#Targeted Study Material

[race4job]

SSC CGL Coaching in Hyderabad

Excel in SSC CGL with Race4Job's Coaching in Hyderabad

Introduction to SSC CGL Coaching at Race4Job Are you aspiring to crack the SSC Combined Graduate Level (CGL) exam and secure a prestigious government job? Race4Job offers comprehensive coaching programs tailored to help you succeed in the SSC CGL exam. With our expert guidance and strategic approach, you can enhance your preparation and maximize your chances of success.

Why Choose Race4Job for SSC CGL Coaching?

Experienced Faculty

Race4Job boasts a team of highly experienced faculty members who specialize in SSC exam preparation. Our instructors are adept at simplifying complex concepts and providing effective learning strategies.

Comprehensive Coverage

Our SSC CGL coaching program covers all sections of the exam, including Quantitative Aptitude, General Intelligence & Reasoning, English Language, and General Awareness. We provide in-depth coverage of each topic to ensure holistic preparation.

Targeted Study Material

We offer meticulously curated study material that aligns with the latest SSC CGL syllabus. Our study material includes practice questions, mock tests, and revision notes to facilitate focused learning.

Interactive Learning Sessions

At Race4Job, we believe in interactive learning to foster engagement and facilitate better understanding. Our classroom sessions encourage student participation, doubts clarification, and discussions.

Mock Tests and Performance Analysis

To gauge your readiness for the SSC CGL exam, we conduct regular mock tests that simulate the actual exam environment. Detailed performance analysis helps identify strengths and areas needing improvement.

Personalized Attention

We maintain small batch sizes to ensure personalized attention to each student. Our faculty members provide individualized guidance, monitor progress, and offer constructive feedback.

Our SSC CGL Coaching Approach

Concept Clarity

We focus on building strong fundamentals and conceptual clarity in each subject area. Our faculty employs simplified teaching methods to enhance understanding and retention.

Exam-Specific Strategies

Race4Job emphasizes exam-specific strategies such as time management techniques, shortcut methods, and problem-solving approaches tailored to the SSC CGL exam.

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Beyond written exams, we offer comprehensive interview preparation to equip you with the skills needed for the final selection stages.

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Race4Job is recognized as a leading SSC CGL coaching institute in Hyderabad due to our:

---->Proven track record of success ---->Student-centric approach ---->Dedicated faculty ---->Comprehensive curriculum

Enroll with Race4Job Today

Don't leave your SSC CGL preparation to chance. Join Race4Job, the trusted coaching partner for SSC CGL aspirants in Hyderabad, and embark on your journey towards a rewarding career in the government sector.

For More Details:

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Address: Pillar No.1544, Megha Theatre Lane, Metro Station Dilsukhnagar, 1st Floor, Mumbai Complex, Sai Baba Temple Rd, near Metro Station, Hyderabad, Telangana 500060.

[rigelmejo]

@earlgrey--tea you asked who learned French just by watching TV shows and I'm thrilled you asked.

Here is the paper Peter Llewellyn Foley published: Picking up a second language from television: an autoethnographic L2 simulation of L1 French learning. Looking over the paper again now, he did 1500 hours of audio-visual French material for native speakers. He read toward the end of that period for some hundreds of hours, and he talked to people in French similarly toward the end of that period for some hundreds of hours. I read the whole thing, and I recommend anyone else who's curious reads the whole thing. Because my takeaways may not be the same as another person's. The paper includes what he did, how he studied, how he tracked his study, what study materials worked best (he found children's cartoons with a lot of visuals of what is being talked about were the easiest to learn from in the first few hundred hours - and adult television where they talk about things not directly visually shown as some of the hardest stuff that he used once he had more understanding of the language).

His paper shows at least 1 person could learn French by watching shows (with children's cartoons being best at the beginning stage until you learn more words), and trying to figure out what each thing means as you hear it. He did a lot of puzzling out the sounds he heard, using context and guessing what was being talked about (for curiosity's sake he did the opposite of what ALG Automatic Language Growth articles tend to suggest people do). He did not do any reading later sometime after 1000 hours, and it's fascinating how different he imagined French spelling was based on his guesses from the sound, compared to how it is actually spelled. He did use some graded readers for learners once he was reading.

He did not look any word translations up when watching all those shows. He personally makes the guess that if he HAD looked up words, if he HAD used French subtitles, and if he had focused entirely on children's shows at first, his progress might have taken less time. But his experiment did not do that, so it's only a guess, and actual success of people who've looked up words should be referenced instead for how successful or not it is (people like r/Refold learners look up words while watching shows), and he did not use any video materials made for language learners but my personal thinking is that Comprehensible Input type lessons at the beginning stage may have worked even better than children's cartoons.

To me, his level of understanding and ability to do things lines up fairly well with Dreaming Spanish's roadmap estimated hours to do X things. That makes sense to me as Peter basically studied with stuff made for native speakers, which eventually became more comprehensible. And Dreaming Spanish is designed to be fully comprehensible to a learner, until they can comprehend stuff for native speakers. I imagine Peter had a harder time initially, but as an English speaker learning French, with all the cognates, maybe he didn't have to learn as much to cross the threshold into comprehending children's shows as someone learning a language with no cognates.

I wrote my in depth thoughts about his paper here but it's mostly just rambling.

[starrytoya]

every day my brain just keeps going "i want to go home" even when I am, quite literally, at home

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - February 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Solar farms managed for nature boost bird abundance and diversity, new study finds

“There were more than twice as many farmland birds in the well-managed solar farms compared with the intensively farmed land, and nearly 16 times as many woodland birds. […] Overall, diversity was 2.5 times higher, while woodland birds were nine times more diverse.”

2. Washington judge blocks Trump’s gender-affirming care ban, says it's unconstitutional in multiple ways

“This marks the second time in a week that a judge has stood in the way of Trump’s attacks on trans kids. [… The ruling grants] a temporary restraining order that halts enforcement of provisions in Trump’s directive that would cut off federal funding to medical institutions that provide gender-affirming care to minors.”

3. Fog harvesting could provide water for arid cities

“17,000 sq m of mesh could produce enough water to meet the weekly water demand of [… the] urban slums. 110 sq m could meet the annual demand for the irrigation of the city's green spaces. Fog water could be used for soil-free (hydroponic) agriculture, with yields of 33 to 44lb (15 to 20kg) of green vegetables in a month.”

4. Audubon Applauds Bipartisan Federal Effort to Protect Delaware River Basin with Critical Reauthorization Bill

“The bill would […] ensure long-term conservation and restoration efforts, expand the official definition of the basin to include Maryland, and prioritize projects that serve small, rural, and disadvantaged communities. […] The watershed provides important year-round habitats and critical migratory stopovers for approximately 400 bird species[….]”

5. mRNA vaccines show promise in pancreatic cancer in early trial

“Half of the people in the study — eight of the participants — responded to the vaccine, producing T cells that targeted their tumors. […] Just two of the patients who had a response to the vaccine had their cancer return during the three-year follow- up, compared to seven of the eight who did not respond to the vaccine treatments.”

6. Minn. Lt. Gov. Flanagan Makes It Official; She's running for U.S. Senate

“[Flanagan has] “championed kitchen-table issues like raising the minimum wage, paid family and medical leave, and free school meals.” If elected, Flanagan, a tribal citizen of the White Earth Nation, would become the first Native American female U.S. senator in history.”

7. Federal Funding Restored for Low-Income Alabama Utility Assistance After Outcry

“A program meant to help low-income Alabamians pay their utility bills has resumed two weeks after it was canceled due to an executive order from President Donald Trump. […] “We can confirm the funds are reaching those affected by the previous pause[….]””

8. Modeling study suggests Amazon rainforest is more resilient than assumed

“[Previous] studies were either conducted with global climate models that used a simplified representation of convection [or were on a regional scale….] According to the computations, mean annual precipitation in the Amazon does not change significantly even after complete deforestation.“

9. States are moving forward with Buy Clean policies despite Trump reversal

““Buy Clean is a great example of how states and other nonfederal actors can continue to press forward on climate action, regardless of what the federal government does,” said Casey Katims, executive director of the U.S. Climate Alliance, a bipartisan coalition of two dozen governors.”

10. The rewilded golf courses teeming with life

“A wildflower meadow, ponds, scrub habitat, coastline and even an area of peat bog can be found on this little 60-acre (24-hectare) plot, which boasts roe deer, otters, lizards, eels and a huge array of insects and birds.”

February 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[theloverstomb]

‘Fragile Microbiomes’ by bio-artist Anna Dumitriu

1. SYPHILIS DRESS- This dress is embroidered with images of the corkscrew-shaped bacterium which causes the sexually transmitted disease syphilis. These embroideries are impregnated with the sterilised DNA of the Nichols strain of the bacterium - Treponema pallidum subsp. pallidum - which Dumitriu extracted with her collaborators.

2. MICROBE MOUTH- The tooth at the centre of this necklace was grown in the lab using an extremophile bacterium which is part of the species called Serratia (Serratia N14) that can produce hydroxyapatite, the same substance that tooth enamel is made from.

The handmade porcelain teeth that make up this necklace have been coated with glazes derived from various bacterial species that live in our mouths and cause tooth decay and gum disease, including Porphyromonas gingivalis, which can introduce an iron-containing light brown stain to the glaze.

3. TEETH MARKS: THE MOST PROFOUND MYSTERY- In his 1845 essay “On Artificial Teeth”, W.H. Mortimer described false teeth as “the most profound mystery” because they were never discussed. Instead, people would hide the stigma of bad teeth and foul breath using fans.

This altered antique fan is made from animal bone and has been mended with gold wire, both materials historically used to construct false teeth (which would also sometimes incorporate human teeth). The silk of the fan and ribbon has been grown and patterned with two species of oral pathogens: Prevotella intermedia and Porphyromonas gingivalis. These bacteria cause gum disease and bad breath, and the latter has also recently been linked to Alzheimer’s disease.

4. PLAGUE DRESS- This 1665-style 'Plague Dress' is made from raw silk, hand-dyed with walnut husks in reference to the famous herbalist of the era Nicholas Culpeper, who recommended walnuts as a treatment for plague. It has been appliquéd with original 17th-century embroideries, impregnated with the DNA of Yersinia pestis bacteria (plague). The artist extracted this from killed bacteria in the laboratory of the National Collection of Type Cultures at the UK Health Security Agency.

The dress is stuffed and surrounded by lavender, which people carried during the Great Plague of London to cover the stench of infection and to prevent the disease, which was believed to be caused by 'bad air' or 'miasmas'. The silk of the dress references the Silk Road, a key vector for the spread of plague.

5. BACTERIAL BAPTISM- based on a vintage christening gown which has been altered by the artist to tell the story of research into how the microbiomes of babies develop, with a focus on the bacterium Clostridioides difficile, originally discovered by Hall and O’Toole in 1935 and presented in their paper “Intestinal flora in new-born infants”. It was named Bacillus difficilis because it was difficult to grow, and in the 1970s it was recognised as causing conditions from mild antibiotic-associated diarrhoea to life-threatening intestinal inflammation. The embroidery silk is dyed using stains used in the study of the gut microbiome and the gown is decorated with hand-crocheted linen lace grown in lab with (sterilised) C. difficile biofilms. The piece also considers how new-borns become colonised by bacteria during birth in what has been described as ‘bacterial baptism’.

