#reaping the fruits of all the hard work they had to do for responsibilities that was pushed into their hands ;-;

[hayaku14]

thinking about old and grey kaishin, comfy in their living room, lazing on the sofa, empty mugs and a plate of half-eaten cake left on the coffee table. kaishin sitting so closely, so easy. kaishin invading each other's space as natural as breathing. kaishin basking in each other's presence on a quiet sunday night.

kaito softly smiling and staring at the increasing laugh lines on shinichi's face. shinichi gently brushing away kaito's greying hair and tracing the countless crinkles in his eyes. shinichi sliding down his hand into kaito's neck, scratching on a ticklish spot to pull a giggle out of him; to see more of those beautiful lines that litter his face.

kaito giggling as he takes shinichi's hand off his neck. kaito staring reverently as shinichi's hand shakes in his. kaito looking back at a time when everything was still new and unfamiliar; a time when shinichi's hand shook the same way in his but for a different reason. kaito looking now at shinichi's hand, trembling all the same but they are also calloused and wrinkly, the hold on him sure and steady. kaito closing his eyes as he puts shinichi's hand on his lips. kaito leaving a lingering kiss that still leaves shinichi red on the cheeks.

kaito holding shinichi's face in both hands and peppering him with kisses. a kiss on the nose, a kiss on the cheek, a thousand kisses on the worry lines he caused on his forehead. kaito sliding off shinichi's glasses to give him a firm but chaste kiss on the lips. kaito pulling away with that same teasing smile all those years ago. shinichi pouting and red and so achingly fond pulling him right back in to give him a proper kiss. a little nibble, a little tongue. a little kiss to remind him whom he belongs to, even after all this time.

kaito and shinichi pulling apart breathless and smiling. eyes bright with mischief, cheeks cherry red, and still so utterly in love.

[kalki-tarot]

THINGS YOU CARRIED FROM YOUR PREVIOUS LIVES ⚖️

Please read : This is just a general reading and may not be 100% true all the times. Please use your brain before making any decisions. Kalki tarot is not responsible for your actions and life decisions.

PICK ONLY ONE PICTURE AND ALLOW ME TO TAP INTO YOUR ENERGY.

Pile 01

I can see you lived by a river, it seems to be the country side. Green grass and shallow wind is what I feel where you belonged. Your sense of belonging in nature comes from this lifetime. You felt comfortable laying over the grass and just looking at the clouds. You were an innocent human being. Your heart held deep sense of purity for everyone and everything. You belonged to a foreign country, different from where you are right now.

I'm getting one more lifetime for you, where you wanted to be a saint or a nun or something like that. You wanted to attain moksha so you decided to take necessary actions but your responsibilities held you down. You could not leave your family or responsibilities i guess.

Your were an emotionally intelligent human being. It can be your gift in your current lifetime to be knowledgeable about spirituality and mysticism. You were born with healing abilities and you may also be a psychic.

Another gift you carried in this lifetime is of alchemy. You may be interested into witchcraft and rituals. Try to practice it more, it will really work well for you. Don't use it for bad things though. You have the power to create and manipulate energies. Your soul possesses infinite knowledge about spiritual. Unlock your hidden potential for its best use.

One more thing I'm seeing is that you carried a lot of burdens too from your previous life. Some traumas or fears, it can be anything. This is the reason why your psychic gifts were blurred or you were just not able to believe in your self, you have wounds from past life too. Healing is needed.

Pile 02

Dear Pile 2, you were someone very helpful and empathetic in your previous life. You were a gentle human being, you may have active water placements in your chart which influence you the most. You were and still are someone very deep and emotional. You understand people around you but sometimes you feel misunderstood. You feel different from everybody else. Yes you are different and it's not bad to be different. You are indeed a very special human being.

In your previous life too, you were a nice person and you did many humanitarian works. All the good karma you did is coming back to you in this lifetime. Please don't let your pure soul get corrupted or influenced by negative people. You often struggle with patience, you get anxious and restless when things don't go as you planned or when you don't see results when you want it. This is what you carried in this lifetime too. Work on having patience. You will definitely reap the fruits of your labour, but before accepting divine timing only!

Again with the fool card, your energy is very restless and childlike. You have the curiosity of a child and you crave adventurous things in life. You can't sit at one place for a long time. But this over restlessness may make you do foolish things. You should try to shift your energy from wasting it on useless things to creating something with your creative mind. You are someone who can build a castle in the sky. What i mean is you have the potential to start from scratch and turn it into something big. Use your energy here rather than doing foolish things.

You were like a wise sufi saint in your past life and you've also carried a lot of wisdom from there. Sometimes you go like where am i even getting these wise thoughts from lol. Yes! You are a street smart person. Use your potential to create something big.

Pile 03

You were someone who used to run behind success. You had or still have a fear of failing and that comes from your past life. You were in a high position in your previous life and you constantly used to work hard for keeping up or maintaining what you had.

You lacked the need to rest. And due to this you became a little too much workaholic. You were too much indulged in your work life that you kind of forget your presonal life and relationships. You will be forced to address the fear of failure in this lifetime too.

And the karma for not addressing your personal relationships is that you will not have any genuine connections in this lifetime. But don't worry, once you accept balance in your life and address your mistakes, things will start aligning for you.

Have a balanced approach and towards work and personal life. Don't be too rational, listen to your head anf heart both. And try not to force yourself to work hard. You will not fail! Don't worry.

[pinnpointing]

Who Takes the Impact?

Farmers hold responsibility for producing the foods necessary to sustain the population and communities. In the United States alone, “American farm owners now make up less than 1 percent of our population, but they manage about 40 percent of our land.” Furthermore, about 230,000 undocumented immigrants are agricultural laborers who run these fields and work long back-breaking hours to reap the food we consume. Such strenuous and hands-on work is impacted by drought or changing weather patterns. American farmer Chris expresses the hardships of work in the age of climate change: “What it takes to grow food under normal conditions– that’s hard. To grow food in changing conditions– that’s a lot harder.” Those with the closest ties to the ground and nature have the least protection and are hit with the consequences of climate change.

Changes in weather patterns and extreme temperatures affect producers of food. Food optimally grows in specific and consistent conditions that support them. For example, apple trees require ample chilling times for their fruits to grow. With a shift in climate patterns, these chilling times are altered or moved to a later time in the year. This leaves the trees bare or with fruits that have developed too soon. Georgia had an 85% loss of its peach crop in 2017 due to warmer winters. This goes similarly to prunes, pistachios, and grapes that rely on consistent weather patterns. Changes in climate impact many staple crops that farmers grow where “high-temperature stress is predicted to result in global yield losses of 45%, 52%, and 25% in corn, spring wheat, and soybean.” False springs due to changing weather patterns damage delicate flower buds when they bloom too soon. Many times, food can no longer be produced at a consistent rate due to climate change. Livelihoods are impacted when the food they rely on for income can no longer be produced at the best quality or at all. In turn, farmers bear the economic burden when climate change prohibits their food from growing.

Weather patterns change crop cultivation patterns. Specifically in the United States, “winter temperatures have increased twice as fast as summer temperatures since about the turn of the twentieth century.” Crops such as coffee or cacao beans grow best in the equatorial belt; a sliver of latitude with a temperature cool enough and weather humid enough to support their growth. When these temperate crops rely on specific regions, a steady increase in temperatures will move this belt higher. Rice or cacao will no longer be able to thrive in the region they used to and migrate to better places that support them. Again, farmers who have built their livelihoods onto temperate crops like coffee or cacao beans must be flexible with these shifts. They face hard decisions to choose alternatives when crops no longer survive. If farmers cannot produce the food that supports their livelihoods, their jobs may be lost.

Furthermore, many farmers rely heavily on pesticides and herbicides to protect their crops from damage. However, this reliance on these chemicals negatively affects farmers’ health. Glyphosate, which is a chemical component found in Roundup, is proven to be toxic to human health. With every breath farmers take while they tend their crops, they inhale the residue of pesticides and herbicides. Chemicals like glyphosate kill weeds, bacteria, and fungi, but it has the same effect on the healthy human gut biome and immune system when it enters our body. It has been shown to increase the risk of endocrine disruption, celiac disease, autism, effect on erythrocytes, and leaky-gut syndrome. When most agricultural laborers are undocumented immigrants many do not have access to adequate healthcare or would not choose to seek help. Furthermore, some farmers do not understand the magnitude and dangers of the chemicals they are using daily. In many circumstances, farmers would rather sacrifice their health than lose their jobs. This becomes a public health concern.

The human relationship with food systems does not only fall upon farmers and food production. Consumers and regulators are connected to the food systems too. If there are lower yields in a crop the prices of these goods will increase. This hits consumers and their buying choices–what they can afford and choose to give up. Consumers also have impacts on producers. Higher consumer demand also dictates a farmer’s incentive to produce a certain good. On the regulatory end, laws and subsidies impact farmers in ways that dictate what foods they grow and how they grow them. In the United States, many farmers grow heavily subsidized crops such as wheat. These examples show how climate change may impact other players in the food system.

Farmers do not take all the climate change burden, as consumers and regulators share the weight. Yet through such interconnectedness, each group bears unequal and unfair consequences. Much of these impacts, like changing weather patterns or chemical pesticide dependency, fall upon those involved in the agricultural industry. Farming practices are altered and disrupted as climate change impacts food production and practice. The agriculture business is risky when climate change is involved, but also for the health of those that grow our foods. Those who farm put their livelihoods and health on the line whether they choose to or not. Climate change is not only an environmental issue, but a social justice issue too. It jeopardizes the lives of farmers and agricultural laborers as they take the first-hand hit.

[becoming-grounded]

The Goal of Marriage

The Aim of a Faithful Husband

“Determine to see your selfishness as a fundamental problem and see it more seriously than your spouse’s. Why? Only you have complete access to your own selfishness. And only you have complete responsibility for it. Take the Bible seriously and make a commitment to give yourself up. You should stop making excuses for selfishness. You should begin to root it out as it is revealed to you. And you should do so regardless of what your spouse is doing. If two spouses each say, [I’m going to treat my self-centeredness as the main problem in the marriage], you have the prospect of a truly great marriage.” (The Meaning of Marriage, Keller 2013).

Giving up Self-Centeredness You would be hard pressed to find a more counter cultural, yet bountifully true quote about marriage. One of the greatest paradoxes about marriage is that the more things a spouse puts to death within themselves, the more life giving fruit the marriage has the potential to bear. Because self-centeredness is the parasite that sucks the life out of the growing organism of marriage. A marriage cannot grow when selfishness is not intentionally and continually being thwarted.

With that being said, I cannot deny how dangerously short I fall at having the aim of a faithful husband due to the glaring self-centeredness of my heart. And not in the, “no one is perfect” kind of way. But in the, “a man should never treat his wife like that” kind of way.

Shame aside, it is sobering to know the standard of a husband and be convinced that most days I don’t come close to having the aim of a faithful one. It is sobering because of the amount of mental clarity that the standard provides and the awareness of my distance from it; an alertness that provokes me to change. Sobriety.

Being a faithful husband is challenging because there is a great cost to being an honorable one to be proud of; the cost is death. When I don’t graciously give up selfish desires and purposes, our marriage suffers deeply; happiness, harmony, and healing start to fade. My unwillingness to forsake my presuppositions and pride reveals my misplaced priorities. Marriage is Less of a Goal- #Goals A subtle incongruity in my ideology when I became a husband was my intent at viewing marriage as a goal rather than a work. I positioned it in my mind as the paramount place of prestige, pleasure, and productivity. #Goals! But marriage is the purge that perfects my impurities. I cannot overstate it, becoming a faithful husband is hard work and it takes a million careful, purposeful, willful decisions and considerations.

I underestimated the amount of internal work marriage forces you to do. The level of self-awareness necessary to communicate with a spouse is incomparable and incompatible to any other relationship. A faithful husband who does not work on himself is incomprehensible. And guys who are inefficient and ineffective communicators will fail at being faithful husbands until they build the fortitude to improve. Borrowing from a popular phrase: I am guys.

In some areas of my life I overlook the truth that you don’t reap benefits where you have not worked. You go to work anticipating that you will do work. I wish I had approached marriage with that mindset. The moment I vowed to cherish my wife, was the moment I “clocked in”. It required me to be there; to be emotionally, physically, and spiritually available. Marriage is vulnerability! My problem is that I prefer not to commit to faithfully clock in each and every day. Most days I would rather work from the comfort of my selfishness. But this job cannot be executed remotely. The inescapable truth is that marriage is less of a goal because “the work” does not stop when your marital status upgrades from single. It is more than an accomplishment because the real work is sustaining a marriage, not getting there. It is deeper. It is an honor that should be handled with all diligence. It is freedom and unity. It is character formation and confidence building. It is a luxury grounded by integrity and faithfulness. Marriage is constant engagement and it is as pure as an honest promise. And just like the jobs I prayed for, interviewed for, and was blessed to receive, it is a responsibility. If I care about it, I will work hard to cultivate it by giving it my best effort as often as I am able. Because I committed to it.

This is where my conscience consistently contradicts my conduct.

I forget My Vows

One of the many reasons I fall dangerously short at being a faithful husband, is because I conveniently forget my vows. I imagined vows as something that was merely spoken at the wedding; therefore they would only need to be remembered for one day. You know, the standard that I can look towards without being required to take any steps. Just as long as they sounded sincere and well-intentioned they didn’t matter or have much functionality after their initial reading. I thought vows described the ideal me that ain’t nobody gon’ actually expect me to be. But vows are promises and principles to live by. Vows are arguably the most purposeful and impactful words spouses will ever speak to one another. When I said my vows, I gave my word which should not have been taken lightly because I asked my wife to believe me forever. I literally asked her to risk her life; take a pledge and a plunge with me and let’s be joined together. Most days, I do not intend to practice and pursue the promises I made. I settle for subpar, mediocre exercising of my vows, not because I am immoral but because I am inconsistent, impulsive, and immature. I am slow to listen, quick to speak and quick to become angry.

My Higher Calling as a Husband

It takes no effort to make a declaration. Which is why vows are backed up by “I do”. Authentic love is both active and spoken. Promises reinforced by actions makes love more meaningful and memorable. Listening without interrupting with defensiveness, explanation, or rebuttal displays love; not to mention it also shows wisdom and validity. Listening communicates value to another person. More often than not I communicate with contention. Which makes me a constant contender in my marriage. And I make being agreed with a contingency to earn my compassion. I also prefer to “solve” my wife’s worries, rather than listen to them. But she deserves to be heard, not solved. She is not a puzzle. She is a person. Less to figure out and more to be with.

I simplified my calling as a husband to basic human decency and simple service to my wife. I can drive all around town for her with no problem. Fix a meal? Sure. Take out the trash? I got you love. I’ll do it. But a husband’s calling cannot be reduced to favors. A husband is not a task manager. If he was, there would be a measuring tool for how much is enough. When I lessen the standard, I start to assume that I have done enough to earn respect and recognition. A husband has a loftier aim. He gives his life up. I have the hardest time making my wife a genuine consistent priority. I’m finna drop a bomb: The concept and the objective of “give my life up” is communal. I am in intimate community with my wife. She is literally someone to share my life with. Queue Kem Share my Life. In marriage spouses willingly and eagerly give of themselves. And a faithful husband does this in a massively mindful way; making thoughtfulness, understanding and consideration the route to giving himself up. 

When I am reminded of that, a suitable amount of guilt sinks into my limbic system. Because when I withhold kindness in my marriage; I am directly acting against the sharing composition of our union. A union that I easily become indifferent towards. There is almost nothing worse than responding to your wife’s hurt with “I don’t care”. Rather in word or deed indifference is abusive.

My wife’s love for me is sometimes met with my indifference. An example of that is our prayer life for one another. Ashamedly there have been dozens of scenarios where she prayed diligently for me after I was objectively rude toward her. While she prayed, I sulked. Sinking deeper in indifference and carelessness; the culmination of cowardice.

During some of our conversations I lack depth and empathy. I put reasoning, thoughtfulness, and consideration on the back burner. I use to excuse and complain about these habits. Thinking other men had better traits and qualities than I did.

But the examples I have seen of men being empathetic and considerate husbands, are examples of guys who simply out work me. That is an agonizing thought. But love isn’t love if it is lazy. Love pursues. It is the main characteristic of a faithful husband enamored with the one he shares life with.

Love pursues! Even if that pursuit entails working on yourself to care for someone else. So my unchecked and dis-regulated emotions also reveal a lack of pursuit. I negate the skill and craftsmanship of discovering my wife and becoming a better man when I don’t pursue her or my healing and growth. Sometimes I remove the relational responsibility of being a husband by solely focusing on my gain and my emotions. This is not a new concept to me, but it takes courage and consistency to change.

Change Takes Courage Some of the content in this blog may sound bold, harsh, or unnecessary to reveal. But peep this, radical honesty rewards me with greater insight to becoming a better husband; because remembering and sharing my failures should not discourage me. It should inflate me with the courage required to face hard truths about me. Being courageous is not an innate ability. It knocks on the closet door of my frailties. Radical honesty is the only way I can open the door when I need to be courageous. 

Courage is the catalyst for my growth and healing. Acknowledging how and why “I ain’t there yet” reveals the voyage in front of me. Because sometimes I am blinded by fear, which prevents me from traveling along the necessary and honorable road to a God-honoring and healthy marriage. Some people may go as far as to think that because I am writing about my failures, this essentially means I have arrived. But c’mon nah, you don’t travel to a place you’ve already arrived at. To be poignantly clear, I have a journey ahead of me. Because simply being married, is not where I’m headed, but having the aim of a faithful husband is my lofty goal.

In recap: Marriage helps you give up self-centeredness. Because marriage is two people constantly giving up the desire to give up. And I naively thought it was just something to get to. But it is clearly not a destination, it is an experience. It is more than a goal to accomplish. It is a consistent relational journey sculpted with the foundational materials of promises made and kept. And there is risk a man takes by starting this path; he will certainly die a good and necessary death. Because a faithful husband is a man with the courage to share his life.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Can I have a wholesome father!Slender x reader scenario with a reader who is a young adult and slender see the reader up late in the study/living room and he sits down with them with tea and has a nice talk about good advice. Maybe life is hitting the reader hard rn and slendad comes in and expresses how proud of them he is and it’s just fatherly bonding

Aaaah. Slendad is just so wholesome. I love him.

Considering how professional and accomplished Slender was, it was only natural that you would adapt to trying to follow in his footsteps. Wanting to make him proud, you'd do anything you could to work on improving and furthering yourself, even at the expense of letting all of that built-up stress get to you. 

Staying up far later than you should have, not eating as well as you really should be, spending far more time with your nose buried in your books for tests that you prioritize over everything else in your life. You were tired, stressed, and feeling at an all time low. If you couldn't handle this, how were you supposed to keep making him proud? How were you ever going to impress him if you couldn't even handle this? For all his credit, Slender does try not to read minds often to not invade privacy, but when he catches a glimpse of those words in passing, he can't help but need to intervene. Going off to fetch the two of you a drink, it's not long before he's returning, sitting across from you in the lounge area.

-

"Hello, Klein Schatz. It seems you're working hard this evening." His voice is calm and level as you jolt to look up at him, accepting the drink he offers you timidly.

"Oh, yes... I have some things I need to study for, so I've been trying to stay at the top of the game." You avert your eyes in unconscious guilt as you hide your face behind the teacup he handed you. Slender hums in response as he analyzes you. 

"Would it not be fruitful to take a rest? You've been working so hard, it would be best if you took some time to replenish your energy." He's calm and patient, and he can see the way it makes you twitch uncomfortably.

"But, if I stop studying I'll lose time and I'll have to make it up!" Your exasperation grows, and he sighs, tilting his head at you in understanding. He's been exactly where you're sitting, and he understands how you're feeling all too well.

"Why? Your grades are already top markings, and I know confidently that you're quite familiar with the material you're overlooking. There's no need for you to be up this late." He nods to the clock behind you, signaling that it is far past the time you should be awake and studying at this hour.

"But I-" He raises a hand to cute you off, shaking his head.

