Said I’d probably forget the baby at the park or something.”

“Oh, is that what he says?” Imelda asks, her voice a little colder and frame stiffening, as always when Ernesto is brought up. 

Ever since they ended the arrangement, he and Imelda have hardly met. At first Héctor found it normal; he was angry and hurt. For a time, Ernesto didn’t really want to see him either. Now they met regularly for gigs or to discuss new songs or the upcoming launch of their album over a drink with their manager - so… mostly for work, really. 

It’s not like before, of course, but Héctor is fairly sure it is only a matter of time before they’re friends as always. Even though Ernesto’s jabs and jokes are a little heavier than before, his smile just a little more like sneers, and he hasn’t so much mentioned Imelda or the baby in his presence - let alone asked how they’re doing. 

He never asks. Like it doesn’t matter. Like neither exists. But surely, it’s only a matter of time. When he asks him to be his child’s godfather he’ll be delighted, just as Óscar and Felipe were excited beyond words at the prospect of being, in their own words, the cool uncles.

“We’ll teach the baby everything we know,” they told them, causing… some concern. 

Unaware of his thoughts, Imelda speaks again. “You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” she mutters, and Héctor sighs, pulling back a little. 

“He doesn’t mean anything by it, mi amor,” he says, although he’s… not entirely sure of that. And judging from the look she gives him in the dim light, Imelda isn’t either.

“You are a wonderful husband,” she tells him, brushing back his hair again. “And you’ll be a wonderful papá. Don’t let him or anyone tell you otherwise.”

“He doesn’t mean--” he begins, then he pauses, and nods. “... I won’t. Next time, I’ll tell him to shut up,” he promises with a small smile, and leans back against her, shutting his eyes.

Except that doesn’t. Never in his life was he ever able to really tell off Ernesto. They have been friends since Héctor can remember, and after hurting him so much he really sees no point in making a scene over… over what? Jokes, that’s all they are. 

He only means to joke, as they progress to going out together every once in a while for a drink. He certainly doesn’t mean to be heavy-handed as it feels like, commenting on how he can hardly imagine him ready to be a father, he’d probably fuck up all that he can possibly fuck up as a parent, and Imelda will probably be impossible to deal with after the birth, what a mess he got himself in, huh? The end of his life as a free man, he mutters, and laughs. 

It’s only friendly teasing. They go way back. Ernesto knows him like the back of his hand, knows his doubts and insecurities and fear better than anyone, and he certainly wouldn’t purposely hit him where it hurts. He wouldn’t purposely tear apart his confidence, fuel the doubts Héctor can barely keep off his mind. He… he wouldn’t.

… Or would he? Little by little, snide remark after snide remark, the doubt grows and something thins out, ready to snap.

*** 

When he gets to the cantina and spots Héctor sitting at one of the tables outside, Ernesto groans inwardly: he can tell, from the big dumb grin on his stupid face, that he’s going to be absolutely insufferable. 

Look at him, acting like he hasn’t just ruined his entire life by knocking up the bruja he decided to marry. Is he doing it only to piss him off? If that’s the case, Ernesto may as well knock him down a peg or two. He walks up to the table and sits, a lopsided grin on his face. 

“Sorry I’m late, my date for the night didn’t want me to--” he begins, only to trail off when Héctor shoves something in front of his face - his phone. On the screen there is… a mass of gray static. It takes a moment for Ernesto to realize what he’s looking at, and Héctor almost sings it out the next moment, absolutely ecstatic. It hurts, how can Héctor not see it hurts?

“It’s a girl! We’re having a little girl!”

Ernesto grimaces, pushing the phone away from his face. “My condolences,” he says dryly. His obvious lack of enthusiasm does nothing to dampen Héctor’s mood. 

“All is going well, and we’re thinking up names! We both like Socorro, but I also would like Emilia, after my mamá. Maybe it can be her middle name. Imelda suggested--”

“When?”

“Oh, we just found out this morn--”

“I mean, when did I ask?”

Finally, that sours Héctor’s good mood. The smile fades, and while it brings no relief to the painful knot that seems to have taken residence in Ernesto’s chest, at least it gives him some measure of satisfaction. If he expects him to care about the brat Imelda is carrying - what a convenient way to get him out of the picture - then he’s in for a long wait. 

“I believe you had mentioned a new song,” Ernesto says, waving to catch the attention of a waiter, and Héctor hesitates a moment before he sighs. 

“... Right. I wrote it last night and it needs some work, let me show you…”

The song isn’t Héctor’s best work - clearly, the upcoming brat is distracting him from music - but it’s not bad, either, and it could work with a few changes. They discuss it, their drinks arrive, and Ernesto feels a little better. This is a lot more productive than watching gray blobs and trying to guess which part of it is supposed to be a baby. Yes, Ernesto thinks, he can make this song a success if Héctor follows his advice and adapts it to his voice. 

Of course, Héctor just has to ruin the mood by bringing up his family again.

“So, uh, about the baby-- of course there will be the christening and all that. We want to do it in Santa Cecilia - I mean, Imelda’s family is there, it makes sense - and I know that’s not ideal for you, but, er… Would it be too much or a problem? To come to Santa Cecilia?”

… Is he an idiot or what? Not only he expects him to be there for the christening of some little monster who straight-up replaced him, patting him and Imelda in the back - he also wants him to come back to the one town he’s sworn to never set foot in again? Ernesto looks at him, arching an eyebrow. “Come to Santa Cecilia?” he asks, his voice even. 

Héctor knows him well enough to tell that when he speaks like that, he’s nowhere as calm as he sounds. He shifts.  “Well… we would like you to be her godfather.”

All right, this has got to be a joke. Ernesto would laugh, if not for the fact the ache in his chest is there again, worse than ever. What the hell do they think they’re doing? Are they trying to mock him? To throw a bone his way so that he’ll wag his tail and be happy with what they’re willing to share with him? He wants to laugh, he wants to yell, he wants to hit him - but he does none of those things. In the end, he sneers. 

“We,” he repeats. “I don’t believe for a second that this was her idea.”

“Well, it was mine, but-- I always said that if we had kids, you’d be the godfather of at least one, no? We talked about it again, and Imelda agrees--”

“Oh, of course she agrees,” Ernesto snaps, slamming the glass back down on the table hard enough to make some of the beer splash out, and Héctor wince. “She can’t wait to rub her latest creation in my face.”

That gains him a confused look. “What? No, we both really think you should be her--”

"She must be having a laugh," Ernesto mutters, glaring down at his glass and entirely missing the way Héctor shakes his head.

"Of course she isn't laughing," he protests. "You should know her better than that."

"Pfft, as if. She saw her chance to--" the words 'hurt me' almost make it past his lips, but he'll curl up and die before he lets them out; that is more than he's willing to admit. "To get back to me, and she ran with it. She always hated me, hell knows why."

Héctor frowns. "That's not--"

"She probably started this whole thing so that she could kick me out of it when I had started to--" again, the words refuse to leave his mouth. 

