#Term 101-110

[slowd1ving]

✦ III. OH, HOW TRAGIC IS HE

'It was an accident.  “I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?”  Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end.  The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above.' • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is) wc: 11.9k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

‘If man’s hour were to come, no one could escape it: not the brave, nor the cowardly. In the case of the city-state of Metis—referred to by romantics as the ‘Eroded Kingdom’—its collapse was widely regarded as inevitable. Frankly, as al-Ghazali pointed out in his ‘Fall of Empires’, Metis was inherently doomed to fail from its intrinsic characteristics: military hubris (relying on the susceptible and corrupt polemarch Aetos in the final decade of the kingdom’s existence); economic failure (due to the recessions Aha created and failed to mitigate); the subsequent loss of capital, and perhaps, most poignantly, its alienation of alchemists and increasingly alarming anti-heretical laws which provoked regional rebellions that soon spiralled into the so-called ‘Scholar’s March’ of 786 of the Attican Calendar, or year 352 of the Amber Age¹. 

Who could’ve predicted that the citizens could grow so united in the face of such tyranny? For years the Metisians had endured the brutal taxation, the reforms in education, and the yokes of the cult-like Elation—the catalyst could only be the mass executions and disappearances that occurred the year prior the March. Of course, scholars like Ignis the Argumentative would insist it was the sudden disappearance of capable officials that set the cataclysm into motion—but further examination by other contemporaries reproached this interpretation as there was no real policy difference between the lawmakers in terms of addressing both long- and short-term triggers that led to the fall of Old Metis, as Antiquus the Elder points out in his ‘Treatises of the Archipelago’². 

Now, a millennium later, New Metis continues to repeat its historical mistakes from a bygone age—continuing legislation to heavily restrict and outright ban certain schools of thought. For most of the New Metis citizens, this isn’t an issue; but this begs the question, when will it be a problem? Tyranny has not been redefined—it’s still hiding in New Metis today, under the smiling masks of your politicians! Wake up, New Metis!’ 

— Inana, P. (1433 2AA). Civilisation: Modeling Metis as a continuation of a failed empire. Journal Politik, 47 (3), 101-110

. 　⁺ ✦ 

Like all days, the pills were particularly hard to swallow. Chalky, bitter—a tepid medley of medicine that neither made you more energetic nor erased the hangover of the liquor still remaining in your system. It was an unfortunate cocktail: vitamins and painkillers tossed from a drugstore shelf with no regard for its expiry date but rather the price and time you were running out of. 

It was a tepid day, that day was. Humid streams of vapour clung to the asphalt as you stumbled out of the store with a plastic, rustling bag slung onto your wrist hurriedly—reusable coffee cup grasped tight in one hand, the dose of tablets clutched painstakingly in the other. It felt like a rush to work, and perhaps it was; this day was like all others, in hindsight. For others, the routine mundanity of your life might’ve been hellish; for you, however, the brimstone and fire had long faded into a tired cliché, where all the impact of your suffering trickled into a steady background hum. 

There was a sort of beauty in the aches and pains of your life—not in the pretentious way, not in the nihilistic way—but rather in the sense that one might feel a brow raise at the sight of a pattern embroidered delicately into cloth. If you were to give a less quixotic analogy, it would be the satisfaction of a computer programme doing its job: lines upon lines of code melding seamlessly into a never ending loop with no errors. 

Yes. Comfort came in the shape of these grey roads, these monochromatic buildings, and the stink of pollution on your way to your monotonous job. Comfort came in the ritualistic bread (drugstore painkillers) and wine (bitter, cheap coffee) that you partook in each morning after Friday. Comfort came in the perfunctory, solid thump of sole against pavement; the cat you’d passed by for the past month; and the worn earbuds that were slowly reaching the limits with their tinny quality and exposed wire. 

It was a painful life. It was a painless life. 

Tragedy seeped in through the sterile nitrile of your gloves. Tragedy ghosted its fingers over your polyester lab coat, and tapped on the clear plastic of your goggles. Tragedy weaved through the tired yawns as you spun on your stool and waited for the centrifuge to settle to a halt. Maybe if you crossed your fingers enough, the seconds would pass by quicker, and maybe there’d be something decent in the cafeteria. Well. It was never worth the money, but then again, there was nothing to save for. No occasions to buy nice clothes for. No particular want or need for holidays. 

No one to treat, either, not even the nice old lady in the apartment next to yours. Not anymore, at least. 

You sighed, and the matter in the Petri dish sighed with you. 

And thus, a sense of purpose continued eluding you—but so did any profound pain. This was ordinary, as an achromatic existence like this didn’t stand out in the grand machine, and you didn’t think it ever would. That was fine. That was expected. In fact, it was downright comforting that you wouldn’t particularly matter in the long run. 

(Is it truly an anodyne, like you make it seem? Where is the solace, when your teeth worry at your lips as you gaze at human connexion?)

You lied. You lied, but who would persecute you for your sin, when the sin was merely doubt about your reality?

Like all other days, it began with a healthy dosage of denial, and perhaps that is what led to the events that transpired. 

. 　⁺ ✦ 

In retrospect, it was practically expected that your tired life would beget yet another tired cliché. 

There was something completely unoriginal in the series of misfortunes that befell the proletariat salaryman (read: you). In novels, movies, and the occasional game, the most ordinary of souls stumbled across a situation that chose them. For once, someone in their weary lives had need of them; not as a pushover, nor a lackey, but someone courageous and brave who became a hero. Forums and comments oft scorned these overused plotlines—and you agreed, of course—but it was an interesting premise to think about. 

“There’s a survivor on the third floor—”

Still, no matter how intriguing the promise of escape from the mundane was, it was pointless. It wouldn’t happen. 

“Hey— can you get up? Blink if you can hear me, alright? 

The accident in the lab was almost poetic. Of course, when a protagonist encountered an explosion in their place of work, there was always an accompanying montage that indicated something was wrong. Whether it be the change in key in the background chords, or a close up of cracking machinery, the audience got some sort of closure as to why. Was it fate? Was it the cruel machinations of man? Was it just an unfortunate accident?

“We need oxygen here—he’s going into shock! Help—you—get a gurney immediately!”

But actually, there was none of that fanfare for you. Just a sluggish warmth that crawled from your limbs and back into your heart, from limbs far too cold to move. No, not cold. You simply couldn’t feel them—much like when a body part suddenly fell asleep on you. 

If you scrunched your face a bit, you could smell the acrid wisps of rubble: paint chips and stone all congealing into an antiquated scent. You couldn’t exactly see, but maybe that was for the better. 

“What’s happen—” Your tongue felt leaden in your mouth: heavy and contorted as you awkwardly sounded out your question. An explosion? A gas leak? A mine that somehow went off? There was something wet dribbling from your mouth; tasting like white hot iron, seeping past your aching lips. A hero would know. A hero would have that information playing out panel by panel while they bled out, farewells and anguish for their loved ones already melding into the fabric of existence. 

Ow. 

“Shh, don’t talk, okay? We’ll get you out of here, alright?” There weren’t any reassurances for your state. No ‘you’ll be okay’, no ‘stay with me, alright?’. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t, but it was in that moment when you wished you were—dropping out before doing your degree and doctorate, keeping far from the lab, and holding on to your life with blissful ignorance on your side. 

You opened your mouth. 

“No, you don’t need to say anything, alright?” The voice was kind, you noted drowsily. If not a little clumsy, swaddling you in a foil blanket like some overgrown child. Well. You couldn’t see it, and neither could you feel its texture, but you could feel your limbs lolling this way and that way at the movements—like some grotesque, decommissioned marionette. 

At least it didn’t hurt.  

“Thank you,” you whispered. There was nothing outrageous about your last words. Like the rest of your life, the syllables were as ordinary as they came. A quiet beginning. A quiet end. There was nobody to say goodbye to, nobody to wait for past the veil. 

It was an accident. 

“I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?” 

Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end. 

The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above. 

. 　⁺ ✦

“Hey, wake up.”

Death came in the gentle touch of a rolling breeze; riding on its coattails was the disembodied laughter of a child, alongside the kiss of three words that stirred your sleep-crusted lashes. Death seeped into the loamy scent of petrichor: soaked past the balmy fragrance of wildflowers and grass, against the clean soap of freshly-laundered linen. Death trailed its sepulchral fingers past the damp ground cradling your slumbering body—rustling and tugging at the jewel-toned robe draping your limbs that rose and fell with your chest. 

“How peaceful,” you murmured, and the mouthfeel of the words was as crisp as water straight from a burbling brook. Copper no longer defiled your lips, and neither did the burning heat of your dying syllables. Rather, cool air replaced the oily blood that slid across your tongue mere moments ago. 

Had you trespassed the veil warding life from death?

Peeking at the haze hanging over your head, something had clearly gone wrong with your passage to the afterlife. No, was it even an afterlife? Clumsily, like a foal stumbling on its hooves for the first time, you sat up shakily—to find your limbs sprightly and healthy, with none of the gelid quality you’d felt before you woke up. In fact, your head was clearer than ever: not a hint of any throbbing in your temples.

Even the very breeze felt different: fuller, yet decidedly more empty. 

In hindsight, it was likely shock that delayed your registration of the very obvious problem at hand. Rolling, verdant fields aside, the firmament stretching from horizon to horizon shone bright with two heavenly bodies. Were you seeing double?

“Two suns,” you muttered, squinting at the brilliant sky. Brilliant, though it wasn’t blue like you’d expected—but a more melancholy array of hues, even with the twin bodies illuminating the vast canvas. Two suns, an unfamiliar sky, and alien constellations littering it. “Where the fuck am I?”

Great. Wonderful. A new headache had presented itself, because clearly you were no longer on Earth—which now begged the question, where were you?

Or, more poignantly, who were you? 

The first law of thermodynamics proposed energy was neither created nor destroyed, simply transferred from one form to another. In turn, perhaps it was less surprising that you’d reawakened in another form—rather, the puzzling element was how this new vessel came to be. Its movements were familiar, its shape and flow of limbs, too, was an exact replica of your Earthbound form, but far less bone-weary than you had been. 

You died. This you accepted. 

You… reawoke. Passed on? Ended up in a coma? Got stuck in limbo? That was something far more difficult to fathom: flung into a world far removed from your own, it was hard to suppress the epistemic needs of a human. 

Would it have been easier, being reborn into this otherworldly place, without any memories of before your death? Was it… normal, continuing existence like this? Were there any precedents? 

What the hell was going on?

It was perhaps on a whim that you finally looked down, gazing at the lush field and your vivid clothes. Staring at the garb that adorned you, you neither recognised the cut of the material nor the rich dye that stained it—but you supposed that was par for the course when not even the sky looked familiar to you. That was expected. 

The translucent, almost glass-like window that popped up over in your line of vision was decidedly not. Immediately, your focus snapped from the delicate embroidery right on to the rolling script appearing; a series of whorls and lines that somehow resonated with your tired brain. 

“Rida mis vizenia,” you murmured as the syllables made themselves known to you, something you didn’t even need to translate manually. Your breath caught in your throat when the mechanical pronunciation loosened your fumbling tongue—like speaking your mother tongue after decades of disuse. 

You squinted at the block of text, alongside the tiny mannequin depicting what you wore. 

[Robes of Ambiguity (◼◼◼◼◼ Robes): a style of clothing popular among New Metis officials wishing to keep their exact station unknown. Neither this colourful palette nor this traditional embroidery belongs to any particular rank nor department, ◼◼ning those wishing to stay obscure typically favour these well-made garments; ◼◼◼◼◼◼   ◼◼ ◼◼◼. There’s more to the wearer than meets the eye, you know? ◼◼◼◼ limited to those of high rank, thus regular civilians also enjoy wearing these for more special occasions.]

What was this, a game? An exasperated groan left your mouth at the new possibility—furious due to that, but also the lack of any helpful information given by these garments. No clue about your identity, only that these clothes were from New Metis. New Metis. There was nothing—no sudden recognition, no extra-heavy thump of your heart, and certainly not any memories from this new body that could point you in any direction. 

The only thing that was truly helpful was the appearance of this floating, rectangular entity: two valuable clues had sprung from it, after all.

One: this interface could be the light that would guide you, providing its information was reliable. Game or not, it could very well be that this apparent saviour was some sick ploy, for whatever reason. It was a welcome sight regardless; you’d seen it countless times in various media, whether it be in novels or video games. 

Still, you eyed the screen sceptically. Who was behind it, anyway?

Two: it appeared there was still information you weren’t privy to, judging by the error marks against the azure window. Or maybe this information was never intended for you in the first place; the screen blurred and glitched like it couldn’t wait to escape your view. Like cotton candy, its shape dissolved and formed just as capriciously in the rolling breeze: melting and undulating with virtual strands of data. 

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as ◼◼◼◼◼◼. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

“That’s it?” you muttered incredulously. That was your face displayed on the pixelated screen, your name that kept ebbing and flowing from existence like an evasive childhood song. Even the damn clothing you donned had a more detailed log of information—and the important part was erased from existence. 

It was the latter part that intrigued you most, unknown occupation aside. Common tongue. It felt right when describing the syllables leaving your mouth, even if you hadn’t realised you’d been talking to yourself in it for the past however many minutes. 

With a long-winded sigh, you unfocused your gaze and it seemed the window sighed with relief too: fading out with nary a blip. If this was a game, clearly you weren’t the protagonist; no cutscene greeted you, not even an introduction to the error-laden system it seemed to have anomalously assigned you. 

Honey tongue. 

Tongue of thought. 

They were important enough to mention, important enough that they were present in your profile without regard for anything else. But in a way, the lack of expectations was nice. A simple blank resumé, waiting to develop into a ‘you’. ‘You’ weren’t assuming someone else’s identity. ‘You’ were freshly dumped anew, without the ties to burden you to an overused plot and allegiance. 

But that wasn’t a tangent to mull over at the moment. There were far more pressing matters to contend with. 

Think. You were in the vast open country, with neither food, water, nor a map. Neither horizon boasted any traces of civilisation, which made your situation slightly more dire. No landmarks. No forests. No creatures either, but the abundance of flora called for pollination, right? Unless, of course, the rules of biology and physics have all been messed up… what’s the gravitational field strength on this planet…. is this even the same universe as Earth… does this follow video game mechanics or is it its own world… what does an atom look like….

Needless to say, the post-rebirth clarity hit you hard. 

“Useless,” you muttered in common tongue—turned to a long string of foreign-yet-familiar profanity as you tried to switch back to your mother tongue. It was only after a tense concentration that the word ‘fuck’ breached your stumbling lips; though, by the reverence and relief in your voice, nobody would ever think you were letting loose imprecations in this serene landscape. 

But that begged the question: to what were you saying useless to?

As it turned out, the hand rummaging through the luxurious fabric draped across you came back barren—utterly empty as you stared at the flesh, haggard. 

There was no map, and you could forget about a compass. 

There was no sustenance. 

There wasn’t even a fly to pitifully leave your vacuous pocket. 

Instead, the pulling and tugging of these sumptuous clothes revealed elaborate lines inking your roughened skin—colours melded into labyrinthine formulae you instinctively understood. Somehow, the intricate tattoos that wove against your dermis and shimmered expectantly—just like the window that faded in and out of view capriciously—resembled the long strings of formulae you’d derived and memorised for your degree and doctorate, to the point where blood dribbled from your nose each night. Metallic letters, meaningless without the painstaking effort behind them. 

But…

Your brows furrowed. Inked upon your arms and torso, and likely extending to your very legs, were shifting chromatic designs that visually could not be the same formulae you knew. That was what anyone from Earth would say, but something in your gut told you to decipher and understand these complex designs on you—like the most delicate of embroideries on a magnificent tapestry, your body was covered in the most exquisite of patterns. 

On your wrist, the characters grew incandescent as you clumsily sounded out the tongue of thought. This was neither the familiar shape of Earth languages, nor was it the common tongue you’d grown accustomed to—but something far more ancient, something far more unconstrained. It was guttural, it was refined: it was everything in between and outside of it as you mouthed the patterns on you aloud. 

“◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼.” Equivalent exchange, you finally read out—and something rose within as collateral. It was neither your soul nor your life, but a warm, pulsing energy: enough to make you drowsy with its absence. 

A prayer fluttered in the wind, just like the slow blink of your lashes as they fought to keep awake—heavy as they were from the price offered for your request. 

“Want… answers,” you slurred, unintelligible to all but the concentric circles forming beneath you and seeping into your flesh. “Humans.”

And the world whispered back, hearing your supplication. 

. 　⁺ ✦

It was with a dazed (though quite refreshed, you had to say) sort of stupor that you woke to the sound of light footsteps. Senses that had somehow been honed to a fine, sharp point now served you well as you stirred at the slightest tremors in the ground. In fact, the smallest of changes in air flow had already put you on high alert—but something was telling you to wait it out. 

People. 

Your plea had altered a predestined course. 

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an a◼che◼◼. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

A◼che◼◼.

Change was good. Change would free you from stagnancy, even if you weren’t aware of its shift. 

. 　⁺ ✦

She gave a sweeping bow: complete with the elegant curl of her hand and not a strand of fiery hair out of place. It was perfect in all its points—though you didn’t quite know why it registered as such. A perfunctory standard greeting… complete with, but not limited to, the hand gesture that typically denotes merchants or nomadic ones… The thoughts whirled incoherently alongside the fragmented cerulean window that intermittently, though no information of the woman before you appeared. 

