#currency press

[dynamobooks]

Tony McNamara: The Great (2008)

[serpentface]

FAMILY TITLES AMONG THE HILL TRIBES

(ft. various linguistic notes and tangents)

In-universe Brakul’s self-given title of ‘Red-Dog’ is Brakul 'ne-Dainh' in his native language (Bict-Urbinnas dialect of the Highland language group) and Brakul 'Chin-Reyla' in Wardi. Ne-Dainh/Chin-Reyla is not something he treats as or considers an actual surname or identity, just a self-styled nickname. He already has a title.

Family names/surnames are not a native practice among the Hill Tribes (though some clans or individual families have adopted this practice), and all traditionally use titles that designate immediate ancestry, clan and tribe. These full titles are officially given when one comes of age and are spoken aloud in ceremony (with the entire direct male and female lines listed by name, with most traditions expecting 12 generations of each being named).

The function is to cement one’s sense of place in the world, and their place in a direct ancestral line, which puts the person under the full watch and guidance of their ancestors. It's also a critical method of recording lineage- the long held practice of each person memorizing at least 24 total direct ancestors allows for very long, largely accurate records of family history to be kept, with some people able to trace their ancestry all the way back to initial settlement of the Highlands (or even beyond).

Brakul’s full title is:

“Brakul virsum Kuligan et Borunil an Briyonis ne-Taig an Bict-Urbinnas”

Which dead literally translates to “Brakul son of Kuligan and Borunil of the Foothills (of) Red-Cattle, of the North (Urbin/Erubin) River Valley” but has a much richer meaning in the original language.

"BRAKUL VIRSUM KULIGAN ET BORUNIL"

The actual meaning here is closer to ‘Brakul, son of Kuligan and his father’s fathers, and Borunil and her mother’s mothers’.

“Virsum” means ‘child (son/daughter) of’ (the gender is contextual), but implies the person’s status as a descendant of a full male and female line of ancestors. A different word is used if you’re just saying ‘I’m so and so’s son”. The title describes him as a son of his father Kuligan and of Kuligan’s male line, and of his mother Borunil and Borunil's female line.

All ancestors (within this particular system of kinship, divided into one direct male line from the father and one direct female line from the mother, and not including husbands from the female line or wives from the male line) are invoked and credited with the word ‘virsum’. Speaking it as part of the personal title is part of the routine and necessary honoring of one’s ancestors, who watch over their descendants from the afterlife and can temporarily return to the land to guide and protect (and sometimes punish, or teach sharp lessons to) the living.

"AN BRIYONIS NE-TAIG"

The actual meaning here would be understood as ‘clan/people of the foothills where cattle are lit red by the setting sun'.

‘Briyonis’ is the word for ‘foothill’, citing his clan’s specific location being the foothills that form the slopes of the north Urbin river valley. He is of a lesser clan within the powerful North Urbin River tribe. His clan benefits from close affiliation to their more powerful ruling clans located directly in the river valley, which grants them access to a greater variety of cultivated foods, but their actual position in the foothills still renders them predominantly reliant on cattle for subsistence. Clan names referencing cattle or horses are very common, given their frequent centrality to life.

The ‘ne-Taig’ literally means ‘red cattle’, but the ‘ne’ color word for red specifically invokes shades of red seen in and cast by a rising/setting sun. This red cast is culturally regarded as a unique beauty and evocative (and part of the name) of the solar god Hraighne. The foothills his clan is physically located on are a vantage point from which the western horizon is not fully obscured by mountains, and they experience very striking sunsets and are directly touched by the light. This is fairly unique to this location, and is invoked in the clan name and identity. ‘Ne-Taig’ here suggests a visual of grazing cattle illuminated red by the sun as it crosses the horizon.

‘Ne-Dainh’ carries the same implication, a dog illuminated red by setting sunlight. The Wardi language does not have a comparable word for a sunlit red and ‘Chin-Reyla’ really does just mean ‘(orangeish) red dog’ (‘reyla’ is specific to orangey-red colors, which is the closest match he could get. There’s no way to impart the meaning of ‘sunlit-red dog’ in Wardi that is non-clunky enough to be appropriate for a name).

"AN BICT-URBINNAS"

‘an Bict-Urbinnas’ is fairly simple, Bict means ‘north’, and 'Urbin' is the name of the specific river that stems from a northern and eastern tributary. This river has a very ancient name (or a derivative of one) that predates settlement by the Hill Tribes, and its exact meaning is lost.

The root -(n)nas designates a river valley, but has strong implications of being an esteemed and bountiful place, rather than solely a literal geographical descriptor (as the river valleys are centers of power and trade in the highlands). It may be a loanword from the Wardi language family, as its usage is VERY similar in form and function to the Wardi -(n)nos, which also suggests a place of esteem and bounty (more specifically having connotations of a kingdom).