6. ZENEXTON- Around 1570, Swiss physician and alchemist Theophrastus Paracelsus coined the term ‘Zenexton’, meaning an amulet worn around the neck to protect from the plague. Until then, amulets had a more general purpose of warding off (unspecified) disease, rather like the difference today between ‘broad spectrum’ antibiotics and antibiotics informed by genomics approaches which target a specific organism.

Over the next century, several ideas were put forward as to what this amulet might contain: a paste made of powdered toads, sapphires that would turn black when they leeched the pestilence from the body, or menstrual blood. Bizarre improvements were later made: “of course, the toad should be finely powdered”; “the menstrual blood from a virgin”; “collected on a full moon”.

This very modern Zenexton has been 3D printed and offers the wearer something that genuinely protects: the recently developed vaccine against Yersinia pestis, the bacterium that causes plague.

[reasonsforhope]

"A large clinical trial in South Africa and Uganda has shown that a twice-yearly injection of a new pre-exposure prophylaxis drug gives young women total protection from HIV infection.

The trial tested whether the six-month injection of lenacapavir would provide better protection against HIV infection than two other drugs, both daily pills. All three medications are pre-exposure prophylaxis (or PrEP) drugs.

Physician-scientist Linda-Gail Bekker, principal investigator for the South African part of the study, tells Nadine Dreyer what makes this breakthough so significant and what to expect next.

Tell us about the trial and what it set out to achieve

The Purpose 1 trial with 5,000 participants took place at three sites in Uganda and 25 sites in South Africa to test the efficacy of lenacapavir and two other drugs.

Lenacapavir (Len LA) is a fusion capside inhibitor. It interferes with the HIV capsid, a protein shell that protects HIV’s genetic material and enzymes needed for replication. It is administered just under the skin, once every six months.

The randomised controlled trial, sponsored by the drug developers Gilead Sciences, tested several things.

The first was whether a six-monthly injection of lenacapavir was safe and would provide better protection against HIV infection as PrEP for women between the ages of 16 and 25 years than Truvada F/TDF, a daily PrEP pill in wide use that has been available for more than a decade.

Secondly, the trial also tested whether Descovy F/TAF, a newer daily pill, was as effective as F/TDF...

The trial had three arms. Young women were randomly assigned to one of the arms in a 2:2:1 ratio (Len LA: F/TAF oral: F/TDF oral) in a double blinded fashion. This means neither the participants nor the researchers knew which treatment participants were receiving until the clinical trial was over.

In eastern and southern Africa, young women are the population who bear the brunt of new HIV infections. They also find a daily PrEP regimen challenging to maintain, for a number of social and structural reasons.

During the randomised phase of the trial none of the 2,134 women who received lenacapavir contracted HIV. There was 100 percent efficiency.

By comparison, 16 of the 1,068 women (or 1.5%) who took Truvada (F/TDF) and 39 of 2,136 (1.8%) who received Descovy (F/TAF) contracted the HIV virus...

What is the significance of these trials?

This breakthrough gives great hope that we have a proven, highly effective prevention tool to protect people from HIV.

There were 1.3 million new HIV infections globally in the past year. Although that’s fewer than the 2 million infections seen in 2010, it is clear that at this rate we are not going to meet the HIV new infection target that UNAIDS set for 2025 (fewer than 500,000 globally) or potentially even the goal to end Aids by 2030...

For young people, the daily decision to take a pill or use a condom or take a pill at the time of sexual intercourse can be very challenging.

HIV scientists and activists hope that young people may find that having to make this “prevention decision” only twice a year may reduce unpredictability and barriers.

For a young woman who struggles to get to an appointment at a clinic in a town or who can’t keep pills without facing stigma or violence, an injection just twice a year is the option that could keep her free of HIV.

What happens now?

The plan is that the Purpose 1 trial will go on but now in an “open label” phase. This means that study participants will be “unblinded”: they will be told whether they have been in the “injectable” or oral TDF or oral TAF groups.

They will be offered the choice of PrEP they would prefer as the trial continues.

A sister trial is also under way: Purpose 2 is being conducted in a number of regions including some sites in Africa among cisgender men, and transgender and nonbinary people who have sex with men.

It’s important to conduct trials among different groups because we have seen differences in effectiveness. Whether the sex is anal or vaginal is important and may have an impact on effectiveness.

How long until the drug is rolled out?

We have read in a Gilead Sciences press statement that within the next couple of months [from July 2024] the company will submit the dossier with all the results to a number of country regulators, particularly the Ugandan and South African regulators.

The World Health Organization will also review the data and may issue recommendations.

We hope then that this new drug will be adopted into WHO and country guidelines.

We also hope we may begin to see the drug being tested in more studies to understand better how to incorporate it into real world settings.

Price is a critical factor to ensure access and distribution in the public sector where it is badly needed.

Gilead Sciences has said it will offer licences to companies that make generic drugs, which is another critical way to get prices down.

In an ideal world, governments will be able to purchase this affordably and it will be offered to all who want it and need protection against HIV."

-via The Conversation, July 3, 2024

[kkoffin]

At its core, “gender critical” ideology has nothing to do with transgender ideology. There’s three main beliefs that create a gender critical ideology and none of them have anything to do with or stem from trans issues.

1. Sex is a physical and material reality. You can touch and hold a penis or vagina. You can measure testosterone or oestrogen differences between men and women. You can study any inherent differences in the brain. Yes, intersex people also exist. That difference in sex development is also a material reality.

2. Gender is a social construct. A conservative, patriarchal invention that believes (as a modern example) women must like dresses and men must like pants. Women like pink and men like blue, or in other cultures or times, other ideas. This is not a material reality, it’s only socialisation. Nothing about material reality makes women like pink. There may be some debate regarding where sex stops and gender socialisation begins, as scientific analysis of the brain has not developed enough to know exactly what is inherent and what is part of the socialisation which starts at (or before) birth.

3. The social construct of gender should be abolished, as it is the foundation of a patriarchy. Women are given gender roles which revolve around being subordinate and submissive, as to obey the patriarch, and men’s gender roles are to be aggressive and strong, as to serve in the military. Sex differences are to be respected and gender is to be abolished. Decisions regarding safety, medical care, and other treatment of people should be based on sex, material reality which effects everyone, not gender.

The issue with trans ideology only comes in where in order to transition gender, gender as a social construct must be maintained. To feel “validated” in changing gender, gender must become more important and more recognised than sex. It pushes that decisions regarding the treatment of and protection of people should be made based on gender rather than sex, entirely opposite to the gender critical belief. Gender needs to be reinforced and protected for the ideology to make any sense at all, otherwise, what are you transitioning to?

Gender critical ideology does not target trans people or ideology. It targets a misogynistic social construct. It is not about trans people or ideologies. It is about a misogynistic social construct and its abolition. It’s just that trans ideology happens to rely on that misogynistic construct which gender critical ideology aims to abolish, and thus, they are opposed.

Gender critical ideology is only anti-patriarchy and anti-conservative. Gender belongs to patriarchy and conservatism. Transgender ideology only has issues with gender critical ideology because it is built on gender and falls apart without it.

I am aware gender dysphoria exists. Gender dysphoria would not exist if gender did not exist. Would you rather children develop gender dysphoria and spend thousands of dollars attempting to free themselves of it, suffering for years in the meantime, or that that suffering not exist in the first place? You can argue all you want that sex dysphoria is the real issue, but if that’s the case, call it such and we can learn to deal with it, but for now it’s an entirely different topic since gender ideology chooses to revolve around “gender” instead.

[thatonebirdwrites]

(I wrote this article to help remind myself that even small actions like maintaining my microlibrary matters. I've included my methodology below and why I do it. I also includes some resources that go into further depth).

Archiving Our Works Offline

Since we are entering a fascist era where I live, archiving literature of all types becomes more pertinent. Especially with the current rise in book-banning and censorship (much of that focusing on marginalized groups like LGBTQIA people and Black and Indigenous people).

So how do we archive literature and keep knowledge safe from censorship or destruction by authoritarian regimes? There’s various methods, but I’ll speak of a way one can do this without a degree or beforehand knowledge of archival practices.

I’ve been archiving my eBooks and the studies I’ve read for a long time now, but it’s only recently I’ve been working on transferring them to a safer, offline drive. I also have a large physical library of books from various genres and covering many different topics. I collect books and can often find them cheap at book sale fundraisers, estate sales, sales in book stories, discounts in online stores, etc. 

Due to how extensive my library is, it’s inspired my friends to read new authors or genres or to tackle new topics; the archive gave us room for discussion. It also helped friends or community members who don’t have access to a library still access a digital copy by checking-out a copy from me. Now, one doesn’t have to share their archive with anyone, but I find it helpful to do so.

The goal however should not be to archive the most famous books — as if everyone did that we wouldn’t preserve much knowledge, so focus on unique and lesser known literature and media to preserve those too. This is why I focus so much on marginalized authors, who are not well known.

Archiving knowledge is why physical libraries in a town is so crucial. They are bastions of knowledge and archived books, media, and documents. Supporting your local library and fighting with your library to keep them open is crucial. This also requires fighting against book bans that would censor/restrict what a library is allowed to put on their shelves and archives.

What I’m suggesting here isn’t to replace libraries. It’s to augment the community’s archives of knowledge, media, documents, and books. Since Public Libraries are the forefront of the fight against banned books, it can be crucial to make sure the banned or censored books are preserved somehow.

While the authoritarian state may easily target Public Libraries, they can’t so easily target civilians, especially if the archival project is done quietly among small groups of people. These smaller projects are how some of the lost knowledge from before the 1930s Nazi book-burnings were salvaged; everyday people like you and me archived books and documents and kept them safe.

Experts often discuss four stages to censorship:

Stage one: Not allowing certain topics to be discussed. This is similar to laws in Florida, where speaking of LGBTQIA folks (trans in particular) can be penalized. This primarily impacts schools, but not necessarily the publishing industry as a whole.

Stage two: Bills that censor the Internet. The terrible KOSA bill (Kids Online Safety Act) is an example, where it sought to censor the existence of LGBTQIA and/or Black and Indigenous literature, media, and documents on the Internet. This is where sites that carry these media may start to go dark digitally.

Stage three: Penalizing anyone who sells, disseminates, or produces censored materials. This is when authors, publishers, bookstore owners, libraries, and others are attacked directly and penalized for having any literature or media the state deems ‘bad.’ The penalty can range from fines to jail time to death.

Stage four: book burnings. This is full-on blatant Nazi-esque book burnings and trashing of any institution or public archive of knowledge and media that holds the censored materials. For example, the Sex and Gender Institute in Germany in 1930s was the first targeted institution for book burnings by Nazis. A century worth of data on LGBTQIA (and specifically trans and intersex individuals) were lost. The only remnants that survived was documents smuggled out before the book burnings.

For the country in which I reside, we are hovering between stage one and two. I suspect by the end of these four years, we’ll be closer to stage three. This is why it’s crucial to keep an archive of knowledge, and if many people are doing this, the higher likelihood that more data can be preserved. It may seem daunting, but that’s why it’s helpful to work with other people and focus on a specific genre or topic for the archival project you start.

I personally started with Leftist books focused on anti-capitalism, anti-racism, building communes, and science fiction and fantasy by marginalized authors. I was a little broad in my choice of topics, but there’s no need to be this broad.

For example, one could pick to archive only trans literature or only literature by Indigenous authors. Also remember, you cannot archive every book in your chosen topic. You will be curating these archives to some degree because that’s inescapable. Do not fret over this or agonize over being unable to archive all the books.

