#Data Alchemy

[unlockingthefuture]

Data Alchemy Transforming Raw Data into Actionable Insights

In the digital age, data is the new gold, and the ability to transform this abundant resource into actionable insights is akin to the ancient practice of alchemy. Just as alchemists sought to convert base metals into precious gold, today's businesses, guided by top digital transformation services in India, strive to turn raw data into valuable information that can drive decision-making and foster innovation. This process, known as Data Alchemy, is at the heart of modern business strategy and digital transformation.

[hyper-lynx]

Oh God I'm thinking about rewriting my whole mod to be all data driven......... I already added KubeJS support I really don't have to do this, the people can already make reactions in modpacks !!

(But it'd be cool)

It would but, but...

[cirrus-grey]

Oh so we're just jumping headfirst into the alchemy here aren't we?

[gear-project]

I saw the A.B.A. gameplay video. I never played the old games since I started GG with SIGN, but that Jealous Rage, you have an idea on what is wrong with Flament? He looks sickly and disorientated and I am not sure if A.B.A. has done this before. Also, it looks like A.B.A. is more 'confident' and 'nonchalant' in her fighting stance compared to the older games, although she seems more aggressive and vicious in her attacks.

It's a tad early to speculate what is going on, but I suspect that Flament was exposed to the INSIDE OF THE GATE.

The story goes that the Inside of the Gate is embodied by "everything" that Homunculi do not possess that Humans "have".

"Jealousy" is one simple way to put it, but it is basically every aspect of what exists in terms of absolute opposition.

Greed, Pride, Gluttony, Lust, Wrath, Sloth, Vanity, and also Despondency.

It's a little complicated to explain what I mean but...

With every "talent" that Humans have, there exists something that "lacks" that talent. Every skill, every blessing, every idea, every presence. Becomes a Burden, a Curse, a Vexation, an Obsession, and so on...

Getting caught up in the "darkness" (the thing that changed the Original Sage in to Happy Chaos), basically.

What makes us unique and special... the things we value... are all taken inside this gate in "equivalent exchange" (if we hope to gain something more than what we already have in our greed and hubris).

The Gate itself is similar to the Idea of "that which seeks to surpass humanity".

In simple terms it's similar to desire, once again using the word "jealousy" here in a vague way.

But just like how I-No was born from the world's desire for a better future... it was that "desire" that also broke the world (namely the Backyard).

Homunculi are, give or take, something of a "connection" between this world and the world beyond the Gate... similar to Boundary Contact Mediums like BlazBlue had.

As for Flament Nagel himself... he was originally a battle axe in the shape of a Key... after countless battles and engorging himself on bloodshed and conflict, he transformed in to the "goat face" with horns we saw in Accent Core.

However, this shape is formless... almost liquid-like. Similar in fact to Eddie and his formless body as a Shadow Organism.

Likely getting swept up in the Currents of the World beyond the gate has dismembered parts of Flament Nagel beyond recognition... though he still somehow "remembers" what he looked like (only just barely).

Probably A.B.A. is part of the reason he can still "revert" back in to his Key Form (an attachment to this world perhaps).

(Side note: Hoenheim is the Label on the tassel, which is a reference to the Alchemist whom created A.B.A.)

[seedmagine]

From Abstract Data to Dream Art: The Magic of AI Prompts

Prepare to be mesmerized by the seamless transformation of abstract data into a breathtaking, hyperrealistic dreamscape. This video highlights the incredible capability of AI to interpret complex instructions from a well-crafted prompt, evolving raw information into stunning visual narratives. It's a testament to the power of precision in generative art, showcasing how subtle inputs can yield magnificent, detailed worlds.

Dive into the essence of AI creation and see how the unseen becomes unforgettable. This is more than just art; it's digital alchemy in motion.

Ready to master your own AI transformations? Our Patreon offers exclusive access to the prompts and techniques that make this magic happen. [Link to Patreon: patreon.com/seedmagine]

[natures-uprise]

I taught you how to pay attention in bird language

Who document ?

[blood-orange-juice]

I swear, Dottore was written by a former STEM graduate. People don't normally write mad scientists this way.

Whenever I try to dig into deep lore, his research repeatedly turns out to be among the most useful data I have.

I know a good project when I see one. I've been on both sides of the academic hiring process, I've written grant proposals and I've reviewed them and I've seen better scientists than me discuss them, so please understand how much weight I put into this: these are very good projects.

(except for, you know, ethics)

His research topics seem random but he actually pokes at the most fundamental questions of Teyvat with each one.

His Eleazar studies dig at the relationship between forbidden knowledge and dead gods (surprise: these are different things. I might have lumped them together if not for his notes).

Cloning himself pokes at the difference between machine and man, and also it's the technology of Eclipse Dynasty, Teyvat's main historical enigma. Have you ever wondered whether all ruin guards were men once? Or why did Khaenri'ahns switch from alchemy to ruin machines so abruptly? Or why they were cursed.

(I have a suspicion it also pokes at the nature of time and stories, the way he talks about a need for an ideal observer, and also the way Khaenri'ahn history went)

Delusions answer the question of why does Teyvat need Archons for Visions to appear and for humans to be able to use elemental magic. We don't know the answer but Dottore does.

I'm eyeing his artificial god because I don't think that what we saw in Sumeru was the final project. He seemed so nonchalant when it failed.

This is theoretical science at its finest. As a cherry on top, every project also yields practically applicable results.

He's a dream of every grant commitee.

[cryptotheism]

So what counts as doing Alchemy? If a modern chemist does the same chemical process but using modern techniques and understanding of the world, are they still doing Alchemy? or is Alchemy when you do that chemistry with the context of an alchemist?

It's sorta like asking "what's the difference between doing astronomy and doing astrology" fundamentally, you're measuring the sky, the difference is how you interpret the data.

Modern astronomy has its roots in ancient astronomical techniques, but our understanding of the world is different now. Scientists at NASA aren't doing astrology, but everything they're doing has its roots in people measuring horoscopes 2000 years ago.

You can't really "do alchemy" anymore. Not in the way that Zosimos and Jabir were. Our worldview is so radically different from theirs. However, you can absolutely replicate their techniques and materials and recipes. You can do alchemy in that sense.

[justblades]

hypothesis — anaxa x fem! reader

IN WHICH, your research study piques anaxa’s interest, inducing him to trap you into a collaboration to achieve the end you both desire

TAGS, MDNI. dub con, university setting, drugged sex, mind fuck, not proofread.

Applause rises from the crowd in front, the expressions painted on the majority’s faces are one of shared joy - it was a moment of delight and fulfillment, as marvelous minds clashed and melded with one another to craft such a significant research. Your group stands proud while the research panel awards you the trophy and certificate, hereby marking a significant milestone; the batch shall continue to tread the endless pursuit of wisdom and knowledge after the graduation.

The previous proud grins of some gradually curl upside down, catching your attention as you whip your head to your members’ direction. You pick up from the beads of tears streaming down their cheeks, the other attempting to bite down his threatening sobs, it was when it finally dawned on you: you truly have made it. The sleepless nights of stress and pressure indeed bore fruition.

After what felt like an eternity of suspense and excitement, the emcee then reads her closing spiel, formally announcing the end of the event. The big day comes to an end, loud cheers of the batch naturally follow, resounding all throughout the grove.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans, as it unties the already woven threads of triumph, letting it all loose as the scrutiny of the meticulous professor lands upon you. Seeds of doubt and confusion were sowed in the depths of your heart as you receive a bizarre call, “Professor Anaxa has queries about your research.”

Standing before you now is the infamous blasphemer of a teacher, whose mind is unbridled of moral restraints for the sake of knowledge. Expectedly, as a scholar, that trait of his was highly condemned and yet you find a part of you justifying his actions whenever you come across such wild rumors.

His fingertips slowly glide past the corners of the hardbound pages, skimming through the context of the rigorous part of your thesis: the methodology. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, this time, twice more as Anaxa slides in his pen to mark the part he was focusing on. Subsequently, he hums and looks at you with anticipation.

Slightest hint of disapproval emanates from his stare, to which the professor tries to coat as confusion to test your resolve. “If I’m not mistaken, you were the assigned leader of your thesis, no?” His voice stern as ever, you immediately respond. “Yes, sir.”

Dating back, you never happened to have a class taught by Anaxa. It was just a one time occurrence when you were able to witness how the cogs of his bright mind function when he stood as an adjudicator for a debate event held by the academy, to which he successfully cracks down the fallacies made by the opposing team with just mere questions, with the purpose of catching them by their own words, akin to a fish biting the bait and digging its own grave.

If anything, you knew him more through rumors and gossip, as the last you heard about was him expressing an opinion that scholars who are hellbent on gaining newfound knowledge shall be willing to bend the arrows of their moral compass to achieve such an end. Naturally, his school of thought anchoring on this expression was heavily criticized for the main reasons of ethics and confidentiality in the field of academics.

“Entitled ‘Efficacy of Specialized Alchemy through the Lens of Genetic Modification’ . . . Interesting. But the theoretical framework and methodology do not align.” He states, slate hue fixating on you. “If you were to study the efficacy of a particular object, you’d normally employ a design that encompasses both the quantitative and qualitative nature of the data to be derived, yet you stuck with one that adheres more to the latter. Care to explain how you came up with this process?”

Your brows furrow, bewilderment sits on your facial expression. The rationale of the methodology is already stated in the same paragraph for that question - why was he asking things that are obvious?

“Professor Anaxa—“

“Please refer to me as Anaxagoras.”

“Sir, as expressed in the introductory text, to determine efficacy, qualitative data shall provide an in-depth understanding of the subject, to name the factors that cannot be determined by merely recognizing patterns and trends. It tends to have a nuanced nature as it doesn’t just describe the leverages of the topic, its drawbacks shall also be determined in order to establish possible interventions for its improvement and to ensure your hypothesis is approved.”

“—Additionally, our thesis hinges on the concept of genetic modification with the main focus of improving our five senses, to be able to heighten them at our own volition as we see fit to be utilized according to the circumstance we are in.”

Anaxa pays close attention to your gestures as your hands tend to move on their own, a habit you happened to develop as you hone your dissertation all throughout these years. “However, our paper just touches upon the efficacy, not the practical application of specialized alchemy.”

“And? What are the results?”

Your jaw widens out of disbelief, as if the answers he was looking for cannot be found in the book. The longer this supposed questioning drags on, the more toll it took on you. Regardless, respect shall be shown, so you backtrack the results of your study. “The majority of the respondents strayed from describing the concept as something that can be done right, but rather, for them, it’s an insult to the human life. The quantitative data geared more to it being an impractical method to improve one’s capabilities, which was further supported by the verbatim cited in the presentation part of the chapter.” You recite, breaking off eye contact with Anaxa, head hung low facing the ground. Your fists balled, a bittersweet mood washes over you, recalling the summary of the data you gathered from the respondents.

