#what do you mean the lower number is for time but doesn't say how slow it is?

[nimblermortal]

Spent a significant portion of a road trip trying to explain time signatures to Hyacinth, with ultimately this breakthrough:

Hyacinth: Oh! The lower number is how many ticks of the metronome you skip!

Nimbler, a bowed string player: wut

Hyacinth, a beginning plucked string player: It's how many ticks of the metronome you don't play on!

I had been wondering how plucked strings handle the distinction between whole notes and quarter-followed-by-three-rests...

[serxinns]

Mocha bunny reader Headcanons!

A yandere class 1a (plus maybe some teachers) x reader

This fic was inspired by my beloved friend and mom @lady-ashfade and her strawberry bunny reader here

Info: Your quirk was a bunny but you were a mocha bunny your ability was speed, Strength in both arms and legs , amazing sense of smell and have super hearing and sharp claws you have 3 forms your normal form (basically a human form) your rabbit form when ur basically a whole rabbit and a gremlin form when ur half rabbit half bun but is smol

•Your classmates are obsessed and abored with everything you do they instantly fell in love with the 1st sight of you

•They would fight over about who would pet your ears or touch your fur or even your little tail (you bite denki hard for pulling it)

• Izuku would research about bunnies and you and would ask you millions of questions about you and the bunnies Ochako and mina would pinch your cheeks too hard which u had to told them off about but dismissed cause you were too cute at times but if you actually wanted them to back off they'll pout whenever you did something cute in front of bakugo he will either call you carrot muncher or cotton bitch and blushes to look away

•You and kota and also kota's bunny are bestie in when nobody is around you and kotas bunny will talk about EVERYTHING even bunny related stuff how hard it is and what delicious food are there

Kota's rabbit: *Speaks,

Reader in the bunny form: THATS WHAT IM SAYING these people have no respect for bunnies

Kotas rabbit: squeak

Reader: Woah woah that's some strong language you have

there dude don't let your owner hear that

•Kota is like your mom's friend since he knows EVERYTHING about rabbits he makes sure you eat the food you need and make sure to slow you down on treats he even makes izukus job easier don't be surprise if these two team up

•Sato will still make sweets for pastries for you but puts ingredients and stuff you like or ur tolerable with and out bunny like puns on there

•Aizawa is the only person you can trust to be in your bunny form he would invite you to cuddle in his sleeping bag or create a best by him so y'all can sleep and cuddle with each other whenever your classmates are overwhelming you Aizawa will lecture the students whenever they give you a hard time

•Mic will make sure to lower his voice because of your sensitive hearing he will make funny bunny puns at you which you'll groan at but he doesn't care he'll spoil you with gifts and hugs and he's VERY overprotective if anyone talk to you in a mean way their eardrums are about to be broken beyond repair

• Mirko is just in AWE she's so glad there's another person with a rabbit-like quirk so it's easier for her to teach you her skills she'll always give you tips about your abilities and encourage you to use every one of them she also give you tips about being a bunny hybrid

Bonus headcanons

•When your Classmates discover you make little squeaks in your sleep the class was holding their selves BACK from either squealing or screaming they all whisper and yelled at themselves to be quiet some tried pulling out their phone but Iida warned them not to since the flash were alert you awake

•Mirko LOVES to talk about you everywhere from her fans to her coworkers even to the number 1 hero Shes always mentions you she even imagines you working at her agency when you grow up you in a copy of her hero costume she's just dying of cuteness

•Denki and Seek love using cheesy bunny flirts to tease you which makes them giggle every time it gets annoying when they spam text over it (denki)

•You and Tsuyu are besties you both chat about your favorite foods and facts about your quirks y'all exchange baby photos of each other and Tsuyu is just dying when she sees you in a cute outfit ur little ears perk up your cute smiling face showing your little tail she keeps these photos to her self tho

•tokoyami is also a great person to hang out as well the two of you would often hang out at a park he would always get nervous about asking you questions that are bunny related afraid that he'll might say something offensive (poor bb) he even let's you sleep in his dorm room whenever you wanted to et sway from your classmates overbearing nature he would even bring snacks for you

•The bakusquad and dekusquad fight over who gets to baby you more which turns into a war when the other students join in Shoji says he wants a turn with you Momo offers to go shopping with her while Hakagure tries to steal you away and attempts to run off it was chaos in the end Aizawa heard and they all got detention while Aizawa was comforting you putting you in your bunny form while having a proud smirk on his face

[luveline]

your first 'I love you' with Hotch ♥︎ fem!reader 1k

“You’re tense.”

Hotch doesn’t look up from his desk. He’s reading through a consult, two fingers pressed to his brow. He reminds you of a movie star when he poses like this. You like it, and you doubly enjoy the stirring feeling it prompts in your stomach. 

“I’m not tense,” he says, gently and quietly, “just thinking.”

He’s thinking and tense at the same time, then. The big wooden desk in front of him is open real estate for you to climb on top of, propping yourself with legs dangling to his right. He ever so kindly drops his hand on your knee. 

You slouch because Hotch doesn’t care about posture. At least, it doesn’t make him like you any less. Occasionally, he’ll press a hand to your lower back and try to straighten you out. But mostly he makes a comment on how your back will hurt worse than his by the time you’re forty and kiss your temple. You take his wrist into two hands and rub at the line where his tendon hides beneath the skin. 

“So… are you going home today?” you ask. 

“I…” He pulls his head up to yours, hand tracing your thigh surreptitiously slow. “Am going wherever you’re going.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Hotch pats your leg. 

You can feel the heat of his palm through your trousers. It doesn't take much more than that to have you droopy eyed as you wait for him to finish his work, his warm touch, the quiet of his office and the subtle scratch of his pen against paper. 

He puts everything away into its proper place. He helps you down off of the desk, and he puts his coat on overtop of his suit. Briefcase in hand, Hotch accompanies you down to your desk in one of the far corners of the BAU's offices where you put your own coat on. He beckons you forward to fasten the top button, which you'd missed. 

In the elevator, you turn your face to your shoulder and watch him watch the floor number change. He's smiling by the time you get to the bottom floor. Out past the metal detectors and security checkpoint and the huge glass doors, you stroll into the cool night time air and, barely a foot from the entrance, feel Hotch's hand looking for yours. 

"What do you want to do tonight?" he asks finally. 

"I really get to choose?" 

"You should get to choose more often." 

Hotch is admittedly much busier than you are. His work is more intrusive, or should you say, expansive, than your own, and he has Jack to prioritise, his family. But that doesn't mean you don't get to choose. You chose his tie this morning via the phone, and what you both ate for dinner — huge too-messy sandwiches over a casefile. 

"I'm hungry if you are." 

"And if I'm not, you'll magically feel full?" he asks. 

He gives your hands a little swing. You could kiss him right here on the sidewalk. 

"I'm, like– I could eat, but if you don't wanna stop for something I won't go hungry." 

"No, you'll just fill up on oatmeal." 

"Oatmeal is a great night time snack," you say. "Especially with the slow-releasing melatonin Dr. Reid was telling me about." 