’An’ literally means ‘of’, but in the specific sense of describing the place and identity of a collection of people. ‘an Bict Urbinnas’ would be understood in speech as ‘of the north Urbin River Valley (people)’. The clans historically settled in and around the valley of the North Urbin River form the totality of the Bict-Urbinnas tribe.

The ‘Urbin’ word predates the contemporary Wardi name ‘Erubin’ for the river, the latter of which invokes the semi-mythological founding figure Erub, who himself was of a Wardi tribe located downriver to the south of the Highlands. The real historically extant ‘Erub’ was most likely named Urub after the river, with his cited name shifting over the centuries in folklore, and the Wardi name for the river shifting with it.

‘Erubin’ as a corruption of ‘Urbin’ functions very well in Wardi language due to ‘-bi/bin’ denoting something as a ‘gift’, usually in a more metaphorical sense. ‘Erubin’ is understood as meaning ‘(The river that is) Erub’s gift’, and the Erubin/Urbin river is a key tributary to the much larger Black river, one of the key rivers that feeds the region's wetter and more fertile west. This 'gift' meaning also occurs in the name of the southeastern Imperial Wardi city-state Erubinnos, which is understood as meaning ’((The kingdom that is) Erub’s gift’. He is considered to have conquered and taken the land (from the core city's actual founders, the Wogan people) and established a kingdom there in the early days of warring Wardi tribal monarchies.

[cybotgalactica]

tumblr like vs reblog discourse is hell because people will write entire paragraphs about how "well actually likes don't really support artists because it doesn't feed anything into an algorithm" like that's all there is.

like one human being reaching out to another through the framework of a social media site to be like "hey, i saw this thing you made and it meant something to me" means nothing to anyone. like that's less important than feeding your opinion of someone's work into an algorithm designed with the primary function of keeping you on their site so you can make them more money.

i appreciate reblogs and retweets and new follows and comments just like anyone else. but i'm not going to sit here and resent the people that only like. and i'm especially not going to let myself get so poisoned by social media i convince myself the human behind them doesn't matter.

calling art and writing "content", viewing the concept of support through the lens of algorithms and exposure and statistics. there's nothing more human than Making Things but all we do is try to take all the human out of it.

[mamamittens]

So... About One Piece Money

TLDR: I'm a wordy, nerdy bitch about the logistics of literal money in a fictional world.

Now, as a preface, I want to say that I'm not an expert. While I have almost 5 years experience handling precious metals and currency in a professional capacity (as opposed to just participating in passive capitalism), this is in no way the equivalent of a full education on the matter. I am also aware that Berri (Belly, Beri, or whatever else it can be called) is fictional and mostly assumed to be the equivalent to the Japanese currency, Yen. Of which I have very little experience with as a whole.

I'm mostly just talking about background world building nonsense because I'm a nerd that can't be stopped.

So! With that out of the way, let's start with the basics!

Where exactly do they even make their currency? I mean, it's probably super top secret given the fact that its... you know, the foundation of their financial system, but given how widespread it is, I have to assume each major area has a mint somewhere inside it. This is simply because it's shown to be a pretty big deal to cross over into a different 'Blue'. Now, you could say that the natural flow of merchant/marine/civilian traffic circulates the currency but there's simply no way that's how it's done.

I mean, sure, we could do that in the modern age, but we also don't rely on wooden ships and have to deal with a massive, fuck off amounts of pirates eager to get rich quick. And a Navy guard to help circulate the cash is just begging for a strong attack. So no, there has to be a mint in each blue to ensure that they all fall under the World Government's financial system. That and most of it is going to those bubble head bastards and you know they just use half of it for toilet paper--no way in hell that's getting cycled back into the economy well enough to prevent the need for more printing/minting of money.

Which brings up the next point about what they could be made of. Now, contrary to what you might think, using pure precious metals for currency is wildly ill advised. Partly because there aren't a lot of easy to access metals that don't age like milk in circulation and also to prevent counterfeiting (more on that later). You could do that with gold (gold is famously nonreactive to the point that it doesn't conduct electricity) but it's also 'soft' for metal. Not ideal for your chump change. And the world of One Piece has to worry about water exposure constantly. So pure silver is out, as is iron. My best guess is, for the most part, a composite material, a lot like what the US has for their change (baring pennies). The exact mixture is hard to say. But! whatever it is, is relatively light and not prone to toning or water damage.

Also, I know they have a mint making these because there is no way in hell they employee the multiple countries worth of folks to individually carve these out. Their designs are distinct and very modern, which indicates a need for precise temperature control, consistent quality, and one hell of a press. Given that there isn't a year or rotating faces on the coins/currency, we can assume they don't need new designs regularly baring special anniversaries or events they may choose to commemorate with limited run coins/currency. I'm not sure what they could do that for, but plenty of modern countries so I'm not ruling it out.

