#Bridge Street Belly Dance

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Name Day - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's love life is complicated...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"You still haven't told me," Ekko says, and there's a hoarse hitch in his throat, "what you want."

"Want for what?"

"Your Name Day."

Jinx smiles.

Lifting one pale hand, she strokes a pattern into the bare curve of his shoulder. Zephyr leaves, looping in invisible spirals. He doesn't flinch; but he's close enough that she can see the flecks of deep-amber in his eyes darken to burnt coffee. His skin holds the same aroma: something clean, yet enticingly sharp.

It's a scent that's always clung to him, for as far as she can stretch memory's fingers. And for as long as she remembers, it's always stirred a peculiar sensation in her belly.

Something that leaves her both hungry all over and yet deeply satisfied at once.

Jinx breathes in, and holds it.

"I mean," Ekko goes on, his palm callused and warm on her kneecap. "We missed a lot of years. What're you supposed to get somebody who shoots at you half the time?"

"I'm not shooting at you now."

Though she could, if she wanted. PuffPuff is nestled between their bodies, snug inside her thigh-holster. For the moment, though, the danger's dormant. The gun may as well be a trusting little piggy tucked safely under a blanket.

There's no gap for a bullet to break on. And though both she and Ekko are fully-clothed, the moment's too bare for concealment.

This is Neutral Territory; these are naked feelings.

Neither is completely safe.

"There's lots of things I want," Jinx says, as her fingers itsy-bitsy spider up the curve of his bicep. "Problem is, most of 'em don't belong to me."

"And that's ever stopped you?"

"Nope."

She tips her chin; not quite meeting his querying gaze. Eye contact's a kind of trap; she hates being cornered.

But cornered she is; by the gentle pressure of his hand against her leg; by the cramped intimacy of the motorcar; by the drain of mutual antagonism they've been circling for months now.

No more blitzkriegs of bullets; no high-octane smackdowns. This is no longer a game. They've played too hard for the rules to be fair anymore.

Here, under the glow of a moon just shy of ripe, it's a dance. And in the stillness, they're in-sync: step for step, breath for breath, beat for beat.

Close as only a pair of clockwork hearts can be.

 "Look," Ekko says, because Mister Clever-Clogs has got to talk his way through whatever is incognito, even if that means blowing his own cover. "I didn't invite you here expecting anything. I don't. Not really. I just wanted..."

Jinx quirks a brow. "To talk to me?"

"Ye-eah." His voice cracks a tiny bit; a smile breaks the taut line of his jaw. "Guess so."

"So: talk."

"I—"

She scoots closer, tucking herself easily against him. Her blue head nestles on his breastbone. His chest's a hard curve; his heartbeat a tripwire cadence. She feels the tightly-coiled strength hidden in the lean armature of muscle. He's packed on pounds and inches since they'd last squared off on the Bridge. In place of puppy fat, there are accented angles: a firmer cut to the arms, a squared-off jaw, a broader shoulderspan.

She's reminded, viscerally, that the boy she'd spent a childhood chasing through backalleys—first as friends, then as foes—is almost full-grown.

His maturity should disquiet her; send her fleeing back to Silco's embrace. She was taught to give grown men wide berth growing up—her Daddy, for all his foibles, believed the best target's kept between the crosshairs. And Zaun's streets teemed with big, dumb bullies whose cojones outweighed common sense.

It took a fistful of firepower and a gutful of bloodlust to send 'em packing.

Jinx always carried both in excess.

Then she'd met Viktor—her wise, wasting Vitya. So pretty, with his fragile, haunted features and his aura of deathly calm, honed by decades of suffering. Like called to like; magic tangled where bodies dared not tread. She'd spent a summer breathing in his arid affections: sideways smiles traded over late-night hypotheses; cultured intonations lulling her racing mind into stillness; long-fingered hands, unhurried and precise, adjusting her measurements to bridge the gap where blind inspiration faltered.

He was safe. Safer still with his daredevil dreams of an unblemished sky, and a city reborn from scratch. With such high-swooping hopes, what did the secret stirrings of an eighteen-year-old girl matter?

Then they'd traversed to the Void, and matter ceased to hold meaning.

That day—in that rippling elsewhere of silvered sands and starfall and supernovas—she'd threaded the seams of herself to Viktor's. She'd left girlish fantasies at the wayside; she'd yielded her spirit to his, an apotheosis without parallel, surrender made sublime.

She became the magic. He became the mirror.

It was a fusion beyond mortal ken.

Except...

Except something was missing.

In the mortal plane, Viktor's soul-threads remain stitched tight to hers. The austere adulation that slips—ghostly and gilded—into her senses holds no equal, not on earth. They'd made a heaven of nothingness in the liminal. Naturally, her true self belonged there; in another realm entirely, removed from mere flesh.

Yet here, in the flesh, Jinx is alive.

Alive, and burning to be touched.

What would Viktor think, watching her nuzzle the curve of Ekko's throat? Knowing she's pledged to him in the aether—yet her heart beats hardest here? With a kid-king who rules the roost over a bunch of nobodies, but nourishes her deep-set hurts as if they're his own. Who has loved her at her weakest and loathed her at her wildest, but can't resist her when she's balanced on the fragile equilibrium between both extremes?

Viktor, Jinx thinks, would forgive her.

Viktor forgives everything. He's transcended limitation, become untouchable.

Whereas Ekko is touchable. And when he touches her, she feels it in every fiber of herself: messily, ecstatically, irrevocably.

What's it mean, Jinx wonders, as Ekko's lips butterfly her temple, that one man has her soul at knifepoint, but another one's holding her heart hostage? What's it say that she and Viktor fit together just right, but she and Ekko were built from perfectly mismatched puzzle pieces? What does it matter if she needs them both, but in ways so opposite they might as well be a different language?

How does she make the ends meet?

Especially when her life—her death—still hangs on Silco's strings? And her past—her future—still hinges on Vi's?

Her whole being seems composed of pieces that don't align. Broken fragments orbiting the very inverse of centrifugal force.

(One day, she'll write a book about it. An epic adventure of slapstick comedy, gunpowder tragedy, and interdimensional travel. All revolving around a revolution, because revolution's just love by another name.)

(Like magic.)

Ekko's fingertips trace up her spine. Jinx's trance fades.

[lilspooky-doll]

True Happiness Headcanons

pairing — Aegon II Targaryen x Handmaid! Reader

themes — canon targcest, fluff, aegon is a soft boi, au! aegon, one bad word (that's it, just the one), female! reader, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, children (warning in and of itself), some healing for Alicent, one mention of child death, just very fluffy headcanons

author's note — hello again, lovelies! this was going to be a two-parter but i decided to condense it down into one post. it wasn't realy as long as i though it was lol but, it involves the different headcanons of their lives from when they first met all the way into the bits of their lives that i didn't really touch on in the original parts. i have plans for a more canon version of aegon soon and it will be a very dark fic overall. so i hope you enjoy these little fluffy tidbits!!

ADOLESCENCE

Once Aegon trusted her, he started teaching her Valyrian in attempt to be able to speak to one another throughout the Keep without word getting back to Otto or his mother

Sure, his siblings could slightly understand what they spoke of but, there was no need to eavesdrop on something that was working

Aegon loves his hair being played with whether it’s just fingers combing through the strands or braids being plaited into small sections before gently being pulled apart

There has been a few times that he has fallen asleep with his head in her lap in the early days of them being close to one another

More open to one another, she taught Aegon how to braid hair so at the end of the day when they debrief about their days, she would play with his hair as he talked and he would braid her hair as she spoke

On rough days, she would read aloud or recite stories that her mother and father would tell her when she was young

Aegon would hoard his snacks that he would collect throughout his scheduled day and have her try some when they are together

When Aegon began to develop feelings for her, he would leave little bundles of dragon’s breath he picked throughout his day on her bed

She started reciprocating by leaving notes and poems in Valyrian under his pillow for him to find when he would rest for the night

Sporadically during the week, Aegon would take his supper in his chambers as a way of innocently courting her despite the differences in their statuses

She was the one to help Aegon with cutting his hair when the length began to bother him; the braided strands of cut hair are hidden away as a souvenir in her bedroom chambers

ADULTHOOD

Aegon is a giver in every sense of the word

He always tries to take care of her like how she takes care of him

He enjoys the warm feeling in his belly every time he saw her smile or laugh

Every few nights, Aegon would sneak them away to the pit for an evening ride on Sunfyre

The older they get, the more everyone began to notice how much he’s changed

He stopped picking on Aemond; 

He was able to maneuver things around for Helaena to marry Aemond; 

She would help him in her free time to catch insects to deliver to Helaena at the end of the day

They all begin to appreciate each other more

On days where there isn’t anything scheduled for them, picnics were organized for all of them in the Godswood and when Daeron is visiting from Oldtown, he is along for the trip

It’s the smallest things he does for them and they love how much he’s matured 

Aemond has thanked aegon for helping his betrothal

Alicent has walked in on them on multiple occasions

 She found them cuddled up on the couch him asleep and her playing with his hair; 

During a festival in the streets, she’s witnessed them dancing to the music and cheers that could be heard from the windows

Aegon has talking to Rhaenyra not long before their marriage as a way to bridge the gap between them

Rhaenyra’s shock receiving his letters wore off when she read that he had fallen in love with his handmaid and he planned to wed her much like she and daemon did

He offers Rhaenyra’s children sanctuary if Alicent or Otto ever tried to change the succession; this was his way of trying to ensure that he has no ill will towards her and her family anymore

She has them do their  wedding at Dragonstone under Valyrian tradition

Aegon uses a refitted ring of his for her to wear as a sign of marriage and he purposefully wears only one ring on his left hand

After the fight in her solar, Alicent still tries to force a betrothal upon Aegon

It immediately fails as every one of the betrothal letters Alicent sent out are either met with no response or word of outrage that she would try to arrange a second marriage; worried about another Maegor situation