“And let me guess, you were disappointed with the results.” With one sentence, you look back up at him, this time, more puzzled than before. A question arises, how did he know?

He slightly tilts his head and waves his hand in the air, “It is truly a shame to realize that these people, supposedly seeking wisdom, are the same ones who will never get to quench this thirst as they are held back by their morals. If we do not change up our methods, do you think it will yield different results each time?” His words had weight on them, not seemingly just blank questions one would typically ask in a thesis defense. The whole exchange becomes all the more confusing.

“I suppose you already have an idea where I’m getting at.” The teal haired drops his finality, and like a last puzzle piece falling into its right place by pure coincidence, you were able to see the bigger picture Anaxa prepared for you.

Alignment stems from shared vision, branching into different methodologies cultivated through revisions to obtain an answer from your assumptions. As Anaxa skimmed through your thesis, it was undoubted that he was able to relate your justification with his school of thought. The two of you were willing to tiptoe on the boundary lines of ethics in research - because if not, how will we be able to procure knowledge if sacrifices were not to be made?

“I understand, sir.” It was when you approved of his invitation that the green curls of smoke in the laboratory started to become more visible, carrying minuscule pigments of shimmer as rays of light spill in the littlest crooks of the room. “Wh—“

You were cut off as Anaxa takes steps towards you while you stepped further away from him. A loud thud echoes in the vicinity as you find yourself trapped between Anaxa’s looming aura and his master desk. The sage’s tattooed hand then brushes softly on your supple skin. Starting from your collarbone, making his way up to your neck, “I employed modifications on my genes to test my assumption - but I couldn’t activate those out of my own volition. To determine the efficacy of something, its participant should be willing. Am I right?”

As if you were at a standstill in time, your breathing hitches the longer his skin is in contact with yours. His fingers were rough, some had dry patches, as expected of a practical researcher. Yet the warmth he exudes from his touch feels foreign, a driving force that makes your stomach churn with a whirlpool of mixed emotions.

“Let’s start off with sense of sight. Close your eyes.” Your chest rises and falls, heartbeat pacing faster in each minute. “Sir—“ Unexpectedly, you follow suit to his command, shutting your eyes. Your brows knit even further, wanting to protest against this method but the words you intend to verbalize die down on your tongue in an instant.

How did he manage to make you follow suit to his command? What else did he incorporate to the component?

Darkness graces your eyes, another chilling sensation rides on your skin. It felt hot, but the second it trails away into another direction, it leaves an icy feeling, lingering.

Thousands of thoughts surface in your mind and none of them were of composure. You were astonished, confused, wanting to beg for more time to adjust but here you are being immediately toyed in Anaxa’s palms. As if acting out of desperation to break free from this predicament, a new pseudo dimension forms, to which faint lines of everything around you could be discerned, each having its distinct color.

The surroundings were pitch black, yet every object in the space had its own different hue, the lines materializing as you try to get used to this awakening. Trying to make out of whatever was happening in front of you, with enough focus, you could envision the sage leaving ephemeral licks on your skin, particularly on the back of your hand. Your jaw falls agape to which Anaxa quickly notices, the corners of his lips then tug into a boastful smirk.

It’s as if he had already put two and two together that he realized your sense of sight indeed improved, incomparable to that of a mere human’s.

“Second. Sense of hearing.” As soon as he announces his next step, he prods into your mouth with the same tattooed hand, inserting his index and middle fingers to explore your cavern of warmth. Your stomach turns as Anaxa toys with your tongue, not leaving enough space for you to breathe nor have sufficient time to process everything.

As this act unfolds, you suddenly begin to hear your saliva being mushed with his fingertips, your mouth making slick noises inside, to which you could do nothing but leave mumbles of puzzlement. “A . . . Naxa.” Every splash of the liquids inside reverberate inside your head, which further affirms Anaxa’s assumptions.

After what felt like eternity, you could finally peel your eyes open and see the view unravel before you, Anaxa being a mere hair’s breadth from your face, goosebumps rake your spine. Up close, his brows are knitted in expectation, eyes somewhat heavy-lidded in which excitement gleams from his slate monochromatic iris. With one swift movement, he stops fiddling with your tongue, taking his digits out, leaving a small trail of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips.

“My patience is wearing thin.” He expresses, wiping away the smeared saliva from the margins of your lips with his gloved hand. Dumbfounded, you could do nothing but just lie in wait to what he’s supposed to do next. “Let’s amp up our methodology. We’ll be testing the remaining three senses simultaneously. I hope you can bear with it.”

Suddenly, your clothes dissipate into thin air, the fibers curling into little burnt cinders until they’re void of anything. “Anaxa—“ he proceeds to fervently crash his lips into yours, a surprising tang of sweetness cracks on your tastebuds. Your stature wobbles and threatens to fall, but the male had already anticipated that as he supports your weight with an arm slithered on your waist. He aids in maintaining your balance, but it was only a mere second that you were able to think straight when his free hand toys with your inner region.

With little effort, your arousal coats his fingers, muddling his skin’s red markings with a cloud white color, your scent inevitably wafts inside the laboratory. Anaxa inhales deeply, taking in everything all at once that is unfolding. Nonetheless, he proceeds, inserting his fingers into your pussy.

Caught off guard, he thrusts in and out, your walls taking the shape of his long, slender fingers. At the same time, your tongue twirls in rhythm with his, the sweet taste gradually enveloping the cranny of your mouth.

It all felt messy, as if Anaxa’s actions override one another, making everything far more overwhelming than it is prima facie. Your mind was lost, yet your body basks in the foreign sensation, pleasure emerging as you feel you were nearing your satisfaction. The male’s gloved fingers wrap around your neck after and breaks the deep kiss, “Are you ready?” He queries, taking a quick glance at your seeping cunt and trail back up to your eyes with a surprising longing gaze in them.

A second passes by, he undoes the buckles of his belt, letting everything loose as he strokes his own erection, wrapping his coated fingers around himself. You eagerly watch at every movement he does, a tantalizing view to etch in the deepest part of your memory. As he deems himself fit, he rubs his tip on your entrance, the position possibly adding up to the struggle.

His breath drops, feeling a short wave of satisfaction once he gets a taste of your slicked pussy. “Time to prove my hypothesis was right.” Anaxa rams inside you, your walls enveloping around his girth as he struggles to keep himself still. “Anaxa . . !” His tangled thoughts were abruptly cut off as he hears your plea, spiraling into an abyss of pleasure as an intense gaze locks his eye with yours.

“Spit.” He orders, a vague one in which you cannot crack immediately. A breathy moan bubbles from his throat subsequently, a rare occurrence of Anaxa showing vulnerability. Regardless, he expounds. “Gather an appropriate amount of your saliva.” As if obedience was coded into your personality, you purse your lips together. “Let it trickle down your chest.”

You follow suit to his command, slightly parting your mouth open, leaving just enough space for it to stream down your dewed skin, leaving such a sticky feeling. The professor wastes no time as his hands glide up to your tits, fingers fidgeting with your perked nipples, lubricating them with your own spit. He traps the buds within his calloused fingertips as you grant him the most lewd noises you’ve ever made in the entirety of your life.

Anaxa wasn’t the type of person to hunger for indulgences like this. But upon witnessing a remarkable sight right in front of him, impulse rush in as he digs into your mounds as well, the tip of his tongue caressing your nipples.

“It’s too warm . . sweet . . and hot.” Mindless musings come undone the margins of your lips, making the sage’s libido hike even more. Additionally, these testaments of yours reinforce the data he supplied in his test drive journal for this study, another victorious feat for him it appears. “Very good.”

He simpers, starting the momentum of his thrusts to your body, nice and slow in the beginning yet with such intensity and impact in each push. Naughty noises echo inside, along the gibberish you’ve been rambling for a while which were descriptions of the changes occurring in your body. Anaxa encourages it, playing along as if he was able to comprehend your barely coherent sentences.

“Sir, I . . . feel like I’m being suffocated.” You yelp, first time among your endless prattles he was able to understand something, your hips grinding along Anaxa’s dick as he fills you to the brim. You look down and see how easy it was for him to prod into your folds, the very entrance curling around the base of his cock with such longing and excitement. “You’re doing great.” He manages to say in between thrusts and hefty breaths, “What else?”

Anaxa’s praises reverberate in your head, like a badge of excellence as he sees you worthy to be his research partner and that in itself is a privilege. Gradually, the male’s pent up sexual frustration reaches its end as strings of cum sprawl out, Anaxa withdraws just in time. A searing heat of temptation pools inside your body, thoughts clouded with nothing but pure carnal desire instilled by the sage.

“If . . If you’re willing to . . as well, I’d be honored to do more of these with you.”

[neilsbeloved]

so high school

summary: thanks to the new biology professor, clark signs up for the tutoring program of smallville high to try and save his grades from plummeting. too bad his tutor bails… unless, of course, fate has a better teacher in mind. (prequel to the alchemy)

pairing: freshman!clark x student body officer!reader

tags: s1 clark / pure fluff (for now) / oblivious pining / very very subtle awkward flirting / awful try at banter and crack / chivalrous clark kent / direct + confident!reader with anxious + shy!clark / biology and mitochondria mentions (lol) / food mentions

Freshman Year

Clark sat on one of the benches outside of school, with Chloe on her laptop beside him, the two of them watching different alumni go in and out of the gymnasium dressed in their posh suits and dresses.

Unlike Chloe who was solely focused on getting their data for the first issue of the Torch this freshman year, Clark was busy watching you run last minute touch-ups for the event currently happening.

Dressed in an all-black top and bottom, you had rolls of tape and ribbon as bracelets, numerous scissors and other materials in your pockets, and a rather intimidating look on your face that had every person thinking twice whether or not to approach you. Clark watched you with awe at every second.

"Clark, hello? Earth to Clark?" A hand is waved in front of his face, Chloe's irritated look snapping him out of his trance. "Gosh, don't tell me you're flaking out on me already."

"What—No, I wasn't dozing off… I was just watching the alumni come in." Clark purses his lips, straightening his back, watching you stand on a step, arms reaching up to hang a banner.

Chloe rolls her eyes, closing her laptop abruptly before shoving it in her bag. "Well, I'm gonna run over to the gate. I asked Ryan to get me a latte from the Talon on his way here."

"Didn't we already get coffee?"