Okay, onto currency and counterfeiting!

See, a trademark detail of currency (coins or paper money) is that they are usually given distinct... details. This makes it harder for your average joe to just whip up some Monopoly money in his basement and buying up all the local Tesla shops. Modern money differs depending on the country, but I'm assuming that they at least have watermarks, serial numbers, and possibly embossed sections. The more fine detail you can give your real currency, the harder it gets for people to fake it without the actual tools of the trade. (Paper money is usually made more with cotton and fibers than actual paper these days by they way, and depending on the country they integrate other special materials, sometimes in bands to make it even harder to DIY). It's probably also chemically treated to resist wear, tear, or other defacements--as well as being able to use special ink to test for fakes. It's all incredibly precise because if you can't even secure your physical currency, your actual economy is going to collapse in on itself due to artificial inflation.

On the topic of counterfeiting, I can only assume there are small, minute details that help determine where exactly specific money came from. For US currency (as well as other countries), we have 'mint marks' which are exactly what they sound like. Marks unique to the mint, usually just the first initial of the mint that made them, added to the coin's design in a discreet but easy to see spot.

And before anyone says that this can't be a possibility, ancient coins also have these marks for much the same purpose.

(Also, the One Piece mints have to be modern because unlike these coins, you never see Berri with uneven or awkward alignment on the planchet--metal disk that the design is pressed onto--which indicate these were done a lot more by 'hand' than by today's standard).

Now, where am I going with all this? Oh, nowhere special just passively thinking about the hidden aspects of world design and how Oda--unintentionally I imagine--accidentally gave One Piece a very advanced and well connected financial society despite most people living what's basically provincial lives without the industrial age inventions we know and love. Additionally, without heavy spoilers, it's clear that science is more advanced than it first appears because there's easy access to wine, beer, sake, and juice. Nearly all of which have to be carefully crafted to either last the voyage until it's sold or made in house. And if your chemistry isn't able to manage a good shelf life, it probably tastes pretty ass anyway. And Makino, angel that she is, definitely isn't making all her beer by herself.

That's it, thanks for coming to my Ted-Talk.

[sw5w]

Oy Chuba No

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:10:28

[221bornottobe]

Sometimes it feels to me that banter or jokes have become a sort of social currency that dictates the collective hierarchy. Your worth is valued in laughter and I do think, at times, that the expense is authenticity. But I hope that people know that being authentic, genuine, and kind will never go out of style and will always be in demand.

in case anyone else needs to hear this it’s ok to be more serious. i don’t just mean ‘it’s ok to be serious sometimes’ i mean in general. not everyone has to be funny. it doesn’t have to mean you’re sad or unlikeable. you can just be serious and genuine most of the time and that’s great. i personally think that we’re too focused on ‘funny’ as the primary carrier of likeability right now. i often feel starved for serious conversation, for serious spaces, for a feeling of gravity. you don’t have make good jokes to give people a good time. i say, goof only as the spirit moves you, & don’t worry about it. 

[wigilham]

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[turtletoria]

It has been a year of genocide, and the aggression from the IOF does not seem to be slowing down. Getting these campaigns to their goals is even more pressing as the weather gets colder. Please consider donating to any Gazan family's fundraiser today, and on every day until their fundraising goals have been met and these families have reached safety.

🌟 Raffle will end at the end of December 16, and I will randomly select and contact winners via email on December 17!

‼️ Only donations made after October 5 will be counted! Also please keep in mind currency conversion - only equivalences of $5 USD OR MORE will be counted for entries!

Please donate and share if you can!!!

List of raffle-eligible, verified funds below the cut:

(as of 10/05/2024)

[The red font indicates funds that have not reached 50% of their goal yet and urgently needs help in getting traction]

Alaa's (@alaakh998) family (€17,729 raised of €100,000 (temporary goal of €20,146)):

Ameera's family ($8,200 raised of $40,000):

Ahmed's (@eileen-88) family (€63,617 raised of €75,000):

Rawan's family ($140 raised of $20,000):

Rawan and Yemna Abudaya's family (kr165,143 SEK raised of kr319,315):

Aya's family (kr41,215 NOK raised of kr500,000):

Walid's family (€1,510 raised of €20,000):

[saintrosalyn]

JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained. 

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor. 

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left. 

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge. 

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off. 

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator. 

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room. 

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you? 

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him. 

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life. 

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon. 

Freedom. 

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing. 

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours. 

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat. 

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient. 

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet. 

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow. 

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.” 

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you. 

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either. 

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs. 

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone. 

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it. 

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard. 

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours. 