"Are you distracting my colleagues?" he asks knowingly, looking both ways before he pulls you across the street and into the bureau's employee parking lot. 

"No. Well, sometimes." 

He unlocks his car with the beep of a hob and opens the passenger seat for you. "We can get something to go? We don't have to be out all night." 

You climb in, beaming as he kisses your cheek and closes the door behind you. 

He drives you down to the Thai restaurant a half a mile away. You call before you get there, so the food's ready waiting for you to pick up. He's in and out, and he says, "Put something down on your lap, honey, it's hot," before he passes it to you. 

You smile like a lovesick fool when he hums along to the radio, hand tapping the wheel as he turns into the street of your apartment. You hadn't realised he chose your place. 

The music suits him. You aren't sure how it happens. A happy love song in time with your small moment of bliss. You reach across the console and put your hand on his face. He turns into it, softly questioning. 

You rub your thumb into the scratching of his five o'clock shadow. 

"You're my favourite. I love you," you say. You try to be serious about it but your lips twitch. 

Your first 'I love you' maybe should've been saved somewhere safe until the right moment. You've been keeping it wedged between your heart and your ribs, though, and it's too much tonight. The sweet voice of the love song's singer saturates the air with a certain saccharineness, his handsome, beautiful smile, frown lines and won't be ignored.

"I love you, too." 

From Hotch, it feels like a promise. You lift your chin and he gives you a light kiss. He keeps smiling and breaking the kiss. 

"I wish you would've waited," he says. 

You're too happy to feel insecure about it. "What for?"

He reaches for your shoulders, squeezing you and pushing you away to meet your eyes. "Because I had this whole speech planned, you know? I was going to tell you first." 

"A speech?" 

He looks incredibly happy: he's onto you. He knows you're fishing for the speech and all the pretty compliments he might've doled out.

"If you'd waited," he concedes, "I might have told you how lucky I feel to get to be with you. How I know a second chance when I have it. A second chance at love, and… feeling young. Feeling brand new."

Your smile melds into a smirk. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. And I might've said something about how beautiful you are, and how funny, and how interesting, but you got there first and now you'll never know the depths of my affection after all." 

"That's too bad." 

He leans in for another kiss. "Yes," he says against your lips. "Too bad." 

[wannabelife]

telepathy – myg

paring: yoongi x afab reader

genre: smut

warnings: phone sex, fingering, handjob, descriptive, multiple orgasms, dirty talk

a/n: i missed yoongi on stage so muuuch!! like wdym tour ended?? :((( did u all watch the final?? also, i cant believe he's already leaving :((((( here's a lil something to help us cope :)

and there you are again, screen in front of you while agust d performs live but far away from you. you dont really know why you summit yourself to this. you could just ignore it and go to bed, but you can't.

since tour, yoongi and you can not always call each other, because of schedule, work but especially timezones. being away for quite some time just makes you a bit more needy than usual. also, the way he's sweating on stage, hip thrusting to nothing, growling, and working his hands on the guitar doesn't help at all.

you decide to shut the computer screen since this lack of attention is getting you frustrated. there's nothing more you can do.

a hour fly by of you trying to sleep, but your mind just can't seem to leave you alone today. you turn around on the bed to light the lamp on your nightstand as you grab your phone, checking the time, it is already past midnight. you know yoongi's concert had already finished around this time. you stare at your phone contemplating if you should call him or not.

maybe you should, whats the real bad in that? at least, you could try. you disk the numbers and wait for an answer on speaker.

"hello" yoongi's voice echoes in the room, sounding lower and raspier than usual because of all the singing and shouting on stage. you cant put a finger on it but at the moment it hits your ears, you feel your stomach tingles.

"hi, its me" you reply hating that you sound weak.

"i know its you" he let out a giggle and you can sense he's smiling "how are you?"

"im fine, what about you? was the show tiring today? you looked excited"

"i dont really feel it since im just happy to be on stage" you nod at his words even tho he cant really see you. after a small time of silence, he adds "were you watching?"

"what? your show? of course i was"

"what do you think?"

"what do you mean what i think?" you laugh a little because why would it matter "i like it... i like it a lot... its quite frustrating tho, just watching, not able to act— hm, act on... i mean, its nice, i like it a lot"

you can hear him laughing out loud on the other side while you just want to hang up on him and ignore everything. why would you ramble and stutter like that? there's no real reason for it.

"act on what? you didnt finish"

"i cant really come up what i was going to say"

"i know you are lying, yn. just go ahead and say it what you were thinking. act on what?"

"act on... my thoughts"

"and what is it that you imagine?"

"why does it matter anyways? they are just thoughts"

"why cant you just say you miss me? aren't you enough needy to ask for me?" you blush at his straightforwardness, not so unusual but always surprising.

"i am. i am needy for you, yoongi. i miss you so much. i want you but cant have you right now, and its so fucking frustrating" you groan more to yourself but that affects him too.

"tell me what is it that you miss so much, maybe i can help"

"your touch, yoongi. your perfect mouth on me"

he inhales after hearing you, his cock threatening to get hard at just the thought of it. the thought of you. he misses your touch too, the way you suck him like no one else does, the way you know all his right spots. the pretty sounds you make when he's on you and the way you two can go from raw and needy to passionate and slow. he misses having multiple rounds with you.

"does my slut miss it that much?"

you whine at the possessiveness in his voice, its true, you're his little slut after all.

"come on, bring the toy i bought you to your side. let me help my baby cum"

you hate how excited you feel at his words, jumping out of bed in one montion to do what he asked you, taking all of your clothes off in your way back, staying spreed naked for him even tho he cant see you.

"im already naked for you"

"how needy" he smirks to himself "send me a picture just to make sure you're right for me"

you open the camera on your chat room with him, making sure to open your pussy with your two middle fingers so he can see it perfectly. as you send it, you can hear the notification ring on the other side.

"you look so beautiful. lay down for me" he hears the bed sheets making a sound as you get comfortable and when it dies down, he assumes you're just right to get it started "i need you to suck your fingers for me, understood? when you are done bring them to your beautiful nipples"

you do as he says and after you suck them wet with your saliva, you use it to carass your nipples. your eyes closing at the feeling.

"babe, tell me how many fingers have you sucked?"

"four" as you deliver your answer, he lets out a low moan at the thought of it, he always knew your mouth can take a lot "what you want me to do?"

"keep massaging your pretty titties" you keep going but this is not enough right now, like he heard your thoughts, he speaks again "now pinch your nipples for me" you moan at the amazing feeling hitting you "i miss biting your pretty nipples and getting those moans myself" you cant help your legs closing for some kind of friction, your core begging for attention.

"i need more, yoongi-ah" you whine.

"alright alright, you can touch yourself now, but you cant touch your clit"

you whimper, a bit desperate trying to reach the pleasure he's keeping away from you.

"what's that? are you complaining?"

"no" as you obey him, you bring your finger to your core, teasing your entrance.

"tell me, how wet are you?"

