#the institute would be like a treasure trove

[cielkie]

idk how this would work in the OIAR bc i just feel like they wouldn’t let anyone from outside look at their files, but i think it would be really funny to have like. a college age researcher show up to the og magnus institute or the OIAR who’s like studying the paranormal or folklore or some shit (cue guy with an actual degree in parapsychology which makes martin shit himself when he tries to start conversation HELPP) who’s just like oh hi guys this is my honors project! :) can i look at some spooky stories? 🤗 and the OIAR/MI staff are like NO. DO NOT LOOK INTO THIS ANY FURTHER RUN FOR YOUR LIFE. but i feel like elias would 100% require that they help this person out, bc he’s evil and he’d want a fear to eat them, and like… it’s just funny to imagine like. the staff trying to keep the true nature of the institute/OIAR away from this totally clueless 22/25 year old and feeding them the silliest statements possible that don’t connect at all to throw them off track so this poor kid is confused and hopefully gives up. but also kinda bittersweet imagining them all coming together to protect a stranger from falling into a world they can no longer escape… the old “it’s too late for me but it’s not too late for you” makes my heart hurt

[slowd1ving]

OUT ON A LIMB ･ﾟ DAN HENG NSFW

"Tender was the kiss when you held me captive In your sweet embrace, Lips begin to burn and my heart beats faster, Than the normal pace." The prestigious Astral Institute is no place for those who are too afraid of competition. Though the thralls of the Music Society may tear you asunder with their particularly fierce intra-club rivalries, those fears are brushed aside as the company of a certain bassist overshadows them. PREQUEL to roommate au rough designs for blade & dan heng here male guitarist reader warnings: amab m! reader, nsfw, porn with plot, blowjobs, alcohol consumption, overstimulation, friends with benefits but one's already got feelings lmao wc: 11.4k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Few universities on the globe offer the same prestige that the Astral Institute does. Talk to anyone on the streets with more awareness than a rock, and you’ll find that the common opinion is this: amidst its hallowed stone walls, a treasure trove of knowledge it hosts. Take a stroll beneath its grand marble friezes, and if the architecture isn’t enough to enthral you, perhaps the floating snippets of discourses and lectures echoing from the halls are. 

Naturally, aspiring scholars from across the planet find their way here—either on their own two legs, or from their vaunted perch on their parents’ coattails. Yet, contrary to popular belief, the sprawling grounds offer less competition to get in than one expects. 

Maybe that’s the reason the fierce streak of rivalry manifests in other ways. 

It’s not unusual—the sports teams for the Astral Institute dominate the field, and for the past n decades, the goal of every other college in the area is to get second place. Silver is most coveted, for the hapless scholars know they’ll never touch the gilded gold of the Institute. But even their aspirations for second cannot hope to reach the silver tongues of the more academic societies: such as the Debate Society, completely trouncing their opponents round after round with mercurial elegance.

Vying for heights grander than one can even imagine is encouraged—nay, it is the shackle placed about a scholar’s wrist. 

It is even worse, you’ve observed, when clubs that aren’t necessarily clubs germinate and flourish beneath the nourishment of the Institute. The most prevalent example would undoubtedly be the Music Society, but the Dance Society is another place where intra-club, cutthroat rivalry occurs. 

It’s an official society: has its own choral branch, orchestral branch, and even its own dedicated division of audio engineers and managers who aren’t necessarily involved with the music but the image cultivated for the club. 

Officially. On the spidery ink detailing the aged vellum, which resides outside the building the Society claims. 

Unofficially, it is also a stamp of authentication for the numerous bands that have sprung like weeds with the revival of pop culture. On school grounds and the buildings surrounding the university—which the Institute owns, whether it be the sensuous jazz bar downtown or the towering library next to the river—only groups with permits can perform at these locations. 

Though, with the spike in tensions between bands in recent years, it’s become a de facto requirement to blend in: anonymous, identified by only the mask that conceals your appearance during performances. Of course, with the roughly dozen or so factions, there's new speculation about a particular member’s identity every few days: only fueled by people practising in the music halls in the open, or those prone to gossip. 

For scholars with a meagre social life and even less free time, joining a club in the school roster is practically a given. It’s a distinguished mark to put on your school record—and if you want the full Institute experience, competition needs to be an accustomed flavour on your tongue. To those who successfully balance both studies and the rigorous requirements of the Institutional Societies, it is a distinction in of itself for any academic. 

Venture forth in spite of inexperience; only ignorance shall meet those who keep still. 

That’s the pretentious quote of today, faintly watermarked onto your post-it note as you carefully unpeeled it from the stack in the on-campus café just a few moments prior.

“How stupid.” You tap your pen on the list inked harshly on the paper: Engineering Society, Archery Club, Chess Society, Classics Society. Though they had initially piqued your interest as being mildly intriguing, it now seems more of a bother than anything: time-wasters dressed up in erudite clothing. 

“What is?” Kafka sits opposite you on the plush couch: steam wafting from her Earl Grey and against her maraschino lips as she observes you amusedly. 

You don’t even know how you became friends with her—the Literature buildings and the Physics laboratories are on opposite sides of the expansive campus, after all. Maybe it was your frequent trips to the bars last year, or maybe it was your exasperated comments plastered on the school gossip board—which she ran, believe it or not—but whatever it was, you’re now stuck with a fuschia shadow at your side. Though she’s as mysterious as they come, you don’t think she’s a bad person. Key word being think, not know; there’s just something shady about her, after all.  

“Ah,” she figures as you grimace. “The club deadline’s coming up, right?”

There’s an unspoken rule when it comes to joining clubs in a university as large and diverse as the Institute. Halfway through the second year is the cutoff point—it becomes exceedingly difficult to join any society past this point. You’ve still got four months, give-or-take, but the notion of not getting anywhere is unpleasant. Perhaps it’s the intrinsic striving this college has slowly ingrained in you over the past year—but part of you really can’t be bothered. 

“Unfortunately,” you sigh. Mindlessly, you swill bitter coffee down—savouring not the aromatic taste but the piercing heat entering your mouth. 

“And you can’t figure out which to join?” she prompts. You stare down at the list—neither the Chess nor the Classics society sound particularly inviting, the Engineering Society sounds dead, and the Archery Society seems too dangerous for the you who does calculations and paragraphs by hand almost daily. 

“Uh,” you reply intelligently. “No.”

“How about the Music Club?” 

You pause. And you swallow, temporarily debating the pros and cons of navigating a minefield such as the aforementioned club. 

And as the wise men of years yonder have sagely expressed to problems which require impulsive solutions: fuck it. 

“Sure.”

It’s too late for regrets. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Though, against your nervous expectations, you’re not immediately dragged into the thick of the competition and bloodlust. It’s surprisingly underwhelming—a brief ‘that’s it?’ before you’re assigned a small pass granting you access to the numerous practice rooms and a basic certification to perform in the less-prestigious venues. 

Hmm. You stare at your electric guitar gathering dust in the corner of your friend’s garage, and just like the void, it stares back. 

No doubt the literature student expected you to pick up some managerial duties, but maybe it’s fate that led you back to collect your stuff—and not the nagging after your friend bought a new motorbike and needs more space for his baby. 

“No hard feelings, man,” he says, and perhaps it’s the forgotten discovery that allows you to break into a smile that is neither terse nor annoyed. 

No hard feelings, indeed. 

It’s a week after you’ve received the metal placard, and an hour after attending a lecture for vector fields. Maybe it’s the curiosity peeking through, but something prompts you to ditch the stack of thick sheets of homework on your desk and pick up your guitar. 

Your guide through the long-winded halls pauses, blood-red hair swaying to a cascading halt as she points to her right. “This is your practice room for today. Make sure to read the rules before you begin, alright?” 

She’s friendly, introducing herself as Himeko with a dazzling smile. She’s one of the managers in the music club—veering into engineering territory. Compared to her, you’re just some guy with his guitar; you look away from her cheerful expression, gazing at the rules emblazoned in a red less vibrant than her locks. 

No intercourse. No hot food. No unauthorised persons. Scrawled beneath in messy purple pen is a blinding neon post-it: get the fuck out if you’re not using the room properly, you bums. 

“Wow,” you cough out in surprise, breaking your laconic pattern of responses. “I assume those have some crazy stories behind them.”

That elicits a small laugh from her, and finally it feels like you’ve done something right. 

“You have no idea,” she bemoans exasperatedly, ushering you into the room. It’s nothing too large—small enough to feel cosy rather than make you self-conscious, but big enough so sound carries well. “Right, if you need help setting up, just let the admin at the end of the corridor know.”

She leaves in a whirl of crimson and gilt gold, and you’re left standing bemusedly in the doorway. 

It’s not like you do need the help: hands deftly unravelling and plugging in cords and tuning the pegs with the ease only muscle memory evokes. How long has it been? With your mountainous studies, it’s little wonder that your hobbies were pushed to the bottom of the priority list. 

Your breathing turns rhythmic as you warm-up: chord after chord gently brought into existence with the fretboard and a copper penny as an impromptu pick. Though it’s been a few years, your hands fly across the strings.

A little bit of Bauhaus. Improvisation for The Cure. A brief snippet of Fields of Nephilim.

“I was cold as I mouthed the words, and crawled across the mirror,” you sing along with the backing track, embellishing the sombre baseline—chords ringing out clean in the daylight. It’s been so long that your mouth tastes sweet: letting the tones sweep you away in its ebb. The melody and harmonies blur together—as do your eyes. They flutter shut, focused only on replicating the feeling. “I wait, await the next breath.”

The notes fall apart and distort in the empty room: jarring and incomplete, yet harrowingly beautiful. 

“Your name like ice, into my heart.”

Your voice is hoarse: fingers raw and voice scraped tender from just these meagre hours of practice. 

“Everything is as cold as life—can no one save you?”

It’s not enough, but as the sound of song dies out and is replaced by the buzz of alternating current and low whir of air conditioning, you realise there’s someone in the doorway. 

Fingers drum on the lacquered body of the guitar as you look at him, and he looks back at you. He’s roughly your age: wavy black hair cut messy round his head; silvery chains decorating his neck and pale wrists; red liner accentuating sharp, lucid eyes that bear directly into you. 

“Can I help you?” you frown, scanning his face and realising you’ve never seen him around before: be it at a lecture, the library or any of the small stores dotted around campus. At least, you hope you’ve never seen him around—it’s awkward enough knowing he heard you, let alone that you might’ve come across him and forgotten his name. 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. His voice is pleasant: slightly melodious and clear even with his lowered volume. “The other rooms are all full—I was wondering if we could share?”

Wow, you blink. He’s so damn polite.

“I don’t mind,” you shrug it off, ignoring the smile that he gives you. While it may do you good to get along better and make friends with your fellow club mates, you don’t particularly care about that. 

“Wait,” you call out to him as he walks past you towards the back, scratching your neck hesitantly. “I don’t have headphones to plug into my guitar.”

Sure, you may be cold, but you aren’t that much of a prick to disrupt his own practice like that. 

But contrary to whatever you expected him to do, it’s certainly not him rummaging around in his bag and extending his hand with a pair of headphones. “I’ve got spares.”

“Uh, thanks,” you reply, fairly dumbfounded as you walk forward. After all, the most prepared student in the physics class you’re in only carries around a half-eaten pencil and a crumpled sheet of A4 paper on a good day. Yet as you reach out for them, he holds on to the pair. Inevitably, his fingertips brush yours, and you swear his hand trembles minutely. 

“Dan Heng,” he introduces himself. “Data analysis major.”

“Bit too late for introductions, is it not?” you comment, and it’s the second time someone’s laughed today with you. No, it’s not really a laugh—more like an exhale of air that suggests a laugh. It suits him: restrained as he is. 

“It’s never too late.” He doesn’t budge: fingers firmly clasped around the headphones, tips still brushing past your skin. 

“I’ll give you a clue instead,” you compromise, wondering what exactly keeps driving the conversation. “Analyse that qualitative data instead.”

“So original,” he remarks dryly, but he does free you from his warm hands. His eyes linger upon you as you gift him a strand of red to investigate: one of the sciences. It’s vague enough to be frustrating, but he could easily view the roster for the Music Club. Or not, actually—since the club is so volatile, it can’t be easy to peruse just who’s in it. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave dismissively, plugging the plain black headphones into the instrument with practised grace. “Think of it as repayment for letting you stay here.”

“Hah,” he grins freely this time—as bright and messy as a finger painting—and you stare at him for a few seconds. “You’re really stingy, you know that?”

The mask of politeness has slipped minutely; you see it in the crescent shape of his eyes and the casual cant of his head. Even the long white coat he’s wearing is falling from his shoulders—he simply shrugs it off and tosses it on the couch behind him, as though he’s shedding an outer layer of his very being. It’s strangely personal; for a brief second, you’re privy to a stranger’s deeper feelings beyond meaningless platitudes. 

“Better than outright kicking you out,” you mutter, averting your eyes from his now-calm face. “How many doors did you knock on before you stumbled on my generous being?”

“Generous—” he coughs abruptly, and your head whips back up from your guitar. “—apologies, that was purely reflexive.”

You sit on the sofa by the window, letting the sunlight dapple over you as you watch him clear his throat. There’s no use sitting awkwardly when the tension has pretty much dissipated; you lean back until you’re comfortable, elbows resting neatly on top of the body. 

“So? Who slammed the door on you?” You adjust the jack in the insert until the static fades completely, gazing at him all the while. 

“I was hoping you’d imagine yours was the first door I knocked on,” he sighs. “How embarrassing.”

“I’m not an idiot.” You tap your penny against the lacquered wood of the guitar. Tap, tap. “This room’s on the very end of the corridor.”

A heartbeat passes. 

Tap, tap. 

“So how many people rejected you?” you snicker. Third time’s the charm. 

“Don’t phrase it like that,” he mutters. His eyes flick up to yours, and you stare at him with raised brows, evidently nonplussed. “...Twelve. Three rooms are out of commission currently.”

“Pff— wow,” you stifle the sound against the back of your palm, but you can’t hide the grin in your words. “Your charm sucks, man.”

He sighs in exasperation. “Then what does it say about you if you’re so easily swayed?”

Did he just call me easy?—you gape, then quickly deduce he’s pretty funny when he wants to be: all dry humour and quick wit. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave your hand in a gesture of conciliation. “I’m not surprised that they all rejected you, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, now?” 

“I don’t mean it like that.” You rub the penny—the familiar metallic scent coats your hands now, and you can almost taste it on your tongue. “I mean the students here are mostly competitive pricks.”

“Unlike you?” he deadpans, and you feel somewhat offended at the sarcastic undertones he’s emitting. So rude. 

“Uh, duh,” you grin, flipping the coin with a calloused thumb. “I let a stray cat like you in, didn’t I?”

“And here I was, about to compliment your playing,” he sighs out instead of acknowledging your words. “Guess you won’t want to hear it from a stray cat like me, huh?”

Woah, you blink, almost impressed at how quickly he’s mastered passive-aggressiveness. 

“No, I would,” you retort shamelessly. “I love cats, strays included.”

“Think about it,” you continue, missing how startled he looks—the tiny twitch of his brows as he looks on incredulously, the minute waver in his hands as he raises his finger hesitantly. “If a cat came up to you, started talking, that would be cool as shit, right?”

“I’d think I was on psychedelics,” he proclaims flatly. “And possibly insane.”

“Way to ruin a scenario.” You lean back your head until it hits the back of the couch: warm sunlight gently washes over your face and closed eyes, all red through your blood vessels in the delicate lids. “We’ve established I would absolutely not mind talk from a stray cat, so give me my compliment.”

“You always want the last word, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You’re a bit too quick with your reply. 

He sighs. Deeply this time. 

“Fine. I don’t think your rougher style of playing will ever get boring,” he considers thoughtfully, and you can feel his eyes rake over you and your guitar. Assessing—just some guy with his instrument, lazily basking in the sun. 

“And… your style is very emotive,” he adds, and there’s something about that emphasis that’s ever-so-slightly different. 

“Aeons—you’re only saying that because you heard me singing, right?” You peek one eye open in a glare. 