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two

[dencyemily]

Coinbase Witnesses Unprecedented $7 Billion Over-the-Counter Bitcoin Surge Indicating Market Shift

Coinbase, a prominent U.S.-based cryptocurrency exchange, has achieved a noteworthy milestone with its over-the-counter (OTC) Bitcoin transfer volume reaching $7 billion. Ki_young_ju, CEO of Cryptoquant, shared this accomplishment through a tweet, signaling a substantial increase in cryptocurrency trading activity and a notable shift in digital asset transactions.

The current bullish trajectory of Bitcoin's value further underscores this surge, attributed in part to the recent approval of the BTC spot ETF by the SEC. As of the latest update, the value of BTC stands at $45,965.42, with a 24-hour trading volume of $44,045,702,201, indicating a growing interest and confidence in digital assets.

In addition to its trading achievements, Coinbase has announced a strategic partnership with Yellow Card, as outlined in a recent blog post. This collaboration is focused on improving cryptocurrency transactions, particularly those involving USDC, a popular stablecoin. The partnership aims to revolutionize the concept of money, providing fast, affordable, and reliable transactions to millions of users.

The partnership with Yellow Card also brings a new feature to Coinbase Wallet users in 20 African countries. Starting in February, users in these regions can purchase USDC directly through the Coinbase Wallet app. This move is expected to have a significant impact on the cryptocurrency landscape in Africa, enhancing accessibility and usability.

Moreover, Coinbase Wallet's new feature enables fee-less USDC transactions, allowing users to easily send USDC across various platforms, including social media apps and email. This development contributes to the broader goal of integrating digital currencies into everyday transactions.

As part of its global strategy, Coinbase is expanding its reach to Africa, targeting 20 countries. This expansion reflects a crucial step in making digital currencies more accessible on a global scale. In summary, Coinbase's record OTC Bitcoin transfer volume, coupled with strategic partnerships and expansions, signifies a transformative moment in the rapidly evolving cryptocurrency market.

[homo-house]

hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

[pochipop]

＃LOVE AND DEEPSPACE !! ♡ — HOW I CRAVE YOU IN THE MORNIN' (RAFAYEL X READER).

#. synopsis! — rafayel doesn't really like mornings, but heaven knows he likes you .

#. characters! — rafayel.

#. warnings! — none .

#. word count! — 1.3k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Rafayel has never been a morning person. He likes to watch the occasional sunrise if he wakes naturally to catch it, but heaven knows he’s loath to pull himself out of bed before he feels good and ready. You, on the other hand, don’t tend to have the luxury of sleeping in until whenever you please. The life of a Deepspace Hunter often requires early starts, and now that you’ve woven your life so tightly between the threads of Rafayel’s, he’s seldom excluded from the harsh ring of your alarm coercing you out of bed, out of your dreams of sweet nothings, and into the real world (which is often much less pretty.)

You don’t even have to open your eyes to know that Rafayel is already pouting at the mere thought of your departure, and your suspicions are confirmed when he snakes his arms around your waist, groaning.

“Baby,” he mutters, “don’t go, the bed gets so cold when you leave.”

You sigh.

“Have to,” you murmur, still half asleep. “Work.”

“Call in sick.”

“I’m not sick,” you answer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You know my work is important for more reasons than one, Rafayel.”

“I do know,” he sighs, though it’s clear he’s less than happy about agreeing.

In fairness, you’re not particularly happy about this either. You love your job, worked hard to get it and climb the ranks within it, but man, sometimes you wish it were possible to pay the bills with currency earned cuddling in bed with the man nuzzling into your neck like a kitten. 

“Then don’t ask me to call in sick,” you laugh, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his warm temple.

He groans again, though you know he appreciates the affection.

Gently and with great reluctance, you pull yourself from Rafayel’s embrace, though you can’t help but take a moment to marvel at the way early morning rays of light filter through the curtains, playing on his delicate features. His eyes like marbled sunsets lazily find their way to you, still heavy with sleep, peering up at you in a mixture of love and discontent.

“You’re a menace to my sleeping schedule,” he grumbles playfully.

“Consider it payback for all the nights you’ve kept me up too late,” you answer jokingly, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ll have you know, keeping you up at night is a vital part of our relationship,” he pouts, but there’s an unmistakable glint of mischeviousness in his tired gaze.

You giggle, knowing he’s joking (at least in part.)

“I’ll make it up to you,” you move closer, cupping his cheeks in your hands and leaning down to peck his lips. “Promise.”

“You better,” he mutters.

“Don’t I always?” You inquire, fingers feathering through his soft hair.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges in a semi-rare moment of complete sincerity from the man who often goes through the world half-wittingly. “You do.”

You smile, soft and warm, leaning in for another lingering kiss, savoring the warmth and familiarity of Rafayel’s touch. His arms reach up, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he’s hesitant to let go.

“Be safe, okay?” He says.

“Always,” you nod.