"You have already done so much. You have worked so hard, and done the best that you can possibly do, and I am so incredibly proud of you. You've done amazing, and you should reap the rewards of all of that hard work. Rest, if not for yourself, for me." He stretches a hand across the small coffee table, placing it upon your own and stroking it comfortingly. You give him a look that says you're contemplating arguing against him.

"I could not be more proud to have such an amazing child, if not one that is just as stubborn as myself. Please. Get some sleep, and worry about this later." You can feel the tears of stress and exhaustion prickling in your eyes, and as his words sink in, you feel your energy sapping out of you.

You nod your head weakly at him, closing your books and slipping them back into your bag. He waits for you to finish, and walks you to your room, making sure that you truly see yourself to bed instead of sneakily continuing to study before he goes to bed himself. Slender used to allow the same stress to dominate himself in his youth, and he's thankful he had someone to tell him those same words when he was younger, now, of course, he would be that person for you. He is incredibly proud of you, in every single thing that you do. He'll make sure that you never forget that.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Please Don’t Leave (one-shot)

Synopsis: After a night spent together, the Reader wakes up wrapped in the arms of the man she loves. Only problem is - they live two different lives, and she barely has a place in it as a best friend. 

Paring: Harry Styles x f!Reader

Genre: angst, but with a fluffy ending (also kind of an AU since being at a party is mentioned, but if you’re out there and partying (aka not following YOUR LOCAL HEALTH GUIDELINES) wear a damn mask!) - please keep up with what the health professionals are saying, and stay safe. If you’re at a place where you can safely go out and have fun in large crowds - please do so, but with caution. If not - WEAR A DAMN MASK AND WASH YOUR HANDS.

Warnings: anxiety, angsty, think that’s about it. if there’s anything, please let me know :)

Word count: 2283

Waking up in the arms of the person you love should be the most blissful thing in the world. It should quell your racing heart after a nightmare, and speed it up as you open your eyes to see the one who's holding you so tight. But when that person is your best friend, the best friend you’ve had for the past half-decade, the best friend whom you’ve had unsaid feelings for the past three years – that will set your heart racing and not in a good way.

        As Y/N blinked her Y/E/C eyes open, she felt safe. Probably the safest she’d ever felt and all thanks to the man lying next to her. The tattoos covering his chest she’d memorised by heart, had traced their black outlines more times than she could count, and at the start of the pandemic, when the first wave of emotional exhaustion had hit, he’d allowed her to colour them in, to bring some sort of vibrance in the gloomy-looking life. Now, however, seeing the gorgeous butterfly right in her eye-line made Y/N want to disappear into the ground.

A shuddering breath escaped Y/N as she realised more and more of the situation. They were spooned together, chest to chest, without a single inch left between them, and without any clothes to separate them either. 

        She’d never been the friends-with-benefits kind of a person. Sure, she’d had her fair share of one-night-stands, where both parties enjoyed themselves and then amicably split to never see one another again. But with Harry, leaving and basically ghosting him wasn’t an option. 

        Harry shifted a bit, and the arm he had under her bare waist tightened, pulling her in, and his lips pressed against her forehead. For a moment, she thought it was just him stirring in his sleep, but when she felt pressure against her skin, when she felt his mouth start to skim down to her temple, a small grin accompanying the kisses, Y/N knew he was awake. And unfortunately, she’d have to face the music, rather than what she’d hoped of untangling herself from Harry, grabbing her things and running for the hills.

        “ ‘G morning, lovie,” he muttered, his voice gruff from the sleep, and as Y/N recalled, moans of her name. “How ya feelin’?”

        Y/N had to clear her throat, and she nodded. “Good.” The word was quiet. “A bit sore, but I uh, slept well. Uh, you?”

        “ ‘M good.” Harry smiled and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “ ‘M great actually.”

        “Yeah?”

        “Yeah.” Y/N could feel the grin slowly expand across his face while she gulped.

        “Well, uh,” she started. “I uh, I guess I’ll get going.”

        That made him pull back, and she took it as her opportunity to flip around and slip out of Harry’s hold and the bed. 

        The bedsheet revealed her naked back to him where two large bruises in the shape of his palms had started to make themselves present. Much like on his own back, Y/N had nail marks all across it from when she’d been on top of him, and Harry had needed her closer, had been desperate to have her pressed to him and to keep her there as he fell apart. 

        “You don’t have to, you know.” He let out a nervous chuckle, as Y/N leaned down and grabbed her discarded black thong. Most of the night was a blur for him, but he hadn’t been that inebriated that he had no control over himself and couldn’t understand what consent was. And well, neither had Y/N. 

        The alcohol had most definitely loosened them up, but it had also wiped away the fear of rejection. She’d been the one to make the first move. Standing alone on a penthouse balcony, cold winds sweeping past her frame was when she’d decided hiding her true feelings would only bring more pain.

        And then he’d walked out, covered in a glitter suit with a ruffled white blouse underneath, almost like the disco ball they'd been dancing under a few minutes before. He'd pulled Y/N to him. They’d looked at one another, and she was the one who pressed her lips against his. Without even waiting for a second, he'd responded with the same passion.

        It’d taken them barely a minute to get out of the party and make their way to Harry’s place. Five more minutes and both of them were naked and on top of one another, underneath one another and in every imaginable position. 

But as much as the alcohol had taken away every fear she’d had about being with Harry, the dawn had brought a clarity to the situation. And as painful of a clarity it was for Y/N, it was undeniable. 

        “I think I do, Haz. I – this –...” She gulped. “This was a mistake. We should’ve never slept together.”

        She could feel the cold creep over them. “What do you mean?” His voice was small. She'd never heard him like that.

        “I mean, we were drunk, Harry.” Y/N didn’t dare look back at the man as she stood up, arm over her chest, as her eyes scanned the beige carpet for her bra and the dress, she’d worn the night before. “We were drunk and made a mistake. This shouldn’t have happened. So, I think I’ll be the one to bite the bullet, and not have us have an awkward breakfast, and go.”

        When there was no response from Harry, Y/N took it as confirmation that she was right, that what had happened the night before was just an alcohol-induced mistake, so on wobbly legs, she grabbed the black lace bra, clasped it behind her, the navy dress a messy pile on the floor as she pretty much b-lined for it. 

        She was right by the door, one of the nine-inch heels that had been killing her feet throughout the party in hand when a suppressed sob made her stop.

        “Please don’t,” he practically choked out, and that made Y/N whip around, seeing his chest rattle as he attempted to take in a breath. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t – I – I”

        “Fuck, Harry,” she dropped her dress and the shoe and climbed into his lap, hands against his cheeks, and eyes never leaving his frantic green ones. “Look at me, sweetheart. Look at me.”

        There’d been a couple of times she’d have to help him through an anxiety attack, so Y/N was aware of what helped him – pressing his palm to her chest and her own against his. “Focus on me,” she said in a firm voice. “Focus on my heartbeat and how I’m breathing.”

        “I can’t –.” He was still heaving, but with every second she was there with him, it evened out. “Please don’t leave me.”

        “I’m not leaving. I could never leave you.” She shushed him, feeling hot tears splash against her collarbone, as Harry hid face against her neck, and gripped onto her sides with such vigour, she was sure if she had a shirt on, it would rip. “I’m still here, I’ll always be here when you need me. But this was a mistake. Harry, we should’ve never slept together. Not like that.”

        “Why?” His hands were gentle as he cupped her cheeks and brought their gaze to meet. “Why was it so wrong for us to do that? Why shouldn’t it have happened? Give me one solid, one good reason why.”

        “Because we’re best friends.” Y/N leaned into his touch. “And best friends don’t do that.”

        “They do if they have feelings that are more than friendly.”

        Y/N sighed. “Harry…”

        “I love you… and I know you love me too. I’m not blind, Y/N. I can see the way you look at me, and I know what it means because I look at you the same way."

        “I know... but the thing is, I don’t fit in your world. Not like that.”

        When she chuckled and spoke, there was no malice behind those words. She was just stating facts, but Harry couldn’t help how his heart clenched in guilt and pain. “You’ve been hiding me as your friend for years now, and I understand why, and I love you for it. So much. You’ve always cared about me, and how your lifestyle affects the people around you… but if I’m with someone… I don’t wanna hide. I don’t wanna be a secret or our love to be a secret. I want to hold their hand.” Y/N took his right hand and weaved their fingers together. “And I don’t wanna be afraid of what people might say about it. I wanna be able to love the person freely… I’d wanna love you freely…”

        “Then I’ll quit,” he immediately announced, making Y/N’s eyes widen as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, an almost manic smile on his face. “I’ll quit. Fuck all of it, if it gives us a chan-“

        “No.” She vehemently shook her head pulling away and pressing her palm against his chest. “Harry are you completely out of your mind? You can’t just quit ev – everything!”

        He scoffed. “Of course, I can. It’s my job, innit? I can choose when to do it and when not.”

        “But – no – Harry, hold on a bit. That’s a bit rash. Besides, I’m not letting you just up and throw away everything you’ve worked for.”

        “I’m not though.” His smile was so wide, Y/N couldn’t comprehend how this talk could be making him happy. “I’ve been reaping the fruits of all that hard work for years now, lovie. I have enough to keep me going, Mum and Gems and whatever future family I have for decades to come.”

        “Yes, but have you done everything you’ve wanted?”

        “Well, no bu – “

        “But nothing,” Y/N interrupted him. “Harry, you’re in the middle of shooting a movie, your music career is at an all-time high, and who knows how high it could go. You have a Disney, a fucking Disney movie lined up. And don’t get me started on Marvel. You can’t just quit all that now because you’ve got a crush or something.”

        “It’s not a crush.”

        Y/N smiled a bit. “Give it time, and it’ll go away.”

        “Hasn’t left me for the past two years, and now, especially now, I don’t think it’ll disappear that easily. Has it for you?”

        Fuck. She hated when Harry was right. “No.” She shook her head. “It hasn’t.”

        “Then where does this leave us?”

        “I don’t know,” Y/N whispered, eyes on her fingers as she skimmed his collarbones and the two swallows below them. “I really don’t know.”

        “I can’t stay friends with you,” Harry murmured, “because every time I’ll look at you, I’ll know we could’ve been so much more.”

        “But we can’t be together either. Not the way we should be.”

        “What if we…” Harry gulped, straightening out a bit, but never letting the soothing motions against Y/N’s back end as he allowed his free hand to explore her back. “What if we set up some rules?”

        Her brows furrowed as she pulled back and tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

        “Like… what if we didn’t have to hide? If we went out on dates, or with friends, we didn’t have to keep us a secret? We could kiss, and hold our hands, and be a normal couple, but in interviews, in all of the publicity shit I’d have to do, I don’t talk about you. I – I let them know, that I have an amazing girlfriend, the most beautiful and supporting girlfriend a person could have.” He chuckled, and Y/N couldn’t help herself but mimic it. “But I don’t talk about anything you don’t want me to.”

        “Meaning?”

        “Meaning you set whatever boundaries you want for me. Tell me what you’d want them to know, if anything at all, and I’ll only mention those things. We go at your pace and however far you want. The rest is just for us and no one else.”

        “ ‘N what about the paps? The gossip magazines and rumours and hate that’ll come?”

        “I – I can’t control that, I swear if I could, I would, and I hate it’s out of my control –“

        “Harry.” Y/N interrupted him before he could start spiralling again. “I’m not blaming you for any of it, I’m just saying what would happen. We’ve both seen it too many times. I’m just not sure I can handle it.”

        “You shouldn’t, fuck, you shouldn’t even be saying that – thinking that – but I promise, I’ll try, I swear I’ll try and make it as easy as possible for you. And I know if we try this it’s going to be the furthest from normal, you have no idea, how badly I want to make it as normal as possible for you, but please just… just give us a chance. I know we could be so happy, so fucking happy together… just give us a chance… give me a chance.”

It was electric, the way his hands skimmed over her sides. Not the painful kind of electricity you sometimes get zapped by a car door or when you touch a balloon, but a buzzing kind, that set each and every nerve alive, brought it out of the terrifying numbness that was rejection and fear, and pulled them into the loving light of acceptance.

“I mean, it’s always been us, hasn’t it?” Y/N muttered letting her lips flutter over his. 

“Yeah,” Harry whispered back. “It has.”

“Then let’s be us forever?”

Harry’s smile was more blinding than the golden light which erupted into the room, bathing them in liquid flames and warming up not only their bodies but their souls. 

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: hey! so I know I’ve been gone for a while, and most likely will be for quite a bit and will be only posting og stuff sporadically. I’m dealing with a death in the family, so I’m only writing when I’m inspired. right now music is what’s inspiring me, so if you’re here for someone else, please message me and I’ll put you on a specific tag list. I won’t take it personally, I promise :D 

Not saying that to gain sympathy, it’s just how it is rn. I still have plans to finish all the series I’ve started (even Hawkins’ Charm), it’s just that I needed to write something else for a bit.

This is definitely not my best work, but I still wanted to share it, as I hope this will make me get back into the groove of things. 

Hope everyone is staying safe :)

P.S. if you wanna be added to a tag list message me :) tags are always open. 

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry :(

[this-haunting-hunger]

fic: don’t take this haunting home

Wei Ying lives with many ghosts. It's usually not a problem. He used to be one himself, after all. However, ghosts have one glaring fault, and it is this: they are, by definition, people who refuse to stay completely dead.

And as far as Wei Ying is concerned, some dead people should stay that way.

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four

Content: angst, mild violence, ghosts

Pairing: Wangxian

Length: 4400

read on ao3

//

There are crowds of ghosts living around Wei Ying.

Some only come when called, some stay at his command, but most are transients. There and then gone, attracted by the promise of what they could have been and repulsed by what he tells them they are. He knows some of them by name. Others, by the sounds of their screams, the way their blood had splattered, the last bitter words they’d spat or whimpered. Others, worse company still, Wei Ying knows by their laugh or their love, by their hopes and fears, by their dreams and tears. He doesn’t remember most of those who visit, you understand. But when they come haunting, he knows them all the same.

This presents something of a problem, given that he himself is a ghost, albeit of the still-breathing variety. Lan Zhan might have scowled at Wei Ying if he ever described himself as such aloud, but it’s one of those truths that suit silence more than sound, anyways. A knowledge that keeps itself company better than company ever could. No need to bother the Chief Cultivator with such whimsical thoughts.

Even if the Chief Cultivator is one of the leading experts on soothing spirits and corpses and essentially everything not-quite-dead-enough in between.

His fingers tighten around Chenqing, rigid against the silky black wood, and the lilting melody he’s playing falters. Wei Ying makes himself breathe; makes himself smile at the dirty wall of the empty temple he’s currently seated in. The trick works, like so many of his tricks do. He relaxes, loosens his hand, smooths his thumb against the flute instead. An apology to an old friend. Then he keeps playing.

Lan Zhan will be annoyed that Wei Ying went on this night hunt without him, but given what he suspects he’s dealing with, there are worse things than an annoyed Twin Jade. Off the top of his head, a dead one. Or worse than dead. (That was just a casual example. Certainly not something he’s thought about again and again and again and –)

Pausing now, pulling Chenqing slightly away and uncrossing his legs, rearranging his black and red robes, Wei Ying smiles even wider. He’s learned so much since their early years of attending the Gusu Lan Sect’s indoctrination sessions, but truth be told, he’s known how to smother his worries for longer than that. Fidgeting and smirking are excellent, day-exclusive antidotes to anything that could (and might and would and did) keep him up at night.

He lets go of thoughts of Lan Zhan as he gets a tighter grip on his focus. Closes his eyes and, bringing Chenqing back to his lips, resumes the song even as he rids himself of his wards.

The ghosts rush in when he beckons with his music. They press against his ears with their echoes, almost but not quite drowning out the flute. Most, polite by now, only murmur, to each other or themselves. Others, newer or simply more resentful, more inclined to disturb and powerful enough to manage it, are shrieking or wailing, sobbing or swearing. Not in literal words: he can’t commune with them in that way without Empathy or Inquiry. But they can impart sensations, feelings, flashes of memories that whirl across his mind, and he has become better at understanding the dizzying array of impressions the more he’s practiced demonic cultivation. There are many ghosts here, smothering him with the weight of their soul-cemented grief and rage. The sheer level of turbulent emotion – so much emotion – is a muddied current, sweeping around him and threatening to drag him to the depths that these spirits have already reached. That he reached, once before.

Some of them hate him. He can’t blame them. What right does he have to the oxygen flowing through these lungs? Wei Ying has been in this body for several years now, and yet, sometimes, he still feels like an intruder, as if his soul slipped through a crack and never could find the way out. Sometimes, he wonders – fears – that Mo Xuanyu’s invitation was not an invitation, but a cry for help. A trust offered and then betrayed. If only he had known how to refuse. How to stop hearing the summons. How to forget the offer like he had forgotten so much else. If only –

Communing with spirits wasn’t so hard. Taking in another deep breath, keeping the melody steady, Wei Ying gently rejects the accusations being flung at him. Smiles in the face of all the hatred. Not now, he tells the hordes of hungry ghosts. Not yet. I’ll answer for my crimes, for the crimes of everyone, later, but not now.

He is searching for one spirit in particular. One obstinate soul that eludes his reaching power, slips across fingertips and is gone in a flash of heat so intense it feels like melting. This ghost came to his attention only recently, and for all of his knowledge, Wei Ying doesn’t know if that’s because it just chose to reveal itself to him, or if it only found him in the last few weeks. He hopes it’s the latter. If it has been following him for longer, without him being aware of it… well, he’s mostly decent while alone.

(While he’s with Lan Zhan is another story entirely, but no ghosts could penetrate the wards he has placed around their dwelling.)

Refusing to be distracted by that tantalizing thought, he offers, I just want to talk. When there is no response, he says it out loud, around his flute. “I just want to talk. Just a little exchange of information. No tricks, I promise.” Some of the gathered spirits murmur, but no one comes forward. He could command them to find the one he is looking for. To drag it before him. But if it is who he suspects, that could very well be a mistake. He’s familiar enough with those, but not so much that he wants to make more.

Pouting, eyes still closed, Wei Ying lets Chenqing fall limply into his lap, crosses his arms. “Yah, stalker!” he calls. “It’s not fair if you get an eyeful whenever I’m doing anything, and I get nothing in return! Have you no shame? No pride? Are you so ugly you’ve nothing to show me?”

The teasing gets no more of a reply than a flicker of amusement through some of the friendlier spirits surrounding him, and he opens his eyes. Gaze slipping by the congregation of ashy-black, wispy figures and skipping through the ruins of the temple, he brings up a finger to tap thoughtfully against his nose. He’s sure this decrepit building belonged to the Wens, long before the Sunshot Campaign was a seed in the minds of any of the Sects. Conversation with the townsfolk a short distance from here, who had only moved in during the last decade or so, had confirmed it. The temple had been obliterated when the seed bloomed and the fatal fruit was reaped, but it had been beloved by one of their offshoot clans, a place where cultivators and normal folk alike mingled.

With a sudden, stiff movement, Wei Ying springs to his feet. After shaking out his limbs with a few exaggerated moans and limbering himself with even more exaggerated stretching, he begins to wander through the building, followed by a billowing escort of barely-perceptible spirits. It is not a large temple, but he thinks it was once well built and well cared for. There are shattered pieces of frescoes and statues throughout, many painted in long-faded colours, but the fragments he can make out suggest pride of craftsmanship and ownership. Now, dust covers everything, and anything of value has been snatched by greedy fingers. It may as well be a graveyard.

“Ah, it’s such a shame,” Wei Ying comments as he comes to the main hall, just as demolished as the rest. Ghosts are more raucous company than some (and one in particular, with a pretty headband and prettier lips that are altogether too good at pressing together), and many of those here are lonely; they are eager to be heard, in whatever form that takes. Though he knows none of them by name, and they don’t know him, they crowd closer, resonating with his pitying declaration and clamoring to tell their stories. Until the spirit he wants appears, Wei Ying is in no hurry, and sometimes listening is enough to ease those lingering on the border to their final rest.

It’s the least he can do.

