#fast calculation tricks

[edusquaremaths]

Division tricks with 5 | Division Tricks | #vedicmaths #mathtricks #shortvideo

Square Tricks | Maths Tricks | Vedic Maths| Division trick with 5Cool tricks by @EduSqaureMathsSquare Tricks | Multiplication Tricks | Maths Tricks | Vedic Mathsshorts #short #shortvideo #mathsedusquaremaths #squareofanumber

[relto]

optimization journey: glue 10000+ arrays together for each data channel -> reduce number of array glueing required by doing 32 sequences at once -> NO array glueing at all!

[bavanisblog]

"10 Fast Math Tricks to Boost Your Calculation Speed | Easy Math Hacks" ...

[yourlocalmushroom]

The Amulet

dpxdc

Damian was nine when his brother died.

Danny had been twelve—older, taller, faster. Wiser, even. At least, that’s how Damian had always seen him. He was the one who ruffled his hair when he was annoyed, the one who taught him the best way to land a hit when sparring. The one who, even in their grandfather’s suffocating world, still managed to make Damian laugh.

And then, one day, he was gone.

Not just gone—erased.

By the time the grief had settled like dust over his shoulders, Ra’s al Ghul had made sure no trace of Danny remained. No files. No photographs. Not even a whisper in the League’s archives. It was as if he never existed.

But Damian remembered.

And he had the amulet.

A small, smooth crystal set into a metal frame, strung on a fine, worn chain. Danny had pressed it into Damian’s palm the night before he disappeared, closing his fingers around it like a secret.

“Keep it close, Dami. No matter what happens—don’t lose this. Promise me.”

Damian kept that promise. Through every sparring match, every mission, every moment he stood as Robin beside his father. He wore it beneath the collar of his suit, hidden but always present. When the world felt heavy, the amulet reminded him he hadn’t imagined it all—hadn’t imagined Danny.

And over time… it started doing more than that.

At first, it was just a feeling—a presence. Every time Damian found himself in danger, the amulet would glow, just barely, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t think much of it. Probably just a trick of the light.

But then the near-misses started.

A blade that should have sliced through his side—dodged at the last second. A bullet meant for his skull—tilted just an inch to the right. A collapsing beam during a mission—falling just shy of crushing him.

Every time, the amulet pulsed, and the next moment, he would move—without thinking, without reason. It wasn’t skill. It wasn’t luck.

It was something else.

And the family noticed.

Bruce had narrowed his eyes every time, watching him with the same calculating look he used when analyzing evidence. Tim had outright asked if he was cheating death. Even Jason—who didn’t believe in magic or miracles—had muttered something about the brat being “too damn lucky.”

Something was wrong.

But then, the real nightmare began.

It started like a whisper—stories of strange phenomena, ripples in reality, beings phasing in and out of existence in small towns and quiet corners of the world. Then the whispers turned into chaos. Entire cities blinked through moments of freezing cold, electronics failed, shadows moved when they shouldn’t.

The Justice League investigated.

What they found wasn’t a rogue metahuman, but an open wound in the fabric of their dimension—and something trying to crawl through it.

Ghosts. Entities. Creatures that bent light and space, beings of ectoplasmic energy that grew restless, aggressive. Some were merely curious. Others were cruel.

And they were looking for someone.

“The King,” one of them rasped through Zatanna’s containment ward. “He is here. We can feel him. His heart beats in this world once more.”

The JL pressed for answers. The ghosts spoke of a kingdom—the Infinite Realms—a place of dimensions layered like veils. Their king had fallen, and now the throne trembled beneath the feet of a usurper. The war had spilled over into this reality in search of the one who might reclaim it.

The king, they said, had been reborn.

But time was running out.

In the weeks that followed, the world became a battlefield. The League, the Titans, the Bat-family—all fought with everything they had. Cities were scarred. Skies turned green under rifts of swirling ectoplasm. And still, the invaders came, stronger, bolder.

Until one night, Damian found himself face-to-face with death again.

He’d leapt in front of a civilian—reckless, impulsive, the way he always was when his blood ran too hot. The specter’s blade moved too fast.

There was no time to dodge.

But the amulet around his neck blazed to life.

Light burst outward in a pulse that made the air shatter. The ghost reeled back, howling in agony, while every other entity across the battlefield froze. A shockwave rippled through them���not of force, but of recognition.

And fear.

Every spectral eye turned toward Damian.

The king is here.

Some screamed in fury. Others dropped their weapons and fled. Those who lingered felt the surge of power that poured from the boy—not his own power, but something ancient, something buried deep in the amulet that now burned white-blue against his chest.

Everything stopped.

The ghosts froze, eyes wide with horror.

"The King," one of them whispered.

Damian barely registered it.

The energy surged through him, crackling under his skin, pulsing with something ancient and vast. He could hear voices—distant, echoing, familiar. The ground trembled beneath him, and for the first time, the invaders fled.

The war was over.

And Damian collapsed.

The League called an emergency summit in the days that followed. Damage had been widespread, but miraculously, there were no major civilian casualties. As cities began to rebuild, questions remained. Chief among them: What exactly had happened?

Robin sat in the meeting chamber, surrounded by the most powerful beings on Earth, saying nothing. His fingers drifted toward his chest—only to find nothing there.

The amulet was gone.

His breath caught, just slightly.

The warmth that had always been there—the anchor to his brother, the quiet hum of protection—it was gone.

Panic swelled in his throat before he even realized he was standing. The conversation around him blurred. Someone called after him, but he was already halfway down the hall, footsteps echoing through marble and steel.

He burst through the balcony doors, heart hammering—and stopped.

The sky was clear. The stars shimmered like tiny mirrors.

And there, leaning against the railing, arms folded, gaze turned upward… was Danny.

Whole. Real. Alive.

He hadn’t aged a day.

The same snow-silver eyes. The same wild black hair that defied gravity. That same presence Damian had only remembered in fragments, in dreams.

Danny turned at the sound of footsteps. His expression softened.

“Hey, Dami.”

Damian felt like the world had shifted beneath his feet.

Danny’s voice was exactly the same. Not older. Not changed. As if he had never left.

"You grew."

The words were soft, fond.

Damian’s breath came sharp and uneven. His body screamed at him to move, to do something—to attack, to demand answers, to hit Danny for making him think he was dead.

But he couldn't move.

Because suddenly, that warm thing in his chest, the one he had ignored for years, the one that had flared to life when he had blown out the candle that morning—

It broke open.

Flooded through him like fire and light, grief and relief, memory and something else—something too big to name.

He had spent years pretending he didn’t feel the ache. Years telling himself it didn’t matter. That his brother had been erased. That he was alone.

And yet, here he was.

Standing in the moonlight. Smiling at him.

Danny existed.

The amulet—the core—had never just been a memory.

It had been Danny.

Waiting.

Returning.

And Damian didn’t know what to do with that.

So he did nothing.

Just stared.

Just breathed.

And Danny just smiled.

Like he had never been gone at all.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(Answer this after watching Chapter 4)

I NEED an X Reader where Reader comforts Doey after he's first frozen, or maybe one where Reader literally smacks some sense into Doey after the Safe Haven blows up(and we need the refugees to escape PLEASE-)

"Oh, it's you! Is the Doctor...?"

"No. Not yet. I'm working on it." You shook your head, looking apologetically at the doughy toy that had recently become one of your allies.

Even though you were just halfway through your trip through "No Man's Land", you're relieved that you didn't have to worry about Yarnaby following you around. You could have certainly used Doey's help beforehand, but he did save you from Pianosaurus at a critical moment where you thought it was truly the end for you.

Besides that, you were used to dealing with things on your own.

You sent Huggy into a pitfall, killed Mommy Long Legs, and set Catnap and Yarnaby ablaze without really anyone's assistance.

Killing the Doctor, on the other hand, was going to be a very different challenge. He wasn't some Bigger Body with flaws you could exploit--he was cruel, calculating, and wanted to prey on your fear and reasons for coming back to this factory.

Not to mention the Prototype, who was working with the mastermind behind the experiments for reasons still unclear to you. But the "why" wasn't important to you right now--letting this place burn down is what mattered most.

Doey was rather opposed to the idea of setting explosives in the foundation, although after everything you've seen (and knowing him and Poppy have probably seen things ten times worse), you were on board with the plan.

Because what was the alternative?

Letting all these toys starve and cannibalize each other? Waiting for some other poor soul like yourself to come here and die? Allowing the Prototype to have his way?

Absolutely not.

First things first..you had to find the omni hand for your grabpack, knowing it would give you greater access to the facility's systems. Apparently the Doctor had it under lock and key, meaning you had to take him out of commission before you could reach it.

At some point in your mission, you came across Doey again, who was inspecting a pipe. You felt a little bad for disappointing him when you said the Doctor wasn't dead yet, although he must have known it was going to take you some time.

But who could blame him? Him and the others have waited years and years for an opportunity like this. For someone like you to come along and save them.

He couldn't be at fault for being so eager.

"I figured as much." He sighed, smiling at you as he turned away from the pipe. "I've been here gathering parts for the generator."

"Really? Where's all the.....oh." You stopped yourself upon seeing him holding his stomach and giggling. "Right."

"Yup! LOTS of--ah!"

Without any warning, the pipe burst open with loud hiss and began spraying a cloud of cold gas directly onto him. Upon contact with his body, he became frozen solid.

You stood there in shock for a moment, before remembering that dough didn't mix well with the cold, and you panicked as you looked for a way to stop the flow of gas.

Then you looked up to see a switch, using one of your grabpack hands to turn the handle. Fortunately that seemed to do the trick, as the cloud dissipated almost instantly, allowing Doey to thaw out rather fast.

Despite your quick actions, he seemed thoroughly shaken, his eyes wide and his yellow arm stretched out, dragging it behind him as he quickly huddled into the nearest corner of the rooms.

"Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, HURTS!!!" He cried out, his arm morphing back into its usual shape as he tries taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You frowned slightly and approached him, ignoring the opening doors for the moment. "Doey, are you okay?"

"N-No. He's made it impossible for me to get around here!" He snapped at you. "Traps like this are everywhere!"

His voice sounded different--with a lot more aggression to it, and so you kept your distance, feeling yourself growing tense.

You had to remember that no matter how innocent or kind these toys appeared to be...they were traumatized and obviously not of sound mind. They could turn on you at the drop of a hat.

Either that, or they're simply animals with unpredictable behaviors.

But you knew Doey wasn't some animal. He was an ally, someone you had learned to trust.

Your gut says that you seriously shouldn't, considering how trusting Mommy almost got you eaten alive, and trusting Poppy led to her redirecting the train and dragging you further into this mess.

But once you saw things from her point of view, you've come to realize that this wasn't something you could just walk away from.

How could you go on with life knowing all of this was happening beneath your feet? Especially now that she believes you were the only person who could help everyone who's suffered here--or at least whoever's left.

She put a lot of faith in you, and you couldn't let her down.

Although she definitely wanted you to hurry, you had to at least take the time to make sure Doey was okay after that trap was set off.

"It's the cold that hurts....th-the big mean Doctor knows that.." He sniffled, now sounding on the verge of tears as he hugged himself.

"And that's why I'm gonna stop him." You promised. "I'm gonna find whatever's left of that prick and destroy him. Once and for all."

"...I-I know. You can go on ahead. I'll..I'll be okay...I'll be okay..."

Despite what he says, you knew he very much wasn't okay just yet.

Then you had an idea.

"I know you will be. But first..."

The clay creature looked at you, seeing you open your arms up, the grabpack's mechanisms down at your sides. "Can I get a hug for the road, big guy?"

Doey sniffled again, at first hesitant to respond, but seeing your sweet attitude and the hope written on your face brought a smile back to his own features.

He nodded and hugged you tightly, squishing you against him and lifting you off the ground a few feet.

The smells of clay and dough were overwhelming, but they're a lot better than the other...ghastly scents you've somehow grown desensitized to.