Before, you might have mistaken his concern for a lack of trust in your abilities, but you’re well past the point of pointless misunderstandings. Rafayel may be an artist, and he might spin his words like golden threads from time to time, making you read between the lines, but your sincerest assessment of the moment tells you he’s said exactly what he means. He wants you to be safe, wants you to come home in one piece, and you let him steal another quick kiss before standing upright.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you add, hoping it might soften the blow of your departure.

His playful pout returns.

“You seem to doubt the depth of my ability to lament over your absence,” he states.

“I don’t doubt it at all, but I’d rather you find more enjoyable ways to spend your day,” you laugh.

He sighs dramatically.

“Bring back something interesting from your adventure,” he suggests, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Maybe something I can crush up, turn into paint.”

“Need I remind you what happened the last time you used an oddly sourced item for pigment?” You ask incredilously.

Rafayel rolls his eyes.

“Need I remind you that that’s precisely how we met?” He counters.

“Still,” you sigh, “I’d much prefer you not be endangered by your paint. Stick with oils and acrylics for a while. For my peace of mind.”

“Is that concern I detect from you, my little hunter?” Rafayel grins.

“Of course it is,” you reply honestly. “You might be pretentious and obnoxious, but I love you. I’d never want you in harm’s way.”

His teasing smirk softens to a genuine smile at your sincerity, and he stands, taking a moment to stretch before reaching out to caress the curve of your jaw with the top of his index finger.

“Obnoxious and pretentious, huh?” He chuckles lightly. “Thank you for the glowing evaluation of my character, darling. But, because I do happen to love you as well, I’ll let that little dig slide, —and I’ll do my very best to stick to safe and traditional mediums, at least for the time being, just for you.”

You can’t help but smile at Rafayel’s good-natured reply. His gentle touch lingers on your jaw, and you lean into it, relishing in the softness of his affection.

“Very much so appreciated,” you answer amusedly. “I’ll consider it a personal victory if we can avoid any and all paint-related Wanderer incidents for the forseeable future.”

Rafayel gives a curt nod.

“A noble goal, my dearest hunter,” he says. “Now go forth and fell any pesky Wanderers intent on disturbing the peace of our humble city of high-class electronic developments, bringing back tales of wonder and triumph.”

Heaven knows he has to be the most dramatic man you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t imagine him being any other way.

You play along and give him a mock salute.

“Yes sir, at once.”

Rafayel stifles a laugh, clearly pleased by your participation in his theatrics. He thinks for a moment that this life he lives with you is nothing short of fantastical, —the kind of comfort he only dreamed of just years ago, and now here you are before him, like some kind of angel he’s terrified he might wake up to find was a figment of his deepest desires all along. But his worries are quenched by the way your lips slot so perfectly against his own as he leans in, kissing you sweetly.

“May the cosmic forces be ever in your favor, my love. Return not only with tales of triumph, but also interstellar souvenirs for my viewing pleasure and artistic inspirations if you happen to stumble across any. Preferably ones that will not curse our modest seaside home.”

You laugh, and it makes his heart stutter.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for cosmic trinkets,” you assure.

You’re thrumming by the time Rafayel pulls you in again, pressing you closer to his chest. There’s nothing he has to say to fill the silence, and you let your eyes close for a moment, awash in the silent exchange of understanding so deep it could rival the cosmos. Beyond all the playful banter and the theatrical mannerisms, there’s love here, and that’s really all you could ask for. Worries about your safety, concern over Rafayel’s tendency to attract bad omens, —they dissipate in the face of this connection that buzzes like a live wire.

As you finally pull away, you meet his gaze and find nothing but softness there, replacing all the prior amusement and tiredness from before.

“Return safely, my angel. Our oceanside abode awaits your triumphant arrival,” he takes your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “And so do I.”

[gazagfmboost]

Created a spreadsheet for families reaching out to track what funds are vetted/verified & where -

The goal of this blog is to share some of the funds/families in my DMs on IG who may not otherwise be seen here on Tumblr; Each post will have the details of what official groups they've been verified/vetted by- any without official verification has any humanizing details listed so that you can donate using your own discretion. While time is taken to check for the humanity & authenticity of the fundraisers of any posted fund & many i can vouch for via IG live content & stories or chatting- I do not have the resources to be an "official" source of verification. If you are seeking verification or assistance- Please refer to this Post with links to open intake forms for groups verifying Palestinian fundraisers. If I've been tagged, please check their post for another source of official verification- many of the groups are listed below & feel free to ask me about any funds I've been tagged in.

Please consider taking a look through this Tumblr, or any of the official verified fund lists below & supporting a family or person in need!