“I liked it.”

“Be serious,” you groan.

“I am,” he shrugs. “I’ve never heard someone sing ‘Cold’ so enthusiastically. There’s real hope for The Cure fans.”

“Damn, you’re definitely making fun of me,” you quiver in mild irritation. 

“You figure that out for yourself then.” And you’re left just like that—staring at him dumbly while he unlocks the tall cupboard in the back. This bastard… 

From its mahogany depths, he pulls out a hard black guitar case—and silently you wonder at the coincidence. It zips open with a strangled buzz: careful teeth sawing against careful teeth under his nimble fingers. You watch, entranced, as he pulls the guitar out by the neck.

It’s not six-stringed like you expected. Rather, the black fretboard and polished azure body boasts only four strings. He’s a bassist, you realise with a start; the notion enthrals you, just a little. 

“That’s yours, right?” You point, double-checking not just the way he took it from the cupboard, but to make sure you aren’t hallucinating it. 

“And to whom else could it belong?” he humours you. 

“Oh wow.” You sit up, setting the headphones around your neck while he sets up. “It must’ve been fate leading you here.”

“I would’ve come here to collect my guitar regardless of fate,” he answers.

“So fate assigned me this room in particular,” you shoot back, undeterred. 

“Coincidence.”

“Explain why no one else wanted you in their practice rooms then.” It’s a pointless back-and-forth, which is precisely what entertains you. 

“As you said—” and here he looks up, eyes catching yours in such a placid stare with lips poised in a nigh-triumphant grin that you can’t look away. “—they’re all competitive pricks.”

Seamless. You can’t even argue back; he’s agreed with you and gone against your words in the same breath. 

“Shame,” you sigh, twirling with the length of headphone cable streaming out from your guitar. “Here I was, about to use it as an excuse to get you to play with me.”

“You needed an excuse?” he comments. You look on as he fiddles with the amp: too preoccupied with the technical aspects of setting up to notice your stare honed onto the back of his curls. Or maybe he does notice—he’s observant, after all. 

“Who knows? Maybe you’d demand my name in return.” You pluck the D string lazily—it faintly echoes against your neck through the headphones. Jokes aside, there’s something itching against your flesh that urges you to take this opportunity for practice. 

“Great idea,” he replies laconically. Just like that, he’s standing with his own headphones still in his grasp—as clear as scales with just another push to tip the balance in your favour. “You’re quite stingy, after all.”

“Act broke to stay rich.” You pluck another string, then another. With the presence of your hand covering the fretboard, there’s only a jarring quality to each note. 

“So—” you look up this time, only to find he’s already staring your way. Got him. “—wanna play with me?”

“Depends. Can you keep up?”

“I mean, based on your spying, what do you think?” 

One stingy, the other arrogant. It’s a perfect joke—a meticulous comedy Kafka would no doubt write in a moment of drunkenness. 

Your hand wavers on the headphone jack, as though awaiting his answer. A stingy, hesitant fool.

Thump. That’s what you hear when he tosses his own headphones onto where his long coat rests on the couch. You received your answer after all. 

It’s safe to say that your first encounter with Dan Heng is neither bad nor good, just a mixture of both that titrates itself into mundane neutrality. 

His notes are mellowed against yours—smooth, buttery—and it’s like you read his mind and he yours. But it’s futile to ponder on the concept more; after all, it’s not like you’ll encounter him any more often.

✦ . 　⁺ 

You’re right, as you oft are. 

Truly, your studies of physics have left you with a talent for predicting trajectories—including human ones. You don’t see the bassist in the following days; the practice room you’re beginning to get rather fond of is blissfully devoid of chatter and teasing remarks strewn back and forth. 

It’s… quiet. 

Rather, the only conversations you have are rushed ones with Kafka throughout the week when you spot her on campus—she updates you on whatever gossip she’s heard recently, and the scandals she’s personally witnessed. 

Or, more accurately, Kafka isn’t the only one you talk to. Small tidbits of chatter between you and Himeko have also become tentative routine. It started off as polite exchanges, but ever-so-slowly, the two of you occasionally peruse different topics. 

(“Have you thought of joining one of the bands in the Music Society?”)

The question she left you with just yesterday plagues your mind as you wait in line in one of the tiny, cosy cafés dotted around campus. There’s the strong aroma of roasted beans, but you can’t focus on them—nor the quaint atmosphere, nor the menu items. 

No, you haven’t. Of all things, you’re not planning on entangling yourself with creating a persona to present to the rest of the student body—a mask slipping onto your features while you showcase your music to the world. 

But as you turn around with a steaming coffee in your takeaway cup, there Himeko is: sanguine dripping off her shoulders in glossy waves, a crimson smile playing on her lips, a jaunty flair to her movements as she waves you over to her tiny table in the corner. She’s better suited for the window seats—shining like the sun itself. It almost makes you squint as you look over. 

“Have you given it any more thought?” 

“Aha,” you stare at the scalding cup in your hands nervously. There’s something about seeing someone with their life perfectly put together that makes you instinctively on edge. “Honestly, I’m not too keen on the idea.”

“Hmm,” Himeko rests her chin on a manicured hand, drumming on the varnished oaken table with her other one. Tap–tap. “Is it the competition? Per my understanding, you’re a rather reserved scholar, aren’t you?”

She’s sharp, you acknowledge. 

“I just find it rather pointless,” you shake your head in half-agreement. “I may be reserved, but I can handle the pressure.”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t have picked physics for my studies,” you comment as an afterthought. “Call me pessimistic, but I can’t find much merit in anonymous rivalries that only benefit the ego.”

“You were assigned the Nihility path at orientation, weren’t you?” Himeko remarks—a reference to the quiz each first-year takes to determine a ‘house’. You thought it was more arbitrary than anything; with a school as intra-competitive as the Institute, it’s only natural that it has its own factions to compete with each other even further. But clearly, there are some who value the path system as measures of personalities. 

You hadn’t given that much thought either. 

“I think so.” You play with the empty sugar packet, twisting it in your fingers. “Dostoyevsky isn’t my favourite author, before you ask.”

She exhales wryly, and just like that, the small tension in your shoulders dissipates somewhat. 

“Well, it’s not entirely ego-boosting. Of course, due to rumours and information of that ilk, the rivalries are what’s the main focus for those who aren’t in the Society.” Red stains her own cup as she takes a sip of her espresso. “It’s a good opportunity for scholarships, prizes, and extra credit. The rivalry’s a natural consequence, of course, but there’s only one or two groups with bad blood like that between them.”

“You’d need to be a bit more careful to keep your identity as a band member a secret,” she adds. “But since a portion of the club are part of bands themselves, they mind their own business out of a mutual ‘stay out of each other's' way’ policy.”

You think back to Dan Heng’s rejections from the practice halls, and suddenly it makes a lot more sense. 

“But you’ll know who’s in your band, right?” 

“That’s a given,” she nods, and you’re sweating slightly from the enthusiasm that shines bright in her eyes. “Group managers will be eager to snatch up a talented newbie like you, so I’ll extend my hand first.”

Your tongue is leaden in your mouth as you swallow. 

And just like that, you begrudgingly join the Trailblazers. 

✦ . 　⁺

“What the fuck?” you point at the man before you incredulously, though retrospectively, you should’ve expected this. 

Himeko had driven you to the more private practice rooms in the city: a space subsidised by the Institute for each band. Your expectations had been low, but the glossy building led you to rethink your entire philosophy (each practice room was twice the size of your dorm) and wholeheartedly accept your new reality. 

It was going too smoothly, perhaps. March 7th was the first proper band member you’d met—an enthusiastic Environmental Studies student in charge of the synthesiser. Her affable personality wholly reminded you of bubblegum. 

Next through the door were Caelus and Stelle—twins which you had met before. Kafka had taken them under her wing a while back, and they’d tottered after her (or at least, that’s how you remembered it) before they grew accustomed to the Institute on their own. Theatre and psychology majors respectively, if you recall correctly. Caelus on the drums, Stelle on vocals; two roles that fit them surprisingly well. 

“Ah, Welt won’t be joining us today,” Himeko informs you as you’re idly tuning the pegs for your guitar. You recognise the name of your blunt upperclassman; an animation major who looks like he’s on the verge of dying every time you see him. Condolences, you sympathise for the man who’s finally kicked his personal bucket. “But he’s good with the harp and cello.”

“So you guys are missing a guitarist?” you interject. As far as you knew, there was a bassist left on the roster. There’s also the ‘mascot’, Pom-Pom: Himeko’s small rabbit that you’ve unfortunately not had the pleasure of meeting but you have seen from March 7th’s phone as she gushes over the tiny, fluffy thing. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stelle sighs. “Our old one quit a while back.” 

No—she assures you, the reason was perfectly normal and not any unsavoury reasons that would’ve definitely given you cold feet. 

“He’s so late,” March 7th grumbles, but you don’t have time to ask just who exactly the mysterious bassist is—because speak of the devil, the wooden door swings open and suddenly you’re staring at a man whom you thought you wouldn’t see much of. 

Which brings you to your current predicament: spilling an expletive from your lips while pointing at a man just as dumbfounded as you. 

“Huh?” he stares back. “Himeko, what did you do?”

“You mentioned him, so I checked out his talent for myself,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “Even if you hadn’t said he was good, I would’ve seen it for myself anyway.”

He gapes for a moment longer, but your own astonished expression is a lot more difficult to stave off. 

“Oh, oh—he was talking about you, you know,” March 7th bounds up to you with her hands clasped behind her back in a picture of innocence. 

“What’d he say?” All too eager to play along, you lean so she can whisper it without the aforementioned man overhearing. She responds in kind, already cupping a hand around her mouth, but—

“March.” You’re pulled away by a glaring Dan Heng: hand firmly grasped around your wrist. Just as quickly, he lets go with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry, she’ll probably embellish what I actually said,” he fumbles. 

He’s warm, you notice. And flustered, you note, this time with far greater amusement. 

“He said the two of you had great chemistry,” Stelle calls, and her tone of voice is so steady that you half-believe her. 

“Stelle, I did not—”

“—totally did—”

“—part of ‘we played well together’ could you have possibly misheard like that? I said four words—”

They’re bickering, March 7th and Caelus jumping in on their argument—and suddenly there’s a messy, bright burst of feeling tangling in your chest. 

They’re always like that, pay them no mind—Himeko tells you, but you don’t mind. Despite your initial reluctance, there’s something that draws you to this mismatched group. 

And perhaps your second encounter with Dan Heng isn’t the greatest either, but it certainly isn’t terrible. 

✦ . 　⁺

Though it doesn’t seem like it at first, Stelle’s offhand comment—chemistry—seems to be more prophetic than teasing. From a purely objective standpoint, his buttery-smooth playing wraps into your rougher style seamlessly: a steady, unwavering foundation. 

It’s never boring; you’re watching as his hands practically fly against the fretboard as he plays a post-punk piece, spellbound even as you churn out gritty chord after chord. There’s a small smile on your lips as you gaze at his concentrated face—which breaks just as the last rattles of the song die out. 

The two of you are back in the practice room like all those weeks ago. It was quickly made clear to you that other than the weekly meetups, individual practice is more efficient since there’s no other way to meet sooner without taking study time away. It’s either good luck—or fate, as you’d like to put it otherwise—that Dan Heng’s schedule is pretty similar to yours, since now you’ve essentially got a free partner to practise with in the afternoons. 

“What?” His head snaps up as a response to the scorching sensation of your eyes drilling holes in his face. 

“I think you’re my favourite bassist I know,” you answer seriously. In all honesty, he’s the only bassist you know—but you’re not about to say his chord progressions give you goosebumps. It’s become a running bit—one that you feel a strong obligation to commit to—which consists of offhand remarks that seem a bit too much like compliments. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only bassist you know,” he deadpans. “So that compliment doesn’t count.”

How’d he know that?—you blink in surprise. Drat. “I think you’re a mind reader.”

“That’s just fact.”

He leans back on the wall at the back; maybe it’s the gentle sunlight washing over his features, or maybe it’s the low hanging light fixtures in the practice room, but his eyes sparkle cerulean at this very moment. A lazy smile paints his face, and your brows raise in mild surprise. 

“Um,” you wrack your brains. “Your eyes are pretty.”

He coughs loudly—taken off-guard at how casually you admit it. Even now, you’re still tapping that damned penny against your keyboard as you keep looking at him: nonplussed, as though you’re simply saying the grass is green and two plus two equals four. No other intonation other than neutrality. Just like any other compliment you’ve given him nonchalantly.

His stomach tightens. Just a little. 

✦ . 　⁺

It becomes habitual: practising every other day turns into hanging out. From walking to that shiny room together (both of your dorms are surprisingly close together, after all), to greeting him whenever you see him pass by to his lecture hall, it feels like you’ve gotten closer to the not-so-stoic man. 

Twenty-one days it takes to form a habit. 

You’ve gotten far too used to his company: neither March nor the twins live nearby, Welt looks like he’s fighting off death each time you see his haggard face, and Himeko’s a lot busier than you initially thought. Past those three weeks, and it seems like you’re slowly extending and accepting tendrils of friendship from the bassist. 

Maybe that’s why you’re currently in this predicament.

Even with your new-found (and old-found) hobby, there’s an obvious need to keep studying—that physics degree won’t award itself, after all. In comes the expansive library on-campus: a marvel of classic academia and modern architecture that scholars never get used to. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” It’s just you and Dan Heng in this corner. You—sitting down at a four-by-four walnut hued table, stacks upon stacks of atomic structure reading piled neatly on your right. Him—standing before you with a meagre, slim laptop in his hands that cannot possibly contest with the fat stacks of paper by you. 

“Absolutely,” you lie through your teeth. “The whole table is reserved for my company.” 

That’s a prime example of falsehood. 

Dan Heng, the smartie-pants he is, sees through the fib quite easily. 

“You and what friends?” His brow piques. 

You make an obvious show of looking around him. If the space beholden to him was any emptier, there’d be a tumbleweed merrily sweeping past him. 

“And where’s your company?” 

He scowls. 

“Know the enemy and know yourself.” You place a palm on your chest sagely. “It appears you do not know yourself, nor your enemy.”

“There’s someone willing to spend time with you?” He sits down anyway, but it’s not like you were going to reject him in the first place. 

“Yes.” You turn back to your book mysteriously. Ignoring the very obvious contender who’s currently sat himself opposite you, willingly, there’s also a text on your phone refuting his words. 

< Living Poets Society <3 > 11:32 > I’ll be there in fifteen. Save me a place, won’t you?

There’s a smile playing on your lips while you tap out an ‘okay, see you soon’, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Dan Heng as he glances up at your sudden movement. He’s still looking over as you place your phone down and crack open the textbook once more: eyes so blatantly heavy you can’t help but speak while you skim over the information. 

“Need something?”

“I still haven’t gotten your number—” and this time he pointedly adds your name to the end of his statement, courtesy of a slip-up from March 7th a few weeks back. 

“Oh, yeah,” you turn your page, unlocking the phone without looking and passing him the device. “Just add yourself.”

He notes the anonymous sender in the back of his mind, the heart directly after, and the message itself. His teeth grit together as he adds himself to the list of contacts: why March and the twins are there before him, he doesn’t know. He’s known you longer and better, damn it. 

His thumb swipes a quick message to himself so he can save your number too—a simple ‘hi’ that makes his mouth dry, even with how lacklustre it is. 

Though, his mouth is dry due to deliberation over whether to put a heart next to your name, which he now knows thanks to March 7th. Just as quickly, he strikes the thought from his mind—it doesn’t matter. 

Why the hell would it matter in the first place?

He glances back up at you—you’re engrossed as ever in the text, which is all well and good because his hands wobble a bit as he slides your phone back. You still barely notice: a low ‘thanks’ slipping from your lips as you turn the page. 

Dan Heng appears to be working away silently from where you’re sitting, but what you can’t see is how he’s rereading the same few lines of data with furrowed brows. 

What you can’t see when Kafka arrives and kisses your cheek in greeting is how his hands clench around his pencil—but she does, purposefully lingering just a second longer to leave maraschino smeared on your face. 

