#excel sheet 2: more data

[veronadragon]

Townie Data - EP Hoods

So back in September, a really long time ago, I made an excel sheet after being inspired by @anibats Downtown setup video to show the data of all three base game hoods + bluewater village so that fellow simmers could use it if they wanted to create townie families.

I now finally made one for the EP hoods! Sorry for the wait but I felt extremely sluggish and kept procrastinating on this and one Microsoft Excel subscription later I sat down and made this.

So this Excel Sheet includes the townies from Riverblossom Hills, Desiderata Valley, and Belladonna Cove.

You can download it here

[volfoss]

Sincerely as a former user of both Excel and sheets, it is nuts how much easier libre office calc is. Not in the typical way that certain things are easier to access but moreso that the formulas and ways things are set up just work with my brain better. I never really had much need to learn formulas in Excel because there were so many and the layout felt over complicated, and don't even get me started on sheets. But with calc, there's a lot more freedom with the formulas and a lot of the skills you have from either of those other programs carries on here. Not a super big point or anything to this post, just simply very appreciative of what calc can do.

[thefantastickatinator]

Dropout should hire more trans women.

That said, a couple things about the data set floating around showing disproportionality in casting:

1. 7 of the top 9 (those cast members who appear in over 100 episodes, everyone else has under 70 appearances) are members of the core dimension 20 cast, aka “the intrepid heroes”. This cast has been in 7 of the 22 seasons, with those seasons usually being 20-ish episodes long (the other seasons are between 4-10 episodes long typically). That’s approximately 140 episodes for each of the main intrepid heroes cast members just for these seasons (not including bonus content like live shows). Brian Murphy has appeared 154 times, which means almost all of his appearances were on D20 intrepid heroes campaigns.

2. The other 2 in the top 9 are Sam Reich and Mike Trapp, who are both hosts of long running shows (Game Changer and Um, Actually)

3. 198 of the 317 episodes that noncis “TME” people have appeared in can be attributed to ally Beardsley alone (there is some crossover where for example alex and ally have both appeared in the same episodes). Erika ishii has been in 67 of the 317 noncis “TME” episode appearances i don’t know how much crossover there is between them but i don’t think they’ve been on d20 together so i doubt it’s more than 20. It could be as many as 250 of the 317 episodes that have either erica or ally. Both Erika and ally are majorly skewing the results for the data

4. Over 3/4 of people have no listed gender identity in the spreadsheet - most of them have 1-2 appearances, but a few have 3-4 appearances. I’m pretty sure these people aren’t included in the data at all (some of them i’m p sure are not cis like jiavani and bob the drag queen)

5. The data collector has assigned “tme” and “tma” to various cast members.

TME: transmisogyny exempt

TMA: transmisogyny affected

Now, tranmisogyny can affect trans women, trans femmes, and nonbinary people, and occasionally masculine appearing cis women.

I personally do not believe that an outside person can assign you a label deciding whether or not you experience certain types of oppression- and yet that is what the data collector has done.

I think a more accurate label would be amab/afab, or more honestly- “people i think are amab or have said they are amab and then everyone else”

6. The data does not include many of their newer shows such as Very Important People, Gastronauts, Play it By Ear, and Monet’s Slumber Party, all of which feature trans people (MSP, Gastronauts, and VIP are all hosted by noncis people)

What I think the data more accurately shows:

- Dimension 20 has a “main cast” who have appeared in the majority of episodes

- Dropout has some “regulars” who appear on the majority of their content/shows (sam has referenced multiple times that brennan is one of the first people he calls whenever someone can’t show up for something since he’s nearly always down for anything) - none of these people are trans women

Final thoughts:

I think eliminating “hosts” and the “intrepid heroes” from THIS TYPE of data set would be more appropriate because they massively skew the data when crunching the numbers for dropout shows. Especially since I can tell from the excel sheet that there are shows missing. Examining d20 sidequests and the guests on the other shows will give a more accurate representation of casting. Hosts should be analyzed separately as that’s a different casting process.

Also imagine if we referred to men and women as “misogyny exempt” and “misogyny affected” when doing demographics. Or if someone did a data collection of the number of POC appearances in dropout episodes and sorted it by “racism affected” and “racism exempt” - so weiiiiird

TLDR: the data set has massive issues with its methodology and that should be considered. That doesn’t make what trans women are saying less valid.

In other words: spiders brennan is an outlier and should not have been counted

[luckyroll3]

Blank Canvas

My Masterlist

Summary: When Hyunjin returns late from a business trip, he finds you painting alone in the backyard cottage-turned-art studio. Drawn back to his long-neglected passion, he asks to paint you. In the quiet of the studio, under his careful touch, you become his masterpiece.

Artist Hyunjin x Reader (f); Smut; Fluff

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 10,436

A/N: First of my two Hyunjin birthday fics. This is the cute one. (The dirty one can be found here. 😉 ) Enjoy!

Hyunjin stood motionless in the darkness, his breath forming delicate clouds in the cool night air. The backyard cottage was a beacon in the gloom, its windows spilling warm light onto the dewy grass. He hadn't expected to find you awake at this hour, nearly 2:30 am, least of all in the small cottage. But there you were—hunched over a canvas, paintbrush in hand, completely unaware of his return or his eyes now fixed on your silhouette through the foggy glass.

He hadn't planned to come out here. The flight had been brutal—six hours of recycled air and a screaming child two rows behind. His suit, once crisp this morning, now clung to him like a second skin he desperately wanted to shed. But after setting his luggage in the entryway, thirst drove him to the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed, a comforting constant in the quiet house. Hyunjin opened the cabinet, selecting a glass with careful consideration—not the delicate wine glasses you preferred, nor the sturdy mugs reserved for morning coffee, but the tall, plain tumblers that served no purpose but utility. He filled it with tap water, the stream hitting glass with percussive clarity.

As he drank, his eyes drifted to the window above the sink—a dark rectangle framing the backyard. He nearly missed it at first: a faint golden glow emanating from the small cottage at the property's edge. The studio. The water caught in his throat, and he set the glass down with a sharp clink against the counter.

You were awake. Not waiting for him, perhaps, but awake nonetheless.

Hyunjin moved closer to the window, pulse quickening despite his exhaustion. The cottage sat twenty yards from the main house, a converted garden shed that they'd transformed into an artist's haven three summers ago. It had been his idea originally. Back then, they had painted side by side, his bold, architectural strokes complementing your more intuitive approach. The memory of those early days stung, a paper cut across his consciousness.

The cottage’s wooden siding had weathered to a soft gray, and climbing ivy traced patterns across the western wall. Tonight, with midnight pressing down and stars scattered above, it looked almost magical—a secret world apart from the corporate presentations and balance sheets that had consumed his last two weeks.

When had he last set foot in that space? Eight months ago? Longer? His finance job had started as temporary, a practical measure while his art found its footing. Then came the promotion, the raise, the title that impressed his parents back in Korea. With each step up the corporate ladder, the trips to the studio had become less frequent—first weekly, then monthly, then rare enough to feel like special occasions. Now, he couldn't remember the last time he'd held a brush.

But you kept going. The light in the studio window confirmed it. While his creativity had been channeled into Excel spreadsheets, data visualizations, and PowerPoint presentations, yours had continued flowing onto canvas. He felt a twinge of something complicated—pride tangled with envy, admiration braided with regret.

What were you painting at this hour? Something new or a work in progress? Hyunjin leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his water and considering. You'd mentioned a gallery submission deadline during your last video call, a rushed conversation caught between his meetings and your errands. Was that what kept you working past midnight? Or was it simply that creativity respected no clock, arriving unbidden and demanding attention regardless of the hour?

Hyunjin longed for bed. His body screamed for horizontal surfaces, for darkness, for the oblivion of sleep. The presentation had gone well, the clients impressed, but the victory had cost him. The six hour flight had hallowed him out, leaving nothing but a shell of professionalism and practiced charm. Tomorrow would bring emails to answer, follow-ups to send, the machinery of corporate life grinding back into motion.

Yet the light pulled at him, a magnetic force stronger than exhaustion.

Hyunjin set his glass in the sink. His reflection caught in the window—tie askew, hair ruffled from running frustrated hands through it during the flight delay, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He looked exactly like what he was: a man who'd spent too long away from home, chasing something that kept moving just beyond reach.

The decision formed without conscious thought. He would go to the studio. See you. Remember whatever it was he'd been seeking in those endless meetings and flights.

But first, he needed to shed the trappings of Hyunjin Hwang, Finance Manager. The tie came off completely, stuffed unceremoniously into his pocket. He unbuttoned his collar, rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. His fingers worked mechanically, muscle memory from years of transforming from office-appropriate to something approximating his true self.

His hands—once calloused from charcoal and wooden brush handles—were smooth now, manicured by the company's recommended grooming service. They seemed foreign to him suddenly, as if they belonged to someone else. He flexed them, watching tendons shift beneath the skin, wondering if they still remembered how to create rather than merely approve and authorize.

The mirror in the hallway caught him as he passed—this half-transformed version of himself, not quite the suited professional nor the artist he'd once been. The in-between state felt strangely honest. Wasn't that precisely where he existed these days? Between worlds, between identities, between what he did and what he loved?

Hyunjin paused at the back door, hand resting on the knob. What exactly did he hope to find by interrupting your late night session? Connection? Inspiration? The version of himself he'd carefully packed away with his art supplies? Or simply you—the person who, despite his frequent absences, still made this house feel like a place worth returning to?

The knob turned under his palm, cool metal warming to his touch. The night air rushed to meet him, carrying the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine from the garden beds. Above, stars punctured the darkness, distant and cold. The path to the studio lay before him—twelve stepping stones set into the lawn, winding between garden beds you'd planted and nurtured even as he'd been drawn away.

As Hyunjin approached, he slowed his steps, not wanting to announce his presence just yet. Hyunjin paused on the wooden porch of the studio, his breath visible in the cool night air. Through the fogged glass, your silhouette moved with the fluid grace of someone lost in creation—each gesture deliberate, each pause weighted with consideration.

Your back was to him, spine curved in that familiar way it always did when you were lost in creation. A single lamp cast your shadow long against the far wall, stretching and distorting it until it seemed to dance with each movement of your arm. Your hair was piled haphazardly atop your head, secured with what appeared to be a paintbrush jabbed through the knot, loose strands escaping to frame your face in a way that made Hyunjin's fingers itch to tuck them behind your ear.

He recognized the robe you wore—a simple silk black robe with pink cherry blossoms, now splattered with evidence of late night inspiration. It hung off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your neck, the spot where he'd pressed his lips countless times before. The sight sent a pulse of longing through him, sharp and unexpected after the days apart.

On the easel before you stood a half-finished canvas. From his angle, Hyunjin could make out bold strokes of crimson and indigo, swirling together in a pattern he couldn't quite decipher from outside. Whatever you were creating, it had consumed you entirely. Your hand moved with a surety that captivated him, each stroke adding to a whole he couldn't yet decipher but could feel resonating even through glass and distance. Several other canvases leaned against the walls—some blank, some bearing the skeletal beginnings of works in progress. The floor around you was a controlled chaos: tubes of paint squeezed to submission, jars of murky water, rags stained with every color imaginable.

Every surface held evidence of creative process: brushes soaking in murky jars, rags stiffened with dried paint, tubes squeezed from the middle (a habit that once drove him to distraction), reference photos pinned to a corkboard, sketchbooks open to various studies of the same subject. A half-empty wine glass balanced precariously on a stack of art books. A small speaker played something low and rhythmic—jazz, he thought, though he couldn't place the artist.