"Yeah…" Chloe picks up the cup, eyebrows furrowing. "…but our resident barista probably mistook me as a different blonde ordering regular caramel coffee because that's what she gave me." She scoffs sarcastically before placing the cup back down.

Clark does the same scoff, raising an amused eyebrow as Chloe turns away without a second thought, high pitched voice letting him know that he can have the coffee if he wanted to.

Now left alone on the bench, he sighs while leaning back. Head returning to where he last saw you. Clark smiles when he sees you still at that place, though it quickly drops when he sees you being helped by another student wearing all-black.

Clark keeps a close eye on you and the other student, watching as he pats the side of your arm before leaving you there, heading back inside of the gymnasium after helping you successfully put up another banner. When you lean against the smooth wall of the gym's exterior, a yawn goes past your lips. Clark's eyes squint when you do so, an idea popping in his head when he remembers the untouched coffee beside him.

Just as you had began to put up the third and last banner for the night, you nearly slip from the step when you turned around.

"Hi." Clark breathes. An awkward smile stretching on his lips, one arm stiffly holding a cup of coffee while the other held his bag.

You blink. "Hi."

Clark stands there in silence, the smile still plastered on his face, arm still up, his mind actually going blank. You stand there confusedly. The emotion very apparent on your features with your furrowed eyebrows at slightly jerked lips. You clear your throat, snapping some sense back into him.

"I, uh—Hi, we're classmates in history if you remem—"

"Yeah, I remember. Clark Kent, right? Down at Kent Farm?" Clark nods, the hand holding the cup of coffee slowly descending as he feels his insides blossom at the thought of you knowing him. "Oh yeah… I know you."

"You do?" His eyebrows raise.

"Uh-huh. You asked me something about the extracurriculars, I think. I'm not really sure." You offer him the best apologetic look you can give. "Anyway, uh, do you have a concern?"

He shakes his head.

"Oh, is it a bad time? I didn't mean to bother you I just…"

"You just…?"

Clark swallows the saliva building up in his mouth, breathing in deeply as he glances at the cup of coffee in his hand. You look at him weirdly, shifting your weight to one hip. "Well… I saw you still working and, uh, y'know, just wanted to give you this coffee."

"It's… it's actually my friend Chloe's," Clark starts, holding the cup out with a stiff arm. He smiles sheepishly when you look at him confused. "She doesn't like sweet coffee and there was a mix-up—this one's caramel, no one drank it. It's still warm—just thought maybe you'd want—"

The poor boy gets cut off when you grab the cup off his hand.

The brush of your hand—as brief at it is—made him feel sparks of electricity all over; it takes everything in him not to combust and run around like a crazy man.

"Thank you, Clark," you say, smiling, calm and composed. "But do you have a concern?"

Clark blinks slowly. "N-no, I'm good. Totally fine."

He clears his throat, shaking off the nerves. "Uhm, do you need help? I'm actually not doing anything right now, Chloe's still picking up her actual coffee and so uh…"

He's rambling again. This time, you can't even stop yourself from smiling at him. So you look away, tongue poking at your cheek. "I'm fine, Clark, I appreciate it… Chloe's looking for you anyways."

The look on his face drops. "She is?"

"Yeah, that's her right?" You jerk your head towards the blonde. Clark quickly looks at that direction, internally cringing when he sees you're right.

Chloe is back already.

"That is her." He sighs, shoulders dropping.

Then, out of nowhere, he feels his world tip over. The chuckle that escaped your lips was almost enough to get him tripping all over the place. When he looks at you, smiling and snickering at him, it's like nothing he's ever seen before.

It was way different from how he saw you smile in front of your friends, in front of the student body (or at least that's what he thought to himself). Nevertheless,  gathering the courage to actually approach you is already a big achievement for himself.

When you urge him to get back to Chloe, he heads back to their spot, an almost disappointed look on his face as he arrives on the bench. Chloe wasted no time asking a dozen questions.

Where were you? Why were you with the student body president? Did she ask you for help? Since when did you volunteer for the council?

"Geez, Chloe, calm down," Clark sighs. "Just 'cause you got your coffee doesn't mean you have to go all beast mode again…" he rubs his hands together, "I was… I was asking her for an exclusive."

"Really?" Chloe looks at him skeptically. "Clark Kent asking council members for exclusives on his own accord?"

Clark subtly watches you from the corner of his eye before he wriggles his eyebrows at Chloe, smiling charmingly, "Journalistic curiosity."

"Wait, correct me if I misheard but—did you just say Sanders is purposefully manipulating your grades?" Chloe looks to Clark for confirmation, watching him huff out a breath as he keys in the code to his locker.

"I said I think, Chloe. I mean, think about it," Clark takes a second to scan the vicinity before lowering his head to Chloe, "I've been studying biology every night in the barn, I can't possibly be getting a D- two exams in a row!" The frustration is evident in the way Clark's voice strained, eyes widened for emphasis.

Chloe sighs, Clark's right. Getting a D- on two consecutive exams is already very peculiar, more so for someone as grade-conscious as Clark.

Just as both of them think of throwing out their farfetched and meteor-rocks-centric theories, the devil walks by them. Calling out their last names while thrusting two pieces of papers towards them.

With a tight smile, Clark takes their papers and keeps them faced on the floor. Both of them watching Sanders walk away—boldly throwing them a sharp glare over his shoulder as he enters a different corridor. Both Clark and Chloe turn to each other, sharing a knowing look.

Clark flips the papers up in one swift motion. His jaw dropping the same time as Chloe lets out an overly happy cackle.

Written on the face of the paper was a bright red B+, comments on the side reading “The conclusion is nonsense. Next time, read your work first before writing the conclusion.”

"No, I swear, Chloe, he's setting me up," Clark complains, slamming his locker shut.

"Clark, unless Professor Sanders was with us when we wrote this essay, he couldn't possibly know that you wrote the conclusion." Chloe reasons out as she takes the papers from Clark's hands. She flips the front page, reading the other comments on the latter parts of the essay.

"And look," she tilts the paper for Clark to see, "His comments actually support the one in front. It's not just baseless."

Clark pauses, staring at Chloe in disbelief. He can't believe Chloe actually is siding with Sanders. Their hell-sent biology instructor that seemingly has his motives set on making sure Clark experiences the worst freshman year of his life.

"Look, Clark, I know grades are important to you, and I know it's hard when you don't see the outcome you expect," Chloe starts, keeping her voice low, "But it's still not too late to re-evaluate your study habits. Maybe you can sign up for the tutoring program, I think they still have some slots left before the break. There's nothing wrong with asking for some help studying the lessons." She gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, letting him have the their essay.

"I have to get to the Torch now, Clark. See you after class?"

Clark nods, licking his lips. "Yeah, see you."

The first time Clark went to the council's office to sign up for a tutoring class, the slots were already full. Five names—one of which were yours—all had complete timetables already. Not a single open slot in sight.

And so he spent the entire break bundled up in his loft, occasionally driving over to Lex Luthor's castle just to get some extra biology textbooks from his library. As Clark expected, the very first suggestion Lex gave him after learning about his situation was to get Sanders fired. Which, according to Lex, would just take two phone calls and a check for donation to the school.

After the break, once the classes resumed, the slots were still full until the end of the week. The previously five names were now down to three—one of which were still yours.

To say that Clark basically had to fight tooth and nail just to get a slot at the tutoring service was an understatement. He practically had to arrive at the school earlier than everybody else. When he managed to snag a slot under Noah at 6 p.m., best believe Clark arrived at the library on the exact dot.

He arrived there before Noah did, and so he pulled out his textbooks and studied instead. Letting the time pass by advance reading on the upcoming chapters. When he hears a bell ring from outside, he looks to the wall clock.

6:15 p.m. and his tutor still hasn't shown their face.

The council's policy is that a tutor can wait for their tutee only for fifteen minutes. Any later than that meant that the tutor had the right to cancel the session and wait for their next tutee. Although that was the general rule for the tutor's side, Clark wondered how long is acceptable for him to wait before he can head back home and just study there instead.

Clark runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly before he shoves all of his materials back in his back, heading over to the council's office. He spent a buttload of time trying to secure this slot, he's damn sure he'll look around and wait for his tutor even if it meant—

"Is there a concern?" Your sweet, neutral voice asks. Head snapping to him as you remove the thumbtack from the bulletin board.

All of the words of complaint Clark initially had tucked under his tongue was long gone now. The farmboy blinking continuously as if he was trying to see if this was actually real life. That you were actually looking at him, speaking to him at this moment.

Last time he remembers that happened was at the start of the year, right at the Alumni Homecoming Party. A big chunk of the school year has passed and he hasn't spoken to you since. Resorting to watching you from afar like he always did ever since he saw you campaign as the fifth grade representative.

"Clark, do you have a concern?" Your voice calls at him again, only this time a little firmer and with your arms crossed on your chest. Neatly trimmed eyebrow arched intimidatingly.

He opens his mouth to speak, stammering in the process, "I-I was supposed to get tutored by Noah at 6 p.m. but he wasn't at the library so I came to see if he was, y'know, in here waiting for me."

You furrow your eyebrows. Taking the folder from the table and looking through the names. There definitely was a Clark Kent on Noah's schedule, though you clearly remember Noah telling you earlier that he wouldn't be able to attend to his last session because of… unforeseen circumstances.

"I'm really sorry, Clark, but Noah is attending to an emergency. He won't be able to accommodate your slot for today." You break the news to him, sounding as sympathetic as you can. "If you want, I can sign you up on tomorrow's slots? Have you first one on his tutoring."

"Oh! No, that won't be necessary. I can head home now and—"

"Oh, it's biology," your surprised voice cuts him off. Seeing the subject Clark wrote on the subject column. "You're having a hard time with biology?"

Clark tries not to feel small under your squinted eyes. He knows you simply asked out of curiosity, but he can't help but feel a little dumb from your question especially when it came from one of the top ranking students in school.

How can he possibly tell you that he's not the problem—he understands the concepts religiously—but the professor is.

The professor who always praises you every time you raise your hand to answer his outrageously difficult and out-of-this-world questions. He’s sure you wouldn’t believe him.

"I won't judge, Clark," you scoff lightheartedly. Placing the folder back on the table as you continued fixing the bulletin board. "And come in, take a seat—anywhere."

Clark scratches the back of his head, taking another step inside of the office, closing the door behind him before sitting on one of the vacant seats. "Well, yeah, somethin' like that."

He quiets down on his seat, eyes following your every move as you went around the office like an agitated rabbit—fast, focused, and completely unaware of how he can't look away.

The fact that he was inside of the office probably slipped from your mind already as you focused on cleaning up the board, wiping away the words written on the dry-erase part of it.