"not much" you slide your finger up and down your bare pussy, not reaching your clit as he asked.

"gotta prepare that tight cunt, right?" you are just able to babble a small hmm as an answer as you start to feel the tension building between your legs "you can get on your clit now since you're doing so good for me, such a good girl"

as you slide again on your folds, you finally get where you need the most. you start drawing circles on your clit in a small motion at first. the wet noises getting louder each stroke as you pick up your pace. feeling like he deserves more too, you get the speakers close to your core so it can capture the wet sounds as you masturbate "can your heart it, yoongi? it's for you, all because of you"

"you're doing so great, my pussy slut, getting me so hard"

you keep moaning, your pussy clenching and as if he was there with you, feeling you himself, he speaks up "can you enter a finger for me?"

"yes– yes, oh my god... thank you, thank you" you enter with your middle finger, going in and out slowly to ajust. as you're fingering yourself, you get your thumb on your clit again doubling the feeling. you add another finger whimpering at the sensation inside you.

you're able to hear yoongi's bealt getting undone "baby, you are doing so good, keep going for me" you hear muffled sounds of movements on the other side of the line as a spitting sound hit your ears. yoongi spits on his hands, getting it to stroke lazily at his hard cock.

"curl your fingers, baby, make yourself cum"

you curl your two middle fingers inside you "its not enough" you grunt.

"i know, i know. my fingers and cock can reach so much more, make you feel so much better" you whimper, not able to stop the moans because you cant have him right now "just keep going, you're doing great" you fasten your fingers, moaning louder when your other hand start to work faster on your clit.

"who's cunt is it?"

"yours, yoongi. only yours"

"that's right. mine. mine tight beautiful cunt, fits me so perfectly" you can start to hear yoongi working on his cock, the sound getting louder, him leaving low gasps every now and then.

"im close" the built on your stomach getting closer to the edge each minute as your head is thrown back and eyes shutting.

"cum for me, yn" and you do. after his command, you let it go. goosebumps spreading all over your body as you mewl.

"get the toy i asked you" his voice sounds out of breath compare to before. your mind going blank, having a hard time to process his words after your high, but you get the sex toy either way. bringing it to life, the buzzing sound being easy to be heard "good girl" he praises you for obeying so nicely everything he asks.

the screen of your phone lights up, and you can see yoongi is facetiming you. you answer fastly, placing it on the desk in front of your bed, so he has a great view of it and you. he's half naked, his cheeks a bit rosy and his hand on his cock. he grazes his thumb on its head, collecting more precum from it as he sighs in relief.

you spread yourself in front of the screen, finally bringing the toy to your clit. feeling sensitive post orgasm, you whine at the slight pain it brings you that it's not bad at all.

"get another finger inside, i know you can take it" you moan and slowly add the third finger inside you, curling it up, making you see stars "fuck, look at me, yn" he pleads.

you do. he's faster on his length as he brings his other hand to caress his balls. yoongi moans audibly now, watching you without blinking, nipples hard, your fingers working on your cunt, and he can see it clenching around them too.

you fight the urge to close your eyes to keep the eye contact, the overstimulation hitting you as you circle the toy on your clit. your legs threatening to close as the built starts again "that's right, my babe is going to give me another one"

"cum with me, yoongi, please" he hears you, swearing at the view, at your words, at the feeling. your body goes stiff for a second, your legs trembling and a whine coming out in high pitch as you are cumming again. the toy leaving your hand hitting the floor with a sound, just the three fingers fighting to prolong your orgasm.

yoongi cant stop staring at your form, your pretty sounds and your eyes rolling back from the pleasure "fuck, im close" he says and you finally start to relax, all the cum dripping from your core weting the mattress as he cant help it anymore. he's coming undone with a moan.

both of you breathing loudly and fast, as your chests goes up and down, waiting for the comedown.

"you are amazing" he sighs.

[weepylucifer]

43 for Steban/Uli?

43. “Are you drunk?”

From the moment the door opens, Ulixes knows that today is going to be messy.

Steban's room is dark, illuminated only by the dim but warm glow of the desk lamp. That's nothing unusual, but today, Steban has unearthed one of his most prized possessions from under his bed: his old, cheap and banged-up tape player that doesn't see a lot of use, because the neighbors complain about having to hear revolution-era folk anthems on endless repeat. Tonight, though, there are no secular hymns about the working class striding united into battle for a brighter future. Tonight is a Slow Mesque Jams night, and Slow Mesque Jams nights are dire.

The songs are actually quite pretty, when one doesn't know what the words mean. When one goes through the trouble of translating them, a startling number of them revolve around lonesome, heartbroken boiadeiros riding into the pale to be consumed in there. When Steban puts those tapes on, he's in a very special mood.

Ulixes has seen enough of Steban's depressive episodes by now to rank them by severity. It should be a good sign that he's had the mental energy to put music on. But it also means that things might get... esoteric.

He takes a fortifying breath and enters the room.

The air smells like cigarettes. Steban is sprawled on his bed with his ashtray perched on his chest, smoking and staring into the middle distance.

Ulixes has seen enough of Steban's depressive episodes by now to know, also, that they usually just... happen, fluctuations in brain chemistry, inexorable and inevitable as the tide. Steban is always a base level of depressed, he has explained once, just sometimes it can be ignored and sometimes it cannot. There is a social factor, because how would the state of capitalism not exacerbate the condition, but much of it is random and out of Steban's conscious control.

Today, however, is different, because yesterday there was, earlier, a clear and obvious trigger. Because yesterday they went into that new church nightclub, having heard tell of a mysterious pale anomaly there, and Steban met that man that scurried on the ceiling like a crab, and they had a long and intense conversation that Ulixes couldn't understand because he never got the hang of Mesque, and then Steban went outside and cried so hard he threw up into the sand, and lastly sent Ulixes home, citing a need to be alone. This is the day after that.

Hesitantly, Ulixes clears his throat, announcing his presence. "Hello, Steban. Do you still need to be alone, or can I come inside?"

He's half afraid to be rebuffed, but Steban waves an inviting hand. "No, please, comrade, make yourself at home."

Ulixes steps inside and takes off his shoes and jacket, as per usual. "Are you doing any better?" he asks. "That man yesterday seemed to have hit you pretty hard." He looks around for a place to sit. The only available chair is piled high with laundry.

Instead of answering the question, Steban pats the mattress beside him. "Sit here with me."

Uli's treacherous heart speeds up as he does so. From here, he can feel Steban's body warmth. "So?" he prompts again. "What did you talk about with that man yesterday?"

"The world..." Steban lowers his eyes with a frustrated scoff. "The world is such garbage sometimes."

This is so uncharacteristic for Steban to say, it alarms Uli deeply. Without thinking, he blurts out, "This is unlike you."

Steban sighs. "You can't expect me to keep hope alive the entire time. Not when this world drives people to throw themselves willingly to entropy." He rakes a tired hand through his hair. "The crab man - that's what they call him over there - he's from my neighborhood, you know. Not this one, I mean, the one I grew up in. And it's... I thought it would be nice, meeting another one, but it just reminded me of why I moved here. Everyone of them's an entropolist or a petrofash these days, everyone's either in a gang or weirdly loud about not being in a gang, and... what is it about us as a people, Uli, that makes any and all of us this prone to despair?"