"Of course you can, buddy!" He laughed. "You'll need it!" After a few moments, he set you down and checked to make sure he didn't leave any residue on you or your grabpack. "Thank you. That...made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad. I feel better, too." You chuckled, adjusting the straps before making your way further into No Man's Land, praying that you'd make it to the Doctor's hideout and back to the Safe Haven alive.

They were all counting on you.

You couldn't fail.

Not after everything you've been through.

[jadeshifting]

— A GUIDE TO CLASSES AT EVER AFTER HIGH.

MYTHOLOGY. taught by Mrs. Psyche

this class delves into the legendary tales and divine histories of various magical realms, exploring the origins, powers, and legacies of gods, mythical creatures, and legendary heroes. Mrs. Psyche, an expert in ancient lore and celestial wisdom, guides students through epic sagas, divine rivalries, and the cultural significance of myths across Ever After. expect interactive lessons, dramatic reenactments, and the occasional visit from an actual deity if you’re lucky—or very unlucky

HOMEWORK. expect essays on the morals and hidden meanings in classic myths, plus creative assignments like rewriting a legend with a modern twist PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show curiosity about myths from all cultures and always be respectful of love deities—Mrs. Psyche takes their stories very seriously AVOID MISHAPS. don’t mix up gods from different pantheons in your presentations—calling Zeus “a Norse deity” is a one-way ticket to an exasperated sigh

KINGDOM MANAGEMENT. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

future rulers, nobles, and aspiring leaders learn the ins and outs of running a kingdom, from diplomacy and lawmaking to organizing grand balls and handling royal scandals. the White Queen, known for her composed yet commanding leadership, teaches strategy, ethics, and governance through real-world scenarios, often incorporating Wonderlandian logic puzzles to test students’ problem-solving skills under pressure

HOMEWORK. drafting decrees, designing economic policies, and writing conflict resolution strategies fit for ruling a kingdom PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always address her formally, take notes in impeccable script, and never question the importance of royal protocol AVOID MISHAPS. never suggest solving political disputes with a sword—she insists that diplomacy, not duels, is the mark of a true ruler

ADVANCED ELFONOMICS. taught by the esteemed Fairy Queen

this elite course teaches students the intricate financial magic behind running a kingdom, from managing enchanted trade routes to understanding the unpredictable fluctuations of the golden bean stock market. the Fairy Queen, with her keen business acumen and ancient fae wisdom, ensures her students master the art of wealth accumulation, resource allocation, and the occasional negotiation with mischievous leprechauns

HOMEWORK. balancing enchanted budgets, predicting market trends in fairy-tale economies, and occasional field trips to enchanted banks filled with gold PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep your calculations accurate and your economic theories sound—Fairy Godmother investments rely on precision, not guesswork AVOID MISHAPS. don’t accept enchanted gold from leprechauns or trickster fairies—it will vanish overnight, and your grade will disappear with it

GRIMMNASTICS. taught by Coach Gingerbreadman

a fast-paced, action-packed class that combines acrobatics, endurance, and skills fit for any fairytale hero or heroine. with Coach Gingerbreadman’s lightning-fast speed and high-energy training style, students practice enchanted obstacle courses, daring escapes, and storybook stunts that would make even the most daring adventurer sweat. the class focuses on developing strength, flexibility, coordination, and agility, blending magical elements with traditional gymnastics techniques

HOMEWORK. none! ( whew ) but in class, expect daily obstacle courses, tower-climbing drills, and team challenges that involve fleeing from imaginary witches PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep up, move fast, and don’t complain—Coach G is all about agility and endurance, and he does’t slow down. ever AVOID MISHAPS. never eat anything left unattended in the gym—there’s a 50/50 chance it’s either an energy-boosting enchanted snack or a curse-laced trick. you never know!

CHEMYTHSTRY. taught by Professor Rumplestiltskin

a mix of potions, alchemy, and enchanted chemistry, this course teaches students how to brew everything from love potions to transformation elixirs—if they can handle Professor Rumplestiltskin’s cryptic riddles and tricky assignments. with an emphasis on magical reactions and the delicate balance of ingredients, students must be precise, or they may find themselves accidentally cursed or turned into gold

HOMEWORK. brewing potions, analyzing alchemical reactions, and testing the properties of enchanted elements PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. follow instructions to the letter—Rumplestiltskin loves precision and has a zero-tolerance patience for careless spell-mixing AVOID MISHAPS. never, under any circumstances, agree to any kind of “trade” with the professor in exchange for an easier assignment. it’s not worth it, trust me

DAMSEL - IN - DISTRESSING CLASS. taught by Madam Maid Marian

a staple for traditional storybook heroines, this class teaches the fine art of swooning at the right moment, perfecting the helpless-yet-charming gaze, and calling for help in a voice that carries across enchanted forests. Madam Maid Marian ensures her students master the delicate balance between appearing vulnerable while subtly manipulating the situation to their advantage—because even the most distressed damsels know how to work a fairytale in their favor

HOMEWORK. practicing swooning, perfecting a well-timed gasp, and composing letters of woe to imaginary rescuers PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always act appropriately dramatic when learning proper distress techniques—anything less than peak theatrics is disappointing AVOID MISHAPS. don’t accidentally outshine the prince in a rescue simulation—nothing gets you on her bad side faster than saving yourself ( no matter how blitheringly useless your rescuer may be )

CREATIVE STORYTELLING. taught by Professor Jack B. Nimble

in this dynamic and expressive class, students learn how to craft compelling narratives, whether for written tales, theatrical performances, or enchanting oral traditions. Professor Jack B. Nimble, known for his quick wit and lively teaching style, encourages students to think outside the storybook and experiment with different genres, endings, and perspectives, ensuring their own tales are just as spellbinding as the ones that came before them

HOMEWORK. writing fairytales with unexpected endings, crafting riddles, and creating engaging oral stories to be performed in class PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be witty, be original, and never deliver a boring story—Professor Jack lives for quick thinking and clever twists ( students still whisper about the time he literally fell asleep in the middle of a student’s story ) AVOID MISHAPS. avoid clichés at all costs—it says in the syllabus that if he hears “once upon a time” too often, he might jump out the window in protest

ADVANCED VILLAINY. taught by Mr. Badwolf

for those embracing their darker destinies ( or just wanting to understand the mind of a villain—it’s an elective, too ) this class explores the art of scheming, deception, and tactical villainy. Mr. Badwolf, with his menacing charm and years of experience causing trouble, teaches students how to craft masterful monologues, execute dramatic entrances, and plan foolproof plots—complete with an emphasis on avoiding the classic pitfalls that lead to a villain’s downfall

HOMEWORK. devising foolproof villainous schemes and identifying weak points in heroic plans. bonus points for sabotaging another student’s assignment PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show ambition, strategy, and more than a little bit of wicked flair—Mr. Badwolf respects students who think like masterminds AVOID MISHAPS. don't act heroic in class—while he tolerates reform-minded students, he won’t hesitate to assign extra homework as punishment if he feels anyone's too generous or kindhearted

FASHION DESIGN. taught by Mrs. Fairy Godmother

a dream-come-true class for aspiring designers, where students learn to craft magical ensembles, enchant fabrics, and create garments that are both stylish and spellbinding. with Mrs. Fairy Godmother’s expertise in transformation magic, students practice stitching together gowns that change color at midnight, boots that walk on air, and accessories infused with fairy dust. bonus points for those who can design an outfit fit for a royal ball and an epic quest. the class blends traditional design principles with a touch of enchantment, encouraging students to create outfits that reflect their unique personalities and tell their own fairy tales

HOMEWORK. creating mood boards, sketching outfits, and crafting magical garments with enchanted fabrics PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always keep your workspace neat and clean, and your designs fabulous—Mrs. Fairy Godmother has high standards for both AVOID MISHAPS. never leave unfinished projects unattended—one rogue swish of a wand, and your dress might sprout wings or turn into a pumpkin

BEAST TRAINING & CARE. taught by Professor Poppa Bear

from training fire-breathing dragons to taming mischievous talking mice, this class prepares students for handling all manner of enchanted creatures. with his warm but no-nonsense approach, Professor Poppa Bear teaches students how to communicate with beasts, provide proper magical care, and even ride or befriend some of Ever After’s most fearsome ( or snuggly ) creatures. the class emphasizes the importance of empathy, respect, and responsible stewardship when interacting with enchanted beings

HOMEWORK. taking notes on enchanted creature encounters you have outside of class, studying their habitats, and practicing magical grooming techniques. assignments are much easier for students who have their own mystic beast as a pet PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be patient, compassionate, and firm—Professor Poppa Bear believes good beast tamers must balance kindness with authority, and he won't hesitate to crack down on students he feels aren't being tolerant and kind with the creatures AVOID MISHAPS. always double-check what you're feeding the creatures—accidentally giving a griffin a fire-breathing potion will not end well

CROWNCULUS. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

a blend of advanced mathematics and royal economics, this class teaches students how to manage kingdom finances, calculate treasure values, and strategize for economic prosperity. the White Queen ensures that students grasp complex numerical concepts while also understanding the practical application of numbers in ruling a kingdom, proving that math isn’t just about numbers—it’s about power and magic, too

HOMEWORK. solving royal tax equations, balancing enchanted budgets, and calculating castle construction costs PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always show your work neatly on your notes, respect the logic of numbers, and never bring chaos into her perfectly ordered classroom. loose fairy dust or torn paper is a one-way ticket to getting sent out to the hallway AVOID MISHAPS. never argue that "magic can just fix the math"—that’s a fast track to an exasperated glare and extra equations ( though she'll pretend you were chosen at random for them )

ADVANCED WOOING. taught by Dr. King Charming

whether it’s serenading a princess from a castle tower or sweeping a prince off his feet at a royal ball, this class covers the fine art of courtship. Dr. King Charming, an expert in chivalry and romance, teaches students how to compose love letters, master ballroom etiquette, and perfect the dramatic, wind-blown hair flip. special guest lectures from famed love interests ensure students are well-versed in only the most effective wooing techniques ever after

HOMEWORK. writing needlessly lengthy sonnets, practicing your dramatic entrance, and perfecting grand romantic gestures PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. exude confidence, use flowery language, and always demonstrate princely manners—Dr. Charming believes wooing is an art, and it helps if you act with decorum even outside of tests and assignments AVOID MISHAPS. don’t mix up your love letters—accidentally delivering the wrong one can lead to legendary levels of fairytale drama ( Dr. Charming won't admit how he knows, but he seems suspiciously adamant on it )

COOKING CLASS - IC. taught by Professor Momma Bear

a cozy yet rigorous class where students learn everything from baking enchanted pastries to brewing hearty, storybook-worthy stews. Professor Momma Bear, warm but strict, teaches students the magic of home-cooked meals and how to avoid common culinary disasters—like accidentally putting a sleeping spell in the soup ( more common than you’d think. shocking, i know. ) bonus points for anyone who can craft a meal fit for both a royal banquet and a humble woodland picnic

HOMEWORK. baking enchanted pastries, perfecting porridge temperatures, and learning potion-infused cooking in the communal kitchens—they're open late at night, which is when lots of students do their best work PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. follow the recipe to a T, respect the kitchen space, and always clean up after yourself—Professor Momma Bear runs a strict but cozy classroom, and surfaces need to be crumb-free for that to happen AVOID MISHAPS. never leave the oven unattended—one careless mistake and your muffins might gain sentience ( or explode )

DARK SORCERY. taught by Baba Yaga

for those required to ( or foolish enough to ) dabble in the shadows, this class explores the ancient and forbidden arts of dark magic. Baba Yaga, cryptic and terrifyingly wise, teaches students the ethics of wielding power, the risks of curses and hexes, and how to summon forces beyond mortal comprehension—strictly for academic purposes… of course. students who can keep up with her demanding lessons will most certainly find themselves walking the fine line between greatness and peril, just as intended