You pile on the different papers on your hands, moving them from one side of the room to another in a quiet rush. The folder at the very top falling in front of Clark. He picks it up and crosses the room quietly. You're wiping down the whiteboard, sleeves pushed up, the fading sunlight catching the edges of your hair in a soft glow.

"Hey—this fell," he says.

You glance over your shoulder, brow furrowed in focus. "Thanks." You take the folder without much thought, already shifting a new stack of papers into your arms. "Shit, sorry—uh, what part of biology were you having difficulties with? We share the same class right?"

"Mhm, with Professor Sanders." Clark nods, clasping his hands behind his back. "Look, uh, forget biology, d'you need any help? I can help if you want. Pretty much lost the momentum to study anyway," he chuckles nervously.

You look at him with a glint in your eyes, an ambiguous smile growing on your lips before you slid away from your spot. The distance between you two suddenly growing now that you moved away. You two were barely two feet apart a second ago, now you two were on either side of the room.

Clark feels himself grow slightly anxious, worried that he might've invaded your personal space. The council office was pretty much as close to you as the Torch office was to Chloe; Clark knew that very well. And so he waits for you in his spot silently, and patiently. His hands resting in his pockets while he looked around and drank in the environment.

It was definitely bigger than the Torch office. Though it had lesser computers, there were much more storage cabinets and materials lying around. Organized shelves with various papers and documents. Numerous bulletins for the council's announcements and quick view.

The faint hum of a nearby classroom projector drones in the background, alongside the mechanical sound of printers working.

Just as he started reading the front page of the budget report on the desk beside him, you call out his name. Again.

"You know, I can tutor you if you want," you say plainly. Your fingers going over the folder of blank pages you randomly took, pretentiously looking over it.

He looks at you dumbfounded. "W-what? Can you repeat that? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"I said, if you want, Clark, I can tutor you." You purse your lips. "The whole situation with you waiting for Noah in the library was a completely avoidable situation if he had just informed you beforehand… and I was the one that proposed this whole tutoring project in the first place so I feel partially responsible for the wasted time," you end, placing away the folder and slinging your bag over your shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

Clark's eyebrows shoot up the more you spoke. It's actually the first time he's heard you speak this much in a single go. He can see the sincerity in your eyes as you brushed away your hair from your face.

Before he can assure you that it isn't really a big deal, you beat him to it. Shrugging your shoulders as you walk over to the door.

"But the, uh, the school library's closing in a few minutes and we can't stay in the office after school hours since I have to return the key so…" You inhale, mentally scolding yourself. "If it's okay with you to have me as your tutor—as a substitute for Noah, of course—I can tutor you over at the Talon or somewhere you're comfortable."

Clark stumbles over his words. Something along the lines of Really? You'd do that? hidden underneath all of that nervous stuttering and blabbering.

"If you want me to," you reply, trying your best not to sound too pushy or too passive.

"I'd love that." Clark says in a heartbeat. A smile spreading on his face, wider than his own shoulders which, considering his size, says a lot. His sharp canines making an appearance.

You bit the inside of your lip, stopping yourself from smiling. "Perfect. Talon then?"  

Clark walks over to you, taking your place by the door as he holds the knob, failing miserably at hiding the absolute joy in his face. "Actually, is it okay if we stop at the Talon first? I'll just grab something then we can study at the barn."

"The barn?" You echo, confused.

"Yeah—oh, we have a barn at our farm and I have a loft there. All of my textbooks and notes are in there and there's enough room for the two of us to study there but, if you don't want then—"

You cut him off, "Clark, it's fine."

"It's quiet," Clark adds, a little softer now. "The loft gets good light before sunset, and you can hear the crickets when it gets dark. It's… peaceful. Might help us focus."

"Clark, if you ask me one more time, I might actually deck you," you tell him with a straight face.

Clark, despite his tall and buff stature, actually freezes at your word. The look on his face mimicking that of a deer getting flashed with headlights, so innocent that it actually makes you squeal inside.

When he starts stammering, you finally break through your poker-face and laugh at him. The sound sticking in his head like a melody he didn't know he'd been waiting to hear. "I'm just kidding, Clark. C'mon, we gotta catch the bus before it leaves."

The moment you take a step out of the door, Clark's hand holds your wrist. You actually freeze, feeling your breath get caught in your throat. The moment quickly flees as Clark lets go, muttering repeated apologies.

His gaze finds yours, steady and stunned, the noise of the hallway slowly disappearing from his mind. His eyes linger for a second longer than it should have, and so he looks away. "Sorry—I, uh, I bought the truck with me. I can drive us there."

You were still replaying that short moment when he grabbed your wrist. Something about it kept your mind on the edge of its seat, as if it was anticipating something you've been continuously trying to shake off since the start of freshman year.

You didn't even get to weigh in the pros and cons of getting in the same car with Clark—as if there even were cons—when your head already nods itself.

Behind the explosion of joy you see in his eyes, you don't miss the small shimmer of affect he tries (and fails) to hide.

The funny thing though is that Clark doesn't miss the same shimmer in yours too.

It's only been an hour since you and Clark have arrived at his loft and began studying. The woody and cozy smell of the space making you feel at home, especially with how the sunlight spilled inside because of the gigantic window in the middle.

Clark shifts beside you, letting out a relaxed yawn as he hands you the two-page worksheet you gave him ten minutes earlier. "I swear, I think I understand it now—basically the mitochondria is like you?"

"Good try, no." You scoff, finally looking away from your laptop to take the paper from him.

Clark chuckles, "Right, right… 'cause the mitochondria doesn't really breathe caramel coffee huh?" He raises a teasing brow, the ends of his lips inching up ever so slightly.

You shoot him a glare, your red pen checking the items on the paper. "Not my fault you gave me caramel coffee during the start of school."

The way you brought the memory up makes him smile—wider than he should—but he covers it by taking a bite of the donut on your plate. "My bad, I probably shouldn't have introduced you to the best coffee you ever tasted huh?"

"Don't get cocky, farmboy," you glance at him as you wrote his score on the corner of the paper, handing it to him after, "You have Chloe to thank for that. If she never took the coffee, then I wouldn't have tasted the best coffee ever."

You mimicked the way he spoke of best coffee, smirking at him when he rolls his eyes playfully at you, arms crossing sassily.

"And who was the one that gave you the coffee?" He moves his head, hand softly pushing the back of his ear to hear you better.

"Actually, I think he was just a random stranger passing by, never really got his name." You feign innocence, putting on your best thinking face while nodding your head slowly.

"Did you now?" Clark scoffs, eyebrows raising, "Never got his name, really? Not even his first name? Or what he looks like?" He tilts his head as he played along.

You shake your head, competing with his glare. "Nope."

The stare-down lasts for a few seconds before the two of you laugh. Clark watches the way your eyes scrunched up when you do, not letting a moment slip by.

"Good job, Clark," you say, going back to your tutoring voice as you put your laptop back on your lap. "Y'know, if you didn't get the cell organelle question wrong, I'd think you never had problems with biology in the first place."

"Please. If the diagram was just drawn a little better, I definitely would’ve gotten it right." Clark places his biology textbook away.

You quickly glance at the trunk-turned-coffee-table, inhaling sharply as you look back on your laptop. Clark's lip twitches, grabbing the cup of coffee and handing it over to you without a word. Your hand quickly darting out to take it.

Your eyebrows furrow when you feel the cup be a little too heavy. "This isn't mine."

"Oh, it's mine. I bought an extra one just in case you wanted more caffeine," Clark says ever-so casually. His lips pulling into a pout as he looks away, making himself look busy by going through the short stack of worksheets beside him.

When he peeks to look at you from his side, you're looking suspiciously at him while swirling the cup. "Just natural instinct… you know," he shrugs, "I am the right-hand of the Torch's editor."

"Sure…" Clark watches you slowly nod your head, bringing the cup to your lips.

A contented smile comes on his face when you let out a soft and satisfied groan. Your arm jutting out to place the cup back on the table. Clark nibbles on his bottom lip as he starts itching to speak again despite one side of him screaming to just let you rest for a second.

The silence hanging between the two of you weirdly calming and comfortable, like the morning of a Sunday chore-day with a radio playing softly in the back.

Then, his voice speaks. "Hey."

You look to him in a heartbeat.

"I really appreciate it… this whole tutoring session." Clark means it. It shows in the quiet way he says it, like he's been holding on to the words since the two of you arrived there. Even in the subtle actions he does—in those small, unspoken gestures that says he's at your beck and call, even without needing to be asked. "I didn't think you'd offer your time to tutor me."

You blink, forehead creasing lightly. "Why not?"

Clark shrugs, this time a little more relaxed—somewhere between playful and bashful. "You're… y'know, you. Student council officer, top of the class, all busy and intimidating—"

"Clark, I’m literally a student."

"Terrifying," he teases, leaning his elbow on his side of the couch, grinning lazily. "I'm sure I even cried when you told our algebra professor that I forgot my assignment."

You laugh—a louder, more genuine one than the first one Clark ever heard from you—and his body short-circuits. Clark swears, if given a chance, he'd bottle that sound and use it whenever he has a hard time, automatically brighten up his day on demand.

"God, I didn't know you were such a drama queen, farmboy." You stand up abruptly, placing your laptop on the spot beside you as stretched your arms. "Oh, and, your cell drawings are hideous, by the way."

"They're my artwork."

"It's chicken scratch on paper, farmboy," you scoff.

Clark's eyes narrow, smoldering his eyebrows, "An artistic chicken scratch perhaps?"

"Charming," you snort, sitting back down to slice off a part of the pie. Your eyes rolling back when it practically melts in your mouth. "God, you could bribe me to tutor you again just with this pie alone." 

"Blueberry pie and caramel coffee… I'll keep that in mind." Clark humors you.

You follow up, "And glazed donuts."

"And glazed donuts," Clark echoes, nodding affirmatively.

The two of you exhaust the remaining time in the session by going over the lessons for tomorrow. Clark listening to your every explanation like you were the actual professor. The way he kept his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you see that he’s paying attention to every word.

Clark’s confident that he understands the lessons, but the way you explained it to him in a waaay easier approach made him swoon for you all the more. The topics he found mildly confusing and challenging, you went over them in a breeze.

If you continue giving him the time of the day to tutor him, Clark might consider pursuing a degree in biology.

The sun had already gone when you two finished, with all of the cup of coffees emptied and the plate finished; The clock on the wall indicating that you’ve went past the standard time for a tutoring session by an hour.

“Maybe if you didn’t take fifteen minutes criticizing my cell drawing, we wouldn’t have lost track of the time,” Clark jokes at you, handing you the rest of your stuff as you arranged them neatly inside of your backpack.