“Himeko, of house Murata, greets thee.” She spoke with the polite dialect of common tongue—the specific intonation in her words carried a query in return for her civility: who are you? Why are you here? Behind her was a sizable procession of wagons—or at least, what you thought were wagons. Their elegant shape was utterly unlike any of the crude wooden ones you’d seen; rather, colourful cars of various forms were interlinked. Almost like a train, if a train was pulled by beasts the size of a small hut: complete with a steely carapace and long, floppy ears that were scarily like a rabbit’s. 

You swallowed. No longer could Earth be considered your point of reference. 

This was not Earth. This was not Earth, so you gave the most basic of bows back—a hand placed gently on your chest sincerely, eyes fluttering closed—and hoped she didn’t take affront. This was not Earth, thus you didn’t quite know whether the abrupt guffaw she gave at your awkward greeting was positive or not. This was not Earth, therefore her continued introduction of being a caravan master meant little to you. Navigator and caravan master of the Blazing Trail, she’d summarised, though you were distracted by the glitching window that appeared promptly in the moment she spoke. 

[Himeko Mura◼◼a. Navigator and caravan master of the Blazing Trail, a renowned nomadic force known for its astute inter- and intra-continental diplomacy. Its ◼◼◼ makes it almost like a private army, though none can ◼◼ hire it. ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼ she is utterly astute and a brilliant engineer.]

It was a name you didn’t recognise. Maybe if you looked through your games library on your old laptop, or pulled up each and every novel you’d read, maybe there’d be something similar—but at the moment, none of the information resembled anything you knew. 

The caravan master was kind, if not a little eccentric. Her kindness came in the form of a seat round the elegant burner—the two suns had long since winked past the horizon, after all, and in their place shone a lonely moon. 

It’s warm, you thought.

Her kindness also came in the round shape of a bowl of stew: handed unceremoniously into your fumbling hands by a hare-like creature who seemed all too accustomed to Miss Himeko bringing along strange things with her. The stares you received were curious, but not hostile—though one dark-haired man with frigid irises seemed to gaze at you as if saying ‘another one?’. And as unreliable as your system was, there were no introductions afforded to the other few nomads. 

“Could you tell me about New Metis?” The meat was salty and gamey as you chewed and swallowed, accompanied by the flatbread that needed no ingredients save coarse flour and a clear liquid that was likely this planet’s form of water. In fact, the bread’s unexpected soft texture distracted you enough that you almost didn’t see Miss Himeko’s eyes pause right on your clothes. 

Her blood-hued lips opened and closed, quite incredulously at that. From the cut of clearly Metisian garb, to the Metisian style of greeting, would you not have been the better authority than a nomad who flitted from place to place?

“Don’t get me wrong,” you continued in a more informal dialect, as did she after she invited you to sit with her round the small, contained fire. It flickered green in the engraved metal bowl, then a blazing azure. “I woke up and couldn’t remember anything, except my name and the name New Metis.” 

Without an ounce of shame, it was far better to simply confess your shortcomings, rather than masquerade as something you were not. 

“Better off than me,” the girl with cotton candy-pink hair sighed in solidarity. The tips of your fingers burned at the sudden acknowledgement—unused to any attention on you for prolonged lengths of time. “I didn’t remember anything after I awoke and Himeko found me, not even my name. I got called March 7th after the day I was dislodged from ice—funny how life works, huh?”

Does she make a habit of picking up amnesiacs or something? The fire crackled with your silent query. But before that, there was something in the girl’s words that gave you pause: lodged glaringly in her very name. 

March 7th. March 7th. Spoken with the common tongue accent, but undeniably the same system of dates as Earth—why? Unless this place shared ties to your former planet, it was nigh impossible for the calendar to be the exact same. 

Unless this really is a game. That would make more sense if this world was a creation of your past one; if small details were to match up with what you knew from Earth, then the evidence would no doubt point to this world being present in Earthen media. 

Nonetheless, you couldn’t take this place lightly, even if it wasn’t real. After all, there were books that took place on Earth—and that alone didn’t make the planet fictional. 

Nothing was out of the question anymore. 

“March 7th?” you muttered, half to yourself, half-probing. “What does the calendar currently look like?”

The cost of figuring out whether Earth played a part in the formation of this place was a mere question and a few scraps of your dignity. 

“Worldwide, the Amber Calendar is currently used—twelve months, three hundred and sixty five and a quarter days,” the man with those frigid eyes answered in a clipped, but not unfriendly tone. It was as if he was used to patiently explaining information to people, over and over—and for that he immediately became more useful than the stupid system windows. 

Thank you, March 8th, you replied, silently. 

“Split into twelve months? January, February and so forth?” you probed. The month names felt awkward to insert into the smooth flow of the common tongue, but there were no looks of confusion thrown your way. Well, shit. 

“Yes, that’s correct,” he affirmed quietly—gaze turning slightly less guarded in the face of what appeared to be an idiot.  “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

Three hundred and sixty five days and a quarter. What an oddly specific number to assign, even arbitrarily. It seemed the developers had unconsciously used Earth as a point of reference, once more. Or maybe this world used the same metric to assign ‘years’, with the exact same length of time it took to orbit the binary pair in the sky. In that case, it would truly be an amazing coincidence, would it not, that the angular frequency of orbit and the distance travelled by this new planet was exactly the same?

“How long is a day?” It was your final question, one so earnest he had to scrap the thought of you purposefully asking stupid questions. In actuality, the passion in your voice was a very final verification. 

“Twenty-four hours, with an hour being sixty minutes and a minute being sixty seconds.” Prompt and curt, in that melodious voice.  

“Thank you.” And there was a smile on your face this time, so mellow and warm that he couldn’t help but duck his head back to his bowl at your sincerity. “Looks like I won’t have to relearn as much as I thought.”

“Ah— right,” he murmured, but the crack in his voice went unnoticed by all but his dinner. That, and the countless stars dotting the ever-changing sky. 

“But New Metis still eludes me,” you sighed, dipping the spoon back into the broth. The utensil was weirder than the ones on earth—deeper and more cone-like in the centre, like a miniature ladle. It made savouring the complex flavours far easier; both piquante broth and the salty game were eagerly wolfed down by your hungry mouth.

“We’re pretty close to it now, actually, only around ten ro away.” The set of Himeko’s mouth was thoughtful as she unstoppered the carafe at her side, taking a large swig from it. Then, from an ornate tube hanging from her belt, she slid out a scroll of what appeared to be expensive parchment—revealing an intricate map of what appeared to be the side of a continent alongside a large archipelago. “New Metis is located—here, on that central island—and past the straits, the mountains on the continent signal the Borderlands. Well, it would be more accurate to say that these islands are all technically part of Metis—but the capital, New Metis, is located on the central one specifically. We’re currently on the northern isles.”

“I see.” You used the remaining carb to mop up the last of the stew in your bowl, scooping up what appeared to be aromatics—onion-equivalents, maybe?—and the last of the umami broth. “I think I’ll get more answers if I go there myself. Is there anything I should be wary of while I’m there?”

Ding! Something chimed, but you paid it no heed.

“Well, if you’re not a scholar, then regulations are a bit more lax. Uh, new legislation was passed quite recently, but it’s mostly just caution for nomads and merchants. If you’re completely new to the city—that is, if your memories of New Metis are completely gone, then the anti-heretical laws are pretty tough,” the man with inky curls rambled, causing your eyes to snap from Miss Himeko to his face in slight incredulity at his sudden talkativeness.

Ding! Ding!

“Anti-heretical?” you questioned, already feeling a headache form at the sudden onslaught of religion. “Could you expand on that?” 

Ding!

“Ah, yes,” he cleared his throat, setting his bowl down by his side with an awkward clunk. “Um, strictly speaking, they’re colloquially dubbed anti-heresy—since the legislation condemns it based on more fraudulent grounds than religious, but everyone who’s ever stepped foot in New Metis—”

Ding! You subconsciously swatted the window away as you stared right at him. 

“Dan Heng, get to the point before he falls asleep,” March 7th interrupted: looking at the man completely askance, as if asking ‘can you believe this guy?’. 

“Uh, sorry,” he said sheepishly, with a self-conscious smile. Dan Heng. Dan Heng. The name was no more familiar than any other, but it was pleasant to sound out. “They’ve banned most magical arts in the city and the wider span of islands for several centuries now, actually—”

Ding!

Irritatedly, you glanced at your hand, only to find an updated profile shining against the back of your wrist. What—you squinted, feeling a tad bit more sleepy, before the rolling script faded into focus. 

“—Heng, don’t just say magical arts without explaining what those entail.”

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an a◼che◼◼. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

But… the section in the middle was glitching particularly furiously, as though it were urgently trying to tell you something. You furrowed your brow. What? 

Ding!

“Stuff like subverting from typical paths and orthodox elements—instead gaining power through sorcery, witchcraft and—”

Ding! Ding!

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an alchemist. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

“—alchemy.” 

You paused. You stared. The headache you’d been anticipating finally had its advent. 

(Equivalent exchange.) 

“I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about,” March 7th smiled reassuringly, but her beaming face felt more like a threat. “Do you remember what your job was?”

“I’m a sculptor,” you deadpanned, working your jaw. It was said on a whim, but who knew the wavering between an art or a chemistry doctorate would finally come in handy today? 

Ding!

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an alchemist. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought. Although practising alchemists typically require various apparatuses to perform transmutation and practise the law of equivalent exchange, ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼ is a bit unique in that his body is the medium for the price instead—rather than formulae in common tongue on paper, the tattoos he’s earned in the tongue of thought are far more effective. After all, he is the only alchemist to have survived the life ‘price’.]

What… did that mean?

“Life price,” you murmured in concentration. Was that related to your death? Not only that, the sudden influx of knowledge made you dizzy. It seemed you’d go undetected as an alchemist for the foreseeable future, but what were the limits? 

“Sorry, did you say something?” Himeko glanced to her left, but you only shook your head in defeat. 

Was that what you did earlier? Summoned help by offering your energy as collateral? Was it also your life that you were offering in exchange? More importantly, what did it mean by life price? Did your meaningless death coalesce into boundless regrets? 

Your heart throbbed. 

“Here.” An elegant silver chalice nudged the delicate patterns on the back of your hands, and you startled—all with what you could only assume was a very stupid expression on your face. Dan Heng looked equally taken aback, fumbling a hurried apology on his lips in his lilting common tongue (“Ack, sorry—you just looked out of it so I thought you needed something to slake your thirst.”). A crescent smile formed briefly on your face as you stared at his honest face; far less world-weary than yours, far more eager. You accepted the goblet, running your fingers across its intricate engravings. 

“Thank you,” you replied warmly, taking a sip of the sweet liquid within—some saccharine nectar that had a similar tartness to cherry. “It’s delicious.”

His fingers touched yours as he settled on your other side by the flames. He’s shivering slightly, you noted—a slight trembling that was out of character on this warm night. Well, you washed down the observation with drink thoughtfully, you always did run on the hotter side. 

To business—you instead prioritised, which was to figure out what game you’d landed in exactly. 

“Um,” you turned to Dan Heng as you munched on the fresh fruit set out, juice dripping down your fingers. Its flesh was orange and tender, seeping sweet across your skin as you tore into its fragrant body. Yum. Licking your fingers clean, it was perhaps for the best that you didn’t witness the rosy flush that spread across his face. After all, you were preoccupied with the equations that now heated the inside of your mouth—squiggling formulae now taking root on your tongue, all warm and fuzzy. “Have there been any heroes lately?”

“Hmm?” he started, fingers fidgeting against his own, well-crafted robes. “You’d… uh… need to be more specific than that.”

“People we look up to? People who’ve contributed to developing their nations? People who’ve made leaps and progressions in their industries?” Himeko interjected, and the three questions made you realise that this wasn’t a two-dimensional pixelated world, but a real one. Numbskull, you criticised yourself—of course something as ambiguous as ‘hero’ was wholly open to interpretation. 

“Like…” you paused. How the fuck would you describe it? A protagonist? Someone who saved the world? This looked like an open-world RPG, so maybe— “...a travelling hero who took care of threats to the world? Alongside companions? Defeated evil entities? Was extremely well-known globally?”

Your questions were as unsure as Himeko’s face was. 

“That’s not my expertise,” she answered hesitantly. “There are quite a few who fit the description, but perhaps you’re thinking of Akivili, the late founder of the Blazing Trail?” 

Akivili. That name didn’t ring a bell either, but it couldn’t hurt to probe. “When… was the Blazing Trail established?”

“Ah… about a millennium ago,” she replied, somewhat abashed. Your brows furrowed—of course, transmigrating into a game didn’t necessarily mean you’d get into the same timeline as the hero, but a thousand years… 

“Any prophesied heroes?” you questioned desperately.

“Hold on,” Dan Heng murmured beside you thoughtfully—tapping his fingers against his knee. “There’s a more recent one that makes more sense.”

“How recent is recent?” you deadpanned. 

“Three hundred years ago, this time,” he furrowed his brows. Okay, but there was still hope if this still wasn’t the protagonist. “This ‘hero’ got rid of the Stellarons, the countless seeds of destruction from which spawned countless monsters, with his companions. Then, after his glory, he abruptly disappeared.”

It sounded like a classic conclusion—a hero returning back to their homeworld after the game reached its end. Of course, had you not died back on Earth, maybe you would have despaired more; this protagonist might’ve held the key to allowing you to go back home. But as it stood, his existence would only serve to inform you exactly where you were stuck. 

“And this hero’s name?” you prompted. A slight foreboding trickled down your spine as you waited. 

“Odysseus.”

Odysseus. Odysseus. Odysseus. It sounded unpleasantly familiar, not just because it was the name of a classical hero, but also—

“What’s the name of this planet, again?” You prayed it wasn’t so. With a head bowed in supplication, and fingers ardently crossed, you were the picture of devout want. 

“Ouroboros,” he concluded, and it was then that a tear slipped down your face. 

. 　⁺ ✦

Lament of Ouroboros. As the title suggested, the indie, open-world RPG narrated the woes of the planet and the hero come to save it—a format popular among most, if not all, adventure-themed video games. It was on a whim you downloaded it: clicking on the surprisingly well-drawn icon and quickly skimming the synopsis to escape your boring life for a bit. On forums it was well-known enough to be frequently discussed, but it didn’t have the widespread recognition to garner severe criticisms. 

With a large mug of tea and an abandoned pack of sweets, you’d booted up that game one August afternoon—worn keys clacking smoothly against your fingers as you tapped out your name. It was a nice interface, you acknowledged while erasing all traces of ‘Odysseus’. The graphics may have been the standard open world fields, but there was something charming about the two cheery suns and pretty backdrop of the sky. 

Your mouse selected the specialisation generator randomly, though you hadn’t paid attention enough to the animation apart from noting what appeared to be a sword, then a staff at one frame in particular. A warrior, and a mage, you observed in slight interest, but ultimately it didn’t matter what it picked. 

Although, neither warrior nor mage appeared as your final selection: rather, a pair of ornate scales floated into view from the tranquil lake. 

{Alchemist (S-Class) (hidden).]

“Cool,” you’d said at the time, clicking past the opening animation and into the story. Your brief fascination was just that—brief. The story was somewhat engaging, yet the plotline was saturated with tropes you’d seen time and time again in various games. A protagonist chosen to save the world, a home to return to, and companions that were pushy at best, and completely irritating at worst. 

Maybe if you hadn’t played through and seen countless media like this, the plotline might’ve been more engaging—but for your tired, exhausted mind, this clichéd game was not unlike your clichéd, boring life. 

It took the span of one afternoon for you to promptly delete Lament from your laptop, staring at the dregs of your tea in defeat. In any case, only the hero’s name and the actual title was retained in your disinterested memory: no lore, no plotline apart from what you could easily piece together based on context, and absolutely zero clue of the ending of the story. 

“Are you alright?” March 7th’s shoulder bumped yours on the large landbeast. The carapace was surprisingly comfortable to ride on, if you ignored the large tusks coming from that furry thing’s mouth, and the perpetual death stare in its red eyes. “I know it’s hard waking up and not knowing anything.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, resisting the urge to bash your head in. “It is hard.”

Seriously, what the hell did you do to reincarnate into this shitty RPG?

. 　⁺ ✦

“Do you think he’s grateful for the new opportunity?” In HER deft palms, the distaff continued to spin as the maiden began the conversation. Everything started with HER—the youngest, the most rash, but also the most creative. As it were, the threads SHE spun were of highest quality; mixed with the most tragic emotions and the most joyful, but humans would never appreciate the work SHE did for them. “His life was rather miserable, was it not?”

“He should be,” the matron scorned. HER own fingers unravelled the spool, pressing HER rod to measure adequate life spans fairly—for SHE was nothing if not just. “He’ll never grasp just how much probability we had to sacrifice to tamper with his string of fate.”

“You know mortals. They’re never grateful, Lachesis.” The hag’s shears didn’t hesitate to cut the string where marked—HER blinded eyes needed not to see in order to precisely locate where the matron had allotted an end. After all, THEIR habits were known to each other from the very beginning of time, when the universe was still in its cradle. 

