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I’m making this post on the behalf of Sami and his family. Fundraiser here.

Sami says:

"A simple picture, yet it holds a powerful meaning. Tell me what did you understand, and what will you do? 'I understood that these children are in urgent need of donations, and I will donate. I will also share this post—it might help in some way. This image is full of sorrowful meaning, and I will do everything I can for these innocent children. I will donate so that they can go to school, eat clean food, and sleep in peace.' This is exactly what is happening right now with me and my family in the heart of Gaza. Please, donate—share—speak up. Don’t stop. We are between life and death. Don’t leave us behind."

Please do anything you can to help, any engagement is appreciated even if you cannot directly give to the campaign. Thank you so much <3.

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The Root of Magic

Who else is reading Witch Hat Atelier and stricken with despair over the latest chapters 😭 Poor Qifrey, he can never catch a break 😭😭😭

I can't wait until the anime comes out so I can cry all over again. But until then, here's a fanart~

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Conflating having dating/sexual experience with maturity/being an adult is gross as all hell.  It’s not “infantilizing” to headcanon a character as being inexperienced.  Doesn’t matter if a character is ace or allo, if you come at people saying a character isn’t pathetic enough to be sexually inexperienced that’s not just acephobia, that is just not how life works.

On top of that, asexuality isn’t some sort of “oh well you have an excuse for why this doesn’t make you pathetic” sort of thing.  A lot of us didn’t realize we were ace until well into adulthood, and dealt with that constant shaming of “normal people have lots of sex, normal people date all the time, why am I so wrong and broken.”  Enforcing these attitudes still harms us even if you magnanimously bestow a “get out of my mockery free!!” exception, and know what??  I care about the allo people this hurts too.

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Hi! I have every disease! Do you want one?

How about you follow me to this special room

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"the early 2010s were better" no they weren't. "hey soul sister" was on the radio.

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"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??"

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You never recover from being weird in middle school

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A swan, as you have never seen photographed before by Gerald Robinson

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ruggie, our token white boy

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Silver waited so long for his turn that he lay down to rest

A bit of a strange choice for him, but he is still his father's son, even if not biological, I wanted to make him and Lilia a little similar Not a scalapendra, but also something with legs Something similar to a shrimp I suppose

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I need fem!Yuu content specifically where she crashes out.

Like as a woman myself can we please give her her well deserved feminine rage moment because IMAGINE

- you’re the only woman in a school of entirely men

- these men have literally magic powers and you don’t

That would be so terrifying are you kidding me? Like I’m not trying to paint “oh poor defenseless fem!Yuu” but if you’re a girl you know exactly how terrifying that would be. I’d be at Sam’s buying bear spray the first opportunity I get.

And might I mention the storyline of TWST is completely recontextualized if you see it through the eyes of a female Yuu?

Because girls are always, always expected to clean up after and take care of the men in their lives in one way or another.

Fem!Yuu finds herself in this already precarious situation where everything is different but the one thing that never changes is how she as a woman is expected to act!

At NRC the one thing that translated from her home world is that all at once she is expected to be a maid (like how Crowley always makes her clean up his messes and how she always seems to need to fix whatever mess her friends get themselves into) and a therapist (see: Overblots) and a mother (as in she always has to keep someone in check) all while juggling being a good enough student to keep her housing and adjusting to a completely unfamiliar and, frankly, dangerous place AND dealing with the possibility that she might never return home to her loved ones again.

Even if it’s not, like, overt or blatant gender bias, there is still that expectation there for her that doesn’t seem to apply to her male peers. Most of it, sure, can be attributed to her unusual circumstances, but if we add a fem!Yuu perspective to it… idk it just adds this whole new layer/parallel to it all.

Or I’ve just been too into feminist history/female politics lately. 🤷‍♀️

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I had to add red elements to keep with the tradition of putting all the mermaids on a black background

I like the design, but I don't like the pose :(

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Can I offer a Mr. and Mrs. Shroud being childhood friends? Childhood sweethearts maybe????

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HII I love your work!! I was asking if u could do a Viktor x reader where they’re just enjoying their time together as academy students. I don’t mind it being gender neutral but female is preferred as well. I hope you’re having a great summer 💕💕💕🙌🏾🙌🏾💝💝🌺🌺‼️‼️👅👅👅

HEHEHE HI ANON MY SUMMER IS GREAT I HOPE YOURS IS TOO <3

Requests Are Open!

Reblogs Always Appreciated!

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Tags: Fem!Reader, STEM major reader, Chemistry trash talk, Viktor's european ass does not tan he burns, sort of academic rivals for a sec? Reader wears a skirt and lip gloss. No other specified features for Reader she's all yours for projecting <3 also she talks about ingesting poison to get out of chem work (same girl) Oh and lowkey corny, down HORRENDOUS Viktor. uhhh yeah overall just fluffy and such :3

Two Types of Chemistry

Viktor always thought the Academy would offer him more to life than Zaun could. 

Opportunity, he reasoned. Maths and sciences, languages and histories from around the world. It would teach him everything he needed to know, and more; the best coffee combinations for late nights, the best shortcuts for when his body ached and hissed like a feral feline at physical strain…

And, as you so confidently asserted, the best companion for studying the absolutely horrid material that your general chemistry professor assigned you both.  

