#math a magician

[jalapenoscumbag]

bro was NOT having it 💀🙏

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

it’s hilarious to me that fushiguro went back to his old middle school and everyone talked about how his sister, who went to middle school with him, was the one taking care of him because I’m convinced that seventeen year old gojo had his ass in a chair every pta meeting starting shit with the other moms and the entire administration collectively said “that man cannot even take care of himself” and decided twelve year old tsumiki was the only possible caretaker

[jdontevenknowwhatimdoing]

I might do another drawing of him later @jalapenoscumbag

[angstics]

what people think happened with destiel ACTUALLY happened to queliot. quentin and eliot were LITERALLY AND TEXTUALLY AND IN THE FUCKING DIALOGUE, LITERALLY!!!! in love. They said this. They said this on the Television show. And the Tv Show didnt know this. It is obvious they didnt know this because it was never the story. It kept sneaking in but it never stuck. Quentin and Eliot sleep together; well anyway. Quentin and Eliot spend 50 years as a family; well anyway. Quentin Confesses His Love To Eliot; well anyway. WHAT?!!!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!! Anyone watching this knows this, especially the shippers but even people like me who are CONSTANTLY sceptical. I dont even believe in mutual destiel idc. Before 405 aired, i told the friend who got me into the show that 305 didnt matter to queliot because it was never brought up again. And i remain correct. It didnt fucking matter. What is wrong with these people

[trans-cuchulainn]

can't figure out what it is that makes gwydion such a good poor little meow meow. i think it's partly the combination of crimes and subsequent intense trauma that is never addressed as trauma but also idk there's a personal layer to it. the alienation from your own body and sense of danger that you can't escape because your own skin and your power over yourself can be taken away by external forces. and the fact that that's a punishment. that he did something to deserve it but the harm didn't fix anything.

not sure whether it speaks to me most deeply on a trans level or on a chronic illness/disability level bc sure the former speaks to shapeshifting and genderfuckery more directly but the sense of punishment and blame and guilt comes with the latter. i do something, my body punishes me for it. loss of control as a form of consequence. etc

[crepuscularqueens]

my toxic trait is being a “quentin coldwater would have been born in 1994 not 92″ truther. happy 29th birthday to him!!!

[mallowmaenad]

tbh i didnt know all dat happened to Atsuko I just thought she had a focus disorder

[tenth-sentence]

When they had measured the attic they had to get a pencil and do a sum.

"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew" - C. S. Lewis

[gabrielsellesty]

WIZARDTHRONE

O.w.

My new obsession ✨🔥 crazymathematical wizards are slaying the windstorms of Thyraxistic plains🔥 aka if u like Symphony black metal.... LISTEN IT ✨✨

HYPERIAX

ARCHISTRATEGOS

WIZARDTHRONE

XAVICULUS

[evilasiangenius]

“Did you have breakfast today?” Aziraphale asked.

“No, my uncle says that Spartans don’t eat breakfast.”

“And Xenophon often talks about how important it is for warriors to eat breakfast. My dear child, the fact that your uncle persists in trying to raise you as a Spartan means that it will probably stunt your growth if you don’t eat more. So please, do eat up; there’s plenty more where this came from.”

“Menippos,” Alexander began, using the pseudonym that Aziraphale had adopted as the boy’s tutor, “Why is it that food always seems to taste better with you?”

“Hmm, I suppose perhaps mathematics sharpens the mind which sharpens the hunger which then sharpens the tastebuds?” Aziraphale demurred, handing the boy a peeled boiled egg, bread with slices of hard cheese and apple, and honey-soaked teganitai, the edges of the little cakes still crisp from the griddle.

“It’s also warmer too.”

“I certainly wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale said as he gently brought up the temperature of the air in the unheated room around them another fraction of a degree. It had stopped storming but the ground outside was still covered in drifts of snow and ice was slicked in patches all over the palace courtyards and colonnades. Despite all that no one gave the child more than one piece of clothing – a warm chiton to be fair – but not more than that. It offended the angel’s sensibilities; in this unusually cold weather everyone had bundled up but here, this boy was hardly clothed and those small growing humans had so much more trouble regulating their body temperatures.

“Thanks. You know, I don’t think I’m supposed to be eating this. Especially the teganitai. Leonidas says-”

Aziraphale frowned; that particular uncle who was in charge of the boy’s education was not only unpleasant but harsh in his methods and discipline. “Don’t you listen to him. Listen to me.”