“I was against this from the start, you hear?” Lachesis complained. SHE was the most cynical out of the three, or as SHE liked to describe: the most pragmatic. 

“Yes, yes, yet you were the one who opened up communications to find a suitable vessel for his rebirth,” the maiden scoffed. HER words were callous and sharp, but they parsed directly into the heart of the matter: the Moirai were far more soft-hearted than they appeared,

“If I hadn’t, then I would’ve missed the opportunity for Atropos to owe me a favour,” Lachesis returned, turning back to HER ruler. Those who knew HER saw the abashedness in her bowed head and clenched fists. 

“Ha. As if you weren’t also rooting for the prince still entrapped in stone,” Atropos cackled. HER gnarled hands were the only ones that paused in their duties as SHE wheezed with laughter; even as tears ran down HER wrinkled cheeks. 

“He’s paid too much already. Who else will settle the balance of fate if not us?” Lachesis rationalised, waving HER rod against the cosmos in frustration. “I do not pity mortals.”

THEY were quiet, for once. Only the sound of thread against thread, the whish of a rod, and the snip of scissors seeped into the silence. 

“This one too. He has also paid the life-price. He is entitled to lesser sacrifices to fulfil his whims,” the youngest commented for the final time, for Clotho enjoyed making the balance too. Both the beginning and end were HERS for this conversation. 

The three watched on.

. 　⁺ ✦

In accordance with your propensity to live a quiet life, there were three things you came to accept: one, it was impossible to get your old life back, not just because of your death, but Odysseus and his irritating cast were long gone; two, venturing into the city of New Metis for anything prolonged was probably the stupidest move you could do, even if your status as an alchemist wasn’t obvious at all; and three, to live a new quiet life as a sculptor, your new priority was finding a place to live. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” the caravan master worried, golden eyes surveying you up and down. Her arms crossed over her loose white robes, sharpened nails tapping right against her skin—a dead giveaway for her thoughts that clearly questioned your capacity to fend for yourself. Honestly, you couldn’t blame her; finding someone fast asleep in the middle of nowhere was sure to cast doubt into their capability to stay safe. “There’s always open spots if you wish to travel with us.”

A quiet life. Awkwardly, you scratched the side of your neck, and the chromatic patterns on your fingers pressed warmly into your flesh. A quiet life, unlike the suffering of your past one. There was no debt to pay off this time, no shitty apartment nor landlord, and nothing to tie you to one place any longer. A quiet life, more idealistic and stable than the previous one. It was far past time to take a rest—in a peaceful paradise that you’d create.

A truly serene life. Were you to tread on the fiery path they did, you would not find the future you wanted. This you deduced not from the unreliable system, but the careful observations you’d made over the past day. 

A quiet beginning, and a quiet end. You’d accept that. Thus, you bade the woman who’d rescued you a sincere goodbye filled with well wishes. 

“Stay safe.” It was Dan Heng who spoke to you last, pressing a talisman with his cool fingers against your own, heated palm. The spherical, intricately carved bauble resembled glassy jade—a soft green just like his robes. Corded through the middle was a length of twine that formed a loop, one that you slid over your head. Coldly, it lay against the dip of your chest, peeking out from your exquisite garb and shining right against the almost-incandescent equations etched into your body. 

The immediate acceptance of his gift made him flush—as did the evident trust you held in him. “I— this contains around ten minae, or about a thousand drachma. Breaking it down further, it’s around six-thousand obols, enough to get you board and food in New Metis for around two months if you’re frugal. Here—”

His thumb pressed into a specific etching on the jade: a snake that appeared to wriggle somewhat in invitation as you stared at it. Just like that, a shadow around a handspan wide appeared in front of you, then vanished just as quickly when he pressed it once more. This close, you couldn’t help but stare wonderingly at his face as he explained how to reach in and grab the exact sum of Metisian currency, how six obols were one drachma, a hundred drachma were one mina, six hundred minae were one talent, how a loaf of bread cost only one obol and so forth. He smelled faintly of mint. 

“—and that’s how it works. You can store other objects in there as well. If you get in trouble or change your mind, go to the local bank and let them guide you to the designated vault when you show them this key; there’s a way to contact us from there…” he rambled, trailing off when you clasped his hand in yours. 

“Thank you.” Perfunctorily, you performed the appropriate gesture of profound gratefulness—a kiss on a merchant’s index knuckle for his generosity—and watched his composed face melt into a stupid little smile. 

A wolf whistle pierced the air from where a certain pink-haired nomad sat. “The rich young master’s got moves!” she cackled gleefully, and you laughed for the first time in months: so bright it was hard to imagine it came from you. 

Your own face donned a drowsy grin—offering energy as a collateral once more. There were no flowers by the docks, after all, thus the bloom in your hands seemed to have been conjured from thin air. “One last thanks, Dan Heng.” 

Thus, there was only one thing you left behind on the isle of Thasos: a flower, pinned against a robe fluttering wildly in the salty breeze. 

. 　⁺ ✦

New Metis was cold, in the same way your parents were cold—one buried and frigid, the other gone with only debts left behind. 

Objectively, the city was stunning. Ancient architecture entwined itself with more modern innovation, blending into captivating citadels that held the essence of the past and the painstaking strides towards the future. Everywhere you looked, massive structures housed scholars and extensive collections of books, while the public buildings and amphitheatres were bursting with symposia and teeming discussions. 

This really is the scholar capital, you thought. Though, as you bit into the soft sesame ring you’d purchased at the toss of an obol, it seemed… stagnant. In comparison to the warm bread in your mouth, the metropolis could not be considered friendly. 

“No wonder, if what Dan Heng said was true.” You licked the remainder of the sesame from your lips, washing them down with an orange-like sort of juice that had the rich sweetness of honey and the sharpness of carbonation. If the city truly was as restrictive as claimed, there was little surprise as to why the scholars and every other citizen seemed a bit standoffish. Though, you couldn’t deny that the students that you observed in their element seemed to be in the throes of joy (and pain) as they buried themselves in their work and studying—the quality of teaching in Metis clearly was a cut above the rest, even with the restrictions in place. “Corruption really is everywhere, huh.”

In the places of reading, the students crammed on tables with books piled as tall as them reminded you sorely of your own days of youth. Your degrees were displayed proudly in your tiny apartment, alongside a small plaque you’d bought on a whim that simply read doctor’s office. 

The sudden thought made your heart ache. Where were those certificates now? 

There was nobody you were close enough to, nobody to carefully place your belongings into a cardboard box—then stow it away in some corner of their hearts. Nobody would miss you, not even your estranged mother. 

With a sombre expression, you thumbed through the tomes on the dark shelves. Synthetic methods and reaction mechanisms. Industrial and environmental chemistry. Inorganic and organometallic molecules. How far was this a creation of another? How far had the humans here developed on their own, outside the limits of a game? 

Bitterly, you left the library and walked back out into the stifling streets: past the agora, past the bustling market stalls, past a scholar earnestly discussing philosophy with passersby. The streets were paved with achromatic stones that appeared to have centuries-worth of wear on them, yet still seemed as pristine as if they’d just been laid yesterday—thus your shoes remained clean and unscuffed, though your heart certainly wasn’t. 

You… couldn’t stay in this city. Even if you put up a front and became an artisan, even if you assimilated into New Metis with your local clothing and perfectly accented common tongue, even if you decided to take back your chemistry certification in this world too, the sheer crowds and constant reminders that this was not Earth made you sick to your stomach. 

Bile spilled over your tongue and tainted the honey-sweet remainders of your drink. 

More accurately, it was the stares you garnered with the intricate formulae marking your skin. Though you wore their garb and spoke their dialect with native fluency, there was something clearly ‘other’ about you—enough that you didn’t even bother checking into a hotel, but asked around for an estate agent instead. Master of houses, etched carefully into the marble-like stone, was a welcome sight in comparison to the looks you’d received throughout the day. They weren’t overtly hostile. They weren’t, but the inherently elitist atmosphere and cold you’d felt in this arid climate answered for you. 

Would you like to see the rooms in the synoikia near the plaza? A firm diagonal slant of your hand signalled no: the quick, but also local way of traders and merchants communicating in busy environments. How about a townhouse? In the end, you flatly asked the housemaster if there were any remote houses for sale—to which a hologram from a recording stone showed a house nestled right in the Borderlands, surrounded by forests with mountains cradling the structure. House was too modest; the architecture, like all the buildings here, was practically a work of art in itself. 

Tense location at the Borderlands… remote location… universities located on the central island and concentrated in New Metis… 

You suppressed the devilish smile on your face as you smelled a bargain. It was a triad of real estate woes: poor location, low demand, and even more poor location. 

“Four hundred drachma is the asking price,” he offered with a tentative smile—less than half the market price for a box apartment in the metropolis. After even more haggling (in between maintaining a look of disinterest), the property was sold with twelve percent shaved off the already-bargain. 

Score for the penny-pinchers.

In the end, you made one final purchase from New Metis. Two technically, bought for only one drachma and one obol. 

The first was a set of chisels and a hammer. The second was a small wooden piece of wood. It was not a plank, nor an offcut, but had the perfect size for a plaque. A new doctor’s office, to carve in with painstaking effort and calloused hands. 

It was crude, and somewhat ugly—etched first in English, then below in the curling script of the common tongue (which was wholly unsuitable for this type of woodwork)—but looking at it made your bleeding heart ache slightly less. 

After all, it was your last piece of Earth. 

. 　⁺ ✦

Retrospectively, it would’ve been wiser to spend several nights in the city and send necessities to your new home by courier. More pragmatic, if you would—easing into your life in a new world rather than jumping headlong into it. But unfortunately, it seemed you’d become more lax as you crossed the boundaries between lives: electing instead to take the high-speed rail right across the sea and into the Borderlands, with nothing but the clothes on your back, a money dimension pocket, and a crudely made plaque. And your hammer and chisels, naturally, as well as some Metisian street food that vanished far too quickly. 

In fact, it was downright foolish to come to the Borderlands on your first day. Even the conductor stared at you in disbelief—though your clothing and your accent was purposefully as Metisian as they came—so you got the gist that it was even more fucking stupid to go as a complete newcomer. 

Borderlands, remnants of monsters from the Stellarons, highly volatile region, most travellers typically make the journey in groups, you nodded as you pieced together the rough state of the area whilst watching the sea and land speed by. Was it recklessness that endowed you with the guts to arm yourself with only a map and your wits? Were you perhaps… turning into an imbecile?

Actually, it was neither. The combination of brimming energy (from the street foods you gorged yourself on) and the updated character profile had ignited a chilling sort of passion for experimentation that was hard to extinguish, even as you crossed into this life. 

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an alchemist. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought. Although practising alchemists typically require various apparatuses to perform transmutation and practise the law of equivalent exchange, ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼ is a bit unique in that his body is the medium for the price instead—rather than formulae in common tongue on paper, the tattoos he’s earned in the tongue of thought are far more effective. After all, he is the only alchemist to have survived the life ‘price’. The law of equivalent exchange for ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼ specifically calls for energy, in return granting a ‘wish’. The larger the desire, the more energy will be depleted; but the most efficient ‘wishes’ involve transmuting one type of energy into another. Of course, a longer incantation—a more accurate incantation—will make the conversion less burdensome as well.]

So, quite literally, as long as you stayed fed and watered, you could transfer that chemical energy into explosive kinetic energy, or imbue weapons with heat or charge with the right ‘equation’. The Borderlands were yours for lab rat exploitation, essentially. 

But the question remained—what were the limits?

And more importantly, how were the limits of these ‘wishes’ enforced?

You didn’t actually have to wait all that long to test out your abilities as an alchemist, though perhaps not in the way you’d expected. The journey to the house—with its own garden and goddamn pillars and stunning architecture—was far more uneventful than you’d anticipated (read: hoped), thus in a last ditch attempt, you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

It really wasn’t on a whim, though. Seeing the sparse rooms, as well as a profound lack of a bed to sleep on—the binary suns had begun their slumber too, after all—it was perhaps pragmatic rather than foolish that you built up the long chant in the tongue of thought. More accurate, more accurate, you sweated, tracing the length of the equations up your arms and on your chest by using the small looking-glass attached to your belt. 

“◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼,” you finished the incantation, feeling warmth seep from your limbs as the payment. “Refurbish.”

It wasn’t the wisest move, not at all. But who could blame you, when the materialised gauzy fabrics against stone walls, as well as the jewel-hued rugs, looked so darn nice? 

Well, before you collapsed, of course—with a dopey grin on your face nonetheless. Those two things were all you could appreciate before you got totally knocked out. 

Thus, the limits were deduced to be large-scale summonings, enforced by a good night's sleep—noted cheerfully by the alchemist who peeled his face off a brand new ornate rug in the morning, rather than the bed he’d sacrificed his consciousness for. 

. 　⁺ ✦

When you unstuck yourself off the fastidiously complex rug (skin imprinted with its thread patterns, since you slept corpse-like in a single position), you almost didn’t recognise the once sparse house. To be more accurate, the intricate tapestries and glitzy trinkets, vases and decorations were familiar to what you pictured; but placed in conjunction with the stone walls, delicately carved pillars, and spacious, airy rooms took them to a completely new level. 

The wish was thorough, you had to admit. With your feel pattering against the almost-glassy, colourful tiles, you took in the area where you woke up: the kitchen. Dried bundles of herbs hung from copper-hued rafters, perfuming the air with aromatic fragrances and balsamic scents. Past sage cupboards were conjured utensils that gleamed with a disused sort of enthusiasm that made your brows raise. I didn’t even think of these, you noted, flinging open the cupboards by the elegant cooker to reveal stacks upon stacks of charming ceramics and everything else you might possibly need to exist in the kitchen. Even the icebox, a large storeroom imbued with enchantments above its doorway (the Metisian equivalent of a modern refrigerator) was packed with meats and vegetables that looked visually dissimilar to Earth’s, but were somehow familiar to your mind. 

It raised a question—if you ate food you conjured, would it not just be an endless loop of energy?

More importantly, would you even need the money still stored in the jade bead around your neck?

On the other side of the open-plan ground floor was the living area, strewn with various oddities and memorabilia. Two bookshelves stood proudly in a rich walnut colour, creaking under the weight of various books you’d skimmed in those reading-places back in the city. There were also titles you’d never come across before, but were sure to read on the plushy couches strewn with soft, patterned blankets and jewel-toned cushions. It was cosier than anything you might’ve desired, especially with the dim amber lamps perched on the dark-stained low table and the vibrant, low-hanging mosaic ceiling lights that looked like delicate baubles dropping from the heavens. 

You ignored the stairs that spiralled to the top floor—to where there were a few rooms still detailed on the floor plan—since they were likely to contain the same levels of decoration both the kitchen and salon had. Rather, you tiptoed through the sunny corridor leading to the eastern part of the sprawling home: gauzy, rich-hued curtains brushing lightly past your skin. There, past the stunning mahogany door was a bright, vast studio—complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the extensive gardens and the distant mountains, as well as all the tools you could possibly need for sculpting, alongside the hammer and chisels you’d purchased just yesterday. 

For a while you simply stared at the scenic landscape—nothing you’d ever seen on Earth, not when every day consisted of grey asphalt and ash-coloured buildings. There was a damn pond in your backyard, with a delicately wrought table and chair set at the edge. Had you imagined this too?

In any case, it was in a slight daze that you finally checked out the rooms upstairs; two guest rooms with large beds, desks and wardrobes; a large bathroom with picturesque views of the distant horizon and forests, as well as a massive tub; and finally, your room. 

How did you know it was your room? 

It looked lived in. Just like downstairs, a massive bookshelf lined the wall adjacent to the large windows: gauzy curtains fluttered over the tomes and let in the cool, fresh breeze. A large rug decorated the panels on the floor and slipped beneath your bed: a massive, round thing that looked like a jewel-bright, appetising cloud to simply dive into. And past the bed, an imposing armoire was stuffed to its seams in outfits both similar to the ones you were wearing (intricate, soft garments with detailed embroidery and vibrant palettes) as well as simpler, yet extraordinarily well-crafted, garments. 

In essence, you were set for life. This space was an ideal, permanent vacation home: even if it were in no-man’s territory, with monsters sullying its landscape. You intended to sequester yourself until you died once more—with a book laid on your chest, a mug of tea still on the table, and a fat bee bumbling past as you closed your eyes in peaceful, eternal slumber. That was the ignorant bliss you would afford yourself: the you who got a break in this idyllic game after you passed on. 

Perhaps this form of living would’ve been considered lamentable back on Earth. You, with the laurels of being a doctor in your profession, now spent the afternoon languidly draped over a soft couch simply reading. There were no samples to analyse, no reports to check, no research to work on. In fact, it was only a week later that you finally ventured out the sprawling gardens and into the forests. It wasn’t to check out the academic fruits of the bustling metropolis, nor was it to analyse the chemical makeup of the soil and flora—the most you’d done for that was conjuring some compost to make your new vegetable garden more acidic. 

No, setting out into the forest was more to idly take inspiration from these pulchritudinous sights, and maybe fight a few monsters to learn how real combat worked in this open-world, combat-based RPG. 