HOMEWORK. expect assignments on hexes, shadow magic, and extremely ethically questionable but highly effective spellcasting techniques PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be respectful, but not a suck up... listen carefully, but don't hang onto her every word... and never waste her time—Baba Yaga is a fickle old witch who does not tolerate foolishness AVOID MISHAPS. don’t touch any of the professor’s personal artifacts—one single misstep, and you might find yourself cursed for a week ( or a lifetime )

WOODSHOP. taught by Mr. Geppetto

in this hands-on class, students learn the craftsmanship of enchanted carpentry, from crafting magical furniture to carving living marionettes ( though talking puppets are strictly optional. ) taught by the legendary woodcarver Geppetto, the course emphasizes precision, patience, and the importance of working with enchanted materials—because nobody wants a table that turns into a frog mid-banquet

HOMEWORK. crafting intricate wooden figures, repairing broken fairytale objects, and designing enchanted furniture to be presented to the class while Geppetto ooh-s and aah-s encouragingly and inspects it from every angle PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. pay attention to detail, measure at least twice before cutting, and never be careless with your tools ( wouldn't wanna lose a finger... or more ) AVOID MISHAPS. never bring anything to life by accident—Mr. Geppetto still has opinions about unexpected animated puppets, most of them aren't as perfect as his

DEBATE. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

a battle of wits, logic, and eloquence, this class teaches students how to construct compelling arguments, navigate royal negotiations, and win verbal duels with precision. The White Queen is a master of both reason and Wonderlandian riddles, and she ensures her students can debate everything from kingdom policies to whether a dragon’s hoard should be considered taxable income. though, of course, you always have to shake your opponents hand before and after a debate—and sometimes halfway through, too ( “debate is nothing without decorum, dears” the teacher chirps. )

HOMEWORK. researching historical disputes, and crafting persuasive speeches and arguments to perform in class PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. speak clearly, argue with logic, and maintain perfect etiquette—she values reason and refinement above all else. a perfectly crafted argument could be given zero-sum marks if you use foul language while presenting it AVOID MISHAPS. don’t descend into nonsense logic—Mrs. Her Majesty and the subject of debate as a whole has no room for "because I said so" as a defense

GEOGRAFAIRY. taught by Professor Jack B. Nimble

a whirlwind tour that covers every enchanted land, hidden kingdom, and magical realm, this class ensures students can navigate their way through both real and mythical landscapes. Mr. Jack B. Nimble, quick on his feet and sharp in his knowledge, teaches students how to read enchanted maps, locate legendary landmarks, and survive the treacherous terrains of places like the Swamps of Sorrow or the shifting sands of the Ever After Desert

HOMEWORK. memorizing magical trade routes, mapping enchanted forests, and planning efficient royal journeys, especially for high-stakes travel like royal carriages or valuable trade stocks PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. stay sharp, think fast, and always be ready for pop quizzes—Professor Jack moves just as quickly as his name suggests AVOID MISHAPS. don't mistake one enchanted swamp for another—some have quicksand, others have talking alligators, and both will fail you the test

DRAGON SLAYING. taught by Dr. King Charming

an action-packed course for aspiring heroes and knights, this class covers everything from identifying dragon species to the safest techniques for confronting ( or befriending ) them. Dr. King Charming, ever the gallant warrior, teaches battle tactics, shieldwork, and the art of delivering a victorious speech while standing atop a defeated beast. students are encouraged to find creative, non-lethal ways to deal with dragons—because a slayed dragon often makes for a very angry dragon mother ( you don’t wanna deal with one of those )

HOMEWORK. designing battle strategies, practicing swordplay ( safely and with supervision ), and studying legendary dragon encounters PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be courageous ( he hates students who cower ) and cultivate a healthy respect for dragonkind—Dr. Charming does not tolerate arrogance or killing out of malice AVOID MISHAPS. never mistake a friendly dragon for a feral one—Dr. Charming is not amused by unnecessary heroics or violence without reason

RIDDLING. taught by Professor Sphinx

a brain-twisting class that challenges students to master the art of riddles, trick questions, and mind-bending wordplay. Professor Sphinx, with her cryptic wisdom and smug amusement, pushes students to think in loops, uncover hidden meanings, and craft riddles so clever that they impress even her. only those with quick wits and sharper tongues will excel. there’s a silent booth tucked into the back of class where students can take solace in five minute time-outs if they get a riddle-induced brain-ache

HOMEWORK. solving some of the most famous and ancient riddles from fairytale history, crafting the trickiest trick questions, and debating paradoxes ( there has to be some end ) ( spoiler alert: there isn't ) PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. think outside the box and embrace the art of wordplay, she appreciates students who attempt to match her riddlish intellect ( though they never fully can. ) never give an obvious answer—she doesn't tolerate laziness AVOID MISHAPS. don't answer a riddle too quickly—Professor Sphinx loves watching students squirm in confusion, she'll snap if you think one is "too easy"

POISON FRUIT THEORY. taught by Mr. Henchman

a darkly fascinating course that delves into the study of enchanted produce, venomous flora, and the alchemy of cursed concoctions. Mr. Henchman, an expert in apple-related treachery from first-hand witnessing, ( and doing most of the dirty work himself shhhh ) teaches students how to identify, craft, and counteract, certain poisons—purely for academic purposes… of course. only the most careful and exceedingly precise students avoid an accidental nap at some point

HOMEWORK. identifying toxic ingredients, testing non-lethal potions, and studying famous fairytale poisonings—students are absolutely not permitted to handle lethal poisons outside of class time, no matter how funny Mr. Henchman thinks it would be PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be cunning, precise, and always ask about antidotes—surprisingly enough Mr. Henchman values ambition and intelligence over blind villainy AVOID MISHAPS. this should go without saying, but don’t ever eat anything from the classroom—regardless of whether it’s an extra-credit challenge or a standard study subject, it’s all dangerous

HISTORY OF TALL TALES. taught by Professor Paul Bunyan

a larger-than-life class where students study the greatest exaggerations in folklore, from beanstalk-climbing farm boys to men who lasso tornadoes. Professor Paul Bunyan, with his booming voice and legendary stature, teaches the importance of hyperbole, embellishment, and how a good story can shape the world. except storytelling assignments where size does matter, and extra credit for every surreptitious golden object you can cram into your tale

HOMEWORK. exaggerating your own legendary feats into tall tales, researching folklore heroes, and reenacting famous larger-than-life moments PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show enthusiasm for exaggerated storytelling and never question the truth of a tall tale—Professor Bunyan appreciates a good yarn, says puzzling into it "takes away the fun" AVOID MISHAPS. don’t get caught underestimating the size of the stories—or of Professor Bunyan’s pet blue ox, Babe

DIPLOMACY 101. taught by Mrs. Fairy Godmother

an essential course for future rulers, ambassadors, and anyone hoping to survive royal politics, this class covers the art of negotiation, conflict resolution, and fairy-tale-level etiquette. Mrs. Fairy Godmother, an expert in wish-granting diplomacy, ensures that students can turn any total pumpkin of a situation into a golden carriage of opportunity—preferably before midnight

HOMEWORK. drafting peace treaties, mediating minor disputes between friends or classmates, and practicing polite yet firm negotiation techniques PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. mind your manners, choose your words wisely, and never raise your voice—Mrs. Fairy Godmother believes in charm over conflict, and that manners always win AVOID MISHAPS. try not to use magic to solve conflicts too quickly—diplomacy requires finesse and effort, not a bibbidi-bobbidi-bandaid

CASTLE DESIGN. taught by the Three Little Pigs

a structural and aesthetic architecture class that teaches students how to design the perfect castle, from grand ballrooms to impenetrable fortresses, and everything else a benevolent ruler ( or evil sorcerer ) could need from their abode. the Three Little Pigs, having learned their lesson more than once after their own architectural mishaps, are now experts at crafting with only the pinnacle of quality materials, and they guide students through the balance of beauty and functionality, ensuring that no tower is too tall and every drawbridge is both sturdy and stylish

HOMEWORK. drafting blueprints, constructing model castles, and ensuring defenses against huffing and puffing in your structures PLEASE THE PROFESSORS. always prioritize structural integrity in your projects—they still have very, very strong opinions about weak materials AVOID MISHAPS. never, ever suggest using straw or sticks unless you want a three-pig class-long lecture on the merits of proper fortification

BEWITCHING SONG. taught by Ms. Aquata of Atlantis

a mesmerizing music class where students learn the magic of vocal enchantment, from siren songs that lure sailors to sleep, all the way to battle hymns that rally armies. Ms. Aquata, hailing from the royal family of Atlantis with her haunting voice and knowledge of forbidden harmonies, trains students in the delicate balance of melody and power—reminding them that some songs come at a price

HOMEWORK. composing enchantments through song, practicing vocal spells, and analyzing the most famous fairytale musical enchantments ( of course, the teacher is partial to songs from the tale of the Little Mermaid, though she pretends she doesn't have favorites ) PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. stay in tune and on key, embrace the magical melodies, and never mock merfolk music—Ms. Aquata takes her siren songs very seriously, even if they sound like dolphin noises to the untrained ear AVOID MISHAPS. avoid singing the wrong notes—one slip, and you might accidentally charm your classmates into an impromptu dance number ( music magic can be... fickle )

ANGER MAGICMENT. taught by Mr. Badwolf

a course designed for students with fiery tempers and villainous bloodlines, this class focuses on channeling rage productively instead of, say, blowing houses down. Mr. Badwolf ( you know… the Big Bad Wolf ) with his own history of temper issues, teaches students techniques in deep breathing, mindfulness, and how to redirect fury into something slightly less destructive—like competitive sports instead of rampaging through villages

HOMEWORK. journaling your emotional responses on the day-to-day, practicing breathing exercises, and resolving conflict without growling PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep your temper in check, use calming techniques, and don’t provoke classmates—Mr. Badwolf knows firsthand how bad anger issues can get, he has no tolerance for trying to set off others AVOID MISHAPS. never howl in frustration—it sets off an automatic... pack response from Mr. Badwolf, leaving him embarrassed and you in detention

EXPERIMENTAL FAIRY MATH. taught by Dr. Sandman

a mind-boggling fusion of numbers, magic, and dream logic, this class teaches students how to manipulate enchanted equations, calculate impossible probabilities, and solve numerical riddles that make reality bend. Dr. Sandman, a master of both dreamscapes and abstract concepts, guides students through numerical paradoxes and whimsical calculations that only make sense if you never think about them too hard

HOMEWORK. solving numerical paradoxes, creating reality-warping equations, and exploring mathematical dreamscapes—make sure you can get back to your dorm when you're done studying, though PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep an open mind, embrace dreamy logic, and don’t expect normal numbers—Dr. Sandman sees math through a magical lens, try to see things from his point of view AVOID MISHAPS. never fall asleep mid-equation—you might wake up inside a calculated alternate reality

[auroralwriting]

anticipation

charles xavier x fem!mutant!reader pre first class era

you were the first person to ever keep charles out of someone's mind. he instantly became enamored.

word count: 1k | warnings: none

It had almost become a hobby of sorts for Charles to peer into others' minds, just briefly in passing. He liked to know their thoughts. Sometimes it was funny, sometimes sad, and other times a little disturbing, but Charles tried to forget about those times.

One of these days, his little trick would probably get him into all sorts of trouble. Until then, it was worth every second.

One of Charles' favorite ways to do this was going to bars and reading the minds of tipsy and drunk people. Those were the most fun. There was absolutely no filter on anyone, making it easy and enjoyable for him to indulge a little bit. Truly, it was a harmless hobby.

Charles' eyes scanned over the crowd of people as he sat at the bar. His eyes scanned in search for the perfect person to read. He wanted something interesting, new, exciting. The best people to read were the drunk ones, but also the worst. It could get repetitive, but this time, Charles was determined to find someone who stood out, someone who he could dig a little deeper into.

