#make it have an equal payment

[splookiee]

dare i say: a lot of fanfic would be better with a bad ending.

Writers, be evil, dont retcon your bad ending, dont soften it. Sometimes the price you gotta pay for a good story is your fav character dying.

[sendmyresignation]

finally reading dance of days (thank you ohiolink and oberlin college <3) but my most consistent takeaway thus far. is oh my god. people who think punk is primarily ideological and not subcultural/musical. are so out of touch.

[insomnikat-mused]

*sees @changes' rainbow checkmarks*

*counts the pairs needed to get a full rainbow*

*deep self-reflection on if what I feel is a NEED to collect them all or a DESIRE*

*counts balance in bank account*

[rpgbabe]

this is the 2nd time ebay's retarded primary address default thing has burned me... idk if i'm just doopid but it's rly hard to see the address when ur checking out??.. they rly dont make it apparent, ig they just assume ur always using the same address. what if i dont want it to be the primary address yeesh they should rly make it more obvious/ask to confirm with you. i never have this issue with other sites....

[watercolor-wings]

Boomers would hate this but playing video games has actually made me good at money management.

[gerritcole-coded]

Leaving Ben V*rlander unblocked for now so I can see his reactions to every piece of news that drops in relation to Ippei and Ohtani

[kirain]

Wall of the faithless isn't canon in bg3. They changed alot of things actually. So no Gale isn't "scared" he's just an obsessed asshole who doesn't learn from his mistakes.

Oof...

There's really nothing I can say except: you're wrong. The City of Judgement and the Wall of the Faithless are canon to BG3. If you don't like Gale, that's fine, but you don't have to make things up or completely disregard the lore to do it. Larian Studios literally hired people from Wizards of the Coast—the company responsible for all the canon lore, characters, and campaigns in D&D—to help them with the story. It took them five years, I believe, to fully study and understand the lore. They constantly conferred with the team to double, triple, and quadruple check every slice of content they added to the game, and parts of the game are now considered canon to D&D 5E.

As for Gale "not learning" from his mistakes ... when you first meet him, he literally admits he made a mistake with Mystra. Though personally I don't see it as the "power-hungry" move people seem to think it is. Gale simply wanted to be considered an equal to his partner (really his groomer), which is a perfectly healthy and normal desire for anyone in a relationship. Your partner should treat you like an equal, but Mystra very clearly saw Gale as a pet. A trophy. A worshipper. Subservient. Beneath her. A silly mortal with delusions of grandeur (which she cultivated), which is really rich when you learn she was once mortal herself. Mystra is a hypocrite.

Gale tried to prove himself worthy of equality by trying to bring Mystra what he thought was a piece of her missing Weave. For anyone who doesn't know, the current Mystra was torn to pieces by Cyric and Shar, then put back together by her Chosen. Though back to full power by the events of BG3, she's still technically missing pieces of herself, and Gale mistook the Karsite Weave for one of those pieces. Instead of simply telling Gale it was corrupted Weave, she let him go on believing it was hers. Personally I think that's because she was tired of him (maybe he got too old for her 😒) and was hoping he would do something that, in her mind, would justify abandoning him—but I admit that's full conjecture on my part. What is true is that she knew the orb wasn't hers, but for some reason she let Gale think it was. Even after she abandoned him and left him to die, she never told him. Not until she realised she could use him.

In Act 3, while the argument can certainty be made that he's thirsty for power, Gale ultimately becomes fed up with the gods because, as he knows better than anyone, they treat people like commodities. While I have no intention of ever ascending him myself, it looks like he actually makes good on his word. He doesn't threaten or toy with his followers, he inspires people to walk their own path, he only asks for prayers as payment (as without some form of devotion, gods in D&D cease to be), and if you romance him ... he ascends you into godhood as his equal. Mystra could have done this for him, she just didn't want to. And if you don't want him to ascend, it's genuinely so easy. I don't understand what people are complaining about. It takes one conversation with zero checks to convince him to completely abandon his ambitions. One. If he was truly "power hungry", it wouldn't be that easy.

Again, I would argue that Gale's true goal isn't really power, it's freedom, and divinity gives him that freedom. He has many conversations where he makes it clear he doesn't want to live under the gods' thumbs anymore; which, in a world like Faerûn, is extremely understandable. As I said in my Wall of the Faithless post, he's scared. Eternal torment for a simple mistake, one of which could've been avoided if Mystra told him the truth or treated him like an equal? When your partner is a goddess, how can you not feel inadequate? And if you convince him to give up the crown, he's perfectly content with Mystra's forgiveness. Even in the Early Access, that's all he really wanted.

Gale's far from perfect. He's arrogant and overconfident and insecure and he can be prone to emotional outbursts (most of which he apologises for, however), but he's nowhere near the heartless, power-hungry monster the haters seem to think he is. He is, in fact, one of the most compassionate companions in the entire camp, to the point that he accepts everyone, including Minthara. He votes for Astarion to stay when you find out he's a vampire. He gets mad at you if you surrender him to the Gur. He's one of the only companions who will openly marry/stay with you if you become a mindflayer. He's willing to sacrifice himself to save the world, and willing to damn himself to be with you. He loves every act of kindness, while hating every act of cruelty. I understand that the bugs from launch ruined a lot of people's perception of him ... and unfortunately some of those glitches are still present even now, but he is a good man.

[11cupids-tarot11]

18+ What has your future spouse been dreaming about lately?

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1 -> 3 ♡

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-Cupid 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 1- The Hermit, Ten of Wands, Knight of Coins, Ten of Cups, Knight of Coins, and The Sun.

Oracle cards- "Let there be closeness between you, but always give each other space. Love never claims, it simply allows and gives."

"It is important right now to take a step back and spend some time alone. Instead of placing your focus on another, now is the time to give to yourself."

Okay, so right away I feel lots of sexual energy from your person 🙈 like they're gonna be very sexual towards you and have a high sex drive I feel like. I think they really like your back side, I feel like doggy style is one of their favorite positions lol this person has a few favorites I'm hearing 😀 lmao. This is someone who is going to make you blush a lot, like they're very flirty and physical touch might be their love language. I'm seeing someone who just can't keep their hands to themselves, they're gonna always be holding you, all over your body even while having sex or even if you two are just cuddling on the couch.

This person wants to get you alllll alone lol I just heard "all to myself". You could know this person? This person seems to want to plan a day with just you two lol I heard "gemme a hug" so see, this person wants to hug you as soon as they see you! Lol they're very handsy.

This could be someone you haven't seen in awhile, for some.

They're working on their finances right now! Like just piled in it lol, they want to work really hard to impress you! Take you out on nice fancy dates! They want to wine and dine you. They could dream and fantasize about taking a vacation with you, like disappear on everyone and just get away for awhile with just you two ;) they want to deepen y'all connection I heard within this time, not only sexually but emotionally as well, like real emotional support like a partner would. They want to know everything about you, they're that type. They want to lay in bed all day just listening to you talk. Real sweet energy! Your person might be more of a smooth talker than a dirty talker. I feel like just the way he makes you feel alone will turn you on vs him having to talk to you like some kind of porn star to get you turned on, so you'll probably find this person hot a lot 🤣 like you'll always just want to drag them off somewhere yk? LMAO I'm blushing, I think you're both going to be equally attracted and enamored with the other! Y'all's energy is so sexual together it's too much for me. Like I feel like if they're a freak in the bed you're also a freak in the bed! Y'all will match each other's energy lol cute! You two will be a freaking adorable couple.

I feel like this person fantasizes about the day they can court you basically loll. I never use the word court that is all them 🤣 they really want to show up to you like the Knight of Coins, like someone who is very stable and strong and just good enough for you basically lol. You might be really hot because they really really want to impress you pile 1 lmao!

I think they fantasize about seeing you naked! They can't wait to? They think you have a nice ass lol. I feel like this person is always smirking! Random lol.

Okay so with the Knight of Coins this person wants to dedicate himself to you >< awww so if he has any flaws that you don't like this person will for sure pull himself together! I'm talking about if this person smokes everyday and if you talk to them about it, they'll work so hard to quit for you! I feel like you're this person's muse! Not only that but I feel like this person fantasizes about being committed to you! They might dream about what it's like to be married to you often!

I feel like this person might have a tougher exterior! So this is why this person loves being around you! They can let down their guard and be themselves and they love that! They can be as affectionate as they want and you two never get sick of each other, that's because you two will work hard on balancing everything out in your lives together! Like work and play, you'll manage work and also have time for them! You guys will be able to spend moments away from each other and not miss the other because of how balanced you guys are, but when you see each other you're all lovey dovey once again still! How sweet omg!! 😭

Okay, I hope you guys liked this reading! Talk soon Angelz🪽💕

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Pile 2- Justice, Ten of Wands, Ace of Swords, Knight of Wands, Ten of Wands, Nine of Cups.

Oracle cards- "Deep in your heart, you already know they answer. Do what feels right."

"Sacred Union- Honor and treasure your relationship, for it is truly sacred."

Ooo lots of air energy. I feel like your person has facial hair, he's very masculine in bed, he likes it when you ride him in his dreams lol. He really really wants you to ride him 🤣 okay anyways let's read your cards now!

There's something about the hair here lol, for some the masculine has darker hair and the feminine has lighter hair and for others the masculine has lighter hair while the feminine has darker hair. Take it how it resonates!