Maybe you’d get lucky and find some clay to practise sculpting before you found stone to work on. It was a forgiving medium, after all—soft and supple under your hands, rather than cold and flawless. Any mistakes could be worked away, any blunders would fade in the face of the cool, wet earth, and if you polished your rusty skills, you could make it into a job—it was a solid cover to disguise your use of alchemy. 

As the grass with no apparent paths was trodden on (for the first time in perhaps decades), the loamy scent of petrichor and foliage quickly filled your senses; it was so tranquil, in fact, that your hold on your metal pail grew more absent-minded as you swept a large stick this way and that to brush longer plants aside. If you unfurled the slightly-outdated map you’d paid a sesame ring for, there was… a river nearby, right? 

You squinted at the parchment, still unheeding of the warnings you’d received about this forest. With a full belly and over twelve hours of sleep, there was a dormant energy that was somewhat overshadowed by a bumbling drowsiness: only dispelling when you heard the sound of running water. 

Clay—your eyes lit up like beacons, and the formulae on your body seemed to glow as you rolled the sleeves of your loose cream shirt up, as well as the soft material of your navy trousers. It was casual, to the point of being somewhat scandalous—nothing like the classy drapes of fabric that constituted every day in New Metis.

Well, you thought with a smug sort of vehemence. This is the Borderlands. Thus, there was an unseemly sort of flippancy to your gait as you trod in the direction of what you hoped was the river, pail and stick in hand as your shield and sword. 

It was, perhaps, far too easy to find the softer clay deposits on the bank of the river; prying into the earth above to reveal the slick medium beneath and depositing it into your bucket. In fact, life had been going so smoothly in the past few days that you were lulled into a sense of false security. 

Had you forgotten how your life was prior to your death?

You’d gotten complacent as you dusted yourself off—shirt and pants plastered with a gorgeous mauve, though you paid it little mind. It would be hell to clean out, unless you simply dubbed these the ‘work clothes’. In any case, your biggest worry currently was the staining of your conjured clothes—a far cry from the life and death you’d experienced. 

It couldn’t simply be attributed to accustomising yourself to mundanity—no, maybe you were a bit of a reckless idiot as you strolled along the banks, sunning yourself with the binary stars in the heavens. There was not a care in the world as you closed your eyes to the Borderlands in favour of merely existing. Listening to the clear sounds of water cascading over riverstones. Feeling the clean breeze wash over your bare forearms and wet legs. Tasting the powdery, thick scent of clay after practically burying your face in it as you dug the mauve medium up. 

But like all good things, they eventually had to end. 

You weren’t foolish enough to keep turning a blind eye when you sensed danger. 

The leaves stirred. The waters vacillated—equilibrium was no longer an option. The forest, like a stricken pulse, seemed to constrict around you; the very wind took shallow breaths against your skin. 

Please, the Borderlands seemed to whisper. Get out while you can. 

Your stick tapped a rhythm against the soft mud—partly passively sinking, partly actively getting dragged into what was quickly becoming quicksand. 

For a brief moment, everything stilled—before you heard rapidly approaching footsteps coming right your way. Mentally, you began the long chant… tongue of thought for strengthening…. equation for charge… Coulomb’s law…. 

From the water too, came a sudden rush of volume flung to the skies—though the fleeting steps reached you first. A flash of blond. Your eyes met widened, almost-neon coloured irises. The stench of blood, too, filled the banks—before he crashed right into you, barrelling you against the rough bark of a tree whilst desperately clasping a hand over your mouth. 

“Niedra; ćhiho tu, albo ka arakhel,” he breathed, panic so thick in each syllable that you could only stare. It wasn’t the common tongue, but you instinctively got the message from his hushed cadence. No, wait. 

Don’t panic, the words had ghosted over your dampened flesh. Quiet, or it’ll find us. 

In a language so smooth that it sounded like song, like an intricate tapestry woven from gossamer, he’d conveyed to you panic, fear, and a camaraderie so primal that this partnership was instinctual. 

“Don’t speak, and hold your breath,” he then urgently translated into common tongue, when you merely looked at him, unblinking. “The Borderlands are very dangerous.”

The sudden switch allowed you to figure out why exactly you could parse together the clear meaning in his silvery syllables. 

“Xatarav,” you murmured. ‘I understand’, for it was not in a language you didn’t know. The language that had not seen use—the tongue of honey—had finally encountered one of its own. 

But the surprise in his face—the questions imbibed on insatiable lips—went unnoticed by you, for ‘it’ had finally found you. 

Water splashed against the tree where the two of you were pressed against—soaking into the bark, and seeping cold into the fabric of your shirt. You couldn’t see ‘it’ from your position, but you could see the behemoth reflected in those captivating eyes—towering in his sclera as the leviathan uncoiled from the depths of the now-raging river. It shook its mane out—webbed tendrils fanning out angrily as it swung its massive head this way and that. 

A frigid sort of fear washed over you, leeching any sort of warmth that had remained in your limbs. 

Well over forty-metres high, it was only its poor eyesight that prevented it from slithering round this tree and snapping the two of you up in its deadly snapping jaws—reminding you acutely of the thrumming iron that pumped deep in your veins, and just how easy it was to spill. 

You were painfully aware of the fact your only emergency ally was covered in gashes and wounds, bleeding into the already-purple mess of your clothes. His breathing was unsteady and his pulse was arrhythmic, but his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that seemed to ask ‘what will you do?’.

Would you run? Would you sling his arm over your shoulders and somehow evade the lightning-quick serpent? Would you leave him behind? 

Your grip tightened around the stick—interrupted equations leaving it with a slight prickly sensation, rather than the full extent of charge. He noticed the muscles of your arm clench in response to your urgent grasp, and he frantically slanted his hand diagonally in an abject ‘no’.

“Na ka umire,” you muttered, making sure he understood exactly what you were saying in his mother tongue. ‘I won’t die.’

And you wouldn’t. 

Not today, not tomorrow. 

You wouldn’t die in vain a second time. 

. 　⁺ ✦

[mostbelovednjpwtournament]

Most Beloved AEW Wrestler Tournament Round 2 Statistics Dump

Followers: 168

Total Votes: 13,148 + 11,439 = 24,587 (Considering round 2 only lasted half the time as round 1, nearly matching the vote count is impressive)

Times I accidentally included a wrestler twice without noticing: 1 (fuck you Matt Sydal for being so generic and sorry to the 74 people who have voted for him at some point, he's now my personification of every failure I've ever had)

Beloved By Gender

So before starting, we had a ratio of 23.9% women, 0.7% nonbinary and 75.4% men

After round 1, that shifted to 24.8% women, 1.5% nonbinary and 73.7% men

After round 2, the numbers have shifted even more in favor of not-men

Which means women and nonbinary wrestlers are kicking the men's asses in terms of overall belovedness

Voting Trends

We're still on an upwards trend for votes, still featuring the epic highs and crushing lows of popularity days, but had the first day to break 2000 votes!

Day 16: also known as the day everyone decided that if Punk wasn't going to move on, he may as well lose to Willow. Also the day of everyone deciding that if someone from the BCC had to be eliminated, it was Chuckie T who had to do it to em

The Great Ties

In round 1, as we all know, Darby and Jack tied exactly at 85 votes apiece. It was decided they would both move on to round 2 in order to duke it out once more. Then they both lost. Darby lost to The Butcher by 20 votes and Jack lost to Trish Adora by 35 votes. This marks the end of both of their journeys with Darby getting a total of 193 votes and Jack finishing one slot above him at 216 total votes.

No one brought it up, but there was a tie in round 2 as well. Both Kota Ibushi and Mr. Brodie Lee earned a total of 79 votes. Working from the great tradition of precedent, they'll both be moving on to round 3.

And the near-tie that broke everyone's heart, Anthony Bowens VS Hangman Adam Page. The closest contest thus far that was separated by a single vote in Bowens' favor. Our cowboy will ride into the sunset and Anthony will live to scissor another day

Teams and How They Fared

Any team member not listed in the group lost in round 1

BCC: Bryan Danielson (122), Jon Moxley (147) and Wheeler Yuta (152) have passed the second round but Claudio Castagnoli (106) was taken out by Chuck Taylor.

Best Friends: Kris Statlander (147), Orange Cassidy (177), Danhausen (217) and Chuck Taylor (224) all continue to round 3

The Elite: Kota Ibushi (79), Nick Jackson (126) and Matt Jackson (130) continue to round 3. Adam Page (168) lost to Anthony Bowens.

BCG: Juice Robinson (87) and Jay White (124) move on to round 3. Colten Gunn (38) lost to Abadon.

The Acclaimed: Billy Gunn (101), Anthony Bowens (169) and Max Caster (174) all move on to round 3.

House of Black: Malakai Black (98), Brody King (110), Buddy Matthews (117) make it to round 3, but Julia Hart (95) lost to Athena

Dark Order: Mr Brodie Lee (79), Alex Reynolds (112), Evil Uno (124) move on to round 3. John Silver (35) lost to Kris Statlander and Stu Grayson (38) lost to Isiah Kassidy.

The Outcasts (I know they kinda broke up, but it's an easy grouping to make): Ruby Soho (110) and Toni Storm (120) both make it to round 3

Jurassic Express: Luchasaurus (142) moves on but Jack Perry (131) lost to Trish Adora (and a moment of silence for Marko, who is dead)

Jericho Appreciation Society: Anna Jay (140) moves on. Jake Hager (3) lost to Maki Itoh, Angelo Parker (32) lost to Toni Storm, Matt Menard (53) lost to Brody King and Tay Melo (61) lost to Buddy Matthews.

Death Triangle: Penta (104) moves on, but Rey Fenix (72) lost to Malakai Black

Teams Who Are Still Fully Intact

(Forgive me if I miss some)

Aussie Open: 374 between 2 members

Better Than You Baybay: 431 between 2 members

Butcher, Blade & Bunny: 637 between 3 members

The Acclaimed: 724 between 3 members

Hookhausen: 732 between 2 members

Lowest Votes

The top 6 lowest votes after 2 rounds (they're the 6 under 30 collective votes)

Aaron Solo (29)

Tully Blanchard (28)

Carlie Bravo (23)

Mance Warner (21)

Eli Isom (18)

Madi Wrenkowski (17)

Highest Votes over Round 2

Just the votes earned during round 2 (not collectively)

Willow Nightingale (343)

Chuck Taylor (224)

Danhausen (217)

Orange Cassidy (177)

Nyla Rose (175)

Top 10 Highest Collective Votes

Willow Nightingale (651)

Danhausen (418)

Chuck Taylor (400)

Riho (379)

Orange Cassidy (363)

Eddie Kingston (343)

Wheeler Yuta (338)

Hook (314)

Athena (291)

Hikaru Shida (288)

Thanks everyone who's voted so far and keep an eye out for round 3 tomorrow (reminder that I will be lowering the daily polls from 10 to 5)

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 144. brb x oc

THIS FIC IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS PLS DNI!

a/n:I almost feel rusty lol it feels like I haven't written smut in..a while.PLS LEMME KNOW IF YOU GUYS LIKE IT(reblogs and comments are super encouraged <3)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: s3x ofc, kinda dom!bea? well not really, not quite, not yet, Bradley being a good ol' simp for his wife.

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

/100/101/102/103/104/105/106/107/108/109/110/111/112/113/114/115/116/117/118/119/120/121/122/123/124/125/126/127/128/129/130/131/132/133/134/135/136/137/138/139/140/141/142/143

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @dhwanishah09 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva

-

His hands are still cupping her ass as she sighs softly, ‘Thank my aunt,huh?”

“I think she gets us, all too well.” he smirks, kissing between her breasts again, peeking at the dark brown, almost black, fabric under the robe and following the way that lace hugged her full breasts almost like a frame to a beautiful piece of art. He hummed, nuzzling her neck, pressing a trail of kisses - soft and gentle - up to her ear where his hot breath touched the shell making Beatrice almost buckle down, “We have two options.”

“H-huh?”

“Either the table or the room, what do you think?”

“The t- Roos, we can’t have sex on the table!” she blushes hard, then avoids her husband’s eyes, “...i-it’s not our place and people use this to eat…besides, it doesn’t seem that comfortable, not like, u-um ours.” his smirk widens as he follows the curves of her body until he reaches her waist, brushing over the soft warm skin, happy to see she stopped wincing when nearing her stomach or ‘love handles’.

“So you are okay with it,” he says, “Just within our safe space.”

“W-Well…we did have sex at the beach Roos.” she mutters, looking down at his arms - as the biceps hidden under his long sleeved shirt, “And it was public space but, you know…it’s not, not everyone would use it for that…am I making sense?”

He chuckles breathily, slowly standing to his feet with his hands latched under the curve of her ass. Beatrice squeaks, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carries her to the staircase, “You are kinky but on your own terms. And I respect that.” he kissed her jawline one more time, humming happily at the new and addicting scent on her skin, “So bedroom it is?”

Beatrice lifts her head to meet his eyes, then rolls her lower lip into her mouth with a shy smile, nodding at him, “Please.” she looks back at the stairs when he nears it, “Just be quiet,Roos. We can’t wake any of them.”

“I can be pretty quiet.” he murmurs with a smugness that just makes Beatrice blush even more.

However, the next thing that left her mouth surprised even her, “...that’s only partially true. You can be pretty loud when time calls for it.” he doesn’t look amused as he opens the master bedroom’s door with one hand - how does he carry her so effortlessly and never loses his balance?? - “You know it’s true.”

“Maybe.” he smirks, cautiously shutting the door and walking deeper into the room, turning them around to he sits on the edge of the bed and she’s still on his lap, her thighs on top of his and his huge hands caressing the soft skin, “But I can’t recall it.”

“I guess I’ll have to remind you then.”

Oh he loved when she got like that. “I’m countin’ on it.” and he drags his hands down to her knees, feeling the goosebumps rise on her skin and her breathing shiver,”Are you cold?’

‘No.” she says softly, ‘Your hands are warm.”

He smirks more, leaning back to give her a full look, dropping his gaze to the parted robe and gently tugging the strap that kept it closed between his fingers, “Can I see?”

Her green eyes went darker, her smile impish, “...only if you ask nicely…lieutenant.”

“...Do I have to ask nicely,recruit?”

Beatrice purses her lips a little, her cheeks dusting red as she runs her fingers over his shoulders “...it’d be really appreciated.” and he just smiles because while she is playing a role, bits of her actual personality seep through and he couldn’t help but hug her tighter against him, propping his chin on her cleavage as she looks into his eyes.

He sighs softly, “...are you okay?” she nods, not saying anything, “You planned this for a while,didn’t you?”

“Before I knew about the twins.” comes her quiet reply, “Shells helped me with the outfit.” she nods to her chest for emphasis, ‘And I wanted it to be special…because, I dunno, seems it’s been a while since we had time for ourselves- and-and I know we have…everyone else,” she whispers, “Here but…but I thought, it’d be nice…”

“Listen if you want us to have sex every time we come to Virginia,I’m not complainin’ at all.” he smirks, tapping the outer sides of her thighs until he reached her knees, rubbing the warm flesh and squeezing each limb enough to make the red marks of his fingers imprint on her pale flesh, “You know I love when you surprise me…now…can I see?” he lilts the word at the end of his sentence with his eyes locked on the curves of her breasts.

Beatrice laughs quietly but nods, “Okay, let me just-” it takes some time for him to let her go, almost as if his arms were covered in velcro, keeping Beatrice on his lap and only releasing her when she gave him a warm look, “How are you going to see it if you don’t let me go?”

Cue the Bradley pout that she adored so much.

She cups his face in her hands to kiss the said pursed lip twice, humming softly when he moves his head forward in hopes to keep the lip lock but his wife managed to break free. Rooster sighs heavily, his eyes so dark and deep that she was sure they’d swallow her whole as he kept looking, “This brings back some memories.”

“Hm?”

“From our first time together,” he leans back against the bed, keeping himself upright with his arms while he follows her small hands moving on the knot that kept the robe closed, slowly,slowly, pulling it apart, ‘....but it’s better now.”

“Is it?” she felt confused by that sentence, furrowing her brows a bit, “How so?”

He drags his eyes down to her hands, the movement making the bottom of the robe shift asn show more of her thighs to his hungry gaze, “You are a lot more confident now, not that,” he hitches a breath seeing even more skin, “Back then wasn’t nice, it was great but I could see how much you struggled…and now, holy fuck you are even sexier than before.”

Beatrice’s cheeks flush under his compliments, robe no longer closed by the strip of cloth but by her arms instead as she crosses them over her bust, “Am I?”

“‘Am I?’” the high notes of Rooster trying to mimic her voice was enough to break the sultry persona she was slowly building, cupping her mouth with a hand to hide her laugh, “I mean,I don’t know but, there’s something so nice seeing you being…you, but just a better you. You still have issues mentally,baby,I know…but I know how much,back then, you had no idea how to do this for me.”

And he was right, the Christmas surprise was the beginning of it all, since then she just got bolder and bolder…and it helped because Rooster was always so vocal about it…

Plus the fact her husband’s libido was always high helped as well, when it came to her.

“Well,I can say that your influence was very…” she looks to the side in hopes to find a word, cocking her hip to the left and making the ends of her robe rise higher on her thigh, showing more skin which in turn snaps Rooster’s gaze to her legs, ‘...appreciative.”