What you can’t see when you make no moves to wipe the gloss off is the stony look on the bassist’s face—as well as the questions he has for himself. Why the hell is he so annoyed anyway? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t, but the way you’re unbothered by it increases his bothered levels as though it were inversely proportional. 

He doesn’t know her—though he thinks he’s seen her with Caelus and Stelle before—but he’s never been so irritated by a stranger before. 

She’s sitting next to you, a model scholar: typing away on her laptop with a concentrated look on her face. But she’s leaning into you, head canting in your direction at such a sluggish speed that had he not been glaring at her, he wouldn’t have noticed it. 

You’re none the wiser. Absent-mindedly, she’s tapping on your palm: kneading away at the flesh and you let her, too preoccupied with inking notes into the memo pad before you to really care what she’s doing. She’s always been slightly touchy with her friends—lingering hugs, grasping your hands and twining her fingers with yours, dotting her spiced perfume right against your wrists—so this isn’t particularly out of the blue.  

With a loud clatter, Dan Heng’s pen falls to the floor—you’re too busy looking his way to notice the coy smile brimming from her pout. 

Gosh—she coos internally, what an oblivious little student you are. This is what collecting organic material is all about; even if he doesn’t realise it himself, he’s practically brimming with jealousy. 

“Wanna get out of here?” she whispers after a half-hour of noting his reactions to various visual stimuli: outright holding your hand, resting her magenta head on your shoulder, letting you take a sip of her sweet coffee. It’s low enough to appear as though she’s making an effort to stay quiet, but she knows he can hear it; the now-familiar creak of the plastic biro graces her ears. 

“Sure,” you reply absently. Perfect. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Dan Heng.”

And as she saunters out of the library with you in tow, she makes sure to wrap her long coat around your shoulders. 

It’s rather cold outside, after all. 

Well, certainly outside. For poor Dan Heng, he’s likely stewing over in his irritation. 

✦ . 　⁺

If it weren’t often before, it is now—seeing Dan Heng has become a daily routine. Whether it be at the library or at the music practice halls, the familiar ping on your phone alerts you diurnally that he’s located somewhere in the vicinity. 

To be more accurate, it’s nocturnally now. He’s at your dorm door tonight—

< Dan Heng > 23:48 > Snack run?

—a motorcycle helmet held out to you in his steady hands. This development only came to life a few days ago; you had opened his mini-fridge to find no actual food, and thus came his offer to go on a late-night snack run. 

With his jacket wrapped snugly around your shoulders, and your hands tightly gripping the valley of his waist, his abdomen trembles somewhat. But not enough for you to notice, and certainly not enough to stop him from poking fun at you:

“What, you planning to fall off? Hold on properly.”

He shivers as your arms sling round his middle: fingers splayed then grasping his shirt, right at his shaking diaphragm. He can feel your chest press up right against his back—muscle shifting against muscle as you get comfortable against his quaking torso. 

It must just be the frigid wind nipping at his body. 

He doesn’t quite know why he’s offered these rides to you when he’s never done this with anyone else, but the smile you give him as you pick out food for the two of you to share is somewhat endearing. Dan Heng sighs in annoyance as you forget to get him a drink—yet he supposes he’ll just steal some of yours in return. 

“You got a lecture tomorrow too?” Sitting outside on a bench—cherry juice on your breath—is pleasantly eye-opening. With the city just waking up, it’s a profound experience to witness. 

“Yeah,” he hisses as you poke his cheek with your gelid fingers when he spaces out. 

“And you’ll wake up for it?” you remark sceptically, retracting your hand. He’s warm, you note—a mild flush on his cheeks from the boreal night. 

“‘Course.” His tone is somewhat insincere, especially right after he takes a swig of your drink. There’s a red trickle of the sticky juice that lingers on his mouth, and your eyes can’t help but be drawn to the motion of the liquid. 

“Okay…” It’s clear you don’t believe him. 

“What, you wanna skip?” Dan Heng doesn’t quite know what possesses him to ask. Maybe it’s the specific look in your eyes that makes him want you to acknowledge him—something childish and petulant, sure, but isn’t it natural to feel like this with your friend?

You weigh your options: Intro to Mechanics, or the slightly pleading look in his eyes?

“Um—” you swill down another gulp of the tart juice—there’s a prickle of redness on his cheeks as he realises he also took his sips from that particular spot. Sanguine coats your lips, and now it’s his turn to stare as your throat bobs and juice trickles from your warm mouth. “—sure.”

And perhaps watching B-rated horror movies isn’t the best way to keep grades up, but there’s something addictive about keeping his leg pressed against yours on his cramped couch—something he can’t quite put his finger on. 

When you tell Kafka about those forty-eight hours, she lets out a cackle that sounds like it’s been marinated for that long too—and she won’t tell you why. 

✦ . 　⁺

With the rigorous academia of college comes a universal, practically hallowed tradition that resides on the other side of its gleaming coin. Parties. Gatherings, events, soirées—whatever elegant name one wants to disguise it with, all meld into a party with enough booze and enough people. 

One lonesome Friday, there’s a ping that graces your phone—followed swiftly by another, then a final one that finally catches your attention. 

< Music Society: ANNOUNCEMENTS (do not reply) > 10:00 > For those in the Society, an opportunity to socialise and mingle with fellow club-goers is here for next SATURDAY. Hosted in the illustrious Avis Hall by the POP MUSIC division…. [108 members reacted to this message]

< Kafkalicious <3 > 10:05 > I’m picking you up.  10:06 > There’s no way you actually have good clothes to wear for this. 

Sheepishly, you type out an affirmative. The club can brand this however they want, but the specific division they’re referring to is often labelled the unhinged party of the year—sneaking in dozens of students who aren’t necessarily in the Music Club, serving enough liquor to comfortably drown in—yet still managing to keep it under wraps. Unfortunately, this also means the clothing you have in your dresser—casual ensembles and a few ones suitable for performing as a member of a band in the darkwave genre—won’t cut it. 

Which is precisely why you’re feeling the biting cold particularly clearly as soon as the next Saturday rolls around—Kafka’s lended jacket does little to warm you up when the mesh, spider webbing top she selected lets through all the frigid air. It ghosts white against your skin, while the pallored cargoes she picked out are likewise spectral and blend in against the snow dotted around campus. Even the jewellery she painstakingly selected is almost intransient: shifting like silvery mercury against skin with their delicate links and chains. To put it simply, the only skin that isn’t somewhat on display is the skin of your legs—the trousers are thankfully opaque. 

As you enter the building, the strong odour of spirits and alcohol hits you: just like any other college, its parties aren’t any more illustrious than the next. 

There’s the press of bodies against bodies in the small hall; dim lights make it hard to spot anyone clearly, let alone your friends. If it weren’t for the stumbling wake of drunken dancers in your path, it might’ve been easier to navigate—but this building is crowded, and you probably would’ve been swallowed in the horde already were it not for the sight of the stairs in the corner. 

With a solo cup unceremoniously taken, you inch past the thumping decibels of music that cannot be classified as pop—ironically, almost every genre save the division’s namesake plays before it—and the amorphous mess of people milling about on the ground floor. 

A text from March 7th saves you the trouble of meticulously searching the rooms to find your friends. 

< National Cereal Day <3 > 21:16 > first floor, room at the end of the corridor!! We’re playing seven minutes hurry up!!

It’s why you find yourself squished between Kafka and Himeko in the dim room; if you squint, you can make out Dan Heng, Caelus, March 7th and some other oddballs like Ruan Mei and a few you can’t place the name of. 

There’s no actual closet in the room, which brings in question the integrity of this game. A confused glance at Kafka later, and you get your answer—the janitor closet next door will suffice, won’t it? 

“You look simply divine,” she compliments directly into your ear, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the glare she feels on her belongs to. 

“I bet my stylist would love hearing that,” you shoot back, and she twirls her hair coquettishly in response. She’s right—the outfit she picked out for you feels like you’re about to step into an angelic rave, minus the wings. 

Is it luck that spins your name first?

You swill down the bitter, slightly lukewarm alcohol down—setting the red plastic down as you select a piece of paper out of the hat. Kafka whistles as you take your time unfolding it; she’s got a knack for noticing things that people hide in the shadows, and currently she’s noticing how your little friend’s hands clench tight around his trousers in the dark. It almost makes her feel bad—almost. 

“Uh—” your brows raise in mild surprise. Dan Heng’s breath hitches, and now even March notices—the look she sends him is one half-disbelieving, half it just dawned on her. There’s approximately a nine-percent chance of being drawn—

“Dan Heng,” you read carefully. What a joke—to have someone you’re close to rather than not to accompany you to the space sequestered away in the hallway. When you look up at him, there’s a strange expression settled on his face: slightly agape, as though he’s uncomfortable with the thought of being in a closet with you. 

He stands abruptly, and you flounder after him: too busy ignoring the wolf whistles to notice the faint rosy hue that radiates from his ears. 

Maybe you would’ve asked him if he was okay with this, but the way he opens the janitor closet door and steps in leaves you at a loss for words instead. As it stands, you simply follow him in—the heavy thud that resounds from outside confirms that there’s no backing out. 

It’s smaller than you expected; only a foot or so separates the two of you, and the air is thick with the lingering odour of lemon-scented cleaning chemicals. You’re thankful for the faint tendrils of light that pierce through the small holes in the door—since at least now you can observe the look on his face as he glances at the floor, then the shelves. Anywhere but your face. 

“You… alright there?” you murmur. There’s a certain incandescence to his features as he looks back up, evidently startled by your question. If you focus on the heavy bass that you can somehow faintly hear from downstairs, the effect is almost dizzying. 

“Um,” he begins hesitantly—that in of itself strikes you as unusual. “I’ve never kissed anyone, so don’t expect too much—”

“Dan Heng,” you interrupt, and suppress a laugh as his head snaps up awkwardly. “This game doesn’t actually force people to kiss.”

“Oh,” he starts, and this time you don’t miss the hazy red painting his cheeks. “I… knew that.”

You snicker—he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “Yeah. We can pretty much just stand here until seven minutes are up. Talk. Gossip. Hang out in this tiny space.”

It’s easier said than done, though. You can smell his cologne, the scent of the liquor he drank earlier tainting his breath; you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he shifts in place. This isn’t comfortable, but you don’t mind staying like this for those few minutes. 

“But,” and your eyebrows pique at that word. “I’d like the full game experience.”

Wow. That’s new, but then again, he’s always saying things you don’t expect. You mull over a reply quickly—he’s practically trembling after all, breathing shallow and face radiating the same rosy shade as his cheeks now. 

“Oh? Would you have asked this of whoever you ended up with?” It’s out of curiosity that you ask, but you’re hoping his answer will be a no. 

“No,” he breathes. “I’d rather have my friend be my first kiss.”

“So we’re doing this as friends?” you mutter. Your hand slips under his chin, and you can feel his breathing waver. You’re no stranger to friends with benefits-type situations, which is precisely why you miss the adoring look his eyes briefly hold—flushed, hazed, yours. 

“Exac—exactly,” he practically whines as you grip his face tighter. He’s scorching to the touch, much more than usual. “Don’t get the wrong idea—”

His hands loop around your neck as you lean down to match his height. Your eyes follow his throat bobbing when he swallows nervously. 

“Dan Heng.” He clams up immediately as you tilt his head upwards. “Shut up.”

“Mmph—” Whatever he’s about to reply with is cut off by your lips pressing against his suddenly—his movements come to a halt as his arms coil tighter around your neck. Almost reflexively, like some sort of snake. 

He tastes like venom too—the impression of liquor and a hint of whiskey clings avariciously to his lips. If you weren’t so pressed for time, you would’ve spent longer tasting his flesh. But judging by the desperate curl of his hands tangling in the chains around your neck, it appears he feels hounded by the sand grains in the hourglass as well. 

Your thumb and forefinger press into the sides of his face. Pliantly, obediently, his lips open with a gasp; you waste none of those precious sand grains in how you languorously probe into the warmth of his mouth. Just as you taste the profound tang of alcohol and salt on his tongue, so does he taste the familiar palette of sweets on your own. Sweets that you’ve shared with him on all those snack runs. 

The very thought of it makes him press urgently into you. He’s shivering as he melds the seams between your lips and his more: chest rising and falling heavily as he laces you tight against him. But that’s a mistake—your much-too-thin shirt lays bare all the divots and dips of your flesh against his, and his mind blanks out shamelessly as he whines low into your mouth. 

He flinches as he feels himself sink down onto your thigh—flinches as he hears himself. 

“You good?” you murmur as you pull back. Your thumb traces small circles in his side, and perhaps that’s his last straw; he’s tugging you back onto his mouth with a small groan. 

So, so good, his thoughts jumble out in a haze, and it’s not until you pause that he realises that he did, in fact, say that aloud. 

But it’s not like he cares: not when your scalding mouth targets his jaw. Rough fingers grasp at his hair and crane his neck backwards, and it takes everything within him to muffle the sounds he’s making. 

Fuck, fuck. 

Almost unconsciously, he’s grinding on your leg—blood rushing straight to his head with how numb his mind feels. Aeons above. As you trail your mouth beneath his collar, he can feel his abdomen tighten impossibly. 

“Ah—” he lets out as you nip at his collarbone, and those eyes go wide as saucers as he stutters to a halt against you. He’s practically dripping into his boxers: hips flush against your leg, so utterly done for as you shoot him a grin. 

“I hope that was satisfactory,” you deliberately speak with a polite cadence, as if he wasn’t just writhing against you. As if— as if you weren’t just drawing him to the brink of pleasure. “Did you enjoy the game?”

Perhaps he should be grateful when the scraping sound appears once more and light—though not much brighter—floods into the small space. Perhaps he should be thankful, but instead he buries his red face in his hands and desperately composes himself—bile entering his mouth at the interruption. 

He leaves early that night. 

✦ . 　⁺

A friend, as he buries his face in his pillow and ignores the painful tent in his pants. The air conditioning turned on full blast with the winter breeze streaming through the open window does nothing to cool him down—skin burning, teeth worrying away at his lips. 

A friend, as he recalls the skilled movements of your hands against both the fretboard and his skin—drawing out small noises that he can’t help but blush at. 

A friend,  as his own hands attempt to recreate the feeling of your body on his—practically towering over him in that small space. If he closes his eyes, he can picture it vividly: tasting even the liquor that lingered in your mouth just an hour or so prior, feeling the firm press of your arms as you caged him against those shelves. 

Did you… want to go further?

As a friend, surely it would be rude to not acquiesce, right?

“Dan Heng?” That’s your voice, right? He’s not… imagining things now, is he?

With a start, he realises he’s staring at his phone—black reflection coming to life with his sudden movement, revealing that he did in fact call you. 

“Yes,” he practically whines as he soaks in the rougher lilt of your voice; if he zones out, he can almost feel your breath ghosting across his neck and stirring the dark curls by his ear. 

“Did you need something?” Stoic image gone, he’s entranced by the cooler tone of voice—fuck, fuck. There’s a dark crimson flush on his face, and a sheen on his forehead as he smiles against the receiver. 

“Wanna come over?” Aeons he’s desperate—vocal cords twisting into something breathier, heavy with implication. 

“Oh—” and he can practically hear the purring grin stretching out your face—taunting him that he can’t see it at the minute. “—I get it now.”

“You— you do?” He feels himself twitch against his mattress, ever so slightly shifting until he’s rocking gently while you speak. 

“You want more from me, don’t you?” There’s a mocking tone laced under your words; common to when you make fun of him, but currently, it only serves to make him harder. 

“Yes,” he groans, half-muffled through his pillow. 

He’s so, so shameless. 

“You alone?”

Luck smiles upon him tonight. He’s never been particularly fortunate—serendipity for him is painfully average. The most he expects from his middling chance is for his boot to occasionally knock against a discarded penny: burnished copper never picked up by his clean hands regardless. 

But tonight? He’s lucky. 

“Yeah,” he slurs into the soft fabric. “Roommate’s gone home for the weekend—I’m all alone for you.”

No feelings involved, he thinks—too oblivious to notice the dopey grin on his face as he hears your next words: 

“Give me ten minutes.”