--- Fund Highlights --- updated oct 21/2024 1. Needing Help to be Seen -

Tumblr post - Nour (33) & Bahaa (37) & 4 children; Ahmed (10), Zeina (9), Aseel (6) & Jinan (1) Fund Currency: $ CAD. 4% Funded gofund.me/047fa814

Tumblr post - Raed & Sherine Zaharna, & 5 small children Fund Currency: € EUR. 14% Funded gofund.me/fad68744

Tumblr post - Yaser & Alaa, children Laila(1.5) & Jehad (4, injured) + parents & 3 other families Fund Currency: $ CAD. 13% Funded gofund.me/368443d2

Tumblr post - Mahmoud & Hadeel Mousa, children Mohammed (3) & Adam (2) Fund Currency: € EUR. 19% Funded gofund.me/4151df0b

Tumblr post - Jbreel, Sister & Diabetic Mother Fund Currency: € EUR. 23% Funded - gofund.me/a8ffe422 ---- 2. Fundraisers nearing goal -

Tumblr post - Karim Azzam & Family only $790 remaining! 94% Funded! gofund.me/41745890

Tumblr post - Ahmed Younis (24) only €1210 remaining! 94% Funded! gofund.me/15e0d6e0

Tumblr post - Muhammad & Mom Najiyya Abdelhadi (63) only £3145 remaining! 69% Funded! gofund.me/b70e992e

Tumblr post - Khaled Sultan only €2940 remaining! 71% funded! gofund.me/5918716f

Tumblr post - Aseel Kuhail (22) only €4899 remaining! 51% Funded! gofund.me/b8d62269

Tumblr post - Karam Rafiq Al-Nabih (23) & Mother Tahini only £4177 remaining! 40% funded! gofund.me/e5106d4a

--- Palestinian Accounts on Tumblr sharing trusted & Verified* fundraisers; *- el-shab-hussein *- nabulsi Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fund list: google doc - ibtisams - palipunk - 90-ghost - sar-soor - fairuzfan Official Lists of verified fundraisers;

Operation Olivebranch IG / Website Fund list: tinyurl.com/opolivebranch Disabilities Fund list: google doc Perinatal Fund list: google doc Medical Staff Fund list: google doc Press Heros Fund list: google doc Operation Poppyflower IG / Website Fund list: operationpoppyflower.com/full-campaign-directory Project Watermelon IG / Website Fund list: google doc

SteadfastforGaza IG / Website Fund list: steadfastforgaza.super.site/fundraisers StrawberrySeedCollective IG: Strawberryseedcollective Fund list: google doc Ottawa4Palestine Fund list: google doc Camp Breakerz Crew IG / Website Fund list: google drive Hearts in Gaza Project IG / Website Fund list: google doc

TheLastTurtle / GofundWatermelon IG / Website Fund list: google doc

Flowers from Falasteen IG: Flowersfromfalasteen Fund list: linktr.ee/HoldPalestinianHands

Funds for Gaza IG / Website Fund list: google doc Butterfly Effect Project IG / Website Fund list: google doc Funds4Gaza IG: Funds4gaza Fund list: google doc Other ways to help; ESims for Palestinians gazaesims.com/ Crips for ESims chuffed.org/project/crips-for-esims-for-gaza Raffle & handmade goods for Palestine makers4palestine.com Free - Arab.org "Click to Help Palestine" Canadian government Petitions linktr.ee/prudenthermit * Post with links to open intake forms for groups verifying Palestinian fundraisers. My spreadsheet; (IG Prudenthermit)

[thursdaynights]

Why is everyone having a cow and a half when I say I’m interested in environmental psychology?

I don’t really have anyone to lean on in helping navigate this and it’s becoming overwhelming but it definitely does not help when before I can finish my sentence to explain what that is, literally e v e r y o n e has jumped down my throat telling me I’m wasting my time thinking it’s either something to do with one on one talk therapy just about nature or just being in nature and thinking about psychology. Fuck !

Okay, yes. There aspects of the field where the focus is to have therapy in nature to connect oneself to their surrounds (google forest bathing), but people are conflating environment with nature. An environment can be anything. Environmental psychologists study the interaction of people within any given space be it work, home, school, prison, theme park, government, and yes, the outside, as well.

The way I see it, this sounds like a great way to meld my circles of experience into this Venn diagram to do X.

It’s the X that I need to figure out.

I can get into conservation and look into how to improve how ppl interact with national parks. I can put my energy into fighting for the Everglades and to help in slowing down it being vultured by developers

I can turn to corporate and took at employee turnover to try to help that. Likewise, I can look even deeper at workplace policies to ensure those are working system and are helping who they’re supposed to be helping.

I can look at theme parks to figure out how to increase foot traffic and line retention. How do we get the unpopular rides ridden? How do we control a a crowd of ppl and get them to look at what we want them to look at? (/: this is an exercise in turning over the shape of this idea to myself)

I can even wiggle my way into a project manager position with this.

Why is everyone freaking the fuck out right now. This is a good idea. It’s too loud to think

[thesecondhandwoman]

Hii, I’d like to request ambessa comforting reader with body issues please!!

