#yield play investment

[alavestineneas]

Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion. 

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way. 

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her. 

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better. 

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle. 

-

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago. 

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life. 

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less. 

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns. 

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet. 

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation. 

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine. 

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us." 

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin. 

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep. 

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus." 

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

-

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?" 

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on." 

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?" 

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?" 

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners. 

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist. 

-

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position." 

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

 "Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student." 

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration. 

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own." 

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

-

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else. 

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception. 

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man. 

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out? 

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table. 

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake. 

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving. 

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense." 

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her. 

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

-

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success? 

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful. 

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish. 

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.'' 

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air." 

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit. 

-

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her. 

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time. 

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring. 

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath. 

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

[novaursa]

Legacy (dinner with a lion)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: power play

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Tywin sits alone at the head of the table, his fingers steepled as he waits, his expression as unreadable as the darkness pooling around him. The faint rustling of armor and the heavy door opening signals the arrival of his guest, and a faint smirk tugs at Tywin's lips as Petyr Baelish enters, eyes sharp, glinting with his characteristic cunning.

"Lord Baelish," Tywin greets, his voice a quiet command in itself, and he gestures for Petyr to join him. "I trust the journey from King’s Landing was not overly burdensome."

Petyr steps forward with a slight bow, his expression betraying nothing as he takes a seat. "Lord Tywin," he replies smoothly, "one grows accustomed to the roads in these trying times. Though, it is a relief to find oneself back in civilized company."

Tywin nods slightly, acknowledging the thinly veiled compliment, though his gaze remains sharp. "There is much to discuss, Littlefinger. I trust your recent activities in the capital have yielded… profitable results?"

Baelish’s lips curve in a shadow of a smile, his hands folding on the table before him. "Profitable indeed, my lord. The city is ever a place of opportunities for those with an eye keen enough to see them. But I must admit, I did not expect to find you here in Harrenhal… or to hear of a rather unique guest in your company."

Tywin’s expression remains unreadable, though a glint in his eye betrays his satisfaction. "Ah, yes. The rumors travel quickly, I see. It is true. She’s here."

Littlefinger raises an eyebrow, his tone careful. "The sister of Rhaegar Targaryen herself. I’d thought her lost to the North, tucked away under the Starks’ protection."

"The Starks’ protection can only go so far, especially in times such as these." Tywin’s tone is cold, final. "Lady Y/N’s presence here is… fortuitous, and I intend to ensure she remains under Lannister protection from now on."

Petyr’s face shifts, his surprise only barely concealed. "Lannister protection," he repeats, musing over the words, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. "So… I am to assume her role will extend beyond mere ‘protection’?”

Tywin’s lips thin into a faint smile, a calculated gleam in his eyes. "Quite astute, as always, Lord Baelish. Lady Y/N will accompany me back to the capital, where preparations for our union will commence."

For the first time, Petyr’s mask falters, his expression flickering with a trace of genuine surprise. He recovers quickly, smoothing his expression back into one of neutral interest. “Your union?” he asks, as if testing the weight of the words.

"Indeed," Tywin replies, his gaze unwavering. "A union that will serve to secure her position—and mine. A Targaryen, legitimized under Lannister rule, will silence whispers on both sides. There are… strategic benefits to the arrangement."

Petyr’s eyes narrow, the cogs turning in his mind as he weighs this unexpected twist. “A fascinating decision, my lord. I must admit, I didn’t think you the type to take a wife again.”

Tywin’s gaze hardens just slightly. "One must be prepared to make certain sacrifices, Littlefinger. This is more than a mere alliance—it is an investment in the future stability of the realm."

Baelish gives a small nod, masking his surprise with the smooth, charming smile he so often wears. "And who better than you, my lord, to secure such stability." Yet, there’s a glimmer of something deeper in his gaze—curiosity, calculation, perhaps even a hint of envy. The wheels in his mind turn, each possibility shifting into place.

Just then, the door opens again, and Arya steps in quietly, her gaze downcast as she approaches Tywin with practiced caution. She keeps her movements careful, her head bowed, hoping to avoid the sharp eyes of Petyr Baelish. There’s a stiffness in her posture, a wariness that one would notice if looked closely enough—an instinct to stay hidden, out of his direct line of sight.

She clears her throat, addressing Tywin in a low, subdued tone. “The kitchens have been notified, m’lord. They’re preparing dinner for two as you requested.”

Tywin gives a curt nod, a faint note of approval in his voice. “Good. Remember to relay instructions clearly. I don’t tolerate carelessness.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Arya’s reply is measured, steady, and she bows her head again before taking a step back, hoping to blend into the background.

Baelish glances at her, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he says nothing. Tywin’s attention returns fully to him, cutting off any opportunity for deeper scrutiny.

“Now,” Baelish continues, his tone sliding back to its usual ease, though he seems unable to completely mask his curiosity. “Your decision to bring Lady Y/N back to the capital… and to wed her… It’s a bold choice. But surely, there are risks in aligning with a Targaryen, especially with her brother’s allies still stirring trouble in the North.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpens. "Risks are inevitable in any pursuit worth undertaking. Lady Y/N is no mere Targaryen pawn; she has spent her years with the Starks, understanding the value of loyalty and the strength of alliances. She is an asset, one who will be as useful to us as she is beautiful. I would expect you, of all people, to understand the value in seizing such an advantage.”

Littlefinger inclines his head slightly, accepting the reprimand with his usual grace. “Of course, my lord. It’s clear you have considered all angles… as always.”

Tywin’s lips curl into a faint smile, though there’s a coldness in his gaze, an unwavering sense of purpose. “She will remain under our protection, a union that will secure her future and strengthen our own. And rest assured, Lord Baelish—there is nothing I have not accounted for.”

Arya shifts subtly in the background, watching the exchange with quiet intensity, her gaze carefully averted as she fights to remain unnoticed. But one can sense her unease, the tension coiled within her as Baelish’s eyes flit in her direction once more, though Tywin’s commanding presence keeps his curiosity in check.

Baelish clears his throat, breaking the silence. "It seems, then, that Lady Y/N’s fate is sealed, under Lannister protection, as you say. I shall be sure to offer my… congratulations, Lord Tywin.”

Tywin’s response is a mere nod, curt and dismissive, as if the matter were already resolved. “Indeed. There is nothing more to discuss on this subject. And as for Lady Y/N, she will be prepared for what lies ahead, with or without any further interest from others.”

With that, Tywin’s gaze flicks to Arya, signaling her dismissal. "You may go, Ary. And remember—take care to stay out of trouble. I won’t tolerate mistakes.”

Arya nods quickly, mumbling a quiet “Yes, m’lord,” before slipping out of the room, her heart pounding as she escapes Baelish’s prying eyes. She leaves Tywin and Baelish behind, aware that her role here is as dangerous as it is vital, even as the weight of Tywin’s plans settles heavily over Harrenhal, casting shadows that will follow all who stand in his path.

The chamber is warm, filled with the scent of lavender and rosewater, and for a moment, you almost forget where you are. The tub is a luxury you haven’t felt in weeks, perhaps months—hot water, scented oils, and a rare sense of solitude. Yet even as you sink deeper into the warmth, you’re keenly aware of what this bath signifies: preparation. Tywin's plans have already begun, each detail meticulously arranged, as if even your appearance belongs to him now.

After the bath, you’re helped from the water by two servants, silent and efficient as they wrap you in soft, thick cloth. They don’t look you in the eye, their faces carefully composed, trained not to betray any thoughts of their own. You’re led to a chair by the mirror, and another servant—a younger girl with nimble fingers and a gentle touch—begins to work on your hair, combing it slowly, carefully, her movements practiced.

For a time, no one speaks, the only sound the gentle scrape of the comb through your damp hair, the crackle of fire in the hearth, the whisper of fabric as they prepare the gown laid out for you.

Finally, the young girl ventures a quiet comment, her voice respectful yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. “My lady… you have beautiful hair. Unusual, like silver.”

You meet her gaze in the mirror, offering a polite smile. “Thank you,” you murmur, though the compliment feels hollow, an echo of a different life. In the North, your hair had set you apart, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, a mark of both your family’s glory and ruin. And here, in Harrenhal, that same hair becomes another detail in Tywin’s plan, something to be arranged and polished for presentation.

The girl continues her work, separating strands to braid, her fingers working with delicate precision. She doesn’t ask further questions, sensing perhaps that this is not the place for conversation, or perhaps trained to keep her thoughts hidden.

As she finishes a braid and moves to another, she glances at the woman standing near the door—an older servant, clearly in charge of overseeing your preparation. The woman nods, as if giving silent permission, and the girl reaches for a small box, retrieving something that catches the firelight—a thin golden thread, gleaming against the dull stone of the chamber.

Your breath catches. “What is that?” you ask, though you already know.

The older woman steps forward, her expression unreadable. “Lord Tywin’s orders, my lady. A touch of gold, to complement your gown.” She gestures toward the dress, a rich shade of crimson with subtle golden embroidery, unmistakably Lannister colors. “He thought it fitting.”

You bite back the urge to scoff, keeping your expression neutral. “Fitting,” you repeat softly, watching as the girl weaves the golden thread through your braid with painstaking care. The irony is not lost on you—this thread, this symbol of Lannister wealth and power, woven into your Targaryen hair, a mockery of your heritage. Even here, in this small detail, Tywin’s influence surrounds you, binding you to his house in every visible way.

The girl glances up, sensing your unease. She hesitates, fingers still for a moment, before speaking in a low, cautious voice. “Is… is it not to your liking, my lady?”

You force a small, restrained smile. “It’s… a thoughtful touch,” you reply, keeping your tone steady. “One must always consider appearances, after all.” The words feel brittle, like glass on the verge of shattering, yet the girl seems relieved, resuming her work with renewed focus.

As she finishes, she steps back to admire her handiwork, eyes bright with pride. She’s braided your hair into an intricate design, the golden thread glinting subtly, woven through each plait like veins of sunlight in silver. It’s beautiful, in a way—refined, elegant, and utterly foreign. The girl beams, clearly satisfied.

“It suits you, my lady,” she says, a note of admiration in her voice.

You look at yourself in the mirror, studying the unfamiliar reflection. The gown clings to you in shades of red and gold, Lannister colors draped over Targaryen blood. And the braids, laced with golden thread, feel like a chain, binding you in a way more powerful than any metal could.

“Fitting, indeed,” you murmur under your breath, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. To anyone else, this might look like elegance, like opulence. To you, it feels like an ironic jest, as if Tywin himself were mocking your heritage, stripping it away strand by strand.

The older woman watches you carefully, sensing the tension but saying nothing. “Lord Tywin values appearances,” she says finally, her voice neutral, almost mechanical. “A mark of respect, my lady, to make you feel at ease.”

“At ease,” you echo, a quiet scoff escaping despite yourself. “Yes, I’m sure his intentions are nothing but respectful.”

The woman says nothing, only inclines her head in a gesture of polite acknowledgment. There’s no room here for rebellion, no space for protest, and she knows it. Her role is simply to prepare you, to mold you into the image Tywin desires. To make you presentable, obedient, fit for his plans.

Finally, they finish, the servants stepping back to assess their work one last time. The young girl looks at you, her eyes shining with pride as if she’s just created a masterpiece. “You look beautiful, my lady,” she says softly, a note of genuine admiration in her voice.

You manage a tight smile. “Thank you.” The words feel hollow, an acknowledgment of her work rather than any reflection of your own thoughts. As you rise, smoothing the folds of the gown, you catch a final glimpse of yourself in the mirror—transformed, adorned in Lannister colors, the last threads of Targaryen fire hidden beneath layers of Tywin’s calculated opulence.

They lead you to the door, and the weight of what lies ahead settles over you like a shroud. Every braid, every glint of gold, a reminder that Tywin’s influence is woven into every part of this encounter. You steel yourself, breathing deeply as you prepare to face him, feeling each golden thread in your hair like the bars of a cage.

The servant by the door opens it, bowing low as she gestures for you to proceed. “My lady,” she murmurs, voice soft with a hint of reverence. You take one last glance at the mirror, the reflection now foreign, then step forward, leaving the chamber behind.

Tonight, you wear the colors of the lion, but the blood of the dragon remains, burning beneath the surface, silent yet unyielding. And as you make your way to the private dinner Tywin has orchestrated, you cling to that thought, holding onto it as your only reminder of who you truly are.

The dining hall Tywin has selected for tonight is secluded, almost intimate, a stark contrast to the grand banquet rooms of the Red Keep. The servants lead you to a table set for two, where Tywin sits waiting, his gaze fixed upon you the moment you enter. He surveys you with his usual piercing scrutiny, noting the golden thread woven through your hair, the crimson gown that drapes over your form—an image carefully crafted under his direction.

As you approach the table, your eyes catch the carefully arranged plates, and you feel a jolt of surprise. It’s a meal reminiscent of days long past—rich dishes that you once enjoyed as a princess, delicacies served at your family’s table in the Red Keep. Each plate a small piece of memory pulled from a life you’ve long since lost.