And when you disconnect with a sharp click, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the hazed look dilating his pupils is akin to a rather adoring one. 

✦ . 　⁺

Fuck—he should’ve never suggested this, he should’ve never come to that stupid party in the first place. 

It’s only one predicament after another; squirming on the edge of the bed was not what he had in mind when he practically begged you to come over. But now he’s in this mess because of only himself: rolling his fucking eyes back while you spread his pliant thighs even further with your shoulders. 

His teary gaze meets yours from where you’re kneeling before him, staring right at his face as you trail your mouth across his weeping cock. It’s torturous—and worst of all, he can’t feel himself softening anytime soon. Not even with the pearled globs of white that spilled just from grinding into your leg, and definitely not with his sore chest as you soothed it with your balmy mouth: bruising teeth marks upon bruising teeth marks left to bloom mauve come tomorrow. 

“Hurry—ah,” he whines as you suckle on the angry, flushed head; cold saliva and precum drip down the length, and he shivers at the sticky shick-shick that resounds in his small dorm as a result of your pistoning hand. 

But contrary to his plea, your pace slows until it’s deliciously agonising. He wants to buck his needy hips into your face—yet your hand firmly maroons him on the spot by his trembling waist. 

Aeons, his flesh feels scalding beneath his taut skin—the bloodiest of reds sprawls across his damp cheeks, to his shoulders, to even his very chest. 

Even like this—with just your warm, slick mouth barely grazing him—he can feel the now-familiar tightness in his abdomen building up within. But you don’t let him adjust to the new pace you’ve set; almost immediately after his mind stops reeling, you dip your head and take him down your throat. 

He’s arching into your touch reflexively as white spurts onto your tongue—messy, thick. It dribbles from the corners of your mouth as you swallow with him still in your mouth; tears streak from his placid eyes at the weird sensation in his stomach that leaves his hips writhing with how sensitive he feels. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he mewls as you finally draw back with a wet pop sound—lips slick with his release as you lick them clean. The view certainly doesn’t help him; you’re looking at him so ravenously that his flush won’t ever let up. 

“Happy?” You’re licking your fingers clean now, and he’s aching once more. 

“No—” he sobs as he twitches in your tight grasp. His head’s spinning, but he’s so fucking empty he wants to cry. 

“You want more?” Can you believe this guy?—your expression seems to state: a slight concern present in the pique of your brow. 

“Yes, yes,” he slurs, cupping your face in his scorching fingers. “Need you in me.”

Despite his words, he’s gasping as you slide a single finger in: roughly probing to only the second knuckle, but he’s already gripping onto your shoulders for dear life. 

“Mmph—feels weird,” he breathes before you kiss him sweetly. Your mouth swallows up his cries as he adjusts to the sensation that makes his stomach churn devastatingly. It’s uncomfortable, but he wants you to be buried in him—wants you to lose yourself in his tight walls and never want to let him go. 

When you probe a second finger in, he’s struggling to prop himself up: arms shaking far too much as you scissor and stretch him open. It hurts, but there’s something budding in his gut that keeps pulling whine after whine out of his kiss-bitten lips. 

That all changes when you crook your fingers slightly. Something shifts inside his walls—a specific spot of nerves is pressed, and he freezes in your arms. 

“Wait—ah—feels strange,” he gasps out. You rock him closer, but you don’t relent with the steady pistoning of your fingers: making sure to brush and hammer right into that spot. His eyes dart everywhere and nowhere—dizzy as a twirling teacup, beyond measure. He’s stuffed so full; each time he hears that squelch, he can’t help but moan out. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly in his ear. He shivers at the small gesture—so tender he’s getting whiplash, quite frankly. “You’re doing great.”

“Ngh—” he whimpers—he fucking whimpers—at the praise. Maybe it’s the proximity of your skin against his naked body, or maybe it’s your words—but he’s clenching around your goddamn fingers as he spills more white over himself and now you. The aftershocks hit him like a train; blinding incandescence flashes bright in his eyelids while his body writhes against you. 

“That’s a surprise,” you mutter. What’s a surprise?—is what he wants to ask, but a gasp is forced out of him as soon as your fingers leave him. 

“See that?” you ask in fascination as you lift them—clear tendrils coat the digits, sopping all over his sheets and staining his own face a dark red. “Must’ve liked it, huh.”

“Shut up,” he hisses. Although, it’s pointless to even begin to defend himself—not when his dripping hole still flutters like it was made for you. 

“Oh— oh fuck,” he eats his words as soon as you smear his fluids against his peaked nipples; cock bobbing stiffly against his tummy with each languid ministration. 

“So weak-willed,” you coo; he’s so cute like this. Knuckles white with how fastened they are to the sheets, it’s really no surprise that he looks like he’s losing his mind. Those blue irises are almost completely gone—dilated completely as he gazes up at you with a quivering bottom lip. 

With a shaking hand, he pulls you closer by your white belt loops—you’ll have to apologise to Kafka later, since you’ll never wear these ruined clothes again. 

He’s the one who unzips your pants. He’s the one who palms your front—it’s so heavy and warm he can’t help but feel a little flustered by the foreign feeling. He’s the one who ultimately slips past the underwear and handles it with something close to reverence. 

“Fuck,” you hiss as his hands wrap carefully around your sore cock—neglected, but so utterly worth it as he gazes all doe-eyed at you. “Dan Heng, baby—”

His fingers quaver to a halt, and he stares with eyes large as saucers. Ignoring the obvious stain on his cheeks, it’s evident his breathing’s picked up to shallow, rapid rise-and-falls. 

“Aeons, please put it in,” he all but begs. His syllables stumble over each other in a race to exit his mouth first, but they trip into incoherency as he feels the fat head of your dick press against his slick hole. 

“Ah.” He cants his hips upwards in delight—stars in his eyes and shimmering across his mind’s theatre as the very shaft burns into him with a slow squelch. Hurts so good, he wants to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is a drawn-out moan as you latch onto his fat tits with your mouth—suckling—until he feels the sensitive buds harden once more. 

He’s so embarrassingly close from just the tip alone—especially since your tongue is unrelenting, just the way he likes—

“Ngh— fuck, I’m cumming,” he wails, choking each word out just as your teeth graze his chest. But you’re unrelenting, even as you’re groaning into his ear from how he tightens around you—you simply rock him in your arms so he can ride out his orgasm. 

The waves of pleasure ebb and flow in his mind so poignantly he sees the most blinding of whites. Right after it fades, he’s greeted with the sight of your face and chest plastered with slightly thinner, paler ropes of liquid. 

“Aeons.” He barely knows what he’s doing anymore. Weakly, his tongue kitten licks and suckles the salty liquid off the areas he can access—namely, your jaw and neck—before he bites hard on the flesh, slinking his arms tightly around your nape so he can arch into your touch. 

He’s softened now, but he’ll be damned if you don’t stuff him full for the rest of the night. 

“So pretty like this,” you whisper. The words, paired with the slightest roll of your hips as you adjust your position, jolts him with a delicious pain. “You wanna keep going?”

“Yes, ah—” he sobs, legs wrapping tightly around your waist. It hurts—his dick feels spent and all too sensitive to the lightest of brushes of your soaked abdomen. But despite it all, he can still feel the stupid thing harden once more as he imagines you filling him to the brim. 

“Fuck,” you curse, long and drawn-out as his hole flutters around you once more. “So damn tight.”

Inch by inch, he takes you deeper; swearing he’ll be split in half by the time you’re done with him. Uncontrollable moans spill from him, mixed with incoherent babbling as he claws at your skin; he feels so damn full that his spent cock still dribbles precum from the slit. 

“Are you in fully?” he slurs after a few more minutes of this agony. It’s not until he glances down and sees a bulge in his lower stomach that his heart skips a beat—only to find you admiring the sight too. You lift your hand, and—

“Wait,” he begs, but it’s already too late.

—you press down on the mound in his tummy, and he wails. 

He arches into your touch fully; tears leaking out his eyes as drool escapes his lips. Like a mantra, he’s chanting your name in between his broken sobs—too cock-drunk to think about formulating any other word. There’s only thin cum streaming from his softened dick now—and it hurts so good. 

His mind’s so numb, but there’s still something missing from this giant puzzle. 

He’s so far gone with pleasure that he can’t think of anything else. 

“Do you want to stop?” Your voice comes fuzzy and disembodied, like he’s hearing you through a pool. But he musters up enough energy to shake his head in a vehement no. 

“Keep— keep going,” he whimpers. That’s all the encouragement you need as you start moving faster, thick cock splitting him right in two as you tightly grip his hips. With each collision of your pelvis against his plush ass, a devastated whine rips out his hoarse throat. He’s so spent, but somewhere in his subconscious he wants you to think how good he squeezes you, how tight and warm he is around you. 

“Aeons, you’re so beautiful like this,” you mutter between kissing him desperately. With each rough thrust, you drill into his prostate over and over—blood wells up on your back with how hard he digs his crescent nails in. 

“Fuck—” you swear as you finally spill into him—hot seed stuffing his hole so full that he sees stars one final time. It’s a dry orgasm—he thinks he hears you say, but he’s far too delirious to think of anything but the sopping mess between his legs. 

His eyes flutter shut, and the last thing he can feel is the warm, gentle touch of a wet cloth wiping him down—and the sweet press of a kiss against his forehead as he slips into the land of slumber. 

It may have been a bad decision. He may have a crisis over his terrible impulsivity. It may have felt so good he was positively wracked with pain. 

None of that stops him from coming back for more. And more. And more, until it’s more common to see Dan Heng with a bite mark just poking out the top of his turtleneck than not. 

When you tell Kafka about this hypothetical friends-with-benefits situation, she supports you—of course she does. But what she doesn’t tell you is how this man looks at you.

She’s a poet, so she could talk about how enamoured his gaze is. How devoted the brush of his knuckles against yours is. How he looks at you as if the stars strewn across the fabric of space were your doing. 

But she’s a sadist, so the adoring haze in your so-called ‘friend’s’ expression is one she lets you be oblivious to. 

If every other band-mate of yours can see how obsessed he is with your very existence, surely you’ll be able to tell eventually?

[delta-orionis]

For the past couple of days, I've been tossing around the idea of an iterator OC who is focused around astronomy. I love astronomy, and there's a conspicuous lack of any information about it in Rain World, which I find pretty intriguing. (I made a post about some of my random theories here.) So, I started to think about what an iterator specifically designed to study astronomy might be like. I named them Three Stars Above Clouds (in reference to Orion's belt, because I can't help but put references to Orion in everything I do, I guess). I actually ended up having a lot of thoughts about them, which I'll detail below. (Warning, there's A Lot.)

Three Stars Above Clouds (TSAC) was designed and built by a splinter group of Ancients who believed the Solution to the Great Problem wouldn't be found deep underground, but in the sky. TSAC was created in order to help them collect data about the sky, house their institutions, and conduct research. They were built into a mountain range, where clouds are less likely to form and the air is thinner. (Real world observatories are often built on top of mountains or in arid places like deserts in an attempt to avoid interference from clouds and rain. You can't see the stars if they're hidden behind clouds, after all.)

Three Stars Above Clouds' city is home to several large observatories which keep a constant watch on the sky. I got the idea for TSAC in part from the currently-under-construction Large Synoptic Survey Telescope (also called the Vera C. Rubin Observatory). The LSST is designed to take ultra-high-definition pictures of the entire night sky every couple of nights, in order to monitor for changes. This data will be a treasure trove for astronomers, and can be used for anything from discovering new asteroids and rogue planets, to monitoring distant galaxies for supernovae. One problem that arises from this, however, is the sheer amount of data that this telescope will produce- it's way too much for any human to hope to be able to sift through. I imagine that the Ancients who built TSAC would run into a similar problem; TSAC's observatories generate colossal amounts of data, so a large part of TSAC's duties as an iterator are to sift through and analyze this data to find anything that might be useful in finding the Solution.

Three Stars Above Clouds is relatively isolated as an iterator. They are located at a much higher altitude than their peers, in the middle of a remote mountain range. Their citizens are also somewhat isolated from Ancient society at large, due to their fringe religious beliefs. (Due to the lack of anything astronomy or space-travel related in Rain World's lore, I think the Ancients either largely don't have an interest in studying astronomy, or it's considered taboo due to their religion's focus on ascension, as well as the subterranean Void Sea.)

As for Three Stars Above Clouds themself, they have a bit of a reputation for being a loner. Other iterators sometimes see them as obsessing over something pointless, because despite the vast amounts of data TSAC has collected, so far it's turned up nothing useful in terms of the Solution. However they are sometimes contacted by iterators who might be interested in their data, either for the purpose of research or just out of curiosity. TSAC is happy to talk about their personal research to anyone who is willing to listen.

Three Stars Above Clouds worked closely with their citizens while their city was still inhabited, and misses them deeply. Despite their citizens being gone, they continue with their sky surveys, partially because the desire to do so is hard-coded into their programming, and partially because it at least gives them something to do. Deep down, TSAC is convinced that someday they will come across something extraordinary among the stars.

In order to store the immense amounts of data generated by their observatories, TSAC's city and internal structure contain a wealth of data pearls, which has inevitably led to the amassing of a large Scavenger population both in and around their structure, who regularly raid TSAC's supply of pearls. However, due to TSAC's high altitude, their external structure and surrounding mountains are also home to large colonies of Vultures, which help control the Scavenger population, at the very least. TSAC is quite fond of Vultures for this reason.

The mountains are very cold, which means Three Stars Above Clouds' rain freezes almost immediately into snow and sleet, which falls down onto the surrounding mountains. As the glaciers and snowfall on these mountains melt, the water flows down the mountains into large rivers, and is collected in several dams at ground level. These dams are home to pumping stations which pump water back up into TSAC's can. TSAC's can is fed water through a vast array of underground pipes that snake underneath and through the mountains. The upkeep of these pipes is mostly automated, however, there are some issues that only an engineer can fix. With all of TSAC's engineers gone, their pipe network is extremely prone to failure due to its complexity. They've had a dam or two break in the past, and TSAC knows that it's only a matter of time before all of their dams break and they will lose their water supply for good.

Their void fluid filtration system is also similarly complex; mine shafts are scattered throughout the mountain range and reach deep underground to access the Void Sea. Even though TSAC's ancients don't think Void Fluid is the key to ascension, they still recognize its usefulness as a potent energy source.

These networks of tunnels, pipes, mines, and maintenance stations have become home to a wide range of creatures over the cycles, many seeking refuge from the cold. Maybe there's even a colony of subterranean Slugcats running around down there.

I've also made an annotated version of the drawing of TSAC's can; you can click on the alt text for transcriptions of my notes if you can't read my handwriting. One thing I forgot to note was the green lasers, those are Laser Guide Stars. (I just think they look cool.)

And here's a closer look at TSAC's city, because I'm pretty proud of the way it turned out. (I even snuck the LSST in there on the left, hehe.)

Aaaand I think that's everything! If I got any of the lore wrong, I apologize. Rain World's lore is pretty vague at times, and I tried to do the best with what I know. I also have a pretty strong grasp on astronomy, but not so much on climatology and geology, so if I got some of those things wrong as well, go easy on me, haha. X]

I will say, creating an iterator is an interesting thought experiment. You need to think about the effect they have on the surrounding environment, while keeping in mind that they're sentient and also have an entire city of people living on them that they need to help manage. Iterators are fascinating to me, and I love reading about other people's OCs and seeing the ways they're able to make them unique.

If you read this far, thank you for devoting some of your time to listening to me ramble. You get a gold star: ⭐⭐⭐

Edit: Here's a closeup of their in-game sprite as a reward for reading this far. Yippee

[letters-to-rosie]

You said last month that it's not Ekko if he's not involved in activism, anarchism, just actively doing shit to make a change. I absolutely agree. But you also said you "come out of a particular background and that means [you] have certain thoughts and approaches to social change that leave out things that others do and are involved in". Would you please elaborate further on that? Not just for writing Ekko, but for the sake of knowing and maybe applying to real life. You made me curious.