“Oh I love appreciatin’ you.” he coos, starting his gaze from her small painted toes to her knees then finally to the expanse of her thighs that weren’t hidden by the robe, “You know there’s nothing better than…me lookin’ at you.” his brain short circuits when the upper part of the robe drops just enough to pool by her elbows, finally exposing the dark brown bra and the beautiful lace on it, “...oh I love lace on you.” she laughs, her breasts bounce and Rooster feels like he’s choking on air, “Lemme have a better look.”

“A ‘better’ look?”

“Yes,I need you to come closer.” he coos and she obliges, with her smile widening, “Closer.” a few more steps, “Cloooser.” Beatrice squeaks in surprise when he latches his arms around her again, but this time he places her on the bed, the robe finally falling open and exposing her torso to his eyes.

Rooster’s whisky eyes move all over, from her flush that went down her neck to her chest, then to her breasts - there were tiny flowers on it too, just like her past bras were - and to the tiny shiny stone in the middle of the small bow that finished the top as if she was a gift ready to be unwrapped, “...oh baby, this is,” he laughs breathily, finally stopping his gaze at the thong.

It was small.

Smaller than the ones she usually wore.

And boy was he excited.

“...this is…?”

He huffs a quiet, disbelieved laugh, ‘This is going to be my absolute ruin. Are you happy?” she couldn’t help but laugh at him because he looked like a mix of pure lust and worry at the same time. Rooster however, couldn’t stay staring for long since they had a lot of things to do, ‘...okay,so, we need to be quiet.” he straightens himself on top of her, pulling his shirt off and smiling when he pulls the sleeves down his arms as her eyes were busy following every dip and curve of his body.

Beatrice was trying to pay attention on his words, she really was, but his happy trail was just pointing to his pants in such a lovely way she couldn’t not look,right? But when she sees his body move on top of her and his hands land on each side of her face, she turns her eyes up to meet his, her lips mirrorin his own smile, “Did you hear what I said?” he asks with a flick of his brow.

“About being quiet?” she inhales sharply when one of his hands trail down her neck towards the valley of her breasts, pushing each globe apart when he settles his huge palm between them, “Y-Yes.”

“Can you be quiet?”

“I-I can.”

“Are you sure?” he teases, tilting his head at her and dragging the hand from the middle to her covered left breast, running his finger on a slow, lazy circle where her nipple was. Beatrice whimpers feeling the pressure of his touch and the bra’s texture against her skin, being only able to nod in silence because her husband was infuriating sometimes. Rooster smirks,  biting his lower lip for a few seconds before he leans down, sliding his hands under her back and quickly finding the latch that kept her bra closed.

The movement was enough to make Beatrice’s body arch, which in turn brought the valley of her breasts close to his mouth and so he kissed her skin again, wet open mouthed kisses against her feverish flesh as she tried to comprehend what was happening. A little moan, maybe too loud for comfort broke out of her and Rooster smirked, “Shush.” He orders gently and Beatrice bites both of her lips to keep her voice down.

She is almost sweating and he barely touched her.

Rooster still has his mouth on her when he pulls the bra off her body, tossing it somewhere in the room before he drops his eyes to her breasts. He softens his gaze seeing they were a bit red in some areas from the breastfeeding but it wasn’t as bad as it was before, “...I’ll be gentle.” he whispers against her skin, meeting her gaze, “Okay?”

Her smile was thankful as she nodded, “...okay,Roos.”

Bradley kissed her chin before his attention was back at her breasts, kissing around the nipples instead so she wouldn’t be so hurt albeit her skin was very sensitive. He didn’t spend too long on her chest, as much as he wanted to, deciding to drag his lips and teeth down her rib cage and her stomach.

She had a few extra stretch marks in there, not as much as she thought she’d have but enough to…notice it. But Rooster didn’t care, in fact he kissed and nuzzled her tummy, especially because of the special beings growing inside, but also because he was glad she was in a much better headspace when dealing with her body.

Which was a bonus for him too.

Bradley kneels out of the bed, caressing the expanse of her thighs and smiling up at her once she lifts her head enough to meet his eyes. He brings his index finger to his lips, then goes ‘sshh’ with a wink before he takes hold of her thong - that thing was so tiny it almost disappeared in his grasp - and gently pulls it out of her body. A string of fluid breaks when it’s finally out,” Already?”

“A-Are you surprised?”

“Mmm,” he gently brushes his fingers over her folds and Bea sucks in a breath with her fists clenched by her sides. His index and middle finger gently pry her lips open and push inside, while keeping his body straight so he could see her reactions, “I’m not but,” he moves them a bit further and her hips twitch. Beatrice has to bite her lower lip hard when he moves his hand in a circle, spreads his fingers while still inside and almost cries when he goes even faster inside of her, “It’s always nice to know.”

“R-Roos!”

“Sssh,” he repeats, “Quiet, remember gorgeous? Can you be quiet for me?” she clenches her eyes, digging her fingers into the mattress but she nods, “Good girl, best girl.” he coos, kissing the inside of her thigh as he lowers his face towards her groin, keeping his fingers inside, “My girl.”

And he just turns his hand up instead of removing the digits before his tongue touches her clit. Beatrice whimpers, having to grab one of the pillows and put on her face because there was no way she’d be able to keep quiet when he was using his tongue and he knew it too…he was smirking, she could feel from the way his mustache was touching her that he was more than pleased by what was going on.

His chin is touching his knuckles and part of her outer lips with how close his face is right now, but he doesn’t stop, matching speeds with his tongue and fingers just because he can feel she’s trying her hardest to keep herself quiet. He peeks up at her, her chest moving up and down quickly and she has to pull the pillow down every now and again to breathe - which makes a quiet mewl escape her mouth when she does so and she immediately slaps a hand over her mouth.

Bradley chuckles and the hot breath of his laughter hits her right on the bundle of nerves, her eyelids shivering and tears slide down her eyes already, she wasn’t going to last long. In fact, when her husband pushes his face harder against her groin - and she feels his mustache tickling the flushed flesh her arm immediately drops to the bed, “Br-Brad!” she squeaks, then placing a fist on top of her forehead while her other hand cups her mouth again, her eyebrows furrowing because what was she going to do?

He gets faster, she can feel the pressure building and more tears sliding out of her eyes. The wind outside howls with intensity, the snow moving wildly and the cabin appears to turn even warmer when that happens…or it was her body that was just hot all over. Her orgasm comes with full force, her eyes rolling back as the hand that once was on her forehead latches onto the sandy strands to keep him there. 

His happy groan was more than enough to make her body shake like a leaf during fall. Beatrice’s heavy breathing as she tries to control her heart was the only thing he could hear…well that and the sound of him licking his fingers clean, “See?’ he asks once he pops his middle finger off his mouth, “Was that so bad?”

“You are…” a deep inhale, “Cruel.”

“Oh I’m absolutely merciless.” he counters back, biting her thigh playfully before looking out at the large glass doors on the other side of the room, whistling quietly, “Damn, that’s gonna be a mess tomorrow.” the brunette below him blinks, then tilts her head just enough to see the amount of snow piling up on the balcony, “Good thing the windows are strong and the floors are warm…hopefully it won’t be as bad during New Years.” he looks back down just in time to see her body, while still shivering, was angled in such a way he’d see the perfect hourglass shape and some of her ass.

He smirks, brushing his hand over the plump flesh before he swoops down to slap it, Beatrice swallows her yelp and then glares at him, ‘Roos!”

“What? It’s your ass!”

“You are so mean!” she sounds mad but she is really happy, just swatting his shoulder, “And you are still dressed…so…I think there’s something else going on,right?”

“Dressed?” he furrows his brows, stepping away from the bed to unbutton his jeans, tilting his head at her, pushing the pants to his ankles alongside his underwear, “Who’s dressed? Clearly not me?’

Beatrice’s eyes fall on his member, that bobbed happily at the attention “...you know…I don’t think I ever told you how pretty your dick is.” she mutters, pushing herself to the center of the bed so he could climb on it and get comfortable, member still up in attention, beautifully flushed, “You know?”

“I mean,I’ve been complimented a lot.” he coos, running the back of his hand against her sternum down to her chest, “And somehow hearing you find my dick pretty is a first. Not that I’m complaining,you know?”

Beatrice purses her lips, pushing his chest down and smirking at him once he’s comfortable, “You shouldn’t,because everything on you is pretty.” he flushes immediately, the apples of his cheeks turning that pretty shade of coral. She loved when he blushed even more when she is the one who made him feel such a way. “...well,” she looks down at his member and then back at him, “Now it’s your turn.”

“Hm?”

“To be quiet.”

He breathes in quietly, folding his arms behind his head as he gets comfortable, the side of his mouth quirking in a smirk, “Is that so?” He watches her warming up her hands - his heart melting because she doesn’t want him to be cold and she’ll obviously use her hands - “And how will we manage tha-” his eyes snap on Beatrice lubricating her hands…with her saliva. But of course she’s more classy than spitting it out at a distance like she’s at a competition, no she brings her hands close to her mouth and spit on her palms, “...that’s cute and also hot, holy shit.”

“Is it?” she asks sweetly, moving closer to him, “Well.” She wastes no time in taking him in her hand, because she didn’t want him to get cold – even though the room wasn’t cold at all- and because if there’s one thing her relationship with Rooster taught her was that patience was a virtue that could sometimes be ignored when your husband was that attractive. Her favorite thing about him was when his six pack clenched because of the tension, “I’m glad to be of service. Now,” she taps his lips, “Sssh.”

Rooster groans, her hand moved up and down his cock and it wasn’t how he was used to either. She used the tips of her fingers on the flushed head and then spiraled her hand down to the base, repeating the movement was enough to make him see stars behind his eyelids, “Holy- ff-” she smiles at him, hair tumbled to the side, she looked like pure sin incarnate and he couldn’t focus right. 

His muscled thighs tensed so much she could see the lines under the skin, she could count almost every single drop of seat that appeared on the surface…”You know,I saw this,” she whispers and somehow that voice was so sultry he just whined quietly, “On a video when I was trying to figure out how to surprise you.” she squeezes the base a bit, her husband breathes out in pain almost, “And I thought, ‘oh I never did that’ and I watched,” her hand goes up, “And watched,” then down, “And watched until I got the hang of it.”

“Holy shit.”

“You are being too loud,babe.”

“I’m going to fuckin’ cum in seconds,Bea.” he gasps, “I don’t fuckin’ care.”

Now part two of her plan…she had to or else she’d chicken out.

She climbs on his lap while still moving her hand, her free limb cupping his face as she meets his eyes, his lips flushed red and he looked ready to explode, “You can’t do that.” she says, keeping the same slow movement, “You can’t cum yet.” his eyes widen when she says so, and his lips move but without words coming out, “It’d be so bad if that happened now.”

“Bea-” another squeeze at the base and every word escaped from him, “...f-fffuck…”

“You can hold a little bit, can’t you?” she coos, angling her lips on the flushed head and moving her hips back and forth, this time a gasp escaped her as well as Rooster’s hands latched on her hips, “Just a little?”

“Fuck…oh God,fuck, just,” he tries to push her down but she’s still as a rock, so he just groans her name,almost begging her to do something.

Beatrice smiles, face red, this type of control wasn’t what she saw on the video but it was…a good start. She just wanted to see his reactions and he seemed to enjoy it greatly. She lets go of him completely to place her hands on his shoulders and slowly let him slide inside. He almost burst out a moan but she slapped her hand over his mouth, his muffled and agonized moan vibrating her palm, “R-Roos…” she whimpers, “N-Not too loud.”

He huffs against her hand, lips dragging against her palm as she slides her hand off so she could hold onto his shoulders, “F-Fuckin’ m-minx…” he stutters, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead and temples because of sweat, “So fuckin’ good to me…” he leans his head back when she moves her hips gently, he was already hilted and he just allowed her to take the reins this time, “...fuck…I love your pussy so much. A-And if it helps,” he smirks, “I think your pussy is so pretty too.” 

She giggles, “Thank you.” pressing their foreheads together. It was hard to keep their voices so quiet but it was…a strange type of thrill all over their bodies, the sounds from the outside helped, nothing was out of place, if it was the dogs would have notified them by now…the only thing they could hear was the creaking of the bed and their quiet breathing mingling together.

Beatrice looks down at him, one of her hands moving to his chest for extra support, “R-Roos…”

“Yeah…?”

“You can…go…a bit faster.”

He grunts, already moving his hips at a quicker pace, “I’ll be gentle.” he whispers, “I promise.”

“I know.” she says back, smiling at him, “You never break your promises.”

And his heart felt even bigger than before. He took hold of her hips to give her a bit of a break, not that they’d need one but she was already busy with something else in her body, why not give her that? He watches her breasts bounce, then follows the line of her throat when she tilts her head back, digging her nails on his shoulders.

Both of them were trying so hard to keep quiet and it was almost funny how every now and again a mewl or a groan came out and they had to remember their plans. No sound…but it was hard when the skin to skin contact got louder, so all Beatrice did was press her forehead against his and meet his eyes, rubbing her thumb over his lips and trying her best to keep her voice down, “R-Roos…I-I lo-love you…” she whispers choppily and he smiles so bright.

He’s as bright as the sun, melting whatever snow was around the house and kissing her thumb, ‘I love you too,gorgeous.” he digs his hands into her hips, “So f-fuckin’ much- I’m not gonna last long.” he cuts his proclamation of love suddenly with his brows furrowing and mouth hanging open, “Oh fuck,Bea…w-where, where??”

She was too close to her own orgasm to answer, but she knew what he was talking about. Beatrice gasped once her orgasm hit, curving against him and letting him thrust upwards repeatedly until he couldn’t stop himself anymore, pulling out of her just in time to explode against her thighs and stomach…and a little bit on her chest.

They stay closed together as they try to calm down from their high, Rooster keeping her close to him and Beatrice enjoying his warmth with her body shivering, “...t-that was…re-really good.” she whispers, “Really good…”

“Yeah…holy shit.” he thunks his scalp against the headboard and groans with the last of his aftershocks, “Ow.”

Her head snaps up instantly,”What?”

“Hit my head.” he snorts, one hand coming up to rub the sore spot gently, “I’m okay though…we better take a bath or a shower…because I’m starting to get cold.” 

“...you know what, you are right.” she slowly climbs off of him, allowing him to stand from the bed and offer her his hand. She squeaks when he picks her up bridal style and rushes to the bathroom, “Roos!”

“No sound rule is broken the second we get into the shower.” he smirks, “Deal?”

Beatrice takes a while to reply,but her cheeks turn red and she says ‘...deal.”

[dailyanarchistposts]

Footnotes, 101-150

[101] Gill, quoted in Gerland and Waitz’s Anthropologie, v. 641. See also pp. 636–640, where many facts of parental and filial love are quoted.

[102] Primitive Folk, London, 1891.

[103] Gerland, loc. cit. v. 636.

[104] Erskine, quoted in Gerland and Waitz’s Anthropologie, v. 640.

[105] W.T. Pritchard, Polynesian Reminiscences, London, 1866, p. 363.

[106] It is remarkable, however, that in case of a sentence of death, nobody will take upon himself to be the executioner. Every one throws his stone, or gives his blow with the hatchet, carefully avoiding to give a mortal blow. At a later epoch, the priest will stab the victim with a sacred knife. Still later, it will be the king, until civilization invents the hired hangman. See Bastian’s deep remarks upon this subject in Der Mensch in der Geschichte, iii. Die Blutrache, pp. 1–36. A remainder of this tribal habit, I am told by Professor E. Nys, has survived in military executions till our own times. In the middle portion of the nineteenth century it was the habit to load the rifles of the twelve soldiers called out for shooting the condemned victim, with eleven ball-cartridges and one blank cartridge. As the soldiers never knew who of them had the latter, each one could console his disturbed conscience by thinking that he was not one of the murderers.

[107] In Africa, and elsewhere too, it is a widely-spread habit, that if a theft has been committed, the next clan has to restore the equivalent of the stolen thing, and then look itself for the thief. A. H. Post, Afrikanische Jurisprudenz, Leipzig, 1887, vol. i. p. 77.

[108] See Prof. M. Kovalevsky’s Modern Customs and Ancient Law (Russian), Moscow, 1886, vol. ii., which contains many important considerations upon this subject.

[109] See Carl Bock, The Head Hunters of Borneo, London, 1881. I am told, however, by Sir Hugh Law, who was for a long time Governor of Borneo, that the “head-hunting” described in this book is grossly exaggerated. Altogether, my informant speaks of the Dayaks in exactly the same sympathetic terms as Ida Pfeiffer. Let me add that Mary Kingsley speaks in her book on West Africa in the same sympathetic terms of the Fans, who had been represented formerly as the most “terrible cannibals.”

[110] Ida Pfeiffer, Meine zweite Weltrieze, Wien, 1856, vol. i. pp. 116 seq. See also Müller and Temminch’s Dutch Possessions in Archipelagic India, quoted by Elisée Reclus, in Géographie Universelle, xiii.

[111] Descent of Man, second ed., pp. 63, 64.

[112] See Bastian’s Mensch in der Geschichte, iii. p. 7. Also Gray, loc. cit. ii. p. 238.