He just scowls, and takes another swig from his drink as Héctor shakes his head and reaches across the table to put a hand on his arm. "That's not true, Ernesto. Not a single word. You don't really believe that," he says, and lifts his hands at Ernesto's glare over the glass. "Listen, I know you're hurt and--"

"I am not hurt," Ernesto snaps, slamming the glass down on the table hard enough to make the beer splash over his hand, again. At this point, the glass is almost empty. "I'm just angry as fuck with the puta you went and married and got yourself shackled to."

The first hint of anger shows in Héctor's gaze, but Ernesto is too furious to notice it. "Don't call her that ever again."

Ernesto scoffs. "Call her what? A puta?"

"Stop that," Héctor bristles and oh, look at that, he's angry now. He won't side with him, but look at him rushing to her defense. "You're being unreasonable. She didn't say we can't-- you still have me.”

“I don’t want you,” Ernesto snaps, and it’s only partly a lie. He does want him - he wanted him before Imelda was even really in the picture - but not now, not just him. It would only remind him of what they had, the three of them, and he can’t have again. 

Héctor recoils a little at the viciousness of his tone - does he really have the guts to look hurt now? - but doesn’t back down. “She only called herself out of it. She just thought that this... us... wouldn't work. Not all three of us. Not with our baby on the way."

Oh, sure. The baby. A cluster of cells without a working brain that is already so much more important than him, and he hates it more than anything. "Your baby, yes," he mutters, and finishes his beer. "If you're so sure."

That causes Héctor's eyes to narrow. "What do you mean by that?" he asks, his voice suddenly cold, and that's good. Ernesto wants nothing more than hit him where it hurts, so maybe he'll see where he's coming from. 

"How do you know she didn't screw someone else? Maybe right now, while you're here with me? I mean, why would someone like her settle for you?"

Héctor recoils as though physically struck - must have hit a nerve, of course, because that was the intention. Isn’t that what Héctor has always been afraid of? Never being enough?

"She wouldn't go behind my back and you know--"

"Never let me in her because she hates my guts, but I bet she let half the neighborhood between her legs," Ernesto says, and grins at the fury crossing Héctor's features. "She's got you on such a tight leash, why let you hang with me? If you want my guess--"

"Shut up. You don't know what you're--"

"My guess," Ernesto repeats more forcefully, leaning forward with gleeful spite, "is that lets you hang with me because it keeps you out of the way while she keeps being the neighborhood puta. I'm ready to bet you're not even the father. I'm ready to bet--"

Héctor moves faster than his eyes can follow, his fist a blur of motion, his cry of anger sounding so very far away. There is a blow and he’s on the ground, pain blooming on his face and a coppery taste in his mouth, his vision swimming. He tries to speak and something warm drips down his chin; somewhere in the distance he can hear yells and voices, but he’s aware of nothing but Héctor, towering over him, holding his right fist in his left hand and features twisted with fury. He’s the only thing he can see clearly, and the sight causes his breath to catch in his throat. 

He’s never seen Héctor so angry, and realization - too far, I have gone too far - seizes his heart like a cold hand.  “Héctor,” he tries, but he’s met with a scoff.

“Imelda was right about you, right at the start,” he mutters. “You only care about yourself. You don’t give a damn about anyone else’s reasons. She was right to bring the arrangement to an end. It could have never worked because you’d put your own wants before a baby’s needs, you always did. What you want you get, and if you don’t get it then you push me around until you do! Well, no more!”

“I-- I--” Ernesto stammers, but Héctor silences him with an angry wave of his hand.

“Save your breath. I’m not your little brother anymore. I grew up, you did not, and I’m done putting up with you. Stay away from me, Imelda, and our baby. Stay away from my family.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Ernesto tries to speak, tries to reach out for him, but Héctor is already marching away, ignoring the several people who have approached, asking what the hell that was about. Ernesto lets his hand drop, lets his head drop, and closes his eyes. Somewhere above a man is asking how he is, telling someone else to call an ambulance, telling him that he should stay awake, might have a concussion there, amigo, stay awake and talk to me. 

He stays awake, but talks to no one. Things go badly when he opens his mouth and talks, and now he’s lost Héctor, too. He pushed him, he always pushed him, but now he’s pushed him too far and something snapped and he doesn’t know what to do. 

He fucked up, and he has no idea how he can even begin to put the pieces back together.

*** 

When Héctor returns home he’s stiff, silent, and close to tears.

Imelda almost asks him what happened, but she does not, because she knows her husband - she knows that’s how he gets when he’s devastated and angry at the same time - and she also knows who was it he went to meet that day. Ernesto happened, clearly. 

So much for hoping he’d move on as time passed.

“What did he do?” she asks quietly when Héctor sits on the couch, stroking Dante’s head absently. Dante may not be a smart dog by any stretch of imagination, but he seems very attuned to their moods - and lately he won’t start the day without giving her belly a gentle boop with his nose - and now he whines, leaning his head on Héctor’s knee. 

“... He’s an idiot,” Héctor mutters, his voice tight. “He said things-- Enough. We’re through.”

Imelda is silent for a few moments, trying not to speculate what he may have said, then she slowly sits by him, puts an arm around his shoulders. Héctor leans into her touch, and lets out a long, heavy sigh. She kisses his cheek, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She’d hoped things would get better once Ernesto got over the initial disappointment, not worse. 

With how he’s been treating her husband lately, he probably deserved to be told off; some time on his own, without faithful Héctor there for him, will clear his head. But it hurts to see him so anguished; even more so knowing it is her, in the end, that Ernesto takes issue with. 

A child throwing a tantrum. Of course he wouldn’t be any better than that, isn’t that why I knew it couldn’t work? I should have known he wouldn’t make peace with being denied. The entire thing was a mistake. My mistake. I shouldn’t have given an inch, stopped it long ago.

“Lo siento,” she finally says, and he shakes his head. 

“Not your fault,” he murmurs, and his hand rests on her belly. He manages a weak smile, and speaks again. “Socorro is a really nice name.”

She puts her hand over his own. “It is,” she agrees, and that is the end of it. For the following days, they don’t so much mention Ernesto; the wound is still too raw. So they wait, hoping he’ll reach out - apologize to Héctor, at least, for whatever it is he told him.

But, in the following days, they hear nothing back.

***

“So, you just decided to move into my apartment with your dogs? Not that I mind - at least your dogs are cute - but if you don’t plan on going home, we should probably consider splitting rent.”

Still catching his breath and face pressed against Sofía’s shoulder - why won’t she ever shut up, wasn’t a decent fuck enough for her to keep her mouth shut ten minutes? - Ernesto lets out a hum, and hopes she’ll leave it at that.

She doesn’t. 

“Why did you have to leave your place in such a hurry, anyway? Angry lover?”

It’s a lighthearted guess, but of course she just had to nearly hit the nail on the head. Ernesto shuts his eyes tighter, resolving to pretend he’s already asleep so that she won’t prod for more information. It’s been three days - three days without a word - and it still hurts. 

Except that he finds himself talking the next moment. “They hate my guts.”

A pause, and he feels her shift. “They? Did you date two women at the same time and they found out about each other? Again?”

Ernesto looks up, blinking. “Wha-- no!”

“Did you date two men at the same time and they found out about each other?” A pause. “... Again?”

