#with as little expenditure on the poor as they can get away with

[realasslesbian]

I just had to share this email I got so all y'all can appreciate the absolute state of welfare services in Australia with me:

The NILs Loan Scheme is a government funded, no interest loan scheme for people on low incomes, but this leaves me wondering exactly who tf can qualify for their loans. Because it seems like if you have any symptoms of poverty it's a no.

I applied because I need the clutch replaced in my van, which I live in. It's lucky that I actually CAN afford the cost myself (due to living in a van & not participating in Australia's increasingly ridiculous housing market). I thankfully can afford such an expense these days & was just looking for a responsible financial buffer, just in case. But if this had happened to me a few years ago when I first became homeless and was far less financially stable, then my next living situation wouldn't be "affordable housing" it would be a fucking tent.

Anyway, the backwards ass state of a GOVERNMENT FUNDED welfare scheme refusing to assist those who need welfare the most because they don't want to encourage homelessness or whatever the dumb fuck? Just really rustled my jimmies tbh. Just screams "yet another govt welfare scheme that's actually just about handing out money to fake charities & not helping the poor". Good Shephard just got on the "do not donate to these grifters" list along with the Salvos😒

[revalition]

OCT 8 - VOLITION

Hold yourself together. Keep your Morale up.

I had to resize this image 3 times to get tumblr to take it... it is also past midnight here, but the day change doesn't really count if I haven't gone to sleep yet, so :)

Volition. My love. my favourite skill. please enjoy. I also drew the volitions of some of my mutuals!! because I love you guys and your volitions very much (holding them gently in my hands). hopefully you guys dont mind and I didn't mess them up too badly

anyway. uhm. I'm much too tired to write anything super coherent right now. please write tags for me or write comments so I can see them when I wake up haha

and! there is a LOT under the cut. like, way more than any of the other days. it is giant. be very careful expanding it <3

ok here goes... I'm typing shorter ones out and screenshotting big ones

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VOLITION - Stop, you're only making it worse for him -- you never help with *anything*.

- Rare volition being rude to other skills!!! it only happens under pressure, too

KIM KITSURAGI - "What else could she have done? Lie? She saw there was no way to lie and get away with it."

DRAMA - You would have caught it.

VOLITION - Like hell you would have -- remember?

- you tell him volition!!

SUGGESTION - What is *wrong* with you? Why did you ask to be connected to her? Who *does* that?! Act professional now.

VOLITION - *You* told him to do that stupid thing...

- rare volition callout!!

YOU - Can I trust that guy?

VOLITION - A little. They're all still of limited use, interpreting things to the best of their ability. Maybe they add flair or something? I wouldn't know. I don't add flair.

- this is one of my favs haha. you don't need flair, love, it's ok

VOLITION - Ouch.... That's like twenty points of pride-damage right there, buddy.

- This is after Sylvie turns you down to get coffee. (and you do suffer a point of morale damage haha). him calling you buddy is so funny. it's always mildly condescending too!

- here's the other two:

VOLITION - You're no titan of Volition, buddy. He's got you in a fork. Sit down or leave.

VOLITION - You're a little more moralist now, buddy. A little more *normal*. Even if you didn't want to be.

YOU - "Cryptid extravaganza? I like the sound of that."

KIM KITSURAGI - "And I *don't*. Just one."

VOLITION - Or he'll be *disappointed* in you.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Whooh... tough choice there.

- volition knows it's truly the most terrible thing haha

VOLITION - An enormous expenditure of willpower to build up strategic semen reserves? You had me at *willpower*. Let's do it!

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Life is all about pleasure... why deny it?!

- these two are hilarious. poor echem. but also volition, honey, nono...

- the game implies consequences when increasing your skills too high but you don't see it with all of them. Volition's one you don't really see much downside to, but you can just. Imagine it here. Him pressuring you to do something stupid, just for the sake of it being difficult. Surely that's not healthy??

- I do think Volition has a lot of issues. I'll get into some more of them later though!!

- but just... Harry wanting to do something that *is* a test of willpower and Volition is completely uninterested. But the semen retention thing is okay? sigh

- and then after that, he's just like. nope. we're not going to not swear :)

- he's so stupid sometimes. also it's absolutely hilarious to me that you can pick the "..." option over and over and Volition will match it forever. You simply cannot out-will your own willpower. It's just not possible.

- I actually live for Volition being the singular voice of reason. Look at the others all chiming in!!

- this one too, Volition being the only one trying to stop it! Why are they all piling on?? Composure not you too >:(

- I had excessively high Volition *and* Pain Threshold in my first run and the two of them!!! PT gets very self destructive at high levels, so seeing the relentless push and pull of PT and Volition was so good.

- This line from the description -> "Cool for: Sane People, Well-Adjusted Cops, The Non-Suicidal" yes it's cool for them, sure, but it's incredibly!!! important for NOT these people! Because Volition doesn't make you sane, or well-adjusted, or non-suicidal. He's just the one voice of reason in there trying to veer you away from making irreversibly bad decisions.

VOLITION - She tries to hide it, but some *great doubt* is spreading within her. There is a crown slowly cracking above her head.

- I need to talk about this line. Just. Volition acknowledging the existence of Joyce's own Volition (which he refers to as a crown!!!) cracking! the *great doubt* spreading and cracking apart the crown! hghh I live for any and every depiction of volition cracking apart when morale gets low and this is absolutely one of them.

AUTHORITY - Weren't you warned to *not* go down this path?! And yet you *still* go and do it...

VOLITION - Just because you *can* doesn't mean you *have to* say everything that comes to mind. Back out before the situation escalates.

- these two's dynamic is very funny to me. I love when they work together (but I also love when they fight! fight fight fight!)

VOLITION - Don't ask, don't look, don't do *anything* here. Just go away. Get back to work.

- "Just go away" ugh my guy is fighting for his life here to get you away from the cigarette and alcohol counter in the Frittte

- hghhk Volition. this is a Challenging passive check too (the second one, to hang up). *one* chance, that's all he has in him. It's not possible at all in the dream, no matter how high your Volition stat is. It's just not something he can do. But here, with the distance of the payphone between you and possibly real consequences, he's able to manage one chance.

- (also did anyone see the post about the payphone conversation possibly being entroponetic crosstalk?? I could talk about that for way too long. but I am getting sidetracked)

YOU - "Yeah, I'm done talking about her. I don't want to think about her anymore."

RHETORIC - What a strange choice of words...

EMPATHY - Caustic, overflowing with negativity.

VOLITION - That can't be healthy. What's happening here? Why do you keep coming back to this window?

YOU - Nothing, everything's okay.

VOLITION - But it isn't. And you shouldn't come back to this anymore. This should be the last time. Stop talking about that damn window, please.

- this one too

VOLITION - Throw it away. Please.

- I need to talk about this. Volition dutifully directs you away from all the reminders of Dora. He does everything in his power to stop the final dream from happening.

- And I get it. He's trying to protect Harry. Because Harry isn't mentally stable right now and it could endanger the case. but... at least, when the final dream happens Kim is (usually) there when you wake up. And if all went well, you get to go back to your precinct, and take Kim with you. And Harry has support.

- If the dream doesn't happen... it will happen eventually. There are a million reminders in Martinaise in the span of a week, imagine what Jamrock is like. It's an inevitability. And then you're taking the chance that the dream happens at a time when Harry is much worse off. Maybe he's alone. Maybe Kim left, maybe he was let go from the force.

- The dream could happen at a better time too, of course. we probably all imagine harry picking up the pieces after martinaise and his life finally taking a turn for the better. and I imagine this is what Volition had in mind, by delaying the dream. Maybe it can be delayed for a long time, long enough.

- but it's a huge risk and I just... don't know if he's making the right choice here. keeping important information about Harry's past, which has shaped his relationships and life considerably, in a box so it can't hurt him

- yeah. anyway...

YOU - What if I don't want to ask questions?

REACTION SPEED - You're a cop, Harry. It is *unnatural* of you not to want to ask questions.

VOLITION - You don't have to. No one is forcing you to be a cop.

- Volition??? sometimes this guy makes no sense, he's so funny. I really think he occasionally just does something for the sake of being defiant

EGG HEAD - "Please. Please?" The young man smiles at you widely, bright and innocent as the summer sun.

VOLITION - His pleaful smile is disarming, but you can withstand it's glorious assault, if you just put your heart into it.

- why? why?? don't turn down egg head ever!

VOLITION - Alright, come on now. If *he* hasn't said anything about your lack of pants, no one will. You're only hurting yourself by not wearing them...

- this one is so funny. I love that he lets you know he *knows* you're trying to get a reaction and you're not going to get one!!

- yes volition, stop himmm

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - How very astute of you! This renders it ineffectual. You should look for a *whole* cigarette. Or better yet -- an entire pack! Strike that, a CARTON! Make sure they're all healthy and able-bodied, then smoke them all.

VOLITION - Or -- you could *not* do that. No one is making you.

- volition as usual trying to stop you from picking up bad habits... I just love the way he talks. he's not even telling you not to, just voicing his disapproval in a rather passive way

INTERFACING - Wow, the gods of mass production have made this alcohol container *laughably* easy to open. A child could have done it.

VOLITION - I don't know about this...

- he still doesn't outright tell you not to drink it... :(((

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Fine. We're not worried... you'll crawl back to this bottle soon enough. We'll give you another chance. Booze *always* gives you *another* chance.

SUGGESTION - Yes, it's *merciful* that way. It's your friend. Come back to it, we're all rooting for you to.

VOLITION - Not *all* of us...

- he's the only one rooting for you to not drink it!! he can't stop you. but he is supporting you in the only way he's able.

VOLITION - No. You *can* stop. Just wade through the hell. Month after month. Year after year -- you against the nothingness. It's possible, because *time* is possible.

- He can encourage you!!

YOU - "I *will* stop drinking."

MEASUREHEAD - "THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE. THE GAME OF *SHAH-MAT* YOU PLAY AGAINST THE GUL'S TRICKS IS UNWINNABLE. THE DAYS, THE WEEKS, THE MONTHS WILL WEAR YOU OUT. THE OCCIDENTAL HAPLOGROUP IS INCAPABLE OF LONG TERM LUCID THOUGHT."

VOLITION - NO.

- volition!!! <3 that's all he needs to say.

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - This is it. I'm gonna hit the ground and burn away now. Most of the people in this yard are gonna die -- if not all. Probably you too. It's a COMPLETE DISASTER.

PAIN THRESHOLD - Get ready for a world of pain, man.

VOLITION - No. Not a disaster. Weave this into the story of you. Walk out of its *ruins*. Save those who still can be saved -- *I'm* on your side.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - And the lieutenant too. And the men behind your back, drawing their weapons... you can live. You can get out of this.

- hnngh. this one is among my favourites too. my amazing 1 int run also had 1 motorics. at this point I had failed the rhetoric check to save ruby, failed the logic check to save lizzie, and now failed the spirit bomb throw too and was about ready to cry. Volition's quiet reassurance was very important to me in that moment. EdC too, and I did save Kim.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!

YOU - Leave it for now.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Thank god, I would have cut your throat.

VOLITION - The centipede is exaggerating -- people don't actually cut their own throats when they're shaving. At least not accidentally.

- centipede!!! it's such a funny nickname. alternatively

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!

YOU - This isn't sharp enough. Scrape harder.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Stop, for crying out loud! You're gonna cut your own throat.

VOLITION - There's no way to salvage this.

- these guys are hilarious. why is volition even watching this mess? 'there's no way to salvage this.' ??? I'm not even sure if he's referring to you or H/E... he must be so tired.

ENDURANCE - You feel like you're about to faint and fall off the swing. Your hands get clammy and the air tastes sour to breathe.

HALF LIGHT - Oh god, Harry! Oh god, Harry, what did you do...?!

VOLITION - No! Just nope. Say no to this, Harry.

- more of this!! >:( of volition trying to just avoid anything painful. wake up man.

LOGIC - Everything is so pretty and red -- you and Leo look like brothers as you glance around with similar childlike wonder.

VOLITION - Keep it together, no need to show your wonder.

- why? :( it's not hurting anyone. legendary difficulty passive for volition, high levels of volition are sometimes questionable. I love collecting all these instances of volition making weird suggestions. it's like when people point out really weird things Kim does, that you don't really notice as weird because he does it so calmly and confidently.

VOLITION - Huh... no, Mr. Conclusion. You're always kind of limited in your analytical abilities. That's not *her* fault. But still...

- volition: you're kind of limited in your analytical abilities... meanwhile logic and viscalc and ency calling you stupid and brain damaged lol. vol is so gentle about it!!

- then again...

VOLITION - ...no? He's not going to show up? I'm sorry, your lie detection isn't working. It's not her doing, he's just totally inept. It looks like you're also an idiot. But that's not her fault.

- lol.

RHETORIC - This is good. Clear the air first -- between you two -- then move on to questions.

VOLITION - No, it's not good. It's the opposite of that. This will let her dictate the terms of your...

RHETORIC - Shush. I can't hear what she's saying.

- no. don't ever cut off or shush volition ever again

- >:(

YOU - No-no-no-no...

INLAND EMPIRE - Yes, yes, yes, yes.

VOLITION - No-no, we're not starting with that. Not now. Not this time. This thought is over.

- volitionnnn... ily. my own volition also cuts off dangerous lines of thought for me. I think he's got to be constantly vigilant, in order to be so good at it. must be exhausting :(

YOU - "Can't promise that. I might attack him again." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant groans, but doesn't say anything.

VOLITION - That's right, you *should* do it again! It's the *last* thing he'll be expecting.

- uhm. not sure that's a good idea!!

VOLITION - You're too weak to say 'no' now. Waking up is the worst part. Maybe somewhere down the line you could decline...

- referring to declining the speed. all volition fails are very sad

VOLITION - Yes, look at yourself. What do you see?

YOU - Just a sorry stack of shit...

VOLITION - Yeah, didn't even know they stack shit *that* sorry.

- beautiful, rare volition scolding you!!!! after you disregard his advice and don't apologize to kim after the church fail. he's on your side, but he also knows he needs to tell you that this wasn't okay.

VOLITION - First the investigation, now this... how many more things do you have to fuck up?

- this one too! same scenario. this is a difficulty 16 (Godly) check...

- yes this again. it just needs to be in here. the volition panic attack. if this volition passive doesn't fire, you take no volition damage. it's completely self-inflicted :(((

PAYPHONE - The headset lands in the cradle with a clank. There it sits -- still warm from your hand. You have no idea what just happened.

(heal 2 endurance and 2 volition)

- if you hang up the phone before dora picks up!

VOLITION - He subdues the feeling. Dusts himself off and moves on. So should you. There will be other chances.

(heal 2 volition)

- if Kim misses getting a picture of the phasmid

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - The necktie is guiding you through this. It's your spirit animal, both your nemesis and friend. Suddenly a feeling of ease brushes through you -- you're fine again.

(heal 2 volition and 1 endurance)

AUTHORITY - That... was the most honourable thing anyone has ever done, Harry.

(heal all volition)

- very special incidences of healing more than 1 volition at once!! the fact that healing/damaging morale is just directly called heal/damage volition in the variable naming is. yeah. I think about it constantly. does it hurt him? I think it does. and he never says anything about it (unlike endurance!) he just bears with it quietly.

VOLITION - In honour of your shit, lieutenant-yefreitor. Which you kept *together* in the face of total, unrelenting terror. Day after day. Second by second.

INLAND EMPIRE - DETECTIVE

ESPRIT DE CORPS - ARRIVING

AUTHORITY - ON THE SCENE

- obviously this one has to be in here. funnily enough, in my second playthrough I had 2 PSY but everyone had been bumped up enough that they all fired except authority... I ended up throwing a point into authority and retrying the dialogue so it could be complete haha

VOLITION - What? I thought you had your shit together! This is nearing a complete meltdown! Stop it!

- volitionnn :( if you don't stop you have a panic attack, so I guess he's only trying to help

- this is too funny. volition honey, you absolutely do add flair too

YOU - Oh, you mean Cuno?

VOLITION - Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!

- yup, absolutely no flair. Super. Tip-top!

VOLITION - These guys are compromised. She's got them singing along to her tune. The little bleeps and bloops you trust for info -- you can't trust them anymore.

- it would be a crime to not include the bleeps and bloops in here! why does he call them that?? haha

- rare instance of volition not being able to stop the disaster!

INLAND EMPIRE - Your surroundings are undisturbed. While you slept, you were alone. Now that you're awake -- you're still alone.

HALF LIGHT - Get the fuck out of here. Fuck this place, fuck this world, fuck this life, fuck this body -- just fucking go.

SAVOIR FAIRE - The sheets are stained red. Your blood's been running again. Keep it together. Just get out of here and finish this fucking thing.

VOLITION - Harry... I know there's not much to say -- but if nothing else, just remember that you've made it this far. And it's just a bit farther now. Let's finish this.

- this is just. it's awful, if you have the final dream all alone. but at least you have volition with you

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Dick Mullen was made to crack skulls and solve cases. It's who he is. He could no more stop being a detective than a tiger could cease to be a predator in the night.

VOLITION - You're no tiger, though, Harry. You're a man. It's your curse to have to choose.

- I like this one.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - That sugary black rum stain on the counter makes you teary-eyed with joy. It's almost touching how syrupy and sticky it is. How long have you been up already?

YOU - Not now.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh *excuse me*, do you have something better to do than lust for sweet syrupy rum and lemonade? With a twist of lemon? Maybe lime? Maybe who cares, just rum?

VOLITION - Yes, you do have something better to do. Stop drooling over that stupid rum stain and go. Before it's too late.

- this is a challenging (difficulty 12) check! it's very difficult to resist the sticky rum stain I guess

YOU - Give up.

LOGIC - There we go. Your mind is a relaxed muscle. It's so nice and easy to give up, isn't it? On the downside -- you have no idea what you were supposed to do now. I could have *debriefed* you.

VOLITION - Blissful idiot -- say something. You've stood there for too long.

- blissful idiot

VOLITION - Don't be an idiot and say it. In this day and age, of all times. It won't end well.

- once again, volition pushing you away from the bi-curious thing. :( he just wants to keep you safe, but it comes at a cost.

- you can't just wrap harry in bubblewrap, volition. he'll never grow

- volition absolutely saving the day here. do NOT say it harry! authority's advice is SO hit or miss

VOLITION - It's time to leave it be. You're about to make a child cry. Are you proud of yourself?

YOU - Damn right I am! Proud as the Lion of Serber.

VOLITION - Excuse me, I'm not sure I heard that properly...

- volition ily. he has to deal with so much.

VOLITION - Should we? He's *nice*. I don't like *nice*.

- this is so funny. he's very suspicious.

VOLITION - Look at it, detective. And be ashamed. Until you make it right by *legally purchasing* that raincoat, I'll make sure you feel guilty every time you see it.

- YES YES conscience volition!!

YOU - Close the carabiner.

SLEEPING DOCKWORKER - The sleeping dockworker has little to say about your actions. He remains silent.

VOLITION - You're not 100% clear what you did here was *right*, but to hell with it...

- only sometimes!!

VOLITION - I can't restrain this one. The need to *cop* is too strong. You just need to ask it.

- why are you trying to restrain copping??? this guy, sometimes. he's so stupid (affectionate)

VOLITION - That's it. I'm calling it. Kim is beyond compromised.

- uhm. volition completely overcompensating with the compromised skills is quite funny. once drama wakes up, he does it too

VOLITION - See? It's oddly moderate. Probably compromised.

- oddly moderate now means compromised??

- this is it. this is volition's only comment on this disastrous authority fail. he makes no attempt to stop it!!

VOLITION - Being Cuno's pig has a steadying effect on your hand. Go with the flow, man...

- volition's so silly sometimes

DAMAGED LEDGER - You feel that thing in the back of your head? That little voice, that quiet scream? You already felt this was a bad idea, but especially right now it's even worse. Try as you might, you can't read it now.

VOLITION - You've got *business* to deal with first. Talk to the Union boss first, at least... I can't stop you for long, but there's just enough of an excuse now.

- Volition fighting for his life to stop you from reading the letter :,(

VOLITION - If it's possible, then by pure willpower alone. You are going to have to become... a psycholocomotor.

- that is *not* a real word but we love you anyway vol

LOGIC - Is that how it is now? We should just try all good things *twice* and then give up? By that logic...

