#circular coordinates

[peeterjoot]

Video: Circular velocity and acceleration with geometric algebra

Months ago, I used Manim to create a outline a geometric algebra treatment of the derivation of the circular velocity and acceleration formulas that you would find in a first year undergrad physics course.  I never published it, since overlaying audio and getting the timing of the audio and video right is hard (at least for me.)  I’m also faced with the difficulty of not being able to speak…

[mathmedicine]

AS LEVEL PURE MATHEMATICS 1 (PAPER 1)

PURE MATHEMATICS 1 (2002-2010) C1 Quadratics /C2 Functions /C3 Coordinate Geometry C4 Circular Measure C5 Trigonometry C6 Vectors C7 Series C8 Differentiation C9 Integration PURE MATHEMATICS 1 (2010-2013) C1 Quadratics C2 Functions C3 Coordinate Geometry C4 Circular Measure C5 Trigonometry C6 Vectors C7 Series C7 Binomial C8 Differentiation C9 Integration

[inkdrinkerworld]

Joaquin is trying really hard not to laugh as you lean all your weight into him as he opens your front door.

“You said we were going home Joaquin.”

He chuckles then, “We are home,” he wraps an arm behind him to hold onto your waist as he pushes open the door.

He needs to change that hinge.

“But this is my apartment, I wanted to sleep in your bed.” Your voice catches as you speak. Joaquin can tell tears are near.

He shakes his head, amusement lighting his face as he sets the keys in the dish near the door and sits you on the sofa.

“Amor,” he presses a kiss into your knee, spotting a bruise from the bar that he’s not sure how you got. “We live together.”

Joaquin’s hands are quick as they free your feet from your heels.

A quiet, “Oh,” leaves you at his words.

His hands massage the arches of your feet, chuckling a little when you squirm.

“Want some water?” You shake your head, cheek pressed into the back of the couch as you look down at him.

“Want a kiss,” he sits up and kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “A real kiss.” You whine and Joaquin laughs now, right in your face.

His forehead touches your chin, “We’re going to bed, nena. Just to bed.” But he lifts his head and gets a glimpse of your puppy dog eyes and he indulges in a quick peck to your lips.

You grumble, “Not being fair.” But Joaquin pretends he doesn’t hear you as he lifts you off the couch.

Joaquin carries you all the way to the bathroom, pushing your hair back with a headband he’s seen you use many times.

He has to remove your hands from neck twice when you pull him flush to your chest, trapping him against you.

“Baby,” he laughs, hugging you back before pulling away a little. You’re pouting at him severely. Joaquin already knows what you want from him.

“Just one.” You plead and he sighs.

He’s not really great at denying you, and presses his lips against yours.

Your lips move lazily and they lack a little coordination, but Joaquin makes it work. One hand cups your cheek, stabilizing you against him.

When he pulls away your lips are a little swollen and glossy.

“Better?” He asks and you nod, a happy smile on your face as you sit still again for him to finish going through your skincare.

His fingers are gentle as they scrub your eyes and face. Circular motions lulling you to sleep.

“You falling asleep on me?” He whispers and you shake your head, all slow and heavy like your head’s weighing your movements down.

“Wanna sleep with you.”

His eyebrows raise, “Oh yeah?”

You open your eyes and Joaquin gets lost in them for a moment. They’re intense pools to stare into and sometimes he wishes he were an artist, so he could render their depth.

“Yeah, we can do it naked.”

He laughs again, kissing your forehead. “As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Joaquin doesn’t let you sleep naked, instead you’re wearing one of his old Air Force t-shirts and underwear.

You cuddle up next to him, a vice-like grip on him as he lays beside you. You fall asleep before he even says goodnight.

[sahdevvala]

Polar Coordinates

#Adobe #Adobephotoshop #photoshop #kshitijvivan #sahdevvala #artwork #Photoshoptutorial #photoedit #photoediting #graphics #graphicdesigner #designer #creativegraphics #creativedesigner #creativedesign #posterdesign #flyerdesign #educationvala #education_vala #parthsir #educationvala.com #educationvalanews #creativeagency #creativephotoedit #PolarCoordinates #PolarCoordinateseffect #PolarCoordinatestutorial #polarcoordinates #circularpixelstretch #circularpixeleffect

[jibunbosh]

In accordance with Tumblr joining the rest of the internet 7 years late in asserting that all of its profile pictures must no longer be square, I am going to bring this development full "circle" (hehe) and allow it to reach its logical conclusion by developing a new raster image file format that stores pictures no longer as Rectangles in a Cartesian grid, but as Circles using polar coordinates. This file format will *assistant whispers in my ear* I don't fucking care. Start producing circular monitors then with rounded pixels then. Get out of my conference room

[whatifitis]

♡ When We Are Together - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando is a cutie and drama queen but you love him all the same. His balls as well.

WC: 1151

CW: fluff, use of words 'ball' and 'dick' and mentions of sex but nothing happens, lando being a diva

“It’s snowing!” is all you hear before you’re watching your boyfriend sprint out the door with no winter clothing on. He was outside in an instant, already gathering snow in his hands before dropping it and turning to you. “It’s too cold” - he said, scrunching his nose and running back inside to put on some warm clothing and definitely a pair of gloves. 

You watched Lando rush around the house, trying to find his coat and gloves. You stood and watched his antics in amusement, when he suddenly stood still and stared back at you. 

“You muppet, put some clothes on and join me in the snow. Christmas is starting!” he is already going around and grabbing your coat and putting it on you, making sure you’ll be warm in the snow. Once the both of you are dressed, he’s grabbing your hand and pulling you out the door with him. The both of you are already laughing as your cheeks and nose turn red from the joy you feel, along with the cold. Boots crunching the snow beneath your feet. 

Lan only lets go of your hand when he’s crouching on the ground and making a snowball. Once he’s made a semi-circular shape, he’s standing up straight and looking you dead in the eyes. 

“No. Don’t you fucking dare, Lan.” you point at the ball and try to stifle a laugh. 

He’s already on the verge of laughing, positioning his arm, ready to throw the snow at you. He’s giggling as soon as you slowly back away from him. When you see his arm slightly shift, you’ve already turned your back on him to try and outrun the ball. 

The ball ends up landing a few inches from you, into the ground. You turn back to see a very giggly Lando trying to catch his breath. 

“You little twat. If that’s how you wanna play then fine. But you asked for this, Norris.” you say as you create a perfectly round ball of snow between your hands. 

“No, no, no, no. Wait, you just last named me. I’m not ready.” he practically squeals as you start to run towards him. Luckily for you, unlucky for him, your hand-eye coordination was popping off today. 

You were able to throw the ball and hit him, and it landed directly on his ass. You burst into laughter when he turned back to look at his own ass and then to you. You were laughing so hard, your knees nearly gave out. 

“Nah, mate. Did you hit my ass?! Was that on purpose? It was on purpose, wasn’t it. You pervert!” he can’t help but let out a laugh, unable to act serious. He watched you laugh and gosh were you beautiful. Red painted your cheeks and nose, a twinkle in your eyes glistened as you tried to calm your laughter. 

“That was an accident.” you try to get out between breaths of air, “I meant to aim for your back.”

“And that just makes it better doesn’t it.” he turns his back to you, making another snowball to terrorize you with, keeping his back to you he says, “Ya know, I was nice with that first snowball. I missed on purpose. It was essentially a warning shot.” 

Lando stands and turns to face you when he feels something cold and hard hit his crotch. You had never seen a man fall so fast. He had dropped the snowball and fallen to his knees, holding onto his crotch and struggling to breathe. You went into another laughing fit and fell to your knees this time, not being able to contain yourself. 

Lando’s groans of pain can barely be heard over your laughter. Tears were rolling down your face and you were laughing so much, you felt like you might pass out. 

Through wheezes of laughter you try to check on him, “Oh my god, love. Are you okay?” resting your hand on his back as he’s hunched over in pain. 

“Am I okay? Am. I. Okay? Are you really asking that?” he laughs as he launches up and playfully tackles you to the ground. He’s tickling you and not letting up, “Are you seriously asking if I’m okay after you hit my balls?!” he laughs. 

You can barely breathe so you beg him to stop for a minute, and he does. He moves off you and flops onto the ground beside you. The two of you try to catch your breaths so you just lay there together, watching as the sky turns to night. 

Lando lies next to you and you can feel as he hesitantly reaches for your hand with his pinky finger. Without a second thought, you grab his hand and hold on tight. Turning your head to look at him, you’re met with his eye crinkling smile, the same one you fell in love with all that time ago. 

“Guess what.” Lando says. 

“What?” 

“Snow angel!” he screams and he’s immediately flailing on the ground trying to make a snow angel, “Ah, fuck it’s cold. But I gotta commit. Fuck!”

You laugh at his antics and join him in making some snow angels. After a few seconds, Lando is standing and pulling you to stand with him before he’s bolting back inside the house. Once you’re both inside, he’s shutting the door and running to light the fireplace. 

The poor boy is shivering like a chihuahua that’s got no clothes on. You grab a blanket off the couch and wrap it around Lando and you join him in sitting on the floor, before the fireplace. 

“You know you hate the cold, why’d you go outside in the snow?” you ask. He was the biggest baby when it came to the cold so you’re surprised he lasted that long outside. 