Preserving some knowledge is better than losing it all. That’s the goal. Take it a step at a time. For me, I’ve been adding to my archive for over four years. It’s sitting at around 25 gigabytes, and it’s something I added to slowly over that time. I took breaks. I set aside time each month to update the archive, and I asked others for help during high pain times. (This was helpful during the start of Covid, where I started up a digital archive of studies. Friends helped catalog them.)

Preserving knowledge and literature is crucial in times where censorship and book bans are on the rise. There’s a lot of great knowledge, literature, and media out there that should be preserved for future people to read or watch.

When an authoritarian regime starts to censor the sharing of knowledge, data, and stories, this is when archival practices become crucial for the survival of people’s history, culture, and stories. Anyone can work on an archival project, though I recommend building up a group to help make it easier in the long run.

1. Hardware. 

Obtain a large storage drive, as in a 1 or more terabyte SSD drive. This will serve as the data repository for the digital portion of the archive. This drive must not be used regularly. It’s meant to store the data, then be placed in a safe storage area (at just the right temperature to avoid degradation of the drive).

Since books can range in size, multiple storage drives may be needed. If one is seeking to also rescue/archive media such as photographs, videos, music, podcasts, etc — then you’ll need larger storage drives. This storage drive should not be connected to the Internet in any way. It’s meant as an offline archival device.

Servers can also be used as archives, where the data is stored on the server, but a server is connected to the Internet. Depending on the circumstances, it may not be wise to have the back-up archive in the cloud. A back-up should be stored offline for any archive security.

Try to avoid cloud storage, especially if based in the USA. Do not use googledrive or dropbox or any similar cloud storage. If you must use cloud storage, always have an offline backup on your own SSD drives, and seek out a storage service that is based in a country with good privacy laws that has encryption embedded in it such as cryptpad.org.

Next make sure the computer hardware needed to open those drives are kept in top-notch shape. The digital archive will end up useless if there isn’t a device capable of connecting with the storage drive. Most devices with USB ports have the capability to connect to a storage drive.

2. File types.

You need to make sure the file types used in digital storage can be easily accessed by the majority of devices currently in existence. At this time of writing in January 2025, PDFs, ePub, .Doc, .mp3, .mp4, .wave, and .zip  are the most common file types and the most accessible. Could this change in the next decade? Maybe, but for now, focus on the most common file types that are accessible by the majority of systems.

3. Avenues of procuring the literature for archiving.

There’s two forms of archival data: Physical form and Digital form. 

For the physical form, that consists of print books, magazines, newspapers, photos, etc. These can be purchased online or in physical stores. They also can be traded for using a grey market system. (Grey market is where the item is obtained legally but then sold by someone who may not have a license to sell. Black market is when item is obtained illegally.) Physical forms of literature are the superior archival forms. Books can easily outlast our lifetimes if stored in a dry, lukewarm temperature storage space.

Digital forms do not have a physical version of the data. The storage device or server is the only sign it exists in the physical realm. Digital forms can be compressed into smaller file sizes for long-term storage. Buying eBooks is also cheaper than a print physical copy. There is also online PDF/eBook libraries where one can download the book for free (for legal reasons, I cannot recommend. For ethical reasons, I maintain archiving literature to make sure it doesn’t disappear or is destroyed by censorship is important in the long-term).

Once the item is procuring (in hopefully legal way as I in no way suggest breaking the law), then it becomes important to store it appropriately.

4. Storage of archival data and literature.

The storage drives in point 1 become crucial for the digital forms of literature and other data. Storage drives need to be kept in a relatively dry, cool space and kept offline. When I saw cool, I’m speaking of between 50 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Best to keep it at a steady temperature. I prefer 70 to 75 degrees Fahrenheit. This prolongs the shelf-life of your drive. To avoid stressing the drive by using it often, try to time the storage so that you store as many files as you can in one boot-up.

Another important component to using storage drives is the power of encryption. A drive can be encrypted, and the key needed to use it safely guarded. I’d recommend this only if there are concerns of increased scrutiny to penalize the possession of certain types of literature and archival documents and media.

For example, if a law is passed to ban trans or queer literature, there’s a few ways the law could be written: it can focus on who sells or prints this literature, which means possession of it is not part of the law. A second way is to penalize both selling, printing, and possession. It’s this latter form of law that needs to be watched out for, and if it comes to be, that’s when encrypting the drives and keeping that key safe is crucial.

I am not an encryption expert, however. So be sure to research encryption to determine the best way to build up this security.

For physical storage, the area needs to also be dry and in that same temperature range. Storage in bins such as metal or plastic bins can also help preserve the books and magazines. Finding a space big enough can be difficult. Sure, a storage center could be used, but if you lose access to it or one is raided, you’d have no control over rescuing your archive. Better to work with your community (and friends) to store it yourself, so you have control over who has access to it.

5. Building up these archival Libraries in your communities.

If this feels daunting, then take a step back and think about who you know that may be interested in assisting. You can then talk with those people and work out a system to spread the tasks and make the project less intense. By working together in community, you will lessen the risk of burnout, which is crucial since it can take anywhere from weeks to years to recover from burnout.

What is burnout? It’s when stress on the body and mind pushes one past their limits and causes illness — physical or mental illness. The body and mind are exhausted, and so activities becomes increasingly hard to do. The best way to avoid this is to share the burden in projects like these. Take breaks often to give your body and mind rest. Spend time with family and/or friends and/or pets to help recharge. Take some solitary time too.

Working with other people in community is crucial for surviving fascist regimes. We are not islands, as that saying goes, and even islands are not isolated and independent. For the island relies on the larger, interconnected ecosystems of earth to exist. 

Mariame Kaba, who wrote ‘We Do This Till We Free Us,’ wrote about her father and something her father shared with her: “You have a responsibility to live in this world. Your responsibility is not just to yourself. You are connected to everyone…. because the world doesn’t work without everyone.” 

We are interconnected with other people and the environment as a whole. No one is “self-made” as that is individualistic capitalist propaganda; all of us had people throughout our lives that taught us what we know, socialized us into society’s norms (or out of those norms), assisted us in hard times, and so forth. Humanity are inherently social creatures, so do not discount the power of community.

Resources

For ways to build up your own groups and communities, I recommend starting with Surviving the Future edited by Branson, Hudsen, and Reed and How We Show Up by Mia Birdsong. Group-building can be as simple as a book club, who meets monthly, deciding to take on archiving the books they read.

For further reading, the following article discusses archiving and rescuing trans literature, but it’s tips apply to everything I’ve discussed above and to many other types of literature: A Practical Guide To Resisting Censorship. It includes tips for ways people can work together to safeguard knowledge and literature, which is nicely organized based on your role in the literature ecosystem. 

Feel free to share thoughts and tips below. :)

[gael-garcia]

PALESTINE FILM INDEX

Palestine Film Index is a growing list of films from and about Palestine and the Palestinian struggle for liberation, made by Palestinians and those in solidarity with them. The index starts with films from the revolutionary period (68 - 82) made by the militant filmmakers of the Palestine Film Unit and their allies, and extends through a multitude of voices to the present day. It is by no means a complete or exhaustive representation of the vast universe that is Palestinian cinema, but is only a small fragmentary list that we hope nontheless can be used as an instrument of study & solidarity. As tools of knowledge against zionist propaganda and towards Palestinian liberation.

The century long war against Palestinians by the zionist project is one waged not only militarily but also culturally. The act of filmmaking, preservation, and distribution becomes an act against this attempted cultural erasure of ethnic cleansing. The power inherent in this form as a weapon against the genocidal project of zionism is evidenced in the ways it has been historically & currently targeted by the occupation forces: from the looting & stealing of the Palestine Cinema Institute archives during the siege of Beirut in 1982, through the long history of targeted assassinations of Palestinian filmmakers, journalists, artists, & writers (from PFU founder Hani Jawharieh, to Ghassan Kanafani, Shireen Abu Akleh, Refaat Alareer, and the over 100 journalists killed in the currently ongoing war on Gaza).

It is in this spirit of the use of film and culture as a way of focusing & transmitting information & knowledge that we hope this list can be used as one in an assortment of educational tools against hasbara (a coordinated and intricate system of zionist propaganda, media manipulation, & social engineering, etc) and all forms of propaganda that is weaponized against the Palestinian people. Zionist media & its collaborators remain one of the most effective fronts of the war, used to manufacture consent through deeply ingrained psychological manipulation of the general public agency. Critical and autonomous thought must be used as a tool of dismantling these frameworks. In this realm, film can play a vital roll in your toolkit/arsenal. Film must be understood as one front of the greater resistance. We hope in some small way we can help to distribute these manifestations of Palestinian life and the struggle towards liberation.

This list began as small aggregation to share among friends and comrades in 2021 and has since expanded to the current and growing form (it is added to almost every day). We have links for through which each film can be viewed along with descriptions, details such as run time, year, language, etc. We also have a supplemental list of related materials (texts, audio, supplemental video) that is small but growing. We have added information on contacts for distributors and filmmakers of each film in order to help people or groups who are interested in using this list to organize public screenings of these films. The makers of this list do not control the rights to these films and we strongly urge those interested in screening the works to get in touch with the filmmaker or distributors before doing so. This list was made with best intentions in mind, and in most cases with permission of filmmaker or through a publically available link, but if any film has mistakenly been added without the permission of a filmmaker involved and you would like us to remove it, or conversely if you are a filmmaker not included who would like your film to be added, or for any other thoughts, suggestions, additions, subtractions, complaints or concerns, please contact us at palestinefilmindex@gmail.com. No one involved in this list is doing it as a part of any organization, foundation or non-profit and we are not being paid to do this, it is merely a labor of love and solidarity. From the river to the sea, Palestine

[eepwtf]

UNPUNISHABLE—soldier boy boarding school au! x catholic boy

find part two here ⤷ part two

“i’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. “God, ‘m sorry, i’m sorry.” but the words were hollow, meaningless, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart and the unbearable ache in your body.

he cut you off with a hand on your wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. “feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. the heat in his gaze made your stomach twist, your cock twitch in your hand. “bet you’ve been pent up for weeks, huh? poor fuckin’ thing...”

warnings; religious guilt and themes , power dynamics , getting off to underwear , degradation and humiliation kink , voyeuristic elements (mirror use) , handjobs , use of the words “filthy” , and “pervert”. wc: 5.4k

benjamin had been at this boarding school long enough to know exactly how it worked. the social hierarchy, the petty squabbles, the hazing rituals—they were as predictable as the smell of old books and stale coffee in the library. he didn’t care about most of it. he played his part: good grades, a cocky smile, and enough charm to skate by without making any real enemies. but the start of a new term always brought fresh blood, and benjamin had a sixth sense for spotting the ones who wouldn’t last.

and then, there was you.

you arrived late to the term, which was already a death sentence. the first few weeks were critical—the time when the hierarchy solidified, alliances were formed, and survival strategies were locked in. worse, you might as well have walked in with a neon sign flashing fresh meat. everything about you screamed out-of-place: the polished shoes that gleamed a little too much, the perfectly ironed shirt tucked with military precision, the rigid way you carried yourself, like you were bracing for a slap. you walked into the dining hall that first evening with your tray balanced so carefully it might as well have been a Eucharist offering, eyes darting around the room like you were waiting for someone to shove you back out the door. you didn’t even have to open your mouth for everyone to know: Catholic boarding school.

it didn’t take long for the other boys to catch on. they had a nose for blood, and you reeked of it. whispers followed you during study hall; cruel nicknames were hurled across the lacrosse field. someone replaced the water in your sports bottle with holy water one afternoon, which left you blinking back tears while everyone howled with laughter.

benjamin wasn’t sure why he noticed you, exactly. maybe it was the way you always seemed to be clutching a rosary in your pocket, running the beads through your fingers like a lifeline. maybe it was the way your cheeks flushed red every time someone snickered “Father” as you walked past. or maybe it was just boredom.

whatever it was, he found himself jogging after you one afternoon, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo as he called out, “hey!”

you stopped abruptly, startled, and clutched your books like they might shield you from whatever this was. “uh, hi?”