Eventually, Alicent starts to love and respected Aegon the way that she does with her other children

Aegon didn’t instigate the nephews during that family dinner

Otto has tried to manipulate her but she’s far too aware of his games for his liking (gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss)

FAMILY

She became pregnant not long after their wedding and Aegon quietly announces the news to a select few people; in person: Aemond, Helaena and Alicent, by letter: Rhaenyra during a regular correspondence he has with her

After learning the news, Alicent starts to make an effort to know her and help her with what she needs as a way to make amends

Aegon handling her pregnancy like a pro 

Constantly he was catering to her every need and trying to make her comfortable

He always tried to make sure she didn’t get hurt while doing the few chores that she wanted to do (she comes from a long line of headstrong women who will not let a pregnancy stop them from doing what needs to be done)

He usually ended up just helping her with what she needed to do 

When it came time for their first born, Baelon, to make his appearance, she kicked out all of the maids and Maesters demanding only for Aegon to stay

Of course, he was well out of his depths but she tried to prep him the best she could the last several days leading up to the birth

Baelon was born with no complications with only his parents in the room and was never away from his mother despite the disgruntled protests that she used a nursemaid for the baby boy

Shortly after his birth, they set up a more secure and secretive correspondence between them and her family in hopes that if the time comes and Otto does something stupid, they could safely flee to hid away

Alicent is definitely a better grandmother than she was a mother

She routinely sets up for long relaxing midday activities for all her grandchildren so, she can spend time with them and the little cousins can grow together while their parents can relax worry-free

There’s 2 children who were born before they fled: Baelon & Alysanne. Once they settle on the homestead, they have twin girls: Laera and Rhaela with one more boy, Aerion

The children are raised with equal love from their parents and are raised under the belief that although they are technically royalty, they will learn to be kind and considerate of those around them

Raised to put the work into what they want just like their mother was raised before she left to work at the Red Keep

The Boys are strong but not emotionally stunted. They are taught that emotions are okay to have and apart of who they are

No toxic masculinity bullshit

The girls are taught to defend and protect themselves. They are physically strong and can use any weapon they can get their hands on if they need to

THE DANCE OF THE DRAGONS

The second they get to the Dornish marshlands, Aegon dyes his hair brown to hide better (brunette! Aegon all the way)

Once they settled on the family homestead, it didn’t take long for Aegon to fit in with her family

He actually quite likes the hard work that the family does everyday to make sure that everything runs smoothly

Aegon still keeps in regular contact with his family whether it be his siblings or even Rhaenyra; he always tries to maintain some semblance of what is happening with them as he escapes the plan that was to be forced upon him

When the plan Otto sets in place happens with Aemond as the usurper, they coordinate for all of the children from both his full siblings and half sibling to be safely hidden away on the homestead to prevent any possible bloodshed of the innocent

The plan went into effect too late as Lucerys was brutally killed on accident

As much as it pained Rhaenyra that she lost her children, she is happy that she can now safely know that they are away from this disaster

As a sign of thanks, Rhaenyra sent some of Syrax’s eggs so that Aegon’s children had a chance at being a dragon rider like their cousins

The Dance did not last long with Aemond as the usurper since he had no real standing like Aegon, first born son, or Rhaenyra, first born and declared heir

The Dance was more of a fight between councils and not nearly as bloody as canon

Once Otto was found to be the one pulling the strings, he was sentenced to death and the Targaryen children by Alicent bent their knee at Rhaenyra being the true Targaryen heir after Viserys

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Slimy fellow meets slimy fellow.

Also known as Fellow meets Azul.

I thought this one would be more fun to write if I immediately cut to Fellow at the Mostro Lounge (following the reader's advice, of course)! Also, I will take any excuse to write the twins--

This ended up being a lot longer than I had initially intended, it's over 2k words (blame my Octavinelle bias)... Hope you enjoy!

So tell me, do you wanna go?

"Whoa, Giddie. Check out this classy joint."

Fellow whistled as he took in the majesty of the Mostro Lounge.

Plum carpets gave rise to a set of stairs, and up the railings were several plush, quilted booths. Each table had its own lamp, a shining orb held up by a gnarled arm of coral. There was a bar area too, complete with a row of sleek stools, the shelves behind the counter well-stocked with tins of tea blends.

Overlooking the entire establishment was a massive glass wall, where the ocean itself peered in on the patrons. Shadows of seaweed and coral ran along the seabed outside, rainbow-colored fish darting by in bursts. Jellyfish lights swung from the ceiling, casting the lounge in an otherworldly blue glow. Smooth jazz emanated from somewhere in the eatery, backed by the soft accompaniment of ambient sounds--water splashing, bubbles dancing.

As Fellow and Gidel stood there gawking, they hadn't noticed two lanky shadows approach them from behind--not until they uttered a greeting in unison.

"Welcome to the Mostro Lounge!"

Fellow jumped at the hands that clapped onto either of his shoulders. He met two nearly identical faces.

"Table for two?" Jade offered.

"Can we getcha started with drinks?" Floyd asked.

Fellow jolted back, pointing a shaking finger at the twins. "H-HIEEEEEEE!! I-It's you guys!"

Jade smiled politely, feigning ignorance. “Oya, Fellow-san. You appear to be rather jumpy today. You’ve come to just the right place to put that anxiety to rest.”

“Y-You’re not gonna wail on us?!”

“Wail on ya?” Floyd’s mouth was stretched eerily wide. “Eheheh. Why’d we wanna do that?”

“Quite right, Floyd." Jade nodded. "We would never harm an esteemed guest. This is a gentlemen's lounge--there is no fighting allowed."

"You're... not mad about what happened before?"

The corners of Jade's mouth twitched. A droll laugh, suppressed. "Think nothing of it. Call it water under the bridge. Floyd and I, we are not the vengeful sort."

Fellow stared at him as though Jade had suddenly sprouted another head. I don't buy that for one second!!

"So do ya want grub or not? Hurry up, cuz we got other customers to deal with," Floyd groused, jabbing at finger at the packed tables behind him.

Fellow eyed them both suspiciously--but his gaze darted between the shady eels and Gidel, who was patting his belly. His reply came out weak and reluctant. "Well... If you're offering food..."

"Then right this way." Jade bent, gesturing with one hand. "I believe this is your first time dining with us, so allow me to inform you of our specials."

He led the way, expertly weaving between Octavinelle servers and roaming guests. Fellow followed, Gidel lagging behind him, and Floyd held the back of the line, plucking up two menus from a podium as they passed it. As they briskly made their way to an open booth, Jade rattled off facts.

"You may order a la cart, but we also offer meal sets in which we have curated the perfectly paired the dishes for you. Substitutions can be made upon request to accommodate allergies and dietary restrictions. There is a separate specialty beverage menu. The Mystery Drink is our most popular item--we highly recommend it."

"Wait a sec!" Fellow held up a hand. "Food's great and all, but I was hopin' to hear about something else too."

Jade craned his head. "Oh? And what might that be?"

The fox beastman leaned in, cupping his mouth against Jade's ear. "Word on the street is, the big shot around here has the ability to make wishes come true. I want in on that."

The twins exchanged a knowing look. Their mismatched eyes glinted with delight.

"... Of course, dear customer. We can arrange an audience with Azul for you. However, please be advised that it requires that you order a certain amount of food. The meal sets are worth 3 points each, and the drinks, 1 point. You will need to accumulate at least 50 points total in order to secure a spot with Azul."

"No problem! Together, Giddie and I could eat a man out of house and home," Fellow chuckled. "We'll take one of everything you've got!"

“Out of house and home!!” For some reason, this made Floyd laugh. It was an odd, raspy sound, like branches and the wind scraping and rustling against a ratty window.

“What’s so funny?”

"Oh, nothin’. You just made me remember a funny joke,” Floyd reassured him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get your order ready for ya in a jiffy~"

"Azul, you have a new client."

Jade held the door open for Fellow and Gidel to pass through. Floyd lingered in the corridor like a bouncer guarding the room--or a jailer ensuring they stay in it.

The duo stepped into a neat office, flanked on both sides by towering bookshelves. The carpet they treaded on bore an intricate pattern of scalloped shells and swirls. Two deep purple couches were set across from one another. A coffee table was between them, its surface layered glass. Luminescent blue colored the base of the bookshelves and the interior of the coffee table.

A large chunk of the back wall composed a massive vault. Seated in front of it was a young man at a grand desk. He had silvery hair swept to one side, and sharp eyes behind thick frames. A pile of contracts say upon his desk, along with a lamp and a pot of ink. He deposited what appeared to be a fish skeleton in his inkwell and stood, smiling at Fellow and Gidel.

“Welcome to the VIP Room,” the young man purred. “I am the dorm leader of Octavinelle and the manager of Mostro Lounge. Azul Ashengrotto, at your service.”

“Honest. Fellow Honest. And this here’s my little buddy, Gidel.”

"Oh, there's no need for introductions, Fellow-san. I've already heard plenty about you from Jade and Floyd."

"Have you now?" A slight edge formed in Fellow's voice. "It sounds like my reputation precedes me."

Azul chuckled darkly. "Indeed. Ah, but that is why you've come to seek my counsel, is it not? You're seeking something. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the couches. "Tell me of your troubles."

Gidel happily planted himself down, but Fellow stood his ground and clenched his fists.

"It's money," he blurted out. "I need money, and lots of it."

Azul blinked. He quickly composed himself and gave a laugh. "If I could materialize thaumarks out of thin air, the value of them would surely plummet. May I ask what it is that you intend on using these funds for?"

"I want to start my own school. One that'll be WAY better than this crappy establishment for entitled rich kids!" Fellow waved at the overembellished office with his cane. "A school for everyone, no matter what their background or social class is! A school that teaches practical life skills!"

(The twins, listening in from the doorway, snickered amongst themselves. Azul shot them a glare.)

"Hmm... I see that you're an ambitious man, Fellow-san. As a businessman myself, I must commend your drive," the merman drawled, "and I am willing to help make it a reality, provided you are also willing to pay the price. You can't get something for nothing, as I'm sure you know."

