#Running Quotient

[ashfae]

For anyone else going bonkers waiting for @mumblesplash to drop the last part of the Tetris Spoilers Prologue, here, have a distraction. @melibemusca, this is for you; thanks for the encouragement. <3

[chipped-chimera]

So like I am very, very, very late to the dating apps shit and I was so worried about not having enough photos and shit but honestly ...

Does ... anyone? Put effort into their profiles? Like at all? Sure heaps of photos but then it's like Bio (and this is a real example): I like dogs :) Interests: Dogs MA'AM THAT TELLS ME NOTHING ABOUT YOU. MY ENERGY RESOURCE IS PISS I AM NOT WASTING TIME ASKING 50 QUESTIONS TO SEE IF WE'RE EVEN COMPATIBLE.

Idk maybe I'm the weird one out here with the goddamn essay profile but man ... give me something to work with here. Like physical attraction is great and all but that is not going to carry it for me just going off photos and jack shit. 🤷‍♀️

honestly where is my tumblr dating. the tumblr girlfriend. I feel I could tell heaps from someones tumblr, sick of this 500 word limit deserted page shit

[biology-geology-beaches-india]

The Science Research Manuscripts of S. Sunkavally, p 811.

[s0dium]

Douchebag

A/n: This is honestly the BEST fic I've ever written! I took a lot from prompts I found on this site and the smut scene is inspired from a book called "The Kiss Quotient." (It was just so damn good). This fanfic is also inspired by my original fanfic, "Douchebag" Tengen x Reader. ALSO, I AM WORKING ON YUTA FICS, SO DON'T WORRY! Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Gojo Satrou was a man of many things. It would be hard to find anyone in the jujutsu world who hadn’t heard of his name before, whether that be through his many wins in battle or his reputation as an A-class player. Some describe him as eccentric, and others (mostly girls) describe him as irresistible. You? Well, you on the other hand would describe him as nothing else than an utter, complete,  douchebag. Warnings: Enemies to lovers,  teasing, fingering, intense kissing for a sec, squirting, use of pet names, belly bulge, cervix fucking, breeding kink, virgin!reader, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, choking ~

You scoffed, watching through the classroom window as a clearly frustrated old man stormed out of the building, no doubt a higher up. No doubt the work of Gojo Satoru. "God I hate him." You hissed, turning to face a dozing-off Shoko and your other friend Haibara. The classroom you sat in was almost empty, bathed in the soft light of midday filtering through large windows. Sparse shadows stretch across the well-worn wooden floor. Rows of desks, mostly unoccupied, face a dusty chalkboard at the front. "Who Satoru?" Shoko yawned, leaning into the palm of her hand to face you. Haibara lets out a loud chuckle. "Why? Because he's an ass to higher-ups?" He nods to the window and you click your tongue against the rough of your mouth. "No, it's because he is an ass in general. His whole 'holier than thou' attitude, and don't get me started on the way he treats girls." You practically shiver as you remember the time you saw some poor girl from Kyoto Jujutsu High profess her love to the white hair man, only to run away sobbing. "I swear to god it's like he expects us to kiss the floor that he walks on, he's.... infuriating" "Who's infuriating?" Oh god, you knew that stupidly deep voice anywhere. You whipped around to find yourself face to face with the very tall white-haired man you were talking about; a shit-eating grin spread across his infuriatingly handsome face.

“You couldn't be talking about me, could you?” Satoru's voice dripped faux shock and you rolled your eyes.

“Well you know what they say, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You spat.

“That must be why you love using that pretty mouth of yours to talk about me so much.” Satoru lowered himself to close the provoking height difference between the two of you until your noses were inches away from touching. “Cause ya love having me around  doncha.”

In that moment you have to conjure up every ounce of self-restraint to not spit in his face there and then, and luckily your friends catch the drift. "Hey Satoru! What are you doing here?" Perked up Haibara who reached out his hand to dap Gojo up. "Well, Suguru and I are heading for a night out today, small club, and I thought, out of the kindness of my heart," You scoff and Gojo merely grins and continues, "I'd invite you all. Drink on me of course." As Satrou's invitation lingered in the air, you noticed Shoko's ears perk up. Her curiosity was piqued, a subtle lift of her eyebrows betraying her interest. You bit your tongue, the taste of reluctance sharp against your teeth. The idea of going anywhere with Satrou was far from appealing, but knowing your friends might join made it harder to outright refuse.

You crossed your arms defensively, leaning back slightly as you fixed Satrou with a skeptical look. "And why would you want me there?"

Satrou's lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint."You're annoying, I'll give you that," He took a casual step closer, and leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "but I never said you weren't fun."

His words, intended to irk you, did their job well. You glared at him sharply, the frustration evident in your furrowed brows and the hard set of your jaw.

Satrou chuckled.

“Great, I’ll take that as a yes then, I'll text you guys the details.” He turns around to walk out of the classroom. “See you guys there!”

There was a silence as you all watched Satrou walk away before Haibara turns to look at you. “So are you going to go y/n? Come on it will be so much fun!”

“Yeah no way in hell.”

~ You were a liar. You were a liar because here you were, leaning over the counter of a bar in a club that was far from "small." The nightclub was a pulsing, chaotic hive of activity. Neon lights flashed in syncopation with the deafening throb of electronic dance music that shook the very air. The club was jam-packed with bodies moving rhythmically, the heat from the mass of humanity palpable as the scent of sweat and sweet perfumes mingled. The bar surface was sticky under your arms, and the occasional spill from a too-hastily poured drink added to the chaos of sounds and smells around you. You lazily stirred the thin red straw into your drink, trying to politely ignore the creep who wouldn't stop talking to you.

Somehow, in the maze of gyrating bodies and blinding strobe lights, you had lost both Shoko and Haibara, leaving you stranded at the mercy of this clueless conversationalist. Despite the roar of bass and the chatter of dozens of conversations, his words seemed to bore into your ears, relentless and unyielding. He leaned in closer than necessary, trying to make himself heard over the club's cacophony, not realizing or perhaps not caring, that you were more interested in plotting an escape than in anything he had to say. "And might I say you look gorgeous tonight." It took everything you had not to scoff at this creep's words, but before you should shut the man down, you felt an arm wrap around you. "Everything alright love?" Oh god. You knew that voice anywhere. As you turned, you were met by Satrou's piercing blue eyes, their color vivid even behind stylish rectangular sunglasses. The multicolor flashing lights overhead caught in the threads of Satrou’s light blue button-up, making it shimmer subtly, and the fabric clung just right to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the well-defined physique beneath. You hated the fact that your brain immediately noted how damn good he looked. His arm was wrapped around your waist drawing you close and you had to bite your tongue from frowning at the pet name he had given you As he leaned in, his voice was low, a soft murmur over the noise of the club, "This guy bothering you baby?" His tone was teasing, and you could detect the challenge in it, as if daring you to admit that his closeness and pet names affected you just as much as he knew it did. "Of course I'm fine baby!" You smile brightly and for a second you think Satrou looked a bit taken aback. If playing along got you out of this situation so be it. "This guy, I'm sorry, what's your name?" You glance back at the creep who had turned bright red. "I'm sorry, excuse me." You watched as the man disappeared into the throng of the bustling crowd, your attention fixed until he was well out of sight. Only then did you turn back to Satrou, the false warmth on your face instantly transforming into a cold, hard glare.