“you’re the new guy, right?” he asked, all casual confidence as he fell into step beside you.

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut you off smoothly, flashing an easy smile. “trust me, i’ve been here long enough to know. you’ve got that ‘lost lamb’ look.”

for a moment, you just blinked at him. his smile didn’t falter, though. Instead, he slung an arm around your shoulders like you were already old friends. “look, this place is a jungle,” he said, steering you toward the courtyard. “and you’re walking around with a target painted on your back. but lucky for you, i’m feeling charitable today.”

you hesitated, your whole body stiffening under his touch. “thanks, but i’m fine.”

“no, you’re not,” he said bluntly, his grin widening. “you’re fresh out of Catholic school, right? i can tell. you’ve got that whole... thing about you. like you’re waiting for a nun to materialize and slap you for breathing too loud.”

that earned him a faint flush of red creeping up your neck. you straightened your shoulders, clearly bristling, but instead of shoving him off, you sighed and let some of the tension drain from your frame. “yeah, well, i’m used to it.”

“doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it alone.”

from that moment on, things changed. benjamin took you under his wing—not that he’d ever admit to something so noble-sounding. it started small: little tips like which table to avoid during meals (definitely not the one near the windows, unless you wanted to end up as the debate team’s entertainment) or how to cut through the north courtyard to bypass the rugby team’s hazing gauntlet. when he noticed you sitting alone in the dining hall, bent over your tray like you were saying grace, he’d saunter over and drop into the seat across from you, grinning like you were his favorite person in the world.

“you’re not gonna survive this place with just prayer, you know,” he teased one evening, stealing a fry off your plate before you could stop him.

your ears burned, but you still muttered, “i don’t need your help.”

“sure you don’t,” he replied easily, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you squirm. “but humor me.”

you weren’t blind to the whispers that followed after that.

“never seen ben hang out with someone like him before.”

“you think they’re...?”

“no way. ben’s just bored. or maybe it’s, like, charity work.”

their words stung, but less than you’d expected. maybe it was because benjamin never seemed to notice—or care—what anyone else thought. he had a way of brushing off insults with that cocky grin of his, and slowly, you found yourself learning to do the same.

but for all his charm, benjamin was infuriating. he’d swipe your homework to “check something” and then return it with a smirk. he’d drag you into conversations you didn’t want to have, poking fun at your strict upbringing and coaxing stories out of you about priests, penance, and purgatory. he was relentless, and you hated that it made you feel a little less like the walls were closing in.

benjamin was everywhere. his laughter echoed in the halls, his golden hair glinting like sunlight, his voice as smooth and warm as honey. it didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing; he was inescapable. and at first, you didn’t mind. at first, you liked the way he looked at you, like you weren’t invisible. the way his arm slung so easily around your shoulders, the way he’d steal your fries or lean in too close just to watch you squirm. he made it look so easy, weaving you into his world with a smirk and a casual confidence you could never hope to emulate. he defended you from the worst of the hazing, diffused the cruel jokes with a well-timed barb or a cutting smile, and made sure you were never left sitting alone in the dining hall.

but then it started to change.

you started to change.

at first, it was subtle: a quickening in your chest when he leaned over your desk, close enough for his cologne to fog your senses. a tightness in your throat when his hand lingered on your shoulder, his thumb brushing the edge of your collar. he didn’t notice the way you froze when he stood behind you, leaning in to murmur some joke meant just for you. it was in the way he sat beside you during study hall, his long legs stretched out like he owned the space, his golden hair catching the light in a way that made your chest ache. it was in the way he teased you, his voice low and warm, always managing to say just enough to make you blush but never enough to cross a line. it was in the way he looked at you sometimes, his emerald eyes lingering just a moment too long, like he was searching for something in you that you didn’t even understand yourself. but you noticed.

you noticed everything.

the curve of his jaw. the warmth of his touch. the way his lips parted when he laughed, his head tilting back, throat exposed like an offering. it felt like blasphemy to see him this way, to want what you shouldn’t want. It felt like the serpent in the garden, whispering in your ear, coaxing you to look a little too long, to want what was forbidden.

and that’s when the shame began to take root.

it crept into your thoughts like a sickness, coiling around your heart. you began to see sin in every glance, every touch, every laugh that left you breathless. you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining things—things you couldn’t say, couldn’t even think without bile rising in your throat.

you prayed. oh, God, how you prayed. every night, you knelt beside your bed, fingers clutching the rosary so tightly they left indentations on your palms. you begged for forgiveness, begged God to deliver you from this sickness of the soul. you whispered Hail Marys into the dark, choking on the words as you begged the Blessed Virgin to intercede for you, to make you pure again. but your prayers felt hollow, empty. each whispered plea was drowned out by the memory of benjamin’s voice, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at you that day in the courtyard, sunlight haloing his head like a saint in a fresco.

you told yourself it wasn’t his fault. how could it be? he was just being benjamin, just being kind. he didn’t know what it did to you when he leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. he didn’t know about the nights you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the air between your beds a chasm you longed to cross but never would.

the fault was yours alone. your weakness. your sin.

and yet, no matter how many times you dragged the blade of guilt across your soul, the feelings wouldn’t go away. they festered, spreading like rot, turning your prayers into cries of anguish. you thought of the words of Matthew: “if your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. for it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.” and yet your eyes lingered on him still.

you began to pull back. at first, it was subtle: excuses to leave study sessions early, mumbling about assignments or the need to pray. you avoided his gaze, kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap when he reached out to touch your shoulder. you stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped letting him get too close, stopped letting him into the cracks of your armor.

but it was impossible to escape him. he was always there—leaning against your desk, lounging on his bed, sprawled out in the dining hall, his smile a temptation you couldn’t resist. you tried to flee from him, but he followed you everywhere, even in your thoughts. his voice was there when you knelt before the crucifix, his laughter echoing in the back of your mind as you begged God to cleanse you.

and the worst part was that he noticed. of course he noticed. the worst part was that you wanted him to. some small, desperate part of you wanted him to press, to dig, to uncover the thing rotting in your soul and absolve you of it.

“hey, what’s going on with you?” he asked one evening, lounging on his bed with one arm tucked behind his head. his shirt was rumpled, the top few buttons undone, and you hated the way your eyes were drawn to the hollow of his throat.

you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his green eyes, the confusion on his face, you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was your own weakness, your own sin. you couldn’t tell him that his mere existence was unraveling you, that every time he touched you, it felt like temptation made flesh. “nothing,” you said quickly, focusing on the textbook in your lap as if the words on the page could save you.

“bullshit,” he said, sitting up, his sharp green eyes piercing through your feeble lies. “you’ve been acting weird all week. did i do something?”

you flinched, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. you could feel the truth clawing at the back of your throat, desperate to be let out, but you couldn’t speak it. to confess was to condemn yourself. “no,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“then what is it?” his voice softened, but the hurt had already started to seep into it. you wanted to shove him away, to tell him to stop caring, to stop looking at you like that. stop making me feel this way. “you’re not... you’re not letting those assholes get to you, are you? ‘cause if someone’s giving you shit, i’ll—”

“it’s not that,” you snapped, harsher than you intended, your shame turning sharp as a blade. his expression faltered, and guilt twisted in your chest like a thorn. you dropped your gaze, your hands trembling as they gripped the edge of your book. “i just... i need space, okay?”

“space,” he repeated, the word flat and unfamiliar in his mouth. “from me?” he didn’t understand. how could he? to him, you were just the awkward Catholic boy he’d taken under his wing. he didn’t know about the fire consuming you from the inside out, the way his very presence felt like a test of faith you were doomed to fail.

the silence stretched out, suffocating. you could feel him staring at you, searching for something—an answer, a crack in your armor, anything that would make sense of this. finally, he exhaled sharply, the sound like a wound opening. “fine,” he said, standing abruptly. the bed creaked under his movement, the sound echoing in the quiet room. his voice was colder than you had ever heard it, laced with a bitterness that made your chest ache. “whatever you want, Father.”

the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone. alone with the shame, the guilt, the terrible longing that refused to let you go. you pressed your hands together, the rosary dangling between your fingers like a lifeline, but even as you tried to pray, all you could think of was him.

but the distance didn’t help. if anything, it made things worse.

benjamin was always there, in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to shut him out. the memory of his smile haunted you during morning prayers. the sound of his voice echoed in your ears as you tried to focus on your studies. at night, in the dim light of your dorm room, you could hear him breathing in the bed across from yours, and it felt like a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have.

you hated him for it. you hated yourself more.

you had always been devout, a faithful son of the church. your rosary was your shield, your Bible your sword, your faith the fortress that had kept you safe from the temptations of the world. you clung to the Word of God like a drowning man clings to driftwood, trusting it to keep you pure, to keep you upright. but benjamin made you falter. benjamin made you doubt.

and worst of all, benjamin made you want.

the dreams had come slowly at first, creeping into your mind like thieves in the night. they were innocuous, almost innocent: his laugh ringing out like church bells, his hand brushing yours by accident. but they grew darker, heavier, like a storm gathering on the horizon. you began to dream of his hand lingering too long on your shoulder, sliding down your arm, his fingers warm, deliberate. you dreamed of his lips—pink, soft, sinful—hovering too close to yours, his breath ghosting against your skin. you dreamed of his hand, sure and unrelenting, sliding down your stomach, your cock throbbing under his touch as his name fell from your lips like a prayer you’d never dare to speak aloud.

you always woke from those dreams shaking, drenched in sweat and shame. your body betrayed you, your cock hard, insistent, as if it hadn’t just condemned you. the guilt came in waves, crashing over you, dragging you under. you’d fumble for your rosary in the dark, clutching it tightly, the beads biting into your palms like thorns. you’d sink to your knees on the cold, unyielding floor, whispering, “forgive me, Father, for i have sinned.”

your voice trembled, cracked, as you poured yourself out to a God who surely couldn’t love you anymore. you recited the Psalms until your throat was raw, until the words blurred into each other and the ache in your chest grew unbearable. you told yourself you were strong enough to resist, that the dreams meant nothing, that they were merely a test of your faith.

but the dreams kept coming.

and worse, some dark, treacherous part of you didn’t want them to stop.

one night, long after benjamin had left for the evening, you found yourself restless, the shame coiled tightly in your chest, suffocating. you paced the small dorm room, your rosary clutched in one hand, muttering prayers under your breath like a desperate incantation. but they didn’t help. they couldn’t stop the image of him from searing itself into your mind: benjamin sprawled out on his bed, his shirt half undone, his laugh warm and unguarded, his scent—clean, sharp, him—lingering in the air like incense.