“I was feeling romantical. I know you like to have those sorts of memories and I thought it’d be fun. While it was fun, I nearly lost my balls twice!” he exclaims, putting up two fingers so you could see just how traumatized he might’ve been, “First, it was so cold that I was afraid that my dick would just fall off. Second, you threw a snowball… AT MY DICK! It’s like you don’t want to sleep with me anymore. If that’s the case just say it.” he jokes. 

“Lan, that’s not wha-” you’re cut off by his theatrical fall to the ground as if he’s fainted. 

“ I can’t believe it. My own GIRLFRIEND doesn’t want to sleep with me anymore. Ugh, God what did I do to deserve this.” 

“Lan?” “Meh”

“Lan”

“Mh”

“Lan!” 

He sits up, “What?”

“I love you. And I still want to sleep with you. Dickless and all”

“Sick. Best girlfriend ever!” he says as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a tight hug where he covers your face in kisses, “You’re also fit as fuck.”

[jinx-xxed]

Supreme Leader

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; The motivation for this one legit came out of nowhere but I can’t even complain 🫶 this is the best smut I’ve done to date I think

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; You come back to find Snoke gone… and Kylo Ren has taken his place.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Commander Reader, aftermath of TLJ, angst to sad fluff, original characters, you get promoted!!!, Kylo’s mean, Kylo gets a lightsaber pulled on him, you have a saberstaff, throne room confrontation turns into throne room sex, fucking on the throne, tension, you’re still not Kylo’s biggest fan lol, helmet on, gloves on, calling Kylo by his proper title, orgasm denial, overstimulation, inappropriate use of the Force, very dominant Kylo, fingering, unprotected piv sex, riding Kylo, humiliation, degradation, praise, talking about feelings

Wc; 6.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

There’s a sharp ping that comes from the device imbedded into your metal arm cuffs, overriding the silence mode you have it set on and making you startle. You grumble to yourself, pausing your work to tap a few things on the screen and project a smaller screen above it. There it reads the message: all troops involved with mission-76653 cease operations and return to base immediately. There’s coordinates to the Steadfast attached and not the Supremacy, you note.

“Are you serious?” You snap to yourself. The members of Fleet 74 who came along with you on this expedition stop at your voice, looking back at you curiously. You sigh, lifting a hand and making a circular motion with a finger. “We’re heading back to base, I guess. Direct orders.”

Jaharah begins to protest. “Now? But we haven’t finished-“

“I know. I’m not happy about it either.” You say, a scowl settling nicely onto your features. You traveled all the way out to some planet in the Outer Rim to basically have to go right back. You turn, starting the journey to the speeders you’d left behind that’ll return you to your ship that’s even farther away. The others reluctantly follow. “I hope whatever bastard demanded this realizes we’re still two weeks out.”

Lyra’s hands wring together nervously. “Do you think something bad happened? Maybe the resistance-“

You scoff sharply. “The resistance couldn’t hope to do anything against Snoke’s ship, not as things stand now. This is something else.” Or you’d think so.

You won’t admit that you’re worried about what that ‘something else’ could be.

» ☆ «

The trip back to base was just as annoying as the trip out to the assigned planet was. Traveling in a cramped transport ship for two weeks isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world. But finally, there’s a familiar beeping of the sensors and the filter of hyperspace fades away to reveal the massive Star Destroyer that is the Steadfast sitting amongst the blankness of space.

The ship is brought into the hangar and you immediately get the feeling that something is off. A tension in the atmosphere, a shiver running up your arms beneath your uniform. Stormtroopers stand about in a more stiff manner than usual, and the lower workers of the Steadfast seem to have become as meek as mice. There’s also a tinge of leftover smoke in the air, like something blew up within the Star Destroyer. You glance back at your Fleet members as they exit their ships; they feel it too, but Jaharah shrugs, just as lost as you are.

“General,” comes a sudden voice. You snap back around to see a trooper standing before you. “Your presence is requested in the throne room immediately. And the Fleet’s.”

The throne room? What would Snoke want with you now? And what would he want with your Fleet?

You nod, following the Stormtrooper as he acts like some guide through the Steadfast. You’re sure you could find your way faster than he ever could, but you follow along to be nice. The walk there is long, of course, since the ship is so ungodly huge. The hall turns colder as the throne room doors come into view, and it’s like the tension you felt in the air before becomes about ten times heavier, threatening to weigh you down and prevent you from going forward. There’s Sith Troopers guarding the doors, and you see the members of Fleet 74 who stayed behind waiting there as well.

You look to Chief, your second in command. “What is this about?” You demand in a whisper.

“You’ll see.” She mutters. You don’t like that.

The Fleet gets in to a close formation with yourself at the head. The doors open and you’re led inside. You nearly freeze in your tracks with the sight you’re met with.

Snoke is no more. Instead, sitting in a newly made, imposing throne, is Kylo Ren.

He wears his full uniform, hood pulled over his helmet adorned with the red veins that stick the shattered pieces back together coursing through the black metal. His Knights fan out on either side of the throne, still as statues with their weapons held tightly in their hands. Kylo himself is clearly trying to be every bit as intimidating as Snoke was, with his boots firmly planted on the ground, gloved hands clutching the arm rests, back straight as a board.

You kneel before he even gets the chance to tell you to because somehow, initiating it yourself is less humiliating. You hear the Fleet follow suit behind you. The cold, reflective metal of the floor bites into your knee as you stare at it.

There’s an unnerving silence and you feel his eyes on you. Then, “welcome back, Commander.”

You perk at the title, your head shooting up. “Commander?”

“It seems we’ve both gotten promotions.” Kylo drawls. “Snoke is dead, killed by the Jedi girl in his own ship.”

Liar.

He knows that you know, and he also knows that you know it’s better to keep your mouth firmly shut. The discussion you’ll have later should be interesting.

“I’ve taken his place, and I believe it’s most logical to make you my Commander. Fleet 74 will remain as it is. I’m sure you can handle the extra duties, correct?” He asks.

You dip your head again. “Yes, of course. I’m honored, Com-“ you clear your throat, correcting yourself, ���Supreme Leader.” It feels wrong.

He taps a finger against the arm rest. “Then you’re dismissed. You and I will talk later.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

You rise with the Fleet, leading them out of the throne room with tense muscles. As soon as the doors close behind you, a few of them clap you on the back, congratulating you on the new position. You can’t share in the celebration, unable to ignore the itch in the back of your mind that you can’t quite get rid of.

What the hell happened while you were gone?

» ☆ «

You’re called back to the throne room an hour later.

You know you don’t have a choice in the matter, the message was very clear in that sense. You either go willingly or you’re sure someone will come along to drag you there. So you put away the report you were filing on your forcefully failed mission and push yourself from your chair. You walk down familiar halls, you try to ignore the tremor in your hands by clenching them into fists.

The path to the throne room is void of life, as if it’s a radioactive zone that nobody wants to enter. The description isn’t far off; it feels like you enter into a cloud of smog that chokes you when you get near and it sends a shiver down your spine. The Dark is heavy, threatening, and thick in the area. It parts for you when you pass through, ever so willing to obey your commands even if it doesn’t belong to you, but you feel it pressing in on every side. You take a deep breath when you see the doors leading into the throne room finally appear around a corner, looming like a beast waiting to pounce.

You push them open without pause, steeling yourself and the nerves that buzz beneath your skin. Your face is set with hard lines, your brows slightly drawn over your eyes and your lips positioned with a small downturn. Cold air and the sharp tang of polished metal hits you when you step inside, the click of your heels against the ever-so shiny floor the only sound.

You quickly take note of the fact that the room is empty. There are no Guards, no Stormtroopers, no Knights. Only him.

There is only Kylo Ren, sitting on a false throne.

You feel his eyes behind that mask trained on you as soon as you enter, crawling along your form and taking in every bit of you. He looks as he did before, his body cloaked in black robes with his hood framing his helmet, hiding it from the light. The throne isn’t the same as Snoke’s, this one has had to be built from scratch like many things after the utter obliteration of the Supremacy. This new chair has clearly taken inspiration given its size, but the energy surrounding it has changed. It isn’t as Dark as people would believe it to be.

You stop a healthy distance away from the dais, your perfect reflection along the floor mirroring your movements. “You requested me, Supreme Leader?” The title feels wrong and foreign on your tongue when referring to him and you struggle to hide the mockery in your tone, though he hears it all the same. There’s a seed of unease that burrows itself in your gut, eager to bloom into something bigger as you stare at the man you’ve worked with for most of your life. All of this was unexpected, and that’s where your problem lies. Kylo did this, he got himself to this position—and you don’t understand it.

His gloved hands brace against the armrests as he stands. You watch him intensely, your body feeling like it’s pulled taut as a bowstring, ready for something that you don’t know about yet. Your breathing stutters in your chest, it quickens with your heartbeat. He walks down those steps, one after another with the grace and power of a leader that knows his strength. There’s a brush against the shields in your mind, a familiar Force signature that’s taunting you, playing a game that you’re not interested in. You recoil from the touch, quickly forcing it away from you and out of your head. It can’t be trusted.