The first dish is braised quail in honeyed wine, garnished with sprigs of rosemary and roasted chestnuts. Next, a bowl of spiced chickpea stew with saffron and sweet currants, the same recipe your mother once had the cooks prepare for Rhaegar’s nameday feast. A platter of thick slices of duck, glazed with honey and dusted with ground cinnamon, sits at the center, flanked by roasted figs and fresh pomegranate seeds. And beside your plate, a familiar goblet of chilled summer wine, the floral scent wafting up as it mingles with the rest of the meal.

Tywin’s gaze follows your eyes as you take in each dish, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I trust the menu is to your liking?” he asks, voice cool and unruffled, though there’s a note of satisfaction beneath the surface.

You settle yourself across from him, lifting the goblet and taking a measured sip, the sweet wine coating your tongue in flavors that feel almost foreign after so long. “It seems your memory is as sharp as ever,” you reply, setting the goblet down. “Or perhaps I should say, disturbingly accurate.”

Tywin inclines his head, his gaze unyielding. “One does not achieve much in this world by forgetting details… especially not ones that are so important.”

Your lips curl into a faint, sardonic smile. “Important,” you echo, glancing down at the spread before you. “Yes, I suppose there’s value in knowing how to replicate the past.”

A ghost of amusement crosses his face, and he leans back slightly, watching you with those steady, calculating eyes. “I thought it fitting to make you comfortable, Y/N. You are, after all, accustomed to a certain… standard.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead selecting a piece of quail, savoring the tender, honeyed meat. The taste is perfect, achingly familiar, yet tinged with bitterness. “Comfortable,” you repeat, the word tasting strange in your mouth. “And yet, the golden thread in my hair, the crimson gown… it seems comfort isn’t the only thing you had in mind.”

Tywin’s smirk grows, his gaze unwavering. “You always had a sharp tongue. I appreciate honesty, even if it borders on impertinence.”

You place your fork down, fixing him with a steady gaze. “I’m not here to amuse you, Lord Tywin. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

For a moment, he merely watches you, a faint glimmer of amusement lingering in his eyes. “I didn’t bring you here to pretend, Y/N,” he replies, his voice laced with that unyielding authority he wears like armor. “I brought you here because you are a valuable asset. Because, regardless of your feelings on the matter, our union will strengthen both our positions.”

You scoff softly, not bothering to hide the disdain curling in your voice. “A union?” you echo, your tone sharp. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to see myself as anything but a tool in your grand design. What I think, what I want, seems irrelevant to you.”

Tywin raises an eyebrow, clearly unruffled by your bluntness. “What you think does matter, more than you may realize. I respect intelligence, even if it comes with… resistance.” He lifts his own goblet, regarding you over the rim. “But you would be wise to remember that, in this world, power is the only true form of freedom. I’m offering you that power.”

You feel a bitter laugh rising in your throat, barely holding it back. “Power,” you repeat, your voice laced with irony. “The illusion of control, perhaps. Yet you know as well as I that this marriage would bind me to you, to your family’s name and interests. I would simply be another piece on your board.”

A flicker of something passes across his face—amusement, irritation, it’s hard to tell. “You are correct in that it binds you,” he replies smoothly. “But you are wrong to think that it would leave you powerless. The position of Lady Lannister, bound to both the lion and dragon, is one of influence. You would be free to wield it, to shape it as you see fit.”

You take another sip of wine, letting the silence stretch between you, refusing to yield to his steady, piercing gaze. “So, in your mind, this is generosity?” you ask finally, the skepticism clear in your voice. “A benevolent act, done out of kindness?”

“Kindness?” Tywin repeats, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “No, Y/N. This has nothing to do with kindness. It has everything to do with legacy—yours, mine, ours. Together, we can reshape the foundations of this realm. I thought you, of all people, would understand the value of that.”

Your jaw tightens, and you set down your goblet, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. “And do you think I’m so eager to cast aside the name I was born to? To let it be consumed by yours, to be dressed in red and gold and paraded as your prize?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpens, but his expression remains composed, almost amused. “You think yourself diminished by the name Lannister?” he asks, his voice quiet yet cutting. “You are mistaken. Names change. Blood, however, does not. You would do well to remember that.”

The statement hangs in the air, a reminder of the power struggle woven into every word between you. For a moment, you study him, this man who seems both captivated by your resistance and determined to conquer it. His amusement, his tolerance of your sharp words—it is almost as if he relishes the challenge you present.

“Perhaps you find my bluntness inconvenient,” you say, choosing each word carefully, your voice cool. “But make no mistake, Lord Tywin: I am not some empty vessel to be filled with your ambitions. I am a Targaryen, and that will not change, no matter how tightly you try to bind me.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that somehow both soothes and chills you. “Good,” he says, surprising you. “I would not want a weak-willed bride. It’s your fire that interests me, Y/N. You may resent this arrangement, but I know that you, too, have ambition.”

You hesitate, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. He’s not wrong, and he knows it. You’ve spent your life as a toy in others’ games, yet a part of you longs for something more. Tywin sees it, and he knows how to wield that knowledge.

“If you think flattery will convince me,” you say, voice softer now but still guarded, “you’ll find it a difficult task.”

He merely lifts his goblet again, taking a slow sip before responding. “Flattery?” he echoes, an eyebrow arching. “I don’t waste time with it. I’m simply offering you a choice—join me willingly, and wield the influence you deserve. Or resist and remain a tool of others’ ambitions, a relic of a fallen dynasty.”

His words settle over you like a weight, cold and unrelenting. This is Tywin’s game—a careful blend of power and persuasion, of promises and threats. And though you’d rather cast aside the gown, the golden thread in your hair, the Lannister colors binding you like chains, you know that this is the hand you’ve been dealt.

For tonight, you’ll play along, if only to see what more Tywin Lannister will reveal. You lift your goblet, the bitterness easing just slightly, and meet his gaze across the table, the sharpness in your eyes matching his own.

“To legacy, then,” you say, voice cool, raising your glass in a half-hearted toast. Tywin’s smile deepens, as if sensing the smallest flicker of surrender.

“To legacy,” he replies, his voice as steady and unyielding as the stone walls of Harrenhal, sealing your uneasy alliance with the clink of crystal and the promise of a future neither of you fully controls.

Arya slipped down the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps silent as a shadow. She’d left the kitchens moments ago, her heart pounding with the thrill of sneaking away from her tasks and Tywin’s ever-watchful gaze. She moved carefully, glancing over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t followed. Finally, she ducked through a small doorway that led her toward the lower halls, where she hoped to find Hot Pie and Gendry.

After winding her way through the damp stone corridors, Arya spotted them near the flickering light of a sconce, their backs pressed against the wall as they whispered together. She crept up, tapping Hot Pie on the shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Ary! Thought you’d gotten caught,” he hissed, relaxing once he realized it was her.

Arya grinned, her grey eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and determination. “Not yet,” she whispered back, casting a glance down the hall. “I’ve got a knack for not getting caught.”

Gendry chuckled softly, crossing his arms. “And where’ve you been? Thought Tywin had you running about all day.”

Arya nodded, her expression sobering. “I’ve been doing what he wants, yeah. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Hot Pie shuffled his feet, glancing nervously between Arya and Gendry. “Ary,” he began, voice low, “is it true? That he’s got a… you know, a Targaryen locked up here?”

Arya’s expression softened at the mention, a flicker of emotion flashing across her face. She’d been careful not to speak too much about it, knowing the danger it might bring. But these were her friends, her brothers in everything but blood. She could trust them.

“Yes, it’s true,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Y/N… she’s like a sister to me.” Her voice grew stronger, her gaze fierce. “And we’re going to help her escape.”

Hot Pie’s eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by her resolve. “But… but she’s a Targaryen,” he stammered. “Aren’t they… dangerous?”

Arya’s gaze turned steely, and she crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. “She’s not dangerous, Hot Pie. She’s family. More than most, anyway.” She looked away, her thoughts drifting back to the days they spent together in Winterfell—the shared laughter, the stolen moments of peace in a world that always seemed to be on the verge of war. “If anyone deserves freedom, it’s her.”

Gendry glanced between them, his brow furrowing as he took in her words. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said, voice quiet but understanding. “You want us to help her escape, along with ourselves?”

Arya nodded, her jaw set with determination. “She doesn’t belong here, locked up under Tywin’s watch. Once we get out, we’re taking her with us.”

Hot Pie shuffled his feet nervously, casting a wary glance down the hall as if expecting Tywin himself to appear out of the shadows. “But… how? Tywin keeps a close eye on everything. Even if we try, there’s no guarantee she’ll get out in one piece.”

Arya looked him dead in the eye, her tone fierce and unyielding. “We’ll find a way. She deserves better than this. And if there’s even the smallest chance we can get her out, we’re taking it.”

Gendry nodded, giving Arya a supportive look. “I’m in,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “If she’s as important to you as you say, we’ll help her. But we’ll need a plan.”

A flicker of relief crossed Arya’s face, but her voice remained steady. “We’ll think of one. Just keep your eyes open, and stay close. The moment we see an opportunity, we’ll act.”

Hot Pie sighed, shifting uncomfortably but nodding all the same. “Alright, Ary. If you say so.”

She gave them both a small, grateful smile, feeling the weight of her resolve settle more firmly on her shoulders. She knew the risk they were taking, the danger they faced. But for Y/N, for her sister-in-heart, it was worth it.

As they huddled closer, discussing possible ways to slip past the guards and navigate the castle’s many corridors, Arya’s eyes caught a familiar figure in the distance. The shadows played tricks in the dim light, but she recognized the silhouette of Jaqen H’ghar, his silent, calculating gaze lingering on her for just a moment before he turned and disappeared around a corner.

She felt a shiver run down her spine. Jaqen was mysterious, unpredictable—a man of many faces and secrets. And while he’d saved her life once, she wasn’t sure what he’d make of this plan. With a last, wary glance, she turned back to her friends, ignoring the figure as best she could.

“Alright,” she said in a hushed voice, returning her focus to Hot Pie and Gendry. “We keep to the shadows, stay out of sight, and don’t get caught. And when the time comes, we get her out of here. No matter what.”

With nods from her friends, Arya felt a surge of determination. She didn’t know how, or even when, they would make their move. But one thing was certain—they wouldn’t leave Harrenhal without Y/N.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this Op-Ed from the New York Times:

At first glance, Xi Jinping seems to have lost the plot.

China’s president appears to be smothering the entrepreneurial dynamism that allowed his country to crawl out of poverty and become the factory of the world. He has brushed aside Deng Xiaoping’s maxim “To get rich is glorious” in favor of centralized planning and Communist-sounding slogans like “ecological civilization” and “new, quality productive forces,” which have prompted predictions of the end of China’s economic miracle.

But Mr. Xi is, in fact, making a decades-long bet that China can dominate the global transition to green energy, with his one-party state acting as the driving force in a way that free markets cannot or will not. His ultimate goal is not just to address one of humanity’s most urgent problems — climate change — but also to position China as the global savior in the process.

It has already begun. In recent years, the transition away from fossil fuels has become Mr. Xi’s mantra and the common thread in China’s industrial policies. It’s yielding results: China is now the world’s leading manufacturer of climate-friendly technologies, such as solar panels, batteries and electric vehicles. Last year the energy transition was China’s single biggest driver of overall investment and economic growth, making it the first large economy to achieve that.

This raises an important question for the United States and all of humanity: Is Mr. Xi right? Is a state-directed system like China’s better positioned to solve a generational crisis like climate change, or is a decentralized market approach — i.e., the American way — the answer?

How this plays out could have serious implications for American power and influence.

Look at what happened in the early 20th century, when fascism posed a global threat. America entered the fight late, but with its industrial power — the arsenal of democracy — it emerged on top. Whoever unlocks the door inherits the kingdom, and the United States set about building a new architecture of trade and international relations. The era of American dominance began.

Climate change is, similarly, a global problem, one that threatens our species and the world’s biodiversity. Where do Brazil, Pakistan, Indonesia and other large developing nations that are already grappling with the effects of climate change find their solutions? It will be in technologies that offer an affordable path to decarbonization, and so far, it’s China that is providing most of the solar panels, electric cars and more. China’s exports, increasingly led by green technology, are booming, and much of the growth involves exports to developing countries.

From the American neoliberal economic viewpoint, a state-led push like this might seem illegitimate or even unfair. The state, with its subsidies and political directives, is making decisions that are better left to the markets, the thinking goes.

But China’s leaders have their own calculations, which prioritize stability decades from now over shareholder returns today. Chinese history is littered with dynasties that fell because of famines, floods or failures to adapt to new realities. The Chinese Communist Party’s centrally planned system values constant struggle for its own sake, and today’s struggle is against climate change. China received a frightening reminder of this in 2022, when vast areas of the country baked for weeks under a record heat wave that dried up rivers, withered crops and was blamed for several heatstroke deaths.