First card out being Justice and I heard something about an orgasm, your person really wants to see you orgasm I hear. Like they want you riding them on top so they can feel it all over their body when you're done. You're person is really intense like sheesh. This person might be older or maybe more experienced in bed than you are, they'll teach you a lot of things so if you're into being submissive they really want you to be their student!

This person is very horny I feel like, I think they're really touch deprived and have "blue balls" they say? 🤣 You're person is making me laugh and blush like crazy they'll always surprise you with the things they'll say!

This person really likes to channel messages directly to you, they probably talk to you a lot. They'll love talking to you! They're so open about their fantasies with you it's crazy! They'll be very direct for sure, they won't beat around the bush. If they're horny they'll probably just flirt with you very directly and let you know they want to fuck you. This person feels very fresh and original actually, very different energy than I usually channel.

So yeah with the ten of wands I feel like your person is very tired right now and just wants to relax with you! This person fantasizes about more so letting you take the lead to make them feel good in bed, like they might fantasize about coming home to you and you're already in bed waiting to please them and help them relax after a long day at work. I don't think your person lets you take the lead often in bed, just when he really wants to relax! His fantasy 😇

This person fantasizes about you bringing them to a climax! 🤣 Riding them till they come basically. I feel like they self pleasure to this idea a lot too lol. I feel like this is more of a secretive dream of theirs too, like people could view them as a very masculine person in bed so when they let you take control it's because they really trust you with that vulnerable side of theirs. Funny because every card that flipped over in the beginning would hide away in my deck again and I'd have to go fishing to see which cards flipped over 🤣 they're shy about telling you this lol.

I feel like this person can't wait to show off their size to you as well, they think it's impressive! ;)

I feel like this person might fantasize about you two doing it in public places? There's an energy or a situation playing out in my head like two people having sex but very sneaky in unusual places while having to watch your back and keep a lookout lol.

With the Knight of Wands I feel like this is someone you might know already for a few, a specific message for someone that this could be someone you've been intimate with before and after they really wanted to pursue some sort of relationship after! It's like they got addicted to you after having you lol.

This person could fantasize about getting you pregnant? They could have a pregnancy kink I'm getting or might even want to get you pregnant to kind of trap you 😵‍💫 express boundaries please if you're not interested in having kids because this person will literally get you pregnant on purpose lol. I feel like they imagine what it would be like to have a family with you, they really want to see you as the mother of their kids! I think they see you as very nurturing so they think you'd make a good mom rather if you want kids or not.

I hope you enjoyed this reading!! Love youuu 🩷

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Pile 3- Six of Wands, Eight of Swords, Two of Cups, King of Wands, Queen of Wands, Ten of Pentacles

Oracle cards- "Healing- Imagine yourself and your beloved surrounded by light. Feel your relationship being healed this very moment."

"Manifesting Miracles- Your dream is soon to become reality. Trust your heart and continue to follow its guidance."

Hi pile 3 😊

So right away I picked up this is someone you could've had a relationship with before and it just didn't work out, I see you missing this person though! Maybe they've recently been on your mind or you've been wanting to reach out to them, but haven't! A specific message for a few.

So I feel like this is a relationship you've been trying to manifest, but I see some difficulties and uncertainty around the relationship and your Oracle cards make me feel like Spirit is saying to keep hope alive about this relationship! I feel like you guys are separated right now for healing purposes, maybe you both have things that you still need to work on within before you can work on the relationship.

With the Eight of Swords I feel like this person really wants to be immersed in you. I feel like this person is big on oral. They fantasize about you two being in a loving and committed relationship, one that's very unproblematic and full of love.

With the Two of Cups I feel like you two will be in union soon, I don't think this is goodbye for you two and I feel like that's the whole purpose of your reading today! Maybe this person fantasizes about coming back into your life, they could even have dreams about texting you and when they wake up they realize they've dreamed it all. I feel like this person tries to actually not think about you lol. These feel more like wishes than daydreams!

I feel like this person prefers to be more dominant in the bedroom lol they like it when you're submissive and give all power to them. They want to make you feel good, I feel like they dream about fucking you and you're just laying there taking it a lot of the time like "dick drunk" lmao.

So yeah I feel like this person is going to really find out what you like, they like bringing your body so much pleasure and I think this person will Intuitively know what you want. They fantasize about you giving them head but also can't wait for the day they can return the favor, I feel like they really want a sexual relationship with you that's very naked and carefree in a way. Like this person will be all up in your business 😭

With the Ten of Pentacles I think this person day dreams about pampering you, they could like to work for your attention/to feel like you're theirs. They might like to buy you lots of things just because you're their girl I'm hearing! You might notice this person buys you gold jewelry a lot or maybe they've already bought you something gold if you know this person.

That's all I'm getting for this pile, I was really hoping for all of the piles to reach the same lengths but I feel like this pile in particular doesn't have much to say 😭

I hope you enjoyed this reading!! Talk soon!!♡

Channeled songs- XO by Enhypen.

[honeytonedhottie]

financial literacy continued⋆.ೃ࿔*:･👛💵

so i released a poll if you guys would like a post on financial literacy and the results are here. so im gonna share some things that i learned while taking a financial literacy course…💬🎀

HOW TO SAVE MONEY ;

automatically deposit a certain percentage of ur income into ur savings account so that u dont even have to think about it

to do something more FUN tho, (at least in my opinion) is to make a challenge where u have to save every $10 dollar bill, or $20 dollar bill or whatever. just something to make saving money seem like a game if u wanna have some fun with it.

EMERGANCY FUND ;

most experts will tell u that ur emergency fund should be 3-6 months of ur needed expenses. so calculate ur needed expenses and multiply that by 6 to figure out how much you'd need to have in ur emergency fund.

PAYING YOURSELF FIRST ;

you should always put urself first in every single situation including financially. so to pay urself first simply means to put ur future and needs before anything else. FOR EXAMPLE... let's say u wanna buy an ipad by the end of the year, an ipad is $345.

lets also say that u get paid weekly, so you'd divide $345 by the number of weeks in a year (52) you'd get 6.6. so you'd have to save roughly $6-$6.50 a week which isnt a lot at all. and you'd be getting what u want.

INTEREST AND CREDIT ;

interest is like a reward that the bank gives you for trusting them to look after your money. the more money you have in your account, and the longer you keep it there, the more interest you can earn…💬🎀

so the bank calculates interest as a percentage of the total amount in a bank account. so if the bank pays a 1% interest you'll earn $1 for every $100 in ur bank account over the course of a year. so if u have $500 in ur account you'll get $5. its not a lot, but interest builds on itself.

credit is the ability of the consumer to acquire goods or services prior to payment with the faith that the payment will be made in the future…💬🎀

for example missing payment deadlines can negatively affect ur credit score. why is this important? if u wanna go to college and wanna use student loans, u might not be able to if ur credit history is bad. as ur credit history grows you'll get a credit score. the higher ur score, the better ur credit is.

BUILDING CREDIT ;

get a secured card. a secured credit card is a special type of credit card with a down payment. when you open the card, you will give the credit card company a deposit to hold. it can be as little as $100. the company holds the money for you and gives you a credit card with a line of credit equal to your deposit

sign up for victoria's secret direct paper mailers. you'll get a coupon each month for 1 free panty for every purchase. when u go to the mall, get urself a panty and a sweet treat 🧁 (DO NOT PUT ANYTHING ON THE CARD THAT U CANT IMMEDIATELY PAY OFF)

and then go home and pay ur credit card bill off, and then dont use it again until the next month.

[jennifer-jeong]

Fluff | JJK x GN!Reader What’s Your Name in Their Phone?

SUMMARY Headcanons of what your contact looks like

CONTENT Fluff, crack, overall just the jjk men being in love with you LOL

WORD COUNT: 501

Nanami Kento, Kamo Noritoshi

Your full name and maybe a cute professionalish photo of you or if you’re still just beginning your relationship then it’ll just be a blank photo. He’s very open to changing the contact name or picture once he realizes he can. He definitely adds a red heart next to your name if you ever mention to him how you put emojis beside his name in your phone, he just never thought about how he could put emojis into contact names since he only has professional contacts really. He likes that you’re the only contact with an emoji beside it though :)

Ryomen Sukuna, Fushiguro Toji

Shortened form of your name or just your first name and no photo. He never includes people’s last names or a photo (his assistant probably manages communication for him instead) so don’t take it personally, he still adores you very much. He just doesn’t really care to spend his time doing that, but he might add a cute photo after you tease him about how his contacts make him look like a boomer and also because he does like the way your face looks (he’s whipped).

Kamo Choso, Fushiguro Megumi, Kong Shiu, Muta Kokichi

Shortened form of your name or a nickname and a photo of you he randomly took during a date. Maybe has a heart emoji beside your name and if you have a specific color you really like, he might make the heart that specific color. The photo he has as your contact picture is actually one you’ve probably never really seen, he just thought you looked pretty during a date and decided to use it but was obviously too shy to openly say that and show you it.

Geto Suguru, Itadori Yuji, Okkotsu Yuta, Haibara Yu

A nickname of yours and some cute emojis, contact photo is a cute picture he took of you secretly. He probably picks a few emojis that describe you well such as your favorite fruit, what animal he thinks you are, hearts that match the color of the other emojis, and/or silly emojis like 😳 or 🥰. Your contact photo is probably a photo of you sleeping on him that he secretly took. When you finally see it on his phone of course you jokingly yell at him and he just laughs at how adorable you are.