“No. I--”

“Did you date a man and a woman at the same ti--”

“No! They knew about each other, all right? They were together in the first place, and then-- I mean, we were all-- I thought we were, but-- It’s complicated,” Ernesto says with a frustrated sigh. Sofía’s fingers are running through his hair, and he leans into the touch, trying to focus on that over the throbbing ache in his chest, the hammering thought that he fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up. Sex with an old fuck buddy wasn’t enough to get rid of that.

“I was just the third wheel," he finally says, and it feels like the most difficult thing he's ever had to utter. "And they didn’t need me anymore.”

“Oh,” Sofía says, and adds nothing more. He could stop talking now, but he cannot. It feels like something is stuck in his throat and it aches, and he fears it will get worse if he stops. 

“There weren’t supposed to be any strings attached. You know, I always said--”

“No strings but those of my guitar?”

“Yes, that. But then there were. Strings, I mean,” he says, and pauses. “... Not guitar strings.”

“I’d worked out that much,” Sofía says, and the hand goes down to rub the back of his neck. “And you thought it was mutual.”

“Sí. But I was wrong, or… or maybe not, but then she got pregnant--”

“Wait, did you--?”

“No, not me, she never let me-- er. It was Héctor.”

The hand on the back of his neck stills. “... Wait. Are you talking about your best friend and his wife?”

Oh. Right. He hadn’t meant to say that, but now it’s out and there is no point denying it. “Yes.”

She tilts her head. “... And to think you told me she’s a complete stick in the mud.”

“Well, she is now,” Ernesto says sourly. “They’ve got a baby on the way and suddenly she’s got to be the perfect wife and mother. I can still fuck Héctor, she says, like that’s all that there was to it, but God forbid it’s under her roof or if I so much look at her. No more fooling around, because clearly that’s--” Ernesto trails off, and he doesn’t like the tightness in his throat, doesn’t like it at all. He turns on his stomach, draping an arm around her and pressing his face against her stomach, and he feels Sofía sighing before she resumes rubbing his back.

“And being his fuck buddy isn’t enough anymore, huh?”

He shakes his head, saying nothing.

“Ah, damn. Didn’t think I’d see the day, but you’ve fallen hard. And for two people, no le-- are you sniffling?”

“No,” Ernesto sniffles.

“... Of course you’re not.”

“They just-- discarded me.”

“Well… if it helps at all, it sounds like it wasn’t about you. It’s about the baby.”

Ernesto scoffs, face still pressed against her skin. “Yes, that was her excuse. Said it would be too difficult to explain their brat what’s going on.”

“To be fair, it’d be a complication,” she says, but Ernesto ignores her. Can’t she just let him vent without bringing common sense in it? Fine, so maybe Imelda had reasons, but what about him?

“And he sided with her. He always sides with her.”

“Well. She’s his wife.”

“And I was his best friend.”

“I’m picking up a past tense.”

Stay away from me, from Imelda, from our baby. Stay away from my family.

“... Ernesto?”

He tries to answer, he really does, but he finds he cannot force his voice out. His throat hurts, his chest hurts, and eventually all he can let out is a low keening sound. He doesn’t fully register that he’s weeping at first, and when it hits him the shame is even worse than the ache.

This is ridiculous, a voice in the back of his head, the one that sounds an awful lot like his father’s, chides him. You’re a grown man. Act like it.

“I fucked up,” he chokes out. “I didn’t know when to shut up and I fucked up and I can’t fix it.”

Her fingers comb through his hair again, the other hand rubbing his back. “Can’t you call to apologize? I know Héctor. Unless you skinned his cat, an apology will be enough.”

That’s what he’d have believed until a few days ago; until Héctor had struck him and he’d seen the fury on his face as he towered over him. Suddenly, he knew he went too far.

What you want you get, and if you don’t get it then you push me around until you do! Well, no more!

Ernesto shuts his eyes, and shakes his head. Sofía sighs, and strokes his hair again, but says nothing. He lets him have a cry, and promptly pretends to have forgotten about it the next morning - something Ernesto is… rather grateful about. Crying himself to sleep is not a good look on him. Christ, he probably looks awful, with puffy eyes and whatnot. 

He doesn’t really want to look into a mirror, so he lets Sofía go into the bathroom first instead of hogging it, and starts getting dressed. The trousers are a big tight, did he gain weight? He sure hopes not, it would be the cherry on top of a pile of shit.  Maybe it’s just been too long; last time he wore them was months ago. 

Ernesto makes a face, sticks his hands in the back pockets… and pauses when he realizes there is something on the left pocket. He blinks, pulls it out, and finds himself staring at an envelope with his name on it, written in his mother’s handwriting. The letter Héctor had brought him from Santa Cecilia. 

“Oh,” he mutters, still standing in the middle of Sofía’s bedroom, belt unbuckled and four chihuahuas running in circles around him, waiting for their breakfast. He entirely forgot about the letter; he took the envelope, stuck it in his pocket, and… maybe he wanted to throw it out. Surely he wanted to throw it out, and then he just... forgot about it.

Well, he can do it now. He will do it now. He has no intention to read a single word that woman said or wrote. 

I bet she turned on the waterworks, he’d said. Go figure. Easy to think I’m the ungrateful bastard, making my poor mamá cry.

Well, she can cry as much as she wants. She can cry enough to put la Llorona to shame, he doesn’t care. No amount of weeping changes the fact that he begged her to say nothing and yet she ratted him out - got him beaten up by that animal she’s chosen to marry, standing in a corner and turning on the waterworks while it happened, useless as always. 

Ernesto snorts and glances down at his dogs, who stopped running in circles and are staring up at him, heads tilted. “I don’t care what this says,” he informs them. “She fucked up.”

I fucked up.

“I-- I don’t have to give her a moment’s thought. Let alone another chance. If she’d kept her mouth shut--”

I didn’t know when to shut up and I fucked up and I can’t fix it.

His eyes prickle, and it’s too much. Ernesto snarls and tears the envelope in half, then in half again, throwing the four pieces to scatter on the floor. “There. Now it’s gone,” he snaps. “Come, I’ll feed-- what--?”

Before his confused gaze, his dogs don’t bolt as usual at the mention of food. Suddenly each of them picks up a piece of the envelope, the letter still tucked within. Normally they would bound away with their prize, leading him to a merry chase, but this time they don’t; they only stand there, tails wagging, staring at him, waiting. It’s unlike… anything they’ve done before. It’s surreal. Ernesto stares, blinks, and the chihuahuas just stare back, unmoving. 

And finally, slowly, he kneels to take the pieces out of their mouths.

*** 

Mijo,

I hope this letter finds you, and that it finds you well. 

I know you’re making a name for yourself, a lot of people here talk about you and Héctor and what you’re doing in Mexico City. I was sure you would make it, you have so much talent. Everyone could tell, since you were in the church choir. Or in the Nativity play. I was so, so proud of you, and I don’t feel like I have told you that enough. 

We bought a computer - please, don’t laugh - and I got Mirela’s daughter to show me how to make it work. The poor girl almost tore her hair out, but now I can see your videos and your photos. It’s nice to see you smile, mijo. I have that photo of you after a concert framed and I show it to anyone who comes to see us. My handsome boy.