“Hey!” You glare at him, zipping up your bag as you followed him to the stairs. “It’s not my fault Professor Sanders said cell drawings are part of the major exam. I’m simply… preparing you.”

Clark responds, “Looks like I’d have to practice even more then.”

When he sees you pause on your way, blinking once before resuming, his forehead scrunches. Confused on what it was you were thinking about. Fortunately, it doesn’t take you too long to actually voice out what you were thinking.

“Good thing my tutoring slots for tomorrow are still empty,” you say with a smoothness to your voice, as if you didn’t just take an awfully prolonged time to think of your response.

The corner of Clark’s mouth extends up, eyes searching yours for an answer. “Are you saying you want to tutor me again?” He juts out his lips, head tilting teasingly. “…‘cause, y’know, I’m not really sure that’s what I’m hearing right now. You might wanna clarify just a tiny bit.”

An endearing sigh leaves your lips, looking away to hide the amused smile while Clark waits for you with a smug grin. His arms crossed on his chest as if he was expected something from you.

“I think your hearing needs a good check-up, farmboy.” you say crossing your arms.

Clark groans, one hand to his chest, “That hurts.”

But he’s smiling again—cheesy and lopsided, like he’s not quite used to this kind of bantering between the two of you. Not like he ever wants this moment to stop. And you, standing there in front of him, at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and eyes glittering despite the dim lights of the barn, smiling right back at him.

Neither of you speak.

Until you do.

“My 6 p.m. is open, Clark,” you say, voice low and careful. “Only if you promise to let me leave with your mother’s pie.”

Clark laughs, bright, genuine, and somewhat relieved. “I saved you half of it the moment you finished the two slices.”

You nod, then started to walk out of the barn, only this time taking way slower steps. Clark following your tail in a heartbeat.

Somewhere in the quiet surroundings, between the sounds of his steps on the gravel and the sleepy hum of the animals around the two of you, something shifts inside of Clark.

Not the nervousness from before. Not the anxiety of possibly making a fool of himself.

Only something real.

hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo

[elizabeth-holland24]

Racing Hearts-Chapter 3

< previous chapter -- next chapter >

July 10 – Heathrow Airport, London – Early Morning

She leaned her forehead against the aeroplane window, the chill of the glass a grounding force against the whirlwind inside her. Outside, Heathrow buzzed awake beneath a gloomy morning sky, but her mind was already miles ahead—spinning through simulation laps, Milan’s electric air, the sea of glitter at the Eras Tour, and most of all… him.

Glen.

She bit the inside of her cheek, remembering the way his laugh had made her feel like summer lightning—sudden, sharp, and impossible to ignore. That dinner at Daisy’s had been nothing and everything at once. A few casual touches. A cookie shared. A laugh drawn out of him like he hadn’t laughed in weeks. A spark. And yet, it had haunted her all night.

The flight attendant offered her coffee and a croissant she didn’t have the stomach for. She waved it off politely and opened her laptop instead, trying to shift back into student mode. There was a project due for one of her industrial engineering courses, and her professor hadn’t been thrilled she was missing the next week for "professional obligations."

Canvas. Group chat. Lecture notes. It all felt so far away from the life she was currently living. A double life. She was still twenty-one. Still figuring it out. Still someone’s daughter, someone’s classmate. But also someone who just might be falling for Glen Powell under a haze of cookie dough, premiere lights, and Brisket’s wagging tail.

A message buzzed through on Messenger. She smiled despite herself. Daisy had become her anchor, her mirror. Both of them born on May 24—two Gemini hurricanes trying to balance real life with the madness of fame.

She closed the chat and finally allowed herself to sink into the seat, tugging her hoodie over her eyes. Her playlist hummed in her ears—Taylor’s “The Archer” bleeding into “The Alchemy.”

Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?…

And yet, her heart wasn’t quiet. Not when every breath reminded her of his smile. Not when her phone still had that fire emoji glowing quietly under her story.

July 10 – Glen’s Hotel Room – London – Afternoon

Glen stood in front of the mirror with Brisket curled up on the hotel couch behind him, tossing a tennis ball lazily in the air.

She was gone. Already on a plane. And he didn’t even know if he was allowed to miss her this much.

They had spent one dinner talking like they'd known each other since childhood, as if every casual glance across the table had been prewritten in some screenplay they’d never auditioned for.

He swore he hadn’t meant to stare. Or laugh as much. Or walk a little closer when she left, just to say goodbye for five more seconds. But something about her peeled the cynicism from his bones. She was fast—on the track, in her mind, in the way she challenged him without even meaning to.

And then she was gone.

He opened Instagram. Her latest story was a boomerang of the clouds outside the aeroplane, with the caption:

“Here we go again ✈️”

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Delivered. Read. No reply yet. He swallowed a grin and turned to Brisket. “Buddy, I think we’ve been replaced.” Brisket whined and curled into a dramatic sigh. “Yeah. Same, dude. Same.”

July 11 – Austria – Simulator Facility

Her fingers flew over the steering wheel, the simulator jolting in response. Every tight corner, every braking point—muscle memory. The tech team watched her in awe, the lead engineer whispering to the data analyst, “She’s not just fast. She’s different.”

But her mind—no matter how hard she tried to keep it on turn 9—kept circling back.

To Glen’s message. To his voice. To the way he made her feel seen when the whole world only seemed to see speed. She took off the VR helmet and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her team applauded softly, but she barely registered it.

Her coach, Akin, gave her a bottle of water. “You okay? You drove like something was chasing you.”

She offered a tired smile. “Just trying to outrun my thoughts.”

July 13 – Milan – Eras Tour Night 1

The roar of the crowd was like standing inside a thunderstorm. Her eyes gleamed as the lights rose, and Taylor stepped onto the stage like a goddess. The reader clutched Daisy’s hand, the moment surreal. Taylor had waved them in during rehearsal, called them “my favorite twins” since they shared a birthday.

“Happy belated, my loves,” Taylor had said, tugging them into a tight hug. “Tonight’s for you.”

Now the music pulsed through her veins, and her entire body moved with it—every lyric a spell, every beat a battle cry. She wasn’t just singing along. She was healing.

Then, when she was about to play "The Alchemy," Taylor paused.

“I have a little surprise,” she said into the mic, grinning. “A very fast friend of mine is here tonight. You may know her from... winning races and breaking hearts.”

The crowd screamed. Taylor’s voice dropped to a playful whisper. “Come sing with me, birthday girl.”

Her knees nearly buckled. But Daisy nudged her forward, and the crowd erupted as she climbed the steps, heart pounding. And suddenly there she was—on stage with her idol, her friend, her mirror—and together, they sang the words that had started to mean something completely different.

“Cause the sign on your heart/Said it's still reserved for me/Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?…”

The stadium became a blur. All she saw was light. And somewhere, in the swirl of stardust and stage smoke, she imagined Glen watching this—smiling, maybe shaking his head in disbelief. And for the first time in a long while, she felt invincible and fragile all at once.

July 13 – Milan, Italy – Backstage After the Eras Tour

The roar was still echoing in her ears, even after the final bows and backstage cheers faded into the hushed buzz of production crew chatter and swift goodbyes. Her heart was still racing—not from the racetrack this time, but from the stage, the lights, the moment.

Daisy wrapped her into a tight, bouncing hug, both of them still drenched in glitter and adrenaline. “You were so good,” Daisy squealed. “You didn’t just kill it—you ran over it at 300 km/h and reversed back with a wink.”

The reader laughed, pressing her forehead to Daisy’s shoulder. “Was that real? Did I actually just sing with Taylor? Taylor Swift?!”

Daisy nodded, almost tearing up herself. “Happy birthday again, babe. Told you we’d make twenty-one unforgettable.”

They didn’t need to say it aloud, but both had felt the weight of the past few months—press tours, races, brutal schedules, headlines, expectations. That night was theirs. A perfect rebellion in sequins and melody. Taylor reappeared from the dressing room in sweats and her iconic red lipstick half-smudged. She held out two champagne flutes. “For my favourite birthday, Geminis. You were magic up there.”

The reader blinked, taking the glass. “How do you even top this?”

Taylor smirked. “You don’t. You live it. Then you get on a flight to Hungary and show the world that you can be both a superstar and a storm.”

Something about those words sank deeper than expected. Maybe because Taylor had always understood. Maybe because Glen’s eyes had flickered in her mind again, like he was still watching from the wings, even if he wasn’t there. She pulled out her phone—hundreds of missed messages, tags, mentions. But it was one that stood out:

Her heart ached in the softest way.

July 14 – Milan – Morning

The hotel room was still quiet. Daisy had flown out early for Twisters promo in Berlin, leaving behind a crumpled note in lipstick: “I swear to God if you don’t tell Glen how you feel soon, I will.”

She laughed and tossed the note aside.

Her schedule buzzed in. She had four hours to pack, get to the airport, and settle into her hotel in Hungary before she began training again. No time to think. No time to fall apart.

Still, she paused by the full-length mirror.

Not just the girl who wore race suits and helmets. Not just the student balancing labs and lecture slides. But the girl who sang in front of thousands, and thought of one boy in the silence after.

She clicked open her messages.

She felt herself go still. How could someone know what she needed without her saying it?

July 14 – Glen’s Hotel – London – Afternoon

He rewatched the fan video of her performance for the sixth time, trying not to smile like a complete idiot. There she was—confident, radiant, singing her heart out with Taylor freaking Swift—and he couldn’t stop thinking: That’s her. That’s the girl I made laugh over warm cookies. He didn’t know how they’d got here. Or what this was. But he knew he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the second she left London.

Anthony texted him:

He tossed the phone down and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was too soon. But maybe it wasn’t.

July 15 – Budapest, Hungary

The hotel suite was sleek, modern, and overlooked the Danube River. But her eyes were heavy. The exhaustion of Milan was just now catching up with her, and so was the ache. She had tried to focus on training. She had tried to remind herself that Formula 1 was her dream. But something in her gut twisted every time she thought of Glen’s voice on the other end of the line. Something that felt more terrifying than a racetrack in the rain. She hadn’t meant for it to matter this much. But it did. There was a knock at her door. Room service? She opened it—and her breath caught.

“Hope you saved me a duet,” Glen said, holding a box of cookies, a nervous smile, and Brisket tucked in his arm like an emotional support plush.

“You’re here?” she whispered, stunned.

He nodded. “If it’s too much, tell me. I’ll leave. But Daisy may or may not have told me which hotel and—look, I just needed to see you.”

She stared at him. Then the cookies. Then Brisket. Then back to him.

“Do I even want to know what’s in the box?” she asked, a slow smile blooming.