This was what a working studio should look like. Not the sterile corner desk where his sketchbook now collected dust, but a living, breathing space where mistakes were welcomed as part of the process. The realization tightened something in his chest, an ache both sweet and sharp.

It had been nearly a year since he'd stepped foot in this space. A year since he'd smelled the particular cocktail of linseed oil, turpentine, and possibility that now wafted through the cracked window. The scent hit him with the force of memory—of his own hands covered in paint, of creation without deadlines, of art made purely for the sake of expression.

Hyunjin's hands twitched at his sides. They were clean now, nails trimmed and cuticles pushed back—hands made presentable for shaking across boardroom tables. But they remembered. They remembered the texture of canvas, the weight of a brush, the satisfaction of color bleeding exactly where it was directed. His career had taken him away from all this, and though he never spoke of it, there were moments—like now—when the absence ached inside him like a phantom limb.

He watched as you leaned back, tilting your head to assess your work. There was something so intimate about witnessing this moment, this private communion between artist and creation. Hyunjin felt both voyeur and privileged observer. You brought the brush to your lips, teeth grazing the wooden handle in thought—an unconscious habit he'd always found inexplicably erotic.

The night was still except for the occasional rustle of leaves. Through the single-pane glass, he could hear the soft scratch of bristles against canvas, the gentle tap when you'd dip your brush into water, the barely audible hum that escaped your throat when you were pleased with a particular stroke. These small sounds wound around him, drawing him closer until his forehead nearly touched the cool glass.

How long had it been since he'd really looked at you? Not the quick glances between morning coffee and briefcase-gathering, not the sleepy half-light observations before dreams claimed you both. Really looked, with the attention an artist gives a subject, noting the subtle shifts, the evolution of form and expression. You'd changed in ways he couldn't quite name—there was a confidence in the set of your shoulders that seemed new, a decisiveness in each brushstroke that spoke of practice in his absence.

Guilt pressed against his ribcage. While he'd been climbing corporate ladders, you'd been building worlds on canvas. He'd told himself the distance was temporary, that the long hours and frequent travel would eventually taper. Yet watching you now, absorbed in creation, Hyunjin wondered what else he'd missed in the margins of your shared life.

His body responded to the sight of you before his mind could catch up—pulse quickening, breath deepening. It wasn't just physical desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was something more complex: admiration tangled with longing tangled with a hunger to be part of this moment, to bridge the space that had grown between you, measured not just in miles but in unshared experiences.

You stretched, arching your back, and the short robe rode higher on your thighs. Hyunjin swallowed hard. From this angle, he could see the curve of your ass peeking from beneath the fabric, the long line of your legs ending in bare feet stained with flecks of paint. The casual intimacy of your unguarded moments had always undone him, and tonight was no exception. Heat pooled low in his belly, and he shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how tight his slacks had become.

Inside, you dipped your brush into a puddle of cerulean blue, adding it to the canvas with careful precision. Whatever you were creating, it held you completely—your focus absolute, your movements measured. Hyunjin remembered that feeling, the outside world falling away until nothing existed but color and texture and the translation of emotion into visible form.

He'd been good once. Before finance consumed his days, before spreadsheets replaced sketchbooks. His professors had spoken of potential, of vision. He'd believed them, right until the moment reality—with its bills and expectations—had intervened. The practical path had seemed sensible then. Standing here now, watching you immersed in the very passion he'd set aside, he wondered if sensible had been the right choice after all.

A car passed on the distant street, its headlights briefly illuminating Hyunjin's face against the window. He stepped back, suddenly conscious of his positioning—the weary traveler, the absent lover, lurking in shadows rather than announcing his return. He could walk away, slip back to the house, pretend he'd never seen this midnight session. You'd find him in bed in the morning, and he'd act surprised to hear you'd been up painting.

But the thought of returning to the empty house, to the cold sheets and silence, held no appeal. And there was something compelling about this moment, something that felt like an opportunity. To reconnect, yes, but also perhaps to reclaim a part of himself he'd neatly boxed away.

The night air cut through his thin shirt, and the weight of two weeks' absence pressed against him. He needed more than to observe you through glass—needed warmth and touch and the sound of your voice saying his name.

He made his decision, moving away from the window toward the cottage door. Each step felt weighted with intention, with the anticipation of crossing more than just the physical distance between you.

He tipped the door handle downward silently. Years ago, he'd oiled the hinges himself, wanting to preserve the possibility of slipping in to work without waking you on early mornings. That thoughtfulness served him now as the door opened without betraying his presence. The studio's atmosphere enveloped him immediately—warmer air heavy with the astringent bite of turpentine, the earthy scent of oil paints, the underlying sweetness of linseed oil. He inhaled deeply, the familiar cocktail hitting him like memory made physical.

One step inside, then another. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight despite his care—these old boards had always been loyal to the cottage's history, refusing to surrender their voice even after renovation. Your shoulders tensed slightly at the sound, but you didn't turn, perhaps assuming it was merely the building settling in the night's cooling air.

Hyunjin closed the door behind him, sealing them both within this cocoon of creativity and lamplight. The music—definitely jazz now that he could hear it clearly, saxophone winding through piano notes—filled the small space, creating an intimacy that wrapped around you both. He stood still, watching the slight movements of your body as you worked, the twist of your wrist as you added another stroke of cobalt to the canvas.

"Your technique's improved," he said finally, his voice lower than intended, roughened by travel and emotion.

You froze, brush suspended mid-stroke. For three heartbeats, neither of you moved—a perfect tableau of interruption, of worlds colliding after separation. Then you turned, eyes widening as they found him standing just inside the door, hands in his pockets, exhaustion and desire warring across his features.

"Jinnie," you breathed, his nickname in your mouth sounding like salvation. "You're early. I thought tomorrow—"

"Caught an earlier flight." Hyunjin shrugged, a gesture that deliberately understated the four thousand miles and the corporate favor he'd called in to make it happen. "Didn't want to text in case you were asleep."

Your smile bloomed slowly, starting in your eyes before reaching your lips—the genuine article, not the polite version he sometimes received on video calls when he announced another delayed return. The brush remained forgotten in your hand, dripping blue onto the drop cloth below.

"You look..." Your eyes traced his disheveled appearance, the loosened collar, the rumpled pants.

"Like shit?" he offered with a half-smile.

"Like someone I've missed," you corrected, setting the brush down at last.

Three steps brought him to you—close enough to see the flecks of paint speckling your cheeks like wayward freckles, to catch the mingled scents of your shampoo and sweat beneath the stronger studio smells. His hands hovered for a moment, suddenly uncertain despite the thousands of times they'd touched you before. Two weeks shouldn't create such hesitation, yet here it was—the momentary awkwardness of bodies relearning proximity.

You solved it by stepping into him, arms sliding around his waist, face pressing into his chest. Hyunjin's body responded before his mind could process, arms enfolding you, nose burying itself in your hair. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing as the scent of you—the real you, not the memory he conjured on lonely hotel nights with his hands down his pants—filled his senses.

"Welcome home," you murmured against his shirt, the vibration of your voice traveling through cotton to skin to something deeper.

His hands moved up your back, one continuing to cradle your head while the other traced the knobs of your spine through the thin fabric of the robe. The contact grounded him, hauling him firmly back from the corporate world into this reality—one where he existed as more than revenue projections and market analyses.

"I should have called," he said against your hair. "But I wanted—" To surprise you. To see you unguarded. To remember who we are when no one's watching. He settled for: "—to come straight here."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face as if reacquainting yourself with its geography. Hyunjin recognized the artist's gaze—the same careful observation he once gave subjects before committing them to paper. He wondered what changes you noted, what new lines time and distance had carved into him.

His hands found your face, thumbs brushing over cheekbones, fingers threading into the hair at your temples. You remained still under his touch, allowing this reintroduction of skin to skin. When he leaned down to press his lips against your forehead, he felt something inside him unclench—a tightness he hadn't recognized until it released.

The kiss lingered, his lips absorbing the warmth of your skin, tasting the salt of concentration. This close, the scents intensified—linseed oil and turpentine from your work, but beneath that, the familiar notes that had become synonymous with home in his mind. He pulled back reluctantly, hands still framing your face.

"I'm interrupting," he said, glancing toward the canvas.

You shook your head, leaning into his palm like a cat seeking pressure. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Show me?" Hyunjin nodded toward the painting, genuine curiosity mingling with the desire to reconnect through the medium that had first drawn them together.

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining with practiced ease as you pulled him toward the easel. The gesture, so simple, nearly undid him—the casual certainty of your touch, the assumption of connection despite absence. His throat tightened unexpectedly.

"It's still rough," you warned, the artist's perpetual caveat. "The gallery submission isn't for another three weeks, so I've been experimenting with—"

"Is that—" he began, not quite able to finish the question. Hyunjin's words died as he took in the canvas properly. The swirls of color he'd glimpsed through the window resolved into something more defined—a figure emerging from chaotic elements, body half-formed but unmistakably human. The face remained indistinct, yet something in the set of the shoulders, the angle of the jaw, struck him with recognition.

Your fingers tightened around his. "You. Or how I remember you, anyway. It's been a while since I had you in front of me to reference."

The admission hung between them, simple words carrying complex weight. He'd been physically absent, yes, but the fact that you'd continued to create him—to remember him—in paint struck deeper than he expected. While he'd been subsuming himself in spreadsheets, you'd been preserving him in pigment and oil.

"I've been working from old sketches," you continued, gesturing toward the open notebooks scattered nearby. "And memory, obviously. But memory's tricky. I keep second-guessing details."

Hyunjin studied the painting more carefully now. The figure—himself—emerged from darkness into light, body seemingly in the process of either materializing or dissolving. The boundaries between form and background blurred deliberately, creating tension between presence and absence. Looking at it felt like watching himself disappear in slow motion.

"It's beautiful," he said, meaning it. "And terrifying."

Your laugh was soft, without judgment. "That's the point, I think. I've been calling it ‘Intermittent Presence’."

The title hit with surgical precision, lancing something tender he'd carefully avoided examining. How often had he become exactly that—intermittently present, cycling between immersion and absence, both in his relationship with you and with his own creativity?

"I've been gone too much," he said, the admission feeling inadequate even as it left his lips.

Your hand squeezed his. "You're here now."

The studio seemed suddenly too small to contain the implications of that exchange—too warm, too intimate. The painting watched them with its half-formed eyes, a visual representation of all they weren't saying. Hyunjin turned away from it to face you directly, needing flesh and blood rather than oil and canvas.

"I am," he agreed, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "And jet-lagged as hell, but still wanting to make up for lost time."

Your smile turned knowing, the slightest quirk of lips that had always signaled the shift from conversation to something more primal. "How much time are we talking about making up for, exactly?"

Hyunjin's thumb traced your lower lip, feeling it give slightly beneath the pressure. "Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours, give or take."

"Ambitious," you murmured, lips moving against his thumb.

"I've always risen to challenges," he replied, voice dropping to match yours.

The lamplight caught in your eyes as you looked up at him, turning them to liquid amber. Hyunjin felt the last threads of his corporate self fall away, replaced by something more honest—the man who had once painted beside you until dawn, who knew the exact pressure needed to leave marks on your skin that would last until morning, who had promised presence and delivered absence for too long.

"I've missed you," he said simply, the words inadequate containers for all they needed to hold.

Your response was to rise on tiptoes, bringing your face level with his. Hyunjin felt your breath first, then the warm press of lips against his own—a wordless answer that spoke volumes about forgiveness and desire and the thin space between longing and having.