There's nothing culturally sensitive that Ulixes can possibly say to that. He doesn't usually get information like that from Steban. Now that he thinks about it, while his family seems great, Steban doesn't really talk about how he grew up, ever. "Steban, are you quite alright?"

Steban rubs at his eyes. "I sometimes wish I didn't have to exist here and now."

It makes alarm bells go off. "Okay, show me your hands."

"I haven't done anything," Steban says, a bit sullenly, but he proffers his hands anyway.

With the ease of practice, Ulixes inspects his arms. Nothing, not even a cigarette burn. But it's not time to be relieved yet. "Legs next."

"I'm not in the habit," Steban pouts but does pull the blanket off himself.

"I caught you before," Ulixes mutters, adjusts his glasses and kneels between Steban's splayed legs. How remarkable, he thinks. Before Steban entered his life, he'd never been close to anybody - not his family, not his peers at school. He drifted through the world in isolation, disconnected to it all, as if surrounded by a portable pale at all times. Steban encouraged him to research communism along with him, and made Ulixes discover that he could be part of something - and Steban also became a friend to care about and, on occasion, care for. Ulixes had never been in a position to help someone through a rough patch before Steban, and never even considered that he could be the kind of person who would know how to do that. But he has learned by now. He has routines now. How... strange.

"Come to think of it, this is a bit intimate," Steban says and chuckles as Ulixes squints near-sightedly down at him.

"What," Uli replies and hopes he isn't blushing. Another weird statement out of Steban, who has never before acknowledged that... thing between them, that thing-in-potentia, which Uli's always half convinced he's imagining...

He scrutinizes his friend's face. His eyes, beneath their doe-like lashes, do appear slightly filmy. And that faint scent... Ulixes sniffs. "Are you drunk?"

All of a sudden, Steban's expression grows shifty. "Nnnno. What gave you that idea?" He emits an unconvincing little laugh.

Ulixes sighs and reaches under the bed. He soon unearths a bottle of wine, the horrible cheap stuff they sell at the Frittte that turns your teeth red. He shakes it. It sounds about three quarters empty. Well, the stuff's not strong, but still...

"This is new," he says. Steban makes a slightly ill-coordinated grab for the bottle, and Ulixes leans back out of reach.

"It's just the once," Steban mutters.

Ulixes cocks his head, all kinds of concerned. He's probably overreacting, most people drink sometimes, but... "Don't you remember Mazov's remarks on the subject of drinking to excess?"

"Does this look like grain spirits to you?"

"Semantics, Steban." Uli doesn't want to sound preachy, or like he's arguing for argument's sake; he just doesn't really know any other way to be.

"Well, I guess I can't follow Mazov's teachings to perfection." Steban groans. "I can't do anything right. I couldn't even get through to the crab man."

Uli's not sure how to offer comfort here. He tries, "Maybe that one was just too far gone to recruit..."

"I'm not talking about making him a communist. Just to... just to convince him that there's anything at all worth living for." He sighs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I don't believe it myself, half the time. I'm not sure why you stick with me. I'm a fraud."

For a moment, Ulixes' mouth moves silently, helplessly, attempting to come up with an answer. While he's distracted, Steban plucks the bottle of wine out of his hand and takes a sip.

"Stop that. Enough." They grapple for it for a moment. A few drops of wine slosh out and fall onto the white sheets. Steban winces.

"Great. That's never coming out." He lets Ulixes take the bottle back and put it on the floor. This concluded, Ulixes shifts so that they're lying next to each other.

"I'm staying over tonight," he decides. "You need watching."

If Steban has any objections to Uli just inviting himself in like that, he doesn't voice them. What he does eventually say, in a low voice, is, "You're... too good to me."

"I'm here because I want to be here." Ulixes shakes his head and puts a hand on Steban's arm. "And you're not a fraud. It's hard sometimes, not to resign. Anyone would struggle."

"He... it was like he was trying to sell me on the pale. Having to be some kind of representative of the entire world... it's daunting. And I think I failed." Steban is growing tired. Ulixes can see he blinks slower now, and his voice is losing that over-enunciated diction of somebody pretending to be more sober than they are.

"You can try again. Maybe he just needs time." Thinking briefly, Uli adds, "And even if you lost him... it doesn't mean you always will. There will be other fights, ones I know you can win."

Steban hums, his eyes half-closed, and lets his head loll to one side. Sleepiness and alcohol blur his voice and thicken his speech when he replies, again, "You're so good to me."

Suddenly, he turns onto his side and shifts closer to Ulixes. Their bodies are almost touching now. He puts a hand on Uli's chest and says, "Ulixes, you know you're my best friend, right?"

Uli kind of figured. But it's nice to hear it said. "You're my best friend too, Steban."

Steban is somehow very close now. Most of his weight rests on Ulixes' torso. "Do you ever think...?" he murmurs, "Have you ever considered...?"

Uli's mouth is very dry. He licks his lips, inexplicably anxious. "Considered what?"

"I know one thing that makes the world worthwhile." He leans in even more, and Uli is still wondering why, when Steban tries to kiss him.

Their lips almost brush. Uli can almost feel it, that ghost of a touch. He feels Steban's warmth, his breath for just a split-second, before he grabs Steban's shoulders and holds him in place. "No."

Steban blinks at him: not crestfallen, not disappointed, just baffled. "Don't tell me you never wanted..."

And oh, he's put his finger right in the wound there, because of course Ulixes has wanted. But he has wanted it with both of them clear-eyed and clear of purpose, not with Steban having trouble enunciating and holding his head up by himself. (The temptation is there, to just take this anyway, if that's the only thing Steban will give him. But he can't. He cannot take advantage. It would lead to their friendship in ruins come morning, and besides is simply the wrong thing to do.)

"I... you... we can't, not like this."

Steban huffs. Ulixes smells the wine on his breath. "Not like what?"

"You know what I mean. You're not in your right mind."

"Nonsense." Steban whines and squirms in Uli's grip, deprived and frustrated and petulant about it. "Does anyone really still say... still use that old cliché?" He squints as if gazing through fog, and shakes his head like thinking is hard for him right now. "I'm perfectly... completely in possession of my... perfectly capable."

"I can't trust your word on that at the moment," Ulixes says and feels wretched. "I can't read your mind quite yet."

Again, Steban chances a foray, leaning forward and trying to nuzzle Ulixes' shoulder. "You have to know I love you," he slurs.

Ulixes isn't predisposed to crying. Hasn't done it in years - he's simply not quick to shed tears, for some reason or another. But right now he feels he might. Everything he has yearned for is tantalizingly close... and yet he must deny himself it. He's being told everything he wanted to hear... but he can't believe any of it. A part of him will, from this moment on, forever wonder and question and hope that Steban was telling the truth. Another part of him will resent the hope. His longing tormented him already; this is like pouring oil onto its banked fire. He will never know equilibrium again anymore.