Your papá won’t say that aloud, but he likes your music. I caught him listening behind the door when I played your videos, so I always play them a little louder for him. He’s doing better now, a lot has changed since you were here last time. He began going to meetings to stop drinking, and he’ll celebrate three years dry soon. He has also been seeing someone for his anger, a therapist. He doesn’t want people to know that part, but you of all people know how bad I am at keeping secrets, no?

I know we both did wrong, your papá and I. You trusted me and I betrayed you - I thought I knew better than you how to deal with it, and I was wrong. And your papá should have never reacted as he did. He knows that now. He’s sorry. We are both so sorry and so proud. We miss you so very much.

You don’t have to write back if you don’t want to. I only wanted you to know this - that we’re sorry and we love you and we hope you’re happy. 

With all my love,

Mamá. 

*** 

Once she’s done showering and walks out, towelling her hair, Sofía is rather taken aback to realize Ernesto has left without even a shower. The dogs are still there, yapping and clearly hungry; all that she finds is a scribbled note, asking her to look after them until he’s back, promising her he’ll pay back for their food and whatever they may chew up when he returns.

With a sigh, Sofía lets the note drop and looks down at the dogs.

“You better not chew up anything,” she mutters, and makes her way to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast and to see if she has something suitable to feed those four little demons.

***

[Back to Part 14]

[On to Part 16]

[shipcestuous]

Hades/Persephone in Percy Jackson

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I am reading the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan. Most of you have probably heard of it - there have been two movies made based on the series and it's quite popular - but for those of you unfamiliar it involves Greek mythology in modern times. The Greek gods appear regularly as characters, unfortunately we're pretty far removed from their points of view and almost everything interesting relationship-wise occurred millennia in the past. It also focuses mainly on their relationships with humans, not each other.

I recently finished the series of short stories called The Demigod Files which takes place before the fifth book (where Persephone makes her first appearance) and the fifth book, The Last Olympian, where Persephone is also briefly featured. 

Persephone is in the first movie - a divergence from the book it's based on. In that depiction she finds Hades rather irritating - though I always felt there was sort of an old-married-couple vibe to it with just a slight darker edge. She betrays Hades - his plans concerning Percy - and she flirts with one of Percy's friends.

I wasn't expecting Persephone to be so radically different in the books! Although she doesn't love living in the Underworld, she doesn't seem particularly distraught by her situation. There's a war with the Titans coming, and Persephone forges a sword for Hades to wield (a sword that Hades told her not to make because it was too powerful). Although she goes against his wishes it's not a betrayal. Percy notes several times that he had the impression that Persephone was being nice or he expected her to help him only to find out that she didn't really care. She's not a particularly sympathetic character. All of the gods are sort of mighty and vaguely threatening, even Poseidon who is Percy's father, but she is among the least helpful. I thought that was pretty interesting. She also serves food (while in the Underworld) to Percy and friends, which would have trapped them there and is exactly what happened to her. Also one myth was shared about how someone had died and Persephone had prevented them from being resurrected or something. (I can't believe I'm fuzzy on that already.) Anyway, my point is, she has somewhat embraced her role as queen of the Underworld.

In this series, Hades had a human mistress (whom he was with long enough to have two children who were a few years old at least). He loved her and was with her until she was killed. Persephone shows a great deal of dislike for his children with that woman and doesn't like the relationship to be mentioned. She's clearly jealous and even Hades is a little bashful on the subject in her presence.

In the series, Hades is the one who is actually a little irritated by her, though not in such a way that he would like to be rid of her. He calls her "dove" and things like that. There's a much clearer old-married-couple vibe in their dynamic. Actually, it does feel a little bit like Persephone is a teenager and Hades married someone too young for him and now it has been a few (thousand) years and he's getting a little tired of it. But still kind of in a shippy way? It reminds me a bit of Mad Men, lol.

Hades had vowed to stay out of the war with the Titans. He wanted Persephone to stay in the Underworld with him where she would be safe and Demeter was invited to come stay with them. They argue about Persephone but never discuss their own brother/sister relationship. At first I thought it wasn't going to be mentioned at all, but then in a confrontation with their father it's indirectly stated that they are siblings. (Demeter is hilarious in this series. She's always telling everyone to eat cereal.)

Eventually all three of them join the battle on the side of our heroes. So Hades isn't villified in this series. He can be dangerous, but he's also reliable in certain ways. I liked the nuanced portrayal even if everything wasn't how I would have wanted it to be.

A few quotes:

I stared at the empty thrones, waiting for something to happen. Then the air shimmered. Three figures appeared-Hades and Persephone on their thrones, and an older woman standing between them. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument.

"-told you he was a bum!" the older woman said. "Mother!" Persephone replied.

"We have visitors!" Hades barked. "Please!"

Hades, one of my least favorite gods, smoothed his black robes, which were covered with the terrified faces of the damned. He had pale skin and the intense eyes of a madman. "Percy Jackson," he said with satisfaction. "At last."

Queen Persephone studied me curiously. I'd seen her once before in the winter, but now in the summer she looked like a totally different goddess. She had lustrous black hair and warm brown eyes. Her dress shimmered with colors. Flower patterns in the fabric changed and bloomed-roses, tulips, honeysuckle.

The woman standing between them was obviously Persephone's mother. She had the same hair and eyes, but looked older and sterner. Her dress was golden, the color of a wheat field. Her hair was woven with dried grasses so it reminded me of a wicker basket. I figured if somebody lit a match next to her, she'd be in serious trouble.

"Hmmph," the older woman said. "Demigods. Just what we need."

I wanted to include a couple of passages, just for interests sake. What I love about this part is 1) Hades the poor beleaguered husband having to deal with his in-law (even though she's actually his sister), 2) Persephone being annoyed with Demeter and Demeter being somewhat unlikeable (since she's often a sympathetic figure in the story of Persephone's abduction - with reason, of course), 3) Percy remarking on the obvious resemblance between Persephone and Demeter, since elsewhere in the series Riordan had said that the gods don't have DNA so it's not really incest, and yet...Apparently children take after their parents in conventional ways.

"Father," Nico said, "you promised that Percy would not be harmed. You said if I brought him, you would tell me about my past-about my mother."

Queen Persephone sighed dramatically. "Can we please not talk about that woman in my presence?"

"I'm sorry, my dove," Hades said. "I had to promise the boy something."

The older lady harrumphed. "I warned you, daughter. This scoundrel Hades is no good. You could've married the god of doctors or the god of lawyers, but noooo. You had to eat the pomegranate."

"Mother-"

"And get stuck in the

"Mother, please-"

"And here it is August, and do you come home like you're supposed to? Do you ever think about your poor lonely mother?"

"DEMETER!" Hades shouted. "That is enough. You are a guest in my house."

"Oh, a house is it?" she said. "You call this dump a house? Make my daughter live in this dark, damp-"

"I told you," Hades said, grinding his teeth, "there's a war in the world above. You and Persephone are better off here with me."

"Excuse me," I broke in. "But if you're going to kill me, could you just get on with it?"

