#excel large function

[fisheito]

A while back you made a post talking about yakumo and his sensitivity to temperature and I haven't stopped thinking about it. imagine when winter comes around and yakumo becomes progressively sluggish, usually staying in the kitchen and not leaving for hours, always making something near the stove to feel a little warmth from the flames or from a little taste of the things he's making (soup probably), or him picking up the habit of bundling himself up and staying in the library to read and nap. maybe when it starts getting even colder he barely leaves his room because its too uncomfortably cold for him, and if he does he's probably looking for eiden to help him warm up, but if eidens not around he gets antsy and looks for somebody else in the mansion, but he's too shy to ask and looks at whoever with his wet eyes so they know he's cold and wants a cuddle

*inhales deeply* ah yes. you understand. you envision it all so clearly. rightly so. gEt in the wAy, everybody, snake burrito walking the halls very very slowly!!!!!!! (i was about to say get OUT of the way but that would probably make yakumo colder so why not do him a favour and collide with him on your way to another room)

[ussenterpretivedance]

Look I recognize that it is fundamentally bitchless behavior to laud excel spreadsheets on tumblr dot com but truly. Google sheets? Google fucking sheets?

[astra-ravana]

Befriending And Working With Crows

Crows have long been associated with witches due to their behavior, mystery, and connection to the supernatural. In folklore, they are seen as messengers between worlds, carrying secrets and omens. Witches were believed to communicate with or shape-shift into crows, using them as familiars to gather information or perform magical tasks. Their black feathers and eerie caws made them symbols of transformation, death, and hidden knowledge. This connection persists in modern witchcraft, where crows are often seen as guides for those practicing divination, shadow work, and spirit communication.

Crows are among the most intelligent birds, possessing problem-solving skills, advanced memory, and the ability to use tools. Studies have shown that they can recognize human faces, plan for the future, and even understand cause and effect. Their complex social structures and ability to communicate information indicate a high level of cognitive function, comparable to that of primates. Crows have been observed crafting tools from leaves and twigs, solving multi-step puzzles, and even holding grudges against perceived threats. Their intelligence makes them highly adaptable and capable of thriving in diverse environments.

Crows are highly intuitive, mysterious, and deeply connected to witchcraft, omens, and spirit work. These birds are known for their symbolism in folklore, association with deities like The Morrigan, Odin, and Hekate, and their ability to form strong bonds with humans. Befriending crows can be a rewarding experience, offering companionship, spiritual messages, and even small “gifts” from the birds themselves. Connecting with the crows isn't hard as they tend to be everywhere and their bravery and curiosity makes them willing to approach certain humans. They have senses of humor, empathy, critical thinking skills, and a lifespan of up to 30 years, all of which makes them excellent companions. Get to know the crows in your neighborhood.

🐦‍⬛Understanding Crow Behavior

Before approaching crows, it's essential to understand their nature:

• They are highly intelligent – Crows can recognize human faces, solve puzzles, and even speak.

• They have strong social bonds – They communicate within their flocks and even warn each other about potential dangers.

• They can be wary – Earning a crow’s trust takes patience, consistency, and respect.

• They have fantastic memories – A crow won't forget the face of a human that was kind to it and especially not that of one who was rude.

🐦‍⬛Attracting Crows to Your Space

To encourage crows to visit you regularly, follow these steps:

1. Offer Food Consistently

Crows love high-energy foods. Some of their favorites include:

• Unsalted peanuts (in-shell or shelled) – A crow favorite!

• Sunflower seeds – Nutritious and easy to scatter.

• Fruits (apples, grapes, berries) – Fresh or dried.

• Leftover meat scraps – A natural part of their diet.

• Hard-boiled eggs – A great protein source.

What to Avoid:

• Never feed crows processed, salty, or sugary foods.

• Avoid bread – it lacks nutrition.

• Do not leave large amounts of food – too much can attract unwanted pests.

2. Choose a Safe Feeding Spot

• Select a quiet, open area where they feel comfortable landing.

• Keep a routine – feeding them at the same time each day builds trust.

• If possible, create a dedicated offering space, like a small platform.

3. Provide Fresh Water

• A shallow birdbath or bowl of clean water can help attract crows, especially in dry seasons.

• Change the water frequently to keep it fresh.

🐦‍⬛Earning Their Trust

1. Observe From a Distance

• At first, let crows come and go without interference.

• Avoid sudden movements or loud noises.

• If they seem cautious, step back and let them approach at their own pace.

2. Speak to Them

• Crows recognize human voices and can distinguish between friendly and hostile tones.

• Greet them softly or whistle a simple tune when feeding them.

• Some witches even give their crows names, reinforcing a bond.

3. Leave Small Offerings

• In addition to food, place shiny objects (small trinkets, marbles, beads) as “gifts” for crows.

• Some crows may return the favor by leaving tokens like buttons, feathers, or shells.

🐦‍⬛Building a Magickal Relationship

Once crows recognize you as a friend, you can incorporate them into your spiritual practice:

1. Crow as a Spirit Ally

• If a crow visits during ritual work or divination, take note—its presence may carry a message.

• Crows can serve as psychopomps, guiding spirits between realms.

2. Divination & Omens

• A single crow cawing may indicate a warning or message.

• A group (a murder of crows) could symbolize change, transformation, or ancestral spirits.

• Here's some more information about counting crows.

3. Offering a Sacred Space

• Create a small altar outside with natural elements where you place food and gifts.

• Meditate near their space, listening to their calls and energy.

• Put up wards and cast protection magick for the crows.

🐦‍⬛Strengthening the Bond

• Be patient – Some crows take weeks or months to trust humans.

• Stay consistent – Regular feeding and positive interactions reinforce the bond.

• Respect their autonomy – Crows are wild and should never be captured or forced to interact.

🐦‍⬛Crow Spells

Crows can assist with your magick as well, through their presence and the lovely black feathers they often leave as gifts or lose through natural shedding. Here are some spells you can do with your crows.

Crow’s Omen Spell (For Divination & Messages)

Needed:

• A quiet outdoor space where crows gather

• A small offering (unsalted nuts, shiny objects, or seeds)

Instructions:

Sit in a place where crows are present and place the offering nearby. Close your eyes and ask the crows for a message:

“Messengers of fate, winged and wise,

Show me the truth with your keen eyes.

A sign, a word, a lesson true,

I call on crows to send their view.”

Observe their behavior. Watch how they move, call, or interact. Their actions may symbolize an answer to your question. Thank the crows and leave the offering as a sign of respect.

Crow’s Wisdom Spell (For Guidance & Insight)

Needed:

• A feather from a crow

• A small black candle

• A piece of paper and a pen

Instructions:

Light the black candle and sit quietly, focusing on a question or situation where you need insight. Hold the crow feather and say:

“Wise crow, keeper of secrets and sight,

Bring me knowledge, clear my mind this night.

Show me the path, help me see,

Reveal the truth and guide me free.”

Meditate for a few moments, then write down any thoughts, visions, or feelings that come to you. Let the candle burn down safely or snuff it out to use again.

Crow’s Shadow Cloak (For Invisibility & Stealth)

Needed:

• A black cloth or scarf

• A  crow feather

• A small mirror

Instructions:

Hold the black feather and visualize yourself surrounded by a shadowy aura. Place the mirror face down on the cloth, symbolizing the reflection being hidden. Whisper:

“Dark-winged shadow, silent flight,

Hide me well, keep me from sight.

As the crow vanishes into the night,

Let me fade from every light.”

Wrap the feather in the cloth and carry it when you need to go unnoticed.

Crow’s Omen Spell (For Divination & Answers)

Needed:

• No physical tools, just observation

Instructions:

Find a place where crows are naturally present. Ask your question either aloud or in your mind.

Observe the crows for signs:

• A single crow cawing: A warning or negative response.

• A pair of crows flying together: A positive or cooperative outcome.

• A group of crows circling or gathering: Major change or important news coming.

• A crow bringing or dropping something near you: A strong affirmation or message from the spiritual realm.

Thank the crows for their wisdom.

Crow’s Curse Spell (For Revenge & Justice)

Needed:

• A black feather given by a crow

• A piece of paper with the target’s name

• A dark stone (obsidian, onyx, or jet)

Instructions:

Write the target’s name on the paper and place the crow’s feather over it. Hold the dark stone in your dominant hand and visualize the negative energy returning to its source. Say:

“As the crow flies, swift and free,

Let justice return threefold to thee.

No more harm, no more pain,

What was given, be reclaimed.”

Let the feather sit overnight. The next day, release it into the wind or place it somewhere the crows frequent.

Crow’s Guardian Spell (For Protection & Psychic Defense)

Needed:

• A crow feather

• A small black candle

• A piece of black string

Instructions:

Light the candle and hold the feather. Close your eyes and visualize a crow circling around you, forming a protective barrier. Tie a knot in the black string while chanting:

“Black-winged guardian, fierce and free,

Stand between harm and me.

No ill may pass, no foe may near,

On shadowed wings, keep my path clear.”

Carry the string as a charm of protection, or keep the feather in your home as a spiritual ward.

By observing, working with, and honoring crows, you can create powerful bonds that enhance protection, divination, communication, and justice in your magical practice. If nurtured properly, crows can become lifelong allies, offering wisdom, companionship, and even protection. Treat them well, and they may even  become your loyal feathered familiars.