A young woman sat at one of the booths across the room. She was alone, and my, rather pretty if Charles had a say. She just sat at the booth, sipping on her drink without a care in the world. Either she had a story or was insanely depressed. Charles hoped it wasn't the latter. Plus, what was life without risk? She was perfect.

Fingers against his temple, Charles slowly began to ease into her mind, so soft and slow that she wouldn't be able to notice a thing.

However, you did.

In fact, you knew something was up with the man before he'd even began to attempt to enter your mind. You could sense strong waves of something from the man. You'd kept him in the corner of your eye before he even set his sights on you. Determination, calculated, and dead set on you. Yeah, he was up to something.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was some creep devising a wicked plan to kidnap you or something. I mean, come on, a girl sitting alone in a bar surrounded by drunk people. But then, you felt his intentions. A mutant, no doubt, or maybe just a really good magician. Then, you saw him make a move, two fingers to his temple. Ah, mutant for sure. Must be some way to hone his powers. So, you closed yourself off entirely.

It was almost like you could feel his mind trying to invade your own. It felt like a stick poking mud. You didn't dare cause attention, so you sat there in great focus to keep him out. He was much stronger than you anticipated, making it a real challenge. Challenge was new. Not many mutants could pin you in a crowd, even alone. This man being able to spot you and attempt to use his own powers on you was unusual, but somehow, you could sense he meant no harm.

Charles' brows furrowed when he got nothing. Absolutely nothing, nada, zip. That couldn't be possible. He never failed. How could he have not sensed a single thing off of you?

Then, you made the mistake of darting your eyes to him. It was just a moment, a fraction of a second, but with how focused he was on you, he'd caught it.

He moved like an arrow speeding through the air at its target. He'd gotten up so fast from his seat that it nearly startled you. Before you could even think of getting up, he was sat across from you.

"Who are you?" Charles asked quickly.

"I think it's very rude to intrude in other people's minds," you replied, folding your arms over your chest. "Very invasive of you."

"You're a mutant," commented Charles as he eyed you.

A scoff left your mouth, "Rude thing to call a person."

"That's not what I--"

"I'm messing with you," you chuckled. "Yeah, I am. And so are you. Do you find some sick enjoyment learning everyone's deepest, darkest secrets?"

Charles let out a chuckle of his own, shaking his head while a hand ran through his hair. "I just merely read their active thoughts. I do nothing with it."

"Sure," you nodded, unconvinced. "What's your name?"

"I believe I asked you first at the beginning of this conversation." Charles replied, a small victorious smile on his face knowing he'd piqued your interest. You gave him your name, and he gave you his. Xavier, Charles. "How did you keep me out of your head?"

You shrugged, "I could sense you were going to do it before you even did it." His face didn't change, but you still added, "Don't feel so bummed. I anticipated it all before you even thought anything."

"You’re not a mind reader," Charles examined, "but you're certainly something similar."

"I can feel your emotions, anticipate your next moves." you answered. "Not the coolest thing, but it certainly makes me feel safer in bars where strange men try to read my mind."

Sheepishly, Charles let out a huff of air. "Sorry. I didn't intend to come off.. well, creepy."

"I don't think you're creepy anymore," you replied. "Plus, I've never met someone with mutations so similar to mine. I mean, we both sort of use our minds. That's something."

Charles nodded, "It is. I've never met anyone so unique yet similar to me. Tell me, when did you develop your mutation?"

"When I was maybe six or seven. From what I've learned, I guess that was a bit young. Gave me time to hone my skills." It really did take a while to get things under control. Feeling everyone's emotions within fifty feet was a lot to take in, especially when that range grew.

"Can I buy you another drink?" Charles asked suddenly. He was flirting, you could feel it. "And maybe, while we're exchanging things, you could drop those mental walls?"

You laughed, "And let you read my mind? Charles, I have a feeling you've never experienced good old heart to heart with another person. My gift to you is discovering how to learn without reading people's minds."

"So, a yes to that drink?" Charles smiled.

"A yes to that drink," you confirmed. "Get one for yourself. I think we're just beginning our night."

[urhoneycombwitch]

Ok ok hear me out I have a different idea now after reading your phone sex blurb

What about after Eddie comes back from his tour they're out with friends and some other girl is chatting him up, trying to rub up on him in front of reader. And she wants to stake her claim but she can't because he's not hers, not technically; and he isn't into the other girl's attention because he just wants reader, but he can't be too earnest about that bc it'll scare her off.

Do I want them to grind on the dancefloor or have sex in the bathroom? Yeah maybe

foreword: more roommate!Eddie x reader filth. secret situationship fucking at a party style. ty anon <3

wc: 1.8k

cw: secret FWB, Reader with breasts + vagina, femme pet names used, fingering (R receiving), the return of Eddie Cums-In-His-Pants Munson, wee bit angsty, lots of hidden longing

____

This party is the most sound your apartment has ever heard- speakers thrumming bass lines through the floorboards, drunken friends’ laughter echoing off walls.

You and Eddie planned ahead, started plotting weeks ago to bribe various neighbors in the building to avoid catching a noise complaint- scratch brownies for the floor below, some pre-rolls handed off across the hall, party invites extended to whoever was in earshot.

Informal karaoke kicked off around midnight, as the room rose in heat from extra bodies and alcoholic flush; Robin and Steve are bringing down the house on the other side of the bathroom door, charming the crowd with a belligerently intoxicated rendition of a Beastie Boys hit.

Eddie’s got you pressed against the sink, your ass to the unforgiving marble of the counter while he teases his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“No marks,” you whisper, fist seizing up at the root of his hair, tugging. He stifles a moan into your skin while you continue to tell him off, voice just under the protective layer of music. “It’s bad enough there’s only one bathroom in this place. Someone’s bound to notice we’re both gone-”

Eddie suddenly drops to his knees, nosing at the strip of skin above your jeans that he lifts your shirt to reveal. Your breath stutters, and he grins before popping the button with his teeth, chocolate eyes eclipsed by the black-lust of his pupils.

“No one’s gonna hear you, ‘cuz you’re not gonna make a sound. Got it?”

The gush of arousal that meets Eddie’s fingers is invitation enough. You rock into his hand, and he angles his fingers up- you take two of them like a dream, as if your cunt had just been waiting to be filled by those long, dexterous digits, cold rings quickly warming to the skin-temperature of your thighs.

“That’s it,” Eddie mumbles, never more mouthy than when he’s face to face with his favorite pastime. And then, as if reading your mind- “Been waitin’ for me all night, hm? Poor thing. So wet…”

Outside, the song rises into a fast guitar solo bridge, quickening along with your breaths. Hoping there’s enough sound barrier, you brace yourself with one hand on the counter while the other buries itself into the heat of Eddie’s scalp.

Soft, dark curls slip between your knuckles, your thumb brushing gently under the layer of bangs to touch the bare skin of his forehead. It’s too tender, too endearing for what the moment calls, in direct contrast with the way Eddie’s plunging into you, the insistent, budging slope of his nose near the pounding apex of your thighs.

“Becca’s gonna notice.” Your thumb tracks a path to Eddie’s temple, so now you’re just cradling his head as he fingers you into oblivion. “You know- ah- Becca? The girl from down the hall that you invited, specially?”

If it wasn’t for the public setting, you’d take more time to calculate which buttons of Eddie’s to push; as it stands, you’re sort of flailing around in the dark, hitting random ones and seeing what lights up.

Seems to do the trick, though- in one fluid motion, Eddie shoves your jeans the rest of the way down and takes one of your knees over his shoulders, giving himself enough room between your legs to dip forward and latch onto on your clit.

His plush lips suck, fervently, in time with the rhythm of his curled fingers, managing to hit into that gummy spot that buckles your knees.

“Well Becca- isn’t- here, right now,” Eddie says, around lapping mouthfuls of you, hand on your hip near-bruising with the force it takes to keep you upright. “Besides, she invited herself.”

“I dunno… you seemed pretty excited to see her.” The muscles of your abdomen clench, then release, your head tipping backwards to thunk against the mirror.

There’s an arch in your spine, now, enough space for Eddie’s hand to migrate from your hip to low back, pulling you more insistently onto his tongue and fingers.

In response, the spot behind your navel tightens again, pleasure swelling with the music. It’s irritating that Eddie thinks you’ll drop the subject in favor of an orgasm, so you aim for another button, lashes fluttering at the ceiling, voice stretched thin as your resolve- “She gonna stay the night? Use the same bathroom you’ve finger-banged some other b-”

The wet, hot pressure on your clit disappears, a whine of protest crawling from your throat before Eddie can smother it with his palm. Luckily, the living room speakers are kind of shitty, crackling with feedback as the song reaches fever pitch volume.

Eddie’s fingers still within you, stretching to depths that make your eyes roll back as he rises to cover the length of your body with his own. His hand is big and warm over the lower half of your face, breath an angry huff by your ear as he growls, low- “It’s probably in your best interest to not finish that sentence.”

It’s some consolation that you have the option to bite. Tempting as that is, you let your glare speak for itself, brows knitting together as Eddie draws back to look at you.

There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of his jaw, disappearing into the curls he’s let loose for the night. The eyeliner you’d carefully applied for him pre-party is blurred from the humidity and exertion, a rosy flush in his cheeks to match.

Eddie crowds your vision, close enough for you to note the tiny freckle under his left eye twitch, and for a moment, everything is just him- all you can see, hear, touch, smell, dopamine flooding in a head spin of hormones that respond despite your best efforts to tamp them down.

The background noise fades away, and it’s just you and Eddie, panting and straining against the other. A squelch, as he adds a third finger, your breasts pushing into the solid expanse of his chest as you squirm up, mindlessly seeking release.

“Be good and come ‘fore this song is over,” he’s saying, thick fingers scissoring, your resounding moan stifled by his palm. “Then I’ll kick everyone out and let you come again.”

It’s the promise of another that undoes you, thighs shaking with the growing wave, lashes tickling Eddie’s knuckles as your eyes slam shut.

He keeps all the points of pressure that you need, plus more- hips pinning the frenetic rolls of your torso, tips of his fingers coaxing bright spasms from the channel of your cunt, forehead pressed like an anchor to your own as your body sings.

The whole time, he’s talking you through it, deep timbre just for your ears with rasping praise and encouragement. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, that’s it. That’s it. Good. Let it all out. S’just me here, yeah? Just you and me. Fuck…”

By the time your hearing returns, Eddie’s dotting soothing kisses up the curve of your neck, apparently trusting you enough to let his hand drop from your mouth. You take a few deep, shuddering breaths, hand still buried in Eddie’s hair like a lifeline.

He doesn’t seem to mind, taking his sweet time pulling out of you, disentangling himself with lingering touches to any remaining bare skin.

While he tugs your shirt back into place, you turn to face the mirror, smoothing over flyaways and making sure you look somewhat presentable. You let Eddie’s hands roam as your heart rate stutters, working itself back down to normal while he refixes the button of your jeans.

His chin settles on your shoulder, arms twining around your middle; you let him take some of your weight, relaxing into his hold, eyes catching his in the mirror as you ask, quietly, “You want me to wingman for you? She seems nice. And it’s never a bad idea to sleep with someone who lives in your building.”

Eddie snorts, your dry attempt at a joke working wonders, grin on its way to devastating greeting your reflection. “You seriously think I’m the one who needs help? After the time I just showed ya?”

“Well based on my limited data-” your hips grind backwards without warning, and Eddie stiffens, smile slipping from his face as your own wicked grin takes over- “-I’d say you’re the one who came in his pants just from touching me.”

You wriggle in his arms to turn around, noses bumping, lips hovering in a not-quite-kiss as you whisper, “Say please and I’ll run and get you some new pants. Hand-delivered.”

Even with the wall of party noise, there’s a distinctive click as Eddie’s jaw ticks. He acquiesces, though, stopping somewhere just shy of grateful to grit out, “Please.”

You hum, pleased and thoughtful, leaning out of his space to lift a brow- “I think Becca’s into blue-collared boys.”