“Yes, you say that but you’re soft and you’re not a warrior and you don’t even go to the palaestra. The only people who don’t exercise regularly are slaves and women.”

“...perhaps but my child, at my age and with my...erm, bad hip, I have been advised by the doctors to take it easy. Especially in cold weather, which stiffens up the joints and muscles.”

“I guess that’s all right then.” Alexander ate as fast as he could, as if he were afraid to be seen eating. “I don’t like Leonidas either, but he’s making me tough. So I can be strong when I’m a man.”

“Child, you’re already strong,” Aziraphale said fondly.

“I guess. But not strong enough,” Alexander frowned, finishing off the rest of the boiled eggs that were still just warm enough to steam faintly in the cold air, savoring the creamy yolks that were never over- nor under-cooked.

“Strength isn’t everything,” Aziraphale said, cleaning up the eggshells, trying to keep it so that there was less for the slaves to do. “After all, wit, wisdom, and knowledge go a long way. As with Odysseus.”

“Speaking of knowledge, Menippos, do you know anything about the movement of the stars?”

“Erm, as it relates to geometry? Well, we would have to learn how to draw ellipses first, I suppose, which is rather similar to a circle except instead of one fixed point there are two-”

“No, I mean. You know, the important stuff about stars. How to divine stuff from them. Figure out the future. Or what other people are planning.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “That stuff about stars. My dear child, I am not an expert in this sort of study, not in the slightest.”

“Oh.” Alexander sighed, disappointed. “I’m ready to try that circle thing again.”

“Good. Here, let’s smooth out this sand and I’ll hold the central stick, and you move the stick with the rope attached to make the points. Notice that as points grow closer and closer to each other, it essentially fills out the line of the circle. So we may think of the line that forms the circle as an infinite collection of points. In fact, this principle extends to any line.” Aziraphale watched as the boy paced around the box of sand, bare feet treading over the pebbled mosaic.

“I guess I should consult an expert,” Alexander said suddenly, as he stuck his stick into the sand with a sharp motion as if stabbing through the ground, hard enough for the stick to rattle the wooden bottom of the box.

“Do be gentle, please.”

“Sorry,” Alexander shrugged, staring at the stick.

“An expert? What do you need to consult an expert on?”

“The important stuff about stars,” Alexander said. “I thought maybe you could help me, but I’ll have to find a proper expert.”

“Hmm, I suppose. I believe if we were to travel to Babylon, we would probably find the world’s experts on stars; they’ve got quite an excellent school there. Oh, and of course, Egypt is a good place as well. I would also say that India has some quite excellent specialists...if you like, I could write to one for you, my dear child. I have some acquaintances in those places that perhaps could send me some books.”

“Oh.” Alexander looked disappointed, but then his expression changed. “Wait, what about Nectanebo?”

“What about Nectanebo?” Aziraphale felt his voice crack. “No wait, my dear child. Don’t go to him. I shall write to Babylon for you and-”

x

[lackadaisical-lesbian]

Girl has to do trigonometry; 100 dead, countless injured.

[jalapenoscumbag]

another one

[starpros-sunshine]

!!! btw i've been watching conan lately, it's really fun! im on episode 30 or so but i'm really enjoying it so far <3

i have to say though i had No clue the plot was that conan's actually 17 i did not see that coming

!!!!!!!!!!! omg! I will have to tell you though the first episodes are the best ones I think at least there's just something about them that's right. Also the episodes with Kid are the best ones in my opinion they are sooooo fun!!! Kaito and Shinichi have such a fun dynamic it's everything to me. And yeah he's 17!! Shinichi is jusst some very smart 17 year old I want to see him more as a 17 year old those episodes where he gets to be Shinichi for a bit instead of just conan are also so so fun and Oh please tell me what you think about the other Gosho boys I think Heiji already got introduced by ep30? I like Heiji he's a neat guy and Hakuba hasn't been presented yet and I don't really think he has a solid standing in detcon because he's briefly there in like one kaito episode he's more of a Kaito Kid character than a detective conan one. And Ran! I like Ran she doesn't deserve the stuff she has to put up with she doesn't get payd enough for taking care of her father and a random kid that just appeared one day and school and her childhood best friend that suspiciously disappeared the same day the strange kid that knows too many things for a seven year old grade schooler came into their lives and with him appeared a sudden wave of success for her father paired with a strange form of narcolepsy. She deserves a raise.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 7 part 1/2

Masterpost

“I see,” said Alfie, hands full of breakfast dishes. “When can I expect you to return home, Miss Cassandra?” Calm. Composed. She followed at his back with the empty water and juice pitchers.