[elodieunderglass]

You never clearly state it, but its obvious Killie missed his brother. Charlies absence is seen in all the cracks Killie has. But did Charlie miss Killie? Its easy to say: "of course he did! Thats his twin! He must have missed him!" But did he? Did he allow himself the time to grieve? Did he tell his partners there is a carbon copy of himself walking around somewhere? Or did he lock up this part of himself as secure as he was able to not look back and live his life? Do Charlie and Killie ever talk about this? They dont seem to be like people, who talk about feelings. eww feelings

(in reference to Killie to jockey OC, who was estranged for a long time from his twin brother Charlie)

Charlie was the one who left. and when he left, he went scorched-earth. By leaving, he cut himself off from not just his immediate family, but his career path, extended family, horses, horse racing, his friends, horses, his native country, his magical-realism-psychic connection to his twin, horses, the family's religion (probably a plus side but definitely a framework); and, when you remove the load-bearing explanatory bit about "being a generational jockey", quite a strange relationship with his body/exercise/nutrition/self-care/pain tolerance/masculinity. Charlie went to England, sheltered with his horrible English family and took their last name for a bit, played along to get them to pay for his uni, went to uni in a panic, took up weird jobs, sheltered with his friend Ken and lived on his boat, and pursued an absurd career trajectory, largely in a panic at the thought of Ken going to graduate school without him. At the time of reuniting with Killie, Charlie had a rich life full of partners, kids, friends, career, hobbies, and therapy. He was Winning at Life and Mental Health! and sang with his friends and did healthy things like KNITTING! and was a PRESENT AND INVOLVED FATHER and had TWO! WHOLE! SPOUSES! which looks like a perfect life. it looks like Charlie did very well for himself. it looks like he Won. And he did! He's a good father and a good husband (husband²?) and has a job and everything. But, if you squint, and think about how what society deems "winning" is milestone-based; and how a lost person who is viscerally, addictively competitive might view "bagging life milestones" as an excellent replacement for "bagging horse-shaped golden trophies"; and remember that Charlie is off his hinge in a way that LOOKS healthy but is, nonetheless, off his bloody hinge, then you go: hmmm! Charlie you are POWERFULLY and OBVIOUSLY off your bloody rocker, and you only get away with it because it's all in ways that are charming and/or marketable.

this implies that Charlie needed to find about 25 people to replace Killie; that he needed to study, out of nowhere, astrophysics at the doctoral level as a way to keep himself from thinking about other things; that he tried on a lot of different masks in order to find one that fitted; that he snatched up as much light and colour and noise as possible to fill his head; and that he was, in general, Extremely Bad at being alone. He did not function alone. without family, structure, direction, ambition - cut completely loose - he is very lucky that he actually had a workable plan, that he found good people, and that he bounced into pockets of uncannily good luck. he's lucky that Ken picked him up and put him in his pocket. he's lucky that he was a good singer. he's lucky that he somehow managed to stay on the straight and narrow and build an entire life. it definitely looks like a life! a life that a Real Person would have! why would anyone grieve that! don't be silly!!! Charlie's mirror-book to Killie's would be On The Straight and Narrow. Ken's The Straight, and the narrowboat (and charlie) are the narrow.

and he would not talk about his family. and he would lie to everyone. I think his partners and closest friends would probably know, eventually, where he came from, and that he'd had siblings. but the light and colour and noise in between (the husband in front of you) and (whatever his childhood was) would be its own distraction and barrier.

Don't be silly! he was raised by pirates! he was raised by wolves! charlie made himself out of junk. charlie was born fully formed in a duck's nest. charlie is actually Ken's ginger brother (he takes after Mr MacKenzie, you see it, right?) Charlie's birth name was definitely and legally Charles Dragonfly. why would you not believe that

[strawberryblondebutch]

hi! Random question maybe, but you seem very knowledgeable about hockey: there's a post on the PWHL subreddit right now asking about the differences between PWHL and NHL hockey. A lot of people in the comments are saying the skill level in the PWHL is much lower, which to me a weird statement for multiple reasons, but I don't know enough to disagree or agree with certainty. Do you have any thoughts? In general, what do you think are the differences between the style of play in the two leagues right now (other than ofc level of physicality l)?

That is a weird statement, which I'll get into in a second. To me, the biggest differences are such.

Fundamentals. This is not a PWHL-specific statement. It also applies to the WNBA vs. the NBA, and baseball players drafted out of college vs. high school. With truly all the respect and love to my prep school coaches, college is where you learn how to play your sport. You get by on raw talent until you hit the college level (or, for Canadian men's hockey players, the junior level) and then you learn how to actually play. Men are spending 1-2 years in college before leaving for the show. Women do a full 4-5. It's hard to imagine someone like Jason Robertson (who I love) succeeding in the women's game, because he's not a very good pure skater. He got by on his raw offensive ability. If he were coming up through the NCAA, someone like Mark Johnson or Matt Desrosiers would have grabbed him and said, "You're doing extra shifts in the barn until you stop looking like you're drowning out there."

"Then the skill in nhl level is just insane. Passes are perfect, players can handle bouncing pucks easily, and most importantly positioning is excellent - players are almost always where they are supposed to be (because they are big and fast) so zone entry/exit is super smooth.

60 minutes of Flyers hockey would kill this Redditor. I can assure you passes are not perfect and positioning is abysmal in the NHL, because again... these are the fundamentals that players would learn if they weren't plucked out of college/juniors on the basis of their raw, unhoned talent.

Roster construction. This is largely a function of limited roster space. The PWHL has less than 1/4 the positions than the NHL does. In the men's game, each line has a defined role. The first two forward lines are your top scorers, the third line does most of the checking and defensive play, and your fourth O-line is meant to tucker out the opponents' best scorers. The PWHL doesn't really have checking lines, because there aren't really checking specialists. Instead, lines are determined by the whims of the coaches by a combination of seniority and "riding the hot hand" - players who score more get more ice time.

Goaltending. PWHL goalies are smaller than NHL goalies and working with the same size net. Someone like Ivan Fedotov (6'8") can take up more space just by standing there than someone like Emerance Maschmeyer (5'6"). As a result, PWHL goalies tend to be far more mobile, and they start their post-to-post movement early, trying to anticipate where the shot will come from so that they can physically get there and block it.

Speed vs. acceleration. I think the comments about size that people in that thread were mentioning are largely overblown because they forget that everything is relative. It only really counts in two dimensions. The first is in goaltending. The second is in movement. Taller players can cover more ground with each push, which helps with their speed. Smaller players, because they aren't dragging as much weight around the ice with them, can push off from a stop faster, which helps their acceleration. It's why KCS is such a pain in the ass to play against: if she and I are both standing at the starting line, she (5'2", 125 lbs) can take off much faster than I (5'10", 170 lbs) can. I can hope to close the distance by using my strength and stride, but she's got the edge on that first 200 ft. Hey, you know what else is 200 feet? A hockey rink. She beat me to the other end.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Processing the Crime Scene

The following is a brief procedural guideline for collecting and preserving physical evidence at the scene of a crime.

Clear the area: Clear all except essential and authorized persons from the crime-scene area. This includes all officers who are not needed for specific functions. The more people present, the more chance for damage or loss of evidence.

Use a systematic approach: Use caution when searching for evidence. Study the whole crime-scene area first, since the relationship of different exhibit positions may be important. Systematically cover the crime scene so that nonobvious or hidden evidence is not overlooked. Speed and carelessness may lead to overlooking evidence or to the damage or destruction of important exhibits.

Limit the number of evidence collectors: Designate one, or at most a pair, of officers to collect all evidence. This places responsibility on specific individuals. It will also tend to avoid confusion at some later date as to who recovered specific items and where they were found. [Author's note: This does not mean that only one person should search. Rather, it means that in the search team, one person should be responsible for collecting the finds.]

Photograph the evidence: Take photographs as necessary prior to moving or securing exhibits.

Use common sense: Use knowledge, experience and intelligence in collecting evidence. Consider what significance the exhibit may have and what examinations the laboratory may conduct. With this in mind, the trained investigator will normally be able to correctly secure and preserve the exhibits.

Keep accurate records: Prepare notes or other records as items are collected. Record the item, its condition (if appropriate), the exact location relative to a fixed and permanent position, the date, the time, etc.

Mark the exhibits: Place permanent and distinctive marks directly on the objects collected if this is possible without damaging the evidence.

Mark the containers: When unable to mark the exhibit itself, such as in the case of stains, hair, paint, etc., place the evidence in a vial or small plastic or paper envelope, then seal and mark the container. Even when the exhibit itself can be marked, it is usually advisable to seal it in some kind of container and place additional identification marks on the container.

Keep the markings brief: Initials or the name of the officer collecting the evidence is essential. In marking containers, other pertinent data can be included, such as date, location where found, case number and description of the exhibit. Do not include extraneous information or conclusions of the investigator since these might render the label inadmissible as evidence in court.

Use proper containers:

Plastic or cellophane envelopes are excellent for small objects that are not organic in nature.

Paper envelopes are used for organic evidence (body fluids, biological evidence, etc.). Note: Air dry all evidence items before packaging. Seal all corners adequately if very small or powdery material is enclosed. It is preferable to place the latter in plastic envelopes. Do not use paper envelopes for fiber evidence as the paper itself may contain fibers and thus contaminate the evidence.

Vials, pill boxes, capsules and like containers are frequently suitable, depending upon the exhibit and its condition.

Garments and large exhibits can be placed in bags or rolled in paper.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[ilguna]

☼ the connection web (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you didn't stand a chance, finnick knew that as soon as you were reaped for the 74th games. it was a punishment directed at him for disobeying. little did he know, that wasn't the only trick snow had up his sleeve.

warnings; swearing, death mention, weapon use, psychological torture (jabberjays), death by birds in description, mention of prostitution.

wc; 5.7k

notes; this was a very specific request. this is a little sister fic, please see the request -> HERE. before deciding to continue. ignore the tags, i did to make sure my fic gets out like usual.

--

Finnick numbly watches as his allies peer into the jungle, checking to see if they can tell what hour it is. They don’t dare to pass the treeline, bending in awkward positions to see past the trees that block their view. He doesn’t bother to join them, just keeps an eye on the beach to make sure the Careers don’t come back.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta says, turning to look at Katniss. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

Finnick shakes his head, he can’t let Peeta go in. He’s already barely functioning after yesterday’s fiasco with the force field. The last thing he needs is a mutt to attack and for Peeta to step in and get himself killed.

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick says. 

Besides, if Enobaria and Brutus are out here, it’ll be easier to fight them if he’s not worrying about Peeta. He may have teamed up with the Careers briefly last year, but he was never really an ally of theirs. He can’t fight Brutus and Enobaria the way Finnick can. Although, he will give some credit to Peeta, because he was building up his muscles in the months leading up to the Quell.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says, sharing a look with Finnick. She gets it. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up to pull a large leaf off a tree, handing it over to him.

He’d much rather take Katniss, anyway. She’s the one that figured out what the spile was and she’s an excellent hunter. If anyone or anything comes running at them, she’ll be the first to spot it. 

Katniss looks between Peeta and and Finnick for a moment, gauging the situation on her own. She must decide it’s nothing to worry about, because she ends up giving Peeta a shrug, then turns to Finnick. He leads her about fifteen yards into the jungle before he finds a good tree. Using the awl Mags owned, he starts stabbing at the bark, digging a hole. 

It’s uncomfortably quiet out here, usually there’s some sort of noise with the birds and the bugs. They must’ve been startled when Finnick started to drill into the tree. He glances at Katniss out of the corner of his eye, making sure she’s keeping watch, and she is. 

She’s staring off into the green, an arrow readied on her bow.

Finnick flicks out a large piece of bark, watching it disappear in the grass. He sticks his pinky into the hole, confirming it’s big enough to fit the spile, before looking back at her. “Katniss, got that spile?”

Katniss yanks the spile from her belt, vine still hanging on. He’s barely grabbing the metal tube when a scream cuts through the air. His hand freezes, Katniss’s head whips in the direction it came from. The spile slips from her fingers, Finnick barely catches it in his hand, and watches her take off like a bat out of hell.

“Katniss—!” Finnick reaches out to grab her, but she’s gone.