“I missed you too,” you said as you pulled away, your eyes remaining locked on his until you sat back down and turned to the canvas. Hyunjin wrapped an arm around your chest as you both silently assessed the incomplete painting.

Hyunjin's fingers hovered near the canvas, not quite touching the still-wet surface but close enough to feel the texture of the brushstrokes disturbing the air between skin and paint. His hand trembled slightly—not from the six-hour flight or the accumulated fatigue, but from something deeper, a hunger he'd suppressed for too long. The scent of linseed oil filled his lungs, familiar yet foreign, like returning to a childhood home to find the furniture rearranged.

"I miss painting," he murmured, the confession emerging unprompted, startling in its rawness.

You stepped back slightly, giving him space with the canvas, watching his face with careful attention. The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but weighted, as if his words had materialized in the air, tangible objects requiring navigation.

"How long has it been?" you asked finally, voice gentle.

Hyunjin's laugh lacked humor. "Too long." His hand dropped away from the canvas, falling to his side like something defeated. "Ten months, maybe? Eleven? The Tokyo project took over everything, and then Singapore, and then—" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the endless chain of priorities that had consumed his days.

"You still have supplies here," you offered. "Nothing's been moved."

The statement held no accusation, yet Hyunjin felt its weight nonetheless. His corner of the studio remained intact—easel dust-covered but standing, palette dried with the last colors he'd mixed, brushes cleaned and waiting in their jar. A shrine to creative abandonment.

"Sometimes I come in and look at your last piece," you continued. You stood and moved toward the far wall where a half-finished canvas leaned, covered with a cloth. "To remember what it felt like, working beside you."

Hyunjin followed, something tight lodging in his throat as you pulled the cloth away. The painting underneath emerged—a study of light through trees, dappled shadows across a path. He remembered the day clearly: early spring, the park near their house, you sprawled on a blanket reading while he attempted to capture the interplay of sunlight and new leaves. He'd never finished it, called away by an "urgent" client request that now, months later, seemed trivial in comparison to the abandoned work.

"It's not very good," he said automatically, the corporate habit of self-deprecation slipping out before he could catch it.

Your eyes found his, sharp with sudden challenge. "Bullshit. It's beautiful, even unfinished."

The directness caught him off-guard—you, who usually navigated his moods with careful diplomacy. The surprise must have shown on his face because your expression softened, hand reaching for his.

"You were good, Jin. Really good. Not just technically, but because you saw things—really saw them—and then made others see them too. What happened?"

He looked away, uncomfortable with the praise yet starving for it. The corporate world ran on different validation—quarterly results, client satisfaction metrics, promotion cycles. No one there cared if he could capture the exact quality of morning light through maple leaves, or the particular vulnerability of a lover's face in sleep.

"The job happened," he said finally. "Practical concerns. Bills. Your student loans. My parents' expectations." Each reason sounded hollower than the last, excuses rather than explanations.

"I understand why," you said, squeezing his hand. "I've never blamed you for choosing stability. But that doesn't mean you can't have both."

Hyunjin looked around the studio—at your works in progress, at the evidence of consistent creative practice, at the space you'd maintained for both of you despite his absence from it. While he'd been climbing corporate ladders, you'd been building a body of work, making time for creation despite the same practical concerns that had derailed him.

Something ignited in Hyunjin then—a spark of inspiration so sudden and intense it felt like electricity coursing through his veins. He turned to face you fully, his dark eyes widening as if seeing you for the first time. In the dim light of the studio, with paint-splattered floorboards beneath their feet and the weight of absence between them, he recognized what had been missing from his life.

"I want to paint," he said, the words tumbling out like a confession.

Hyunjin took three deliberate steps forward, closing the gap between the two of you. He towered slightly over you, his lean frame, graceful even after months of corporate posturing and airport lounges.

"Will you be my muse?" he asked in a low, resonant voice that seemed to vibrate in the stillness of the studio. His words hung in the air like mist, charged with unspoken intention.

He watched the minute shifts in your expression—surprise, curiosity, and something deeper that made his pulse quicken. Your hesitation was brief but palpable, a moment suspended between you like a held breath.

Then, a nod. Tentative but unmistakable.

"Yes," you whispered, the single syllable barely audible yet somehow filling the entire room.

Hyunjin's hands, those elegant instruments that had once created worlds on canvas, reached for the sash of the silk robe. His movements were unhurried, deliberate—the actions of a man who understood the value of anticipation. The knot came undone with surprising ease, the ends of the sash slipping through his fingers like water.

He watched your chest rise and fall with quickened breath as he parted the robe with exquisite slowness. The silk slid over your shoulders with a soft sound that reminded him of rainfall on window panes. He didn't rush, allowing the fabric to reveal your body inch by inch, savoring each new expanse of skin like a connoisseur presented with a rare vintage.

The robe pooled around your feet, a puddle of shiny black against the dark wooden floor. Hyunjin's gaze traveled over your nakedness with the practiced eye of an artist—noting the play of shadow and light across collarbones, the gentle curve of hips, the vulnerability of exposed skin in the cool studio air.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and meant it in a way that transcended the physical. He saw beneath the surface to the essence that had haunted his dreams in sterile hotel rooms across three continents.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you toward the aged leather couch in the corner. Years of use had softened the leather to a buttery texture, the surface marred with tiny specks of paint and the occasional joint burn from late-night sessions of creation and conversation.

A rumpled throw blanket lay bunched at one end—evidence of afternoon naps or moments of inspiration that couldn't wait for proper preparations. Hyunjin smoothed it out with one hand, his other still maintaining contact with you, unwilling to break the connection now that it had been reestablished.

"Here," he said, gesturing to the couch. "Lie down."

You complied, easing onto the leather with a grace that made Hyunjin's throat constrict. He adjusted your position with careful hands, arranging limbs and angles like a sculptor working with living clay. His fingertips trailed along the soft skin of your arm, down the curve of your back, each touch lingering just long enough to suggest intentions beyond the artistic.

"Like this," he murmured, tilting your chin slightly to catch the light from the old floor lamp he'd flicked on. Your eyes met his, and in them he saw questions he wasn't ready to answer—not with words, at least.

Hyunjin stepped back to assess the composition, his head tilted slightly as he committed the image to memory. You were perfectly framed against the dark leather, vulnerability and strength coexisting in the lines of your body. His fingers itched for his brushes, for the chance to translate what he saw into something permanent.

He moved to a side cabinet, collecting a small wooden box containing his finest brushes—sable-hair with polished handles worn smooth from years of use. Next came tubes of oil paint, their labels faded but still legible: Prussian Blue, Burnt Sienna, Cadmium Red.

He set the supplies down on the tray next to his easel, then turned back to you.

Hyunjin's eyes narrowed as he studied the human landscape before him—valleys and plains of skin waiting to be transformed. The conventional canvas suddenly seemed too removed, too impersonal for what he needed to express. Three months of corporate sterility had left him hungry for connection, for the visceral immediacy of creation without barriers. His gaze lingered on the gentle rise and fall of your chest, and he made his decision.

The easel stood in the corner, patient and expectant, but Hyunjin deliberately turned away from it. He'd spent too many years with that mediator between himself and his art. Tonight demanded something different—something that couldn't be framed or hung on a gallery wall.

"What are you thinking?" you asked, shifting slightly on the leather couch. Your voice carried a note of vulnerability that made Hyunjin's throat tighten.

"I'm thinking," he replied, moving toward the storage cabinet where he kept his most precious materials, "that some things are too important for representation." His long fingers danced across the cabinet shelves, selecting items with the precision of a surgeon prepping for a delicate procedure.

He retrieved a set of small brushes—smaller than the ones he'd initially brought out. These were his detail brushes, with tips fine enough to render eyelashes on a portrait or the veins on an autumn leaf. Next came a wooden palette, worn smooth in the center from years of mixing colors. Finally, he selected several tubes of oil paint, examining each label with careful consideration.

He moved back to the couch with deliberate slowness, bypassing the easel entirely. He set the supplies on a small, trusted table that had accompanied him through three studios and countless creative breakthroughs. The surface was a testament to his artistic journey—stained with concentric rings of dried paint, each layer a memory of past work.

He walked back to the tray to retrieve his initial supplies, then kneeled beside the small table. Hyunjin arranged everything within easy reach. Each item had its precise place in his creative ritual—brushes aligned by size, paint tubes ordered by color family, palette positioned at the exact angle that felt right to his hand.

You watched him from the couch, curiosity evident in the slight furrow between your brows. Hyunjin could read the questions forming there—you knew his process, knew that something had deviated from the expected path.

"You've set up differently," you observed, eyes tracking his movements with increasing interest. "No canvas?"

Hyunjin lifted his gaze to meet theirs. The distance that had grown between them over months of separation seemed to crystallize in that moment—a tangible thing that could be mapped and measured like the space between stars. He needed to collapse that distance, to restore what had been lost in the vacuum of his absence.

"Tonight," he said, his voice dropping to a timbre that resonated in the quiet studio, "you are my canvas."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. Hyunjin watched as understanding bloomed across your features—surprise followed swiftly by intrigue, then a spark of something more primal that made heat pool in his abdomen.

"You want to paint... on me?" You shifted slightly, the leather creaking beneath you. Your pupils dilated visibly, even in the studio's gentle lighting.

"Yes," Hyunjin confirmed, reaching out to trace a finger along the curve of your collarbone. "Here. And here." His touch trailed down your sternum, across the plane of your stomach. "And here." Each point of contact left goosebumps in its wake, a physical manifestation of the charge building between them.

Your breath caught audibly. "You've never done that before."

"I've never needed to before." The admission cost him something—an acknowledgment of the distance that had grown like a silent, insidious weed between the two of you. "Canvas can't hold what I need to express tonight."

Your laugh was soft but genuine, a sound he'd missed more than he'd allowed himself to acknowledge during long nights in foreign hotel rooms. "That's either incredibly romantic or a very elaborate line, Jin."

The nickname—intimate, familiar—struck him like a physical touch. Hyunjin's lips curved upward. "Maybe both." He unscrewed the cap from a tube of paint, squeezing a small amount onto his palette. The deep blue was almost black in the studio's subdued lighting. "Trust me?"

Their eyes met his, steady and unwavering. "Always."

The word carried weight, an implicit forgiveness for his absence that Hyunjin wasn't certain he deserved. He focused on mixing the paint rather than examining that feeling too closely, adding a drop of linseed oil to achieve the perfect consistency. The familiar scent rose in the air, earthy and distinctive.

"The paint will be cool," he warned as he continued to mix slowly. "And it might tickle."

"I think I can handle it." There was a teasing quality to your tone that sparked something in Hyunjin's chest—a reminder of the easy banter that had been part of your foundation.

"Comfortable?" he asked, arranging his brushes with meticulous precision.

You nodded, skin goosefleshing slightly in the cool air of the studio. Hyunjin noticed and walked to the thermostat, adjusting it upward without comment. These were the small considerations that had once been second nature to him, before conference calls and deadlines had dulled his awareness of others' needs.

As he returned to his supplies, Hyunjin felt something shift within him—a realignment, as if pieces that had been jarred loose by months of separation were finally settling back into place. The fluorescent lights of corporate boardrooms faded from memory, replaced by the warm glow of his studio lamps and the sight of you waiting for him, bare and trusting.

Hyunjin pulled a stool close to the couch, positioning himself within arm's reach of his subject. His eyes locked with yours as he settled onto the worn wooden seat. No words were necessary now—you had moved beyond language to something more primal, a communication of intent through gesture and gaze.