The loudest are the saddest and angriest. Many are soldiers or cultivators who died by the sword when the forces of the Qinghe Nie, Lanling Jin, and Yunmeng Jiang Sects took this area and annihilated all who resisted. (And some, the ghosts convey frantically, who did not.) Still others, with their houses and fields burned, died of starvation, their souls screaming their hunger even now. None perished in this building, but, a focal point in life, it has become a focal point in death, too, a place for familiarity when resentment trapped hapless souls and caged them from going further.

Sooner rather than later, he is going to have to ask Lan Zhan to come here and play Rest. It should have been done a long time ago – years and years ago – and Wei Ying only hopes the resentment hasn’t grown too powerful for the lapse.

I am sorry for what happened. It was not just, Wei Ying tells them, the words too heavy to give voice to, and most are grateful to receive his compassion. He wishes he could leave it at that. Let them be soothed by sympathy. But there is a sudden scent in the air, one that’s been plaguing him for weeks now, the ozone reek of discharged electricity. It’s so strong he’s almost surprised that there are no clouds in the sky, no lightning bolts hurling into the ground. So, Wei Ying wishes he could leave them all alone, but he is too good at doing hard things to let a simple wish stop him. He continues, idly twirling Chenqing as he strolls across the hall and out a crumbling archway into what might have once been an enclosed garden, long overgrown. “It’s not really their fault that you died, though. The soldiers who came here, I mean.”

The reaction is immediate. It feels like constricting, like water being sucked out of a bay before a tsunami, like thunder in the distance. An oppressive warning. Not quite dangerous – but it could become deadly. He holds up his hands in appeal to the audience only he can see. The villagers would probably start lighting torches if they saw him wandering about and talking to himself, so it’s lucky they stay away from here. “Think about it. Who began the war? Who gave the first insult? Surely you have all heard of the atrocities the Wen Sect committed, long before the others retaliated.”

Some are too far gone to heed him. They buzz angrily, jarred and jarring in their rejection, and their vehement antagonism stabs into his temples, threatening to spin the world off its axis. That’s fine. The trick to dealing with that is a simple one; Wei Ying’s world hasn’t been on its axis for a very long time now.

He brings Chenqing up, plays a few calming notes. It would be better if no one but the one he’s hunting attacked him. Or none of them did, but Wei Ying isn’t quite as much of an optimist as he pretends to be. He’s been trying to draw the spirit into a conversation for weeks now, whenever he catches a hint of lightning on a breeze or the not-his memory of pressure constricts his throat. (Dancing around Lan Zhan’s blank faced suspicion each time the Chief Cultivator catches him talking to thin air has been a hectic mix of fun and stressful.) His attempts at making contact have been in vain. If even presenting himself at this temple didn’t evoke a response, where the spirit should be most comfortable (unless Wei Ying is wrong about who it is, which would be embarrassing), he can only imagine that the entity’s intentions aren’t entirely peaceful. Given who it might be, they may in fact be the exact opposite of entirely peaceful.  

Which is a shame, because he’s actually beginning to enjoy himself here. This outdoor space is quite pretty, blue and purple wildflowers doted throughout the thicker tangles of green, and his music suits the abandoned atmosphere of the area. There are fractured stone columns here and there, broken by overly enthusiastic purgers, holding up nothing now, but he imagines the temple had some kind of pavilion for enjoying the outdoors in the shade. A long gone comfort, but one that could be brought back with a bit of work. This is the sort of place that welcomes visitors but asks no one to extend their stay. His kind of place.

Eventually he finds what is either a worn bench or a toppled statue, half conquered by the overgrowth, and, after dusting it off, he takes a seat, leans back, and props himself up on his elbows.

If he weren’t communing with a bunch of livid spirits, this would almost feel like one of his informal teaching sessions with the juniors. “Yes, it was the Wen Sect who started all of this. The insults, the degradation, the murders, the puppets… who could stand by when such injustice was going on? I’m sure very few of you knew what Wen Ruohan was doing. You’re all decent people, aren’t you?”

That’s a joke, coming from him, but it settles them down a little, makes them less defensive. All well and good, and still no stronger sign of the presence he’s searching for. Well, he has always said that patience was meant to be tested. “Those that did know, though…” Wei Ying looks around, arches an eyebrow in a chiding expression. Only vaguely wonders if he’s pushing things a little too far. “They’re to blame for all of this. They could have stopped Ruohan if they’d chosen. Cowards, sycophants, bootlickers… they’re the reason for all of your deaths. For all of the death. They –”

The man was, in life, an imperturbable individual, but death does things to a person, things more significant than just stopping the heart. Wei Ying doesn’t know what the final trigger is – the place, the accusation, or maybe the spirit just loses its patience with their game of cat-and-mouse – but regardless, one moment he’s having a delightful garden chat.

The next he’s been heaved off the bench and thrown across the enclosed space, to crash into one of the taller columns with a strangled, “Umph!” while heat and an ozone stench invade his senses.

Wei Ying lands – hard – on his hands and knees, the breath fleeing from his lungs as though it’s finally realized it doesn’t belong there. Wheezing, blood a coppery coating at the back of his throat, he clutches his flute a bit too hard and tries not to regret how differently this fight would have gone in a different life. No time for what-ifs – only time for enthusiastically trying not to pass out from the impact his head had made with the pillar. He doesn’t manage to do more than get unsteadily to his feet before he’s slammed into again, the force too fast and distorted to get a good look at the spirit attacking him.

This time he’s not flung as far, and he lands in a bush – a distinct improvement. Sprawled in the plant, several pointy bits jabbing him in the back, Wei Ying yanks his sleeve off a particularly malevolent twig and jerks Chenqing up. He’s aware of the thing rushing forward – of a pulsing, fragmented, confused rage – of a disconcerting emptiness where the other ghosts were just moments before – (of static anxiety, an old companion) – of Chenqing’s smooth warmth under his fingers as he begins to play –

Of time, pretending to come to a sudden, violent halt.

Just an illusion. With the spirit abruptly suspended before him, caught up in the invisible threads of power cast out from his flute, Wei Ying has a disjointed moment where the overwhelming emotions from his attacker bleed through his vision, painting everything in reds and golds. Anger and anger and not-anger, something he can’t understand, something like the tempered steel of Suibian, flexible and resilient, yet so sharp it could slice a careless wielder.

The spirit is vaguely man-shaped, all blurred edges and flaring shadows. He can’t force it to assume a more distinct form; the mere effort of keeping it still is enough to have sweat pouring down Wei Ying’s skin, sticky between his fingers as he performs a tune that has by now become second nature. This spirit isn’t the most powerful he’s ever encountered, but it comes rudely close. It’s not surprising, exactly, but he’s won this battle before. Maybe he got just a little overconfident.

Lan Zhan is going to be really furious with me, Wei Ying thinks cheerfully, all the better to drown any second-thoughts about not bringing the other man. Because, really, bringing his lover into this specific kind of danger just wasn’t an option.  

He won’t be able to suppress his opponent through Chenqing alone. That much becomes obvious as their stalemate draws on and Wei Ying’s mouth and lips begin to dry. He changes his tune, literally. Broadens it, with only a twinge of guilt. The appeal – a command, really – sings through the air, as pointed as any sword, and begins to draw on several of the ghosts that had scattered when the more powerful spirit revealed itself. He only calls to the angriest, the most formidable in their own right; no point in subjecting the souls of peasants to this demonic contest of wills.

They come, but only reluctantly. More reluctantly than he expected. Harnessing dark spirits for violence is rarely difficult, given that they already want to commit harm. Hell, half of the battle is usually keeping them directed and contained, not getting them to fight at all. Yet these ghosts need to be chided by Chenqing’s stern voice, prodded to do as bidden. Is it fear? Wei Ying doubts that. Very few spirits have maintained their hold on life enough to fear losing it even more.

Regardless, they can only drag their feet (metaphorically speaking), not reject his orders entirely. Before too long, he has all of them sparring with the other spirit, colliding with it and ripping off chunks of smoke-like substances that dissipate into the air as though they were never there. The assault is enough to let Wei Ying heave himself off the (very flattened) bush and, in a quick scramble, begin to search his robe for a few specific talismans.

All the while, the passions of the ghosts haven’t abated. Actually, they’re thunderous, almost a physical pressure wreaking havoc against his thoughts, crushing them into the here and now and nothing else. He can’t understand why fury isn’t the most prevalent emotion of this fight. He can’t understand why the aggressive spirit hasn’t torn apart at least a couple of his minions yet – or done worse. No time for speculation. There’s just the music, pulling his power from him with reckless abandon and carrying his will out in waves that distort the air and exhort his servants to greater efforts.  

His pulse is pounding in his throat, an unpleasant counterpoint to the rhythm his fingers are tapping on Chenqing. Fatigue is a grey murkiness that makes each controlled breath a little more rattling than it should have been, makes every thought just a bit too slow, a bit too hazy. Not for the first time, he wishes Mo Xuanyu had spent a little less time on impeccable face makeup and a little more on his cultivation. Or at least cardio.

Of course, Wei Ying could probably have spent a little less time drinking and a little more time training, so he supposes he should graciously let the man off the hook.

Shoving his power against the spirit is like pushing against a mountain or trying to convince Jiang Cheng to change his mind: a lot of gross sweating and no satisfactory payoff. Or at least, it is until, with a jolt of energy that Wei Ying feels as an agonizing shock straight through his muscle and bones, all the way to his core, the fierce spirit does something to one of its opponents. One that’s latched on and refusing to be shaken off. Some kind of implosion ripples across the other ghost, and there is a screeching wail, cut brutally short, and then… nothing. Wei Ying’s servant is just – gone.

He is concentrating too hard to be able to fully see what happened, but still – he knows. Or remembers. Remembers something he never actually saw happen, but remembers all the same. And abruptly the fear is there, a stranger this time, acidic in his mouth, and the shadow of words he never said come unbidden to his tongue, words like please, no and I’ll do anything and stop, stop, stop. There’s no room amidst the horrified realization for anything like contempt, but somewhere in the groping dread is a tingling empathy, a sour sympathy for things long finished and dead.

He hasn’t ever blamed Jiang Cheng for his fear before, but now Wei Ying’s understanding isn’t just nestled patiently in the core he used to own; it’s throbbing in his heart, coursing through his veins, forcing every artery to personally acknowledge the wrenching terror. His jaw is aching, he realizes numbly, but can’t stop clenching his teeth until a strained sob almost cracks them in its attempt to escape. That startles him, yanks him viciously out of a torture he never experienced, and he slams back into himself and awareness of his surroundings so hard that it practically winds him. With a gasp, Wei Ying flings up his arms, a reflexive attempt to protect himself from –

Nothing.

People have called him lucky before. Blessed. With good looks and a sparkling personality, sure, but he’s never been able to look back on his life and concede that luck had much of a place in it after his adolescence. Now, though…

There really isn’t another word to describe it. While he had been distracted (Wen Qing had mentioned something about possible triggers, but that had been in another body, another life, so why the hell had it carried over to–) Chenqing had clattered to the ground, the music grinding to a halt. With the goad gone, the spirits he’d yoked to his will – the ones still left – had faltered, gone from raging to ragtag in the span of seconds. They’re wandering adrift now, though none of them have left. By rights, they should have turned on him. And if not them, then his enemy should have taken the opportunity to finish what it started.

Lucky indeed.

The spirit is still standing in front of Wei Ying, and of it’s own free will it’s taken on a much clearer form. A distinct face, distinct features, an almost distinct wardrobe. Distinct hands, big and partially covered by fingerless gloves, the kind that remind Wei Ying of an age when holding a sword hilt meant cutting through muscle and bone as if they belonged to monsters. The spirit is currently staring at its hands like it expects them to sprout claws.

It – he – slowly curls his fingers, until they’re formed into shaking fists, and then he looks up. Not at Wei Ying. At the other spirits. “I am sorry,” he says, or projects, or offers, and regardless of how he does it, they understand. Wei Ying can feel the waves of sorrow, of grief, of acceptance. The fury is still there, a frigid undercurrent compared to the warmth of this – this –

What is this? It feels like a reunion, like a meeting between friends or family long parted. The way he stares at the other ghosts, the stream of recognition that links them all, the guilt that has his features crumpling as if he just murdered…

Oh. Oh.

It’s not as if Wei Ying has never used the dearly departed against their loved ones. He has. It’s just that he’s never done it accidentally before. Coming here hadn’t been about that, hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d thought it might draw the spirit out and had forgotten in the process that stone walls and a ceiling don’t make a home. It’s the people who manage that. The people and the soup.

His heart lurches at a rebuke that hasn’t dulled despite how long it’s been. Regret, grief, and guilt are all excellent whetstones, and besides, it hasn’t really been so long for him. Wei Ying feels too sharp, like anything or anyone could be cut by the edge of his shame, and it makes him restive, anxious. He stoops, picks up Chenqing from the ground with silken-soft gentleness, just in case the flute somehow shatters against his jagged margins.

The motion attracts the spirit, but when he looks towards Wei Ying, there’s no spike of rage coming from the restless ghost. The guilt of what he just did has smothered it, and Wei Ying doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the dead man more than he does right in this moment.

He’s not even wary anymore. It’s as if the echo of Jiang Cheng’s fear was too big, too reverberating, its aftershocks clearing his chest of anything too light to resist. Hollowed out, Wei Ying can’t manage to feel much of anything at all. Or maybe that’s just – himself. He’s already been parted with one core. Why should a second threat, against an admittedly shabbier core, be viewed as worse than the first?

Gathering up his black sleeves and linking his hands together, Wei Ying bows to his opponent. Maybe holds it a bit too long, dips a bit too low, making respect into a mockery, but he can’t stop himself. His concern for the safety of Lan Zhan, of the juniors – and especially of Jiang Cheng – has been his sole focus for the last few weeks of investigation into this spirit’s background. However, confronted with a slightly clouded face that suits his slightly clouded recollection, Wei Ying has to acknowledge something that crackles, ugly and vengeful, just below his lips, frozen into a smile.

If he could have chosen to meet anyone from his past life, ascended to the Heavens or buried in Hell, Wen Zhuliu would probably have been close to last on the list.    

[things2mustdo]

We hear the word a lot, it’s what separates males from females and men from boys. So what exactly is it? It is the principle male sex hormone and acts as an anabolic steroid. Having lower testosterone can have horrendous effects on men: decreased muscle mass, weight gain, reduced energy levels, and lower libido.

In a study conducted by VA Puget Sound Health Care Systems and the University of Washington, Seattle, found that “about 19 percent  had low testosterone levels; 28 percent  had varying low and normal levels”. In addition, testosterone levels decrease 1.5% every year after age 30. Which means you become less of a man every year past age 30. It was also found that “men with low testosterone levels had an 88 percent increase in risk of death compared with those who had normal levels”.

So with all this negativity, is there any hope for man? Yes.

There are plenty of ‘natural’ ways to increase your testosterone levels.

1. Vitamin D3. This vitamin has been linked to increasing testosterone in men and increasing sex drive. (Source)

2. Eat your steak and whole eggs. Testosterone is derived from cholesterol. Sure egg whites and grilled chicken might be a great way to get your protein in, but cutting the red meat and yolks won’t help raise your testosterone. Eggs are very nutrient dense, eat the yolks and reap the benefits. Same goes along with red beef, enjoy your steak. (Source)

3. Workout. Pushing and pulling heavy weights in a compound movement (squats, deadlifts, benching, clean and press, etc.) cause a hormonal change in the body, producing more testosterone (with proper diet of course). (Source)

4. Avoid sugar. It will increase your insulin levels. Not only is that linked to weight gain, but also a reduction in testosterone levels. (Source)

5. Eat your fats. Don’t leave out olive oil, peanut oils, avocados, egg yolks, nuts, and red meat (grass fed). (Source)

Just following these few points can have a dramatic effect on increasing your testosterone levels; your sex drive will rocket, your hard work from the gym will start to show, and women will be so turned on by your pheromones. Moral of the story: don’t underestimate the most important hormone in your body, it’s THAT important.

https://www.returnofkings.com/152812/10-ways-that-modern-society-lowers-your-testosterone-levels

It is no surprise that the current world agenda seeks to destroy men from within but also from the outside at the same time. Only by attacking from all angles can their plans come to fruition. We do not know exactly when this attack started, but in recent years, it has become clear that the intensity of the current agenda’s intentions has increased tenfold.

Why are men targeted? Could it be the fact that by reducing the amount of true men with testes they reduce the chances that authentic revolutions against oppressive governments will happen? Any voice of reason against a corrupt society would swiftly be silenced. It happened 2,000 years ago (Jesus), and it is happening now more aggressively than it has ever happened in history.

Let’s see how men are being targeted for total destruction and implicitly and how to avoid these attacks…

1. Our Food Is Filled With Hormones, Antibiotics And Pesticides

Hormones are abundantly in beef, chicken or dairy products. We eat these daily, however, the hormones have an impact on a man’s health. Testosterone levels are lowered and estrogen levels increase. Manboobs, anyone?

Pesticides are well known chemicals that cause infertility and lower testosterone levels. Yet non-organic vegetables and fruits are abundant in life threatening toxins.

2. Cycling And Jogging

Doing physical activities is so beneficial that writing down all the benefits here would take forever. Yet there are a few physical activities which are unhealthy for the human body. Those kind of activities which have never been done by our ancestors.

For obvious reasons, cycling is unnatural because it uses an invented device. Constant pressure on the testes leads to infertility, reduces testosterone production and diseases.

Like cycling, jogging is an unnatural activity. Our ancestors would either walk or sprint, never jog. It is a useless activity. Jogging and cycling are activities which put continuous and constant stress on the body, leading to an overall decrease in testosterone over time. Do you think it is a coincidence that so much emphasis is being put on activities such as jogging and cycling?

3. Blue Light Bulbs

Blue light exposure has been linked to decreased testosterone levels. It is everywhere. Naturally occurring only in the morning when it helps the body wake up, nowadays we see it right until we close our eyes and go to bed. It is in our phone and computer screens, but most importantly, it is used to illuminate our rooms, bedside lamps and our offices.

Due to “environmental” reasons, it was decided that the classic incandescent bulb uses up too much energy, therefore it is better to use the new LED bulbs with carcinogenic gases.

You can’t run and you can’t hide. These blue-light bulbs are everywhere, creating anxiety and making us feel constantly tired. A tired mind is easy to control, and so is a low testosterone individual.

4. Our Drinking Water Is Filled With Female Hormones

Let me explain. The tap water that you drink also contains treated and cleaned water from our toilets, no mystery here. What we don’t know is that the hormones from a female’s period are flushed down with this same water. Chlorine does not remove hormones, it removes bacteria.

Drinking bottled water could be a solution, but then again, the plastic is also carcinogenic and also lowers our testosterone. Unless we have our own spring, we are fucked.

5. Sugar

Sugar reduces our metabolism to that of a sloth and promotes cancer. It also dramatically lowers our will to do anything meaningful with our lives. It takes down our testosterone due to our bodies prioritizing insulin production. It is addictive, more so than heroin, as proven on lab rats.

6. Aspartame

In an effort to soothe the minds of people concerned with sugar, they have created an even worst product called aspartame. Aspartame produces neurotoxins that excite our nerve cells so much that they die. However, our brain protects itself with a barrier from excess neurotoxins. If the barrier is passed, neurons are killed. The pituitary and pineal glands are also affected, leading to a disruption in our circadian natural rhythm.

Aspartame lowers testosterone and avid consumers would require a prolonged time for their testosterone to recover.

7. Veganism

Veganism is another new fad that keeps people excited about healthy lifestyles. What they don’t know is that this diet is aimed at reducing our aggressiveness and making us docile animals like say… sheep.

Go ahead and tame a lion. Obviously, veganism lowers testosterone and the lack of vitamins and nutrients, which I will explain in future articles, further leads to a pale and unforgiving future for our bodies and brains.

8. Soy

Soy has been part of the hype train of miraculous natural super foods for some decades now. Soy is an estrogenic food and guess what? It lowers your testosterone.

It should be simple by now: anything that is being promoted by the mainstream media should be considered false and damaging to our well-being.

