#but in practice... in practical application

[paiges-1vur]

She Will ~ Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, r-receiving, language

Summary: Dallas wings photographer x pb

———————————-

You were finally starting to get the hang of your new job. Maybe you lied on your job application a tiny bit, but doesn’t everybody stretch the truth sometimes? To be fully honest you had absolutely zero experience in sports photography, but you were a determined-and maybe broke- graduate fresh out of college who needed a job. Badly. So obviously you applied for the first job you found that allowed you to keep doing exactly what you loved. Thats how you ended up here, looking up from the lens of your new camera letting your gaze drift across the frame of the Paige Bueckers. You quickly snapped back into reality lifting your camera to capture her. The number one draft pick in the WNBA, just ten feet away. The two of you hadn’t talked yet this season, as she had been busy keeping up with training and taking little time off the court. Despite this you couldn’t help but think that just for a second her gaze flickered to you as she walked toward the bench, her icey blue eyes quickly tracking your frame as she grabbed a Gatorade bottle Nai was handing her. The game had just ended, the Wings finally securing another win. The air seemed to feel lighter, as pride and excitement practically radiated off the team. As you packed up your camera bag, you swore you heard Lyss and Arike joking about getting Paige piss drunk, to celebrate another long awaited win and mess with their rookie.

You sighed and leaned down to pack your camera bag, your work day finally over. The only thing that consumed your thoughts was a good night’s rest in a fancy ass hotel payed for by the team, obviously. You were lucky enough to not have to share a room like the players did but instead to have your own room just a couple doors down from the players. You quietly picked up your camera bag before waving a quick goodbye to the coaching staff, and calling an Uber to the hotel. It took everything in you to not fall asleep from exhaustion as soon as you stepped foot in the Uber, but still you held out until your driver finally made it to the hotel. As you scanned your key card against the door you sighed. And as soon as you opened the door your shoes were kicked off, and your beloved camera bag was forgotten on a nearby table. You wasted no time slipping out of your work clothes and into an old faded tshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, equipped for the best sleep of your life. The bed sheets welcomed you as you slipped into the bed, letting sleep take over your senses almost immediately.

———

You stirred in your sleep, suddenly half awake to the sound of a key card opening the door. Your mind raced, you were the only one who had the key to this room right? The door creaked open and to your surprise a still drunken Paige stumbled into the room. She payed you no mind as she let the door close behind her and she immediately fought to take her shirt off, leaving her in a sports bra and her sweats. She finally turned around and found you-half asleep and horrified- staring at her expressionless.

“How did you even-” you tried to start with Paige but she just laughed lightly. You quickly closed your mouth, letting silence fall over you both for a moment.

“When the lady asked me for my room number,” she giggled to herself “maybe I gave her the wrong one, because I lost my key!” She tries to explain, still clearly not understanding that she needed to find somewhere else to sleep. She also seemed very comfortable and had no problem standing in front of you in just a sports bra and a pair of grey sweats that hung a little too loosely on her hips. You couldn’t speak, let alone try to think of a rational solution to this situation. You turned to look at the clock. You shut your eyes out of frustration. It was 2:00 am and there was no way anyone else would be awake to help sort this out. You quickly got out of bed, the cool air hitting your thighs as you walked towards the girl. “Are any of the other girls awake? Wheres Nalyssa, she’s probably with Dijonai right?”

You suddenly stop talking as you realize the taller blonde isn’t paying attention to what your saying in the slightest. But what she does pay attention to is your bare thighs, and how your nipples hardened under your thin tshirt. Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip quickly, her mind racing. You turn around to face her but are quickly taken aback by how close she is. She steps even closer to you closing the distance completely. “I think their sleeping,” she whispers. “It’s just us” she says, her breath suddenly ghosting your ear. Shivers run down your spine and suddenly your mouth is completely dry. You can’t speak-can barely breathe- as she smirks against your ear. “But that’s okay right?” she says her voice raw and husky, needy almost. She’s begging for it and your so close to giving in. She moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. She licks her bottom lip slow and teasing as she looks you in the eye, waiting for you to do anything. All you can manage is a weak nod, but you both know what it means. She hums with approval “Thought so.” she whispers looking down at your lips, swollen from sleep. “Don’t worry,” she adds, voice raw, practically primal. Her pupils are blown wide as she whispers in your ear “I wont tell anyone.”

Suddenly her hand moves to your waist, pulling you in as your lips meet in a deep and intense kiss. She’s kissing you like your the air she needs to breathe. You whine against her lips, allowing her tongue to slide into your mouth, claiming you. She kisses you like she’s sick and your the only cure. She quickly hooks her hands under your thighs, carrying you toward the bed with ease. She sets you down on the bed, not breaking the kiss the whole time. You give her a quick nod and thats all she needs before she slides your thin shorts past your ankles and throws them somewhere across the room. “Mmm” she groans from the back of her throat, biting her lip. You squirm under her gaze but her hand steadies your thighs. “So fucking pretty. All for me.” She says leaning in to place a kiss on your inner thigh. Your pulse quickens as you lean your head back and try to relax into it. “Lemme know if you need me to stop mama, swear I will” she says looking up at you from in between your legs as she places a kiss right to your clit. Your legs shiver and you can’t help but let out a whimper at the contact. You nod quickly, biting your lip as she ran her fingers through your folds. “So fucking wet for me right now,” she says, not able to look away from her fingers as they run through your folds gently. “Bet you were waiting for me all night,” she moves her fingers to your clit using your gathered wetness to slickly make circles against your sensitive skin. “All wet and needy huh? Waiting for me to take care of you? I got u mama, promise imma make you feel good” she says as she watches your face contort in pleasure, the pressure against your clit increasing as her fingers speed up. You let out a shakey breath followed by a pathetic moan. “Please-“ she only smirks “I know, I know, shh just lay back ma.” Suddenly her fingers are gone, the pressure disappearing. She teases you entrance with her middle finger, dipping it in and sinking into you slowly. She pumps in and out of you a few times to get you used to being full before teasing your entrance again with her ring finger. Your a mess at this point, her name being said like a prayer as you beg for relief. She lets her other finger slide into you and she slowly starts to pump both fingers in and out of you, going deeper and deeper with every thrust. “Shit- Paige please- don’t stop please” you throw your head back as she continues to ram into you her pace increasing, now torturous. “Fuck, you take me so well” she groans as she watches her knuckles stretch you out, her long fingers filling you up as the veins in her hands and forearms flex.

“Wanna make you feel it all.” She moves her free hand to your lower stomach, lifting your excuse of a tshirt. She presses down on your lower stomach lightly, continuing to fuck you at a relentless pace. You can feel every inch of her fingers as she moves in and out of you, fucking you senseless “Holy shit- Paige, Paige please I’m close” you moan out, begging to come undone. “Almost mama, just wait” she says earning a raw and high pitched whine from you. Somehow her pace increases, filthy and wet noises filling the room as her thumb moves to find your clit, circling it as she fucks you. Your vision starts to blur, overwhelmed with pleasure as your legs start to shake. You are chanting her name, voice raw from screaming and begging for more, for all of her. Neither of you had a care in the world who could hear. Right now it was just you and Paige. “Let go for me” she says as your release crashes through you. A wave of pleasure rips through your whole body and you come while screaming her name. As start to come down she works you through it, her fingers slowing before your whining from overstimulation. She slowly moves her fingers from you to her mouth, licking them clean while keeping eye contact. She hums “Fucking delicious” she says, pussy drunk as she pushes you hair out of your face, stuck with sweat.

She shifts from on top of you to lie down next to you pulling the covers over you gently. She climbs under the covers, kicking off her sweats leaving her in just her sports bra and a pair of boxers. “Rest now, we can sort things out in the morning.” She reassures you, placing a soft kiss to your temple before wrapping her arm around your waist and pulling you flush against her. You both drift to sleep with ease holding each other, enjoying your own little world together

[mullermilkshake]

Just a donor - Quicksand

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

Satoru gave something special to you and Suguru. Now he wants it back.

Sperm donor!Satoru Gojo x Fem New mom!reader x Suguru Geto Triggering and very real topics, viewer discretion is advised, Established Relationship with Suguru (Married), Yandere! Behaviour, Manipulative behaviour, Post partum, Babies, Mentions of, Infertility/Childbirth, Implied breastfeeding, Physical abuse, Psychological abuse, Coercion, Blackmailing, Parental responsibility

<<< For more Satoru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Mood board >>>

When your daughter came into this world, Suguru’s name should have been on that birth certificate.

When your little girl came out with hair whiter than snow, things got complicated.

Well, Satoru Gojo got complicated. Growing and festering to the point of obsession, things got more than just complicated, they got downright dangerous.

At first, the entire thing was a misunderstanding, costing more in legal fees, court appearances and applications to family court with money you and Suguru just didn’t have. How could you have the energy to go through all that after giving birth and feeding a newborn every two hours?

So for the time being, you left it.

Despite your marriage to Suguru, you and he left it for now.

In legal circumstances, Satoru had parental responsibility over your daughter and not your husband. Satoru was understanding, almost embarrassed of the clerical error and offering money to amend it. In hindsight, you should have taken it, you should have had the issue taken care of so that it was put to bed.

In hindsight.

Suguru understood though heartbroken, it wasn’t his best friends doing. After all, Satoru gave you and Suguru the best gift of all, a beautiful and healthy daughter with the biggest set of lungs. 

You and Suguru eagerly discussed Satoru’s proposal to be the sperm donor, long nights agonising over the logistics and practicality of it all. The expenses were one thing, Satoru waived all of them. In honesty, you should have known then and there that he would bring trouble to your doorstep, a weighted presence after he started pushing to see your daughter more than casually and weekly visits evolved to two, or three days respectively.

And then, he started coming around the house when Suguru wasn’t home.

Now, Suguru wasn’t dismissive or wore rose tinted glasses in front of his best friend and wife. He knew there were problems, he just didn’t have the capacity to tackle them on his own with mounting work and that you just didn't want to burden him with more issues.

His mother was a candidate you took gladly so that you weren’t on your own with him. Satoru often played off your fears as instability due to postpartum and hormones. He kept up appearances around everyone who wasn’t you and for a time, Suguru’s mother was besotted with him.