[catscidr]

// genshin characters as lethal company players //

cw: none! just silly headcanons. 100% crack includes: kaveh, kazuha, columbina, kirara, kaeya, cyno, ayato, wanderer, xiangling, xingqiu, mika, layla, nilou, chongyun, thoma, childe, itto, dehya, dottore, albedo, lyney, bennett, ganyu, venti, furina, zhongli, neuvillette, candace, collei, arlecchino (that's a lot) a/n: this was a shower thought after watching the sumeru cast play the game agfsghjs

knows everything about the game ↳ kaveh, kazuha, columbina, kirara, kaeya

⇢ already has a “boss” pin on their in-game uniform when you play together for the first time ⇢ is the one that chooses which moons you guys go to. also buys all the resources (flashlights, walkie-talkies etcetc) bc they don't trust anyone else to do it ⇢ could probably speedrun the game if they wanted to, they have like every map memorized ⇢ if they die you’re ALL fucked. good luck ⇢ always brings back the dead bodies no matter what (says it’s for the quota but actually just feels bad leaving you guys there)

mostly there for the laughs but is maybe surprisingly pretty good at the game ↳ cyno, ayato, wanderer, xiangling, xingqiu

⇢ don’t let them find the airhorn/clown horn unless you want them to destroy your eardrums ⇢ somehow Always encounters monsters. but they get out alive (most of the time) ⇢ has died to quicksand and gotten clowned for it in the vc with other dead people in it ⇢ when you go sell items on the last day they ring the bell repeatedly to provoke The Worm to make everyone panic ⇢ scares you on purpose. may or may not have gotten themselves killed by you beating them to a pulp because you got jumpscared by them one too many times

always on edge, even before the game starts ↳ mika, layla, nilou, chongyun, thoma

⇢ gets the “most paranoid employee” note when you all come back from a moon ⇢ most likely to sacrifice themselves (to finally catch a break) ⇢ screams a lot. has gotten eaten by eyeless dogs more times than u could count ⇢ sticks with you so they’re less scared (but their paranoid Vibe just makes you scared too) ⇢ the one that dies first or is the last one standing. either way they're stressed and can't think properly

your personal guard dog ↳ childe, itto, dehya, dottore, albedo

⇢ “strength in numbers!” they say right before a thumper mauls the shit out of them ⇢ designated enemy killer. carries around a weapon to smack them with it (their weapon of choice is a yield sign) ⇢ has saved you from a snare flea stuck to your head multiple times (always expects a “thank you”. they bonk you if you don’t say it) ⇢ walks in front of you to scope out danger ⇢ also sometimes very tempted to beat you with their weapon just to fuck with you (dottore finishes the job)

the lost puppy ↳ lyney, bennett, ganyu, venti, furina

⇢ gets “laziest employee” every single time because they never find any scrap to bring back to the ship ⇢ has an awful sense of direction in the game and somehow loses sight of you even when you're exploring the moon together ⇢ gets grounded by your group and is tasked to guide people in the facility through the cams with their walkie talkie ⇢ their inventory is always full but only with useful items like a pro flashlight, a walkie talkie and a ladder ⇢ speaking of ladders, they've accidentally fallen in a hole multiple times and that's why they always need a ladder on them. to get themselves out.

bonus: watches you play! ↳ zhongli, neuvillette, candace, collei, arlecchino

⇢ watches the game either very invested or very confused ⇢ may or may not backseat without realizing it ⇢ contributes to the bits (not on purpose: zhongli, neuvi. on purpose: candace, collei, arle)

[myzornaccount]

I think valve's philosophy regarding games is that a new game has to have something entirely unique and innovative before it can be released. If it is innovative enough, it can be released twice and done way better the second time. They release experimental first games, and the successful first games get the privilege of becoming polished second games. Gong past that is a waste though. High quality, inspired, design happens when new mechanics are introduced

If valve really did release half life 3, then 4, then 5 and so on, the series wouldn't be any better than call of duty 9 gorrilion and seven

Think about it

Half life: first successful FPS with a functional third axis, polished in half life 2

Portal: first FPS physics puzzle game, polished in portal 2. Previous canon is not abandoned by setting this in the same universe as halflife, but the gameplay is fresh. Another action shooter wouldn't have kept as much attention

Left4Dead: first co-op PvE shooter where teamwork was implemented into intended game design (special infected) unique enough to be polished in a second game

Team fortress: one of the first (maybe the first) PVP game with a class system, later polished

And then there's all the not so popular games valve released:

Death match kinda sucked, experiment failed, no second game

A whole bunch of VR titles, they kinda sucked because VR just isn't there yet. No polish expected

I think it's against valve's development/greenlighting philosophy to create a new game while using an old formula. It's why they keep making such great games. It's not the same slop every time they release a new title. Modern warfare 9999999999 plays the same as modern warfare 2. There's no improvement to be made after the first sequel and it's not a good idea to invest resources into games whose only real differences are improved graphics

Valve can count to three, they're just enlightened enough to know that counting to three yields boring games with nothing special or unique to make them worth playing

[l1llina]

"Huh, me? Like him ?"

Alhaitham x Fem!Reader

18+, Minors dni

Synopsis: The Akademiya is pushing a big project to fight the Abyss Order. You along with the other students are assigned to work on it. This project will bring you and Alhaitham closer.

It’s another day, another day of zoning out. What annoyed you even more was this really stuck up guy in your class. He always seemed to look down on everyone else, including you, and you’re a sensitive bitch so this bothered you a lot. 

One day, the school reveals that every student will play a part in building a machine to fight the Abyss Order specifically the Abyss Prince. The pressure and excitement in everyone was of course very high almost overbearing. You couldn’t believe it. This was... amazing. Big ambitious projects with the whole help of the school. The school officially recruited everyone and everyone became an employee for the Akademiya.

Unfortunately, the way they assigned divisions were by class, this was all planned by the day you enrolled. The leader of your division who could order you to do anything he wishes was.. Alhaitham urgh. This went from being your dream to a nightmare. 

He actually didn’t put many rules but the goal for that semester was to finish an elemental laser gun. Surprisingly every person in the class had a different role. You received the Casanova role but why did they need one ? At first, you pondered maybe they just didn’t want to hurt your feelings but then you guessed it was because they still lacked sufficient funding for such a project so you were the leader of your own little crew. The marketing crew!

Your job was to convince people to invest in such a project, and honestly who better for the job hah. Additionally the school encouraged the students to actually date and find love within other similar types. You were kind of manipulated into dating the heads of the project. Since production would go up if a Casanova and Leader got along well.

You were “advised accordingly” to go on a date with Alhaitham, your enemy. You didn’t have any romantic/sexual feelings for him before the date but during the date, he seemed a little obsessed, a little too happy to be here. 

The Akademiya issued Friday to be a day to deepen relationships between the students. Admittedly they cared more if you had sex. They didn’t give the opportunity to buy condoms, since they hoped the students could bear kids to continue the project if the parents died. 

Alhaitham urged you to take a sip of wine, you did out of politeness and out of curiosity to see what he’d do. You didn’t want your gut feeling to be right, to think he’d do something terrible, however when you came to, you were in white lingerie in Alhaitham’s dorm. 

“Hey.. Y/N, I’m sure you know why I abused my position of power to get you here. You teased me on purpose huh, wearing that short pencil skirt. I don’t like helping the school with their corrupt ways but I can’t help but want to keep you to myself so let’s bear a child and we’ll rule the school”

He began teasing you, bouncing you on his thigh, you muffled your moans, refusing to yield to this asshole’s demands, but slowly, after being edged for so long, you started losing your rationale and following his demands. He worshipped the body that would give him an heir and the woman who clouded his mind for years. 

“I saw how you looked at me in class, such hatred and disgust, there’s nothing more satisfying than triumphing over my enemies but in this case, you’re my doll now and don’t worry doll I’ll make sure to treat you right and please you accordingly”

You thought he’d stop at grinding you on his laps but he got down on his knees and started stuffing your tiny hole and circling your clit with his tongue. Urgh the only thing that’s stopping you from giving yourself to him fully is your pride. If you gave in, he’d win and there’d be no guarantee you’ll find real love with him.

“Why are you still holding back, do you think I’ll hit you ? Insult you ? Never, not to the girl I’ve respected for so long”

“W-What, re-respect hngh..?”

“Yeah, you’re a little stupid but you always kept your promises and showed your hatred for hypocrisy and oppression of the system. You’re exactly my type, I love your character and I hope even after this little stunt, you can find a place in your heart to love me too”

“Al.. I didn’t wanna give in because I don’t like losing.. These past few years, I always thought you were an asshole, even now you’re proving my point but right now I couldn’t care less, you being an asshole also ties with your ambition and I couldn’t find anything more attractive than that, well devotion too but you’re that too so. More so, you’re fucking hot.. Are you kidding me ?”

“So, we’re a thing then ?”

“Yeah.. now fuck me with your cock already, just so you know though I don’t really like kids but I still wanna have sex with you right now”

He plunges his cock and makes you cum many times that night. The next day your dorm changed to Al Haitham’s and you shared a dorm now. Outside of school hours and even during, you would be in his office, dating and fucking him” 

At night, you found a new nerd pal to geek out with but he sometimes takes it too far and it ends up in passionate makeout sessions. The next morning, the cycle continues

TBC <3 Pls don't hate me

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part One: Yield Strength (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

You can find more to read on my Main Masterlist! For readers under 18, please see the Light Masterlist which contains all-age-friendly works.

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @femefetalelevelingup @darsynia

[tadpolesonalgae]

Blurbs

A/N: okay, I feel really bad about this but I’m quite exhausted, so these are just four short blurb-type things! Again, I’m so sorry they aren’t longer!

Below, you will find:

Training + Azriel Predator Play + Tamlin Sleepy mornings + Rhys Drunk Night In + Mor

Training session w/ Azriel

In The Shadows by The Rasmus

Steel meets steel. Sparks fly.

Sweat drips down your brow as his blade scrapes over your own, bones screaming with the effort of holding him off.

Azriel says nothing, just as invested as you as he flips his Illyrian fighting blade deftly, a move designed to intimidate—works pretty well. His eyes are sharp and focused, honed just like his blade.

Tendrils of misty air puff from your lips, curling in the crisp morning air, summer yielding to autumn, frost nipping at your sweat slicked skin.

You barely have the time to tense before he’s going on the attack again, surging forward and knocking at your weak side. He uses his size and weight to his advantage, crashing into you, and you stumble. He senses it, knows he’s caught you in a moment of weakness, and pounces.

Your feet fumble beneath you, legs numb and thighs trembling as he manages to tip you backward. Bone meets rock and you’re winded, air whooshing from your lungs with such force you forget how to breathe.

He flips the blade in his hands, before the pommel is slamming down. You have enough room to roll to the side before it meets the stone, the clang reverberating up his arm—he doesn’t even wince.

“Woah! Okay! Time out!” You gasp, barely dodging away before he has you pinned to the ground. He’s so close you can pick out the green in his hazel eyes, the early morning lighting them with glorious colour. His gaze rakes over your features, devouring each dip and line with starving hunger. As if seeing you for the first time.

“You were distracted.” It’s not a question but you know he’s curious. You shake your head, still panting, secretly revelling in his warmth against the chill morning. “Didn’t sleep too well,” you answer honestly. Well, omitting a little part of the nature of your dream, but that’s neither here nor there.

His eyes narrow on you and you’re worried he’ll see through your omission, but instead he stands, extending his hand as he pulls you up. “One more. Then we rest.”

You groan—it’s going to be one of those day. But, well, you can’t say no to him with your heart beating the way it is. Not with the challenge gleaming in his eyes.

Tamlin + predator play

Ring the alarm by Anna Blue

Your heart pounds in your chest, blood coating your skin, slicking your clothes from the hunt. Breaths rip from your raw throat, panting even as it stings to do so.

The moon is a silver slice through the inky sky, but there’s no time to admire its beauty, you can feel how close he is on your trail.

A twig snaps and you can hear his paws thud on the ground, roots and vines trembling and pulsing as their Lord races for you.

Your brow narrows but there’s no time to consider how he’s found you. One leg in front of the other, arms propelling you forward as you jump to the peak of a rock, leaping into the air. Arms stretch out to catch on a branch but he slams into you, knocking you in mid air, pinning you to the ground

You writhe and struggle but he keeps you locked beneath him. His golden fur gleams like gilded fabric beneath the silver moon, ethereal despite this beastly form.

Vines shackle your waist, tangling around your arms as he takes you prisoner, pulling back, shifting into a more recognisable form.

Lips pull back from gleaming white teeth as he gives you a feral smile—the ones that come out when he’s had a satisfying hunt. All it takes is that grin, and you know the night’s long from over. Glad for it not to be.

His power courses through you and you feel fur coating your skin, fangs protruding from your upper lip, claws curling into the ground as he transforms you. You meet his adrenaline dilated gaze, hunger blazing in their vivid green depths.

How could you refuse a look like that?

With a grin of your own, and a taunting snarl, you’re bounding away, skittering deep into the forest.

He gives you a head start before his roar shakes the leaves of the trees—he’s coming to find you.