"Thanks for that, but you can get your hand off me now," you said, your voice icy as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. Despite your efforts, Satrou’s grip on your waist remained firm, unyielding.

"And why should I? I think we made a fantastic couple," Satrou cooed, a teasing lilt in his voice. His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying the moment far more than you.

You rolled your eyes, exasperation seeping through. "You really think I would fall for something like that?"

"Why? Did you?" he probed further, his smile widening, eyes searching yours for any sign of genuine affect. Anger started to boil up inside you as your attempts to escape his grasp remained futile.

"I don't think you understand the dynamic here very well, Satoru," you began, your voice low and deliberate, each word punctuated for emphasis. You stepped closer, invading his space as much as he had invaded yours, your eyes never leaving his. "Let me make this crystal clear, I'm not someone you can just fucking conquer, and I'm certainly not one of those girls who's gonna kiss the ground you walk on with your whole 'I'm the strongest' act," you seethed.

Your face was mere inches from his now, your breath mingling, the tension palpable. "Because I know what you really are, Satrou," you hissed, the anger in your voice barely contained. "You're a fucking douche bag." "Oh? Is that so."

Satrou's expression shifted subtly, the amusement fading into something more measured, more cautious. He studied you for a moment and you took the chance to wiggle out of his grasp and make your way through the crowd on the dance floor toward the door. The beat of the music pounds in your ears and throughout your body making your synapses jump like beans in a tin can. You can barely see the floor, only flashes of bodies you frantically tried to push past. Before you can make it to the back door, a hand grips your wrist tightly enough to halt your forward rush. Above the din of the pulsating music and amidst the strobe-lit shadows of dancing figures, Satoru's face comes into view. You feel your breath catch in your throat. God his is beautiful. Strobe lights catch and accent every one of his sharp features alighting them in a multicolor color hue. He pulls your wrist to him so you're close, too close. You can smell the old spice shampoo from his hair mixed in with some sort of sweet cologne. It's a smell that makes you want to bury your nose into him over and over again. "Jesus fucking Christ y/n" he breathed his eyes searching yours. "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?" You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so

“I-fuck you” the words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and his eyes are soft. Fuck it. You can no longer hear the lyrics to whatever song was playing, only a soft dull hum of the beat in your ears. Immediately your lips are on his. The kiss is frantic, hot, messy. The club's pulse thrummed through you like a second heartbeat, the noise and chaos all but forgotten in the singular focus of his presence. You could feel one of his large hands on the small of your back, drawing you in until there was no space left between the both of you. Your mouths clashed against each other as if you were both seeking something vital, something long-denied. Satoru's lips were insistent against yours, moving with a fervor that matched the pounding bass surrounding you. You whined as his tongue slipped into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firm press of his chest against yours. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smoky air around us, intoxicating and heady.

Your mouths separated with a soft pop, and Satoru is grinning while you're left dazed, breath heavy and chests rising and falling after it. "How bout you say we get out of here Princess."Gojo's voice was a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear as you broke from the intense kiss.

Before you could even respond, a dizzying rush enveloped you. The loud club vanished in an instant, replaced by the quiet, dimly lit ambiance of his bedroom. You were suddenly on his bed, the soft duvet beneath you a stark contrast to the hard dance floor we'd just left. Right, he can teleport. You forgot about that. Wait was he... where are you going to... Before you can get a word in, he’s once again engulfing your lips with his and pulling you into a feverish kiss in which the two of you can’t seem to get enough of each other. The moment one pulls away to breathe, the other is immediately searching for their lips again; intertwining tongues and teeth clashing together recklessly.

Your hot, everything is hot, your body is burning up by the second and there’s a sickly sweet feeling in your stomach that keeps on expanding as time passes. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hand slip under your skirt and lightly trace the outline of your slit with his index finger. You're painfully wet; your arousal has made a large spot on your underwear translucent. “Just touch me,’ you whined, arching impatiently against his hand. He couldn’t make either of you wait any longer. Slowly, he brought his middle finger down and slid it gently over her folds. You threw your head back. "Ahhhh, more please." He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering your wetness. He parted you with two fingers. You let out a gasp when he hit your clit and started to rub it in small circles. You tried to say something, anything to explain how hot you were feeling right now, but your words were lost against his soft lips. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him so close against you, skin to skin. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only you and Satrou.

“You feeling good baby? Satrou speaks slowly, breath on your neck and voice in your ear making you shiver. You bite your lip and nod like any words that came from you would ruin it. You almost wince when you feel two fingers slip into your tight hole. "Jesus, fuck. You gotta relax princesses." He chuckled, knowing far to well that the tightness was going to feel delicious around him. Two fingers worked into you, and your eyes rolled back into your head. He began a steady rhythm as his tongue nipped and sucked the tender skin of your neck. You couldn’t prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, you were riding his hand. That had to be bad. You told herself to stop. You couldn’t. Somehow, you found your hands tangled in his short white hair. Your body was coiled tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now you could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into you. "Hnghhh.... so good." You squeezed your eyes type, becoming focused on the tightening feeling of your core and the blossoming warm pleasure. Your legs started to tremble under the unbearable pleasure and your back arched against the bed as if your body was trying to escape the euphoric feeling that coursed through your skin. "That’s it, fuck, beautiful girl... such a natural submissive...." You want to tell him he's wrong, all this pleasure wasn't because of his egotistic ass, but it'd be a lie. And as if on command, all feelings come to a heightened crescendo; explosions of euphoria clouding your brain causing your toes to curl from pleasure and your body to shake like a leaf.

It takes a couple seconds after you calmed down to realize you squirted all over Satoru's hand and all blood rushes to your face turning you a bright red.

“Oh my god in so sorry I didn’t-”

Your voice dies out as you watch Satrou pull off his shirt, revealing his extremely built body and toned muscles, to wipe the liquid off his hand. You don’t even notice that he had pulled out his dick until you feel something pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so. Your stomach inwardly twisted,  filled with the sickly excitement and your breathing started to quicken. "Shhhhh baby," Satoru cups your cheek and kisses your forehead. It was a sweet gesture despite everything happening right now, a gesture that made your heart swell and your mind yearn for Satoru. The stretch of his dick spreading your walls is insane. No amount of preparation could've prepared you for the length of Satoru's dick. You feel it heavy inside you and Satrou pushes into you until he can't push anymore, until his hips are flush against you and the tip of his length is smushed against your cervix. The pleasure of that alone felt numb, unbearable, you needed friction, you needed him to move. You practically faint when he first thrusts into you in earnest. It's euphoric; the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up. His cock pulsed inside of your silky walls, stretching you to the fullest capacity as he bottomed out again and again. "Oh fuck." Satrou groaned. He was no longer grinning, Satoru's playful resolves vanished and his smile quickly dropped. He knew you'd feel good, but he didn't expect how good you'd feel. The feeling of his hand he had fucked himself to the thought of you for so many nights was nothing compared to the real thing. It was too much, the feeling of your wet soft walls gripping him so tightly. How was he able to live without your pussy in the first place? The pleasure built rapidly, too potent, too insistent. He kneeled over you, a groan escaping his lips—a raw, primal sound that vibrated through the charged air between you. Satorus thrust your quick and hard, a clear display of strength and endurance he had gained from years of jujutsu training. "Been thinking about this, so long, bet you have to have ya~"

As Satrou's long, deliberate fingers encircle your neck, a thrilling chill races down your spine. He applies pressure gently at first, then with a firmer, insistent grip that gradually restricts your airflow, sending a wave of exhilaration through your senses. The world around you narrows, focusing intently on the point where his skin contacts yours, heightening every other sensation that courses through you. His other hand slips under your bra bra to grab and massage your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipples.