He struggles to get up to his feet, following after her trail. He watches for swinging branches and ferns, anything that might give away what direction she’s run off in. She’s faster than Finnick thought, but that might be because she doesn’t care. She’s ripping through vines and branches as if they don’t exist.

“Prim!” She cries. “Prim!” A scream pierces the air, one that belongs to her little sister. “Prim!”

Finnick’s lost Katniss now, he’s just following the sound of her voice at this point. He sucks in deep breaths of hot, humid air, ignoring the stinging in his muscles. He can’t blame Katniss for her reaction. He would run after his sister, too, if she were in the trees.

“Prim!” Katniss shouts again.

Finnick can see where she’s gone through a wall of green. He ducks through the hole she’s created and comes to a slow jog in the clearing she’s been brought to. Her head is tilted back to observe the tree above, there’s a piece of moss in her hand that she uses to clean an arrow.

“Katniss?” He asks, heaving breaths.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She turns to him. “I thought I heard my sister but—”

A scream. Her scream cuts Katniss off. The blood washes from Finnick’s face, the same way it had when he heard her scream for the first time in the arena. His eyes widen, mouth opening. As if drawn by a magnet, his feet start to move without a thought behind it, going to her.

“Finnick, wait!” Is all Finnick hears before he’s gone.

She’s alive, Finnick thinks, as he barrels himself further into the jungle, my baby sister is here. 

It’s his turn to create an unmistakable path that Katniss would have to be blind in order to miss. He elbows vines and ducks under branches and trips over snarls of roots hidden in the grass. They barely slow him down, and even though he’s traveling uphill, he seems to gain momentum the further he goes.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick calls. “(Y/n), I’m coming!”

I’ll save you this time, Finnick will make sure of it. He’ll take her into his arms and get her far from here. It’s been so long since he last saw her. He might squeeze her to death before she even gets a word out.

“Finnick!” Her voice calls back.

He’s here, he’s made it. He stops by the giant tree, throwing his head back as he circles the trunk, trying to catch his breath, observing the places he could climb. He’s never had to scale a tree before, but he will if he has to. He’ll get her down. 

“(Y/n)!” He shouts. “(Y/n)!”

Katniss has finally caught up with him, looking over his state. There’s so many questions on her tongue that she wishes she could ask him, but she can’t. Not now. Not while he’s screaming her past ally’s name up the tree. Which she would climb if the limbs didn’t start about twenty feet up.

She chooses an adjacent tree to get up to the bird’s height, using her arrow to shoot it down. She slides back to the ground to join Finnick, who has the bird in his hand, staring down at it. There’s gears turning, lips turned downward. 

The Capitol has successfully tricked him into thinking they had his sister alive. They’ve taken her away from him a second time, and using a jabberjay might as well have been a shot to his heart. The Gamemakers knew what they were doing when they decided to plant this mutt here.

“It’s all right, Finnick. It’s just a jabberjay. They’re playing a trick on us.” She tells him. “It’s not real. It’s not your… (Y/n).”

“No, it’s not (Y/n).” He agrees. “But the voice was hers. Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?”

He knows they must’ve recorded his sister’s final moments last year. He wonders if Katniss recognizes the screams. She was there, after all. She was helpless to the situation. His sister was always going to die, Coriolanus Snow waited until the final six to eliminate her.

Katniss pales. “Oh, Finnick, you don’t think they…”

“Yes. I do. That’s exactly what I think.”

Katniss slowly sinks to the ground, fingers gripping at the grass. Finnick stares at her, not knowing what to say. Another bird interrupts the silence, this time belonging to a man. Katniss jerks in response, eyes wild and ready to run again, but Finnick is able to grab her arm this time.

“No. It’s not him.” Finnick has a tough hand on her, dragging her downhill, back to the beach so they can escape this nightmare before it gets any worse. “We’re getting out of here!” Katniss is struggling against him. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!” Finnick shouts at her. “Come on!”

It takes her several moments to register what Finnick is telling her. When she gets it, she stops fighting, and the two of them lightly jog down the hill, which is easier to navigate. It isn’t long before they find Johanna and Peeta standing at the treeline, palms in their direction, mouthing words at them.

Katniss and Finnick run directly into the transparent wall, and they’re thrown back several feet. There’s a wetness that spreads across Finnick’s lips, fingers tentatively touching the sensitive area, finding blood on his skin. His nose is gushing blood from the impact. Katniss cradles a shoulder in her hand. 

Finnick watches as Beetee shakes his head on the other side, telling them there’s no way to escape out of the wedge during the next hour. Peeta and Johanna swing their weapons at the wall, but nothing makes a dent. Katniss places a hand on it and follows it several feet in both directions, and comes to the conclusion it’s going to be like that in every direction.

Finnick mops at the blood on his face with his undershirt, pinching the bridge of his nose in hopes it’ll stop the bleeding. Peeta and Katniss press their hands against the wall on each side, trying to stay connected. She can’t understand a word Peeta’s trying to tell her, though.

The moment of peace is interrupted when the screaming starts again. One by one, the birds begin to arrive, perching on trees and looking down at them. An orchestrated attack, made to drive them crazy. All it takes is a scream from Annie, his beloved girlfriend back home, before he’s hunching over on the ground, clamping his hands over his ears, using his entire force to block it out.

He hates Coriolanus Snow, possibly now more than ever. At this rate, the old fucker has it coming for him. He won’t even know what hit him when this arena’s blown to pieces. When he realizes his Head Gamemaker has been planning an attack against him since the day he was elected for the position.

Katniss Everdeen is going to save them—the thousands of children that could’ve been reaped for hundreds of years to come. Whether she likes it or not, she started something, she began to stir trouble when she volunteered for her sister. When she laid those flowers out for that girl from Eleven, Rue. When she put Finnick’s sister out of her misery.

He can never scrub the image of her gurgling her own blood, eyes wide and vacant as she stared into the sky. Her lips were moving, it could’ve been her reciting her favorite line from a tragic sea song that Finnick begged her to stop singing. Or it could’ve been her pleading for Finnick, for her older brother, to come and save her before it was too late.

He couldn’t save her. All he could do was watch in tears as the Gamemakers dragged on the seconds of her death, instructions from Coriolanus, himself. Katniss wouldn’t allow it to happen, though. One arrow through the murder of crows and his sister was gone, no longer suffering.

Finnick knew Coriolanus Snow was right when he said that Finnick would come to regret saying no to him. It was the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, and Finnick was just trying to get through the year, it’d already been rough leading up to his departure, and the Capitol hadn’t made it any easier. 

At the fifth late night visit denial, Finnick had been called into Coriolanus’s mansion, like he’d done many times before. Coriolanus wanted to know why Finnick was being so combative, and he got his answer. Finnick was tired of being a prostitute for the Capitol, he had other things to worry about.

His sister was getting older, she’d just recently become eligible for the Games. He wanted to be in a better mental state to take care of her. Annie was having relapses in her progress, and it’d be easier to convince her that he loves her if she didn’t see the bruises on his body when he came home every year.

He wanted to be done, permanently. And it would start that year.

Coriolanus made a face at him, lips turning upward in a knowing smile. “You will regret saying no to me, Mister Odair. You may go.”

After the meeting, Finnick was terrified of what would happen to his sister. The first time he said no to the president, he’d slaughtered his parents. The only reason why he spared his younger sister was so that he’d be able to use her as leverage in the future, if needed.

When he came home that year, he was sure she’d be dead when he entered the home, but she was fine. Still the same ray of sunshine she’d always been, and she couldn’t understand why Finnick held her so tight that night. He didn’t want to scare her into thinking something would come, because there was no telling when it’d happen.

The next year went as it normally did. There were no freak accidents that came close to stealing her from him. She went to school with her friends as she always did, she fished on a boat with him, she baked sweets with Mags, she made flower crowns with Annie in the village.

Finnick thought he was in the clear. In fact, he forgot all about the threat, until the morning of the Seventy-Fourth reaping. Finnick had a hushed conversation with Mags, telling her how worried he was for his sister. She was fourteen now. The same age he’d been when he was reaped. Who’s to say she won’t suffer the same fate?

Mags must have genuinely believed nothing would happen to (Y/n), because she told him that if Snow wanted to punish Finnick, he would have done it already. It’d been almost a year to the day when he said no. There’s a chance Snow had moved on to more important problems. He punishes with a quick hand.

Well, that wasn’t the case when it came to (Y/n). 

Finnick had a front row viewing of the reaping, as it was tradition for the victors to sit on the stage where it took place. He watched as the escort pulled the girls name from the bowl, adjusted herself in front of the microphone, and paused for a couple seconds, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

She then cleared her throat, trying to regain the confidence she’d lost, “The female tribute for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games is (Y/n) Odair.”

The crowd went silent, no one moved, they didn’t want to give away his sister. Maybe she’d be able to blend into the crowd if she stayed still enough, but Mags had bought her this beautiful blue dress that could only be bought by the wealthy. She was picked out of the fourteen section in seconds, the Peacekeepers coming down on her.

Finnick’s hands gripped the bottom of his seat, leaning forward to look at Mags, shaking his head. This was his worst nightmare come true. The last thing he wanted was for his baby sister to suffer the same fate he did in the arena, much less the Capitol.

She made her way up to the stage gracefully, minding the manners she’d perfected, thanks to Mags. She stood by the escort, back to Finnick, staring off at her peers. Finnick crossed his fingers, hoping, praying, someone would come to her rescue. Fourteen is too young to have your innocence stolen.

The boy that was reaped was some seventeen year-old, he didn’t hear his name. He was too focused on the escort, begging her to ask for volunteers, to continue with the customs. And she did, you could hear the wind whistling from how quiet it was. No one dared to speak.

At that moment, she’d turned to look at Finnick, lips parted, absolutely terrified, tears welling up in her eyes. It took everything in him not to get to his feet and demand a volunteer. To remind the district the tragedy of his parents just years after he’d won his own Games.

They would let them take his sister too?

The mayor completed the speech, he watched his sister shake hands with the boy that would go to the Capitol with her, and then they were whisked away into the Justice Building. Finnick jumped at the escort, hands on her arms, shaking her, asking her what she knew, if it was rigged.

He had to be pulled away by Peacekeepers, sent to the nearest car to be brought to the train. He wouldn’t be allowed to see her, and neither would Mags since they were her mentors. He’s sure Annie would’ve tried to stop by, if (Y/n)’s name being drawn hadn’t sent her into a meltdown. 

Finnick knew he was in trouble when she got to the train. How red and puffy her eyes already were from crying in the Justice Building. He hugged her, held her, consoled her as long as he could. This punishment would be the death of him, and possibly her, too. 

He tried to keep her close, savoring every last moment he had with her. He knew the interview would creep up on him before he knew it, and that would be his final night with her. They’d watched a recap of the reaping together, where Finnick’s heart sank further and further with every tribute that came on screen.