YOUR INSECURITIES

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: You have always felt insecure about your body, never feeling like it was quite right. But Ambessa thought different, and she wanted to prove just how beautiful you truly were.

Request: Anon 🤍

The air in Noxus was thick with the weight of iron and glory. It was a world where strength was currency, and weakness was a debt no one wanted to owe. But within the lavish chambers of Ambessa Medarda’s estate, there was no war, no clashing steel, only comfort.

You sat at the edge of the grand bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic. The silk was smooth, delicate, and far too fine for someone who felt as out of place as you did right now. Your eyes darted to the mirror across the room, catching sight of your reflection. It wasn’t kind. It never was.

The voice in your head was crueler than any general’s barked orders. Every curve, every mark, every perceived flaw—it all shouted at you, louder than the world outside ever could. Your eyes flitted away from the mirror as if it had scorched you.

You hated this. You hated that it had power over you.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hall, slow and deliberate. Each thud was a testament to the sheer weight of the person behind them. Ambessa.

Your heart twisted in your chest. You loved her. Goddesses above, you loved her. And that love came with doubt. How could someone so monumental—so revered, strong, and indomitable—choose you? Your insecurities latched onto that question like a parasite, feeding on every glance, every whispered comment from the nobles who thought you weren’t worthy to stand by her side.

The door opened with a low creak, and there she stood.

Ambessa Medarda.

Her presence filled the room like a storm front, raw power barely leashed. Clad in loose-fitting pants and a sleeveless tunic that bared her muscular arms, she was a figure carved from marble and war. Her golden eyes landed on you with the precision of a general assessing the battlefield. But there was no hardness in her gaze. Only warmth.

“Why do you look like you’ve lost a fight you haven’t even fought, little one?” Her voice was a rich, steady rumble, every syllable carrying the weight of authority. She crossed the room in a few strides, the muscles in her legs flexing with effortless grace.

You felt your throat tighten. You didn’t want her to see you like this. Not when she always seemed so unshakable.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes fixed on your lap. Your fingers twisted the fabric harder, nails pressing crescents into your palms. “Just thinking too much.”

Ambessa crouched before you, a low grunt accompanying her descent. Even as she knelt, she seemed colossal. Her hands, calloused from decades of wielding swords and shields, rested on your knees, grounding you like an anchor.

“You’re terrible at lying,” she said, tilting her head to meet your downcast eyes. “Talk to me.”

Her tone was a command, but not a harsh one. A gentle order from someone who knew exactly how strong you had to be just to admit you were hurting.

You swallowed hard. Your eyes darted toward the mirror again before quickly looking away. Her gaze followed yours, and her brow furrowed in understanding.

“Ah,” she hummed, her voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard. Her hands squeezed your knees firmly, not rough, not soft, but solid. Steady. “That’s the enemy, is it?”

“I hate it,” you admitted quietly, voice brittle as cracked glass. “I hate looking at myself sometimes.”

Her eyes stayed on you, unwavering. Ambessa didn’t flinch, didn’t brush it aside like so many others had. She didn’t offer hollow reassurances or empty platitudes. She listened.

You glanced at her, expecting judgment, maybe even pity. But her eyes only held patience. Love. That unyielding, immovable love she reserved for so few.

“I see,” she said, voice low like the roll of distant thunder. Her fingers slid upward from your knees to your thighs, broad palms smoothing over the fabric as if wiping away the weight you carried. She squeezed again, slow and deliberate. “You fight battles with yourself every day, don’t you, little one?”

Your breath hitched at the accuracy of it. You nodded, a single, small motion.

“Then let me remind you of something.” Her gaze sharpened, golden eyes fierce but not unkind. She shifted, rising just enough to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against her side. Her warmth was immediate, her body heat like a forgefire. Safe. Her other hand tilted your chin to face her.

“You are not weak for having doubts. Weakness is letting them win.” Her thumb brushed over your cheek in slow, soothing strokes. “I have fought wars, conquered nations, and stood before men who claimed to be unbreakable. Do you know what every one of them feared most?”

You shook your head, eyes wide.

“Being seen,” she said, her gaze soft but unyielding. “To be seen for all that they are; their flaws, their fears, their regrets. It terrifies them.” She leaned forward, her forehead resting lightly against yours. “But you? You let me see you every day.” Her breath was warm on your skin, her voice low and earnest. “That, little one, is courage.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. Your breath shuddered as tears pricked your eyes. The weight on your chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. It wasn’t so suffocating now.

“You don’t have to love every part of yourself today,” she murmured, voice gentle but steady as stone. “But I will love every part of you every day. Without question. Without condition.” Her golden eyes pierced you with a look so certain, so absolute, that your doubts dared not stand before it.