This fact, you’re basing off the one time you saw a UPS guy at your neighbor’s door. Sounds a lot better if you act like you know what you’re talking about, though, as if the list of things you know about Becca is longer than black hair and occasionally receives packages.

Distance, safety, one and the same, even though what your body begs for is to get closer, to soak all your senses in Eddie again. You wind a particularly pretty curl of his around your index finger. “Those khakis you wore once to Robin’s grad party and then never again- bottom drawer?”

When Eddie nods, he fixes you with a glare, nostrils flaring like he’s about to tell you off.

Before he can, though, you’ve wriggled from his grasp, reaching for the door handle with strict, hissy instructions about locking it after you’re gone and only opening for your special knock.

He obeys, deadbolt sliding into place, door swallowing the noise of the party in your absence.

It’s just Eddie now, leaning into hands over the sink, breathing hard like he hasn’t already blown a load three minutes ago.

The entire length of his middle fingers shimmer in the light, still coated with your arousal.

Eddie’s mouth waters. He thinks about you; how for a second, you were the only thing on his mind, how rare that is, for him to be so singularly focused.

Then he thinks about Becca. And stupid tight fucking dress pants.

The sink water gushes to a start as he jerks the handle on, sudsy hand soap scrubbing away at the smell of you, carrying it down the drain.

By the time you’re back, dreaded pants in hand, Eddie’s fixed an easy smile on his face, bickering at the ready. Almost normal, and certainly familiar.

It’s just simpler to keep some distance. Close quarters aside.

[luludeluluramblings]

I can't imagine Connor not rushing to Reader when they're giving birth. Or that he'd even miss it.

Like, imagine he's in a situation where he was originally being held hostage or something. But he hears Reader panicking and calling Alfred about them needing to get to the hospital for birth, and Connor turns into this machine of cold, calculative, determination. Uses every trick he's learned from the Bat Family under two different Robins. Just destroys all obstacles and threatens that he has to leave now. So either get out of his way or risk what it means when he doesn't care if you live or die. Breaks the sound barrier as he flies as fast as possible. Barely makes it in time to watch his baby being born and proceeds to allow himself to be used as a heating pad while guarding Reader and his new baby. While trying to do as much skin to skin contact as possible when Reader isn't holding them.

I don't think he'd allow Reader to go with the Bat Fam. Especially if it stresses Reader out.

But say he was off world for a quick mission again, and the baby was early? When he gets back, he's all confused as to why the Reader isn't at their apartment.

He then finds Reader, at the manor, crying from the stress of being a new mom while not even getting to use the baby things they picked! They're not in the nursery Connor painted for them! And the Bat Family won't. Leave. Them. Alone!!! They're going through heavy disassociation and depression. Cause being around all these people that they were sure hated them right before the baby was born? Makes Reader question if they only want them back because of the baby. It also makes Reader so broken.

How could they immediately love the baby, but couldn't ever bother with them?

Connor breaking the both out and flying back to the apartment.

This, this is getting too far ahead. But, it’s beautiful.

A fully yandere!Conner with a scared Reader that just had their newborn would be brutal and terrifying.

He wouldn’t kill anyone. That would just piss the family off more. But, they way he would cut ties with the family or anyone that sides with them would be done in such a cold buisness like manner, that they’d start doubting if they ever where actually friends with him.

Even Injustice!Superman had emotions.

But, Conner? That apathy is all Lex Luthor genetics shinning through. The part of him that makes it so easy to destroy those around him.

Though Conner is using it to defend his family, so he’s justified. But, it would be chilling.

Teammates would be paralyzed, and friendships shattered like some bones.

Do not fuck with his Reader or his child. And, God help you if you fuck with both of them.

As for the other part, I think that would make Reader have so many issues with motherhood if they were allowed to feel that way.

It’s so common for everyone to care about the baby and ask about the baby, when you’re basically at a physical low and exhausted.

I don’t think this would happen with Reader, thankfully. Being pregnant is a state that Reader was in to the family. A condition that bore results.

Some of the family, yes, would obsess with the baby right away. But, the big thing they the want is to watch Reader be themselves and a mother. They will ask, “Are you okay?” “Do you need something?” “Can I get you something?”

Those mommy issues are what’s triggering some of the absolute worst of their yandere tendencies. Anyone that intervenes on Reader being a mother to their child are a villain in the family’s eyes.

[celaenaeiln]

Dick Grayson's talent for manipulation literally brings the world to its knees.

Part 1 post

My absolute favorite trait about Dick aside from his craziness is his ability to control every single person in existence. The best part is, he's so clever in the way that he does it that people almost never notice.

Bart Allen

"Oh! Ahh..you're trying to get my DNA sample. You need my spit! Ha! That's such a Dick Grayson thing to do."

Bart knows!! Dick's brilliantly sly okay. Honey catches more flies that vinegar? He takes it so far that breaks he the ceiling with it because by the time he's done, people don't even know they've been manipulated. And if they do, then what can they do about it? He always wins.

With friends and family he does it to make them feel better without being so overt and discomforting them.

Justice League: Road to Dark Crisis

Jon came to him when he was feeling lost and upset and Dick set up the perfect conditions to encourage him and pick him up. He's just so good at doing what he's doing but he does it for all the right reasons.

But the extent Dick can go trick and manipulate someone is off the charts. A virtuoso.

In a Titans comic, Dick literally spent MONTHS acting depressed and weak after Donna, Wally, and Garth were kidnapped to another dimension by a villain just so he could trick the villain into thinking that his career was over and bring him into the same dimension so Dick could take him down.

He fooled everyone.

Teen Titans: The Silver Age TBP 2 Part #1

"Batman taught me how to be a totally convincing actor! So if the only way you could send me here with your ring was if I filled my brain with evil thoughts, I just faked it! My facial expression was pure evil-but my mind remained pure good." MONTHS.

He planned, pretended, and calculated every single fiber of his own mind and body until the whole world was fooled by his acting. He tricked an interdimensional being who had psychic access. That means he was so extraordinarily manipulative, he can control his own thoughts inside his head to trick someone else. Voldemort's legilimens has nothing on Dick's talent.

Like Bart, sometimes his allies are aware of this like with Selina-

Gotham City Sirens Issue #23

Selina's literally having a mental breakdown trying not to fall for Dick's manipulation and tricks.

But even if they know he's manipulating them, they still are forced to fall for it anyway.

Gotham City Sirens Issue #23

"Damn it."

Like a goldilocks mad scientist - he does it just right.

His acting is just so on point that he outschemes the schemer.

When the Crime Syndicate (Superwoman, Ultraman, Owlman, Power ring, etc) arrive on Earth to take it over when Dick is Batman, Dick needs to do something fast. But to make things worse, there's a being that's so powerful, that both the Crime Syndicate and Justice League combined have a snowball's chance in hell of defeating him.

So what does Dick do? He runs the game.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

"Of course he had a plan the whole time. He's Batman. He always has a plan."

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

He tricks everyone.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

And in the end, the Justice League wins and Dick saves the world.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

I love how they characterized Owlman as a snake because that would make Dick a mongoose since mongoose eats snakes. And do you know what Mongoose represent in folklore? Action, adventure, boldness, fearlessness, impulsiveness, independence, optimism, rebellion, resistance, resourcefulness, speed, adaptation, agility, quickness, intelligence and wit. All characteristics that define him.

He plays the world like a chessboard, always five steps ahead.

He always has an ace hidden up his sleeve.

His thoughts are always masked behind a disarming smile.

He has mastered the art of manipulation.

And that's while he's outright fighting. His subtlety is just so seductive.

Take a look at the way he smoothly evades answering in this panel -

Grayson Issue #9

He's so smooth. She's constantly on the watch but she instantly fell head over heels for his charms in a half a heartbeat, that's just how good he is.

Grayson Issue #10

He's a master manipulator who knows exactly what to say and how to act to always end up winning.

It's seriously such a shame that one of his greatest skills and talents isn't talked about more because this man?! Flawless.

He's the spy everyone on TV wishes they could be. He's the type of spy people read about in history books and marvel at the ease, grace, and legendary story he leaves behind. He's the spy that everyone knows and dreams of in their fantasies.

Nightwing (2016)

And oh how they so are.

He can just get people to do whatever he wants.

There's a reason why Batman's only contingency plan against Nightwing is "Let's hope he fucks up." Because with his intelligence, skill, power, charisma, and raw talent - he's goddamn unstoppable.

[edusquaremaths]

Multiplication with 11 Part-3 | Multiplication Tricks | Maths Tricks | Vedic Maths #mathtricks

Multiplication Tricks | Maths Tricks | Vedic Maths| Multiplication with 11Cool tricks by @EduSqaureMathsMultiplication Tricks | Maths Tricks | Vedic Mathsshorts #short #shortvideo #mathsedusquaremaths

[livelaughlovesubs]

Eyoo may I request kitsune!dazai who has been teasing and has been a brat throughout the whole morning with AMAB reader (with a side of breeding and bondage if you don't mind) (please nini beg you there is sooo little kitsune!dazai posts and he has been living in my head rent free-)

Wait- there are sub kitsune dazai posts?! WHERE WHO WROTE IT I WANNA READ

Anyway

Dom!AMAB!reader x Sub!Kitsune!dazai

Warning: lotta teasing, rubbing dicks together, playing w/ tail, bratty sensitive dazai, breeding kink, bondage using clothes

The sun gently grazed your face as your eyes opened, arms instinctively raised high to stretch your body. You clenched your eyelids shut a last time before opening them completely, taking in your surroundings. It was your treasured bedroom, the place where you could sleep the soundest. Everything seemed normal except for the weight pressing down on your abdomen, and when you looked down, you were met with the sight of a fox tail. A huge, fluffy looking tail that was waving around in front of your face, almost as if it tried to hide something. If you looked past it, you could see the owner of said tail.

A brunette who was sitting onto of you, his back facing your head. He noticed the little movements from you and turned his head over his shoulder, glancing at you with a sly smile. “Good morning, darling. Did I wake you?” Dazai giggled, using his tail to rub you under the chin, then he asked, “Did you dream of anything nice?” You furrowed your brows a little when he teased you, when he stopped, you let out a low chuckle. “Haha, you want something from me? Just say it.” Straight to the point, and you saw through his tricks. Not bad.

He turned around to straddle your groin, arching his back a little to show off his curves. As of now, he wore nothing but a dress shirt, a pretty transparent one at that. “Isnt it too early in the morning to whore around?” You joked, trying to push him off you. But he didn’t bulge, instead he started moving his hips in circles, rubbing against you with his crotch. “Well…” the little fox began, expression changing into a calculated one. In the meantime you only watched him, hands resting on his hips while feeling his movements on you. The repeating moves were starting to yearn a reaction out of you, and you exhaled deeply. After he heard your sigh, he finished his sentence with, “I guess you are right, let’s save this for later!”

As fast as he started provoking you, he also abruptly stopped, trying to get down from your lap. Trying. Since you suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, pressing him into the mattress with your knee on his bulge. He was now leaning against the headboard with his legs forced open, shirt barely covering anything. “Tsk. Finish what you started.” You scoffed at him, clicking your tongue. A whine left him when you applied for pressure, and his tail wagged around excitedly. “MHhnnng~ oh? But didn’t you say-” you already knew what he was going to say, you knew him that good. “That was before you caused this mess.”

Reflexively, his eyes wandered lower and saw the ‘mess’ you meant, smirking to himself. This was exactly what he wanted, and you knew. “Isn’t that your problem?” Dazai said mockingly, trying to piss you off again. “If that’s the case, I’m telling you to help me solve this issue.” You answered, to which he replied, “want if I don’t want to?”

You leaned closer to him, until your lips were almost touching the fur on his ears Your hands grabbed his shirt, slowly unbuttoning him. Since you were so close to him, you could see the outlines of his nipples from beneath the dress shirt. While you did all that, you whispered into his ear, “we both know you want it, desperately so.” There was no denying a fact, and you hit the nail with that one. His cheeks flushed and his tail twitched between his legs, seeking more of your attention. He was still leaned up against the headboard, though back arched enough for his tail to fit in between without him sitting on it.