Sleepy morning w/ Rhys

I love you 3000 by Jackson Wang

The sunlight warms your skin, softened by sleep.

His scent is all around you, and you’re smiling before you open your eyes. Stunning violet fills your world and you melt further under the sheets.

“Morning,” you mumble, nose scrunching as you give him a grin. He smiles, pressing his forehead to your own. “Morning,” he replies, voice deep and rough with disuse. His arms sliding around and beneath your waist, keeping you pressed against his front.

The two of you are utterly bare, skin on skin, and you’d have it no other way. It’s the best way to awaken, being able to feel him so entirely, knowing he’s so completely yours.

Your arms move over his shoulders as you roll him onto his back, stomach pressing to his. You shuffle further up his body, breasts softly pushing into his chest as you put a kiss to his lips.

Fingers tangle in his blue-black hair, mussed from sleep, and his tongue strokes over your own, hands bracing your waist as he sighs contently, entirely happy to indulge in you all morning.

You pull away, wanting to look at him.

Violet eyes sparkle with adoration, and your heart does something silly in your chest. It’s ridiculous, how he still has this effect on you, as if this is the first time you’re laying eyes upon him.

You hope the feeling never goes away.

Drunk night in w/ Mor

Golden by Harry styles

Laugher floods the room, and you know at once neither of you are fit to head out.

Mor’s golden hair is tied back from her lovely face, small baby hairs curling at the edges where they’ve slipped the constraint. “Hold still!” She laughs, but you duck away from her. “I am not letting you anywhere near my eyes,” you giggle, scrambling back on the sofa as she approaches with the stick of kohl. “You’ll poke my eye out!”

She laughs, and covers one of her eyes with her hand, “you’d make a good pirate. We could rule the seas together.” Tears flood your vision as she uses the tiny stick of pigment as a miniature cutlass, making neat, precise swipes through the air with the grace of a drunken warrior.

She’s so beautiful it hurt you to watch, how her smile is so full of bubbly, effervescent joy. How she continues to smile despite the world.

Should that smile ever be taken from her again…

You shake your head, banishing the thought with drunken luxury. You stumble to your feet, prying the stick from her slim fingers. You set it down on the table, take her cheeks in your hands, and plant a firm kiss to her mouth. She stiffens with surprise, then she’s melting and her hands are all over you.

Then you’re both tripping and stumbling until you fall onto the sofa, plans to go out long forgotten as you mould into one another, indulging in the soft warmth that comes from utter contentment.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

[brattylikestoeat]

You are in his WILL???

Yes. We’ve been together 8 years.

I was really struggling to finish college not because I was dumb but because I had a lot going on in my family at the time. My grandfather died and my family was literally crumbling before my eyes. All the lies, manipulation, gaslighting had finally caught up to my mom and grandma. Going to Ohio and coming back really broke me.

Donald pushed me to finish and I literally mean pushed. I called him one day after meeting with my advisor and told him I was done. I wasn’t doing college anymore.

He drove across town meet with my advisor with me, got that settled, paid my tuition on the spot. Education is very important to him which is why he pushing me to get my Masters.

Two weeks later we sat down and told me when I finished he could promise two things, he’ll pay my rent and money.

I’m always money motivated. So I finished. Took two more years but I did.

He always paid my rent. And he gave me 10k the week I graduated. He also put me in his will. If and when he pass I get a percentage of his liquid cash.

Has he kept his word? Idk I only saw the paperwork after it was done and his lawyer and a notary had signed it. It could have been changed for all I know. But for the most part I trust him and his word. He has never lied or try to play with me.

And I also think it’s important to know it’s liquid cash. That doesn’t count investments, home, cars, ect. Whatever money is currently sitting in accounts I get a part of that. If his kids choose to sell his houses I don’t get a part of that. I don’t get a part of his military pension either.

So me being the business minded woman I am, put the 10k up. I never touched it. half went into a high yield savings account and the other went into a CD account.

I can touch the savings if I want to. The CD can’t be touched without penalty. But I don’t have a need to touch either. Donald pays rent and gives me money all the time. Ted pays “rent” he doesn’t but he think he does but I use that for utilities and groceries.

I also have a very good job on my own. 75% of my paycheck doesn’t touch my account it goes straight to my retirement which is matched by my company.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Molly Sprayregen at LGBTQ Nation:

MSNBC host and former White House Press Secretary Jen Psaki warned Democrats not to give in to the right-wing fearmongering over trans issues in the wake of Donald Trump’s victory. “It’s important not to yield to manufactured panic and to align with the actual facts before making sweeping claims,” she told viewers on an episode of Inside with Jen Psaki.

Democrats have been at each other’s throats over the role of trans issues in Trump’s victory. While exit polls have indicated that inflation and an unpopular incumbent president both doomed Kamala Harris’ 107-day run for president, some Democrats are blaming their party’s embrace of transgender people for Harris’ loss. Psaki said Republicans invested about $215 million into airing anti-trans TV ads that repeated claims about Democrats wanting “boys to play girls sports” and supporting taxpayer-funded gender-affirming surgeries for inmates. One ad — aired repeatedly during football games to reach male voters and suburban women — showed pictures of Harris next to a drag queen, a trans woman, and a nonbinary person; and ended with the tagline, “Kamala is for they/them. President Trump is for you.” Psaki said Harris’s loss means the Democrats absolutely need to do some soul searching but cautioned the party not to reach “the wrong sweeping conclusions” when it comes to trans people.

“Echoing and adopting the panic from the other side is not leading,” she said. “It’s not meeting people where they are. It’s simply falling prey to right-wing propaganda without checking the facts first.” She explained the GOP’s fearmongering over Harris’s support for providing gender-affirming care to inmates is “a particularly obscure issue” that “applies to a tiny group of people” and was also a policy that existed during Trump’s first term as president. She also said the GOP has completely manufactured the idea that there is some sort of national crisis around trans youth and sports. The anti-trans ads “created this perception that the issues of trans kids playing sports was dominating schools across the country,” she said, “Which is completely false.” “When I say few examples, I mean that if you count the examples of transgender girls playing youth sports in any single state, the number often rounds to zero.”

Jen Psaki is right: Democrats should NOT follow the Seth Moulton playbook on caving to the anti-trans reactionaries and instead resolutely defend trans rights.

From the 11.17.2024 edition of MSNBC's Inside With Jen Psaki:

See Also:

HuffPost: Jen Psaki Warns Dems Not To Fall For This 'Manufactured Panic' By GOP

[jimi-rawlings]

How This Central African City Became the World’s Most Expensive

S & M GOALS TEAMPLATE

Stretch Goals: Central African Republic Ranks Top 8 in FIFA World Rankings for Men's and Top 5 for Futsal

Micro Goals: All Time Laureus World Sports Awards Winner for Africans, Laureus Team Award, All Time African Footballer of the Year, AFCON Host Nation Champion*, African Transfer Record*,  Insead and WSJ Conferences*, Jeune Afrique Cover*, Verified LinkedIn Member*, and Agriculture Startup Reality TV

CAPÔI HABITANT CURRENCY MODEL

Pigou Effect, Corporate Tax Havens, Capital Gains Tax Havens, Private-Public Sectors, Joint Venture Plantations, Market Extension Mergers, with Business Incubators, and Enterprise Foundation, Holding Company, Subsidiaries, and Horizontal Integration for Monopoly.

A currency union (also known as monetary union) is an intergovernmental agreement that involves two or more states sharing the same currency. These states may not necessarily have any further integration (such as an economic and monetary union, which would have, in addition, a customs union and a single market). [Pigou Effect Currency (Short FX), Currency Board Currency (Retirement Fixed Exchange Rate), Market Currency (FX Long Currency)]

Gross national product (GNP) GNP is related to another important economic measure called gross domestic product (GDP), which takes into account all output produced within a country's borders regardless of who owns the means of production. GNP starts with GDP, adds residents' investment income from overseas investments, and subtracts foreign residents' investment income earned within a country. Whilst GDP measures the total value of goods and services produced within a country's borders, GNP focuses on the income generated by its residents, regardless of their location.

Gross National Income (GNI) is the total amount of money earned by a nation's people and businesses. It is used to measure and track a nation's wealth from year to year. The number includes the nation's gross domestic product (GDP) plus the income it receives from overseas sources.

Agriculture Central Hedge Fund, Mining Unions: Peninsula Agronomique Engineering, Commodities Options Exchange (Credit Spread Options, Farm REITs, Crop Production; Fertelizers and Seeds; Equipment; Distribution and Processing Stocks, Ag ETFs and ETNs, Ag Mutual Funds), Tableau Économiques, Investments Farms REITs, Art Financing Mardi Gras

Index Franc: Tobacco-Tobacco Soil Index/Franc Tabac Currency Pair (TBS/TAF)

The overlapping generations (OLG) model; consumption-based capital asset pricing model (CCAPM); Endogenous growth theory; Material balance planning; Leontief paradox; Malinvestment; Helicopter money; Modern monetary theory

Mercantilism Spectrum of CDF/CFA

CDF Raw Materials and CFA Products. (Prices); CDF Holding Company and CFA Conglomerate Company. (Equity and Dividend Yield); CDF is Gold Standard and CFA is Helicopter Money. (FX Rate/Hedging); CDF Helicopter Money [Supplier Currency] and CFA as Purchasing Power [Consumer Currency] (Currency Union & Currency Board and Negative Interest Rates); CDF is Congolese Franc and CFA is Central African Franc

DOS SANTOS FREE-ROLE

Supporting Striker (Inverted Winger)

Central Winger (False 10)

Overlapping Run/Defensive Winger (Half-winger)

An inverted winger is a modern tactical development of the traditional winger position. Most wingers are assigned to either side of the field based on their footedness, with right-footed players on the right and left-footed players on the left.[65] This assumes that assigning a player to their natural side ensures a more powerful cross as well as greater ball protection along the touch-lines. However, when the position is inverted and a winger instead plays inside-out on the opposite flank (i.e., a right-footed player as a left inverted winger), they effectively become supporting strikers and primarily assume a role in the attack.[66]

The "false 10" or "central winger"[55] is a type of midfielder, which differs from the trequartista. Much like the "false 9", their specificity lies in the fact that, although they seemingly play as an attacking midfielder on paper, unlike a traditional playmaker who stays behind the striker in the centre of the pitch, the false 10's goal is to move out of position and drift wide when in possession of the ball to help both the wingers and fullbacks to overload the flanks. This means two problems for the opposing midfielders: either they let the false 10 drift wide, and their presence, along with both the winger and the fullback, creates a three-on-two player advantage out wide; or they follow the false 10, but leave space in the centre of the pitch for wingers or onrushing midfielders to exploit. False 10s are usually traditional wingers who are told to play in the centre of the pitch, and their natural way of playing makes them drift wide and look to provide deliveries into the box for teammates.

In Italian football, the term mezzala (literally "half-winger" in Italian) is used to describe the position of the one or two central midfielders who play on either side of a holding midfielder and/or playmaker. The term was initially applied to the role of an inside forward in the WM and Metodo formations in Italian, but later described a specific type of central midfielder. The mezzala is often a quick and hard-working attack-minded midfielder, with good skills and noted offensive capabilities, as well as a tendency to make overlapping attacking runs, but also a player who participates in the defensive aspect of the game, and who can give width to a team by drifting out wide; as such, the term can be applied to several different roles.

On occasion, the false-10 can also function in a different manner alongside a false-9, usually in a 4–6–0 formation. Midfield collective of False 9, False 10, Box to Box, Holding, Half Winger, Attacking, Defensive. We are not stretching the defensive line itsself, but the space between the defensive line and the goalkeeper.

Thiago Motta’s ‘Super Offensive’ 2-7-2 Formation Explained: Instead of the traditional way of looking at a tactical set-up horizontally, the Brazil-born manager instead split the field into three vertical lanes. This means he effectively has seven players in the central channel with two players out wide on each flank.

Adjust Free Role System to The Scoreboard.

The Central African Games was an international multi-sport event for countries within Central Africa. (Boxing, Athletics, Tennis, Football, Rallycross, Olympic Weightlifting, Volleyball, Trap Shooting, Basketball)

The Central African Football Federations' Union, officially abbreviated as UNIFFAC[a], is a sports governing body representing the football associations of Central Africa.

RUSSE NOIR FOOTBALL

VEDETTE: 3-4-1-2 has 4 Pivot Formations so 5 Total: Transition to a 4-4-2 Diamond, Transition to a 4-4-2, Transition to a 4-2-3-1, Transition to a 3-3-1-3

Positional Game is Diamonds Tic-Tac-Toe with Enforcer and Avoider. Striker [Enforcer](Inverted Winger and Centre Forward), Deep Lying Playmaker [Avoider] (Holding Midfielder and Inverted Winger), and Sweeper Wingback Deep Lying Playmaker [Avoider] (Centre Back). Use Playing Styles, Manipulated Positions, and Combinational Games for Positional Play as Johan Cruyff students.