“Taylor Swift lyrics. And one apology coffee for stealing your heart.”

The cup was warm in her hands before she knew she’d taken it. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know,” he said, stepping in. “But I didn’t want to wait until Sunday to see you again.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

It was dangerous, this kind of quiet — where the noise of cameras and pit lanes and premieres dissolved into stillness. Where the air between them was thick with everything unsaid.

She sat on the edge of her bed, hair messy from the late-night shower, hoodie swallowing her frame. Glen sat beside her like it was instinct, like they’d always done this.

He passed her a napkin, folded around a pastry. “Brought this too. Thought you might’ve skipped dinner.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

And it wasn’t just the coffee or the pastry or the perfectly timed smirk. It was the way he looked at her, like she wasn’t just the girl from the podium or the stage — but someone worth showing up for.

“I saw the video,” he added softly.

Her heart skipped. “Which one?”

“You and Taylor.” His smile deepened. “You were magic.”

She blushed. “It was her moment.”

“No,” Glen said. “She shared it with you. That says everything.”

Their hands brushed on the sheets. He didn’t move away.

“Doesn’t this scare you?” she whispered. “All of it. The noise. The press. The fact that every time I open my phone, there’s someone dissecting who I’m with or what I wore or—”

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t,” he admitted. “But I’ve never wanted quiet. I just want real.”

Her eyes found his. “And this feels real to you?”

He nodded once. “Too real.”

Her hand found his, fingers lacing through familiar warmth. It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t a promise. But at that moment, it was enough.

The Next Morning

She woke up to sunlight slicing through sheer curtains and the quiet hum of Glen flipping through channels with the volume off. He was sitting on the couch in sweats and a plain white t-shirt, Brisket curled up beside him like he owned the suite.

“You stayed.”

Glen turned. “You kicked me out of the bed.”

She blinked. “I did not.”

“You did.” He grinned. “You mumbled something about ‘downforce’ and rolled into the wall.”

She buried her face in the pillow. “Embarrassing.”

“Adorable,” he corrected, standing. “Come on, Champ. Simulator’s waiting.”

Training Facility – Hungarian GP Grounds

From behind tinted glass, Glen watched her take lap after lap in the simulator, jaw set with laser focus. Her engineer sat beside her, pointing out adjustments, but she was already ahead — always two steps, one apex ahead.

Glen had seen movie stars crumble under pressure. He’d seen athletes lose the joy of the game under the weight of expectations.

But not her.

She gritted her teeth through the turns, muttering corrections in three languages, and when the screen flashed a personal best, she barely smiled.

“She’s intense,” a voice beside him said.

Glen turned. It was one of the F1 comms team guys. “Is that… intimidating?”

Glen smiled. “It’s hot as hell.” The guy laughed. “Just wait till quali.”

THE GUARDIAN – "Formula 1’s Princess or PR Creation?"

In a sport dominated by legacy and precision, questions are rising about whether [Reader Name] is the real deal or a well-packaged distraction. Between celebrity sightings, TikToks with Brisket, and duets with Taylor Swift, critics argue she’s veering dangerously close to influencer territory instead of F1 athlete.

With back-to-back podiums and a fanbase that grows by the hour, Mexico’s 21-year-old breakout star has taken the F1 world by storm. But after a surprise appearance onstage at the Eras Tour and a whirlwind of social media buzz, some insiders are questioning whether her focus is shifting at a crucial point in the season.

“We love her personality — it’s great for the sport,” one anonymous paddock source shared. “But when you’re balancing premieres, baking TikToks, and concert cameos, you have to wonder… is she stretching herself too thin?”

July 18, Hungary – Grand Prix Week

The knock on her hotel door had startled her, and when she opened it to find Glen leaning casually against the frame, baseball cap pulled low and Brisket’s tail thumping beside him, she almost forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t think I’d let you do this week without me, did you?” he asked, voice low, laced with that kind of calm confidence that made her knees threaten betrayal.

She blinked, then stepped back. “You stayed? How… I thought you still had to go to Berlin for press tour”

“No,” he replied, stepping inside. “I mean, yeah, I stayed. And the press tour, well I can miss one if it means I get to see you in your full element”

And just like that, the air changed. The space between them buzzed—like the charge before a lightning strike, or the humming static right before a green light at the starting grid.

Brisket trotted in, immediately claiming the floor by her sneakers as his own. She bent to scratch his ears, partly to hide the rising flush on her cheeks. Glen’s eyes didn’t leave her.

“You look tired,” he said softly.

“I am,” she admitted. “Simulators are brutal, training’s relentless. And people are… noticing.”

He tilted his head. “The article?”

She nodded. “You saw it.”

Glen’s jaw clenched. “That’s bullsh—”

She held up a hand. “I know. It’s noise. Still stings.”

He walked closer. “What they don’t see is you grinding through data at 2 a.m. or falling asleep with your laptop open to race telemetry. They don’t see you icing your wrists or eating bland protein bowls for the sixth day straight.” She looked up at him then, the weight of expectation resting on her shoulders, visible only to a few. “I want to win, Glen. Not for the followers. Not for the sponsors. Just… for me.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Then do it. And let me be in your corner.”

Silence stretched between them. She didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was both of them at once—but suddenly they were close. His hands cupped her jaw, thumbs brushing her cheeks. Her fingers tangled into the fabric of his t-shirt like an instinct.

“Glen…” she started, unsure.

“I know,” he whispered. “This is messy. And fast. But tell me you don’t feel it too.”

And she wanted to. She wanted to say yes, wanted to melt into the kiss she saw flickering in his eyes. But something held her back—fear, maybe. Or the fact that this was still new I mean they still barely knew each other, besides they come from two different worlds. Yes, she drives formula cars for a living and if she's learned something is that if you're going too fast without a path you can crash.

“I leave for track walk at 5 a.m.,” she murmured, stepping back, carefully. “You shouldn’t have come.”

But he didn’t look wounded. He looked steady.

“Then I’ll be in the stands. Quiet. Invisible, if you need. But I’m not leaving.”

She swallowed hard, nodding once before brushing past him, requiring space. And just before she opened the bathroom door to wash her face, he called her name. She turned.

“I didn’t come to distract you,” he said. “I came because you’re the best part of my day—and I wanted to see you chase the best part of yours.”

She turned around and heard him sigh and walk out. And just as the reader is staring at the mirror, trying to wash the nerves off her face, she hears it—quietly, unmistakably—her phone buzzes.

A message.

From: Glen Powell

“If you win this weekend, I’m taking you to a secret trip. No world no Brisket, just us.”

She smiles. But before she can respond, a knock echoes again. She opens it—expecting Daisy, maybe a teammate. But it’s neither.

It’s…

A/N: So ive pleen planning this long chapter to you guys as a gift for all the support and love this series has recieved. Theres some easter eggs of myself here since its also like a late celebretation of my birthday. I had to leave it at cliff hanger. Who do you guys think its the mystery person, will it be Burrow, Justin, perhaps a past lover. Guess youll have to wait and see. Also please wish me luck I have a diferencial equations exam on thursday and calculus 3 on friday, hope I dont die, who told me to study engineering and to take this clases in summer.

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 11

Hello all, Simulanka hit me like a dump truck.

On that note, am so excited by the fun new lore opportunities that have come up because of it.

Warning for Spoilers up to Genshin Impact 4.8's most recent summer event

Masterlist | Prev Part

~~~

“I may have retired from my position as Archon, but I assure you my powers have not weakened. Should you break your word, you will face the wrath of the rock.”

“I will uphold my end of this deal, as long as you uphold yours Morax”

“Then let this contract be solid as stone.” 

~~~

“I really don’t know what went wrong, Master Albedo,” Sucrose’s worried voice floated over his shoulder where he was examining her latest experiment.

Her experiments in bio-alchemy were not his preferred field of expertise, but he was happy to lend a hand now and again. 

She was proficient in running her own studies and experiments, so it baffled him slightly to see her ask for his help in such a simple experiment. 

Especially if it made her desperate enough to trek all the way up to Dragonspine in order to talk to him about it. She knew she could have easily just waited for his next trip down to the city, he did have to make those for supplies, and to visit Klee.

However, upon closer examination he understood her distress and confusion. 

Her latest experiment, which focused on testing her latest fertilizer which was infused with dead ley line branches, had fallen apart in a rather fascinating way.

The plants were all dead, which is unfortunate but the fascinating part was that the ley lines branches were not.

A fact known to all who study ley lines is their volatility. 

Researchers were often left to scramble around trying to document its movements in an uncontrolled environment.

WIth the ley line system being as big as it is, it was not possible for any team to span the entire system nor, with its interconnected system, was it possible to study only one section.

The closest equivalent would be to pick up dead pieces of the ley lines and study those pieces.

However, never in the history of alchemy, or even biology had a researcher ever been able to revive a completely dead piece of plant, never mind a ley line branch. 

Not that ley lines are plants, they don’t fit the definition of a traditional plant but its the closest equivalency that researchers have found when describing its characteristics.

Regardless, the pots that Sucrose had planted, all with various forms of dead ley line branches, have changed to varying degrees.

The most noticeable culprit was the one she had buried an entire branch in with the sweet flower. 

The white branch had sprouted its own limbs and were wrapped around the original flower in a crude imitation of a hug.

Rather morbid considering that the sweet flower locked in its caress was now dead.

Not that any of the other sweet flowers had fared any better. They were all dead, with no discernible reason as to why.

“When did you notice this phenomenon, ” Albedo asked, turning to look at Sucrose who was flipping through her notes.

“Um, a- about two weeks ago.” She explained, “At first the experiment was running smoothly, the sweet flowers were growing normally ”

She flipped open her notebook to show him her notes over the days.

“But then all of a sudden they just started dying, and the ley line branches started growing.”

Albedo flipped through the notes, Sucrose was by no means a slouch when it came to her notes. She was always impeccably detailed and thorough when it came to recording data for her experiments.

There were no signs of the ley line branches adversely affecting the growth of the flowers for the first 3 weeks of their lifespan. 

So what could have possibly happened to make them die like that?

Albedo looked over at the various pots scattered around his workspace, this was going to take him a while.

The Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius looked over at his student, she was already starting to shiver slightly.

As a synthetic human, his body was more sturdy than that of average beings, especially as a synthetic human of Rhinedottir’s. . . 

Well, he is very sturdy. 

Sucrose is not, a fact made even more apparent by how she’s moving her arms around in an effort to warm herself up. 

He tends to keep the braiser burning low, to save on supplies. However the temperature comfortable for him seems a bit too low for his student.