He reaches the same level you’re on but when he tries to take another inch of the space between you, you find your lightsaber in front of you. It screams to life, red beams of plasma coming from either end. It lets out a steady hum through the handle clenched in your palm—a threat, a promise. Kylo pauses where he is and you glare at him over the weapon, the red bouncing off the silver on his helmet.

“What did you do?” You demand, words spat from between your teeth.

“Don’t be stupid.” He sneers, deep voice crackling through the vocoder.

He moves towards you again, unfazed by the deadly lightsaber you have pointed directly at him. His pace is unrelenting and you move yourself backwards, eager to keep the same distance. You bare your teeth, twisting to follow him as he circles you like a predator. “What happened to Snoke?”

There’s a minuscule shake of his head as he observes you. “I told you-“

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Kylo. What did you do?” You say again. You want a straight answer, you want to know what the fuck happened when you were gone. You want to know what happened to the man you were beginning to trust. You remember the hunger he’d had in his eyes when you’d first met him, the insatiable desire for power and to prove himself to whoever dared doubt him. You wonder how that young man would feel seeing himself now like this, standing at the top of the galaxy. And you wonder how much farther he’ll go, if this is where you make the stand for your life because you’re a threat.

“I did what I had to.” He says coldly with nothing but conviction. “You’ll understand.” He got himself behind you, now forcing you to walk in the opposite direction to stay away from him. There’s ripples in the Force, the darkness swirling around you both. You feel him at the shields you keep up, but he’s not trying like he should be to get in. He’s basically just sitting there, occasionally reaching forward to remind you that he’s waiting. It’s a silent plea to be let in, but you won’t listen.

“Snoke was a worthless coward. He was incapable of fighting his own battles. Why do you feel such remorse for him when he’s the one who’s caused you so much pain?” Kylo demands, so blatantly angry at the idea of you sympathizing with Snoke. You don’t. You never would. You’re glad to see that he’s gone, that you’ll never again have to experience dread when returning back to base. Snoke tortured you both but after knowing of him ever since you were a child, hearing him in your head, that seed of unease blooms into fear. What will happen now? What kind of leader could Kylo Ren possibly be?

You don’t have the chance to ponder it further. The backs of your legs hit the seat of the throne after having been forced up the dais by Kylo who now comes so close it causes you to fall unceremoniously into the chair. Your lightsaber is still active, poised at his throat even as he slams both hands on either armrest, caging you in. “I saved us,” he snarls, “and this is how you thank me?”

Even as Kylo’s presence threatens to rob you of breath, his darkness trying to choke you, you don’t cower. Your lightsaber reflects in your eyes in the same way it does his helmet, the heat from the plasma an uncomfortable presence between you. “How am I supposed to trust you?” You practically throw the words in his face, and you can see the way they make him recoil. It’s barely there, so very slight, but he draws back just a fraction of a centimeter and you hear the creak of his gloves as he grips the armrests tighter. It hurts him, it brings you satisfaction. You feel the flinch in the Force, betraying his true emotions to someone like you who’s more attuned than he realizes.

And then it’s gone. He brushes it aside and replaces that emotion with bristling anger. He reaches past your arm, past your lightsaber without a care, and he grips your chin. You want to thrash against him, want to fight against his hold; it would be so easy with the saber you have against his neck. But you can’t bring yourself to. You let him hold you there as he makes sure you’re looking at him, his fingers digging into your jaw.

“He was going to have me kill you.” Kylo says, tone quiet and blunt as he brings forth information he’d been holding inside of himself for so long, letting it consume him. “That’s why I sent you away.” Scenes flash in your mind, brought to you by Kylo so that you can see exactly what terrified him, to see what caused the sense of fear he had that day he gave you your mission.

Snoke would’ve had you both come to the throne room, and you would’ve thought nothing was amiss. But then he would reveal that he wished to further Kylo’s training after his recent failures, and that you were the key to making him stronger. That key was your own death. Snoke would admit as such, that he wants Kylo to kill you. You could feel it—the rage inside of you, the despair. Snoke had always favored Kylo over you because Kylo had a name behind him, he had a legacy. You were just a kid with a meaningless family that he picked up off a worthless planet that turned out to have more potential than anyone could’ve ever dreamed. You’d surpassed Kylo in more than enough trials to prove that and yet… it didn’t matter. You were to die to push someone else forward.

“You would’ve fought,” Kylo murmurs, briefly breaking you from the vision, “but you would’ve lost.”

You see what he means. You turned on Snoke, you lashed out with everything you had in you as the Praetorian Guards advanced. You killed all of them, your will to live greater than their own strength, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough against Snoke, who forced you to your knees even as he struggled to do so from your protesting. You could’ve been something, you could’ve been more, but you were just fodder for the machine. You at least looked Kylo in the eyes with your chin held high when he lifted the hilt of his lightsaber. The vision cut out directly after that, and you find yourself heaving for breath.

Your own lightsaber is gone, taken from your grip by Kylo while you watched your death play out. The anger that boils in your gut almost feels misplaced because that future never came to pass, and it never will. Because of what Kylo did. He sent you on a convenient mission to the Outer Rim, as far away from Snoke as possible. Then he took his chances back here, trying to figure out some way to save you, and then the perfect opportunity was laid at his feet.

He keeps his hold on you, forcing you to watch through his own eyes and learn of what he’d gone through. Rey had shown up. The young Jedi girl actually had the gall to deliver herself right to her enemy. She definitely has guts, you’d give her that. She tried and failed to get Kylo to turn away from the Dark Side, trying to make him see the Light. But it didn’t work when his thoughts remained on you and keeping you from Snoke’s grasp. He was too focused on the fact that if the future he saw came to fruition, he knew he’d lose himself entirely. He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

So he used Rey in his schemes, used her as a distraction of sorts. He used her to finally kill Snoke, to free himself and you from his reign. He couldn’t believe it actually worked, that Snoke was truly lying on the floor severed in half. It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, a ghoul finally banished from the corners of his mind. It was peaceful, but only for a moment. Him and Rey fought the Guards, and then he tried to get back his grandfather’s lightsaber once more to no avail. The memories from then on are bright flashes, fuzzy images, and explosions—nothing you can make out.

You’re pulled from Kylo’s memories, your jaw slack and your heart racing. It feels unreal, something you can’t believe because you weren’t here to witness it. But if you had been here, you would’ve died. “Now you see, don’t you? I told you that you’d understand. Yet you still can’t bring yourself to trust me. It just disgusts you, doesn’t it?” He says lowly, jabbing at you. “How could you ever bear to trust someone like me?” Someone who saved your life, he wants to add with his mocking tone.

There’s a moments pause where you stare at each other, unsure of what to think or say. You wish you could see him, could see his eyes and his face. Your nervous hand reaches up, attempting to get the latch on his helmet to take it off, but he stops you abruptly. He grips your wrist firmly in a leather-clad hand. You try and fumble for words. “Kylo, I-“

“No. You’ll address me as Supreme Leader. You need to get used to that title.” He snaps, forcing you all the way back into the throne as he comes even closer, his boot sliding between your own and forcing your legs apart. Your breath hitches when he takes both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head so you can’t do anything stupid like trying to shove him off or drawing your lightsaber on him again.

The rise and fall of your chest quickens when cold air kisses the skin of your stomach, your layers shoved up by his free hand. The leather of his glove is rough as it skates along the newly exposed area on its way further down. His fingers catch on the waistband of your pants and they don’t hesitate to slip beneath the fabric. Your body feels like it’s been set on fire, your spine pressed so firmly against the back of the throne that there’s nowhere else for you to go, even as you try to scoot away from his burning touch.

You jolt when he grazes your clit, your teeth digging so sharply into your lip that you think you taste blood. He’s moves slow and with purpose, knowing exactly what he’s doing when a low groan rumbles from the back of your throat. You can tell by the way he’s so willing to taunt and tease, by the way his huge body covers your own and boxes you in, that this isn’t going to be good for you. The pad of his index finger traces slow, tortuous circles around your entrance while the heel of his palm makes occasional, light taps against your clit to keep you aware, to keep you anticipating.

“You love to say how much you hate me, and yet you’re always so eager for me.” Kylo spits, his voice guttural when it comes through his helmet, struggling to get past the vocoder as more than just lustful static. He can feel how wet you are, how easily the dark leather of his gloves slides between your folds. His finger finally plunges into your waiting cunt not a second later, a gasp rattling your body. It’s a welcome feeling, one that finally gives the throbbing of your walls something to focus on instead of just aching, empty space.

The thrusts of his finger are lazy, staying at the same easy pace even as you squirm. He’s more generous to your clit now at least, his palm staying firmly against it, providing the friction of rough leather and stitched seams with each in and out of your hole. You whine in pleasure when he finally adds a second finger, the thick digits filling you more completely. They go farther, sink deeper into your heat, finding and pressing against the spot you’re never able to get on your own. Your hands struggle against the hold he has on them, your attempts at freeing yourself as your body writhes having been unsuccessful. You know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers across your wrists from the strength of his grip.

Kylo enjoys seeing you like this, completely under his mercy and so, so very compliant. It’s rare when he gets what he wants from you—your submission—so he’s relishing in it now while it lasts. His enjoyment is obvious from the erection creating a tent in his pants. You have to avert your eyes from it, trying not to think of the way he’d use it, the way he’d ram into you again and again and fill you with his desire. You can feel your own mounting, a knot in your gut that grows bigger with his ministrations, threatening to come undone.