"Stop it." His voice sounds choked and strange to his ears. "Please."

Steban makes a dismayed noise - but he stops, retreating to his side of the bed. Now, with half his face smushed into the pillow, he's just looking at Ulixes out of one mournful brown eye. "'M sorry..."

"No, no, it's okay. We can..." Cuddle. The word refuses to squeeze past his lips. It's what they will be doing, and have done before, in a comradely way, but that doesn't mean Ulixes can say it. "...stay close like this. But nothing... else, okay? Not... not tonight."

He doesn't dare say anything more. Steban is nowhere near memory loss levels of drunk, chances are he will remember all of this tomorrow. Which means Uli will have to play it safe. He can't admit to too much. In the morning, when Steban is sober, he might want to recant everything he said tonight, and it will tear Ulixes apart inside, but at least he will have kept his own cards close to his chest.

It's such a dreary business. Ulixes wants to be honest with his best friend, as he always is. But this... he can't. He simply can't. Too much depends on their staying together (he doesn't quite know what, exactly, depends on it, but he feels this viscerally). He can't rock this particular boat. Better to go on pining in silence than to ruin what they have with hasty confessions. Maybe if he tries very hard, he'll be able to forget tonight ever happened.

"Mmkay," Steban hums, oblivious to Uli's inner turmoil, and throws an arm over his chest, making full use of his permission to cuddle within the boundaries he's given. He falls asleep like that, squished against Ulixes' side, his arm a dead weight that Ulixes wouldn't dare shake off for the world.

Uli stays wide awake and stares at the ceiling for what seems to him like hours, his mind, against his better judgement, endlessly replaying the fleeting, ephemeral feeling of Steban's breath upon his lips.

In this moment, he's convinced that this is as close as he's ever going to get.

[anjelicawrites]

💡 Cringefail Throuple:

Smutty idea: Reader and Billy torment Michael by not letting him cum until he’s recited the first 100 digits of pi

Non-smutty idea: how do Michael and Reader react when Billy tells them what happened to him (ya know, almost going boom)?

I think we all need a short break from Aemond after the last two days 😮‍💨

Hello again nonnie!!!

Let's answer the non smutty question first and the filth second!!!

NSFW and 18+ only

"What do you mean, car bomb?" Michael shouts, his accent out of control. "What do you mean alt-right fanatics?" You scream, priorities skewed as per usual.

Billy knew he had to tell you two when the nameless thing you three were, had transformed in a serious relationship. He didn't know how to breach the subject to you two, the weight of not talking on his shoulder, until he just spurts it out, one spring Saturday morning, while you three are having a very late breakfast.

Billy can feel his ears turning red as he tells you two everything, still ashamed of the low he had managed to reach back in London, afraid of your reactions.

"You are an imbecile." Michael's voice is cutting. "What the fuck were you thinking?" "I wasn't thinking!" He manages to say, eyes lowered. "I was in a dark place!"

He's lacking the courage to stare at the two of you and your silence isn't helping. More than once you had been at protests against alt right groups, what you think of people like his former friends is clear.

"That's why you don't like cars?"

Billy almost jumps out of his skin when your hand lands on his.

"Yes." He manages to say with a strangled voice. "Oh, Billy..." You sit on his legs, your arms going around his neck. "Stupid idiot!" Michael is not big on PDA, doesn't like them, yet he curls his arms around Billy's torso and sits his head on Billy's. "I hope you've retrieved your brain from the gutter you lost it."

Billy's hands grab at you and Michael as he desperately tries not to cry and you two hug him even tighter.

***

Warning: ass play, oral (male receiving), orgasm denial.

The first 100 digits of pi are 3,14159 26535 89793 23846 26433 83279 50288 41971 69399 37510 58209 74944 59230 78164 06286 20899 86280 34825 34211 70679, the numbers clear in his head, he doesn't even have to make an effort, but his tongue is tied: he can't speak, just whine and moan like an animal in heath. How can he not, when your tongue is licking his engorged cock slowly, following every vein, every drop of precome that slides down his manhood, your hand curled like a vise around his base, blocking his orgasm and Billy's fingers are fucking his arse, nice and slow, making him gape every time he tries to speak.

"Three comma one four, one five, nin...ah!".

The string of numbers disappears, only pleasure reigns in his brain when Billy's fingers start to hit his prostate with intent.

"It's just one hundred numbers. I don't see why you can't. Mind over flesh, right?" Billy chides him, his lips so near his ear Michael's skin breaks goosebumps with every word. "Fuck you" Michael mewls, his back arching. "In due time, genius boy. Where were we at? Yeah, your numbers." Billy's voice is a low rasp, his accent thick with arousal. "Three comma one four, one five, nine, two six, Christ!" He swears when your lips slide fast on his cock, his head hitting the back of your throat, your cheeks hollowed to drive him crazy.

It's his fault that he's been tormented like that, boasting how his brain is stronger than his flesh and that he could do his math under any circumstances, even during sex.

"Are you tapping out?" Billy asks, adding another finger in, slowly stretching Michael's tight arse.

Michael's brain barely registers his lover's words, his hips pistoning violently inside your mouth, following the fast movements of your lips around his cock, chasing his orgasm, the pleasure burning through his nerves, only to feel your wicked mouth leave his cock with a pop. He whines and trashes, Billy's fingers breaching him even deeper than the other man intended, your hand around his cock the only reason he hasn't come, yet.

You stare at him, ravished as he is, lovely mouth bitten raw, neck and torso covered with hickeys and bites, back arching to the point of pain. He's so beautiful and desperate to come and you know he's not going to tap out, that's not who your Michael is, it's up to you and Billy to slow down, until he's ready to go again.

Billy's fingers stop fucking him, his lips on his forehead to calm him, your free hand caresses his torso with slow, circular motions to ease him back to himself, soft words of encouragement spilling from you, until Michael focuses on you two again, as much as he can without his glasses.

"Are you good, baby?" You ask him. "Yeah. This is nothing." He boasts. "You can't help yourself, can you?" Billy's voice is soft, his fingers scissor Michael's hole mercilessly. "We're still waiting for those first hundred digits."

He resumes fucking him leisurely, hitting his prostrate with every pass, forcing his arse to open up to him.

"You know you can't come if you don't tell us." You growl, your tongue gently licking his head with round motions that make his hips kick. "You said you can." Your lips leave kisses up and down his length, your tongue teasing his length. "When you do, we'll let you come and then we'll fuck you, nice and slow."

Michael's body trembles, his hands curling on Billy's beds heets with a white knuckled grip. He can manage, the digits are in his head, he can say all of them, and next time you two will be the ones being tormented.

[cipheramnesia]

Skinamarink is a lovely indie horror movie, which is just a bit ruined by the number of people calling it unique, genius, and the scariest movie they've ever seen.