you told yourself to stop, to look away, to think of anything else, but the pull was too strong. you walked into the bathroom, hoping the cold tile and harsh light would cleanse you, give you some clarity. but then you saw them.

benjamin’s boxers were draped carelessly over the counter, a remnant of his presence that felt like a physical blow. your heart lurched, your breath catching in your throat. you froze, your breath catching in your throat, shame flooding you before you’d even moved. you shouldn’t touch them. you knew you shouldn’t. this was wrong, disgusting, unforgivable. but before you could stop yourself, your hand was reaching out, trembling as it closed around the fabric.

they were still warm.

you brought them to your face, your chest heaving as his scent hit you like a blow. it was intoxicating, maddening, him. you inhaled deeply, the cotton brushing against your lips, and you could feel your body reacting, your cock straining against the confines of your jeans.

a strangled sound escaped your throat, half-sob, half-moan. you were shaking, trembling under the weight of your sin, but you couldn’t stop. the shame rose in you, thick and choking, but it only seemed to fuel the fire burning inside you.

your free hand slid down to the bulge in your jeans, your fingers fumbling with the zipper as you gasped for breath. “i’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. “God, ‘m sorry, i’m sorry.” but the words were hollow, meaningless, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart and the unbearable ache in your body.

your hand slipped into your boxers, your cock hot and throbbing in your palm. the fabric of benjamin’s boxers pressed against your face as you stroked yourself, the sensation overwhelming, sickeningly good. you bit down on your lip to stifle a moan, tears streaming down your face as the guilt clawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.

you hated yourself for this.

you hated how much you needed it.

each stroke felt like a lash against your soul, each gasp a plea for forgiveness you didn’t deserve. you thought of the saints, their eyes turned heavenward, their bodies pierced and broken for their faith, and you wondered if they would weep for you or turn away in disgust. you thought of the thorns pressed into Christ’s brow, of the spear that pierced His side, and you felt like you were driving it in deeper with every desperate, shameful motion.

you were drowning in sin.

the rosary clutched in your hand felt heavier than ever, its beads digging into your skin like penance, a crown of thorns wrapped around your fist. each bead you touched felt like a tally mark against your soul, a reminder of the countless sins you’d committed in thought, in word, and now—oh, God forgive me—in deed.

benjamin’s scent clung to the fabric pressed to your face, clean and sharp, with that faint musk of sweat and skin that was undeniably him. you could taste it on your tongue, could feel it seeping into your lungs like incense burned in offering. it filled you, overwhelmed you, until you couldn’t think of anything else.

your body betrayed you.

your cock throbbed in your hand, slick with the evidence of your shame. the other gripped the rosary so tightly that the crucifix bit into your palm, the tiny Christ pressed there like a mute witness to your depravity. tears streaked down your face, hot and bitter, dripping from your chin onto your bare chest. you felt split open, like the veil of the temple torn in two, laid bare before God and man.

“i’m sorry,” you gasped, the words breaking on your lips, no more than a breathless whisper. “fuck, ‘m so sorry.”

but even as you prayed, even as you begged for forgiveness, your hips jerked forward, thrusting into your fist. the friction was maddening, too much and not enough all at once. you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to stop.

the shame was suffocating, thick as smoke, but it only seemed to fuel the fire raging in you. the boxers in your hand felt like a relic, a profane artifact that held power over you. you buried your face in them, inhaling deeply, and a strangled moan escaped your lips.

your fingers tightened around your cock, stroking faster, harder, desperate to chase the release you knew would damn you. you bit your lip, hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle the sounds rising in your throat. they escaped anyway, broken gasps and half-sobs that echoed off the tile walls like confessions shouted in a cathedral.

the bathroom door creaked open.

you froze.

your heart stopped, then slammed back to life, pounding so loudly you thought it might burst. slowly, your eyes flicked toward the doorway, and there he was.

ben.

his green eyes were wide, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern as he stepped inside. “hey, are you—” he stopped mid-sentence, his gaze dropping to the scene before him.

your cock in your hand, hard and aching. his boxers clutched in the other, pressed to your face. the rosary tangled in your fingers, beads slipping between them like the blood of your guilt.

“fuck,” he breathed, his voice low and rough. his eyes darted back up to your face, and you could see the realization dawn in them. the pieces clicking into place.

the shame was instant, white-hot, burning through you like fire and brimstone. you dropped the boxers as if they’d scorched you, scrambling to cover yourself. words tumbled from your lips, incoherent and panicked. “i—i’m sorry, i didn’t—”

benjamin stepped closer, his movements deliberate, measured. his expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity? amusement? want?

your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his hand reaching out. you flinched, expecting anger, rejection, disgust. but instead, his fingers brushed against yours, prying the rosary from your trembling grip.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “relax.”

you shook your head, tears spilling over again. “i can’t—i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t—”

he cut you off with a hand on your wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. “feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. the heat in his gaze made your stomach twist, your cock twitch in your hand. “bet you’ve been pent up for weeks, huh? poor fuckin’ thing...”

you wanted to protest, to tell him to stop, to push him away. but your body betrayed you again, leaning into his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers wrapped around your own.

“let me help,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost horse. you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

he guided your hand, his grip firm and sure, stroking you in a rhythm that made your head spin. his other hand picked up the boxers from the floor, holding them to your face once more. “go on,” he murmured. “you want it, don’t you?”

a sob tore from your throat as you inhaled deeply, the scent of him filling your lungs. it felt wrong, filthy, perfect.

benjamin’s hand gripped your cock with a firm, unrelenting pressure, his fingers curling around your length as though he’d done this a thousand times before. the confidence in his touch was maddening, a sharp contrast to your trembling body and fractured thoughts. his palm was warm and sure, his movements measured, deliberate—stroking you with a pace that was just slow enough to make you ache, to keep you teetering on the edge of sanity.

“shhh,” benjamin murmured, his voice low, soothing, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his hand. his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, his breath warm and unbearably intimate. “you don’t want anyone else to hear, do you? just me. just us.”

you whimpered, a helpless sound that only made his smirk widen. the way his fingers curled around your cock, stroking upward with just enough pressure to make your thighs tense, sent bolts of heat racing through you. his thumb grazed the sensitive tip, spreading the slick pre-cum there with an unhurried, almost lazy motion that had your hips bucking forward without your permission.

“desperate already?” he asked, his tone mocking but soft, as if he was speaking to something fragile. he pressed the heel of his palm against the base of your cock, applying just enough pressure to make you ache, to keep you right on the precipice of pleasure without tumbling over. “you’re gonna have to work for it, sweetheart.”

the bathroom was suffocating, steam and guilt mingling in the stagnant air. ben’s grip on your wrist tightened, steadying your trembling body as he tugged you upward, his strength unyielding. you stumbled to your feet, barely able to think, barely able to breathe as he guided you toward the sink.

"look at yourself," he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the tiles. his hand cupped your chin, forcing your head up, making you confront the reflection in the mirror.

your face was a mess: tear-streaked, flushed, mouth parted in desperate gasps. your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin. and below, the evidence of your shame—your cock, swollen and slick, gripped tight in ben’s firm, unforgiving hand.

"god, look at you," he rasped, the words rough and dripping with derision, yet tinged with something darker, something hotter. his green eyes burned as they flicked between your reflection and the reality of you standing before him, shaking, broken. "so filthy."

you whimpered, your knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his gaze, of his words. "how do you think God would feel, huh?" he asked, his tone mocking, cruel in its softness. his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, the contact sending shivers down your spine. "seeing you like this? crying and moaning like a fuckin’ sinner. bet the saints are turning away right now."

“stop,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, hoarse from the tears and the shame that choked you. but you didn’t pull away. you couldn’t.

benjamin’s hand tightened around your cock, stroking it with slow, deliberate precision. he watched your reflection, studying every flinch, every gasp, every broken sound that escaped your lips. "stop?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. "you don’t want me to stop." he tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours in the mirror. "look at yourself. you’re loving this. bet you’ve been dreaming about me, haven’t you? thinking about my hands on you, my mouth on you..."

your knees buckled at the insinuation, and his arm shot out, catching you around the waist, holding you upright. you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but your body betrayed you. your hips jerked forward again, seeking the friction his hand so cruelly denied you. “please,” you gasped, though you didn’t know what you were begging for—for him to stop, for him to continue, for absolution, for release.

he chuckled, low and throaty, the sound rumbling through your chest. "poor thing," he murmured, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "all those prayers, and this is where they got you. on your knees, jerking off with my fuckin’ boxers like a desperate little pervert."

your stomach twisted, shame coiling tighter, but the heat in his voice, the weight of his words—it ignited something inside you, something primal and unbearable.

benjamin leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. his lips brushed your shoulder, soft at first, then firmer as his teeth grazed your skin. he nipped at you, not enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp, your cock twitching helplessly in his hand. "fuck, you’re so easy," he hissed, his tone laced with contempt and fascination. his free hand slid up your chest, his fingers ghosting over the line of your throat before gripping your jaw. he forced your gaze to stay fixed on the mirror, his green eyes burning into yours through the glass. "look at yourself," he demanded, his grip tightening on your chin just enough to keep you compliant. "take a good, long look."

your eyes flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your stomach churn. your face was flushed, your eyes glassy and wet from unshed tears. sweat clung to your skin, your hair disheveled, and your lips swollen from where you'd bitten them raw. your cock was still hard, leaking against your stomach, throbbing with need as benjamin stood behind you, as he pumped you in slow, devastating strokes “does this feel good?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. his voice dripped with mockery, sending a jolt of humiliation through you. "getting all hard for me, like some filthy little pervert? huh?"

your hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the friction of his touch, and a broken moan tore from your throat. the sound echoed in the small bathroom, a damning confession of your weakness. benjamin smirked, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough to keep you in place. "that’s what i thought."

your knuckles turned white as you gripped the edge of the sink, the cold porcelain biting into your palms. you tried to look away, shame prickling your every nerve, but benjamin’s grip was unrelenting. he tilted your chin higher, forcing your gaze to stay fixed on the mirror. “don’t you fucking look away,” it was a command, sure, but also quiet request, one you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. “i want you to see exactly what you are. a filthy, desperate pervert, getting off to the thought of me. say it.”

your breath hitched, a broken moan tearing from your lips as your hips jerked forward, chasing the friction of his touch. the sound seemed to please him, his smirk widening as his other hand moved to your waist, holding you steady against the sink. “say it,” benjamin murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. his hand on your cock moved faster now, his strokes rough and unrelenting, dragging you closer to the edge. “say what you are.”

“i—i can’t,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of your shame.

“yes, you can.” his tone softened just enough to make your chest tighten, to make you hate how much you wanted to give in. “say it, or i’ll stop.”

your head snapped up, panic flaring in your chest as you met his eyes in the mirror. he smirked at your reaction, his grip on you tightening just enough to remind you who was in control. “you don’t want me to stop, do you?” he teased, his voice a low purr as his fingers wrapped around your cock, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur. “you like this too much.”

“i’m a filthy pervert,” you finally choked out, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

“good boy.” benjamin’s smirk deepened, his hand moving faster now, dragging you toward the precipice. “now tell me what you want.”