Fellow's stomach dropped. He had anticipated this, but it didn't make the gut punch any less painful. "What's it gonna cost me?"

"I'm not asking much. Just a token, really--a trifle! You'll never even miss it." Slime coated each of Azul's words. "What I want from you is... your unique magic."

He went cold, the color draining from him. From the couch, Gidel startled, suddenly alarmed. "Life is Fun?""

"Correct." Azul's smile seemed more like a smirk now. "From my understanding, your spell is able to enhance one's optimism, making the subject more susceptible to suggestion and taking risks. Not only that, but it is subtle enough to avoid detection. It would be a great boon to have at my disposal. I could easily dispel any doubts my clients may have about signing a contract."

"But that's...! That's...!" Fellow sputtered, unable to come up with a coherent argument.

"That is my offer, Fellow-san. It's non-negotiable." Azul looked him up and down. Not that he has much else to offer.

"Tch...!"

He weighed the options.

Riches for his magic. A magic so measly that mightier mages spat upon it. His magic for riches. Riches so vast he could jumpstart his dream, ensure a golden future for him and Gidel.

Azul's words coiled around him like constrictive tentacles.

"I'm not asking much. Just a token, really--a trifle! You'll never even miss it."

Fellow wavered.

Maybe I should take the deal...

"...!!"

Gidel rose from the couch and tackled Fellow, latching onto an arm. Fellow stumbled backwards, nearly crashing into a bookshelf.

"W-Whoa! Hey, watch it, Giddie!!" he yelped, trying to pry the boy off of him. "Can't 'cha see I'm thinkin' here?!"

Fellow abruptly stopped. Gidel gazed at him with wide, pleading eyes. Wetness coated the corners, tears threatening to spill.

It's a part of you. It's yours. Don't give it up, he begged.

"Giddie..." Fellow's hand sank into Gidel's hair and ruffled it. "... Thanks for that. I needed it."

His resolve returned to him, hardening into steel. Turning back to Azul, Fellow replied, "Sorry, I've changed my mind. I think I'll work things out on my own."

"!!" Gidel beamed proudly.

"Are you certain? These endeavors can be a challenge without sufficient financial backing," Azul warned.

"Positive. I don't wanna kiss up to some board of investors to move up in the world!" Fellow seized Gidel's oversized sleeve. "C'mon, we've got places to be!"

"Well!" Azul huffed, looking displeased. "If you think you can manage!"

"We can, no worries!"

With that, Fellow steered himself and Gidel out of the VIP Room. They skipped along, humming a jolly tune. Azul waited for their sound to completely vanish before he jerked his head to the twins.

"I thought you said they'd be easy marks," he bellowed.

"Perhaps we misjudged," Jade suggested, brows upturned. "The child appears to act as Fellow-san's conscience--and a rather effective one, at that."

"We did almost get them though!" Floyd protested. "Hook, line, and sinker!!"

Azul sighed deeply. "There's no helping it. What's done is done. This time, they got away from us--but it's alright. At the very least, we've got their money!"

Silence threaded the room.

"... I said, at the very least, we've got their money." Azul stared at the twins, who were strangely quiet. "We DO have their money, correct?"

"My, I may have neglected to disclose our prices to Fellow-san," Jade said with a smile. "It seems he was under the impression that the Mostro Lounge's offerings were as free as the cafeteria's buffet is."

"And since we know you're soooo generous, we thought it would be okay to let'm eat their fill to rack up those points~" Floyd added. "'Sides, Jade and I wanted to see how you'd get along!"

Azul's expression splintered. "... So you two allowed Fellow-san and Gidel-san to dine and dash? All to get a rise out of me?"

"You could phrase it like that, yes."

"Yup~!!"

Panic immediately set in. His mind raced, running the calculations simultaneously. How many tens of hundreds of thaumarks he was losing out on.

Azul pushed past the nonchalant Leeches and to the door. Gathering all of his breath, he hollered down the hallway.

"All Mostro Loungs staff on deck, this is an order from your manager!! I want that redheaded fox beastman and his cat accomplice captured and brought to me STAT!! Is that clear?!"

"Wow, Azul's really losin' it!" Floyd cackled. "It was worth all that trouble just to see this~"

"I couldn't agree more, Floyd. Fufufu, there is never a dull day in Octavinelle."

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Risk It All Part 2/6

The way I described this outfit 🤣. Hahaha I really didn't know how else to describe it 😅

Read to find out!

Reader gets pregnant by Ruben. Although the two are not together Ruben promises to support her through the pregnancy, eventually letting reader stay with him until the child is born.  (This fic includes alot of angst and serious topics)

Enjoy!

You were ready to quit school too, but Lina convinced you that your belly wouldn't show for at least three more months. The plan was to still attened classes, eventually blaming the changes in your body on a poor diet. You wouldn't be stripped of your dancing scholarship for that, at least not right away. Nevertheless, you didn't really feel like dancing anymore, or attend classes for that matter. But right now going to school was the only thing that felt normal about your life.

"Y/N."

"Ruben?"

You were on your way, leaving campus, when suddenly you bumped into him.

"What are you doing here?"

He knew your schedule, at least which time your classes ended.

"I think we need to talk."

He came disguised, wearing a plumbers jacket and construction boots. A working man's outfit. People on the streets were passing him by, only throwing second glances at his black Mercedes that stood parked along the sidewalk.

"Ruben, I can't...."

Lina wouldn't like this. Not at all.

"Please." He instead, nodding his head towards his car. You hesitated at first, but let him hold the door open for you as you slipped into the passenger seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

He was driving fast, maneuvering past cars that were slowing you down.

"Ruben?"

Eventually he stopped, the car having pulled up to a...

"Family Health Clinic?" You read it off a large sign. "Ruben are you serious right now?"

He had been quiet up until now, turning to you with a serious look on his face. "I wanna see you take the test."

"Wow." You exclaimed. "So you don't believe me, you don't think I'm pregnant?"

"No."

"Why would I lie?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Some women lie."

It was laughable, disgustingly laughable. "Ruben, you're the one who came on to me, coming to the café every day, asking me to go out with you. I make the mistake of letting you fuck me without a condom and now I'm the liar. How is that anyway near fair?"

"Y/N, you're pregnant, telling me I'm the baby's father, with no proof. What am I suppose to think?"

"You know what, fine." You fumbled with the door, desperate to get out of his car. You almost had it when...

"Wait."

Goosebumps covered your forearms as Ruben grabbed a hold of your wrist, preventing you from leaving.

"Wait, there's people in there." He said, eyes trying to see through the cars tinted windows.

"So?" You tugged his hand away. "There's people everywhere Ruben, so what?"

"Exactly." He said. "I...I mean we, can't be seen going in there....together. This has to be done in private."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, irritated. "Ruben, if it's so difficult for you I'll just go in there by myself."

"No."

His hand returned to touch you, this time your knee.

"Ruben?"

He sighed. "If the baby is mine, then...."

"Yes?"

He looked to you, eyes sincere. "Then I have to be accountable. I want to be accountable."

Your heart reacted by making an attempt to leap out of your chest. "I..." What could you possibly say in that moment? You had pre-made the assumption that Ruben would leave you, wanting nothing to do with you or the baby. Lina even advised you to make it easy for him, easy for Ruben to walk out of your life. However, he wasn't that kind of man.

"I'll take you home." He muttured. "There's tests that they can send us. Then we'll know for sure."

He sounded unhappy. Why did you want him to be happy? Maybe because you were happy, happy that Ruben was the father and not some random guy you met on a drunk night out. Believe it or not, at some point the thought of fucking Ruben in the back of his car sounded like a good idea to you.

It still did.

[conundrumoftime]

frosts are slain and flowers begotten

A story for @arafinwean-week: Galadriel in the Second Age. (1200 words, G; also on AO3)

----

On the first day of snow that winter Celebrían rises before the sun does. She refuses to be still, refuses to sit for breakfast, dances through the halls like a whirling silver blizzard herself, so entranced by the dazzling white landscape outside that she cares for nothing else. The past few winters in Ost-in-Edhil have been mild; this will be the first year she is old enough to play at sledges and snowball-fights with the other children and she is delighted beyond words.

Galadriel finds it harder to wake that morning. Dreams seem to weigh more heavily on her lately and prove themselves more reluctant to depart come the dawn. Waking to the sound of her daughter’s chatter proves a greatly-needed reassurance after the visions the night brought, but her thoughts remain sluggish and dulled, her mind as muffled as the snow-quiet city outside. 

When she gathers together enough of herself to rise from the soft unfocused warmth of her bed, she finds Celebrían kneeling on the window-seat of the solar with her palms pressed to the glass, watching the snow outside while Celeborn combs through her hair. Below, the streets and squares of Ost-in-Edhil are blanketed in white. A few trails of faint cart-wheels mark the passage of those who have already begun the day. 

“Gloves,” Galadriel says. “And keep them on.”

Her daughter nods with enough force that even her tiny shoulders are caught up in it. Celeborn stills the comb until she is settled again and then resumes where he left off, lifting sections from the front to pull into the start of a simple braid. His lips do not move but his voice sounds clear in Galadriel’s mind: is all well?

Nothing. Dreams.

Not a convincing answer but he does not say so. Instead he nods, small enough to be imperceptible to Celebrían even if she were paying attention, and continues the fast work he is making of her hair.

The three of them walk down to the south fountain square together. Celebrían does not take long to find her footing in the snow, balancing on the tops of walls and leaping frozen puddles, flopping down belly-first into low snowdrifts with the other children. She is fascinated, and she is young enough that her way to be fascinated with things is to let them swallow her up whole. 

It is a fine morning. The sky is a sharp clear blue now, the sunlight dancing in the captured light of icicles and frost-rimmed leaves. Galadriel settles herself on a stone bench beside the frozen fountain and watches as Celebrían and the other children race around in whirling chaos.