Gojo Satoru, Toge Inumaki, Takuma Ino

Something along the lines of “POOKIE BEAR” or “MY BABYYYY” with an absolutely HORRENDOUS 0.5 zoom photo of you. Your contact name is absolutely popping with emojis that he likes and emojis that match you or things you like. He thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that the stupid photo of you pops up full screen whenever you call him. Even if he’s in a meeting or in public, he will giggle when he sees the picture pop up. Of course he lets you take an equally as awful photo of him as payment, how could he say no to his pretty.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[yandere-sins]

Just saw your greek god works and they're top notch! Could you do something with yan Apollo? There's just soooo much stuff to work with with him... Thanks!

Thank you for requesting!! I love writing about them ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Very little could speak more about your skills than a personal invite to present them at Olympus.

The morning Apollo arrived in his golden chariot was an exceptionally bright one. Naturally, because his body emanated the rays of sun that broke through your window, his radiant smile widening on his youthful face the second you stepped out of your hut. Your mother was crying—tears of joy as you realized when she hugged you tightly, telling you how proud she was. Even your father seemed choked up when he told you you were special.

So, as you finally stood before the handsome stranger, the god whose shrine you visited regularly, you were utterly speechless, overcome with emotions you couldn't place. You could only listen as he spoke to you, his voice silken like the soft breeze on a summer's day yet as cheerful as the anticipation for an exciting festival.

"I want you to play," he made his intentions known, his hand falling to the side of your head, letting a lock of hair glide through the gaps in his fingers. His touch was warm and gentle, beyond anything you expected an immortal to feel like. "For us, for me."

"It would be an honor," you honestly muttered back after your mother urged you with a slight push, reminding you not to be rude to the god who was blessing you with such good fortune. Most people were honored in war, because of their devotion to their deity, in the pursuit of knowledge, or in death. To be chosen solely for your lyre play was rare, and you felt overwhelmed with gratitude, tears filling your eyes.

Apollo smiled, promising to come back in a mere three days time. Not enough to memorize all the songs you wanted to play, but while your parents packed you a small bag with the essentials and exempted you from your duties on their farm while making sure you were fed and clean, you kept practicing your craft until your fingers were raw and bloody. Apollo had assured you that there was no perfection in music. Still, you wouldn't have been able to endure the shame of hitting the wrong note to a song everyone knew—even the gods. And so you practiced, day and night, until finally, it was time to leave.

That morning was colder yet auspicious. So many burdens weighed on your shoulders—your performance, bringing honor to your family and yourself, the payment you heard your parents whisper about. There had always been food on the table for your big family, but you noticed their excitement when they talked about the boon that the gods would give you for performing well. You gulped nervously as you fiddled with the newly strung lyre in your hand when, with loud neighs and the warmth of a sunny day washing over you, Apollo arrived. When he smiled at you, you couldn't help but grin back, excited for this day, his brilliant mood instantly captivating yours.

You bid your parents farewell as they wished you a good performance and safe travels. They waved after you as the heavenly chariot took off into the morning sky, announcing another beautiful day. You got to stand close to the sun god as he performed his duty, chatting carefreely about how excited he was to hear you play and how everyone was expecting you eagerly. It made you nervous, but being close to him, his arm around you to keep you secured, Apollo's presence made your worries simply melt away. You could have never seen yourself as his equal, but he didn't make you feel any less than a friend.

He took his time cruising you through the sky, showed you the magnificent temples of the gods, let you taste the richest grapes the land had to offer, and took you to places that most humans wouldn't see in the span of multiple lifetimes. Always with a hand outstretched to help you step down from or into his chariot, and watchful eyes looking out for you. You learned a lot that day, the excursion long but magical, especially with a god by your side as your guide. To him, it must have been boring stuff that he saw every day, but to you, it became the most incredible day of your life very quickly.

Until you were brought before the entrance to the Olymp, that is.

Chariot parked, you could still feel Apollo standing behind you, protectively but encouragingly. His frame towered massively next to you, cutting you off from the human world behind his radiant form. The sun was setting, leaving you with a chill. But perhaps you were only imagining it, your performance anxiety rising. His warm hand gently pressed into the small of your back, urging you with determination to step ahead and face the rest of the pantheon of gods that had collected, to play them the songs you had come for.

With weak knees, you took one step in front of the other, Apollo always by your side. He ensured you wouldn't falter as all eyes in the grand hall seemed to turn towards you the moment you stepped through the entrance. There were all kinds of eyes—wise and godly and mythical. But you were more surprised by the human ones, tired ones, downright exhausted ones that raised to watch you. Their presence felt out of place, but then again, so did yours. However, there was something deeply unsettling in the dullness of their eyes, the sloppy movements as they walked around the hall, seemingly without vigor, their stares the only reaction to your arrival contrasting starkly with the boisterous and booming voices of the immortals greeting you.

"Apollo, is this your new charge?" a faun asked, curiously eyeing you and your lyre. "Your new songbird, eh?"

Apollo laughed, waving off the comments from all sides as he moved you forward, guiding you through gods and servants alike, their hands reaching out, touching you, admiring you. You couldn't help but startle at the different sensations of these touches—cold, sharp, unnatural. It made you cling to Apollo more, his presence way more comforting, and although he had grown in size—appearing mighty godly now—he made sure that his arm stayed around you like a shield.

One dull-eyed human after another tried to serve you food and drinks that you declined respectfully. It was hard enough to keep up with the pressure, and you didn't have the stomach for any kind of intake—at least not until you were done. And with Apollo's urging, you didn't stick around to talk to them or even watch them, although you felt their eyes drill into your back.

You were led to the seats at the very top of the grand hall, guided to the ones at the side which were vividly red with golden threads. Sitting down on them was like sinking into a cloud as Apollo helped you up, lowering you down gently. The surrounding lounges and pillows on the floor were quickly filled with eager eyes looking up at you, waiting for your play just like your patron god had promised them. You couldn't help but look around, cross eyes with some of the nymphs and minor goddesses and gods that you probably had heard from but were never educated on properly.

But the gathered gods were easily recognizable by their trademarks—Dionysus, Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis, just to name a few of them—and you were surprised to see them keeping one or more humans by their sides, looking very different from the ones you had seen before. These ones were clothed and prepared with great care, love, and devotion to their god. Their cheeks were plump, and they smiled when their patron spoke to them, albeit hesitantly. However, the unsettling feeling you got from the dull-eyed ones before didn't vanish as you watched these devoted humans. Something about their posture and expressions didn't match the festivities. They looked uncomfortable, and some of them even sad.

"It is time," Apollo spoke softly beside you, his voice gentle but intent. This was his party, and you were the special performance; of course, he didn't want you to be distracted and unable to play. His touch tore you out of your observations. It drew your attention back to him, strong fingers wrapping around your shoulders, squeezing you encouragely, but it was almost a little hurtful. You nodded, thankful he didn't make you look incompetent in front of everyone, and his grip softened in satisfaction, although it didn't disappear. Still, you couldn't help the anxiety from rising, your mouth dry, and your fingers jittery. Even when you tried to calm yourself, you couldn't entirely focus, panic rising inside you.

Now that you had come so far, you couldn't fail.

A hearty and a beautiful laugh rang out from your side, Dionysus and Aphrodite exchanging knowing looks before the goddess handed one of her humans a golden chalice and encouraged them to get up. "Go," she chimed, and her stunningly beautiful charge sauntered their way over to you, handing you the chalice. They were undeniably beautiful, even when clothed in the simplest garments. But their gaze was unblinking as they handed over the cup. "Don't," they hissed sharply in a whisper, their eyes flitting to Apollo for just a second, and you felt his fingers dig into your skin before the human left you again, trotting quickly and without a detour back to Aphrodite's side. The goddess patted their head before returning her attention to you, gesturing for you to drink. "To your nerves, you ray of sunshine," Dionysus laughed merrily, and everyone raised their chalices in a toast.

You nervously crossed eyes with the human that brought you the drink, seeing their expression hardening in a deep frown unbecoming of their beauty. Then you looked to Apollo, his own cup raised to his lips, but he had yet to drink from it. He observed you from the corners of his eyes, smiling when he noticed you looking back. "It's just a little bit of wine," he reassured you, assuming you were unsure if it was okay to drink.

You nodded, feeling pressured not to refuse the gods' hospitality, and raised the chalice to your mouth to take a tentative sip. It wasn't more than two gulps before you set it down, letting it be taken away by a nymph that sat at your feet. Immediately, the tension became lighter, your worries melting away, especially when Apollo drew you closer to his body, his warmth seeping into you. He steadied you for your play, letting you lean on him as much as you needed. With all the pressure and anxiety you had felt, you had almost forgotten that playing the lyre was fun. That you enjoyed doing it, and practiced hard enough to even perform before the gods. With the first chord echoing through the hall, all the tension finally left your body.

It was glorious.

Gods and humans alike sang along to the well-known songs you had picked; they listened when you added nuances to your play, and some of them got cozy with each other, cuddling and kissing as you presented them with the romantic notes everyone adored. By the time your hands were tired, fingers roughed up by the strings, and your concentration fading, everyone was in awe and satisfied with your performance, gods clapping their hands and cheering at you as you finished.

However, you immediately looked up at Apollo, greeted by his radiant smile beaming down at you. His hand raised to pat your head as he announced you as the magnificent talent of the night. The relief mixing with pride swelled in your chest, heating your cheeks as you took some humble bows, smothered in the cheers. Another cup was handed to you, and after performing for so long, you were glad to wet your throat.