‘Oh, isn’t he wonderful?! Such a good friend and uncle.’ She’d say, even encouraging you to hand your daughter off to him for ‘cuddles’ so she could clean the house and allow you time on your own to shower.

Well, Suguru’s mother’s stay at your house stopped short when she allowed Satoru to watch your daughter while she gardened. He rocked her to sleep and cooed indistinct words with precious forehead kisses.

Around other people, he referred to himself as Uncle Satoru. In only your daughter’s presence, it changed to 'Daddy'.

Suguru’s mother left that night, and things blew up after Suguru wearily took his mother home. The pressure was getting to him, torn between his wife and child, and his best friend who never fully manipulated him, the red flags were there though only subtly in the background. In plain sight but out of mind.

“Are you insane? Stop referring to yourself as her father- you aren’t.”

Satoru followed you up the stairs, teetering on the threshold into the bedroom, leaning so arrogantly that it made you want to rip your hair out more than you already did.

“Y’know, I can’t actually believe you’re still carrying on with this.” His eyes were lidded, more sunken than before like he’d finally given up on pretending.

You didn’t know what was more exhausting.

“I want you out of this house, and you are never to return, do you understand? I don’t care what Suguru will say to it, I don’t care what his mother could say to it- you are not my daughter's father and you never will be.”

“It hurts me every time you say that.”

He stepped through the doorway, you managed to hold your ground for all but five seconds as he skulked closer. You instinctively backed away towards the crib, never taking your eyes off of the predatory aura Satoru soon developed.

“It is true. She’s my baby. Suguru’s daughter-”

“She’s my child too. I’m a part of her- listen.” He moved so fast and snatched your hand, ignoring the reactive scream when he yanked you close, slapping your hand down firmly on his chest. “You feel that? My heartbeat, she has that too- my hair, my fucking eyes for christ's sake. I’m her father and I will be damned if I don’t fulfill that role.”

Your first instinct was to check she was still sleeping, breathing normally amidst your response. Thankfully, she was. “Satoru… we all agreed on this. You agreed that she’d never know who you really were, because all you did was donate your sperm.”

“We agreed that I’d be in her life.” His teeth gritted a fraction and then returned to normal. “But I did more than just jack off in a cup for you to use, I gave her life and you won’t take her away from me. She’ll know who her real father is and I’ll make sure she stays close.”

“We agreed-”

“Shoulda signed a contract, baby. Paperwork can be so finicky, don’t y’think?”

No… No fucking way. “It wasn’t just an error, was it- the birth certificate.”

You were still touching, hand pressed so tight it would cause a rash just pulling away. Satoru’s heartbeat increased right under your fingertips, he didn’t need to tell you to give his game away.

“You forged my signature, didn't you? I don't remember signing that thing. You- you made sure Suguru didn’t have any rights. It was all you.”

If he took your daughter, Suguru couldn’t do a thing. In the eyes of the justice system, he was essentially invisible. A man in her life with no say.

Satoru tilted his head to the side condescendingly enough to startle you. “N’arww, you only just figured it out? I knew you were gonna cut and run as soon as she was born, I needed some insurance. You were so exhausted after the birth, I took matters into my own hands.”

He studied you with a look only your husband gave you when you and he were alone. “You looked so beautiful then, hair stuck to your face and chest rising so quickly like you were terrified. What I loved most was that smile you had when she was born.”

Satoru looked down at your sleeping daughter and brushed her cheek delicately with the most loving smile the man could ever possess. “She has my hair, my eyes, but every time I look at her, she has something I can’t ever replicate. Your smile… She looks more like you than she could ever be like me and that’s what makes her special.”

“Please… Satoru. Leave us alone. I’ll call the police, Suguru won’t just let you do this.”

“Nah, he will. I’ve been breaking him down inch by inch the entire time, he’s pretty much checked out now.”

“What-What are you talking about?” This was when you started to try and pull away from him. “Satrou, what have you done?”

The bastard sounded so sure of himself, that little laugh you often admired before all this churned your stomach. “When he comes in, he’ll find the evidence of our relationship and leave you. I mean, he doesn’t even have a child with you, his ‘daughter’ is another man’s baby.”

“What are you talking about Satoru? There is no- get off of me.” You wanted to shout, scream and curse in his ear until it perforated his eardrum. 

But, your baby girl. Despite being as little as she was, you couldn’t traumatise her and drag her into the mess you had indirectly caused. Why the fuck did you let a close friend be the sperm donor for your baby? Idiotic and foolish. Though you couldn’t take it back now, could you?

“What evidence, there’s no evidence- Satoru, get off me.” 

You pulled again, his grip tightening until his arm was around you. He never moved despite your struggle, a brick wall with an agenda, he lugged you out of the room and covered your mouth.

“Shh, wouldn’t want to wake our precious baby girl now, would you?”

It stung like venom, an aggressive snake striking you over and over until it had dragged you down the stairs and pushed you into the living room. Your breast pump and pillow sat on the coffee table in preparation for feeding, a warm blanket and television remote placed strategically for optimal movement and an undisturbed child.

“What the hell are you doing!” Yanking your arm from his hand, you broke the connection and placed the coffee table between you as some sort of pathetic barricade.

If he wanted through, he was coming regardless.

“Just because we didn’t sleep together to make her, doesn't mean she isn’t mine… But for the next one, we can do it properly-”

“Next one?! I’m six weeks postpartum, you- I’d never let you come near me. Don’t you get it? I’m just not interested. I’m married and love my husband.”

The room couldn’t have been more deafening with throttled silence if you tried. You could hear your heart gush around your ears, too hypersensitive to the baby monitor on the fireplace.

“Do you?” 

Satoru stayed on the threshold again, his back to the hallway blocking your exit back to your daughter's room. How he stood there, like he’d hit a realisation, his shoulders slouched like he had something brewing on his mind.

“Do I what?” You said, thinking of ways to get past him.

The poker by the fireplace. No, he’d get to you faster than you could turn around, snatch it and throw it out the window. Maybe he’d use it on Suguru- no, he loved him despite your trepidations. No way would he go that far, surely? But look how far he has gone. Fuck, I’m an idiot!

“Do you really love him? Like really?” He took one step towards you and put you on a back footing, hitting your spine on the mantle.

What sort of question was that?

“Yes. I do. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met, I want to spend the rest of my life-”

“Oh c’mon, Suguru can’t even get his wife pregnant, what makes you think he can actually protect you and our daughter?!”

His switch made you flinch, and then he was suddenly just one pace away from your face. “Those wee lil swimmers just aren’t strong enough, are they?”

The topic of Suguru’s fertility was never discussed, only between you and him. It was an unwritten rule. Not only with your health and everything on top, Suguru had questioned his own masculinity, his worthiness as your husband.

Hearing it out loud brought tears to your eyes. “Don’t talk about that-”

You screamed again when he slammed his fist down on the wall by your head, covering your mouth after to stop your sobs was useless. “Sweetie, I guarantee if I fucked you raw, I’d knock you up first try.”

“Satoru… please listen to me. I don’t want to have sex with you, and if I’ve ever given you the impression that I have, I’m sorry. But I do not want that.”

“I never knew why you chose to pursue him and not me… I’m better for you than Suguru, I have always been better for you. Yet you still chose him, even when he couldn’t perform, you never dropped him. It only made me double down.”

“Because I love him- I don’t want you.”

“Maybe not now, but you will eventually.”

It was probably the worst thing you could have said, but it came out so quickly, so confidently. So you ran with it. Your heart jumped when the baby monitor went off, so instinctively you moved without concern only for him to stop you again.

“She’ll be fine. It’s only a hiccup.”

“I still have to go and check on her- I can’t leave her. Please, Satoru.”

Satoru didn’t move at first, and when he did, it was as though he was just waiting for you to make a run for it. “Go, be quick.”

You stormed up the stairs under duress, skipping a step now and then and shot right into the bedroom. Your baby was just fine, only making a smacking sound she always did in her sleep. In one fit of self preservation, you weren’t sure how you moved across the bedroom so fast in reaction to Satoru’s footsteps climbing the stairs, but you did, locking the bedroom door.

The thing was, after having a baby, you sort of developed super hearing, picking up on different breathing patterns your baby went through, knowing when she was about to be overstimulated in public settings which would inevitably result in her crying for hours. You could tell when she was hungry, bored and just in that odd mood when she decided to be a little demon with her eyes closed.

Despite being related by blood and genetics, Satoru knew none of those things, Suguru did. Suguru may not have been able to get you pregnant, but his role as a father was more special than anything.

“Unlock the door.” Satoru banged his fist on the wood. "Unlock the door right now!"

“Get the fuck away from me and my daughter.” Your maternal strength returned. “I’m calling the police and you better be nowhere near here. You will never see her again, do you hear me?!”

Silence.

Nothing but an unsettling and sudden silence.

He must have already left, you still crawled over the bed to get the house phone from the bedside drawer, hands shaking from the adrenaline. A quick rummage before Suguru returned and you could explain everything to him.

One thing though, the phone, it was missing from its usually place. You had no fucking phone.

Satoru's voice oozed through the cracks of the door. "Looking for the phone? You might wanna think about opening the door. Suguru will be home soon."

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[cinnasite]

do you think they've explored each other's theses?

...and bodies?

꩜ pairing: professor!vi x professor!female reader

꩜ warnings: mentions of explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 2.9k

꩜ synopsis: you've built your entire career on control. vi made a game of unraveling it. but, behind every jab lurks something far less professional—and far more irresistible. just how long can you go on pretending you're not affected?

The mahogany-paneled walls of Piltover University's faculty lounge had witnessed countless academic debates, but none quite as charged as the ongoing rivalry between its two esteemed professors. You adjusted your impeccably neat blazer as you reviewed your lecture notes, your reputation for cool professionalism preceding you into every room you entered. At twenty-eight, you had already earned your place among the institution’s most respected staff, your groundbreaking work in economics earning you both accolades and the somewhat intimidating nickname (one that you despised but, oh well, what can you do) "The Ice Queen" among students.

Across the lounge, Professor Violet—or “Vi”, as she had insisted on her first day with an insufferably charming smile—appeared abruptly, her unceremonious button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the formal atmosphere. Also twenty-eight, Vi had taken an unconventional path to academia—former athlete turned kinesiologist, her hands-on approach to learning and teaching had revolutionised the physical sciences department. Where you commanded respect through quiet authority, Vi earned it through enthusiastic engagement and an infectious energy that had students lining up to attend her lessons.