“Why don’t you head back to the city Sucrose,” he suggested, putting her notebook down on his table. “This is going to take a while to figure out, and it may be helpful for you to examine your lab once again to see if there are any variables you missed.”

Unlikely, but then again her presence here wouldn’t help either of them in figuring this out. 

Him from preferring to work alone, and her from the weather conditions.

Also, she failed to bring any meaningful amount of supplies with her, if she were to stay, they’d both end up having to go back down the mountains in a couple of days regardless.

If she left, he’d have at least a week of peace and solitude to figure this out.

If he can figure this out.

He’s honestly quite excited to get started, it’s been quite a while since a case had perplexed him like this.

He waved goodbye at Sucrose as she headed out.

She was much faster on her feet the way out, no doubt propelled by her desire to leave the cold, and the lack of various pots and notes to haul.

Albedo on the other hand, well.

 His clear blue eyes sparked with excitement as he dove headfirst in dissecting Sucrose’s experiment.

It was quite a fascinating phenomenon.

By all means, the ley line branches were completely dead when Sucrose started using them in her experiments. 

Whilst that by no means meant they were devoid of power, Abyss mages have found great success in using it to augment their abilities, the fact that it can grow and presumably revive itself is groundbreaking.

Now that he really thinks about it, this is not the only odd thing that had been happening in recent times.

Some of the Knights of Favonius have reported odd patterns of Ley line disorders happening recently.

Not to mention his own research on the remains of Durin.

Hmm, what are the chances they’re all connected.

Well, he won’t deny that the arrival of the golden haired traveler heralded many shifts in this world.

From their dealings with the Archons, to the blessings of the creator.

They are truly an exceptional person.

Interestings things never stopped happening when they’re around.

Back to the experiment at hand, from the angle of the growth, based on Sucrose’s diagram, it seems that all the branches grew in the same direction. 

Going back to her notes, Albedo referenced a map, triangulating the direction the branches pointed too based on the placement of the pots in her workspace.

Liyue

The branches are growing in the direction of Liyue.

What could possibly be happening in-

A draconic roar filled the air, blowing his papers all over his camp.

Summoning his sword, Albedo looked around, seeing only the tail end of an azure dragon pass over his base.

Could that be-

“Dvalin wait!” a musical voice screams out, as a white blur chased after the presumed dragon.

The wind generated by that second figure hit his camp, and face full force. Knocking him a good couple of steps back.

The Alchemist is left standing there, his hair and camp in a disarray.

His papers floated around the camp like large snowflakes, while the liquids from shattered beakers slowly began to freeze over.

What did he just witness?

A small hissing sound catches his attention, one of his experimental potions had been blown off of its stand. 

It now lay smashed in a pile of papers.

Sucrose’s papers

Albedo dove for the spilled beaker with a muffled curse

It was one thing for his experiment’s notes to be ruined, but for someone else to lend their own notes in a bid for help and for him to ruin them himself.

No, absolutely not.

This potion was supposed to be a powerful stain remover, inspired by Klee’s recent foray into his paint supplies.

While it was successful in dissolving the stain, it also dissolved the clothing.

In other words, it would destroy her notes given enough time.

Thankfully he did manage to get to it in time.

Most of the damage he could fix on his own, given some extra ink.

The incident brought him back to his reality of a ruined camp.

As much as wanted to investigate what was going on, he really needed to clean up his camp before he did.

Thankfully nothing too valuable was destroyed. A couple of beakers here and there, but well, let’s just say Acting Grandmaster Jean would be more surprised if he didn’t need to order a batch of extra beakers than if he did.

What can he say, it was the price of conducting Alchemy

Back to his camp, while it’s by no means clean, he truly didn’t have the patience to wait any longer.

Who knew if the two mysterious figures were even still on dragonspine.

Grabbing his emergency bag, Albedo headed out in the direction he saw them heading it.

The Summit of Dragonspine.

. . .