So I sat on this for a while not because I didn't want to answer it but because I wanted to answer it thoughtfully, and I've typed out some things that didn't feel right, but I'm going to try again now.

I tried to find the exact context for where I said that and I failed lol so I am working off memory, but again I will try.

So in terms of background, I'm a Black American. When I was young, I pretty much assumed that my family history would be depressing and I didn't want to look into it. And some of that is there: family trees that get lost once you hit enslavement, dysfunction you can pretty much trace right back to that period, having to explain to people that your family is on the light side not because of consensual relationships but because you're from one of those states that exported slaves, you get the deal. A byproduct of this is that by the time I was an adult and wanted to dig into it and found that there was actually a lot to learn, many of the elders I wanted to learn from had passed on.

That, mixed in with me trying to understand my... financially turbulent?? life led me to engage with black radical thinkers as an adult. And that led into left-wing politics in general. So that's like half of it.

The other half is I've always been the type of person who likes a hands-on problem. My approach to social change has always just been "find a problem and throw myself at it." And that translated into a social service background. Even now, to pay for my classes, I work in social services at my university, still throwing myself at a problem that's sort of followed me around for a decade or so now. I'm not in love with the conditions of trying to fight a problem within the walls of an institution that helps perpetuate them, but for me, the immediacy of people's needs supersedes any need I feel for ideological consistency.

On top of that, I study race. And media. So imagine my excitement when I see Ekko!

I don't know that I've ever encountered a character who checked so many boxes. He sees problems and throws himself at them. He practices radical compassion with people struggling with substance use. AND their victims. And even though he's fighting Silco, he knows that the problems in the city go straight to the top (I oughta write a fic someday where he does make it across the bridge and gets to yell at the council because he so deserves that).

He grieves. I've said before that grief is the emotion that has most defined my adult life. I feel like I'm always grieving. And Ekko models how you do that and keep moving. Rather than giving into the hopelessness of the setting, he creates a place where people can heal and be their best selves. AND HE HAS NATURAL HAIR!!! My natural hair journey is another story but it's honestly tied up in all of this lol.

He's like a treasure trove of things that matter to me, honestly. I'm not even sure how much I realized it at first. But as time passed, I'd keep going back to this character and thinking. His revolutionary spirit is truly to be admired. And I think that evolution in how I've thought about him comes through pretty clearly in my writing, as I come to fully embrace a bottom-up style of conceptualizing revolutionary thought and practice. I know I'll grow and change as I get older, learn more, and do more, but at this particular moment, I think Ekko has a lot of value for me.

So what am I not interested in? Off the top of my head...

versions of the character that leave out that political dimension. I'm not inserting politics into the show. The division between what is political and isn't is a false one. If the politics aren't registering, that's because they're close to the politics of the status quo

which is not to say I think everybody has to write him with politics fully foregrounded, but I wish more people would, you know?

and speaking of the politics, not really interested in ones that aren't radical. Not trying to pass a certain purity test, but we can keep in mind that Misfit Toys shows Scar beating up a dummy Enforcer, in gear. Which they probably got by fighting them. Fun!

another thing I think is key and I would like to see engaged with more is that Ekko doesn't view people using shimmer as enemies. I honestly wonder whether the Firelights know as much as they do about Silco's stuff because they have members who formally worked in the syndicate.

and I bring that up because another thing that the show as a whole and Ekko's interactions with Jinx invite us to think about is not viewing anyone as too far gone. I think in the rush to clearly delineate good and evil, we make too many lines and ignore the material conditions that motivate and contextualize people's actions.

and on that note, I don't like to make Ekko a paragon. I think casting him as a pure soul who is working tirelessly for his people ignores his indignation at the situation around him and how he is actively choosing, every day to do the things he does. I like to keep agency foregrounded.

To close, I wanna share some quotes, because y'all know I love reading revolutionaries.

“It is necessary that the weakness of the powerless is transformed into a force capable of announcing justice. For this to happen, a total denouncement of fatalism is necessary. We are transformative beings and not beings for accommodation.” —Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed

“We have chosen a different path to achieve better results. We have chosen to establish new techniques. We have chosen to seek forms of organization that are better adapted to our civilization, abruptly and once and for all rejecting all kinds of outside diktats, so that we can create the conditions for a dignity in keeping with our ambitions. We refuse simple survival. We want to ease the pressures, to free our countryside from medieval stagnation or regression. We want to democratize our society, to open up our minds to a universe of collective responsibility, so that we may be bold enough to invent the future. We want to change the administration and reconstruct it with a different kind of civil servant. We want to get our army involved with the people in productive work and remind it constantly that, without patriotic training, a soldier is only a criminal with power. That is our political programme.” —Thomas Sankara, Speech before the General Assembly of the United Nations

“Let me just say: Peace to you, if you're willing to fight for it.” —Fred Hampton

[dearestones]

The Perils of Being Better than Everyone Else (Idia Shroud and Yuu)

Warnings: The Prefect is described as being shorter and smaller than Idia, gamer lingo, Idia’s poor self esteem combined with his arrogance. 

@fjshii Request: Hello lovely! :)

I was wondering if I could make a request? There's something that's been rotating in my head :) Of course, I just want to emphasize the fact that this is a very casual ask!!! If you're working on other projects or just honestly don't feel like it then yes!!! Perfect :) I am in 100% support 😌😌😌 I enjoy whatever's on the table <3 But yes!!! I just wanted to say that! It was important :)

As for the actual request lol, I was wondering about a twst scenario with one of the boys teaching Yuu how to tie a tie? I just think it could be very sweet :) or hilarious if depending on who we're talking about. Whoever out of the cast is fine! :) I'm just hoping one of the students instead of the faculty (and oddly enough, not Vil please LMAO he just fits the bill a bit too much? if that's okay😂), but honestly, yeah, wherever your gut takes you. I also think this could be a really fun way to test out some characters we haven't seen from you yet before their debut in Caged Birds :)

Anywho! Yes! Only if you really want :) I hope you're having an enjoyable week, and thanks for all you share! :) &lt;3

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Dying on the inside certainly wasn't the worst thing that could ever happen to Idia, but it was definitely one of the top five sensations that he wished he didn't have to live with on a day to day basis. It was a feeling that had plagued him for a long time now, but it seemed that the occurrence of such a feeling seemed to happen with higher frequency after he had first started attending Night Raven College. It didn't take long to amass data points and map it out onto a graph: the points were clear and simple.

Out of everyone else in that hallowed institution, Idia Shroud was a being 'other' than the rest of them.

Yes, there were students who sported fangs. There were those who were blessed (or perhaps even cursed) with furry ears and tails. Others still had pointed ears and a longevity that most mortals would have killed for.

However, among the treasure trove of such eccentricities, Idia was by far one of the strangest.

It was quite obvious, with the flaming hair and the inevitable display of the veritable knives that rose from his gums, that Idia would be singled out as 'strange'.

Well, that was all relative when one had to consider that there was even a student from another world! It was an interesting phenomenon and Idia was sure that there would be more of a hubbub around that student’s origins, but surprisingly, there wasn’t any. At least, Idia hadn’t observed any sort of curious reactions from any NRC students. Then again, he could relate. After all, while the magicless student definitely had main character vibes, they were not as noteworthy as other famous individuals at the school like royalty, child prodigies, and the like. 

So, you would think that having a person with main character vibes would give them plot armor, but…

One should not underestimate the power of SSR Problematic Children, especially those who had orchestrated their own boss battles. 

The incident happened when Idia had been busy getting a drink from one of the vending machines that was situated in one of the hallways of the school. On this particular school day, he had been tasked with the brunt of a presentation and because it had been weeks since he had set foot into an actual classroom, his professor had requested that he attend in real life. Idia tried to put up a fight (read: he had begged and pleaded via email), but his professor had cited the rubric’s requirements and that it was a mandatory project that needed his presence. Needless to say, despite the fight in Idia, he had ended up folding the instant he thought he read an irritated tone in the email correspondence. 

(Idia would have definitely shown up the professor considering that the subject he was required to present was basically the fundamentals to understanding the integration of magic into technology, but decided to let the matter go.

He was merciful like that and he was above such triviality). 

When the time came, Idia felt himself sweating buckeyes and burrowing into the safety of his hooded jacket. Why did the entire world have to be composed of extraverts? Thankfully, during the presentation, his partner had taken the reins, which meant that the Ignihyde Housewarden didn’t have to speak as much as he thought he would. It may or may not be because of the contingency plan he had constructed back when he was a lowly first year. (That is to say,  Idia made sure to send a copy of the presentation and notes to his partner beforehand). 

As always, his plan worked because, after all, he was a genius.

So, after a lengthy class session that involved Idia pretending to listen to his peers drone on and on about their presentations (most of which were either not well researched or as well presented…and sometimes, it was a combination of both) while he was surreptitiously playing games on his phone, Idia was thirsty. It wasn’t like he had talked much, but effort was still effort, even if it wasn’t at his one hundred percent. 

And besides—

Precipice Moirai had teamed up with a lesser known energy drink that Idia had yet to taste. After having checked out the reviews, it was a widespread opinion that the energy drink wasn’t all too dissimilar to others of its kind. The taste wasn’t too remarkable and wasn’t well worth the hype except for the members of the famed idol group plastering their faces upon the tin. 

To say that Idia was annoyed was an understatement. Even if Premo had teamed up with a drink that didn’t taste good, that didn’t mean that fans should turn their backs against their beloved idols! Honestly, what sort of fans were they to talk such pessimistic sentiments about something that they didn’t have to buy? Idia was loyal and he was going to drink at least one can. 

And for those weirdos who left such disparaging comments on the forums… Let’s just say that they were going to be in for a treat when they finally logged back on. 

As Idia punched in the correct combination that would release the sweet, sugary nectar into his waiting grasp, he heard a familiar voice in the hallway. Even if it was from a distance, he felt himself shrink a little in his oversized hoodie and his hands trembled in anxiety. Out of everyone else in this school, no other SSR Problematic Child could appear so cute and unassuming, only to reveal that he himself was as much of a problem as his contemporaries. 

Riddle Rosehearts. 

A taskmaster to the core, the infamous Teapot Tyrant of Heartslabyul was busy berating a first year while Idia could only watch in detached horror. Fascinatingly enough, the first year only looked faintly amused by Riddle’s seemingly heated tirade. Now that Idia thought about it (from the safety of the bulky vending machine), Riddle hadn’t raised his voice or shouted his Unique Magic. Yes, the Taskmaster had been gradually mellowed out because of his Overblot (sadly, the experience hadn’t given Riddle a debuff when it came to his perfunctory nature), but Idia had only observed from hearsay and the off chance he decided to note Riddle’s behavior during meetings.

The change wasn’t drastic, but it reminded Idia of the character development for one of the villains in a manga series he had read a few years’ ago. A scary thought to be sure. There was no way Idia could try to compare the intricacies of an award winning manga to the messiness of human nature, but the fact that he had thought of it! For a mere second! 

Ughhhh… 2D was always better than 3D.

Before the Ignihyde Housewarden could suffer another meltdown that paled in comparison to the ire he felt at the idea of partnering with someone for a school project, he became all too aware that he was no longer alone at the vending machine. Now, Idia was no macho man (the S.T.Y.X. situation had certainly taught him that much), but he would rather go down into the depths of Tartarus or give access to his laptop without restriction to his mother before saying that he shrieked upon the realization. 

Yes, he will admit that he emitted a high pitched sound and jumped a foot in the air at the scare. 

But still.

It was nothing more than an excited exhalation of air. 

Nothing more. 

“Oh, gosh! Sorry about that, Idia! I thought you noticed me since I saw you watching Riddle and I earlier!” The Prefect’s voice was not as grating or as needlessly loud as some of the other students at this school—in fact, it was rather soft and apologetic—but Idia had to bury the urge to cover their mouth with his hands. (No way was he going to risk contaminating his gaming hands with someone who never heard of Premo before!) 

Plus…

Taskmaster Riddle could be still lying in wait for the next person to scold!

“Q-quiet down!” Idia’s tablet may have generated his voice, but it clearly conveyed the urgency and the volume that Idia’s vocal cords would have produced. “The world may be okay with catering to the whims of the extraverted, but as an introvert, I will not bow to such societal pressures.”

The Prefect cocked their head to the side and gave Idia one long, hard look. 

“For sure. Fight the power, Idia.”

Did he raise his friendship meter with the Prefect? Not that he wanted to, the Prefect was calming to talk to on most days, but that didn’t mean that they were exempt from the disease known as “sociability”. Idia didn’t do that. 

“So… is that any good?” 

Idia was about to ask what the Prefect meant by that question before realizing that he was still holding the energy drink (unopened). Ah, he had yet to fulfill today’s daily quest. 

Idia shrugged, feeling a little bit foolish as he regarded his loot. A part of him wanted to run away or shrink into his hoodie, but it would be too troublesome to rule up the Prefect because once you piqued the Prefect’s interest, bad things happened.

Like Riddle mellowing out. 

Or Leona actually taking initiative. 

Or Azul—No, he hadn’t changed a bit. A shady businessman to his core, that one. 

Whatever the case, Idia was so busy trying to come up with an exit strategy to leave ASAP (he had an afternoon campaign and he was AFK for too long!) that he nearly missed the Prefect’s little sigh. 

HAD HE OFFENDED THEM BECAUSE HE HAD SPENT TOO MUCH TIME THINKING?

Utter madness, why did anyone willingly submit themselves to the horrors of etiquette and good manners? The rules of polite society never made that much sense to him… 

“Gosh, I wish I could have some of that.” When did the Prefect step closer to inspect the can? “But if Riddle catches me overloading on sugar again, he’s going to make me help ADeuce with dressing up the flamingos for midmorning croquet.” 

Three years and Heartslabyul was a puzzle that Idia was not hard pressed to solve. RIP, GG to the n00bs who thought that Heartslabyul was one of the nicer dorms. 

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.

“I know he means well, but he’s not my dad, right?” 

There was a note of ruefulness in the Prefect’s voice that Idia was quick to note, but just as quickly discarded because no. Absolutely not. No, he was not going to get roped up into the Prefect’s problems. He had Board Game Club following the events of the winter holidays and Azul was quick to complain about the destruction done to his restaurant! (There was also the Scarabia Overblot, but not many people talked about it unless you were a Scarabian and offended on Kalim’s behalf, but that was another matter entirely). 

“And you know what else?” Was the Prefect still talking? Sevens, the Prefect was still talking! Was Idia’s blatant discomfort not enough to dissuade further social interaction? Or had Idia unlocked a secret achievement: meeting a sassy, sadistic Prefect? “He told me that I needed to start tying my ties because he won’t do them for me anymore! I can do them, I just like it when he does it because his knots are perfect and I feel like an honor student.”

Idia was going to regret this later (in hindsight, he could have ended that conversation then and there by agreeing with the Prefect and then saying that he had plans to do! because! he! had! a! campaign!), but he piped up, sardonic judgment in his voice, “So that thing around your neck is Riddle’s doing?”

“This gorgeous thing?” The Ramshackle Prefect patted their tie that had been so horrible crumpled and knotted into a sad mass of fabric that looked like it wanted to be a tie, but was weighed down with too much responsibility. Like child support. Taxes. And maybe vehicular manslaughter. Or you know, weighing down your future with expectations that you had to fulfill because of your lineage. “You know, you have the same look Riddle gave me when he saw me earlier. It’s like… he was so amazed by my mad skills that he had no choice but to stare. A total loss for words!”

“You…” Gloomurai abort. Gloomurai. Abort. Gloomurai! Abort! “You need help.”

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Scratch that, Idia needed help. 

Send dudes! Send the troops! 

Call in the reinforcements!

Sevens, screw his thoughts regarding internet anonymity! Send in Muscle Red!!! 

He needed an adult!

(Yes, he was technically not a minor anymore, but he needed an adultier adult!)

“Um…”

“Shhh!”

Idia huffed a little to himself as he looked at the length of the Prefect’s tie, the fabric somewhat wrinkled and worn from their attempts to make some sort of bow around their neck. For reasons that Idia could not quite fathom, the conversation right after he had noted how much the Prefect sucked at tying their tie had resulted in this. 