His hand hovered over his collection of brushes, selecting one with particular care, a fine sable with bristles tapering to a precise point. The brush was an extension of himself, a bridge between vision and reality. Tonight, it would connect him to the person who had remained constant in his thoughts, even when time zones and obligations had conspired to separate you.

He dipped the brush into the mixed paint, watching as the bristles soaked up the color. Blue had always been his starting point—the color of depth and distance, of oceans and night skies. It seemed appropriate for this beginning, this attempt to bridge the chasm that had formed between you.

The outside world—with its deadlines and expectations—receded further with each passing moment. Here, in this sanctuary of creation, there was only Hyunjin, you — his muse — and the promise of reconnection through art. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned forward, brush in hand, ready to begin the intimate dance of artist and subject.

As he poised the brush above your skin, Hyunjin found himself hesitating. The moment felt weighted with significance beyond the act itself. This wasn't merely art; it was communion.

"What's wrong?" you asked, picking up on his hesitation with the intuition that had always unsettled and delighted him in equal measure.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Just... taking it in." His free hand came up to stroke your cheek, a brief touch that communicated more than words could manage. "You're beautiful."

You smiled, a crooked little thing that hit him like a physical pain. "You're stalling, bro."

Hyunjin chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet studio. "Maybe I'm savoring the blank canvas." His eyes traveled over your body with renewed purpose. "Where to begin—that's always the question, isn't it?"

He settled on the right collarbone, where the bone created a natural line to follow. The brush hovered for a moment above the skin, then descended. The first touch of bristles to flesh was electric—a connection completed. Your sharp intake of breath mirrored his own sensation of falling into something vast and significant.

"Cold?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"No," you replied. "It just feels... more intimate than I expected."

Hyunjin nodded, understanding perfectly. There was an intimacy to this that transcended even their most private moments together. He was marking you, transforming you—creating something ephemeral yet profound on the most personal canvas imaginable.

He worked in silence for several minutes, applying delicate strokes of blue along the ridge of bone. Each movement of the brush was deliberate, measured, an extension of his intent. The paint glistened wetly on your skin, catching the light like dewdrops on morning petals.

From his position, Hyunjin could see the pulse jumping in your throat, the subtle shifts in your breathing as the brush moved across sensitive areas. your responses fed into his own growing arousal—a feedback loop of creation and desire.

"What are you painting?" you asked, voice slightly breathless.

Hyunjin considered the question. He had no planned image, no sketch to follow. This was intuitive, responsive—a conversation between artist and medium.

"A journey," he finally answered, rinsing his brush before selecting a crimson red. "Our journey."

He added red to his palette, mixing it with a touch of white to create a deep rose. Then he applied it in flowing lines that intersected with the blue, creating paths that met and diverged like rivers on a map.

"These are the times we've come together," he explained, drawing a line that crossed over a streak of blue. "And these—" he added parallel lines that never quite touched the blue "—are the times we've existed separately. Even when apart, we're still part of the same composition."

Your eyes glistened slightly at that, though they blinked rapidly to dispel the emotion. "That's a pretty way of saying you've been absent for months."

The statement wasn't accusatory, merely factual, but Hyunjin felt its truth like a blade between his ribs. His hand stilled momentarily.

"Yes," he acknowledged, refusing to hide behind excuses. "I have been." He resumed painting, adding white to create highlight and depth. "This is my apology. And my promise."

"Painted in a temporary medium," you observed, but there was a softness to the words that suggested understanding rather than resentment.

Hyunjin's lips curved slightly. "The impermanence is part of the point. This moment, this connection—it exists now, between us. It can't be preserved or sold or displayed. It's just... ours."

He continued adding color, building a complex interplay of hues across your chest and shoulders. The paint warmed quickly on your skin, no longer causing you to flinch at its application. Instead, you seemed to lean into each stroke, body responding to the brush's touch as it might to his fingertips.

As Hyunjin worked, he found himself leaning closer, breath mingling with yours in the diminishing space between you. The act of painting became increasingly sensual—each stroke a caress, each pause a moment of anticipation. He could feel the heat radiating from their skin, see the subtle dilation of their pupils as he moved into their personal space.

The studio lights caught the wet paint, making it shimmer like molten metal on their skin. Hyunjin sat back slightly, admiring the developing work with an artist's critical eye and a lover's appreciation. The colors flowed across your body like a visual symphony—blues deepening into purples where they mixed with red, highlights of white creating dimension and movement.

"How does it feel?" he asked, voice rougher than he'd intended.

Your eyes met his, heavy-lidded and intense. "Like being transformed. Like becoming art."

Hyunjin nodded, understanding completely. That transformation was exactly what he sought—not just of your body into his canvas, but of your relationship into something new after the fallow period of his absence. He was painting your reconnection, your rediscovery of each other.

"We're just getting started," he promised, selecting a fresh brush from his collection. His vision for the night expanded with each stroke, with each shared breath in the intimate space of their studio. What had begun as artistic expression was evolving into something far more primal, more essential—a reclaiming of what threatened to slip away during his absence.

"You are my art," he said as he applied the next stroke, a deliberate line that curved from the collarbone down toward the center of your chest. His words weren't practiced or performative; they emerged from somewhere deep and authentic within him, surprising even himself with their rawness.

Your eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating in the subdued light of the studio. Hyunjin saw something flicker across your expression—vulnerability, perhaps, or recognition of the truth he'd spoken. The silent exchange lasted only seconds but communicated volumes.

The brush continued its journey, leaving a trail of color that seemed to pulse with life against your skin. Hyunjin worked with methodical precision, each stroke building upon the last to create a pattern that was emerging organically rather than from preconception. Blues deepened into purples where he applied pressure, lightened to ethereal aquamarine where he barely skimmed the surface.

He moved from the gentle slope of your chest, then along the sensitive underside of your arm where skin was thin and paler, revealing the blue tracery of veins beneath. The paint mimicked and enhanced these natural patterns, creating a tableau that spoke of rivers and tributaries, of connections and partings.

"How long have we been together, Jinnie?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking the concentrated silence that had enveloped the room.

The question pulled him from his artistic focus. Hyunjin paused, brush hovering above skin as he calculated. "Four years, seven months, and—" he tilted his head slightly, "—twelve days."

A small smile curved your lips. "You've been keeping count."

"Some things are worth counting," he replied, resuming his work with a switch to a thinner brush that allowed for more delicate detail. The new brush traced along your ribs, following the subtle architecture beneath the skin.

"And in those four years, seven months, and twelve days," you continued, "have you ever felt as distant from me as you have these past few months?"

The question landed like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of discomfort through Hyunjin's carefully maintained composure. His hand stilled again, paint-laden brush suspended above the curve of their waist.

"No," he admitted after a long moment. "I haven't."

Honesty was the only viable currency between you now; you both recognized this. Hyunjin resumed painting, but his strokes had taken on a different quality—more deliberate, almost as if he were working through his thoughts with each application of color.

"The irony," you said, watching him work, "is that I've never felt more like a possession than when you were gone."

Hyunjin's eyes snapped up to meet theirs, brow furrowing. "A possession?"

"Something owned but not used. Displayed but not enjoyed. Valued but not... necessary." The words emerged with clinical precision, as if they'd been formulated during long nights alone in the house you supposedly shared.

The assessment struck Hyunjin like a physical blow. He set down his brush carefully, unwilling to risk a trembling hand marring the work he'd begun. "That was never my intention."

"Intentions and impact rarely align perfectly," you replied, eyes following his movements as he selected a different color—a deep crimson that brought to mind arterial blood and sunset. "You chose a path that took you away from this." Your hand gestured to encompass the studio, the house beyond, yourselves. "Away from us."

Hyunjin mixed the new color with careful concentration, using the familiar ritual to gather his thoughts. "I took the finance job because it offered security," he finally said. "The kind of security my art never could."

"I never asked for security." Your voice was soft but unyielding. "I asked for presence."

The paint on your skin was beginning to dry in places, creating a curious sensation as Hyunjin applied fresh color that intersected with the existing design. Wet and dry, new and established—the physical parallel to the conversation wasn't lost on him.

"I know," he acknowledged, tracing a line of crimson that curved around your navel and swept toward your hip. "I convinced myself I was doing it for us, but that was..." He searched for the right word.

"Bullshit?" you supplied, with a hint of the playful directness that had first drawn him to you years ago.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Incomplete reasoning," he amended, though the essence of your assessment wasn't wrong. "I was afraid."

"Of what?"

The question hung between them as Hyunjin continued painting, adding touches of gold now to the design that sprawled across your torso and began to extend down your thigh. The metallic paint caught the light, creating points of brilliance against the deeper colors.

"Of failing," he finally admitted. "Of watching you realize that loving an artist meant instability and struggle." His hand moved steadily despite the emotional weight of his words. "Of becoming a cautionary tale rather than a success story."

Your hand came up, hovering just above his wrist without making contact that might smudge his work. The gesture was protective, supportive—a physical manifestation of what you'd always offered him.

"Jin," you said quietly, "I chose you knowing exactly who you were. The artist and the man. They're inseparable."

Hyunjin nodded, absorbing the truth of this. The brush in his hand traced a graceful spiral that originated at your hip and expanded outward, encompassing the soft plane of your stomach. "I'm beginning to understand that now."

"Beginning?" A hint of challenge colored your tone.

"Understanding takes time," he replied, eyes focused on his work but awareness entirely centered on the conversation. "Like art. Like love."

You fell silent, allowing him to continue painting. The design had evolved from abstract patterns into something more intentional—a visual representation of your journey together. Blues and reds intersected and diverged, creating patterns that spoke of connection, separation, and reunion.

"I missed this studio," Hyunjin confessed as he worked his way down to your thigh with swirling patterns of indigo and gold. "In hotel rooms across three countries, I would close my eyes and imagine the smell of it. The feel of it."

"And me?" The question was vulnerable, stripped of pretense. "Did you miss me too, or just the space we shared?"

Hyunjin set down his brush and met your gaze directly. "I missed you with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe sometimes," he said, voice low and rough with emotion. "In meetings with men in expensive suits who couldn't understand why I seemed distracted, in empty restaurants where the chair across from me remained vacant, in beds that felt too large and too cold no matter how many blankets I piled on." He swallowed hard. "I missed you in ways I couldn't articulate because doing so would have broken something in me."

Your eyes glistened in the studio's soft lighting. "Then why stay away so long? Why the missed calls, the abbreviated conversations, the distance that grew with each passing week?"

Hyunjin picked up his brush again, using the familiar action to center himself. "Because admitting how much I missed you meant confronting the choice I'd made—the corporate path versus the artistic one." He added a delicate highlight to the pattern on your inner thigh, the brush barely touching skin. "It was easier to numb myself than face that reckoning."

"And now?" You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to give him better access to continue his work. "What's changed?"

"Coming home," he said simply. "Seeing you seated at your easel. Realizing that no amount of financial security compensates for the loss of what matters most." The brush traveled back up your body, adding connecting lines between elements of the design that had previously seemed separate. "Recognizing that I've been painting without color while pursuing what others told me was success."

Your hand reached out, fingertips lightly touching his forearm. The contact sent electricity through him—simple human connection that had been absent for too long.

"I want both," you said quietly. "Your success and your presence. Your dreams and your reality."

Hyunjin nodded, understanding what you weren't explicitly stating—that forcing a choice between professional fulfillment and personal happiness was a false dichotomy he'd constructed to justify his absence.