Angolan 4-4-2 Diamond Tic Tac Toe Variant: 1-3-4-2; (1) Falar Pelos Cotovelos (Sweeper Deep-lying Playmaker Wingback) (4) Diamond Rover (Diamond Rotation from Midfield, Wings, and Defensive Third) Counterpressing Pivot Pressing Triggers, Sweeper-Winger Pivots, Overlapping Runs, W; I; M; V; Box Keeping Formation with 3 Centre-Backs) [Key Stats: Front Foot, Pressing Triggers, Clearance, Aerial Duel, Interceptions, Blocked Shots, Tackles, Final Ball, Key Dribbles, Overlapping Runs, Set Piece Taker] Spacing, Possession, Pass Completion, and Counter Pressing with Pursuit and Ambush Predation One Team Box Touches and Capture the Flag with Analytics-Geometry Total Football Trixie Bet on CNS Drugs (Xanax and Modafinil); 1-1-2-1 Diamond Rover Futsal Pivot Formation

Define a run in one of two ways: (i) as a set of consecutive goals scored by one team, without the other team scoring a goal; (ii) as a set of consecutive scoring events by one team, each event being either a goal or one or more Set Piece. Play aggressive and with counter pressing and run it up on the score board in the first half and after halftime play defense. You get a break at half and it's easier to win when someone plays defense and looks for opportunities instead of Attacking.

Posterior Chain Super Compensation and Speed-Endurance (Elastic-Connective Tissue) Force-Velocity Curve; Crescent Moon Horizontal Plane Vertical Force Sprinting Mechanics.

Set Piece Stylistic Biomechanics: Shooting Knee at Wall for Curve and Placement Knee for Corner. Follow through with Shot with proper Body Alignment

Knee to Feet or Shoulder to Feet Cradling for Touch/Entertainment

Placement Mechanics: Arch-Heel Linedrive and Arch-Knuckle Raised Curve

UEFA Front Office Curriculum

Museum d'histoire: Broken down into three major section — “A Lineage of Coaches Players and Places,” “Proving Grounds” and “Cultures of Basketball” — City/Game documents how basketball first found its origins in the neighborhoods of NYC and then went on to produce a roster of local legends who played everywhere from Rucker Park and the Cage on West 4th Street to Christ the King High School and St. John’s University.

Agility Ladder Eyes Pocket: Eyes Between Defenders Feet and Ball, Numbered Footwork V-Step (Shifting Defenders with Momentum) et L-Step (Explosive First Step), All moves should form a Triangle or an Incomplete Triangle (Coup de Pied)

*Push-Pull Sprint/Shooting Cycle: Pull Glutes et Hamstring; Push Calf et Quads for Sprints.

Sprint Size Up: A series of feint Karaoké dribble moves with Eye Tricks (Fake Pass) but Sprint Position Finish

Triangle Philosophy: All Dribbling Moves should form a Triangle or an Incomplete Triangle while using V-Step (Shifting Defenders with Momentum) et L-Step (Explosive First Step).

Thé Crescent: In Close Dribbling; Crescent Footwork with L Shapes (Paul Pogba)

On the Run Dribbling Moves: Letters and Shapes; Still Play 1 on 1: Numbered Footwork

Piedi Felici Courts: Drills Side/Box Play with 1 Net; Design Vaporwave Action Painting Angels; Knee for Direction and Sole Drags for Dribbling Touch and Crescent Moon Sprint Mechanics

Gambling Games: 5 Roll (Captain, Ship, Crew); Live-Pool Betting Monopoly

Stylistic Biomechanics: Dribbling Foot To Ball Contact (Balls of Feet and Arch of Feet); Knee for Direction; Foot Drags; & Hip Angle, Crescent Moon Running Mechanics, and Laces Kick.

Diamond Football (15 mins)

Set Up

-Lay out two overlapping sets of 4 flat markers in the positions shown above.

-Ask the players to stand on a flat marker for their teams colour (Red on Red, Yellow on Yellow).

Instruction

-Whenever the ball goes out for a kick in or for the defenders ball, the players must stand on their markers before play begins.

-As soon as the ball has been played in, players are free to move.

-Reset everytime the ball goes out.

Coaching Points, Progressions Ect.

-Ask players to shout out what each position on the park is to devlop understanding of their roles.

-If you decide to go to a normal game , leave the markers out for a visual aid for the players.

-If more than 8 players, Add in Goalkeepers who would then play the ball out to the DF,LM,RM.

-Rotate Positions, Ask Players to stand on a marker they haven't been on before

RUSSE NOIR ACCENT

Lingua Franca of Renaissance Latin (Vocabulary) and Atlantic–Congo Fon (Grammar).

Volta–Congo is a major branch of the Atlantic–Congo family. Fon (fɔ̀ngbè, pronounced [fɔ̃̀ɡ͡bē][2]) also known as Dahomean is the language of the Fon people. It belongs to the Gbe group within the larger Atlantic–Congo family.

In linguistic typology, subject–verb–object (SVO) is a sentence structure where the subject comes first, the verb second, and the object third.

Haitian Creole (/ˈheɪʃən ˈkriːoʊl/; Haitian Creole: kreyòl ayisyen, [kɣejɔl ajisjɛ̃];[6][7] French: créole haïtien, [kʁe.ɔl a.i.sjɛ̃]), or simply Creole (Haitian Creole: kreyòl), is a French-based creole language spoken by 10 to 12 million people worldwide, and is one of the two official languages of Haiti (the other being French), where it is the native language of the vast majority of the population. The language emerged from contact between French settlers and enslaved Africans during the Atlantic slave trade in the French colony of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti) in the 17th and 18th centuries. Although its vocabulary largely derives from 18th-century French, its grammar is that of a West African Volta-Congo language branch, particularly the Fongbe and Igbo languages.

Prose Accent Congo and Modern Accent Congo.

Full Lips Endings with Vertical Narrow Mouth and Soft Rs.

A noun phrase – or NP or nominal (phrase) – is a phrase that usually has a noun or pronoun as its head, and has the same grammatical functions as a noun.

BELMÔNT'S SIN INDEX FUND PORTFOLIO 

Sin stock sectors usually include alcohol, tobacco, gambling, sex-related industries (Cabaret and Burlesque), and weapons manufacturers.

Diageo 

Phillip Morris

Sports Betting Investment Trust

Pharmaceuticals

Business Clusters with Scrum Management and Accelerators to produce Festivals.

Example: Create a Index Fund Portfolio of 15-20 Stocks and using Supply Side Economics to create Decentralized Gambling Economy.

BELMÔNT'S DECENTRALIZED GAMBLING ECONOMY

Corporate-Capital Gains Tax Haven

High Stakes Minimum Buy In

Card Gambling (Signal and President): Top 2 highest bids fight for the Coup d'état and the other two are lesser men, the lesser men are subordinates that aid in playing cards for the warlord, the winning team splits the money, the warlords switches based on the 13 cards dealt and bets placed, the first team to shed all of their cards win.

Domestic Gambling: Boxing

Retirement Gambling: Boat Racing

Residency Program for Tax Benefits

BELMÔNT'S TURF ACCOUNTING MODEL

+EV

Python Programming Gaussian Distribution

Exotic Options Trading Live Betting

Parlays Minimum for Round Robins

Daily Fantasy Sports Rakes

RUSSE NOIR PALACE

Definitions of ballroom. noun. large room used mainly for dancing. synonyms: dance hall, dance palace**. types: disco, discotheque.

Go Go Music Influenced, Eurphoric Trance Chord Progression Melody, Progressive House and Drum n' Bass Percussion-808 Call and Response Staccato Polyrhythm or Layered Kick and Punch 808.

In his 1972 study of French lute music, scholar Wallace Rave compiled a list of features he believed to be characteristic of style brisé. Rave's list included the following: the avoidance of textural pattern and regularity in part writing; arpeggiated chord textures with irregular distribution of individual notes of the chord; ambiguous melodic lines; rhythmic displacement of notes within a melodic line; octave changes within melodic line; irregular phrase lengths.

Have the Snare and Kick say, "Hi, How are you?" And the 808 say, "I am good thanks for asking.”

Use progressive House to push the Drums Conversation to either Fast and Punchy for Happy or Slow and Deep for Sad.

In technical terms, "go-go's essential beat is characterized by a five through four syncopated rhythm that is underscored prominently by the bass drum and snare drum, and the hi-hat... [and] is ornamented by the other percussion instruments, especially by the conga drums, rototoms, and hand-held cowbells."[5]

Polyrhythm: In music, a cross-beat or cross-rhythm is a specific form of polyrhythm. The term cross rhythm was introduced in 1934 by the musicologist Arthur Morris Jones (1889–1980). It refers to a situation where the rhythmic conflict found in polyrhythms is the basis of an entire musical piece.[1]

Four-on-the-floor (or four-to-the-floor) is a rhythm used primarily in dance genres such as disco and electronic dance music. It is a steady, uniformly accented beat in 4. 4 time in which the bass drum is hit on every beat (1, 2, 3, 4).[1] This was popularized in the disco music of the 1970s[2] and the term four-on-the-floor was widely used in that era, since the beat was played with the pedal-operated, drum-kit bass drum.[3][4] (Punch 808-Kick)

Polyrhythm 4 on the Floor examples 2:4 or 5:4

Hard trance is often characterized by strong, hard (or even downpitch) kicks, fully resonant basses and an increased amount of reverberation applied to the main beat. Melodies vary from 140 to 180 BPMs and it can feature plain instrumental sound in early compositions, with the latter ones tending to implement side-chaining techniques of progressive on digital synthesizers.

Singles Only Email Raves Blogger then Multi Market Distribution Deal: A distribution deal is a contract to release the music to platforms, but not own the publishing or exclusively lock the artist in. Record Artist Producer Label: Have Polyrhythm Artist earn Streaming Percentage under a Recording Artist Deal. Label has Distribution Above Me and I have Manufacturing over Polyrhythm Artist. Have a end of the Year Album for New Year's Raves!

BELMÔNT'S SYSTEM: CAPÔI RETAINER AGREEMENT WITH ASSET PROTECTION TRUST

Capo: Describes a ranking made member of a family who leads a crew of soldiers. A capo is similar to a military captain who commands soldiers. Soldier: Also known as a “made man,” soldiers are the lowest members of the crime family but still command respect in the organization.

A capo is a "made member" of an Italian crime family who heads a regime or "crew" of soldiers and has major status and influence in the organization.

Consigliere: Defense and Corporate Lawyers

Head Boss: Ministry of Medicine

Underboss: Pharmaceutical Industry

Capo: CAPÔI RETAINER AGREEMENT

Soliders: Artisans

Commercialism is the application of both manufacturing and consumption towards personal usage, or the practices, methods, aims, and distribution of products in a free market geared toward generating a profit.

Commercial art is art created for advertising or marketing purposes. Commercial artists are hired by clients to create images and logos that sell products. Unlike works of fine art that convey an artist's personal expression, commercial art must address the client's goals.

The word 'Commercial' is defined as follows: Concerned with or engaged in commerce. Commerce is the exchange of goods or services among two or more parties.

Craftsmen are committed to the medium, not to self-expression. Artists are committed to their self-expression, not the medium.

A medium of exchange is an intermediary instrument and system used to facilitate the purchase and sale of goods and services between parties.

Stretch and Micro Goals

Music Medium System: Distribution and Retailers Contract Theory (System) for Music (Instrument)

Football Medium System: Analytics and Geometry for Free Role (System) Trixies (Instrument)

Age 16-19

Bond Funds

Farmland REITS

CFDS

Real Estate Brokerage Trust Account

Age 20-30

Farmland Recession Proof Stocks (Cosmetics, AgTech, Ag ETFS, AgETN)

Incubator and Startup Accelerators

Real Estate Joint Ventures

Age 30-40

Farmland Blue Chip Indexes w/ Credit Spread Options

CURRENCY, OIL, & GOLD COMMODITIES CANDLESTICK CHARTS

Swing Trading: Use mt4/mt5 With Heiken Ashi Charts, Setting at 14 or 21 Momentum Indicator above 0 as Divergence Oscillator and Volume Spread Analysis as Reversal Oscillator and Trade when bullish candlesticks above 200 exponential moving average and/or 20 exponential moving average (EMA) on H1 (Hourly) Time Frame; use H4 (4 Hours) and D1 (1 Day) as reference.

TUNNEL STRATEGY (OFFSHORE BANKING)

Purpose: Permanent Residency Card

$250k Deposit

$125k: 60/40 portfolio, 60% Fixed Income & REITs and 40% Blue Chip Stocks

$50k: Guaranteed Investment Certificates (GICs) and term deposits are secured investments. This means that you get back the amount you invest at the end of your term. The key difference between a GIC and a term deposit is the length of the term. Term deposits generally have shorter terms than GICs.

$75k: Spending Cash

SIN STOCKS PORTFOLIO

Sin stock sectors usually include alcohol, tobacco, gambling, sex-related industries, and weapons manufacturers.

Sports Betting Investment Trust

Pharmaceuticals

Example: Create a Index Fund Portfolio of 15-20 Stocks and using Supply Side Economics to create Decentralized Gambling Economy.