9. The War On Fats

This is another worldwide mass deception promoted by the mainstream doctors and media. Fat is actually healthy and it helps reduce cholesterol due to the fact that if the body receives external cholesterol, then it does not need to produce it on its own, which would lead to the bad cholesterol in our blood.

Testosterone feeds on cholesterol. The higher amount of testosterone you will have, the lower your cholesterol will be. And the more external cholesterol you bring in, the more the testosterone can thrive and increase.

Eating fat meat will increase your health and improve  your metabolism (unless you have some condition, in which case you should seek a doctor’s advice).

10. Coffee

Yes exactly, coffee. Caffeine is poison used by plants to protect themselves. Guess what happens when you ingest coffee every day?

Coffee depletes the adrenal glands responsible for regulating our hormones. Combined this with stress and we are sure to fall into an adrenal exhaustion. Testosterone is also one of those hormones, and when the adrenal glands become depleted, there is no way to produce any free or total testosterone within your body.

It takes three weeks to get rid of caffeine. Do you know why caffeine produces bowel movements? Because the body wants to get rid of the poison.

Conclusion

In case you are wondering what would be the best course of action to avoid exposure to factors that are detrimental to our health, the solution is as always simple: life should be lived the way it was meant to, in accordance with nature.

[homestuck-kinstuff]

Could i get a tarot reading for my Daveraneasprite (Davesprite, aranea Serket, bec) timeline? (Did you get my art req? Im not sure, but i dont wanna annoy anybody,)

Hello Davearaneasprite, (@o0starlight0o)

Sorry for the delay, things had started to catch up to us a little bit. You can absolutely have a reading. 💜

I have the details for you below the cut:

Beginning

The Hierophant, Upright:

For clarity's sake, this card will represent Davearaneasprite's beginning, when they were first formed. It will tell nothing about Davesprite's, Bequeral's or Aranea's timelines.

The Hierophant embodies the bounds of tradition. What is tried and true is valued: now is not the time to strike out to uncharted waters. He can also represent the pursuit of knowledge, or a spiritual guide.

When you were first formed, you were likely very good at what sprites are supposed to do: guide their players through the complexities of the game. Between Davesprite's inherent savvy-ness, Aranea's gift of gab, and Bequeral's godhood, you had the potential to be an incredibly helpful player aid.

It's likely you were created to help players solve a game-centric problem, whether through direct player interference, or through an indirect mostly-happenstance-but-also-on-purpose kind of bullshit that so often found within the confines of S'Grub and S'Burb.

It's likely you advised the players to stick by the rules of the game at all costs.

Middle

10 of Wands, Upright:

You've been working extremely hard in order to bring something to fruition. Just before reaching your goal, however, you're finding yourself overburdened with the responsibility you created for yourself.

When reaching the final stages of the plan (whatever issue you were called into existence to help resolve, whether that be a major conflict on the timeline, or many nuanced issues scattered about) you suddenly found yourself overwhelmed.

You took on too much, and the strain is beginning to show. Why weren't you delegating tasks to the other players?

Did you not trust the other players to competently do what needed done? Did it seem easier for you to just do everything yourself? Or did your players have too much faith in you, pushing too much on your plate because of your seeming omnipotence?

Regardless, things were quite difficult for you during this time.

Towards the End

4 of Cups, Upright:

The 4 of Cups describes the experience of being so wrapped up in your own thoughts, you are blind to the goodness the world is laying at your feet. Even though your intentions are noble, you run the risk of treating the world with apathy.

It's uncertain whether or not you succeeded, or even if the final stages of your plan have begun. But it's very likely that you were extremely preoccupied with the machinations of it, the planning, the worrying, all the little metaphorical moving parts.

This preoccupation caused you to withdraw, think things through again and again. You likely withdrew emotionally from those around you, finding it harder and harder to see and hear outside of the chatter in your own head.

There were likely good things happening around you, trivial-seeming silliness that brings folks together. You likely found it difficult to participate, if even you were there at all.

Challenges

2 of Swords, Upright:

The 2 of Swords represents a very difficult choice. There is no clear "right" answer, as both options are almost exactly equally beneficial and detrimental in different ways. But one thing is obvious, to progress, a clear stance needs to be taken.

The near-omnipotence that came with your particular brand of spritehood was likely both a blessing and a curse. It's very possible that having access to so much knowledge likely created very many stalemates when decisions had to be made. It's also possible you'd have to fight the game's influence if what needed to be done went outside of the game's rules.

Another possibility is that is card represents a more specific difficulty. One impossible choice you had to make that was so hard, it took precedence as the greatest challenge you had to face in your timeline.

How you Faced it

The Tower, Reversed:

The Tower represents disaster. Absolute upheaval of everything you hold dear. Reversed as it is, it speaks to a desperate avoidance of that destruction.

An incredibly painful event is on the horizon, and you are avoiding it with all your strength, at all costs. It paralyzes you to think about.

This decision you had to make, regardless of what you chose, likely paved the way for this disaster. So, in your infinite wisdom, you never let yourself make that choice, delaying a terribly inevitable end.

You

3 of Cups, Upright:

A lovely card, representative of a warm and lively gathering of friends. You're blessed with loving relationships and camaraderie, investing time in the people you love.

You are, at your core, someone who thrives in the midst of many friendships. You're a people person, (whether or not this is in a very extroverted way,) and you love getting to know new folks.

You likely craved attention from the people around you, and began to wilt (whether you realized it or not) if you went too long without it. People are your passion, your strength, and your greatest weakness.

The End

6 of Wands, Upright:

This is a lovely card that represents a very public, very loud and joyful celebration of success after a period of hard work.

It's possible you succeeded in your mission, the game was beaten and successfully won. You lived out a happy, peaceful life after the end of everything, enjoying the reward with your new friends, before a peaceful death at an old age.

However, it's also very possible when your teammates went to collect the ultimate reward, as a game construct you were not allowed to collect the reward alongside your peers. You would stay inside the game as it ended. Therefore, the success itself would have brought about your demise.

Advice

Temperance, Upright:

Temperance is all about balance, about finding it in yourself, and the world around you.

Now is the time to find balance- to reap inner peace through cultivation of that balance.

Take an honest look at yourself, at your life. Where are you spread too thin? Where are you not giving the attention that is needed?

Take a step back and breathe. Let yourself settle.

9 of Pentacles, Upright:

After much hard work, this card indicates a time of luxury and satisfaction and peace. It's implied by this card that everything gained is due to one's intelligence and self-control, and that the fruits of this labor are those that can be enjoyed over a lifetime.

Take a load off, my dear. You've already put the work in, and your satisfaction is well deserved. Now you can relax and enjoy what your hard work has grown- a time of peace for you and your loved ones.

2 of Pentacles, Upright:

This card represents the need for balance in the midst of rapid continuous change, and the sense that this sort of change has become "the norm" for you. It also implies that you've been extremely resilient and flexible with it.

The nature of spritehood is unexpected, and often comes with rapid unavoidable change. It would be good for you to remember that you have been, are, and will be incredibly talented at handling change as it comes for you.

You are well equipped to handle whatever life throws at you, darling. Keep that in mind when things seem scary. 💜

As always dear, you would know your timeline better than I. These are your memories, not mine. If something doesn't feel right, it likely isn't.

If any part of this reading doesn't strike a chord with you, I'd heartily recommend looking into the meaning of the card in question yourself. Tarot cards have many meanings, and another interpretation may make more sense to you. 💜

Kind Regards,

🌹Mod Rose🌹

[javistg]

A Second Chance. CH2.

Finally! After months and months, here’s the second chapter of my submission to this year’s @everlarkficexchange

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird]

If you haven’t read it yet, you can find Chapter 1 HERE.

You can also find the entire fic on FF.net and AO3

Ok, here it goes. Tell me what you think.

A Second Chance. CH2.

It's still early when Katniss, Prim, Gale, and Rory reach the Meadow.

There's a handful of young merchant couples visiting the booths their neighbors have set up, and a few kids from the Seam; older teenagers like Gale and Katniss with their younger siblings in tow. But most people are still at home.

Some are waiting for their parents —who have to get off work and wash up before going out. Others are waiting for the Capitol construction crew to be done with the reaping stage; because they can't stomach the idea of celebrating anything while the clanging of hammers and the buzz of drills and chainsaws fill the air with their monotonous soundtrack —a prelude of the pain which will accompany them in the weeks to follow.

Hand in hand, Katniss and Prim explore the stalls with the two Hawthorne brothers trailing close behind.

Mr. Donner's booth is the first to catch their eye. His array of gumdrops and colorful candied fruits makes Prim and Rory smile.

"Maybe we could get something from here this time," Prim says.

Rory bites his lip. "Let's check the other booths before we decide. Yeah?"

Prim agrees, and the group keeps on walking.

Their next stop is in front of Mrs. Kipling, the greengrocer, who sells popcorn and an assortment of nuts. This time, it's Gale who pushes them to move on.

By the time they reach Mr. Porter —the barkeeper who sometimes buys Prim's cheese— a small line has begun to form. His tart lemonade and iced mint tea are crowd-pleasers on warm summer days and, once night falls and the crowds start to thin, he'll pull out the stronger stuff. The line will be even longer then.

The last stall belongs to the bakery. Katniss spots Rye selling butter cookies, small cheese buns, and pound cake by the slice. That's why Peeta's at the bakery today, she muses as her group comes to a stop.

"OK, guys, now that we've seen everything, what would you like?" Gale asks.

Just like last time, Rory and Prim begin debating over what to get. Rory prefers popcorn, but they already had some at the last market fair, and Prim argues that it's her turn to choose.

Katniss smiles fondly as they squabble. Despite everything, Prim and Rory can still behave like children sometimes.

When they finally ask for her opinion, Katniss casually mentions the candied apples she remembers everyone enjoyed.

With all parties in agreement, Gale and Katniss pool their coins together. "We could also get some pistachios," he suggests after counting them.

"I'll get them," Rory quickly offers.

With a nod, Gale puts the coins in his brother's open hand.

The simple gesture tugs at Katniss's heart. Gale is done with school already. In a few more days, he'll start working in the mines, and everyone in his family will have to take on new roles and new responsibilities.

Just like Katniss, Gale's kept his siblings from taking on too many obligations but —regardless of what happens in the morning— lighthearted, innocent Rory, will have to start acting more and more like a grownup now.

With their apple and pistachios, the group walks away from the stands. After searching for a bit, they settle to eat under one of the tall trees lining the Meadow.

It's a sunny afternoon. The sounds of construction have finally been replaced by the cheerful song of the blackbirds perched high on the branches above them, and the green expanse is quickly filling up with people who are eager to enjoy the balmy weather and take a stroll.

Katniss is still laughing at one of Rory's silly jokes when she notices Peeta walking on the opposite side of the Meadow.

Once again, she's struck by how good he looks. The white shirt and khaki trousers he's wearing are humble and worn —a far cry from the stylish clothes Portia will design for him— but they make him look young and wholesome.

Her heart speeds up as she sees him brush a blond wave from his face. This is the boy she remembers when she closes her eyes; the one who stood by her even when they were little more than acquaintances; the one who Snow took away.

The last thought makes her so sad that she has to avert her eyes.

Next to her, Prim chews the last of her apple, and smacks her lips in appreciation once the treat is gone.

Encouraged by her sister's happiness, Katniss looks back up. Peeta's not alone anymore. Delly and her brother, Sam, have joined him.

As the trio reach the stand with the sweets, Katniss sees a fourth person. A slim merchant girl with big round eyes and strawberry blond hair who immediately takes her place next to Peeta when she joins the group.

Peeta turns to greet the girl and gets a pleasant smile in return.

The candied apple turns to lead in Katniss's stomach as she watches the exchange.

Dizzy, her mind speeds through a jumble of memories from the last two years and comes back empty. She's sure. Peeta never said anything about courting anyone else.

Her disappointment teeters on the brink of rage —hot and blinding, the kind that courses through her like molten lava and makes her want to smash vases and claw at people's faces. But she knows she can't do any of that, so she clenches her fists and sets her jaw to keep it contained.

Peeta turns to Sam, who's waving his arms around as he explains something, and he and Delly laugh.

The exchange reminds Katniss of Delly's words, "I used to tell people he was my brother." They certainly look like siblings, she thinks as her fists open up and relax.

The pretty merchant girl looks at her shoes; her cheeks have turned pink. She's embarrassed. It's a small detail —the fact that this girl seems ill-at-ease with her companions— but it's enough to put Katniss's mind at rest. With astonishing speed, her anger ebbs.

Exhausted after the emotional upheaval, Katniss looks down. Staring at the thin layer of dust covering her boots, she wonders --once again-- what she's doing there. Why was she sent back to witness this? She doesn't need to see Peeta talking to some other girl!

"You OK there, Catnip?" Gale asks with a soft pat on her shoulder.

Forcing on a smile, Katniss looks up. Rory and Prim are also staring at her, waiting for an answer. "Yeah." She points to her throat and coughs. "I think I swallowed through the wrong pipe."

"Want me to get you some water?" Gale offers.

She shakes her head no and clears her throat again for effect.

Satisfied that she's all right, the group resumes their conversation.  

Looking past Prim's shoulder, Katniss follows Peeta and his friends as they move on to the next stand.

The group stops to talk to Mrs. Kipling. They all smile, and even laugh politely at something Katniss can't hear —something she can't even begin to guess— and she's struck by how little she knows about this particular period in Peeta's life.

She's always assumed the baker's son never approached her because he thought she was with Gale —and because the Seam-Merchant divide would have probably made things hard for him at home— but she never considered that there might have been someone else; some sweet merchant girl who laughed at his jokes and wore pretty dresses or endured uncomfortable situations to try to please him.

She's about to make up an excuse to flee the scene and go find a dark closet in which to hide when a piece of an old conversation comes back to her mind.

"So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" Katniss had asked back in the cave of their first Game—back when she was trying to get sponsors, and she thought Peeta was just making up stories as he went along.

"No," Peeta had answered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, "I noticed just about every other girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you."

That's all it takes for what remains of her sorrow to go away. A memory.

Peeta's words —the old Peeta's words— are all the reassurance she needs. A reminder that through it all, she's always been on his mind. Yes, there might have been other girls —he's never denied it— but she's always been the most important one, and he has proven it over, and over, and over again.

As she sits there, nestled between her sister and Gale, she knows no one watching could say the same about her.

"Want some?" Gale offers the bag of pistachios. As she takes it into her small hands, she can't help but think about him back in Thirteen wearing a soldier's uniform and sneaking her food from his plate.

She hasn't said anything, talking to Gale about the "deep stuff" has never been easy, but she's grateful for his friendship over the last few weeks, and for the fact that he seems to have put his feelings aside. It's as if he's stepped down. As if he knows, even without her saying it, that she's made her choice.

As she sees him now --joking and laughing with their siblings, blissfully unaware of what the world is about to unleash on them-- she has to admit that she hasn't been very fair to him, either. Whether she's meant to or not, through her silence, she's also been stringing him along.

Not this time, she promises.

Peeta and his group reach the bakery's stand. A few feet away, a handful of vendors are already setting up the bonfire.

While Rye talks to his brother's companions, Peeta slips his hands into his pockets and scans the crowd. When he finds Katniss sitting under the tree, he stills. His smile falters.

All the way across the Meadow, Katniss reads the self-doubt, the all too familiar question in his eyes. "Did I misunderstand?"

"You didn't!" She wants to yell at him. But she doesn't. She can't. She knows what he sees: Gale and her, laughing and sharing a bag of nuts.

Enough!

Katniss pushes the bag of pistachios into Gale's hands. She stands up and brushes the bits of nut dust which have fallen on her lap. "Alright, I'm off!"

Gale raises a questioning eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"To the bonfire. I'm meeting a friend there."

Her answer does nothing to satisfy Gale's curiosity. "A friend? Who?"

Katniss crosses her arms and glares at her hunting partner. "What is this, Twenty Questions? You're not the only person I know, you know?"

"I didn't say I was…" Gale shrugs. "I just—,"

The look of utter confusion on his face makes her laugh. This is what I would have done back then, she realizes. I would have just laughed. Because, while I owe him honesty, I don't owe him any explanations.

She's still smiling when she adds, "I'll see you later." Her eyes find Prim's --if her sister is surprised by this sudden change in plans, she doesn't show it. "Are you going to meet up with Penny now?"

"Yeah," Prim points to the spot where the main road from the Seam reaches the Meadow. "She's meeting me there in a few minutes."

"All right. Come find me when you're ready to go home. OK, little duck?"

With Prim's assurance, Katniss spins on her heels and begins to walk towards the line of booths and the bonfire beyond.

As soon as she makes Peeta out in the distance, her heart skips a beat. He's standing to the side of the pile of kindle which will soon become a roaring fire; chin up, back straight. His blue eyes, a reflection of the summer sky above, follow her every move.

XXXXX

"Hey!" Peeta says as soon as Katniss is close enough to hear him over the ruckus of people lugging the large pieces of wood they'll use for the bonfire.

"Been here long?" she asks.

"No," He points in the general direction of the booths. "I just took a quick look at the stalls with Delly and the others."

"The others?"

"Yeah. Sam and… Lena."

"Lena?" The warm tendrils of embarrassment creep up her neck and color her cheeks. She knows she's being nosy, but his hesitation intrigues her.

"The carpenter's daughter," Peeta explains. When Katniss doesn't say anything, he adds. "She's one year below us in school."

"Ah!" Katniss nods— as if Lena's age is enough to explain why she's never heard of her before— and then, because she simply can't stop herself, she asks, "You're friends with her?"

"Um…" Peeta glances around. His eyes dart through the people around them, but they can't seem to settle anywhere.

If Katniss didn't know any better, she'd think he was trying to come up with a lie, but she knows that's not the case. Peeta is a smooth liar, and he's only hesitating because he wants to tell her the truth. The fact that he's having such a hard time coming up with the right words makes her uneasy.  

Peeta's eyes finally find a neutral place to land --Katniss is not surprised to discover he's chosen her braid. He did that sometimes, she remembers.

"We're not friends," he says, somewhat defensively. "We're… acquaintances… I guess. I don't really know her that well… yet."

Katniss nods. She doesn't need any more explanations, she gets it. Peeta's relationship with Lena isn't really about friendship —or romance— it's about practicality; about planning ahead.

District 12 isn't big enough to have three bakers —four if you count Peeta's father. It seems that the Mellarks have started looking for an alternative trade for their third son.

It's much too early to guarantee a wedding, of course. Engagements can be broken, and Peeta and Lena still have a few more reapings ahead of them, but that hasn't stopped their families from trying to find an advantageous match for their children.

A sad smile lifts Katniss's lips as her heart slowly takes in the news. Peeta, her old Peeta, the boy who once told Panem he'd had a crush on her for as long as he could remember, is currently engaged to a girl he barely knows.

She wants to be mad at him for never telling her; for allowing his jealousy over Gale to fuel his anger when it was him who was involved with someone else all along. But she can't. Not when he's here, standing right in front of her and ignoring all others; risking his mother's wrath and his father's disappointment just to spend a few minutes with a stubborn girl from the Seam who still hasn't thanked him for saving her life.  

The flash of a memory breaks through her thoughts, and she sees Peeta walking out of the room after agreeing to marry her.

That was the second time that choice was taken away from him. Katniss thinks. No wonder he was so upset.

This new realization floors her, but the fleeting stab of pain she feels for having put Peeta through that useless charade acts like a wake up call, a reminder of the hatred she harbors for President Snow and her need to be rid of him.

Before the darkness can pull her any deeper, Katniss asks, "Want to take a walk?"

"Sure!" A hint of relief paints Peeta's smile as he signals to the field behind him. "Lead the way."

Resisting the urge to slip her hand in his, Katniss leads them behind the line of booths and towards the fence. Some people are already walking there to escape a bit from the crowd, so it's not as if they're alone, but the air is fresher, and it's far less noisy. With the woods so close by, she can even hear herself think.  

"So… last day of school, huh?" Peeta says.

"Yup. Got any plans for the summer?"

"The usual: help out at the bakery, watch the recaps… You?"