"I handed in my resignation yesterday," he said, the words emerging with surprising ease given how difficult the decision had been to make. "Before boarding the flight home."

Your eyes widened. "Jin—"

"It was suffocating me," he continued, adding more gold to his palette and applying it to create subtle illumination across his design. "Killing whatever spark made my art worth creating in the first place. And worse—" he met their gaze directly "—it was killing us."

A single tear escaped, tracking down your cheek. Hyunjin caught it with his thumb, careful not to smudge the intricate patterns he'd created on your skin.

"I don't need you to be rich," you whispered. "I just need you to be here."

"I know that now," he replied, resuming his painting with renewed purpose. The design had taken on a cohesive quality, no longer separate elements but a unified whole that flowed across your body like a visual symphony. "I'm not walking away from financial stability entirely. I've saved enough to give us breathing room while I find balance—consulting work that uses my finance background but leaves time for this." His gesture encompassed the studio, the art, the intimacy the two of you were reclaiming.

You watched him work for several minutes in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft brush of bristles against skin and your synchronized breathing. The paint had dried in a tight mask across your chest and torso, creating a curious sensation of constriction followed by release where unpainted skin remained.

"Tell me what you've added," you finally said. "I can feel it, but I can't see the whole design."

Hyunjin sat back slightly, examining his work with an artist's critical eye. The blues and reds had merged in places to create deep purples that spoke of passion and loyalty. Gold highlights caught the light, creating a dimensional quality that made the design seem alive on their skin.

"This is where we began," he explained, gesturing to a complex pattern that originated at your heart and expanded outward. "These lines that radiate outward are the paths we've taken together and apart." His finger hovered above the design without touching it. "The places where colors merge are our moments of deepest connection. The gold—" he indicated the metallic highlights that unified the design "—represents what remains constant despite distance or time."

Your eyes followed his explanation, seeing yourself transformed into living art. "It's beautiful, Jin."

"You're beautiful," he corrected. "The paint only enhances what's already there."

Hyunjin added a few final touches—delicate white highlights that created depth and dimension, subtle green accents that brought life and growth to the composition. When he finally set down his brush, he felt the peculiar mixture of satisfaction and loss that always accompanied the completion of something meaningful.

"It's almost finished," he said softly, eyes traveling over your painted form with appreciation both artistic and deeply personal.

You shifted slightly, testing how the dried paint moved with your body. "How does it look?"

Hyunjin's throat tightened with unexpected emotion. "Like everything I've been trying to say since I walked back through that door tonight."

"And what is that, exactly?" Your eyes held his, unwilling to accept anything less than complete honesty.

He set aside his palette and brushes, moving to kneel beside the couch where you lay transformed by his art. His hand hovered above your painted skin, not quite touching, respecting the boundary between creator and creation.

"That you are my art," he said, echoing his earlier declaration but investing it with deeper meaning. "Not just tonight, not just in this moment, but always. That everything I create flows from the same source that makes me love you. That separating those parts of myself was what led me astray." His voice roughened with emotion. "That I'm coming home in every sense of the word, if you'll still have me."

Your hand reached up to cradle his face, paint-smeared fingers leaving faint traces of color on his cheek—marking him as he had marked you. The gesture was answer enough, but you spoke anyway.

"I've been keeping your place," you said, eyes never leaving his. "In this studio. In our home. In my heart."

Hyunjin turned his face into your touch, lips brushing against your palm in silent gratitude. The paint on your skin would eventually wash away, but what it represented—this reconnection, this recommitment—would remain, permanently etched into the canvas of your shared life.

"This needs something more," Hyunjin said suddenly, his eyes alight with renewed inspiration.

Before you could respond, he dipped his fingers into the paint, vibrant colors pooling along his skin. "A true work of art needs layers," he continued, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "And I have too many brushes anyway."

You laughed, a sound like music in the air, as he set to work on your body once more. His fingers left wide, expressive streaks of color—carefree and passionate in ways that the brushwork hadn't been. The paint felt cool and thick as he spread it across your skin, blurring the lines of his earlier design but adding new vibrancy.

Hyunjin's touch grew bolder, more intimate. He massaged paint into your shoulders, your breasts, your stomach. Each motion was deliberate and sensual, less about the art itself and more about experiencing you beneath him.

"You feel amazing," he murmured, leaning closer until you could feel his breath on your skin.

Your own hands found their way to his shirt, smearing paint across the fabric as you tugged him toward you. "You're overdressed for this kind of work," you whispered, voice filled with playful heat.

Hyunjin laughed low in his throat—a sound that sent a rumble into your frame. You ripped his shirt open, the buttons popping as you exposed his lean, muscular chest. Hyunjin wiggled out of the shirt and tossed it behind him, before he leaned down to kiss you passionately.

The kiss was fervent, urgent, and full of the passion that had been building between you for so long, each press and pull of his lips echoing everything he had poured into his earlier confessions.

You broke the kiss just enough to breathe, your voice filled with playful challenge and heated anticipation. “You gonna take those off?” you ask in between kisses, referencing his pants.

Hyunjin answered with a wicked smile, already unbuttoning his pants. His gaze never left yours while he slid the fabric slowly, teasingly down his hips. "What do you think?" he asked, voice a sexy rasp.

You swallowed hard, your hands impatiently pulling him back toward you before he could remove them completely. The pants tangled around his ankles, and you laughed together as he kicked them off in a rush of impatience and eager laughter. Everything else fell away—the studio, the art, even time itself—leaving only the two of you and the tangle of forgotten passion.

He captured your mouth again, heat radiating between you. His hands roamed with abandon, sliding over the contours of your body, eager to feel every part of you that he'd missed. You arched into him as one leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

He lowered himself onto you, skin meeting skin in a slick union that sent shockwaves through both your bodies. The paint created an exquisite slip and slide between you, the sensation heightened by Hyunjin's deliberate movements as he nestled into place against your warmth.

"This… this is what I've been missing," he breathed into your ear. A low groan escaped Hyunjin's lips as he entered you, the movement steady and deep.

The world dissolved around you; there was nothing but the intensity of his eyes and the raw connection that pulsed between you. He set an unhurried rhythm, each thrust deliberate and powerful, every motion sending shockwaves through your painted skin.

Your bodies moved together in a sensual dance, paint smearing with every shift—a riot of color marking each passionate release. Hyunjin's grip on your hips tightened as he quickened the pace, pent-up desire spilling over in waves of pleasure that blurred the line between where he ended and you began. Your nails dug into his back, leaving trails of color as you pulled him deeper.

"Fuck," he breathed against your neck, his voice rough with raw emotion. "I've missed you."

You answered with a moan, your body writhing beneath him in syncopated rhythm. The world fell away as you became one, colors blending and bleeding into each other until there was nothing but sensation.

Hyunjin sat up, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead in the dim light. As he continued to thrust into you, his movements rhythmic and deliberate, he looked down at you. Muscle and sinew flexed with every motion, and he watched you with an intensity that bordered on devouring. His gaze swept over your skin, lingering on the smudged brilliance of his art, seeing the way passion had transformed his masterpiece into something raw and elemental. 

His hand reached out, cradling your face with a tender touch, and his thumb traced a slow path across your cheek, spreading the vibrant colors smeared there.

As he lowered himself back down again, the warmth of his breath tickled your ear. His lips brushed against your earlobe. With a soft, teasing graze of his teeth, he murmured, "I'm home," his voice low and intimate, his lips brushing against your earlobe before teasing it with a soft, playful graze of his teeth.

Hyunjin wasn't content to let the words linger; he punctuated them with a thrust that sent you both spiraling. Your bodies were slick against each other, each movement creating friction that set your nerve endings on fire. The distance and time was forgotten. All that remained was sensation—the slide of your skin, the heat building between you, the overwhelming rightness of his body moving in sync with yours.

"I love you," he gasped, the words rough and sincere, hanging in the air like an unspoken promise that he would never leave again. You arched into him, your hands roaming over his back and shoulders, and it pushed him deeper, driving you both toward a fevered pitch that had only one possible ending.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, before your hands slid up to his neck, pulling his head down to press your lips together.

His breath came faster, mixing with yours as you panted in unison. He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit you in that perfect spot, and the pleasure was so intense you could hardly stand it.

The two of you moved together until you crashed over a shared precipice, your skin glistening with sweat, paint, and desire as you reached your peak. Hyunjin collapsed onto you, heartbeat pounding against your chest in time with yours. Panting in the aftermath of release, you stayed entangled for what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, exchanging soft kisses that spoke of comfort and contentment.

Eventually, Hyunjin pulled away to look down at you both, his expression a mix of pride and wonder. The design on your skin was unlike anything he'd ever created before—an intricate tapestry of emotion and connection that spoke to everything they'd been through. Although it was now all smudged, he was still proud. "This," he said softly, gesturing between the two of you, "is why I paint."

[ace-disgrace-on-the-case]

GUYS I THINK I FIGURED OUT THE FILING SYSTEM FOR THE STATEMENTS IN FR3-D1

Ok so. so. As I am rapidly beginning to figure out the ARG stuff might just be important to our understanding of the overall story of TMAGP. And so I started digging through all the wonderful detective work the folks who participated did (their data and thus a decent bit of the ARG are still preserved). I'd like to draw your attention to one file in particular (I might make more posts with more ramblings as I think about more stuff but for right now):

klaus.xls is an excel sheet that they were able to dig up in the ARG which seems to contain partially corrupted data regarding, to my best guess, incidents. I was particularly interested in this file because that name came up in episode 4's transcript as the name of the person Lena had a disagreement with/seemed to be threatening. I have thoughts about this as well but it will be a separate post.

This data might actually be internal to the OIAR, and if what I'm guessing is correct, then this data actually corresponds to FR3-D1 entries! Using this, I think I've been able to dissect the case names (for example, we're going to use episode 1's magnus institute case)

CAT23RAB2155-10042022-09012024

A lot of the information on the leftmost data cluster seems to correspond to what's in the table, so:

CAT23: Category 23. There were only a few categories in the Klaus data that weren't 1, 2, or 3 so I'm guessing inputting multiple numbers means this incident could either be category 2 or category 3 (or someone thought this case needed a very very high category shared by almost nothing else).

RAB: Rank A/B. This we know means the ranking is either A or ranking B. I have not, however, managed to determine what the difference between Category and Rank is, so if someone else has thoughts on that I'd love to hear them. Based on other case titles the R is not always part of this section, only in cases where multiple rankings are specified. This also places this case very high in the ranking system, as most cases in the Klaus data appear to be rank C or B (with only a single S and two As, one of which is a dual A/B).

2155: This section is always a four digit code. It corresponds to the TSHU column of the Klaus data, which is also always a four digit code. If I had to speculate, I believe this is the internal code for the case category (which are all laid out in that giant binder on Sam's desk). I wish I knew specifically what each one meant but I figure we'll have to watch the numbers and see.

10042022: It took me a minute on these number strings, I'll be honest. There's nothing approximating them in the Klaus data, but then I noticed that the second string contains "2024" at the very end in every statement thus far recorded. Then it dawned on me: these are dates. This first string corresponds to report submission date, I think: this report was submitted to the OIAR on the 10th of April 2022. This then means that:

09012024: Corresponds to the date of filing. Sam filed this case on the 9th of January, 2024. This also allows us to go through and see that the episodes seem to be following the time passing between episodes for us almost 1:1, with most cases being a few days before when we receive them.