You’re almost there. You’re standing on the ledge, leaning over the side, ready to fall off into bliss. Just a few more thrusts of his fingers, a few more circles around your clit, and your orgasm will be washing through you. But it never comes despite the way he continues to fingerfuck you, despite the way you can feel it right there and so ready to burst. It’s like something’s blocking it on purpose, a dam built with the sole mission of denying your release. Your eyes snap open, finding Kylo. He huffs a laugh. “What, you think I’d let you cum that easily?” It pisses you off how much he’s liking this. “I’ve barely even started.”

You practically growl at him, lip drawing up to reveal your sharp teeth, but you know he just finds it amusing. Especially when you try to grind your hips down onto his fingers as if that’ll be enough to break the Force hold he has on your body. You can’t move much beyond that with the way he looms over the throne, his legs pinning yours and your hands still stuck above your head. An involuntary whimper rips from your throat when he moves his thumb to your clit, rubbing at it with more purpose and ferocity and a third finger managing to slip into your eager cunt. Your feet scrabble against the floor, trying to find some kind of purchase as the denial of an orgasm makes you dizzy. You try and swallow the drool pooling in your mouth, the breath of your panting fogging the metal panels on Kylo’s helmet from your proximity.

You give in to begging once tears prick your eyes. Your words are barely more than a whisper. “Please- please, Kylo, just-“

There’s a harsh thrust up into your cunt that has your words falling silent, instead replaced by a sharp, high pitched yelp. “What did I fucking tell you?” He demands, pressing even harder against that spot along your walls that has you seeing stars. You feel like you’re about to explode from the built up tension in your body. “What did I tell you to call me?”

You glare at him, your eyes full of all the fury you can’t manage to get out with your voice. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to bend to this man who’s held such a ridiculous amount of power over you for what feels like your entire life. Your teeth grind together in defiance, even as your face burns. He hums at that and seems almost happy that you’re going against him. He does love a good fight.

His fingers stall and begin to slowly slide out of you, ready to leave you completely empty and with a simmering need that won’t be taken care of. You jolt, eyes widening. It’s in that moment you find you don’t actually give a fuck about defying him, you just need him to stay in you. “Supreme Leader!” You practically shout, so sudden it even startles yourself. Your next words are quieter, more restrained. “Supreme Leader, please..”

You moan in relief when his fingers take back their positions deep inside your cunt, the sounds of your slick sloshing around filling the empty throne room. “Good,” Kylo says roughly, clearly struggling himself. Your obedience is music to his ears and it does nothing to soothe the ache of his cock still restrained by his pants. It just makes it worse. “Say it again.”

You hate him. You’re probably going to kill him. “Supreme Leader, please-“ you have to choke back your humiliation and death threats, “please let me cum.”

This time Kylo groans, the desperate sound crackling through his helmet. He thrusts his fingers one more time, swiping his thumb along your clit, before he lets you go. The release is instant. Something akin to a scream comes from you with your orgasm, the world around you feeling like it’s shattering. You can barely breathe, pure pleasure wracking your body and sending lightning through your limbs. The dam finally broke, and it feels so fucking good. The unbearable pressure is gone, bliss washing through you like a wave from the ocean as you cum around his hand. “See how nice I am?” Kylo says with heavy breath, barely able to contain himself. His eyes are locked on to where his hand disappears into your pants; he can feel your cum pooling on his glove. “How well I reward you when you’re good?”

It’s all you can do to nod dumbly, too blissed out with your ears still ringing to really comprehend what he’s saying. You don’t resist when your pants are pulled off, your underwear entirely soaked through and baring your sensitive, wet cunt to the cold air. You shiver. Your cloak is tossed aside, your top layers undone to reveal your upper body. You’re barely more than a rag doll when Kylo braces an arm against your back, using it to scoop you out of the throne so he can take your spot. His zipper is pulled down, his boxers lowered so his cock is finally freed, painfully erect and dribbling precum.

He sinks you down to the hilt without hesitation. All the air is punched from your lungs, your body tensing as his length fills you to capacity. Kylo’s appreciative groan is loud and throaty, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. You have to pause for a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling so full it’s like you’re not allowed to breathe. Your lips are parted, your nails digging into the ribbed sleeves on his forearms for purchase. His body is warm and muscular beneath your hands.

You struggle to move, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm, your limbs weak and trembling. Kylo makes no effort to help you, his helmet instead tilted up towards you expectantly. “If you want it you’ll have to work for it, Commander.” He says with some twisted amusement. You briefly consider how easy it’d be to reach forward and wring his neck.

But you put that aside, swallowing your broken pride. You unfortunately want his cock more than that. The first thrust is bliss, pleasure filled shocks coursing through you like a live wire. You and Kylo moan in tandem, both of you finally getting some form of relief. Your movements are slow at first, trying desperately to get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you open. His hands travel up your sides, his left glove still soaked in your juices and leaving a trail along your skin. He finds your breasts, encompassing them with large, warm palms that have your head tilting back and your eyes closing. He pinches your stiffened nipples between his fingers, rolling them experimentally as you whine and arch into his touch. Your pace on his cock is steady now, finally having figured out a rhythm.

“Touch yourself.” Kylo orders suddenly, words sounding choked.

Your gaze snaps to him, brows furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Touch yourself.” He snaps again. “If you’re smart, you’ll listen to what I say.”

You glower, your face burning even hotter. He knows you don’t enjoy doing it, which is giving him all the more reason to make you. You hesitate, both not wanting to do as he demands and also not wanting to see whatever repercussions will come if you don’t. Your shaking fingers reach down and find your clit, the bud still sensitive and aching from Kylo’s earlier abuse. Your lip is between your teeth, trying to keep back your moans as you run circles over your clit. The stimulation quickly builds and you can feel that familiar knot forming in your gut again.

Kylo’s helmet tilts up and you can feel his eyes on you. You try not to meet them. “You look pretty like this, you know? Finally fucking listening to me.” He rumbles, giving your nipple a particularly hard pinch and making you writhe in his grip. “Say my name.”

You try to ignore him, ignore his stupid power trip and ego boost. But then he makes his move—one hand comes down to grip your wrist and the other is firm on your hip, completely stalling your movements and messing up your concentration. Your climax steadily begins to fade, a loud and frustrated groan coming from you. “This is stupid.” You snarl at him.

He doesn’t back down. “Say it.”

A harsh breath blows through your nose. You move your head so you can look past him, not wanting to admit that this is what he’s bringing you to. “Supreme Leader.” You mutter, your hips shifting to try and get friction with his cock still hard inside your cunt. He puts a stop to that quickly with a harsh squeeze.

Kylo lets go of your wrist to instead grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Again.”

“Supreme Leader.” You grit out.

“One more time.”

You grab his forearm, your nails digging deep enough and with such fury that they’ll leave marks. It’s the least you can do. “Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He murmurs, thumb running along your lower lip. You want nothing more than to sink your teeth into it until you taste blood. “You’ve done so well.”

His following thrust up into you has you forgetting what insult you were going to say. Both of his hands rest on your hips now, keeping you steady as he fucks you mercilessly. You bend forward, gripping his shoulders as some kind of anchor, punctuated moans spilling endlessly from your mouth. His helmet is downturned, the forehead of it resting against your sternum as he watches his cock disappear inside of your cunt, slick smearing along the front of his pants. He uses his Force to swirl against your clit, creating a sort of buzzing sensation that quickly brings that knot back and sets your blood ablaze.

“A commander reduced to a fucking cocksleeve. So good for my dick, aren’t you?” He breathes, words made even more gravelly by his vocoder. “Fuck.” You can only nod along and whimper, your brain fucked into useless mush.

You grip him tighter when your second orgasm finally bursts, your walls spasming around his cock and making him curse even louder. Cum gushes from you, dripping along your folds and making a further mess of Kylo’s pants. You cry out when he keeps thrusting into you, everything throbbing and overly sensitive for his harsh pace. You can’t think straight, you can only dig your teeth into the padded armor of his shoulder as tears well and threaten to fall.

His cock twitches, his hips stuttering. He gets in a few more thrusts before he’s cumming at last, a slew of cusses mixed with grunts and groans falling from his mouth. You hum in pleasure when you feel his warm spend filling your cunt to the brim, effectively coating your walls white.

Neither of you can move for a couple of minutes after. You don’t know how long you sit there for, your body finally relaxing and your eyes closing. He doesn’t pull out, his cock softening inside you and making sure you stay plugged full of his cum. You’re tempted to fall asleep before Kylo’s hands are leaving your hips and instead coming up to undo the latches on his helmet. There’s a hiss of air as the mechanisms slide out of place and he’s able to take it off. His black hair falls around his face, sweat drenching the ends.

You struggle to lift yourself up, but you want to see him. Your hands shake from exhaustion when they reach forward, taking his cheeks in your palms. He looks so tired. His sigh tickles your skin, his eyes closing at your touch. He seems significantly more relaxed now, his body letting go of its tension and his Force signature becoming something calmer. You can feel the weight shift as he leans into your right hand. His arms circle around your back, somehow pulling you even closer.