Appropriately challenging material, Viktor had reasoned. 

Torture from a professor who hates her students, you answered. 

You had insisted on reviewing the material for your upcoming final exam outside on the campus green. The weather was nice; the sky was clear, the temperature was the perfect balance between warm and cool, the sun’s rays kissed your cheeks, and the grass cradled your bodies like a mother would her infant. 

Fresh air, you told him, would counteract the toxins forcibly shoved down your throats as you recited thermodynamic laws, solubility rules, and acid-base chemistry values. 

“I’m going to burn,” Viktor huffed, shuffling himself beneath the shade of the green’s long-standing oak tree. “I will emerge roasted and red and it will be all your fault.”

“Red like litmus paper when it’s used in an acid,” you answered, nodding solemnly as you scribbled it down into your notebook.

Viktor rolled his eyes, scoffing with no real annoyance. He turned to his own notebook, tapping his pen in his left hand as he scrutinized his own notes. “If you doubled the concentration of a reactant,” he began, “and determined the order of the reaction to be third order, how many times must the rate have increased?”

“Eight,” you answered, not looking up from your notes. “The Ostwald process converts ammonia to nitric oxide by reaction with oxygen in the presence of a catalyst at high temperatures. A vessel is initially charged with 4.80 moles of gaseous ammonia and 5.80 moles of oxygen gas is sealed and heated at a fixed high temperature. When equilibrium is established the reaction mixture is analyzed and found to contain 3.80 moles gaseous nitric oxide. What is the quantity of ammonia gas in the equilibrium reaction mixture?”

Viktor scribbled for a moment in his book before replying. “One mole. A thirty-five liter vessel at 700 Kelvin initially contains hydrogen iodide gas at a pressure of 5.80 atmospheres; at equilibrium, it is found that the partial pressure of hydrogen gas is 0.56 atmospheres. What is the partial pressure of hydrogen iodide at equilibrium?”

“4.68.”

“4.68…?” 

You tossed an eraser at him. “Quit pestering me for units.” 

He flinched away from the piece of rubber, laughing lightly. “What? You will need them or our professor will count your answer as incorrect.”

“Fine. 4.68 atmospheres.”

“There you go.”

It went on like that for a good while, bouncing chemical complexities off of each other like you were playing a game of twenty questions. That’s one of the things that had encapsulated Viktor about you since the day you met (once he got over the chagrin of you answering a question before he could in your shared physics lecture). You were undoubtedly brilliant, and once you two got over the sparks of competition, you both discovered you made quite the pair. 

That was, until the immovable object called ‘your need for a break’ clashed with the unstoppable force of Viktor’s work ethic. 

You tapped out after the fifth round of questioning— Le Chatelier’s principle followed by a set of buffer equations— flopping comfortably onto the grass. Your skirt fluttered around your knees as you did, landing softly back onto your thighs like leaves from an abscising tree. 

“I’ve had enough,” you groaned. “I can’t do it anymore. Someone needs to feed me carbon triple bonded to nitrogen.”

“Chemistry is not so severely hellish that you need to ingest cyanide,” Viktor huffed, noting something down in his notebook. 

“Maybe for you.”

He spared a glance down at you and found his eyes never left. 

Looking at you, laying in the sun like that— the way your lashes brushed your cheeks, the way the warm light made your skin glow incandescently, the way your lip gloss shimmered like sweet fruit juice on your lips, and the way your hair sprouted like flowers, his favorite flowers, from the holy halo of your head— it made him stop and simply stare. 

You were picturesque, a work of art that none of the most brilliant artists in the Academy could ever hope to recreate. He wished, for those silent seconds, that this moment could remain a perfect photograph in his mind; that he could file it away in the deepest recesses of his memory, manufacturing a mental place of worship where your image could be sanctified for as long as he could manage cognition. 

And when the day comes when he is old and gray and forgetting, and the inner machinations of his brilliance begin rusting and creaking at their joints, he knows that you— unforgettable, radiant, exuberant you— will remain forever untouched in that mystical, sacred hideaway of his memory; a girl shining like gold, held dear to his heart until the day he meets his end. 

It struck him, then, heart turning in his chest like the sun does in the sky. 

The Academy could teach him plenty of things: maths, sciences, languages, histories; study strategies, resilience, how to run on three hours of sleep and a prayer. 

It couldn’t teach how it felt to feel the warmth of care. Of gentleness. Of embrace and compassion and laughter. 

So Viktor moved, groaning softly as his hip clicked and his leg stiffly protested, to move from his shady spot and lay beside you in the sunshine and grass. If you were the teacher, he decided, he’d learn those things a million times over. 

You turned your face to his, but he was already looking. 

“You’re going to burn,” you reminded him softly.

“Sunlight is good for the mind,” he answered, eyes flitting, just for a moment, to your lips. “Serotonin. Vitamin D. Circadian rhythm and such. I could stand a few minutes.”

You smiled. How he loved that smile. “Yeah? You’ll risk getting all crusty and achey and peely?”

“Yes.” 

His reply came quickly, breathlessly.

“So long as it is with you.”

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A/N: can you tell I hate gen chem.

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“I hope we can be together forever.” -Grim

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