At first he clenched his legs together, as if he was mimicking a shy maiden. His dick was already hard and leaking, all because of the sound of your voice. “Why are you acting shy now, dazai?” You were the one teasing him now. “I’m not shy, I’m just waiting for you to put it in.” He admitted half heartedly, wearing an innocent face now that somehow screamed trouble. “How honest of you. I’ll take it you didn’t lie.” You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

You were still helping him undress, currently pulling his shirt off. Once you did, you used his shirt to tie his wrists together. He glanced at the makeshift rope, wondering if this would actually work. For now, he kept his hands close to his chest. Afterwards, you grabbed his legs and raised them over your shoulders. Again, forcing him to spread them apart, showing you his fluffy tail and reddened dick. “You look excited.” You commented, caressing his tail which got him whimpering on the spot. Seeing how sensitive he was aroused you as well, so you pulled your own pants down. His eyes followed your every move, and Dazai eventually questioned, “don’t you look excited as well?”

This was like pingpong, how the two of you kept arguing with each other. A game where the hunter and the prey role isn’t mend in stone. “What a talkative and sly fox you are.” He didn’t know if you were insulting him or not, so he let it slide for now. Instead, he praised himself, “I know you love it.” You couldn’t help but smile at his cheeky words, they sure were entertaining. “You certainly ain’t lacking self confidence.” Once again you made a comment where the intention is unclear, but all this talking was making him impatient so he snarled, “aren’t you the talkative one? Why don’t you get on with it already.”

You stared into his clear eyes, wrapping your hand around his and your cock, rubbing them against each other. “Like this?” “Nghh…!” Dazai groaned, gritting his teeth. How mean of you, playing all the dirty tricks at once. “Haah… no, n-not this.” The male said, breaking off the eyes contact and looking to the side. The difference in size made him feel ashamed, he always found it embarrassing that you were bigger than him. Even though you knew this wasn’t what he desired, you didn’t stop. He could already feel your precum sticking to his dick.

Considering he was still shutting his mouth, he must be really humiliated. So you had to push him a little, otherwise this might take ages. “What is it then? You have to tell me, lil’ foxy.” You insisted. The urge to grab his chin and make him face you was there, but you decided to take it slower since it was still morning. A moment of silence broke out, before he mumbled, “fuck me…” Your eyes glimmered a little, and you taunted him again, “a tad louder please?” To be honest you expected him to be embarrassed, but it was the opposite. He uttered loudly, “I want you to fucking breed me, pump me full of your children. I feel lonely without something inside me.”

This time you were the speechless one, stopping mid track as you processed his words. “You want me to get you pregnant?” You asked, not because you were confused, but because you wanted to hear him say it again. “We’d have adorable little fox babies running around then.” Dazai said, wrapping his tied arms around your neck, pulling you closer. You subconsciously let go of your members, and used your arms to pin him to the bed. His eyes were half-lidded, a heavy, pink blush covering his face. Tail running wile as it waited in anticipation, fantasising about you fucking him so good he really gets breed. The brunette shook his hips the best he could in such a position, then muttered, “please fulfil me this wish, please, fill me up darling♡♥︎~?”

[aventurineswife]

Heey :3

I'm a bit new to HSR but I would love to make a request regardless. A platonic request with a reader that lost their parents at a very young age and somehow ended up with the listed characters With Boothill, Aventurine, Gallagher, Gepard (if I requested over the character limit just chip some off <33)

Reader is like in their teen years

Fragments of Fate

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Gepard x Reader, Teen!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff with Angst, Protective Characters, Emotional Bonding, Slow Burn Friendship.

Warnings: Mentions of Parental Loss, Themes of Grief and Trauma, Violence (Mild/Implied), Angst with a Happy/Bittersweet Ending, Possible Depictions of Flashbacks (Trauma-Related), Protective Behavior.

A/N: WELCOME TO THE FANDOM!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY AND DON'T LET THE WEIRD PEOPLE GET TO YOU!! 🤗💕💖

[Part 2]

The galaxy was vast, unkind, and unrelenting—traits Boothill understood better than most. When he found you wandering the outskirts of a ruined settlement, it felt like staring into a mirror of his past. A teen, lost and alone, with nothing but the smoldering remains of a life stolen too soon. You reminded him of himself, crying in the snow all those years ago.

The first thing Boothill taught you was how to defend yourself.

"Out here," he said, crouched by the fire with his mechanical hand resting on his holstered revolver, "you either draw fast, or you're done for." His eyes locked onto you, and for the first time since meeting him, you saw something other than sharp wit and vengeance in his expression—concern.

But Boothill wasn’t a teacher in the traditional sense. His lessons came wrapped in stories of survival, laughter, and his signature dramatic flair. He showed you how to handle a blaster, track footprints across barren wastelands, and recognize when to stand your ground—or when to run.

One evening, as the two of you watched stars streak across the dark sky, Boothill broke his usual bravado. "The world’s gonna throw you into the dirt," he said softly, his shark-like teeth catching the firelight. "But you? You’re gonna get back up every time. You hear me, kid?"

In Boothill, you found a guardian who didn’t pity you but saw your strength—even when you didn’t see it yourself.

Meeting Aventurine wasn’t a chance encounter; it was destiny orchestrated by a gambler who always bet on himself. You stumbled into his orbit during a skirmish between the IPC and local rebels, a frightened teen who had lost everything. He could have walked away—after all, you were just another face in a galaxy filled with suffering. But something about the fire in your eyes stopped him.

"You’ve got guts, kid," he remarked, adjusting his glasses as he ushered you into the safety of his suite. "Stick with me, and you might just learn how to play this game called life."

Life with Aventurine was a whirlwind of unpredictability. He taught you how to navigate high-stakes situations, whether it was bluffing your way out of trouble or making calculated risks that turned the odds in your favor.

One day, he handed you a deck of cards, each one worn and bearing faint marks from years of use. "Lesson one," he said with a smirk. "The game’s rigged, but that doesn’t mean you can’t win."

Aventurine’s mentorship wasn’t about coddling. He challenged you, pushed you to think ahead, and celebrated your victories with genuine pride. Yet, there were moments of vulnerability—late-night conversations where he’d share fragments of his own tragic past. "We’re not so different, you and I," he admitted one night, his voice quieter than usual. "We both know what it’s like to lose everything. But here’s the trick, kid: we don’t let it break us."

With Aventurine, you learned that survival wasn’t just about strength—it was about strategy, resilience, and knowing when to bet it all.

When Gepard found you, it was during one of the harshest Fragmentum attacks Belobog had ever faced. You were huddled in the ruins of a home, clutching a makeshift weapon and trembling with fear. The sight of you—so young, so lost—stirred something deep within him.

"You’re safe now," he said, his voice steady and reassuring as he extended a gloved hand. "I’ll protect you. That’s a promise."

Life under Gepard’s care was structured and disciplined, but never harsh. He treated you with kindness and respect, understanding the pain of loss in a way only someone who had carried the weight of duty could.

He taught you how to wield a weapon—not for revenge, but for defense. "Strength isn’t about defeating your enemies," he said during a training session. "It’s about protecting what matters most."

Gepard’s lessons extended beyond combat. He instilled in you a sense of responsibility and compassion, encouraging you to help others even when the world seemed bleak. Under his guidance, you began to rebuild your confidence, finding purpose in small acts of courage and kindness.

One night, as snow fell softly outside the city walls, Gepard joined you by the fire. "I know it’s hard," he said, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "But you’re not alone anymore. You have a family here—with me, with the Silvermane Guards. And together, we’ll face whatever comes."

With Gepard, you found more than a protector—you found a father figure who believed in you, even when you struggled to believe in yourself.

[scrawleditalix]

so I, personally, am a huge fan of the Telemachian war rubble. incredible imagery? cool obstacle for our heroes? literal wall of corpses both protecting the heart of human civilization from those who wish to extinguish it and holding it captive to those who wish to exploit it? come on, what more do you want from a set piece?

just, like. a coating of rubble around an entire planet, y'know. that's too much rubble, isn't it? like, planets are really big. just kinda a flashy bit of writers' excess. it's gotta take a stupid, unrealistic number of ships to make a coating of rubble like that happen, right?

Right?

QUESTION ONE: How big is this planet?

Surely, in sci-fi world, the answer to this question is limitless, right? Far be it for me to impinge upon the boundless creativity of the sci-fi writer. That being said, as the local rubble-estimator, I do need to put some bounds on this thing. And the thing is, human bodies do very poorly outside of earth-gravity in the long-term. in the interest of not ruining the musculoskeletal system of every human in the not-so-distant future, we're going to assume that Telemachus has +/- 10% of Earth gravity. And, in the interest of not ruining my own evening, we're assuming that it also has the same density as earth, so the math is straightforward and we can actually answer the question we've set out to answer here. That being said, welcome to Telemachus!

it, uh, doesn't look like much yet, but I promise we will be answering some interesting questions here in the space. well, they're interesting to me, at least. I had fun. And that's what matters!

QUESTION 2: Where is the rubble?

Answer: not in the atmosphere, because the atmosphere would grab the rubble with its grubby little fingers and drag it planetside. The rubble layer must be sitting in the thermosphere, which is where the International Space Station lives. In the thermosphere, there's insufficient atmospheric pressure for anyone to hear you scream, and that is good enough for rubble to continue orbiting the planet indefinitely!

So, where is the thermosphere?

UHHHHHHHH

Okay so, good news. We already know where this is on earth. It's 85km above the surface. And looking through the variables, the only things that aren't constants for our purposes are local gravity (locked and loaded, baby), change in height (that's what we're looking for), and... uh......

Great news! Everything is a constant except for the two things we already have, everybody can breathe super normal air with a molar mass of 0.0289644 kg/mol and super normal barometric pressure on the surface just like on Earth, isn't terraforming fun? And that means we can play my favorite math trick, which is where we throw all of our constants out the window and just form a relational equation with our variables and with g0*dH0=g1*dH1 we are off to the races! Turns out, atmospheric physics is super easy when you just use the earth baseline and scale it by local gravity.

QUESTION 3: How thick is the rubble?

*cracks knuckles*

In S02E03 Deep Breath, the gang traverses the rubble layer surrounding Telemachus in order to evade a government checkpoint where their identity cards will surely fail them. The audio cue for the first flecks of rubble hitting the shields starts at 18:00; the audio cue for the Iris II hitting the atmosphere is at 20:30, which means that if we knew the Iris II's velocity, we would know the rubble thickness. Such a shame there's no way to know how fast they were moving...

Well, except that the landing sequence directly follows (it takes 50 seconds to reach the ground), and there is a limit to how quickly Krejjh is able to decelerate (a sustained 4-5 gs will knock a layperson unconscious, and Violet and Brian both stay conscious to our knowledge) (actually I suspect Brian passed out) (this is besides the point), and we just calculated exactly how far they traveled to reach the ground...

Oh, yeah, baby. It's all coming together.

It is at this juncture that I should mention that in this calculation, I am completely ignoring any movement that is not normal to the planet's surface, which is to say, straight up and down. I do not care if Krejjh is flying in a beautiful arcing spiral, if they are drawing a middle finger in midair, or if they plummet like a bird falling from the sky. This is a wonderful feature of vector math which I love. I only care about the thickness of the rubble layer, and the only acceleration that is important is the vertical component (a human can withstand like, 20-30 gs to the chest if they wear their seatbelt). Therefore, the other velocity components do not matter.

So, the Iris II entered the atmosphere at a speed of...

a flaming 1,100-1,300 mph, assuming that Krejjh decelerated at a moderate 3gs! Assuming that this is the maximum speed they achieve, I went ahead and halved this for their average speed through the debris field, which gives us a field over a hundred kilometers thick! Hell ye- wait, is that ten quintillion cubic meters of rubble layer???