Most of the night was spent talking to eager fans of music, letting them play your lyre, and hearing their own songs. Drinks would be passed to you, food almost shoved into your mouth by the merry folks, and you laughed along with them over their silliness. You felt lighter than ever before, so caught up in the moment and with the alcohol only adding towards the sense of mirth. The mystics were as playful and cheery as they had always been described, but you knew it would only be for that night, so you enjoyed their company.

Apollo wouldn't leave your side even as gods approached him, congratulating him for finding such a treasure amongst the humans and asking if he'd let them "take" you for their celebrations sometimes. You didn't get to hear his answers as your attention was drawn away by humans joining in with the conversations, telling you about their boons and how they were accepted into Olympus. They were all extraordinary people, and you felt quite small next to them. But they didn't make you feel unwelcome in their midst, and you were glad to hear about their experiences. Nymphs would braid everyone's hair, decorating them with flowers, fauns were playing around, everything seemed like the perfect idylle that all humans imagined the lives of gods to be.

"You shouldn't agree if they ask you to stay," the human beside you suddenly whispered. She was a cute, dainty woman, a follower of Artemis clothed in silver and pelts. Immediately, her hair was yanked back as one of the nymphs hissed at her. You caught the words 'insolent' and 'behave', but others crowded around you so fast, talking over the two and asking you questions as that woman was taken away, so you were forced to shift your attention.

It wasn't until you felt a warm hand graze over your back that you looked up at Apollo again, his gaze very gentle. He seemed satisfied with how the evening went. He might have even held some affection for you after the performance, which put him in good graces with everyone. Relief flooded your senses, and you bit back a yawn as exhaustion suddenly crashed into you, taking hold in your body.

"Are you tired?" he asked, and suddenly, you couldn't hold back the signs in front of him. You had kept it together so well, but you figured that playing for hours, talking for even longer, and drinking the sweet, fruity wine was coming back to haunt you now. Leaning into his comforting touch, you gave him a small nod and he understood, standing up and helping you get to your feet.

There were lots of disappointed aws and ohs at the announcement of your departure, nymphs and fauns seeing you off and waving after you as Apollo brought you back to his chariot, your legs even weaker now than when you entered the Olymp full of anxiety. No human came to see you off, but you barely registered that in your tired mind. Instead, you put on a smile and waved back at everyone after getting on the chariot.

"Did you have fun?" Apollo asked as he urged his horses to go. The night had long set, yet you two moved across the sky like a shooting star in the darkness.

"A lot," you confirmed. "This was an amazing experience; I am very grateful to you for this opportunity! Although it makes me sad that it is already over."

You could hear your own words slurred by the intoxication and exhaustion, yet you managed to form a tired smile for him. Apollo stepped closer, helping you stay upright as he urged his horses forward before returning your smile.

"It doesn't have to end," he hummed cheerfully, not a hint of tiredness in his demeanor. "You could play for us every night. Party with everyone, be merry. Would you like that?"

You chuckled at his suggestion but shook your head as you looked out into the night sky, stars passing you by at a speed that made them look like the shooting stars.

"It was a lot of fun, but I got to go home. My parents need my help on the farm, even if I love playing the lyre."

Apollo hummed thoughtfully, and you felt closer and closer to sleep as his warmth enveloped you. You only realized you had dozed off when you felt the soft thud of the chariot landing beneath your feet, followed by two hands guiding you off it. Your eyes fluttered open, but you were too tired to really do much but let yourself be picked up, nuzzling your face into Apollo's comforting warmth.

His steps were less gentle than his touches, his hold on you bouncy as if he was in a rush. The sounds around you turned from the peaceful night wind passing you by into complete silence, only his steps echoing as they hit marble floors. A rush of coldness threatened to envelop you, but Apollo pulled you closer to him, not letting the cold get near. You felt something reach out for you again, like the gods had, curious and uncaring of your privacy. It didn't feel familiar, your senses slowly reawakening, but something inside you seemed to want to keep you dormant for a while longer.

However, the feeling was interrupted when you were laid down into the softest cushions, with Apollo's warmth brushing over your head as you felt his weight dip the mattress you were on top of. Even with your drowsy mind, you knew you weren't in your own bed, concern rising. "Where are we?" you sighed, stretching your neck to receive more of his incredibly comforting warmth while a shiver ran down your spine. Why was it so unusually cold in this place, or had you just gotten too used to having Apollo's warmth around you that you only realized the shift in temperature now?

"Home," he answered your question, and you pried your eyes open, looking at the blurry, radiant form of the god sitting by your bedside. Then, slowly, every movement paired with so much discomfort, you let your head fall to the side, looking around at the vast darkness surrounding you. Not even Apollo's light could banish the pitch-black shadows all around you, and no sound penetrated the room.

" 's not my home..." you mumbled, brows furrowing, your deduction taking an awful lot of time. This place felt weird compared to all the wonderful ones you had visited. If this was his home, you had imagined it to be bright and beautiful, a golden palace of light and warmth. But instead, you feared for your little toes as the shadows seemed to reach out, wanting some of your warmth instead of giving it to you.

"It is now," he reassured you, sounding unusually stern even though his hand caressed you gently, brushing away your hair and cupping your cheek to turn your head towards him again.

"But my parents..."

"They knew the price they'd pay in this trade."

Leaning down, Apollo connected his forehead with yours, the depth of his eyes impalpable, especially in your muddled brain. You couldn't read him well, but he seemed... satisfied? He didn't seem to be ridden by confusion or worry like you were; rather, he was confident and calm. Something stirred in you, a sense of anxiety, but it was beaten down by a sweet-tasting tiredness immediately.

"Welcome home," he muttered, kissing your temples. "Catch some sleep so you can fulfill your duties to me tomorrow with the same brilliance as you did today. I'll be right here, making sure you are well-rested for your next performance, Sunshine."

"Duties?" you mumbled, already getting lulled back to sleep with his warmth now enveloping you like a blanket. You didn't hear his answer, even when you saw his lips move. Perhaps Apollo sang to you rather than spoke about what you wanted to know, but you wouldn't know.

You were plunged into the darkness of uncertainty, but even when you opened your eyes again, all that awaited you were more shadows that seemed to reach out for you. A sense of panic and unease spread throughout you, the uncertainty turning you into more of a wreck than you already felt after waking up with a splitting headache and no idea where you were.

It was no wonder that you immediately ran to Apollo when his light lit up the room. He gently wiped the tears from your face and assured you everything would be alright before pushing your lyre into your hands. You didn't even remember bringing it back from the Olymp, but he didn't seem to mind your carelessness.

"Now, play," he asked, and you gulped. You were barely awake, your fingers still hurt, and you were in an unfamiliar place that gave you the creeps.

"Here?" you asked, unsure as you looked around the depressing, dark room.

"Exactly here. Brighten up our home for me, will you? It's been too long since someone made it bearable to stay here. You won't disappoint me, right?"

"How... how did they do it? Will my playing be enough?"

"We'll see," Apollo said, gripping your arms tensely, his eyes glazing over with impatience.

"And if not?" you asked anxiously, unsure if a song could disperse the discomfort that seemed to reign in this home.

This time, Apollo hesitated, mouth opening briefly before his lips turned into a gentle smile. "Don't disappoint me, Sunshine. I can't stand this darkness and silence in my home anymore, and your parents assured me of how much life you could bring to any place. Seeing you perform before the gods, I immediately knew you could do it. You'll make this place a home again, one for us to live happily for the rest of our time. And if not..."

Letting go of your arms, Apollo stood up, turning around and heading for the door at the far side of the room. You wanted to follow him as the shadows lapped at you, but you felt glued to the floor, frozen in fear. With Apollo opening the door, you watched as the clouds passed by right outside, a complete drop into nothingness spreading out in front of this house, the chariot parked on seemingly no ground just outside of reach.

"If not, you'll learn what happened to the person before you that disappointed me," Apollo explained, not even pointing outside and towards the ground to make his crypticness make sense. "Play," he demanded. "Turn this place back into a home. Our home, Sunshine."

And with dread etched into your face, you strung the chords.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Brand safety” killed Jezebel

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library this Monday, November 13 at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

Progressives: if you want to lose to conservatives, all you need to do is reflexively praise and support everything conservatives turn into a culture-war issue, without considering whether they might be right. Because sometimes…they're right.