The conflict had started innocuously enough three years ago when you were both hired the same semester, breaking records as the youngest professors in the university's prestigious history. The dean had made the mistake of introducing you both at the same meeting, underscoring your shared distinction with obvious pride. You remembered the way Vi's eyes had found yours across the room, the slight raise of her eyebrow that seemed to say "challenge accepted" before either of you had uttered a sentence.

What followed was the most intellectually stimulating and frustrating professional relationship of your career. Every discussion became a subtle battlefield where your measured contributions were countered by Vi's zealous arguments. Every conference saw the two of you presenting competing frameworks, your methodical notions challenged by her innovative contributions. Your colleagues had started placing bets on which of you would speak first during casual get-togethers, knowing that whatever one of you proposed, the other would find elegant ways to dissect and rebuild.

The students had caught on too. How could they not? They whispered about the apparent "Cold War" with hushed voices and ecstatic snickers, how Professor Violet could make the Ice Queen's jaw clench with a single well-placed comment. Some had even started taking both of your classes specifically to witness your heads butt.

Nevertheless, there had always been something else simmering beneath your endless sparring. Something in the way Vi's gaze lingered on you just a moment too long when she was making a point. Something in the way your pulse quickened when she leaned across the table to question your methodology. Something that made your carefully maintained composure feel like armour against an opponent who was far more dangerous than she appeared.

The breaking point had come two months ago during the annual research symposium. You had been presenting your latest findings when Vi, sitting in the front row with her arms crossed and that infuriatingly self-assured simper, had raised her hand during the Q&A session.

"Fascinating work as always, Professor," she had deceptively commended, her voice carrying clearly through the large hall. "However, I have to wonder if your focus on abstract models isn't missing the practical applications that could actually benefit the masses."

The question had been harmless enough on the surface, but you had caught the provocation in her tone, the way her eyes had sparkled with something that went beyond an appropriate amount of curiosity. Your response had been equally measured and equally loaded.

"I appreciate your concern, Professor Violet. Though I've always believed that strong conceptual foundations prevent the kind of… hasty implementations that can lead to flawed results."

The hall had gone eerily still, sensing the undercurrent of tension that had nothing to do with hypotheses. Vi's smile had sharpened, and for a moment, you had felt like prey being circled by a predator who was taking her time choosing the perfect moment to strike.

Afterwards, she had cornered you in the hallway outside, her presence making you acutely aware of how the other attendees were giving you both a wide berth.

"Hasty implementations?" she had repeated, amused, stepping close enough that you could smell her perfume. Something warm that made your stomach knot. "Is that really what you think of my work?"

You had forced yourself to not fold, though your heart had been racing in a way that had nothing to do with scholarly disagreement. "I think your work is passionate. Sometimes passion can cloud judgment."

"And sometimes," Vi had rebutted easily, her words low enough that only you could hear, "overthinking can prevent you from taking the risks that lead to real breakthroughs."

The moment had stretched between you, charged with implications that had you up at night for weeks. You had been saved from responding by a colleague's interruption, but the encounter had left you shaken in ways you hadn't been prepared to examine.

Since then, every interaction had carried that same foreign undercurrent. Curriculum debriefs where Vi's frequent comments about "loosening up" and "taking risks" seemed directed specifically at you. Hallway run-ins where her smooth confidence made your unfazed facade feel transparent. Late evenings in the library where you would find traces of her—a book left open to a page that contradicted your latest paper, notes scrawled in margins that seemed to taunt you even in her absence.

Everyone had started to notice the shift in your dynamic. Department Chair Heimerdinger had made suggestions about "productive collaboration" and recommended that you might benefit from working together on a joint project. The idea had sent a spike of panic through your chest.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Professor?" Vi's voice cut through your memories, dragging you back to the present.

You didn't look up from your papers immediately, taking a slow sip of your coffee before raising your eyes to meet hers. The sight of her leaning against the doorframe, all suave magnetism and knowing grin, made your blood surge in that familiar, intoxicating way.

"Some of us believe in detailed preparation, Professor Violet. Then again, I suppose your methods have their own uniqueness, hm?"

It was the same dance you had been performing for months, but tonight something felt different. You didn’t know how to explain it. Maybe it was the way the warm lamplight cast shadows that made the boring space feel intimate and tense with possibility.

Vi laughed, pushing herself away from the doorframe with that grace that always made you feel like you were being hunted. "Is that your way of saying you think I'm sloppy?"

"I wouldn't presume to comment on your methods," you shut her retort down, though your tone suggested you had plenty of thoughts on the matter. "I simply prefer structure."

"Structure," Vi echoed, settling into the chair across from you without invitation. The movement brought her into your personal bubble. An offensive strategy that felt deliberate. "Right. Is that why your students call you the Ice Queen?"

The nickname had a different impact when spoken in her alluring drawl, the muted golden glow sculpting her features in severity. For the first time, your composure flickered—just slightly; more than enough for Vi to catch the brief tightening around your eyes.

"I’m shocked that you pay such close attention to student gossip."

"Hard not to when they're constantly comparing us," Vi leaned back in her chair, studying you with an intensity that made your skin burn. "They seem to think we're total opposites."

"Aren't we?" your tone remained level, but the air between you had grown dense. Instances of constantly tiptoeing around each other seemed to crystallise in the gaps between your conversation.

The upward twitch of Vi’s lip was intentional, the expression of someone who had been waiting for exactly this opening. "Maybe. You're all cautious and guarded. I'm more..." she gestured vaguely at herself, "Straightforward.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “So, you’re calling me a pussy?”

That earns a perplexed bark of laughter from Vi, who now regards you with renewed interest. “I always believe I have the upper hand until you make an unexpected move like that. You keep surprising me, Professor.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘direct’.”

"Direct," you scoffed, finally closing your folder and giving Vi your full attention. This back-and-forth felt like crossing a line, like acknowledging that this had moved beyond regular courtesy. "Is that what we're calling it?"

She tilts her head, pleased, exposing the elegant line of her neck. 

God, you so badly wanted to run your teeth across her neck. 

"What would you call it?"

You found yourself scrutinising Vi's face in turn—the slight curl of her mouth that suggested she was always on the verge of saying something that would shatter your resolve.

"I'd call it reckless," you ultimately declare. You had lost some of your trademark steadiness.

Vi leaned forward, elbows on the table (you try not to drool over the bulging veins in her forearms, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up deliciously), closing the distance between you to make your breath catch. "And what's wrong with a little recklessness?"

You bristled at how Vi's proximity was doing things that you weren't entirely prepared for. The rational part of your mind catalogued all the reasons not to act on impulse—your career and your reputation, for starters. Both undoubtedly significant.

"Everything," you whispered, but it came out breathier than you wished.

"Really?" Vi's voice dropped lower and you realised she had orchestrated this entire setup. The late hour, the empty building, and the way she had positioned herself to make escape impossible without highlighting what was happening between you. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like all that structure and control that you speak so highly of might be... exhausting."

The observation hit too close to home, threatening the foundations of the persona you had spent years crafting. 

You had been attracted to Vi the second she entered your world. For a workaholic like you, however, you couldn’t dare imagine kindling anything with someone you worked with. Especially in your field.

You stiffened, your mask slipping. "I don't know what you're hinting at—"

"I'm not hinting at anything," Vi's hand moved across the table, her fingers just barely brushing against yours where they rested. This was the first time she had properly touched you since you had met each other. "I'm being direct, remember? I think behind all that collectedness, there's someone who wants to let go."

Her statement was a direct hit on every wall you had constructed to maintain your distance from the woman in front of you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you comprehended that Vi had been observing you. 

She had been reading the signs of strain that you thought you had hidden so thoroughly.

"You don't know anything about me," you managed.

"Don't I?" Vi's thumb traced across your knuckles. "Three years of watching you, competing with you, and trying to get under that perfect, gorgeous exterior of yours. I think I know more than you'd like to admit."

The admission sent heat racing through your veins. You were dizzy, head practically spinning under the weight of her confession.

"This is wrong," you muttered.

"Is it?" Vi's smirk made your core flip with anticipation and terror. "We're coworkers. Equals. Two adults having a talk."

"This isn't just talk," you hissed, mustering a feeble glare.

"No," Vi agreed, bringing your hand up to her lips and letting her tongue dart out to sinfully lick at your forefinger. "It's not."

The action made you shiver with the revelation that this moment could destroy everything you had worked for. But, as Vi sucked on your thumb languidly and her stare darkened, your superficial concerns seem suddenly unimportant.

"What do you want from me?" the question slipped out before you could stop it, vulnerable and raw.

Vi's smile shifted, releasing your thumb with a loud POP!, becoming something softer but no less eager. "I want to see what happens when the Ice Queen melts."

Despite yourself, you snort uncharacteristically. “That's so corny.”

She beams at the sound, resting her chin in her palm innocently. “Would you rather I tell you that I desperately want to fuck you?”

You were losing your grip on yourself, and for the first time in your meticulously engineered life, you didn’t want to stop it.

"Vi..." you started, unsure of how to continue.

She stood, her existence more overwhelming as she moved around the table. You tracked her movement, your chair swiveling to follow her path until she was directly in front of you and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

"The thing about being direct," Vi said, referring to your earlier remark, "is that it’s convenient. Efficient. It cuts through all the pretense."

Your hands gripped the arms of your chair, knuckles white with the effort of staying still when every instinct was screaming at you to flee. "I'm not toying with you," you mumbled.

"No?" Vi leaned down, effectively caging you in. She sounded almost… hurt, "All the time I’ve known you, you’ve pretended you don't feel this too."

She was only a few centimetres away from where you could see flecks of gold in her beautiful, blue eyes. "Feel what?" 

Her shaky exhale was answer enough, but she inched forward anyway, her lips almost brushing your own as she spoke. "The same thing I feel every time we're in the same room. The same thing that's been driving this showdown between us from the very beginning."

Your eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of her breath against your skin, your entire being thrumming with an energy you'd been trying to suppress for far too long. She had noticed. Of course she had noticed. Vi never missed anything.