[113] Miklukho-Maclay, loc. cit. Same habit with the Hottentots.

[114] Numberless traces of post-pliocene lakes, now disappeared, are found over Central, West, and North Asia. Shells of the same species as those now found in the Caspian Sea are scattered over the surface of the soil as far East as half-way to Lake Aral, and are found in recent deposits as far north as Kazan. Traces of Caspian Gulfs, formerly taken for old beds of the Amu, intersect the Turcoman territory. Deduction must surely be made for temporary, periodical oscillations. But with all that, desiccation is evident, and it progresses at a formerly unexpected speed. Even in the relatively wet parts of South-West Siberia, the succession of reliable surveys, recently published by Yadrintseff, shows that villages have grown up on what was, eighty years ago, the bottom of one of the lakes of the Tchany group; while the other lakes of the same group, which covered hundreds of square miles some fifty years ago, are now mere ponds. In short, the desiccation of North-West Asia goes on at a rate which must be measured by centuries, instead of by the geological units of time of which we formerly used to speak.

[115] Whole civilizations had thus disappeared, as is proved now by the remarkable discoveries in Mongolia on the Orkhon and in the Lukchun depression (by Dmitri Clements).

[116] If I follow the opinions of (to name modern specialists only) Nasse, Kovalevsky, and Vinogradov, and not those of Mr. Seebohm (Mr. Denman Ross can only be named for the sake of completeness), it is not only because of the deep knowledge and concordance of views of these three writers, but also on account of their perfect knowledge of the village community altogether — a knowledge the want of which is much felt in the otherwise remarkable work of Mr. Seebohm. The same remark applies, in a still higher degree, to the most elegant writings of Fustel de Coulanges, whose opinions and passionate interpretations of old texts are confined to himself.

[117] The literature of the village community is so vast that but a few works can be named. Those of Sir Henry Maine, Mr. Seebohm, and Walter’s Das alte Wallis (Bonn, 1859), are well-known popular sources of information about Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. For France, P. Viollet, Précis de l’histoire du droit français. Droit privé, 1886, and several of his monographs in Bibl. de l’Ecole des Chartes; Babeau, Le Village sous l’ancien régime (the mir in the eighteenth century), third edition, 1887; Bonnemère, Doniol, etc. For Italy and Scandinavia, the chief works are named in Laveleye’s Primitive Property, German version by K. Bücher. For the Finns, Rein’s Föreläsningar, i. 16; Koskinen, Finnische Geschichte, 1874, and various monographs. For the Lives and Coures, Prof. Lutchitzky in Severnyi Vestnil, 1891. For the Teutons, besides the well-known works of Maurer, Sohm (Altdeutsche Reichs- und Gerichts- Verfassung), also Dahn (Urzeit, Völkerwanderung, Langobardische Studien), Janssen, Wilh. Arnold, etc. For India, besides H. Maine and the works he names, Sir John Phear’s Aryan Village. For Russia and South Slavonians, see Kavelin, Posnikoff, Sokolovsky, Kovalevsky, Efimenko, Ivanisheff, Klaus, etc. (copious bibliographical index up to 1880 in the Sbornik svedeniy ob obschinye of the Russ. Geog. Soc.). For general conclusions, besides Laveleye’s Propriété, Morgan’s Ancient Society, Lippert’s Kulturgeschichte, Post, Dargun, etc., also the lectures of M. Kovalevsky (Tableau des origines et de l’évolution de la famille et de la propriété, Stockholm, 1890). Many special monographs ought to be mentioned; their titles may be found in the excellent lists given by P. Viollet in Droit privé and Droit public. For other races, see subsequent notes.

[118] Several authorities are inclined to consider the joint household as an intermediate stage between the clan and the village community; and there is no doubt that in very many cases village communities have grown up out of undivided families. Nevertheless, I consider the joint household as a fact of a different order. We find it within the gentes; on the other hand, we cannot affirm that joint families have existed at any period without belonging either to a gens or to a village community, or to a Gau. I conceive the early village communities as slowly originating directly from the gentes, and consisting, according to racial and local circumstances, either of several joint families, or of both joint and simple families, or (especially in the case of new settlements) of simple families only. If this view be correct, we should not have the right of establishing the series: gens, compound family, village community — the second member of the series having not the same ethnological value as the two others. See Appendix IX.

[119] Stobbe, Beiträg zur Geschichte des deutschen Rechtes, p. 62.

[120] The few traces of private property in land which are met with in the early barbarian period are found with such stems (the Batavians, the Franks in Gaul) as have been for a time under the influence of Imperial Rome. See Inama-Sternegg’s Die Ausbildung der grossen Grundherrschaften in Deutschland, Bd. i. 1878. Also, Besseler, Neubruch nach dem älteren deutschen Recht, pp. 11–12, quoted by Kovalevsky, Modern Custom and Ancient Law, Moscow, 1886, i. 134.

[121] Maurer’s Markgenossenschaft; Lamprecht’s “Wirthschaft und Recht der Franken zur Zeit der Volksrechte,” in Histor. Taschenbuch, 1883; Seebohm’s The English Village Community, ch. vi, vii, and ix.

[122] Letourneau, in Bulletin de la Soc. d’Anthropologie, 1888, vol. xi. p. 476.

[123] Walter, Das alte Wallis, p. 323; Dm. Bakradze and N. Khoudadoff in Russian Zapiski of the Caucasian Geogr. Society, xiv. Part I.

[124] Bancroft’s Native Races; Waitz, Anthropologie, iii. 423; Montrozier, in Bull. Soc. d’Anthropologie, 1870; Post’s Studien, etc.

[125] A number of works, by Ory, Luro, Laudes, and Sylvestre, on the village community in Annam, proving that it has had there the same forms as in Germany or Russia, is mentioned in a review of these works by Jobbé-Duval, in Nouvelle Revue historique de droit français et étranger, October and December, 1896. A good study of the village community of Peru, before the establishment of the power of the Incas, has been brought out by Heinrich Cunow (Die Soziale Verfassung des Inka-Reichs, Stuttgart, 1896. The communal possession of land and communal culture are described in that work.

[126] Kovalevsky, Modern Custom and Ancient Law, i. 115.

[127] Palfrey, History of New England, ii. 13; quoted in Maine’s Village Communities, New York, 1876, p. 201.

[128] Königswarter, Études sur le développement des sociétés humaines, Paris, 1850.

[129] This is, at least, the law of the Kalmucks, whose customary law bears the closest resemblance to the laws of the Teutons, the old Slavonians, etc.

[130] The habit is in force still with many African and other tribes.

[131] Village Communities, pp. 65–68 and 199.

[132] Maurer (Gesch. der Markverfassung, sections 29, 97) is quite decisive upon this subject. He maintains that “All members of the community... the laic and clerical lords as well, often also the partial co-possessors (Markberechtigte), and even strangers to the Mark, were submitted to its jurisdiction” (p. 312). This conception remained locally in force up to the fifteenth century.

[133] Königswarter, loc. cit. p. 50; J. Thrupp, Historical Law Tracts, London, 1843, p. 106.

[134] Königswarter has shown that the ferd originated from an offering which had to be made to appease the ancestors. Later on, it was paid to the community, for the breach of peace; and still later to the judge, or king, or lord, when they had appropriated to themselves the rights of the community.

[135] Post’s Bausteine and Afrikanische Jurisprudenz, Oldenburg, 1887, vol. i. pp. 64 seq.; Kovalevsky, loc. cit. ii. 164–189.

[136] O. Miller and M. Kovalevsky, “In the Mountaineer Communities of Kabardia,” in Vestnik Evropy, April, 1884. With the Shakhsevens of the Mugan Steppe, blood feuds always end by marriage between the two hostile sides (Markoff, in appendix to the Zapiski of the Caucasian Geogr. Soc. xiv. 1, 21).

[137] Post, in Afrik. Jurisprudenz, gives a series of facts illustrating the conceptions of equity inrooted among the African barbarians. The same may be said of all serious examinations into barbarian common law.

[138] See the excellent chapter, “Le droit de La Vieille Irlande,” (also “Le Haut Nord”) in Études de droit international et de droit politique, by Prof. E. Nys, Bruxelles, 1896.

[139] Introduction, p. xxxv.

[140] Das alte Wallis, pp. 343–350.

[141] Maynoff, “Sketches of the Judicial Practices of the Mordovians,” in the ethnographical Zapiski of the Russian Geographical Society, 1885, pp. 236, 257.

[142] Henry Maine, International Law, London, 1888, pp. 11–13. E. Nys, Les origines du droit international, Bruxelles, 1894.

[143] A Russian historian, the Kazan Professor Schapoff, who was exiled in 1862 to Siberia, has given a good description of their institutions in the Izvestia of the East-Siberian Geographical Society, vol. v. 1874.

[144] Sir Henry Maine’s Village Communities, New York, 1876, pp. 193–196.

[145] Nazaroff, The North Usuri Territory (Russian), St. Petersburg, 1887, p. 65.

[146] Hanoteau et Letourneux, La Kabylie, 3 vols. Paris, 1883.

[147] To convoke an “aid” or “bee,” some kind of meal must be offered to the community. I am told by a Caucasian friend that in Georgia, when the poor man wants an “aid,” he borrows from the rich man a sheep or two to prepare the meal, and the community bring, in addition to their work, so many provisions that he may repay tHe debt. A similar habit exists with the Mordovians.

[148] Hanoteau et Letourneux, La kabylie, ii. 58. The same respect to strangers is the rule with the Mongols. The Mongol who has refused his roof to a stranger pays the full blood-compensation if the stranger has suffered therefrom (Bastian, Der Mensch in der Geschichte, iii. 231).

[149] N. Khoudadoff, “Notes on the Khevsoures,” in Zapiski of the Caucasian Geogr. Society, xiv. 1, Tiflis, 1890, p. 68. They also took the oath of not marrying girls from their own union, thus displaying a remarkable return to the old gentile rules.

[150] Dm. Bakradze, “Notes on the Zakataly District,” in same Zapiski, xiv. 1, p. 264. The “joint team” is as common among the Lezghines as it is among the Ossetes.

[ngmn2002]

Thinking about Nene's death a little… is it so soon?

Warning: you might end up 😵‍💫 after you click "keep reading". If you want to anyway, then I hope you'll enjoy. ^^

Let's have some fun!

Following the only small details we have, we got from Hanako back in the keepers arc 1- she is going to die within the next year.

And later on that girl said 2- Nene's death is the result of all 7 yorishiros getting destroyed.

Linking these 2 together... can we say All 7 yorishiors will also be successfully destroyed within the next year?

We're sure that day Hanako gave us this information comes after April depending on the fact: First term of school year in Japan starts in early April and ends in late July, around July 20th. So we're in between these 2 back there. More around June/early July later on around ch 37/38, I think.

The first term ends around July 20th, and that must be around the time Nene came to Hanako and Kou speaking of the "First term- Final exams" past p.p arc, we had the school summer vacation around July 15th depending on the Urabon being brought up to be close to happen, that came to an end by ch 101 and we're back to the Second term that starts by early September.

Then...

Ch 102.

Ch 104- Ch 110, Festival day.

Alright, so by then we're almost by the end of September.

Taking Hanako's words again, "she'll die within the next year".

If we assumed the worst-case scenario, Nene is going to die by the very start of the next year, that should give her at least 3 more months to live. If we said she has a year to live from the time Hanako voiced his words, so we can say she will die around June/early July? If we assumed it's by her 1 year in contract with Hanako anniversary, worst case it will be during May, since she said she confessed to that first crush of hers 1 month before meeting Hanako. If we said it was during April (taking the wrost case), then she met Hanako somewhere during May.

So, in conclusion... we can look out for January next year, then May, June/early July of that said year. If we were hopeful, her death will take place later on that year.

Ahem, after all that... as mentioned above, worst case is she dies by January. But, at least while the story is still in September, that means she still have 3 months to live freely! A WIN.

And, it also means... the last 3 yorishiros will take their sweet time to get destroyed. 3 months or even more.~ Awww, bad news for someone.

Well, what I'm questioning now is...

This someone is after No.1 and No.3 together right now, No.7's feels to be following closely. Hmm... but given Nene's 3 months... the last one won't fall until at least the start of the new year.

Interesting.

Makes me wonder how the events of this arc would unfold, following that pattern.

Have to point out, all we reached to with Nene at least having at least 3 months to enjoy living is completely based on Hanako's comment about her life situation. If he was 100% sure of what he said, then that should be one of the cases for her expected "near" death, if he was wrong... then anything can happen and things can be over really soon.

So, we're left with... let's wait and see!

****

Side note:

Just adding this here really fast: X

And, thinking of Nene dying while wearing her school uniform, so it means she is back to school once more the "next year", so can we say again, her death, hopefully, is to claim her past April? ... gets us back to May, June/realy July or... later on that year.

Hmm… the future is up to many possibilities.

[neilperryismine]

Sharing the films I’ve watched this year (copied from @lefthandedspaghetti )

1. Joy

2. The Patriot

3. I Know What Did Last Summer

4. I Still Know What You Did Last Summer

5. The Hunger Games

6. Mean Girls The Musical

7. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

8. One Life

9. Real Women Have Curves

10. No Hard Feelings

11. Lady Bird

12. Knives Out

13. 10 Things I Hate About You

14. Clueless

15. Sabrina

16. Shakespeare in Love

17. Pride and Prejudice

18. Sense and Sensibility

19. Crazy Rich Asians

20. Back to the Future

21. Back to the Future 2

22. Back to the Future 3

23. Far and Away

24. Damsel

25. Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl

26. Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

27. Bottoms

28. Red, White & Royal Blue

29. Primal Fear

30. Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (Taylor’s Version)

31. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

32. Iron Man

33. Bodies Bodies Bodies

34. Jurassic Park

35. Mary Poppins

36. The Boys in the Boat

37. Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End

38. Peter Rabbit

39. Passengers

40. The Help

41. Death on the Nile

42. Spiderman: Homecoming

43. The Avengers

44. Love, Rosie

45. How to Date Billy Walsh

46. Fear Street Part 2: 1978

47. Bridget Jones Baby

48. Emma (1996)

49. When Harry Met Sally

50. Miranda’s Victim

51. *Dead Poets Society* !!!!!

52. Sleepless in Seattle

53. Runaway Bride

54. Dead Poets Society (again, yes😔)

55. Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol. 1

56. Little Miss Sunshine

57. Jurassic World

58. Scream 5

59. The Boys Next Door

60. Barbie Princess Charm School

61. Mamma Mia!

62. The Zone of Interest

63. Jumanji

64. Matilda

65. Married to It (rsl)

66. Hairspray

67. Good Will Hunting

68. In the Gloaming (rsl again)

69. Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules!

70. Killers of the Flower Moon

71. My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3

72. Billy Elliot

73. Tape (rsl and ethan)

74. The Blackening

75. The Money Pit

76. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

77. Little Women

78. About Time

79. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

80. Turtles All The Way Down

81. Lullaby

82. Beautiful Boy

83. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1

84. Thelma & Louise

85. The Talented Mr Ripley

86. Father of the Bride

87. Father of the Bride Part II

88. Stand By Me

89. Girl, Interrupted

90. The Map of Perfect Tiny Things

91. The Wedding Planner

92. The Sixth Sense

93. Living

94. Big

95. Speed

96. Love & other drugs

97. Notting Hill

98. Five Feet Apart

99. The Outsiders

100. Before Sunrise (ethan)

101. Parenthood

102. Terms of Endearment

103. The Matrix

104. Fight Club

105. Leave the World Behind (ethan)

106. Bride Wars

107. Forrest Gump

108. Dazed and Confused

109. Don’t Tell Mum the Babysitter’s Dead (josh charles)

110. The Breakfast Club

111. Legally Blonde

112. Hidden Figures

113. Confessions of a Shopaholic

114. Three Men and a Baby

115. The Fault in our Stars

116. Sister Act: Back in the Habit

I definitely have a problem and this probably isn’t even all the films I’ve watched this year :/

But my favourites have been the ones I’ve watched since dead poets society (obv including it) mainly cause they’ve been a bit weird or different like tape!!

any film recommendations are welcome!! :)

[hydor-coining]

Archive Masterpost III

Terms that we have coined on old blogs.