Remember early in the Trump presidency, when conservatives all woke up and discovered that America's spy agencies – excuse me, "the intelligence community" – were dirty-tricking psychos who run amok, lawlessly sabotaging democracy? Progressives have been shouting this ever since Hoover's FBI tried to blackmail MLK into killing himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FBI%E2%80%93King_suicide_letter

But millions of progressives forgot about COINTELPRO, CIA dirty tricks and CIA mass spying when this "intelligence community" temporarily set out to wrong-foot Trump. Remember James Comey votive candles?

https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2019/08/30/james-comey-fbi-memo-leaks-trump-inspector-general-report-column/2157705001/

Anthropologists have a name for this phenomenon, in which one side reverses its positions because their sworn enemies have done so. It's called schizmogenesis, and it goes like this: "If they hate it, we love it":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/18/schizmogenesis/

Schizmogenesis is an equal-opportunity delusion. Within living memory, white evangelicals supported abortion, because their sworn enemies – Catholics – opposed it. Some of those white Boomer women who voted Trump because abortion was literally the only issue they cared about held the opposite position on abortion not so long ago – and completely forgot about it:

https://text.npr.org/734303135

The main purpose of the culture war isn't immiserating marginalized people – that's its effect, but its purpose is to distract low-information turkeys (working people) so they'll vote for Christmas (the ongoing seizure of power by American oligarchs). For the funders of conservative movement politics, the cruelty isn't the point, it's merely the tactic. The point is power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

Which brings me to "woke capitalism." Conservative string-pullers have whipped up their base about the threat of companies embracing social causes. They (erroneously) claim that corporations have progressive values, and that big business is thumbing the scales for causes they despise. The purpose here isn't to sow distrust of capitalism per se. Rather, it's to stampede talk-radio-addled supporters into backing the oligarchy's agenda. Remember when culture war leaders told their base to support being gouged on credit-card junk fees "to own the libs?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

That's schizmogenesis working against the conservative rank-and-file, tricking them into taking the side of a cartel of wildly profitable payment processors who are making billions by picking their pockets (credit card fees are up 40% since the covid lockdowns), because (checks notes), Target pays these profiteers a lot to process its payments, and Target sells Pride merch (no, really):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

It's easy to point and laugh at conservative dopes when they're tricked into shooting themselves in the balls to own the libs. This is not a hypothetical example:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/28/holographic-nano-layer-catalyser/#musketfuckers

But progressives do it, too, particularly when they embrace monopolies as a force for positive social change. Remember 2019, when people got excited about playing loud pop music at Nazi rallies in the hopes that the monopoly video platforms' copyright filters would make any video from that rally impossible to post?

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/23/clever-hack-that-will-end-badly-playing-copyrighted-music-during-nazis-rallies-so-they-cant-be-posted-to-youtube/

I warned then that if this tactic worked, it would be used by cops to prevent you from recording them when they're macing you or splitting your skull with a billyclub, and yup, within a couple years, cops were blaring Taylor Swift music in hopes of preventing the public from posting videos of their illegal conduct:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/07/moral-hazard-of-filternets/#dmas

Conservatives are (partially) right about woke capitalism. It is a threat to democracy. Concentrating the power to decide who gets to speak and what they get to say into the hands of five or six corporations, mostly run by mediocre billionaires, is bad for society. The moderation decisions of giant platforms are a form of (commercial) censorship, even these don't violate the First Amendment:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

(The progressive delusion that censorship only occurs when the First Amendment is violated is a wild own-goal, one that excuses, for example, the decision by school book-fair monopolist Scholastic to remove books about queers and Black and brown people from its offerings as a purely private matter without consequences for free speech):

https://www.themarysue.com/scholastic-response-to-authors-and-illustrators-on-diverse-books/

Conservatives are only partially right about woke capitalism, though. Here's what they're wrong about: corporations don't have values. Target isn't selling Pride tees because they support progressive causes, they're selling them because it seems like a good way to increase returns to their shareholders. Individuals – even top executives – at Target might endorse the cause, but the company will only durably support the cause if that endorsement is profitable, which means that when it stops being profitable, the company will stop supporting the cause:

https://www.cnn.com/2023/05/23/business/target-lgbtq-merchandise/index.html

The idea that corporations have values isn't merely stupid, it's very dangerous. The Hobby Lobby decision – which allows corporations to deny basic health-care expenses for women on the basis that a Bronze Age mystic wouldn't approve of an IUD – rests on the ideological foundation that corporate personhood includes corporate values:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burwell_v._Hobby_Lobby_Stores,_Inc.

Citizens United – the idea that corporations should be allowed to funnel unlimited funds to politicians who'll sell out the public good in favor of investor profits – also depends on a form of corporate personhood that includes values:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citizens_United_v._FEC

There are undeniably instances in which corporate monopoly power benefits progressive causes, but these are side-effects of corporate power's main purpose, namely: taking money and power away from working people and giving it to rich people. That is what monopoly power is for.

Which brings me to ad-tech, "brand safety," and the demise of Jezebel, the 16 year old feminist website whose shuttering was just announced by its latest owner, G/O Media:

https://www.metafilter.com/201349/This-is-the-end-of-Jezebel-and-that-feels-really-really-bad

Jezebel's demise is the direct result of monopoly power. Jezebel writes about current affairs – sex, politics, abortion, and other important issues of great moment and significance. When we talk about journalism as a public good, necessary for a healthy civic life, this is what we mean. But unfortunately for Jezebel – and any other news outlet covering current events – there are vast, invisible forces that exist solely to starve this kind of coverage of advertising revenue.

Writing for the independent news site 404 Media, reporter Emanuel Maiberg and former Motherboard editor-in-chief Jason Koebler go deep on the "brand safety" industry, whose mission is to assist corporations in blocking their ads from showing up alongside real news:

https://www.404media.co/advertisers-dont-want-sites-like-jezebel-to-exist/

Maiberg and Koebler explain how industry associations like the World Federation of Marketers' Global Alliance for Responsible Media (GARM) promulgate "frameworks" to help advertisers automatically detect and exclude real news from consideration when their ads are placed:

https://www.peer39.com/blog/garm-standards

This boycott makes use of scammy "AI" technology like "sentiment and emotional analysis" to determine whether an article is suitable for monetization. These parameters are then fed to the ad-tech duopoly's ad auction system, so Google and Meta (who control the vast majority of online advertising) can ensure that real news is starved of cash.

But reality is not brand-safe, and high quality, reputable journalistic outlets are concerned with reality, which means that the "brand safe" outlets that attract the most revenue are garbage websites that haven't yet been blacklisted by the ad-safety cartel, leading to major brands' ads showing up alongside notorious internet gross-out images like "goatse":

https://www.404media.co/sqword-game-dev-sneaks-goatse-onto-a-dozen-sites-that-stole-his-game/

More than a fifth of "brand safe" ad placements end up on "made for advertising" sites, which 404 Media describe as "trash websites that plagiarize content, are literally spam, pay for fake traffic, or are autogenerated websites that serve no other purpose than capturing ad dollars":

https://www.ana.net/miccontent/show/id/rr-2023-06-ana-programmatic-transparency-first-look

Despite all this, many progressives have become cheerleaders for "brand safety," as a countervailing force to the drawdown of trust and safety at online platforms, which led to the re-platforming of Nazis, QAnon conspiratorialists, TERFs, and other overt elements of the reactionary movement's vanguard on Twitter and Facebook. Articles about ads for major brands showing up alongside Nazi content on Twitter are now a staple of progressive reporting, presented as evidence of Elon Musk's lack of business acumen. The message of these stories is "Musk is bad at business because he's allowing Nazis on his platform, which will send advertisers bolting for the exits to avoid brand-safety crises."

This isn't wrong. Musk is a bad businessman (he's a good scam artist, though). Twitter is hemorrhaging advertisers, notwithstanding the desperate (and easily debunked) stats-juking its "CEO," Linda Yaccarino, floats onstage at tech conferences:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/10/11/math-problem-for-linda-yaccarino-if-90-of-the-top-advertisers-have-come-back-but-are-only-spending-10-of-what-they-used-to-how-screwed-are-you/

But progressives are out of their minds if they think the primary effect of the brand safety industry is punishing Elon Musk for secretly loving Nazis. The primary effect of brand safety is killing reality-based coverage of the news of the day, and since reality has a well-known anti-conservative bias, anything that works against the reality-based community is ultimately good for oligarchy:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality-based_community

We can't afford to let schizmogenesis stampede us into loving things just because conservative culture warriors have been momentarily tricked into hating them as part of oligarchs' turkeys-voting-for-Christmas project. "Swivel-eyed loons hate it, so it must be good," is a worse-than-useless heuristic for navigating complex issues:

https://locusmag.com/2023/05/commentary-cory-doctorow-the-swivel-eyed-loons-have-a-point/

A much better rule of thumb is "If oligarchs love something, it's probably bad." Almost without exception, things that are good for oligarchs are bad for the rest of us. I mean, this whole shuttering of Jezebel starts with an oligarch imposing his will on millions of other people. Jezebel began life as a Gawker Media site, beloved of millions of readers, destroyed when FBI informant Peter Thiel secretly funded Hulk Hogan's lawsuit against the publisher in a successful bid to put them out of business to retaliate for their unfavorable coverage of Thiel:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/02/hogan-thiel-gawker-trial/554132/

This, in turn, put Jezebel under the ownership of G/O Media, who are unwilling to pay for a human salesforce that would – for example – sell advertising space on Jezebel to sex-toy companies or pro-abortion groups. G/O has been on a killing spree, shuttering beloved news outlets like Deadspin:

https://deadspin.com/this-is-how-things-work-now-at-g-o-media-1836908201

G/O's top exec, an oligarch named Jim Spanfeller who answers to the private equity looters at Great Hill Partners, is bent on ending reality-based coverage in favor of "letting robots shit out brand safe AI-assisted articles about generic topics":

https://www.msnbc.com/opinion/msnbc-opinion/ai-articles-disinformation-future-g-o-media-rcna95944

Three quarters of a century ago, Orwell coined a term to describe this kind of news: duckspeak,

It was not the man’s brain that was speaking it was his larynx. The stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words but it was not speech in true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness like the quacking of a duck.

When investors and analysts speak of "content" (rather than, say, "journalism"), this is what they mean – a warm slurry of platitudes, purged of any jagged-edged fragments to render it a perfectly suitable carrier for commercial messages targeted based on surveillance data about the "consumer" whose eyeballs are upon it.