"Satoru..! Ahhhh..! I..I, fuckkkkk can't handle this.." You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with his hand squeezing your throat it was just all too much.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru

"Slow down.. please im gonna ahhhh~" Drool slipped passed your lips and you writhed and squirmed at the feeling of hot euphoria passed over your body in flesh arrow. "Gonna cum? Fuck baby, let's... let's come together m'kay?" Satrou almost stuttered. His body had kicked into autopilot, and a deep primal need for you settled in as he thrust in and out, creating a methodical rhythm that echoed in your ears. Your ankles lock around his lower back and you cry out when the head of his cock kisses your womb, your legs shaking as you feel yourself start to be thrown into an intense orgasm. You want to say something about the weird feeling in your stomach, how your skin is buzzing but it's all too much, and before you know it your tumbling toward the edge. It feels like your whole body was shot with electricity and color dances in your eyes as you float in ecstasy.

"Sh-Shit, shit, fuuuuck~" He chuckles into your ear, choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny. Satoru doesn't pull out as you both come down from your high, instead watching you intently as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Wanna do this again?" He chuckles.

"Fuck, yes, please."

[teaeodora]

Running fingers through their hair 🤍

ft. wriothesley, alhaitham and neuvillette.

synopsis : you convince them into playing with their hair and you end up taking undue advantage of it.

warnings : implied fem!reader, pet names, mention of murder and suicide (neuvillette – no there is no angst here.).

a/n : fluff but seriously hair is so floof in genshin and i love me some domesticated content.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

"No." He crossed his arms in disapproval at your request.

"Haitham! Come on!" You begged your husband to let you run your fingers through his hair in hopes to help him unwind and relax but he was adamant not letting you.

"I am sorry [Name], but I have a meeting due in an hour with the Dendro Archon about some administrative changes and as much as I would love to catch a break, I can't as of now." He exasperated, voice laced with annoyance.

Ever since becoming the Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham had gotten just a tad bit more whinier. You weren't complaining since Alhaitham had the emotional quotient of a rock.

"Oh come on! It's still an hour away. C'mere." You patted your lap. He sighed but agreed. You found yourself combing your nifty fingers through his grey locks. They felt soft to touch. Who are you kidding, he was a well groomed gentleman despite his emotionally constipated personality.

His eyes were focused on a book he was reading, his eyes scanning the pages but his expression was relaxed. He won't admit it but he liked it. This was a simple yet intimate gesture.

You on the other hand, stared outside of the window, fingers still running through his hair. The scenery of Sumeru city stretched out far and wide for your eyes to see. The sky was beaming with light, birds were chit chatting on the tree branches and–

Snore.

Your focus gets redirected back at Alhaitham who now had the book resting on his face, his chest rising rhythmically as you heard him breathing softly.

You chuckled at the sight. He really did fall asleep. He looked so carefree when a moment ago he was complaining about meetings and work. How amusing. An idea bubbled up in your head.

When Alhaitham woke up, he realised that he had fallen asleep and hurried out of the room to meet up with Nahida in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"Good evening Acting Grand Sage, I was just waiting on you- pfft!" Nahida's cheeks puffed up and the little Archon started giggling.

"I am sorry for being late- wait, why are you laughing?" He tilted his expression in confusion. Could his late timing be a matter of amusement for his Archon?

"Who made two tiny ponytails in your hair using sparkly pink pyro slime hairties!" Nahida chuckled more, unable to hold her laughter.

"..." he reached up to feel the two tiny fountains of hair made by tying them up. Who could've done such a— you.

Needles to say, Alhaitham image of a big mighty serious guy in front of Nahida had now been ruined.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

"Ma Chérie, what do you think of this case?" Neuvillette leaned back into his chair, papers spread out on his table. You picked up one of the documents and examined them.

What made you and Neuvillette a match made in heaven was that you were one of Fontaine's best lawyers and Neuvillette was the Ludex. You both would brainstorm cases together though Neuvillette always tended to quote how he is unbiased as it is his duty as the Chief Justice to not let personal feelings get in the way.

Still, you catch him staring at you during court proceedings, expression twisting and turning based on the situation out of his instinctive concern for you.

"Well, I think this is a classic murder which is being displayed to the common eye like a suicide." You sighed and put the paper back on the table, stretching your back from fatigue.

"I must say, that's quite a possibility. I'd suggest you investigate futher and seek the truth." He pondered, his gloved hand resting on his chin.

"Neuvi, can we take a break? I am tired." You slumped down in the chair across him, exhausting from the repetitive task at hand.

"Indeed. Repetition tends to tire out the mortal brain. Let's continue this after lunch." He nodded and started to sort the papers according to there designated folders.

"Can I play with your hair till you get the sorting papers thing done?" You asked him and he seemed amused at the idea. Neuvillette was never reluctant from trying out new things and gave into your small pleasures if they made you happy. "Sure."

You ran your fingers through his white locks. Honestly his hair were so beautiful, it would put women's hair to shame. Neuvillette took good care of them. You started using this opportunity to experiment different hairstyles on him.

Neuvillette glanced up, only to see his hair in a braid from his reflection in the mirror with a black ribbon in them. He stared at the braid for a good minute, "Hmm simple, practical and elegant. It's quite nice." He mused.

You were proud of yourself before Neuvillette asked if he could try hairstyles on you.

An afternoon spent with chuckles, smiles, whacky and pretty hairstyles.

WRIOTHESLEY 🧊

You watched as Wriothesley worked like a machine.

Step 1 : Grab the paperwork

Step 2 : Read and Sign it

Step 3 : Put in the "done" pile

The sounds of paper swiping and pen scribbling filled the room. You tried to entertain yourself with some novel but you could hear wriothesley grunted and groaning in annoyance.

"Y'know, the best thing is to simply not to do the work if you don't feel like it, wrio." You suggested, flipping to the next page in the novel.

"You're right. I'll settle for a nap, drink tea after I get up and then continue doing this..." he grumbled before getting up and making his way to his bed upstairs. You afte a few minutes got up and followed him.

You both laid beside eachother, under the blankets, soaking in eachother's warmth. "You joinin' me on a nap, sweetheart?" A smile crawled onto his face as he looked at you with his icy hues.