There is safety here and happiness and her daughter’s hands are warm inside fine leather gloves cuffed with fur, and still Galadriel cannot shake the previous night’s dream. It had been a cloud of images and sensations rather than anything clear: hunger, sorrow. Little Idril’s golden hair matted with ice. Polished aquamarines spilled in the snow. 

Celeborn comes to join her after a while spent talking with some of the others, gathering now in groups of four or five to watch the children play. These are friends – and her friends – but she is too much in the past this morning to wish for their company.

“Guards caught a wolf out near the bridge pastures,” he says, kicking the heel of his boot against the stone to shake off the packed snow.

“So far south?”

“It’s a bad winter, they’re hungry.”

He may not seem troubled but she feels this news to be an ill omen all the same. She has dreamed of wolves here before, wolves circling the fortressed walls of the city in great packs. There is no threat; they are at peace; in Eregion she has what she wanted, what she came to Middle-earth to find; but something in her remains unsettled. 

“We used wolf fur for our clothes on the ice,” she says. “We lined the edges of our hoods with it to keep off the wind.” She remembers fastening little Idril’s with a cloak-pin, the child no older than Celebrían is now tipping up her chin and refusing to cry. 

“You were dreaming of it again,” he says. 

She finds a smile for this. “So obvious?”

“Only when you talk of ice-floes in your sleep.”

She has woken him before - sometimes unintentionally, sometimes in a desperate need to tell him of an unformed fear for the future that has seized her. Others call it foresight but she never has; it is not clear enough, never clear enough. Sorrows of the past and fears of the future and she cannot tell one from the other.

“I dreamed of a necklace I broke,” she says. “It was the first year, I think – maybe the second. I needed the chain to mend a quiver and I let the beads fall into the snow. We were desperate then and so poorly prepared for what we faced that it seemed near impossible to go on. But I looked down at those beads and found that I did not wish to leave them after all, and so I picked them up and cleared the snow from them and carried them with me. The next year I made a new quiver that would not grow brittle and break in the cold and I sewed the beads onto that. It lasted me many years. I don’t know what it means that I should dream of this now.”

He weighs the thought of this as though she has given him a riddle to solve, which she supposes she has. It is a comfort that he never finds her dreams and visions unsettling but it has always troubled her too that he should find them so easy to accept as a part of her. “Perhaps good things. Perhaps that you found hope and beauty still.”

They are interrupted by Celebrían springing up onto the stone between them, her eyes wild and fierce. “We are making a great serpent out of snow,” she announces. “I am looking for eyes.” And then she steps out onto the frozen surface of the fountain’s pool.

There cannot be more than a couple of inches of water beneath the snow and likely it is frozen solid by now anyway, and yet Galadriel feels absolute terror seize her at the thought of it: the ice will break, the sea beneath will never return what it takes. “No,” she barks, lifting Celebrían down in the curve of her arm, “never walk on ice, what were you thinking?”

Celebrían, entirely unused to harsh words, gazes up in shock. 

“Here,” Celeborn says, taking off one of the rings he wears. “An eye for your snow-serpent.” 

It’s a new ring that the mírdain made for him, a round opal with reds and yellows meant to capture the colours of beech-woods in autumn. In Celebrían’s gloved hand its gold rim of it catches the sun’s light and seems to burn like fire. She is delighted and all thoughts of the scolding are fast forgotten; she tugs at her father’s arm demanding he come with her to set it in place.

Be at peace, Galadriel, Celeborn’s voice sounds in her mind as he allows their daughter to drag him to his feet. It is winter; but it is only winter. Spring will come. 

Spring and what else, she thinks. 

That night she dreams of Idril again standing at the shores of a sea. This time Celebrían is with her too, pale as a spirit as she leans into Idril’s shoulder. “I will hold you up,” Idril is telling her. “Spring will come again.” And whether to call this foresight or fear or hope, Galadriel cannot say.

[bylerbigbang]

Second Chances and Dances

Fic by @foodiewithdahoodie and art by @fluffyfangirl

Teen | 40k words

In 1988 Will and Mike promise to leave town together, except Will decides to go off on his own, and Mike is left behind. Ten years later in 1998, the two reunite with drastically different lives. Will is known in the art community and has made a name for himself outside of Hawkins while Mike has stayed on Maple Street, becoming a father to a seven month old baby girl named Bea. Both of them have questions, both of them have regrets, and both of them still love each other. But how did Mike get a baby and why did Will leave? They'll fins out and figure it out together because they're a team. And they're always going to be best friends.

gay pining, internalized homophobia, implied drinking, implied smoking, implied sexual content, Original Characters, Will Byers/Original Male Characters, Mike Wheeler/Original Female Characters, Unlabeled Mike, Gay Will Byers, one night stand, unplanned pregnancy, implied sexual content, Will Byers has powers but they’re not the focus as much, fatherhood, homophobia, homophobic slurs, f-slur, undescriptive promiscuity, depression, repression, implied underage sexual content

Read on Ao3 | View Art | View Additional Art

Read an excerpt below:

Will is staring at a blade of grass, watching some kind of bug nibble away at the green hungrily. He's comfortably lying on his belly, arms folded to pillow his head. Beside him is Mike, who rests on his back and gazes up at the clouds suspended in the murky sky. Things are starting to get normal around here. A relief and also a tad uncanny. The duo have grown accustomed to Hawkins being a combat zone, billowing darkness and spores clinging to the air, with gates opened to bridge the gap between the Upside Down and Hawkins into a hazardous merger. Seemed to be the end of times how the Party and their families felt desolate then.

"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" Mike's feathery voice is close to Will's right ear.

He must've sat up and rolled to his side just to lean in for a whisper. It's unnecessary to be this intimate, almost touching as Will internally swears at the feel of long raven curls titillating his cheek and temple all plumy. Mike's caging him in, their shadows mixing together to create one amalgamation on the ground.

"Probably somewhere far away from here."

Will casually answers, angling his head to meet Mike's pools of glistening dark brown with his own immersive hazel eyes of intrigue. Their faces are too close. The caps of their noses grazing. They've recanted personal space ages ago.

"C'mon! Be specific, Will. Imagine!"

Mike huffs cutely and Will fights to remain strong, lips tingling, ready to iron onto the boy he's pining for. His thoughts about romance are now whimsical and idealistic. Younger Will would be appalled to know that older Will didn’t believe falling in love is gross and synonymous with cooties anymore.

"I really wouldn't care where, Mike. As long as you're there with me, I'll make do."

He's honest. Will always tries to be honest when it comes to these matters with Mike. Hellish days and agonizing nights were spent with Mike planning a detailed future with Will to give them something to look forward to. Something to keep their wits amongst them as Vecna slowly gnawed at their resolve by spreading fear and chaos in the vicinity.

"Well, duh! That's a given. We can't do that again. I can't dream of moving somewhere and you're not at my side."

"As best friends, right?" Will fails to recognize the disappointed look crossing Mike's face.

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sure."

"What's that for? You don't wanna be best friends? Are we demoted to just friends, now?" Will teases, pretending to pout with a suspicious eyebrow raised before breaking into a breezy grin.

Mike is not catching the hint at Will's mischievous attitude. He hastily rejects such a possibility of them ever being less than best friends, a solid hand gripping Will’s shoulder tightly. The pressure is almost painful.

"No! No, no, no! I want to… I just thought…" Mike doesn't finish his sentence, teeth snatching on his bottom lip to harshly chew.

The motion captivates Will, who observes the natural pink lip color redden from Mike's nervous biting.

"Thought? Thought what?" Will inquires, drifting his eyes from Mike’s mouth. He notices Mike leaves a lot unsaid. He's nostalgic for the days when Mike would talk a mile a minute unfiltered.

"Nevermind! It's nothing!"

[idliketobeatree]

HIII 8 and 18 for the ask game <3

hi hello Leanne <3 sorry this is so late, and thank u for asking dearie!!

8. do you prefer season 1 or 2, and why?

oof that's a tough one, and i'm probably going to be in a minority here, but i prefer season 2, actually?

and not juuust because of the ineffable duo content. really! season 1 made sense, it was executed really well, following the book and introducing the characters that i've learned to know and like, and it was great, but also kinda uneven? like the pacing was very diluted. they dropped S1e03 Hard Times and then expected me to sit through Shadwell discussing witchfinder scamming with Newt. even good acting didn't stop me from hyperfixating on Them

now, season 2 is a whole other trip. you just get thrown into the middle of a 4-years-and-counting story that wraps around itself, changes POVs like gloves, leaves breadcrumbs of context and clears up absolutely nothing. it's like a fairytale to me. and the colors are so bright and you blink and Crowley's sitting on a throne in Hell basked in green and you blink again and they're having a casual bdsm apology dance on a Thursday morning. the whole Whickber Street has never looked more like a dollhouse. literally what' s going on

me on the left watching S2 for the first time. neil gaiman on the right

where's the logic where's the integrity where is Gabriel where is GOD. where is She???? oh look Aziraphale's on Blue's Clues. Crowley sleeps in his car? this would kill the 2019 fans from angst potential but luckily we have the most devastating damn kiss in the history of television to distract us from everything else!

i could go on and on and i understand why people don't like this season. i really do. but S2 was my brand of weird and unexplainable, and cheesy, and fanfic thropes, and chaos incarnate. all those metas could only grow in the aftermath of that particular tempest. if this is the bridge between S1 and S3? it's uh, flaming like anything

18. what is your favorite moment through history, and why?

besides going feral for 1941 i have an extremely weak spot for their first meeting in Eden. bible canon divergence for the win! other people have written it better, but i can't get enough of how much symbolism their choices held. they've barely set a foot (or belly) on Earth and immediately chose to love it. come on. you can't do it to ex-catholic girlies. not to mention David and Michael's unparalled chemistry.

((i'm also forever haunted by Crowley speaking of this moment in riddles like "they looked into each other's eyes and realized they were made for each other" what tf is wrong with him : ))

—

[good omens ask game]

[fallingyams]

Another piece from the writing challenge.