(“You’re such a total n00b! ROTFLOL. No wonder the Taskmaster himself singled you out! In fact, I wonder why the final boss from Pomefiore hasn’t talked to you yet!”

“Oh, Vil? He did.”

“And?” Idia hadn’t meant to ask, but his curiosity was piqued. Thr Ignihyde Housewarden managed to evade his fellow third year because of their differing class schedules, but that didn’t mean he did not have his fair share of scoldings. 

“He told me that poor little potatoes like me needed to get tended to better. Whatever that meant.”

Lucky! Usually, Vil would have had Idia on the ropes, fighting for his life, while Vil threatened to throw toner, moisturizer, and other beauty products at him. Pfffttt, as if the family curse wasn’t already doing wonders to his body.

“Ha! I definitely could do better than you!”

“Oh really?” Oh. Oh no. Whenever normies looked like that, it could mean only one thing: trouble. “Why don’t you show me how?”

Say no. 

Idia say no. 

Idia say—

“You’ll be like my kouhai! For tying ties. Unless you’re as bad at it like me”

That did it. 

Idia placed the energy drink on the ground and began typing in a search query into his tablet. 

“First of all, kouhai means junior. Obviously, I’m your senpai or your senior. Second of all, of course I know how to tie a tie! What do you take me for? I’m going to tie a tie so—“)

After wrangling the Prefect’s tie away from their ratty uniform, Idia tried to remember how to tie a tie. His fingers, as deft and as quick as they were when commanding the keyboard or maneuvering a mouse, were somewhat slow and clumsy as he tried to shift the fabric into a loop. How did his father teach him again? It was somewhat awkward—when were things not awkward?—and it lasted a lot longer than it should have, but eventually, Idia was choked into submission into society’s standards of what a young man with a promising future should look like. 

Ugh. 

And then his dad tried to talk to him about the future, but Idia kinda, sorta tuned him out because he really didn’t want to think about the future any more than he had to. Thus, Idia was dressed like any first year student should… But that was only for a little while. 

After Idia suffered through a week of choking himself or looking the fool with his poorly tied tie, he ordered a special, custom-made hoodie. And then he never looked back. Yes, he was not as well dressed as someone like Vil or Riddle, but it wasn’t like he aspired to be them. As if anyone other than overachievers and those with images to maintain actually cared about what they looked like.

Idia was already a freak; if he looked like a normal preppy extravert, he would undoubtedly look even more freaky. 

(Like an alien trying to fit in). 

Anyway, back to the matter at hand, Idia was screwed. 

He screwed up. 

GG.

FF.

All of his HP had decreased to  an increasingly concerning level and now, he was only a second away from curling into a ball and crying. Where was Ortho when he needed him? You could only watch the same Magicam video of how to tie a tie so many times before you began to realize that you were not as skilled as you thought you were. 

Also, the Prefect was giving him a strange smile that made Idia’s cheeks heat and his hair—SEVENS HIS HAIR! 

Curse this curse!

“So… do you give—”

Idia, in an uncharacteristic manner, bared his teeth wide as he glared at the Prefect with the power of a million dying suns. “No! I will git gud! This tie will bow down to my brilliance!” 

The tie was not OP, it couldn’t be. 

That was unreal and Idia was being realistic. 

All he needed to do was breathe and—

“You know—” Stop talking. Stop talking. Why are you talking? “—I think I know what the problem is!”

Idia, in near tears and just about ready to call it a day, had no choice but to blurt out, “What? What could it possibly be?”

Yes, he was that desperate. 

“Well, you’re holding it in your hands and tying it that way. Don’t you think that it would be easier if you tied it on me? Plus, if you succeed, I get a perfect tie!”

PHYSICAL CONTACT.

WAS THIS WHAT THE WORLD WAS COMING TO?

PHYSICAL CONTACT?

And then, Idia heard the ‘if’ that the Prefect said. And then the implication set in. 

If he succeeds?

There was obvious psychological manipulation here—the Prefect must have spent way too much time at Octavinelle because this stunk of seafood—but Idia had no choice. 

This was like the sunk cost fallacy. He had already spent so much time trying to show off in front of the Prefect that it would do him no good if he backed off now. 

“O-oh! O-okay!”

Idia’s fingers trembled as he approached the Prefect. Now that he was close to them, he realized that even though he was slouching, the Ramshackle Prefect was actually really short compared to him. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have felt so nervous—the Prefect was not as intimidating as other Night Raven College students—but still. 

Was the Prefect going to recoil in disgust when he touched them? 

Were they going to make fun of him for fumbling for so long?

Or—

“Keep going, Idia!” The Prefect cheered. Their eyes were on his hands, both of which were maneuvering the fabric of the tie around their neck with slow, stuttering movements. Swallowing hard, Idia found himself entranced as the Prefect’s small hands began to guide his own into vaguely familiar movements. 

First, the tie was measured out to its correct length. Then, when Idia began to falter, the Prefect (again) guided his hands until he remembered that he had to cross the length of the left piece of fabric over the right. He would then bring up the left piece again. A beat passed as Idia tried to remember the succeeding steps before starting up again, this time, with a little more confidence. Once that was done, he brought up the left piece of fabric that was longer and thicker than the right so that it could enter into the loop that was created from the previous steps. 

And then, Idia tugged until the knot of the tie was perfectly formed and flush against the Prefect’s throat. 

He… 

He actually did it?

He actually—

“Oh, wow! That’s so cool!” The Prefect beamed the world’s brightest smile at Idia. 

The effect was immediate and painful; the AoE would have been off the charts if it were not for the following move that the Prefect made. 

Without so much as a look of remorse, the Prefect tugged off the tie, undid the loops, and gave Idia the looping, crumpled fabric.

“Now, you gotta teach me this time.”

NO.

NO.

NOOOOOO—

.

.

.

“Ortho, I have now entered my villain era.” Idia slumped into his bed, not at all minding the crumbs from his ultra healthy dietary habits. As he curled up, he saw that Ortho was floating beside his head, a look of concern over his childlike features. 

“Are you referring to your fashion session with the Ramshackle Prefect? I saw the entire thing! I had no idea that the Prefect was so bad at tying ties!”

“Me neither.” 

“But at the very least you managed to taste that new energy drink, right?”

Idia felt his breath catch.

“FUCK.”

.

.

.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

[bluespring864]

I just read this insane thing and thought the folks of tumblr might appreciate it

The European Parliament is a peculiarly Byzantine place, which is all the more baffling for an assembly that only sprung into life in 1979.

It’s replete with obscure working groups hived off from real committees, opaque voting procedures, feeble attempts to keep tabs on the Commission, and dull, empty plenary sessions taking place weeks after the news trigger has passed. And don’t forget the gift vault on floor 5 ½. 

And the article in full because it is insane:

Inside the European Parliament’s gift vault

APRIL 17, 2023 4:00 AM CET

BY EDDY WAX

BRUSSELS — Down a curving corridor on floor five and a half, there’s a dark alcove hiding an unmarked door. 

This is the final resting place for the European Parliament’s would-be bribes. 

The secret chamber is piled high with diplomatic gifts, all carefully labeled and left to languish in bureaucratic limbo under lock and key — neither accepted nor rejected. 

There’s the opulent; there’s the bizarre. One cupboard contains a Taiwanese wristwatch given to a Polish EU lawmaker. Another holds a pot of French mustard, a miniature Saudi Arabian door and a commemorative plaque from the Indonesian parliament.

Expensive bottles of wine, children’s toys, wireless headphones, books, stationery, figurines — five dusty containers are brimming with the forsworn freebies that governments and parliaments from all over the globe have showered on EU lawmakers. 

The crypt — essentially a glorified janitor’s closet — has sat largely unperturbed since the collection began almost 15 years ago. But in recent months, it has taken on a new significance due to revelations over alleged bribes that countries like Qatar, Morocco and Mauritania were funneling to EU lawmakers. 

The scandal, dubbed Qatargate, has prompted soul-searching within Parliament, which is now squabbling over how to revise the code of conduct that governs lawmakers’ behavior — including what they should do when offered a gift.

But here, in room 55A031 of the labyrinthine Paul-Henri Spaak building, remain the gifts given but not received.

Too small a room

Outside, there is no indication about what the room contains. It is permanently locked.

Besides the renounced gratuities, the room stores old MEP files.

POLITICO’s access to the vault was facilitated by the office of German Green MEP Daniel Freund — a vocal proponent of tougher transparency rules in the institution — plus three European Parliament officials, including a spokesperson.

“It’s a bit anticlimactic if you expected some kind of treasure trove,” Nurminen said, standing on the squeaky linoleum floor of the vault as the air conditioning thrummed in the background.

With MEPs rushing to declare many more gifts than before in light of the Qatargate scandal, this storage room could soon become too small. Between 2009 and 2014, EU lawmakers declared just 15 gifts — but in this parliamentary term, which began in 2019, they’ve already registered 266.

The higher numbers are largely due to a massive dump of gifts by Parliament President Roberta Metsola, who declared 170 gifts since the start of the year — most recently a traditional shirt from the chairman of the Ukrainian parliament and a decorative box from Harvard University.

The president’s gifts are either displayed in her office, stored in this gift vault — or already long gone. When it comes to gifts of chocolates, wine or crunchy snacks, some have been “served in the course of Parliament’s functions,” i.e. consumed during official work meetings.

Even though she missed the internal deadline to declare many of the gifts, Metsola — who has been Parliament president since January 2022 — argued she was being radically transparent by declaring the gifts and turning them over. This broke with years of the institution exempting the president from declaring gifts on the public register.

Because of this change, many gifts given to previous presidents and kept in boxes by a set of civil servants called the “protocol service” are now being transferred to this room from undisclosed locations. The Parliament spokesperson described this gift vault as the only dedicated room where such gifts to former presidents are kept.

Just 17 gifts to presidents past and present are on display in glass cabinets at the Parliament’s seat in Strasbourg, next to a tiny kiosk selling Roberta Metsola-themed stamps. They include a statuette of a horse from the United Arab Emirates’ National Council; handmade artwork from the president of Nigeria; a silver bowl from top U.S. politician Nancy Pelosi; a peace-themed mosaic from Pope Francis; and a vide-poches or decorative tray from French President Emmanuel Macron.

Manfred’s mobile

For now, the gifts in the chamber in Brussels are essentially in limbo — neither displayed nor used — a fate that might perhaps make lobbyists or foreign dignitaries think twice about going to the trouble of making any such gesture in the first place.

A case in point is a Huawei smartphone that was worth more than €150 when given to European People’s Party chief Manfred Weber by the Chinese tech company — in 2013. It’s been gathering dust here ever since.

The “end of life” rules, as Parliament speak would have it, means dead but not buried.

According to the current rules, EU lawmakers can keep these gifts permanently if it can be proved they have no “obvious” value to the Parliament. Or they may be temporarily displayed in their offices if the president gives her blessing.

In theory, parliamentarians can also bid to buy back their gifts in a public tender — but such an auction has never happened.

At a later stage of the ethics reform plan initiated by Metsola, senior parliamentarians could at some point tweak the code of conduct to allow the gifts to be given to charities — as happens with used furniture and food waste from the canteens. But such a tweak is currently not under consideration.

“If you have more presents handed into the institution, there needs to be a way to process them. So the existing 2013 rules might be revised,” the spokesperson said as the door quietly closed.

 source: politico.eu

[midwestbramble]

America Bewitched Book Review

One of the things I missed about amino was doing my book reviews. I’m going to start posting reviews of the books I have on my shelf, which is organized in alphabetical order. So first up is:

I originally read this book because it was referenced a lot in the witchcraft books I had been reading. Now it’s a book I reference for folklore.

⛧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⛧

Published 2013

“The tragic story of witchcraft in America, from the infamous Salem witch trials to the present day—now told in full for the first time.”

What I Liked

Owen Davies does an extremely thorough job with looking into the court cases and civil suits that include accusations of witchcraft in America. He takes a deep look into the history of the people and the institutions that are involved in each case as well as the surrounding cultural beliefs that are involved. Discussing disputes of European-Americans, African-Americans, as well as Native Americans and how beliefs and ideas around witchcraft intermingled and influenced the other. It was also nice to see a historian label racist ideas as just that, racist, and not beat around the bush when such topics arose. Even broaching the topic of the cultural appropriation of Native American practices in the last chapter covering Wicca and neo-paganism.

Davies takes the time to cite different charms that were supposed to have been used or were known to have been used in each case or folk belief. As with witch trials from earlier periods, this is a treasure trove for traditional American witches to mine from to begin to build our own practices (without appropriation, of course). One case even explains that the victims spirit leaves its body during hag riding.

I had a feeling Wicca would be brought up at some point in this book, however I was pleasantly surprised by how thorough the explanation of the introduction of Wicca to the United States was. I definitely learned more about Sybil Leek than I had ever planned to, as well as other popular (and controversial) authors such as Raymond Buckland, Starhawk, and Silver Ravenwolf. Davies also brings up the fact that the “Burning Times” idea in modern witchcraft spaces is bogus and really everything that goes into that chapter of American witchcraft history.

What I Didn’t Like

Despite calling out the historical racism towards African-Americans and Native Americans, Davies continued to use a slur in reference to the Romani peoples. Though he did use both terms, I wonder if he had a reason as to why or if it was an oversight. He wasn’t quoting an article or anyone on trial so I found it curious that he chose to do so. The Romani people weren’t brought up very often but it does still put a sour feeling in my stomach.

The book I bought was used and came from the UK so it may just be a difference in grammatical writing styles, however I did also note that there seemed to be some words missing in certain sentences and words were made singular when they should have been plural. In other words, the editing could have been a bit better but it wasn’t a constant issue either.

Overall Thoughts

I do feel that this is a wonderful book for those who want to peel back the layers of American history and witch trials. What I personally found the most interesting was that charges were more often brought against the accusers for defamation/slander or assault, than the accused being charged with witchcraft. Unfortunately, many people were murdered for being accused of witchcraft. May be of interest to true crime fans.

Otherwise, I highly recommend this book to Americans especially but also to those who want to see how a mixing pot of cultures actually works. I feel like this is a topic that doesn’t get enough attention in the general witchcraft community and I’m glad we have such a well researched book to turn to.

Conclusion

This is a review of the book that I originally posted on Pagan & Witches Amino and no longer exists there. I try to list out the good and the bad so you can decide on your own if it’s a book you would like to read. Happy book hunting!

All images from the book

[literarymemories]

The Humanity in Memory

Personally, Kathy H.’s humanity was never up to debate for me. The topic of cloning in and of itself, though scientifically relevant and current, would not be of interest to me as the focus of a science-fiction novel. Never Let Me Go is not really a science-fiction novel, but rather a speculative memoir; a recollection by the first-person narrator Kathy pertaining to her childhood and time at the secluded boarding school Hailsham. Cloning seems more like a frame to the painting that is this story, a reason to ask the question: What makes us human?

Ishiguro answers: Memories, experiences, feelings, and loss.

We are introduced to our narrator and focaliser with no knowledge of her destiny and role as a donor of her organs, a clone of someone who already exists or has existed in the world. Kinship comes easy with the vulnerable and tentative way Kathy shares her life, assuming we already know every aspect of the system she lives under. The students of Hailsham have no knowledge of what their original blueprint’s life looks like; if they wear their hair the same way or have the same mannerisms. Though they are genetically the same and are the only feeble origin as clones have no biological family, no family-tree to retrace, they share no real connection with the ‘possibles’. Kathy’s friend Ruth, in hopes of finding her possible in the imaginary lost and found treasure trove that is Norfolk, only finds disappointment, connecting the fate of a ‘possible’ with the fate she imagined for herself – a wishful attempt at rewriting her destiny. The Hailsham students would never revolt against this destiny, as it is so much part of their perceived identity and how they grew up.  

It’s not the role they fulfil or their genetic connection to their clones that makes them human. Kathy’s memories, the joy and fondness with which she retraces her days at Hailsham, the gravity of the loss she feels as all her friends slowly ‘complete’, perishing for the purpose for which they have been created and abused - that is what makes her undoubtedly human. Even her lack of resistance, her simple acceptance of her role within this grotesque system characterises her as multifaceted and imperfect person.