"This can't happen," you choked out. You sounded unconvincing even to your own ears.

"Give me one good reason why not."

You opened your mouth to respond, to list why this would be career suicide for both of you. But looking at Vi, you found yourself speechless.

Your brows furrowed as you discerned you were at a crossroads. Every rational part of your mind was screaming warnings, yet your body was curving into her despite your best efforts to do the opposite.

"I—" 

Vi's hand moved to cup your cheek, her fingers tracing patterns with devastating gentleness.

"Tell me to stop," she murmured, her voice rough with barely contained desire. "Tell me to walk away and we'll pretend this never happened. We'll go back to our professional rivalry and I'll never bring this up again."

The offer should have been a relief. It should have been what you needed to hear to restore your sanity. 

Be that as it may…

You didn't want to pretend. You didn't want to go back to how things used to be. 

You craved her. 

"Vi." This time, her name was akin to a prayer. Her pupils dilated as she registered the complete capitulation in your voice. "That's not telling me to stop," she inquired.

You were past the point of no return now. "I know," you whispered back, your reply dripping with want.

Vi's other hand came up to frame your face, her grip firm and possessive in a way that made your thighs squeeze together. "Do you have any idea," she spoke, brushing your lower lip, "how many times I've imagined this? How many meetings I've sat through, watching your mouth form those brilliant responses, wondering what sounds you'd make if I could just drag you to my private office and bend you over my desk. Make you feel so, so good."

She let the sentence hang between you like a live wire, but her thumb pressed slightly against your lip. You found yourself parting them instinctively to mimic her from before, the tease drawing a sharp intake of breath from Vi that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

"So long," she continued, "I’ve spent so long watching you be untouchable. Unreachable." Her hold tightened slightly, and you felt completely at her mercy. "Do you know what it does to someone like me?"

"Someone like you?" you ask, though speaking felt impossible.

"Someone who wants to make you come over and over again."

Good lord.

You were trembling, your calm shattered by nothing more than Vi’s mere honesty.

Her chuckle was husky, "Haven't even gotten started, baby. Haven't even seen what happens when I really try to make you lose control."

"Fuck, this is dangerous," you nearly whined, your last attempt to hold onto some semblance of dignity.

"I know," Vi agreed, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she pressed herself closer until you could feel the exhilarating pressure of her chest against yours. "The question is, how many fingers it’ll take before you’re begging me to ruin you?"

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Simply closed your eyes and nudged your nose against hers, a surrender so complete it left you breathless.

Vi's response was instant and devastating. "Good girl," she groaned against your lips, the words a reward and a promise that made your entire world narrow to this precipice you were about to fall from together.

[ranuel]

The practical application of this trick is treating amputees with phantom pain. Pretty cool!

this is insaaaane, our brains are so fucking weird

[merkabatraindepot]

Cold Islanders/Shvuumh

An introductory primer to a new birg culture under the cut. Project done in collaboration with @iguanodont

Across the lashing grey waves of the Messenian strait, and south of the great equatorial ice belt lies a land once thought as little more than myth. Suhurmv vi Hmascah, or as it is known by people of the West, The Cold Islands. Despite the name of the archipelago, the Islands are just as affected by Hyperborea's extreme seasonality as the rest of the planet.

Inland temperatures during summer on larger Islands will often soar to 45C°, while winter temperatures plunge to -64C°. The fauna, and flora (inso much as such terms are applicable, on Hyperborea Adult Sedentary vs Adult Motile are more useful) native to the archipelago are adapted to these extremes. Currents flowing from the ice belts in conjunction with warmer waters from the East keep oceanic temperatures in a range from 12C° to 5C°. The nutrient rich upwellings mean the waters surrounding the Islands are particularly fertile, and home to some of Hyperborea's largest marine life. Inland likewise represents high endemism, the rugged topography somewhat reminiscent of Earth's Aotearoa- including several large flightless distant relatives of the velocifalcons. In the mind of outsiders The Cold Islands are, perhaps not undeservedly, a Burroughsesque primordial lost world.

(Rest of entry under cut)

Suhurmv vi Hmascah is not a land without people. Indeed, the largest island of Ksmah susc (lit; Honored Sma's toe bones) supports a population of almost five million across seventeen distinct polities, and over sixty spoken languages. As a people, every Shvuumh culture has ties to the sea, being the only region on Hyperborea to successfully domesticated fully semiaquatic predators as a kind of damp hunting hound. The attached image of a Shvihiim canoe depicts the less glamorous above water aspects of a hunt.

The Shvuumh (Most common blanket term for the Cold Islanders, taken from the Susmahk language word for "people". All Northwestern Ksmah group languages use a derivative of a common root for this word) are generally considered the most isolated population of on Hyperborea. Historically this had them interpreted as almost mythical, a race of sea wizards during the early days of infrequent Ss'wassoum contacts. Modern science has confirmed their isolation, if provided no clarification on their collective wizarding capacity. Shvuumh are characterized by several cold resistant adaptations found in no other Hyperborean people, including ice belt nomads. Their peleage is dense, but the outer layers rapidly detach in summer heat. Similarly, their facial ruffs are famously expansive. The only true beards on the planet, and are styled a dizzying number of ways. They also exhibit extensive feathering on their limbs, though during the warm season this is often trimmed to fit inside traditionally leather leggings. Their physical colors tend towards paleness, with some piebaldism present in specific ethnicities.

Perhaps the most interesting trait found in indigenous islanders is their incredible internal filtration system. The Cold Islands are the site of Hyperborea's longest ongoing chemical arms race. Nearly every native plant being minimally unpalatable to outsiders, to abjectly toxic. Perhaps curiously, this has also resulted in a society for which hard narcotics are roughly as damaging as tea or coffee in their preferred dosages. Most Twowi heartland street drugs (especially dream stings) would be metabolized by a Shvuumh before any effects set in. Conversely a mild smoke on the Cold Islands would have the most hardened Ss'wassoum glimmerbeak fiend convulsing on the ground within a single hit.

All peoples of the islands practice aquaculture to an exceptionally sophisticated degree, though only cultures on the larger islands have a dedicated land based agricultural system. These land crops are the result of independent plant domestication disconnected from any other agrarian development. Some can be seen in the above illustration, such as the tuberous looking kskhid, which has both rhizome and leaf focused cultivars. Several cultures on the main island are also seminomadic pastoralists who migrate seasonally from different villages (see Kikram long house for the most common form of multi-family summer home) who graze a mixture of indigenous livestock mixed in with introduced animals from both East and West. Shvuumh notably lack the sex segregation which is the norm for most of their world's cultures. Rather large fusional family groups work with almost no separation of roles beyond some ritual acts in various religious events. Even in the more Sedentary cultures, the notion of a gifter or receiver exclusive town is bizarre to say the least- that would be akin to only using one specific color of feathervane log to build a long house.

It is generally believed the ancestors of the Shvuumh arrived to their homeland via island hopping roughly 45k years ago during an unusual warm era (out of the normal long cycle). Their ancestors were from a Southwestern population referred to as Paleo-Masakkid people, who left no genetic trace on any modern ethnicity of the Eastern Continent. For roughly half of their history, they have hugged the coasts, only establishing static inland populations approximately 10k years ago (based off of archeological evidence). Their histories and diversity have been vast, and only began contacting the outside world some 700 years before the present day with global current shifts allowed for outside sailors to visit them.

By 300 years ago, these interactions increased. Some even resulting in interested Shvuumh spending years away from home as itinerate specialists, or in more sinister cases victims of the slave trade akin to the scourge of Pacific blackbirding. 200 years ago, the spectre of colonialism began to rear is head over Suhurmv vi Hmascah. Suddenly every nascent empire found itself interested in a land full of mineral wealth, virgin forests, and valuable botanicals populated by a people without firearms. In most cases, this would mark the beginning of a tragedy- the first act in a sordid drama of subjugation and genocide.

Curiously, it was drugs which saved the day. The very same compounds which attracted attention to their home also gave the Shvuumh an incredible collective bargaining chip against invaders, as early exports of what were to the islanders mild stimulants resulted in an explosion of addicts. This massive demand combined with invaluable pharmaceuticals have safeguarded Suhurmv vi Hmascah from being truly invaded beyond a handful of port towns. Well, that and the fact that it would take roughly fifteen minutes to poison the entire food supply of colonial armies with crushed leaves. Or just leave them alone for the high summer biting gnat swarms. Truly, living in what most of Hyperborea considers a hell has worked out wonderfully for the Shvuumh.

-Excerpt from Bulakul's Reference Encyclopedia of Extraterrestrial Cultures, 20 year anniversary edition, volume three

[mayajadeart]

Fucking, thank god for grad students. Grad students are truly the GOAT of science. A lot of scientific research is limited by what kinds of research can produce results that might be profitable for businesses, including the journals that publish that research in the first place. But grad students? They're not trying to make money for anyone, they're trying to prove themselves as scientists before entering the professional world. The only thing a master's or doctorate thesis is supposed to do is prove to your university that you have mastered your craft and are capable of producing research that meets the standards of the scientific community. The only job that a graduate student has when producing that thesis is to do good research that has never been done before. They're just about the only scientists whose sole prerogative is to look where no one else has looked to answer questions that no one else has, possibly because no one else has even asked them yet, and to compile their results, whatever they are, for the pure sake of knowledge itself.

I'm not a scientist, I'm just someone who does scientific research in my free time because I'm deranged enough to think it's genuinely fun, and because a lot of the art I do is scientifically informed. But because I'm doing this research for art rather than a more "practical" application, a lot of the times the reasons why I want to know something are completely different from the reasons why these topics are actually studied. I don't want to know how to create synthetic equivalents of Feline Facial Pheromone F3, whose function we already know, in order to reduce stress and prevent undesirable behavior in pet cats in new homes and vet clinics, I want an analysis of the components that make up Feline Facial Pheromones F1 and F5, whose functions we don't know, in order to start building hypotheses about what those functions might be, so that I can figure out how catgirls would perceive these pheromones and theorize how they might talk about them in their native languages. But nobody's gonna pay me to do that, are they?