VOLITION - Not you too...

- he's all alone out here :(

VOLITION - Someone's been a very busy boy. Good on you...

- thank you...?

VOLITION - *Very* off. Just let her go. Listen to me for once...

- for once?? :((( but if you try...

VOLITION - I can't help you. I am totally useless. Everything I've said is lies. I want the exact same bad things you want. To stand here, like a pillar of salt, saying...

- this is probably one of the saddest lines. all the skills falling apart in the dream is awful, but volition might be the worst. it's also very important that volition *does* want the exact same thing you want. He wants to drink and smoke and think of dora and die. And he chooses to resist it anyways. To be the only thing standing in your way. But it's to the point where it's all he knows. He knows that he has to resist the things he wants, and will occasionally take it too far. Keeping Harry (and himself) from things that will make them happy. In the setting of the game, Volition keeps things together and on track. But once Harry is back in his normal life, it will become very much a double edged sword I think. Luckily(?) it will self balance a bit, where if Volition prevents Harry from being happy then he'll lose morale, weakening volition, and then vol won't prevent harry as much and it'll balance out. hopefully.

VOLITION - Despair creeps into you, getting fat on your weakness. Whatever noble intentions you once had as a police officer -- it's eating them all up now.

VOLITION - Nothing you can say would make you feel any better now...

- 😭 I hate this, I hate the volition death. the endurance one is really painful too, but this one's painful in a different way. Volition isn't getting back up from this. the awful newspaper clipping saying you go to live under a bridge... that's what happens when you let volition die?? if any of the other skills (except endurance) drop to 0 you can just raise them back up, but vollll.... ugh.

VOLITION - Listen... It's okay to take a few minutes to yourself. Sit down and have a breather.

ENDURANCE - You need to rest. Your body is aching. Getting in here has taken something out of you. Have a seat.

- our two health pool boys encouraging you to take care of yourself <3

YOU - "Kim, can *you* see it?!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can see it."

VOLITION - Four simple words -- thank god. If he can see, then you're not insane.

- this one is obviously very important.

YOU - "I've finally gone insane..." (Put your head in your hands.)

[...]

VOLITION - My god... maybe you *are*.

- if Kim and Cuno aren't there, and your Volition is really low, you get this very sad fail. :(

VOLITION - True, you ought not love ruins and hell -- and the fading scent of apricots.

- I like this one.

WASHERWOMAN - "I *can* wash it for you," she says after looking the jacket over, "but it's going to take about a half an hour. Think you can stay put for that long?"

VOLITION - Hell yeah!

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - No, we must run around ceaselessly. It would be torture to stay put.

- I really really love him.

YOU - "By the way, I'm going to sing karaoke here."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Absolutely out of the question."

VOLITION - You wait and see, cafeteria manager!

- volition will not be told no!!

VOLITION - No one can STOP you from finding the phasmid.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - WHAT IS HAPPENING TO YOU?!?! Are you going to CRY now, son?

VOLITION - You heard the coach! This is weakness. It cannot go on much longer, or you will LOSE.

- these guys are great. coach!

YOU - Right. Activate Denial Mode.

VOLITION - You're not really an automaton, you do know that?

- oh, thank you for the insight volition

- even your most willful, imaginative skills know this scope creep was insurmountable...

DRAMA - But we *are* awake, sire! She has been forthcoming -- with sordid details women usually conceal! Most *shocking* details of the sexual kind! We are a bulwark, un-breached...

VOLITION - You've been breached, bulwark. You've been breached, like, a thousand times now!

- nooo poor drama (volition is right)

- Volition trying to reassure you after the Tribunal is very important.

- SO TRUE.

DRAMA - This may have been a *grave* mistake, sire.

VOLITION - Maybe. Maybe not. Mercy is rarely a *complete* mistake.

- I really adore this quote.

I think I'm going to leave it here. I haven't included some quotes that I put in other posts already but I might add them in later to have a comprehensive Volition post... But I've spent like 4 hours on this already so I'm giving it a rest for now :)

[topazadine]

Why Mindfulness Is a Key Practice for Writers

A writer’s brain is chaos most of the time. We are all over the place, ping-ponging amongst a bramble of curious thoughts and half-snatched ideas. It can get pretty overwhelming in there, and this can distract us from our ultimate goal: to make something amazing that people love.

More than that, over-cogitation can cause burnout. When you’re on alert all the time, puzzling through difficult passages and plot holes, then you’ll quickly find yourself with no energy to continue your work.

But what if the antidote is to be head empty, no thoughts? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could simply rocket into the blissful void of Orange Cat Energy – whenever you want?

Well you can, my friend. That’s where mindfulness comes into play.

What Is Mindfulness?

I think everyone can benefit from mindfulness, but many get very intimidated by the concept because they have preconceived notions of what it actually means.

Mindful defines it as such:

Mindfulness is the basic human ability to be fully present, aware of where we are and what we’re doing, and not overly reactive or overwhelmed by what’s going on around us.

That’s really all it is. You live precisely in the moment, not thinking about the future and not fretting over the past.

That means you’re not worrying about your writer’s block or spinning yourself into circles about whether you are a good writer (you are) or if you will get published someday (I believe in you!). You just are … being.

Why Is Mindfulness Important for Writers?

Your brain is an energy-hungry organ. It gobbles up one-fifth of your body’s nutritional input, despite being only 2% of your body weight.

That three-pound succubus is voracious, but there comes to a point where it is expending so much energy that it tires you out. This is especially true if you are going through any stressors or have subconscious frustrations that take up even more of your neural expenditure.

Just as your body needs time to recover from a strenuous exercise, so too does your mind need a bit of a reset. While sleep is awesome, it is also a time when your brain is cleaning itself out, flushing toxins, and building new connections. Yes, your poor brain really doesn’t get much of a break – ever.

But you can provide that break through mindfulness. During mindfulness, you don’t focus on the higher-level thinking that creativity demands; instead, you consider the little things that make life pleasant, emerging from this void space with a newfound appreciation and focus.

The Benefits of Mindfulness on Your Craft

Many of us writers want everything we do to help our work in some way; we live and breathe our writing, and we don’t want to waste a second without learning something new. And that’s great! Mindfulness can help with that, too.

When you take time each day to be a real part of this world, you’ll find you notice things that you never thought about before, such as the soft sound of snowing plinking down or the color of a nearby roof when the sun hits it just right. This can be tremendous fodder for building even more sumptuous descriptions into your writing.

Diving down into your inner self also allows you to feel how feelings really feel in your body. A prickle of irritation at a loud sound makes your neck tingle; contentment fills your stomach with a warm heaviness. Really focusing on something makes me feel as if I’m leaning into a spectral wind, and the edges of my vision darken into nothingness.

Knowing how each of these things impact you can help you build that into characterizations and connect with readers in a very meaningful, visceral way.

And of course, a stray thought about how to move your plot forward may appear. You can note it, appreciate it, and file it away for later, moving back into your comfy space of full attention on every sensation.

Ways to Practice Mindfulness

Mindfulness doesn’t need to involve donning a saffron robe and chanting over a brazier filled with fragrant herbs – though it totally can if you’ve got the gumption. Go off!

However, most of us have other stuff to do with our lives and can’t head off to a monastery whenever we feel a bit work-heavy. Here’s how you can incorporant a sprinkle of serenity into your everyday life: custom-tailored to the writer mindset.

Meditation

Meditation is an excellent way to practice mindfulness, but when I started out, I found silent meditation to be almost more anxiety-inducing than not meditating at all. While I’ve built up my tolerance for it, I still don’t like it; instead, I prefer mantra meditation.

With mantra meditation, you repeat a phrase, silently or out loud, over and over again. If you are doing it religiously, you are supposed to recite it 108 times, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.

I am a Nichiren Buddhist, so I use the mantra “nam myoho renge kyo;��� however, there are many lists of excellent mantras you can use instead. You can also make your own in your native tongue, but I have found that reciting something in a different language makes it easier to turn my mind off.

Mantra meditation works for a very simple reason: it is neurologically impossible to focus on two things at once. Even if you feel like you’re having two thoughts simultaneously, you’re actually not. If you are reciting a mantra, you’re not thinking about anything else, and this can clear up mental blockage.

No need to get the words perfect if you are practicing for relaxation. Listen to an audio of someone chanting it, and then go as slow or as fast as you want. Many people like the most simple mantra – “om” – because it requires no training whatsoever: just one long, drawn out syllable.

Take a deep breath, say “om,” and draw it out until your lungs are completely empty. There! Don’t you feel better?

Forest Bathing

Nature is all around us, even if we often ignore it. The otherworldly glory of a spiderweb, the curious antics of a squirrel, or the fragile grace of a deer browsing can all be magical experiences – if only you’ll let them.

Forest bathing as a concept is based in the Japanese practice of shinrin-yoku, which translates literally to forest bath. All it means is to spend some time outdoors with your phone off, relaxing and taking in the wilderness with all five of your senses.

Studies demonstrate that forest bathing helps to lower the heartrate and reduce stress. There is something innately healing about being surrounded by greenery, getting some fresh air, and appreciating the warm sunlight on your skin.

Of course, not all of us have two hours to go meander through a forest, or even have one within close proximity. And that’s okay! You can still benefit from nature bathing: consider it a low-dose form of nature bathing.

I like to sit by my living room window and watch the animals go by. Through taking the time to put down my phone and admire the world, I have seen the most beautiful sights, like a spider taking down a fly within seconds or a groundhog nibbling on my dandelions. These sound mundane, but as artists, we have a natural sense of whimsy that helps to make even the smallest experiences into a magical, world-grounding moment.

Just a few minutes of paying close attention to the nature outside, whether that is clouds skirting by or grass waving gently in the wind, can do marvels for your soul.

Cleaning

It’s an old stereotype that writers will organize their home top to bottom before they’ll actually sit down at their desk and write, but honestly? There’s a reason.

By organizing your physical space, you are reducing your mental burden.

The Royal Australian College of General Practitioners explains:

Bursting cupboards and piles of paper stacked around the house may seem harmless enough. But research shows disorganisation and clutter have a cumulative effect on our brains.   Our brains like order, and constant visual reminders of disorganisation drain our cognitive resources, reducing our ability to focus.   The visual distraction of clutter increases cognitive overload and can reduce our working memory.   In 2011, neuroscience researchers using fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging) and other physiological measurements found clearing clutter from the home and work environment resulted in a better ability to focus and process information, as well as increased productivity.

Now, I am a super messy person: many creatives are. A bit of clutter can be fine, but it can get to a point where it interferes with your happiness and leads to a cluttered mind, too.

You don’t need to become a minimalist, but organization can go a long way, and even washing dishes can help give you a sense of accomplishment that helps you get back to your document. When I feel antsy, I often find myself sweeping the floor, clearing out the cobwebs just as I want to banish those lurking in my brain.

Exercise

And finally, we get to exercise. Not only does it provide neurogenic benefits, but exercise is a mindful activity: you are focused on your movements and what your body is doing rather than anything outside of the gym.

Whether it is tramping along on a treadmill or lifting weights, you can seriously harm yourself if you’re not paying attention, which forces you to let go of everything else that you’re worried about.

I, being the freak I am, like exercise on hard mode, where I could seriously injure myself if I am not paying attention. As such, I am a huge fan of rock climbing and horseback riding, which are pretty much the ultimate practice of mindfulness. For rock climbing, you must be perfectly aware of your body at all times, down to the tiniest toe placement, or you'll go flying off the wall. And for horseback riding, all you have the space for is Horse, and your love of Horse, and how you'd give up your first-born child if Horse told you to.

Some people get an endorphin rush that provides them with a sense of well-being, but some are unfortunate enough not to experience such happiness, particularly those with chronic fatigue. However, the act of losing yourself in an activity can still provide you with the calm necessary to plow on when you’re done, and that is well worth it.

Mindfulness Shouldn’t Be Difficult

In fact, the more that you practice mindfulness, the more you will find that you enjoy it. This simple work of living with intention will enhance your appreciation for everyday life – and allow you ample mental rest for the hard work of writing.

There’s no need to go on some grand spirit journey to Tibet or an exotic island; you don’t even need a candle, yoga mat, or special incense. You don’t have to set up an altar or make it a spiritual practice at all.

Nearly anything can be a practice in mindfulness if it is done intentionally and with full awareness. Whatever you enjoy doing, stop and take a deep breath, then focus your whole being on that thing.

Don’t multi-task; don’t let your mind wander to other things. Whether that is walking your dog, playing with your children, or sweeping the floor, commit yourself to fully immersing in it. Engage all five senses and pass no judgment on what you feel, whether that is a siren wailing by or the unpleasant perfume of a stranger. Simply note it and let it flow past.

If you find mindfulness difficult, note that too, and accept your current feelings without shame or judgment. It’s okay. That’s part of mindfulness as well.

Now that you're being mindful, perhaps you'll consider purchasing my debut novel?

9 Years Yearning is a coming-of-age gay romance set in a fantasy world with poetry magic. It follows two young men as they grow from sorta-enemies, to frenemies, to friends, and finally to lovers.

If you do read it, please don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are essential to getting visibility on Amazon, so every single one is golden to me.

[thebrickinbrick]

Minus Five, Plus One, Part One

After the man who decreed the “protest of corpses” had spoken, and had given this formula of their common soul, there issued from all mouths a strangely satisfied and terrible cry, funereal in sense and triumphant in tone:

“Long live death! Let us all remain here!”

“Why all?” said Enjolras.

“All! All!”

Enjolras resumed:

“The position is good; the barricade is fine. Thirty men are enough. Why sacrifice forty?”

They replied:

“Because not one will go away.”

“Citizens,” cried Enjolras, and there was an almost irritated vibration in his voice, “this republic is not rich enough in men to indulge in useless expenditure of them. Vain-glory is waste. If the duty of some is to depart, that duty should be fulfilled like any other.”

Enjolras, the man-principle, had over his co-religionists that sort of omnipotent power which emanates from the absolute. Still, great as was this omnipotence, a murmur arose. A leader to the very finger-tips, Enjolras, seeing that they murmured, insisted. He resumed haughtily:

“Let those who are afraid of not numbering more than thirty say so.”

The murmurs redoubled.

“Besides,” observed a voice in one group, “it is easy enough to talk about leaving. The barricade is hemmed in.”

“Not on the side of the Halles,” said Enjolras. “The Rue Mondétour is free, and through the Rue des Prêcheurs one can reach the Marché des Innocents.”

“And there,” went on another voice, “you would be captured. You would fall in with some grand guard of the line or the suburbs; they will spy a man passing in blouse and cap. ‘Whence come you?’ ‘Don’t you belong to the barricade?’ And they will look at your hands. You smell of powder. Shot.”

Enjolras, without making any reply, touched Combeferre’s shoulder, and the two entered the tap-room.

They emerged thence a moment later. Enjolras held in his outstretched hands the four uniforms which he had laid aside. Combeferre followed, carrying the shoulder-belts and the shakos.

“With this uniform,” said Enjolras, “you can mingle with the ranks and escape; here is enough for four.” And he flung on the ground, deprived of its pavement, the four uniforms.

No wavering took place in his stoical audience. Combeferre took the word.

“Come,” said he, “you must have a little pity. Do you know what the question is here? It is a question of women. See here. Are there women or are there not? Are there children or are there not? Are there mothers, yes or no, who rock cradles with their foot and who have a lot of little ones around them? Let that man of you who has never beheld a nurse’s breast raise his hand. Ah! you want to get yourselves killed, so do I—I, who am speaking to you; but I do not want to feel the phantoms of women wreathing their arms around me. Die, if you will, but don’t make others die. Suicides like that which is on the brink of accomplishment here are sublime; but suicide is narrow, and does not admit of extension; and as soon as it touches your neighbors, suicide is murder. Think of the little blond heads; think of the white locks.

Listen, Enjolras has just told me that he saw at the corner of the Rue du Cygne a lighted casement, a candle in a poor window, on the fifth floor, and on the pane the quivering shadow of the head of an old woman, who had the air of having spent the night in watching. Perhaps she is the mother of some one of you. Well, let that man go, and make haste, to say to his mother: ‘Here I am, mother!’ Let him feel at ease, the task here will be performed all the same. When one supports one’s relatives by one’s toil, one has not the right to sacrifice one’s self. That is deserting one’s family. And those who have daughters! what are you thinking of? You get yourselves killed, you are dead, that is well. And tomorrow? Young girls without bread—that is a terrible thing. Man begs, woman sells. Ah! those charming and gracious beings, so gracious and so sweet, who have bonnets of flowers, who fill the house with purity, who sing and prattle, who are like a living perfume, who prove the existence of angels in heaven by the purity of virgins on earth, that Jeanne, that Lise, that Mimi, those adorable and honest creatures who are your blessings and your pride, ah! good God, they will suffer hunger! What do you want me to say to you? There is a market for human flesh; and it is not with your shadowy hands, shuddering around them, that you will prevent them from entering it! Think of the street, think of the pavement covered with passers-by, think of the shops past which women go and come with necks all bare, and through the mire. These women, too, were pure once. Think of your sisters, those of you who have them. Misery, prostitution, the police, Saint-Lazare—that is what those beautiful, delicate girls, those fragile marvels of modesty, gentleness and loveliness, fresher than lilacs in the month of May, will come to. Ah! you have got yourselves killed! You are no longer on hand! That is well; you have wished to release the people from Royalty, and you deliver over your daughters to the police.

Friends, have a care, have mercy. Women, unhappy women, we are not in the habit of bestowing much thought on them. We trust to the women not having received a man’s education, we prevent their reading, we prevent their thinking, we prevent their occupying themselves with politics; will you prevent them from going to the dead-house this evening, and recognizing your bodies? Let us see, those who have families must be tractable, and shake hands with us and take themselves off, and leave us here alone to attend to this affair. I know well that courage is required to leave, that it is hard; but the harder it is, the more meritorious. You say: ‘I have a gun, I am at the barricade; so much the worse, I shall remain there.’ So much the worse is easily said. My friends, there is a morrow; you will not be here to-morrow, but your families will; and what sufferings! See, here is a pretty, healthy child, with cheeks like an apple, who babbles, prattles, chatters, who laughs, who smells sweet beneath your kiss,—and do you know what becomes of him when he is abandoned? I have seen one, a very small creature, no taller than that. His father was dead. Poor people had taken him in out of charity, but they had bread only for themselves. The child was always hungry. It was winter. He did not cry. You could see him approach the stove, in which there was never any fire, and whose pipe, you know, was of mastic and yellow clay. His breathing was hoarse, his face livid, his limbs flaccid, his belly prominent. He said nothing. If you spoke to him, he did not answer. He is dead. He was taken to the Necker Hospital, where I saw him. I was house-surgeon in that hospital. Now, if there are any fathers among you, fathers whose happiness it is to stroll on Sundays holding their child’s tiny hand in their robust hand, let each one of those fathers imagine that this child is his own. That poor brat, I remember, and I seem to see him now, when he lay nude on the dissecting table, how his ribs stood out on his skin like the graves beneath the grass in a cemetery. A sort of mud was found in his stomach. There were ashes in his teeth. Come, let us examine ourselves conscientiously and take counsel with our heart. Statistics show that the mortality among abandoned children is fifty-five per cent. I repeat, it is a question of women, it concerns mothers, it concerns young girls, it concerns little children. Who is talking to you of yourselves? We know well what you are; we know well that you are all brave, parbleu! we know well that you all have in your souls the joy and the glory of giving your life for the great cause; we know well that you feel yourselves elected to die usefully and magnificently, and that each one of you clings to his share in the triumph. Very well. But you are not alone in this world. There are other beings of whom you must think. You must not be egoists.”

All dropped their heads with a gloomy air.

Strange contradictions of the human heart at its most sublime moments. Combeferre, who spoke thus, was not an orphan. He recalled the mothers of other men, and forgot his own. He was about to get himself killed. He was “an egoist.”

Marius, fasting, fevered, having emerged in succession from all hope, and having been stranded in grief, the most sombre of shipwrecks, and saturated with violent emotions and conscious that the end was near, had plunged deeper and deeper into that visionary stupor which always precedes the fatal hour voluntarily accepted.

A physiologist might have studied in him the growing symptoms of that febrile absorption known to, and classified by, science, and which is to suffering what voluptuousness is to pleasure. Despair, also, has its ecstasy. Marius had reached this point. He looked on at everything as from without; as we have said, things which passed before him seemed far away; he made out the whole, but did not perceive the details. He beheld men going and coming as through a flame. He heard voices speaking as at the bottom of an abyss.