“i—” your chest heaved, your hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly your knuckles turned white. “i want you.” the confession tore free like a prayer, desperate and raw. “I want you to touch me, to—to make me cum—”

benjamin chuckled, the sound low and satisfied as he pressed his lips to your neck. “that’s more like it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. “go on. let go for me. i want to feel you come apart in my hand.”

his words were your undoing. your body arched against him, trembling as the pleasure surged through you like a wave crashing against the shore. benjamin’s grip was firm, steady, grounding you as you came with a shuddering cry, your release splattering against the mirror in thick, messy streaks.

“fuck,” ben breathed out, his tone heavy with awe as he watched your reflection. his hand didn’t stop, coaxing every last drop from you, his strokes slow and deliberate now, like he was savoring the way you unraveled beneath his touch.

when it was over, you sagged against the sink, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. ben’s hand lingered on your cock, his fingers slick with your release as he pulled away, his smirk softening into something almost tender. “look at that,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to grip your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes met his in the mirror. “such a pretty mess.”

you swallowed hard, the shame creeping back in like a tide, but ben’s thumb brushed against your jaw, grounding you. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice lacking the teasing edge it had carried before. you nodded weakly, your throat too tight to speak.

“good.” his smirk returned, softer now, but no less infuriating. he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “because you owe me a clean mirror.”

© 𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐰𝐭𝐟’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲! 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋!

[zvaigzdelasas]

Instead of burning fossil fuels to reach the temperatures needed to smelt steel and cook cement, scientists in Switzerland want to use heat from the sun. The proof-of-concept study uses synthetic quartz to trap solar energy at temperatures over 1,000°C (1,832°F), demonstrating the method’s potential role in providing clean energy for carbon-intensive industries. A paper on the research was published on May 15 in the journal Device.[...]

Glass, steel, cement, and ceramics are at the very heart of modern civilization, essential for building everything from car engines to skyscrapers. However, manufacturing these materials demands temperatures over 1,000°C and relies heavily on burning fossil fuels for heat. These industries account for about 25% of global energy consumption. Researchers have explored a clean-energy alternative using solar receivers, which concentrate and build heat with thousands of sun-tracking mirrors. However, this technology has difficulties transferring solar energy efficiently above 1,000°C.

To boost the efficiency of solar receivers, Casati turned to semitransparent materials such as quartz, which can trap sunlight—a phenomenon called the thermal-trap effect. The team crafted a thermal-trapping device by attaching a synthetic quartz rod to an opaque silicon disk as an energy absorber. When they exposed the device to an energy flux equivalent to the light coming from 136 suns, the absorber plate reached 1,050°C (1,922°F), whereas the other end of the quartz rod remained at 600°C (1,112°F).

“Previous research has only managed to demonstrate the thermal-trap effect up to 170°C (338°F),” says Casati. “Our research showed that solar thermal trapping works not just at low temperatures, but well above 1,000°C. This is crucial to show its potential for real-world industrial applications.”

Using a heat transfer model, the team also simulated the quartz’s thermal-trapping efficiency under different conditions. The model showed that thermal trapping achieves the target temperature at lower concentrations with the same performance, or at higher thermal efficiency for equal concentration. For example, a state-of-the-art (unshielded) receiver has an efficiency of 40% at 1,200°C, with a concentration of 500 suns. The receiver shielded with 300 mm of quartz achieves 70% efficiency at the same temperature and concentration. The unshielded receiver requires at least 1,000 suns of concentration for comparable performance.

17 May 24

[citrusdarling7]

The Bloodline

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description- as a highly trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, you were prepared to do your part in carrying on the selective genetic material of this generation. however, a change of plans are made, and you are told that you must secure the bloodline of the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the dangerous young heir to Geidi Prime

warnings- unprotected intercourse, p-in-v sex, fingering (f! receiving,) sort of knife-play, blood, violence via gladiator fighting (but not too descriptive,) BG propaganda, slightly inaccurate Dune technology, feyd-rautha has black cum (credit to @valeskafics for that one<3)

word count- 1,857

a/n- wow, it's been a while. haven't published anything on this site in like over a year I think, but I hope at least someone will enjoy this sick little piece I wrote instead of doing my homework :)

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It was never supposed to be him.

You were supposed to be paired with the heir of Caladan, Paul Atriedes, and you had been told this since your first day of training. Yet, the Atreides' had all been killed on Arrakis at the hands of the Harkonnens, and your Reverend Mother decided that the duty of continuing another selective bloodline would fall upon you. The na-Baron Feyd-Rautha may have been the result of 90 generations of predetermined genetic material, but that didn’t make him any less psychotic. Nor any less intriguing.

The bright sun of Geidi Prime was high today, and the air was sticky with humidity. Cheers erupted from the crowds as a young Harkonnen warrior gutted a slave in the pit below, and you found yourself growing bored of the spectacle. One of the ladies to your right let out a shriek at the gruesome scene, drawing your attention.

“How is one supposed to stomach this brutality for an entire day?” She exasperated. 

“It is tradition for the Harkonnens’, Lady Clarissa. They value strength, and what better way to prove it than in the gladiator pits?” Your Bene Gesserit training consisted of much time studying the histories, and you pride yourself on your knowledge of the cultures of all the Great Houses. Lady Clarissa grimaced before adjusting her hairpiece and fixing her mouth back to a pout.

“It is deplorable, but I suppose you would have no issue with that sort of thing,” she remarked. You paid her no attention; the Bene Gesserit were not well liked by many nobles, Lady Clarissa’s family included. Her discontent mattered little to you, although you felt yourself wishing you had at least one other Sister here with you. 

Unfortunately, your Reverend Mother had sent you on this mission hastily, claiming that the upcoming celebration of the na-Baron’s birthday would be the perfect time for you to carry out the task. Coming from a Great House yourself, it was not abnormal for you to attend such an event, but the marks of the Sisterhood followed you wherever you went. Although controlling your mind was usually an easy task, you found yourself slightly anxious after waiting hours to finally get a glimpse of your target.

It felt as if years had passed before the announcer finally declared that the young na-Baron would now display his bravo in a fight against three slaves, supposedly the last remaining members of the Atreides household. You perked up in your seat, pulling the binoculars close to your eyes as the crowd bellowed. 

Feyd-Rautha strided out to the center of the pit and bowed before the Baron, giving you a good look at the young heir. He was pale, so pale that the sun seemed to reflect off of his skin. The black fighting suit he wore drew your attention to his muscled torso, his sculpted abs peeking out from beneath the hem. His face was stern, although a smile stretched from his lips as one of the slaves began to stagger towards him. As you watched him slice open the other man’s throat, you found your heartbeat begin to race. You were intrigued. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The interior of the Harkonnen palace was grim, as you had expected it to be. You walked through the fortress slowly, counting your steps as a way to calm your breathing. After the spectacle in the gladiator pits, you were immeasurably more nervous than you had been when arriving on the planet. Feyd Rautha was brutal, vicious, and likely insane. Yet, you could not deny your attraction towards him. It was stupid, immature, and dangerous. You were a trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, and this was your duty. To conceive a child with the na-Baron, and ensure the bloodline is secure.

You were not supposed to be on this side of the palace, yet no one questioned as you walked by. Your gown swept across the floor as you moved and your hairpiece tickled your bare shoulders. The na-Baron’s chambers were ahead to your left, and you noted the absence of guards, as well as the faint sound of approaching footsteps. A rather ghastly portrait of a late Baroness served as an excuse for your attention, although you struggled to prevent your eyes from wandering to the dark form approaching. 

“Well, what do we have here? Are you lost, little pet?” His voice was deep and raspy, and you found your mind faltering once again. 

“ My Lord na-Baron.” You restrained from bowing your head as you turned from the painting, staring directly into the man’s eyes as you sweetened your gaze. “I believe I may have wandered too far from the guest’s hall. Mayhaps I have wandered into a trap?”

“You should not be here.” He stepped closer, and began to stride around you in a circular fashion, like that of a predator stalking its prey. He watches you with hunger in his eyes, imagining what pleasure it would bring him to tear the dress from your body and take you right against the wall.

The Reverend Mother had been right; sexually vulnerable.

“Perhaps, I am in exactly the right place. I wished to congratulate you on your triumphs in the fighting today, it was truly a spectacle to remember.” You approached him swiftly, and the smell of steel and musk filled your nose. “I have heard many tales of your strength and bravery, but none measure up to what I have witnessed today. You will be a fearsome Baron, just like your uncle.” At the mention of the Baron, Feyd’s eyes lit up and his hand snapped around your neck. 

“So you must be the gift my uncle has promised. He must have bought you Off-World, for I have never seen a Harkonnen slave as beautiful as you. I will enjoy ravishing you.” 

Your heart beat sky-rocketed as he tightened his grip on your throat, making you lose control.

“Release me,” you commanded with the Voice, out of instinct rather than fear. The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, and Feyd obeys. The grin on his face falters as you stumble backwards, realizing that you may have just destroyed generations of planning, with only two words. Thankfully, Feyd does not seem discouraged.

“Ah, not a gift then, but I will have fun with you all the same, witch.” With a sudden movement, he pushed you against the wall and captured your lips in a harsh kiss. Feyd’s hips pressed hard against yours as he claimed your mouth with his tongue. His scent was overpowering in a way that made your head spin and seemed to subdue your thoughts. Your thighs clenched in anticipation as the na-Baron grabbed at your neck once more.

“Tell me, witch, what do they say of me in your homeworld? Are all you little witches so eager to please?” Feyd’s threatening gaze made your knees falter as you looked up to him with a soft smile.

“Not all of us, my lord. But I must admit, I have found myself rather allured by the temptations of your beautiful planet.” His hand dropped from your throat, and vanished to his side before reappearing a split-second later, with a curved blade in his grip. The tip of the knife rested against your skin, the cold steel making you shiver. Feyd swiped his other palm across the wall, causing it to unlock in a strange clicking pattern. His eyes burning into yours, he led you backwards into what you presumed to be his bedquarters, the blade at your neck guiding you in the way he wanted. 

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you allowed yourself to be pressed onto it. His blade was thrown aside, allowing his hands to roughly tear at your gown, ripping the bodice straight in half. You let out a gasp as you felt cold fingers slip between your undergarments.

“What a brazen little slut you are, showing up outside my chambers so wet and wanting.” He thrust two digits inside of you, finally satiating the ache that had been present from the moment you laid eyes on him in the arena. He fucked you roughly with his fingers, setting an excruciating pace that had you whimpering and writhing against the bed in mere minutes. 

“Please, my lord. I want you inside of me,” you begged, reaching up to run your hand along his torso, stopping when you felt the bulge of his manhood straining against the confines of his pants. 

Feyd eagerly obliged, tugging off his pants and stroking his thick cock rapidly to prepare himself for you. He lined his tip up with your entrance and wasted no more time teasing you. The na-Baron thrusted into you, hard, making you clench at the bedsheets and thrash your head to the side in an attempt to stifle your moans.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, little witch,” he grunted, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them above your head. His dark eyes burned into yours as you tried your very best to keep quiet, not wanting to alert any servant that might have been lurking outside. He met your lips with his once again, in a ravenous kiss that had your teeth clashing against his. Feyd bit down on your bottom lip, drawing blood that he hastily licked up before moving on to attack your neck. 

You were so full with his cock inside of you, and you had never been more aroused in your entire life. The metallic smell of blood seemed to radiate from the man, and his fingers left delicious bruises wherever they ventured. You felt your toes begin to curl and your stomach tighten; the agonizing pace at which he was fucking you had you close to the edge of bliss once again. He could feel you begin to clench around him, your walls gripping his cock like a vice.