Growing up at Hailsham, a revolutionarily progressive school amidst its fellow future-donor raising institutions, has Kathy constantly revisiting and grasping for that time. Everything is orbiting her childhood. Despite the manipulation to keep students healthy and compliant like cattle, the seclusion from society and being “told and not told” about the way their life is written for them, it is the most human they have and will be treated. It makes sense for Kathy to want to relive those days, rather than face the reality of her life, something she is unable to grasp fully under the oppression of the system she grew up in.

Her somewhat happy childhood and the relationships made there are her North Star: Hailsham is her focal origin and her silent protest. As Kathy remains complacent in her doing, to the point of frustration for the reader, there is an unspoken strength within her. Her existence, the way she grew up and how she shapes her identity through her memories is an opposition in itself, a refusal to be solely a victim.

Every place and building slightly resembling her former school make her hold in for a second in remembrance after it was torn down. When given the opportunity to choose her next donor to care for, she seeks out her former schoolmates, desperate to talk about snippets of memories, even as those around her seem to forget slowly. Clinging on desperately to her memories, unable to let go of the past, only Kathy remains and with her what she remembers, and the feelings connected to it. This is what resonates with us, the readers of Kathy’s recollection. That is what makes her human to us.

[jaafarshaikh2573]

Unveiling the Past: Must-Visit Museums for a Cultural Adventure

Museums are more than just repositories of artefacts; they are gateways to understanding the rich tapestry of human history, art, and culture. For travellers and history enthusiasts alike, museums offer a unique opportunity to immerse themselves in the stories of civilisations, artistic movements, and historical events that have shaped our world. In this extended exploration, we’ll delve deeper into some of the most iconic museums around the globe, each offering a distinctive cultural adventure.

1. The Louvre, Paris: A Testament to Artistic Excellence

No list of must-visit museums would be complete without mentioning The Louvre, the crown jewel of Paris. As the world's largest art museum, The Louvre's collection is unparalleled, showcasing over 35,000 works of art across eight departments. From the grandeur of the museum’s architecture, which was originally a royal palace, to its vast collections that include ancient artefacts, Renaissance masterpieces, and modern art, The Louvre celebrates human creativity.

Visitors can spend days exploring its galleries, with highlights including Leonardo da Vinci's enigmatic Mona Lisa, the ancient Greek statue Venus de Milo, and Eugène Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People. Beyond these famous works, The Louvre offers deep dives into ancient civilisations with its extensive Egyptian, Near Eastern, and Islamic art collections. Each visit to The Louvre feels like a journey through time, making it a must for any cultural explorer.

2. The British Museum, London: A Global History Under One Roof

The British Museum in London is a treasure trove of global history, housing over eight million works that span two million years of human history. This museum is unique in its scope, offering a global perspective that includes everything from prehistoric artefacts to contemporary art. It’s a place where visitors can witness the development of human culture from every corner of the world.

Among its most famous exhibits are the Rosetta Stone, a crucial key in deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphs, and the Elgin Marbles, a collection of classical Greek marble sculptures that once adorned the Parthenon. The British Museum's Egyptian collection is one of the largest outside Cairo, featuring well-preserved mummies and intricate burial treasures. The museum's commitment to free entry ensures that everyone has access to these world heritage artefacts, making it a beacon of education and cultural exchange.

3. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York: A Cultural Melting Pot

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, commonly known as The Met, is an institution that embodies the cultural diversity and artistic wealth of the world. Situated in New York City, The Met is one of the most visited museums globally, and for a good reason. Its vast collections encompass more than 5,000 years of art from every culture and region of the world. Similar to the Coins Museum, which offers a deep dive into numismatic history, The Met’s three locations—The Met Fifth Avenue, The Met Breuer, and The Met Cloisters—each offer a unique experience. The Met Fifth Avenue, the museum's flagship building, is renowned for its comprehensive collections ranging from classical antiquity to contemporary art. Visitors can marvel at the grandeur of the Temple of Dendur, an ancient Egyptian temple transported piece by piece to the museum, or explore the Arms and Armor section, which showcases intricate medieval armour and weaponry, much like how the Coins Museum showcases the evolution of currency through the ages. Meanwhile, The Met Cloisters focuses on the art, architecture, and gardens of medieval Europe, providing a tranquil and immersive experience, paralleling the focused and enriching experience offered by the Coins Museum.

4. The Vatican Museums, Vatican City: A Spiritual and Artistic Journey

Located within the heart of Vatican City, the Vatican Museums offer an unparalleled exploration of Renaissance art and religious history. With origins dating back to the 16th century, these museums are a testament to the Catholic Church's influence on art and culture throughout history. The museums' collections, amassed by the Popes over centuries, are among the most significant in the world.

The journey through the Vatican Museums culminates in the Sistine Chapel, where Michelangelo's breathtaking frescoes, including the iconic Creation of Adam, adorn the ceiling. The chapel is not only a masterpiece of Renaissance art but also a functioning place of worship and the site of the papal conclave. Other notable highlights include the Raphael Rooms, where Raphael’s frescoes, such as The School of Athens, represent the pinnacle of High Renaissance art. The Vatican Museums also house an extensive collection of classical sculptures, including the Laocoön Group, a powerful depiction of human struggle and suffering.

5. The Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: America’s Cultural Legacy

The Smithsonian Institution is the world's largest museum, education, and research complex, consisting of 19 museums, 21 libraries, and the National Zoo. Located primarily in Washington, D.C., the Smithsonian’s museums offer a comprehensive exploration of American history, culture, science, and technology.

Among the Smithsonian’s many treasures is the National Museum of American History, which chronicles the nation's journey from its founding to the present day. Exhibits like The Star-Spangled Banner (the flag that inspired the national anthem) and Julia Child's Kitchen provide insight into the American experience. The National Air and Space Museum is another must-visit, with its vast collection of aircraft and spacecraft, including the Wright Brothers’ Flyer and the Apollo 11 Command Module. These exhibits tell the story of human flight and space exploration, capturing the spirit of innovation and adventure that defines American culture.

For those interested in natural history, the National Museum of Natural History offers a fascinating look at the natural world, from the Hope Diamond to a lifelike model of a Tyrannosaurus rex. The Smithsonian's vast and varied collections make it a vital destination for anyone interested in exploring the cultural and scientific legacy of the United States.

Conclusion

Museums serve as vital institutions that preserve and present the cultural, artistic, and historical achievements of humanity. Each of the museums discussed in this article offers a unique experience, allowing visitors to connect with the past in meaningful and engaging ways. Whether you’re gazing upon the timeless art of The Louvre, exploring the global history at the British Museum, uncovering the diverse collections of the Smithsonian, or delving into the rich heritage at the Coins Museum Dubai, these museums provide unparalleled opportunities for cultural enrichment. A visit to any of these museums, including the Coins Museum Dubai, is not just a journey through history; it’s an adventure that broadens your understanding of the world and your place within it. As you plan your next cultural trip, consider these museums, particularly the Coins Museum Dubai, as must-visit destinations for a truly enriching experience.

[englishwiseae]

From Registration to Results: A Step-by-Step Guide to Online PTE Success in Dubai

Embarking on the journey to conquer the Pearson Test of English (PTE) can seem as ambitious as scaling the Burj Khalifa. The skyline reflects the city’s ambitious educational goals, and enrolling in online PTE classes in Dubai offers a comprehensive roadmap to mastering this English language test. This guide not only walks you through the registration process but also escorts you straight to the moment you triumphantly access your results.

Step 1: Decoding the online PTE classes in Dubai

Picture the online PTE classes in Dubai as a four-part symphony, each section (speaking, writing, reading, and listening) a movement that tests your linguistic skills in a high-stakes academic environment. Begin by immersing yourself in the test’s structure, question types, and scoring nuances. Understanding these elements is like having a map in hand before embarking on a desert safari—it’s essential!

Step 2: Selecting Your Guide

Just as you’d choose a knowledgeable desert guide, picking the right educational provider in Dubai is crucial. Seek out institutions famed for their:

Sage Instructors: These are the mentors with a knack for transforming complex English language nuances into comprehensible lessons.

Rich Learning Materials: Opt for courses packed with detailed study guides and an arsenal of practice tests.

Real-Time Test Simulations: Engage in mock exams that mimic the natural test environment for online PTE classes in Dubai. You can contact professional services for PTE Exam Fees in Cairo.

Adaptable Schedules: Ensure the course fits your personal and professional life like a tailored Arabian robe.

Step 3: Enlisting for the Journey

Signing up is your official commitment to conquer the online PTE classes in Dubai :

Navigate to your chosen provider’s digital oasis (website) and select your course.

Fill out the virtual parchment (registration form) and transfer your digital coins (make a payment).

Await the magical seal of enrollment (confirmation email) that grants you access to the treasure trove of learning materials.

Step 4: Diving into the Oasis of Knowledge

Active engagement in your course is akin to diving deep into the calm waters of an oasis:

Participate fully in all live sessions, as each one is a stepping stone to mastering the English language.

Complete all assignments with the diligence of crafting a fine Persian carpet.

Utilise extra resources such as one-on-one tutoring as if they were rare spices that enhance the flavour of your preparation.

Step 5: Navigating Through Feedback

Regular assessments and feedback are your compass in the desert of preparation:

Cherish the feedback like rare desert rain, using it to nurture your growing skills.

Identify oases (strengths) and mirages (weaknesses) to focus your efforts effectively.

Step 6: The Caravan to the Test Center

When ready, join the caravan (register) for the exam of online PTE classes in Dubai:

Select a date at a test centre as you would choose the perfect date for a desert star-gazing night.

Confirm your place under the constellation of test-takers.

Step 7: The Final Encampment

In the last few weeks before the exam, your preparation should intensify:

Revise like you are tracing the sands of time.

Engage in mock tests to sharpen your test-taking scimitar. For more details on PTE Exam Fees in Cairo, speak to experts in the field.

Step 8: The Day of the Test

On test day, approach the centre as if you were entering the gates of an ancient, revered fort:

Arrive early to acclimatise and adapt.

Follow the sage advice of the centre’s custodians and manage your resources (time) wisely.

Step 9: Unveiling the Scores

Retrieving your results is like finding the scroll of your fate:

Log into your portal to discover the treasures of your hard work.

Analyse your score as a merchant would his profits, determining where gains were made and where investments are still needed.

Step 10: Charting the Next Course

With scores in hand, navigate your next steps:

If satisfied, proceed like a victorious trader returning home.

If aiming higher, re-enlist for the journey, armed this time with the wisdom of experience.

Step 11: Linguistic Souk Visits

Imagine each language skill as a vibrant souk in Dubai. Create interactive virtual marketplaces where:

Each ‘stall’ offers different language challenges or puzzles.

Engage in barter-like exchanges where you trade solutions with peers, fostering a collaborative learning environment.

Step 12: The Tech Oasis

Incorporate Dubai’s pioneering tech landscape into your study:

Use augmented reality (AR) apps to visualise grammar rules and vocabulary in 3D, making complex language concepts straightforward and engaging.

Employ voice recognition software during speaking practices to get real-time feedback and pronunciation coaching, simulating a digital language tutor.

Step 13: Desert Island Discourses

Transform practice sessions into themed discourses set in various iconic Dubai landscapes:

Conduct speaking practices as if you’re leading a tour of the Burj Khalifa, explaining architectural features or history to an imaginary group of tourists.

For writing, imagine drafting press releases for the Dubai Media City, adapting your tone and style for different audiences and purposes.

Step 14: Mindful Mirage Reflections

Use the serene imagery of a desert mirage to practice mindfulness techniques:

Before each study session, visualise achieving your ideal score in online PTE classes in Dubai as a mirage that becomes a reality, setting a positive tone for learning.

Practice deep breathing exercises styled after the rhythmic waves of the Arabian Gulf to maintain calm and focus during test preparations.

Step 15: Festival of Achievements

Celebrate your preparation milestones with a festival-themed reward system:

Organise a virtual festival where each milestone achievement unlocks a new ‘event’—this could be a movie night, a special dinner, or an online concert.

Mirror the extravagance of Dubai’s shopping festivals by treating yourself to books, gadgets, or experiences that contribute to your learning or relaxation.

By navigating these steps, your expedition through the online PTE classes in Dubai will not only prepare you for the exam but also deepen your appreciation and command of the English language, serving you well in your academic and professional quests in Dubai and beyond. Embark on this journey with confidence and the spirit of adventure!

[dan6085]

Mansa Musa, the ruler of the Mali Empire during the 14th century, is often regarded as one of the wealthiest individuals in history, largely due to the vast quantities of gold and other valuable resources that his empire controlled. However, the specific locations of the gold and other treasures that belonged to Mansa Musa have been lost to history. Here's an overview of what happened to these riches and why their exact whereabouts remain unknown:

### 1. **Mansa Musa's Wealth and Empire**

- **Mali Empire**: Mansa Musa ruled from 1312 to 1337, during which the Mali Empire was one of the largest and wealthiest empires in the world. The empire was rich in natural resources, particularly gold, which was abundant in West Africa.

- **Gold Production**: During Mansa Musa’s reign, Mali produced about half of the world’s gold supply. This gold was traded across the Sahara to North Africa and then on to Europe and the Middle East.

- **Hajj to Mecca (1324-1325)**: Mansa Musa’s famous pilgrimage to Mecca showcased his immense wealth. He traveled with a massive caravan, distributing so much gold along the way that it reportedly caused inflation in Cairo for years.

### 2. **Dispersal of Wealth**

- **Generosity and Construction**: Mansa Musa was known for his generosity. During his pilgrimage, he gave away large amounts of gold, which spread across the Islamic world. He also financed the construction of mosques, schools, and other infrastructure, particularly in Timbuktu and Gao.

- **Economic Impact**: The gold Mansa Musa distributed and spent during his pilgrimage quickly entered the economies of various regions, including Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, and the Mediterranean. This dispersal means that much of his wealth was absorbed into global trade networks.

### 3. **Post-Mansa Musa Era**

- **Decline of the Mali Empire**: After Mansa Musa’s death, the Mali Empire gradually declined due to internal strife, weak leadership, and external pressures. This decline would have led to the depletion of resources and the loss of control over the gold mines.

- **Sack of Timbuktu (1433)**: Timbuktu, one of the empire’s key cities, was sacked by the Tuareg people in 1433. During such events, treasures and wealth stored in cities could have been looted or dispersed further, contributing to the loss of Mansa Musa’s gold.

### 4. **Modern Speculation**

- **Lost Treasure**: The concept of "lost treasure" has surrounded Mansa Musa's wealth, fueled by the fact that much of it has never been accounted for. However, given the historical dispersal of his gold, it is likely that his wealth was gradually absorbed into various economies over time, rather than being concentrated in a single location.

- **Artifacts and Cultural Legacy**: While the physical gold and metals may not have been preserved, Mansa Musa’s legacy can still be seen in the cultural and educational institutions he established, particularly in cities like Timbuktu, which became centers of Islamic learning.

### 5. **Myth and Mystery**

- **No Known Hoards**: Unlike some historical figures, there are no documented large hoards or hidden caches of Mansa Musa’s gold that have been discovered. The lack of written records from that period and the oral traditions that followed make it difficult to trace the exact fate of his wealth.

- **Impact on Subsequent Empires**: The wealth of the Mali Empire and Mansa Musa's legacy continued to influence subsequent West African empires, such as the Songhai Empire, but again, the specifics of how his wealth was distributed remain unclear.

### Conclusion

The gold and metals of Mansa Musa were dispersed widely during his life, especially through his pilgrimage to Mecca, and likely continued to spread after his death as the Mali Empire declined. While there is no known treasure trove associated with Mansa Musa, his influence and the wealth he commanded left a lasting impact on the regions he touched, particularly in West Africa, the Islamic world, and beyond. The precise fate of his vast wealth remains one of the intriguing mysteries of history, largely because it was so extensively integrated into the global economy of the time.