The Career pack would be impossible for her to take on by herself. But there was a young girl from Eleven—Rue—that had been reaped, and he had a small shimmer of hope she’d be able to make friends out of her. He couldn’t make sense of the volunteer from Twelve, if that would make any difference in the Games at all. 

It would.

The week in the Capitol was hell. Finnick did all he could to encourage his sister to seize every opportunity. He tried to remind her the Games are hers if she can manage it. He’s never seen by Snow again, but he knew it was a matter of time before they came face to face again.

(Y/n) did her best telling Finnick what she observed in the Training Center and what it could mean for her future. Rue didn’t really seem interested in her at the beginning, still they were able to make friends out of each other by the end. His sister scored a solid seven, which was better than what Finnick thought she could get. It was only because of the rigorous amount of training he’s put her through these past couple of years that allowed her to score so high. 

Finnick hated every moment of the interview process. From arguing with her stylist about what was appropriate for her age to sending her off to talk to Caesar. She was so polite, though. She held her hands in her lap, she gave Caesar this dazzling smile that reflected Finnick’s. She answered every question with an edge to keep them guessing.

“You really are Finnick Odair’s sister, aren’t you?” Caesar had remarked at one point.

“I am not him and he is not me.” She answered, which is something Finnick surely would’ve said if the roles were reversed.

In their final hour together, Finnick tucked her into bed. He reminded her she was loved and she was a fighter when she wanted to be. She had training, she knew what to do in tough situations, all she had to do was remember. Remember what she’d been taught. Remember it’s first nature.

When he returned to the living room, Coriolanus Snow was there, a classic teacup in his hand. “I warned you that you’d regret your choices.”

“I’m not going back on anything.” Finnick dug his heels in. He was already in deep, what else could the president do? “She’s already reaped, there’s nothing worse that can happen.”

“Are you sure about that?” Snow challenged.

The start of the Games were smooth. She ran from the Cornucopia, stopped about a mile away and scaled a tree. She waited until the bloodbath cannons had sounded, gave it another hour, and then went back to gather any supplies she wanted. The Careers had cleared out by then, beginning their hunt.

It wasn’t long before (Y/n) came across a pond, and since it was a perfect place to set up base, she did. She stayed for several days, drinking water, eating the food in her backpack, scoping the pond out for any fish that may be inside. It was a perfect situation for her. If she could find a steady source of food, she could hide out the Games like many other victors had. 

One of the days, while she’d been sitting out by the pond, observing the water patterns, the volunteer from District Twelve had stumbled in. His sister froze, afraid to move, as she watched the girl collapse face first into the mud, unmoving. (Y/n)’s eyes darted around, slowly raising herself from the ground to go back into hiding, not sure if the girl was dead or not. Or if she had someone with her.

Twelve’s fingers had dipped into the mud, swirling. His sister made the decision to flee while she could, until the other tribute brought themselves up, crawling through the mud, stopping just at the water's edge. His sister had enough sense not to move, waiting for the girl to get distracted before she did.

She held onto that spear like her life depended on it, knuckles turning pale. She must’ve moved just enough to set off the girl from Twelve, because her eyes landed on his sister, who’d been caught in the middle of trying to back away. They stared at each other, trying to decide if a fight was worth it or not. 

Maybe his sister could get away and hide, after all, the girl from Twelve was clearly exhausted. But (Y/n) didn’t want to run, Finnick knew that. She was hungry, she hadn’t had a real meal since she left the Capitol, and she’d never had to go more than a few hours without eating. The hunger was getting to her. And the girl from Twelve had a belt full of rabbits.

“I’ll trade you water for the rabbit.” She said to the girl.

Twelve’s eyes narrowed, looking his sister over. He knew exactly what was going through her head. Why would she trade for water when it’s right in front of her? It wasn’t until his sister had readjusted the spear in her hand, did the girl from twelve realize she didn’t have a lot of choices.

“Sure.” She’d agreed.

In an instant, his sister dropped her bag to the ground, pulling out a plastic bottle full of water. “It’s clean.” She told the girl. “Help yourself.”

She tossed the water over to the girl from Twelve, watching her slowly take it in. She scored an Eleven. (Y/n) must’ve been full of curiosity on how she was able to do that. After all, Finnick was always saying the Twelve tributes are notorious for scoring low.

(Y/n) made her way over to the girl, taking her empty plastic bottle and filling it with pond water, purifying it, and setting it aside. That way, if her new friend was still thirsty, she’d be able to grab and drink the next one. However, she must’ve been satisfied with the first gallon, sitting back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“I’m (Y/n).” She told her, hold her hands out for her bottle back.

“Katniss.” Katniss said, passing over the empty container. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. My brother’s always telling me I need to take chances in order to advance.” She looked at the rabbit, bottom lip sucked in her mouth.

“Oh, right.” Katniss said, digging through her back. She unfolded a square of plastic to reveal cooked meat, ready to go. She picked a piece off, popping it in her mouth, showing his sister that it was safe to eat. “Here, take all of it. I can cook more later.”

“Thank you.” His sister murmured.

She took her time pulling apart the meat, one bite every minute, trying to savor the taste. When she was done, she packed up her water and her gear into the backpack, and got to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Katniss asked.

“To find somewhere to stay for the night. It was nice meeting you.”

“You could stay with me.” Katniss offered, shaking her head. “You don’t have to be out there alone.”

“I’ll be okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

She left, traveling several miles away to put some distance between her and Katniss, possibly afraid she wasn’t as friendly as she seemed. His sister found another bush to crawl under, using the backpack as a pillow, not entirely interested in the Fallen when it played.

She was woken in the middle of the night by the wall of fire, an event started by the Gamemakers to push the tributes together. She was fast, gathering her belongings and taking off. While she was never touched by the fire, the smoke infiltrated her lungs, coating her throat.

By the time she made it to the lake, she was barely hanging on. She took several gulps of her water, trying to get rid of the thick feeling. After, she dove into the lake, heading for a cave she spotted. It wasn’t long after when Katniss showed up, too. She didn’t see his sister, though, she was more focused on the burn on her leg.

(Y/n) spent too long deliberating whether or not she should reveal herself. By the time she started to move, the Careers came and they had their eyes on Katniss. So, she kept quiet, let them chase her off. When she knew the coast was clear, she waded out of the water, going right back into the woods.

She was in the trees for maybe a half hour before she ran across the little girl from Eleven, Rue. They didn’t seem threatened by each other. In fact, they stopped to have a conversation about Katniss. Where she was, where she might’ve gone. Rue told (Y/n) that she was going to scope out the local area to see if she could find Katniss.

His sister let Rue go, while she found a cozy place to stay to wait. About a hour later, Rue came back, told his sister there was a tracker jacker nest above Katniss and that she’d stay with her until the situation clears. Rue told (Y/n) that it’ll probably end with the nest being dropped, so his sister should probably find another place to stay.

They went their different ways, and a couple days later, they managed to find each other again. Katniss had just come out of her hallucination when they stumbled across paths. The three of them agreed to a temporary alliance, since the count was beginning to get low.

Rue healed Katniss’s stings, his sister shared the fish she’d caught, Katniss offered the balm to help the burns from the fire. It turned out to be helpful, there was a benefit for all three of them.

It started going downhill when Katniss decided she wanted to blow up the Career’s pile of food. Rue told her what it looked like, Katniss drew up a plan, his sister agreed to aid. They agreed to rendezvous after it was done, and they split up again. 

The fires Rue lit drew the Careers away from their stockpile. (Y/n) watched the woods to make sure they didn’t return too quickly. Katniss shot at a bag of apples that triggered the sensitive explosives. Katniss was able to find his sister first, and together they went to go find Rue, but it was too late.

Rue died, and Katniss made sure she was seen as a child in her final moments. She looked peaceful lying beneath the willow, the flowers tucked in her hair, the bouquet between her fingers. 

In less than three hours, his sister would have the same fate. 

Katniss had split from her briefly, going to hunt for more food to support the two of them. It was clear Katniss was struggling with the death of their young ally, so (Y/n) let her go. Katniss didn’t make it very far before she heard the screams, of bloody murder, of pure agony.

He remembers what it was like standing in the Betting Room, surrounded by sponsors that had been buying him for years, up until his recent refusal to continue. The way his name, clear as day, pierced the air as (Y/n) cried for him to save her. As the birds took chunks of skin from her body, throwing their heads back to swallow before going in again.

By the time Katniss came back to base, a bird had already nosedived at his sister’s throat, taking away any chance of her living through the attack. Her skin turned red from the blood, lips coated in the thick stuff as she mouthed something. Maybe that song he was saying earlier, maybe telling Finnick it wasn’t his fault, maybe begging Katniss to get it over with.

Katniss ended her suffering. All it took was one arrow. 

“Finnick?” A muffled voice says. “Finnick!”

A hand on his body makes him swing, slapping them off. He jerks in their direction, expecting to see Katniss, but Johanna’s standing there, axe in her hand. There’s a solemn look on her face, lips pressed together. She knows what he heard. 

He gets to his feet, muscles sore from being tense for so long. The two of them walk back out to the beach, where Peeta, Katniss and Beetee are sitting together. Finnick picks a place to sit in the sand, staring off at the water, his mind full of Annie and (Y/n).

“Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta asks Katniss.

“Seven more of us die.” Katniss deadpans.

“No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He asks her, lifting her chin. “What happens? At the final eight?”

She pauses for a moment. “At the final eight? They interview your family and friends back home.”

“That’s right.” Peeta nods. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?”

“No?”

“No. That's how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” He asks her. “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge.” He continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.”

“You really believe that?” She asks him.

“I really do.” Peeta says.

“Do you believe it, Finnick?” Katniss turns to look at him.

He’s staring at Peeta, weighing the possibilities. He could be right, (Y/n) is dead, she’s been dead for over a year now. But then they switched to Annie, who’s still alive back home.

“It could be true. I don’t know.” He says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

“Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school.” Beetee says.

“Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands.” Johanna tilts her head down at Katniss. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

She looks back down at Katniss and Finnick, rolling her eyes. “I’m getting water.”

Katniss grabs at her. “Don’t go in there. The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love.” Johanna says, freeing her hand. She returns a minute later with a shell of water, which she offers to Katniss. 

The group splits up after this, with Johanna going to collect arrows, Beetee messing with his wire, and Finnick drags his feet out to the water. Katniss doesn’t move from Peeta’s arms for a long time, but when she does, she heads straight for Finnick. 

“Finnick.” She murmurs, he turns to look at her, eyes tired. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” He says, but doesn’t fully move to face her. 

She wades into the water, going to stand beside him, back facing the beach. She watches the rocky waves, hovering her hand just above the surface. “You called for (Y/n).” Katniss says, looking at him. “How do you know her?”