"No, I am simply here to take care of you, silly." You kissed his nose as he took your palm firmly in his and kissed the back of it, endearingly. You peppered his face with feather kisses, tousling his soft black locks earning a relaxed hum of content from him.

Wriothesley was a man of limited needs and such small moments with you were his saving grace from the buttload of prison paper work. His arm snaked around your waist as he kissed the top of your forehead before his hand rested on your cheeks, his eyes fluttering shut.

He yawned and made himself comfortable before drifting off into his well deserved nap.

But..

"Oh my god, you are associated with Sigewinne in this??" He baffled at the sight of his face covered in stickers. Melusines loved to play pranks but his own lover? Now that was some serious betrayal.

"First my back and now my face?" He stared at you, jaw dropped, wanting an explanation. You simply stifled a laugh before hearing a click.

"Sigewinne, did you just take a picture of me?? HEY! Don't run away!? [Name]! Sigewinne! You guys better delete that picture!" He chased after you two as you ran with Sigewinne in your arms. It was a moment of solace and perhaps another moment added in your archive of memories.

a/n : to say i am obsessed with domesticated genres and tropes is an understatement.

don't steal, copy, plagarize.

©definitelysel

not proof read.

[cipheramnesia]

I think The Locked Tomb fandom would enjoy the Taltos series by Steven Brust, even though there's no lesbians. Why?

Houses, lots of Houses, you like the nine houses of The Locked Tomb, we got Seventeen Great Houses! More house per house for your series.

Sarcastic bastard quotient fulfilled. You get the same kind of sarcastic banter, but replace the memes with communism.

Fencing, it's a whole thing.

Giant broadswords, they're a whole thing.

You like god being a character? We got lots of gods, we got people so powerful they turned down being god because of the limitations. More gods is more better and yes they are getting bitched out by mortals.

Fantasy. In. Spaaace! The whole setting is about humans kidnapped by extradimensional quantum aliens, genetically messed with, and dumped onto an alien world to see what happens.

POV-a-go-go, once you hit book six, get ready for a radical change in the perspective of the storytelling for each new novel. And that's not even getting into the other series in the same setting.

Let's be real, you need something to do while you're waiting for Alecto. There are seventeen of these novels which are all short and readable. Two of them were published since Nona the Ninth came out and there's a chance the Taltos Series finishes before the Locked Tomb. Why not kill some time with a wisecracking murder hobo, his terrible decision making skills, and the thorny question of what happens when marxism runs up against a literally magically controlled cycle of power.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Estrangement - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's family dynamics are shifting...

Snippet:

"Don't say I don't deliver."

Jinx flips her off.

Sevika replies with a smoke-ring. The perfect circle shivers, distends, before disintegrating over Jinx's skull. The fug makes her eyes burn; she nuzzles them unobtrusively against her forearm.

By the time she glances up, Sevika's gone.

Fine, so the Ogre scored, and they're even for now. Why it has to be like this, Jinx no longer knows. They'd started out mutually murderous but at least honest in their animosity: both of them disengaged and yet stabbing away, right until the moment the blow found its target and in a blink they’d surface—Jinx with a demon's glint in the eye and Sevika with a fiery twist of a smile.

But somewhere along the line, the two-quotient shifted. A decimal slipped in, undercutting their equation exponentially. Their interactions have since become astrophysics-level ambiguous, and neither of them have the mental chops to decipher what the hell is going on.

Do they like each other? Do they hate each other? Do they like hating each other because it's better to pretend they cohabitate badly—Jinx's razor tongue and Sevika's competitive streak forever at odds—than admit their sniping serves only to sharpen a deeper connection?

Jinx bites another praline, squishing it gooey-warm at the roof of her mouth.

It shouldn't matter. None of this matters.

Tomorrow will find her flying high across continents, with Viktor in the wings. An orbit without limits. And soon—soon—with the answers she needs, and the ammo to back up those answers with a literal boom.

Except—

Why does it hurt so damn bad?

Every goodbye feels like she's peeling off another chunk of skin.

Her eyes go to Silco. He and Sevika have convened to the small bar at the end. Standing hip-to-hip, drinks in hand, they survey their subordinates like two lions presiding over the Shuriman plains. Their pride: no longer a motley crew of fleabitten strays but a vital force to be reckoned with.

Jinx watches them confer in low tones: info being traded. Their expressions: hard, unreadable. Their stances: intimately attuned. United front; singular vision.

Same as always.

And yet... there's something in their bodies. About their juxtaposition. Never touching, always distant. Even as they move in almost perfect syncopation, there seems an invisible seam running down the centerline. A boundary where once there was freeflow.

Jinx doesn't understand, except that it'd transpired right around the time when her freefall had nearly become Zaun's. The city's ultimate weapon turned fatal liability: Jinx in Silco's arms as she spat up tar-black blood, death flooding the cavity of her ribcage.

She doesn't know what happened during the fallout. Only that it drove a stake between Silco and Sevika. You had to be right between them to feel it: the ripple effect of estrangement stuck in stasis.

They were never together without the crew closeby, as if protecting themselves from proximity to one another. And they no longer swapped black looks of knowingness that telegraphed complicity without a single word spoken: heavy; hooded; loaded with history.

The history isn't gone. But it's been superseded by protocol. Blunt; to-the-point; nothing extraneous. No shades of gray.

But sometimes...

Sometimes the stake whittled down. Sometimes, when Sevika bent to confer in Silco's ear, she'd linger just that fraction too long: lips inches from the cold half of his profile, breath gone soft. And Silco—inclining his head just so—would soften in imperceptible turn: shoulders loosening; forehead smoothing; the permanent tautness at his jawline fading into a tiny, fond uptick: full of old memory and older secrets.

Whenever that happened, the crew would heave a collective sigh.

Then, with a sharp intake, they'd straighten, or sidestep, or swerve away altogether.

Back to business.

Afterward, Jinx would spy Sevika at the bars, solitary or in company, the hot gleam in her eyes inverting into a hungry desolation whenever she drank herself too deep into her cups. Or she'd catch Silco in his office, pacing relentlessly with a whiskey glass in hand, whiteknuckled as if for want of holding something more than its ice-cold smolder.

Now, Jinx watches Silco peel a Tereshni pear with his flicknife, speaking in quiet tones as he denudes the fruit. He passes the long peel to Sevika. She accepts it with rare laugh, tipping her head back to drop the green curlicue slowly into her mouth.

Silco's eyes pass over her exposed throat, like a blade looking for a jugular, but warmer.

Jinx frowns.

She doesn't understand. She'd once thought she knew so much. As if secrets were a game of hide-and-seek, and she was the expert at sussing out their sneakiest spots.

But the truth's always got a way of slipping beyond reach.

[lorelune]

(aventurine x reader /// continuation of this concept)

"explain to me," the good doctor demands, "why do you need my help?"

"because." you fumble around your words. your lips feel cold. herta's space station, especially this deep in its bowels, is an unpleasant place to have any conversation, let alone one that is also unpleasant. "i don't have time."

"and you assume i do?"