You let out a breathy, broken laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

Ambessa huffed, her lips twitching into a rare smile. “Nothing about love is easy, little one. If it were, everyone would be strong enough to hold it.” She pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there just long enough for you to feel the weight of it. “But I was never one to be drawn to ‘easy’ things.”

Her arm stayed around you, unyielding like a shield wall. Slowly, slowly, you let yourself lean into it. Her scent—smoke, steel, and faint cedar—filled your senses, grounding you like the steady thrum of a war drum.

Her fingers combed through your hair, her nails scraping lightly against your scalp. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t transactional. It was care. Pure, unshaken care. You let your head fall to her shoulder, and she shifted to make it more comfortable. Always adapting, always aware of you.

Silence hung between you, but it wasn’t hollow. It was full. Full of her presence. Full of the quiet promise she’d made to you every day without words.

After a while, her hand tilted your chin again, and you met her eyes. “Come,” she said, nodding toward the mirror. “Look with me.”

Panic clawed at your ribs. “Ambessa, I—”

“Trust me,” she said simply, her voice as steady as the mountain she stood upon. Her gaze was so sure, so absolute, that you nodded before you even realized it.

She rose, pulling you with her, her hand never leaving yours. Slowly, you stood before the mirror. She stood behind you, her body a fortress at your back. Her arms looped around your waist, her head lowered to rest on your shoulder.

“Do you see?” she asked, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “The woman I see every day.”

You swallowed hard, eyes darting away. But Ambessa’s hands tightened on your waist, not forceful but firm. “Look.”

So you did.

At first, all you saw were the things you hated. Your eyes locked onto every ‘imperfection’ you’d cataloged over the years. But then you felt her breath at your ear, her body warm behind you, her hands steady on you like the safest armor you’d ever worn.

Your gaze shifted.

You saw the curve of her arms wrapped around you. The contrast of her bronze skin against yours. The weight of her love pressing into you, undeniable and real. Your breath slowed. Her eyes met yours in the reflection, steady as a heartbeat.

“Look at her,” Ambessa whispered like a prayer. “She’s still standing.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they didn’t feel so heavy. You leaned back into her, letting yourself be held.

“I see her,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm.

“Good,” Ambessa rumbled, arms tightening around you like an unbreakable vow. “Because I see her too.”

A/N: I just wrote this real quickly (at 12 am) because it is a fabric that I felt the urge to draw, so I’m sorry if there are any typos or confusion.

A/N: Also, to anyone who felt like this touched them more than the usual, I just wanted to say you are beautiful, no matter how your body looks.

[unboundprompts]

Could you give me some ideas for currencies and the measurement of time, preferably both in a more dark fantasy setting involved with nature?

Currency and Time Measurement in a Dark Fantasy Setting

-> feel free to edit as you see fit.

Currencies

Leaf Coins: Thin, pressed coins made from the leaves of sacred trees. The type of leaf determines the coin's value, with rarer leaves being more valuable.

Bloodstones: A currency made from dark red gemstones that are said to be formed from the blood of fallen warriors.

Shadowshards: Small, dark crystals that absorb light and shimmer with a ghostly glow. They are collected at dusk and are traded as currency, often used in shadowy dealings. The more shadow a shard absorbs, the higher its worth.

Grave Dirt: A unique form of currency, this is literally dirt taken from sacred burial grounds. It is believed to contain the power of the dead. Merchants trade small pouches of it, and its value increases based on how many souls it has been touched by.

Wyrm Scales: Scales from mythical serpents that once roamed the land. Each scale has a distinct pattern and is highly valued due to its rarity and the protective magic it is said to bestow upon its holder.

Fungal Credits: Small, luminescent fungi that can be harvested at certain times of the year. Their glow indicates their value.

Measurement of Time

Moon Phases: Time is measured in moon phases, with each cycle representing a month. Each phase is associated with different rituals and events in nature, such as the “Blood Moon” for harvest and the “Waning Moon” for reflection and atonement.

Nightfall Cycles: Instead of days, time is counted in cycles of nightfall, where each cycle is divided into periods marked by darkness and light. A cycle may last for varying lengths of time based on seasonal changes, with longer nights in winter.

Sundrop Hours: Each hour is marked by the position of a special sundial that has been enchanted to reflect the essence of the sun. During certain times, the sundial emits a soft glow, indicating a magical time when rituals can be performed.

Eclipses: Significant events are measured by the number of eclipses that have occurred since a pivotal moment in history.

Blood Seasons: Time is divided into seasons based on nature’s cycles and the harvesting of life. For example, “Bloomspring,” “Darksummer,” “Crimsonfall,” and “Frostbite,” with each season lasting as long as it takes for specific plants to grow or animals to thrive.

Night’s Breath: This measures time through the cycles of natural events, such as the sounds of nocturnal creatures or the rustling of leaves in the wind. Each breath is a period marked by significant changes in the environment, like the blooming of nocturnal flowers.