[it-crowd-unexpected-reboot]

Update #2: A New Outlining Method, Dropdown Plotter

I've been having a hard time conceptualizing how to plan out a novel lately. It used to come so easy to me. Now that I'm a real adult, it feels like there isn't enough space in my brain anymore for me to have my story all in my head without writing my ideas down somewhere.

So, good outlining methods, which can be hard to come by, are crucial for my writing process.

But, a lot of traditional methods don't work for me.

In my opinion, it's extremely important to have an outlining method that doesn't overwhelm you, and which feels creatively freeing. And when do I need to be more creatively free, than when writing an IT Crowd fanfiction?

So I've come up with a new outlining method that I'd love to share with you all! I call it Dropdown Plotter.

Dropdown Plotter uses the dropdown menu feature, which can be found in both Google Sheets and Microsoft Excel, to help you better visualize (and, most importantly, easily reorganize) the major aspects of each chapter of your story.

Basically, it's a spreadsheet that includes, at minimum, 8 columns.

Chapter Title

Plotlines

Included Character(s)

Perspective Character(s)

Location(s)

Chapter Story Description

Writing Stage

Due Date

Why keep track of these things? Balance. Basically, making sure your characters, plotlines, POVs, and important locations all get adequate page time.

It's a lot easier to conceptualize these things when you have it on a color-coded spreadsheet, zoomed out really far, and can see in a big picture way. For example, you might see that the red color indicating "Legolas" is in a scene, drops off after Chapter 17. You might see that the green-coded plot about his missing shoe is only important for 5 chapters in the middle of the story, or that we're spending almost the entire story in the bathroom and never in the evil lair.

So, how do you use the Dropdown Plotter?

First, you go into the dropdown menu, and you can see all the plots you've selected. There's a handy "search feature" for those writing the next Game of Thrones. You want to click the little pencil icon in the bottom right, which is the "edit" button.

On the right-hand side of your screen, a column will pop up called "Data Validation Rules." From here, you can edit the names and colors of each item in the dropdown menu, and add or delete things as you'd like.

Make sure to click "allow multiple selections" on the bottom of the data validation rules pop-up. This will allow you to select multiple characters, multiple locations, and multiple plots when you're in the dropdown menus.

Don't forget to click "Done" at the bottom!

On top of the dropdown menus, the nice thing about working in a spreadsheet is that you can always drag and drop the rows and columns. This makes it extremely easy to change the order of scenes around, in a way that feels very impermanent and easy.

Here is what my Dropdown Plotter looked like for the first three chapters of The Grant: An IT Crowd Fanfiction.

Looks pretty, right? And pretty outlines build confidence! Not only that, but what I like most about this outlining method is that it encourages me to be less precious with my ideas.

It's way less intimidating to overhaul major aspects of your story, such as the dominant POV, the main plot, etc., when all you have to do is click a little button in the dropdown menu to change everything. When I'm editing a little blurb in a spreadsheet versus an entire step outline, it reminds me that no writing problem is insurmountable, and nothing is ever really set in stone.

Again, it builds confidence.

Unfortunately, I've only built a Dropdown Plotter in Google Sheets, but I've provided a blank version to share with you all. The nice thing about spreadsheets is that you can add and delete things as you see fit. For example, some people might want to add...

More columns indicating multiple scenes within the same chapter!

A "Story Beat" column, to mark the specific plot beats each chapter follows (as in the Hero's Journey or the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet).

An "Important Info" column, to mark any worldbuilding or character details discussed or introduced in a certain chapter.

Literally anything your little heart desires!

Happy outlining and I hope you enjoy the Dropdown Plotter!

[atlitudes]

I'm Cataloging Every Occurrence of the Piano in Malevolent in a Spreadsheet for Leitmotif Analysis. No, I'm Not Kidding.

As the title of this post reads, I've spent the last few weeks listening to every episode of Malevolent and logging every time the piano is heard (both within the story and as background score), to analyze the data for leitmotif/music based theory-crafting. I originally was planning on getting through the entire series before posting anything, but I am very quickly realizing that this is going to take me a while, and I start a new semester in two weeks, so there is a high likelihood I will not finish before I get too busy to chug through as many episodes a day as I am now. I'm on episode 16/44 and I've already logged 137 instances of piano music. I'm not even halfway done. And this is all I've been doing for the past multiple days. For this reason, I've decided to post the link to the spreadsheet before finishing.

If you're familiar with Malevolent, and just how much music is in it, you might be asking, "OP, are you utterly fucking insane?" And well, dear reader, the answer to that is probably yes, but while you might call it madness, I call it love. So, before getting into the meat of things, I wanted to explain why I even decided to do this. Spoilers ahead for Malevolent (obvious, but yeah). If you don't give a single shit about why I did this and want to get straight to the sheet, scroll to the bottom for the link.

So. About 2 weeks ago I finished my first listen-through of Malevolent. One thing about the most recent episodes struck me as very very significant: John and Arthur's "collective force" being titled as the Dies Irae.

Now, a full-bodied explanation of why I find this so important and the possible implications will come at a later date, but long story short, the Dies Irae is a very significant piece of musical literature-- it is, perhaps, the most commonly quoted leitmotif of the past 800 years, and it symbolizes death. So, understandably, the Themes of this kinda sent me down a spiral.

But the Dies Irae being mentioned in such a way also got me thinking: music is a pretty integral part of Malevolent. So, is the Dies Irae quoted anywhere in its soundtrack? I suddenly got very very excited at this prospect, particularly if it might be in Faroe's Song, because well... god that would hurt lol. I scoured the available songs on the bandcamp aaaaand... no luck (as far as I can tell). Regardless, even if the Dies Irae wasn't a part of the soundtrack, I became curious about what kind of leitmotifs were in the podcast, and what they might mean. And so, the spreadsheet was born.

I explain this in the User Guide part of the sheet (please read it before going through the rest btw), but I only track the piano parts of the podcast. The reason for this is two-fold:

First, score wise, piano is very easy for me to pick apart, and I don't see a lot of significance in the suspenseful string music for horror moments (though I don't deny there might be something to it, I simply won't be able to find it.) To me, the piano is also significantly more important than the strings because it's a notable part of the story-- Arthur and his relation to the instrument is a key part of the plot, and multiple of the piano compositions are made by him. For this reason, I found tracking the piano in the podcast worthwhile.

Second, I also don't touch any of the non-original radio tracks in the podcast (i.e. You Call It Madness (I Call It Love)) because this video by The Final Fantasmagorie already does an excellent job of covering them (please check it out!!), and I felt it would be redundant, especially considering the astronomical amount of ground I already have to cover. If these tracks start being featured as leitmotifs in the piano music then... well, I might change my mind, but so far, no dice.

If I noticed a non-piano piece of music (such as the wraith humming in Ep3) that I haven't found any analysis of whatsoever, I also noted it just so there was some record. Other than that, just piano tracks.

Explanations and disclaimers out of the way, here is the link to the spreadsheet. I might open it up to comments and/or editors at some point, but for now, it's just available to viewers. Once again, please read the disclaimer and user guide before the rest of the sheets.

Thanks for reading, I know this was a very long post, and I appreciate it if you've beared with me! Enjoy!

[macabresymphonies]

Who are the major players in The Magnus Protocol?

The more we delve into the season, the more it, becomes apparent that alchemy is a big theme this season. If you haven't already, read more on my theory how The Magnus Protocol is about a race between alchemists if you want more context on what I will be talking about in the post.

It's all speculation, but cross referencing the Klaus sheet from the ARG, which is an excel sheet containing other incidents we don't know much about (it's also all in german, so that's fun), there seems to be three major "named" players in the sheet Lady M., Mr M. and Mr B.

They are only attributed few incidents, but combining historical data and few times location is mentioned we can speculate on their identity assuming they are all supposed to be famous alchemists.

I will also mention, the idea that alchemists gainied immortality and are living up to today is not new, Nicolas Flamel and John Dee are both told to have gained immortality and hiding among us today.

Lady M.

There isn't many female achemists throughout history (because if men play with chemicals it's called "alchemical pursuit" while if a woman does so it's suddenly "witchcraft" am I right?), but one of the most prominent ones is also one of the oldest ones out there: Mary the Prophetess.

She's basically the grandmother of all alchemy. Ancient, as even in the oldest sources of alchemy from the 4th century she's described as have been living in the past. Her being involved in an incident in London is not as weird considering that her home is probably long gone anyway. She's also only one where date of incident was mentioned and it's only few months before the events of the podcast begun.

Mr M.

Involved in an incident in Berlin he's to be assumed of German origin and crossreferencing famous alchemists I think I've got an absolutely perfect fit: Albertus Magnus.

Literally named "Doctor universalis" for being a German scholar knowledgable about and cataloguing basically everything. Many people think Magnus Institue is related to Jonah Magnus, but let's remember this universe is much more similar to ours. Maybe Magnus Institute and Magnus Protocol aren't about Jonah Magnus, but relate to Albertus Magnus instead. Category number in the incident is 2, which by my previous theory would mean it involved the matters of The Mind.

Mr B.

Based on Somerset and the fact this person deals with The Soul (1) and to less of a degree The Mind (2) I think the pick is pretty apparent: Roger Bacon

Named Doctor Mirabilis, "the wonderful teacher", born near Ilchester, Somerset, outside of being one the great English alchemists he's well known for two things - he has placed considerable emphasis on the study of nature through empiricism (and many experiments) and that he was involved in creation of the brazen head, a necromantic device that would answear questions, supposedly through an entraped human soul. Both of these align well and to me, him being born in Somerset basically confirms it.

It's worth mentioning, Mr B. was the only person mentioned to have created a project with a rank S, meaing he's probably in posession of the most powerful item in The Magnus Protocol universe.

[vossn]

Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @systembug <3 It was a while ago, I'm sorry, I'm forgetful.

1. Named after anyone? Lots of cool and less-cool historical guys share my name, but no one I am consciously named after.

2. Last time I cried? I can't remember! T makes it hard to cry these days, which is a blessing.

3. Kids? Nope.

4. Sports? Swimming & weightlifting! I want to go run again, but the doc says no :(

5. Sarcasm? Yes, but always in a loving way.

6. First thing I notice about something? I tend to focus on small details more than the bigger picture.

7. Eye colour? Green-Brown

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Scary movies with happy endings!

9. Talents? uuuh. .. I have very slim hands and wrists, allowing me to steal from vending machines, slip my hand into my letterbox to fish my stuff out with out unlocking it, and get the last bit of crumbs from the Pringles tube. Does that count?

10. Place of birth? Beautiful wine city nestled between hills.

11. Hobbies? Art, writing, gaming, sports, playing the accordion.

12. Pets? None, sadly.

13. Height? 183 cm / 6ft

14. Favorite school subject? English.

15. Dream job? Honestly? Something than lets me organize shit half the day and lets me slack off and write fanfic the other half. Let me sort your excel sheets, let me evaluate the outcome of your questionnaires, let me handle your data and plug it into SPSS, and then leave me to my silly little tasks <3

[kirkgarden]

Tree Labeling in Agriculture: A Practical Guide for Farmers and Growers

Whether you’re running a small orchard, managing an agroforestry project, or operating a large-scale plantation, labeling your trees is one of the simplest but most powerful tools you can use. It helps you stay organized, track performance, and make informed decisions year after year.

In this guide, we’ll walk through why tree labeling matters, how to do it effectively (both physically and digitally), and practical tips to set up your own system. no matter your farm size or budget.

Why Label Trees on a Farm?