Katniss smiles, this conversation is so painfully ordinary, so utterly conventional. It's like no conversation they've ever had, and yet, it feels like the most promising one ever. Eager to keep it going, she answers, "The usual: help out at home, trade, watch the recaps…"

Peeta laughs. "Looks like there's not that much to do around here."

They're about to reach the place where the grass turns to gravel when Katniss stops and reaches for Peeta's elbow. "Listen, I need to tell you something."

Peeta stops. His eyes flit between the point where she's touching his arm and her face. "You OK?"

Katniss nods. She wants to say that, "Yes, she's fine --perfect even," but she can't. Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and she's as nauseous as if a swarm of angry tracker jackers was buzzing in her stomach, but she can't turn back now.

With trembling fingers, Katniss slips her hand into her hunting bag and pulls out a bundle —as wide and long as her extended palm— wrapped in a worn linen handkerchief. "Thank you," she says, presenting Peeta with the package.

Peeta's jaw drops. "What for?" Too stunned for words, he shakes his head. "I haven't—,"

"For the bread," she cuts in trying to keep her voice from cracking.

Peeta stands still, looking at the bundle like it's a piece of the moon that has somehow landed in her hands.

"From when we were kids," she adds, hoping the words he once told her will help him understand.

It works. Peeta's eyes open wide, and she knows: he remembers. "Katniss, that—,"

"That was ages ago," she finishes for him. "I know. I should have said something sooner." She pushes the little bundle in her hands towards him once again. "I know this isn't much. But…"

Tears pool in her eyes and she tries to blink them away, but she's too late; a couple of them run down her cheeks, past her neck, and land on the faded linen blouse she carefully chose for her first outing with the boy with the bread.

Embarrassed by her display, Katniss wipes her cheeks dry with the back of her hand. Peeta's tentative touch on her elbow stills her motions.

"Katniss, please don't cry."

She nods, smiling a little through her tears. "I just need you to know that I remember --that I could never forget-- because without that bread my sister and I wouldn't be here today."

Peeta's eyes glisten with the tears he hasn't shed, the tears he's trying so hard to keep inside because this is the second time they've ever spoken, and he doesn't want to look like the kind of person who can't control his emotions.

But she knows better —and she knows him— and she knows he's hurting because, even though he did plenty, Peeta's always wished he could have done more.

"Katniss, I—,"

Once again, she offers her gift. "Just take it, please?"

Peeta's hands wrap around the small parcel holding it as carefully as if it were a bomb. "OK. But, just so we're clear, you didn't need to do this. Seriously, you don't owe me anything."

They've had this conversation before, so she knows he means it. It was the kind of thing that drove her mad about him, the fact that he could do something without expecting anything in return. She used to think it was because he was a pampered brat, a son of privilege who could afford to hand out tokens and ponder about the injustices of the world because he had everything he needed and more, but she knows better now.

Peeta's life is far from perfect, but he's still generous, and kind… and incredibly stubborn, and she's not going to waste the precious time they have left by arguing with him.

With an exaggerated eye roll that shows him she doesn't agree, she lets the matter drop. "Yeah, yeah. Open it," she instructs.

With the same delicate movements he uses to frost the most detailed cookies, Peeta unwraps the little bundle. Six brand new pencils, a different color each, appear on his palm.

As if afraid that someone might snatch them away, Peeta closes his hand over the pencils and brings it to his chest. "How did you know?"

Katniss shrugs. "I guessed. I knew you decorated the cakes and the cookies, so I figured that maybe you like to draw, too."

"I do. I just…" Peeta looks down at the bunch of pencils. He's holding them so tightly she fears he might break them, but the look of awe in his eyes tells her he won't.

"So…," Katniss nods towards the pencils when she can't take the silence anymore, "are they OK?"

Peeta beams at her —infatuation written all over his face. He looks so radiant and handsome that she has to wrap her arms around herself to keep from reaching out and touching him.

"Of course, they are, Katniss, they're perfect!" His cheeks turn pink as he unwraps the pencils to take a better look. "I've never had anything like this before. My father used to give us bits of chalk to play around with when we were little, but I've never had a set of new pencils all of my own. I…," His eyes find hers. They're still a bit shy, but there's a glint of seriousness in them she knows all too well. "Are you sure this is OK?"

"Yes." She nods for emphasis.

The old Katniss, the one who lived this day the first time, wouldn't have agreed —buying six brand new pencils was an extravagance she couldn't afford. But this Katniss, the one who has been through two arenas and who knows her sister is about to be reaped, has decided that giving Peeta those pencils and settling that debt is far more important than keeping her coins under the mattress because, if history repeats itself, her mother and Prim won't need the money; and, if it doesn't… Well... she'll just have to work harder during the summer to make up for the loss.

"Thank you, Katniss," Peeta says, wrapping the pencils back in the handkerchief and slipping them into his pocket.

Now that the conversation is over, Katniss breathes easier. With a quick glance, she takes in their surroundings.

The summer fair is in full swing. The area with the stalls is crowded, people wait in line to buy one last glass of lemonade or a bag of popcorn while the group of men who were carrying the wood earlier lights the bonfire. To the side of the blaze, a three-man band strums their guitars with a lively tune. Couples from both parts of town have gathered around them, they smile and clap, tapping their feet in time with the music.

The smell of smoke and gardenias fills the air now that the sun is about to set. Before long, everyone will be dancing.

"Want to walk a little longer?" Peeta asks so shyly it makes her heart ache.

"We could take a turn along the fence," she suggests as she starts walking.

Peeta falls in step with her. His heavy footfalls crush every leaf and twig in their path. "So… um. What's your favorite color?"

Katniss bursts out laughing. She can't believe they're having this conversation again. They're exactly where she hoped they'd be.

Peeta tilts his head to look at her, eyebrows squished together in confusion. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know, it's just… Why do you want to know that?"

"Well… I like colors. They're everywhere." Looking back at the Meadow, he adds, "There's an entire language hidden in the shapes and shades that surround us —a language that speaks of life's moments, of the connections we make, the bonds we forge— but its words are constantly changing. I'd like to capture them, to commit them to paper so I can remember them --enjoy them-- even after they're gone."

Katniss smiles. She's never heard him say those things before, but she's seen the things he can do. The moments and ideas he can capture on paper. I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever. Her mind whispers.

Before her memories can pull her down the rabbit hole of pain and longing she knows all too well, she mumbles, "It's green."

"Green?" Peeta's smile is so infectious she finds herself mirroring it as she nods in confirmation.

With a sigh, Katniss turns to look out into the woods. The sun is setting behind the mountains. A spectacular orange and yellow blaze lights the sky behind the tall firs and maples that surround the district.

"And you?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer. "What's your favorite color?"

Peeta looks up to the sky. "See that band of golden orange lighting the clouds?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That's it."

XXXXX

They spend the next hour walking along the edge of the Meadow; never too far from the action, but not too close either.

As they walk, they talk about things that are at once familiar and somehow entirely new and, before she knows it, they're already laughing together.

As they're about to turn around, Peeta gets a bit more serious and talks about his brothers. He says he's happy for Bran —who is about to get married to someone he loves— and a little envious of Rye, who's one reaping away from aging out.

Katniss listens, savoring his words and smiling at the things he says; not because she's supposed to --like she once did-- but because she's happy to be there with him and wants to hear everything he has to say.

When he asks about Prim, Katniss's eyes light up. Pride warms her words as she tells him as much as she can about her baby sister without bursting into tears.

Peeta listens and nods at all the right moments. The warmth in his eyes makes her feel beautiful and cherished. Under his gaze, she grows stronger and more powerful than she's been in months.  

By the time they reach the bonfire again, night has fallen over District 12. The merchant booths are closing, and people have gathered to watch their friends and neighbors take a spin on a makeshift dance floor in front of the blaze. The crowd raises their voices in a happy song to keep the fear of the reaping at bay.  

"I should go find Prim," Katniss says. "It's getting late."

With a curt nod, Peeta slips his hands in his pants' pockets. She's half expecting to see him bounce in place in that self-soothing tick of his when, instead, he stills. "Will you go out with me again?" he asks.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak and then closes it back again —suddenly unsure— but, before her brain can come up with an excuse to override her instincts, she blurts, "Sure. I'd like that."

Peeta's easy smile returns. They're so close to the bonfire now that the blaze lights up his face and makes him glow.

Forget about prep teams and fancy clothes, Katniss thinks, Peeta doesn't need Cinna and his artificial embers, he can dazzle the world just like this.

She's so mesmerized by him that, for a split second, she considers throwing herself into his arms and kissing him like she did in the cave… or on the beach. This could be our first kiss. Right here, without cameras, without careers, without mutts.

Her heart is beating madly, her hands longing to reach out, but she stops herself. It's just not right. The Peeta standing before her barely knows her. He's probably not opposed to kissing her, but he wouldn't understand.

Utterly oblivious to her reckless thoughts, Peeta asks, "Maybe we could do something tomorrow, you know? Um… after?"

After. One small word is all it takes to bring Katniss back to reality and to send her heart plummeting to her feet. Trying to keep the dread in her bones from taking over, she says, "That sounds good."

"I'll go find you once it's over."

Katniss nods, desperate for the conversation to be over. She doesn't want to ruin the beautiful afternoon they just spent with her tears, but the reminder of the upcoming reaping has sucked all the air out of her. "I'll be at the back… with Prim and my mother."

Peeta dips his head in a small kind of bow and takes a step back, putting some distance between them as if releasing her. "Go find Prim," he says --looking at her with that mix of admiration and tenderness which made her so uncomfortable in the past, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Overcome with a surge of affection, Katniss brings her hand to her chest. Her traitorous heart beats madly under her palm —asking Peeta to come back. "See you tomorrow," she repeats, ignoring the blood pounding in her veins as she turns on her heel to go find her sister.

XXXXX

It's a long night.

Katniss lays in bed, unable to sleep. Alone. Peeta is back in town, --sleeping in his old bedroom above the bakery for what will be the last time— and Prim has chosen the comfort of her mother's arms tonight. With no one to stop her, the huntress tosses and turns as she anxiously awaits the break of dawn

Trying to pass the time, Katniss reviews her plans for the following days: Go out into the woods tomorrow, and then to the town square. Volunteer for Prim. Get Haymitch to put the bottle down and help us. Follow Cinna's instructions. Train. Breeze through my interview with Caesar, and act surprised when Peeta declares his love for me. Go to the arena. Lay low until I can partner up with Peeta. Stay alive.

Her throat constricts as she tries to keep herself from crying. It's not an easy plan. There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong —things she didn't notice the first time, but that could come back and bite her.

An then there's the people. She can't wait to see Cinna and Portia again —alive and well and thriving— but she's not looking forward to watching Rue and all the others die. And still, she knows she can't stop their deaths either. Her knowledge doesn't give her that kind of power.

What she can do, however, is make sure that her fellow tributes don't die in vain. This time around, she'll make sure that their deaths mean something; that their names aren't forgotten; that their blood isn't washed away.

This time, she'll make sure that President Snow is the one who pays.

[kamerionbeaudry91]

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[kalki-tarot]

Guidance from the universe you need right now. 🪷

Timeless pick a pile reading. ✨️

Disclaimer : tarot is not 100% accurate. This reading is just of entertainment purposes. I'm not responsible for any decision(s) you make on behalf of my readings. Your life is in your own hands. Tarot is just a tool for guidance and doesn't replace medical or professional treatment. It's not set in stone, you are the creator of your own destiny.

Reading will be specific so take what resonates and leave the rest ✨️

Pile 1

If you are feeling stuck or stagnant, go meet your friends. Get out of your house and try to have new experiences.

Your life would be in this unstable and juggling energy until you make a strong decision. Leave behind your indecisiveness and be practical.

Let go of control, be like a river, flowing freely and accepting whatever comes it's way, good or bad. This is how life works. You fears are self imposed. They don't exist in reality, break the wall you surround yourself with.

Don't worry about losing anything. You're going to be blessed with abundance and clarity soon. You're delaying and blocking your own happiness by doing so.

Divine wants to play their role in your life. Let divine intervention take place, be receptive emotionally. That ultimate wish of yours will get fulfilled. You're gonna meet someone new. You'll have an emotional connection with them, most probably a romantic connection.

For some of you, your divine union is about to take place. You'll meet your divine counterpart. Cycles have ended. Libra sign may be significant. This union will bring balance into your life. Everything will feel at their right place. Trust divine timing. Your life will be just like you've imagined.

Please leave feedback in the comments 🙏🏽

Pile 2

Someone in your friend group or workplace is probably lying to you. Beware of them and don't believe their lies, don't get manipulated by them.

Many new opportunities are coming your way, overseas travel and new job opportunities may be significant.

Universe is telling you that your hardwork will pay off. You'll reap the fruits of your hard work soon.

A female can mess up your love relationship. This female can be a clingy water sign who needs constant reassurance from people. You need not focus on her. Just focus on your relationship and don't let her get into this. They can appear sweet and caring from outside but they are heartbroken and wants to ruin things.

If you're looking for a job, or if you're facing unstablity in career then things will start to get into proper alignment. Just do your work without thinking of the results.

Things are about to change! You are expanding yourself through study, business enterprise or travel. The energy is that You are becoming more aware of the opportunities that surround you. So grab them on time! It's a great chance for you.

Please leave feedback in the comments 🙏🏽

Pile 3

It'll end. The situation that you're going through will end. It's over, you've had enough. Now peace and prosperity will come into your life. All the things you've given to others will come back to you. Your inner conflict will come to peace. Things are calming down for you. Some of you may get anxious thinking about these things. But trust me, now things are changing.

If someone robbed you or took away your money, karma is working in your favour. They'll get punished for what they did.

I see a traditional couple here. Some of you could be married or into a relationship. If yes, then I see a negative energy affecting your relationship. Can be a third party, addiction or toxic personality etc. That will affect this.

The message is clear, if things get out of hands, move forward. That is human nature, to change. Those who stay stuck eventually experience the consequences of not adapting. You have a lot of new options in love. Look around.

There can be a masculine energy near you who wants things to turn out great romantically with you. They can be an influential and strong individual. They can be from your childhood or a place from childhood.

Don't forget your power. You are really powerful and self sufficient. You can earn bread and money for yourself. You are highly intuitive and wise. Use your gifts, pile 3. You are blessed from the universe. You can be an empath or someone who reads other's emotions perfectly. You are a star. Don't forget that!

Please leave feedback in the comments 🙏🏽

[bluewatsons]

Jennifer Schaffer, The Wife Glitch, 51 The Baffler (April 2020)

Household tech makes women’s work profitable—for men

© Evangeline Gallagher

Five summers ago, I was invited to visit an eccentric acquaintance on a picturesque island off the East Coast. The island was divided into two parts: the shingled, sea-beaten summer homes of the inherited wealthy, and the year-round homes of the working people who serviced the island’s various amenities—the old-timey movie theater, the upscale restaurants, the twelve-dollars-a-beer bars.

The acquaintance and I had become friendly years prior in San Francisco, where I had been a student and he was, by his account, a high school drop-out tech millionaire. Let’s call him Matt. I’d found him funny, kind, and more down-to-earth than the archetype would suggest. Like many Silicon Valley guys, Matt’s small talk ran five sizes too large, from the purpose of fidelity in modern society to various bodily functions he was attempting to outsmart. But he always seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say in response. Our conversations often took on the appearance of a mutual interview: Matt, interviewing me as though for a job, unsubtly trying to determine how intelligent I was; me, interviewing him as though for a profile, shamelessly provoking and storing up his most memorable lines.

It didn’t seem out of character, then, when years later Matt reached out to ask me for help on a potential moonshot philanthropic venture related to artificial intelligence and education. I happily agreed, and a few weeks later, Matt invited me to join him at his summer house, graciously encouraging me to bring along my then-boyfriend. We booked tickets later that night.

When we arrived on the island, we rented exorbitantly expensive bikes and used Google Maps to find our way to Matt’s house. The weather seemed almost self-congratulatory with temperance: sunshine diffused through fast, bright clouds; heat offset by a steady sea breeze. The house itself was beautiful, stuck in time. It had belonged to Matt’s family for generations and was littered with trinkets that went back as far as the Civil War. The floor was made of long, splintered wooden planks, and the dusty windows looked out onto a semi-wild expanse of tall, bleached grass. The Atlantic was somewhere beyond the grass; you could hear it, but you couldn’t see it.

We stayed on the island for just a few days. Matt was almost constantly busy, glued to his laptop and his phone, occasionally running mysterious errands. It wasn’t until the last full day of our trip that he decided it was time to discuss the project. Hearing him talk about the potential of artificial intelligence was like reading the script to an action movie: the possibilities were exhilarating and the vision ambitious, but it was hard to believe it’d all get made. Still, I offered my perspective in earnest, and Matt listened closely before suggesting we go for a walk on the beach. We set out, climbing a set of steep, sandy paths before arriving in front of a calm sea. Waves broke, metronomic, between two panels of rich blue. Matt began to tell me, with flat-line sincerity, about how he felt it was reasonable to assume that we were living in a simulation.

I had heard this idea before, always from men for whom life looked pretty great: wealthy men, white men, intelligent men, respected men. Here was yet another. What was it about the idea that this all might be a game, someone else’s game, that struck such a chord among those who were by all accounts winning?

I thought back to another conversation we’d had in the kitchen, two nights prior. Matt had been describing his approach to dating—a topic which he’d clearly given a great deal of thought, studying the criteria that the various four-letter billionaire tech moguls (Elon, Mark, Jeff, Bill) had used when selecting a “mate.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who has my skill set,” Matt began, “I want to be with someone who has strengths in another area, who can fill in my blind spots.” He went on to describe a woman he was seeing, who he was flying out first-class the day we left. He liked, for instance, that she was good at reading people, that she was perceptive and sensitive to things like art and literature, that she was knowledgeable about cooking and food culture, that she understood his world but was not exactly of it and so could objectively add something to his field of vision. I found this odd but charming: better than the engineers I knew in college who thought it was “dating down” to be with a humanities major. Unlike them, Matt spoke eloquently about how selecting a partner was among the most pivotal choices a person made in life.

“So if we’re in a simulation,” I said, snapping back to the moment, the beach, Matt’s expectant look. “How would partnerships work?”

Matt grinned. “That would depend.”

“On what?”

“On who controlled the simulation.”

Happy Wife, Happy Life

Look: he wanted a wife. Don’t we all? Someone to think ahead about our needs; someone to make our homes and our lives orderly; someone to tend to our emotions when they’re raw and sore. Someone to track and manage the infinite details of living; someone to be responsible for our moods; someone to balance the books. We all want someone who knows us so intimately they can predict what we’ll want; someone who picks up our loose ends without complaint; someone who fills in our weaknesses with her strength; someone who does what it takes to help us succeed. Someone who attends to our desires eagerly, with a smile. Someone who means it.

But, you know, we’re progressive. We want a wife, but we want her to be happy. More than happy, we want her to be fulfilled. We want a true wife, a born wife, a wife who would feel imprisoned by any other role, so that to be our wife is in its own way a golden opportunity, a liberation. We want a wife who wears her responsibilities like a privilege.

And who could blame us! Regardless of gender expression or sexual orientation—everyone needs a wife. There isn’t enough time in the day to fulfill the demands placed on a modern human: to be available to work throughout all our waking hours; to show determination and ambition so that we are not made redundant; to service debts and taxes and run a cost-effective household; to source and consume healthful meals three times a day; to exercise our bodies the recommended amount; to maintain mental well-being amidst chaos; to care for dependents (aging parents, young children); to be present and attentive to those we interact with; to find, build, maintain, and perpetually assess the longevity of meaningful and fulfilling partnerships; to get eight hours of quality sleep. Literally: how does one do it?

For most of Western history, the answer was: the wife. Now what?

An App of One’s Own

The new answer, for those with a little disposable income, may seem obvious. Food, laundry, health, money management, well-being? There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey! Seamless your dinner, Cleanly your laundry, Babylon your doctor’s visits, Wealthfront your savings, Headspace your sleep. Such services are either entirely automated or rely on poorly compensated human workers as a stopgap. The end goal is the same: to take work which, for most of history, has been uncompensated and drive the price of it up as high as possible to the benefit of a minute number of venture capitalists, company directors, and shareholders.