And let me tell you, sometimes the only people who seem interested in the kinds of bizarre and esoteric questions that an artist like me will have are grad students publishing theses. I still haven't found anyone trying to figure out what FFP F1 or F5 are used for, but I have found:

A full, comprehensive description of the complete phonology and grammar of the Lushootseed language and its dialects, spoken by several Coast Salish tribes of the Puget Sound region, published by Ted Kye in 2023 for his doctoral thesis at the University of Washington. Lushootseed is the source of many words from the region, including hugely important place names like Snoqualmie, Muckleshoot, Puyallup, Snohomish, Sammamish, Duwamish, Mukilteo, Shilshole, and of course, Seattle, but the language itself is extinct, with its last native speaker, Vi Hilbert, dying in 2008. There are, however, efforts to revive the language, and that would be significantly more difficult without Ted Kye's work. I think we can all see why this kind of thing is valuable.

And, this second one is a bit more esoteric but hear me out:

The discovery that a popular ornamental aquarium fish might actually have been sequentially hermaphroditic this whole time, which was practically a footnote in a 2016 thesis by Lia Gomes and Silva Henriques from the University of Porto, in Portugal. The fish in question is the red-tailed shark, Epalzeorhynchos bicolor, which is not an actual shark, but a member of the carp family that just happens to look like a shark, and two very important things to note about it are that it is critically endangered in the wild, and in fact was thought to be totally extinct in the wild until one was found in 2014, and that they are also practically impossible to breed in captivity. The primary threat to the species is considered to be habitat destruction. The quite substantial supply of this species in the pet trade today all come from fish farms in Southeast Asia, which use hormones to induce reproduction in the species, through processes that are kept as trade secrets and are essentially unknown to the scientific community. So, we have literally no idea how this fish breeds, which means that hobbyists can't breed it themselves, and scientists don't know what conditions they even need in order to breed in the wild. This one paper, written by students in Portugal who attempted to induce gonadal maturation in the species using hormone injections, is perhaps one of the only clues we have on the path to saving this species, and it hints at a conclusion that could have HUGE implications for the husbandry, captive breeding, and survival in the wild of the red-tailed shark: all of the individuals that were dissected without having undergone hormone injections were immature females, and immature males only started appearing in groups that had been injected, suggesting that all individuals of the species might start out as females, and then at some point in their development, certain individuals, for unknown reasons, may develop into males instead, making them sequential hermaphrodites. This isn't unknown in fish (clownfish do something similar, except they all start out as males and become female when they achieve dominance in their social group), but it was completely unexpected in this species, and could go a long way in starting to explain the difficulties with breeding them and potentially be a step on the path to learning how to breed them in captivity, as well as saving them in the wild.

Unfortunately, in the latter case, I wasn't able to find any other published work by either of the listed authors, and no one else seems to have repeated the experiment. This is a real shame, because the results of the experiments, while very intriguing, weren't conclusive; they had a fairly low sample size, and would need to be confirmed by further research. But there's no indication of that research being done, and I might be the only one other than the university's board of reviewers who's even read the thing.

All this is to say, fish testicles are interesting and I'm begging someone to do more research on them, please.

[kkangje]

I see your silence — Bakugou x deaf!reader

SYNOPSIS ;

Bakugou Katsuki was - is, loud. His voice could be very well be distinguished in every corner he’s in. The only voice you could never miss, the only voice you’d never want to miss.

Seasons will change, leaves will fall — but the heart will wander, in every place until it settles rightfully. Lucky for him, his heart found spring in yours, as winter in his.

Pairing : Bakugou Katsuki xdeaf!reader

Status : ongoing — series — slow updates

Genre/warning : slowburn — (really slowburn like wtf) — a lot of cussing — reader has inferiority complex bcoz of her quirk — friends to best friends to close friends to kinda lovers — maybe an inaccurate depiction of deaf ppl? i tried my best but pls dont hesitate to correct me LOL — written on a whim.

You’ve seen more than you’ve heard.

You could have, should have, but you didn’t. Not when your quirk came with a huge catch. Barely being able to hear. A debt you’ve paid before you even knew what to pay — an eye for an eye.

But you’ve learned to be at peace with it. You had a quirk that could literally save people’s lives. You couldn’t be sad with it. Everyone — almost everyone expected you to go to Yūei. A powerful…helpful quirk along with above average grades? That would make-do as a typical middle ranged pro-no-show hero. You could almost hear (pun intended) how condescending Bakugou Katsuki’s tone was through your hearing aid.

Bakugou Katsuki was a weird one kid, a cocky, overly confident, bonafide blueprint of the symbol of peace. You knew all to well how loud he was based on the vibrations you’d get everytime he’d open his pipehole — and according to your friends, it was always about how he was the best candidate for the top spot.

Big shot, you supposed the first time you saw him. When highschool applications came in, nobody was shocked that he’d try to apply to Yūei aside from his minions. But to Izuku Midoriya? Yeah, consider that a comedic opportunity.

Izuku Midoriya was even worse than Katsuki Bakugou. A nitwit who dreamt too loud, too bright, you knew that he had no shot in the big league, he’d just end up disappointed. But of course, you’d never say that to him. Not when he was the only person to ever actually wanted to know about your quirk — beyond the fact that you couldn’t hear sounds, but see them.

When the teacher found out you were applying for another school besides Yūei, the classroom went silent. Your skin felt bare when you couldn’t feel the slight vibrations of their laughs and chatter, but you fiddled with your skin anyways.

“Really? I thought you’d do more than that.” The teacher sighed, and so did you. You oh so badly wanted to turn off your hearing aids, but that would be ignorant and probably a bit disrespectful.

“Ha?! Yūei would never accept her! Not like she’d be able to hear villains creeping up behind her pathetic self anyways!”

That was the last time you saw Bakugou.

You lined up for the train station, your hands practically freezing from the crisp of Japan’s weather. The neon-lit “delayed” plastered on the board taunted you, the train being late 20 minutes already. Apparently, a petty villain tried to push an old person off a moving train — stupid old woman, stupid villain.

You could feel the annoyed murmur of the people filling up the air. You sighed, knowing you’d get home later than usual. Among all the annoyed chatters from the crowd, one exasperated voice stood out. One that you knew too well.

“Might as well kill that damn geezer.”

There stood Bakugou Katsuki, in the flesh. His uniform — very clearly from Yūei was the first to catch your eyes. His maroon red scarf did a great job hiding his imminent frown, which seemed like a permanent scar on his face. His hair was the same, maybe a bit more lengthy than before but oh well, never was the type of person to stare too long at someone. He was a few feet besides you, a rush of people were walking to and from each point but it was hard to take your gaze off his golden hair.

Bakugou Katsuki could sense that someone was staring at him from top to bottom, he knew that same old feeling of someone gazing at him from pure admiration. So when he snapped his neck to your direction, no amount of skin-crippling explosion could ever prepare him for when he saw you.

You were definitely much more taller than before, hair was much more…longer or shorter? He wasn’t sure, you’d always had the same hairstyle back then. Your uniform looked typical, the earmuffs and jacket perfectly encasing your body. You’ve definitely changed, but your eyes still held the same look of curiosity and…something that he couldn’t pinpoint. He knew this feeling would come everytime someone scored two points higher than him, bested him in a game of Mario Kart, or even when he felt like he was always a step behind.

Envy? Was it? He didn’t even enough time before you approached him, staring at him from the side. “Nice to see you here too.” The first thing you mumbled.

His empty gape immediately transmuted into a frown. Ah, yes, there it is. You internally thought. “Its a train station dumbass. You’d see anyone here.” He mumbled, barely being audible enough for you to actually comprehend. But you still could read lips, and his expression was enough to tell you that he’d been waiting for the train as long as you have.

“I like your uniforms. Yūei has a nice sense of style.” He raised a brow at this, huffing and rolling his eyes. “Yeah.” His reply was short and stiff — expected of him. You knew what his weak point was, you bit your life to stifle a chuckle but from the way he looked at you, you knew that he saw through. “Hell you laughing at?!” His voice was loud enough to garner s fee attentions from the people around you, who rightfully so, stepped a few feet back from him.

“I heard Midoriya got into Yūei. Same course as you too.”

His expression faltered from a frown, to a face that could have been mistaken as a raging bull. Bingo. You were just as shocked as your neighborhood was when you found out through social media that he got into Yūei. Bakugou’s angry reaction picture definitely caught you off guard, never knew he was that petty. When Bakugou gave no response, you knew you had to probe further in. “Man, if he got in, does that mean he actually has a chance to beat you?”

He went red.

“HE HAS NO CHANCE! You actually think he could EVER stand in the same league as me? NO WAY! Get your pebbles out of your brain before I actually bash your head and do it myself!” You could feel the volume of his voice tickle at the nape of your neck, alongside the steam that might as well have been coming out of his ears. Your body shook from your extreme efforts to keep your laugh in, despite knowing that the people in the station definitely kept their distance from the two of you now.

“You’re so easy to set off, Bakugou.”

“Shut your damn mouth.” He threatened, but the threat felt light and almost like a taunt. “Talk to me after you actually got into a decent school.” He barked, supposedly a light jab — but you couldn’t feel but take it a bit too personal. Yūei was the dream, it was supposed to be your alma mater, the color and title on your diploma. You knew that with your quirk, it would be easy to make it to the top, to be like Icarus — except you wouldn’t fall, you’d shine with the sun. But you didn’t.

It felt wrong, so so so wrong that you were only deemed powerful because of what you lacked in. Your hearing being impaired, and your quirk felt like a consolation price. Almost like a blue ribbon, except that blue ribbon was a title for how most people treated you. You didn’t feel deserving of being an actual student of Yūei, you didn’t belong with people who could actual deal with citizens. You didn’t belong with people whom their strengths made them who they were, in contrast to you who was only known for being deaf.

Guilt nibbled down at your heart everytime someone would tell you that you’d make a great hero. Almost like they had to say it because…what else would you be? A crippled who’s going to be babied by everyone? You’d rather kill yourself. When you applied for Ketsubutsu Academy, the congratulations on the screen felt like an assurance. You wouldn’t be able to reach the top, but at least you could still be considered worthy enough to attend a school secondary only to Yūei. That was fine with you, it was fine.

Almost fine, that it didn’t settle right with Bakugou. With a quirk that could help millions of people, why wouldn’t you have applied at Yūei? He’d never admit it, but he couldn’t deny that you’d be a perfect fit in class 1-A. Even as a professional asshole — he knew that telling you that your potential was wasted was a bit harsh.