"partially?" you rub a hand over your cheek. "throw me a bone here, doctor."

ratio has been sizing you up for the better part of half an hour, scrutinizing your intent in any way he can. you have been skillfully attempting to dodge most of those attempts, but veritas ratio is as diligent a man as he is intelligent. which is to say that he is not letting up until you divulge the truth.

you sigh.

"you will explain to me," he says outright, gaze piercing. "how one of the intelligentsia guild's most esteemed researchers needs help with an algorithm that is far below both of our skill levels. it's insulting to both myself, and yourself."

you sigh again, deeper and harder, "i, once again, do not have time. i have the 'full time job' of handling aventurine's odds, and those calculations don't run like any other odds i've ever worked with, and he is a variable constantly in motion. i need help making this algorithm so i can have some assistance with my main job at hand."

the doctor scoffs, and walks a circle around you, "i'm sure he's just thrilled with the company."

"we— he manages."

more than. but, veritas doesn't need to know that. you're sure he'll figure it out eventually.

veritas tagged the briefcase on a nearby table. it's gleaming, with a discreet ipc logo embossed on the side. the sight of it makes you nauseous with anxiety.

"is this bribe from him?" he asks.

"no." you've stopped aventurine anytime he has tried to intervene and make things easier for you. he rarely listens, but your relationship with ratio and the guild make him somewhat neutral territory. "higher up."

"i assume diamond wouldn't bother to dirty her hands. so, jade?"

"yes."

dr. ratio, for the first time, seriously considers your offer. then scowls. "it would be a waste of my time."

you sigh. there was a 67.22% chance of this outcome. luckily, you have gamed out the conversation from here.

"so you can't?"

"you know i can."

then, you laugh, and shake your head. "yes, i do. sorry to tease. i'm quite tired."

"you should go find your gambler." veritas crosses his arms, looking sidelong at the briefcase.

"i will, eventually." you turn your back to veritas as you begin to leave the open atrium. the air is hollow and frigid. "i'll just ask some other intelligentsia guild members about the project first. i'm sure they'd be happy to help."

you only take a few steps before dr. ratio grabs your arm. his grip is far too strong.

(chance of failure to secure dr. veritas ratio's assistance: decreased by 31%.)

"don't bother them."

"someone needs to help." you turn back to look at him, expression schooled. "and if you won't, i'm very sure someone else will be happy to work beside 'one of the intelligentsia guild's most esteemed researchers'. or, does such a title not truly apply considering i've been ousted from my previous position?"

he frowns, but before he can speak, you interrupt him. you haven't seen veritas since being tied down to your current post. you haven't let him have it. he deserves it, maybe.

"i heard from jade that i received a glowing recommendation from another well-respected scholar. apparently, the position was being considered for either one of us. somehow, with that recommendation, i drew the short end of the stick and now play handler for a man with a death wish and a statistically measurable chaos quotient that's ever-changing in multiples of three."

veritas's face is unmoving. unchanging. but you know you've struck something. it was to be him or you in this position. and you don't have the pride he does. you place your hand over top of his, posed to speak, to tear him apart—

a shrill ringtone shatters the tension. it's yours. you already know who it is.

you flip your phone open with one hand, still staring at ratio.

"hello," aventurine's voice beckons from the other side, smug and smooth. "where is my favorite, most brilliant mind hiding out? we're due to leave soon."

"sadly, with another one of your favorite, brilliant minds. i'll be finished up shortly and meet you at the docks."

"aw, did he not get onboard? that's quite the choice for him to be making. do you want me to give him a talking to you?"

"no, it's fine. i'm working something out."

"you sound upset."

"i'm tired." you rub at your eyes and break away from veritas with a yawn.

"you can nap on the ship. we have quite the journey."

"that we do. i'll see you in a bit?"

"see you there." you can hear the smirk in his voice.

sending you down to veritas alone was aventurine's gamble. one that is working out, predictably. never mind the damage your reputation will take after these next moments. you close the phone with a sigh and begin toward the grand elevator.

"veritas," you call his name. "i forgive you, for what it's worth. try not to do it again."

"i couldn't."

you laugh and shake your head as you ascend. by the time you arrive at the docks, the ipc's premier vessel is packed away and priming its engines. lights and sirens echo from it. aventurine's idles outside, waiting for you. he beams when he sees you.

"so," he whistles, guiding you with a hand on your lower back. you let him. "was the good doctor as prickly as ever?”

"if not more so" you admit. aventurine gestures with a sweeping hand to your shared quarters for the time being. there's a single bed, but you're used to this. you've come not to mind it. "i think i bruised his ego."

with a genuine laugh, “i don’t think that's possible."

"want to bet on that?" you ask.

your phone's text tone chimes and you shoot aventurine a sharp smile.

aventurine's odds are ridiculous. ever changing, constantly moving. none of your perceptions and calculations that are usually steadfast and unmoving can keep up with him. not with efficiency, anyways. it's exhausting work. however, the likelihoods of everything but aventurine? the predictions of a man like ratio?

easy. simple. you could do them in your sleep.

aventurine squishes against your side as you open your newest message.

[SENDER: Doctor Ratio <intelligentsia guild>]

> here is a first draft. forgo payment. i do not need to be in the stonehearts’ pocket.

[file attached: STONE ALGORITHM DRAFT 1.0.spqxxxiun.pqo]

aventurine laughs, muffling it against the side of your neck. his teeth are sharp and his breath is warm. it settles something in you. you lean into him and deflate, sliding down into your lap so your head is pillows there. a gloved hand cards through your hair.

"you're quite good at the game, when you choose to play." aventurine reminds you. he tells you this often.

"i know." you turn your face into his hand as the ship rumbles. "but it's your job."

aventurine pauses his pets, then thumbs over your lips. he looks sour, only for a moment, before resuming his motions, a bit rougher this time. you relish the feel of it, sinking into it.

"one of us has to, right?"

"right."

"and the other," he taps your lips. your sputter, indignant. "plays support."

"one of us has to." you remind him.

it's silent between the two of you as the ship whirs and bellows, taking off from herta's space station without reverie. onto your next destination, wherever aventurine is deigned to be needed, with you by his side, dutifully.

you press your face into his stomach, letting the smell of linen and his cologne envelope you.

neither of you have a choice to play this game. the cards are stacked, and you best not loose count from aventurine's side. you'll be damned if you do.

(there is a 98.769% chance that you are damned regardless.)

at least, at least, you have each other, you think as aventurine bundles you up closer, and you wrap yourself around him. you'll take that, for as long as it lasts.

[fluffbruary]

Fluffbruary approaches!

We're finalizing our prompt list for Fluffbruary this week and will be posting it on 1/1/25 (2025 already??? how did that happen?).

As always, Fluffbruary will be open to all - all fandoms, all ships are welcome! Choose one (or more!) of the daily prompts (or from a handful of alternate prompts) and create some fluffy goodness. Whether you do some prompts, or all, or just one--increasing the fluff quotient in the world is surely a good thing.

And, if we haven't said so before - it doesn't have to be fic! You can draw! Paint! Make moodboards or photo manips! Fluff comes in all mediums! Let your creativity run wild :)

The prompt list drops in seven days. On your marks ...