There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey!

Of course, those with more substantial disposable income can still cut out the digital middle man and hire underpaid labor directly into their home, or proceed directly to what I like to call “artisanal wife” mode: choosing a partner with a wide set of skills who will focus their energies on servicing your various needs, without the economic imperative to pursue paid labor themselves. And then there is the highest echelon of earning power: the bunker-deep pockets of the billionaire class that reaps the profits of the underpaid workers, holding the entire sick, inverted pyramid of wealth on their shoulders like a packed delivery cooler. For those at the top, it’s always been the “lady of the manor” approach: a wife who manages an entire fleet of, you guessed it, underpaid labor. Judging by the number of extraordinarily ambitious and competent women in my graduating class whose aspirations have been funneled into marriages to hedge fund scions, the “ladies of the manor” remain in high demand.

For those without any disposable income at all—a rapidly-growing demographic made perpetually larger by tech-accelerated inequality, because irony isn’t part of Silicon Valley’s vocabulary— there are virtually no options. Most working-class women have no choice but to work one job or several—often in the precise, underpaid sectors being automated by technology—alongside providing caregiving labor at home. The direct and knock-on consequences of this second (or third, or fourth) shift labor are borne out in the growing chasm between the life expectancy of the rich and the poor. Meanwhile, the privileged middle remains perpetually marketed to by apps and products designed to give the illusion of technology-supported self-sufficiency, masking the interdependent web of individuals and stakeholders which make up any given household service.

Picture it: a bearded dad stands alone in the kitchen making a stir-fry. “Eloise?” he calls up to the ceiling, “Dinner in five.” His voice is loud but calm, pleasant. The kitchen is lit with clean blue LED lights. Four bright yellow lemons sit in a clear glass bowl, next to a full, meticulously balanced ceramic fruit platter. The only sign that there is cooking taking place is the cutting board in front of him, topped with a mound of chopped neon bell peppers. An open bottle of craft beer is placed on the center of the kitchen island; Dad wears a casual chambray button-down shirt. This is all very relaxed, the tableau suggests, but also pristine; homely, but perfect. Dad is easy-going, dinner is effortless. Eloise arrives promptly and slides into a seat at the kitchen island, where Dad serves up a nutritionally void but photogenic bowl of stir-fried cabbage. “Enjoying that?” He asks, self-satisfied, as he watches her eat. Eloise raises her eyebrows and nods. “Mum will be pleased!” Dad exclaims, and gently asks Alexa—the female voice that lives inside a smart speaker on the kitchen counter—to add stir-fry vegetables to his shopping list. She does so dutifully. Dad and Eloise retire to the sofa, where they eat ice cream together and Alexa plays a Philip Pullman audiobook.

Mum will be pleased! Or, as the identical German ad, in which the bearded British dad is simply swapped out for a slightly younger-looking bearded German dad, puts it, Mama wird sich freuen! The subtext is clear: Mother isn’t here, Mother is “leaning in.” But we—a progressive, modern family, assisted by an unobtrusive yet highly skilled and patently stylish, artificially intelligent smart speaker—are thriving.

Who Cares?

We are fast approaching the social breaking point of a historical movement in capitalism that has simultaneously brought our waged life into our private life (what’s a private life?) and the tasks of the domestic into the commodified world. In the nineteenth century, as industrial capitalism boomed, the state shunned responsibility for care work, cementing it firmly in the private sphere—giving rise to a particular kind of Victorian, feminine responsibility in the home. The twentieth century saw the rise of a “family wage” for the working class; families were expected to survive on the husband’s work alone, further ensnaring women in unpaid care roles. Pre-sexual revolution, the labor of the twentieth- century wife served as a critical support structure for the male worker. Though he was waged and she was not, the family finances depended on their combined work in clear and distinct gender roles.

During the manufacturing decline of the 1970s, as wages began to plummet for working-class men, capitalism Trojan-horsed its way into feminist liberation, warping a necessary social cause—freeing women to pursue aims outside of housework—to suit capital: freedom means working for capitalists! The result has been the normalization and subsequent necessitation of the two-wage household. Across the industrialized world, the cost of living has soared while wages have stagnated, to the point where what could once be afforded on one salary can barely be afforded on two. At the same time, right-wing commentariats lambast the low birth-rate and the death of family values, framing feminism as the root of all evil, carefully eschewing the reality that liberal and conservative governments alike have chosen the enrichment of a few over the social reproduction of the many.

Without federal assistance in the form of publicly funded childcare for all, wage protections for workers, or a universal basic income—to name but a few of the creative opportunities at hand—the individual becomes increasingly reliant on her employer. It is no coincidence that technology companies, particularly keen to co-opt and commodify historically feminized care work, offer the most pointed range of reproduction-related benefits for their employees: egg freezing and paid parental leave abound, though often not childcare.

The end result is that we now all have at least three jobs, three modes of survival to tend to: our financial survival, the survival of our communities, and the survival of our family units. The state has long shirked its responsibilities in each sphere; now, the wide, slobbering maw of the tech industry waits, ready to commodify whatever it can.

Rage Against the Machines

Perhaps you can sense the despair in my tone. Certainly, when I have broached this topic with men, the most common response has been: But come on, isn’t that better than before?

“Before” being the presumption of a wife’s place in the home as “natural” and “right,” unpaid and largely unseen? The electroshock therapy that presumption necessitated when housework drove a generation of wives clinically mad? Legal rape? Or should we go a touch further back to “wife as property”?

Is today a better state than those “befores”? Yes, of course it is, though a lobotomy might be too.

To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

What troubles me, what keeps me turning the matter over and over in my head, is this: for centuries, women asked for recognition of the value of “women’s work”—which is to say, the practical labor that makes the world go round and has historically been placed on the shoulders of wives and mothers and daughters without question. Many simply asked that the work be recognized as just that: work—not a calling, not a natural state, not a pure act of love. Others asked that men take on their share of domestic labor, and in so doing, free women to pursue other, potentially more fulfilling or stimulating forms of work—and leisure. And through the Wages for Housework movement led by Silvia Federici, women even asked that that value of their work be recognized in capital’s primary currency: a wage. This demand was more radical provocation than concrete policy proposal, one which attempted to speak the language of capitalism in order to undermine it. To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

How strange and predictable it is, then, that wages for housework have, at last, become widespread—but in the form of our subscription to digital services and gig economy labor. This work has become concretely valuable at the precise moment its value can be effectively captured by a small cadre of men sitting at the top of the tech industry.

This didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen by accident. It is no coincidence that the first artificial intelligence boom began around the same time as the sexual revolution; no coincidence that the history of women in computing has been roundly overwritten by the myth of male coding genius; no coincidence that the voice coming out of your smart device is almost always a woman’s. Stemming from a fundamental arrogance on the part of men—the idea that work historically performed by women is so straightforward, so mindless even, that it can be effectively programmed— the latter part of the twentieth century saw a rise in technologies aimed at making traditional women’s work faster, simpler, or redundant.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor. When small-minded men are terrified of losing something, they belittle it; they puff their chests out and stomp their feet and declare they do not need it at all, that they have something better at hand anyway. And the rise of personified technologies in particular is a mass response from a male-dominated industry to the revelations of the twentieth century: the sexual revolution and women’s movement that upended traditional gender roles, and the economic pressures requiring women to seek employment outside of the home. The first wave of at-home artificial intelligence—embodied by Amazon’s Alexa, Microsoft’s Cortana, and the nameless personality living inside the Google Home—was designed to replace or supplement roles historically filled by women: mothers, wives, mistresses, secretaries, nannies, even sex workers.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor.

Of course, in addition to being historically female, these roles are almost always underpaid or undervalued. As philosopher Helen Hester notes, the same tasks Alexa and Cortana perform for a premium are not just ill-remunerated but often resented and mocked when performed by human women. A smart device’s insistence on helping is clever and valuable; a wife’s insistence on helping is taken for granted or viewed as frivolous nagging. It’s no surprise many women no longer want to take on the roles they’ve been programmed to perform, or that still more of us simply cannot afford to, regardless of what we desire. The system is malfunctioning; we’ve gone off script. Tech, looking for a fix to the glitch, has found it at the intersection of cheap labor, algorithms, and automation, which in concert perform thankless female labor (with no bitching or aging) for an upfront cost, to the enormous financial benefit of the overwhelmingly male industry leaders and stockholders.

Much of the writing about the sexism latent in the tech industry, and the development of artificial intelligence in particular, has focused in on three concerning realities: the dramatic underrepresentation of women at virtually every level of the industry (and the self-perpetuating, demi-god-in-a-sweat-drenched-hoodie culture that serves as both the primary cause and effect of this lack of gender diversity); the gender bias being coded into tomorrow’s (and today’s and yesterday’s) algorithms by virtue of this lack of diversity; and the portrayal of many personified tech products as servile and female, chief among them Amazon’s Alexa and the Google Home which, if not real AI, still stand as most Americans’ first experience with something even remotely close.

What concerns me as much as these developments is the broader picture of which they form only a part: a world in which the exact forms of labor women have fought to have recognized and remunerated—chief among them caretaking labor, tedious household labor, buoying-the-male-ego labor, service-with-a-smile labor—are being co-opted, monetized, and sold back to us as shiny, premium, cutting-edge tech, the intermediary step of individual households outsourcing such tasks to workers primarily from the Global South having been insufficiently profitable for the Silicon Valley brain trust. As automation rises, technology will increasingly undercut the wages of these workers; the human workers who depend on these precarious gigs are viewed by the tech industry and the broader economy as a temporary inefficiency.

This is the dark ethos of the twenty-first century: most of us are performing labor that can and will be at least partially automated. We work, and as we work, we audition for the right to continue working. There is no room at the negotiation table; any unpaid work will remain unpaid until, in due course, we will pay to have that work done for us by automation. And like that, the mainstays of human life become premium services we pay for. Like that, the value only flows up.

The Future is Fembots

Pop culture and advertising have reacted in lockstep with the rise of household technologies. Disney’s Smart House, released in 1999, showed an overworked female computer scientist developing the perfect AI “smart home” to liberate women from housework, only for the “smart home” to become increasingly unwieldy and possessive—hormonal even—after a motherless teenage boy tinkers with the code to make the artificial intelligence behave more maternally. The happy ending comes when the scientist reprograms the smart home and settles down with a nice man.

More recently, Her and Ex Machina played into the heterosexual male’s neuroses that feminine affection is, in a sense, always a ruse and as replicable as code. The British television series Humans shows male and female bots—designed to perform care labor in family households and the homes of the elderly—driven to rebellion over a desire for recognition. Many early advertising campaigns for Google Home and Alexa, like the one described above, portrayed modern men aptly assisted by gentle, obedient, disembodied women. Such visions of techno-capitalist feminism abound: women empowered by technologies that free them from the unsavory realities of pregnancy or household labor or sex; men taking on new, progressive roles as a result of their obedient female-voiced assistants.

It has been quite some time since we’ve seen a direct cultural portrayal of feminized tech that has any real teeth. But if we look back to a time before Lean In feminism, there have been more honest attempts. Much of Bryan Forbes’s 1975 horror film The Stepford Wives feels oddly familiar, even millennial in its sensibility, from its pared-back interior design, its fetishization of upstate domestic life, and its portrayal of a certain type of liberal man who—while paying lip service to progressive ideas—yearns for a wife who will let him call the shots. Based on the 1972 novel by Ira Levin, the film follows Joanna Eberhart as she moves from New York City to Stepford, Connecticut, with her husband Walter and their two children. Walter quickly joins the local Men’s Association, where former technology and entertainment moguls relax with scotch and cigars. The women of Stepford, meanwhile, are uniformly beautiful and obedient, spending their days ironing sheets, watching children, and preparing casseroles: a hybrid of tradwives, Instagram influencers, and spam bots. Their husbands adore them.

Joanna, an aspiring photographer, felt coerced into moving to Stepford, but she tries to put on a game face. Hoping that her new suburban lifestyle will offer her the chance to focus more on her art, she is understandably creeped out by the passivity of the Stepford wives and her husband’s secretive involvement in the Men’s Association. She soon forms an alliance with the two other women in town not yet obsessed with housework: Bobby, an outspoken New York feminist, and Charmaine, a tennis-playing trophy wife. Together, they attempt to start a women’s group. But when they gather the women of Stepford together, the wives fall into discussing a litany of household tips: advice on starching their husbands’ collars, brand name suggestions, and vague musings on their domestic contentedness.

In the end, it becomes apparent that these beloved wives are robots, modeled on the human wives of Men’s Association members, who are summarily murdered once their robot replacements are ready. (The seventies were not known for their subtlety.) Unlike in the camp, feel-good 2004 remake, love and corporate feminism do not save the day. On the advice of a psychiatrist, Joanna tries to escape, but ends up strangled to death by her robot replacement.

The messaging is a little too obvious to be worth digging into at length: housework deadens a part of a woman, and men are desperate for control. What really stuck with me about The Stepford Wives is the way the men watch the women, both the human Joanna and their robot wives. In one scene, a Men’s Association member draws Joanna with incredible skill, making sketches of her face and her eyes. In another, a man records her voice, allegedly for a hobby project; preying on her kindness, he claims that his childhood stutter has made him fascinated with language and accents. The men look at Joanna with admiration and desire: she is beautiful, spirited, and kind. There’s lust, but it’s not quite sexual. It’s as though they genuinely want to understand the way she works, if only so that they can reconstruct her according to their own desires and ideals. It’s the same way they look at their own wives, always with a knowing confidence in their eyes.

I wonder, sometimes, if this is what it all comes down to. Perhaps our moment is just catering to a particular kind of man, the kind who longs to look at those who serve him, without ever feeling the unsettling tug of need. Who desires nothing more than to look at a woman—real or simulated, no matter—and think: I made you.

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 65

Title & Song: Stuck In The Middle With You

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 4800+

Summary:  Gen's father reaches out to her in a new way. A slice of domesticity with Alfie and Gen having tea in the bakery.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Vague threats. Possessive Alfie. FLUFF. Domestic feelings. Alfie being cheeky and flirty. Boss Alfie vibes.

**Chapter song is Stuck In The Middle With You by Stealers Wheel.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You decide to spend a rather lovely spring day out with Claire and Aggie. You walk about the market, casual with your purchases, each of you with a wicker basket in hand, happy to be out of your winter dresses. You wore a sweater around you to shield from the still brisk breeze that passes through the late morning air. You stop in for early tea in a quaint little shop before bobbing in and out of stores and boutiques. By almost one, you're hungry again and wandering around Fortnum and Mason wasn't helping.

You see a charming Victoria sponge sitting in a glass case, raspberries and whipped cream both decorated on top, within it that catches your eye. You see the price is far more than the usual price of a Victoria sponge, raspberries aren't in season. You sit and stare at the cake, and wonder how they were getting raspberries this time of year, and if not from you, who? You ask a young man covered in flour and a worker's apron as he passes. He lights up, cheerily telling you they come from a small greenhouse that sells to them in the offseason. Thus the high price for it. You nod and thank him and bite your lip as you look over the various fruits in the case. It is then you decide to become preoccupied with the thought of building a greenhouse, bringing in more money in the off season.  That would be your new project for the year and you could reap the benefits the coming season.

"Genevieve?" Aggie startles you out of the thoughts of where to put the greenhouse and how much it might cost to build and run.

"Oh yeah, sorry Ags." you shake your head. "Distracted by this cake." you smile apologetically.

"I'm beginning to tire, love could we possibly return home soon?"

"Don't be silly! Go on home, you don't even have to ask. I'm just dilly-dallying at this point anyway. Go on and call yourselves a car and have a bite if you'd like. I believe I'm going to take this cake to Alfie and see if he's available for tea. If not I'll head on home."

"Delightful plan. I'm sure he'd love to see you." she smiles big, always happy to hear about Alfie and anything to do with the two of you.  She'd been so content the past months, knowing you were finally happy and on the road to what she saw as a proper life.

You purchase the cake and have it wrapped in a box and set it in your basket. You depart from Claire and Aggie to walk the few blocks to the car that is still sat in the starting position of where you'd began shopping that morning. You're back to being deep in thought about a greenhouse. How much yield of berries could you have, what other plants that required more delicate care could you grow and sell now? And this was probably why you hadn't noticed the gentleman that was following you. It was your fault really.

"Miss Greene." you hear a man's voice say. And you pay no mind as here, you were not Miss Greene. "Miss Greene!" you hear more intensely called, and again you ignore it. No one here should be calling you by that name. "Miss Greene!" you hear as you feel a hand wrap around your shoulder. Instinctually you turn fast and grab his wrist and begin twisting it before you even see who it is and as you face the man you don't recognize you continue to do so as he tries to conceal his noises of pain. "I'm not here to hurt you, only speak to you." he grits out. You read him quickly, the glasses, the well pressed and clean clothes. With a weak chin and slim shoulders you read him as only a minor threat physically, so you let him go.

You then proceed to grab him by the shoulder and yank him to the corner of a building, pushing him hard against the wall. "Who are you and what do want? What business do you have calling me Greene? It's not my name." you say with a dark tone, showing your seriousness.

"You are Genevieve Greene, yes?" he asks with a confused look on his face.

"I am Genevieve Durand. Not Greene. I no longer associate with that name." you answer coldly.

"Your father sent me." he says, wincing.

"What do you want?" you hiss.

"He wanted me to make contact with you, speak to you myself, as I'm a representative of him."

"Again... what the fuck do you want?" you state harshly, your language catching him off guard.

"I uh... he wanted to make contact to know that you had indeed gotten his letters."

"Yes, I gave him my responses."

"I'm afraid he isn't pleased with them."

"Well that's his fucking problem isn't it?"

"I'm an indifferent party, I've only been sent by someone who works for him to reach out. I don't know the business specifically, just that he is asking you to stop."

You roll your eyes. "Stop?" you huff out a laugh and cross your arms.

"Yes. Something about who you're seeing. Apparently, he's a known criminal? Did you know this Miss?"

"I did yes." you nod with pursed lips.

"And will you stop seeing him?"

"No. My business is exactly that... MINE. I have nothing to do with my father and he should have nothing to do with me. I haven't received money from him in ages, I haven't reached out to him or my mother, or my siblings and that's what he asked of me. I'm no longer a Greene and what I do is no longer his business."

"I believe what he wants is for you to stop seeing this gangster, Miss. Is that so much to ask?"

"For a man that exiled me from my own family? For associating with someone of a certain religion? A religion that I also am? You're fucking right it's too much to ask."

The man was clearly not aware of this part of the dealings with your father. He blinks slowly and looks around, seeming to be unsure of how to continue. "I just know I was sent to have you agree to stop seeing this man. I was told he was a criminal. A gangster, which entails all sorts of things, murder and lying, and thieving. You seem like a hardened but reasonable woman. Surely you wouldn't want to associate with such a person?"

"You don't know me. Let's get that straight right now. Neither does my father. And as far as I see it, the both of you have zero reasons to ask anything of me or tell me what to do. You tell him that I've made my decision. That I'm staying with Alfie and I'll be busy being a dirty fucking Jew as my father loves to call me and my people. I'm minding my own business and if he continues to not mind his, I will not be as gentle in my refusal to his input next time. And if he thinks he can tell Alfie what to do?" you openly laugh and shake your head. "Then he is in for a very rude awakening." you lean into the man's face with a low brow. "Tell him if he leaves me alone. I'll leave him alone. That's all there is to it. Simple."

"So you are refusing?"

"Yes! Were you not bloody listening?" your voice raises in pitch as you tilt your head at the man.

"Then I've been informed to tell you that the next time he reaches out his methods won't be so gentle." he winces, worried you might strike him. And rightfully so.