Prompt: Sleep

Sleep does not come easy to him any more. In this cage that overlooks the glorious, flourishing city, Albert only sees the price of his brother's sacrifice. 

His insistence at having a view of the tower bridge is his form of penance, picking at the scabs of his heart so that they may never heal because that pain is the only tangible reminder he has left of his little brother. 

Sometimes, his gaze is drawn towards the townsfolk who dance in the streets, merrily rebuilding in the ash of destruction and can't help but grow to resent them, just a little.

How blissfully ignorant these people are, decrying the name of the Lord of Crime like the Jews at Golgotha, spitting on their saviour and sending him to his death.

Albert wonders if this peace had truly been worth his brother's life.

Had the serpent ever felt remorse for tempting Eve with a bite of fruit?

Or were these feelings born from the loss of the serpent's legs? Being forced to slither the ground on his belly, crawling along the heels of mankind full of spite and despair until he might someday find himself at the feet of his brother and beg him for forgiveness.

Sleep is an elusive thing, for Albert. His nights are plagued with the dreadful final image of his brother falling from the bridge, branded into memory. Dying for an ideal that they had all sought and thought they had counted the cost of and yet-

Albert wonders if this is what the apostles had felt that night in the garden, wrong-footed and helpless as they watched soldiers march away with saviour in tow.

The worst nights are when he dreams of happier times. Between the fire and their move to Durham, they had very briefly known peace. They had little to their name, only sharp minds and sweet words and guileless faces to navigate the unforgiving aristocracy.

But they had been together, the three brothers Moriarty.

Dreams of reading by the fireplace with William and Louis taunt him, the lingering taste of Louis’s calming tea leaving his mouth laden with ash.

Sleep leaves Albert missing his brothers like a limb, the loss of William running through him like a phantom pain he’ll never be rid of. 

His dreams carve the presence of his brothers into his very soul, an excruciating process that leaves him screaming hoarse in the morning, panting into sweat-soaked sheets.

Pain seems a small price to pay, to briefly live that bliss of being with his brothers once again.

.

Albert closes his eyes and prays for sleep.

.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@ronmanmob {{from here because tumblr.}} {also tagging @nolegacies for reasons™}

Her wants are simple. Moreso, they are taken for granted daily by the average person; a roof overhead, something however small or uncomplicated in her belly, warmth against the cold she feels so keenly as there is little of her to act as a bulwark. Safety. Boy. Ron. The dogs. Those last ones all seem wound together by the fragile threads of hope and much as she might wish otherwise, she knows they cannot last long. Eventually, she and Boy will have to move on because if they remain then they will call trouble on the one person they've met willing to help them and that is something she cannot do. Ron does not deserve to bear the brunt of the violence normal people find themselves capable of enacting. And certainly not on their behalf. She cannot read minds though sometimes it would be ever so much easier if she could. But she can read body language. The very aura that surrounds him and she can see he's pulled somewhere dark, some place that doesn't make him very happy even if it's only in bits and shadows in his head. She can't help but remember the last time she'd seen this sort of look, and she's taken back to the night when Boy was hurt. When Ron made sure that particular man could never hurt Boy or anyone like him ever again. She remembers what she and Boy did about it, how they'd spent the night under the bridge huddle up together with their shared can of peaches and some damp crackers that they'd saved. She half shakes herself from her thoughts. Too close to the surface to think about right now with any sort of clarity. Ron would understand if she told him that but as always, she is soundless when she pours herself out of her seat. She watches him as she always does. Drinking in every minute movement, every breath, every word spoken. Hyper-vigilance that cannot be helped as it has soaked into her psyche. She will never not be that way. She doesn't see him as a direct threat though. If she did, she'd never flit to his side like a little moth. Small hands and feet stretching slightly toward the fed warmth as she plops down on her back-side. As she watches him retreat into the deeper recesses of the Trader, she lets her gaze drop to the now bright and warm flames. The dance between colours and sparks provides her a sort of blank canvas to let her thoughts wander once more. Treacherously her currents drag her back to where she was perched at the bar. The question of where they could go once they had to leave, to save Ron and Mountain and the people here that were so kind to them. She has heard whispers of a great man, tall as trees and steel-eyed, with long silver hair and an unbreakable will. He is one of them and does not tolerate the daily abuses heaped upon mutant kind. This man is a defender, a leader. Sometimes he has been accused of great harm but is this not a war? Are most people not content to see mutants at best shipped off to camps, or slaughtered in the streets? To be used in experiments, like Boy and her? Ron seems to understand what it is like to be different though she cannot quite put her finger on why or how. She only knows that he cares about them and has put himself on the line to protect them. Would the silver-man see Ron the way she does, the way Boy does, if he had to find some place to run to? And how would they find the silver-man. Would he welcome Ron as a friend? If the tides turned, would Ron and Mountain and the Nice Older Lady and the rest be spared? What if Silver-Mane is just a story? Someone made up to put a face on all mutants and to gather all the hate and fear in one place? What if there's no place to go? What happens then?

There are so many questions she has no answers to, and the stream of fear and anxiety slip from the corners of her eyes, tremble through her limbs as she wraps her arms around her knees while drawing them up tightly to her chest.

She is aware of his presence before she sees Ron reappear physically. He is careful to never startle Boy and herself as often as he can. He doesn't like being sneaked up on either. There has been a time or two where she has been so sure Ron is one of their kind, but she cannot sense in him the thing that sets mutants apart from humankind. She does sometimes think that maybe he'd speak to animals, if he could.

She reached out for the sandwich, the most substantial thing offered to her, and despite every urge she had to rip into it and shove as much into her mouth as she could ~which itself fought with the need to save half or more for Boy~ and for a few moments, she stared up at Ron with big wide green eyes set in her thin, hollow face. She makes a few small gestures, one that communicated her deepest appreciation, willowy thanks. Next the slow fingers tear a bit of sandwich off the end and put the piece into her mouth. As she chews slowly, she becomes animated once more. Fluttering fingertips anchored by heavier gestures that involve hand and arm. She asks why he cares so much, and why he helps the way he does. What is he getting out of it? Underlying the question is the distinct impression she has that nothing ever comes freely.

[kvetchlandia]

I’m an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas    but not afraid        to speak my lonesomeness in a car,        because not only my lonesomeness            it’s Ours, all over America,                O tender fellows—            & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy            in the moon 100 years ago or in                the middle of Kansas now. It’s not the vast plains mute our mouths            that fill at midnite with ecstatic language        when our trembling bodies hold each other            breast to breast on a mattress—    Not the empty sky that hides                the feeling from our faces    nor our skirts and trousers that conceal        the bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin,            white smooth abdomen down to the hair                between our legs,    It’s not a God that bore us that forbid        our Being, like a sunny rose                all red with naked joy        between our eyes & bellies, yes All we do is for this frightened thing        we call Love, want and lack—    fear that we aren’t the one whose body could be        beloved of all the brides of Kansas City,        kissed all over by every boy of Wichita—    O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me—        On the bridge over Republican River            almost in tears to know                how to speak the right language—        on the frosty broad road            uphill between highway embankments        I search for the language                that is also yours—        almost all our language has been taxed by war. Radio antennae high tension    wires ranging from Junction City across the plains—    highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow        lanes curving past Abilene            to Denver filled with old                heroes of love—        to Wichita where McClure’s mind            burst into animal beauty            drunk, getting laid in a car                in a neon misted street                    15 years ago—    to Independence where the old man’s still alive    who loosed the bomb that’s slaved all human consciousness        and made the body universe a place of fear— Now, speeding along the empty plain,        no giant demon machine            visible on the horizon    but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky’s edge        I claim my birthright!            reborn forever as long as Man                in Kansas or other universe—Joy        reborn after the vast sadness of the War Gods! A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear        imagining that throng of Selves            that make this nation one body of Prophecy                languaged by Declaration as Pursuit of                    Happiness! I call all Powers of imagination    to my side in this auto to make Prophecy,                    all Lords        of human kingdoms to come Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash        Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded    Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands                    give up your desire Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility    Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void            Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru    William Blake the invisible father of English visions    Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes        half closed who only cries for his mother Chitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise    merciful Chango judging our bodies        Durga-Ma covered with blood            destroyer of battlefield illusions        million faced Tathagata gone past suffering    Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable        Allah the compassionate one                Jaweh Righteous One            all Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all    ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis            & holymen I chant to—                Come to my lone presence                    into this Vortex named Kansas, I lift my voice aloud,    make Mantra of American language now,            I here declare the end of the War!                Ancient days’ Illusion!—        and pronounce words beginning my own millennium. Let the States tremble,    let the nation weep,        let Congress legislate its own delight,            let the President execute his own desire— this Act done by my own voice,                nameless Mystery— published to my own senses,        blissfully received by my own form    approved with pleasure by my sensations        manifestation of my very thought        accomplished in my own imagination            all realms within my consciousness fulfilled    60 miles from Wichita                near El Dorado,                    The Golden One, in chill earthly mist    houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward                        in every direction one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord—    Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower            where Florence is                    set on a hill,            stop for tea & gas