[schoolofcoreai01]

Exploring Artificial Intelligence Online: A Journey Through the Digital Frontier

In today’s fast-paced world, the term “artificial intelligence” (AI) has become a buzzword, and for good reason. AI is transforming various facets of our lives, from the way we work to how we interact with technology. If you’re curious about artificial intelligence online, you’re in the right place. This guide will delve into the fascinating realm of AI, highlighting its significance, applications, and how you can dive deeper into this captivating field from the comfort of your home.

Understanding Artificial Intelligence

At its core, artificial intelligence refers to the simulation of human intelligence in machines that are programmed to think and learn like humans. These systems can perform tasks that typically require human intelligence, such as recognizing speech, making decisions, and solving problems. AI encompasses a range of technologies, including machine learning, natural language processing, and robotics, each contributing to the broader landscape of intelligent systems.

Why Artificial Intelligence Matters

Artificial intelligence is not just a futuristic concept; it’s a present-day reality with profound implications for various industries. Here are a few reasons why AI is so important:

Efficiency and Automation: AI can automate repetitive tasks, reducing the need for human intervention and increasing productivity. For instance, chatbots powered by AI can handle customer service inquiries 24/7, allowing businesses to provide consistent support without human fatigue.

Data Analysis: AI excels in processing vast amounts of data quickly and accurately. This capability is invaluable in fields like finance, healthcare, and marketing, where data-driven insights can lead to better decision-making and personalized experiences.

Innovation and Problem-Solving: From developing new drugs to optimizing supply chains, AI drives innovation by solving complex problems and creating novel solutions that would be challenging for humans alone.

Exploring Artificial Intelligence Online

The internet is brimming with resources to help you understand and engage with artificial intelligence. Whether you’re a beginner eager to learn the basics or a professional seeking to expand your knowledge, there are plenty of online avenues to explore:

Educational Platforms: Websites like Coursera, edX, and Udacity offer a range of courses on artificial intelligence. These courses are designed by leading institutions and experts, providing structured learning paths that cover everything from fundamental concepts to advanced applications. Many courses also offer hands-on projects and certifications to bolster your skills.

Online Tutorials and Blogs: If you prefer self-directed learning, numerous blogs and tutorials are available online. Websites like Towards Data Science, Medium, and AI Weekly feature articles on the latest AI trends, practical tips, and in-depth analyses. These resources are often written by industry professionals and can provide valuable insights into real-world applications of AI.

Interactive Learning: Platforms like Kaggle offer interactive experiences where you can practice your skills by participating in competitions and working on real-world data projects. This hands-on approach is excellent for learning how to apply AI techniques and tools in practical scenarios.

YouTube Channels: For visual learners, YouTube is a treasure trove of educational content. Channels such as 3Blue1Brown, Sentdex, and AI Adventures provide engaging videos on various AI topics, including machine learning algorithms, neural networks, and more. These channels often include tutorials and visualizations that can make complex concepts more accessible.

AI Communities and Forums: Engaging with online communities can enhance your learning experience. Platforms like Reddit’s r/MachineLearning, Stack Overflow, and specialized AI forums offer opportunities to ask questions, share knowledge, and connect with like-minded individuals. These communities are great for networking and staying updated on the latest advancements in AI.

The Future of Artificial Intelligence

As AI technology continues to evolve, its potential applications are expanding rapidly. Future developments might include more sophisticated AI systems capable of understanding and interacting with humans in even more natural ways. From enhancing healthcare outcomes to advancing autonomous vehicles, the possibilities are vast and exciting.

By exploring artificial intelligence online, you’re not just learning about a cutting-edge technology — you’re stepping into a world of endless possibilities. Whether you’re looking to advance your career, develop new skills, or simply satisfy your curiosity, the resources available online can help you embark on this fascinating journey.

Conclusion

Artificial intelligence is shaping our world in remarkable ways, and the digital landscape offers a plethora of resources to help you understand and engage with this transformative technology. By leveraging online courses, tutorials, and communities, you can gain valuable insights into AI and its myriad applications. Embrace the opportunity to explore artificial intelligence online and discover how this powerful technology is driving innovation and change across the globe.

[hauntedeaglepizza]

Exploring Turlock, California: Discovering Its Top-Rated Tourist Attractions

Exploring Turlock, California: Discovering Its Top-Rated Tourist Attractions

Nestled in California's fertile Central Valley, Turlock is a hidden gem waiting to be explored by tourists seeking a blend of history, culture, and natural beauty. Despite its modest size, Turlock boasts several attractions that make it a compelling destination for visitors. Whether you're a history buff, a nature enthusiast, or simply seeking a peaceful getaway, Turlock offers something for everyone. Here's a glimpse into the top-rated tourist attractions that make Turlock a must-visit destination.

Carnegie Arts Center

The Carnegie Arts Center stands as a cultural beacon in Turlock, housed in a beautifully restored 1916 building. This center not only hosts a variety of art exhibitions featuring local and regional artists but also offers workshops, classes, and events throughout the year. Visitors can immerse themselves in visual arts, music, and theater, making it a perfect stop for those interested in the local creative scene.

California State University, Stanislaus Campus

As a flagship institution in Turlock's educational scene, Stanislaus State University invites exploration of its picturesque grounds. Notable for its striking buildings, the campus boasts landmarks like the renowned Naraghi Hall of Science and the quaint Stockton Hall. Throughout the year, the university presents a diverse array of cultural and scholarly activities, fostering community engagement and drawing in visitors from near and far.

"Explore the Past at Turlock's Heritage Museum"

Those with a passion for the past will be thrilled to discover the Turlock Historical Society Museum, a treasure trove of regional history. Housed in the historic Carnegie Library building, the museum presents a captivating collection of relics, images, and interactive displays that chronicle Turlock's evolution from an agricultural hub to a thriving community, highlighting pivotal moments in its story. Through expert-led tours, visitors can gain a more profound appreciation for the city's storied legacy.

Donnelly Park

For those seeking outdoor recreation and relaxation, Donnelly Park is a serene oasis in the heart of Turlock. This expansive park features lush green spaces, shaded picnic areas, playgrounds, and sports facilities. Visitors can enjoy a leisurely stroll along its walking paths, engage in recreational activities like tennis and basketball, or simply unwind amidst the natural beauty.

Turlock's Local Farmers Market

A visit to Turlock would not be complete without experiencing its vibrant Farmers Market. Held on Fridays in downtown Turlock, this market showcases the region's agricultural bounty with fresh produce, local delicacies, artisanal crafts, and live entertainment. It's a perfect opportunity to taste Browse this site the flavors of the Central Valley and interact with the community.

Pedretti Park

Nestled along the serene Tuolumne River, Pedretti Park presents a charming backdrop for adventure-seekers and families to connect with the great outdoors. The park boasts an array of amenities, including winding paths perfect for leisurely strolls and bike rides, picnic spots with breathtaking river vistas, and prime fishing locations. This urban oasis is a haven for nature lovers, offering a peaceful retreat to observe local wildlife and bask in the beauty of the natural world.

Hilmar Cheese Company Visitor Center

The Hilma

[sathya32]

The Rapid Rise of Data Science: Exploring Its Market Growth

With the proliferation of information and the rapid advancement of technology in today's digital world, the area of data science is seeing exponential expansion in the market. In layman's words, let's examine the elements driving the data science boom.

1. Increasing Data Availability:

The enormous amount of data generated daily is one of the main causes of data science's explosive growth in popularity. We are continuously producing enormous volumes of data due to the introduction of smartphones, social media, IoT devices, and other digital technologies. This data is a treasure trove of important insights just waiting to be discovered. By giving organizations the means to discern valuable patterns and trends from this abundance of data, data science gives them an advantage over competitors and allows them to make well-informed decisions.

2. Advancements in Technology:

The development of data science has been greatly expedited by technological advancements, especially in the areas of processing power and storage. Nowadays, enormous datasets can be processed and analyzed in a fraction of the time it would have taken a few years ago, thanks to strong algorithms and sophisticated machine learning models. 

3. Demand for Insight-Driven Decision Making:

Data-driven decision-making has become crucial for staying ahead of the curve in the fast-paced business world of today. Businesses from all sectors understand how important it is to use data to understand consumer behavior, industry trends, and operational effectiveness. With the use of data science, businesses may fully utilize their data assets, resulting in better strategic planning, more focused marketing initiatives, and streamlined operations.

4. Diverse Uses in Different Industries:

A growing number of industries, including healthcare, banking, retail, and transportation, are embracing data science, which has its roots in technology. Almost every sector might profit from the insights gathered through data analysis. In the field of medicine, predictive analytics has uses that can improve treatment outcomes and help determine patient risk factors. For automated trading, risk assessment, and fraud detection, financial institutions use data science. Retailers can provide clients with a more personalized buying experience by utilizing recommendation engines. Because of their broad applicability and business needs, data science applications are appealing to a wide range of users.

In conclusion, a number of reasons have come together to cause the market for data science to grow rapidly. These factors include the abundance of data, the development of technology, the demand for data-driven decision-making, and the wide range of applications that data science has in different industries. In the upcoming years, there will likely be an even greater demand for qualified data scientists as businesses continue to realize the strategic value of data science in fostering innovation and accomplishing goals. A more data-driven future is awaiting us if we embrace data science capabilities, which will also open up new doors for efficiency and growth.I'm grateful that you shared your precious time with me. Have a wonderful day.

[csanoopjain1]

CS Classes Coaching In Laxmi Nagar

Company secretaries ensure that business entities are compliant and run effectively within the complex corporate framework by acting as quiet watchdogs. They are crucial to maintaining accountability, integrity, and transparency in firms since they serve as both administrative assistants and strategic advisors. Company secretaries are responsible for a number of important tasks, such as planning board meetings and managing regulatory compliance, that support an organization's integrity and reputation.

The function of company secretaries in today's business environment has changed dramatically. They are essential in guiding people through the complex web of rules, laws, and moral principles, safeguarding stakeholders' interests, and advancing sustainable development. As stewards of good governance, they serve as a liaison between the shareholders, management, and board, promoting efficient dialogue and decision-making.

Company Secrtary Role

Corporate Oversight: Company Secretaries make sure that the business is operated efficiently and that all rules and regulations are adhered to.

Strategic consultants: They provide guidance for the company's strategic decisions in addition to carrying out administrative tasks.

Accountability, ethics, and transparency: Company secretaries assist in making sure that the business acts in an ethical, accountable, and transparent manner.

Board Meetings and Regulatory Compliance: They plan and run board meetings and make sure the business abides by all applicable laws.

Stakeholder protection: Company secretaries assist in defending the interests of all parties involved in the business, including creditors, employees, shareholders, and customers.

Sustainable Growth: They support the company's efforts to grow sustainably.

Bridge between the board, management, and shareholders: They help the board, management, and shareholders communicate and make decisions together.

This article sets out on a journey to unlock the treasure trove of opportunities hidden in the educational landscape of Laxmi Nagar, with a special focus on Company Secretary Coaching. Aspiring Company Secretaries often find themselves at a crossroads with a plethora of options, wondering which organization would be ideal to begin their professional journey. Therefore, this article is intended to act as a guiding thread to navigate through the myriad of options available for Company Secretary Coaching in Laxmi Nagar.In the upcoming sections, we delve deeper into the role of the Company Secretary in corporate governance, highlighting the important role they play in maintaining transparency and compliance. Furthermore, we walk the vibrant streets of Lakshmi Nagar, drawing a vivid picture of its educational ecosystem, replete with coaching institutes dedicated to nurturing the future mentors of corporate governance.

Laxmi Nagar as a hub for coaching classes:

In the center of Delhi, Laxmi Nagar has become a well-known center for education, providing coaching sessions for a range of exam preparations. Laxmi Nagar is well-known for its active coaching culture, which draws students from all over the nation who are looking for a top-notch education and direction to reach their professional objectives.

The Laxmi Nagar coaching institutes shine like a flame of knowledge amid the bustling shops and little streets, guiding numerous students toward success. These coaching centers have extremely competitive classes and admission requirements that are frequently impossible to meet. On the other hand, pupils who are accepted here are given close supervision by knowledgeable instructors.

Why is Laxmi Nagar famous as a coaching hub?

Varied Coaching Classes: Laxmi Nagar provides coaching for government entrance examinations like Union Public Service Commission (UPSC), Staff Selection Commission (SSC), Railway Recruitment Board (RRB), as well as national entrance exams like Engineering and Medical Entrance Examinations (JEE and NEET). Coaching classes are available for level entrance examinations.

Experienced Teachers: Many coaching institutes in Laxmi Nagar have some of the best teachers in the country, who have wide experience in helping students achieve success.

Study Material: These coaching institutes also provide study material to the students, which includes practice papers, mock tests and shortcut techniques.

Library and other facilities: Many coaching institutes also have library, canteen and hostel facilities available to the students.

CS Classes Coaching In Laxmi Nagar : Anoop Jain CS Classes

Located in the heart of Laxmi Nagar, led by experienced professionals and industry experts, our institute is an epitome of excellence in Corporate Governance coaching. We guide aspiring company secretaries towards a promising career. Come see what our strengths are and why we are your ideal place for CS coaching in Laxmi Nagar.

Why Choose CS Anoop jain Classes ?

Vision: Established with a vision to develop the future mentors of the corporate world, Anup Jain CS Classes is an epitome of excellence, integrity and dedication to quality education.

Founder: With years of experience in the industry, our esteemed Founder Mr. Anup Jain, brings unparalleled expertise and insight in the area of corporate governance.

Comprehensive Curriculum: Our curriculum is designed to equip students with the knowledge, skills and competencies required to succeed in the field of company secretarial practice.From Company Law and Corporate Governance to Securities Law and Regulatory Compliance, our curriculum covers a wide range of topics essential for a good understanding of corporate governance.

Experienced Teacher:At Anoop Jain CS Classes, learning is not just about acquiring information but gaining knowledge from experienced gurus who have experienced the corporate scenario.Our teachers include industry veterans, experienced business people and subject matter experts who bring real-world knowledge to the classroom, thereby enriching the learning experience.

Individual attention:We understand that every student is unique, with different learning needs and aspirations. Therefore we prefer individual attention and small batches to ensure that each student gets personalized guidance and support.Our teachers are available both inside and outside the classroom, creating a conducive learning environment where doubts are resolved and concepts are strengthened.

Overall Development:Apart from academics, we believe in holistic development by nurturing critical thinking, problem-solving skills and professional ethics in our students.Through interactive sessions, case studies and group discussions, we encourage students to think analytically, communicate effectively and develop a proactive approach to challenges in the corporate world.

Success stories:The success of our students speaks volumes about the effectiveness of our coaching methodology. Many of our alumni have secured top positions in Company Secretary examinations and are becoming successful in their professional careers.We are proud to be the catalyst in taking him on his journey to success as an accomplished Company Secretary.

Conclusion

Concluding our exploration of Company Secretary Coaching in Laxmi Nagar, it is clear that the role of the Company Secretary in corporate governance cannot be underestimated. These silent custodians play a vital role in maintaining accountability, honesty and transparency within organizations, thereby protecting the interests of stakeholders and promoting sustainable development.

Laxmi Nagar, with its vibrant coaching culture, emerges as a ray of hope for aspiring company secretaries, providing ample opportunities to kick-start their professional journey. Amidst the busy roads and competitive coaching institutes, Anoop Jain CS Classes shines brightly as a bastion of excellence guiding students to master Corporate Governance.

With a visionary founder, comprehensive curriculum, experienced teachers and personal attention, Anoop Jain CS Classes stands at the forefront of nurturing future mentors of Corporate Governance. Our commitment towards holistic development and the success stories of our alumni testify to our unwavering dedication towards excellence.

As aspiring company secretaries begin their journey towards success, they should remember that their choice of coaching institute plays a vital role in shaping their career direction. With the right guidance and interaction, they can navigate the complexities of the corporate world with confidence and emerge as exemplary professionals.

In the dynamic scenario of corporate governance, let Anoop Jain CS Classes be your guiding light, illuminating the path to success and excellence in the field of company secretarial practice. Join us, and together let's embark on a transformational journey towards mastering corporate governance and building a brighter future for ourselves and the organizations we serve.