He swallows before speaking. “I was… afraid.” He mutters. “Afraid without you here… and yet I had to do it. Otherwise I’d lose you.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips gentle as they brush along your collarbone. “I was afraid that I would fail. That it would’ve all been for nothing.” He continues. He sounds so quiet, quieter than you’ve heard him in a while. You run your fingers through his hair. “I just… I’m glad I sent you away.”

“Me too.” You mumble, your eyes trained on the back wall as your mind runs. You’re finally coming to terms with the fact that your death had almost been set in stone at the hands of Snoke. Coming to terms with the fact that your lifelong teacher was going to have you executed by his star pupil, and the fact that Kylo decided to save you and possibly get himself killed instead. The fact he did everything he could to make sure you wouldn’t come back to a death sentence. You swallow thickly. “Thank you.”

He stills at those words. They’re the last thing he expected to hear from you and it makes him uneasy. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s okay. You know he can’t. Besides, it’s easy to gather what he wants to say from his Force in this moment of vulnerability. An apology is at the forefront; an apology for taking things out on you again. He doesn’t regret it, but he didn’t mean for it to happen. Then underneath that there’s longing that’s still lingering from when you were gone. He wanted nothing more than to see you, to know you were okay. He’s more than happy to have you in his arms now.

You pull yourself out of his thoughts, blowing out a tired sigh and resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps his cape around you to protect your mostly-naked form from the chill of the throne room, his warmth bleeding into you. You’re content to just sit there in his lap, and he seems content to let you. He relaxes back into the throne, cradling you against him with his soft breathing ruffling the hairs on the top of your head.

You’re together. You’re alive. That’s all you need in this moment.

[dissociacrip]

i saw that one disability-related post a while ago about dental care but i can't find it again so i'm gonna mention a few things as a (mild to moderately) mentally & physically disabled person, whose teeth hurt when i eat sweet stuff now + i've had a root canal due to a fall + i'm learning to take care of myself, that may or may not help other folks with their dental routine

note: i am not a dentist & this info is mostly what i've gleaned secondhand from dentists, so yeah, i am not an expert in any capacity

water flossers aren't as effective as regular flossing (doing both is actually what's most effective) but they're better than nothing & helpful in cases where coordination problems or other issues might prevent regular flossing technique (i imagine this also depends on the quality of the water flosser)

if you use one of the plastic pre-made floss picks things, rinse the string off in-between each time you use it to floss one side of a tooth, it's tedious but it mimics moving to a new (clean) part of the thread like you do with regular floss

if you get an automatic toothbrush, get one that does circular rotation rather than just vibrating or whatever, as this mimics the tools they use in a dentist's office + imitates the circular motion you're expected to make with a standard toothbrush (which is also hard with coordination issues), i got one that does this pretty cheap from walmart (it's an oral-b but i forgot the specific type) + it automatically times it for you

if you have white spots on your teeth that are uneven with the shade of the rest of the tooth those are potentially white spot lesions due to demineralization; whitening products can make this worse rather than help it, but some products can help with remineralization such as mi paste topical tooth creme, which contains calcium and phosphate (i have yet to try this myself but it seems to get suggested by a lot of dentists, orthodontists, etc. for white spots on teeth & it's also supposed to help with sensitivity and tooth health in general because the white spots are lesions so it's not purely cosmetic!)

it's advised to not rinse your mouth immediately after brushing as this potentially dilutes & reduces the effects of the flouride (if you use fluoride toothpaste), stuff says to wait at least 15 minutes or so

just giving your teeth a quick scrub (even if it's without toothpaste and just water) is better than not brushing your teeth at all

if you have trouble seeing a dentist for financial reasons, try to see if there are income-based or charity dental services in your area, sometimes dental schools also provide low-cost/free dental care

that's all i can think of for now, i wish i had more advice for people who struggle to be able to brush their teeth at all in general but this is all i got unfortunately :(

additionally - you're not bad, useless, gross, or a failure if you struggle to (or can't) maintain oral hygiene; this stuff is much easier for some people than it is to others & those who take it for granted like to forget that, no one deserves to be mocked or looked down on for being disabled & struggling to/not being able to do """basic""" stuff like this!

[read-marx-and-lenin]

red. media is closing, this is why...

The current campaign against red.media is a troubling strategy of modern disinformation strategies perpetrated by the ruling class and its lackeys. At its core is the deliberate use of unfounded accusations, which are amplified in a circular, constantly repeating process by media outlets and political actors, and ultimately presented them as supposed facts. This is reminiscent of the strategies of authoritarian governments, both today and in the past. The aim: to publicly delegitimize and criminalize dissenting voices—especially those who stand up for Palestine. [...] Amid mounting repression and direct threats to our team’s safety — including danger to their lives — red.media, a project of Istanbul-based AFA Medya A.Ş., can no longer operate. The safety of our contributors, supporters, and followers is no longer guaranteed. This is not a voluntary decision. It is the result of a coordinated crackdown led by the German government, backed by the EU, and carried out by German media outlets, unions, and foundations. It is repressive, unlawful — and dangerous. As we’ve warned: today we are the target. Tomorrow it will be you. What we are witnessing is the global normalization of repression — where speaking out against genocide is being criminalized. red.media was never the real threat. Our reach was. In just the first nine months of 2024, we surpassed 483 million views. What they fear is a growing, defiant voice against racism, fascism, apartheid, genocide, and imperialism. We are proud of what we built — and proud to be silenced for telling the truth. We refused to look away from live-streamed genocide. We stood firm. But we were never alone. This was only possible because of all of you — those who take to the streets and speak out daily, despite state violence and repression, and pay the highest price. We remain firmly committed to the Palestinian people’s demand for one democratic state, where all communities can live together in peace. Our X and Telegram channels will remain active, voluntarily run — to document the continued criminalization of red.media and others.

[bloomzone]

Wonyoung : Inspired Full Workout Routine

If you’ve ever admired Jang Wonyoung’s long, toned figure and effortless stage presence, you’re not alone cuz same . As one of the most well-known K-pop idols, she maintains a lean yet strong physique while performing intense choreography and balancing a busy schedule. While Wonyoung hasn’t publicly shared her full workout routine, we can get a good idea of what she likely does by looking at the types of training that help idols stay fit in some shows

This workout is inspired by a mix of dance, strength training, and flexibility exercises focusing on toning the body while keeping things light and graceful. If you want to flexibility ... this routine will help you build endurance, improve posture, and tone your body without gaining excessive muscle !

first here are two workout video u can start with:

first | second

ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ꪆ୧ Warm-up (10 minutes) – wake up ur body!

Before getting into the main workout, a proper warm-up is essential to prevent injuries and improve performance. This warm-up gets your blood flowing and preps your muscles for movement.

1. Jumping Jacks (2 minutes)

Start with classic jumping jacks to get your heart rate up.

Move your arms fully overhead for a full-body effect.

2. Dynamic Stretching (5 minutes)

Leg Swings – Hold onto a chair or wall and swing one leg forward and backward (10 reps each leg).

Arm Circles – Extend your arms to the sides and make small circles, gradually increasing their size.

Hip Rotations – Rotate your hips in circular motions (30 seconds in each direction).

3. High Knees (1 minute)

March or jog in place while bringing your knees as high as possible.

Engage your core for better balance and coordination.

4. Torso Twists (2 minutes)

Stand with feet slightly apart and twist your torso left and right.

This helps loosen up your spine and waist.

ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ꪆ୧ Cardio & Dance (20 minutes)

Dance is one of the best full-body workouts, and since Wonyoung is constantly performing, we can assume dance training is a big part of her fitness routine. This section will help improve stamina, coordination, and agility.

1. Dance Routine (15 minutes)

Pick a K-pop choreography ( anti fragile by lesserafim or super shy by nwjns are great choices as a start 💀 ).

Focus on full-body engagement, precise movements, and fluidity.

Repeat the chorus multiple times to increase endurance.

2. Jump Rope (5 minutes)

Grab a jump rope and go for steady jumps to burn calories and improve footwork.

If you don’t have a rope, mimic the movement in place.

ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ꪆ୧ Strength Training (25 minutes)

Wonyoung has a slim yet toned body, which suggests she does low-impact strength exercises that emphasize definition rather than muscle bulk.

1. Squats (4 sets of 15 reps)

Stand with feet shoulder-width apart and squat down as if sitting in a chair.

Engage your core and push through your heels.

2. Lunges (3 sets of 12 reps per leg)

Step forward into a deep lunge, making sure your knee doesn’t go past your toes.

This helps tone your thighs and improve balance.

3. Push-ups (3 sets of 10-15 reps)

Keep your core tight and lower your body in a controlled motion.

Modify with knee push-ups if needed.

4. Plank (3 sets, hold for 30 seconds to 1 minute)

Keep your body straight and avoid letting your hips drop.

This strengthens your core and improves posture.

5. Leg Raises (3 sets of 15 reps)

Lie on your back and raise your legs without touching the ground.

Engage your abs to keep your movements controlled.

6. Bicep Curls (3 sets of 12 reps)

Use light dumbbells or water bottles.

Slowly lift and lower your arms for a controlled workout.

ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ꪆ୧ Flexibility & Cool-down (10 minutes)

Idols like Wonyoung need flexibility for fluid dance movements. Stretching helps prevent stiffness and promotes long, lean muscles.

1. Standing Hamstring Stretch (1 minute per leg)

Extend one leg forward with your heel on the ground and lean in.

2. Quadriceps Stretch (1 minute per leg)

Grab your ankle and pull it toward your glutes for a deep stretch.

3. Hip Flexor Stretch (1 minute per leg)

Step forward into a lunge and push your hips forward.

4. Upper Back & Shoulder Stretch (1 minute per side)

Interlace your fingers and push your hands forward to round your back.

5. Cobra Stretch (1 minute)

Lie on your stomach and push your upper body up with your hands.

6. Child’s Pose (2 minutes)

Sit back on your heels with arms extended forward for full-body relaxation.

ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ꪆ୧Final Tips for wonyoung fitness routine

Hydration is key! Drink water throughout your workout.

Don’t overtrain. Wonyoung’s routine likely includes proper rest days.

Consistency is everything. Do this workout 3-4 times a week.

Pair it with a balanced diet. Nourish your body with protein and healthy carbs.

@bloomzone !🍀

[elodieunderglass]

You put that info dump about jockeys in the tags of the info dump post, but oh my stars do I need you to write an actual post about it if you have the time! Or if you've already done that, point me in the direction of where I can find it, because dude, am I invested now!!!!

Oh I can go on about jockeys forever. Let’s do a crash (ha) course while dressing my jockey OC, Killie. Killie is an Irish-British racing jockey over the flat AND jumps, operating in the UK.

NOTE TW below the cut for injuries, weight talk and references to disordered eating, because, regrettably: professional horse jockeys. Infuriating people.

We start with Killie’s fairly battered and frankly very tiny body. At 4’10” Killie is comfortably at the bottom range of jockeys, who usually range from 4’10 to 5’7”. There’s no height limit; there is a weight limit. A naturally small man at about 118 lbs of fairly fit racing weight, Killie is in condition to race on the flat in the UK without too much starvation, dehydration, and substance abuse those are just his hobbies. Jockeys and their gear are weighed before and after each race. Weight limits for jockeys include their body, personal gear, riding gear and safety equipment.

Flat jockeys - who race horses on a plain circular track, like the Kentucky Derby - must be lighter and smaller than jump jockeys. In the USA, flat jockeys tend to be about 118 lbs, the weight of a potential Kentucky Derby competitor. In the UK, flat jockeys and their gear can now go up to 142 lbs, thanks to increased welfare standards; this includes the 3lb allowance for the body protector that UK jockeys must wear as of 2018, and, as of 2013, Flat jockeys in the UK can now have an additional 1 lb of allowance for warm clothing in winter.

Jump jockeys, who race in steeplechases (USA) like the Grand National (UK) aka races with jumps - are allowed to be slightly heavier, and often taller with it, as their sport requires even more strength and stamina.

Jockeys have to be able to maintain ~118 lbs of very fit, fighting-quality muscle, every day of the week. Thus, most jockeys are short, averaging 5’2” in a sport dominated by men, because that’s the cost of packing on enough muscle for the required strength/stamina. add in excellent horsemanship, high pain tolerance, lack of natural fear/truly bonkers physical courage, the ability to go for days without food and other pleasures of life, an ongoing commitment to fitness, excellent mental arithmetic/timekeeping skills, and the ability to tolerate abysmal working conditions, to understand why most short people aren’t immediately natural jockeys. Taller jockeys are becoming ever more common, as the conditions that shaped the historically legendary small jockeys (enslavement/slaver starvation, concentration camps/Nazi starvation, birth complication/premature birth, bad nutrition) are thankfully becoming far less common. This is in turn driving pushes towards higher weight limits, which can only be a good thing.

Why aren’t jockeys all little people? Because it isn’t just about being small - it’s more important to be light and strong. Jockeys generally don’t have medical conditions underpinning their size, and are not generally considered part of the little people community, although their size may overlap with little people. It’s important to repeat that the working conditions of jockeys are still bad; they're a loose collection of freelancers who very rarely become contractors, they don’t bargain collectively, have nominal professional associations, and have 500 years of absurdly feudal working conditions to battle. Little people who are motivated to handle horses could have a comparable time - and genuine union protection! and fans! and visibility! and benefits! and safety coordinators! and less substance abuse! And clothing! - by working as stunt actors. Jockeys just have a shitty job, so when we ask why marginalised people don’t dominate the field, we have to look at working conditions.

Why don’t more women (who tend to be a bit smaller statistically) go into racing? Some of it is historical sexism, but again, the working conditions. Female jockeys have raced throughout history, and are active today. Men and women compete equally in horse racing without any gender segregation or handicap (or even different clothing) and with no statistical difference in performance. Of course, male and female horses also compete alongside each other, for what it’s worth! equestrian sports are generally refreshingly free of TERF nonsense about Masculinity Being An Advantage (it isn’t, in human or horse.) but again, it isn’t a choice career for people with better options, so to improve diversity/inclusivity the working conditions should be addressed first, not the other way around.

Also note: horse racing is declining in popularity. With its preferred audiences traditionally being "stupidly posh aristocrats who wear alarming fascinators" and "conservative working-class old men who shout at TVs in sports bars," with a side order of "sketchy gambling-addicted weirdos," the sport doesn't really appeal to, for example, Tumblr users. Millennial-and-younger generations basically just ignore the whole industry. Most people can't name a single racing jockey; people could maybe name Secretariat, one of the most famous named animals in history, who had a film about him.

At any rate, Killie comes by his frame honestly - he is just generationally tiny and lanky, from a family of jockeys.

Killie starts his outfit in “jockey” briefs and a very lightweight high-neck top. Remember that the carry weight of his gear comes out of his weight allowance, which also includes his own body and riding equipment, so he’s wearing a lightweight mesh skivvy, even in cold weather.

The terminology of jockey briefs and the Jockey underwear brand come from horse racing. "Jockey" comes from the British/Scottish word "jock," for a young boy; jockey being a diminutive of this. The phrase "jock" as in "sportsman, opposite of nerd" in the USA comes from "jockstrap", which is apparently a completely separate underwear-related sporting etymology.

Men and women wear the same clothes, which are sold to everyone equally; there aren’t “girl versions” for racing gear, just heavy or lightweight gear. Women usually add a sports bra, and men have personal preferences for briefs to keep things contained. However, anecdotally, some women race in 'men’s' underwear - and some male jockeys wear 'women’s' underwear to keep gear weight down - so whatever. Pantyhose can be worn to prevent chafing, add a vague layer of warmth, fight the see-through effect of racing breeches, and are a compromise for socks, which would add unnecessary weight.

If there was a reason to leave off his base layer, Killie could cheat by wearing a neck wrap - basically a high collar with a bib that would make it LOOK like he was wearing something under his silks.

Today, in the UK and Australia, jockeys wear body protectors! These are fairly new to the sport and aren’t even remotely universal in the USA. Body protectors can shield the spine, lungs and heart from falls, kicks, and crush injuries.

Killie has also added his high-waisted racing breeches. These are basically-see-through polyester breeches of unbelievable thinness and lightness. Unlike normal riding breeches/jodhpurs, they don’t offer much at all in the way of comfort/grip/protection.

Pull-ups are a kind of tight compression tube that bridge the breeches/boots gap, preventing chafing and making sure that breeches taper into the boot.

Time for silks!

Silks, or racing colours, are colourful high-necked thin jackets that are buttoned over the body protector and tucked into the breeches. Silks represent the owner of the racehorse, for example the Queen of England or Godolphin Stables. Jockeys don’t own racehorses or own/choose silks.

Killie is a licensed jockey under contract to a stable - a highly desirable position. this means that he has HIS OWN PERSONAL SILKS, which actually fit him on purpose. He also knows the horses he rides. This is a very rare and comfortable post - the gold standard for champion jockeys, and what everyone in the profession is desperately hoping for.

Most everyday jobbing jockeys are paid £100 per ride, plus a cut of the purse if they win (but most jockeys in a race necessarily don’t win.) jobbing jockeys are chosen by racehorse owners like itinerant labourers or puppies from a box. Jockeys compete desperately to be offered the best mounts. The owners’ silks are kept in a changing room and when a jockey is chosen by an owner to ride a particular horse, they are handed the owner’s silks to put on over their base layer. These silks are unisex and one-size-fits-all, so jockeys tuck them into breeches to hide when they’re too large, and small jockeys use hair elastics to roll back and secure the sleeves.

People have a vague idea from heartwarming movies that the racehorse, owner, trainer and jockey are familiar with each other - perhaps they have a beautiful relationship. It’s important to remember the real pecking order here: the owner is usually a billionaire or royalty. The racehorse is usually a valuable, highly-bred animal with a proper dollar value on it, which the billionaire loves as an extension of their own wealth and power and beauty and influence. And the jockey is a sort of disposable starving dog that talks, which you graciously choose from the pack, based on their stats, like someone picking a Mario Kart, and assign to make your horsey win. Sometimes “just before the race” is the first time the jockey even touches the horse they’re about to ride! At any rate, the patterned jacket is chucked at the jockey to button on over their clothes(unless they’re Killie and have their own.) They also stretch a thin flexible matching cover over their helmet.