   Cars passing their messages along country crossroads        to populaces cement-networked on flatness,                    giant white mist on earth        and a Wichita Eagle-Beacon headlines        “Kennedy Urges Cong Get Chair in Negotiations” The War is gone,    Language emerging on the motel news stand,                    the right magic        Formula, the language known    in the back of the mind before, now in black print                    daily consciousness Eagle News Services Saigon—    Headline Surrounded Vietcong Charge Into Fire Fight        the suffering not yet ended                    for others        The last spasms of the dragon of pain                shoot thru the muscles            a crackling around the eyeballs            of a sensitive yellow boy by a muddy wall Continued from page one area    after the Marines killed 256 Vietcong captured 31    ten day operation Harvest Moon last December                Language language    U.S. Military Spokesmen            Language language                    Cong death toll        has soared to 100 in First Air Cavalry        Division’s Sector of                Language language            Operation White Wing near Bong Son Some of the    Language language            Communist                Language language soldiers charged so desperately    they were struck with six or seven bullets before they fell    Language Language M-60 Machine Guns            Language language in La Drang Valley    the terrain is rougher infested with leeches and scorpions            The war was over several hours ago! Oh at last again the radio opens    blue Invitations!        Angelic Dylan singing across the nation            “When all your children start to resent you            Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?”    His youthful voice making glad                the brown endless meadows    His tenderness penetrating aether,        soft prayer on the airwaves,            Language language, and sweet music too            even unto thee,                hairy flatness!            even unto thee                despairing Burns! Future speeding on swift wheels        straight to the heart of Wichita! Now radio voices cry population hunger world                if unhappy people        waiting for Man to be born                O man in America!    you certainly smell good                the radio says    passing mysterious families of winking towers    grouped round a Quonset-hut on a hillock—        feed storage or military fear factory here? Sensitive City, Ooh! Hamburger & Skelley’s Gas            lights feed man and machine,    Kansas Electric Substation aluminum robot        signals thru thin antennae towers        above the empty football field                    at Sunday dusk to a solitary derrick that pumps oil from the unconscious                working night & day    & factory gas-flares edge a huge golf course        where tired businessmen can come and play— Cloverleaf, Merging Traffic East Wichita turnoff            McConnell Airforce Base                    nourishing the City—    Lights rising in the suburbs    Supermarket Texaco brilliance starred            over streetlamp vertebrae on Kellogg,        green jeweled traffic lights            confronting the windshield, Centertown ganglion entered!        Crowds of autos moving with their lightshine,        signbulbs winking in the driver’s eyeball—    The human nest collected, neon lit,                and sunburst signed        for business as usual, except on the Lord’s Day—    Redeemer Lutheran’s three crosses lit on the lawn                reminder of our sins    and Titsworth offers insurance on Hydraulic    by De Voors Guard’s Mortuary for outmoded bodies                of the human vehicle        which no Titsworth of insurance will customize for resale— So home, traveler, past the newspaper language factory    under Union Station railroad bridge on Douglas    to the center of the Vortex, calmly returned        to Hotel Eaton Carry Nation began the war on Vietnam here            with an angry smashing ax                attacking Wine—    Here fifty years ago, by her violence began a vortex of hatred that defoliated the Mekong Delta—    Proud Wichita! vain Wichita        cast the first stone!—                That murdered my mother        who died of the communist anticommunist psychosis            in the madhouse one decade long ago    complaining about wires of masscommunication in her head            and phantom political voices in the air                besmirching her girlish character.    Many another has suffered death and madness            in the Vortex from Hydraulic                to the end of 17th –enough! The war is over now—    Except for the souls            held prisoner in Niggertown still pining for love of your tender white bodies O children of Wichita!

-- Allen Ginsberg, “Wichita Vortex Sutra”  1966

[koishua]

UNFORGIVEN ALBUM REVIEW

i have so much to say about these tracks y'all the wait was worth it it always is when it's with them!! UNFORGIVEN as a title track slaps i can't overstate how amazing this turned out thank you nile rodgers this is incredible i adore the beats though i wish that for the "unforgiven girls" part, the vocals were stronger in volume and impression bc it's SUCH a hype section i can already imagine ceremonies starting with that exact part!! the melody just evokes that feeling if you know what i mean?? and yunjin's grungy voice compliments this song and its message so so well. also kkura's deep voice?? she is an icon she has always been the moment but oml zuha's wings and her lines are SO good i won't even start talking about chaewon bc y'all know how i feel about her gosh she never ever disappoints. now for manchae oml she has come so far from fearless and she's getting better and better each comeback and she's starting to solidify her presence on stage im so excited for five years down the line how she's going to turn out!! the choreo snippet from knowing bros had already surprised me so much i love love love their choreos and this one has to be one of my top threes?? anyways not to get too deep into this so im going to just keep it like this and move on. overall 9.5/10

NO-RETURN (INTO THE UNKNOWN) — the bass!! they have a signature feel-good sound to their tracks similar to this you just want to get up and jump or dance around with a smile on your face. the saxophone is that a saxophone in the chorus that took me off guard in the best way really. the brass is so cnncncbc!! chaewon and yunjin carry the vocal heavy parts and they do it amazingly like they may not be the strongest vocalists ever but they're strong in their own ways that fit le sserafim's sound so well!! overall 9/10

EVE, PSYCHE & THE BLUEBEARD'S WIFE — i know a club song when i hear one despite not ever being in one 😔😔 the beat im salivating this is my three am hallucinating dancing in the dark in my own room type of song i swear to you the verses after the first chorus has me in a chokehold. the things i would do to get to listen to this in a concert setting and ascend with the bridge and then the drum pads that come in right after like stfu. overall 9/10

FEARNOT (BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND THE LAMPPOST) — i just started writing a small fic based on this song and its vibes!! this makes me feel all sorts of things and the lyrics are straight out of a heartwarming story. this is one of my most favourite songs from this album. it's so atmospheric with the electric guitar building up to the chorus and the drum beats that kick in and their vocals. the melody is beautiful and i just can't get over the vibes. i cried while i first listened to this half an hour ago actually ;-; i don't have any single thing to complain about in this song. "i go where you go" line being given to chaewon was an amazing decision because her voice is so pure and it felt like i was pulled into another world for the brief moment she sung with the background going silent :') i think this will be one of my most listened to songs on spotify this year. overall 10/10

FLASH FORWARD — this is exactly my vibe i listen to these kinds of songs everyday all day it's just so vibey and you can strut playfully to this song down the street and sway and jam all you want and it feels like flowers of all bright colours are blooming all around you as you go!! it's like it brightens up the world around each step you take :< it's just feel-good. overall 9/10

FIRE IN THE BELLY — when i say hot damn i want to shake my hips and call my latina friends and have them listen to this. the chorus makes something in my chest feel so full with life!! reminds me of my childhood especially the olé olé olé in the background chants ugh im a little tired from all of the jumping and screeching i did within the last hour so my brain is slowing down just know that it's overall a 9/10 for me for this too

CONCLUSION i love them they occupy a large spot in my heart i can't ever dislike any song they release and i know it seems like im giving way too many compliments but i can't help it idc if it's subjective they just make good ass music ‼️

[breederking]

In their quaint suburban neighborhood, where the trees whispered secrets and the sun painted the sidewalks with warm embraces, there lived a young transgender man named Calvin. His journey had been a tapestry of courage and self-discovery, one that had led him to this moment in his life, where his heart swelled with love and his body grew with the promise of new life. Alex was not alone in this journey; he was nestled in the embrace of a polyamorous relationship with his devoted partners, Leo and Elara. Their bond was an intricate dance of love and understanding that transcended societal norms, weaving a beautiful narrative of unity and acceptance.

Leo, a burly man with a gentle smile, was the anchor that kept the trio grounded. His strong hands were a constant source of comfort to Calvin during the more challenging days of the pregnancy. His whispers of encouragement and his unyielding belief in Calvin's strength were the lullabies that soothed the expectant father's fears. Meanwhile, Elara, with her soft touch and nurturing spirit, showered both Calvin and the baby with love and care. She was a beacon of light, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she helped Calvin navigate the uncharted waters of pregnancy as a trans man.

Together, the three of them approached each milestone with a mix of awe and trepidation. The first time they heard the baby's heartbeat was a moment that resonated through their shared home, a silent symphony that filled the air with a profound sense of wonder. Leo held Calvin's hand tightly, his own heart racing with the rhythm of their child's, while Elara traced gentle circles on Calvin's belly, her gaze lost in the magic of the moment. They were a testament to the boundless forms love could take, a living, breathing rejection of the narrow confines of societal expectations.

The neighbors whispered and stared, their curiosity piqued by the unusual family dynamic that had blossomed in their midst. Yet, the love that emanated from their small abode was so palpable it seemed to wrap the entire street in a warm, protective embrace. It was a love that could not be contained or silenced, a love that grew more vibrant with every doctor's appointment and every ultrasound image that confirmed the baby's growth.

Calvin's belly grew rounder, a proud testament to the life he was nurturing within him. He faced each day with a mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing that every kick and flutter was a reminder of the monumental role he was about to assume. Yet, in the quiet moments, when the weight of his burgeoning body pressed down on his spirit, it was the gentle reassurance of Leo and Elara that lifted him back up. They were his sanctuary, a bastion of support in a world that often struggled to understand the complexities of their love.

Elara, ever the planner, had meticulously organized a baby shower, an event that was as much about celebrating Calvin's transition into fatherhood as it was about the impending arrival of their little one. She had invited a handful of close friends and relatives, a rainbow coalition of souls who had embraced them with open hearts. The gathering was filled with laughter and tears, as each guest shared their own unique story of how Calvin, Leo, and Elara had touched their lives. It was a poignant reminder that love, in all its forms, had the power to break down barriers and build bridges of understanding.

As the due date drew nearer, the trio felt the tension in the air thicken. Each night, as they lay entwined in their shared bed, they whispered about their hopes and fears for the future. They discussed names, parenting styles, and the ever-evolving dance of their relationship dynamics. Would they manage to juggle the responsibilities of a newborn with their own individual needs? Would the baby be healthy and happy in their unconventional family? The questions hung like stars in the darkness, each one a silent promise of the love they had for their child.

Leo took on more of the household chores, allowing Calvin to rest and prepare for the birth. His broad shoulders took on the burden of grocery shopping, cooking, and laundry, while his calloused hands painted the nursery a soft shade of mint green, a color they had all agreed upon. The room slowly transformed into a haven of warmth and acceptance, a space where their baby could grow without the shackles of gender norms or societal judgments. Elara, ever the creative spirit, had crafted a mobile of celestial bodies that twirled gently above the crib, a reminder that their child would always be loved beyond measure.