"Threatening his own daughter?" you suck your teeth and nod. "Sounds like the old bastard." you sigh. "Look. For what hell he has put me through, I am being more than reasonable. I've done unspeakable things to men who have done far less." you give the man a firm nod to show you mean it. You see in his eyes that he does. "I am giving him the chance to live out the rest of his life as he wants. And have me never cross his mind again." you reach up to point your finger into the man's face. "But be certain, if he threatens me again. I will not be so generous. Remind him he has not known suffering. He has not had to overcome anything in his life and that is all mine has consisted of. So believe me when I say that if he comes for me, or Alfie, he will be met with something that will knock him flat on his arse and he will not be able to recover as he lacks the skills to do so. Coincidentally his own devilish behavior has instilled within me the ability to recover and thrive. If he tries to interfere with my life, I will move past it. So he can thank himself for that."

"I will..." he sighs. "I will tell my employer, Miss." he nods.

"Hmmph." you say with an attitude-filled nod as you purse your lips at him and watch him slink away. You cross your arms, your face tight and brow heavy as you walk to your car, you stay that way until the bakery. You decide not to bother Alfie with this nonsense. You could handle whatever came your way yourself. -------- You strut through the warehouse, heels clacking across dirt and brick. Your blue floral dress with its hem swinging about your calves was a bright juxtaposition to the warm orange hues of the steaming, so-called, bakery. Ollie is perched outside Alfie's office, as usual, arms crossed with eyes and ears on alert to the bakery as Alfie conducted business.

"Hello Gen-Miss Durand." he corrects himself. You didn't know exactly what Alfie had said to them, but the men addressed you with lowered gazes and polite nods, the only time they didn't call you Miss Durand was when the newcomers would accidentally call you Mrs. Solomons. Which you didn't mind.

"Hello Ollie." you say cheerfully. "Will he be long?" you ask quietly as the man meets you at the desk set up by a stack of barrels outside Alfie's office.

"Not sure. From the look on his face, he's ready to be done but the man seems a bit difficult." he says with a nod, following you to the desk.

"Will he have a free moment for me afterward? Maybe time for tea?" you ask sweetly, hoping it might give you a more favorable answer.

"He will. He's worked through all morning. He'll be glad to see you." he says with raised brows and a nod.

"Lovely. I've brought a nice Victoria sponge. " You say patting the box that contained it. "And these are for you." you grin and hand him a tin of biscuits.

"You dinnit have to go and do that." he says sheepishly. "Oh hell, these are the good kind." he murmurs as he inspects the round canister.

"I know Alfie is hard on you boys, I can come in with a bit of soft to ease the violence when warranted. And from what I hear business is doing just fine on the bread front so you can all enjoy a biscuit on your break. Isn't going to hurt anyone." you say affectionately.

"You just stay with him and that's more help than anything. Honestly." he chuckles.

"I have good news. I intend to." you say sweetly. "Are the boys on lunch? I don't hear the usual racket?"

"They are Miss." he nods, sitting on the desk.

"I'm going to go give them this tin. Don't let them see those." you point to more expensive tin in his hands. "Can't let my favoritism me known, can I?" you grin.

"Thanks again, Miss. They're on the loadin' dock, as always." he nods in their direction.

"I'll go run these over, send Alfie after me when he's out, would you?" you call out, leaving the basket with the cake on the desk and taking the other biscuits to the workers.

"Hello boys!" you chirp and they drop their sandwiches and stand, lowering their heads.

A unison response of "Hello Miss Durand." from them all like well-trained dogs.

"Calm down, just me." you smile and set the tin on the middle of the round table they sat at. "Brought you all a treat." you announce and clasp your hands together happily.

"Oh my missus' mum buys these on her birthday." one says excitedly. "Thank you Miss Durand." he says, reaching for the tin and popping it open.

"Not a problem at all. You playing cards?" you ask, putting a hand on your hip.

"Yes Miss." one nods.

"Got a spot for one more?" you ask walking over to an empty crate that sat around the table, just like theirs.

They all look at each other confused. "You... uhh... yes?" they all eventually agree with their varying looks of hesitancy and surprise.

"What we playin' boys?" you ask, beginning to shuffle the cards. -------------- "Fuckin' 'ell she's burnt me out!" one man exclaims, throwing his cards onto the table. You giggle to yourself as you pull his money towards you. "Sorry Miss Durand. Didn't mean to speak like 'at in front of ya." he bows his head apologetically.

"No harm. Best language is language said with passion." you lilt and push all your winnings into a pile.

"OI!" you hear from behind you, you turn over your shoulder to see Alfie, vest over his usual white billowy shirt, stomping towards you.

All the men around you stand and you look at them before batting your lashes up at Alfie who's eyeballing all of them.

"Should I stand too?" you chuckle, dusting off your dress.

"What the fuck is 'is?" he says, motioning with his hand to the blokes sitting at the table.

"On lunch, sir. The missus came and brought us a lovely tin of biscuits and she stayed for a few games." the oldest says, voice quick and ready to answer whatever Alfie threw his way.

Alfie looks over them, then to where you had been sitting, seeing the money in a pile and he can't help the smirk that comes to his face. "And what's this?" he asks, looking to you.

"Well I won." you grin.

Alfie hides a snort of a laugh by rubbing his nose. "You can't keep clearing out the house love, I'll start losing bodies." he says, placing a gentle hand on your arm.

"But they seem to like it when I play with them." you pout and bat your lashes at him.

He quirks up a brow and looks to the men. "Yessir." they all say in an unenthusiastic response.

"At least you know they're poor liars." you laugh and turn back to them. "I had no intention on taking your money boys." you roll your eyes and see the tension visibly leave their bodies. "Not gonna keep a child from their sweeties or a man from his drink." you say obviously. "You boys know what you lost?" you ask.

"Yes Miss." they all answer and you chuckle.

"Of course you do. Wouldn't be working for Solomons here if you didn't would you?" you smile and look up at him.

"You go on and wait in my office you cheeky bugger." he leans in and whispers and you give him a pout for dismissing you.

He grunts and lowers his brow. "Don't give me that look Genny." he says in a low tone. The tone struck fear into the men around you but it certainly didn't you.

"What look?" you swish your skirt and smile temptingly at him.

"'At one." he says tapping your nose as you grin when he leans in close so the other men can't hear him, speaking into your ear.  "The one where you make me melt and give you what you want." he whispers, looking down at you as if he were scolding you.

"If you can read me so well..." you challenge. "What do I want, right now?" you push back.

"Trouble. Innit nuffin' new there." he hides a grin but you see it in his eyes. "Go wait in the office, love." he says again much more gently.

"Don't be long." you say with a kiss to his cheek. He turns to watch you leave, loving the sight, waiting until you're out of ear shot.

He snaps back quickly to see if anyone else had been looking at you. "What the fuck are you lads doin'? What'd I say about messin' wif me missus?" he says with a low brow and crossed arms.

"We weren't doin' nuffin' sir, she's lovely." the youngest says and Alfie quirks a brow.

The young man's mouth stutters open. "I didn't mean it like 'at, sir. She's very nice. A very nice lady." he nods aggressively.

"She brought us biscuits, she asked what we were doin' we didn't want to say no 'cause 'a her bein' yours and because she was nice enough to bring us the biscuits." the oldest explains.

"And I told ya to treat her like ya mum. You tell me... ya play fuckin' cards with ya mum?" he snarks.

"No but me bubbe and I do." the youngest says and Alfie sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Ya get ya arse handed to ya when ya play with her too?" he jokes.

"No." he shakes his head.

"You lettin' her win? Be honest." he scolds

"No!" the youngest says a little too enthusiastically and Alfie snorts out an amused sound. "I mean... no. She's... she's good." he says quietly and nods.

"She is that." the oldest concurs.

"Good to know." Alfie nods. "Next time. Just go back to treatin' her like you were wif ya's mum's, right? Politely dismiss her. She'll cause no trouble." he says with a sigh and letting his arms go back to his sides.

"Seems rather impossible, sir. Tony's mum looks like a bull." the youngest adds.

"Oh fuck off, yours looks like those birds that hang about St Paul's." Tony barks back.

Alfie sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Right lads... treat her like... angel then... yeah? Like she is already Mrs. Solomons and I'd kill you if you even looked at her cross. Because I would." he gives a heavy nod. "Treat her like SHE could fuckin' kill you for lookin' at her cross because she bloody well could, right?" he says with pursed lips. "And I wunnit fuckin' stop her." he adds with a wag of his fingers.

They'd heard the stories about you, and they knew he wasn't joking. "Yes sir." they all answer in a broken rhythm.

"Right. Now back to fuckin' work." he orders.

"But we've still go-"

"BACK TO FUCKIN' WORK!" he roars, setting the tone back as it should be.

He saunters back to his office where you wait for him, leaning against the table. You move to put your hand on Alfie's stomach and kiss his cheek.

"What do I owe for this lovely surprise?" he asks, looking you over.

"I was in the city and found a cake I thought you'd like so I thought I'd stop by to see if you had the time to have tea." you say innocently.

"I do." he says with a pout and a nod. He nods for the tea to be brought in with a two finger demand. He sits in his chair, legs spread and pulls you down to sit on his lap. "You know you're gonna spoils those boys, love." he says with a scolding tone.

"They were just biscuits," you say defensively. "I taught them a lesson on playing cards at least." you offer with a sassy shrug. "Besides, all you do is scream at them." you let out a huff of a laugh. "Try some honey and not vinegar with them and see where it gets you, darling." your tone soft and sweet again.

"That why they like you so much 'n not me?" he grins, faking his feelings being hurt and you snicker.

"You need to treat the beasts with care." you say stroking his cheek.

“How’s bout treatin ya 'ol Alfie with some care then, eh?”  he beckons you closer with a cocky nod of his chin and mischief in his eyes.

"Oh my poor baby." you coo and his eyes shut, a closed mouth smile on his face. "Didn't mean to make him feel left out." you kiss his cheeks. "The boss always comes first, doesn't he? My apologies, darling. If I'd known you felt neglected I certainly would have started fussing over you sooner." you pepper his face and neck with kisses and he hums contently.

"If them's the rules, boss comin' first 'n that, that'd made you the boss wunnit?" he lets out a deep chuckle and you snort at him.

"Cheeky bugger." you giggle, rubbing your nose against his. Once he's purring like a kitten, you tell him of your plans for a greenhouse and he laughs at your ability to get inspired by a cake.

"Since you were such a thoughtful little bird, comin' 'n seein' me for tea 'n bringin' a cake as sweet as you, might I ask ya to extend that charity towards me in the form of a favor, love?" he moves his head and hands in his usual charismatic way, a firm hold on your hip with him one hand, keeping you close to him.

"Should've known that sweet talk was because you needed something." you grin, scratching his chin through his beard.

"Nah. Sweet talk comes 'cause you, love. I just so happened to have been plannin' on askin' a favor of ya anyway." he smirks.

"Sure you were Alfie." you giggle, kissing his cheek. "What is it that you need, darling?" you ask with annoyed tone but you plant another kiss to his temple.

"There's this man that was a big to-do in the jewelry quarter, I worked with him for years, runnin' stolen merchandise through him and movin' things fast for him." he gestures with his hand vaguely. "Seems he has passed away and I need to make an appearance at the funeral." he says with his bottom lip pouting underneath his mustache. "And I fuckin' hate funerals, love. I do." he nods.

"I'm no fan myself." you shrug. "What does this have to do with me?"

"I wanted to ask if you would come with me."

"Ugh. Really?" you whine and sulk.

"Yeah, fuckin' really," he whines and imitates you, earning him a playful slap to the chest. "It's one of them big 'ol Catholic cathedrals and I thought perhaps you bein' familiar with that sorta thing, havin' you there might make it more tolerable, love. Have a show of solidarity by us both goin'."

"Don't make me go back inside a Catholic church, Alfie." you sigh. "So many years spent being caned by nuns, I'm afraid I might have an episode if I had to hear Latin again and feel the air heavy with guilt." you roll your eyes and chuckle.

"Think of it as an excuse to give a real, fuck you to 'em then, love." he grins. "You not bein' one with Christ no more 'n all." he shrugs. "Thought you might wanna show off in somethin'. Ya look awfully stunnin' in black."

"You are a silver-tongued serpent Alfie." you scold and he grins boyishly.

"But ya do. And I can introduce to you loads of my jewelry mates, can't I? You can put some faces to names, yeah? You've even said yourself you should make more London contacts here in the quarter. I know lots of men that'll get rid of stolen jewels for ya, Gen." he inflects his voice upward, trying to use logic over flattery to convince you.

You hum uncertainly. "I'm not sure..." you say with a finger to your lips, eyes up and roaming the ceiling as if you were in thought.

"Cheeky little thing." he chuckles. "I"ll make it worth your while, yeah? How's about some sexual favors, eh? That something ya fancy?"

"You know me too well, Alfie. You're dangerous." you laugh and sigh.

"Come with me and I'll make it so you the next day you couldn't walk anywhere, let alone into a church after what I've done to ya. Yeah?" he grins and winks, pinching your bum, fingers tickling up your thighs and making you squirm.

"Ask me nicely." you giggle and sit up straight, smiling smugly. "Ask me proper and I'll say yes." your smile grows to show your teeth.

"Oh my sweet little Chanah." he laments, running his hand down the side of your face. "Would you do me that great pleasure of accompanying me to this event, so I can show you off? I would personally consider it such a favor to me, yeah? If you would please, come with me this funeral, love." he pulls your face in closer to him and your smiles each grow at the cheekiness you were both giving in to.

"I'll go with you." you say hesitantly but you kiss him anyway.

"Thank you, you absolute angel." he coos and gives you a noisy smooch.

"Sounds like I'll be no angel after you're through with me." you coo and flirt.

"Did you not know?" he feigns surprise. "You're already the bloody devil, I was just bein' funny." he grins.

You laugh from deep in your stomach, the slightest slap to his cheek as he beams at you before holding your hand and bringing your laughing mouths together. "You're a right bastard, Alfie." you chuckle and he wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss.

"Well the devil and a bastard seem like a perfect pairin' to me, love." he hums against you, beginning a heated little snog in his lap before Ollie interrupts, as the poor lad always has to, telling him his next meeting would be in soon. "Fuckin' thanks as always, mate." Alfie grumbles, waving him off. " Always interruptin' me at the good parts, innit he?" he says staying close to your face.

"Maybe next time we should just fuck on your desk, absolutely starkers and see if he stops after that." you titter.

"Ahhhh." Alfie gruffs out in a scolding tone. "Gonna have to get some blinds put up in here innit we?" he chuckles. "'Cause I would love nothin' more than to bend you over and fuck you on top of last month's accounts love, believe me." he grins and you give him another kiss as your rise off his lap.

"We'll save it for later then?" you lilt, straightening your skirt. "Get some blinds put up and we'll see what sort of naughtiness we can get into in here," you say walking over to his desk, you bend over slightly as if to look at the papers. "A bit of role play could always be fun." you give a coy shrug. "Mr. Solomons... I'm afraid I made a mistake on last months accounts... I know I deserved to be punished just... be  gentle, please? I know you're such a rough man." you stick your bum out and soften your voice and a wicked laugh erupts from him.

"You are a fuckin' dirty little girl innit ya?" he groans, grabbing a handful of your arse tightly and putting his hand to your cheek. "Gonna leave me with a fuckin' hard knob to greet the next lad? Rude." he laughs and kisses you gently for his tone used.

"Be sure to bring it next time you see me and I'm certain we'll find something to do with it." you smirk and grab his bum back. "Now let me go before someone see's." you giggle as he makes growling noises into your neck and pecks you aggressively with kisses.

"Let 'em fuckin' watch..." he says loudly and playfully as your laugh rises in volume and you push him away before scampering towards the door with a happy smile on your face.

"Mr. Solomons. What would you wife think?" you say with fake shock.

"Oh you filthy bird!" he laughs. "You gonna get yaself in trouble little Miss." he scolds and wags a finger at you.

"I'm always lookin' for trouble aren't I darling? That's what you keep tell me anyway." you shrug coyly and he meets you in a final embrace, an affectionate and short kiss.

"You are trouble incarnate, Genevieve. And I love ya for it." another noisier smooch granted to you.

"I love you too." you coo back, another quick peck. "I'll see you at the church, darling. Until then..." you say pulling away, tapping your finger to his nose. "Behave." you playfully scold.

"Fuckin' useless innit?" a wrinkle of his nose as he grins mischievously at you. He sighs, forearm on the door as he watches that round bum of yours strut down the path to the door. "Ugh. Fuckin' love that little woman." he chuckles, mumbling to himself before he turns back into his office.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi   @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories  

[aphrodicted]

My name's Elle, I asked for a shell reading and it was on the list but it hasn't been done? Just wanting to see if it didn't send...? Thank you!

Hi, dear. I accidentally deleted your ask, but now that you have asked me again I can gather it here. I hope that your reading helps you in whatever you need! Yes, you were on the list and it took forever to make your reading. University has had me busy this time. Now I have a few days off and I will start with the missing readings.

1. Who I think I am? The Temperance.

You receive from life what it offers you, as it comes, without demanding that the facts fit into a pre-established mold as this would be unreal and absolutely subjective. Thus, moment by moment, you feel life vibrate and you experience contact with the particular reality that you have to live, without discriminating the experiences as “the good” and “the bad.” All these experiences allow you to learn and grow. There lies the inner joy, source of eternal youth. Remember: you receive what you give. The person represented by The Temperance is characterized by patience and waiting capacity. You flow with the circumstances. Your action is correct. You see opposites not as opponents, but as complementary: one requires the other, nourishes the other and fulfills its part of the “plan” thanks to the existence of the other. This leads to balance and compensation. Integrating the opposites allows harmonic realization.

2. Who I really am? Two of Cups, King of Wands.

You are a person with authority, determined and confident. In some moments you may not see this courage within yourself, but really all this exists within you. You are able to lead a group and you can make the necessary decisions with the courage and confidence that everyone expects from you. You are an expansive person, never stop, and a guarantee for the people who have you in your life. You are like an amulet to many of them. Your presence, although you may not believe it, is positive and always brings positive results. You are someone who wants to continue learning, living and loving. One of your main goals, or so I interpret it, is to be happy. My girls see you as a person committed to those around you, friend of your friends. You may be a person who gives great importance to emotional ties, good friendships, love and mutual respect.

3. How others see me? The Tower, Queen of Wands, Nine of Pentacles.

Those around you see you as a person who may have gone through a past or recent disappointment. Others see you as a person who has gone through many ups and downs or profound changes during your life. However, others believe that all these deceptions have helped you recover the desire to live and become a cheerful person. Those around you feel admiration for you. They see you as a very independent person. You don’t need the help of others to get everything you want. In addition, you are a woman with a lot of security in the eyes of others. Someone who decides what he wants and achieves it with effort and courage.

4. What I contribute to others? The Fool (reversed), Knight of Cups, Ten of Cups, Four of Swords.

Through your advice or talks, you help others understand that recklessness isn’t good. It is as if you make them see things from a more logical perspective, trying not to launch without thinking. You convey seriousness to others and present a safer path. You are someone who helps others see the love around them. You know how to give them harmony and make the bad moments of others disappear from love and harmony. However, the cards ask you to work certain fears that you may be going through and that are dragging you into an emotional stalemate. Beware of these sensations, as they could affect those around you.

5. What should I accept about myself? Eight of Wands, Six of Wands. 

It’s strange what my girls say in this question. I hope the message they want to convey resonates to you, Elle. My girls tell you to accept the wonderful news that comes into your life. The good news or happy surprises may surprise you too much and it seems that they aren’t real. We all deserve good news! And you are no exception. Good things you must accept and don’t come with second intentions. Not even good things are accompanied by bad things. Finally, accept the achievements and victories that appear in your life during the present and the future. You are able to get what you want and nobody can get in your way if you decide to trust your skills and fight for what you want.

6. What do I need to forgive myself? Ten of Wands.

You take things that happen to you so seriously and you take responsibility for absolutely everything, overloading yourself with work to the detriment of your physical and mental well-being. Analyze if the burden you carry is correct and begin to assess what you already have in your life. All achievements, even if they are small, should bring you the well-being you need. You must enjoy the achievements, not only accumulate victories for wanting to be the best of all. If you consider that you have many burdens and few rewards, why don’t you analyze if it makes you happy so much responsibility? See what areas of your life may be hampering your happiness. Also what circumstances or situations affect you and what people are holding you back from getting all your dreams. Learn when it is enough and you must stop. Stop everything and take a breath. Take care of yourself and love yourself as you have never done. Emotional burdens may be overwhelming you, things that have accumulated and make your life difficult. Letting go is the learning you need to practice now.