FESTIVALS DEAL

Singles Only Email Raves Blogger then Multi Market Distribution Deal: A distribution deal is a contract to release the music to platforms, but not own the publishing or exclusively lock the artist in. Record Artist Producer Label: Have Polyrhythm Artist earn Streaming Percentage under a Recording Artist Deal. Label has Distribution Above Me and I have Manufacturing over Polyrhythm Artist. Have a end of the Year Album for New Year's Raves!

NEUROPLASTICITY DRUG-CRIME NEXUS BASED ON TRAFFICKING

CPP, CNS Depressants, et FENTALOGS: Cul-de-sac

Defensive Penalty Capture The Flag Raiding Warfare

Grey-Decentralized Markets

Bastilles: Cul-de-sac Artist Résidences Penthouse Complexes

Polyrhythm Raves

Acid House Art Gallery

International Film Festival

Hôtel Chefs

Seigneurial System/Tableau Economique Raw Material Économics Production Spot

Surautomatism

Discount Networking Acid House Party

Opium Dens and Fragrance Festivals

Pill Pressers

CNS depressants

Upper-tier County System

Defense Lawyers are Traplords (Trafficking P4P and Malicious Prosecution)

Cash Conversion Cycle (CCC)

Brain Receptor Dealing

Neuroplasticity Drug-Crime Nexus

Religious Ecstasy

Entheogens are psychedelic drugs—and sometimes certain other psychoactive substances—used for engendering spiritual development or otherwise in sacred contexts

Live-Pool Betting Monopoly Board Game

Summary Sentencing

Urban Level: Street Culture Art Gallery (Street culture may refer to: Urban culture, the culture of towns and cities, Street market, Children's street culture, Street carnival, Block party, Street identity, Street food, Café culture, Several youth subculture or counterculture topics pertaining to outdoors of urban centers. These can include: Street art, Street photography, Street racing, Street wear, Hip-hop culture, Urban fiction, Street sports, Streetball, Flatland BMX, Freestyling), Art Pedagogy, Artist Residency, Art Schools, and Art Plugs

Art Pedagogy: Arts-based pedagogy is a teaching methodology in which an art form is integrated with another subject matter to impact student learning. 28-30. Arts-based pedagogy results in arts-based learning (ABL),11 which is when a student learns about a subject through arts processes including creating, responding or performing. Aesthetic Teaching: Seeking a Balance between Teaching Arts and Teaching through the Arts. In aesthetic education, learning must be developed especially with the inclusion of sensations and with the help of feelings. Sensations and feelings should lead to movement, representation, and expression. Aesthetic learning often entails learning to distinguish certain qualities or objects aesthetically in different ways depending on the situation and the purpose. Certain things can be experienced in negative ways in one activity and in positive ways in another.

A designer drug is a structural or functional analog of a controlled substance that has been designed to mimic the pharmacological effects of the original drug, while avoiding classification as illegal and/or detection in standard drug tests

Patchwork tattoos are a collection of tattoos collaged together to create an overall design. Each individual 'patch' of the tattoo can be a different design, symbol or element with a little space in between. Patchwork tattoos are a collection of tattoos collaged together to create an overall design. In short, the gun-toting angel was a multifaceted metaphor. “It undoubtedly also reflected the Catholic Counter-Reformation militaristic rhetoric,” wrote Donahue-Wallace, “which promoted the church as an army and heavenly beings as its soldiers.”

DECADENCE AESTHETICS THEORIES

Slogan

J'Cartier, Je cours après les vœux de champagne,

Subjective

Based on or influenced by personal feelings, tastes, or opinions

Gastronomy

Precarious Balance

Precariously: If something is happening or positioned precariously, it's in danger. A glass could be precariously balanced on the edge of a table. If something is on the verge of danger, then the word precariously fits.

Grey & Decentralized Markets

Tableau Économique

Semblance

Semblance is generally used to suggest a contrast between outward appearance and inner reality.

High Socioeconomic Status & Tattoos

Phantasmagorical

Having a fantastic or deceptive appearance

adjective. having a fantastic or deceptive appearance, as something in a dream or created by the imagination. having the appearance of an optical illusion, especially one produced by a magic lantern.

Socioeconomic Status Development Immigration Multilingual Sensory Play

Law of Polarity in Relationships

In any successful relationship that has an intimate connection and sexual attraction, there is polarity. What does this mean exactly? Polarity in relationships is the spark that occurs between two opposing energies: masculine and feminine. Gender does not affect whether you have masculine or feminine energy.

Second Reflection

Burden Aesthetics with Intentions

The Second Reflection lays hold of the Technical Procedures

Tattoos

SOCIO-PSYCHOLOGY

Keystone Theory Habits

Game Theory

Behavioral Finance

Self-actualization is the complete realization of one's potential, and the full development of one's abilities and appreciation for life. This concept is at the top of the Maslow hierarchy of needs, so not every human being reaches it.

Potential Psychology: Psychological potential is a very broad concept. It may include one's capacity to conform, change, re-invent oneself, bounce back from adversity, etc.

SOCIO-FORMAL SCIENCE

+EV Optimal Game Theory Poker

Civil, Agriculure, Solvent Levelling Effect Chemical Reaction, and Biomechanical Engineering

SOCIO-PHILOSOPHY

Ontology

IMPERIALISM, THE HIGHEST STAGE OF CAPITALISM

Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism,[1] originally published as Imperialism, the Newest Stage of Capitalism,[2][3] is a book written by Vladimir Lenin in 1916 and published in 1917. It describes the formation of oligopoly, by the interlacing of bank and industrial capital, in order to create a financial oligarchy, and explains the function of financial capital in generating profits from the exploitation colonialism inherent to imperialism, as the final stage of capitalism. The essay synthesises Lenin's developments of Karl Marx's theories of political economy in Das Kapital (1867).[4]

Tax Mergers Law; Market-extension merger: Two companies that sell the same products in different markets. 4.2.2 Corporate Taxation At the corporate level, the tax treatment of a merger or acquisition depends on whether the acquiring firm elects to treat the acquired firm as being absorbed into the parent with its tax attributes intact, or first being liquidated and then received in the form of its component assets.

SOCIOCULTURAL THEORY OF DEVELOPMENT

Seconds Liberal Arts are often viewed as pre-professional since, while conceived of as fundamental to citizenship, they address the whole person in recognition that our moral and spiritual identities develop best through participation in a society that perpetually renews the rights and responsibilities of membership.

Executive management master's degree programs often result in an Executive Master of Business Administration, or EMBA. They are primarily designed to act as accelerated graduate programs for working professionals who already hold management or executive positions.

Engineering college means a school, college, university, department of a university or other educational institution, reputable and in good standing in accordance with rules prescribed by the Department, and which grants baccalaureate degrees in engineering.

Monopoly Family Boarding Schools: The socio-historical context refers to the societal and historical conditions and circumstances that influence events or individuals. It involves elements like the cultural, economic, and political circumstances during a certain time period.

Agriculturism is an ideology promoting rural life, a traditional way of life. It is characterized by the valorization of traditional values (the family, the French language, the Catholic religion) and an opposition to the industrial world.

CAPÔI CLASS STRUCTURE

Demonym Examples: CAR Congolese, Gabon Congolese, Afrikaans Congolese, and Congolese

Monopoly Family (Apartheid)

Chief Executive of State (Apartheid)

Political Class (RUSSE NOIR)

Upper Class (RUSSE NOIR)

Working Class (RUSSE NOIR)

JEAN-CLAUDE TRAORÉ BUSINESS ADVICE

Blue Ocean Strategy; Solvent Levelling Effect Chemical Reaction Engineering and Economic Science.

TENNIS AGRICULTURE

A clay-court specialist is a tennis player who excels on clay courts, more than on any other surface.

Due in part to advances in racquet technology, current clay-court specialists are known for employing long, winding groundstrokes that generate heavy topspin; such strokes are less effective on faster surfaces on which the balls do not bounce as high. Clay-court specialists tend to slide more effectively on clay than other players. Many of them are also very adept at hitting the drop shot, which can be effective because rallies on clay courts often leave players pushed far beyond the baseline. Additionally, the slow, long rallies require a great degree of mental focus and physical stamina.

CASAPIANOS MARTYROLOGY ORDER (CATHOLIC COUNTER-REFORMATION)

The Casa Pia is a Portuguese institution founded by Maria I, known as A Pia ("Mary the Pious"), and organized by Police Intendant Pina Manique in 1780, following the social disarray of the 1755 Lisbon earthquake. For almost three centuries, thousands of young boys and girls were raised by Casa Pia, including many public personalities, called casapianos. Casa Pia is Portugal's largest educational institution dedicated to helping youngsters in risk of social exclusion or without parental support. The organisation is composed of ten schools and enrolls approximately 4700 students. In addition to standard schooling, the organisation also provides boarding for children in need. It strives to enable these youngsters to become healthy and successful members of society, by developing intellectual, manual, and physical traits, in an environment promoting spiritual, moral, and religious values. The institution is proud to have had amongst its students many outstanding Portuguese personalities, including politicians, journalists, and artists. A martyrology is a catalogue or list of martyrs and other saints and beati arranged in the calendar order of their anniversaries or feasts. Local martyrologies record exclusively the custom of a particular Church. Local lists were enriched by names borrowed from neighbouring churches.[1] Consolidation occurred, by the combination of several local martyrologies, with or without borrowings from literary sources.

The Canons Regular of St. Augustine are priests who live in community under a rule (Latin: regula and κανών, kanon, in Greek) and are generally organised into religious orders, differing from both secular canons and other forms of religious life, such as clerics regular, designated by a partly similar terminology. As religious communities, they have laybrothers as part of the community.

Clerics regular are clerics (mostly priests) who are members of a religious order under a rule of life (regular). Clerics regular differ from canons regular in that they devote themselves more to pastoral care, in place of an obligation to the praying of the Liturgy of the Hours in common, and have fewer observances in their rule of life.

Lay brother is a largely extinct term referring to religious brothers, particularly in the Catholic Church, who focused upon manual service and secular matters, and were distinguished from choir monks or friars in that they did not pray in choir, and from clerics, in that they were not in possession of (or preparing for) holy orders.[1][2][3][4][5]

In female religious institutes, the equivalent role is the lay sister. Lay brothers were originally created to allow those who were skilled in particular crafts or did not have the required education to study for holy orders to participate in and contribute to the life of a religious order.

Lay brothers were found in many religious orders. Drawn from the working classes, they were pious and hardworking people, who though unable to achieve the education needed to receive holy orders, were still drawn to religious life and were able to contribute to the order through their skills. Some were skilled in artistic handicrafts, others functioned as administrators of the orders' material assets. In particular, the lay brothers of the Cistercians were skilled in agriculture, and have been credited for the tilling of fertile farmland.[1]

Lay sisters were found in most of the orders of women, and their origin, like that of the lay brothers, is to be found in the necessity of providing the choir nuns with more time for the Office and study, as well as creating the opportunity for the illiterate to join the religious life. They, too, wore a habit different from those of the choir sisters, and their required daily prayers consisted of prayers such as the Little Office or a certain number of Paters.[1]

All canons regular are to be distinguished from secular canons who belong to a resident group of priests but who do not take public vows and are not governed in whatever elements of life they lead in common by a historical rule. One obvious place where such groups of priests are required is at a cathedral, where there were many Masses to celebrate and the Divine Office to be prayed together in community.

In modern astrology, Mars is the primary native ruler of the first house. Traditionally however, Mars ruled both the third and tenth houses, and had its joy in the fifth house. While Venus tends to the overall relationship atmosphere, Mars is the passionate impulse and action, the masculine aspect, discipline, willpower and stamina.

Mars rules over Tuesday and in Romance languages the word for Tuesday often resembles Mars (in Romanian, marți, in Spanish, martes, in French, mardi and in Italian "martedì"). The English "Tuesday" is a modernised form of "Tyr's Day", Tyr being the Germanic analogue to Mars. Dante Alighieri associated Mars with the liberal art of arithmetic. In Chinese astrology, Mars is ruled by the element fire, which is passionate, energetic and adventurous.

According to John Clements, the term martial arts itself is derived from an older Latin term meaning "arts of Mars", the Roman god of war, and was used to refer to the combat systems of Europe (European martial arts) as early as the 1550s

A religious congregation is a type of religious institute in the Catholic Church. They are legally distinguished from religious orders – the other major type of religious institute – in that members take simple vows, whereas members of religious orders take solemn vows.

In the Catholic Church, a religious order is a community of consecrated life with members that profess solemn vows. They are classed as a type of religious institute.[1]

Catholic School Girls Moon Evangelical Prophets: Consecrated life is "placed in a privileged position in the line of evangelical prophecy," whereby its “charismatic nature” and communal discernment of the Spirit "makes it capable of inventiveness and originality.”