But this moved him. There was in this scene a point which pierced and roused even him. He had but one idea now, to die; and he did not wish to be turned aside from it, but he reflected, in his gloomy somnambulism, that while destroying himself, he was not prohibited from saving some one else.

He raised his voice.

“Enjolras and Combeferre are right,” said he; “no unnecessary sacrifice. I join them, and you must make haste. Combeferre has said convincing things to you. There are some among you who have families, mothers, sisters, wives, children. Let such leave the ranks.”

[elvisabutler]

my baby's sure, his love's secure

summary: you want to trust that elvis cares. you want to trust that he'll take care of you but you're pretty sure you know better. elvis reminds you that he chose you to be his princess and that you deserve every bit of his love and every bit of his attention and money even if it's beginning to be in a little shorter supply. rating: m. pairing: austin!elvis ( 60's sde variation ) x female failed actress reader word count: 2329 warnings: sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamic. brief comparison of the reader to belle watling from gone with the wind with priscilla being a scarlett o'hara. a possible butchering of a southern accent for i fear it is hard to decide how to write one sometimes. oral ( f receiving ). mirror sex. no age difference implied, but sugar baby situations do end up leaning that way sometimes. elvis's money troubles. author's note: so welcome to my triple dip for day five: praise kink with sd elvis, specifically 60s austin elvis. so, @sassy-ahsoka-tano when i posted my list just missed out on getting this day and it went to jerry schilling which was fine we all loved that fic. however she had requested either sugar daddy austin or sugar daddy elvis. and i wrote sugar daddy austin the same day as the jerry piece but toyed with writing this one. finally settled on something i liked and well y'all get this. normal rules apply, imagine your brand of elvis, i did a weird mishmash of real ( mentioning stay away joe ) and austin for setting, but you choose, i'm not picky. hope y'all enjoy. and see i did say i was working on something else today.

Acting doesn't always pan out, that's one of the regrettable things you've realized over the years. For every Vivien Leigh and Ann Margret there is at least ten girls like you. It shouldn't be so heart wrenching when it happens but it had been your dream since all your mama and daddy could afford was a picture every few months. You had given it a nice go of it, gotten a few tiny tiny parts, nothing to write home about- and you didn't. Truly, if nothing else what your attempts at stardom had given you was Elvis. Though given might have been a strong word, his attention always split between you, the Colonel and the others. You could take his wife, that one came with the territory, you supposed, even though it made you feel a bit like the Belle Watling to her Scarlett O'Hara nowadays with your job and her making him seem oh so respectable. Poor Southern girls don't make good Hollywood wives for formerly poor white trash Southern boys, but sweet girls he found in the army apparently do. But it was the ones that weren't you or Priscilla that sometimes got to you. The film flings- the ones that shouldn't matter because Priscilla and you share his heart with his daughter. But Priscilla has a ring and a house and- you've got an apartment that you spend more money on than you ought to for someone who claims to have a good chunk of her life financed by The Elvis Presley.

Truth be told Vernon knows when he talks Graceland and Elvis Presley Enterprise finances that that he has to tell Priscilla just by virtue of her being Elvis's wife, but telling you? That shouldn't be a thing and yet- and yet you're the second call. You're the one having Vernon pour over every expenditure in your kitchen to see if there's anything Priscilla and him missed. There isn't and you know that means that Elvis's finances are as bad as they looked at first glance. You hear Vernon murmuring about not being able to pay security and having to sell a horse or several to cover the costs of Graceland and your apartment and you wave him off.

"Don't worry 'bout the apartment, Vernon- I'm- I can pay for my own apartment. One less thing, you can probably keep at least one o'the horses. Don't need security, either." You'd like it, after all it wasn't exactly a secret that you were Elvis Presley's sugar baby but you also would prefer Elvis to be able to not worry about Graceland getting overrun by overzealous fans or Elvis himself being overrun by them. Sacrifices had to be made, besides, you could handle yourself. You can handle bits of yourself that he's been handling when his films were doing well.

It's another week before you get the opportunity to visit him on set, you think the film is called Stay Away, Joe, and while you're willing to look past a lot of things when it comes to Elvis, the look he has while on set isn't necessarily one of them. You have to bite back a laugh when you see him for the first time and when he hears the laughter, he turns, looking like he's about to tear into whoever is laughing before his face softens, realizing it's you. He motions for you to head to his trailer with a tilt of his head that he can easily play off as just twitching on camera.

You would prefer to immediately talk to and see him but as always the universe has other plans. Elvis leaves you hanging for a good twenty minutes before finally making his way into the trailer, a smile on his face that lights up the air around him before it dims just a little bit at seeing the dress you have on. Once inside he pulls you close to him and moves his finger around a simple signal to get you to twirl which you readily oblige him with.

"Look at you, dressin' up in that pretty little dress that I know I didn't buy ya." He plays with the strap humming as he does, not sliding it down but just running the fabric through his fingers. "Tryin' to show me I don't need to spoil ya? Tryin' to show me ya don't need a diamond necklace on that pretty neck of yours?"

You nod slowly, licking your lips as your stance straightens up. "You don't need to be havin' a sugah baby who can take of herself. Still got my job, Daddy."

His laugh almost confuses you before you realize that he's doing it purely because he thinks what you said is the most hilarious thing. "Ever think that's why I let ya keep it? Hate the damn thing but- it's serving its purpose now. Keepin' you above water while I'm tryin' to get you everythin' and get things sorted. It's keepin' ya from finding someone else in this town. Don't realize how many of 'em want ya. Don't realize how I gotta hear the whispers."

You swallow and lean forward a little, your body moving almost on instinct. "What kinda whispers?"

"'Bout how they all wish you had caught on in the movies. How they wish you were their leading lady or their darlin'." His hand moves to push down the strap of your dress, kissing your shoulder blade as he does. "'Bout how I've got this gorgeous woman in my bed. Bein' my baby."

A hum escapes your lip as you sigh, tilting your neck to the side to expose it for more access. "Your favorite baby?"

The answer is obvious, you know it is and so does Elvis but he catches on with what you want with a smirk, pulling down the other strap of your dress as he continues to kiss your neck, "Ain't another girl who can make m'feel like you do. 'Cilla- She's pretty close but you know how perfect I think ya are. Brilliant ya are, havin' that head for numbers I never got."

Your eyes move to the mirror, eyeing your reflection and shivering just a tad. You can see the look of pleasure starting to seep into your eyes, see how your chest is starting to rise and fall just a little bit quicker than it had been. "Haven't had that much time f'me, Daddy. Been making me take care of myself. Makes a girl think ya don't want her."

Perhaps you shouldn't poke the bear like that but it's true, you've been feeling pretty neglected, feeling like he doesn't want you, that he's tired of you because all you really are beyond the occasional- okay, relatively frequent- reassurances that you're a bit more, is a sugar baby, one who holds a bit more power than most you figure, but you are not his wife and you are not his girlfriend. You're someone he spoils in exchange for your company and well, neither one of you had been holding up your end of the bargain.

Elvis can't help but raise a brow at you and purse his lips. There's a part of him that wants to argue, wants to tell you that no one told you that you had to take care of yourself, that he was fine paying for part of the apartment but he knows that you're right. That he's been so busy trying to balance keeping everyone happy and fed and comfortable that he forgot about you. Forgot about one of three people he should care about the most. Instead he hums and starts to sink to his knees. You hands find purchase in his hair, trying to pull him back up with you own raised brow. "What're ya doing, 'Vis?"

"Makin' sure my girl knows how much I want her." He answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world as he starts to bunch up your dress, exposing your underwear clad cunt to his eyes. You're a little embarrassed that despite the fact that Elvis has barely touched you that your panties are slowly becoming soaked. You figure that it's just his effect on people but then you realize that maybe it's because you've missed his touch. You're so enraptured in looking at him that you don't register that he's still talking. "Look in the mirror, darlin'."

A response back, a retort back is on your tongue, you weren't going to look at him while he did whatever he planned on doing but you want to see what he's planning for once so you look at him through the mirror only to see him grin. "That's m'good girl. M'sugar."

The shiver that goes through your body, the way you clench around nothing at those words as you see his eyes boring into you through the mirror. It's nothing you haven't seen before but there's something different about hearing him say those words and looking at you like that reflected at you. His fingers hook under your underwear, slowly pulling it down as he groans seeing your wet cunt exposed. "Soaked for me already. So responsive, best at giving me what I want to see. Not like 'Cilla but in another way. Always so wet for me. So ready for me to do whatever I want." His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he leans down, placing a kiss to the outer lips of your cunt. A whimper leaves your lips against your will, earning a small chuckle from him. "Make the noises, darlin'. Sing like a pretty bird. Sing like Ann did for me."

Your lip curls up into a bit of a snarl that doesn't even get out of your mouth before you feel Elvis's tongue between your folds giving you little kitten licks. You figure he wants you to keep your eyes on the mirror, because you've done something similar to this once before and that was the rule, no taking your eyes off of you and him. You had broken it then but now, but now knowing that he's giving you attention you've been craving, that praises seem to be falling off his lips so easily, you can't help but force yourself to keep staring.

You can hear him murmuring against your clit and against your cunt in general. The words are slightly drowned out a bit by your own sighs and whimpers and murmurs of his name but you still catch them just by virtue of being so intune to his voice. "My gorgeous woman, my head strong woman. Always wantin' t'make sure I'm takin' care of. Don't need me but ya let me keep ya. Let me spoil ya when I can. Deserve everythin' I wanna give ya. Deserve to have a palace. Deserve to have ya own Graceland."

Your hand that's been in his hair has been trying to control how his tongue moves against your clit and how his nose brushes up against it when he moves to your cunt, the noise of your arousal making an almost sickening squishing noise. That hand tightens its grip as he starts to fuck you with his tongue, seemingly wanting to bring you to orgasm before he heaps any more praise on you, any more promises of what he wants to give you. You're not complaining, in fact, as you watch yourself you see the pleasure he's bringing you written on your face. Written in how your mouth stays open, noises erupting from it with no way to stop them. You want to pull his mouth away from your cunt and your clit but then he nips at your clit, a sensation you hate normally but in this moment you swear you see white. The urge to tilt your head back, to look up to the sky as if to pray for forgiveness for how hard you're orgasming is but you force yourself to stay looking at Elvis between your legs. Your legs are shaking just a bit and as Elvis pulls away you can see a smile on his lips. You want to taste yourself on him but he won't let you pull him up to your face just yet.

"You kept looking." It's not a question, it's a statement from Elvis as he looks into the mirror and a new burst of arousal starts to unfurl in your abdomen. "And you made all those pretty noises."

You nod slowly. "I did. Did I do good?"

His fingers move play with you, fingers slipping in between your folds with ease and earning a hiss and a low groan from you. "You did great. Did exactly what I asked you to do. You don't always but when it matters you do. And even when you don't- it's for a good reason. Like you making sure my other two girls are protected. Makin' sure I can keep the house I bought for my mama."

It's then that you have to shut your eyes, the fact that he's praising you for making the sacrifice making you a bit more emotional than you expected. You hear him sigh, feel him kiss your thigh before he speaks again. "I'm gonna get you set up again soon enough, promise, darlin'. Gonna make sure you get your reward beyond this."

"You promise?" Your voice is softer than normal but you know he can hear it. "I'll actually have ya payin' for the apartment again?"

"The apartment, every single dress, every bit of jewelry. Maybe even that new car I know you've been eyein'." Each word is punctuated by a kiss before he stops and looks up at you. "Let me give you more of a reward right now? And I'll be by the apartment tonight?"

You pull him up for a kiss. "I guess I can. Just as long as ya keep tellin' me what a good girl I am. Only the best girl for you."

[quibbs126]

Hi, I’m sorry if this isn’t any help, but do you know why you’re avoiding the real world so much? Berating yourself won’t help. If you wanna solve a problem u gotta find the root cause and take steps from that cause.

Well if I had to take a guess

Real world issues, or at least the ones I consider significant, always stress me out greatly, and I feel like I have an avoidant take when it comes to things that stress me out; namely, that I try to avoid them until they go away. Unfortunately, that’s a lot of things when it comes to the real world. Doesn’t help I’m a raging procrastinator

Unfortunately this can happen the other way around and I can miss opportunities because I simply choose not to act on something. And I recognize that waiting around probably makes situations worse, but for me, that’s just how I do thing, and I think the problem will just solve itself, so I should just ignore it

And not to mention, I basically know nothing about the real world, and how I’m supposed to interact with it. I’m 20, but I don’t feel like an adult, I think that’s still to come later after I’m done with school; I still have the mind of a teenager, if not younger. I don’t even have much of a concept of money. Talk about anything in the 1000s or higher and you’ve lost me on the specifics of how expensive that is, other than it’s expensive; $10,000 and $100,000 mean the same thing to me, other than $100,000 being ten times more. I don’t understand taxes or salaries or mortgages. I don’t understand what’s a good salary or not, so long as it’s money. I don’t understand how you’re supposed to interact with other people. I don’t even know what size pants I wear, because I don’t buy my clothes, my parents do. They take care of pretty much everything, and thus I don’t know much of anything, that’s adult stuff

And I’m well aware that I don’t know anything, and I know that you shouldn’t try and deal with areas you’re unfamiliar with, so I don’t bother with all of that, especially not without consulting my parents. I wouldn’t even make appointments for things about school without asking them when’s best or telling them that I’m doing so

I don’t want to be so reliant on them, but the reality is that I am, and that’s not gonna change anytime soon, especially not if I end up taking online schooling and I have to live with them full time again. I like my freedom to go outside for a random walk whenever, and to eat what I want and buy what I want, even if 90% of those expenditures is just food

I’m well aware that I’m incredibly sheltered. One time in college I had someone genuinely think that I was homeschooled, when in reality I’ve been publicly schooled all my life, and I went to pre-school for years before that. But I have so little an understanding of the world and the people in it that I don’t blame her for thinking that

Not to mention, I just don’t understand real consequences. They aren’t a thing in my mind. My family’s never really had to struggle, at least not to a point I’m aware, and I’ve never been punished that bad. I think my worst ever punishment is getting yelled at, and have my video games taken away until a certain point or until I do the thing I got yelled at for not doing. And so in my mind’s eye, that’s the worst that can happen, that I get reprimanded for my own actions/inaction and life continues. I mean, part of that is because I’ve never done something that bad, but still. I don’t have a concept of the consequences of failing college or not getting a degree. My parents do, since neither of them went to college, hence why they want me to, but I don’t. I don’t understand what it’s like to be poor or homeless, or how bad a minimum wage job is or not being able to pay bills. I’ve never experienced them or anything remotely similar, so I just don’t understand that these concepts exist. It’s like a video game to me, the stakes aren’t really there. And that’s not to say I want those things to happen to me, far from it, but in my head they’re more like fictional concepts. So I don’t see much point to them. I know they’re important, but only because someone tells me they are

The real world leaves me scared and stressed, and I don’t know the first thing about it. I don’t know what’s reliable information about it and what isn’t, because people will lie or just not know. And because I don’t want to make a fool of myself and I just end up getting stressed out, I avoid it and instead turn to shows, video games, drawing and fandoms

In a video game, they don’t expect you to know everything right out of the gate, and they’ll tell you. There’s no consequences to asking questions to things you don’t understand, and they’re usually not too difficult of concepts to understand in the first place. And games usually are pretty good at telling you what you need to do and giving you the knowledge to do so, I don’t have to do a lot of guesswork as to what I’m supposed to do or how to approach a situation, and if I do, then that’s usually a consequence of bad game design. And you have to rely on your own knowledge to progress, and I feel accomplishment when I do something right, and the game rewards me in some way too

And drawing is the only real world skill I have, and I’m proud of myself when it turns out good. It’s an actual skill I’ve cultivated myself and continue to cultivate, even if I forget to draw a lot or have trouble figuring it out sometimes. And it’s something I can show the world. Not much to anyone in the real world, especially not my family since I doubt they’re interested in my fanart, but I can at least show them to the Internet

And while fandom isn’t the nicest place to be, interacting on these spaces requires knowledge that I actually have and am interested in, and people actually will listen to what I say, and sometimes even agree with me. It’s one of the only places I feel an iota of smartness, even if I can’t be that analytical because my brain isn’t like that naturally and tends to see very surface level things, or deeper things I just can’t express in words

And just all in all, those things make me happy. Yeah I feel guilt at night that I favor those things instead of dealing with real world stuff, but they’re all I know and have

At least I think that’s part of the reason why. I don’t know for sure and I don’t know if I worded it all correctly

[paydayquid]

Using Quick Money Right Now: Welcome to UK Short Term Loans

The truth is that getting financial support, whether from friends or reputable financiers, can be difficult for unemployed or mentally or physically handicapped people. People do not trust these people abilities to repay loans since they do not have a consistent source of monthly income. However, thanks to this post about short term loans UK, disabled people can easily get the best financial support available, even in the face of difficult circumstances. The goal of this loan strategy is to find a lender quickly so that you may start receiving money.

However, consumers who are impacted by variables like as foreclosure, arrears, defaults, individual voluntary agreements, bankruptcy, and late or skipping payments are the ones that suffer from short term loans UK. They are free to use the funds right away without having to wait for a credit check. Aside from that, you must return the money on time to protect yourself from more fees.

This implies that you will never be denied access to funds with short term loans UK direct lender. Funds in the range of £100 to £1000 are available for you to obtain, and they are released over a two to four week period. If you're not happy with this amount of time, you can extend it for an additional 90 days for a little fee. Additionally, you can use the money to pay off a variety of expenditures, including those for groceries, medical care, utilities, child care, unexpected auto repairs, credit card debt, and much more.

The fastest and most widely used method for applying for short term loans UK direct lender is interest. After filling out the form on the internet, you must provide accurate information such as your complete name, residence, bank account, email address, age, phone number, employment status, and so forth. Within a short while after the loan is approved, the lender will directly deposit the funds into your account.

Are you looking for a quick short term loans on the internet? Are you concerned that you won't be able to obtain any appropriate loans because of your credit score? A large number of visitors to our website are seeking short term loans direct lenders. Undoubtedly, having bad credit affects your options, particularly when it comes to interest rates. As you will discover below, nevertheless, it might not prevent you from obtaining loans. You could still be able to find something that works for you even if you have bad credit.

Applying for a same day loans UK follows the same steps as applying for any other loan. The possibility of approaching a different lender is the only distinction. Bad credit lenders can be the ones to pay attention to if you have poor credit and are searching for an emergency loan. They have expertise focusing on same day loans UK for applicants that are located in the UK.

The interest rate is an additional consideration. Interest rates on loans could be higher for those with poorer credit than for others. At Payday Quid, our goal is to match you with a potential source that is both dependable and offers an affordable interest rate.

https://paydayquid.co.uk/

[brsroofingsupply]

The True Cost of Choosing Inferior Commercial Roofing Supplies

Are you planning to renovate your property? As a home and business owner, you probably face a lot of pressure to spend as little money as possible when it comes to renovating or maintaining your properties. Buying a metal roof is a smart move. However, not all metal roofs are of the same quality. A widespread misconception is that the lowest-priced option is always the most optimal one! But this is not always the case when it comes to industrial or commercial roofing!!

We want to assist you in making a sound decision, especially when it concerns something as vital as a roof for your house or company. There are numerous drawbacks to using cheap metal roofing material. BRS Roofing Supply takes great pride in being a leading supplier of quality commercial roofing supplies & materials to home & business owners and contractors across Marietta and numerous parts in Georgia. They share a few viable pieces of information and reasons why you should not consider buying subpar commercial roofing supplies Marietta.

Low-quality metal Roofs are Prone to Leaks

You wouldn't buy a vehicle without checking its background, so why would you spend on metal roofs that have proven to be of poor quality? The fact is that these kinds of metal roof materials are susceptible to leaks. It also requires much more upkeep than those produced by superior brands. If the company doesn't support its product and provides spare parts during the guarantee period, then perhaps it's time for you to consider something else.     

Need To spend More on Ongoing Maintenance

You are installing your commercial roof. It will probably involve some extra costs such as fees and installation costs. You should pay the contractor or someone you hire. You also have to pay for delivery and labor. there are some additional monthly or annual expenditures after all such initial investments. Things will be different if you purchase low-quality metal roof supplies. You will have to spend more money on these costs more frequently than if you choose higher-quality options.