[tinyraptorhands]

You Scratch My Back...pt. 2

5pm. On the dot. The sun was about to set, casting an orange glow in the school library. You stared out the window, seeing a few crows dotting the sky as the night encroached.

You fidgeted nervously, fraying your notebook edge as you fingered the corner of it. You had even bought a snack or two, some spicy shrimp chips, those honey butter almonds you couldn't get enough of and two bottles of Pocari Sweat. There was no way you were gonna go without a comfort snack if you were gonna handle Katsuki Bakugo-the math tutor.

Lord knows if you'd be able to teach the feral-looking porcupine anything on your end. You still were in disbelief, if you had to be honest.

"Oh. You're actually here." You heard the gruff voice come closer, as he slid his bookbag on the table. You moved your snacks, which he eyed. "The hell are those for?" He asked, looking annoyed. You began to pull them out. "Oh, I thought we could have some brain food to munch on, I even remembered you liked spicy-" you were cut off by his mean mug staring at you. You swallowed, slowly putting the items down. "...O-okay, guess that's a no-" "I didn't say I didn't want any, did I?" He said sharply. Why did you have to be so nice, huh? Always thinking of people and shit...You blinked and wordlessly slid the bag to him. "Here...take your pick." You said quietly. Obviously, he went straight to the spicy shrimp chips. He popped it open, and tossed a chip in his mouth, eyes never leaving hers. He quickly set the bag down, and opened his bookbag. "Trig or English first?" He grunted out. You were suprised he didn't just head in with tutoring you first. "T-Trigonometry..." You said softly, opening your notebook. "Fine. Let's do this." He said, cracking his knuckles.

Oh boy.

You were pretty sure your brain was melting. "No, you idiot gajin!! The Sin part equals -22! How are you not getting the formula!?" He slapped a rolled up notebook on the table, making you flinch slightly. You rubbed out your answer, trying to redo the formula. "Why are you writing it like that!? We're working on Quotient Identities, not Reciprocal identities! Dumbass!!" You winced. The numbers were not numbering and soon they were all a garbled mess in your brain. "Bakugo, I need a bre-" "No! Not another break! You need to stop slackin-" your hand slapped your pencil down, his turn to flinch. "Stop. Yelling. Please." You said, voice firm.

It got quiet. "I can't...do well when someone doesn't have the patience to begin with to tolerate my..." You rubbed your temples. "I don't process numbers like most people can, okay?" You said softly. He sat back a little, scoffing. "Explain." He commanded bluntly. You sighed.

You hated admitting this.

"I have Dyscalculia." You said softly. One of his blonde eyebrows raised. "The hell is that? Some kinda disease??" He asked, his voice sounded skeptical. You huffed a small laugh. "No, it's like...well, have you heard of Dyslexia?" He thought a moment. "Uh, I think?" "Yeah, so...its like that, but with numbers and concepts of numbers. So like, I have to have alot broken down and I have to write out the problems thoroughly-and sometimes that isn't even enough." You hated admitting it. "...It makes me feel stupid when I study as hard as anyone else and then some, only to rank low." You mumbled, pushing a hair behind your ear. You looked down, fingering the edge of your school uniform skirt, the dark green almost calming in your eyes. "Alright, fine." He suddenly said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Look, having that issue sounds...annoying. I may not exactly get it but..." Was...he trying to comfort you?? Encourage?? He looked annoyed as he tried to find the words, running a hand through his ash blonde hair. "But I can tell you're trying your damndest. Which I can...eh..." he looked away. "Which I can respect. To a degree." You were gobsmacked. Him? Respect you!? Noticing your look of suprise, he then looked at you sharply. "Don't get it twisted, okay!?" Ah, there was the tsundere coming out. You found yourself smiling warmly at him. "Thanks, Bakugo." You said quietly. He suddenly looked away, and grabbed the chips, shoveling them in his mouth furiously. He slammed them down, and slugged back his pocari sweat drink. He gasped as he stopped drinking, and looked away. "...Whatever." he finally spoke, the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks red. "...Lets...uh, let's just do English now, okay?" He huffed. You nodded, feeling giddy all of a sudden. Maybe Bakugo wasn't so bad, after all.

You were dangerous. He did not enjoy how you made him feel. Sure, you were pretty and you were...nice. Hell, even the accent you had when you spoke was cute as hell. And that made you dangerous to him. When you smiled so warmly at him? At his piss poor attempt at making you feel better about your learning disability? You were bad for his heart. Increasingly so, as you explained plurals and syntaxes. "So, the examples of grammatical functions from regular traditional grammar are subject, direct subject, and indirect object. Like...so..." as you wrote a simple sentence in english. "I, refers to myself-the subject." As you explained further, he began to take in your features. Your profile in the now almost set sun glowed at the edges, giving you almost a halo effect. His heart stuttered when your eyes met his. "Bakugo?" "Yeah, what?" He asked sharply, afraid he got caught checking you out. "I asked if you understood how I explained it." You said calmly, unbothered and clearly oblivious. He scoffed, indignant. "Yeah, I got it. Subject, direct object and indirect object. Whatever." You smiled encouragingly. "Yeah, that's right. So, keeping that in mind..." why were you being so nice?? Each time he made a stupid mistake, you were kind about it. You didn't yell, curse or roll your eyes. Hell, you should've been a teacher with how patient you were being.

Soon, it was dark. Nearly Bakugo's bedtime. He hadn't realized it until the librarian came up and tapped their table. "We're closing for the day, kids." The old woman, who looked like she had bug eyes said. You nodded, and looked over to him. "We better go, huh?" You said, looking down at your phone. "Aw, we missed dinner..." "Then let's get some." He said simply, gathering his things. "Eh?" You blinked. "You deaf, too? Let's go get food. S'not good to skip meals, idiot gajin." He said in his usual manner. He jammed his hands in his pockets. "Hurry up, or I'll leave your ass behind." He started to walk away, albeit slowly. You took the hint, shoving things half-hazardly in your bookbag, "Okay, okay!" You chuckled under your breath, and fell into step behind him.

The crisp night air hit your faces, the smell of books and ink falling to the wayside. The two of you walked in tandem, every now and then he'd kick a pebble or mutter something under his breath. He would also look at you, who still seemed oblivious to his budding affec-

Oh no. No, no, no, no. Katsuki Bakugo was not crushing on the stupid foreigner girl who couldn't even do a simple algebra problem! Sure, over the years she's grown to be...somewhat pretty. And her quirk's gotten...noticeably powerful. She also has a great disposition. Or whatever. A crush, though? Nah, he didn't have the time for such things.

If he was gonna be number one, that is.

"Hey, where are we going anyways?" You asked. He gave you a deadpanned look. "Where do you think? The combini, duh." He said, sounding a little irritated. "Oh, yeah. Right..." You chuckled nervously.

God, he made you nervous. You weren't scared of him, but he had this...energy to him. Made you wanna do your best, to never back down from....anything. It was embarrassing to admit to him your issue with numbers and the like, and he...didn't seem to care. Or hold it against you. Maybe he had matured since first year. Or maybe you were just suprised at how he was so...nonchalant about it. He didn't even mention it after the fact.