He should probably bring some extra supplies, just in case.

~~~

”Hraagh!”

The last hilichurl ran away as Albedo lowered his sword.

It’s weird that there’s such a concentration of hilichurls on his way up the summit.

In fact, he’s met more hilichurls today on his way up than he has over the past month combined.

Hmm, it bears investigating. However right now his focus is on seeing if those mysterious figures were still hanging around Dragonspine.

He had his suspicions on who they were, but well.

He wanted to confirm it with his own eyes first.

He continued his trek up, being mindful of his environment. The air grew thicker, and not with snow, but elemental power.

It was strange, whilst the celestial nail that pierced Dragonspine held a good amount of power, it was not this strong that it could be felt from so far away.

Similarly the heart of Durin was almost on the other side of the mountain.

What could be causing this phenomenon?

The Chalk Prince hastened his pace up the mountain, using his Geo constructs to help him over some of the more tricky terrain.

As he ascended, the air became more and more oppressive. Truly an average human would be having difficulty breathing by now.

But regardless he pushed on, determined to find the source of this power.

Ignoring the falling temperatures that signaled the end of the day, Albedo clambered over one last cliff, before he stumbled upon a small camp, with a couple of familiar faces.

“Albedo!” 

A familiar high pitched screech greeted him.

“What are you doing here!”

“It’s nice to see you again Paimon,” he greeted, patting the snow off of his body, “and Traveler,”

“Another friend of yours, I presume,” a deep rich voice said. 

“Yep, that’s Albedo, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius.” Paimon announced, introducing him to the owner of said voice.

“A pleasure, I am Zhongli of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.” He greeted politely, looking very out of place in his elegant brown suit, considering the location and weather.

Albedo steps forward, preparing to introduce himself a bit better when-

“Oho, I believe we’ve met before haven’t we, good sir.” A colorful bard interjects, his blue eyes sparkling as he blocks his view of Zhongli . 

Another familiar face, though more of a passing familiar face than a friend..

He’s seen this man around Mondstadt, Klee enjoys his music and has on occasion attempted to drag him out to go meet this ‘funny bard’, but they always happened whilst he was in the middle of experimenting.

Albedo opens his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted once more

“And who is this,” a clear unfamiliar voice rang out.

Albedo’s attention was drawn to the last member of the traveler’s party.

His breath stuttered.

An elegant figure standing on the opposite side of the camp. Their head tilted as they looked at him.

Their slitted eyes were beautiful pools of liquid silver, akin to melted mercury, or liquid starlight.

Their flowing white robe swayed with the wind.

Their body backlit by the setting sun

They looked ethereal, godly.

They felt powerful.

“-do! Have you fallen off a cliff recently or what!” Paimon’s angry voice jolts him back to reality.

Ah, it seems that he missed something.

“Ugggh, come one!” The fairy grabs his arm and drags him to the other side of the camp.

She has a surprising amount of strength for such a small creature. 

Not that size is any indication of strength, he’s met Klee before after all.

The traveler followed, but not before sending the other member of their traveling party a meaningful look.

It seems that they want to discuss something important with him.

He never really did find the two figures did he.

“Albedo,” the traveler addressed him, their tone uncharacteristically serious. “I need you to leave Dragonspine, at least for a few weeks”

A few weeks?

“What’s going on?”

The duo exchange glances. 

“I’m going to explain something to you, but I need you to not freak out.” Paimon warned, hovering close to his face.

“I won’t freak out,” Albedo promised, leaning back slightly from Paimon’s heavy stare.

They explained the situation.

About the creator, how they found them, their situation.

About a contract they made with the Adeptus of Liyue and how they needed some place where they were unlikely to accidentally hurt anyone.

It sounds unbelievable.

By all means it should be.

But there’s no reason for them to lie, nor would they come up with this explanation unless it was absolutely true.

“You’re not freaking out right?” Paimon asked quietly as they watched him process this information.

To the outsider, Albedo appeared as calm as can be.

On the inside however.

The idea of the creator of Teyvat, here on Teyvat.

Well, that’s

I mean.

“Would this be a bad time to mention that Durin may be coming back to life.”

“WHAT!!!”

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part

Thank you all so much for reading!

I will admit I had a little bit of trouble since I don't have Albedo and missed the events where he was actually plot relevant.

I was so close to getting him, except I lose the 50/50 and went all the way to pity before running out of primos.

Sigh, Albedo you sure like making my life difficult don't you.

As always my Askbox is always open for question, comments theories and more!

Here is the taglist:

@bunniotomia,@lucid-stories, @ymechi, @chocogi,  @ra404, @ash1, @esthelily, @tottybear, @mmeatt, @quacking-simp, @reemthetheme, @universallyenthusiastsage, @resident-cryptid, @fantasyhopperhea, @thedevioussmirk, @etherisy, @naynayaa ,@mel-star636, @chericia, @aithane, @mmeatt, @xrosegorex, @amidst-the-tempest, @8-sinner-8, @reapersan, @elementalia ,@strangeygirl, @chaoticfivesworld, @scalyalpaca, @avalordream ,@ranshin03, @vvyeislazzy, @wishicouldart, @raykayrei,@izzieg3987, @time-shardz, @nugsanart09, @mavix,@beary-kalkus, @lunarapple ,@keirennyx,@thepagansystem, @dragontammerz

[sassy-pistachy]

TMAGP 31 Spoilers

Fatal programmer error Extension BECHER compromised Administrator privilege revoked Extension BECHER isolated/resolved Upload data <sulphur.BECHER> complete .jmj error not resolved New administrator permission assigned

So... did Freddie just upload Colin's soul (sulphur in alchemy represents the soul) to the servers? Imma shit myself if Colin's voice starts reading out incidents.

Also ".jmj erorr not resolved". Is Freddie having trouble processing Jon, Martin and Jonah? They're from a different universe so the coding is all different and not compatible or something? lololol

EDIT: I just noticed it's only the Transcript saying "upload" sulphur data. The audio says "discard". Idk what to think of that :(

[rosesdrop]

Pick a pile

What career would best suit you

Pile 1:

For pile 1 most of you don't like to stay under one pace when pursuing your career, you like diversion you also prefer to do side hustles. You are creative so you don't like to be restricted in one area of specialty. You are quite useful and I'm getting that you like to perform practical tasks, those who require using hands or overall building your experience, you like to match your brain skills with physical skills, and you also enjoy going on adventures and doing outdoorsy activities, you also like helping people and doing charity if you can, but you don't like to settle for one thing. Working as a nurse or hospital related jobs might be good for you, alchemy is a thing you might like.

Pile 2:

Working with other people may have it's up and downs, but to you it's necessary for growth. It's going to benefit you a lot and help you to expand you knowledge. You are warm and social, and you like working in a group where people embody the same energy you have. You are good at getting people together and building a great team, a good strategizer and may even preoccupy leadership positions successfully. You like to learn about different cultures and you like to explore the world, you search for knowledge in discovering new things and going farther ahead from your usual thinking and beliefs. Traveling as a way of grasping and collecting knowledge is great for you.

Pile 3:

You are much more secretive than the other 2 piles. You like to work in silent, you're a very patient person and you take time in collecting information and analysing it, you have a very sharp mind that investigates things often and come to accurate and interesting conclusions that can be useful for complicated situations, a position in strategizing or investigating is good for you. Organizing and collecting information, engineering, and data analysis. You're also very creative, some of you are great artists so you would excel in arts as well. Writing books or book keeping even translating, you're also good at cracking codes.

[reverie-obsessingtime]

Is Jiaoqiu a Self-Annihilator?: an analysis into the Self-Annihilator condition (with Acheron and Jiaoqiu as case studies)

Soooouuuu pink fox man huh so pretty right? Sure nothing sad going on in the background..... *sobs*

This be the kind of brainrot you get as a Acheron main and Jiaoqiu haver 😮‍💨 :,)

sighs....WE ARE BACK IN THE BUILDING AGAIN!!!😭

Ok ok, enough fooling around let's get to business *rolls sleeves*. I'm gonna be using S-A for short to refer to Self-Annihilators through all this cause it's a mouthful to write.

TRIGGER WARNING: this post tackles depression and speaks of the nihilistic feelings it brings. It's not too major but if talking about stuff like this can be triggering, please advance with caution.🙏

What does it mean to be a Self-Annihilator? And the similarities between Acheron and Jiaoqiu's stories

Tldr: basically to have severe depression but much worse! :D (yaaaaay! :D)

From the ever so gracious Data Bank, S-A are described as people who have unintentionally but ireversibile stepped into the shadow of IX

To better understand these flowery words by giving Acheron as an example:

When it comes to Acheron, she stepped into THEIR shadow when it all lost meaning to her. She fought against the kami with other blades only for everyone to die. She managed to finally slay the kami but at what price? Why could that sword only be forged from this situation? Why did all have to be swallowed by naught for this blade to be made? What was the point of all this fighting and struggle if it all ultimately ended this way? If the ending never existed? If they all walked into IX shadow a long time ago?

Two worlds how pointlessly fought against one another, only for the ending to be even more pointless.

Because of all this trauma, like all soldiers coming back from a pointless war that had to witness all their fellow soldiers die, Acheron developed severe depression aka unintentionally stepped into IX shadow.

Depression isn't something you actively choose or agree with, it (annoyingly) chooses you and clings to you all the time and whispers in your year even when you don't agree with it anymore or actively try to fight against it.

You develop it from trauma (also H2O is water) and even when you are out of the environment that traumatized you, even when life is going great for you, when you have a limitless future ahead of you, it still exists and clouds ur judgement about those said things. It is something that you are stuck with. It's illogical nihilism and is sadly very hard to shake off...

But you CAN do it. Acheron and the other Self-Annihilators are proof.

There are two types of S-A: the ones who give up and succumb to it and the ones who fight back. Much like in real life (sadly)

Acheron is someone with severe depression who, despite it being uncureable, chose to show defiance against the predicament it brings by fighting back against it and actively trying to prove it wrong. Wrong not to herself, cause she knows THEIR wrong, but to prove THEM wrong to THEMSELVES.

How does this all connect to Jiaoqiu's story?: A Moment Among the Stars and Character Story Analysis

Both Acheron and Jiaoqiu have trauma from war, war that asks them "what was the point of everything you've done in the end?"

For Acheron:

What was the point of fighting if the ending was predetermined?( "Even if the ending is predetermined, that's fine. There are countless things that humans cannot change. But before the end, there are many things that humans can do while on their journey.")

For Jiaoqiu?

....

"While the Alchemy Commission is a good place to be, it is ultimately not compatible with my wish to practice medicine for the masses. The one place that requires a healer the most is undeniably the battlefield where the Yaoqing's forces are."(-Character story I)

And mah man was NOT ready for what the battlefield will ask of him and his master knew this but sadly also knew he couldn't stop the ambitious youth so he let him go. ("The elder looked as though he wanted to talk the youth out of his decision, but he ultimately decided against it.")

"A healer's purpose is to mend wounds and save lives. You pull the dying from death grip....only to see them march back into it. Saving one person is child's play. Saving the world is as hard as reaching the heavens. Do I press forward, or run away?"

Faces with this, Jiaoqiu can't help but be consumed by nihility. Question what's the point? My purpose as a healer is to save them from death grip but despite me doing that they will have to go charging back into it again and again until I can no longer save them. Doesn't that make my actions are, ultimately, pointless? I save them from death, give them hope and then they have to go back out there again and have it ripped away by an arrow. The hope of victory, of living to see it, of making it, I give it to them by saving them from death and then they have to die anyway but live through the pain of the hope I gave then being ripped away from them along with their lives.

So why save them? Give them hope? If they are gonna ultimately die? Why just not let them die at this point? And if I do that? Then what's my purpose? My purpose is to be a healer and save them from death no matter how many times but I just CAN'T bring myself to do it anymore faced with the pointlessness of it...

( -Jiaoqiu.... probably.....for legal and anti-missinfo-spreading reasons he, in fact, did not say all that)

Saving one is easy, but saving them all from death grip? Not so. Faced with the weight of that? Does he keep going or run away? Should he keep going through the pain of the pointlessness of it all or run away from it(like a coward, because it's too much)?

"You can't help but ask yourself... How does a healer heal himself?

Faces with all this nihility, he is at loss as just HOW to heal himself, the healer, amidst all this. Jiaoqiu's at an impasse, not knowing what to do, emotions conflict with each other.

"They answer with victory- Every life saved makes for the salvation of all."

"They" probably refers to all the soldiers, the ones that got healed and made it, the ones who didn't and the ones on the bed getting bandaged up.

Which is interesting. Interesting because despite them giving this answer, he still hasn't returned to the battlefield.

"Those I saved only ended up as another dead soul when they dived head-in back into the battlefield. I prefer to no longer engage in such futile efforts." ( -Jiaoqiu Character Story IV)

That despite being given the answer, the scars and terrors of the past will not make it easy to accept it or march forward with it. And that's ok. That is human and ok.

We don't actually know when he was given this answer, if it was after he started working on Feixiao or not. (something to further note on)

"Now you must make another choice... Will the result of this treatment be "life" or "death"? Are you ready to face the end... Jiaoqiu?"

Here he is probably talking about Feixiao. The choice he made to return, in a way, back to the battlefield, the place that traumatized him so much he accidentally walked into IX shadow. Only this time, it's for one person only.

Will he be able to heal her or will she die? And is he ready to face the conclusion of the case that is Feixiao, whatever that conclusion and the answer it gives might be?

The physical changes that come with being a Self-Annihilator and the suspicious desing choices in Jiaoqiu

WOOOOOOO welcome to section two of this analysis that is gonna be so much more easy for me

Now, let's have a refresher of physical and other changes that come with being a S-A:

-skin turn into something like rotten wood, full of holes and scars

-endocrine system disrupted

-becoming unable to distinguish between pleasure and pain and turning numb to everything

-loss of memories

-loss of senses

-corporeal body, mental cognition, and personal memories will gradually fade away

(Ik what makes me violently rage? WHY ISN'T HAIR TURNING WHITE IN HERE!?!?!?!)

Now based on all of that and using Acheron as comparison (while being mindful that her Emnator powers might make some parts of her S-A different) let's look at Jiaoqiu and take some notes:

-both her and Jiaoqiu have two white hair streaks that are in the same place just mirrored.

-in Jiaoqiu's lightcone description he asks himself "How many springs has it been?" suggesting that he MIGHT have memory problems like Acheron.

-in his character story IV Jiaoqiu says the spicy food boarders on pain and Owlbert commented that the pain might make him feel alive so maybe dulled senses as well (?)

-both of them have their hair turning white. While Acheron's Emnator powers make her able to hide it (refer to one of her idle's when she lets her guard down and her hair starts turning white) Jiaoqiu's hair is a light pink but not THAT light and you can see how the white hair fades into his normal not yet discolored hair. This change in hair is not recorded in the Data Bank oddly enough so we don't know how much time this takes to fully happen. 🤷😮‍💨

-lack of taste. Both Acheron and him can't taste the flavor of any food that isn't heavily spicy or strong in flavor. Acheron directly tells us that through the peach and her favorite drink being Wake the Heck Up. Jiaoqiu's like for spicy foods can easily be brushed as him just being a spice fanatic until you read his character story.

In the first one he eats lotus petals and comments "Sweet and refreshing, it delights the plate" showing a liking to them. But in IV he comments "Ugh, too bland" when eating them again. Even his master comments, "I remember you preferred bland food before joining the army." to which he responds "People... tend to change.".

The change comes from his III story, after Lan hit the battlefield with THEIR arrow, killing both enemies and soldiers. A moment that traumatized him so much that after it all died down, he felt cold from the inside and put EVERY spice he had into his cauldron and only then was he able to feel the taste

"When his already numbed sense of taste finally picked up on the spice, a jolt of current ran through him. He felt alive for the first time! It was a sensation that bordered on pain."

And all of these similarities, ARE FUCKIN SUSPICIOUS!😁😁

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Tldr: I'm going insane (the end)

I hope Hoyo's headquarters burn down actually cause I'm tired of getting brainrots from these characters!!!😭

Hoyo literally allergic to leaving pink foxes alone (and melanin- HOW SAID THAT!?🫢)

Anyway who wants to join hands and pray in a circle for Jiaoqiu S-A confirmation cause at this point you don't make Acheron and this mf after and add all that to him with it being completely coincidence ESPECIALLY THE HAIR AND SPICY FOOD HOYO YOU BETTER CONFORM THIS OR ISTFG OSNDODBDODDBODDN

I'm so normal!!! 😁

Anywaaaayyy if you read this far thank you soooo *mwah* muuuuuch🙏 hearts and repost are very much appreciated as it keeps me posting here :,D If you liked this I have some other stuff posted that might pick ur interest. Ik I'm not the best at putting it all together in a neat way but I'm trying my best, I usually keep all this in my head 😅

May the sunlight brush your cheeks, flowers tickle ur skin and butterflies kiss ur nose! :)

[gendertrickster]

i was thinking earlier about how fascinatingly the sburban alchemy process analogues itself to the conversion of a string of digital data (captchalogue codes) into analog output (physical items) in such a way that multiple inputs can influence each other. i'm also thinking about how rose had to stumble her way through like three different metaphors to explain it, because she's a writer, whereas john just got straight down to using discrete mathematics/compsci terminology having dinged it for exactly what it was, because he's a nerd