The design of the silks is ancient in intention; everyone can intuit that it’s resonant with medieval alliances and heraldry and tournaments, and the wearing of colours facilitates your ability pick out “your” mounted knight from a scrum of other screaming horses and bodies. Today they help commentators and the audience to see their horses. All silks must be unique, with colour/design/pattern being registered in databases. You can play with the British Horseracing Authority's silks database to see whether your design of silks would be available!

Killie is wearing his racing boots. They're flexible, made of very leather, with practically no sole, and weigh less than half a pound.

Killie wears racing gloves - these are optional, and often fingerless since jockeys like to feel the reins. He also has goggles. Jockeys usually take multiple pairs, perched on their helmet and pulled down in turn. You can have tinted ones for sun/rain, but they’re most important for keeping mud and stones out of your eyes at 40mph. They’re very lightweight, and when they become too dirty to see through, you pull them down to hang around your neck and then pull down the next pair over your eyes. here's jockey Gary Stevens after a muddy race with several pairs of goggles pulled down.

Killie's got his helmet, so now he's dressed. He needs to add his gear. Again, the jockey's body and their gear are part of the same weight allowance; a lighter jockey can have heavier gear. Here is UK jockey Hollie Doyle showing hers:

Interestingly, the weight of the saddle (plus stirrups, girth, and lead cloth) belongs in the jockey's weight allowance. (The racehorse brings its own bridle and saddlecloth.) Hollie is shown here with multiple saddles - for various riding conditions, weights, etc. Racing saddles only weigh about 1-2 pounds - contrasted with the 20lb of a normal English riding saddle - and are basically a strap that the stirrups hang from, since jockeys mostly stand up to ride.

This concludes "Getting Cillian Dressed, the Awkward Little Sod That He Is." Thank you so much for joining me and prompting this.

Appendix:

I depict Killie as a lightly bruised skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of mental problems, with the temperament of an unloved stray dog. This is not a nice state for a fellow to live in, so if I were to give him a happy ending, I would like Killie to age into a sort of healthy, roguish Franny Norton type (Franny, below, is the older jockey in white base layer. He raced for over 30 years and retired in 2024.) So if Killie were to be developed as a character, he would be poised for having some kind of fictional redemption arc that aligns with the overall improvement of working conditions for jockeys in 2025 and the potential redemption arc of his whole profession. it is possible, and increasingly less rare, for jockeys to be More Normal than Killie - as they very much should be!! the take-home message here should be that the profession has the potential to improve and may even do so. Emphasis on jockey and racehorse welfare would only help.

[alexanderwales]

Alright, it's a gamedev magic system. Things that are easy in gamedev are easy. Things that are hard are hard.

Teleportation? Easy. Just find the object's X,Y, and Z coordinates and give them a tweak. Unless you want to send an object to a different scene, in which case it's a whole thing.

Perfectly circular explosions or force fields? Basic radius calculations make that a breeze.

Line-of-sight spells? Also simple, you just have to do some very basic raycasting.

Summoning exact duplicates? Easy, just copy the entity and all its properties (and make sure that you offset it, so they don't start out clipping through each other).

Changing something's color or texture? Just do a shader swap or something, I guess.

Deforming an object? Yeesh. Doing it in a non-uniform way means complex mesh deformation.

Anything involving water, fire, or smoke? Look, we're not going to go there, do not touch the water, don't set things on fire.

In fact, cloth and hair simulations are also probably out, unless they're very simple.

People? Yikes. Facial animation is a no-go. Monkeying with AI is a fool's errand unless it's extremely basic.

So you get a wizard who can easily teleport across the country, but would struggle to use magic to tie his own shoes. They can rotate a castle, but can't make a fire.

[yourbasicqueerie]

I've got life, I’ve got lots. (l. calderu x a. amberg)

Summary: Avis sighed. “If the music is not good, I’m going to fire someone on principle.” She had just taken her first sip when it happened. A voice. Not just a voice— a sonic espresso, poured hot and slow, like honey and velvet. It floated through the chatter like a swan dive into an old phonograph. Every molecule of air turned to molasses.

OR

what if Lilia and Avis had met during the 60s when Lilia was still a jazz singer? and what if they hit it off?

Author’s note:  for months now i’ve been obsessed with the idea of lilia being a jazz singer a few years back, so i decided to to something about it. this fic came to me after joint with friends about wanting to be lilia’s and avis’s rotisserie chicken (implying on being impaled front and back) and wanting to write with more expression as if to feel less like a life-less corpse. I want to thank all the gorgeous ppl who read through this for me and told em I'm funny, y'all are my favorite ever, thank you for boosting my ego. especial thanks my dearest @jusbhead, there's a little cozy room in my heart with your name on it, the walls are wine red, dw. title is from “ain’t got no - i got life” by the queen nina simone, please consider listening to it while reading!

It was 1960-something, a Wednesday or a Saturday, who could tell, Hollywood always dressed as if it is ready for both church and sin. And sitting at the bar as if she owned it (which, legally, she didn’t, but metaphorically? Please), was Avis Amberg, widow, mogul, high-heel clicker, and queen of passive-aggressively coordinated lipstick.

Avis was nursing a martini like it owed her money.

The bar was called Le Petit Oiseau, an absurdly exclusive jazz joint tucked between a shuttered millinery and a psychic who only read fortunes through the patterns of cigarette smoke., The place was dimly lit, velvety, and smelled faintly of gin, ambition, and Chanel No. 5. It was Ellen’s idea, of course. Ellen with her too-wide eyes and far too much enthusiasm for anyone past thirty.

“Oh Avis, it’s divine, I swear,” Ellen gushed, grabbing Dick’s sleeve. Dick, who hadn’t quite figured out how to use a pocket square without looking like a crumpled bed sheet, just nodded enthusiastically like a wind-up puppy.

Avis sighed. “If the music is not good, I’m going to fire someone on principle.”

She had just taken her first sip when it happened.

A voice. Not just a voice— a sonic espresso, poured hot and slow, like honey and velvet. It floated through the chatter like a swan dive into an old phonograph. Every molecule of air turned to molasses.

“Is that… C’est si bon?” Ellen whispered, eyes wide.

“No,” Avis breathed, “That’s sorcery.”

She turned—slowly, because drama, and also because she was fifty-two and her neck hurt in the mornings—and saw her.

At the edge of the small, circular stage stood a woman who could only be described as a misplaced goddess or a cursed antique shop owner with a penchant for glamor.

READ MORE ON AO3

[brazenautomaton]

I'm sorry but basically every criticism of Trump now is attacked with asking the critic "What is a woman?" (Even anti-trans democrats get attacked with a 'but you support people who don't know")

So trans people are going to have to figure out a protrans answer besides the circular "a woman is someone who identifies as a woman" at some point.

(Of course TERFs actually have revealed one piece of hypocrisy recently after the recent British ruling. (Passing trans men are now not allowed to use either public toilets and they support that))

Although trans people absolutely suck at being strategic so that's probably not going to help...

passing trans men are not allowed to use either public toilet? that fucking sucks. gonna take a wild fucking stab in the dark and say this is due to obvious misandry and regarding men as inherently threatening, and then also not thinking about or addressing trans men at all. Like, "people who look like men cannot go into the women's restroom (because men are inherently threatening and women are inherently imperiled), and also trans people have to go to the bathroom for their AGAB," would be my guess.

"What is a woman" is right now a fucking Magnum-caliber shot at the progressive position because their stances require nobody to be able to answer that question and also require the answer to that question to be specific and extremely important so that women can be protected and revered and men can be despised and blamed. It's just like "It's okay to be white," a statement they cannot possibly answer without either being kicked out of the progressive coalition or being obviously foaming at the mouth insane. It's putting pressure on a weld joint of the progressive coalition, the Gender Fandom and feminism. The fact that there's a huge overlap between these two groups and the fact that most people who hold one of those positions also hold the other despite being mutually contradictory sure as fuck doesn't help because you can't even separate the groups.

Progressives don't believe, by the revealed preferences of their behavior, that anyone who wants to be a woman is one and gender isn't real. They strenuously police gender, just by a different set of guidelines than traditionally so. "Women and femmes." All genders welcome, across the entire gender spectrum, except men. Men are still bad, and are toxic masculinity, except for the bearded Wokemen who are already my friends and apologize for being men (and also always get revealed to be sexually abusing a bunch of people that I covered up for after five to ten years).

Trans people suck at being strategic but that's not their fault and not particular to them, because no uncoordinated movement and/or demographic is capable of strategic planning. They can't communicate and coordinate to do that. The progressive movement has leadership, mostly informal and mostly the revealed-preferences kind, and it sucks at being strategic because it has to choose "give status and resources and attention to psychopaths" over "be effective in accomplishing the goal" every time. You can't coordinate the demographic of "trans people" to fix the progressive movement, only try and spread new standards and ideas that eventually trickle up to how the leadership has to interact with them. And you can't do that. For reasons already specified, you can't ever afford to divert any of your focus from "signal" to "signified." The Queer Housing Group People are the most detrimental part of the LGBT movement not just because of optics, but because they take positions of leadership by being aggressive and 100% signal / 0% signified, they capture all attention and effort onto themselves, and they twist every idea in the movement around themselves until they're utterly broken and nonfunctional. Trans people can't kick them out for reasons both sympathetic (I can't afford to turn away any potential ally, I don't want to become like the people who persecuted me for improperly performing gender, I worry I am not passing and may even be correct to worry and how could I say to kick out people who don't pass when that's both cruel and dangerous to me) and unsympathetic (I am obligated by basic human psychology to give everything I possibly can to support an abusive psychopath in my midst).