Men Mars Angelology Conversion System: Church Enterprises (Planetary Intelligence Church District Real Estate; Liberal Arts Catholic Immersion Schools; Gold; Athletics; Cooking);

Church Gatherings (School Nights Virgil, Weekend Noon Mass then Weekend Sports League) Francis de Sales and Don St. Bosco Influence 

Harquebusier Angels Patchwork Tattoos: Biblical Crowns, Praying Hands, Gun Toting Angels, Dirty Dancing Angels, Drug Using Angels, Heavenly Choir, Summa Theologica Sherman, Saints and Pastors, Hebrew Tetragram, Council of Trent

HARQUEBUSIER ANGELS GANG BLUEPRINT: PARDISUS MEDIAE; Spirit Unity Oversoul Angelology Shaman, Eros Influence Angels: Ecstasy-Painkillers Trafficking Angel Spirit Type Oversoul, Jupiter-Mars-Venus with Planetary Intelligence; Erotes are Horcruxes, Google Imprint Oversoul, Choice of Choir is Heavenly Host, Lightning-Ice Element, Wings Transfer Invocation, MARS-JUPITER  Syncretism Planetary Intelligence, ESTJ Sensory Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator Syncretism, Church Expenses Occupation (Festivals, Venues, Freeports, Art Gallery, Underground Garages, Tobacco Store, Restaurants, Réal Estate Brokerage, Impure Aesthetic Thrillers Publishing Imprint et Production Company, Body Etching, Lipodissolve, and Hyaluronic Acid Fillers Cosmetics Surgery

ANGOLAN HARQUEBUSIER ANGELS STRUCTURE; Commission on the Social and Cultural Affairs; Commission for Ecumenism; The Commission on Christian Education; Liturgical Commission; Missionary Committee; Chief Executive of State and Military Religion Legislation; Stretch and Micro Goals

Material religion is a framework used by scholars of religion to examine the interaction between religion and material culture. It focuses on the place of objects, images, spaces, and buildings in religious communities. The framework has been promoted by scholars such as Birgit Meyer, Sally Promey, S. Brent Plate, David Morgan, etc.

Physiocracy (French: physiocratie; from the Greek for "government of nature") is an economic theory developed by a group of 18th-century Age of Enlightenment French economists who believed that the wealth of nations derived solely from the value of "land agriculture" or "land development" and that agricultural products should be highly priced.[1] Their theories originated in France and were most popular during the second half of the 18th century. Physiocracy became one of the first well-developed theories of economics.

The Bible typically describes the Heavenly host as being made up of angels, and gives several descriptions of angels in military terms, such as their encampment (Genesis 32:1–2), command structure (Psalms 91:11–12; Matt.13:41; Rev.7:2), and participation in combat (Job 19:12; Rev.12:7). Other passages indicate other entities make up the divine army, namely stars (Judges 5:20, Isaiah 40:26).[1][full citation needed] In Christian theology, the heavenly host participate in the war in Heaven.

The doctrine or theory of immanence holds that the divine encompasses or is manifested in the material world. It is held by some philosophical and metaphysical theories of divine presence. Immanence is usually applied in monotheistic, pantheistic, pandeistic, or panentheistic faiths to suggest that the spiritual world permeates the mundane.

The Dionysian Mysteries were a ritual of ancient Greece and Rome which sometimes used intoxicants and other trance-inducing techniques (like dance and music) to remove inhibitions and social constraints, liberating the individual to return to a natural state. 

Religious nationalism can be understood in a number of ways, such as nationalism as a religion itself, a position articulated by Carlton Hayes in his text Nationalism: A Religion, or as the relationship of nationalism to a particular religious belief, dogma, ideology, or affiliation. This relationship can be broken down into two aspects: the politicisation of religion and the influence of religion on politics.

Dioceses ruled by an archbishop are commonly referred to as archdioceses; most are metropolitan sees, being placed at the head of an ecclesiastical province. In the Catholic Church, some are suffragans of a metropolitan see or are directly subject to the Holy See.

The body of light, sometimes called the 'astral body'[a] or the 'subtle body,'[b] is a "quasi material"[1] aspect of the human body, being neither solely physical nor solely spiritual, posited by a number of philosophers, and elaborated on according to various esoteric, occult, and mystical teachings. Other terms used for this body include body of glory,[2] spirit-body, luciform body, augoeides ('radiant body'), astroeides ('starry or sidereal body'), and celestial body.[3] The concept derives from the philosophy of Plato: the word 'astral' means 'of the stars'; thus the astral plane consists of the Seven Heavens of the classical planets. The idea is rooted in common worldwide religious accounts of the afterlife[4] in which the soul's journey or "ascent" is described in such terms as "an ecstatic, mystical or out-of body experience, wherein the spiritual traveller leaves the physical body and travels in their body of light into 'higher' realms."[5]

The canon law of the Catholic Church (from Latin ius canonicum[1]) is "how the Church organizes and governs herself".[2] It is the system of laws and ecclesiastical legal principles made and enforced by the hierarchical authorities of the Catholic Church to regulate its external organization and government and to order and direct the activities of Catholics toward the mission of the Church.

An institute of consecrated life is an association of faithful in the Catholic Church canonically erected by competent church authorities to enable men or women who publicly profess the evangelical counsels by religious vows or other sacred bonds "through the charity to which these counsels lead to be joined to the Church and its mystery in a special way".[1] They are defined in the 1983 Code of Canon Law under canons 573–730. The Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life has ecclesial oversight of institutes of consecrated life.[2]

In Christianity, the three evangelical counsels, or counsels of perfection, are chastity (NEVER), poverty (or perfect charity), and obedience (RECKLESS ABANDONMENT).[1] As stated by Jesus in the canonical gospels,[2] they are counsels for those who desire to become "perfect" (τελειος, teleios).[3][4] The Catholic Church interprets this to mean that they are not binding upon all, and hence not necessary conditions to attain eternal life (heaven), but that they are "acts of supererogation", "over and above" the minimum stipulated in the biblical commandments.[5][6]

Catholics who have made a public profession to order their lives by the evangelical counsels, and confirmed this by public vows before their competent church authority (the act of religious commitment known as a profession), are recognised as members of the consecrated life.

The Council of Trent (Latin: Concilium Tridentinum), held between 1545 and 1563 in Trent (or Trento), now in northern Italy, was the 19th ecumenical council of the Catholic Church. Prompted by the Protestant Reformation at the time, it has been described as the embodiment of the Counter-Reformation. The Council issued key statements and clarifications of the Church's doctrine and teachings, including scripture, the biblical canon, sacred tradition, original sin, justification, salvation, the sacraments, the Mass, and the veneration of saints[4] and also issued condemnations of what it defined to be heresies committed by proponents of Protestantism. The consequences of the Council were also significant with regard to the Church's liturgy and censorship.

Initiated in part to address the challenges of the Protestant Reformations,[3] the Counter-Reformation was a comprehensive effort arising from the decrees of the Council of Trent. The effort produced apologetic and polemical documents, heresy trials, anti-corruption efforts, spiritual movements, the promotion of new religious orders, and the flourishing of new art and musical styles. 

Tradwave is a Catholic artistic style using synthwave and vaporwave art to promote traditional catholicism. Tradwave usually uses traditional catholic paintings, sculptures, or photographs of saints, given with vaporwave effects, often with a bible verse or quote about catholicism. The art usually tries to convey a resurrection of catholic spirituality in the modern atheist world. Figures often depicted in Tradwave art include Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, Ven. Fulton Sheen, Cardinal Robert Sarah, and Mother Angelica.

Tradwave music often takes the form of two main styles. One of them is catholic hymns with vaporwave effects and traditional Vaporwave/Lo-Fi music. It can also have quotes from modern prolific Catholic figures, such as Ven. The other theme is Fulton Sheen and Cardinal Robert Sarah.

Heavenly Virtues: Another phrase to describe this obedience to the voice is “reckless abandon.” It simply means that we let God do what God wants to do through us. It means if He tells us to do something or say something—we do it.

Intercession or intercessory prayer is the act of praying to a deity on behalf of others, or asking a saint in heaven to pray on behalf of oneself or for others. Intercession of the Saints is a Christian doctrine that maintains that saints can intercede for others. To intercede is to go or come between two parties, to plead before one of them on behalf of the other. In ecclesiastical usage both words are taken in the sense of the intervention primarily of Christ, and secondarily of the Blessed Virgin and the angels and saints, on behalf of men.[2] The doctrine is held by the Catholic, Eastern Orthodox Churches, the Assyrian Church of the East, the Oriental Orthodox churches , and some Lutherans and Anglicans (chiefly those of Evangelical Catholic or Anglo-Catholic churchmanship, respectively).[3] The practice of asking saints for their intercession can be found in Christian writings from the 3rd century onwards.[4][5][6] Catholic doctrine supports intercessory prayer to saints. This practice is an application of the doctrine of the Communion of saints. Some of the early basis for this was the belief that martyrs passed immediately into the presence of God and could obtain graces and blessings for others, which naturally and immediately led to their direct invocation. A further reinforcement was derived from the cult of the angels which, while pre-Christian in its origin, was heartily embraced by the faithful of the sub-Apostolic age. The doctrine of intercession and invocation was set forth by the Council of Trent, which teaches that "... the saints who reign together with Christ offer up their own prayers to God for men. It is good and useful suppliantly to invoke them, and to have recourse to their prayers, aid, and help for obtaining benefits from God, through His Son Jesus Christ our Lord, Who alone is our Redeemer and Saviour".[10] Intercessory prayer to saintly persons who have not yet been beatified can also practiced by individuals, and evidence of miracles produced as a result of such prayer is very commonly produced during the formal process of beatification and canonization.

In short, the gun-toting angel was a multifaceted metaphor. “It undoubtedly also reflected the Catholic Counter-Reformation militaristic rhetoric,” wrote Donahue-Wallace, “which promoted the church as an army and heavenly beings as its soldiers.” These "Harquebusier Angels" or "Arcabuceros" are full-length depictions of winged angels, elaborately dressed, and carrying matchlock guns (harquebuses).

The related term astrolatry usually implies polytheism. In anthropological literature these systems of practice may be referred to as astral cults.

A friar is a member of one of the mendicant orders in the Roman Catholic Church. There are also friars outside of the Roman Catholic Church, such as within the Anglican Communion. The term, first used in the 12th or 13th century, distinguishes the mendicants' itinerant apostolic character, exercised broadly under the jurisdiction of a superior general, from the older monastic orders' allegiance to a single monastery formalized by their vow of stability. A friar may be in holy orders or be a non-ordained brother. The most significant orders of friars are the Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinians, and Carmelites.[1]

Romans 8:31; Exploring Biblical Imagery is one of the most important keys to interpreting and gaining a deeper understanding of the Bible. The Bible often communicates truth to us through images and patterns.

Throughout history, armed priests or soldier priests have been recorded. Distinguished from military chaplains, who are non-combatants that provided spiritual guidance to service personnel and associated civilians, these priests took up arms and fought in conflicts as combatants. The term warrior priests or war priests is usually used for armed priests in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and of historical tribes.

Slang: In Romans 8:5-8, Paul presents a compelling contrast between living according to the flesh and living according to the Spirit. The flesh, with its disordered desires and rebellion against God, leads only to spiritual desolation. Martyr, one who voluntarily suffers death rather than deny their religion by words or deeds; such action is afforded special, institutionalized recognition in most major religions of the world. The term may also refer to anyone who sacrifices their life or something of great value for the sake of principle. A religious allusion is a brief reference to a person, event, place, or phrase from religious texts or traditions, without describing them in detail. 5 Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. 6 The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. 7 The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. 8 Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. Martyr/Romans 8 Allusion Slang.