It's an interesting and abstract painting style of movie which begs the viewers to ask questions about the purposeful grain and distortion surrounding the long and static shots. It also deliberately avoids focusing on any of its characters, in exchange for dwelling on the textures and shapes and geometry of a house in the dark. It's very much apiece with most first time and lower budget horror, relying on the human need to impart meaning and patterns into everything we see. It's effective at communicating a sense of some intention by the author, but largely leaves any touchstones of meaning absent or obtuse. There are points where it almost approaches House of Leaves in the way it immerses you into the house layout, though it doesn't quite pay all the immersion off in interesting ways, opting to manipulate the viewer experience in means which mostly don't rely on the house itself to be a functional living element, and rather fall back on it being a mere container of the story. I wasn't seeking it out at the time, but as I write this, in retrospect, it feels like a missed opportunity considering how far out of the way the first third of the movie goes to familiarize the viewer with the house.

If you haven't spent a lot of time in the horror genre, or haven't watched a lot of low budget horror, but you are a fan of what we might call the internet of horror (an amalgamation of Marble Hornets, SCP, and the Backrooms I'd say), chances are good that Skinamarink is going to work very well for you as a scary movie. Also, because it is fairly structured despite obscuring the exact plot intended by the author, it works as an excellent canvas to explore your relationship to horror and childhood.

That said, I would personally suggest trying to look at it beyond the somewhat basic idea of "this is a dream / coma experience" or "they are dead and in hell." So far the idea I've best preferred (seen in another review) is that the movie is the childhood experience of divorce as seen through a malicious haunting. The slow and inexorable isolation, lack of parenting, and gradually erasure of memory tracks very well with the consequences of divorce. While I never experienced death, I've definitely experienced nearly dying in a coma and being a child of divorce, and if I'm imposing my own experience, the latter more than the former applies. It also tracks well with the unusual manner of the children, who remain huddled around the television talking in whispers throughout. If you've ever been a child, you're probably aware that being left alone usually results in some degree of mass chaos at some point. However, if you're trying to keep the sole parent from waking up while you stay up late / get up early, the secretive whispers are probably familiar. So, there's some meat here to get into, and altogether it makes for a good sturdy work of film.

For me personally, I'm not in horror for scares, so I can recognize the effective dread and tension of Skinamarink, and even enjoy it, without necessarily falling prey to the exaggerated promises of the most terrifying experience of my life or something unlike anything I've ever seen.

If I was more invested, I could potentially do some digging for specific examples, but I'm just going to leave it that I've experienced plenty of horror which raises intense dread without a specific moment or idea that breaks it into a scare, and horror that deliberately avoids focusing on the elements that are most disturbing. It's a nicely competent example of the genre, but it is unique only in how much online excitement it has generated, if we pretend a similar movie, Blair Witch, didn't exist. They pair well, complimentary opposite examples of the same general style of filmmaking, with a creative approach to a microscopic budget.

Should you see it? Sure, it's nice I think. It's not a work of genius, not something transformative to the genre, not something you've never seen in your life, not something marvelous or transcendent or beyond description. It's what it looks like, a pretty good indie horror from a promising director.

[polaroidbills]

[1:34am]

warnings! - anxiety, embarrassment, sports

word count! - 935

2:40 p.m (at school)

"alright class we're going to play a volleyball game! i will number you off from one to four," the teachers states.

as he numbers us off, i'm number two. meaning i'm on the court.

i get into the spot furthest from the serving position.

i'm already going to embarrass myself, so why do it while serving.

as we wait i smile and pretend.

"yay! you're our team!"

"i know!"

"alright team one is serving first!"

as the opposing server dribbles the ball, loud thuds ring through my ears. with every bounce my heart rate increases.

already anxious, sweat forms on my head, my palms clam up, and my breath quickens.

i can't believe i'm getting this nervous.

the server places the ball into their hands, preparing an underhand serve.

swinging their arm, theit fist comes into contact witht the ball. allowing it to soar through the air. like a bird.

i watch as the ball flies. my team mate bumps it. allowing th e ball to land into the opposing team mates arms.

i watch them hit the ball over the net.

eyes on the ball. i see it coming towards me.

no no no. please.

time slows down.

everyone else's eyes are on me. like i'm a clown in the circus.

my heart rate and breath quicken.

my head blanks as the ball gets closer and closer.

i prepare. ready to not fail. not to make a mistake.

the ball flies just above me to my right.

i turn, swing my arms to hit it. but nothing comes into contact with my arms.

absolutely nothing. nothing but air and embarrassment.

boom.

the ball lands on the floor. allowing the other team to score a point.

cheers and claps are heard. but all i can hear is my discomfort and self-consciousness rising.

humiliation and embarrassment waves over me.

how did i mess up again?

what am i doing wrong?

i apologetically smile at my team, acting as if it didn't affect me.

it did.

we've played this stupid game countless times. yet nervousness beats me and i make the same mistake everytime. i can never learn from it.

as the game goes on i try to erase the scene from my mind. i can't.

3:30 p.m

the bell rings. allowing the students to exit the school. i walk through the school doors. head down with a frown. my music plays in my ears. unfortunately it doesn't help.

all of a sudden the song stops. my right ear feeing empty.

i turn to reveal him holding my airpod.

nishimura riki. my classmate, neighbour, friend, and most importantly, crush.

he's just so perfect. the way his hair frames his fave with his bleached highlights. the way his smile and laughs make me smile and laugh. the way his eyes sparkle when he talks about dance. just everything is so perfect. zero flaws.

"hey," i continue walking. not daring to look him in the eyes.

"hey what's wrong?" riki catches up and puts the airpod into his ear.

me. i'm what's wrong.

"it's nothing."

"well it's obviously something if you're listening to you're on your own kid," he turns to me as we keep walking.

"is this about what happened during gym?" riki's face softens and his tone changes.

i don't answer. he knows me too well.

"don't worry about it, i'm pretty sure everyone already forgot about it." he says trying to reassure me. as he puts his arm around my should i tense up.

"but what if they never forget? i'm never going to feel satisfied with myself after that. i've made the same stupid mistake countless times, it's going to affect my gym grade. it's already my lowest grade, i can't afford to let it get any lower. and not to mention the humiliation! the scene, i should say scenes, keep replaying in my head over and over and over again. it's so frustrating! how am i supposed to move on knowing i made these stupid mistakes and knowing i will probably make them again?" out of breath, i stop venting.

it feels good to let it all out.

"woah, okay, calm down first. deep breaths. in *inhale* out *exhale*"

riki calms me down.

"i'm sure those mistakes won't affect your grade that much-"

"but it-"

"let me finish first," he stops me from protesting.

"your gym grade is solely based on participation and making sure you're listening to instructions. which you have been doing," he looks at me with a gentle smile.

nishimura riki pays attention to me? since when?

"and don't even worry about the 'humiliation'. think about last time you apparently made the same mistake. no one remembers but you, even i don't! and i pay attention. no one's going to judge you or make fun of you because of it, okay?"

"but what if they do? what if i becomd an outcast? and they pick on me, and tease me for it? what if no one will ever want to talk to me ever again?" i look down, not having the courage to look up.