This aversion to reality has been present among corporate decisionmakers since the earliest days, but the consolidation of power among large firms – ad-tech firms, online platforms, and "brands" themselves – makes corporate realityphobia much easier to turn into, well, reality, giving advertisers the fine-grained power to put Jezebel and every site like it out of business.

As Koebler and Maiberg's headliine so aptly puts it, "Advertisers Don’t Want Sites Like Jezebel to Exist."

The reason to deplore Nazis on Twitter is because they are Nazis, not because their content isn't brand-safe. The short-term wins progressives gain by legitimizing a corporate veto over what we see online are vastly overshadowed by the most important consequence of brand safety: the mass extinction of reality-based reporting. Reality isn't brand safe. If you're in the reality based community, brand safety should be your sworn enemy, even if they help you temporarily get a couple of Nazis kicked off Twitter.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/11/ad-jacency/#brand-safety

[max1461]

Max I have a linguistics question. And I will even free your chess ask from purgatory as payment. So there's this thing that goes around saying that US English pronunciations are more similar to old English than British English. Is there any truth to this, and how would we know one way or the other?

There is some kernel of truth in it that is getting exaggerated or oversimplified.

Let me start off by answering, in a general sense, the question "how would we know one way or the other?"

The Part Where I Accidentally (on Purpose) Wrote a Brief Introduction to Historical Linguistics

Phonological change (change in the pronunciation of a language) doesn't work in the way we might naively expect it to. I think that most people imagine phonological change as basically happening by way of each word in the language taking a random walk through pronunciation-space as time goes along. Like genes in a genome, randomly mutating. This is not what happens. Rather, phonological change occurs via rewrite rules, which find-and-replace particular sequences of sounds in a systematic way across the entire lexicon. For example, such a rule might replace a [t] sound with an [s] sound whenever it precedes an [i] sound. This will occur in all words in the language at once, in a uniform way. These find-and-replace rules are called regular sound changes, and they pile up over time, constituting phonological change.

This fact—the regularity of sound change—is known as the Neogrammarian hypothesis.

The above picture is an oversimplification. There are a variety of exceptions and apparent-exceptions to the regularity of sound change, and dealing with them is one of the major challenges of historical linguistics. But as a model, the Neogrammarian hypothesis is extraordinarily powerful. It is literally what makes historical linguistics possible at all. The upshot of the Neogrammarian hypothesis is that when two languages are related, their vocabulary won't just be "kinda similar" in some nebulous sense, it will demonstrate systematic, predictable correspondences in sound between cognate vocabulary.

Here's an illustration of this, a comparative table of some cognates in Polynesian (from Wikipedia):

If you look at any two columns of this table, you'll start to notice correspondences. Tongan and Niuean /k/ correspond to Samoan /ʔ/ (a glottal stop, written with a apostrophe). This correspondence is one-to-one. Samoan /s/ corresponds to Tongan and Niuean /h/, but the reverse is not true: some instances of Tongan and Niuean /h/ correspond to Samoan ∅ (nothing). Tongan /s/, on the other hand, corresponds to Niuean and Samoan /t/, but only before /i/. Etc. etc.

These are systematic sound correspondences, born of Neogrammarian sound change from a common ancestor.

Ok, on the left hand side you will notice a column that says "Proto-Polynesian". The words in this column are all marked with *, indicating that they are reconstructed forms. They are linguists' best guess as to what the original, ancestral form of these words would have been in the Polynesian languages' common ancestor. There are various ways linguists make these reconstructions. First of all, we can do it by sheer majority rule: if most of the languages in a family reflect a sound as X, and only one or a few reflect it as Y, then (all else being equal and assuming the tree is flat) it is more likely that the original word had X. Almost all these languages have /t/ as the first sound in "person" (row 1), whereas Marquesan has /ʔ/ and Hawaiian has /k/. Thus the ancestral sound is reconstructed as /t/.

But there are other, more sophisticated tools that can be used. For instance, we know a certain amount about what sorts of sound changes are likely to occur and what sorts are not. Thus, for instance, an /s/ is reconstructed as the first sound in "grey haired" (row 2), even though the majority of languages have /h/. This is because we already know that s -> h is a fairly common sound change (and indeed corresponds to a known phonological process found presently in many languages—debuccalization), whereas h -> s is a much rarer change (in fact, I suspect wholly unattested), and corresponds to no known phonological process or phonetic explanation.

Finally, we can rule out reconstructions when the sound change needed to create them would not be a function. Consider, for instance, that the majority of the words in row 3 have no consonant sound at all before the final /e/. But the reconstruction features a consonant /h/ there. If we posit ∅ as initial instead, we have to come up with a sound change that explains how the /h/ got there. ∅ -> h doesn't work, because that would put /h/ everywhere! How about something like "∅ -> h between two vowels" (linguists would notate this change as ∅ -> h / V_V). That would work, but we see other instances of adjacent vowels (e.g. in row 4) with no /h/ between them, so that can't be it. Maybe "∅ -> h between /a/ and /e/" (∅ -> h / a_e). We can't rule this out on the basis of this chart, but we probably could by looking at more vocabulary.

And so on, and so forth. In general, we want to posit the simplest set of sound changes possible, in which the changes themselves are as probable as possible, in order to explain the data. These putative changes can then by checked against all sorts of outside observations, such as

descriptions of pronunciations in historical texts

past loanwords into languages whose phonological histories are already known with confidence

epigraphic data from archeology (not very applicable to Polynesian, unless we decipher rongorongo)

newly collected data from modern languages in the same family

evidence from rhyme schemes or alliteration schemes used in poetry composed in the past

etc.

to see if they hold up.

The Part Where I Answer Your Question

Ok, right. American English and "British English" (I assume this means Received Pronunciation) are two related language varieties. Thus, they share systematic sound correspondences, and we can try to reconstruct their common ancestor. Also the British Isles have produced an extraordinary number of texts in the past thousand years, including poetry and actual linguistic descriptions of various dialects at various points in time, which we can check these reconstructions against.

But actually you don't need most of that to identify a few ways in which (most) American English dialects are more conservative than Received Pronunciation. For one, Received Pronunciation has dropped /r/ at the end of a syllable (in English dialectological jargon it is "non-rhotic"), whereas General American English hasn't. There are some associated vowel changes too. One way or another, the /r/ is plainly original: elision of /r/ is more common and phonetically plausible than insertion of /r/ in a bunch of specific post-vocalic positions would be, /r/ is written in the orthography, historical descriptions of the language talk about an /r/ sound, etc. etc.

In other ways RP is more conservative. For example, GenAm has deleted /j/ (the "y" sound) in a specific phonological environment ([+coronal]_u) in words such as tube, GenAm /tuːb/, RP /tjuːb/.

Is "American English more conservative than RP" overall? I don't really think so. Certainly it has preserved a number of salient features that RP has lost, such as syllable-final /r/ and (in some dialects) /hw/ in words like what, and so on. But there's other senses in which RP is more conservative. And this is not even to mention the other dialects of Britain, which are manifold and much more diverse than the dialects of America. As to the strict question of the relative phonological conservatism of GenAm and RP, I think someone with more detailed knowledge of English historical phonological would have to come in and answer. Perhaps @yeli-renrong can comment.

[runariya]

🥸🤫☠️ : JK

He wants something 🤫 as down payment before he lets u inside safe haven (a place where survivors go to seek refuge)

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L, yandere-ish? warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, dark creatures, denied prostitution for safety, Jungkook is whipped from the start so that should suffice for yandere, foul language, smut, oral (f. receiving), squirting, JK comes in his pants, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.239 (upsiiii)

a/n: I couldn't rly make JK more yandere without it feeling a bit too dub-con, so I hope that's alright 💕 also it's heavily inspired by the trilogy '2033' by Dmitri Gluchowski (and to my Russian readers: Московское метро выглядит так круто на фотографиях в интернете, надеюсь, однажды смогу его посетить☺️)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’ve been wandering for what feels like years, though it could be months, or perhaps just weeks; time’s an abstract notion now, in this world broken to pieces and baked under a nuclear sun. 

With each step you take, the weight of exhaustion and your protective suit presses harder against your bones, but you don’t let it stop you. The world may be a dying beast, choking on its own ash and poison, but you still walk through it, a lone ember that refuses to snuff itself out. The remnants of cities whisper ghost stories to you as you pass, their bones twisted metal and crumbling concrete, charred earth for flesh. The wind sometimes hisses through the ruins, carrying tales of survivors—others like you, fighting, scavenging, enduring—and sometimes it’s silent, as if even the air is holding its breath for fear of what’s out there in the deep silence of the aftermath.

The black creatures—those twisted silhouettes of the apocalypse—roam the earth like shadows unbound from their hosts, moving through the poisoned fog with an unnatural grace that chills your very marrow. They are things of nightmares, remnants of the old world, perhaps, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout or born anew from the hatred that festers in the radioactive soil. 

Their eyes, if they have any, are voids, consuming light and hope in equal measure, and their movements are barely perceptible until it’s too late, until they are upon you, whispering your end in a language only the dead would understand. They hunt relentlessly, not for sustenance, not for survival, but as if driven by some primal force deeper than instinct, a desire not just to kill but to erase, to wipe away the last remnants of humanity like dust from the pages of a forgotten book. 

And you—battered, exhausted, teetering on the edge of oblivion—cannot rest, not here, not ever, because even in your sleep they find you, crawling into your dreams with their inky tendrils, reminding you that peace is a luxury no longer afforded to the living outside of shelter.