High-quality metal roofing products can handle extreme weather conditions

The top brands of metal roofing material are made of high-quality steel. It can resist harsh weather conditions like heavy rain and snow. It will last longer without deforming or corroding. It means choosing high-quality metal roof supplies ensures your exterior property will remain safe and secure for many years to come. You are away from costly repairs for longer.

Superior Metal Roofing Is More Pest-Resilient

Pests such as rats and pigeons frequently start dwelling on roofs! It might tempt them to remain! It's more improbable that pests will infest and linger there forever. There's even a possibility that any pests who start constructing nests in your substandard metal roofs will endure for a long time! This will not occur in top-quality industrial roofing material Marietta. They are incapable of keeping their abodes and depart after some time. It will last for a considerable amount of time.

It simply makes sense to invest in a good commercial roofing supply for your home. It is always inspiring to get in touch with an expert team at BRS Roofing Supply if you would like to learn more about commercial metal roofing products.

[boardwalkindia]

Office Maintenance: How and Why to Outsource

We work for almost a third of our lives. Office maintenance and office maintenance outsourcing is a key component of making the workplace more comfortable and, as a result, more productive, whether it is a large open area with break rooms and conference rooms or a collection of tiny cubicles. In other words, effective office maintenance outsourcing management is crucial for the long-term success of a company.

Join us as we discuss what office upkeep includes and present the best strategies for success, and office maintenance outsourcing.

 The Scope Of Office Maintenance Services

The scope of office maintenance outsourcing:

Over the years, facility management has seen significant change, going from a minor cost centre to one that is today seen as a crucial business enabler. Office management is a crucial service for managing a variety of office buildings and workplaces since it is a crucial component of facility management and building upkeep.

Nevertheless, the variety of used building systems and equipment as well as the size and complexity of the infrastructure can all affect the cost of office maintenance services.

The more frequent office maintenance outsourcing tasks that you may anticipate being carried out behind the scenes in the typical corporate workplace include the following:

General cleaning/janitorial services

Furniture inspection and repair

Office equipment servicing and repair (photocopiers, printers, shredders, water coolers, etc.)

HVAC inspection and maintenance

IT equipment maintenance

Firefighting systems inspection and maintenance

Water treatment and supply services

Security and physical access control

What impact, if any, would proper execution of the above tasks in an ideal scenario have on business operations? Next, let's review that.

How office maintenance outsourcing impacts organisational success:

Office maintenance outsourcing affects three key ways, as well as multiple smaller ones. Here are the important ones.

1) Increased staff productivity

The productivity of employees is impacted by various little things. Poor lighting, a stuffy office, broken office equipment, a disorganised workspace—all of these things have a negative impact on productivity.

Employers may improve employee happiness, minimise absenteeism, and lessen fatigue by taking proactive measures to ensure a balanced interior temperature, lighting, and clutter-free workplaces.

People are free from unnecessary distractions in such a workplace to concentrate on the calibre of their work and how it contributes to organisational goals.

2) Lower operational costs

According to the Building Owners & Managers Association (BOMA) International's 2018 benchmarking study, private office buildings in the US spend $2.15 per square foot (or $23.24 per square metre) on maintenance and repairs.

Organisations must stay away from three things in order to control maintenance running costs:

Very costly contractors.

Failure to perform preventative maintenance on equipment and infrastructure results in future wasteful costs.

Excessive maintenance, which wastes labour, time, and replacement components.

Simply said, being able to measure and manage your office maintenance outsourcing expenditures is an essential skill for controlling operational costs.

3) Better business reputation and brand image

They say you only get one chance to make a first impression, so make it count. Imagine a client or business partner entering the office, tripping over a bucket that is meant to catch the AC leak's drips, and then being forced to sit on a squeaky chair while wondering what the strange smell is.

We're not sure what that conveys, but it most certainly doesn't convey the idea that your company is organised and prepared to take on new challenges.

Should you outsource office maintenance or handle it in-house?

You'll need to make a number of important decisions in your effort to guarantee that every office maintenance outsourcing task is completed accurately and on time. One of the key decisions is whether you'll hire experts to handle your office maintenance outsourcing or try to do it yourself.

Remember that you will still need to collaborate with some contractors and service providers to handle specialised tasks like plumbing or electrical repair even if you have a small in-house team of maintenance specialists.

Office maintenance outsourcing or handling it in-house, both options have advantages as well as disadvantages.

Office Maintenance Outsourcing

Pros:

Improved delivery of maintenance services.

A qualified FM company can help you increase your business and boost your market share and competitiveness.

Access to specialised resources for office maintenance outsourcing and best practices.

A rise in effectiveness.

Focus more on your primary business.

You are not required to consider personnel issues for maintenance.

Cons:

Decrease in operational control.

Increased danger of security breaches and problems with confidentiality.

Errors made by the office maintenance outsourcing company may harm the client's reputation.

Can cost more than creating a small internal staff.

Source Link : https://boardwalkindia.com/office-maintenance-how-and-why-to-outsource/

[rkstransport]

Seven Avoidable Moving Mistakes

Moving to a new place can be both joyful and stressful, and there are many chances for mistakes. The move can be made much easier by pre-planning and researching the new place. You must stay away from some of the basic moving blunders that numerous people have committed. They might be a big problem and add a lot of needless stress! 

To make your move stress-free, this blog offers some of the avoidable mistakes that are made while moving.

Failing to Start Immediately

This is unquestionably the most frequent and worst mistake a person makes when preparing for a move. They make poor plans and wind up rushing to complete tasks at the last moment. When they eventually sit down to formulate a strategy, they conclude that they won't be able to complete it all in advance for the major event. You can tick each thing in the to-do list rather easily if you start planning as soon as you realize you'll be moving. 

Inadequate Packaging

Your possessions may result in damage or maybe even break as a result of improper or poor packaging. Poor packing can result in damage as well as time wasted from having to repack items that are inappropriate on a moving day. At RKS Transport, we provide a packing service that gives you the peace of mind that your belongings will be handled effectively.

Forget to Label the Boxes

Spend some time accurately labeling the boxes with labels that will help you quickly identify what's in them as you wrap up your existing home. Additionally, it's a good idea to name the boxes with the rooms in the new home that you want them to go in. You will save a huge amount of time unloading and settling into your new location if you make a little preparation during packing.

You Don't Maintain a Proper Budget

Moving services give you estimates rather than quotations because it's hard to predict the expense of the move down to the last penny. However, it's still a good idea to have a broad estimate of how much your move will cost, particularly if you're trying to keep expenditures within a set range. A price hike after the relocation is a regular occurrence, but it can be lessened by doing research beforehand to determine your spending limits and the amount you'll need to spend.

Not Hiring Trained and Qualified Professionals

It will be possible to expedite a move while keeping prices down by working with qualified and experienced professionals. Some of these companies can appear to be more expensive than necessary at first sight, but their costs normally cover everything that would be needed. You are paying for their expertise so that they can accurately estimate the cost of the services from the start and stay clear of common mistakes that result in unexpected fees.

Nothing makes relocating easier than using a moving company to handle labor-intensive tasks. One thing, though, you should be aware of: Movers quickly fill up. This implies that planning is essential.

Insufficient Preparation

Give yourself enough time to complete the small and large items on your checklist because it takes a lot of planning to adjust to a new environment and yet be effective. Mild cultural shock may occur in some persons, which can lead to physical ills such as headaches, stomach problems, and insomnia. You may ease the move by getting to know the area and learning about the demographics, communities, and schools by doing some research ahead or even by traveling there.

Ensure That Your Items Fit in the New Location

Paying for something to be moved and then realizing that it won't fit in your new home is silly. Make sure by taking certain measurements in advance. Before you move, sell anything that won't fit so you can make some additional money and not overpay for the relocation.

Final Words

One of your most stressful experiences might be moving. But if you sufficiently plan and have the support you require, it doesn't have to be so stressful. These relocation mistakes are fairly typical, whether you're shifting for a new career, a place, or a new stage of your life. The good news is that after reading this blog, you can avoid all of these mistakes. In this manner, you can relocate without being concerned about them.

[dominickbviv265]

17 Superstars We'd Love to Recruit for Our Payday Loans Cash Team

Brenda Procter has actually been combating the great battle against payday lending institutions for twenty years, and boy does she have some stories to tell. For beginners, Procter a Missouri state extension expert and professor of individual financial preparation at the University of Missouri can state how a local payday lender really propositioned an undoubtedly cognitively impaired member of her financial therapy group while he was in the drive-through line at Taco Bell, only to be rebuffed by the caseworker being in the motorist's seat next to him.

" And he did go away," Procter recalls, "but I think the ethical of that story is no matter what, they're still going to follow you." She'll likewise inform you about how the shadiness of the Cash Till Payday market drove a former payday providing business worker into the University of Missouri's doctoral program so that he could work to help remedy the injustices he when assisted assist in.

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/XQ-VClzagxA/hqdefault_496033.jpg

" In my experience, these loans are not created as a short-term, one-time solution as the companies like to say they are however are instead planned to keep individuals trapped in a cycle of debt and to prey upon the elderly, handicapped, poor and minority populations," he told WalletHub. "We were trained to push people towards larger loans and motivate them to pay them back as slowly as possible.

It did not matter if customers had loans out at other payday financing shops or were living off little repaired earnings. Credit worthiness was not really essential." While they're definitely interesting, those of you who are unknown with payday loans may fail to comprehend the significance of these tales. So, let's take a better look.

Payday loans are billed as a short-term option for short-term cash-flow problems, however they're not always marketed or used for that purpose. Part of the issue that contributes to a borrower's ultimate failure to pay back the loan within a brief duration is that lending institutions generally do not examine their customers' credit or ask about a customer's monetary position.

This leads to a continuous cycle of financial obligation. Just consider the following statistics from a recent Bench Charitable Trusts research study: Twelve million people get payday loans each year, investing $7.4 billion at the same time. While the average payday loan requires repayment of more than $400 within two weeks, the typical debtor can just pay for to pay back $50.

The average payday loan is for $375, yet leaves the debtor indebted for five months and on the hook for $520 in interest. "Seven out of 10 payday loan borrowers utilize the loans to pay for things like lease and energies and other recurring expenditures," adds Nick Bourke, the director of Bench's Safe Small-Dollar Loans Research Job.

Ninety-seven percent of payday loan volume goes to people who are repeat users they use 3 or more loans annually." Simply put, we have a product that's seemingly meant to offer a short-term financial bridge, yet whose marketing by loan providers and ultimate use by consumers are typically straight at odds with that intent.

Many on the consumer side of things are likewise calling for increased policy. To date, 15 states have prohibited payday loans while others have passed legislation to considerably restrict their effect. But why stop there? Procter believes payday loan providers simply have excessive at stake and are too effective at both lobbying and skirting the spirit of laws while at the same time adhering to their letter for additional guidelines to move on.

They're likewise well-known for a practice understood as "license leaping," which basically includes tweaking their items simply enough to keep them both legal and just as predatorily successful as before. Payday loan providers are likewise significantly moving operations online in order to prevent regional limitations. A lot of physical stores stay, nevertheless, and they're usually clumped together in low-income urban areas, essentially searching in packs.

" In Missouri, you can just renew one payday loan 6 times. So, if you remain in a store and you have actually type of worked that customer for all you can get out of them and they still can't pay since that usually is what occurs then they'll probably state something like, 'Well, possibly you could get another loan.'" And so, Procter states, "they'll go to the shop across the street, next door, or whatever" to take out yet another in a growing line of payday loans used to pay off responsibilities related to those that preceded it.

It's not uncommon to see individuals with several thousand dollars in payday loan financial obligation, and all they've done is pay interest approximately that point." Most recently, payday lending institutions have begun affiliating their companies with Native American people, which are unsusceptible to certain federal and state regulations, as another strategy to prevent their states' usury laws.

[selenaevander]

Prompt #8: Tepid

I don’t believe in love at first sight. To tell it true, I don’t believe much about love at all; how can anyone come to call themselves believers in a concept with no concrete waymarks, no agreed-upon perimeter? It’s as arbitrary as announcing you believe in, oh, I don’t know—a nice day? Ten strangers can agree that they indeed enjoy a nice day, but when you try to nail down the exact specifications, there’s a range that varies based on personal conjecture and preference, and yet does not necessitate alignment with others to be called by the same name. A man who enjoys blistering heat can call it by the same name as a woman who wants it to be temperate, or rainy, or frigid. It’s meaningless.

What I felt for Darius was complicated. When I met him, he was a fool. An idealist with poor taste, old money that passed down the wealth but none of the discretion. He was wearing diamond-studded cufflinks that glittered from a malm away, and the aiglets on his laces were plated in gold, the tackiest and most pointless possible expenditure I can personally think of. He found me peculiar and combative, infuriatingly judgmental (especially for my young age), and unflinchingly callous. On our first date, he expected that I might be a more effusive starlet in private, but instead met with an insufferable little cunt that sent her dinner back twice and started an argument about...well, the aforementioned gold aiglets. You had to have been there.

In spite of this rocky start, he persisted. There must’ve been something he saw in me, in our tumultuous get-togethers that ignited his interest and spurred him to keep trying. Maybe he was bored and I was an evening’s entertainment for the moderate price of a few strong vodka tonics and dinner, because he kept inviting me back, and I kept sniping to my friends that he was actually paying me for charm school under the guise of a date. Maybe it was my bitterness that signaled that I was safe, in an odd way. His wealth dwarfed my own, and yet I still made every attempt to buck him out of my life by being unapologetically myself. In retrospect, I was a little harsh, but he confessed once that although he didn’t understand why I kept accepting his invitations because I rarely smiled when we went out, he felt certain I wasn’t just in it to gold dig, and I wasn’t.

To his credit, our petty arguments often gave way to new insights: he was playing it too safe, felt his public persona was milquetoast and didn’t reflect the voice of the man he really wanted to be. He found talking to me invigorating and challenging, a means through which he was trying to change what he didn’t like about himself. I was cornered by fear and disdain of the obstacles that stood in the way of my ambitions, wasting my potential and my time on petty grudges, ruled by my reactions alone. He weathered my temper with a marble statue’s patience, letting me buffet him with sour rants until I ran out of gusto. When the storm blew over, he gave me grounding perspective and coaxed me to let the burdens go. He had an ocean of compassion that I lacked, and reminded me of the humanity of others when I had done everything in my power to strip them of it.

The day he asked me to marry him, we compromised in advance. I hate surprises, particularly ones I have to wear on my ring finger for the rest of my life, and so he took me to pick out something to my specifications on the promise that I would let him keep the actual proposal date a secret. For the next month, I cautiously entered restaurants, intimate bars, and parks as though I were about to be ambushed by an assassin, which only charmed him further. And Darius, never the schemer, managed the best possible surprise: he chose none of those. At the end of a long, charmingly domestic weekend spent in the privacy of my flat, my defenses were low; I had visions of rose arches and orchestras, but he simply waited for me to turn and open a bottle of wine. When I spun back around, he wore a smile like a man who’d just glimpsed enlightenment. “Marry me,” he said; not a question, but an insistence. It was perfect.

[thebiscuiteternal]

I had an evil thought on twitter and way too many people encouraged it, SO-

“Collecting the Pieces”

Mild Horror, Family Secrets, Mental Instability, Magical Fuckups, Sangyao-lite, Nie Huaisang Doesn’t Know Yet, Jin Guangyao Is About To Know More Than He Ever Wanted To

__________

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang.

It manifests in small signs at first.

Little things like how he would look at a person, but not at them, green eyes dull as if he wasn’t actually seeing who he was talking to. The unnaturally pale tint to his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. The fact that his robes had gotten heavier over thr last several months, trying to hide that he was getting thinner.

The incident where he had lost consciousness in the middle of a discussion with Ouyang-furen and had only been saved from cracking his skull against the floor by the reflexes of his head disciple was… concerning. But like all of the other symptoms, it could easily be tallied up as exhaustion from lingering grief and having so much responsibility dumped onto an unprepared back.

But then...

Then there are the conversations none of them can hear. Those moments where he sits with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing and lips moving silently.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and for those not of his sect, his presence has gone from mildly concerning to downright unnerving.

Jin Guangyao has to point out to his father more than once that they have only just averted the conflict with the previous sect leader; to bar the new one from the discussion conferences just because he seems strange would be an insult tantamount to inviting war, even if Nie Hengbai does seem to be doing all the talking for the Nie at the moment, his sect leader a quiet little shadow at his side.

He finds it a unique opportunity to observe, in fact. Everyone is so unsettled by the mere fact that Nie Huaisang converses with empty air that no one has apparently thought to find out what he is saying when he does .

The seating arrangement isn’t ideal. The only person besides his own disciples who doesn’t seem to be scared off by Nie Huaisang’s unnatural behavior is Jiang-zongzhu, who pointedly settles himself on the opposite side from Nie Hengbai and scowls at all gossipers, their host included. His height half-blocks Nie Huaisang from view.

But still, Jin Guangyao can see.

And as he watches the words fall unheard from Nie Huaisang’s mouth, he feels a chill slowly creep up his spine.

‘Da-ge, come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I'll be good. Please come back. Please, Da-ge…’

He is glad that his sleeves hide the involuntary clenching of his hands.

While he knows better than to completely dismiss a possibility, no matter how small the odds, his mind nonetheless rebels at the first idea to enter it. It cannot actually be Nie Mingjue's resentful ghost haunting his little brother. Even if it had been whole, if he and Xue Yang had not scattered it with the man's physical pieces, it is decidedly not Nie Huaisang that the man would be tormenting with his presence if he were capable.

Isn't it?

And yet, he cannot shake the cold in his bones.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he will seek out the source.

---

"San-ge?"

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tilts his head questioningly like the birds he is so fond of, then slowly regains awareness of his surroundings and smiles, looking more like himself.

Jin Guangyao forcibly clamps down on a shudder. "It's good to see you, Sang-er," he says, allowing himself to adopt the regional address since they are nowhere near the judging eyes of Koi Tower. He reaches out and sweeps the younger man's hair out of his eyes, then tuts in concern. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Ah-" Nie Huaisang flinches and looks embarrassed at the gentle chiding. "It's… nothing, really. Busy times and too much paperwork, that's all. Can I get you anything?"

"I just need to look over some map records, if you don't mind. A handful of small sects have brought a problem to my father, and I'm afraid our own records are… a bit lacking."

The younger man simply nods, accepting the excuse at face value, and Jin Guangyao isn't sure if that says something about Nie Huaisang's state of mind, or the Jin sect's reputation for ignoring anything that isn't expenditures or debts to be collected. Either way, when Nie Huaisang reaches out to tug his sleeve, he goes willingly and tries to ignore the slightly unsteady sway to his friend's pace.

Even though the poor end to his relationship with Nie Mingjue had been loud and public enough that the whole of the Unclean Realms knew about it before the day had even ended, he is apparently still a familiar enough face that barely anyone pays him mind.

Indeed, most of their worried glances are directed towards their sect leader.

He refuses to examine the possible reasons why that might be settling sour in his stomach.

They are still a few halls and turns away from the library when Nie Huaisang lets go of his sleeve and puts a hand to his head, looking even more pale than before. Jin Guangyao catches him before he can topple into the wall and then bites his tongue when green eyes slide over him, gaze unseeing.

“Sang-er?” he asks cautiously.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes don’t clear, but he seems to still be at least halfway lucid. “I’m sorry… I don’t feel well. I think I need to stay here. You remember the rest of the way, don’t you?”

“I do, but this is no proper place for you to rest.” He leans around the corner and waves over a passing servant. “Would you assist Nie-zongzhu to his room, please?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman says in a tone that conveys she is apparently -unfortunately- used to this. “Come along,” she says, taking hold of Nie Huaisang’s hand and wrapping a steadying arm around his waist, as if guiding a lost child, and he follows her lead without complaint.

Jin Guangyao watches them go and squashes that sour feeling when it threatens to churn.

Answers.

Answers first.

---

The library he needs, he has decided, is not the primary library, the one that Nie Huaisang had been taking him to. No, he seeks out the room buried so deep in the Unclean Realms that no daylight reaches it, that he had only stumbled upon by accident back when he had been employed here.