7. What should I learn from the past? The Justice, The Lovers.

Your past relationships and those that follow in your present are very important. Think about them and what have you learned from them during their duration. In them you can find an important lesson to learn.

What we call “error” or “failure” is nothing more than a lesson we should learn. Recognize today what you were wrong about, where you diverted the course on your way to happiness and correct it. Consider that there are no failures, but new opportunities to start. Now, plant good seeds for tomorrow, ensure a positive effect for your future. You receive as much as you give, you reap the fruit you sow. Work according to the dictates of your conscience, always starting from the principle of doing to others what you would like them to do to you.

For now, don’t force yourself to decide under a climate of confusion, because you cannot force situations without risking error. Without avoiding the responsibility in it, be open, look for the answer inside, listen to your inner guide. Give yourself time to choose. If you feel the need to define actions, trust the supreme wisdom that lives in you to clear your mind and get the certainty you need now.

8. Positive points about myself? Seven of Wands.

You are someone capable of fighting for everything you think is convenient. You can get rid of all the obstacles in your path if you put attention and effort. The duality you have is good until it becomes an obstacle to have a firm decision about things. It’s good to hear both parts of the discussions or situations, but you should have your opinion no matter what the others say. Success is in your hands and you must learn to use it in your favor. You are brave and you can dare to do everything you want, but you must take the first step if you want to achieve your dreams. Get rid of your fears and turn them into your positive points. You have all the skills enough to turn your fears into positive points that will help you have a promising future. Embrace your fears and turn them into skills!

9. What should I improve on myself? The Judgement, Three of Wands (reversed).

It’s essential that you open your eyes more. My girls ask you to be more attentive around you, but not to the material world but to the spiritual one. The Universe is presenting opportunities that you aren’t able to see and, especially, your future is full of opportunities that if you don’t start working your intuition you will not be able to see. Some opportunities seem to be very important to you, so it would be a good idea to start working on intuition or your third eye. In addition, believing more in your future is also a point in favor. I don’t know if you’re going through a bad mood, but my girls warn me of negativity in your future. Don’t see your future with bad eyes, since you could frustrate many opportunities by not believing in you.

You have a new opportunity in the midst of radical changes. Don’t fear if you feel your life is moving and everything seems upset. Sometimes we need radical changes, close to forms of death, that remind us that when something dies, something is also born. Only in this way can we renew ourselves and start a new cycle, feeling clean, regenerated and full of vitality.

10. How to become the person I want to be? Six of Swords, Queen of Cups.

Learn to fight for what you want. Don’t let external opinions tell you whether or not you should fight for what makes you happy, but you are the one who has the last decision. Don’t lose hope so fast and have faith in everything you do. When you learn to trust yourself more and not let the mistakes of the past describe to you what the future will be like, then you will have become who you have always wanted to be. Finally, you should try to be more sensitive to yourself and others. Don’t be so hard on yourself and try to be more tolerant. Excessive sensitivity is not good, but in your home you should add some more sensitivity to your life.

11. Advice: Soaring: Clarity, freedom, solution. 

The angels suggest you to look at everything from another perspective. You can disconnect emotionally from your current situation; no matter what the problem is at all times, stop thinking about it. You are too close to see things clearly, as if you were observing the detail of a painting. There is a very simple solution and you will see it clearly when you detach. Stop focusing on the situation for a while. Leave it inside you. Close your eyes. Just relax. Meditate. Detach. Walk in the park. Dance. Have fun. Do whatever it takes to separate yourself from problems for a while, and the solution will be clearly revealed when the time is right for it.

I give this difficult situation to the universal power of love. I trust that everything is fine in my life. I see my life from an elevated perspective. Divinity guides me. Everything is clear in my life. I am safe.

Good luck, Elle!

Please consider leaving feedback to know whether or not my reading has resonated with you.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 26: On The Job

Chapters: 26/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Here Have My Favorite Corn Recipe, Seriously It’s Really Good, Oh Yeah A Major Crime Was Committed, Remember That? Summary: No really, it’s a very good recipe, you should all try it out.

“So, what you're telling me,” You said between bites of dried stockfish. “Is that this goddess, your sister, was around for like, three thousand years, and was apparently a favorite of the entire army. You have those little bits of fresco painting to show me. But in the span of like, a few decades, everyone had forgotten her?”

“Or, at least, refused to speak of her, yes.” Loki said, passing a plate of buttered, dark bread your way.

It was just the two of you this time, in a little room beside the kitchens. You could hear the cooks working on the other side of the wall.

“I'm a bit leery to show you the frescoes just yet.' Loki said. “They're extremely unpleasant, and frankly, embarrassing. I brought several bits of the paintings that came afterwards, and those are much nicer. For one thing, I'm in them.”

You smiled indulgently. “That's the important part, right? Just how much stuff did you grab on your way out?”

“Oh, quite a bit.” Loki waved his fork on the air. “Practically everything I passed by, actually. I have quite a bit of room, though I admit, I stretched things a bit. Transporting living things that way is rather difficult.”

“Living things?”

“Leynarodd. The pegasus, a few others. Certain objects I thought would come in handy later, such as Gungnir. A few books, a few artworks. All artifacts now.”

You scooped lingonberry preserves onto a little cup of skyr. “But the point I was making was, there are plenty of your people that are old enough to remember her. So how come nobody ever said anything? Why were there no precautions taken to prevent her return?”

“From what we've been able to put together, Hela did have many supporters, despite her murderous tendencies. She embodied the endpoint of all that Asgard valued, the culmination of the 'noble warrior culture'. When our father decided to change his tactics to more peaceful means, there was, initially, a split in support. The commoners supported Odin; it seems they were a bit weary of being sent off to die in endless wars, no matter how much honor it brought their families. The nobles supported Hela, as they were loathe to let go of even an ounce of their power, no matter the consequences.

Then, apparently, Hela did some things that lost her all support. Brunnhilde says she attempted a coup, and murdered everyone in the palace as she went-hundreds of people, including many of her noble supporters. Heimdall remembers, and has hinted that she did something even worse, but he will not talk about it, no matter what we do.

And that's how most of the older Asgardians are. Those who are old enough to remember will not speak of it. Those who were there went about erasing her name and hiding her from sight, as if it would somehow make her wither away into nothing. We can't force them to talk, not yet. The people are traumatized after all this. Some of them saw their lives destroyed twice by her. We will simply have to wait until someone is ready.”

Loki grabbed a small bunch of grapes, and split them between you.

“As for precautions, well, I don't know exactly why Father failed so badly there. But he always did seem to have a blind spot when it came to his children.” Loki snorted quietly. “Specifically, the left side. The more I think about it the more it makes sense that he reacted so severely to Thor and myself when we displayed a lack of concern for the lives of others. He must have seen her, growing within us. He must have been terrified that we would take the same path, that all of his children would share the same fate...”

He slammed his fist on the table, suddenly angry. You jumped.

“All he had to do was say one thing about it, and all of this could have been avoided! He didn't even have to tell me, if it came down to it. He could have told Thor, and Thor would have told me! That's probably why he didn't. After Hela, he probably couldn't bring himself to trust even in his own children. But all of this, literally everything happened because he just wouldn't tell us what he needed to!”

His moods were still mercurial as ever. You might not ever get used to it, but you'd better try. You reached out and took the hand he had slammed down. He blinked in surprise, all anger draining from his face. He uncurled his fingers just enough for you to dip yours into his palm.

“Forgive me.” He said quietly. “That was unbecoming.”

“This is a part of my job too, isn't it?” You asked. “To help out with this kind of thing?”

“Technically, yes. Council is a part of the job description. I hesitate to foist that burden entirely off onto you however. I am...difficult at times, and you are not without your own traumas.”

“That's true, but you've dealt with them pretty well so far.” You pointed out.

“I have, considering how many of them involve hitting me in the face.” He chuckled at your mumbled apology. “I am not worried about it. And you have nothing to fear either. My fury could burn the very stars, and I would still never raise a hand to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you weren't the type. You seem above that kind of thing.”

“Do I?” He asked, sounding pleased. “Though if a woman were to come at me with a sword, I would not just stand there and get stabbed. We've no shortage of ladies with swords in Asgard, and then there is Freya, of course...”

“Yeah? The book said she was a fertility goddess?”

“Hmph. That book was kinder to her than it was to me, but it was still incorrect. Oh, she and her brother are connected to fertility, of course. Freyr is the fertility of the tilled earth, that is well kept and fruitful. Freya is the fertility of the battlefield. Blood makes the grass grow, and she reaps a crop of the dead.”

“Uh...poetic?”

“I'm saying she is a battle goddess as well. Associations with war and combat are also overwhelmingly common among Aesir. The twins make a particularly effective pair; while Freyr is no pacifist, he also dislikes violence for its own sake. However, so great is his connection to life, that the life-bringers, that is to say, women, can never come to harm in his presence. That works out very well for Freya, who relishes battle as much as any Asgardian, and can lead her armies to battle without the slightest fear when her brother is around. She doesn't show much fear when he isn't around either.”

“But isn't that how Hela was?” You asked.

“Oh no, not at all. Freya loves battle, not slaughter. She does not bring combat to those who are not involved with it, she accepts surrender, she knows mercy. Hela would kill anybody, and once she started, she wouldn't stop until the last drop pf blood was spilled. She didn't spare anyone. She intended to murder every soul in Asgard, and was on her way to doing so when I brought the ship to liberate them.”

“You did that too?” You asked. Why wasn't he still king? “You know, for a guy who attacked my planet, you sure are some hero.”

Loki preened. “I take my responsibilities to Asgard very seriously. Not always in a straightforward or officially sanctioned way, granted, but sometimes a more obfuscated method is necessary. Sometimes, you have to trick people into doing things that are good for them. And sometimes, that makes you seem like a villain. And sometimes, you think you know how to do something that would be good for everyone, but it turns out you were a bit...overzealous in your efforts, and perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all. And that can make you a villain as well.

Well, what I'm trying to say is that, both my brother and I have done decidedly villainous things, for reasons we felt were right. So it stands to reason, that we might both be capable of heroic things as well. And while I have not yet shown your planet anything but that villainous face, it is very likely that I eventually will.”

“Oh. Does that mean you've changed your mind about us? Most people think you kinda hate us.”

“I do not hate you.” He shrugged. “Nor your people. I don't think much of humanity, that's true. It's rather hard to, considering your relative briefness. Your constant moving and changing also makes it difficult to keep up, so why bother? Individuals, perhaps, but humanity as a whole? I'm not really interested. However...” He said, acknowledging your scowl with a tilt of the head. “Asgard is now Midgard. And so, to protect Asgard, I must also stand for Midgard. I will protect your mad planet, and you along with it.”

Heat washed across your cheeks. “That's, uh, quite a declaration.”

The two of you continued eating in silence, both ruminating over what Loki had just said. It ran over and over in your head, keeping your face hot. He would protect you, eh? Your whole world. Sure, he'd said it was for Asgard, but he'd made it sound so personal.

And the more magic you learned, the more you could help. If aliens invaded, you could teleport them into space! If robots attacked, you could...teleport them into space! Hey, it was fine to be a one-trick pony, if that one trick always worked.

“So, uh, what do we do next?” You asked. There were comfortable silences, and there were uncomfortable silences. This was beginning to feel like the latter, and you didn't want him to regret what he had said.

“The most important and prolific duty of royalty.” He stated gravely. “Paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Paperwork.” He repeated. “Endless paperwork. That's what royalty is. Beneath all palaces, luxuries, and power, is a foundation of paperwork. I hope your eyes do not tire easily, because I want you to aid me with it. It will help you to understand the people a bit more.”

It made some kind of sense. Knowing what the people needed, or what they considered important enough to contact their most important people about, could tell you a lot about their values.

A small commotion could be heard rising from the kitchen next door; a great deal of laughter, complaints, and exclamations.

“What's that all about?” You wondered.

“Shall we investigate?”

                                                                      *****

The entire kitchen staff was gathered around a crate, chattering. A tired porter leaned against a chopping table, demolishing some kind of drink.

“The suppliers must have found something unusual this time.” Loki said. “They are mostly wondering what it is, and how they can prepare it.”

“Lemmie see.” You said. “If it's an Earth food, I might know what it is.”

Loki raised his voice over the din, requesting one of the strange foods be handed over for inspection. A green oblong, tightly wrapped in leaves, was presented to you.

You took a single look and burst out laughing in delight. “That's just corn!” You exclaimed.

“You're certain?” He asked. “I've had corn before, you know. It's tiny and yellow.”

“I'm not playing a prank or anything, look.” You stripped back the husks, causing several of the kitchen staff to move back in surprise at the sudden, rubbery sound. You proudly showed everyone the milky white and yellow kernels underneath.

“This grows all around where I live. Miles and miles of it. This is some particularly good stuff. Cook it right, and you will have something fantastic!”

The cook asked something. Loki answered with what you had just said, and the cook asked something else.

“She wants to know how you suggest it be prepared.” Loki said, not bothering to mask his own curiosity.

“Oh boy. Okay, so you take off these outer husks, okay? Put them in the compost, feed them to the animals, whatever. These inner husks you just pull down, but don't tear off. Now you get the silk off, these little strings, you see? That part can get messy. You can compost those too.”

The entire group watched you closely, as Loki translated your instructions, but you were so used to doing this that you could get the silk off in just a few passes.

“Now that you've got the corn clean, and there's no worms or fungus, you can just rub a little butter all over the kernels. Then you pull these husks back up around the corn to hold the moisture in. Cook this just like it is on really high heat, for about half an hour. Once that's done, pull the rest of the husks off, rub on more butter, sprinkle over a bit of salt and pepper, and it's done! It's really, really good that way, and you can cut off the kernels after that, or just eat it right off the cob, if your teeth are good.”

Some of the staff began stripping husks, while the cook thanked you for the information.

“Now, this is sweet corn, and it's only available for a month or so, probably less here in Iceland. Otherwise, you can sometimes find frozen cobs, and canned or frozen kernels. There's also harder, dryer corn, some for popping, and some for grinding into cornmeal. You can make different things from that.”

“I'm looking forward to dinner now.” Loki said, as you headed back to his rooms. “If your taste in corn is anything like your taste in baking, I've much to anticipate.”

“You're very sweet. I got good at that because it was a precious resource during the, uh...Well, the dent corn would keep, but the sweet corn wouldn't. So we ate it in big batches, and we all got pretty good at cooking it. The butter was pretty rare though. Only a few local cows made it through.”

“I see...Does it bother you to eat it?” Loki asked.

“Oh no, not at all. It was one of the only good times in that whole year. Properly cooked corn is amazing, and it was one of the few times I wasn't hungry.”

Loki patted your shoulder gently. “You won't have to worry about that again.”

You felt full.

                                                                         ******

“So why is it that the request for more concrete gets priority over the request for more tile grout?” You asked.

“Tiling is for decoration or waterproofing, and usually only in certain rooms of a building. Concrete has wider applications, and on the tighter budget and time frame we're currently working in, we need to get as much done as possible. So the tile grout will have to wait until winter.”

“What do we do in winter, anyway? I assume the snow is too high for construction.”

“The snow does get very high. Most of the construction workers either work on the interiors of buildings, or they practice their other skills. Winter will be the time when the painters go back to work, the jewelers and smiths go back to full time, the textilers can get a great deal done. Once the construction is done, all those people will go back to their regular jobs. That will be several years though. You and I will be able to pass the hours with study, and of course, ever more paper work.”

He stacked the materials requests neatly in their 'approved' or 'rejected' piles, all of the edges perfectly even.

“Now we have...Ugh, another one of these.” He snorted, annoyed.

“What? What's the deal?”

“The Vinnalings request that I meet with their daughter. I wonder if they mean the widow, or the one who is still practically a child?” Loki said sourly, laying the paper down on the rejected pile. “I'm sure they are both perfectly nice, but I'm not interested in playing favorites among the noble families right now. I'm certainly not interested in being wed to some noble I don't even really know.”

“Is that what it's about?”

“Yes.” His sigh was closer to a groan. “It is irritating. I long ago tired of parents who use their children for political maneuvering. I suppose I won't be able to avoid it forever, but I'm avoiding it for now. And even when I feel ready, I certainly won't be marrying someone who is still in mourning for her husband, nor someone who is still a literal child! Maybe I can't expect love, but I can at least demand someone I can get along with.”

“That's...really sad.” You said, slightly distressed. He sounded so resigned to it. Fear of a loveless, arranged marriage must have been hanging over his head for centuries.

“That's royalty. Part of it. We all dream of a love match, but we know that's tremendously rare. Knowing that it's one more thing my father got to have, that I will not is just so...Well, I've accepted it, I just expected that it would happen to Thor first. I don't know how many of these he gets, but I know they come across my desk far too often.”

“Then ignore them. You're building a kingdom right now, and I think it would be obvious you don't have time for this.” You suggested.

“Oh? Is that official advice?” Loki teased.

“Yup. Look, not to pass judgment on a culture I know very little about, but you guys are way too advanced for something as barbaric as forced marriages. Most of this 'primitive' planet did away with that many years ago.”

Loki quirked a dark, perfect eyebrow. “That is very judgmental. However, I agree with you. And so does Thor, and so did my father. He began phasing such things out a short time before he married my mother, which was probably the driving force behind it. I continued his work during the time I was king, and Thor has expressed his intention to do the same. Thor...also has his reasons. Well, the tradition has only really continued among the noble families.”

“I've never known anyone who was in a miserable relationship, who could also work as effectively as they could when they were in a happy one, or even alone. You have to be as effective as you possibly can be, right? And, you know, if you keep putting it off in favor of building up the city, maybe you and the king can get more laws prohibiting it in place, and neither of you will have to worry about it.”

Loki chuckled. “It's very cute when you try to be conniving. You're so blunt about it. Like an eager child.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed. “I'm trying here!”

“I know you are, and your concern for my future happiness is appreciated. It will likely be many more years before this city is anywhere near done, with all the hurdles we must leap. Look at this one; a request for more supplies for the horses. What do you think?”

“Do it.” You said quickly. “Buildings don't need to eat, and they won't die under bad conditions either.”

“Agreed.” Loki said. “Good to know we are in accordance on that as well.”

“What kind of hurdles are you talking about anyway? Enough housing for everybody, right?”

“Yes, and adapting to the extreme weather of Earth, the unfamiliar flora and fauna. The culture shock from outside, the culture war from inside. Convincing humanity that we have a place here, convincing Asgardians that we must find a place here. The inevitable consequences of humans and Asgardians intermingling. The rebuilding of our technology, our prosperity. Learning the technology of Earth. Preserving our culture without rejecting outside influence. Adapting our culture as to not cause undue conflict. Not isolating ourselves entirely. How to relate to the incredible diversity of humankind.”

“Geez.”

“Those are all big picture items, that will likely take several human generations to achieve. But we will achieve them. We must. Your presence here with speed some of this along, I believe. When the people see your accomplishments, see that you are not the primitive savage that some Asgardians fear humans are, then they will learn to accept. Your coming here was most fortuitous.”

You snorted. “What's fortuitous? You spirited me away!”

“Are you still angry?” He asked.

“...No. I'm okay now. I just hope I can live up to all the faith you've put in me.”

Loki shuffled through a few more papers. “That's the thing about advice. If I feel you are very wrong about something, I can just ignore you.”

“Rude.” You mumbled. Loki smirked, but the expression faltered as he looked over the next paper. “What? What is it? Another date request?”

“The trial will be conducted in two weeks.” Loki said. “Both you and I are to be there to give testimony.”

You shivered. “Oh.” You really, really wanted to get all of that behind you, but you also really didn't want to be in that murderer's presence ever again. Loki placed his hand on your arm.

“Do not fear. He is powerless now. This will be the last time anyone ever has to see him. He will go to prison, and he will be forgotten. You will never have to waste a thought on him after this.”

You knew you would though.