Your gas mask, an old friend now, covers your face like a second skin at this point, the filters clogged and heavy with days of dust, radiation, and fumes. You’ve noticed the way it pulls in air with more effort now, as if it’s trying to remember how to breathe. 

You check the filter again. It’s nearly gone, the little red marker ticking closer to empty with every breath you take. You’ll have to find something new soon or you’ll suffocate on the very air that should sustain you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to find shelter. In those early days, the optimism hadn’t yet drained from your veins and the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, had clouded your better judgment. 

There had been men—those ones with teeth like wolves, eyes like death, always leering, always demanding. You’ve had to pull your knife more than once to remind them that your body isn’t for sale, that safety shouldn’t cost that much. That death, perhaps, is a kinder alternative to what they would have asked of you. 

You can still hear their laughter sometimes, echoing in your skull—mocking, cruel. You had fled from them, from their dark gazes and cruel hands, from the taste of fear that licked at your throat when their eyes lingered too long on your body. Better the damnation from outside than their promises of protection.

But today… today you find yourself at the mouth of the metro. The entrance yawns wide like a secret, and the shadow of it draws you in, as though it’s reaching out for you. Your steps falter, but only for a moment—just long enough to recognise the hesitation in your chest, the uncertainty gnawing still on your mind. The thought flickers briefly across your consciousness—what if the people down there are like those others? What if all you find is more violence, more degradation, more proof that humanity has shed its last skin and become nothing more than base instincts and brutality?

But the mask is running low, and you can feel that desperation is creeping back into your bones, burrowing deep. You tighten your grip on the strap of your pack, pushing the fear down, burying it beneath a layer of resolve. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back now.

The entrance is quiet—eerily so, as you push the tall hermetic door open and step inside, closing it quickly after. You glance around, eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. There’s nothing at first, just the silent exhalation of wind and the low hum of the distant, underground world. Then, movement.

You hear him before you see him—a soft shuffling of boots against stone, the faint click of a weapon being cocked. You freeze, instinctively tightening your grip on your knife as he steps into view.

Tall. Taller than most of the men you’ve encountered in these forsaken times. Muscles sculpted from necessity, sinew and strength coiled beneath his clothes like a waiting beast. He’s staring at you through the mask, gun raised, the barrel pointing at your chest. For a second, neither of you move. Then his eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, taking you in, assessing, like all the others. You brace yourself for what’s to come.

But it doesn’t come.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low, barely more than a growl. His weapon doesn’t waver, and his expression is hidden behind a mask, eyes glinting through the cracked visor.

You hesitate. There’s a moment where you think of running, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s only the metro behind him, and the world ahead, both full of uncertainties, both as equally capable of destroying you. You suck in a breath, let it fill your lungs like a final goodbye to the stale air in the mask, and then you reach up to peel it away from your face, your skin sticking to the rubber for a moment before it falls loose.

The air tastes strange on your lips—metallic, sharp, almost alien after all this time behind the mask. You lift your eyes to his, half-expecting some sort of reaction, maybe disgust, maybe lust. But instead… there’s something different there, something you hadn’t anticipated. His gaze softens, though his grip on the weapon remains steady. He stares at you as though you’re something out of place in this hellscape, something fragile, a curiosity more than a threat. His gun lowers, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave your face, as he too rids himself of his mask. 

He’s younger than you thought. Ink spills across his skin—tattoos that ripple over his arm, dark lines twisting around muscles. You catch a glimpse of two piercings through his lip when he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out, and then his lips curve, ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not quite hostility either.

“Shelter,” you say, your voice rough, the words like stones scraping against the back of your throat. You cough once, clearing the dust away. “I need shelter.”

He eyes you for a moment longer, his gaze wandering down your frame, but it’s not like before—not like the leering stares of the men who sought to take more than they were willing to give. This is different. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as though the mere fact that you’re still standing here, after all this, after the end of the world, is enough to stir absolute disbelief in him.

“Alright,” he says, after a pause that seems to stretch out longer than it should. “We’ll see.”

He gestures with his head, motioning for you to follow him into the metro. You hesitate for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The air inside is cooler, the shadows deeper in the few flickering candle lights, and for a moment, you think you can almost breathe easier.

“Wait here,” he says, nodding towards a bench half-buried in dust. “There’s a process. Need to fill out a form.”

You blink. A form? The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—almost. But you’re too tired for laughter, too worn down by the world to even consider the possibility of joy. So, instead, you sit with an exhausted plop. You watch as he disappears for a moment, hear the soft scrape of papers being shuffled, and then he’s back, clipboard in hand, a pencil poised like a weapon in his grip.

He doesn’t sit down. Just stands there, towering over you, his presence impressive but not oppressive. You glance up at him, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel exposed—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel seen for the first time in a long time. It’s unsettling.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the clipboard. “Name?”

You give it to him. He writes it down, slow and thoughtful.

“Age?”

Again, you’re honest, coughing right after. He writes again, his eyes lifting to your face between each question as if checking to see if you’re lying, or maybe just to remind himself that you’re real.

“Where did you come from?”

You answer, though the place you once called home feels distant, like something from a dream you can’t quite remember. His pen scratches the paper, and you almost lose yourself in the sound of it, that soft, repetitive scrape, the only noise in the otherwise still part of the metro.

“Any medical conditions? Injuries?”

You shake your head, your body numb to the aches and pains that have become part of you, the exhaustion that’s settled into your bones as permanent as the sorrow for the destroyed outside world.

He writes.

The questions continue. And all the while, his eyes keep returning to you, scanning your face as if he’s trying to commit every line, every shadow, to memory. You can feel his gaze lingering on your skin, not in a way that makes you want to shrink or hide, but in a way that makes you want to ask why he’s looking at you like that, why his lips keep twitching into something that almost resembles a smile, sometimes a pout. 

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes writing, his pen stilling against the paper. You think he’s done, that maybe this bizarre interaction will end and you’ll be allowed to rest, to sleep, to breathe for just a moment.

But then he clears his throat again. And this time, when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place.

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and the air between you feels too much like outside, chocking and not fit for you. 

You stiffen. You feel that old familiar dread curling up inside your chest again, clawing at your ribs. You’ve been at this stage before, the formality of it, the false promises of security, of kindness. The moment where it all comes crashing down, where the mask slips and you’re left standing there, alone and defenceless against the greed, the hunger that always lurks just beneath the surface of those too desperate to remember what it means to be human.

He sees the shift in you. You know he does. You see it in the way his brow furrows, the way he toys with his lip piercings as though he’s searching for the right words, something to say that won’t make you bolt for the hermetic door. He takes a breath, and for a moment, you think you might run, you think you might grab your mask and take your chances with the toxic air outside because anything—anything—might be better than this.

But then, he speaks.

“I—” His voice falters, and you see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His grip on the clipboard tightens, the knuckles going white. “I want to… I want to eat you out.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. You blink, stunned, and for a moment, you’re not sure you heard him correctly. Did he really just—? 

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process the absurdity of it, the strangeness, the unexpectedness.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, almost pleading. There’s no threat in his posture, no demand. Just… want. Raw and unfiltered. Like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t even be allowed to ask, but he can’t help himself. His breath is shallow, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly, the tension in his body like he’s bracing for you to reject him, to walk away.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should get up, leave this place, leave him behind, leave all of this strangeness and vulnerability and run back into the wasteland where at least the dangers are known, where the air is poison but the intentions are clear. But instead, you sit there, frozen in place, your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him.

He’s not like the others. That much you know.

He’s so painfully handsome, a rare sight in this broken world, and it’s been so long—too long—since you’ve felt the heat of another body, since before the fallout turned everything to pure survival. 

So, when the chance arises, when you catch the hunger in his dark eyes and feel the thrumming ache in your own bones, you seize it like a lifeline in the endless wasteland. Your fingers tremble as you pull the zip of your protective suit down, the rough fabric parting like a sigh, and you free your legs, peeling it off your lower half. You shift on the bench, boots still clinging to your feet as you raise them to rest beside you, and open yourself to him, your legs spread wide, exposing your cunt like a silent offering, need pulsing through your veins.

Jungkook barely hesitates. The clipboard thrown, clattering to the ground behind him, forgotten, his focus now laser-sharp on the sight before him, his eyes flickering wildly between your face and the growing wetness glistening between your thighs. He steps forward with a pull that feels almost sacred, falling heavily to his knees as if the ground beneath him is the only place he belongs. His warm, calloused hands trace their way up your bare legs, the roughness of his skin sparking something primal under your own.

He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your slick skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you, and the word falls from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck,” and then he’s there, tongue pressing into you with a hunger that’s suffocating, lapping at your cunt as if he’s desperate to prove himself worthy of it, as if he knows exactly how lucky he is to be granted this wish. 

A moan escapes your throat, unbidden, as his tongue forces its way into the tight heat of your hole, your hand reaching instinctively for his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as you push your hips into his eager mouth. The sound that rumbles from deep within his chest vibrates against you, a groan of raw pleasure that seems to send waves of newfound pleasure coursing through your body, arousal dripping from you, coating his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he rasps between breaths, his voice rough and broken with want. “Fucking angel sent from heaven.” His gaze flicks upward, catching yours, his eyes wide with disbelief, adoration simmering beneath the surface despite the fact that you’re strangers, despite the fact that the world outside has crumbled to nothing.

You find yourself moving against him, riding the flat of his tongue, his fingers dancing over your clit in a rhythm that feels almost divine. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh with a kind of desperation, as though he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear, that this will vanish like a dream.