“Is the little witch going to cum for me? Go ahead, you’re mine now,” He finally released your hands, and you immediately gripped at his muscled shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “My uncle may not have intended you for me, but fate has. No one else will ever have you.” You nodded desperately, not caring about the words coming from his mouth but rather the immense pleasure he was giving you. 

Finally, a wave of bliss overtook your body, making you shake and scream as Feyd continued to roughly fuck you. You lost control of your mind once again, seeing stars as you came.

Feyd was close behind you, and the aftershocks of your orgasm had him rutting his hips against yours, letting out a deep groan as he emptied his seed into you. 

It took you a few moments to regain your senses, to finally realize that you had successfully completed your mission. His black seed leaked out of you, a sickly sight that made your face flush. He had left his distinctive Harkonnen mark on you, and the bloodline was secure. It was never supposed to be him, but you were very pleased with the way things had worked out.

[dxrlingluv]

Pranking the other gods with Hermes as your partner and crime? 👉👈 Gender neutral pls!!

Thanks you

Partners

Summary : Pranking the gods with your partner in crime, Hermes.

A/N : Please do support me by joining my discord server, thank you! Hermes art belongs to Zieru.

WARNING : GN!Reader, Platonic relationship… or is it?

Word Count : 2.2k

The golden halls of Mount Olympus were, to put it mildly, a snooze-fest. Zeus was delivering his ten-thousandth lecture on the proper etiquette for thunderbolt appreciation. Hera was seen polishing her crown, occasionally shooting glares that could curdle ambrosia at anyone who dared breathe too loudly. Ares was sharpening a sword with such vigor it sounded like a chorus of angry cicadas. In short, it was just another Tuesday.

You were perched on a cloud, idly trying to teach a cherubic cloud-sheep to play fetch with a miniature lightning bolt—It wasn't going well – the sheep mostly just looked confused and slightly singed—when a familiar blur of winged sandals and an even more familiar grin appeared beside you.

"Bored, darling?" Hermes asked, already knowing the answer. He didn't so much sit as materialize in a state of relaxed readiness, one eyebrow arched in a way that screamed 'I have an idea, and it's probably against several divine decrees.'

"Hermes," you sighed, giving up on the sheep, which had now decided the mini-bolt was a chew toy. "If I have to listen to one more syllable about thunderbolt acoustics, I might actually volunteer for Sisyphus's rock-rolling duty. At least that's got a consistent rhythm."

Hermes snapped his fingers. "My dearest partner in potential pandemonium, you read my mind! Or, well, I read yours. Perks of the job. Anyway, this celestial serenity? It's offensively dull. I was thinking Olympus could use a little... redecorating." His eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that promised laughter, chaos, and possibly a few minor divine tantrums.

"Redecorating?" you echoed, a slow smile spreading across your face. "Are we talking a new color scheme for the throne room, or something a bit more... interactive?"

"Oh, 'interactive' is my middle name," Hermes declared, puffing out his chest slightly. "Well, it's not, but it should be. I'm thinking a series of carefully curated experiences designed to liven things up. A festival of delightful disorder, if you will. And I, the God of Messengers, Thieves, and Excellent Ideas, require a co-conspirator of your particular genius."

And so, the Great Olympian Prank War was conceived, not with a bang, but with a shared smirk and the rustle of winged sandals itching for action.

Phase One: The King's New Squeak Toy

"Alright," you whispered, huddled with Hermes behind a particularly fluffy cloud that offered excellent surveillance of Zeus's private study. "Target number one: Papa Zeus. The man takes himself more seriously than a philosopher contemplating the meaning of a particularly stubborn olive."

Hermes nodded, already vibrating with barely contained energy. "The plan is simple, yet elegant. We swap his Master Bolt – the big, dramatic one he uses for emphasis – with... this!" He produced, with a flourish, a gigantic rubber chicken. It was bright yellow, had googly eyes that seemed to follow you, and when squeezed, emitted a sound that was less 'mighty thunder' and more 'strangled duck.'

"Perfection," you breathed. "But how do we create a diversion? He guards that bolt like Cerberus guards... well, you know."

Hermes winked. "Leave that to your friendly neighborhood speedster. You just be ready for the fallout. I predict a seventy percent chance of divine apoplexy, twenty percent confused sputtering, and a solid ten percent chance he actually finds it funny. Nah, who am I kidding? Zero percent on that last one."

True to his word, Hermes was a blur. One second, Zeus was admiring his bolt, the next, he was distracted by a sudden, inexplicable infestation of hyperactive squirrels — a Hermes special delivery — in Hera's nearby rose garden. The ensuing shrieks and calls for extermination provided the perfect window. Hermes zipped in, made the swap, and was back by your side, dusting off his hands, before Zeus even noticed the squirrels were, in fact, an illusion.

Later that day, during an emergency council meeting called to discuss the "grave threat" of the phantom squirrels, Zeus prepared to make a thunderous proclamation. He raised his hand, a dramatic pause filling the hall. He opened his mouth, ready to unleash verbal fury and a crackle of lightning...

SQUEEEAAAK!

The sound echoed. Zeus stared at the rubber chicken in his hand as if it had personally insulted his entire lineage. Poseidon, mid-sip of his saltwater smoothie, choked and sprayed a fine mist over a horrified Demeter. Apollo outright howled with laughter, falling off his sunbeam. Athena, ever composed, merely raised an eyebrow, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

"WHAT," Zeus bellowed, his face turning a fascinating shade of purple that clashed spectacularly with the yellow chicken, "IN THE NAME OF TARTARUS IS THIS?!"

Hermes, leaning against a pillar and buffing his nails, called out innocently, "Having some technical difficulties, Father?"

You had to stuff your fist in your mouth to keep from exploding with laughter.

Phase Two: Aphrodite's Azure Adventure

"Next up," you said, consulting the "Master Plan of Mayhem" you'd scribbled on a spare piece of ambrosia-scented parchment, "Aphrodite. She's been a bit too smug about her new 'Glow of Eternal Perfection' skin cream."

Hermes tapped his chin. "Ah, yes. The one that supposedly smells like 'a thousand dawn-kissed roses and the tears of unicorns who've just won the lottery.' We can do better."

Your grin was positively wicked. "I was thinking something a little more... vibrant."

The plan involved a delicate operation: replacing Aphrodite's prized cream with a concoction of your own. It still smelled divine, but it had a secret ingredient: a highly concentrated, fast-acting, but entirely harmless dye that would turn skin a brilliant, shimmering cerulean blue.

While Aphrodite was engrossed in a heated debate with Eros about the proper trajectory for love arrows: "Aim for the heart, not the kneecap, darling! It's about romance, not orthopedic surgery!"

Hermes, moving like a whisper, made the switch. He even left a tiny, complimentary "sample" of the blue goo for Ares, labelled "Macho Man Muscle Rub - Extra Potent!"

The results were spectacular. Aphrodite emerged for the evening symposium looking like a very surprised, very beautiful Smurf. There was a collective gasp. Hephaestus, her ex husband, actually dropped his hammer.

"My... my glow!" she shrieked, catching her reflection in Apollo's polished lyre. "I'm... I'm BLUE!"

Dionysus, never one to miss an opportunity for revelry, immediately declared, "Blue is the new gold, my dear! Utterly divine! A bold statement! You're a trendsetter!" He then tried to convince everyone to paint themselves blue in solidarity, an idea that was met with mixed, but mostly horrified, reactions.

Meanwhile, a distant roar of "HERMES! YOU INSIGNIFICANT GNAT! MY PECS ARE THE COLOR OF A FORGET-ME-NOT!" echoed from Ares's training grounds.

You and Hermes shared a high-five, nearly collapsing with silent laughter behind a statue of Hestia, who simply shook her head with an air of long-suffering amusement.

Phase Three: Hades Gets a Hobby

"Okay, this one's a bit more challenging," you mused, tapping the parchment. "Hades. He's not easily ruffled. And frankly, a bit scary."

Hermes waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense! Uncle Hades just needs a little... brightening up. A new passion! A hobby!"

"And what hobby did you have in mind for the Lord of the Underworld?" you asked, skeptical.

Hermes's grin was pure, unadulterated mischief. "Competitive flower arranging."

It took some doing. First, Hermes had to "acquire"—he insisted it was a long-term loan—several crates of the brightest, most cheerful flowers from Persephone's secret garden in the Underworld – much to her initial confusion and eventual begrudging amusement when she figured out who was behind it. Then, you both snuck into Hades's throne room—which, surprisingly, had excellent acoustics for dramatic pronouncements but terrible lighting for floral artistry.

You carefully arranged the flowers into elaborate, almost aggressively cheerful bouquets, placing them on his obsidian throne, his desk of damned souls' paperwork, and even perching a particularly vibrant sunflower on Cerberus's middle head. The pièce de résistance was a giant banner you'd fashioned from black silk that was borrowed from Nyx and glowing phosphorus borrowed from... well, best not to ask, proclaiming: "HADES: OLYMPUS'S PREMIER PETAL PUSHER!"

When Hades next entered his domain, he stopped dead. He stared at the explosion of color. He stared at the banner. He stared at Cerberus, who wagged his tail, the sunflower bobbing merrily.

For a long moment, the only sound was the distant wailing of the tormented which was the standard Underworld ambiance. Then, a slow, creaking sound emerged from Hades. It took you a moment to realize he was... chuckling. A dry, rusty chuckle, like tombstones rubbing together, but a chuckle nonetheless.

"Flower arranging," he rumbled, picking up a daisy and examining it with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Persephone will be... intrigued." He didn't even seem mad. In fact, he looked almost... pleased?

Hermes looked at you, bewildered. "Well, that was unexpected. I was banking on at least a minor curse."

"Maybe he's got a secret soft spot for daisies?" you offered.

The Grand Finale: The Ambrosia Switcheroo

For your grand finale, you decided to go big. The annual "Feast of Eternal Boredom" — as you and Hermes had privately nicknamed it— was approaching. The highlight was always Zeus's toast, followed by the ceremonial sipping of the "Nectar of Unending Power," a beverage so potent it made mortals spontaneously combust. Allegedly; no one had actually tested it.

"This year," Hermes declared, rubbing his hands together, "the Nectar of Unending Power will have a little... extra kick."

Your "extra kick" was a carefully brewed potion, with ingredients sourced from Hecate's 'for experimental use only' shelf, thanks to a very fast Hermes, that had a peculiar side effect: for one hour, everyone who drank it would speak only in rhyming words. And, for an added dash of fun, their hair would temporarily change to the color of their deepest, most secret admiration.

The feast was in full swing. Gods and goddesses mingled, blissfully unaware of the impending poetic and chromatic chaos. Zeus stood, raising his goblet. "To Olympus!" he boomed. "May our power never fade, and our enemies always be afraid!"

He drank. The other gods followed suit.

A moment of silence. Then Apollo, his golden hair suddenly streaked with the vibrant purple of something you could almost hint as a Hyacinth, blinked and said, "My lyre feels quite absurd, I've just spoken a rhyming word!"

Pandemonium.

Hera, whose usually brown hair was now a shocking shade of peacock blue—matching her favorite bird, not Zeus, notably— shrieked, "Oh dear, what is this curse I feel? This rhyming speech is so unreal!"

Ares, his hair an unsurprisingly shade of soft pink, roared, "By my spear, this is a fright! I cannot seem to speak things right!"