Lighting the only lantern in the room with a flame talisman, he finds that nothing has changed since the last time he was here other than a thickening of the layer of dust.

Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and starts with the family records.

---

‘After much deliberation and testimony from the physicians and healers involved in the care of the first young master, it is the advice of the sect elders that- ’

He has relit the lantern twice, and he’s fairly sure it’s long past dinner when he sinks into a chair and slaps the open scroll down onto the table, feeling lightheaded and shaky.

A spirit-tethering.

Until he had seen the books Lan Xichen carried from the library of the Cloud Recesses, such a thing had been the stuff of fantasy stories. Even in the vaunted Lan texts, it was only described in abstract theory.

And yet there was apparently enough foundation to it that a serious proposal had been made to cast such a thing between a pair of children to keep Nie Mingjue from being torn apart by the saber he’d bonded with far too young.

He forces himself to keep reading, feeling his stomach sink with every passage.

Nie Haoran had argued viciously against the idea for two years, even offering himself as the tether, only to be shot down due to his own unstable health. He had only given in when his son had experienced his first qi deviation at eleven years of age.

Eleven years old.

Nie Huaisang would have only been five.

Jin Guangyao bites his tongue again and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to forcibly swallow back the bile that bubbles up in his throat.

The mechanics of the matter only make the horror of it even more stark. The only ones who would have been able to undo the tether would have been the brothers themselves. He finds notes, plans, all written in Nie Mingjue’s sharp-edged calligraphy, of how he would set his brother free once his own health became too compromised but before his mind was too unstable…

But he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d deteriorated too quickly.

Instead...

Nausea continuing to roil in his guts like a thunder cloud, Jin Guangyao rolls up the scroll and shoves it back into place with enough force that it crumples, practically fleeing the room even though there is no monster there to escape, just-

It is indeed dark outside as he traverses the hallways, barely able to restrain himself from running.

No one answers when he knocks at Nie Huaisang’s door. He sucks in a sharp breath to ground himself, then carefully pushes it open.

The room is as stark as he remembers from his last visit. Though he knows he Lan Xichen have both offered to help, Nie Huaisang has yet to start replacing any of the possessions that his brother had burnt. There is a tray of food on the table near the bed, untouched and probably long cold.

The person he’s seeking is curled up on the bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Fingers twitch and scratch at his own arms as he shivers, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

His lips are moving.

Jin Guangyao doesn’t dare read them.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room to the bed. Nie Huaisang doesn’t react to the dip in the mattress as he sits down, nor to being pulled and shifted until the younger man’s head rests in his lap. When he gently removes the guan from his hair and begins combing out the braids, however, the fit finally eases, the anxious lines of Nie Huaisang’s face smoothing out as he calms.

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

He now knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he knows he is at fault.

He could lay the blame elsewhere. He wants to. The elders who’d made the proposal... Nie Haoran for allowing it... the healers who’d carried it out… It is most tempting to blame Nie Mingjue for having not undone it as soon as they were both grown.

But no. The fact of the matter is that Nie Huaisang’s condition can be laid at his feet. Had he not hastened Nie Mingjue’s death… He doesn’t regret that.

He refuses to let himself regret that.

But this…

Grief could be moved past.

Missing pieces could not.

He opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang has shifted to curl against him, and he allows himself a small, weak smile as he begins carding his fingers through silken hair again.

He knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and perhaps he can’t fix the damage already done, but there are still things he can do. Information he can find, pieces he can move or remove. He can make things easier.

“It will be alright,” he murmurs, then leans down and gently presses a kiss to the sleeping young man’s temple. The gesture makes Nie Huaisang snuggle closer in his sleep, and his own smile gains strength.  “I took care of er-gongzi before, I will be happy to take care of zongzhu now. He is my responsibility, after all.”

[cinnamonest]

Taking into account the other anons of sis! Render x diluc or kaeya.

How bad they would be to discover that their little, fragile little sister has a suitor but not just any suitor is nothing more nor less than aether our beloved traveler from another world, he was courting you ina clandestine way before ending up in your elder brother's home where he told you that your beloved father left all custody of you to him, well the plus on kaeya's road his hand in marriage.

How hurt the heart of their beloved elder brother would be when by feeling that is love for that traveler I reveal to you not wanting to be with it good at least in the way that they wanted.

On the route kaeya will be the next confession.

B-brother, I need to tell you...

Oh Dear you should stop calling me brother you know we are engaged - he said with the sweetest smile.

I-is that I... I'm sorry but I can't marry you... I love you so much you are my older brother but... I love someone else - I want to be with that person.

Kaeya's face is left blank as to who the fucking bastard was who got those ridiculous ideas into your head... No.. You are of him and of him alone, you cannot love another man - no one is more worthy of you than he.

In the diluc route it would be something very similar but something different.

B-brother, we can talk for a second.

You said you entered your dear brother's office that he looked rather busy.

Although if you are very busy I can come back later.

Not at all - answered diluc with a smile - come pass.

You were a little nervous coming in so before throwing out the big news you used to make the atmosphere a little light.

H-hey you heard he's debating the idea of accepting marriages between brothers hehe

Diluc looks at you as a slight smile - as I'm glad you mention... there's something I'd like to discuss with you... you see...

I'm in love with a good man and I want to go with him on a trip.

Forgive me? What did you say?

D-don't misunderstand me diluc I love you very much and I don't want to go against dad's will but he always talks about having a good man in my life and... I think I found it.

Oh diluc, poor poor diluc so much effort and expenditure of money so that the marriage between brothers will be accepted so that some dirty man will come to take your attention away but it will not stay so oh no Lord.

It's a shame that aether doesn't know what to expect, he didn't know you were diluc and kaeya's sister, you talked to him about your brothers but didn't give them their names as your thoughts got lost in their beautiful golden eyes. Well, knowing the story you have will be so cruel to us, right? I mean it's not that he wants to make him disappear from teyvat or tarnish his reputation so that you see him as a monster, right? They are your brothers just want to take care of you, protect you and give you all the love you deserve and they are the only ones who must win your heart, not an alien bastard.

Hhhhhh how did this get buried in my inbox... We love and appreciate our geges 

[pickalilywrites]

a mikahisu au inspired by one of my favorite shows~ please enjoy ^^

------------------

Do You Still Dream of Me?

MikaHisu. Hotel Del Luna AU.

Like the Moon Loves the Ocean Series: Chapter 1

13252 words.

Read on Ao3!

Armin Arlert hunches over a stack of documents, nibbling on the end of his fountain pen. The pen costs more than his entire outfit — an oversized suit that Armin had fished out of a bin at his local thrift store when he was trying to find a respectable ensemble to wear for the interview that snagged him his current job. Even now, Armin isn’t sure how he managed to get a job as a finance manager at one of the most expensive hotels he’s ever seen in his life. Actually, this might be one of the most extravagant places Armin has ever stepped foot in. He still feels out of place when he arrives in the morning, his polyester suit looking even cheaper against the marble floors and gilded staircase, but nobody ever seems to pay him any mind when he sneaks through the door and scurries away to his office at the far end of the lobby.

His brow furrows as he looks at a particularly confusing set of numbers, numbers that don’t add up the way that they should. Or, well, they’re not adding up in a way that will be satisfying to the hotel owner when he reports the new estimated budget for next month. They’ll have to cut spending once again. At the very least, they need to stop splurging on unnecessary decorations for the hotel and personal luxury expenditures. It’s the same report he’s made every month since he’s been here, but always surprises the hotel manager nonetheless. And she’s never happy to hear it. Armin highly suspects that it’s a major reason why he’s her least favorite hotel staff member even though he’s really just the bearer of bad news.

Ah, how do I break this to her? Armin wonders, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face tiredly. He lets his arms fall to his sides and sits in his chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed as he contemplates his next move. On one hand, the woman can’t possibly fire him because her assets would be entirely in the negatives if he weren’t here to keep her in check. On the other hand, the glare she shoots him as he delivers the bad news is enough for him to wish an abyss would appear and swallow him up on the spot. He briefly wonders if he can lie his way out of it - maybe fudge the numbers so that the woman can live as extravagantly as she desires - but that just seems like a disaster waiting to happen. There really isn’t any way out of it.

Armin sighs once more before opening his eyes ... only to see a set of cold, dead eyes staring back at him.

He’s not sure what kind of noise comes out of his throat as he jumps out of his chair, knocking over the stack of papers he’s been working on and tripping over his chair. He’s still shrieking as the thing approaches him, its hand outstretched as it walks toward him even as he crawls backward up against the wall. Armin can hardly look at it - this ghost of a person, a bloody wound across its neck where it had been decapitated before its untimely death - and he shrinks against the wall as it comes closer and closer.

The door opens just then and the sound of footsteps alerts the ghost, making it turn its head to see who has just entered.

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says. A woman appears, completely calm even though Armin still sits huddled in the corner screaming. She ignores him, her focus entirely on the ghost, to which she offers a warm smile. The woman gestures towards the opened door. “I’m afraid you’ve stumbled into the office of our financial advisor. If you can step into the lobby, our receptionist can assist you in checking into a room at the front desk.”

The ghost looks slowly from the woman and then to Armin. After a long pause, the ghost woman slowly bows to Armin — her form of an apology, Armin supposes — before departing, the door swinging shut behind her.

The woman stares at the closed door for a moment before shifting her attention to Armin. Gone is her professional smile; it’s replaced with an amused expression, laughter stifled behind lips closed in a thin line. She offers a slender hand to Armin to help him up. “I thought you’d be used to our clients by now. Hasn’t it been almost a year since you started working here?”

“Er, yeah,” Armin says sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. He drags his feet to his desk, collecting his papers and dropping them into a messy stack on his desk before collapsing in his chair. Face in hand, he says, “I probably should, but it’s still weird. I can probably see a million ghosts for the next few years, but they’ll always make me jump in my seat. Maybe if they didn’t stop phasing through the walls of my office and sneaking up on me …”

The woman only laughs, and Armin feels a little more relaxed. Mikasa Ackerman, the assistant manager of the hotel, is one of the only hotel staff members Armin feels comfortable around. While the other staff members either roll their eyes or laugh when Armin encounters their ghostly clientele, Mikasa has always been patient with him.

“The next few years,” Mikasa muses, a lopsided smile on her face. She takes a seat in a chair across from him. She leans her elbow on the armrest, her cheek pressed up against her hand. Eyebrow raised, the manager asks, “You really think you’ll be working here for a few more years? Do we not pay you well enough?”

“You’re really underestimating the cost of student loans these days,” Armin sighs, slumping lower in his chair. He reaches for the mug on his desk, bringing it to his lips, and takes a long sip of coffee. It’s cold as it hits his tongue and slides down his throat, and he shudders when it hits his stomach. On second thought, caffeine probably isn’t the best decision considering the fact that he was almost scared shitless only a minute ago. He returns the mug to its coaster, an unsatisfied frown on his face.

“Poor, poor you,” Mikasa coos, eyes crinkling as her smile widens. She sits back, legs crossed and hands placed on her knees. She looks so comfortable here, so much like she belongs in her wool suit, the golden badge that lists her name and title pinned against her breast. If she weren’t so nice, maybe Armin would feel inferior. “It’s kind of your fault for going for a Ph.D. What do you need a doctorate in finance for anyway?”

“I don’t really know what I was thinking, to be honest. I thought maybe I could teach at a university somewhere down the line. Hoped the salary I earned down the line would make the investment worth it, but obviously I didn’t learn anything in my undergrad.” Armin waves his hand around the room. “Anyway, here I am now working at a ghost hotel so that I can pay off my student loans.” It’s probably the biggest mistake of his life next to taking a job at this hotel. Obtaining a Ph.D didn’t give him the salary bump he hoped it would and this was the only place that paid him nearly enough for his years at school.

“Could be worse,” Mikasa says with a shrug. “At least you don’t age while you’re here.”

“Ah, right,” Armin says. That was mentioned as an added perk when he had started to work here, but he hadn’t really believed it at first. Sure, some of his coworkers claim to have been working at this hotel for decades, although most of them look well under the age they say they are. Armin’s not even sure how that’s possible considering the demanding boss they work under. He supposes he’ll find out if it’s true in a few years, assuming he’s still paying off his student loans by then. Armin sits up a bit, eyebrow raised. “How long have you been working here again?”

Mikasa grins. “A little over twenty years.”

The answer isn’t anything new, but it’s always a punch in the gut whenever Armin hears it because it never makes sense to him. Mikasa can’t be older than twenty-seven — and that was pushing it. If she really were working for twenty years, she would have been a child when she had first been employed. Armin thinks she must be joking with him just like the other employees are, but Armin finds that strange too. Mikasa is always friendly with him, but she’s not the type to tell strange jokes.

“Right,” Armin says. He looks at Mikasa cautiously, but her expression tells him nothing.

“Don’t worry. It’s not so bad after a while,” Mikasa says. She leans back, staring back at Armin. Even though she doesn’t look at him threateningly, Armin still shrinks under her gaze.

“How’s your work going, by the way? Any good news for the boss?” Mikasa reaches over, a finger tapping on Armin’s stack of papers.

Armin groans, burying his head in his hands, although it’s more because of the mention of their boss rather than the work itself.

Historia Reiss is the hotelier of the Blutmond, the phantom hotel which Armin finds himself unfortunately employed. Her appearance is anything but intimidating. She wasn’t even close to being five feet tall. With hair of spun gold and aquamarine eyes, the petite woman could be mistaken for a life-sized doll if it weren’t for the terrible scowl on her face. In all of Armin’s time at the Blutmond, he doesn’t think he’s seen her smile once. She glowered the entire time during his interview, never opening her mouth except to ask whether or not he’d be able to balance her account in time for her to buy the latest model Porsche. The woman didn’t even congratulate him when she and Mikasa came to visit him with the news of his new job, only telling him that she expected him to come to work on time and not to make any mistakes with her finances or she’d have his head. He completely believed her and has always double-checked his work at least three times before finalizing his spreadsheets. His other coworkers have insisted that the woman isn’t nearly as frightening as Armin believes her to be, but the way they cower and scurry to put everything in place whenever she steps into the room doesn’t fool him. He’s also heard a curious rumor about her. His coworkers always mention that she’s been here the longest — over a thousand years — although he’s not sure if it’s just a way of them calling her an old hag because the woman doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.

“It’s really not going so great,” Armin says with a pained expression. He flips through some of his papers, pulling out a small stack that documents Historia’s personal expenses. Most of the page is highlighted in bright red. Armin thought the severe color would help convince their boss about his budgeting suggestions at the end of the week. Handing the papers to Mikasa, Armin says, “It’s only been half the month, but Miss Reiss is spending way too much on her credit card already. At this rate, she won’t have enough to buy that caviar that she likes so much.”

“It’s fine. Historia doesn’t actually like caviar that much. She just likes how rich she feels when she eats it,” the manager says absentmindedly. Mikasa flips through the papers, an eyebrow raised, but she doesn’t seem surprised as she reviews Armin’s findings. Once through with them, she straightens them out on the desk. “Maybe I can convince her to get sashimi next time.”

“I’m serious. She really needs to cut down on her spending habits.” He hates how whiny he sounds, but it’s difficult for him not to whine when he’s imagining how infuriated his employer will be when he timidly suggests that she not buy anymore jewelry for the rest of the month. “I mean, does she really need to have twelve different sports cars lining her garage? Where is she even going?”

Mikasa sits with her fingers steepled, a pout on her lips as she looks down at the papers again. She reaches over to thumb through the papers once more before sitting back again. “I guess I can talk to her about it.”

Armin sits up, his mouth shaped in a perfect “O.” “Would you really?” His mind is already going a million miles a minute, thinking about everything he has to review with Mikasa before she presents the information to their boss. Maybe he can show her the presentation slides he prepared in advance. He thought having his notes on an elegant Powerpoint would be much better than him stuttering through his notes while Historia glared at him. A little more energized now, Armin is already clicking through his computer, pulling up the presentation slides for Mikasa to look at. “If you’re really serious, I have some materials that can help you-”

“I’m not,” Mikasa says, an amused smile on her face. She laughs when Armin visibly deflates. “Ah, I feel a bit bad seeing you so disappointed, though. Are you really that scared of her?”

Armin thinks about the little woman, the blue flames that ignite in her eyes whenever he so much as hints at the fact that her shopping sprees should have a cap on them. He shudders. “I’m terrified.”

The woman nods sympathetically. “Alright, I’ll try to talk to her. No promises, though. You know how she feels about these things.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Armin breathes, collapsing against the back of his chair with relief. He knows that most of Historia’s ire will be directed towards him, but he hopes that having Mikasa deliver the news will somehow soften the blow.

“Mhm. You’re going to get used to being in her line of fire though. It’s unfortunate, but it comes with the job of being her finance manager. She’ll always be bad with money no matter how much you tell her not to spend,” Mikasa tells him with a wry smile. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, the sound making Armin jump in his seat. She looks at him, snickering, and pulls her phone out. Mikasa glances at her phone before turning it so that Armin could see the name flashing across the screen - Historia. “Unless you’d like to practice right now.”

Armin, eyes wide and throat closing shut at just the sight of the hotelier’s name, shakes his head.

“Alright, alright,” Mikasa laughs. She stands up, straightening out her blazer. “I’ll stop teasing you and leave you to your work then. And don’t worry about Historia; I’ll take care of her for you.” The manager returns to her phone, swiping across the screen and taking the call.

“Thanks, Mikasa,” Armin says. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out as a squeak, but he finds that he can’t speak knowing that his employer might hear his voice on the other end.

Mikasa simply waves at him, walking towards the door. “Yeah, I’m free, but I’m surprised you’re not calling Levi for something like this,” she’s saying. She pulls open the door, her voice fading as she’s walking out. “No, the work is fine. It’s perfect, actually. I was hoping we could talk about your finances. I just talked to Armin …”

Armin winces at the mention of his name and, as much as he knows he shouldn’t because it’ll only make him feel worse, strains to listen in on the conversation but the wooden door proves too thick of a barrier to let him eavesdrop. Just as well, he thinks as he rests his forehead against the cool surface of his desk. He’ll just get back to work estimating next month’s budget. And, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, praying that he won’t have any more unexpected paranormal visitors today.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Historia sits in the passenger seat of a slick blue Bentley, one of the many luxury cars that line her parking garage. Mikasa has tried to convince the hotelier that one car should be enough, has even tried selling them behind her back only for Historia to buy twice as many cars to replace them. Looking at Historia now, Mikasa understands why the blonde gravitates so naturally to high-end sports cars. In the passenger seat with her golden hair falling behind her back in waves, Historia looks like she could be a model for the luxury brand. Her pastel dress, one that Mikasa is fairly certain has been flaunted on a runway at some point in the past year, is probably worth just as much as the Bentley if not more. Mikasa doesn’t even want to think about how much jewelry that adorns the woman’s neck is worth, although she knows she should probably ask.

“What took you so long?” Historia asks, her scowl breaking the illusion of her pixie-like appearance. She sits up, holding her matching clutch purse in her lap. Her bottom lip sticks out, making her plush pink lips look even more like a doll’s. She looks cute, Mikasa could even say, but she knows the words would only cause Historia to narrow her blue eyes in an irritated glare.

Mikasa slips into the driver’s seat, fishing the car keys from the inside of her breast pocket. “My apologies. I was speaking with Armin before I came here,” she tells Historia. She turns the ignition, the engine purring as the car starts up. “He had some interesting things to say about your finances.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Historia hisses, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It seems to be a common reaction whenever the finance manager is mentioned in the hotelier’s presence. “I don’t want to hear anything he has to say,” Historia sniffs, as if not speaking about it will somehow help her avoid her financial issues. She reaches for the remote, clicking the garage door open so that they can make their exit. “He never has anything good to say to me. All he ever does is bring me bad news. I don’t even know why we hired him.”

“Because you’re terrible at budgeting,” Mikasa answers easily, ignoring the glare that she receives. After working at the hotel for decades, she’s quite used to being at the receiving end of Historia’s scathing looks. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road as she drives, maneuvering out of the parking spot and onto the driveway easily. “He mentioned that you might not even have enough money for an ounce of caviar at the end of the month.”

Historia whips her head so quickly that her neck might have snapped if she were a normal person. Mikasa doesn’t have to look at the woman’s expression to see that she’s horrified at the thought of not eating the overpriced salt-cured fish eggs. “Should I just fire him?” Historia murmurs, sitting with her back against her seat. She shakes her head, her brows furrowed as she considers letting go of her financial manager. “Or maybe we can cut his pay. I’ll have more money if I cut his pay, right?”