Finnick was afraid this moment would come. He knew Katniss hadn’t put two and two together yet, because she likely would’ve brought it up a while ago. Possibly during the Tribute Parade when he approached her privately. She must not have paid attention to the last name when it was announced, or listened when Caesar called her his sister.

“(Y/n), the (Y/n) during your Games last year. She’s my sister.” Finnick tells her, watching the color drain from Katniss’s face. Her mouth opens, and then snaps shut, eyes falling to the water in front of her. “It’s okay you didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” Katniss says. “I never would have left her—either of them—if I knew what was coming.”

“She was always going to die.” Finnick tells her, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could do to stop it.” He nudges her, making her at him. “You made it so she wouldn’t suffer. Thank you.”

Katniss shrugs. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Mags and I, we were doing this all for her.” 

Katniss’s face twists. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Finnick tells her, because by midnight, it’ll all be clear. “Thank you for being her ally while you could.”

[reasonsforhope]

"Heat stored underground in caverns can be set aside in Finland’s summer months to be re-used during frigid winters thanks to a state-of-the-art ‘seasonal energy’ storage facility.

Slated for construction this summer near Helsinki, it will be the largest in the world by all standards and contain enough thermal energy to heat a medium-sized city all winter.

Thermal exchange heating systems, like those built underground, or domestic heat pumps, are seen as the most effective way available of reducing the climate-impact of home heating and cooling.

Their function relies on natural forces or energy recycling to cool down or heat up water and then using it to radiate hot or cold energy into a dwelling.

In Vantaa, Finland’s fourth largest city neighboring the capital of Helsinki, the ambitious Varanto seasonal energy storage project plans to store cheap and environmental friendly waste heat from datacenters, cooling processes, and waste-to-energy assets in underground caverns where it can be used to heat buildings via the district heating network whenever it is needed.

In Finland and other Nordic countries, the heat consumption varies significantly between seasons. Heat consumption in the summertime is only about one-tenth of the peak load consumption during the cold winter months.

Varanto will utilize underground caverns equal in space to two Maddison Square Gardens—over a million cubic meters—filled with water heated by this waste heat and pressure that will allow the water to reach temperatures of up to 300 degrees Fahrenheit without the water boiling or evaporating.

“The world is undergoing a huge energy transition. Wind and solar power have become vital technologies in the transition from fossil fuels to clean energy,” says Vantaa Energy CEO Jukka Toivonen.

“The biggest challenge of the energy transition so far has been the inability to store these intermittent forms of energy for later use. Unfortunately, small-scale storage solutions, such as batteries or accumulators, are not sufficient; large, industrial-scale storage solutions are needed. Varanto is an excellent example of this, and we are happy to set an example for the rest of the world.” ...

“Two 60-MW electric boilers will be built in conjunction with Varanto,” adds Toivonen. “These boilers will be used to produce heat from renewable electricity when electricity is abundant and cheap. Our heat-producing system will work like a hybrid car: alternating between electricity and other forms of production, depending on what is most advantageous and efficient at the time.”

... Construction of the storage facility’s entrance is expected to start in summer 2024, while it could be operational as early as 2028."

-via Good News Network, April 12, 2024. Video via VantaanEnergia, March 10, 2024

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

An Extensive Guide to My Omegaverse/Misceverse

While my version of the Omegaverse that I use in my fics and roleplays has the fundamental basics of the canon Omegaverse, there are several key additions and tweaks.

This post will be a work-in-progress, being updated as I think of other information that needs to be added.

Post under the cut.

Secondary Genders:

Secondary Genders are the foundation of the Omegaverse. They dictate who is topping, who is bottoming, who has heats or ruts. There are three Secondary Genders, which are Alpha, Beta, and Omega, along with subtypes of each secondary gender called Tertiary Genders, which encompass delta, sigma, nu, mu, psi, xi, gamma, digamma, elipson, enigma, zeta, and theta.

List of most common second genders.

Here is some information about the main three Secondary Genders:

ALPHA:

Alphas and alpha-subtypes are the second most common Secondary Gender. Approximately 40% of the population are alphas. They are known for being natural leaders with predispositions towards violence, possessiveness, and aggression. However, a good alpha can also be an excellent provider and protector, caring deeply for their mate and/or pack.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS OF AN ALPHA:

Alphas are usually larger than betas or omegas. The average height is between 5’7 to 6’4, 140-250 pounds, but this will vary from person to person.

In males, broad shoulders and traditionally “masculine” features are common, along with wide chests and thick torsos, large hands and feet, strong jaws, and a naturally high level of testosterone.

In females, larger frames, narrow hips ( due to inability to become impregnated, therefore rendering null the need to have a pelvic bone wide enough for childbearing ), and thicker distribution of body hair is common. 99% of female alphas are born without a uterus and do not have a menstrual cycle.

FANGS/INCISORS:

Fangs, also known as incisors or “canine teeth,” are a prominent alpha feature, biologically designed for marking their territory ( omegas or other packmates ).

Alpha fangs are usually half an inch to an inch long, and are thicker than other teeth and sharp. The larger the fangs, the more appeal they have. Fang care is very culturally important, with all pups ( no matter their secondary gender ) being taught to thoroughly brush their fangs for at least twenty seconds longer than the rest of their teeth. Bright white fangs and sharper fangs are seen as desirable traits.

Some alphas, especially asexual, aromantic, or aro-ace individuals, may choose to have their fangs filed down by a dentist to show that they do not have an interest in relationships or dating.

KNOTS:

A knot is a thick circle of tissue at the base of an alpha’s member. When they are hard, that tissue inflates into a knot-like formation, biologically designed to be thrust past the rim of an omega’s hole to lock them together while the alpha ejectulates, to ensure that the omega’s body receives as much seed ( also known as cum, semen, ect ) as possible, raising the possibility that they become pregnant.

A common slang term for this is being “pupped up,” or bred, meaning that an omega has been claimed, mated, knotted, and then impregnated by their alpha.

Male alpha knots are usually between two to four inches in thickness. Female alphas, who have an inverted member ( but still fully functioning ) much like that of a male dog hidden within a sheath and will only appear when stimulated, usually have knots that are slightly smaller.

Female alphas may or may not have a vagina. Most commonly they will not, as it would lead to nowhere except in the 1% of female alphas who are born with a uterus, but biological variations have been documented in between 3-7% of the female alpha population.

RUTS:

Ruts are exclusive to alphas and alpha subtypes. They usually occur annually or bi-annually, often in the spring and fall. During this time, an alpha’s instincts drive them to mate and knot a partner, to breed and produce offspring with them.

Ruts last between 3 and 10 days. During this time, alphas will have raised libido and stamina. They may become increasingly agitated, to the point where they may give in to instincts altogether and become “rabid.” This is a slang term, and does not actually mean that they are diseased, but instead means that they pose a serious danger to any omegas in the area, and will be aggressive towards other alphas to the point of physical altercations.

However, ruts can also be triggered by an omega’s heat, or during bonding. More on all three subjects can be found below.

Rut suppressants are an OTC ( over-the-counter ) medicine used to control and prevent alphas ruts, especially ruts brought on from scenting an omega in heat.

An alpha on suppressants will be more mellow, cohabitate with omegas and other alphas better, and experience a lower libido and decreased instincts.

It is recommended by doctors that alphas go off of their suppressants at least once every four years to allow the body’s natural needs to be met. If an alpha suppresses their ruts for too long, they can suffer physical symptoms such as depression, mood swings, intense irritability, increased aggression, restlessness, along with an oversensitive member and body pain. The longer an alpha suppresses their ruts, the stronger their rut will be after they go off of their suppressants.

Who can an alpha mate with?

Alphas CANNOT fully mate with other alphas. Alpha-alpha relationships are not common, but not unheard of. Alpha-alpha relationships will never produce pups, as alphas are unable to become pregnant.

Alphas CAN fully mate with female betas, since female betas have a fully functioning uterus and vagina. Female betas have a low fertility rate but can still become pregnant. However, due to their lack of strong pheromones, female betas are not the most desired mate for an alpha.

Alphas CANNOT fully mate with a male betas, as male betas do not have a functioning vagina or uterus. Alphas who partner up or bond with male betas will not produce pups. Therefore, male betas and alphas do not often bond, but do often partner up for casual hookups to help unmated alphas through their ruts.

PACKS AND PACK ALPHAS:

A pack is a group of two or more individuals that share a bond. This includes tight-knit friend groups, family groups, or polycules.

Not all friends are packmates. Pack is the strongest bond that can be shared between individuals who ARE NOT mated to each other. Mated individuals can still be part of a pack while retaining a special, separate bond with their partner.

Packs often live together, sharing food, rent, and sleeping space. Non-sexual intimacy is crucial for the pack bond to remain strong. Cuddles, hugs, kisses, and sharing beds and nests are all common practices among packs.

Packs often include siblings or relatives but do not have to. A person can and often is part of more than one pack at the same time. For example, a person may be a part of a family pack ( parents, siblings, and the individual ) and one to two friend packs. Usually a person will have one specific pack they are closest to.

Another common pack structure is that of the POLYCULE. This is where multiple individuals are mated to one another to form a pack like those made by wolves. It is in these packs that the PACK ALPHA is the most prominent figure.

The pack alpha is often the most senior alpha in a pack. They are entitled to control over the other pack members, but may be forced from their position by unanimous vote if they are abusing their power.

In a family pack, the pack alpha would be the oldest alpha relative. This may mean an alpha mother, alpha father, alpha grandparent, or eldest alpha sibling is the pack alpha.

In a friend pack, the pack alpha would be the alpha who had been in the friend group the longest, or the oldest alpha in the group.

In a polycule pack, the pack alpha would be the most dominant alpha. They would have the right to breed and mate all omegas in the polycule, as well as partner up with the betas in the polycule. The pack alpha may, in some polycules, also have intercourse with other alphas in the relationship.

HOW PACK ALPHAS ARE ESTABLISHED:

Pheromones:

Whichever alpha has the strongest pheromonal presence has a natural predisposition to be the dominant alpha in any situation or in a pack.

Pheromones are also known as “scent.” Every person has a scent based on their pheromones that communicates their mood and what their body is feeling. There is a distinct scent for a person who is sad, happy, angry, or anxious. Alphas and omegas have the strongest natural pheromonal scents.

Physical strength or seniority:

Whichever alpha is physically the strongest may be more likely to be a pack alpha. This will usually not apply if there are multiple younger alphas in their prime versus a senior alpha, as an older alpha will naturally hold a more authoritative presence.

Unanimous decision:

Oftentimes, an alpha will become the pack alpha simply because they have proven that they can protect and provide for their pack. An ideal pack alpha is firm but not harsh and possessive but not controlling. This is often the case in family packs.

For example, a family might have an alpha father and beta mother. They would have children, thus creating a pack. Because the father is the most senior alpha, he would be considered the pack alpha.