However, as the final weeks of pregnancy ticked away, Leo found himself growing increasingly nervous. His hands trembled as he folded tiny onesies and his mind raced with the uncertainties of fatherhood. He had always been there for Calvin, offering his strength and stability, but now he felt the weight of the impending birth pressing down on him, too. His anxiety grew with each passing day, and he began to argue with Elara about the practicality of her time. He felt that she should be focusing more on preparing for the baby's arrival, perhaps taking a break from her flurry of art projects and social commitments.

Elara, on the other hand, was adamant that her art was not just a hobby but a critical part of who she was. She insisted that her creativity was her way of contributing to the baby's upbringing and that it would help maintain a sense of balance in their lives. The argument grew heated, as each tried to voice their concerns without stepping on the others' toes. Calvin, caught in the middle, felt torn between the two people he loved most. He understood Leo's fears but also knew that Elara's art was her lifeblood, a vital source of comfort and self-expression.

As the two of them were bickering over the color of the nursery curtains, Calvin felt the first twinge of a contraction. He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath, not wanting to alarm his already stressed-out partners. He had read about the signs of labor and knew that the moment was approaching, but he hadn't anticipated it to come so soon or with such intensity. As the contractions grew stronger and more frequent, he tried to shield Leo and Elara from the pain, not wanting to add to the pressure that was already weighing on their shoulders.

Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, Calvin spoke up, his voice tight with pain. "I think it's time," he managed to get out between gasps. The room fell silent, and their eyes locked in a moment of shared realization. The baby was coming, and with it, the culmination of their collective hopes and fears. Leo's face paled, but he was quick to regain his composure, his eyes filling with a fierce determination. He took charge, helping Calvin to the car and ensuring that Elara had packed the hospital bag. The drive to the hospital was a blur of flashing lights and worried glances, but their love remained the steady constant in the chaos.

The hospital staff was a mix of understanding and confusion, their eyes darting between Calvin's masculine features and his swollen belly. Yet, the trio had prepared for this, armed with knowledge and a quiet assertiveness that demanded respect. They advocated for Calvin's needs and wishes, making it clear that he was not just the mother but the father to be. The hospital staff, though initially taken aback, quickly adapted, treating them with the care and dignity they deserved.

As Calvin's labor progressed, so did the tension in the room. Leo, usually so stoic, was a bit of a hot head, his stress controlling his reactions to the nurses and doctors. Every time Calvin winced in pain, Leo's fists clenched, and his face contorted with a mix of anger and fear. His protective instincts were in overdrive, and he found it difficult to process the situation calmly. The medical staff, accustomed to the outbursts of anxious fathers, gave him the space he needed while maintaining their professional demeanor.

Elara, however, was the picture of serenity amidst the chaos. Her soft voice whispered words of comfort into Calvin's ear as she stroked his hair and held his hand. She knew that Leo's outbursts were born from a place of love and fear, and she gently reminded him to channel his emotions into supporting Calvin. Her gentle touch and calming presence were a balm to Calvin's soul as he worked through the contractions. She had studied extensively about pregnancies and had become their unofficial doula, her dedication to Calvin's well-being unwavering.

In the delivery room, the three of them formed a tight circle of love and support. Leo held Calvin's legs, his own trembling subsiding as he focused on the task at hand. Elara coached them both through the breathing exercises, her voice steady and soothing. The doctor, a kind-hearted woman with a knowing smile, nodded in approval at their united front. They had faced so much together, and she could see the strength that bound them.

As the baby's head began to crown, Calvin's eyes filled with tears. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced, but the love in the room was a force more powerful than any contraction. Leo leaned in, whispering that their child was almost here, that they were almost a family in the most profound sense of the word. Elara's eyes glistened with her own unshed tears as she cradled Calvin's head, her own fears for their future momentarily silenced by the present miracle unfolding before her.

The doctor's voice grew more urgent, guiding Calvin through the final pushes. Each one felt like a monumental effort, but with Leo and Elara's encouragement, he found a deep reserve of strength within himself. The moment their child was born, a beautiful and healthy baby boy, the room erupted in a cacophony of emotion. Leo's voice cracked with joy as he announced to the room, "you did it," while Elara's laughter was like a melody that danced with the cries of their newborn son.

Calvin, exhausted yet exhilarated, looked into the doctor's eyes, searching for the words to express his gratitude. But before he could speak, she gently placed the baby into his arms, and all he could do was weep. The baby looked up at him, eyes wide with curiosity, and Calvin felt an overwhelming sense of belonging that surpassed any challenge he had faced before. It was a moment that transcended their differences, a moment that was purely and simply about the love of a parent for their child.

Leo and Elara hovered over them, their eyes never leaving the baby. They had both felt a profound shift in their hearts the moment the child was born, a fierce protectiveness that surged through their veins. Leo, his earlier anxiety forgotten, was now the picture of proud fatherhood, his rough exterior giving way to a tenderness that only a new father could know. Elara's face was a canvas of joy and wonder, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she reached out to touch the baby's cheek.

The nurse, a middle-aged woman with a knowing smile, took the time to explain the importance of skin-to-skin contact, especially for transgender fathers. She gently helped Calvin adjust the baby, ensuring that their hearts were beating in harmony. The baby's tiny hand curled around Calvin's finger, a silent promise of a lifetime of love and connection. As they sat there, a trio bound by love and shared experience, the outside world with its whispers and judgments faded away, leaving only the warm cocoon of their little family.

The hours passed in a blur of feeding, cuddling, and learning the intricate dance of caring for their new addition. The hospital staff, initially curious, grew to respect and admire the fierce bond between the three. They marveled at the way Leo and Elara anticipated Calvin's needs, the way their eyes never left the baby unless it was to check on Calvin's comfort. The room was filled with a quiet strength, a testament to the beauty of their unorthodox family structure.

[capettitwrites]

Blurb: In Verona's bustling streets, beneath the shadow of Juliet's iconic balcony, a traveler reflects on the weight of tradition, love, and the enduring objectification of women. As tourists flock to touch the bronze statue of Shakespeare's heroine, seeking luck in love, one woman confronts her own past and the cultural stories that shape us. 'To Be A Statue' is a poignant exploration of autonomy, trauma, and the silent strength required to reclaim one's narrative.

CW: Sexual harassment/assault, objectification, implied trauma.

They say that touching certain parts of statues will bring good luck. Rubbing the belly of a Budha, or a dog statue’s nose, or the Charging Bull’s balls. I’ve seen my fair share of bronze statues buffed by human hands, even participated in some myself. A little turtle on Il Porcellino in Sydney owes its shiny head, at least in part, to me and the daily pets I give it on my morning walk. Something about bronze statues just makes us want to reach out and touch. 

Verona, Italy was beautiful. A day and a half of cramped legs and turbulence was well worth it for the medieval town that meandered along the Adige River. The orange street lights glittered off the turquoise water. Foliage of trees and potted plants hanging from balconies doused the streets in green. Burnt orange and muted yellow bricks contrasted against the beige masonry of the Romanesque architecture that surrounded us. 

Yesterday, Hayley and I had visited the Arena. While only a third of the size compared to the Colosseum, we were absolutely struck by how much it imposed. The streets of Piazza Bra from the Arena danced like a rainbow with its colourful houses. In addition to the tour, we managed to get tickets to Giuseppe Zenatallo’s Aida and the tragic opera filled our evening. 

Today, Hayley and I stand in Juliet’s House. Well, her courtyard to be more precise. Amongst the crowds, we admire her balcony and the ivy-coated trellis her Romeo would have climbed. The gate at the back of the courtyard is heavy with the weight of lovers’ locks, names of couples daring to love like Romeo and Juliet shining out under the sun. I can’t help but be reminded of the love lock bridge in Paris and wonder how long before the government puts an end to this too. How long before the gate falls over and all those relationships shatter with it?

There’s a bronze statue of Juliet standing just below the balcony. The people queue to have a photo with her and we join the curling line. All around, the tourists chatter in a thesaurus of languages. As we come to the front, with Juliet’s dim face staring back at us, I remember how cruel humanity is. Locked into herself, the people laugh and fondle her breast. Only her clothed chest has been rubbed golden. 

‘It’s a tradition,’ Hayley whispers to me. ‘They say if you touch her right breast, it’ll bring good luck for finding your one true love.’ 

The more I look at her, the sadder her eyes seem. It’s a familiar sadness. With our eyes locked, the line between statue and person begins to blur. As if the day were Friday and we spoke in unison, I feel I’m the one encased in bronze, standing there having my right breast cupped and carressed for the good fortune of a stranger. Juliet takes my place in line with Hayley, carrying all my history. 

It seems easy to put that young girl, only age fourteen, in my place. In my memories, my fiery red locks turn into her coppery bronze. The girl in My Little Pony pyjamas, dancing to Hannah Montana, becomes the statue Juliet. When Aunt Petra helps Mum in the kitchen and her boyfriend stays, I’m no longer the one in the room. Juliet takes the fall. Dull bronze shining under his touch. Maybe it’ll bring him luck. Maybe he and Aunt Petra will be together forever.. 

I can feel tourists groping at my breast when Juliet wanders onto my high school oval. The boys crowd her like the sightseers at Casa de Giulietta. It wasn’t her fault that she began maturing so young. It was natural for her to have a D-cup chest by the time she started high school. She wasn’t doing anything wrong when she let them ogle her. As far as she was concerned that’s what gave her purpose. If being sexualised was the only time she was given attention then how can you blame her for letting them have their way?

Juliet never grew past that point. Man devoured her before she became a grown up. Murder by lust. I think if she had the opportunity to live in this world a little longer, her eyes would have ended up looking like mine. Maybe her eyes were even the same shade ofshade of green. With age, they’d harden and grey. With age, she’d learn to hate her body. With age, she’d come to learn that Romeo never loved her. His infatuation was flighty and hardly worth the death she endured. Dream that the two resolved their families’ issues, that they spent their final moments with wrinkled hands wrapped around each other. Enjoy that innocence. 