“If you cut his pay, he’ll be working here for longer to pay off his student loans,” Mikasa reminds her employer. “You could try hiring someone else, but he was the best in his class. Harvard.”

Historia’s bottom lip wobbles and, for a moment, it looks like she might even cry. Instead, she lets out a frustrated shriek like a spoiled child. “Ah, that kid! I hate him, you know. Out of everyone here, he’s probably my least favorite.”

“I know,” Mikasa says with a sympathetic nod, trying her best to keep her face stoic even though all she wants to do now is burst into laughter at the childish outburst.

These words aren’t new to Mikasa. In fact, she’s heard different variations of the same words over the years that she’s been here. Sometimes it’s Levi, the current general manager of the hotel. Other times it will be Pixis, the elderly but sweet bartender, or Colt, the receptionist at the front desk who looks barely out of his teens. Quite a number of times it has been Connie, the room manager, for swiping too many snacks from the kitchen in between mealtimes. Mikasa’s even been the least favorite every once in a while, although Armin has been given the title these past few months because he’s come in the way of Historia and the thing she loves the most - a luxurious lifestyle.

The funny thing is that Historia has not always been rich. It’s something that the woman likes to remind everyone, Mikasa included, every now and again. Mikasa doesn’t doubt that, but she does find it amusing that Historia turned her back on her past lifestyle so much so that she doesn’t have an ounce of frugality in her body.

“Who’s the client today?” Mikasa asks just as they’re about to hit the main road.

“Some man named Reiner Braun,” Historia says with a click of her tongue. She flips idly through her phone before inserting coordinates in the device. “His grand-niece reached out to us, but she couldn't tell me how rich he was. Don’t you think that’s ridiculous? You’d think someone so close to him would have a sense of how much money he has.” Historia frowns as she inspects her pearly pink nails.

“Children these days,” Mikasa tsks wryly, but Historia doesn’t seem to pick up on her sarcasm.

“They’re terrible. Terrible, terrible. Stupid and spoiled, all of them.” Historia clicks her tongue disapprovingly. The irony of calling someone else “spoiled” while she’s wearing a diamond choker around her neck hasn’t yet reached Historia.

“And I suppose you know what being spoiled looks like?”

It takes a moment for Historia to realize what Mikasa is saying. She sits up, clearly insulted. “I worked for this!” Historia says indignantly, smoothing out her skirt to prevent wrinkles. “I’ll have you know that I worked for every single cent that pays for my lifestyle. I earned all of this.”

“Of course,” Mikasa says with a nod. Beside her, Historia begins to settle down in her seat. “I’m sure the exorbitant prices you charge your clients also helps.”

Historia gives Mikasa a scathing side glare, one that would have made Mikasa flinch in her early days but now it’s like watching a kitten get angry after hiding its toy. She tosses her head, her golden tresses flying back in the wind. “I should have just brought Levi with me,” she mutters under her breath.

Mikasa remains unbothered. “You probably should have,” she replies in a sing-song voice.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“You know,” Mikasa says as they stand on the doorstep of a sprawling mansion fit for a lord, “you would think his grand-niece would have mentioned that he was loaded.” She reaches over to ring the door, frowning when she’s unable to hear its chime through the thick mahogany door.

“This?” Historia asks, gesturing around the estate. She shrugs, unimpressed. “This is nothing.”

Earlier, they had been stopped at the gate and asked for their identification. Mikasa had thought they would have been stopped there after Historia had gotten into a shouting match with the guard over the intercom until someone else popped on the screen — a young woman with thick dark hair tied half-up in a messy bun — and said they were cleared to come through, pressing open the button for the visitors despite the guard’s protests. As Mikasa drives up the road to the house, Historia hardly looks up at the sprawling green lawn, the freshly trimmed topiaries, or the sparkling fountain. The petite woman doesn’t even blink when Mikasa parks at the front of the house, throwing open the door and stepping out of the car without glancing back even as a valet hurries forward and asks Mikasa for the keys. Although not a fan of letting other people drive around in Historia’s cars, Mikasa grudgingly left the keys in the valet’s hand, chasing after the blonde woman because Mikasa knew Historia never likes to wait for anyone.

“I suppose since he’s living so shabbily we shouldn’t take any commission from him,” Mikasa says dryly. She doesn’t flinch when Historia smacks her sharply on the arm. “Or at the very least offer him a discount. I’m not sure he can afford our services otherwise.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Historia snaps. She reaches up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Money is money, so we’ll take what we can get.”

The door opens just then, the same young girl who was on the intercom with a bright smile waiting behind it breathlessly. She looks to be just thirteen or fourteen. Her hair is falling out from its little bun and her clothes — a ratty t-shirt and some cutoff denim shorts — look out of place in the mansion. Historia is no doubt looking at the girl’s outfit in disapproval, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she sticks out a hand towards the pair. “Hi, I’m Gabi! I spoke to you on the phone,” the girl says, oblivious to the maids and servants panting behind her that are trying to pull her back. “You’re Mikasa and Historia, right? From the Blutmond?”

“Miss Braun,” a butler hisses, grabbing at Gabi’s arm. “The guests haven’t been properly screened. You can’t just allow anyone to enter the Braun estate.”

“Relax. Uncle Braun said I could invite my friends over whenever I want,” Gabi snaps. She shakes the man off, scowling at him before turning back to Mikasa and Historia. “And these two are my friends, right?” She looks at them expectantly, silently begging them to play along.

Historia and Mikasa exchange a look, not confirming or denying anything. After a moment, Historia sighs, her arms folded across her chest. “For the duration of this visit, yes, we are Miss Gabi Braun’s … friends.” She looks as if the word leaves a sour taste in her mouth, but Gabi looks smug, happy that she’s managed to dupe the mansion’s staff members even though the majority of them look unconvinced. Of course, none of this bothers Historia, who just charges forward, looking around and not hiding the fact that she’s inspecting every inch of this place.

“Oh, um, let me show you around a bit,” Gabi says, shutting the door behind Mikasa and hurrying after Historia. “It’s easy to get lost here because it’s so big.”

“It’s not that big,” Historia snorts.

“Excuse me,” Mikasa mumbles as she pushes past the staff. It seems that they’ve either given up or just don’t want to bother with the Braun girl anymore because most of them just sigh before returning to their assigned tasks.

Although Gabi is supposed to be giving the tour, Historia is the one that leads the way while Gabi and Mikasa follow behind. Historia hardly says anything as she closely inspects the many statues and paintings that decorate the corners and walls of the various rooms they visit, but Gabi fills the silence with needless chatter of the art pieces. Every now and again Mikasa expresses some admiration for all the historical and artistic knowledge Gabi displays and the praise has the girl puff her chest out in pride, but Historia will sigh under her breath or roll her eyes at times. It really may be that nothing in this mansion really interests her because she never lingers on a painting for longer than a second or two before moving onto the next art piece.

“So, Gabi,” Mikasa says after a moment, making sure that the group was out of earshot of any eavesdropping maids or busboys that might have followed them. She makes sure to keep close to Gabi, her voice low as she speaks. “You called about your great uncle, is that correct? Can you tell us a little bit more about him before we meet him?”

Gabi bites on her lip and fiddles on a loose thread on her faded shirt. She nods before looking over at Historia, who’s halfway across the room frowning at a grand piano. “Er, yeah,” the girl mumbles. “I can … I can tell you about him.”

“You can talk from there,” Historia says without looking up. She presses a finger to an ivory key and a note rings out, echoing across the room. It seems that the note is unsatisfactory though because her frown deepens after hearing it. “I have impeccable hearing.”

Gabi looks unsure, but Mikasa puts a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder and smiles. “Go ahead, Gabi.”

“Okay,” Gabi says. She takes a deep breath, but she’s already shaking. Tears already forming in her eyes, she looks up, swallowing hard. “Uncle Reiner … he’s been strange for a while now. Maybe a few months. My parents say it’s just dementia because he’s so old but … I don’t think that’s it.” Tears roll down her cheeks and she’s looking down now, stubbornly wiping them away with the back of her hand.

“Take your time,” Mikasa says gently, rubbing soothing circles on the young girl’s back.

Historia is a little less sympathetic. She strides over, taking a seat on a nearby chaise lounge and sitting back like it’s an appropriate time to relax. “And what makes you think we can help? I don’t typically enjoy doing business with doddering old men.”

“Ignore her,” Mikasa tells Gabi, shooting a look at Historia. Historia simply sticks her tongue out in reply.

“N-no,” Gabi says with a shake of her head, sniffling. “I h-heard you could h-help people. That you h-have a special business. My uncle … I don’t think the th-things he’s seeing are hallucinations. I th-think what he’s seeing … they’re ghosts.”

Historia looks a little more intrigued now, sitting up on the chaise with her legs crossed instead of lounging back. “What makes you think that they’re ghosts?”

Gabi hesitates. “Well … he mentions these names sometimes… Bertholdt, Porco, Marcel…,” she says, brow furrowed. “He hardly ever talked to me about them, but sometimes their names would slip. Whenever I asked about them back then, he would just tell me that they used to be friends back when he was younger. He always looked so … sad whenever he talked about them like … like he couldn’t see them anymore.”

This story is enough for Mikasa to offer their services or at least give Gabi an offer to look at her great uncle, but Historia simply lets out a huff, pushing herself off the chaise and making her way out the door.

“An old man haunted by his old, dead friends,” Historia says with a toss of her head. She beckons for Mikasa to follow her, ignoring the horrified look on Gabi’s face. When the young girl runs forward, barring Historia from leaving, the haughty woman only sighs once more. “Look, if you’re worried he’s getting haunted by ghosts, why don’t you just run over to a church and get some holy water to splash on him? Or just buy some salt to sprinkle around his bed.” She waves her hand, gesturing for Gabi to move out of her way, but the girl refuses.

“I’ll pay you!” Gabi says. She stands resolute, her arms spread wide even as her lower lip trembles.

Historia raises an eyebrow. She steps back, a hand on her hip. “You’ll pay me?” she repeats. “You’re thirteen. What could you possibly offer me?”

“I could give you … my inheritance,” Gabi says. She sticks out her bottom lip, jutting her chin out and lifting her head. Her eyes are still red from crying, but tears have stopped falling down her cheeks. She clears her throat and continues, “Uncle Reiner hasn’t told anyone … but he’s made me the sole heir of his estate … among other things. I can … give you this mansion and everything in here if you just please help me.”

Mikasa wants to tell Gabi that it’s not necessary. Their services aren’t nearly worth that much and, even if it were, it’s illegal to make such a transaction with a minor.

Historia, of course, doesn’t care. She’s looking at Gabi with more interest now, her blue eyes shining as she looks at the girl. The woman isn’t even thinking about the logic of such a promise — when she would be able to collect the inheritance or what she would do with it. Her mind is occupied with calculating the worth of the estate and the many statues and paintings that decorate it. “I hope you know,” Historia says, her eyes glittering, “that any contract you make with me is binding.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Mikasa begins to say, but Historia cuts her off with a snarl.

“No, I’ll do it,” Gabi says with a shake of her head. “All of this stuff … it doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve never been very materialistic. All I really want … is for my uncle to be okay.” She lowers her arms, looking at Historia with uncertainty.

“How very noble of you,” Historia says, but she isn’t really listening. She’s busy fishing something out of her clutch purse, reaching in and pulling out a document filled out in the tiniest font. Even though the contract could have never fit perfectly in Historia’s purse without being folded up, there isn’t a wrinkle in sight when the woman presents the document to Gabi. The woman fishes out an expensive-looking fountain pen, one that Mikasa is only half-sure had originally been in the hotelier’s purse although it might be more likely she had snatched it off of a desk from the mansion when nobody was looking. Historia holds up the contract with a lipsticked smile, a perfectly manicured nail tapping at against the line where Gabi should sign. “Just sign your name here, darling.”

Gingerly, Gabi takes the pen from Historia, staring at the document with uncertainty. The pen sits uncapped in her hand, hovering over the dotted line where her signature should be. Her eyes scan the document, but the words begin to blur and she begins to gnaw at her lip.

Mikasa steps forward, lowering the document from Gabi’s face. “You don’t have to sign it.”

“Mikasa,” Historia hisses. An angry glare flashes across her face for half a second before switching to a more composed, reassuring smile directed at Gabi. “Don’t listen to her. Just sign it, sweetie. It’s harmless.”

Gabi looks from Mikasa to Historia, her expression uncertain, but she glances once more at the document and grips the pen in her hand with more conviction. The tip of the pen hits the paper and Gabi scrawls her full name — Gabrielle Mariella Braun — in an illegible, childish print before handing the fountain pen back to Historia.

“Perfect, perfect,” Historia says in a sing-song voice, squinting as she inspect’s Gabi’s signature. She turns her head slightly to Mikasa, lowering her voice a bit but not enough as she asks, “They don’t teach children cursive these days, do they? This girl’s signature is terrible. It’s like a toddler let their crayon wander across the page.” Historia takes another look at it before rolling up the contract and stuffing it into her purse.

“Cursive?” Gabi repeats with a knitted brow.

“It’s just connecting all the letters with a line, really,” Mikasa tells the girl, patting her on the shoulder to show that it’s not that big of an issue. A small part of her regrets not talking Gabi against signing the document, but she figures Gabi’s at more of an advantage than Historia is since the former is a minor and any contract she signs could be deemed void. She’ll just leave the problem for later, preferably when Armin is at her side so he can drive Historia mad enough to leave the poor girl and her inheritance alone.

“Right then!” Historia says, a lot more lively than she was a few minutes ago now. She flicks a lock of golden hair away from her face and smiles brightly at Gabi. “Be a dear and show us where your grandfather is. We’ll help him in any way we can.” It’s become quite obvious to Mikasa that Historia has long forgotten Gabi’s name despite being introduced to the girl a little while ago and having just seen her name written on a document not a minute before. Gabi doesn’t seem to have noticed. She’s more taken aback by Historia’s change in character. Mikasa can’t really blame her. The hotel manager had seen the woman do a complete 180 after being offered a yacht for her services once and thought new yacht-owner Historia was a completely different person from the usually crotchety hotelier.

“Er, yes. If you follow me, right around here …,” Gabi says, her voice trailing as she leads them out of the room and into the hallway.

Mikasa and Historia follow the girl, Historia with a new spring in her step as she lets her fingers trail against every vase and statue that they pass by with renewed appreciation for the artwork. As they walk, Historia hums a song that Mikasa almost knows by heart, but she knows it’s a song that hasn’t been sung in centuries.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Gabi leads them to a room at the end of the east wing. The room is much smaller than Historia and Mikasa anticipated. Historia had almost walked ahead and yanked open the largest double doors in the hallway before Gabi hurriedly pulled the woman away and rushed them over to her great uncle’s quarters. The door was considerably less extravagant — a single mahogany door with simple square panels and a gilded doorknob — and Mikasa could see the frown returning on Historia’s face.

The girl opened the door just a crack, leaning in to whisper, “Uncle Reiner? I brought some visitors for you. They’re … friends of mine. They said they might be able to help you.” She waits a bit for an answer. Even when Mikasa strains her ears to hear, she can’t hear a thing. It seems that Gabi does, however, because after a pause, she finally opens the door, allowing Historia and Mikasa to enter before her.

Mikasa isn’t quite sure where to look when she steps into the room. The bedroom is every bit as lavish as the rest of the house, the furniture all in deep reds and browns with highlights of gold here and there. There’s a noticeable lack of decoration, the walls instead adorned with photos of an elderly man with a wide jaw, snowy white hair, and milky white eyes. In most of the photos he stands alone — many times posing next to some art piece that he has lying around the house — but other times he’s seen with other members of his family including his grand niece. Mikasa is so busy looking at the pictures that she almost doesn’t see the man himself buried under a mountain of pillows and blankets in his bed. He looks so still that there isn’t much difference between his real self and the version of him in pictures. The ghosts that stand beside his bed look livelier than he does, Mikasa thinks.

“Uncle Reiner,” Gabi says, her voice quiet so as to not disturb her great uncle too much. She approaches his bed, Mikasa near her side while Historia wanders around the room unbothered. “This is Miss Historia and Miss Mikasa. They come from a special place … the Blutmond Hotel. They help people like you … people who can see ghosts.”

The man’s eyes flutter open but he struggles to keep them open. He sits up and his head turns towards Gabi, following the sound of her voice, but his gaze is fixated on something past her. It’s not a ghost, Mikasa knows, because there are only three in the room right now. One is currently hovering around the old man, unsure of what to do with his ghostly hands even as his face is filled with worry as Gabi’s great uncle sits up. The other two stand on the other side of the man’s bed eyeing Historia warily as she carefully inspects the room for any valuables.

“Ghosts? Have your parents been talking about me again?” the old man asks before coughing violently into his hand. He hunches over, his whole body heaving with every cough. He pounds his chest pitifully with his other hand as he wheezes. He shakes his head when Gabi runs over with a tissue box from his nightstand. One hand is clutched to his chest, but he’s still breathing heavily when he tells Gabi unconvincingly, “I’m fine. They just worry about me because of my old age.”

The man at Reiner’s side kneels down next to the old man. His ghostly blue hand reaches out to touch Reiner’s, his taut young skin such a stark contrast from the old man’s thin, veiny hands. All of the ghosts are significantly younger than Reiner, Mikasa notices. If she has to guess, they were probably in their late twenties when they passed. Judging from their military garb and the bloodstains that bloom across their chest, they died in a war. She wonders about their relationship to the old man, why they’ve stayed with him so long when it must have been decades since their death.

“Your names are Historia and Mikasa?” the old man asks, a tired but polite smile as he looks from the two women. He sits up in the bed, his back resting against the headrest and his hands folded in his lap. Unbeknownst to him, the ghost who had held his hand earlier sits beside him, gazing cautiously at both Mikasa and Historia. “I’m sorry to say that my relatives have a habit of spreading unnecessary rumors. They seem to have worried my grand niece.”

“They’re not untrue,” Gabi insists. She tugs on the elbow of Mikasa’s suit, her lower lip trembling dangerously. Her eyes are moist as tears begin to form and she sniffs loudly before turning to her great uncle. “I’ve seen you talking to … them. I’ve heard you call their names. Bertholdt, Porco, Marcel… You’re always talking to them when you think I’m not listening, but you always tell me it’s nothing when I ask you about them.”

At the names, the ghosts stiffen, but they don’t move from their positions. They look at Mikasa, wondering if she’ll give away their existence. She tries her best not to look at them.

“Because it’s nothing,” the man says, laughing it off weakly. He gets into another coughing fit, banging against his chest. The ghost at his side, eyes wide with worry, can only look at him helplessly.

Historia’s voice pops up, the hotelier speaking for the first time since stepping into the room. “Were you in the Second Great War, Mr. Braun?” She observes a glass case with different medals, leaning forward as she inspects the engraving on all of them. Historia hums, “I didn’t realize you were a veteran.”

“Ah, yes,” the old man says belatedly, surprised at the sudden jump in topic.

“You have quite a lot of medals and honors.” Historia’s finger traces the glass edge of the case. “You fought well.” The words should be congratulatory, but Historia says this almost coldly.

The old man must feel it too because he begins to fidget under the young woman’s gaze, his silken sheets tangled in his fists as he begins to stammer a “yes” under his breath.

The ghosts must dislike Historia’s tone because the two that had stood at the side of Reiner’s bed stand up, walking over to Historia and staring down at her petite frame. They tower above her, identical expressions of repressed fury on their faces, and Mikasa wonders for the first time if they’re brothers. With only a slight difference in height and hair color, the two could be identical. Despite the two spirits that are glowering down at her, Historia doesn’t waver, not even sparing them a passing glance as she continues to peruse the other items around Reiner’s room.

“You’ll have to forgive my partner. She’s quite interested in … history,” Mikasa lies. She wrinkles her nose as she says it — partly because she’s a terrible liar and partly because the thought of Historia being interested in anything other than money is ridiculous — but Gabi nor her great uncle seem to take notice. Mikasa fishes for the little business card in her breast pocket before presenting it to Mr. Braun, making sure to hold it at an angle for the nearby ghost to see as she hands it over. She clears her throat, glancing back at the other two ghosts to make sure they were paying attention before saying, “Miss Historia and I are from the Blutmond Hotel. We provide services for those who have passed.”