The pro-trans answer I can come up with, and the one I've used to convince transphobes or trans-skeptics on the occasions I do so, is this: "There's a bunch of things that define a woman when you interact with someone normally, you don't do PCR tests on people before you talk to them to know what pronouns to use and that's not really relevant to your life. There's more mannish women than trans women, and if someone acts like a woman, looks like a woman, sounds like a woman, etc, then even if some of those things are on the 'mannish' end of woman-ness, they're probably a woman. Why does it matter what their DNA is, how does that help?" plus other medical stuff about neurology and proprioception etc. But "Eh, a woman is a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff, you kinda gotta squint at it" is not a really compelling slogan when you don't get to have an extended conversation with someone about it. And it's gonna be a mega, mega hard sell to people who are extremely and accurately worried about their ability to pass, and rightly so. It would be great if we could make this the new rule and also change the rule so "passing" includes "clearly trying their best" except you also can't do that, you can't change people's views of that unless you've already won everywhere else and the people who are genuinely trying to pass won't feel any safer and the people making no effort to pass will demand people see them as passing.

Like most Culture War problems, there is no solution because everyone will not just. I try my best to convince individual people, but that's not a solution at scale, the things I say are obviously going to be seen as transphobic by a bunch of trans people even the ones who are sincere, and also "you should accept this idea and step one of doing that is to completely ignore every person you can see who advocates for it" is a hard fucking sell.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

I know we have the circular Gallifreyan language, but do we have any pinyin like examples of Gallifreyan words? Also what language is primarily spoken by the populous since there’s several different types of Gallifreyan

What Gallifreyan words do we know?

We don't have very many. The problem is that Gallifreyan languages were never really designed for easy translation because, subtextually, many Gallifreyan words are impossible for humans to pronounce.

Gallifreyan languages are also layered, poetic, and sometimes have magical subtext that will literally rewrite your DNA. But! We do have a few written examples of Gallifreyan words like pinyin – aka, they give us Earth-based phonetic clues:

Arkytior – rose (Old High)

D'Arvit – a curse word, unspecified (likely Modern Low)

Gallifrey – they that walk in shadows (probably Ancient)

Gjara'vont – of darkest thought

Karn – winter (Old High)

Meyopapa – master

Mi'en Kalarash – blue fire (possibly Old High, could be metaphorically or ironically named)

Osuda – Fate (Ancient or Old)

Swowana – possibly snow

Tegorak – black mountain

Toclafane – a catch-all for bogeymen

Which Gallifreyan language is actually spoken?

The quick answer is Modern High Gallifreyan.

However, Gallifreyans don't just have one language—they have an entire linguistic caste system. Here's the basic family tree (Ancient, Neo, Sollifreyan are all theoretical):

📜 Old Gallifreyan

Old Low – Rooted in Ancient Gallifreyan phonics, it's the 'default' old Gallifreyan for general ye olde Gallifreyan chit-chat, packed with lots of swear words and probably lots of words for farming. ⤷Modern use: Unlikely anyone speaks it. Being Low, it's the language of the lower classes, so therefore, it is of no interest to Gallifreyan academics. 

Old High – Rooted in Ancient Gallifreyan phonics but far more complex, it's a language for the developing scientists and aristocracy of Gallifrey. It's attached to the Dark Times, so it holds coded powers. It is used in grimoires. If conjugated wrong, it could blow up a small moon. There are 10,000,000 letters in its alphabet and a lot of them look quite Greek. ⤷Modern use: Gallifreyan language experts at the top of their game probably know a fair amount. It's on the Time Academy syllabus as one of the more difficult subjects.

💬 Modern Gallifreyan

Modern Low – Related heavily to Old Low Gallifreyan, this would have developed alongside Modern High as the language of the lower classes, retaining its swear words and slang forms that the upper classes despise. It has however moved on to accommodate more mathematical principles and Time-related language and has 1,000,000 characters. ⤷Modern use: None of the elite in the Capitol would be interested in this, however, it's likely members of the lower classes living in the lowtown or as outsiders will know this language and use it fairly often.

Modern High – AKA the familiar 'circular Gallifreyan' (although it's been written in other forms, too). An incredibly secure language that's difficult for non-speakers to decode, and even the TARDIS has problems translating it for other species, which is why companions never see the TARDIS monitor in their native language. Posh, polite and functional, it's the one seen most regularly. ⤷Modern use: Spoken as the 'default' language of the Capitol in pre and during Time War Gallifrey.

🏫 So ...

We don't have much, but a few phonetic words exist. We also know that the most commonly spoken language is Modern High Gallifreyan—especially in the Capitol—although one day I'll tell you about the rest.

Related:

💬|🗣️👽Can humans/non-Gallifreyans learn to speak Gallifreyan?: How possible it would be to see a human speaking Gallifreyan.

💬|🗣️🤬Do Time Lords have their own curse words?: Taking you through all the bad words/phrases of Gallifrey.

💬|🗣️✍️How do Time Lords write coordinates?: How coordinates get written and work in TARDISes.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[glowettee]

can you write an aesthetic exercise and shower post , I love your style of writing

my aesthetic workout + shower routine (that actually changed my life) 🎀

posted by: glowettee

hey angel! thank you for this super sweet ask and being so sweet, i'm so happy you like the style of my writinggggg! let me share my favorite way to make exercise and shower time feel like a luxurious main character moment! ♡

♡ pre-workout aesthetic prep

starting right makes everything better:

outfit coordination:

- match your workout set (i love baby pink + white combinations)

- choose clothes that make you feel confident

- wear matching ankle socks (such a tiny detail but so cute!)

- style your hair in buns or braids

- put on minimal jewelry (tiny earrings make me feel put together)

gym bag essentials:

- mini pink water bottle with crystal infuser

- rose gold airpods for main character vibes

- cute towel (mine has little hearts)

- emergency hair ties and clips

- mini perfume (for post-workout freshness)

- aesthetic workout journal

♡ turning exercise into a romantic date with yourself

working out shouldn't feel like punishment:

cardio but make it dreamy:

- create specific playlists for different exercises (my running playlist is a mixture of twice, red velvet, newjeans, ariana grande, sabrina carpenter and more)

- pretend you're in a music video

- use the stairmaster while imagining you're climbing to your castle

- make up stories while on the treadmill

- treat the gym mirror like a montage moment

- walk on incline while reading your kindle (romantic novels only!)

strength training with intention:

- name your exercises after your goals (i call squats "princess posture")

- count reps in a different language

- imagine each movement sculpting your dream self

- take aesthetic progress photos

- write down your achievements in sparkly pen

- celebrate every tiny improvement

♡ the dreamiest shower prep ever

transform your bathroom into a spa:

setting the mood:

- dim the lights or use fairy lights

- light your favorite candles (i use vanilla + rose)

- put on a shower playlist (mine is called "water fairy")

- lay out fluffy towels in a pretty way

- prepare your skincare lineup aesthetically

- set up your bathrobe like a hotel would

shower cart organization:

- decant products into pretty bottles

- organize by color scheme

- add eucalyptus bundles for spa vibes

- keep dried flowers nearby

- use a cute shower speaker

- have crystal clusters on display

♡ the actual shower routine

make it feel like luxury:

pre-shower ritual:

- dry brush in circular motions (feels so fancy!)

- do a quick stretch sequence

- take down your hair

- remove jewelry

- set intentions for your shower

- spritz favorite scent in the air

shower steps (in order!):

- start with scalp massage (pretend you're at a fancy salon)

- use shower oil before water (game changer!)

- alternate water temperatures (cold rinse for main character energy)

- apply hair mask while doing other steps

- use body scrub in circular motions

- end with a rose water face mist

♡ post-shower glow routine

the magic continues:

immediate after care:

- pat (don't rub!) with fluffy towel

- wrap hair in silk towel

- apply body oil while skin is damp

- do facial massage with rose quartz

- put on silky robe

- sip water with lemon

final touches:

- apply matching scented lotion

- do light stretches

- journal gratitude thoughts

- take a glowy selfie

- put on soft music

- enjoy your self-care high

♡ making it sustainable

consistency is key:

planning tips:

- prep everything the night before

- set specific workout + shower times

- create a weekly schedule

- plan outfits in advance

- maintain your products organized

- keep backup supplies ready

motivation tricks:

- take before/after selfies

- document your routine

- share progress (even privately)

- reward consistency

- create seasonal variations

- switch up scents monthly

working out and showering doesn't have to feel like a chore! it's all about creating moments that make you feel like the main character in your own romantic movie.

i know this might seem extra (because it totally is!), but these little details make such a difference in how you feel about yourself and your routine.

xoxo,

mindy 🎀