[* → Not yet reblogged… queued]

★ 101.)) Genderquilt → Archive

★ 102.)) Quiltgender → Archive

★ 103.)) Quiltcoric → Archive

★ 104.)) Anxiegender Alternate Flag → Archive

★ 105.)) Punk Flags → Archive

★ 106.)) Veluzocogender → Archive

★ 107.)) Sociogender → Archive

★ 108.)) Agere Alternate Flag → Archive

★ 109.)) Nazavean → Archive

★ 110.)) Quoirose Flag → Archive

★ 111.)) Dioxazinegender → Archive

★ 112.)) Teratoamoric → Archive

★ 113.)) Gummyvesil → Archive

★ 114.)) Parocatharigenic → Archive

★ 115.)) Radinclusvesil → Archive

★ 116.)) Femfictosexual → Archive

★ 117.)) Femfictoromantic → Archive

★ 118.)) Mollisvibic Alternate Flag → Archive

★ 119.)) Candycornvesil → Archive

★ 120.)) Emotional Processor Flag → Archive

★ 121.)) Deminomifluid → Archive

★ 122.)) Alien Bird Demon Otherkin Flag → Archive

★ 123.)) Pathollochoicen → Archive

★ 124.)) Spiteiden → Archive

★ 125.)) Soldziengender → Archive

★ 126.)) Dissocorpim → Archive

★ 127.)) Transxeneufemmasc → Archive

★ 128.)) Birthpunk → Archive

★ 129.)) Masculine AFAB Trans Girl Flag → Archive

★ 130.)) Bi Bambi Lesbian Flag → Archive

★ 131.)) Main Pride Flag → Archive

★ 132.)) Uncannyvesil → Archive

★ 133.)) Mafictosexual → Archive

★ 134.)) Mafictoromantic → Archive

★ 135.)) Chaofilecurator → Archive

★ 136.)) Patchaofilehoarder → Archive

★ 137.)) Patchaofilecurator → Archive

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: AN INTRODUCTION TO HADITH: Part 3

The Sahaba and the Tabi’un

DEFINITION OF SAHABA

The Companions of Allah’s Messenger are referred to as Sahabi (pl. Sahaba or Ashab), denoting ‘companion, associate, comrade, fellow, friend, or fellow-traveler’ in Arabic.

Those believers who saw and heard the Messenger at least once, and who died as Muslims have been referred to as Sahabi.

VIRTUES OF THE SAHABA

There are many verses in the Qur’an that speak of the virtue of the Prophet’s Companions. It is said of them,

“Allah was assuredly well-pleased with the believers when they swore allegiance to you under the tree” (al-Fath 48:18).

Due to Allah’s saying of them, “Allah is well-pleased with them,” it has become common to say, “May Allah be well pleased with them,” when one of their names are mentioned.

Allah has revealed that the Companions are sincere, straightforward and trustworthy, and indeed prosperous;( Al-Hashr 59:8–9) stating,

“You are the best community ever brought forth for (the good of) humankind,” (Al Imran 3:110)

He has praised them in the greatest possible way. Allah’s Messenger has echoed the same notion in his hadith stating,

“The best of people are my generation and then those who follow them and then those who follow them.”( Sahih al-Bukhari, Fada’il al-Ashab, 1)

Due to the Qur’an and Sunnah’s confirming the righteousness and morality Companions without any differentiation between them and it's attesting to their piety and fairness, all the Companions have been accepted as righteous.

Implied in the term “righteous” (adil) is the reliability of their testimony, their truthfulness, faithfulness, piety, trustworthiness, and steadfastness.

The Ahl al-Sunnah scholars have unanimously accepted all the Companions to be righteous.

On account of this, speaking ill of or insulting any of the Companions has been considered as one of the greatest of sins. The Prophet has stated:

“Do not curse my Companions! Do not curse my Companions! I swear by Him in Whose hand my life is that, even if one among you had as much gold as Mount Uhud and spent it in the way of Allah, this would not be equal in reward to a few handfuls of them or even to half of that.”(Sahih Muslim, Fada’il al-Sahaba, 221)

The Companions have been grouped into various categories among them, based on their level of virtue.

The Meccan Companions have been referred to as the Emigrants (Muhajirun), while the Medinan natives have been called the Helpers (Ansar). They have been ranked in accordance with their participation in such important events as the Battle of Badr and the oath of allegiance. The Prophet’s household (Ahl al-Bayt), children, wives, and relatives hold a distinct position and esteem. The Messenger of Allah said that his daughter,

“Fatima is the mistress of the women of Paradise,”

and in another hadith, stated,

“Fatima is part of me. Whoever makes her angry, makes me angry.” (Sahih al-Bukhari, Fada’il al-Ashab, 29)

He also revealed that Archangel Jabrail gave his greetings to his wife Aisha and said in one hadith,

“Do not injure me regarding Aisha.” ( Sahih al-Bukhari, Fada’il al-Ashab, 30)

The most virtuous of the Companions are the four Rightly Guided Caliphs, respectively.

One of the most well-known gradations is the ten Companions who were promised Paradise while still alive (Ashara al-Mubashshara). They are ( may Allah be well pleased with all of them. )

Abu Bakr (d. 634 CE),

Umar (d. 644 CE),

Uthman (d. 655 CE), 

Ali (d. 660 CE),

Abdu’r-Rahman ibn Awf (d. 652 CE),

Abu Ubayda ibn al-Jarrah (d. 639 CE),

Talha ibn Ubaydullah (d. 656 CE),

Zubayr ibn al-Awwam (d. 656 CE),

Said ibn Zayd ibn Amr (d. 671 CE),

Sa’d ibn Abi Waqqas (d. 675 CE),

THE TABI’UN

Those succeeding the Companions and following in their footsteps have been referred to as Tabi’i (pl. Tabi’un), being a person who met with one of the Companions and spent time in their company.

Allah declares that He is well pleased with those who follow in the footsteps of the Companions:

The first and foremost (to embrace Islam and excel others in virtue) among the Emigrants and the Helpers, and those who follow them in devotion to doing good, aware that Allah is seeing them—Allah is well pleased with them, and they are well-pleased with Him, and He has prepared for them Gardens throughout which rivers flow, therein to abide forever. That is the supreme triumph. (at-Tawbah 9:100)

Allah’s Messenger states that the best generation after his Companions is the one succeeding them.

The generation of the Tabi’un is of utmost importance with respect to the history of Islamic religious studies.

The greatest Muslim scholars lived in this generation and the principles of the Islamic studies determined by them. The following seven Medinan scholars known as the Seven Jurists of Medina (Fuqaha al-Medina as-Sab’a) have special importance in the Hadith Sciences:

Said ibn al-Mussayyib (d. 723 CE),

Qasim ibn Muhammad (d. 723 CE),

Urwa ibn Zubayr (d. 713 CE),

Kharija ibn Zayd ibn Thabit (d. 718 CE),

Abu Salama ibn Abdu’r-Rahman ibn Awf (d. 722 CE),

Ubayd Allah ibn Utba ibn Mas’ud (d. 717 CE),

Sulayman ibn Yasar (d. 722 CE).

Relatives of the Companions and raised among them, these Tabi’un scholars became known through the consultations they held among themselves in resolving issues. With a strong command of the Qur’an and Sunnah in terms of both transmission (riwaya) and critical perception or cognition (diraya), Tabi’un scholars established the Islamic studies on strong intellectual grounds.

[str1v1ng4z3r0]

F00d l0g 29/4 2024

Breakfast 3

Pāndy pineapple energy drink (3)

Lunch 104

Extra fiber oatmeal w/ 30g low c4lorie lingonberry jam (101)

Pāndy pineapple energy drink (3)

Snacks 110

70g no f4t Greek lemon yogurt (42)

95g no f4t vanilla yogurt (33)

70g carrot sticks (35)

Dinner 309

Barebells raspberry licorice protein bar (197)

2 rye crisp bread (14)

15g soft cheese (19)

≈20g (?) pretzel sticks (77)

1 sugar free chewing gum (2)

Evening snacks 252

2 herbs & sea salt seed crackers (207)

≈30g soft cheese (38)

≈20g cucumber (3)

≈1g chili flakes (4)

Total intake: 779

Total workout: 433 (walk 228, yoga 205)

Total net: 346

—————————

Thoughts: Could be better, could be worse. I’ve actually had quite a good day, I’ve been happy and laughing and feeling good. I was super worried before work because today I had a planned lesson visit from my boss (headmaster) and after work an employee interview (don’t know if that’s the correct term?) but it went so extremely well… and I got so many compliments for my work and thoughts and I was actually a bit overwhelmed because I’m not used to this. So yeah, it was very nice. And also I’m proud of myself for not having a total breakdown food wise during the day due to nervousness, so that’s also very good. Two times I had to adjust my intake plan (the pretzel sticks and the evening snacks) but I’m not beating myself up about it… trying to focus on the fact I didn’t b1nge even though I was so stressed out 😅 And then my yoga session was soooo good, i was really able to focus and breathe through stuff and stay in positions to just be aware in the moment. So yeah, over all, this was a really good day! Oh oh and also, the sun was finally shining today, please warmth, I hope you’re here to stay ☀️

[9toji]

MY 1ST WRITING EVENT ! — a lil thank you gift for 100 followers, me thinks

the general summary of the event —

➜ the event will be open from july 25 to july 30th, GMT+8 ! any requests submitted after that date will automatically be dismissed.

➜ i will write for both jujutsu kaisen and blue lock!

➜ preferably when sending a request, specify both the number assigned or the term/word/tag used itself, as well as the character you want me to write for!

example ; can i request 107 (overstimulation) and gojo? (hope this helps!)

➜ alternatively, you can send in a name of a song then i can write something based off of that + the character included in your ask

MY ASKBOX

CODE NUMBERS / CODE WORDS

101. breeding | 102. dilf! character | 103. jealous sex! | 104. hate sex | 105. age gap! | 106. ( send in your preferred position) | 107. overstimulation | 108. daddy kink | 109. tired husband! | 110. possessive! character | 112. oral (character receiving!) | 113. oral (character giving!) | 114. cum eating | 114. dumbification | 115. degradation kink | 116. pervert! character | 117. praise kink | 118. hickey (character giving!) | 119. hickey (character receiving!) | 120. face sitting | 121. public sex

[thebridalstylist]

Silhouettes and what they can do for you

Welcome to Silhouettes 101! I thought I'd list them out and tell you the pros and cons to each, so you can feel like you have a better grasp on them before you go dress hunting.

Please note: Everything I write in the "cons" section is an FYI and can be thoroughly ignored. If you are going to the courthouse and you want a ballgown with a cathedral train, go for it.

Ballgowns

The ballgown is, on a scale from tight to full, 110% floof. It's a classic wedding gown silhouette, but that doesn't mean it has to be conservative or unexciting in any way.

Best for: Brides who want the princess or fairytale look, or who need a better contrast between their waist and hips in order to create the illusion of a smaller waist.

Cons: They can be heavy, and going to the bathroom once you're in it is a royal (ha!) pain in the ass if you don't have multiple people helping or a product like the Bridal Buddy.* They can also sometimes make people look a bit shorter, but if that's where your heart is and you're a short queen, you can mitigate that by wearing some serious heels or just not give a crap about it. Also, can come off as more formal than some other silhouettes.

A-Lines

This silhouette is named an A-line because it's shaped like.... Guess what? Yep. An A. On the scale of tight to full, it's just under the ballgown in floofiness, but is not as tight as a fit and flare or a sheath.

Best for: Everybody! The A-line is a universally flattering silhouette. Unless it's heavily beaded, it's probably going to weigh less than a ballgown. If you want flowy, this is probably your best bet. A-lines are also often really good at getting that romantic feel. If you don't care about a train, you can really open up your options by checking out gowns in your chosen color that are special occasion, evening gowns, or even prom dresses, and save quite a bit of money.

Cons: Still a lot of material for some, but there aren't really a lot of downsides to this one.

Fit And Flares

I use "fit and flare" as a catch-all for any dress that, well, fits and at some point flares out, like mermaids or trumpets. These terms can sometimes be used interchangeably.

Best for: Two words - drama and curves. If you don't have an hourglass figure and you want one, this is where to look. If you're the kind of bride who wants to go full glam, these gowns are your best friend.

Cons: If you are apple shaped, a fit and flare might actually call more attention to it, but there are still tricks to mitigating that like adding belts or finding one with ruching. While you're trying one on and/or getting your fitting done with alterations with one of these ladies, make absolutely sure you can walk, dance, and sit comfortably... And yeah, that means busting a move at the bridal salon, even if it's just in your changing room. Hell, we'll probably suggest it! You don't want a dress that'll be so tight on your legs that you're tippy-toeing down the aisle, unless you want that, in which case you do you!

Sheaths

These babies go straight up and down, and are sleek and sexy. They're going to be the tightest silhouette overall.

Best for: If you're more of a casual bride, you'll have way better luck finding a sheath that works for you, as opposed to, say, ballgowns. Also great if you're a budget bride; this is the other silhouette you can look through special occasion or prom gown collections for and find some way cheaper that nobody would ever guess wasn't a $5k wedding gown. And if you want some floof for the ceremony but not the reception, you can just get a really stunning overskirt like this, this, or this, and just remove it for the reception, no need for a train. So, lots of customization options!

Cons: They are not terribly forgiving to the figure. Spanx can take care of that. Also may not be best for those who are apple-shaped without tricks like ruching, belts, etc. applied. For people with body dysmorphia, these might be a bit tough. Also, these are usually the most casual of the silhouettes.

Like always, I'll say that the only thing that matters is that you feel beautiful and comfortable in your dress, so don't take something written under "cons" as law. Be true to yourself and what you want, no matter what that style is!

*I get no money whatsoever from any link I might post.... dammit. Also, those are to be seen solely as examples.

[slowd1ving]

[✦III. OH, HOW TRAGIC IS HE] SNIPPET • . DR RATIO

god I love when there's historical academic discourse present in worldbuilding it really makes my nerd heart flutter bad jokes too antiquus the elder... ignis the argumentative... need I say more APA CITATION BABYYYY alt text below cut

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

‘If man’s hour were to come, no one could escape it: not the brave, nor the cowardly. In the case of the city-state of Metis—referred to by romantics as the ‘Eroded Kingdom’—its collapse was widely regarded as inevitable. Frankly, as al-Ghazali pointed out in his ‘Fall of Empires’, Metis was inherently doomed to fail from its intrinsic characteristics: military hubris (relying on the susceptible and corrupt polemarch Aetos in the final decade of the kingdom’s existence); economic failure (due to the recessions Aha created and failed to mitigate); the subsequent loss of capital, and perhaps, most poignantly, its alienation of alchemists and increasingly alarming anti-heretical laws which provoked regional rebellions that soon spiralled into the so-called ‘Scholar’s March’ of 786 of the Attican Calendar, or year 352 of the Amber Age¹. 

Who could’ve predicted that the citizens could grow so united in the face of such tyranny? For years the Metisians had endured the brutal taxation, the reforms in education, and the yokes of the cult-like Elation—the catalyst could only be the mass executions and disappearances that occurred the year prior the March. Of course, scholars like Ignis the Argumentative would insist it was the sudden disappearance of capable officials that set the cataclysm into motion—but further examination by other contemporaries reproached this interpretation as there was no real policy difference between the lawmakers in terms of addressing both long- and short-term triggers that led to the fall of Old Metis, as Antiquus the Elder points out in his ‘Treatises of the Archipelago’². 

Now, a millennium later, New Metis continues to repeat its historical mistakes from a bygone age—continuing legislation to heavily restrict and outright ban certain schools of thought. For most of the New Metis citizens, this isn’t an issue; but this begs the question, when will it be a problem? Tyranny has not been redefined—it’s still hiding in New Metis today, under the smiling masks of your politicians! Wake up, New Metis!’ 

— Inana, P. (1433 2AA). Civilisation: Modeling Metis as a continuation of a failed empire. Journal Politik, 47 (3), 101-110

. ��⁺ ✦ 

[rosesinspirationandreference]

1. Table 2. Tabloids 3. Taboo   4. Tackled 5. Tainted 6. Taken 7. Takeover   8. Talent 9. Talking 10. Taming

11. Tangible 12. Tangled 13. Tantalizing 14. Tantrum 15. Tapestries 16. Target 17. Tarnished 18. Taste 19. Tattoo 20. Taunted 21. Taxi 22. Teach 23. Teammate 24. Tear 25. Teardrop 26. Teasing 27. Technical 28. Teenage 29. Telephone 30. Telling 31. Temper 32. Temperature 33. Tempest 34. Temple 35. Temporary 36. Temptation   37. Tempting 38. Tender 39. Tennis 40. Tension 41. Terminal 42. Termination 43. Terms 44. Terrible 45. Terrifying 46. Terror 47. Test 48. Testify   49. Texting 50. Thanks 51. Theatre 52. Theme 53. Theory 54. Therapeutic 55. Thief 56. Thinking 57. Third 58. Thorn 59. Thousands 60. Thread 61. Threat 62. Thrill 63. Through 64. Throw 65. Thunder 66. Tiara 67. Ticket 68. Tickle 69. Tidal 70. Tied 71. Tiger 72. Tightrope 73. Time 74. Timeless 75. Tiny 76. Tired   77. Toaster 78. Today 79. Together 80. Tolerance 81. Tomb 82. Tomorrow   83. Tonight 84. Toothbrush 85. Torment   86. Torn 87. Tornado 88. Torrential 89. Torture 90. Total 91. Totem 92. Touch   93. Tough 94. Tournament 95. Tourniquet 96. Towels 97. Tower 98. Toxic 99. Toying 100. Traces 101. Tracks 102. Tradition 103. Tragedy 104. Trail 105. Train 106. Training 107. Traitor 108. Trampled 109. Trance 110. Tranquility 111. Transcending 112. Transfer 113. Transformation 114. Transit   115. Trap 116. Trash 117. Trauma   118. Travel 119. Treasure 120. Treated 121. Tree 122. Trekking 123. Tremble 124. Tremors 125. Trespasser 126. Trial 127. Triangle 128. Tribal 129. Tribulation 130. Tribute 131. Trick 132. Trifecta   133. Trigger 134. Trinity 135. Triple 136. Triumph 137. Trophy 138. Tropical 139. Trouble   140. Troublesome 141. Truce   142. Trust   143. Truthful 144. Trying 145. Tryst 146. Tsunami   147. Tumble 148. Turbulent 149. Turmoil   150. Turn 151. Turnabout 152. Turquoise 153. Tutor 154. Tuxedo 155. Twilight   156. Twin 157. Twist 158. Twisted   159. Typhoon 160. Typical

[lindstromm]

I posted 8,699 times in 2022

That's 3,331 more posts than 2021!