Another viable example would be a polycule with two alphas, two betas, and one omega. The pack alpha would be the one of the two alphas who is stronger, more dominant, and has a more prominent pheromonal presence. The pack alpha will likely “pup up” the omega, mate and bondmark the betas, and packmark and bondmark the other alpha. The other alpha may be allowed to also mate with the omega and betas, depending on the polycule’s personal decisions and consent.

PACKMARKS, BONDMARKS, AND SCENT GLANDS:

Scent glands are one of the most important things to understand in the Omegaverse. Scent glands are small glands beneath the skin, often appearing as a bump or not at all, that produce pheromones and the unique “scent” of alphas, betas, and omegas.

( screenshot above is not mine )

Alphas usually have three scent glands, one on the nape of their neck and one on each of their inner thighs. They produce the “dominant” scent that alphas are known for, which allows them to force an omega, beta, or lesser-ranking alpha to submit to them ( both in a societal sense and for mating ). An alpha’s scent is extremely important to their omega ( if they are mated to one ). Their scent can calm their omega down in an instant and provides safety and security for their omega.

Omegas can have as few as two scent glands or as many as eight. The usual position for these glands are on the nape of their neck, one on each side of their neck, and one on each inner thighs, along with one on each inner wrist. They produce the “submissive” scent that omegas are known for, which naturally catches the attention of alphas. This scent is described as “sweet” or “alluring,” especially when an omega goes into heat, which is when their scent is the strongest and will be almost irresistible to an alpha and can cause any nearby alphas to go “rabid.” HERE is a post about nesting that is canon to my Omegaverse au ( not mine ). Omegas can produce a plethora of soothing scents, ranging from scents used to comfort pups or other distraught omegas, calm down an agitated alpha, or to self-soothe.

Betas often only have one scent gland at the nape of their neck and one on each wrist. Their scent is described as “weak” or “blank.” They produce very few pheromones except the ones used in secondary gender identification, marking them as a beta. They can also produce “safe scents” used to soothe an omega who has been upset by an alpha. Betas are like the gay best friend, in a way, comforting a person after a breakup.

The diagram above is a common example of scent gland placement, but this will vary from person to person.

PACK MARKS are not placed upon any scent glands EXCEPT for the parental or platonic, UNLESS that pack is also a polycule. A packmark are bitten marks that show that a person is a part of a pack, completing the pack bond, and will only remain as long as the pack bond is strong. If the pack bond is too weak or the pack splits up, the mark will fade into a pale white scar instead of a pink mark.

BONDMARKS are placed upon scent glands. They are bitten marks to show that two individuals are mated and bonded to each other in partnership. If the bond becomes too weak, the mark will fade into a pale white scar instead of a pink mark.

A mating/partner bond is a deep connection between two individuals that partially connects their emotions, thoughts, and psyches. It can also be called a soul bond. It is said that bonding with the person you want to spend your life with is one of the single most fulfilling experiences a person will ever have. Emotions are at an all-time high, and both omegas and alphas have described it as finding their "missing piece." Bonding between an omega and beta, alpha and beta, or other less common secondary genders is less intense due to the beta's lack of pheromones and lessened instincts, but is still a very intimate affair.

Pack bonds are not so much finding a "missing piece" as a feeling of deep connection, comradery, and something "bigger than yourself." This will change in polycule packs, when the members are not only packmates but also bondmates.

Note:

If a bonded omega is neglected by their alpha, causing the bond to fade, the omega will suffer detrimental physical and mental effects, ranging from deep depression, low mood, intense anxiety, body pain, fevers, headaches, flu-like symptoms, low energy, increased nesting, and more. The longer the omega is neglected, the more serious the symptoms will become. Severe omega neglect can lead to death and is punishable by court-mandated couples counseling and even heavy jail time if the bond is broken.

OMEGAS

Omegas and omega-subtypes are the third most common secondary gender. About 10% of the population are omegas.

Omegas are physically smaller, weaker, and more sensitive than alphas and betas. They get stereotyped as submissive stay-at-home spouses, but omegas actually have a wide span of individual personalities. Some omegas may be more prone to defensiveness due to instinctive fear of more dominant secondary genders, even coming off as snappy or aggressive. Other omegas fit a softer, more nurturing description, being good with pups and being naturally empathetic and companionable.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS OF AN OMEGA:

Male omegas are usually between 5’0 and 5’7, weighing roughly between 100–180 pounds. They usually have smaller builds than alphas and betas, though their body types may range from slender, trim, stocky, pudgy, or more. Big eyes and soft skin, as well as the traditional “sweet” omega scent are key ways to spot an omega. Male omegas also don’t produce as much testosterone as male betas or male alphas, leading to less muscle mass and gentler features. They can be extremely agile and fast due to low distribution of body fat.

Male omegas typically have “litters” of 2-3 pups at a time due to their smaller womb size compared to female omegas. However, more than 50% of male omegas who have had multiple pregnancies report that at least one pregnancy produced a non-litter ( singular ) pup.

Female omegas are usually between 4’9 and 5’5, weighing roughly between 100–190 pounds. They most commonly have small, curvy builds, small breasts, and wide hips to accommodate pups during childbirth. They have difficulty gaining muscle mass and usually have more body fat to naturally sustain them during pregnancy.

Female omegas usually have litters of 2-6 pups at a time. Pups from litters may be significantly smaller than a non-litter pup, appearing premature, but with no actual health risk to the newborn. Studies have shown that litter-born pups evolve to have higher levels of competitive, extrovertive, and social behavior in adulthood due to the early bonds they make with their littermates.

Like alphas, omegas have “fangs.” However, their fangs are much smaller, thinner, and more blunt, since they are only used for claiming bites after an alpha has already claimed and mated the omega. Some omegas won’t even use their fangs at all, since marking their alpha is not necessary for the bond to be completed. They will often use their fangs for small nibbles and nips, especially along the jawline or neck, to show affection, companionship, or possessiveness. This is common between both mates and friends.

HEATS:

Heats are exclusive to omegas and omegan subtypes. They usually occur annually or bi-annually, often in the spring and fall. During this time, an omega’s instincts drive them to mate and be knotted by a partner, to breed and produce offspring with them.

Heats last between 1 and 3 days. During this time, omegas will have an extremely raised libido. They may become agitated, defensive, clingy, or anxious. Heats are emotionally taxing both mentally and physically for omegas.

Further information about heats has sadly had to be removed due to the post being flagged. Google can provide further information, since my Omegaverse AU is compliant with canon Omegaverse heat info. Seriously, though, it’s not fair that people post things far more explicit than this and yet somehow this gets flagged???

Betas

Betas and beta-subtypes are the most common Secondary Gender, making up roughly 50% of the population.

They're known for being the bridge between alpha and omega, the in-between "average joes" who are neither dominant or submissive. Betas are known for their level-headedness, loyalty, and trustworthiness, and they can be heat partners for omegas or rut partners for alphas.

PHYSCIAL DESCRIPTION OF A BETA:

Male betas can be anywhere from 5'0 to 6'0, 120-180 pounds, with light to moderate muscles and average builds. They have less testosterone than male alphas but over 30% more than male omegas. Their reproductive organs are the same as male alphas’, but they lack a knot.

Female betas can be anywhere from 4’8 to 5’8, 130-180 pounds, with light to moderate muscles and less fat distribution than female omegas. They usually have larger breasts but narrower hips, as female betas have a lower fertility rate and usually can only have 2-3 pups before becoming infertile. Instead of litters, female betas also usually have one pup at a time. Female betas have the same internal reproductive organs ( uterus, ovaries, ect ) as a female omega, but do not have heat cycles. Instead, most female betas have menstrual cycles of 28-30 days. However, up to 25% of female betas report that they have no menstrual cycles, which lowers their fertility rate further.

Betas lack fangs. They do, however, have canine incisors ( as regular humans in our world do ).

If a beta pairs up with an alpha, the alpha will bondmark them. If a beta pairs up with an omega, they will bondmark them using their canine incisors. The bondmark will lack definition and may scar less perfectly than a bondmark given by an alpha, but as long as the omega’s scent glands are punctured, the bond will be completed.

[chillinglikeashilling]

I always love thinking of the parallels and contrasts between Jammer and Sam.

I think Aabria, Danielle and Lou did a fantastic job of creating two characters who are both innately and magically excellent at connecting with other people but in a way that has different results for each of them.

Jammer makes connections as part of a team, in a way it feels like that makes it so the connection is more reciprocated. His ability to connect makes it easier for other people to connect with each other as well as to himself, because that's what you need to have an effective team.

It can't just be that everyone has a special connection to you, they need to be able to function between each other as well for everything to flow properly.

Sam on the other hand influences others. I think this can still lead to the creation of community but it's a more distant community, one that is more around Sam than including Sam.

In all the situations where we've seen Sam influence groups of people on a large scale (her Twitch channel, Goat House and later Gowpenny as a whole, and then Channel 4) these are situations where the level of connection can't be reciprocated on Sam's end.

Everyone else feels special and connected to Sam, but Sam can't experience that relationship in the sane way.

And on first glance it feels like Jammer got the better deal there, after all he's on a team. He can support and be supported in a way that Sam can't be by all the people she connects with.

However, Lou illustrates the drawbacks for Jammer. Jammer is aware that he brings a lot to the people he connects with but these are separate groups of people. His family, his team, the kids at Leep, the Pilot Program.

It's not like Sam who can make and maintain these connections over distance, he needs to be present in order for him to connect but he's a single person. He simply can't be there for everyone who wants to be and I think because these are closer emotional connections on his end it's much easier for him to feel the opportunity cost there.

Sam finds it much easier to maintain these connections with her audience, but again the nature of these connections is more distant and removed than Jammer's to begin with.

[blindbeta]

So, I've been writing a blind character who cooks. So far, I've written him as being someone who relies a lot on routine and habit, who navigates the kitchen by touch and by memory. He's a bit rigid, and insists on using his own tools, which are color coded (he can see them up close with what residual vision he has) and marked with braille, but I was wondering what other tools a blind person might use when cooking.

A Bunch of Stuff For Blind People Who Want to Cook

I don’t know where and when your story takes place, so what is used might change depending on the character. Here are some options to get you started. There are many tools and techniques devoted to making cooking easier. I don’t know as much about the subject, so I’ll do my best. Please add any other ideas in the notes.

First, the creator @canseecantsee on YouTube and TikTok is an excellent resource. She has lots of videos showcasing how she cooks and does various daily tasks. She demonstrates the use of many tools, such as heat resistant gloves and high contrast items. Here is a video in which she demonstrates chopping vegetables.

Notice the high contrast items such as the yellow chopping board and purple knife. In the video, she demonstrates use of the towel or a place mat beneath the cutting board to prevent slipping. As she cuts a cucumber, tomatoes, and onions, she also uses a technique that allows her to feel the edge of the item so that she knows where she wants to cut and how thick the slices will be.