Labeling trees isn’t just for show. It plays a vital role in the daily operations and long-term health of your farm. Here’s why it's essential:

Tree Identification

Knowing the exact species or variety is key, especially in mixed orchards, experimental plots, or where grafted cultivars are involved. Accurate labels eliminate confusion.

Record-Keeping and Traceability

Labels allow you to link each tree to a digital record of its planting date, treatments, pruning, pest issues, and yields. This is crucial for certifications like Organic or GAP (Good Agricultural Practices).

Planning and Decision-Making

A well-labeled tree system helps with planning irrigation, pruning schedules, nutrient application, and even harvesting or replanting.

Worker Training and Efficiency

Field workers can be trained to use the labeling system to reduce mistakes, boost productivity, and communicate issues easily.

Types of Tree Labels

Depending on your goals, environment, and available resources, you can choose from various labeling methods — from simple handwritten tags to QR code-enabled digital systems.

1. Physical Labels (In the Field)

These are tags placed on or near each tree to allow for visual identification on-site.

Options:

Aluminum Tags: Weatherproof and long-lasting. Can be engraved or written on with permanent marker.

Plastic Tags: UV-resistant, cheaper, and color-coded. Good for short- to mid-term use.

Wooden Stakes: Ideal for nurseries or young seedlings before permanent labeling.

QR Code or RFID Tags: Scannable tech for advanced farms linking each tree to a database.

What to Include on the Label:

Tree ID (e.g., T-024)

Species and Cultivar (e.g., Mangifera indica – Alphonso)

Planting Date

Special Notes (e.g., Grafted, Zone 2B, Pest-prone)

Example Label:

Tree ID: T-024 Species: Mangifera indica (Alphonso) Planted: 2023-07-12 Notes: Grafted, Zone 2B

Best Practices:

Use UV-resistant ink or engrave to prevent fading.

Place labels on sturdy branches or stakes near the trunk.

Avoid wire directly on the bark — use flexible ties to prevent girdling.

Color-code for quick identification (e.g., green for productive, red for inspection needed).

2 Digital Labeling (Data Management)

A physical tag is just the beginning. To unlock the full value of tree labeling, connect your field system to a digital database.

Tools to Consider:

Spreadsheets: Google Sheets or Excel for small to mid-size farms.

Farm Management Apps: Like Croptracker, AgriWebb, FarmLogs.

GIS Mapping Tools: Useful for mapping tree locations, soil types, and water access.

Suggested Data Fields:

FieldExampleTree IDT-024Species/VarietyMangifera indica (Alphonso)GPS Location-1.2901, 36.8219Planting Date2023-07-12Health StatusHealthyYield History15 kg (2024), 22 kg (2025)NotesPruned in May 2025

Tip:

Make sure your physical label and digital record use the same Tree ID to avoid confusion.

Setting Up Your Tree Labeling System: Step-by-Step

Here’s a simple process you can follow to create an effective tree labeling system on your farm:

1. Develop a Tree ID Format

Use a consistent code. For example:

T-001 to T-500 for individual trees

A1-T045 for Block A1, Tree 45

2. Choose Label Materials

Pick a material based on durability, budget, and weather conditions. Aluminum tags last years. Plastic is more affordable and good for color-coding.

3. Create and Place Labels

Label trees shortly after planting and keep them visible but secure. Stake labels for seedlings or use hanging tags for mature trees.

4. Build a Digital Record

Start with a spreadsheet or use farm software. Log all essential details (see data table above) and update it after each season.

5. Train Your Team

Ensure workers understand how to read labels and update records. Use the system for pruning schedules, disease scouting, and yield logging.

Taking It Further: Tech Integration

If you're managing hundreds or thousands of trees, consider integrating technology:

QR Codes: Each code links to a full digital record. Can be scanned with a phone.

Drones or GPS tools: For mapping tree positions and checking health.

Irrigation + Sensor Data Integration: Label data can feed into smart irrigation decisions based on tree health and stage.

Final Thoughts

Tree labeling might seem like a small task, but it has a big impact on how efficiently and intelligently you run your farm. Whether you’re managing 10 or 10,000 trees, a good labeling system is the foundation for sustainable, productive agriculture.

Start simple, stay consistent, and as your farm grows, your tree labeling system will grow with it.

I hope this was helpful and happy gardening from Gardening with kirk

Here is a videos on additional tips on Pruning fruit trees 🌳

https://youtu.be/scvsi2oQK74?si=ENRGMxKrquBY8v9M

[vivalgi]

I'm one of those weirdos who has a Choices Excel sheet with a crap ton of different data. I thought since 2023 has just ended it'd be a nice time to start a series where I share some of them with you.

For my 1st post I have made two charts that show what selection of love interests the books have been offering based on their genders. There's more variation than the charts show but I tried to keep everything reasonably simple. I've only included the main stories and not the special shorts. I've also left out The Promise of Forever that most of us don't have in the app.

Regarding books with multiple playable characters, for The Crown & the Flame I only counted choices for Kenna and for other books (Rules of Engagement, Across the Void etc.) I only counted LIs of the customizable main character. It was easier with Most Wanted since it didn't have any romance anyway.

The first chart shows the selection of LIs throughout the whole series. For example, the entire Freshman series has 3 male and 2 female LIs, so it's among the green colored series first released in 2016.

The chart below depicts the selection of LIs in each individual book. Some book series introduce new or existing characters that you can romance only in sequels, which is one of the reasons why I made this chart as well. For example, In the first two Freshman books we only have 2 male and 1 female LI, so they're in yellow. Book 3 introduces Zig and in addition we can start pursuing Becca, therefore the rest of the books are in the green category.

Many consider 2018 as the golden year of Choices and in my opinion these charts once again illustrate it well. We got so many books where we have a selection of both multiple male and female LIs for every taste. Granted some of the female LIs were quite heavily sidelined, but that didn't stop me from romancing them and enjoying the stories.

A clearly visible trend is the quickly growing number of books that have only one LI with customizable gender. Starting with the early access release of With Every Heartbeat in late 2019, the single LI books have practically taken over the app by now. A lot of us have expressed dissatisfaction about it but PB doesn't seem to be slowing down with such books.

EDIT: Some percentages as well. In 38% of series and 42% of individual books you have a choice of multiple female LIs, both gender locked and customizable. The numbers for multiple male LIs are 63% and 72% accordingly. 29% of series and 22% of books have only one GOC LI. So far.

Let me know if you have any questions as I'm not 100% sure if I made everything clear.

[zooplekochi]

Automate Simple Tasks Using Python: A Beginner’s Guide

In today's fast paced digital world, time is money. Whether you're a student, a professional, or a small business owner, repetitive tasks can eat up a large portion of your day. The good news? Many of these routine jobs can be automated, saving you time, effort, and even reducing the chance of human error.

Enter Python a powerful, beginner-friendly programming language that's perfect for task automation. With its clean syntax and massive ecosystem of libraries, Python empowers users to automate just about anything from renaming files and sending emails to scraping websites and organizing data.

If you're new to programming or looking for ways to boost your productivity, this guide will walk you through how to automate simple tasks using Python.

🌟 Why Choose Python for Automation?

Before we dive into practical applications, let’s understand why Python is such a popular choice for automation:

Easy to learn: Python has simple, readable syntax, making it ideal for beginners.

Wide range of libraries: Python has a rich ecosystem of libraries tailored for different tasks like file handling, web scraping, emailing, and more.

Platform-independent: Python works across Windows, Mac, and Linux.

Strong community support: From Stack Overflow to GitHub, you’ll never be short on help.

Now, let’s explore real-world examples of how you can use Python to automate everyday tasks.

🗂 1. Automating File and Folder Management

Organizing files manually can be tiresome, especially when dealing with large amounts of data. Python’s built-in os and shutil modules allow you to automate file operations like:

Renaming files in bulk

Moving files based on type or date

Deleting unwanted files

Example: Rename multiple files in a folder

import os folder_path = 'C:/Users/YourName/Documents/Reports' for count, filename in enumerate(os.listdir(folder_path)): dst = f"report_{str(count)}.pdf" src = os.path.join(folder_path, filename) dst = os.path.join(folder_path, dst) os.rename(src, dst)

This script renames every file in the folder with a sequential number.

📧 2. Sending Emails Automatically

Python can be used to send emails with the smtplib and email libraries. Whether it’s sending reminders, reports, or newsletters, automating this process can save you significant time.

Example: Sending a basic email

import smtplib from email.message import EmailMessage msg = EmailMessage() msg.set_content("Hello, this is an automated email from Python!") msg['Subject'] = 'Automation Test' msg['From'] = 'you@example.com' msg['To'] = 'recipient@example.com' with smtplib.SMTP_SSL('smtp.gmail.com', 465) as smtp: smtp.login('you@example.com', 'yourpassword') smtp.send_message(msg)

⚠️ Note: Always secure your credentials when writing scripts consider using environment variables or secret managers.

🌐 3. Web Scraping for Data Collection

Want to extract information from websites without copying and pasting manually? Python’s requests and BeautifulSoup libraries let you scrape content from web pages with ease.

Example: Scraping news headlines

import requests from bs4 import BeautifulSoup url = 'https://www.bbc.com/news' response = requests.get(url) soup = BeautifulSoup(response.text, 'html.parser') for headline in soup.find_all('h3'): print(headline.text)

This basic script extracts and prints the headlines from BBC News.

📅 4. Automating Excel Tasks

If you work with Excel sheets, you’ll love openpyxl and pandas two powerful libraries that allow you to automate:

Creating spreadsheets

Sorting data

Applying formulas

Generating reports

Example: Reading and filtering Excel data

import pandas as pd df = pd.read_excel('sales_data.xlsx') high_sales = df[df['Revenue'] > 10000] print(high_sales)

This script filters sales records with revenue above 10,000.

💻 5. Scheduling Tasks

You can schedule scripts to run at specific times using Python’s schedule or APScheduler libraries. This is great for automating daily reports, reminders, or file backups.

Example: Run a function every day at 9 AM

import schedule import time def job(): print("Running scheduled task...") schedule.every().day.at("09:00").do(job) while True: schedule.run_pending() time.sleep(1)

This loop checks every second if it’s time to run the task.

🧹 6. Cleaning and Formatting Data

Cleaning data manually in Excel or Google Sheets is time-consuming. Python’s pandas makes it easy to:

Remove duplicates

Fix formatting

Convert data types

Handle missing values

Example: Clean a dataset

df = pd.read_csv('data.csv') df.drop_duplicates(inplace=True) df['Name'] = df['Name'].str.title() df.fillna(0, inplace=True) df.to_csv('cleaned_data.csv', index=False)

💬 7. Automating WhatsApp Messages (for fun or alerts)

Yes, you can even send WhatsApp messages using Python! Libraries like pywhatkit make this possible.

Example: Send a WhatsApp message

import pywhatkit pywhatkit.sendwhatmsg("+911234567890", "Hello from Python!", 15, 0)

This sends a message at 3:00 PM. It’s great for sending alerts or reminders.

🛒 8. Automating E-Commerce Price Tracking

You can use web scraping and conditionals to track price changes of products on sites like Amazon or Flipkart.

Example: Track a product’s price

url = "https://www.amazon.in/dp/B09XYZ123" headers = {"User-Agent": "Mozilla/5.0"} page = requests.get(url, headers=headers) soup = BeautifulSoup(page.content, 'html.parser') price = soup.find('span', {'class': 'a-price-whole'}).text print(f"The current price is ₹{price}")

With a few tweaks, you can send yourself alerts when prices drop.