All three gods looked at me.

"Well, this one has an attitude," Demeter observed.

"Indeed," Hades agreed. "I'd love to kill him."

"Father!" Nico said. "You promised!"

"Husband, we talked about this," Persephone chided. "You can't go around incinerating every hero. Besides, he's brave. I like that."

Hades rolled his eyes. "You liked that Orpheus fellow too. Look how well that turned out. Let me kill him, just a little bit."

"Father, you promised!" Nico said. "You said you only wanted to talk to him. You said if I brought him, you'd explain."

Hades glowered, smoothing the folds of his robes. "And so I shall. Your mother-what can I tell you? She was a wonderful woman." He glanced uncomfortably at Persephone. "Forgive me, my dear. I mean for a mortal, of course."

You can see in this passage that Demeter places some blame on Persephone for choosing Hades. Also Persephone could have left the Underworld but chose to stay with Hades during the war.

OK, I think that's all I have to say about Hades and Persephone in the series so far. The Last Olympian concludes the first series in that universe. I'm about the begin the next series, which is different but I'm not sure how different. I bravely go.

[alyssawritesalot]

"This isn’t me, I’m not this person." Zelink

FF.Net Here! Ao3 Here! 

He saved the kingdom from the twilight. He accepted the Princess’ marriage proposal. He held her heart so utterly that at times it took her breath away. But one evening, he vanishes from the castle with nothing but a note as goodbye. In the rain, she goes to find him. Post-TP Zelink

Writing after the cut!

It was raining.

Zelda pulled the hood of her cloak closer against the chill as she hurried through the alleyways, ducking under the cover of overhangs when she could.

Not that it mattered, really. The downpour was such that she had been soaked to the skin within moments; any attempt to stay dry was as futile as it was inconvenient. Still, she had always been stubborn, and the little shreds of dignity that she had remaining absolutely refused to be rained on.

She hated the rain.

She hated the way it sucked the color from her city, blocking out the sun and casting it in bluish greyish dark. She hated the way it killed the sounds of the marketplace, forcing everyone with sense indoors. And most ardently, she remarked as persistent droplets streamed down her face, she hated the way it made her look as though she had been crying.

Red eyes and aching heart aside, she hadn’t been crying. Queens didn’t cry, but even if they did, Zelda was made of much stronger mettle than most.

Something like this, something that she had truly foreseen ages ago, was not nearly enough to make her cry.

The sniffles were from the cold. If she didn’t get inside soon, she’d catch a chill.

If only Link could see me now, she thought ruefully as she skirted through the puddles, running through the torrents like a madwomen with soiled skirts, no guard, and no sense. What he’d think of her.

A few months ago it might have been enough to throw him into a fit. He was forever worried for her safety, and needlessly putting herself at risk this way was one thing she couldn’t imagine him taking. After he found her safe, dry, and bundled by a fire, he would have spent the next hour pacing a hole in the floor in front of her.

“It’s not my place to tell you anything, but not even a guard?” he would have asked her, running his hands tersely through his hair. “Were you even armed?”

“No,” she would have admitted, because the thought wouldn’t have even occurred to her in her haste. And he would have taken her up in his arms and pressed a kiss to her head, eliciting a promise to take him with her next time.

Words he had said to her once flickered in her head.

“Though I’m weary for more adventure, your highness, I’d make an exception for you.”

The words that had so often given her comfort now made her stomach lurch. From that to a note. Goddesses, how disillusioned she’d been.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran up her spine, and she quickened her pace.

She was trembling by the time she turned the corner into an opening in the alleys, darting from the cover of shadow into the open glow of a torch burning under an overhang near a half-open window.

She blinked at the sign above the door. Telma’s Bar.

Her feet almost carried her away on the spot. These people were friends of Link’s. He had spent many an afternoon whiling away the time with his friends from the Resistance, or visitors from his hometown in this very place.

But the glow of the fire she could see through the window beckoned her. Though the people that often could be found here were his friends, they had never been anything but respectful toward her. Her aching bones and chattering teeth–when had they started chattering?–urged her forward, into the light and warmth of the tavern.

Link wouldn’t be there. He was long gone.

Heat rushed forward as she opened the door, and she shuddered, quickly closing it behind her as she retreated within.

The bar was as quiet as could be expected for this time of night; it wasn’t the sort of place that catered to the raunchier patrons that came to drink themselves regularly into oblivion. Instead, only a few of the many tables were occupied, customers speaking in muted voices as they shared a hearty meal. The place wasn’t the finest in the city, but it was certainly well-kept, warm light spilling from the fireplace and dancing merrily across the grey stone walls.

But aside from the heat, of course, it was the bartender that immediately caught her attention. Telma was a woman larger than life that took no nonsense, and when she caught sight of Zelda, she was absolutely impossible to contain.

“Din’s blood, child!” She had bustled around the counter in an instant, pulling her sodden hood away and reaching up to cup her stinging cheeks. “Has all sense left that pretty head of yours? You’ll catch your death out there like this!”

Telma’s hands were warm, and they shocked the life back into her, at least for a moment. She had never been more appreciative of the older woman’s breaches of propriety. “I hadn’t realized how much it was raining when I left.” Zelda’s voice was hoarse, tired. She sounded nothing like herself, but if the old matron noticed, she didn’t say.

“You should have turned yourself right around when you did. Out in the rain, at this time of night? I’m not so special that you couldn’t have waited to see me tomorrow!”

“Something…came up,” she tried, but Telma had always been able to see through her evasive nonsense. Properly shamed, Zelda averted her gaze. “Please don’t make me speak of it. Truly, I needed to get away. I’ll need to answer many questions when I return, and I cannot–” Her breath hitched in her throat, and she swallowed hard. Queens did not cry. “I cannot speak to them now.”

Concern knitted Telma’s brow. She waited for a just a moment before patting Zelda’s cheek, her voice a shade softer than before. “Then why don’t you get yourself out of those wet things and take a seat, dear. I have some stew that will bring the color right back to those cheeks.”

“I’m not-” Zelda began, but a stern look from the older woman left no room for rebuttal.

“All right,” she sighed.

She made her way over to the hearth as Telma disappeared behind the bar, removing her dripping cloak as she went. Unfortunately, the dress hadn’t fared much better; she was thoroughly drenched, fabric heavy and skirts muddied. She would soil any chair she sat on. Still, the roaring fire was too warm to resist, and she crouched down in front of it, rubbing her numb hands together. Though it did little to thaw her aching heart, it was a small comfort to her freezing skin.

After a time, Telma returned with a steaming bowl, placing it on the table by the hearth as she came to stand by the fire as well. She took a fistfull of Zelda’s sleeve, tsking with reproach as she felt the soaked fabric. “You won’t be dry before summer at this rate. Why don’t you go upstairs and change?”

“As much as I appreciate the gesture, I don’t think you would have anything that would fit.”

“A nightgown doesn’t need to be snug, does it?”

Zelda’s ears tinged red. “I couldn’t impose.”

“Nonsense,” Telma dropped the sleeve, crossing her arms. “The rain won’t let up for hours yet, and your young man would have my hide if I let you trudge through the city in the state you’re in now.”