QUESTION 4: How dense is dense?

I'm not going to lie to you, friends. This is where this gets ugly. We're going to do statistics. It will be okay.

How much of that volume is empty air?

The field of war rubble is described to us as dense. But that is not what makes it near-impregnable. If there is the physical space to pick your way through a static field of rubble, anybody could do that. What is dangerous, is that the rubble is orbiting, wrapped and writhing around the choking planet in a deadly Gordian knot. (I fucking love the Telemachus war rubble. Have I said how much I love the Telemachus war rubble?)

Now, if we pay close attention to the audio of Krejjh piloting through the rubble, we can hear large chunks of rubble zip past with a signature pitch-shift. This is the doppler effect causing sound (which doesn't travel in a vacuum but I'll forgive that) to be higher pitched as the rubble moves towards us and lower pitched as it moves away. Using these pitches, we can estimate the speed of the rubble--

yeah, okay, or we can just use the super simple stable orbital velocity equation that we already have all of the numbers for. if we were feeling lame.

So, imagine you're crossing the street at a brisk jog and a car is approaching at like 40mph from around a blind corner and also the street is hundreds of lanes with hundreds of cars whipping around a blind corner and also you are a ship that is parked across like ten lanes at a time. But hey, you can do a cool kick flip. So there's that, at least.

How many cars actually need to be on the road before it's "too dense" to traverse?

Luckily, there is a highly accurate, well-tested simulation we can consult.

The entire rubble field can be conceptualized as a series of orbital "lanes", containing a certain spacing of pieces of rubble, which cumulatively defines the density of the entire field. There exists a spacing by which it is possible, but difficult to get through. For example, in the image above, if there are 3 car tiles per 14 tile lane, the density of the entire street is 21%.

This spacing determines the frequency at which rubble crosses in front of the ship, on average. So, we're going to have to do some statistics. If you know how to do statistics, feel free to come at me, because I am pretty sure I did this stupid.

Alright, here's the game plan: we are going to define a space in front of the Iris II, designated as the Reaction Space, and we are going to designate a desired frequency of Reaction Events in that space. This is super arbitrary and has a huge impact on the final number! No pressure. So, let's give Krejjh one and a half seconds to react to the debris in front of the ship. If you've ever had a dog run in front of your car, this is scary as shit -- but hey, nobody said crossing the Telemachian rubble field was easy, and the ship did get hit a couple of times. Knowing the speed of the Iris, this gives us a physical distance in front of the ship which rubble may cross. Multiply that by the height of the ship- let's say 10 meters, there don't seem to be multiple floors- and we have bounded a certain number of orbital lanes through which the Iris is imminently about to cross. We'll call the average piece of rubble 5 by 5 meters, and therefore an orbital lane is about 25 square meters of space.

Each orbital lane represents an opportunity for a Reaction Event, which is to say one or more pieces of rubble entering the flight path of the Iris II, forcing Krejjh to maneuver to an open space (see Frogger above). Because statistics is an exercise in twisting your brain in circles like squeezing a wet wash cloth, in order to define how frequently Reaction Events occur, we must instead define how often they do not occur. The Reaction Space must be empty a certain amount of the time, or else there is literally nowhere to maneuver to- the space is literally impermeable. So, consulting the more difficult levels of Frogger, we are going to say the Reaction Space is empty 50% of the time. This means that every 1.5 seconds, there is a 50% chance that Krejjh has to pull some pants-shitting evasive maneuvers. This strikes me as acceptably challenging.

Now, each orbital lane does not have a 50% chance of spitting out a piece of rubble; rather, each lane has a very small chance of spitting out a piece of rubble and cumulatively, across hundreds of lanes, there is a 50% chance of one or more of them spitting out a piece of rubble within the selected timeframe. 50% = x raised to the number of orbital lanes, so a little bit of exponent math and we find that each lane has a 99.9% chance of being empty during a given second and a half.

Given a probability for an event over a certain time period, we are now able to calculate the return period of a given piece of rubble, which is to say, the average amount of time between events. Return periods are typically used to measure the probability of 100-year storms on a given year. Fun fact: There is a 37% chance that no 100-year storms will occur during a 100-year period, but there is also a 26% chance that there are 2 or more 100-year storms that occur over a 100-year period. Isn't statistics fun?

Using the average timing between pieces of rubble, we can determine the average spacing between pieces of rubble and therefore determine the density of the rubble field.

QUESTION 5: How many ships is that?

Alright, then. Here's the million dollar question: how many ships were destroyed to create the rubble field?

We will base this estimate off of the biggest modern fighter jet I could find with a 2-minute google search (I cannot overstate to you, dear reader, how little I care about fighter jets), so we're basing these ships off of the SU-35. Now, given that I have zero interest in caressing the delicate curvature of the Fighter Jet in the hopes of earning its trust and learning its True Volume, I'm going to estimate it as a cylinder with a diameter equivalent to the SU-35's height and assume the wings probably fit crammed up in the space there somehow. This gives us a volume of 587m^3, which makes the number of ships perpetually encircling Telemachus.......

Now, listen. This is an unrealistic number of ships. I do not believe that 70 billion people were killed in a single battle.

However.

When I set out on this estimate, I was willing to believe that 5 or so billion were. Between casualties on both sides, maybe a space station or two being destroyed, who knows, maybe they had a space trebuchet? This is only an order of magnitude away from a potentially reasonable number.

QUESTION 6: How Far Can I Stretch These Numbers?

Let's massage these numbers a bit and see what we can do.

First, let's round up the ship volume just a bit-- they're in space, maybe the FTL engine needs a bit of extra room. Let's call it 650m^3.

Then, we can start fiddling with the rubble frequency. Let's say the Iris II is 15 meters tall (it is a space yacht. maybe the ceilings are tall?) and then crank the reaction space up to 2 seconds (which means rubble can pass up to 2 seconds away, but it is still able to be anywhere nearer). And let's say the average piece of rubble is 4 meters across, not 5. Turn the the event frequency down to a 40% chance every 3 seconds, we can get this thing down to around 7 billion ships.

So, in conclusion: the Telemachus space debris ring is officially potentially reasonable! 🎉🎉🎉

Always remember, kids: number fudging is a proud, time-honored tradition when I do it, and a disgusting twisting of the nature of truth itself when anyone I don't like does it.

[buckys-forgotten-plum]

A Lesson in Love

(This is very much a working title)

College!AU

Smarty Pants!Bucky Barnes x Cheerleader!Reader

Synopsis: Being a newly metamorphosed social butterfly certainly has its perks: an amazing friend group, a position on the cheer squad you’ve dreamed about for years, and the ability to make connections everywhere you go. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you any better at Linear Algebra, enter Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Cursing, awkward reader, flirty Steve Rogers, that’s it i think :)

A/N: Boy howdy has it been a long time since I’ve posted on this hell-site. I only hope that it’s not shit (it’s probably shit)

—---------------

“Let’s run through the routine one more time guys!” Your voice travels throughout the gym as you direct your teammates to their original starting position. 

“Umed, you’re doing great but I just wanna see a little more stability when you’re holding Yelena up! Yelena, I saw you falter a little at the end there, try and stay strong please!” Your co-captain, Raj, enthusiastically instructs from beside you. 

As the team resets into their original postions, you hear a bumble of agreements and acknowledgments, making you smile. Becoming the co-captain of your university’s cheer team while only being a sophomore was no small feat and you were absolutely ecstatic to get the call 4 weeks ago congratulating your achievement. 

You remember sitting with Yelena in the quad, under a large willow tree, when you picked up the phone, it took everything in you not to squeal with excitement. Though you and your best friend definitely had a mini celebration after you hung up and spared no shame when you both began to scream and shout your elation. 

“Oh, holy shit Rabbit you did it!” The blonde woman had tightly gathered you into her arms and spun you around, a wild grin adorning her face. 

You hug her back just as tightly, “I can’t believe it! I for sure thought Hasan was gonna get it! I mean, his form was impeccable, and did you see that round-off back handspring that he did? Jesus I almost swooned!” 

Yelena laughs heartily before agreeing, “It takes more than just pretty tricks to be a captain though Rabbit, you didn’t get a full ride for nothin’. C’mon, I’m buying us lunch to celebrate,”

After a couple of weeks of barely believing you were able to make the cut as co-captain, you honed your excitement into determination. You began to focus on perfecting the routine you and Raj had planned for the first football game of the year. At this point, it was only a week away and your confidence in the team soared. They all worked so incredibly hard, and by watching how well they were performing today, you had all the faith in the world in them. After the team had run through it a couple more times, Raj had decided to call it for today seeing as you and a few others had an evening lecture to get to. 

Once you had taken one of the fastest showers in your life and changed into a fresh set of clothes, the process of haphazardly shoving your things into your bag and calculating how fast you’d have to run to make it to your class on time began. The gym you practiced in was damn near close to being on the other side of campus from the building your 5 pm Computational Physics lecture was held in and you’d be in deep shit for showing up late. You were already having a rough time in that class and you knew missing even a few minutes of the lecture intro would put you even further behind. 

“You better hop to it little rabbit or you’ll be laaate~,” Yelena sings as she walks past you, already on her way out.

“I know, I know, I know!” You hastily shove the rest of your belongings into your bag before giving yourself a quick pat down to ensure nothing was missed

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you give a quick goodbye to the rest of the women in the locker room before bolting out. The sun was still shining brightly and there was a late afternoon breeze that cooling as you ran across campus. If you asked any of your friends, they’d laugh and admit that this has become a normal Tuesday and Thursday night for you. None of them would bat an eye whenever they would see your blurred figure and hear a breathless greeting as you sprinted past them. They fully supported your wild determination to overachieve in school while also continuing your advancements in the sport that allowed you to attend such a prestigious institution. 

Your lungs burn as you run up to the large brick building that held the lecture hall, giving a kind hello to a couple of people you knew from your previous class that day. The inconsistent squeak of your sneakers on the linoleum floor can be heard echoing throughout the arched hallway as you try and manage a professional-looking speedwalk. A large sigh of relief is released when you see the double doors to the lecture hall are still open, meaning the class hasn’t started yet. Your pace and breath both slow as you enter the quiet space. As soon as you cross the threshold to the large room, there's a quiet call of your name that catches your attention. You grin and turn to your right to see a group of fellow students all giving you hushed greetings and a few congratulations on getting here in time. 

“You made it in time, Honey Bee! M’ proud of you,” Steve, the blond-haired, blue-eyed captain of the football team, greets you from his aisle seat and holds his hand out as he gives you a wide smile. 

“Hi Stevie,” You smile and take his hand, allowing him to tug you closer, “I sprinted all the way here, you’d think I’d be used to the cardio by now but it still kills me,” 

Steve lets out a light chuckle, “if you want I can start trainin’ with you in the mornings. Or tutor you in time management,” 

You jokingly roll your eyes at his comment and give his hand a light squeeze, “My time management skills are primo, Champ. That’s why I’m here on time, thank you very much,”  

He snorts loudly before nodding his head, “yeah okay Honey Bee, if you say so. Unfortunately, even though you’re ‘on time,’ the whole hall is filled except for a seat up front,”

“That’s okay! You know I like making new friends,” You go to pull your hand from his and find your seat but are stopped by another quick tug.

“Hey, you still wanna go to the cafe with all of us after class? I’ll get ya some lemon pound cake for your troubles,”

You pretend to think about the proposition before giving your answer, “I guess if there's gonna be lemon pound cake involved, I could make an appearance,” 

Steve gives you a dazzling smile, his bright blue eyes developing crows feet as he looks up at you from his seat, “Awesome, I’ll see you after class then, honey,” 

Before you pull away, Steve brings your hand up and turns it, giving the inside of your wrist a soft kiss, “Egh Steve, you’re so sappy sometimes,” You mumble and pull your hand away and silently will the heat rising in your neck and cheeks to go away. 