Aphrodite, whose own hair was now a mosaic of colors reflecting at least three different minor deities and a particularly handsome satyr, giggled, "My beauty shines, a vibrant hue, though rhyming words feel strange and new!"

Even Hades, whose hair remained stubbornly black (some secrets are best kept in the dark, apparently), grumbled, "This feast has gone quite off the track, I wish these rhymes I could take back."

You and Hermes, who had cleverly substituted your own drinks with plain nectar, were nearly in tears from trying to suppress your laughter. Hermes's hair had a faint shimmer of H/C, and you noticed your own had a distinct golden brown mirroring his. You both caught each other's eye and quickly looked away, a new, unexpected warmth blooming alongside the mirth.

The sight of the most powerful beings in the cosmos struggling to express themselves in iambic pentameter while sporting hairdos that revealed their innermost affections was, by far, your greatest masterpiece.

The Aftermath

The rhyming eventually wore off, as did the technicolor hairstyles—though not before several embarrassing admissions were accidentally poetically declared. Olympus was in an uproar, but beneath the bluster, there was an undeniable lightness. For the first time in centuries, the gods had been genuinely, thoroughly surprised.

Zeus, after a week of demanding to know who was responsible—and secretly enjoying the fact that Hera's hair had not turned thunderbolt-yellow(seriously when will Hera get the happy marriage she deserves), eventually just sighed and ordered a new batch of nectar, "And for Olympus's sake, Hermes, make sure this one isn't... lyrical."

You and Hermes became legends, the Bonnie and Clyde of divine buffoonery. Whenever boredom threatened to settle over Olympus, a nervous energy would ripple through the halls. Gods would check their ambrosia, guard their symbols of power, and eye their hair with suspicion.

"You know, darling" Hermes said to you one evening, watching a particularly spectacular sunset paint the clouds, "we make a pretty good team."

"That we do, Wing-Foot," you replied, bumping his shoulder. "So, what's next on the agenda? I hear Poseidon's been getting a little too proud of his trident lately..."

Hermes's grin was blinding. "My thoughts exactly, partner. My thoughts exactly."

And as the stars began to prick the darkening sky, the universe seemed to hold its breath, wondering what delightful chaos the two of you would unleash next. Because with Hermes as your partner-in-crime, life was never, ever dull.

[kinichval]

seatmate!kinich isn't someone you would call a top achiever, sure, he will put in effort when necessary—but he's not the type of student to chug down five cups of coffee for an all-nighter. despite his self-perception that he's just being the bare minimum of a student, his grades prove that he's a well-performing student in their class. hence, he frequently finds himself being the target of everyone's thirst to pass a course.

"hey, kinich. can you help me with this task?"

"kinich, are you busy? i was wondering if you could teach me this lesson."

"kinich, can i copy your homework?"

it's bothersome to deal with a flood of desperate students half of the week, but kinich puts up with their needs as he gets paid in return. no discounts, no installments. that's malipo kinich for ya. (except he doesn't allow copying his homework, better luck next life.)

some students do it for free, why do they flock to kinich?

right, because the top performing student in class, also known as you, straight up refuses to be of help. not entirely being selfish, you would share files and resources to the class when the professor fails to provide sufficient materials and you would point out corrections when the majority makes the same mistake.

or maybe they just have a huge fat crush on kinich.

well, the sheer fact that your seatmate, kinich, is their first choice when an academic predicament bestows on them allows you to slip away from the scene and find yourself getting comfortable somewhere in the library.

(now you are the type to pull all-nighters and, make an effort to create comprehensible and visual-learner friendly lecture notes.)

there are also times when kinich is also clueless, rendering his help useless because he genuinely can't provide an answer nor explanation. he's just human, too, just like them.

just like you.

it doesn't escape his peripheral sight how you quickly stand up the moment a few classmates gather around kinich after class dismisses. he can't conclude the thoughts that run in your mind, but he's curious where you go—

"can i sit here with you?"

someone taps your earbuds to pause the music blaring in your ears, you look up to find who the culprit is with your eyes already burning holes through their forehead.

but oh—it's just... kinich?

"why?"

"just because."

you answer with a tch, lowering your head to continue studying.

"you don't understand that, right?"

oh, you hear him, you forgot to resume the music.

"i do." denial is a river.

"can you teach me?"

kinich doesn't ask for help. he believes he's capable of many things if he works hard (and smart) for it. but right now, he'll let you have a peak at his vulnerability just so he could have a glimpse of what it's like to be under your care.

[glowettee]

I need help asap! So it’s exam season we all know and I keep on asking my teachers for a list of what I need for the test like a list to go home and study and they said no like what is their problem and I have no idea what to do😭please help Mindy not to sound desperate but your like my idol so you would know what to do right 😭

✧˖° my guide to studying when your teacher won’t give you a study guide

hi honey, i love you sooo much <3 thank you for your sweet wordsss, i'm alwaysss, alwaysss here for you, feel free to message me personally or give me more asks in my tumblr inbox! i'll even help with specific subjects.

okay, angel. first of all, i hear you. the frustration is real. teachers saying "just study everything :)" like we don’t have other classes, responsibilities, and, i don’t know, lives?? but listen. this is not a dead end. this is just an opportunity to prove that you can outsmart the system and study better than they ever expected. you’re not desperate, you’re strategic. and i have a plan for you.

step 1: reverse-engineer the test ✧˖°

if they won’t tell you, we’ll figure it out ourselves. here’s how:

➼ look at past tests & quizzes: what kind of questions do they ask? multiple choice? short answer? do they repeat topics? most teachers have a pattern. find it. ➼ scan your syllabus: even if it’s vague, the syllabus outlines what the class prioritizes. highlight major units or chapters. ➼ revisit homework & classwork: if they spent three days drilling a topic, assume it’s important. if a concept was barely mentioned, it’s probably not a focus. ➼ check online study guides: sometimes other students post study guides for similar classes online. search your course name + study guide. you might get lucky.

step 2: ask strategic questions ✧˖°

okay, so they won’t give you a study guide. but what if they accidentally reveal what’s on the test through very calculated questions?

instead of "what’s on the test?", try: ➼ "Would you say Unit 3 is as important as Unit 4?" (forces them to compare importance) ➼ "Should I focus more on definitions or application-based questions?" (gives insight into question type) ➼ "Would it be smart to review [insert topic] in detail?" (watch their reaction, they might hint at its relevance) ➼ "Is there anything I should specifically know how to apply?" (if they hesitate, it’s probably a big exam topic)

play it cool. teachers love acting like they’re withholding top-secret info, but they also love hearing themselves talk. guide the conversation and let them give things away.

step 3: crowdsource the study guide ✧˖°

if your teacher won’t make one, you will!! but you won’t do it alone.

➼ group chat strategy: text your smartest classmates and propose making a study doc together. ➼ class notes audit: everyone checks their notes for key topics they remember being emphasized. ➼ compare tests from other classes: if another teacher teaches the same course, their students might have hints.

you’re basically forming an underground academic intelligence network. the government should honestly hire you.

step 4: predict the questions ✧˖°

teachers aren’t as unpredictable as they think. most reuse question styles from past years. so let’s outthink them.

➼ scan the textbook’s review questions – many teachers pull questions straight from these. ➼ turn subheadings into questions – if a textbook section is called “Causes of the French Revolution,” turn it into: “What were the causes of the French Revolution?”➼ spot repeated terms – if a word/concept appears in your notes/textbook over and over, bet money it’s on the test.

step 5: prioritize the 80/20 rule ✧˖°

80% of the test will come from 20% of the material. instead of trying to memorize everything, (i'm guilty of this) target the most testable topics.

➼ concepts that connect to multiple lessons = high priority ➼ big themes or formulas your teacher emphasized = high priority ➼ random minor details with no context = low priority

this is how you actutallyyyy study smarter, not harder.

step 6: try active recall ✧˖°

highlighting? rereading? sweetie, no. your brain needs active studying. i know you've probably heard this in every 'study' video, blog, article etc, etc.. however, this really works. even when i create my own study methods it all connects to active recall <3

➼ flashcards, but reverse: instead of term → definition, write the definition and force yourself to recall the term. ➼ blurting technique: grab a blank sheet and dump everything you remember. then check what you missed. ➼ teach it to an imaginary class: if you can explain it, you actually understand it.

these methods force your brain to retrieve info, which is the key to remembering it under stress.

step 7: adapt your study style to the test format ✧˖°

different tests require different study techniques.

➼ multiple choice: focus on eliminating wrong answers. make “why is this wrong?” your key question. ➼ short answer: practice summarizing concepts in 1-2 sentences! brevity matters. ➼ essay tests: prep key arguments and supporting facts in advance. don’t memorize full essays. memorize structured points.

step 8: last-minute study hacks ✧˖°

running out of time? try these:

➼ listen to a recording of key concepts before bed, your brain absorbs info in your sleep. ➼ write down the toughest concepts before the test. dumping info on a paper beforehand eases recall under pressure. ➼ do a “cheat sheet” exercise. write what you would bring as a cheat sheet (but don’t actually bring it). the act of writing it out solidifies memory.

🖇 mindy’s personal tips ✧˖°

✨ don’t panic. adapt. undetermined students say, “i can’t.” A+ students say, “how can i?” you are an A+ student.✨ treat it like a game. teachers want to gatekeep? fine. you’ll outsmart them instead. ✨ trust your brain. if you’ve prepped strategically, you will recall what you need. confidence is half the battle.

📝 homework: apply these NOW ✧˖°

i loveeee giving you all homework! i made a little checklist for you to start right now <3

☐ start a study guide (even if it’s just bullet points) ☐ test out the “strategic question” technique with your teacher ☐ identify three high-priority topics to focus on tonight ☐ practice active recall (explain a concept to yourself out loud) ☐ reply below or message me: what’s your biggest exam struggle?

final note: you are not helpless. you are not at the mercy of your teacher’s vague instructions. you are capable, smart, and strategic. you’ve got this. and i’ve got you. i know you will do well on your exams, just belive in yourself and all that matters is if you pass, you don't need a 100/100 on your exam to be an A+ student. just trust yourself <3

💌 now go ace that test! <3 ilyy

xoxo mindy

[meowmeowriley]

We all love a good feral Ghost who doesn't know what affection is or how to show it, but what about:

Ghost, who is the kindest and most giving human being there is. He freely gives encouragement, compliments his friends and allies regularly. You need someone to drop everything and help you move house at a moment's notice and you just happen to be his neighbor? He's helping you. You've passed each other in the hall like three times and need someone to help you study for a test you're dreading? Say less. You've never spoken to one another but you found this abandoned kitten and don't know what to do? This mountain of a man materializes behind you to talk you through it, or take it off your hands if it's too much. Ghost, who would give the shirt off his back to someone so long as they weren't labeled a target.

But also Ghost, who doesn't know how to take a compliment. Who squirms when people tell him he's done a good job, who's skin crawls when people tell him they enjoy his company. God forbid someone tell him he's a good man. It makes him want to rip out his hair, to scream, to correct them. Because he's not a good man, he's not. He knows it, and he doesn't know why others don't see it too. He's a rotten, shitty, evil man. He's got too much of his father in him, he's tainted. He hates himself.

Which is why, when Soap moves one step closer Ghost is sprinting as far and as fast as he can from the other man. Because Soap won't stop trying to get Ghost to see himself the way Soap sees him, and Ghost would rather die than delude himself into thinking that he deserves love from a man like Soap.