"i'm here. i promise to stand up for you and be by your side, even if you make the same mistake. actually you know what? i can help you prevent it. i don't mind helping you in sports and volleyball. i can like tutor you. you're free today right?" his face lights up. as if an idea bulb turned on above his head.

"yes?" i look up confused.

"come over to my house and i can help you with volleyball."

[sburbian-sage]

hey. fuck, i dont even know why im sendin this in. i'm the last one in my session, there's still shit to do, i'll have to get off my ass and do it eventually, but, uh. yeah it's just lonely as shit out here, heheh. um. sage of void. just. saying hello i guess! might see if i can get somewhere new with the magicant. it's been good to me so far. loneliness just doing a number on me. i hope it isnt intolerable for you, out where you are.

If you're thinking of escaping your session with the Skaian Magicant, I don't imagine you will, as a heads up. Though I do have a personal interest in saying this, because if it turns out you can do that and I went into this fuck-ass lovecraft-ass black space for no reason I might actually transmogrify myself into a public art exhibition.

I appreciate the show of solidarity from a fellow Sage, but between us both I think your situation is more dire. My main threat is mind-numbing boredom, starvation, and the possibility that I collide with something and instantly depressurize, killing me before I know it. You're still IN THE GAME, and the only advantage you have over me is better food and sunlight.

Advice on how to complete the session ASAP is somewhere between "obvious" and "you might want to look up a devoted guide". But to pay it back, I'll just tell you how I deal with the solitude and keeping up my mental wellbeing in the face of adversity.

This comes naturally to us as Sages, but bust out the whiteboard and write down everything you need to do it, with a list of steps if it's particularly involved or complicated. Not only can you cross things off (or checkmark them if it's a routine), but breaking down a daunting gauntlet into a series of smaller steps builds the fortitude of mind to take it on. For you specifically, this also boosts RP.

The Replayernet isn't just valuable for all the guides, it has things and people in it. If you have friends, keep in contact with them for the moral support. If you have hobbies, indulge them so you don't explode. If you're running low on reasons to live, "what if my favorite webcomic updates" can be enough.

Uphold your routines. Only excise them definitively, NEVER shirk them because it's not that important, you can do it later, etc. Some self-discipline builds willpower, and deciding not to do something inconsequential like brushing your teeth, changing your clothes, or checking your DMs can end up being the first step in a slow suicide., where everything becomes not that important and then you die.

Prioritizing your mental health is important, but don't neglect your duties, game-mandated or otherwise. There are times where you'll face a tough puzzle or difficult boss and want to turn in for the day and watch cartoons or something. Nobody's there to put your nose to the grindstone and regulate your behavior, so that falls upon you. Treat it like a reward for a hard day's work. Do not succumb to sedentary pleasures.

Similarly, the hobbies don't all have to be mindless pleasure, and in face shouldn't be (or shouldn't entirely be). This blog is somewhere between hobby and duty. I do it because it's useful, mentally stimulating, and challenges me in a lower-stakes environment. You can get similar results from books, puzzles, or video games. That last one is especially recommended by me, get your hands on some ROMs and an emulator. Those old-school games are simple to learn, challenging to master, not to mention you get to lord your superiority over other people by listing how many games that never got an official translation/export you've beaten.

You've probably done all of this before, or are familiar with the outline of what I'm reccomending. The advice is meant to spur you to double-down and provide structure to it. You're standing alone now, but that doesn't mean you can't build guard-rails or other systems of support to keep yourself from falling over.

[nerdygaymormon]

Is it bad that i myself as a mormon tend to find myself cursing a lot, mainly unintentional as i get it from my dad, is there any way i can try and tone it down, and will the lord be upset with me about this even though its mostly accidental.

This reminds me of an exchange I heard:

Person 1: You sure don't sound like a Mormon. Person 2: What the hell do you mean?

There was a man named J. Golden Kimball who served as a Seventy for 46 years and was renowned for his liberal use of mild profanity, even when speaking at a pulpit in church, much to the consternation of the other General Authorities. When asked how he could get away with the way he spoke, Kimball replied, "Hell, they can't excommunicate me. I repent too damned fast."

The reason both of those are funny is because it's uncharacteristic for members of our church to swear so casually.

There is a purpose for swearing and a reason why every language has some form of curse words. Uttering a cuss word can increase our pain tolerance, actually having the effect of reducing the pain we're feeling, one study suggests by up to 33%. This is why when a person unexpectedly stubs their toe really hard, or they participate in an experiment to see how long they can keep their hands submerged in ice water, they're likely to say an expletive.

The same is true when we experience a strong emotion, swearing somehow acts like an escape valve making the feelings more manageable. This is why people typically curse when they're angry or frustrated.

As Mark Twain put it, "Under certain circumstances, profanity provides relief denied even to prayer."

A well-placed, intentional cuss word can emphasize a point, but using swear words in everyday conversation doesn't seem to have any benefit or purpose, other than what it signals to others.

If a person uses cuss words in everyday situations, the message it tends to send is the individual is less educated, they have less self-control, or they are of questionable character. It can signal that they're being disrespectful, aggressive or abusive. I think it also can convey this person is going to be more honest, that they're going to be themselves no matter what situation they're in, although it could indicate they're going to be their lower-class self no matter where they are, so it can be a mixed bag.

I don't know of any studies supporting this, but my guess is the beneficial effect swearing has in moments of pain or strong emotion is lessened if a person casually uses foul language all the time.

As for how to reduce swearing when it's become a habit and we use them unintentionally, that's like breaking any habit and can be difficult. I have a few suggestions.

(1) Find a way to make you mindful of the language you're using. You could keep a swearing journal where you write down each time you cuss in a small notebook. You could tell your friends you are trying to decrease or stop swearing and ask them to help by pointing out each time you slip up. Another thing people do is they have a swear jar, every time they curse they put some money in the jar.

(2) Related to suggestion #1, assuming there are situations where you don't use foul language, like when at your grandma's home, pretend like your grandma is listening.

(3) One thing Utah culture is infamous for is its use of fake swears. You can try substituting in inoffensive words for the real thing. One interesting note, in studies measuring the effect of swearing on pain, fake curse words had no effect on pain tolerance, but they did get humorous reactions. For example, imagine in a state of excitement and saying to your friends, "Can I get a fork yeah!!!"

(4) Slow down how you speak and vary how you speak. When cursing is an automatic reflex, changing the way of speaking can interrupt that connection. Slowing down also gives you a moment to think of the words you're about to say.

(5) I've heard of people using hypnotherapy to help them reduce their cussing. Hypnotherapy can help with a number of things, including smoking or biting fingernails, things that became habitual

(6) Keep in mind that making lifestyle changes require consistent effort over time. Life is rarely made of immediate, 100% successes. Usually progress includes some setbacks or mistakes along the way, they don't negate the progress you're making. Note the mistake and then try to do better.

[shinygoku]

Please Please Me (1963)

Part 1 in the CutCat Reviews Beatles Albums series, and what better place to start than the beginning?