“Only for you Honey Bee!” You hear the smugness in his voice as you turn to walk down the stairs that separate each side of the large auditorium. 

Steve was right when he said there was only one seat left and you feel a small pang of nerves in your chest as you realize you’d be sitting next to someone you hadn’t had the chance to talk to yet. You pride yourself on your social skills, seeing as though in high school and all the years before, you had been a shy, nervous wreck in front of anyone you didn’t know. None of your recent friends knew how closed off you had been since they had only seen you in your ‘flourishing social butterfly’ phase. 

As you approach the last available seat in the lecture hall you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the stress of class as well as the prospect of any awkward conversations. When you arrive at your destination, a small furrow knits your brows together as you stare down at the chair. 

“Um, excuse me, is it alright if I sit here? There aren’t any other seats left,” Your voice is hushed as you try and get the attention of the person who has their bag sitting in the theater seat. 

He doesn’t seem to hear you, too caught up with the conversation he was having with his friend in the next seat over. The only reaction you get is a disinterested glance from the woman your target was talking to. Your nose scrunches up in displeasure as you first glare at the person who had clearly ignored you, then at the brunette who’s completely unaware of your presence.

You clear your throat a bit and try again, “Excuse me? Sir?” 

The brunette jumps a bit in his seat and you’re quickly met with startlingly blue eyes that are filled with confusion, “Uh, yeah?”

Your lips pull into a soft smile and you glance back down at the chair before focusing back up on the man, “Is it okay if I sit here? There don’t seem to be any free seats left in the hall,” 

The man’s eyes widen and he does a quick glance between you and his bag before yanking it out of the seat and plopping it in between his legs, “I am so sorry, of course you can! I-I didn’t realize anyone else would be coming,”

A light laugh of surprise bursts from your lips at his apologetic reaction, “It’s okay, it’s my fault for getting here so late anyways,” you give him a kind smile before sitting down and taking your laptop out and setting it on the small fold out table.

You lean back down to search your bag for your charger and a few other things. As you're searching through your bag, you hear a quiet chuckle beside you and you can’t help but turn your head back up to look at your neighbor. He notices your confused look and motions towards your laptop that was covered in various stickers. 

“I really like that one,” there’s a wide smile on his face as he points to a sticker depicting a frog inside of a heart that said ‘commit crimes’ in cute bubble letters. 

A grin makes it’s way onto your face and you nod your head in agreement, “it’s one of my favorites too! I really like this one as well,” you point to another sticker that shows a little mushroom person riding atop a black cat. 

Before the brunette can respond, your professor finally begins to start class, startling the both of you into silence as you ready yourself for any note-taking that needs to be done. As the professor started going over this week's subject matter, which happened to be matric eigenvalue problems, your palms already began to sweat in nervousness. You took your hands from atop the keyboard of your laptop and placed them down onto your thighs, lightly balling them in and out of fists to ease your stress. You had been introduced to matrices in your last semester, but to add a new formula to the mix made you nervous enough to forget any prior knowledge you had stored away. 

Throughout the lecture you had to continuously remind yourself that lots of people are probably having issues with the current topic. However, that voice of reassurance had gotten quieter and quieter as you noticed everyone around you quickly typing or scribbling down notes without hesitation. No one had asked a question and with a quick glance at your laptops clock, you find there to be only 10 minutes left of class. You nervously shift around in your seat and focus on typing down the finishing notes when you feel a pair of eyes set on you. 

You nervously glance up and to the side to catch a fleeting glimpse of your neighbor quickly averting his eyes. The heat that flares up in your neck and cheeks is almost unbearable as you realize he knows that you’re struggling, can physically feel how lost and confused you are with the subject. You immediately become tense and your hands once again leave their place on your keyboard before falling back down into your lap, wiping the sweat from your palms onto your thighs before tightly clenching them into fists. The stress of the class mixed with the embarrassment of how obvious your lack of understanding has made your brain shut down, and only after noticing everyone around you packing up their things did you realize you had completely checked out for the last few minutes of class. 

“Aw shoot,” you mumble quietly while softly closing your laptop. The faint beginnings of a conversation come from beside you, but you’re too busy trying not to break down to make sense of any of it. Little crescent moons were being left in the palms of your hands from how hard your nails were digging into them, your mouth was beginning to taste like iron from how hard you were biting the inside of your cheek, and the sting of tears were present in your waterline. 

As you leaned down to shove your laptop and notebook into your bag, you made sure to take a deep breath because you would be damned if you ended up crying like a baby in front of fellow classmates. Especially ones you just met. It didn’t help too much, but after blinking rapidly for a moment you were certain no tears would fall until you were successfully inside your dorm room. Steve would understand and would make up an excuse for your absence at the cafe.

“Hey,” A voice speaks from above and you jump in surprise before sitting back up straight to find your seat neighbour with a soft smile on his face.

“Hello,” you mumble quietly before glancing down at your lap then back up to him, “I’m so sorry-I’m probably in your way aren’t I?” 

His eyes widen and he quickly puts his hand up to halt you in your movements of gathering your things, “No actually I um-I wanted to actually ask you if maybe we could compare notes for this lecture? I feel like I might have missed some stuff and it seemed like you got everything down. I’ve been kinda struggling with this unit so it’d help a lot,” 

You stared at him for a moment, blinking blankly at him almost in disbelief… Was he really asking you of all people for notes?

You fumble with your words for a moment before answering, “Well I’m not-um I actually might not be the best person to ask for notes,” the sheepish admittance does well to bring a new wave of heat crawling up to the tips of your ears and you try not to cringe in embarrassment, “I’m only averaging a 74% in this class right now,” 

The man tilts his head and gives another soft smile in your direction, “Well I’m averaging a 68 so ya still got me beat,” 

The quiet chuckle he lets out makes your lips tug up into your own smile and let out a quick laugh yourself. You quickly turn your head to the back of the lecture hall and see Steve and a few of your friends gathered around the entrance, discussing something unknown while patiently waiting for you.

“Alright that’s a fair point,” you giggle and take your phone out, “If you wanna, I can give you my phone number and email so we can exchange everything we have? I can’t really promise anything groundbreaking but maybe it’ll help?” 

He grins widely and pulls his own phone out of its hiding place, unlocking it and tapping to his contact list, “Yeah that’d be really nice…I’m James by the way,” 

You mentally scold yourself for not asking the man’s name earlier before revealing your own to him. 

“Nice to meet you,” James' voice is gentle and endearing as he holds his phone out to you in a silent request for your contact info. 

You quickly input your number and send yourself an emoji to ensure it was correct, “I um-I have plans to go to a coffee shop with my friends right now, but I promise I’ll send you all the notes I have as soon as I get the chance if you just wanna text me your email address? Maybe we could share a google document and work off of each other? Really whatever works best for you is fine with me!” 

You bite the inside of your lip to stop yourself from word-vomiting anymore and wonder how, after so many years, you are this awkward with someone. It’s been ages since you’ve been this socially inept with a stranger and you wrack your brain for a reason. 

James bends down and grabs his backpack before standing up to his full and very intimidating height. You haphazardly gather your own items and fumble out into the aisle to let James out. 

“No rush! I’m just appreciative of any help I can get really,” he admits, raising his right hand and running it through the dark brunette tresses of his hair. 

“No yeah I totally get that! And I’m actually gonna ask my friend for some help tonight so I’ll even have some extra tips ready!” Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you do another glance back to see Steve giving you the look and you figure you shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer, “okay, sorry I have to go now, but it was really nice to meet you James! And thanks for liking my stickers,” 

Why you brought up the stickers, you’ll never know, but you can fight with yourself about that later. 

James lets out a boisterous laugh before answering, “It was my pleasure, Sugar. I’ll be sure to message you later,” 

You were thankful that James had turned around to talk to his friend as it made it easier for you to hide the shock on your face from the sweet pet name he threw out. Putting your hands up to quell the heat that had risen to your cheeks, you make your way to Steve. 

“You make a new friend?” He asks with a knowing smile. 

“Yeah! He said he needed help with this class so I told him we would exchange notes when I got home. Oh also can you go through the entire lecture with me?” 

Steve stared down at your shorter frame, letting out an amused snort and shaking his head in disbelief, “You’re going to exchange notes with a dude when you don’t even know what went on in the lecture today?” 

“umm…yes, yes I’m going to be doing exactly that unless you be a sweet little lamb and go over the notes with me so i can fix any mistakes!” You respond sweetly and grab onto Steve's hand to pull him closer to the doors, “pretty, pretty, pretty please?” 

He rolled his eyes and pulled his hand from your grasp before wrapping his arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you into his side, “yeah yeah, ya know I might have to start charging you Honey Bee,” He leads you out of the building and you both begin making your way to the coffee shop on campus. 

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Magic

HP Lovecraft: everyone, this is harry Houdini the famous magician Harry Houdini: hey Stephen King: you know harry Houdini? Lovecraft: oh yeah we've been looking for a project to work on together for a while King: Lovecraft: we already established he's not really italian

King: so you must really believe in magic, huh? Houdini: nope! King: nope? Houdini: it's all flim-flammery! King: flim flimmery?! Houdini: and tomfoolery! King: well i knew it was flim flammery King: but to think it's tomfoolery too--!

Alan Moore [appears in a clap of thunder]: what fool dares to doubt the existence of magic? King: the arch magus! Lovecraft: the arch magus! Poe: the arch magus! Barker: the arch magus! Koontz: the arch magus!

Houdini: i am that fool Houdini: fie on your so-called magic! Houdini: why, it's nothing but a lot of humbug and ballyhoo! Houdini: i believe, my good sir, in facts and logic Houdini: by my calculations, magic is a flapdoodle of a fraud!

Moore: MAGIC NOT REAL?! Moore: A FLADOODLE! Moore: A FRAUUUUUD!?!?!?!??!!? King: uh, harry King: you might want to speak a little more uh King: respectfully King: to the arch magus Houdini: balderdash! hogtits! Moore: HARRY HOUDINI Moore: DO NOT TAKE ME FOR SOME CONJURER OF CHEAP TRICKS

Moore: [sky darkens, thunder sounds] now observe the awesome powers of the magus… unleashed! Moore: ok check it so please note that these 3 rings are NOT connected

Houdini: bring your best magicians! i'll defeat them all with the power of facts and logic! Aleister Crowley: i got this bro Crowley: I'M THE GREAT BEAST!!! Crowley: DO WHAT THOU WIIILT!!

Crowley: ok first you need a giant hat shaped like a pyramid Houdini: really? this is the best you got Crowley: wait wait i'm not done Crowley: then you need to draw a big ol' eye on it Houdini: NEXT

Grant Morrison: see, magic is about collecting all 8 chaos emeralds- Houdini: NEXT Charles Williams: it's about following the dictates of god's holy Anglican church- Houdini: NEXT Eve Harms: wait wait wait check this out Harms: just wait til you see what i can do to these base metals Houdini: NEXT

Houdini: i look around and all i see Houdini: are charlatans and frauds Houdini: OH YEAH Houdini: is there no one here with the strength to defeat me in the arena of knowledge? Arthur Conan Doyle: NOT SO FAST!

Charles Dickens: prepare for trouble! Doyle: make it double! Dickens: we are Doyle & Dickens: [standing arms folded, back to back] GHOST CLUB Doyle: blasting off at the speed of light! Dickens: surrender now or prepare to fight! Robert Aikman: Meowth! That's right!

Dickens: we're a team of paranormal experts dedicated to investigating the uninvestigatible Dickens: determining the indeterminable Dickens: and canning the uncanny Doyle: and also fairies Dickens: no no no Doyle: yes we look for fairies too Dickens: no Arthur we talked about this, we're not doing fairies

Doyle: ok harry i know you think magic is all "fake" and "lies" Doyle: but if that's the case explain The Lost World (1925) Houdini: what the Houdini: are those REAL dinosaurs?!?! Doyle: mmmmaybe