Romeu e Julieta (Casapianos Order 1996 Adaptation 18+ Romance Thriller)

While it retains the original Shakespearean dialogue, the film represents the Montagues and the Capulets as warring mafia empires (with legitimate business fronts) and the Capulets were "a Latin family, sort of,"[15] played by Latin-American and Italian actors.[16] It is set in contemporary United States, where swords are replaced by guns[17] (with model names such as "Dagger", "Sword", and "Rapier"), and with a FedEx-style overnight delivery service called "Post Haste".[18] Shakespeare and Impure Aesthetics explores ideas about art implicit in Shakespeare's plays and defines specific Shakespearean aesthetic practices in his use of desire, death and mourning as resources for art. In fiction, a subplot or side story is a secondary strand of the plot that is a supporting side story for any story or for the main plot. Subplots may connect to main plots, in either time and place or thematic significance. Subplots often involve supporting characters, those besides the protagonist or antagonist. Subplots may also intertwine with the main plot at some point in a story.[1]

THE ENCYCLICAL PASSIONARIES ABOUT YHVH CASAPIANOS

Specifically, the royal psalms deal with the spiritual role of kings in the worship of Yahweh. Aside from that single qualification, there is nothing else which specifically links the ten psalms. Each of the psalms make explicit references to their subject, the king. Royal (messianic) psalms deal with the king as God's anointed or chosen one. Many are prayers for the wisdom of the king, his long life or success in battle. Some are prophetic in nature in that they also point to the ideal future king, the Messiah or the King of kings. A martyrology is a catalogue or list of martyrs and other saints and beati arranged in the calendar order of their anniversaries or feasts. Local martyrologies record exclusively the custom of a particular Church. Local lists were enriched by names borrowed from neighbouring churches.[1] Consolidation occurred, by the combination of several local martyrologies, with or without borrowings from literary sources. Simple martyrologies only enumerate names. Historical martyrologies, also sometimes called passionaries, also include stories or biographical details. (Reckless Abandonment; Mars Shamanism and Casa Pia Wing Transfer Invocation)

In the martyrdom narrative of the remembering community, this refusal to comply with the presented demands results in the punishment or execution of an individual by an oppressor. Accordingly, the status of the 'martyr' can be considered a posthumous title as a reward for those who are considered worthy of the concept of martyrdom by the living, regardless of any attempts by the deceased to control how they will be remembered in advance.[1] Insofar, the martyr is a relational figure of a society's boundary work that is produced by collective memory.[2] Originally applied only to those who suffered for their religious beliefs, the term has come to be used in connection with people killed for a political cause. (Armed Friars and The War for Central Africa between Casapianos and The French; The Fall of Yoruba for Bembé; Arcubusier Angels in Africa)

The Metal Ages is a term for the period of human civilization beginning about 6,000 years ago during which metallurgy rapidly advanced, and human populations started using metals such as copper, tin, bronze and finally iron to make tools and weapons. By heating and shaping metals in hot furnaces, humanity also learned to use precious metals such as gold and silver to make intricate ornaments.[1][2] With these technological adaptions, human society became more productive and human settlements became larger and more prosperous, but also more violent.[3] The Metal Ages are divided into three stages: the Copper Age, the Bronze Age, and the Iron Age.[1][2] (Calcium Age of Angola)

5 SENSES FESTIVAL MONTHLY (CASAPIANOS ORDER)

Heortology or eortology is a science that deals with the origin and development of religious festivals,[1] and more specifically the study of the history and criticism of liturgical calendars and martyrologies*. Religious Ecstacy Entheogens are psychedelic drugs—and sometimes certain other psychoactive substances—used for engendering spiritual development or otherwise in sacred contexts.

Sight: Fireworks on Water Front

Sound: Casapianos Palace Raves

Scent: Overnight Fragrance

Taste: Lamb and Wool

Touch: Tomato Food Fight

🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴🇦🇴

CASA PIA REPUBLIC

[mysoulspiralbound]

Malevolent Portal! AU

Some ideas:

Arthur lost his vision in a lab accident on the same floor he acquired his companion cube, John. He's honestly lucky the high energy pellet didn't kill him completely, but the electricity damaged both his eyes and some of the feeling in his left arm

(Please do not worry about medical accuracy. Here at Aperture Science, all side effects are good side effects!)

Later, he'll acquire an Aperture Science Experimental Prosthetic for it, which John will be able to take over if needed.

KAYNE (Kinetic Activity Yielding Necessary Education, but I will gladly take other acronym suggestions) takes the place of GLaDOS, but is just as invested in making the test subject as miserable as possible.

The KiY program takes the place of Wheatley. Not a full naritive 1 to 1, but it was the best fit I could find.

There's no cake at the end of the road for Arthur, but KAYNE does promise him that he can take the "companion cube" with him when he finishes testing.

Before meeting John, KAYNE used to promise to let him see Faroe again. Arthur found an accessory of hers poorly hidden next to one of the incinerators. Now KAYNE dangles the safety of his "companion cube" over his head instead.

The original portal game mentions a bring your daughter to work day, offering it as "a good opportunity to get her tested". I haven't gone anywhere specific with this yet, but it will probably end up part of Faroe's story.

After discovering he'd lost Faroe for good, Arthur had to be moved to paired testing to get any results at all. He and Parker were put through several of the military test levels together. Parker was the one who taught him how to safely take out the turrets, but he couldn't dodge them forever.

KAYNE decided this clearly meant Arthur needed a sturdier companion, hence the introduction of the companion cube!

Unlike in the original game, this version of the companion cube does have a level of intelligence to it. A corrupted back up file of the KiY program. (KAYNE does not realize this when he gives John to Arthur).

As a cube John can't really move or feel, but he can access the same security cameras KAYNE can in order to guide Arthur through the floors.

Arthur finds the name John Doe in a list of dead as tracked by Anna Stanczyk's notes, which were hidden mid level alongside some canned food and empty water jugs. John can't "see" inside since it's hidden from the security camera's.

Arthur explains that John Doe is the name for an unidentified dead or missing person. It's a human name, not a program name, and John gets rather attached.

I'll probably have more details/ thoughts later, but this was mostly spawned by watching my friend play portal for the first time, and a general desire to draw malevolent, so it's not super fleshed out. Thanks for reading!

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

So, she's still alive, smh.

The ONE thing I was asking for from this rebellion and they couldn't even give me that 😠

***

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Didn't your actual WIFE die yesterday? Aren't you supposed to be in mourning, for appearance's sake at least?

I thought we were done with him and his nonsense but apparently not.

***

She was only PRETENDING?

Why won't this drama let me have good things 😭😭

***

LMAOOOO

Baby is here to take back his home! He is now best buddies with the new Emperor, evil stepmom can seethe 🤣🤣

***

Are you kidding me?

I thought she would have more dignity and be openly hostile, not fawn over him so blatantly.

As if he would fall for her act twice.

***

Their faces, LMAO 🤣🤣

***

LMAO

Adult!Gu Tingye never really made it onto my list of favourite characters but I absolutely love how Feng Shaofeng plays him 🤣🤣 He's so smooth and charming, an absolute rascal! He smiles and I smile, no matter whether it's genuine or not!

***

Well, in my view, with all their money and lack of boundaries, these wastrel young masters could be doing much worse, such as raping and murdering (like the gentlemen from the Fourth and Fifth Gu house did in their time).

Third Brother is at least only out supporting the economy by frequenting brothels and hopefully paying the sex workers well. The Song Empire should send him an Imperial decree expressing its gratitude.

***

This is the full irony of her evildoing.

And even if he did not yield the title, what could she have possibly wanted that he would not have given?? She and her incompetent son had it made! But no. Nothing is enough when you're born too greedy for your own good.

***

Eh... not quite, but almost.

I am fascinated by these people. "We have spent your whole life hating you and ruining your life for no good reason, but how dare you not love us in return?"

LOLOLOLOL

Even Lin Qinshuang had more shame.

***

I live for beautiful scenery in c-dramas 💚

***

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE NOT TAKING THE EXAM?

I'm more invested in him passing this exam than I am in me passing any of mine, which is obvious from the amount of time I spent watching his shenanigans instead of studying 😕

***

Cackling 🤣🤣

He's always so outraged by the lack of propriety 🤣🤣

I love the two of them, they are such a good pair! One is so proper and the other so improper!

***

LMAO, yes, panic 🤣🤣

It's episode 36, you loser! How long do you expect the girl to wait for you? You had better hurry!

***

God, this is nice 😭😭

I wish I had the skill to turn this into art! 💚

***

Oh, yes, it is the Old Madam you are eager to visit 🙄

IDK why, but he gives me the ick.

He hasn't really done anything wrong but he's always so nice and kind and sweet and subservient, plus he's not the OTP. All the alarm bells in my head are RINING!!

***

WHO THE FUCK?

I knew there was something shady about him, smh.

***

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Where do all these cockroaches come from?? Are there no single men in China to marry and you must go after someone who already has a wife??

I AM MAD.

***

LMAO, he at least has the decency to be shocked.

So, he is not on board this nonsense. Good. But is that what happens to screw up his marriage to Minglan? His family insists on him marrying this woman?

[pagan-stitches]

June — Josef Lada

🍒 JUNE or ČERVEN in Czech is a month of beautiful weather, high temperatures and, above all, end of the school year, if you're a kid! 🍒

🔥 Some years, June is the month of the Czech Pentecost called Letnice to which we connect some interesting folkloric rituals: https://www.czechology.com/letnice/

✝️ June 13 is the day of St. Anthony of Padua (sv. Antonín Paduánský) and the name day of every man and boy called Antonín.

✨ The night before June 24 is believed to be magical, so prepare your herb basket: https://www.czechology.com/st-johns-eve/

🌽 It is the beginning of the crop yield season (žně in Czech), although it will be in full swing a little later. Our forefathers had special rituals and especially songs that helped them pass the day raking the straw and arranging it into piles.

🚜 Children helped with small tasks like bringing food and drinks and their reward was a barn full of fresh straw that they could play and even sleep in.

🌱 There is a lot of field work going on. Cold-sensitive plants have been in the earth since mid May and now it's time to take care of them - fertilize, get rid of the weed and protect from all the pests. Some plants have already given their fruit, such as strawberries or spinach.

🥗 Children used to help their parents with everything when it came to laboring the field. This was the time families invested all their effort into filling their pantries for winter. And let's not forget that during feudalism, people had to spend up to several days a week laboring the field of their landlord.

🍽️ Acquiring at least a small field was an aspiration of everyone in the countryside.

Having a field meant being able to feed the family. Some people made extra income by collecting forest fruit and selling it on the markets.

🦞 Children also used to catch crayfish in the river. This animal is now protected by law.

- - - - -

🌈 June weather sayings:

- Chladný květen, červen vlažný – je pro sýpky, sudy blažný. (If May is cold and june tibid, barns and barrels will be full.)

- Červen stálý – prosinec dokonalý. (Constant June - perfect December)

- Hřímá-li v červnu, zvede se obilí. (If there are thunders in June, the wheat will be good.)

- Jestli červen mokrý bývá, obilí pak málo rodívá. (Wet June makes the wheat crops small.)

- Červen mokrý a studený – bývají žně vždy zkaženy. (If June is wet and cold, the harvest is always ruined.)

- Jaká parna se v červnu dostaví, tak se i prosincové mraky postaví. (There will be as many clouds in December as there is heat in June.)

- Medardova kápě, čtyřicet dní kape. (If it rains on Medard's Day - June 8 - it will rain for 40 more days).

From: https://www.czechology.com

[heartmachinez]

Pangea: Creating A Multiplayer Rogue-lite With Endless Open Worlds

We’ve shared extensively about our tech art strategies and proc gen processes in both a recent Heart to Heart with Len White and Christian Sparks as well as on our dev blog. We’ve also discussed our environment art works in progress in a different Heart to Heart with Will Tate and on our blog as well.

That was all months ago; often, a few months can mean a lifetime in game development.

Original Vision

Years ago now, when Alx was ideating on the design pillars of the game, the question that came to mind was “what would you do in an open world you’d never see again if you die?”

With that in mind, we made decisions in the early days of our game to try for a more reasonable approach of this idea as we built our systems, since it seemed insurmountable. So, we created an adjacent version, something that captured parts of this design ideal. We had a large, open biomes, but they were segmented in a stage-by-stage format to make it more feasible for us to build.

Over the course of development, we found that, as we continued to build the technology needed for these smaller open-biomes, that we could actually leverage the tools to make the original vision a reality. Thus, we shifted away from the more limiting and (ironically) more complex version of a stage-to-stage progression, and started on a “Pangaea Shift”.

The Shift

Pangaea is used as a code name, as we were essentially merging all of our stages into one larger map to create an open world.

This shift meant that we would mean that we lose some time up front reconfiguring some parts of the game to function in the ne structure, but gain time on the backend and a much more exciting game format to dive into. We were excited and scared, all at once.

This shift yields us:

Highly differentiated points of interest on a global scale, resulting in entirely new biomes to explore instead of sub-variations of the same biomes

Reduced per-level workload for Houdini, focusing on simpler, bolder biome elements since the context of other biomes being present shifted the dynamics of play so significantly

The ability to generate dynamic, global components that affect the whole run / playthrough, rather than just stage or biome-specific elements, opening up tons of exciting mechanics

A truly open world, procedurally generated, with biomes juxtaposed seamlessly on the same map

An open world you’ll only see once

It’s a thought that leads to a lot of questions and exciting ideas. How much do I explore this world? How much time do I invest, knowing I could die at any turn? What are the pressures driving me forward in this world? What’s new, exciting, different this time? What’s coming next?

These are all questions we ask and answer for development, and ones we are excited for you all to see the conclusions of for yourselves in Early Access and beyond!

Wrap Up

What do you think of our process shift? Share your feedback!

See you next time, Breakers!

-The Heart Machine Team

[sunshinesmebdy]

May 22: Transformation and Networking

Sun in Gemini trine Pluto in Aquarius: This alignment suggests transformative energy. Businesses may experience positive changes, especially related to communication, technology, and innovation. Collaborations and networking can lead to financial gains.

Moon in Scorpio biquintile Mars in Aries: Creative solutions and strategic actions can enhance business prospects. Focus on resource management and assertiveness.

Moon in Scorpio opposite Jupiter in Taurus: Balance expansion with practicality. Avoid overconfidence. Investments may yield mixed results.

Moon in Scorpio trine Neptune in Pisces: Intuition and empathy play a role. Trust your instincts in financial decisions.