📚 Final Thoughts

Automation is no longer a luxury it’s a necessity. With Python, you don’t need to be a coding expert to start simplifying your life. From managing files and scraping websites to sending e-mails and scheduling tasks, the possibilities are vast.

As a beginner, start small. Pick one repetitive task and try automating it. With every script you write, your confidence and productivity will grow.

Conclusion

If you're serious about mastering automation with Python, Zoople Technologies offers comprehensive, beginner-friendly Python course in Kerala. Our hands-on training approach ensures you learn by doing with real-world projects that prepare you for today’s tech-driven careers.

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

3. things.

1. I forgot to tell you Alistair is simple trauma Bait. Sure let's romance a normal person.. I see you! 🥲

2. I hope you are doing well and have a great week ahead. Thanks for always answering my asks. I appreciate you! 😇

3. Okay so ROs reaction to MC being asked out in front of them..? (crushing stage vs. relationship stage) looking to see Mal and T's reactions especially because I like torturing myself 😭😅

Hi hello you, again! I don't know, should we count the same person asking question again? I lost the track a bunch of times, anyways. Number #5? #6? Whatever! Life's too short to worry about numbers on an Excel sheet with data next to it! Here's your carefully crafted answer using the best of our technologies (a keyboard that lights up)

"1. whaaaaat? I have no idea what you could mean by that…

2. Aww, I appreciate this a lot! 3 .This is a fun thought! Alistair, crushing: Oh damn. kay. Guess I didn't put myself out there enough. Suppose that's how it goes sometimes. Alistair: relationship: Uh. This got awkward. Like rando knows there's a thing, right? Kinda weird gonna be real. CG, crushing: What. you cannot be serious. since freaking when has Dime had game. CG, relationship: SEETHING how dare you, rando. You can't possibly understand Dime like I do. Get the fuck out of here. Mal, crushing: is laughing - wow, good on rando for beating me to the punch and shooting their shot. Never thought I'd see the day where I'm too slow. Mal, relationship: I mean, kinda disrespect not to bring me in on this conversation. whatever, it's up to MC what they want to do I guess, I'm not their boss. Teddie, crushing: …whatever. Didn't care anyway. [absolutely cares.] Teddie, relationship: what the fuck do you think you're doing asshole. Kay, crushing: Oh… alright. That's, fine. [it is not fine] Kay, relationship: visibly uncomfortable and caught between trying to assert herself and just pure embarrassment Wil, I'm actually a little stuck on! There are some under the surface things that I can't get into just yet due to spoilers which makes this tricky to answer. However, somebody asking first while they're crushing wil probably falls more on the side of faintly amused than really mad."

Hope you enjoyed this answer that has been made by the finest of our workers!

[celineszoges]

Bacteria Beware -- Belgium's Bacteriocins will be back.

Good bacteria -- Be at ease.

AS2AMR & BIC2025
  25 - 28 May, 2025   Dear Colleague, We are excited to announce the upcoming conference “One Health in Focus: Advancing Solutions to Antimicrobial Resistance” (AS2AMR), co-organized with the “BIC2025". This event will take place from May 25 to 28, 2025, at the historic Palace of the Academies in Brussels, Belgium.

Organized by the National Committee for Microbiology (NaCoMi) of the Royal Academies for Science and the Arts of Belgium, in collaboration with the Belgian Society for Microbiology (BSM), this conference will commemorate the 100th anniversary of bacteriocin discovery by the Belgian researcher Prof. André Gratia.

The event will focus on:  Tackling Antimicrobial Resistance (AMR) from a One Health perspective (human medicine & animal health; food safety; plant - & environmental health). Exploring data science, regulations, and policies. Highlighting novel technologies and advancements in combating AMR. We are thrilled to invite you to join this interdisciplinary event featuring academics, industry leaders, and policymakers, while celebrating the benchmark excellence of Belgian Microbiologists, on a global stage. Registrations are now open!
Sign up via the link below and check out our website for more details on the full program. https://as2amr.be/ Click here to register! https://eu.eventscloud.com/ereg/index.php?eventid=200284614& Warm regards,  Prof. Jacques Mahillon On behalf of the AS2AMR & BIC2025 Organizing Committee

Click here to register! https://eu.eventscloud.com/ereg/index.php?eventid=200284614& Warm regards,  Prof. Jacques Mahillon
On behalf of the AS2AMR & BIC2025 Organizing Committee GRATIA’S MICROBIOLOGY, VIROLOGY, CELLULAR LABORATORY TECHNIQUES

1) Microbial agar technique —Suspend bacteria 107-108  in an 0.7 percent agar-agar solution to demonstrate antibiotic or bacteriolytic properties of substances produced by colonies of bacteria or molds — reported to Selman Waksman, actinomycetes specialist and discoverer of several bacteria-produced antibiotics, by Maurice Welsch staying in the USA.

2) Cellophane sheet procedure — Affix a cellophane sheet to the microbial agar containing a sensitive germ and seeded with a culture of an antibiotic germ to assess the degree of diffusion by the pores of the cellophane of the substances studied.

3) Double layer technique for the titration of bacteriophages —Used by all bacteriophage specialists since its publication in 1936.

4) Inhibition binding of a bacteriophage to membrane receptors —  By the specific antiserum of the phage studied —in collaboration with Willy Mutsaars.

5) Ultracentrifugation using compressed air — Shows the efficient demarcation between virus particles and protein molecules using the famous Hendriot and Huguenard compressed air ultracentrifugue.  Please note that ultracentrifugation uses far more G force than the human body can stand, 2 to 5 g.     6) Fractional centrifugation — before its application by other biologists, including Albert Claude.  Fill Ebonite tubes with a suspension of virus or protein substances which after centrifugation are frozen and cut into slices whose content is titrated after thawing.  The technique shows the differences in sedimentation of the centrifuged elements.

7) Replicas — Affix a piece of sterile cloth to a round wooden block, which is applied to a Petri dish containing bacteriophage plaques. Replicate on a soft agar dish containing specific phage-sensitive bacteria.  This ensures the large-scale development of phage particles. Collect and centrifuge the agar where the phage grew. The resulting phage particle titer is surprisingly high.  Twenty years later J. Lederberg created a related replication technique for colonies of bacteria on different media, which is used commonly in bacterial genetics.

8) Electron microscopy to identify staphylophages — Gratia does not receive credit for this, due to the Second World War. His electron microscope was taken by the Americans in 1945. German researcher Ruska took pictures of his Staphylophage

[haolia]

So. One thing led to another, and I ended up making this. If you like seeing ship stats, enjoy?

[Here's the twitter version! Also, finally made a twitter for projects!]

All idol x idol (excluding Jin and Akiomi) pairings were searched for on Ao3, and what was found was recorded. These excel sheets summarize the data collected for each character.

Please note that these numbers include non-english fics, and that fics tagged with multiple pairings were counted for multiple times (one for each pairing). Numbers in red indicate pairings where there were fics written in English.

For those interested in looking at the full dataset, you can find it here.

A transcription of the data in the infographic can be found under the cut.

Data Transcription (For Ships with More Than 50 Fics)

1000+ fics | 2 ships Izu/Leo - 1126 Shu/Mika - 1007

500-999 fics | 5 ships Rei/Kao - 765 Mao/Ritsu - 729 Rin/Niki - 693 Wata/Ei - 683 Ei/Kei - 586

200-499 fics | 21 ships Rei/Koga - 491 Natsu/Mugi - 477 Tatsu/Mayo - 474 Rei/Ritsu - 437 Leo/Kasa- 417 Tatsu/Hime - 405 Hiyo/Jun - 401 Rin/Hii - 342 Hii/Ai - 340 Chia/Kana - 288 Iba/Nagi - 284 Izu/Mako - 278 Izu/Ritsu - 278 Kuro/Kei - 275 Rin/Hime - 256 Rei/Kei - 250 Ei/Mugi - 241 Wata/Rei - 241 Iba/Yuzu - 233 Nagi/Hiyo - 208 Ei/Rei - 200

100-199 || 19 ships Shu/Nazu - 187 Naru/Mika - 183 Koha/Ai - 163 Mido/Chia - 158 Mada/Koha - 154 Ado/Koga - 146 Suba/Hokke - 141 Ado/Sou - 134 Chia/Kao - 130 Kana/Kao- 128 Kuro/Shu - 125 Koga/Kao - 123 Kuro/Nazu - 116 Kuro/Chia - 113 Ei/Leo - 111 Mayo/Niki - 111 Iba/Jun - 105 Naru/Sena - 105 Teto/Mido - 102

50-99 | 36 ships Hime/Mayo - 97 Mada/Leo - 96 Ritsu/Kasa - 95 Kao/Sou - 88 Yuu/Shino - 83 Wata/Kei - 80 Izu/Kasa - 80 Yuzu/Tori - 79 Rinne/Shu - 79 Teto/Hina - 78 Iba/Hiyo - 77 Hime/Koha - 72 Mada/Rei - 72 Rei/Mugi - 70 Mako/Mao - 68 Nazu/Mika - 68 Koga/Ritsu - 67 Rei/Rinne - 66 Kana/Mada - 65 Ado/Kao - 65 Tomo/Haji - 65 Ado/Ara - 64 Ritsu/Leo - 63 Ei/Shu - 60 Tomo/Wata - 60 Hina/Yuu - 60 Ritsu/Mika - 58 Rei/Shu - 55 Leo/Shu - 54 Natsu/Suba - 53 Kuro/Mada - 53 Wata/Shu - 52 Tori/Kasa - 52 Mayo/Shino - 51 Nagi/Jun - 51 Hime/Niki - 51

[valencia2024]

Week 1 Summary

Week 1 in Valencia has been a delightful blend of exploration and work. It all began on Sunday, May 5th, when we had an early start at the airport, and fortunately, the flight went smoothly. Upon arrival, we took some time to discover the city, indulging in a nice meal before settling into our apartment.

Monday marked my first official day at Federal, the coworking space where I'll be spending most of my working hours. This is where I had the pleasure of meeting Fleur, my supervisor, over a meal and drinks. We discussed my working hours and the tasks I'll be tackling over the next three weeks. After work, we all went grocery shopping together.

Tuesday kicked off with work at 9:30 AM. One of my tasks involved following routes from the Time To Momo travel guide, verifying the accuracy of information like opening hours for attractions and eateries along an 8 km route. By 2 PM, Patricia and I returned to Federal to input this data into an Excel sheet, ensuring everything was well-documented.

Wednesday brought a change of pace with a planned cycling tour led by Fleur, lasting from 10 AM to 1 PM. Along the way, we encountered numerous picturesque landmarks, including the impressive Ciudad de las Artes y de las Ciencias. After the tour, we returned home for lunch and I continued working on my tasks in the afternoon. In the evening, we enjoyed a meal of wraps together.

Thursday began with a bout of neck pain, prompting me to ask Patricia if we could work from home for the day to rest my neck. We continued working on our respective tasks remotely, ensuring productivity despite the change in environment.

Friday's highlight was another route exploration, this time Route 1 spanning 5 km through the Historic Center. We returned around 12:30 PM, had lunch in the apartment, and then updated our Excel sheet with the revised information gathered. The day wrapped up with a relaxed evening back at our place.

Saturday offered a more leisurely pace as we visited the beach, indulged in delicious pizza for dinner, and relaxed at the apartment afterward.

Today, Sunday, has been a typical lazy day, attending to chores like laundry, dishes, and tidying up around the apartment. It's been a well-rounded week, balancing work, exploration, and relaxation in this beautiful city of Valencia. Looking forward to what the next week has in store!