71 posts created (1%)

8,628 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@beatrice-otter

@cwnerd12

@fullmetalcarer

@turtletotem

@akasanata

I tagged 4,233 of my posts in 2022

#roswell new mexico - 255 posts

#malex - 137 posts

#star trek - 123 posts

#the old guard - 116 posts

#usa politics - 115 posts

#dracula daily - 107 posts

#cherik - 101 posts

#alex manes - 85 posts

#michael guerin - 82 posts

#bookbinding - 82 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#and then four dozen people reply all to tell the people who are telling people not to use reply all that they shouldn't be using reply all

I sent 8 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Goncharov is *proof* that tumblr is unmarketable. If anyone tries to commercialize fandom, we'll invent stuff to fangirl over. No royalties for you!

110 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#4

SPOILER WARNING FOR HEARTSTOPPER.

I hope you've watched this already, but just in case you haven't, and don't want to know why this is the most heartwarming queer love story ever, stop reading now.

Nick never puts his own angst above his concern for Charlie's feelings. That's it, that's my favorite part of the whole show. At the beginning of the show, Nick is the rugby captain and believes he's straight. Charlie is Nick's bisexual awakening, and we can see Nick struggling with coming to terms with that. He has bi panic and is afraid to come out and it takes him some time to deal with stuff.

And yet he never once mistreats Charlie and then expects Charlie to "understand" Nick's motives and agree that Nick's angst is more important than Charlie's feelings.

I love this show. The trope where Blorbo 1 completely betrays Blorbo 2, and then Blorbo 2 forgives them because Blorbo 1 had a really good reason (and somehow thinks Blorbo 1 is worthy of trust because Blorbo 1 will never have a really good reason every again??) drives me up the wall. So the fact that Heartstopper doesn't have this?? Beauty. Love. Joy. Trust. Happy sigh.

144 notes - Posted May 1, 2022

#3

I just planted this new baby pinyon pine tree. It's the most adorable thing ever and I am very excited for it to grow up.

383 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

#2

Simplified Bookbinding Tutorials

Usually in bookbinding, you format the text into signatures, print them, fold them, sew the signatures together before casing them into a book. Sewn signatures look like this:

I don't do well sewing signatures, so I found a way to publish books that doesn't involve sewing. In the Simplified Bookbinding method, you print the text front and back on loose sheets of paper and then glue the loose sheets together. A glued text block looks like this:

See the full post

1,710 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Okay, USA followers, you know how we all hate bank fees? I mean, you overdraw your account by $1.23 and you get charged $25.00? That's evil.

As of Jan 26, 2022, the Biden Administration CFPB (Consumer Financial Protection Bureau) is bringing the hammer down on junk fees. This is more than just bank fees - this is going after the junk fees on things like prepaid cards, loans, bank transfers, credit card late fees, even closing costs on a mortgage.

The CFPB needs public comments, like the opinions of real people who are affected by these fees, to build a case about telling financial organizations that THEY CAN'T CHARGE THEM ANYMORE.

The CFPB says it’s particularly interested in hearing from older and lower-income consumers, students, service members and people of color.

There's some good detail about the comments in this investopedia article. The easiest way to comment is to send an email to FederalRegisterComments@cfpb.gov. Include Docket No. CFPB-2022-0003 in the subject line of the message.

Note that these are public comments. They will be published online through the CFPB website. Don't include account numbers, social security numbers, or full names. Tell a story - tell about the time you overdrew your account by $1.23 and the bank took $35. Tell about how you signed up for a credit card and the company charged you a bunch of fees you didn't even know about. Tell about how you transferred money from your savings account to a checking account and the bank charged you $2.50.

These junk fees are a slap in the face of ordinary people who can't refuse to pay, and the CFBP is taking aim at the banks that charge them. To read what CFPB director Rohit Chopra had to say about this call to action, click here.

You have until March 31, 2022 to submit comments.

41,779 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rmpmw]

LII U.S. Code Title 18 PART I CHAPTER 63 § 1341

18 U.S. Code § 1341 - Frauds and swindles

Whoever, having devised or intending to devise any scheme or artifice to defraud, or for obtaining money or property by means of false or fraudulent pretenses, representations, or promises, or to sell, dispose of, loan, exchange, alter, give away, distribute, supply, or furnish or procure for unlawful use any counterfeit or spurious coin, obligation, security, or other article, or anything represented to be or intimated or held out to be such counterfeit or spurious article, for the purpose of executing such scheme or artifice or attempting so to do, places in any post office or authorized depository for mail matter, any matter or thing whatever to be sent or delivered by the Postal Service, or deposits or causes to be deposited any matter or thing whatever to be sent or delivered by any private or commercial interstate carrier, or takes or receives therefrom, any such matter or thing, or knowingly causes to be delivered by mail or such carrier according to the direction thereon, or at the place at which it is directed to be delivered by the person to whom it is addressed, any such matter or thing, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than 20 years, or both. If the violation occurs in relation to, or involving any benefit authorized, transported, transmitted, transferred, disbursed, or paid in connection with, a presidentially declared major disaster or emergency (as those terms are defined in section 102 of the Robert T. Stafford Disaster Relief and Emergency Assistance Act (42 U.S.C. 5122)), or affects a financial institution, such person shall be fined not more than $1,000,000 or imprisoned not more than 30 years, or both

(June 25, 1948, ch. 645, 62 Stat. 763; May 24, 1949, ch. 139, § 34, 63 Stat. 94; Pub. L. 91–375, § (6)(j)(11), Aug. 12, 1970, 84 Stat. 778; Pub. L. 101–73, title IX, § 961(i), Aug. 9, 1989, 103 Stat. 500; Pub. L. 101–647, title XXV, § 2504(h), Nov. 29, 1990, 104 Stat. 4861; Pub. L. 103–322, title XXV, § 250006, title XXXIII, § 330016(1)(H), Sept. 13, 1994, 108 Stat. 2087, 2147; Pub. L. 107–204, title IX, § 903(a), July 30, 2002, 116 Stat. 805; Pub. L. 110–179, § 4, Jan. 7, 2008, 121 Stat.

[delicatekidinfluencer]

How to Root Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A | Odin Tool

Uncover the method to root Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A through our detailed guide. Grasp the sequential procedure to root Samsung SM g925a safely and effectively using the Odin Tool. Today, tap into the limitless capabilities of your device by learning how to root sm g925a. Read more - Why we want to root - Full Details with a guide 

Table of Contents

What Does it Mean to Root SM G925A? The Risks of Rooting Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A Key Benefits of Rooting Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A Root Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Check If Your Android Phone Is Rooted Properly  Unroot Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Conclusion Frequently Asked QuestionsI can't root my Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A My phone model is not listed on the Chainfire website. Root fail in kingoRoot, Kinguser, framaRoot, kingroot, Vroot, Root Master, z4root, Root Genius su binary needs to be updated/The Superuser binary (su) must be updated Kinguser binary (su) must be updated “Unfortunately, kinguser has Stopped” Error in Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A “Unfortunately, kingroot has Stopped” in Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Root Failed! , No Strategy Found, ConnectionUnstabitil , need root fix Google Play Store error codes like-  Error rpc:aec:0] – Error 921,Error – 923, error – 491, Error 110,Error 505,Error 481, Error 923,Error 961,Error 504,Error rh01,Error 919,,Error 101, could not do normal boot odin mode Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Stuck on logo screen Fix Bootloop on device (continuously restart) Does rooting the SM-G925A void my warranty? Can I update my Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A after rooting it?

What Does it Mean to Root SM G925A?

Rooting your Samsung SM G925A, or any other Android device for that matter, is a process that provides you with privileged control over various Android subsystems. As the term 'rooting' suggests, it is a process that allows you to access the 'root' of your phone's operating system. This means you can overcome limitations that carriers and hardware manufacturers put on some devices, resulting in the ability to alter or replace system applications and settings, run specialized apps that require administrator-level permissions, and even completely remove or replace the device's operating system.

The Risks of Rooting Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A

While the process to root Galaxy S6 edge sm-g925a can open up a world of possibilities, it's not without its risks. Here are some potential issues you might face: Voiding Your Warranty In most cases, rooting your device will immediately void your warranty. This means if anything goes wrong with the hardware or software of your device, the manufacturer will not cover the cost of the repairs. The Risk of 'Bricking' Your Device The process to root Samsung SM G925A, if not done correctly, could 'brick' your device, meaning it becomes as useful as a brick. This could happen if the rooting process is interrupted or if the wrong rooting protocol is used. Security Risks Rooting your device can make it more vulnerable to viruses and malware. This is because rooting can bypass some of the security measures put in place by the manufacturer. Software Updates May Become Complicated Software updates from your carrier or the device manufacturer may become more complicated or impossible to install because the rooting process changes the device’s software code. Rooting your Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A can provide you with more control over your device. However, it’s not a decision to be taken lightly. Understanding the potential risks is crucial before deciding to root your device.

Key Benefits of Rooting Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A

The SM G925A root process opens up a new world of possibilities for your Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge. Let's explore some of the key benefits that come from rooting your device. Enhanced Customizability One of the main reasons users choose to root Samsung SM G925A is to gain greater control over their device. Rooting allows you to modify your device's software on the most basic level, enabling you to customize the look and feel of your device to your heart's content. Improved Performance With root access, you can overclock your device's CPU, giving your Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A more power when you need it. This can lead to smoother performance, faster app launches, and an overall improved user experience. Freedom to Install Special Apps Certain apps require root access to function. By rooting your device, you can gain access to these special apps, offering features and functionality that you wouldn't be able to enjoy otherwise. Block Ads Across All Apps Another significant advantage of rooting your Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A is the ability to block ads across all apps. This can drastically improve your user experience, particularly if you frequently use free, ad-supported apps. Greater Control Over Android Updates By rooting your device, you can choose which updates you want to install and when, giving you greater control over your Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A's operating system. The process to root Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A might seem daunting for some, but the benefits it offers make it a worthwhile endeavor. From enhanced customizability to improved performance, the possibilities are virtually endless when you gain root access to your device. Always remember to proceed with caution and understand the potential risks involved in the rooting process. With the right approach and tools like Odin, you can successfully root your device and unlock its full potential.

Root Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A

Note - First Back up your data  Step 1 - Charge your phone up to 50%. - Download the Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A USB Driver and install it on your computer. - Turn ON USB Debugging and Developer mode on the phone. Step 2 Download the Odin program to your PC - Now Download the Odin program to your laptop or to your Computer. - After downloading, install and launch it. Step 3 - Take your phone and Turn it OFF by pressing the power key. - Now press and hold the Power key + Home key + Volume down key until boot to download mode.

Step 4 - Connect your phone to your PC or laptop by using a USB data cable. It's better to use original Data cables. Step 5 Download the CF Root file for Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A - Download the CF Root file for Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A. (Yes this zip may include the Odin tool again. Use one of the Odin.) - CF root file is ZIP so, you have to unzip it.

Step 6 - Now press the Volume up key to continue to Download Mode.

- After tapping the Volume up key, you will be able to see the "Added" message in the Odin tool's notification box.

Step 7 - Click PDA / AP and browse to the downloaded CF-Root file.  - Select  "Auto Reboot".

- Start Rooting by Clicking Start. - Read More -  Increase RAM SIZE after rooting Step 8 - Please wait until the phone restarts automatically and it will display a Green Pass.

Root Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A - The last step is to Factory Reset your phone after turning it on. - Now, Congratulations you have Successfully Rooted :) - Read more, OK I rooted. Now what next?

Check If Your Android Phone Is Rooted Properly

To ensure that your Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A is successfully rooted, there are a few straightforward tips you can follow. Begin by searching for an app named "SuperSu" on your device. If it's present, this means your phone is rooted. However, if uncertainties persist, consider utilizing this specific application. It's designed to confirm whether or not your phone has successfully achieved root access.  Top 10 Rooted apps for android devices

 Unroot Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A

Once you've completed the process to root SM G925A, you may find that you no longer require root permissions. In such a case, you can simply unroot your Samsung SM G925A phone. This involves following a few straightforward steps. Similarly, if you decide to root your Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A again in the future, the process would be just as simple and easy to follow.  More details

Conclusion

In conclusion, learning how to root sm g925a can significantly enhance your Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge user experience. However, it's crucial to follow the instructions carefully to avoid damaging your device. By rooting your Samsung SM-G925A, you can unlock a whole new world of possibilities and take full control of your device. Whether you want to install custom ROMs or remove pre-installed apps, rooting your Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A is the first step. Remember, rooting may void your warranty, so it's a decision that should be made with careful consideration.

Frequently Asked Questions

I can't root my Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Proceeding step by step with the correct CF-Root file will certainly aid you to root sm g925a, your Samsung phone, with ease. The process to root Samsung sm g925a can be simplified greatly with the right resources. My phone model is not listed on the Chainfire website. If your phone model number isn't immediately visible, don't panic. It's possible that the CF file for your specific model, such as the SM G925A, is currently being created or updated. In this case, you might need to wait a while, or consider using an alternative method to root your Samsung SM G925A. There's no need for concern, as there are numerous rooting apps available that can assist you in rooting your Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A.  More details Root fail in kingoRoot, Kinguser, framaRoot, kingroot, Vroot, Root Master, z4root, Root Genius All of these are applications for rooting. They can only be utilized if they are compatible with your specific phone model. If not, their usage won't be possible. Therefore, it's highly recommended to attempt the mentioned CF Root method first. This is the conventional method for tasks like Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A rooting. It's widely recognized as the standard approach for rooting mobile phones. su binary needs to be updated/The Superuser binary (su) must be updated - First, unroot your phone - Then, remove all rooting apps. - Finally, restart your phone. - Now,��follow the above guidelines step by step. Kinguser binary (su) must be updated - First, unroot your phone. - Then, remove all rooting apps. - Finally, restart your phone. - Now, follow the above guidelines step by step. “Unfortunately, kinguser has Stopped” Error in Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Has restarting your device not solved the problem? Don't worry, let's root sm g925a to fix this. Firstly, navigate to the Settings page of your Samsung SM G925A. Next, proceed to the app or application manager. Within the application manager, locate kinguser. Once located, proceed to clear the cache and data. This can often help when dealing with issues post rooting your Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A. “Unfortunately, kingroot has Stopped” in Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A If the root sm g925a process doesn't work initially, don't worry. Simply reboot your Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A device. Still not seeing any changes? Proceed by navigating to the Settings page on your device. From there, go to the app or application manager. Here, you'll need to locate Kingroot. Once you've found Kingroot, go ahead and clear the cache and data. This method should help you successfully root Samsung SM g925a and enhancing your device's functionality. Root Failed! , No Strategy Found, ConnectionUnstabitil , need root If you encounter such an error, it's likely due to the usage of a rooting app. We highly suggest opting for the CF root method. Please refer back to our step-by-step guide on how to root SM G925A. If you're looking to root Samsung SM G925A following these steps will ensure a successful process. fix Google Play Store error codes like-  Error rpc:aec:0] – Error 921,Error – 923, error – 491, Error 110,Error 505,Error 481, Error 923,Error 961,Error 504,Error rh01,Error 919,,Error 101, Certainly, here's how you can fix this issue: - Start by creating a new Google account. This is a necessary step when you aim to root SM G925A. - Next, navigate to your phone's settings. - From settings, proceed to the Apps Manager section. - Within the apps manager, find the Google Play Store. - Once you've found the Google Play Store, delete the cache and app data. - If the above method does not yield the desired result, delete some media files to free up space. Remember, the process to root Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A requires some storage space, making this step vital. could not do normal boot odin mode If you encounter this issue due to using an incorrect CF root file while trying to root SM G925A, don't worry. You'll still be able to switch on your Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A. For an effective solution, kindly follow the steps outlined in this guide. Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A Stuck on logo screen - Go to Odin, switch to DL mode and repeat the above steps. - May be, Downloaded CF Root file be damaged or incorrect. - If you can't pass the LOGO then you have to install Stock Rom. - Try again to root with the New CF root file. Fix Bootloop on device (continuously restart) To initiate the process of rooting your SM G925A, you'll first need to perform a factory reset. Begin by removing the battery from your Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A, and then reinsert it. Next, to boot into recovery mode, simultaneously hold the Volume Up button, Home button, and Power key. Following this, you will need to select the "wipe data/factory reset" option. Confirm your choice by selecting "Yes". This procedure is a crucial part of the process to root Galaxy S6 Edge SM-G925A and ensures the successful application of the Odin Tool. Does rooting the SM-G925A void my warranty? Yes, rooting your Samsung Galaxy S6 edge SM-G925A can potentially void your warranty. Manufacturers, including Samsung, generally do not cover damage caused by root processes under their warranties. This is because rooting can be a risky process and if not done correctly, it might harm your device. Read the full article