“Yes,” you cry out, breathless and shaking, as he finds the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, his mouth and hands working together with an almost agonising precision. And neither of you can tear your eyes away from the other, locked in this frantic, desperate exchange of need and lust and something deeper you can’t yet name.

He gives you everything—every ounce of affection and euphoria you’ve been deprived of for months—and you can feel it in the way his own body trembles, the way his hips move mindlessly against nothing, rutting into the air as though he’s just as desperate to be filled with pleasure as you are.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him harder against you, urging him on, desperate for more, for him to push you over that edge.

And he listens, his tongue working with relentless skill, circling your clit with a pressure so precise it almost drives you mad, and then you feel it—your orgasm tearing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, shockwaves rippling through your body as you squirt onto his tongue, something you’ve never done before, the surprise of it lost in the haze of pleasure. Jungkook groans beneath you, greedily lapping up everything you give him, cleaning you with his mouth like he never wants to stop, his hips stuttering forward as he spills into his pants, caught in his own silent climax.

“Fuck…” he moans thickly and long, collapsing against your stomach as your legs tremble and fall to the floor, muscles too weak to hold them up any longer.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing, the disaster of the world momentarily forgotten. But eventually, he pulls himself together, straightening up with a sheepish grin, adjusting his pants which are now damp with his own release, his expression cringing just slightly.

You quickly dress again, pulling your suit back into place, feeling a flush of heat creeping into your cheeks. There’s an embarrassment there, sure, but not disgust—not even close. If anything, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction, of relief, and you catch yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him, that he isn’t bored now that his hunger has been sated.

But as you reach for your pack, Jungkook’s voice breaks through the quiet, and he gestures for you to follow him deeper into the metro, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, a grin spreading across his face, his eyes bright with something that looks almost like joy—something you haven’t seen in anyone since the fallout. “You can stay with me if you want.”

There’s a pause, your heart skipping a beat at his offer, and you hesitate only for a second before whispering, “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay.”

He beams down at you, stars shining in his dark eyes like you haven’t seen in months, and he takes the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Good,” he says softly. “I’d like that too.”

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 1)

In which Isekai!Reader becomes a merchant, and unintentionally Link's benefactor.

Even more self-indulgent trash. The usual.

PART: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Nothing worth mentioning.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Being transported into a video game was not as dramatic as the media had led you to believe. For one, there was no bright, all encompassing light nor the feeling of a thousand worlds ripping themselves asunder. Instead, you had taken one step out of your door and crossed the threshold into an endless field of tall grass.

Panic should have taken hold by that point, but it didn't. You'd later learn it was just postponed by the shock of it all. At the time though, you'd simply taken stock of the situation, scanned the horizon for civilization and started in on the first plumes of smoke you found in the distance.

You'd been lucky. So incredibly lucky it had been a village that you'd landed near and not something more sinister. That you had decided against going near the waterfall or towards the forested area where a clear path was etched into the hillside.

You hadn't known that yet though. Instead, you'd taken the most direct route and hiked up the steep grassy slope heading towards the plumes.

Near the top you'd taken a short break beside an apple tree, admiring the perfect shape of the fruit hidden throughout it's low hanging branches. How large they were, and how brightly colored.

You'd taken one, struggling to pull it from it's stem. You were surprised by just how heavy it was when it finally did give way; more akin to holding a watermelon than an apple and as large as a grapefruit.

It was strange, but you figured it was just a variety of apple you were not familiar with, or perhaps you were heading towards a farm that was working on a new type of apple for the market.

You decided to save this one for later, in case the place you were heading didn't have resturants or take card payments. The surrounding land looked pretty rural, so you wouldn't be all that surprised if they didn't.

As soon as you'd thought it though, the apple disappeared. No light or sound or anything to indicate the unnatural occurrence, just popped out of existence.

It should have startled you, and it did, but you didn't panic. Not yet. That would come later. Right then, it was almost like you were dreaming.

In the top left corner of your vision a flicker of red came into existence. A simple line of words ended in an explanation point that pinged at your subconscious.

[New Item!]

And you'd thought, 'What a strange dream.'

---

Four years later, and you knew this was most certainly not a dream. The panic had passed, the initial pain of loss and separation had eased. The confusion of a new language and culture had settled into smooth integration.

The easy acceptance of the Hateno people helped a great deal with that.

Honestly, it helped that the population was as small as it was. While some cultures would shun outsiders upon contact, the scarcity of new blood had made your arrival quite the welcome event. Even if you were a human.

Perhaps even because you were a human. It was hard to tell sometimes. Your round ears were equal parts admired and awkwardly avoided in polite conversation.

You tried not to think about it too much.

The bottom line was that you had been transmigrated into Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Your head now contained the equivalent of the Sheikah slate and the differences in product quality here and your world was, to put it frankly, wacked. The metabolism and durability of the region's residents was even more so.

The apple you had picked up the first day had lasted you two days. Each bite was equivalent to eating two apples. Eating a whole apple was enough to make you sick. You'd watched a hyrulian child munch down three of them with no issues, and then ask for dinner.

Your conclusion; Magic. Hyrule was very similar to your own world, but the addition of magic had fundamentally altered the biological makeup of it's inhabitants.

It wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to. Hell, one of the farmers had even given you a brief rundown on the magic quality in the soil once, explaining the emergence of Hearty foodstuffs. It was an eye opener for sure, though a welcome one.

However, things got complicated in your case. The addition of gamer like attributes seemed to alter the world around you to an alarming degree. Nothing too noticeable thankfully, but still noteworthy.

Things you picked or put in your inventory had a way of coming back within a few days. This, you'd learned, was not the norm. A harvested field stayed harvested until it was replanted. A picked apple stayed gone until a new one grew from another bud.

Things did not just reappear after enough time away from them. Hyrule did not have that type of magic, though it would seem you did. Which, honestly, was fine by you. It helped you make a living at the beginning.

Food, you found, was a precious commodity. The game made it seem easily accessible, but in reality it was a hit or miss depending on the season. Late spring through early fall was bountiful, but the rest of the year was downright miserable.

People here lived on what could be grown locally. When things stopped growing, people started struggling.

Not to say most residents starved, but the cost of a bale of wheat went up drastically in the winter. Nevermind the cost of fresh fruit, meat or anything not pickled or preserved.

The game never showed this side to Hyrule. The part where these magical people with their high metabolisms suffered during the lean winter months. How they worked and saved all year just to break even through the cold season.

Winter might have been the time of hardship, but it was your golden goose. It was how you made a living, how you came out ahead.

Anything stored within your mindslate stayed perfectly preserved, untouched by time nor the effects of decomposition. And added to your unusual effect on the world, it allowed you to amass a literal shit ton of resources.

At first you'd make daily trips around the village gathering enough materials to ensure a place at the inn every night. Anything would do. Wheat, crickets, apples, the occasional fish, even fairies.

(Strange that one, how your mindslate just stored living beings like that. They were the one thing you didn't mess with. Just let them sit in there, as far from your mind as possible.)

You cut grass with your rusty sword, hacked down small trees with your equally cheap and rusted ax, roamed the nearby woods for mushrooms, beetles or lizards. Occasionally, you'd even find a more unusual item. Like a sword or shield just laying in the grass.

You'd try not to think of how it got there.

You gathered resources for a living, and the shop owners came to know you as the Apple Merchant. It was sweet actually, and it seemed to endear you to some of the residents.

Perhaps they appreciated that you were trying to make a life for yourself among them, not just begging for handouts. Or maybe it was pity for the foreign human who didn't know hyrulian common well. Hard to tell.

When winter came that first year, is when you realized the full breath of your situational advantage.

One year. That's all it took. One year to become one of the wealthiest people in the village.

And they didn't even realize it.

A bundle of carrots purchased cheaply during the height of harvest season sold for five times that amount in the winter. A bundle of wheat, nearly seven. And meat was something else entirely. Rare enough during the warm season, it became worth its weight in gold the moment winter set in and creatures ventured to warmer regions.

Winter was a literal Godsent.

And the next winter was even more profitable. Now armed with the foresight of experience, you planned your life around it. Bought overflow harvest in bulk, bought out traveling merchant's wares without a second glance.

You prepared, and you thrived. Your bare threat clothes became wool, your worn shoes became comfortable soft leather. You bought a horse, then three, a wagon. Hired guard detail.

Became a merchant. The Apple Merchant; written in clear hyrulian script across your wagon.

By the third year, you were in Lurelin, Kakariko, and every stable and small settlement in the southern reaches of Hyrule. Damn near made it to Gerudo too, before the logistics of such a trip set you back.

You made it though, on your forth year. Reaped the benefits of being a well stocked merchant in an inhospitable place like Gerudo desert. Never made it to Gerudo town though, but the outlier villages more than made up for that.

Life was good. It was profitable. You could even say you were happy.

Then it happened in the early spring of the fifth year. The Shiekah towers rose.

It was nothing that should have concerned you. Link had finally awoken from his 100 year slumber as he was meant to, and his story would continue on without you. Your paths would probably never cross. You were just one of the thousand's of merchants making a living all across Hyrule.

You were nobody in the grand scheme of things. You were someone completely removed from the big picture.

Until you weren't.

And it started with a missing apple.

---

Now I return to the shadows to rest.

[rogersideup]

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

‧₊˚✧⚁⁠♧777♤⚄✧˚₊‧

Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

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