Your silence seemed like his joke actually went a bit too far, but he’d never try to fix that. I mean — was he wrong? You shook your head, biting at the insides of your cheek. “Don’t act so high and mighty because Yūei accepted you. Remember, that quirkless mutt is in the same classroom as you.” Your tone was laced with venom, which almost made it feel like you were somewhat being serious. Your eyes squinted at him for a second, before turning back to stare at the scene in front of you.

“He’s not quirkless.”

Your eyes widened by a fraction, brows lightly lifting before settling down. “What?” You incredulously laughed. “No way, forreal?”

“Ugh, do I have to repeat myself over and over again?! Being deaf doesn’t make you useless.”

You giggled, in which he couldn’t help but notice how your laugh seemed to scratch his brain in the right way. “Dude, shut up! No way he actually hid his quirk for years because of your loud ass.” You sneered at him, finding absolute entertainment with how he reacted. “I mean, can you even — how?!”

“SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH YOU EXTRA!” He held his hand out to you, noticing how he curled it so that he would seem like he was willing to strangle you. You continued to cackle, finding absolute fun in Midoriya’s current situation. “Man, I wish I could’ve seen your face! I-I mean, you’ve been friends with him for half of your damn life!” You chuckled in between, before composing yourself and coughing to let out the last few laughs. “How did you NOT know?”

“Shut. Your. Damn. Mouth. I’ll strangle the fuck out of you.” His tone was dangerously low, his eyes burning of pure fury and hatred. “I wish you were in Yūei. Just so I’d have an actual field day beating you into a pulp.” His threat meant to harm, almost for the comedic purpose and to actually keep the conversation going, but he kept bringing Yūei and you…up. It was almost as if he was trying to milk an answer out of you without seeming too invested. Maybe, or you’d become way more of an assumer than before. “Too bad, live with it.” You leaned your head closer to his, jabbing him at the sides with your elbow, retorting back, and silence followed in after that.

Rightfully so, the extreme quivering of the ground and the sound waves became overwhelming, a sign that the train had finally arrived. You whistled lowly, the train making a slow stop in front of you. “Well, theres our train. Let’s go?” You offered up, finally looking at him. “That’s YOUR train. Don’t get our address mixed up. That’s insulting.” He grumbled, his hands unconscious running through his hair. You shrugged, walking towards the train. He watched you walk, until you made an abrupt stop.

“You look … so much better in your winter uniform, by the way.” And with that, you immediately ran for the gates before it timely closed.

He could feel the burn creeping up at his neck, doing a better job than his scarf on heating him up. “The hell…?” He couldn’t miss how your eyes seemed to glisten more than usual before, how you talked more than usual, and treated him like an actual person — and not a ticking time bomb. (even if he was.) He felt his palms go sweaty, at the thought that you actually found him “attractive”, whatever “looking better” meant.

And yeah, while he would never admit that he did find you attractive in a way — a way where the longer he stared, your beauty became more appalling, or when you spoke with utmost articulation — where he actually felt like he was having a normal conversation with a friend.

Were you guys even friends?

And yeah, you’d never actually admit you found him quite cute, like a really really feral chihuahua — adorable but dangerous. You smiled in your seat, squeezing your backpack a little bit tighter at the thought. You’d never admit to him how you felt your heart melt a little when he actually treated you like an actual person — not a fragile mosaic glass who could break just by being stared at. It was the first time someone actually insulted you, not to be mean but because that was how they acted — because you were treated like someone.

Even as the scenery changed, your smile never faltered. Deep inside, you were slightly hoping that you’d see him again in the same station.

And even if he was denying it, he was hoping he’d see you again soon.

Even if it meant delaying the train by a few minutes or more.

@ 2025 kkangje ; the characters I write for are NOT mine. Refrain from stealing my work.

[weaselle]

oh for sure!

i always ask if i can post people's pets, and i never take pictures of them at their home (or any less than a mile from their homes, really, as i always take pics of dogs during the 3 mile walk after they've had time to settle down a bit) and i never include pics that show any tags on the collar with lost and found information like phone numbers. And i'm wary of background stuff like license plates, street addresses, and landmarks - tho there's a limit to what you can reliably do about competent (soon to be AI assisted) geo guessing

A form is a good idea, so far i've just been making sure to get their permission via text so there is a written and dated record of it held by a third party.

lol, that kind of thing is the part of the social media equation i'm best at, actually, since i am to begin with a very private and suspicious person, and also Tumblr is my preferred social media site and we have a culture of being super cagey with identifying information here. No irl pfp plus home address and where we work in our bios! almost nobody here even knows my first name.

And people give me the keys to their home and let me come in when they are not there. Protecting my clients' privacy is something that IS directly applicable to my business, a skill i am practiced at and fully expect to have to contend with to be successful. Working in hotels that movie stars sometimes stayed in was great professional exposure to what that can look like.

now learning how to edit short form video content... navigating the AI and elderly conspiracy nuts of facebook or the racist karens of nextdoor ... having to learn how to take good pictures even tho tbh i have almost zero interest in learning to take good pictures and it has nothing to do with dog walking.... getting the instagram algorithm to like my shit.... These are the kinds of things that are going to test the hell out of me.

Because why do i have to be good at sucking social media's dick to be able to walk dogs? I shouldn't have to also be a successful content creator.

But i sat with someone who used to be a client before i quit and went into business for myself. I've been unable to get as many clients as i need to by this point, so i asked if she could spare a little advice, and she gave me a full professional hour with her for free because she and her dogs love me - and her whole job is small business marketing. She basically told me i was doing all the right analog stuff but it wasn't going to really work unless i got very good on at least two of these sites, preferably more.

And i get it, that's the world we live in, and i'll find a way to make it an adventure where i can, but it does kind of suck because "successful content creator" is a whole separate (and challenging!) job i apparently have to do, when my plate is pretty full with my actual business and i already had to make a website and learn accounting, y'know?

That's what i was responding to, OP's declaration that being good at social media shouldn't be a requirement for personal success.

i see how it could be a great tool for personal success, but don't like how it is with the company/money controlled entities that dominate the social media space at the moment. Yet i have to play their dumb game or fail.

Because, like, social media builds are the current popular meta for irl small businesses.

Maybe being good at social media should not be the main qualifier for all creative work

[howtodisappear444]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄?

thunderbolts* fanfic! (bob reynolds x oc)

🥧 ˖ . ݁₊💌 ˖ . ݁₊⚡️

| summary: Mara De Fontaine was the first test subject for Project Sentry. After unknowingly being scrapped from the program, she soon wakes up in the Red Room with little to no idea as to how she got there in the first place. She began questioning her mother’s motive, finding herself on a journey to understand why the project failed, or if it ever really did.

| author’s note: hi loves!! (first and foremost) I haven’t written a fanfic in over year so I’m a little nervous about posting this loll BUT I do hope you give Mara and Bob’s story a chance. as of current I do not have a writing schedule since I’m still playing around with the plot itself.

all credits to marvel and their own characters! this story will CONTAIN mature contexts and topics—I’ll always put a warning before every chapter begins.

english isn’t my first language so apologies for any future errors. I hope you enjoy reading Mara and Bob’s story just as I do writing it :)

| don’t HESITATE to comment/leave suggestions I’d love to hear your thoughts!

for now here’s a little preview/prologue to What Are We?

| creds to @houseofaegon for these moodboards! 💝

but all my life I’ve been looking for this

it seems fitting that things go to hell

now that I’ve found it…

- lizzy mcalpine

“there it is again, that funny feeling”

00 | prologue

IF there's one thing Mara is so sure of, she isn't her mother. Valentina, who feeds on greed, power, and anger, so much anger misplaced towards her daughter.

   Fighting was something Mara had become accustomed to growing up. Shouting echoed, rocking back and forth around the walls like a routine. She grew up with the idea that it's normal for parents to raise their voices at each other.

  

   It didn't come as a surprise when her parents got divorced. The signs were overwhelmingly obvious, and Mara knew they'd eventually reach that stage of their relationship.

 

   What she wasn't expecting was feeling something she had resented never to feel and practice—anger. It felt like a sin, so tempting to repeat over and over again.

  

   Mara's father, Everett Ross, entails rather a different story. He supported her dreams and tended to her childhood nightmares, soothing Mara with stories that filled her belly with happiness.

  

   Everett was always present at his daughter's school activities or performances. Never missing out on fear, he won't be there to watch Mara grow up as he grows old.

  

   Except that stopped eventually, sooner than he anticipated—parting ways from Valentina, who filed for the divorce. Since then, he hasn't been able to reach his daughter or Valentina.

—

   SENIOR year of high school came relatively quickly for Mara. College applications were submitted from left to right, majoring in Law, she hopes to get into Yale.

   She dreaded high school. Mara often sat in the library reading or writing to pass the time during lunch breaks. If she's not busy with her hobbies, you'd find her comfortably enjoying a bucket of popcorn in the movie theaters.

   Her love for films was something she got from her father. Mara had tried to get a hold of Everett a million times, but it's as if he didn't exist.

   Nonetheless, she continued to excel in all her classes. Never missing a day of school unless a new movie or a book she's been anticipating releases.

   Mara sat in bed every night, staying up late learning and researching Yale's Law Program. Although the results don't come until Friday, her gut tells her she got in. She has to.

  

   Of course, Valentina had other plans for her daughter. After coming home from work one night, her eyes held a mischievous look upon seeing a blue envelope sitting vulnerably on a wooden table.

   Opening the letter ahead, bold letters appeared proudly granting Mara De Fontaine a full ride based on her academic achievements.

   Valentina scanned the letter once again before denying the offer herself.

—

   A cold Friday morning greeted Mara as she woke up. She has never felt so anxious and excited at once, as the results can come in any minute now.

   Mutterings of "I got in!" from her classmates danced around her throughout the day, making her restless as she waited for her lunch break.

   And so the hour came, as usual, she sat comfortably in the library. Mara typically reached for her current read or journal to write, but she couldn't contain her excitement; instead, she reached for her laptop.

   "We're deeply saddened to hear you deny your acceptance and won't attend this year's law program. We wish you nothing but the best, and we hope to hear from you again in the future.