Here is a video by TheBlindLife showcasing his accessible kitchen. He has excellent points on the importance of contrast, from color contrast to shape contrast. The video includes

bump dots

labels

high contrast colors of tools

high contrast plates and bowls

talking scale and thermometer

heat resistant gloves

and alternatives for glass cups

High contrast is important and can be created by being mindful of the kind of countertops or tables used. For example, in the video, there is a triangular plate that is decorated like a pizza slice. Eating on this plate might cause food to get lost visually, especially food that has the same colors as the plate. Much like the plate, counters or tablecloths with busy patterns might cause items to be harder to see due to lack of contrast. Plain counters, tables, or tablecloths make items stand out more.

Additionally, creating contrast between surfaces and the items on them is helpful. The table is a dark wood? Light plates, bowls, and cups it is. The counter is plain white? The plates and bowls are a dark color.

For glass cups, the video offers solid, colorful plastic cups that offer better contrast. The fact that glasses are clear makes them even more of a challenge and colorful plastic alleviates that concern. However, if someone wants to use glass cups, they can use some that are either made with colorful glass or have color somewhere on them. This might help depending on the contrast and lighting.

In addition to memory, your character can also use labels and various markers. Sharpie, different colors and shapes, textural elements like bump dots, actual Braille or large print labels, tape, stickers, string, or ribbon. Label makers are great, but plenty of other options exist, particularly considering the aesthetic the kitchen has. He may also enjoy decorating this way since he has residual vision. Ribbons tied around containers of sugar, salt, and flour can be cute and functional.

A few other ideas after searching cooking stuff:

talking items, such as a blender, rice cooker, or microwave oven

marking speed on electric mixers or other devices

talking, high contrast, or large print timers

funnel or liquid level indicator

Braille or large print labeled measuring cups

individual bowls for portions, such as soup, rice, sauces, proteins, etc. Different shapes, sizes, or color could also indicate what food item typically goes in what bowl.

You can also come up with other ideas by thinking about what your character would use and how that might be done more easily. While I prefer characters use blindness techniques and assistive devices, people also naturally make things easier for themselves through organization and creating their own labels. A person who cooks might also be able to distinguish certain ingredients by smell or texture.

Another tip I have is to watch blind content creators on social media. Chances are, some of them show themselves cooking or discuss how they do it.

Lighting is also going to be a big deal. The kitchen will need good lighting, both overhead and under cabinets. Natural lighting is also great, although this is not as reliable or constant.

What he uses might also depend on various factors such as income; how often a character cooks; amount of available space; time period and setting; cultural practices around cooking, eating, and utensils used; access to the blind community; willingness to use assistive devices for blind people; any internalized ableism or ableism from family; and level of vision.

Hope that helps.

[kai34902]

Addiction to Tranquility

Blurb: When all eyes are on you, you are forced to preform. till your legs bleed, your heart torn apart, and your mind goes numb you must not stop. Until a boy who has no interest in anything but science and space becomes a safe haven for you.

Or alternatively

When two people realize their feelings too late, and now must rebuild civilization while also try to get rid of their feelings for the other. Just one problem: they're addicted to each other

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔《✽✽✽⋆⁎⋆☽♡☾⋆⁎⋆✽✽✽》°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔《✽✽✽⋆⁎⋆☽♡☾⋆⁎⋆✽✽✽》°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Paring: Senku x reader

Can be found on:

Ao3

Quotev

Prologue 1: Lettuce boy

Summery: reader meets senku and Taiju who are doing an experiment.

Next chapter>

Word count: 2373

Warning: not proof read, mostly reader's backstory, and 1st person

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔《✽✽✽⋆⁎⋆☽♡☾⋆⁎⋆✽✽✽》°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Ever since I could learn. I had to be perfect. Coming from a family with generational wealth and prestige, all eyes were set on me and my brother. Few were filled with love and respect, others filled with disdain and jealousy, but most were filled with hatred and disgust. These looks came from the company retainers. They did not once like me. Which is why they pushed me to the brink of exhaustion. 

I never received a normal education, courtesy of the retainers. Instead I was given tutors, but they never lasted long. I had an innate learning ability that was faster than my peers and even the adults. Everytime they praised me to the retainers they were fired soon after. The more tutors they fired the more wary they became. They hired more people to teach me about things that are completely useless in the modern world, funny enough that I still excelled at those activities. Which is probably why the next course of action they took was to assassinate me, though it was more like a kidnapping attempt.

After that incident I couldn't function normally. I was scared out of my mind of people I didn’t know, to the point that I would talk to people behind my baba or brother. The retainers tried to use that as leverage against my baba. He didn’t bid them. He knew the truth, just couldn’t find the evidence to prove that. In the end he hired a bodyguard for both my brother and I. Despite my brother being an up and coming and world renowned martial artist as well as boxer.

My bodyguard is 6’3” or 191cm tall man that I was afraid of. He looked frightening with a glare that could kill someone. Yet it always softens when facing my baba. I can’t blame him nor judge him. My father has an immense beauty that rivals or maybe even surpasses the top model. It took me a while to get used to his presence as he is usually stoic, but in the end he became one of my most favorite people as he would read books he would read to me. I nicknamed him ‘Al’ as I could never pronounce his name correctly.

In conclusion I have an abnormal life. Due to the incident my baba stopped the stream of tutors coming, and gave me professors to teach me the basics so I wouldn’t fall behind. It left me further enclosed into the cage I call my reality. With no friends or people I could safely talk to with no sort of biases or having the responsibility of reporting to the retainers or my baba.  I resorted to befriending the only thing that was available. The moon.

Pathetic right?

My only friend is a large spherical rock in space that's 384,400 km (238 855 miles) away. It's not like I wanted my friend to be an inanimate object that's far away. Yet here I am talking to the moon like a weirdo. I would tell the moon numerous things from what I learned to the minute things like what I ate or saw. The cold light provided a warm solace for my affectionate starved self.

But it wasn’t enough. After one nasty encounter with one of the younger retainers I ran away. Well Technically I didn't run. I had Al drive me out to someplace without a lot of people. A place to myself where I could wind down and won't be judged. He led me to a path where elderly people or regular people would take a walk and relax. It looked kinda boring but I didn’t want to go back so I gave walking down the path a shot.

I was walking down the road with Al in tow who was keeping an eye on me. No one recognizes me, they probably thought that Al was my dad and that we’re bonding. It didn’t matter what they thought as I had enough of that. I was taking in the peace and quiet that I usually hated until I saw something peculiar. 

It was a boy with lettuce-like hair down on the grass and behind a screen. He was watching a pan heat up on top of two cinder blocks and a furious fire in the middle. A strange sight to see on a presumably normal day, even the elderly folk were staring in bewilderment at him. 

It was such a strange sight that I watched him do his experiments the next day and the day after that and the day after that. It was really entertaining. I wanted to go up to him and talk about what he was doing, but I chickened out in the end. Though I guess he caught on to someone staring. Once in a while he would look around as if he was looking for something despite having his friend right beside him.

One day three older looking guys came and beat down the machine the boy brought out earlier. Fortunately the boy and his friend came just in time to witness it, but unfortunately the older boys beat them up despite the brown haired boy blocking their fists. The very scene infuriated me. I had a strong sense of justice, courtesy of my baba and the classical books Al would read to me.

When the brown haired boy finally collapsed, I finally appeared out of my hiding place.

“Oh you with them” one of the older boys asked

“No” I answered truthfully

“Then mind your own business”

“Not till you apologize to them”

“Thought you said that you werent with them” I punched him where the sun didn't shine. He deserved it from the way he was confidently smirking at me. He needed to be taught a lesson. In all honey though I didn't aim there on purpose, I was aiming for his belly. But they’re taller than me, and I'm still not used to hand to hand combat despite fighting training with my brother.

I manage to bring him down before one of the other boys grabbed me by my written and started yelling: “WHAT THE HELL I'LL BEAT YOU FOR THIS KID”

But he was quickly shut up by Al who grabbed him and punched him square in the face which knocked the boy out. The third quickly surrendered with his two friends in tow. I left a first aid kit by the lettuce haired boy for him and his friend.

The next day I came by but the lettuce boy wasn't there nor was his friend. I came by the next day, he wasn't there either. Then I came again, same thing. By the fourth day I was starting to give up on seeing him. I Thought they moved since they were not welcomed there. But thankfully I was wrong, one of the few things I was happy to not be right. 

The boy came back with a strange thing that looked oddly like a sniper gun. He aimed it at the three older guys from the other day and shot at them. Electricity came out and shocked the three boys. Thankfully they didn't look injured but it was so funny that I couldn't help but laugh. In the end he got his revenge. But unfortunately for me he heard me laugh and looked straight at me. I speed walked for the rest of the time I was there. Gave myself a mental note to not come there for a few days. Went back to the company to find my baba asking why I came earlier than usual. I lied through my teeth which I felt terrible about. Surprisingly Al didn’t report what happened which I was grateful for.

That night I told the moon about what happened earlier just like I had been.  Told it about how the lettuce boy was so dedicated to his craft and that I was sorta jealous of him. The moon is the only thing that is able to bring out the truth in me. 

The next day when I went out on my now daily walk I decided to go to a park that was somewhat near the place I would normally see the duo. I only went to this park that's further away from the company because I didn't want to get interrogated by my baba again for coming earlier than usual. Honestly he should be grateful that I'm actually outside instead of inside like I usually am!

I found the swings and sat on them. When I got tired of just swinging around I asked Al to read me a book. The next book that he was going to read to me was 'Pride and Predigest.’ He told me to find a spot while he gets the book and a blanket to sit on. I found a nice shaded spot under a tree that had a nice view of the park. It was then I saw two familiar boys coming towards me. I mentally cursed myself as I didn’t have anyone to hide behind.

“Hey aren't you the girl who has been spying on us for the past week?” A voice spoke as if he was annoyed

“Pardon?” my voice squeezed from nervousness

“Wait, that's her! She's the one that punched that guy square in the nuts Senku! And the one to give us the first aid kit” He pointed at me which was kinda rude on his part

“Wait, you were watching?”

“So it is you” The lettuce hair boy who I now know as Senku interrupted

“Did I make you feel awkward?” I sheepishly asked, “I'm sorry If I did, I was just curious and well…” my voice trailed off

“No I would just prefer if you’d actually come up and introduced yourself instead of staring from a distance like a creepy doll”

“Well then I guess I should introduce myself im (l/n) (y/n) ” I reached my hand forward

“Ishigami Senku” he shook my hand

“And I'm Oki Taiju!”