The bell to the store door shook you out of your thoughts as he held it open for you. "You comin' in or standing like an idiot??" He grunted out. You gave a small smile. "Ah, right! Sorry! Zoned out!" You hurried in side, and he clicked his tongue.

Idiot gajin, indeed.

(Heeeey, so yeah! Reader has a learning disability! I guess it's a little self-indulgent of me, because I too have Dyscalculia! And it sucks! Whee!! Hope that doesn't bother any of you. It won't be the central focus of the story, mind you. I just wish it was a more well-known thing, cause when I was diagnosed with it there wasn't much people knew about it. They just thought I was math stupid! ((Legit, a teacher said that. The early 2000s, people! Yay!)) Anyways, here's to seeing where this story goes!)

[yaltghoul]

This is not written with any hatred nor criticism, which I will get into more in a bit, but I feel like, among the three daughters, Penelope is the most like Portia.

Prudence and Phillipa are dense. There is no kind way to word that. They lack both emotional and intellectual quotients. There is no street nor book smarts. On top of that, they both are, especially this season, intentionally cruel to Penelope.

Portia tends to also say cruel things to Pen, but they seem to be based on a jaded perspective rather than being malicious. Like saying she shouldn’t expect to find a marriage in her third year on the Mart and that True Love is fictitious, or even scolding her for reading. Those statements were not said to hurt Penelope’s feelings, rather to advise her based on her own experiences not only as a past debutante, who we all know did not marry for love, but also as a mother who has now had to shepherd three daughters simultaneously through the Mart and hear the gossip that is said against all the girls. She always speaks with good intention, but we all know that those pave the path to Hell.

No, Portia isn’t deliberately mean. She is a huge gossip, cunning, steadfast in her convictions, a great liar and schemer, witty, and truly devoted to those she cares about. Every action throughout the series has been to assure the comfort and security of her daughters. Again, good intentions and all that.

Who else have we seen in this series who is witty, cunning, a great schemer, a huge gossip, and truly devoted to those she cares about?

Penelope.

Penelope, who is cunning and scheming enough, not only to have her own business, but to keep it a secret. A business that relies on her using her wit to spread gossip. When she opens up to someone, when she begins to care about them, that wit and cunning come out in such a force that it is only matched by her devotion to them.

Like Portia, she has good intentions when she schemes. Such as revealing Marina’s pregnancy or divulging Eloise’s unchaperoned trips to the printer. She doesn’t do both of those to be cruel or malicious. She does it to ensure the Bridgertons, namely Colin and Eloise, are safe. Safe from entrapment, in the case with Colin, and safe from the Queen’s unjustified wrath, as was the case with Eloise.

You see a lot once Penelope comes out of her shell in S3 pt1 that she matches her mom’s sharp tongue in their interactions. Squares off to her. The apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree.

But despite her cunning and scheming, she is also naturally more kind and soft than her family, which is where the Bridgertons come in. The Bridgertons are the Featherington’s Foil. Without them, Penelope would no doubt turn into Portia; unhappy, unkind, and ruthless. But her relationship with Eloise and Colin steer her toward a life of love and happiness.

Portia never cried after stabbing the young Lord Featherington in the back. She never wracked her hands over the forgery of George’s note to Marina. We never see the guilt. But Penelope… We see her sob and run to Eloise after writing about Marina. We see her break her quill after writing about Eloise. We see the grief, the shame, the guilt that she is wracked with, feelings which are only made possible by her relationships with The Bridgertons. With the love and kindness that they all exude.

This is what makes Penelope such a rich, dynamic, complex character that I love. She is flawed. She is diverse. She makes mistakes, lies, schemes, and loves with all her heart. She pines and frets. The complexity of her character is what makes her relationship with her mother feel real; makes it feel tangible, like I could grab it with my hands. It makes her relationship with the Bridgertons all the more sweet.

[seishiroses]

OH NO IT'S TOO PRETTY HELP ME 😭😭😭

Some thoughts on the drawing:

Compared to Nagi's early design back when he was just introduced as a character, the glow up has been serious, and a lot has to do with changes slowly introduced into his hair shape and length. Like the little curls here are so ✨👌🏻 (I liked him just as much when he was a pure creature too. But it's been great to learn that he can do both.)

Fangirling aside, I think when it comes to a certain level of detail, drawing white hair can be hard. Messy white hair, even harder. And a hand in messy white hair that curls slightly at the ends but not too much is just asking for pain (in my opinion).

I believe you'd have to make calculated decisions to convey the idea of the hair being messy while also looking aesthetically pleasing while also making sure the way the fingers are interacting with the hair looks correct and adds to the aesthetic appeal/hotness quotient/thirst trap/whatever you want to call it (since the beginning of manga time, manga characters running their hands through their own hair while looking anywhere with those eyes has never had a single f*king thing to do with the plot).

However, what makes things hard is that this is white hair on white background, so leaving it as a solid block of colour with no detail (as you would be able to do with black/dark hair) might just make it look unfinished. So you'd have to pay attention to all the little strokes inside, and light it up with subtle shading in the right places.

And then there is the hand. I don't even want to talk about how hard it is to draw hands, let alone hands going through hair like this which can bend and twist in all sorts of ways.

The artist juggles all of this with striking detail that is clean but not too clean to give you a pretty but also impactful panel without compromising on basic character traits (lazy dude with bed hair, but now he's fired up, gone are the dead eyes, etc.)

I know this is all probably second nature for a seasoned manga artist like Sannomiya Kōta, who has also been drawing this same character consistently for two years now, but as a humble hobby artist in the closet, and someone who got into the blue lock manga mainly because of the artwork, I can't help but appreciate it. ❤️

[professorspork]

So I just discovered Lindsay Heather Pearce'ss Elphiie and I am enamored with how soft she is. Must protect. But I was wondering if you'd come across any boots of her that are more Gelphie? She's smitten with both Glinda and Fiyero but Brittany's Glinda only has eyes for Fiyero (tbf Sam is a fantastic Fiyero totally worth a catfight)

oh friend

oh friend i am so sorry

welcome to one of my most particular brands of Suffering, which is not the Gelphies That Never Were but instead the Gelphies That Were Never Filmed.

unfortunately, no, there is no such recording available. Lindsay's first Glinda was Ginna Claire Mason so it did surely HAPPEN, but only one video boot of them exists and it's a partial that skips literally every interaction but reunion and catfight -- it has basically nothing of Act 1 except the very tail end of DG and it stops before For Goodness. i'm p sure there's also a highlights of her with Allie Trimm on as the standby but Allie was not nearly in her full powers yet in 2022 and I don't have my hands on it to confirm the queerness quotient

if you want this particular brand of Yearning Lovesick Sweetheart Elphie to get her girl the best I can offer you instead is Alyssa Fox, who got to Properly Gelphie with Carrie St Louis on tour and (once) with McKenzie Kurtz

if you are a masochist like me and want this brand of Yearning Lovesick Sweetheart Elphie regardless of the Gelphie as long as Fiyero is good, Christine Dwyer and Justin Guarini are here for you once you run out of Lindsay&Sams; both of those pairs are All Time Fiyerabas in my book and I love them very much

(and meanwhile, in the world where all iterations of these characters can meet somehow, Donna Vivino!Elphaba is chasing those three around with a bullhorn going GLINDA IS STRAIGHT GET OVER HER SHE DOESN'T LOVE YOU)

(her efforts fall on mostly-dead ears but any marginal progress that had been made is lost when they find the "someone loves you! xoxo your secret admirer" notes Kara Lindsay!- and KRC!Galindas left in their lockers)

[irishhorse-blog]

I've been thinking about the tracklist for Golden, especially the writing credits. I confess that I sort of expected JK to write or at least co-write some of the tracks, so I was surprised that he didn't put pen to paper on anything.