All the ghosts look at her, their necks turning so fast that they might have cracked if they were alive.

“For those that have passed?” Reiner repeats, eyebrow raised as he takes the business card gingerly between his fingers. He frowns and is about to toss the card on his nightstand before seeing the upset expression on his great niece’s face. He drops the card in his lap instead before running a tired hand through his thinning hair. “I’m hoping that won’t be until a few more years yet,” he jokes, but he’s the only one that laughs. It sounds strange echoing alone in the quiet room.

“Uncle Reiner,” Gabi says, her voice rising into a whine that Mikasa knows will make Historia grate her teeth.

Mikasa puts a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze and reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” she whispers before turning once more to Mr. Braun. To the ailing man, she says with a soft voice, “Mr. Braun, how many ghosts do you see in this room right now?”

His eyes flicker for a bit, roaming around the room but never resting on the ghost that sits beside him nor on the ghosts that stand near Historia. His gaze finally stops somewhere above Mikasa’s shoulder, eyes watering as he whispers, “Three.”

Gabi’s grip on Mikasa’s arm is vice-like and the hotel manager has to pry the girl from her arm for her blood circulation to return. “It’s alright, it’s fine,” she says to Gabi again, brushing her off gently. Mikasa looks at the ghost beside Reiner and watches as the young man shakes his head ever so slightly, his eyes begging her not to tell the old man of his existence. She opens her mouth, but Historia speaks first.

“Those aren’t ghosts,” Historia says, finally strolling across the room to stand beside Mikasa. She ignores Mikasa’s eye roll and instead bounces about on the balls of her feet, speaking casually as if talking about the weather. “Ah, I should clarify. Those things that are haunting you … I guess you would say they’re your own memories. There are ghosts here too, but it looks like they’re only here to keep you company.” She waves her hand as she explains, trying to find the right words. Historia looks quite proud when she’s done, but everyone (with the exception of Mikasa) looks at her with a bewildered expression.

“You mean there are ghosts here?” Gabi asks with wide eyes.

If Gabi grabs onto Mikasa’s suit any tighter she’ll tear the fabric. Mikasa doesn’t particularly mind, but she knows Historia would be infuriated if Gabi ripped such expensive clothing in her presence and the hotel manager carefully pries the girl off her arm.

“The supernatural world is quite complicated,” Mikasa says gently. She’s worked in the supernatural business for years and she still hasn’t grasped it entirely, so she can only imagine the confusion that Gabi and her great uncle feel right now. Mikasa sucks in her cheek as she tries to think of how to explain the situation in layman’s terms. “There is a myriad of things that can haunt a person, not just ghosts. Spirits, demons … even deities if they’re angry enough.”

“And next you’ll be telling me werewolves and vampires exist,” Mr. Braun scoffs, but his eyes still roam aimlessly around the room for something they can’t see.

“Don’t be silly. Werewolves and vampires are another thing entirely,” Historia snorts with a roll of her eyes, although she doesn’t confirm or deny the existence of either. She points a painted finger at the old man. “What you have haunting you are your own memories, Mr. Braun, although I imagine they’ve grown horribly distorted over time.”

Mr. Braun’s mouth is tightened into a thin line, all laughter gone from his eyes. He fixes Historia with a steely glare, but she doesn’t waver. He doesn’t speak, not even to ask her to clarify. Perhaps it’s because he already knows what memories she’s alluding to.

“What’s she talking about?” Gabi hisses in Mikasa’s ear.

“Mr. Braun, how old were you when you were drafted for the war?” Historia asks, stepping closer to the bed. She ignores that ghost closest to Reiner’s side even when he stands in front of her. She stares right past him as if she can’t see him at all and continues her questioning of Mr. Braun. “Perhaps in your twenties, judging from the looks of your companions. Mid- to late twenties, even. Life was just beginning for you. Being caught up in a war you had nothing to do with must have been frustrating to you.”

“No, it was an honor to fight for my country,” Reiner murmurs, but his eyes begin to cloud over and his expression grows grimmer.

“Did your friends share the same sentiment?” Historia continues to inquire. The ghost brothers from before each put a hand on her shoulders, their expressions just as dark and dangerous as Mr. Braun’s. Still, Historia presses on. “Were they just as brave as you when they camped in those trenches with corpses of other soldiers? Did they die with honor, their bodies rotting in those holes for weeks before whatever remains of them are shipped back to their loved ones? And were you honored to be one of the ones that made it out alive, standing tall even though the guilt was slowly killing you all these years?”

The ghosts are hostile now, their hands rough as they pull Historia back from Reiner. With a flick of her wrist, Historia sends them flying against the wall, their presence only detected by the way the portraits on the wall shake slightly. It’s enough to make Mikasa flinch, but Gabi and Reiner are too distracted to notice.

It’s the last ghost, though, that has Mikasa the most worried. He stands in a protective stance, his eyes flickering with a dangerous blue flame. On his face is a terrible glower, a stark contrast from the worried look he had worn earlier. His fists are clenched against his sides, shaking slightly with suppressed rage. Historia has faced her fair share of ghosts over the years. Mikasa doubts that this one is any more powerful than the malicious spirits that Historia has gone up against, but a ghost powered by violent anger is not something to be underestimated.

“Historia,” Mikasa warns, her voice low.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Mr. Braun whispers in a hoarse voice. He seems to shrink into his bed, his silken sheets pulled tight around his body as if trying to protect himself from something. His wild eyes continue to wander above his head, looking at things that don’t exist to anyone else but him. The old man pulls the sheets over his head, but the tremble in his voice can still be heard as he whimpers, “Every day they’ve plagued me, haunted me, but they never leave.”

“Uncle Braun-“ Gabi begins, but Mikasa holds her back after Historia gives her a subtle gesture to restrain the girl.

“Mr. Braun,” Historia says, stepping through the ghost easily. She reaches over and pulls the sheets from the man’s hands, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. She grasps the man’s face in her hand, lifting his chin up, and forces him to look at her and only her. “You said it yourself that it’s not your fault. Why have you gone so long doubting your own words?”

It’s the first time the man’s gaze was fixed on something, his eyes no longer wandering aimlessly at things unseen. He licks his chapped lips as he struggles to find the answer to Historia’s question. “Because I lived while they died,” he tells her in a voice dripping with grief. His eyes grow glassy, moist with tears. “I believe that warrants some guilt, don’t you?”

Historia is silent, holding his gaze. Even when the man’s tears begin to fall, dripping down his cheeks and spilling onto her hand, she still holds on. After a moment, she finally lets go a little too roughly, throwing Mr. Braun’s head back with unnecessary force. The movement earns an indignant squawk from Gabi, who struggles to break free from Mikasa’s grip, but the hotel manager manages to hold the girl. The ghosts move towards the hotelier too, their faces alight with anger, but she waves her hand again and all three are pinned against the wall with much greater force than last time.

“What if I told you that you could see your friends one last time, Mr. Braun?” Historia asks as casually as if she were asking about the weather. She digs through her purse, humming that little tune as she does so. She pulls out a little silver pistol, her slender fingers wrapped against the gilded grip, and loads a single bullet into its chamber. She speaks again, her words light and honey-sweet as she points the barrel at the old man’s forehead. “Mr. Braun, would you like to see your friends again?”

“Historia,” Mikasa growls with narrow eyes.

“What’s she doing? Why does she have a gun?” Gabi asks, voice rising. Her head whips back to Mikasa, eyes wide with horror. She tries to break free from Mikasa’s grip, but the woman holds the girl back tightly. With more urgency, Gabi thrashes more violently, trying to lunge towards Historia’s gun. “Let me go! She’s going to shoot him!”

The ghosts have broken free, all of them clambering for Historia with arms outstretched, but the blonde stands there with her gun aimed as if she and the old man are the only two in the room. Historia ignores the ghosts even as they grab at her, her arm remaining steady even as they try to pull the gun from her fingers. She keeps her gaze fixed on the old man who only stares back at her. While Gabi screams and Mikasa struggles to keep the young girl out of the line of fire, the old man appears calm, a look of resignation on his face.

“What do you say, Mr. Braun?” Historia asks quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rests his head against the headboard, eyes closed as if he’s about to fall asleep. His answer is adequate enough for Historia to fire the gun.

A piercing shriek cuts across the room just as Historia pulls the trigger, but it’s the only sound that can be heard. There is no whistling bullet. There is no bang as the bullet makes its mark upon the target’s skull. There is no dull thud as a corpse falls to the floor. There is only Gabi screaming for her great uncle as she finally manages to pull away from Mikasa’s hold, her screams only halting when she reaches for the wound on Mr. Braun’s head only to find him fully intact and unmistakably alive as he blinks back at her.

“What …?” Gabi asks, turning slowly to look at Historia and Mikasa.

“It’s a special gun, sweetheart,” Historia explains as she blows at the tip of the barrel. It’s for show, really, because the gun isn’t smoking at all. She drops the gun in her bag, patting it happily before looking back at Gabi and noticing the girl’s stunned expression. Historia frowns, leaning over to Mikasa to ask, “Did I not make that clear?”

“Not at all,” Mikasa replies. Her employer is many things, but clear is not one of them.

“Ah, it’s so troublesome to explain though,” Historia grumbles. She looks at Gabi, watching as the girl slowly loses her mind trying to comprehend everything unfolding in front of her. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout and Mikasa can already see the wheels turning in her mind as she tries to find a way out of dealing with the young girl. If there’s something Historia dislikes almost as much being told how to handle her money, it’s dealing with people on the verge of a mental breakdown. Historia looks over to Mikasa, her face hopeful as she waits for her employee to step in and take the lead, but Mikasa shoots her down with a dirty look and Historia sighs. “Look, Gabi,” Historia says impatiently, hands folded across her chest and foot tapping already. “It’s really not that difficult to understand. You see, the bullet I shot your Great Uncle Braun with allows people to see ghosts. Now, Mr. Braun can finally interact with the ghosts that have been watching over him for so long, all thanks to yours truly!” She waves a gracious hand and waits expectantly for the praise that she believes is deserved of her, but it never comes. Gabi is too busy staring at the empty air around them to give Historia any sort of thanks.

“What do you mean?” Gabi asks, her voice reaching a terrible whine that makes Historia sniff disdainfully. She looks at Mikasa, her expression making it quite clear that she thinks that Historia is speaking nonsense, but the woman offers her no further explanation. Her eyes land once more on her Great Uncle Braun and she notices that his eyes no longer roam. Instead, they are fixed on something in front of him, something that she cannot see. Horrified, she turns to Mikasa, gripping the woman’s wrists so hard that her knuckles turn white. “What’s wrong with Uncle Reiner? Why is he like that? He’s even worse than before!”

“He’s fine,” Mikasa says soothingly. She breaks one hand free from Gabi’s grasp and pats the young girl’s head gently.

“We could make this a lot more simple, you know,” Historia says. She pulls out the gun from her purse once more, twirling it carelessly in her hand. “Shall I shoot her too?”

Mikasa shoots Historia a hard glare. “You are not shooting a child.”

Her employer rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath about how she was simply suggesting an easier solution, but she puts the gun away.

The ghosts are speechless as they cautiously approach Mr. Braun. The two brothers keep their distance but the other ghost — the tall one that had looked so murderously down at Historia when she had pulled the trigger — is the only one to stand right in front of his old friend. Both the ghost and Mr. Braun stare at each other as if they are the only two in the room. The soldier holds up a hand, reaching for the old man but too afraid to touch.

“Bertholdt.” It’s not a question that comes from Reiner, but a statement of disbelief. As he gazes at the ghost, the old man looks more awake than he has been this entire visit. He sits up, reaching for Bertholdt’s outstretched hand. Their fingetipsrs touch, then their palms, and then their fingers lace together. Ever since he had first laid eyes on Bertholdt, the real Bertholdt, Reiner hasn’t looked away once. “It really is you.”

“It’s true, then? He can see me now? He can really see me?” Bertholdt asks, staring in awe at his fingers interlaced with Reiner’s. He looks to Historia, eyes begging her to tell her that this is all real and not some cruel trick.

It’s a heartwarming scene, but Historia stands there with her arms folded across her chest. She gives him a curt nod before looking away disinterestedly, an inaudible sigh slipping from her lips.

Mikasa gestures for the ghost and his companions to get closer. “Go on,” she says with an encouraging smile. “He hasn’t seen you in so long. It must be overwhelming to reunite with you after all this time. Tell him everything and banish the nightmares that have been plaguing him for so long.”

Reiner continues to converse with Bertholdt as if nobody else is in the room. “But have you been here all this time?” He looks behind Bertholdt, a genuine smile now on his face. Although he has aged, his grin is as youthful as a young boy’s. He gestures with his free hand, waving his friend’s over. “Marcel and Porco, too? After everything I’ve done, you’re still here?” Tears are beginning to well up in his eyes once more but Bertholdt hastily wipes them away with a tender thumb.

“We were worried about you,” Marcel says. He takes a seat on the edge of Reiner’s bed. His expression is much softer now, filled with affection as he gazes down at his old friend, and rests a gentle hand on Reiner’s arm. “After the war … we were sorry we abandoned you. We couldn’t find it in ourselves to leave you again until we knew you were alright.”

It must have been torture for them to stay by Reiner’s side all those years, observing him helplessly as he screamed at distorted visions of them that blamed him for their deaths. It takes a certain type of strength — a certain type of love, Mikasa thought — to stay for someone for all those years. It had already been over half a century and still they had never left him. It must have been a similar pain for Mr. Braun too, Mikasa thinks, to have been tortured by the memory of his fallen for all those years. All those years he had suffered alone. Not anymore.

“What’s going on?” Gabi whispers, eyes wide as she tries to take in a scene she can’t understand.

“We’ll explain outside,” Mikasa whispers back. She places a hand on Gabi’s back and leads the girl towards the door, Historia dragging her feet as she follows behind. In the background, Reiner and his old comrades continue to talk.

“We were so worried,” Porco is saying, voice quiet as he takes a seat beside his brother Marcel. “You blamed yourself for things that weren’t your fault. It didn’t feel right to just leave you when you were suffering so much without us.”

“Did I worry you? I’m sorry. You stayed because of me instead of moving on like you should have,” Reiner says with a wry smile. He gazes down at the hand that holds Bertholdt. “But I’m glad I could see you all one last time… I missed you.”

Bertholdt gives Reiner’s hand a quick squeeze. “We missed you too.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles. It fades a little bit, affection replaced with concern as he asks, “But the things you were seeing … are they still here?”

Reiner doesn’t even look around to check, keeping his eyes on Bertholdt instead. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. His smile is spread so wide, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “I only see you.”

Mikasa shuts the door gently behind her, a small smile on her face.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“So let me get this straight,” Gabi says slowly. She holds up a fist, bringing up a finger every time she brings up each new topic she’s had to process. “There were no ghosts haunting Uncle Reiner. The things he was seeing were just hallucinations that were conjured up in his mind due to his own guilt. But there were ghosts — the ghosts of his old friends — that were watching over him all these years because they were worried about him. And I can’t see them because I wasn’t shot with a magic bullet?” She looks at her three fingers with a frown and then at the two women beside her.

“That’s pretty much it,” Mikasa hums. She’s only had to explain it a handful of times to the girl, so she’s quite pleased that Gabi’s grasped it so quickly even if the young girl’s expression grows more and more troubled with each repetition.

“Please don’t make us go through it again,” Historia says with a grown, knocking her head back against the wall. She bangs the back of her head against the wall a few times in frustration, her expression one of tired impatience, before letting out another exaggerated sigh. Although Mikasa has been patient throughout, Historia has been growing more and more impatient, only offering a few words here and there while Mikasa took care of most of the explanation.

“Well, it’s hard to believe you when I can’t see anything! How can I even trust you guys? I might have signed over my entire inheritance to a bunch of frauds!” Gabi points out, her gaze more suspicious of them than it was when they first met. “For all I know, you might have just made things worse bringing up his past!”

Historia stiffens at the young girl’s words and for a moment Mikasa thinks she’s going to get up and leave, but the woman opens her mouth to say quietly, “Darling, would you have rather he been haunted by his past until his last breath?” Gabi doesn’t respond and Historia continues, her eyes a little less icy now as she leans against the armrest. “You don’t understand because you’re so young. You don’t have things that you regret or lost things you can’t live without, not the way your uncle has. You should be thanking me, really, for allowing him the ability to reunite one last time with his old friends. Some people aren’t so lucky.”

The young girl’s cheeks blaze a bright red and she looks down at the floor, her eyes bright as they begin to fill with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared,” she mumbles, lower lip trembling dangerously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before. So sad, but at the same time … so happy.” The tears begin to roll down her cheeks one by one, her shoulders shaking as the girl tries to suppress her crying. Mikasa is about to reach out and offer Gabi a shoulder to lean on but, surprisingly, Historia beats her to it.

Gently, the blonde wraps an arm around the child’s shoulders before guiding her onto her shoulder. It’s a rare sign of sympathy, one that Mikasa usually doesn’t see Historia display, especially towards clients. It’s even more surprising when Historia begins to stroke the girl’s hair, brushing stray locks away from the child’s face as she hums that song that Mikasa still can’t fully recall. “Farewells are like that,” Historia murmurs, looking into the distance as if remembering something. “They’re always sad, but they’re not entirely sad. Never entirely sad.” There’s something wistful in the way she says this and Mikasa almost opens her mouth to ask why, but now isn’t the time. Maybe another day when they’re alone and there isn’t a child between them that needs comforting.

The three of them stay that way for a while, silent save for Gabi’s sobs and the muffled conversation on the other side of the while. As Mikasa rubs circles on the young girl’s back, she focuses her gaze on Historia, who has that faraway look in her eye that she sometimes gets when she isn’t thinking. It’s not one that Historia wears freely around others, but she’s gotten more careless around Mikasa over the years. Mikasa notices that such a distracted gaze tends to appear during businesses such as these where a client with ghosts that should have left a long time ago. There’s no ghost that haunts Historia now, at least none that Mikasa can see, but she has a feeling she already knows the memory that keeps Historia up at night. Why Mikasa never asks the woman herself, she doesn’t know.

The door to Mr. Braun’s room finally creaks open and the ghosts — Porco, Marcel, and Bertholdt, who is still holding onto Reiner’s hand as the old man follows them to the hall — trail out. They look much calmer now, their expressions serene and no longer hostile as they look first at Mikasa and Historia.

“Did you have a nice talk?” Historia says, getting up to meet them. She looks over at Mikasa and Gabi. Although the young girl is still crying, Historia beckons her forward, a twinge of annoyance on her face that’s replaced with a polite smile as she looks at Mr. Braun. “I hope you’ve had enough time to say your goodbyes. Goodness knows you’ve probably had a lot you wanted to say to Mr. Braun for the past half a century, but you’ve stayed here far too long, don’t you think?”

They nod in agreement, but they all look reluctant to go, Bertholdt especially. Still, Marcel steps forward with a gracious smile and says, “We have to thank you, Miss Historia, for allowing us to meet with Reiner one last time before we pass.”

Historia waves away his thanks with a wave of her hand, although her smile grows into a smirk after hearing the praise. “Not at all. It’s the least I could do.” She turns to Mr. Braun, her gaze more patient than it was when she was dealing with the elderly man’s great-niece. “Are you ready to say goodbye, Mr. Braun?”

He doesn’t look at Historia, his gaze lingering on Bertholdt whose hand he still holds. His withered hands cling to the spirit, eyes wistful like he never wants to let go. “Will I ever see you again?” he asks.

“If there’s ever a way, then I’m sure we’ll find our way back to each other,” Bertholdt replies. Mikasa can’t see the ghost’s face, but she knows he means it. She doesn’t know if it’s possible — to meet someone again after death or if reuniting in another life is feasible — but she believes his words now. If anyone can make it happen, it will be him.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Mikasa and Historia drop the ghosts off at the hotel, leaving Connie and Levi to assist them and introduce the ghosts to the hotel’s rooms and various facilities. Mikasa had taken a few minutes to assure the ghostly trio that all of their accommodations (within reason, she added) would be met to the best of the staff’s ability. She would see them all again soon, the manager assured them even as Historia impatiently dragged her away to meet their reservation at the dim sum restaurant Mikasa had placed earlier today.