Zelda bit her cheek, fighting against the tears that had begun to well.

“Room four is empty,” Telma said as she extracted a link of keys from her apron pocket, pulling one off and pressing it into her hand. “No need to thank me. I’ll send up some clothes and your food when I can. If you decide to want to talk, you know where to find me.”

Zelda opened her mouth, but Telma had already turned on her heel, waving a hand over her shoulder as she went. “I said, no need to thank me. Now, upstairs with you!”

There was no sense in arguing with Telma.

Pausing for a moment to hang her cloak on a peg by the hearth, she crossed the room to the staircase with her key in hand. The pounding rain on the rooftop above drowned out the sound of her ascent as she climbed to the second floor, turning the familiar corner into the hallway above.

Only to come face to face with the man that had put her into this wretched state in the first place.

He was dressed for travel, in plain colors with worn boots and a cloak not unlike her own that covered much of his face. But even covered, in the dark, and frozen with shock, there was no mistaking the form of the man that held her heart.

“You’re all wet,” Link said.

She gaped at him, unable to speak.

It had been so long since she’d seen him this way.

Ever since he’d accepted her proposal, he’d abandoned the simple clothes that he’d worn in the south in favor of the court attire befitting a man of his station. She had become accustomed to seeing him smart in a fitting jacket with shiny buttons and breeches, his hair combed back into an immaculate plait and his fingers decorated with rings. Now that all of those things had been stripped away, she was left with a man that reminded who so much of who he had been before that it made her chest ache.

That man had always been quick to smile. He never hesitated to speak his mind. His hands were gentle, his words were tender, and he would have never, ever broken a promise.

But that man was gone, replaced with a traitor and a coward. Heat rose in her cheeks as she came back to her senses, hands involuntarily balling into fists.

“You’re all wet,” he said again, reaching out to her.“Did you-”

“Don’t touch me,” she cut him off, jerking away from his hand.

He dropped his arm like it had been burnt. She watched as he swallowed, considering for a moment before he spoke. “Did you come here all on your own?”

“That isn’t your concern,” she breathed. Anger bubbled in her stomach at the thought of him chastising her, chasing the cold away in an instant.

“Zelda, the risk–”

“Is none of your concern,” she repeated, trying very hard to keep her tone even. “Not any more.”

He took one look at her, sopping wet with hands balled into fists and red-rimmed eyes burning with a fury beyond anything he could have possibly seen before. He shook his head, closing his eyes as he brought a tired hand to his forehead. When he spoke, his voice was muted, defeated. “This is not a conversation I’m prepared to have here.”

Zelda reached into her dress pocket, pulling a damp, folded piece of parchment out and holding it up before him. “From what I understand, this is not a conversation you were prepared to have at all.”

He sucked in a breath. “Zelda,” he began miserably, “I’m so-”

“Don’t,” she snapped, raising a finger to his face. “Don’t you dare apologize. I don’t want your apologies.”

“I-”

“Is this what we’ve come to, Link?!” she demanded, voice raising over his as she shook the note, trying hard to disguise her trembling. “A letter, and an escape into the night? After everything, this is what I deserve?”

“Are you going to keep cutting me off, or have I lost my privilege to speak, as well?

His ardent tone shocked them both, but she would not waver now.

“Are you going to speak to me, then?” she asked, letting her arm drop to her side. “Or are going to leave me with little more than this?”

He seemed to deflate before her. Taking another heavy breath, he gestured behind him, to his room. “Will you come inside?”

“Will you run away again?”

Offense that he had no right to filled his eyes. “No.”

“All right, then,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. Sweeping up her sodden skirts, she walked past him.

He followed her, closing the door behind him. Without casting a glance in her direction, he strode past her to the far side of the bed. There, he bent down and out of sight.

“You should get dry before you catch a chill. I have clothes.” He set a familiar bundle of green on on the bed without looking up, still digging.

Her stomach knotted. A handmade gift from one of his childhood friends, he’d brought the long nightshirt when he came to the castle.  It was a scratchy looking thing, all misshapen and frayed wool and open edges. In spite of how uncomfortable it looked, he wore it to bed every night in the early days. When she’d given him silk in its stead, he’d stopped.

He hadn’t taken the silk with him, though.

“I don’t want your clothes.”

“It’s very cold.” He paused for a moment, still not looking up. “You might fall ill.”

Goddesses, there he went again.

“I do not need you to tell me what I should be doing or what might happen to me. I told you, I do not want them.”

“I’m not telling you, Zelda. I was just asking.” He finally met her gaze, and his eyes were tired. “Will you at least sit by the fire?”

Her nails dug into her palms. “I would rather stand.”

“Stand by the fire, then.”

When she made no indication of moving, he gave her a pitiful look. “Catching your death from pneumonia to spite me won’t do anyone a great lot of good,” he said softly.

“I would never do anything to spite you.”

“Then why are you acting this way?”

“Because you are acting as though nothing has changed between us!”

He closed his eyes, looking away again like the coward he was. He said nothing.

“When I asked you to marry me, I did it with the utmost confidence that you were the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” Though her breath hitched, she forged on. If this was the last time she’d ever get to be alone with him, he needed to know what he had done. How she felt. “The politics were certainly optimal, but above that consideration was my own happiness. I trusted you with my life, and I thought…I thought there was no one more brave, more kind, more humble in the world. I wanted you as my life partner. When you said yes, and when we announced our engagement…there are no words to describe that bliss. But to go from that to a note.”

The battered piece of parchment was still in her hand, the words unseen but still searing pain into her soul. She didn’t need to look to remember. She’d never forget.

”When I accepted the proposal to be your husband, I did so certain that I could provide you with every happiness. As time has gone on, I see that I can no longer do so without suffering myself. I no longer feel as though this is the right path forward for either of us. You must know that I do not take this lightly, and I ache at the thought of what you must think, but I must ask you to release me from our engagement and allow me to return home to the place where I belong…”

It might have hurt less were it in his words, but she knew just what he was doing. It was court language, the language of detached personability and empty promises. Formal and flowing and beautiful enough to disguise the harsh sting of rebuffs and refusals. She’d taught him how to write it herself.

It was so wrong to see him use it against her.

“When I read that note, I cannot even imagine the words coming from your hand. They are so opposite everything I thought you felt, and to think that all the months we have shared have been under false pretense is the biggest pain of all. When did you decide this? Goddesses above, every time you told me you loved me, was that a lie?”

“No,” he said immediately, though his voice was thick. “If everything else was a lie, that’s the truth.”

“Then why can’t I make you happy?”

Silence stretched between them, the pounding rain on the roof above only amplifying the words he couldn’t seem to bring himself to say. But she would not relent. He wouldn’t leave her side with thin excuses and questions unanswered.

Finally, he spoke. “You do make me happy,” he said, though he wouldn’t look at her. “If it were just about that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“So why are we, then?” she demanded, “Why did you think it necessary to steal off in the dead of night with nothing but a thrice-damned note?” “I couldn’t face you.”