She hummed, doing math in her head. 90 minutes on a fast bike, unknown time there, 90 minutes back. “Dinner?” Cass guessed. “Will message again at 3 with updated estimate.” She put the pitchers down beside the sink silently.

Alfie gave a brisk nod at that sensible plan. Approval. “Very well, Miss. Please drive carefully.” He paused. “And do not forget hydration and your sunscreen.”

“Love you too,” she said, and went to put on the sunscreen. Then she was a whirlwind to get ready. Athletic undersuit, first. Pullover mask in the back, a long hood design that hooked back in on itself. Convenient! Gloves in black jeans pockets. Ankle boots, good for kicking and for driving. 

Cass put her flying suit in her student backpack and put her hands on her hips. She looked around. Room? Clean enough. Equipment? Packed. Reasonable projection of needs? Cass crinkled up her brow and made her best judgment. Probably minimal. Combat not expected, companion powerful. 

“Jacket,” Cass muttered to herself, sudden realization! She darted across the house to get it. The green jacket was important. It was a talisman. It was representative. It was a civilian flying suit that reminded her she was powerful and beautiful. 

When she had it on, she went back for her student back bag and then left from the upper level garage. Black bike, nondescript. Mid range price. 

Cass paused astride the bike, feet firmly planted on either side on the crunchy white gravel of their long driveway. She unzipped the front left pocket and withdrew her phone. To Marvel, she said,

🦇 🏍️ ⬆️ == 1.5 h ⌚ 

Then she opened a new message to Batdad. She didn’t want him to worry. So she said,

💕 👋🏼  🏍️ 

The last person to get a message was Stephanie, who was not flying because she was still in medical schooling. Cass sent,

Just because it was funny. It would make Stephanie laugh.

Then she was off.

Cass pulled her black bat hood down when she found the right area. It was day. Many stares that she loftily ignored. The meeting spot wasn’t Gotham or Fawcett. The laughing magician was in dingy small town, smoking and drinking. Captain Marvel found him first and hauled him out, friendly arm over shoulder. Cass crouched on the roof of nextdoor building to silently peer down, batting a little for the comfort factor of bat things. He was still big-man Marvel-lie, but with new clothes. Happy face with torn jeans and t-shirt. She squinted. Same Marvel shoes. Hmm. No budget, Cass decided. If any budget, better shoes.

Constantine blinked up at Captain Marvel, dazed from alcohol but interested in big handsome man. “Where are you taking me, prettyboy?” He slurred. He was a mess. He reached up and cupped Marvel’s face.

Cass moved. 

Constantine noticed her rapid approach and stumbled upright. Eyes sharp, intelligent. Then: dismay. “Fuck,” he said. Very unhappy. Genuine dislike. “A bat. Which one are you?” Disdain. 

Cass frowned. “Hands off,” she demanded. She crossed her arms. “He’s baby.”

“What?” Marvel said, sounding distressed. Ah. He didn’t know that she knew.

“Really?” Constantine said, wrinkling his face up and looking between her and Marvel pointedly. Because he was a foolish little man who didn’t understand facts that walked into his life. “A nightmare like you pulled this bloke? Fuck my life.”

Yes. A nightmare. Your nightmare.

Cass stretched her mask mouth wider so the teeth would stretch and pull even bigger. She leered at him with all her scariness. He looked like he wished she would leave. Wondered if he made good decision. Regret. Regret. I run my big damn mouth.

“Hey!” Marvel rallied, totally missing the body language interplay. “She’s not a nightmare! Black Bat is very kind and smart.” He put his hands on his hips, which happily meant he had to stop supporting middle-aged wizard weight.

Constantine said some curses under his voice that she didn’t know. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. The rattling from inside told Cass: three cigarettes. No metal, no secret hidden weapon unless it closely resembled cigarette shape. Maintain wariness. He lit it on fire with his fingers.

What? No lighter? Cass saw no lighter.

While Cass was busy frowning about that the wizard turned on his heel. “Toodles,” he said, and then Marvel grabbed him. 

“Wait! We need your professional help.”

“Do I look like I’m working?” Grungy wizard demanded. He waved a hand up and down his body, showing off his sleeveless tank top and tight pants. 