“So,” Mikasa asks, watching fondly as Historia shoves an entire BBQ pork bun into her mouth, “how is the food?”

“Incredible,” Historia answers with her mouth full of food. Despite how elegant the woman might appear on the outside, Historia — much to Mikasa’s amusement — always eats as if she’s starving. It doesn’t matter if they had eaten hours ago or thirty minutes ago; Historia will shovel food into her mouth until her cheeks are filled and doesn’t stop until every dish is licked clean. While others have found the woman’s table manners atrocious and even frightening at times, Mikasa can’t help but be entranced whenever she watches Historia eat.

“Come, eat more. The shrimp dumplings are absolutely divine.” Historia plucks a beautifully wrapped shrimp dumpling with her chopsticks and offers it to Mikasa.

“Thank you,” Mikasa says, holding out her plate to accept the dumpling. She takes the extra time to admire the delicate pleats in the translucent skin and the gorgeous pink of the plump shrimp sitting inside. When she takes a bite, the delicate wrapper breaks apart and her teeth dig into the shrimp with a delightful crunch, her mouth filling with the shellfish’s sweet flavor. Mikasa easily finishes the dumpling in another bite, savoring the taste of it as the starch wrapper melts on her tongue and mingles with the savory-sweet filling. When she’s done, she looks up to see Historia looking at her with a smug smile on her face.

“Delicious?”

“Very.”

“You’re very welcome,” Historia says, her chest puffed out proudly as if she was the one to suggest they eat here tonight. She goes back to inspecting the dim sum dishes laid out in front of them, her eyes latching onto a plate of chicken feet. She nibbles on one, spitting the bones out onto a napkin. When she’s done, she gets another, her lips shining pink from the grease. “It’s lovely, but it would have been better if you had let me change like I had asked.”

After dropping the ghosts off at the hotel, Historia had thrown the door open and rushed out to go change before Mikasa had caught her by the wrist. The woman needs to have a wardrobe change almost every hour of the day. It’s another one of Historia’s eccentricities that Mikasa lets slide half the time, but she had made reservations earlier and changing it would have been inconvenient.

“Would the chef’s cooking be any different if you were wearing a different outfit?” Mikasa asks. She takes a gentle bite into a soup dumpling, making sure not to slurp the broth too noisily. It almost burns her mouth, but the tender pork filling inside more than makes up for it.

Historia frowns, discarding the bones from her third chicken foot onto the table. She licks the sticky sweet black bean sauce from her fingers before wiping them on the napkin that sits across her lap. “It would taste better if I were wearing a different outfit,” Historia replies before plucking a fried crab ball from its plate. She digs her teeth into its crispy exterior with a loud crunch and swallows before continuing. “Things taste better when you’re dressed for the occasion. You should know this by now, Mikasa. We’ve been together for over twenty years, you know.”

She doesn’t need the reminder. Mikasa has been counting the days just like her cousin has been counting down the days. He’s been with Historia for almost an entire century. Mikasa wonders what it’s like to know someone for one hundred years. She can’t fathom it.

“And what would you wear instead?” Mikasa asks.

“Mmm.” Historia brings her chopstick to her mouth to nibble at thoughtfully. The woman has entire rooms filled with clothes — all organized by color, season, and style — and yet she’s still able to remember and assemble entire outfits complete with shoes and accessories. She grins when she’s finally thought of the perfect outfit, pointing her chopsticks at Mikasa with a grin on her face. “The Majorica pearls. They look like little dumplings. And the blue tulle dress, the one with the trailing skirt.”

Mikasa knows exactly which ensemble Historia is referring to, although it’s admittedly been a while since she’s seen the blonde hotelier wear the fairy-like tulle. With its shimmering skirt that seems to be a different shade of blue every time Historia moves and its long billowing sleeves that hang off Historia’s shoulders, it’s a piece that’s far more suited for a runway or an elegant wedding than a casual outing to a dim sum restaurant, but Historia wears such extravagant pieces with such confidence that it would seem out-of-place if she were to wear anything less luxurious.

“I think you look beautiful right now,” Mikasa replies.

Historia hardly bats an eyelash. “Of course I do. I’m always beautiful,” Historia says, brushing off the compliment as easily as she always does. It used to bother Mikasa, but she’s used to it now. “That blue dress would really suit the atmosphere of this restaurant better though.”

Mikasa only hums in response.

The two continue eating — Mikasa in delicate bites while Historia gorges herself with buns stuffed with succulent meats and crispy deep-fried shrimp balls but somehow never dropping a crumb. Mikasa doesn’t even eat much. She’s never had much of an appetite, but Historia cleans every plate. By the time Historia cleans off their last plate, there’s a mountain of dirty dishes stacked high on the side of the table, and yet Historia is still hungry enough to call over a nearby waitress and order nearly every dessert on her cart.

Mikasa doesn’t touch any of the pastries that are laid out in front of them, but Historia plucks a crispy durian cake and breaks it in two, the flaky crust crumbling underneath her fingers and spilling onto the table. The intoxicatingly sweet scent of the durian custard is fragrant enough to fill the whole room. Historia stuffs one half into her mouth, savoring the delicate taste of the durian custard as she chews and swallows. She follows with the other half before wiping her fingers on the cloth napkin in her lap.

“Do you still dream of me?” Historia asks nonchalantly. The question comes out of the blue, making Mikasa look up from where she was staring at Historia’s fingers.

I do, Mikasa wants to say. I dream of you every night. But she doesn’t say it. She never does. Instead, the manager replies with a simple, “Yes.”

“Hm,” is all Historia says.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

That night, Mikasa dreams of Historia in a garden. She wears clothing from a different time, the material like that from a rough burlap that has been bleached white from the sun and stitched into a plain dress. She’s younger in this dream, her face a little rounder and her blue eyes less guarded. Historia lays in the garden, staring up at the starry sky. She doesn’t stir even as another girl joins her.

“Historia,” the girl says, freckles sprinkled across her olive skin. Her hair is chopped unevenly in a short cut that frames her thin face, but Historia still smiles when the girl leans over her. It’s not the first time Mikasa has seen this girl in her dreams. “I dreamed of you again.”

“Did you?” Historia asks. Her mouth always curls upward whenever she sees the girl. She’s probably not even aware of it.

“I always dream of you,” the other girl replies.

“Was I beautiful?” Historia asks.

“Of course, you were,” the other girl replies. She lies down beside Historia and the blonde curls up against her, Historia’s blonde head resting against the other girl’s shoulder while their fingers intertwine. “You’re always beautiful.”

It’s painfully intimate. The two look so happy together, curled up against each other as they stare up at the sky. Mikasa doesn’t think she’s ever seen Historia smile like that. It makes her heart ache.

[patriotsnet]

What Percentage Of Republicans Are On Welfare

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What Percentage Of Republicans Are On Welfare

Democrats Return The Favor: Republicans Uninformed Or Self

Republican States Are Mostly on Welfare

The 429 Democratic voters in our sample returned the favor and raised many of the same themes. Democrats inferred that Republicans must be VERY ill-informed, or that Fox news told me to vote for Republicans.;;Or that Republicans are uneducated and misguided people guided by what the media is feeding them.

Many also attributed votes to individual self-interest whereas GOP voters feel Democrats want free stuff, many Democrats believe Republicans think that I got mine and dont want the libs to take it away, or that some day I will be rich and then I can get the benefits that rich people get now.

Many used the question to express their anger and outrage at the other side.;;Rather than really try to take the position of their opponents, they said things like, I like a dictatorial system of Government, Im a racist, I hate non-whites.;

Average Spending Of Welfare Recipients

Compared to the average American household, welfare recipients spend far less money on all food consumption, including dining out, in a year. As families with welfare assistance spend half as much on average in one year than families without it do, there are some large differences in budgeting. Families receiving welfare assistance spent half the amount of families not receiving welfare assistance in 2018.

The Gop Push To Cut Unemployment Benefits Is The Welfare Argument All Over Again

The White House is on the defensive over accusations from Republicans that expanded federal unemployment benefits, which were extended through Sept. 6 as part of Bidens $1.9 trillion coronavirus relief package, are too generous. The GOP argument is that people receiving the $300 weekly benefit have little incentive to return to work. The criticism from Republicans has gotten louder in the wake of a disappointing jobs report.

Its an argument that echoes similar claims conservatives have been making about government assistance programs for decades that people are taking advantage of the system in ways that allow them to collect checks while sitting back and relaxing.

As Washington pays workers a bonus to stay unemployed, virtually everyone discussed very real concerns about their difficulties in finding workers, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell said Monday. Almost every employer I spoke with specifically mentioned the extra-generous jobless benefits as a key force holding back our recovery.

But Democrats counter that millions of Americans need that money to get by. More than 20 million jobs were lost in the early months of the pandemic; 10 million American workers are currently unemployed, the Labor Department says.

Democrats say the sudden demand for more workers from businesses is outpacing the number of workers that can get back into those jobs, especially since many schools arent fully open, and many workers cant afford child care.

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The Politics And Demographics Of Food Stamp Recipients

Democrats are about twice as likely as Republicans to have received food stamps at some point in their livesa participation gap that echoes the deep partisan divide in the U.S. House of Representatives, which on Thursday produced a farm bill that did not include funding for the food stamp program.

Overall, a Pew Research Center survey conducted late last year found that about one-in-five Americans has participated in the food stamp program, formally known as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program. About a quarter lives in a household with a current or former food stamp recipient.

Of these, about one-in-five of Democrats say they had received food stamps compared with 10% of Republicans. About 17% of political independents say they have received food stamps.

The share of food stamp beneficiaries swells even further when respondents are asked if someone else living in their household had ever received food stamps. According to the survey, about three in ten Democrats and about half as many Republicans say they or someone in their household has benefitted from the food stamp program.

But when the political lens shifts from partisanship to ideology, the participation gap vanishes. Self-described political conservatives were no more likely than liberals or moderates to have received food stamps , according to the survey.

Among whites, the gender-race gap is smaller. Still, white women are about twice as likely as white men to receive food stamp assistance .

How Democrats And Republicans Differ On Matters Of Wealth And Equality

A protester wears a T-shirt in support of Bernie Sanders, an independent from Vermont who is part of … a group of Democrats looking to beat Trump in 2020. Photographer: John Taggart/Bloomberg

If youre a rich Democrat, you wake up each day with self-loathing, wondering how you can make the world more egalitarian. Please tax me more, you say to your elected officials. Until then, the next thing you do is call your financial advisor to inquire about tax shelters.

If youre a poor Republican, however, you have more in common with the Democratic Party than the traditional Wall Street, big business base of the Republican Party, according to a survey by the Voter Study Group, a two-year-old consortium made up of academics and think tank scholars from across the political spectrum. That means the mostly conservative American Enterprise Institute and Cato were also on board with professors from Stanford and Georgetown universities when conducting this study, released this month.

The fact that lower-income Republicans, largely known as the basket of deplorables, support more social spending and taxing the rich was a key takeaway from this years report, says Lee Drutman, senior fellow on the political reform program at New America, a Washington D.C.-based think tank.

Across party lines, only 37% of respondents said they supported government getting active in reducing differences in income, close to the 39% who opposed it outright. Some 24% had no opinion on the subject.

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Bases Of Republicans Antidemocratic Attitudes

shows how Republicans antidemocratic responses in the January 2020 survey were related to education, political interest, and locale. These relationships provide only modest support for the hypothesis that allegiance to democratic values is a product of political activity, involvement and articulateness, as McClosky had it . Although people with postgraduate education were clearly less likely than those with less education to endorse violations of democratic norms, the overall relationship between education and antidemocratic sentiments is rather weak. Similarly, people in big cities were only about 5% less likely than those in rural areas to endorse norm violations, while people who said they followed politics most of the time were about 7% more likely to do so than those who said they followed politics hardly at all. Given the distributions of these social characteristics in the Republican sample, the most typical antidemocrats were not men and women whose lives are circumscribed by apathy, ignorance, provincialism and social or physical distance from the centers of intellectual activity , but suburbanites with some college education and a healthy interest in politics.

Social bases of Republicans antidemocratic attitudes.

Key indicators of latent dimensions

Political bases of Republicans antidemocratic attitudes

Translation of ethnic antagonism into antidemocratic attitudes in Republican subgroups

Welfare Accounts For 10% Of The Federal Budget

Many Republicans claim that social services expenditures are crippling the federal budget, but these programs accounted for just 10% of federal spending in 2015.

Of the $3.7 trillion the U.S. government spent that year, the largest expenditures were Social Security , health care , and defense and security , according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities .

Several safety net programs are included in the 10% spent on social services:

Supplemental Security Income , which provides cash support to the elderly and disabled poor

Assistance with home energy bills

Programs that provide help to abused and neglected children

In addition, programs that primarily help the middle class, namely the Earned Income Tax Credit and the Child Tax Credit, are included in the 10%.

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At Least 60 Afghans And 13 Us Service Members Killed By Suicide Bombers And Gunmen Outside Kabul Airport: Us Officials

Two suicide bombers and gunmen attacked crowds of Afghans flocking to Kabul’s airport Thursday, transforming a scene of desperation into one of horror in the waning days of an airlift for those fleeing the Taliban takeover. At least 60 Afghans and 13 U.S. troops were killed, Afghan and U.S. officials said.

Welfare Spending By President And Congress From 1959 To 2014

Republicans’ Facts About Welfare Are “Not Factually True”

America faces many problems today. The current economic recovery has been the slowest since the Great Depression, the national debt has surpassed $18 trillion, and the federal government continues to spend more than it collects. While its not unusual, unethical, or unconstitutional for the federal government to operate with deficits at times, the question is why does Washington continue to overspend? Is there a legitimate reason or is it neo-politics? In this article, well take a look at spending on welfare programs during each presidents term from J.F.K. to Obama. Well also look at the party in control of Congress. Which one was the biggest spender as it pertains to welfare programs?

The Dark Side of Social Benefits

Politicians love to sing their own praises and for a very good reason. Otto von Bismarck, the first Chancellor of Germany, made an astute political observation in the 1880s when he stated, A man who has a pension for his old age is much easier to deal with than a man without that prospect. Bismarck openly acknowledged that this was a state-socialist idea and went on to say, Whoever embraces this idea will come to power. Thus, the strategy of using legislation to gain votes was forever embedded in the political landscape.

Welfare Spending

Lets take a thorough look at federal welfare spending from 1959 through 2013. The following graph includes spending for two data points:

Democrats in control: 13.7%

Republicans in control: 3.5%

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What Is Governments Role In Caring For The Most Needy

Nearly six-in-ten Americans say government has a responsibility to take care of those who cannot take care of themselves. Do these views vary depending on whether the respondent has personally benefited from a government entitlement program?

These data suggest the answer is a qualified yes. Overall, those who have received benefits from at least one of the six major programs are somewhat more likely than those who havent to say government is responsible for caring for those who cannot help themselves .

When the analysis focuses just on just the respondents who have received benefits from at least one of the four programs that target the needy, the gap between entitlement recipients and other adults increases to eight percentage points .

Some larger differences in attitudes toward governments role emerge when the results are broken down by specific program, though in every case majorities of both recipients and non-recipients affirmed that government has the obligation to help those most in need.

For example, nearly three-quarters of those who ever received welfare benefits say government has a duty to care for those who cannot care for themselves. In contrast, less than six-in-ten of those who have never been on welfare agree.

Similar double-digit gaps surface between non-recipients and those who ever received food stamps and Medicaid .

How Come We Are Red And Blue Instead Of Purple

Republicans to live outside of urban areas, while Democrats tend to prefer living inside of urban areas.

Rural areas are almost exclusively Republican well strong urban areas are almost exclusively democratic.

Republicans also tend to stress traditional family values, which may be why only 1 out of 4 GLBTQI individuals identify with the GOP.

63% of people who earn more than $200k per year vote for Republicans, while 63% of people who earn less than $15k per year vote for Democrats.

64% of Americans believe that labor unions are necessary to protect working people, but only 43% of GOP identified votes view labor unions in a favorable way.

The economics of the United States seem to have greatly influenced how people identify themselves when it comes to their preferred political party. People who are concerned about their quality of life and have a fair amount of money tend to vote Republican. Those who have fallen on hard times or work in union related jobs tend to vote for Democrats. From 2003 to today, almost all of demographic gaps have been shifting so that Republicans and Democrats are supported equally. The only true difference is on the extremes of the income scale. The one unique fact about Democrats is that they are as bothered by their standard of living as Republicans tend to be.

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States Have Shifted To The Right

Democrats are floating a plan to tax stock buybacks.

Even excluding health insurance which some experts argue should not count people in this patch of Appalachia draw between a fifth and a third of their income from the public purse.

Perhaps the politics of welfare is changing up to a point. Democrats made big gains this year in elections for the House and several statehouses, running largely on the promise that they would protect the most recent addition to the safety net: the Affordable Care Act, including the expansion of Medicaid in many states. But championing the safety net does not necessarily resonate in the places that most need it.

Take Daniel Lewis, who crashed his car into a coal truck 15 years ago, breaking his neck and suffering a blood clot in his brain when he was only 21. He is grateful for the $1,600 a month his family gets from disability insurance; for his Medicaid benefits; for the food stamps he shares with his wife and two children.

Every need I have has been met, Mr. Lewis told me. He disagrees with the governors proposal to demand that Medicaid recipients get a job. And yet, in 2016, he voted for Mr. Trump. It was the lesser of two evils, he said.

About 13 percent of Harlans residents are receiving disability benefits. More than 10,000 get food stamps. But in 2015 almost two-thirds voted for Mr. Bevin. In 2016 almost 9 out of 10 chose Mr. Trump.

Program Goals And Demographics

Larger group differences emerge when the results are broken down by age and income levelsdifferences that are often directly related to the goals of specific benefits programs.

For example, adults 65 and older are nearly three times as likely to have received an entitlement benefit during their lives as those adults under the age of 30 . Thats not surprising, since nearly nine-in-ten older adults have received Social Security and78% have gotten Medicare benefits. Both programs were specifically created for seniors with age requirements that limit participation by younger adults.

Similarly, Americans with family incomes of less than $30,000 a year are significantly more likely as those with family incomes of $100,000 or more to have gotten entitlement help from the government . Again, this difference is not surprising, as assisting the poor is the primary objective of such financial means-tested programs as food stamps, welfare assistance and Medicaid.

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Which Party Are You

The average Republican is 50, while the average Democrat is 47.

55% of married women will vote Republican.

GOP candidates earn 59 percent of all Protestant votes, 67 percent of all white Protestant votes, 52 percent of the Catholic vote, making them a Christian majority party.

Only 1 out of 4 Jewish voters will support Republicans.

If you are white and have a college education, there is a 20% greater chance that you will be a Republican instead of a Democrat.

American Republicans have been found to be among the most generous people on earth, and not just financially. Republicans also provide more volunteer hours and donate blood more frequently.

Here is what we really come to when it comes to political party demographics. It doesnt matter if youre a Republican or a Democrat. What matters is that everyone is able to take advantage of the diversity that makes the United States so unique. Instead of trying to prove one way is the only correct path, both parties coming together to work together could create some amazing changes for the modern world. Until we learn to compromise, however, the demographic trends will continue to equalize and polarize until only gridlock remains. If that happens, then nothing will ever get done and each party will blame the other.

Taking The Perspective Of Others Proved To Be Really Hard

The divide in the United States is wide, and one indication of that is how difficult our question proved for many thoughtful citizens. A 77-year-old Republican woman from Pennsylvania was typical of the voters who struggled with this question, telling us, This is really hard for me to even try to think like a devilcrat!, I am sorry but I in all honesty cannot answer this question. I cannot even wrap my mind around any reason they would be good for this country.

Similarly, a 53-year-old Republican from Virginia said, I honestly cannot even pretend to be a Democrat and try to come up with anything positive at all, but, I guess they would vote Democrat because they are illegal immigrants and they are promised many benefits to voting for that party. Also, just to follow what others are doing. And third would be just because they hate Trump so much. The picture she paints of the typical Democratic voter being an immigrant, who goes along with their party or simply hates Trump will seem like a strange caricature to most Democratic voters. But her answer seems to lack the animus of many.;;

Democrats struggled just as much as Republicans. A 33-year-old woman from California told said, i really am going to have a hard time doing this but then offered that Republicans are morally right as in values, going to protect us from terrorest and immigrants, going to create jobs.

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