Sincerely,

Yale's Law Admissions."

—

   "OH, there you are, Mara! You're just in time. I made dinner reservations for us, and we're heading out in a few minutes. Remember to smile and be polite, cameras could be everywhere."

   "Why?"

   "Why what?" Valentina replied cluelessly.

   Mara's voice softened yet laced with pain,"Why did you do it, Mom?"

  

   Valentina scoffed, "You're accusing me of something I don't know about Mara. How can I do something without ever knowing what it is in the first place?"

   "You denied Yale's offer. You went behind my back, knowing I got accepted. God, I was so close to leaving this place, and here you are again, holding my life back, it's like I have this leash around my neck and it's suffocating."

   "Oh, that." Valentina now stands face to face with her daughter. "You're going to become a lawyer, then what? You kept refusing to be a part of my O.X.E organization, so I denied their offer because you can be more than that, Mara. You can be powerful. A hero. Save the world shenanigans."

   "What if I just want to be Mara? Has the thought ever crossed your mind? I don't want to save a world that has failed me long enough. And if this you advertising for your Sentry Project, you've gone insane."

   "Don't be stupid, Mara. I may not love you, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you—."

   "If becoming the first test subject for your new project will make you love me, I'll do it. If sacrificing myself will equate to you showing just an ounce of love for me, I'll do it, Mom."

   Valentina's face shows no reaction. Only a subtle nod and a taint smirk appeared. If you're observant enough, you'll be able to notice it.

   "Sure. You can be the first test subject, Mara." She replied with no hesitation.

   "Will you finally love me after this is over?" Mara remained hopeful to a figure who holds no hope for this relationship to work.

   Her mother didn't provide a verbal answer. Instead, she kissed her forehead–giving Mara a glimpse of what it's like to feel wanted or perhaps love, before exiting the living room.

   If Mara is sure of one thing–she is her mother. She's becoming the figure she resented growing up. Returning to an old sin, she was sure she had cleansed and prayed for to go away.

   Feeding on anger may not be such a bad thing after all. Mara pondered over this idea quietly. Standing in the same living room, where she had promised as a child to never let it consume her.

if you’re reading this, thank you for taking the time to read my story. it means a LOT to me.

much love, mari ! 💋🦢

[goyardgoyangi]

𐙚 bad habit pt. 1 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⌗ pairings: ino takuma x reader, slight! choso x reader

⌗ summary: you met in your first computer science course— not because either of you were brilliant, but because you were both bombed the first quiz and were too stubborn to quit. he’s the guy you kept bumping into at the campus convenience store at 1AM and a habit of muttering “chat, we’re so cooked” under his breath during quizzes. you? you just wanted to pass. and maybe cry in peace. you study together now— a little too often, a little too late. he makes fun of your variable names. you wear his hoodie during all-nighters. and no one says it out loud, but maybe friends who suffer through CS together… fall for each other a little, too.

⌗ word count: 1.8k

♥ pt. 2 ♥ masterlist ♥

You thought getting into the computer science major would be the hardest part.

Beating out a 71% application rate had to mean something.

Surviving weed-out courses, crafting a personal statement that didn’t make you sound like every other overachiever who taught their grandparent how to restart a computer— that was supposed to be your final boss.

Wrong.

Apparently, the game’s just beginning.

Because it’s Week 1 and there’s already a test. Not even a quiz, a full-blown exam worth 15% of your grade.

Not a quiz. A test. The syllabus had said something vague about "assessment checkpoints," but you hadn't realized they'd be checking if you were built for this within the first five days of class.

The professor just breezes through the rest of the syllabus like it’s Terms and Conditions, casually mentioning that attendance points will also be cumulative and mandatory.

Like it was a fun little bonus. Like it wasn’t about to completely derail your mental health.

You are, in every definition of the word, cooked.

Especially since you, in your infinite optimism, decided to skip linear algebra and now he’s name-dropping matrix multiplication like you’re all old friends.

Which, sure, is a prereq— but you thought you could squeeze it in next quarter. Because you thought, “How bad could it be?”

So now you're here, sitting in the second row with your laptop open, staring blankly at the slides you’ve written meticulous notes about, trying to decode phrases like "eigenvector interpretation" while suppressing the urge to scream.

Long story short: you’re fucked.

But you can’t drop. Not when you clawed your way in. Not when you’ve already fantasized about the stupid little LinkedIn post you'll write when you graduate.

You wanted this. This major, this future— you chose it. So now you get to suffer for it.

So instead of clicking “Unenroll,” you find yourself at the campus convenience store at 12:03AM, hoping a Celsius will give you the will to survive reviewing the sheer number of questions you got wrong on that first quiz.

You don’t expect anyone else to be there this late, except maybe the sad grad students.

But while you’re squinting at the flavors, someone rounds the corner of the aisle. There’s the low rumble of skateboard wheels and the crinkle of plastic as he picks up a Red Bull. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a worn black hoodie and plaid pajama pants like it’s a uniform. And he's—

He’s cute.

Boyish, really. His hair’s a little messy, his under-eye bags dramatic and kind of adorable, and you can’t help but admire how youthful he looks for someone also up past midnight.

You’re not in the mood to crush, not when you’re running on 3 hours of sleep and academic shame, but… God. His eye bags are really cute.

You try not to stare.

You also try not to fall asleep standing up, but your body is fighting you on all fronts. When you move toward the counter to check out, your foot catches on the edge of the aisle carpet.

You stumble forward.

And suddenly, someone’s hand is on your elbow— steady, warm. Holding you up.

You meet his gaze, honey brown eyes, amused and warm.

"Be careful, yeah?"

You mumble a thanks and practically flee to the self-checkout, embarrassed beyond belief. You don’t look back.

The next day, you drag yourself to your professor’s office hours. You’re so tired your vision blurs a little. You’d spent the whole night trying to understand where you went wrong— how you could have possibly missed that many questions on the quiz.

You’re five minutes early. The office is quiet except for the hum of a desk fan. There’s someone already there.

You freeze.

It’s him.

Red Bull guy. Skateboard guy. “Be careful” guy.

He’s sitting across from the professor, leaning over the desk with a notebook open and pen in hand, looking deeply focused. His hoodie’s different today, but just as lived-in.

How the hell did you not notice him in class?

You convince yourself he must be from a different section. You would’ve noticed someone like that, right? The bone structure? You definitely would’ve noticed.

You also assume he’s a TA or grader or something. He just looks so comfortable in here, like he knows what he’s doing. Probably here to help debug someone's recursion disaster.

Until—

“I just don’t get how I got the lowest score,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, I thought I did alright, but when I checked Canvas it said 35 out of 100. That’s... beyond terrible.”

Your jaw drops.

Thirty-five?

You’re not even sure if that’s comforting or depressing, and nearly choke on your own breath.

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry.

On one hand: thank God you’re not the only one struggling. On the other: there’s someone who actually did worse than you

You take a hesitant seat next to him. His gaze flicks toward you.

It takes a second, but he recognizes you too. “Yo,” he says, like you didn’t almost faceplant in front of him nine hours ago.

You blink. “Hi.”

And just like that, you’re no longer alone in your academic downfall.

Because after office hours, just as you’re packing up your laptop with a sense of mild defeat, Ino clears his throat beside you.

“You wanna come study with my tutor?” he asks, eyes hopeful but tired. “Nanami. Took the class last year, has a file of all the assignments. And he interned for Riot Games over the summer, so he actually knows his shit.”

You blink, surprised. “You have a tutor?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a sheepish grin. “I mean… tutor might be a strong word. More like a friend who’s already survived this mess and doesn’t mind explaining it to the rest of us.”

You hesitate for a moment, but honestly, you really need help, and the idea of learning from someone who’s already been through this feels like a lifeline.

“Okay,” you say, finally giving in. “I’ll come. Riot intern, huh? That’s pretty cool— you actually know someone like that?”

“Yeah, we used to skate together all the time when we were younger. Then we both ended up interning at Riot. He did backend dev, and I was doing data science for Valorant.”

He shrugs, flicking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Not that I play PC anymore— too busy trying not to fail this class, honestly.”

His grin turns sheepish but still has that effortless cool that makes you smile back without even trying.

You step out together into the crisp evening air. The campus is quiet, lights flickering on the pavement as students scurry past or lounge on benches, headphones on, notebooks out.

He doesn’t rush like you expect. Instead, Ino slows his pace to match your tired steps. You notice he’s watching you carefully, adjusting his stride so you don’t have to sprint just to keep up.

The gesture is small but feels... considerate. Like he’s already looking out for you, even though you barely know each other.

The walk to the undergrad library takes about ten minutes. Ino casually talks about how he’s been skating since middle school and how he prefers skating at night because the cool breeze helps him relax. When you mention you’ve never learned to skateboard, he laughs and teases that you’d probably be the type to rent a Lime scooter instead.

The library’s glass doors slide open smoothly. Inside, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the soft tapping of keyboards greet you. It’s comforting, familiar.

You both find a table tucked in a corner, away from the main clusters of students.

“Here’s the plan,” Ino says, pulling out his laptop. “We wait for Nanami to finish his lecture downstairs, and in the meantime, we try to finish as much of the homework as we can before he gets here to review it.”

You nod, setting up your laptop. You try to start on the first problem, the one about recursion, but your brain immediately threatens to shut down.

Ino leans over your screen, pointing at your code. “You named that variable ‘ballerinaCappuccina’? Dude, what?”

You laugh despite yourself. “More memorable than ‘x’ or ‘temp’, okay?”

He snickers, shaking his head. “You're so brainrot.”

Time slips by as you swap dumb jokes and lament the professor’s cryptic hints. You find yourself relaxing, your earlier dread melting into something softer.

Then the door opens again, and Nanami steps in.

He moves with an easy confidence, glasses sliding down his nose, hair a little tousled but neat. His tee sports a pixelated game logo you recognize, and he’s carrying a backpack that looks surprisingly clean for a CS major.

You glance up, surprised by how different he is from Ino.

If Ino’s energy was all skater-boy charm and casual cool, Nanami's would be hot, slightly nerdy, and intensely focused— like someone who clearly spent all night grinding out code but still somehow looks handsomely tired in the morning.

You catch your breath for a moment.