“Yes.” Black Bat took a couple steps closer. She knew this. “You were working. You’re not so intoxicated. You were running a scam for funding. You need money?” She kept anything out of her tone that could sound like judgment, leaving it cold and empty. No-nonsense. “I pay for consultation.”

Grungy wizard paused, looking her up and down. He took a drag on his cigarette. Stinky wizard. He blew it out at Marvel, RUDE wizard. “Really?” He was dubious. “Where’s the catch?” Stinky wizard scrunkled his face at her. “Usually it’s all ‘you owe it to the world, it’s for the good of humanity, don’t you have any decency?” with you people.

Cass rolled her eyes. “Can we cut the-” her eyes darted to Marvel. “Bullshit?” she finished, because it was the right word even if there were little ears present. “One thousand dollars American.”

Captain Marvel looked at her, eyes wide. Shocked. Envy. Small.

Oh. She hid her sudden bad feeling. 

“...Make it one and a half thousand, Bird, that’s a love,” oozed the Stinky Wizardman. He didn’t expect, but-

“Fine.” Cass said briskly. She didn’t want to spend a lot of time on money. She pulled out her wallet and withdrew one hundred dollar bills until she had 15. The Wizard cursed jealousy and ran a hand through his hair. Marvel was fascinated. Hmm. She held it out.

The wizard wanted it. He looked. He really wanted it. But: wary. No trust. Can’t trust a bat.

She let out a disgusted sigh. Black Bat shook the bills at him impatiently. “My Black Bat fund,” she said, in a tone that meant ‘do you have a brain that thinks thoughts?’ She continued, “For my use in-suit. Obviously real money. Obviously non-consecutive legal tender.” Duh.

“Okie Dokie!” Marvel said cheerfully. “We’re back on track.”

The wizard snatched it and stuffed it in his back pocket, hungry dog, don’t take it from me, I need it. “Let’s not talk here. I have a hotel room.” 

‘Did the stinkyman invite Marvel-baby to his hotel?’

Cass cut the wizard a death look.

He coughed and avoided looking at her. 

That was a yes. “You’re a bad judge of people,” she told the wizard, voice full of disdain. “Yes. Let’s go.” She pointedly moved in between him and Marvel-baby. 

[seat-safety-switch]

A friend of mine, who we'll call Shaky Tim because that is legally his first name after an accidental fire at the City Hall records department, is a data scientist. That's a fancy name for someone who works with Microsoft Excel all day. No, not like your job, you barely take Excel out of first gear. Shaky Tim rides that shit like a racehorse.

Big companies pay people like Shaky Tim a lot of money because they have a lot of data. In fact, when you're a big company, it's often more expensive to decide not to record data. They just let customer information, sales reports, advertising feedback, what have you accumulate in a big pile. Then data scientists go through it and boil the whole mess down to a nice report that executives can ignore.

I asked him once, while we were heading to the junkyard to pick up some Dodge Caravan heads, why he got started doing it. He had read a novel, he explained, where the main character had some kind of weapons-grade ability to identify inflection points in data. It was a cool story, but he (Shaky Tim) never thought it could draw him away from his then-career, being a high-flying business type person. He worked for General Motors, or something, I wasn't really paying attention.

That's when his Learjet crashed in the mountains, and he was forced to stay with some friendly monks for the entire winter. Through hard work and meditative repetition, he learned their ways, which had nothing at all to do with data science. When he got back to New York City, though, he discovered that his employer had fired him for not showing up for work for a few days. So he got a book from the library about how to make Microsoft Excel go faster, and now he can make cool charts and need more RAM.

Overall, the most important thing I've learned from Shaky Tim's second career as a math-wielding corporate magician is that you should never throw anything away. Just keep accumulating it in the basement, and eventually someone will come by, crunch the numbers, and tell you that you can save a whole shitload on storage costs by throwing all that stuff away.

[tatertato]

and here's part 3! in case you missed the other two, here is part 1 and part 2 of this comic, which is part of my life series circus au, the Cirque de la Vie AU!

so cleo is our undead(?) knife thrower! also if you didn't catch it, yes, bdubs is her assistant. some observant folks may point out that bdubs is also etho the magician's assistant. this is also true! basically, bdubs is here because he is the only one that trusts his friends enough to agree to their crazy stunts.

and to those who caught the DL and "bad at math" references, all i'll say is that in one way or another, martyn definitely got cleo pushed off a cliff at some point.