That day I spent playing with Senku and Taiju with science experiments that Senku brought out. I had completely forgotten about Al and that he was supposed to read to me. The day ended with me spotting my baba’s car and him talking to Al. It was more like fighting but it was one sided with my baba. Al was toying with him. I had to bid my new friends goodbye but promised them I would come back again tomorrow. That night my baba was crying about how I finally made my first friends. My brother was teasing me about how my first friends were boys and asked if one of them was actually my boyfriend. I rightfully shut him up by asking him about the girls he befriended. Baba cried at that too with incoherent sobs about: “his babies are growing up too fast”

I met senku's father about a month after befriending him and taiju. Senku Taiju, and I were in the library educating ourselves with books or the internet in order to help Senku build a swimsuit for his dad. When Bakuya came to check up on Senku I immediately  recognised him to be one of the many tutors that was hired and fired. I almost didn’t believe that I was looking at the same man. He was an eccentric person that I quickly realized when I was learning under him, it was just the fact that he was so overly affectionate with Senku that I thought knew he rivaled my own father.

He recognized me quickly. He was surprised that I could be such a different kid outside of the classroom. He muttered something about it being a small world. He invited me over to his and Senku’s house. I had to beg Al to let me go but he vehemently told me no. In the end I was able to convince him with the help of Bakuya and Taiju, Senku only added his input here and there.

The first visit turned into two, then into three, and soon the ishigami household became my second home. I would visit there more than when I visit the company. In a strange way I became closer with Senku than Taiju. I would aid him in his experiments and offer help when he was stuck on something. 

One day we were testing out the electric waves on Taiju’s body. Senku made Taiju’s arm and fingers move around weirdly which made Taiju shocked. The very scene made me laugh my lungs out. 

After we were done, much to Senku’s dismay, Taiju then started talking about what we wanted to do in the future. He asked me what I wanted to do since I wasn’t set to inherit the company as I wasn’t the oldest. I replied with only one thing in mind: “I want to go to and meet the moon maybe even talk to it”

“So you basically are a creepy doll” Senku joked

“No I'm not!” I yelled at Senku

“Wait hold on! can't you just meet the moon from here?” Taiju asked

“No you big oaf she means she wants to go to the moon”

“Woah! You both basically want to go to space! It's like you guys are meant to be!” He beamed

“Hmmm like soulmates?” My thoughts protruded

“Ew” senku replied fast

“Oh you don't believe soulmates? Not even platonic ones?” I poked at him

“No soulmates are an ideology that humans like to believe. It's not scientific nor provable. Its irrational and a source of trouble”

“Yet living creatures need to procreate in order to have its species continue on, are you saying that humans should procreate with everyone they meet instead of finding that someone to spend your time with and create a family?”

“...yes” he hesitated

“Ewwwww” My face scrunched up, but inside I was laughing my lungs out. It has been a while since I last had so much fun like this. Science is fun just like Senku told me before.

Dear Moon,

Are you happy that this friend of yours finally found her place? Are you proud of me? I’m not. It feels like I'm replacing you with him.

next>

[elodieunderglass]

At least three times this week I have seen one of your posts reblogged by someone else I follow on my dash, thought “oh that is an EXCELLENT post I need to go follow OP,” and then realized that you are the OP and I already follow you! Huzzah!

As thanks for your many fantastic posts, please accept this offering of a horrible thing with feet, except it’s not really, because it’s just a terra-cotta foot.

I found out later, after buying it at the thrift store, that it is actually a plant pot riser. Its function is that you use several of them to put underneath a plant pot to raise it off the ground. A single one, like this, is completely useless, as you can’t balance a large pot on just one.

Which explains why several others were on the shelf alongside it, and also explains why the sales person gave me the strangest look when I went up to the register to buy just a single one.

I was puzzled by her confusion, but not nearly as puzzled as she must have been by my purchase of one (1) singular plant riser in the shape of a human foot.

Thank you so so much for this story which I have been admiring in my inbox for AGES. It is time to share it with the world. I love everything about this THANK YOU.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Case Study

Case Study - a highly detailed analysis of a particular subject, usually involving multiple sets of quantitative data observed over a period of time that allow researchers to draw conclusions in the context of the real world.

Throughout the years, the results of case study research have given us a greater and more holistic understanding in fields such as medicine, political and social sciences, and economics.

Researchers have used case studies to explore relationships between variables and a central subject, whether that subject be a human's reaction to medication, a country’s reaction to an economic crisis, or the effect of pesticides on crops over a period of time.

This methodology relies heavily on data collection and qualitative research to answer hypotheses in multiple fields.

Types of Case Studies

There are several different kinds of case studies. Here are a few:

Illustrative case study: Researchers use observations on every angle of a specific case, generally resulting in a thorough and deep data analysis.

Exploratory case study: Primarily used to identify research questions and qualitative methods to explore in subsequent studies, this type of case study is frequently in use in the field of political science.

Cumulative case study: This type relies on the analysis of qualitative data gathered over a range of timelines, which can draw new conclusions from old research methodology or studies.

Critical instance case study: Used to answer questions about the cause and effects of a particular event, critical instance case studies are helpful in cases that pose unique perspectives on otherwise established truths.

Marketing case study: This type of case study evaluates the quantifiable results of a marketing strategy, new product, or other business decision.

Examples of Case Studies

Here are a three examples of case studies in different fields:

Content marketing: In the marketing context, case studies typically explain how the business responded to the needs of a certain client, and whether or not the response was effective. Since these types of case studies are a tool to attract new customers rather than to merely share information, they should contain clear headings, attractive fonts, and infographic data that is easy to interpret.

Neuroscience: The tragic case of Phineas Gage allowed researchers to observe the changes in behavior and personality he experienced after surviving a horrific railroad accident that damaged parts of his brain. This led to a better understanding of the relationship between our frontal lobe and emotional functioning. This type of research is an example of a case study that would be impossible to ethically replicate in a laboratory, but nonetheless was a breakthrough in neuroscience and health care.

Psychoanalysis: Modern talk therapy owes much to the individual case of Anna O, otherwise known as Bertha Pappenheim. While living in Vienna in 1880, she began experiencing severe hallucinations and mood swings. Joseph Bruer, a pioneer in psychoanalysis, took Bertha under his care, and after multiple sessions where she discussed her inner emotional state and fears with Bruer, her symptoms waned. This case study is often seen as the first successful example of psychoanalysis.

Benefits of a Case Study

A case study can allow you to:

Collect wide-reaching data: Using a case study is an excellent way to gather large amounts of data on your subject, generally resulting in research that is more grounded in reality. For example, a case study approach focused on business research could have dozens of different data sources such as expense reports, profit and loss statements, and information on customer retention. This collected data provides different angles you can use to draw conclusions in a real-life context.

Conduct studies in an accessible way: You do not need to work in a lab to conduct a case study. In a number of cases, researchers use case study methodology to study things that cannot be replicated in a laboratory setting, such as observing the spending habits of a group of people over a period of months.

Reduce bias: Since case studies can capture a variety of perspectives, researchers’ own preconceptions on a subjects have less of an influence.

See connections more clearly: Through case studies, you can track paths of positive or negative development, which makes specific results repeatable, verifiable, and explainable.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you. 

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings. 

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before. 

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia. 

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry. 

 It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of  love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk. 

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her. 

⋆｡ °✩

“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all. 

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare. 

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it. 

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll. 

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father. 

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence. 

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all. 

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it. 

⋆｡ °✩

Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness. 

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.  

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers. 

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two. 

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat. 

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model. 

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you. 

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers. 

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns. 

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point. 

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him. 

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat. 

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing. 

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing. 

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap. 

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you. 

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says. 

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise. 

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice. 

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him. 

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother. 

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them. 

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote. 

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed. 

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you. 

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch. 

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room. 

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery. 

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately. 

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while. 

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine. 

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces. 

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles. 

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them. 

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form. 

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic. 

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out. 

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks. 

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep. 

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby. 

[amazeingartist]

alien vibe times (octosoap edition)

“alien soap being an apex predator species that ghost’s team finds floating in a test tube during a laboratory raid. soap’s conscious and floating around, tracking ghost’s movement in particular with large star filled blue eyes”

(slight divergence from the writing to this but shhh it’s fine)

(and full design here with all my little starting notes and scuffed as fuck photobash doodle)

here are some more notes that go into it a bit more if you’d like to read em (I basically made the species first and then was like, “ok soap your this now” lmao)

(also sorry for not posting for a bit before the global strike, hopefully this makes it up a bit)

currently calling the species “cephalopinna,” literally just combined scientific names lmao

physically they look like an octopus given seal qualities, but they don’t have as many bones as most of their body is just pure muscles. the bones they do have are dense like most aquatic life, and are there to support vital organs or provide the most simplistic skeletal structure

the planet cephalopinna live on is entirely water, with the landmass being submerged and most of the time floating along with the planets current. plantlife does exist, these landmasses varying in size and vegetation—from coral reefs and underwater forests, to sandbanks and floating debris.

cephalopinna are an incredibly intelligent and semi-social species, usually only straying away from other members of their species when a pair are incubating their young

cephalopinna are monogamous and only have one partner, at most two if the first partner dies, otherwise they can die from loneliness after being paired

cephalopinna also have up to 4 spawn but usually only one or two make it maturity. also technically have eggs that are kept tucked away under the hood of the adults neck, next to the gills so that they’re oxygenated and once born, cephalopinna will raise their young to maturity (young could be called pups, cubs, or whelps)

they are incredibly territorial and both male and female “equivalents” of cephalopinna will fight off a competitor to be paired (I say equivalents because there is no proper determination or designation of a male or female sex within the species by human standards)

courtships are dances where a pair will flash colours, gifts of food, and tests of intelligence via what could be considered puzzles (intelligence is highly regarded among cephalopinna)

the front fins have claws that can used for hunting, foraging, fighting, even potentially grooming (gently scraping off algae and parasites) and are very functional as hands as they sorta have a thumb claw

cephalopinna are incredibly large but are excellent ambush predators, laying in wait to latch on and bite while pumping prey full of venom. if the ambush fails, they will chase down the prey till they are close enough to prick them with venom to then follow behind from a safe distance as the prey succumbs to their incredibly potent paralytic toxin

their teeth can crush through bone, nothing of the prey is ever left afterwards

they have a long life expectancy

the connective tissue between their primary tentacles stretch to cover body, while swimming cephalopinna will cover themselves to be more hydrodynamic. they also often do this when sleeping out in the open to protect themselves.

cephalpinna grind their back teeth, like deer, which reverberates through the water, add it with their aptitude for colours, this form of communication has multiple meanings

they have an incredibly advanced camouflage ability, which helps soap in particular in this au appear human. for whatever evolutionary purpose, they have the ability to breathe earth’s—and a few other planets—atmosphere, however they do need to be kept appropriately hydrated it would seem