Cute, you think. Definitely cute.

Ino waves him over. “Yo, Nanami! This is my study buddy— also failing this class with me.”

Nanami gives a small smile as he slides into the seat next to Ino. “Ino, try not to embarrass yourself. It’s not that hopeless— yet.”

With a calm confidence, he starts breaking down the first week's concepts— functions, APIs, database calls— with a precision and clarity that almost makes you think you could pass this class if you had him as your professor.

You and Ino trade notes, nodding along, asking questions, laughing when Nanami mocks the actual professor’s habit of using vague buzzwords.

Between explanations, Nanami looks at you briefly and says, “You’re doing better than most first-timers. Keep at it.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest.

Hours pass, the late-night study session stretching into the early morning. The three of you share snacks from Ino’s backpack— a sad assortment of Takis, a couple of peach ring gummies, and a can of Red Bull you suspect was bought last night at the convenience store.

You realize, with a little startle, that this is the first time you’ve felt truly at ease since the quarter began.

The three of you fall into a rhythm— Ino’s lighthearted jokes, Nanami's steady patience, and your stubborn determination.

The future still looks impossible.

But for now, with these two by your side, it feels a little less like you’re totally cooked.

[askalexander]

Why. Would. You chang.e. My. Profile. Image. To this. Knowing. It's. IMPOSSIBLE. To. Change. it. Back????❓❔❓❔

I'm. Verym . Angry.

George Washington

Hello Sir,

after i sent the e-mail to secretary jefferson as i had intended when i borrowed your device, i discovered and downloaded a wonderful application, picsart, and spent the last hour creating “image edits."

i practiced with the photographs already in your gallery, i apologize for my lack of foresight on how you were to react to the sudden change.

it is quite the consuming pastime, but if you were to give it the time of day, i think you will find it most enjoyable and charming.

A. Ham 🪶

[alex51324]

Yeah, see, doing it that way, you learn a lot about how to put together something plausible when, for one reason or another, you can't do it the right way. That's a life skill!

Equally importantly, you can only plausibly half-ass an essay like that if you learned something from all the times you whole-assed one.

Whereas if you use ChatGPT to generate something that resembles an essay, all you learn is...how to prompt ChatGPT for something that resembles an essay, and maybe--if you're an unusually dedicated plagiarist--a little bit about fact-checking and editing the output.

Those are skills, but they are not the kind of powerful and flexible skills that you can transfer and build on as you go on to more complex things. When those skills let you down--when you have a writing task that Chat GPT can't do, because it doesn't have enough examples of it in its corpus to spit out something semi-plausible--you've got nothing.

Even worse, when you encounter everyday situations that require you to think--to reason, to draw inferences, to recall relevant pieces of information and make connections among them, all that stuff--not only will you not be able to do that, but you probably won't even realize that you should.

If you managed to understand that you were missing something--like, for example, "hey, this picture of Japanese people getting on a train in old-timey clothes has probably been placed alongside this headline about ICE raids from last week for some kind of reason,"-- you could, theoretically, ask ChatGPT to speculate about what that reason might be, and it might even tell you a good answer.

But if you've spent all of your growing years outsourcing your thinking to a machine, you won't even know what to ask about.

That's what's so scary about AI. Yes, there are serious people in various fields suggesting reasonable use-cases for it, whatever low-stakes but time-consuming things come up a lot in their fields. (Professors like to mention letters of reference.) But those people are talking about things that they already know how to do.

And also that they don't care much about/have no reason to do particularly well, but you--generic high school or college student--probably also don't care much about your assignments, so that isn't terribly relevant here, but it is a key detail when it comes to real-life applications.

You can't actually skip over all the "busywork"--a term students today seem to apply to almost anything they are asked to do for a class--and then do the fun stuff. You can't watch a bunch of movies about mountain-climbing and then go straight from your couch to Kilamanjaro.

You will die.

You have to do a lot of plain old walking, then add hills and varied terrain and stuff, and probably start learning and practicing the technical stuff, with the ropes and all, in a climbing gym, then you do--I'm actually just guessing here, but I think you probably do a mountain that's mostly walking with a few technical bits?

Similarly, if you go right from having the magic machine tell you the right answer to having to make grown-up decisions like "which of these two highly calculated public personas is more likely to set our country on fire and flush it down the toilet, should they become president," you're not going to do so well.

Whenever I think about students using AI, I think about an essay I did in high school. Now see, we were reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I just couldn't do it. I got 25 pages in and my brain refused to read any more. I hated it. And its not like I hate the classics, I loved English class and I loved reading. I had even enjoyed Of Mice and Men, which I had read for fun. For some reason though, I absolutely could NOT read The Grapes of Wrath.

And it turned out I also couldn't watch the movie. I fell asleep in class both days we were watching it.

This, of course, meant I had to cheat on my essay.

And I got an A.

The essay was to compare the book and the movie and discuss the changes and how that affected the story.

Well it turned out Sparknotes had an entire section devoted to comparing and contrasting the book and the movie. Using that, and flipping to pages mentioned in Sparknotes to read sections of the book, I was able to bullshit an A paper.

But see the thing is, that this kind of 'cheating' still takes skills, you still learn things.

I had to know how to find the information I needed, I needed to be able to comprehend what sparknotes was saying and the analysis they did, I needed to know how to USE the information I read there to write an essay, I needed to know how to make sure none of it was marked as plagerized. I had to form an opinion on the sparknotes analysis so I could express my own opinions in the essay.

Was it cheating? Yeah, I didn't read the book or watch the movie. I used Sparknotes. It was a lot less work than if I had read the book and watched the movie and done it all myself.

The thing is though, I still had to use my fucking brain. Being able to bullshit an essay like that is a skill in and of itself that is useful. I exercised important skills, and even if it wasnt the intended way I still learned.

ChatGTP and other AI do not give that experience to people, people have to do nothing and gain nothing from it.

Using AI is absolutely different from other ways students have cheated in the past, and I stand by my opinion that its making students dumber, more helpless, and less capable.

However you feel about higher education, I think its undeniable that students using chatgtp is to their detriment. And by extension a detriment to anyone they work with or anyone who has to rely on them for something.

[syndrossi]

Hi Syn!

You might have already been asked/answered this. Tried to check all verse au tags just in case and the comments, but does Mance and other wildlings sneak into and around Winterfell to view King Daemon, dragons, and his children?

I’m curious since it seems like he’s fine to let Ned continue with dispensing Northern justice in the name of the king. If said king is there, and handle that kind of stuff on his own with little interference, but if someone wants to view dragon flame up close Daemon is more than happy to introduce them to Caraxes. Would Daemon have a similar set up as Ned (his children once reaching age to view things) and have W!Jon and the twins standing nearby to witness the dracarys? I know the Targ kids have seen it in action before and their House words are Fire and Blood, but how does Daemon balance kingship and parenting?

I meeeaaan, I think they'd be pretty curious, so a little scouting might be in order. But also, Mance canonically snuck into Robert's traveling party before it arrived at Winterfell, so he's already there with a front row seat for Daemon's eventual arrival!

As for Daemon showing his children "dracarys," do you mean executing someone via dragonflame? Because I'm pretty sure the first thing he's giddy to show a new Targaryen adoptee is Caraxes roasting a nice sheep.

If we're talking executions, I'd say he's almost proud of the practice? So I don't think he'd blink even with the twins at their current Resonant ages of eight to roast a man in front of them. Granted, they're a lot more mature than most eight-year-olds. If they were much younger, he'd probably wait until they were a bit older.

As to how Daemon balances kingship and parenting, that's a whole other can of worms! He knows he doesn't want to be the kind of father Viserys was as king, where he hardly spends any time with his littles since Rhaenyra. But he's also not the best delegator in the world (mostly due to pride), so I could see him overworking himself at first trying to do everything until Jon/Baelon and Rhaegar/Aemon sit him down and force him to foist off some of the work. It would shock me if the twins didn't try taking up some of it themselves. R!Jon has very applicable work experience and Rhaegar was literally raised to do this sort of thing.

I think the biggest struggle for Daemon will be reconciling his desire for his children to be happy and the demands of the Crown. If Dany falls in love with someone outside of House Targaryen, for example, can he allow the match? The risks of dragonrider blood falling into the hands of other houses is quite high. What if Rhaegar doesn't want whichever holdfast Daemon decides to strip from traitor houses? Should he allow all of his children to bond to dragons? What does he do about the flood of proposals for matches for all of his sons?

It's very hard to navigate the middle ground between Jaehaerys dictating his children's/grandchildren's futures for "the good of the realm" (aside from his three eldest children) and Viserys's "do it for the vibes" approach where he was hesitant to control his children/grandchildren at all.

[charmac]

I think it’s probably just glennis’ freaky o face but in the scene where macden are doing the heimlich maneuver his lips lowkey look like someone has been practicing mouth to mouth on him…………..

Lmao. I mean… they seem to go through a training course and what would training for CPR be without a practical exam….and practical application…

[anissapierce]

It's kinda funny tht my dad passing his vasovagal reaction down to me means tht despite my love for biology etc I cant go into tht field or be a doctor (also if I went to med school i think I'll have a psychotic break) and bc of my mom pushing me so hard n giving me math related trauma and making me do extra math n my probable dyscalcia i can't get into physics like I wanted to in high school. Nature n nurture

[fury-brand]

I feel like to understand it you first have to grasp how powerfully these people believe in the potential for AI and how they were operating at a time when it was a great deal more nascent than it currently is. They were sitting with the vast potential these technologies would have for changing the world without being able to see or feel out any of its early practical applications.

Also, the people who believed in it seemed profoundly unwell. Like this thought experiment was some kind of feeder source for a vague sense of Never Doing Enough, and the place it got popular was among "rationalists" who - I am going to go out on a limb here - maybe aren't the best at recognizing emotional responses and drivers in themselves. Now, killing landlords about it was not the right move but I do think the latent desire to have something to believe in was a factor.

idk if this is just the Autism Logic speaking, but all those ""cognitohazard"" thought experiments are just so dumb to me. like yeah, what IF there's an evil supercomputer in the future that'll torture you if you don't help build it. sick, dude. i can make things up too, what if there was a mole man living under your house and he burrowed up through your floor and ate you. ooga booga. spiral into insanity now please