“How could you not?” A part of her whispered that she was, perhaps, getting louder than was appropriate, but she ruthlessly ignored it. “We were going to get married! Have I ever given you the impression that I didn’t care what you have to say?”

“It’s not that–”

“Then WHAT?”

“I wouldn’t have been a good husband to you!” he shouted, throwing his arms out in frustration. Though she opened her mouth immediately to refute him, he held out a hand to silence her, forging on.“What would I have done? Sit locked up in your castle as your Prince Consort? Get all dressed up every day to bump elbows with people that hate me? Fumble through my life wondering every day if I’m enough for you? That isn’t me, Zelda! I’m not that person!”

Unbidden, tears stung at her eyes as every fear she’d always been too afraid to speak of came true before her.“I never asked you to be anything but who you are!”

“No, but everyone else has.” He scoffed, kicking at the floor. “Every day. They tell me my hair is too long or that I’m using the wrong fork or that you should be marrying one of them instead. Or I should spend less time with the guard and start learning how to run the household, since you should be focused on running the kingdom instead of picking the tablecloths for the next gala. Or that I should tell my family not to come to the capital because it might be embarrassing to you.”

The lords and ladies in her court were always cruel to those they thought didn’t belong, but with the ease to which Link seemed to ascend to his new position, she hadn’t even bothered to give it a thought. She had believed his transition to be seamless and the court to accept him wholeheartedly.

Little memories came back to her then, all the times when she thought she had misseen the slump in his shoulders or the curl of his lip. She had always asked him how he fared, and when she touched him, he had always come back to himself. He smiled for her and accepted her kisses and words of love. But when she turned away, did he fall out of himself again?

How could she have possibly been blind enough to miss that?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, taking a step towards him.

“What could you have done?”

Reminded you how much you mattered to me. Stopped taking you for granted. Abdicated the throne and whisked you away to the seashore to have a hundred children out of the prying eyes of the kingdom.

“I could have…I could…”

She couldn’t have done anything. There was no way to protect him from the whispers. For all the power in her possession, she was utterly powerless.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” He closed the gap between them in three quick strides, reaching out to hold her. She did nothing to stop him. The boiling anger that had sustained her as she ran from the castle had dissipated without a trace, and she was left with a wave of exhaustion so strong it was a marvel she could stand.

Uncaring of her sopping clothes, he enveloped her in his arms. He smelled of woodsmoke and rain and regret. This close, she could hear his heart, and as weak of a woman as she was, the sound of it made her sob.

“This isn’t your fault,” he murmured into her hair, “It’s mine. Were I right for you and this kingdom, all this wouldn’t have happened. One day you’ll find someone worthy of your heart.”

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest as she clung to him. “Don’t presume to know the workings of my heart better than I do. You’re a fool.”

“You’ll find someone who isn’t. Someone who can be your partner instead of someone you need to look after, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“You’re a fool,” she said again, pulling away enough to look at him. “No one in this world is more worthy of my heart.”

He smiled with such effort that her chest ached. “But there are many more worthy of the throne, and that is what you should concern yourself with.”

There were many people among her court that would agree with him. The Queen’s consort, regardless of his lack of official power, had one of the most important positions in the kingdom. He couldn’t be just anyone. To many, the man should be politically-minded, wealthy beyond measure, and have connections that strengthened the kingdom’s defense. Her mother had been all of those things, and there wasn’t a person in Hyrule or beyond who disapproved of the match when she and her father were wed.

But Zelda knew what a loveless marriage looked like and how her parents had both suffered. Her father had put aside his heart for what he thought was for the good of the kingdom, but with his marriage, he gave Hyrule a monarch who never once cracked a smile. He became cruel, resigned, and lonely.

A happy monarch made a happy country. There was only one person who could make her happy.

It was only about whether or not he would have her anymore.

She reached up, drawing the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “When you said you loved me, did you truly mean it in the past tense?”

“No,” he murmured without hesitation.

“The feeling is mutual.” She blinked away the tears of relief. “I love you, my heart is yours, and the only person who gets to decide whether or not you are right to be my consort is me. But I want you to be happy, too. If there is no happiness for you with the strings attached to being my husband, I…understand. My only wish was that you had told me all this sooner.”

“Telling you wouldn’t have made me better suited to the job.” He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes with a heavy breath. “It only would have hurt you and prolonged this. I just thought it best to go.”

“There is no job. You’re perfectly suited to be my husband, and anyone who thinks otherwise can leave my court. They give me nothing.”

“Neither do I.”

“Look at me,” she commanded, waiting until he obeyed to be sure he understood the depth of her truth. “You give me everything.”

She stood up on her toes to kiss him, her lips ghosting his cheek. “I know this asks much of you. But please, for everything we have, give it another chance. You won’t have to face anything alone. I promise you, if you decide it too much again, I won’t stop you from going.”

He sucked in a breath.

“Come back to the castle,” she pled. “Don’t leave me alone just yet.”

When his hands found her shoulders, she thought he might push her away. But they continued their ascent, sliding up her neck and threading in her hair. Their faces inches apart, he studied her, and his gaze burned her to her core.

“I’m sorry I ever left you alone,” he managed hoarsely.

His lips found hers, and all the anguish in her heart melted away.

Much later, when the fire had burnt itself into embers and cast the room into darkness, Link rolled over in bed as far as his arms around her would allow to glance out the window.

“I think it’s stopped raining,” he murmured, turning back to press a kiss to her hair.

“Mmm,” she hummed. She burrowed closer to his side, a greedy recipient of his warmth.

“We can go back to the castle.”

“Mmm.”

He chuckled, pulling her tighter against his chest. “Have I rendered you incoherent, your highness?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, turning her face into his chest to disguise her smile.

“I suppose I have to leave you here, then,” he grinned, turning to go, “To call the doctor. He’ll know how to right you.”

She curled her legs around his, anchoring him in place. “Don’t you dare,” she grumbled. She would kill the person that interrupted this moment. The world could wait, but her happiness could not.

“All right, but we should go back before we’re missed.”

“We have already been missed,” she said. “It’s your fault. You get to explain to my hairdresser and my dressmaker why I got all soiled, too. I hate the rain.”

He rolled to hover over her, drawing his hand down her side with a sly smile. “The rain is the reason why I didn’t leave the city.”

“Have I ever mentioned I love the rain?” she asked him, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and drawing him in for another kiss.

She would gladly trade the sun away for good if it only meant that she could have this.