‘Should we leave a message?’ Hayley asks and gestures to the wall below Juliet’s balcony. Littered in messages from young lovers in the hopes their love will last forever. Wandering closer, I see notes from Gloria and Chiara, Leo and Baby, E+R, someone named Armin. Messages that read ‘por las amores que te hacen’ and ‘que se lia conmigo’ and ‘I love my family so much’. People will do anything other than work hard for what they want. Relying on superstition and luck. 

I don’t want love. Not anymore. 

‘Yes,’ I answer and Hayley pulls out a paper and pen. She’s never been one to leave the house without some stationary on her. Writer’s habit, she jokes. Taking the pen in hand, I write down my wish. Maybe someday Juliet will make it come true. 

‘For love that liberates rather than confines. In the pursuit of dreams, may we shatter the bronze ceiling.

-Serena’

[starseedfxofficial]

Master CCI and Statistical Arbitrage: The Secret Sauce You Need to Profit How to Master CCI and Statistical Arbitrage Without Losing Your Mind (Or Your Shirt) Alright, Forex ninjas, let's talk about something a little different today: CCI (Commodity Channel Index) and statistical arbitrage. Before you roll your eyes and think, "Great, another overly complicated trading strategy I won't use," let me assure you—what I'm about to share is a game-changing blend of math, intuition, and a touch of ninja magic. So, sit back, get comfortable, and let’s turn that confusion into confidence (and maybe a little profit while we're at it). CCI's Real Power Most traders look at CCI as just another oscillator, a footnote in a textbook they skimmed during a free trial of an online course. But I’m here to let you in on a little secret: CCI is an underrated gem when it comes to spotting hidden opportunities in the Forex market. It’s like that strange-looking tool in your toolbox that you’ve never used, but when you finally figure out what it’s for, it saves you a ton of time—and maybe even keeps your thumb intact. The Commodity Channel Index, or CCI, measures price deviations from the statistical mean, basically giving you a heads-up when something’s about to go haywire. Imagine you’re walking on a bridge, and suddenly you hear a loud creak—that’s CCI telling you that something's about to break, either in your favor (cha-ching) or not (uh-oh). Now, most traders just use CCI to identify overbought or oversold levels. But here's where we turn things up a notch: CCI can help pinpoint divergences with stunning accuracy when you pair it with a bit of statistical magic. Picture this: you spot a divergence between CCI and price action, just as your neighbor is about to tell you how his cousin’s forex “sure thing” went belly-up. That's the moment when your Spidey-sense should be tingling, because an excellent trade setup could be on the horizon. The Underrated Art of Statistical Arbitrage: A Beginner’s Nightmare, A Pro’s Dream Let’s be real for a second—“statistical arbitrage” sounds like something only MIT graduates or Wall Street quants could appreciate. But let me tell you a secret that your broker would never admit: you don't need a degree in rocket science to master this. You just need a solid understanding of probabilities, correlations, and some mean-reversion magic. Statistical arbitrage is about as cool as buying ten-dollar shoes from a street vendor only to realize they’re actually Yeezys (and they're real!). It’s about finding pricing inefficiencies and riding them until equilibrium is restored—which, in Forex terms, is like waiting for the chaos of New York and London sessions to calm down and give you predictable, low-hanging fruit to harvest. To apply statistical arbitrage effectively, you want to focus on correlations between currency pairs. Think of currency pairs as dance partners at a wedding. Some pairs just can't keep away from each other—like EUR/USD and GBP/USD. When one takes a step forward, the other tends to follow. If you see one pair making a dramatic move while its “partner” seems to lag behind, congratulations—you just spotted a potential arbitrage opportunity. And the CCI? It’s your undercover agent, subtly pointing out the moments where one partner is about to make an unexpected twist. Pairing CCI With Statistical Arbitrage Here's the juicy part: when you combine CCI with statistical arbitrage, you create a sophisticated strategy that blends momentum with mean reversion—essentially getting the best of both worlds. Imagine a car with a jet engine and wings—you've got speed, lift, and way more excitement than anyone expected. Step-by-Step Game Plan: - Identify Correlated Pairs: First, grab your favorite correlation tool and determine which currency pairs are highly correlated. Let’s say we have EUR/USD and GBP/USD with a strong positive correlation. - Look for Divergences: Monitor the CCI for each of these pairs. What you're looking for are divergences—if EUR/USD is hitting an overbought level but GBP/USD’s CCI is in the oversold zone, that's like getting a text from the future saying, "Hey, something's about to happen!" - Time Your Entry: Use the divergence as your entry signal. If CCI tells you EUR/USD is overbought and GBP/USD is oversold, you could consider a strategy where you short EUR/USD and go long on GBP/USD simultaneously. - Manage Risk Wisely: Keep your positions tight—like your belt after Thanksgiving. Always remember that trading, especially with statistical arbitrage, involves calculated risks. Use stop-losses and keep position sizes modest to avoid big blowouts. Common Pitfalls Most Traders Fall Into (And How To Dodge Them) If you’ve been around the Forex block, you know there are some traps almost every trader falls into. Let's dissect a few, so you’re not the one buying a $20 haircut that ends up costing you a fortune in public embarrassment: 1. Assuming Correlations Are Forever: Correlations are like relationships—they’re dynamic, they change, and sometimes they break down without warning. It’s critical to keep track of changing correlations and adjust your approach accordingly. Just because two pairs were correlated last month doesn't mean they'll dance together forever. Keep your eyes open and always verify correlation strength. 2. Over-Reliance on CCI: CCI is an amazing tool, but it's not a crystal ball. Traders who get starry-eyed about one indicator can end up justifying bad trades instead of recognizing weak setups. Remember, the CCI is one piece of the puzzle—pair it with solid market context and risk management strategies. 3. Forgetting About Market Fundamentals: It's easy to get lost in charts and numbers. But the truth is, fundamental news events can wipe out even the prettiest technical setups. Don’t ignore that press conference from the ECB—if the fundamentals suggest a market-shaking change, statistical arbitrage can become extremely risky. Check the news before diving in, and you'll thank yourself later. The One Simple Trick That Can Change Your Trading Mindset One last secret for those who are still with me (you get a virtual high-five for making it this far): the best trades are often the simplest ones. Sure, combining CCI and statistical arbitrage sounds sophisticated—and it is—but the key here is simplicity in execution. When you're working with these tools, don’t overthink every twist and turn. The market doesn’t move to frustrate you, it moves according to supply and demand. Let the CCI alert you to changes, use statistical arbitrage to understand relationships, and don't let the complexity of the tools intimidate you. Remember, even the most advanced setups should feel almost boring once you understand them well enough. Want to Level Up? Here’s How If you’re ready to dive deeper into advanced Forex strategies and make sense of complex concepts like a seasoned pro, check out our services: - Latest Economic Indicators and Forex News: Get exclusive, real-time updates to make your trades count at StarseedFX Forex News. - Forex Education: Dive into advanced methodologies and secret tactics at Free Forex Courses. - Community Membership: Gain access to daily alerts, insider tips, and live trading insights at StarseedFX Community. Trading is a journey, and you’re always learning. Stick around, take advantage of what’s available to you, and keep your humor intact—it makes the drawdowns a lot easier to handle. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated   Read the full article

[xasha777]

In a world not unlike our own, where the line between science and magic blurred, the city of Neo-Gotham had always been a beacon of human ingenuity. The glittering skyscrapers, born from the restless dreams of architects and alchemists, stood tall against the canvas of the ever-changing sky.

But that day, the sky was an angry swirl of thunderheads, and the city was on the verge of despair. The citizens of Neo-Gotham had faced many challenges before—corporate warlocks, cybernetic beasts, rogue AIs—but the tempest above was the herald of something far more ancient and formidable.

Aranyaka, the primeval force of nature that had slumbered in the heart of the Neo-Gotham Central Park, had awakened. The very essence of wilderness, the spirit that predated the concrete jungles and neon lights, was stirring, its energies disrupting the fabric of the city.

Amidst this chaos, there emerged an unlikely hero. Whiskers fluttering in the storm, a feline figure stood proudly upon a gnarled branch that overlooked the metropolis. Clad in a shimmering cape with the emblem of a storied hero from another era, this was no ordinary cat.

His name was Leo, but the streets whispered his legend as "The Super Cat." Genetically enhanced by a forgotten technology, Leo possessed intellect and powers that rivaled the greatest superheroes of yore. His once-human companions had designed him as a protector, a guardian of the peace in a world teetering on the edge of tomorrow.

As the storm unleashed its fury upon Neo-Gotham, Leo's eyes glowed with a cosmic light. He could feel the pulse of Aranyaka, the wild heartbeat of the world, calling to him. It was a call to restore balance, to weave together the strands of science and nature that humanity had so carelessly unraveled.

With a graceful leap, Leo soared into the belly of the storm, his cape trailing like a comet's tail. The rain lashed at him, the winds roared their defiance, but Leo was resolute. He had to reach the core of the tempest, where Aranyaka's power was the strongest.

There, at the eye of the storm, Leo found the heart of Aranyaka—a vortex of primal energy, pulsing with life and ancient knowledge. It was not wrath that drove the spirit but a plea for recognition, for a place in the neon glow of the city it once called home.

Leo, with his paws channeling the ancient rites of the techno-mystics, began the dance of communion. He wove around him a tapestry of quantum spells and whispered enchantments that spoke of coexistence and harmony.

As the incantations grew stronger, the storm abated, the winds calmed, and the skies cleared to reveal the stars above. Neo-Gotham, bathed in the celestial light, looked on in wonder as their Super Cat descended, the tempest tamed and the spirit of Aranyaka soothed.

From that day forward, Neo-Gotham thrived like never before, a city in balance, where technology and nature existed as one. And at the heart of it all was Leo, the feline guardian, the bridge between worlds, the Super Cat who had saved them all.

[mint-moon25]

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