Then I thought about what he's said about himself. He's said that he doesn't think he's good at writing songs, because he can't write lyrics that he likes. He constantly says how unintelligent he thinks he is, and I think the idea of writing for an actual album was too intimidating. He wasn't convinced that he would even release an album at all, according to what Bang Si Hyuk said in his interview. By the time they started presenting him with songs that other people had written, time was running out and he wouldn't have had the time and space to write and record an LP-length collection of his own songs.

He picked "Seven" and "3D" because he thought they'd be fun to sing, and, let's face it, they're catchy as hell and were always destined to be hits. As for the other songs, I would expect that he chose them for their sonic qualities and potential success, like how he selected the first two. He wants to be a hit, both in Korea and in the wider world. It stands to reason that he would want songs that were hit-worthy with a Western pedigree, at least to some extent.

So I was reconciling myself to the idea that the songs wouldn't be heartfelt and the lyrics wouldn't be illustrative of him at all. But then...

Then I thought about how for generations, singers have been interpreting songs written by others, but putting their own emotions and soul into the words. I thought about how I have turned to other writers - poets, lyricists, thinkers - to express my feelings when my own words were too weak, or too clumsy, or when I was feeling too much to let words flow at all, my emotions standing like a log jam in my throat.

Maybe these songs weren't written by JK, but he found something in them that resonated with him. Maybe it was their hit potential. Maybe it was their sound or their "fun" quotient. And maybe it was the lyrics, which might have been saying things he couldn't find a way to say for himself, especially in English.

You can't tell me that JK wasn't feeling some kind of way when he recorded his cover of "Falling." You can't tell me that he didn't feel the words for "Begin," even though Namjoon wrote them. The songs on this album will be helping him to display parts of himself, and he will sing these the way he always sings: with emotion, with dedication, with beauty and with intention.

I'm looking forward to the album. Even if he didn't write the songs, they're still going to give him a way to express himself, and I'm here for that expression.

Quick disclaimer: I know my interpretations of these songs and these performances will be subjective, but that's the way art has always been. Songs are heard by each person individually, colored by each individual's past experiences, present emotions and future hopes. We all live alone in a way, because nobody else will ever hear or feel or see things the way you do, or the way I do, or the way JK does. Humanity is connected but separated by the very singular, isolated perceptions of life that we all have. My interpretations may not be yours, but to me, they will be valid.

Let's give "Golden" a chance. I think it's got the potential to set the world on fire, because JK is destined for greatness. He always has been. It's time to let him shine.

[artificial-transmutations]

Transformation Letter: Dian

Hello. My name is Dian and I wouldn't mind transforming into anything or anyone. I'm an single 38 bisexual teacher, whom works out twice per week. My students would most likely describe me as the boring brown math teacher with the medium length black hair.

It wouldn't be right to say that today it is your favorite day of the year. To be honest, it's not even clear if you even have a favorite day of the year, at least regarding to your job.

Not anymore, at least. With your 38 years, you are teaching math for over ten years now. Ten years of reiterating the same and same again to your students. It is what people describe one of the biggest boons of teaching math: The subject never changes. While your colleagues have to integrate some new events or discoveries into their lessons every now and then, math never changes.

So, why is today one of the days you look most forward to? Because it's time for curve sketching again. This is both the subject you discovered your passion for math with and the point in the curriculum where you can see clearly which students are able to grasp the concepts of math - and which are too dumb.

Still, calling that one of your highlights sheds a sorry light on your academic career. Becoming a teacher *seemed* like a good idea, but the truth is that the endless repetitions are mind-numbingly dumb. You could have gotten a research job at university, but you decided to become a teacher. Ever since, every day is the same, every week, every year. Everything is on repeat. Teaching, driving home, working out twice a week, like a clockwork, summer holidays, winter holidays, one and the same.

You shake away the thought and sigh before entering your classroom and begin your lesson. You have the feeling you will lose half of your students today, intellectually, but you can hardly feel sorry. Math in school isn't hard. There is no reason for anyone not to get it.

So, you drone on and slowly approach one of the central milestones of the subject.

"And, as h approaches zero, we narrow in to the slope of the curve on that singular value for x. That is what we call a dancing quotient."

You look into the confused faces of your students. What did you just say? No, this is wrong. You try again.

"Sorry. The diffuse quo..." You trail off. Something is not quite right with you. You should know the word for that... thing. You look at the blackboard again. A big line with letters above and below, some arrows and a drawing of some curve. If you are honest, you don't understand fuck about all that. Weren't you supposed to teach math? Where are the numbers? What are letters doing in math.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" one of your students asks. Something else is wrong. When you look at your hand holding the chalk, it is way darker than it is supposed to look.

"Excuse me..." you mumble, surprised how deep your voice sounds. You exit the classroom and head towards the nearest bathroom, almost running.

The world seems wrong, too. It's like you’re looking at it from way too high. When you finally arrive and look at the mirror, you notice that your clothes are tight and constricting. Looking back from the mirror is another man, not the 38 year old math teacher you are used seeing every morning. The face looking back at you is younger, twenty-something. And it is Black, African American heritage, definitely. You can see your medium length black hair receding into your scalp, leaving you with the shortest buzz cut, as your nostrils become wider.

Not just your face changed! Your muscles grow and your shoulders expand, bringing your clothes that are riding high close to the breaking point. They don't break, however, but reform into a simple work uniform, covering your massive black body. At your groin, you can see the ample bulge of your dick and it makes you smile contently. You might not be the smartest, but you sure are both the strongest and best endowed man around here.

You give the mirror one last wipe and begin to clean the toilets with the janitorial equipment in your cart. Being a janitor in school is good work and doesn't require much of an education. That's why you even clean the toilets happily. However, it doesn't really pay well, either, so, recently you have gotten a second job as a bouncer in front of a gay club.

You don't mind the club visitors ogling your body or touching it from time to time, so the combination of both jobs makes for a diverse and eventful life! The strange letter you sent two weeks ago is already well forgotten.

Another one of those Transformation Letters. You, too can send one, over at my riot page!

[drdemonprince]

Reviewing Simon Baron-Cohen (strong advocate of the "extreme male brain theory" of autism and general fucker)'s empathy measure and man oh man. not having dreams is taken as evidence of low empathy. so is saying you'd ever break the law under any circumstance. not worrying if you are running late to meet a friend is a sign of low empathy. HMMMMM very interesting dr bitch