[doublechindynasty]

Questions For Consideration With Painless Iso Xp Probiotic Protein Tactics

A Helpful A-to-z On Identifying Major Aspects In Grass Fed Organic Whey New Zealand

Ehrlich’s classmate at Dartmouth, heads up South American operations. “After 10 years and exponential growth, it was readily apparent that there were only so many hours in the day and so far that I could scale the organization,” Mr. Ehrlich said. “I saw a tremendous amount of potential still within the sector, not just for the next year or two, but far beyond. It was clear to me that bringing on both very talented individuals that could complement my own skill set with their own knowledge base that they bring, as well as just the horsepower to drive the various teams.” Mr. Ehrlich added that scaling up the Verde Farms brand has led to the addition of a marketing team and a sales department so that face-to-face meetings with customers can continue. “We’re also putting more time and attention on social media, including Facebook, on promotions and merchandising from the shelf out,” he explains. “So there are a lot of different things that we can bring to the table to make not only ourselves successful, but our customers and hopefully, consumers when they bring the product home and eat it at the kitchen table.” Verde Farms also relocated to a new space that is double the size of the former office to accommodate the company’s growing staff; foster product development and enhance client services. “Even outside of our senior management team, our employee base has grown considerably over the last few years, and I expect that to increase,” Mr. Ehrlich said. Verde Farms aspires to be the leading brand within the grass-fed beef category, Mr. Ehrlich said. But the company also is working toward a beef production system that doesn’t rely on feedlots for cattle.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit https://www.foodbusinessnews.net/articles/8875-verde-farms-and-the-future-of-grass-fed-beef

Fitness For All Levels And Shapes

Many people want to get in shape, but think that it's hard to accomplish. You must keep in mind that education is key if you are the meet your objectives. Use the information here and it can help you get fit. Work out on lifting weights for no more than an hour. Muscle wasting happens within an hour. Keep your weight training under an hour. If you are using weights, begin with smaller weights first. The smaller muscles in your body get tired out before the larger muscles, so begin with lower-weight dumbbells and then move up to tougher-weight machines. That what, as you work out, you will achieve bigger muscles then your delicate muscles could take a break. The frequency of your workouts depend on exactly what you are trying to achieve. When looking to increase muscle size and strength, you need to not use a strength training routine on a daily basis. If you want your muscles to look sharp and defined, you should schedule more strength exercises. Track everything you do throughout each day. Write down every exercise you do and every morsel of food you put into your body. Also, note the weather every day. This will help you monitor the things that affect how much you exercise. If you choose not to exercise for the day, explain your reasons in your journal. Your pace when riding your bike should stay between 80 and 110 rpm. This will keep the strain off of your knees and allow you to ride further before you reach fatigue. If you don't want to invest in a digital device to put on your bike to keep track of your rpm and mileage, you can use simple math to figure your rpm. Count how frequent your right leg rises in 10 seconds. When you have this figure, multiply it by six. The sum you come up with is the rpm you are currently maintaining. People who play racquetball and tennis have found an easy way to strengthen one's forearms. Use a large sheet of newsprint to cover a flat surface. Work at rumpling up the whole newspaper for half a minute. Use your dominant hand. Once you have repeated this exercise two times do the same action one time with your other hand, then switch to the dominant hand again and do it two times more. Avoid over exercising when you become sick. Your body is already battling to heal itself during these rough moments, and the additional strain isn't advised. Your body will not be able to build muscle and endurance during this time. This means that you should stop exercising until you feel better. While you wait, consume plenty of nutritious foods and make sure you get a lot of rest. Now that you've reached the end of this article, you should have an idea of how you'd like to go about getting fit. Remember there is more information to learn and that the only way you're going to see any type of true progress is if you apply all that you know. Start with the knowledge you have accumulated and build on it as you go. Before long you will see positive results.

Examining Handy Tactics For New Zealand

If we can get there first, we can seize that opportunity and if we don't somebody else will." One of his key roles as Climate Change Minister was to get New Zealand to a zero emissions economy by 2050.  "We do have that leadership position in agriculture around the world and it's not just a matter of preserving that position, but about how do you maintain that in this changing world that we are in," he said. Shaw said the government would continue to support organisations such as the Global Research Alliance and Agricultural Greenhouse Gas Research Consortium. That funding had to continue if scientists were to find solutions. He also thanked the farmers in the room and said they had done a "great job". "The progress I have seen in the last few years I think has been remarkable." Agriculture was the sector most exposed to negative effects of climate change and the summer New Zealand had just experienced showed that, he said. New Zealand's emissions profile gave him hope that farmers could do something about it. Methane emissions were up by 5 per cent on 1990 levels and emissions per unit of production in agriculture were down 1 per cent per year over the past 10-15 years. "What that suggests is that you can bend the curve." He emphasised that reducing emissions was not just about the agriculture sector and rhetoric about a divide between urban and country distressed him. "If we allow that to take hold and if it continues, then we are simply going to continue the argy-bargy that we have had for the last couple of decades. "This is about all of us and everybody has their part to play." Auckland city is the source of 20 per cent of New Zealand's emissions and that had to change as well. E. coli levels in cities were at multiple levels of what is seen in rural rivers.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit https://www.stuff.co.nz/business/farming/103728804/tremendous-opportunity-for-new-zealand-farmers-to-be-world-leaders

Curious About Vitamins And Minerals? Read On

Vitamins and minerals, or lack thereof, can make a huge different in your health. Multivitamins, taken regularly, can boost immunity and provide energy. The key is getting the right supplements daily. Use the following tips to make sure that you find something that works for you. Make certain you are getting enough vitamins to allow your body to recover from working out. This will allow your muscles to recover more quickly and provide you with the essential nutrients you need to stay fit. Learn how minerals and vitamins react with each other before taking any combination of them. For instance, iron can be hard to absorb because of calcium. If you take an iron supplement, avoid ingesting dairy for at least half an hour before or afterwards. The first step to proper nutrition is eating a balanced, healthy, whole foods diet. Fruits and vegetables are the best things to add to your diet. If you can't do this, you should try supplements to get some your vitamins and minerals. Any supplement which includes oil must be ingested with a meal. Vitamins K, A and E are among those vitamins that need to be taken with food. They are best absorbed when consumed along with fat. Iron is crucial to red blood cell production. This helps to transport oxygen through the body. Due to menstruation, women need iron supplements in higher doses than men. If you frequently feel exhausted and have difficulty breathing, you might have an iron deficiency. Riboflavin or vitamin B2 is found in bananas, green beans, popcorn, dairy, and asparagus. Too little riboflavin, also called vitamin B2, can cause cracked lips, scaly skin, and reduced hemoglobin and red blood cells. This important vitamin can reduce the risk of cancer, cataracts and anemia. We may want to eat as healthy as we can but it's hard on a budget. When you take vitamin and mineral supplements, you help your body rid itself of the fats many foods contain. This will help in digesting foods full of preservatives and Whey Protein chemicals as well. Getting enough vitamins and minerals is growing in importance. Many foods in the grocery stores are over-processed, which leads to the depletion of many nutrients. Gain these nutrients from a good multivitamin. If you have reached menopause, prenatal vitamins are not a good idea. Women sometimes take these supplements, even if they are not pregnant, to improve the appearance of their nails and hair. For post-menopausal women, these vitamins contain too much iron. Vitamin C can be found abundantly in citrus fruits as well as other fruits and vegetables. Supplements can be taken if your diet is not rich in vitamins. Vitamin C is known to reduce the risk of catching colds, as well as speeding up the recovery time when one is sick. In addition to the known benefits, vitamin C is known to help with mental focus for those who have been diagnosed with ADHD and more importantly, dementia and Alzheimer's. Now, you should be better prepared to give your body the nutrients it needs to stay in optimum condition. It can be tough to shop for supplements when you have no idea what to look out for. However, the information from this article makes it much easier to understand.