Dang... they were sure Baby Bugs back then!

I ain't yet listened to every song on this here album, so this'll be interesting and strangely new, haha (Though I should disclaim that I'll be listening to the highest quality versions I can find on YT, so some will be innately more advantaged than others)

SIDE ONE

I Saw Her Standing There: One, Two, Three, FAUWH!! While part'a me raises eyebrows at "Well she was just 17, and you know what I mean" part (which is also somewhat mitigated by their own youth at the time! lol), the rest is such a fun, high energy bit of Rock n Roll that I enjoy this quite a bit, and it makes a great energetic opening to the album to boot!

Misery: A sad song set to jaunty music, if I didn't understand English I'd prolly miss that detail XD - Though I defo prefer said upbeat instrumentations to the otherwise kind of stock breakup song

Anna (Go To Him): Ahh, our first cover! Not keen on their harmonies here, something sounds Off. The song itself is fine, but as they didn't write it I won't be going into much about the words :P

Chains: Harmonica! Another cover so I'm gonna skip the lyrics, but the instruments and harmonies are on good display here~ I'm sorry to say I didn't notice it was George on vocals until I checked though, sorry! ^^;;

Boys: Ringo's turn with a cover!! He puts a lotta energy into this, and I like that they didn't change it to Girls or something instead lmao - His range works well for this, there's great guitar and Paul screaming in the background too, but the lyrics themselves don't stick in my mind much, it seems to be mostly "Talk about Boys, [Yeah Yeah Boys]"

Ask Me Why: We leave the sea of Covers for this side, for a lot of stringing out single words lmao, it kinda feels like an inverse of Misery, being much lower key but being Glad, though again the lyrics ain't really making a strong impression on my memory so when I get to the next side I doubt I'll be able to recall it well

Please Please Me: NOW WE'RE TALKING, BAYBEE! The words may be cheeky and arguably shallow, but it's got such energy and rhythm that I really do feel motivated to stand and move in response! The instruments all do a strong job here, and I think I actually first heard this as an instrumental and knew I needed to check it out more lmao. I can't think why Love Me Do got the #1 and this didn't, man!!

SIDE TWO

Love Me Do: I do not care for this song! Objectively it has a lovely bass, nice steady drums and impressive harmonica. But URGHHHH I cannot stick the vocals saying such inane, repetitive words! I feel like this is the only Beatles song that Beatle Haters hear, and form their entire opinion on. I can't fathom how it reached a #1 slot, other than it having been an exceedingly slow period for Tunes, or maybe the mouth organ really WAS that novel?! But when playing the Number Ones CD I always, always skip it, and even the newest version with the Now and Then release fails to win me over. And Ringo ain't even the drummer here!!

P.S. I Love You: Really benefits from following LMD, lmaoooo. It's a nice little tune with some instrument I can't identify (castanets?). I feel like From Me To You kinda does the long distance thing better, but there's a nice rhythm and harmonies that make this pleasing. It's also not Ringo drumming, again - no offence to Andy White, but y'ain't one'a the Lads! :T

Baby It's You: We're back in the Cover Realm. This song is nice. When I first heard the "Cheat" I thought they were saying "Shit" though, which I think woulda made it better XD ...15 mins after listening to it I have no memory of how it sounds :v

Do You Want To Know A Secret: In original and George territory! Gotta say the "secret" was extremely predictable :P The music is perfectly nice, but it doesn't strike me as Beatles Standard, ya know? That applies to a fair few on this album, not just this, but it's now that I really Am Thinking it ^^;;;

A Taste Of Honey: Cover! Less to say! They do good! When I listen to it my brain tries turning it more into a meme song, like it goes "A taste of Honey! Tasty!!", so idk what that says about the song itself but it's not the most glowing of reviews lmao

There's A Place: Ahh, the last Original on this album~ Sounds oddly modern in the sense of maladaptive daydreaming...! They really WERE ahead of the time (or having a Mind Palace is old as Hunter Gatherers maybe, both work lol). It's another inoffensive but hard to really talk about number, musically.

Twist And Shout: I've been pretty Cool to all the covers here, but this is quite the exception, and OOOOH IT'S SO RAAAAW (Infamously so, we all know John had to save this one for last as it shredded his vocal chords somewhat!). Another one that actually makes me Move, which is impressive, and it closes the Album on a very strong note~

CONCLUSION

Best 3: I Saw Her Standing There, Please Please Me, Twist And Shout

Blurst 3: Love Me Do, Anna (Go To Him), Baby It's You. [To be honest I kinda wanna put LMD here three times instead, but myeah]

Overall Quality?: It's Decent! In the context of it being their debut album, it's more impressive, but knowing how much the songwriting and music would develop does rather cast this in a long shadow. My 3 faves here are also the only ones* that got Red Album remasterings by the looks of it, and I sure see why they were chosen over the rest (*Though Love Me Do's omnipresence baffles me!)

🪲🪲🪲🪲

Neeext Time on my Bug Music reviews, we shall be With The Beatles ;3c

[slow-button-off]

Hii! First of, sorry that you got migraine, that sucks big time ☹️ could you please explain the fp3 race sims some more when you feel better? Because I see pretty colour lines but don’t understand them 😭 thanks! 🧡

no worries I'm good! There is nothing that triptans can't fix! But if the English makes no sense it's my brain.

Sorry! I just didn't want to interpret too much into them and end up making myself look stupid when come the race RB rides off into the distance.

I think the main reason for confusion is that the lap times are shown in seconds and not 1:39 and so on. The reason for that is that I have to convert them to seconds to be able to do the maths. But if you want me to change that on the plots for the future then I can.

But in general the lower the number the better!

So the top is boxplots and the circles are outliers. So the circle about LECs boxplot is the the lower of his two outlier laps because I cut off the other one from the boxplot so we can see more.

If you are good with box plots then skip this but I figured I'd add that info as well. So there is the box and then the two whiskers. The whiskers indicate the highest and lowest value, so here the fastest and slowest lap time. So that gives us the range of lap times that the drivers were in.

The space between the whiskers and the edge of the box contains 25% of the values so 25% of the lap times that the driver had. And the green line is the median. For the media you order the list so in this case from fastest to slowest lap time and the median is the lap time in the middle. So there is again 25% of laps between the edge of the box to the median.

So the green line tells us roughly where the pace of the driver was. And then the shape of the box plot can tell us things like deg a little bit.

If we compare SAI to VER then we can see that VERs boxplot is much smaller than SAIs. And that says that VER put in lap times that were much closer together than SAI (we can see more of that in the other plot)

But overall it tells us that in the race sims LEC on mediums was about as fast as SAI on softs and both were much faster than VER and PER on softs. Interestingly HAM was faster on hards than the RBs on softs.

But it's important to remember that we don't know the fuel loads or how much the drivers were watching their tyre management.

This plot (this is the zoomed in version of the one above) just shows the development of the lap times in consecutive laps. So there is one lap time per lap. (I cut off the x axis label that's lap number!) (the LEC and SAI laps that are cut off are like cool down laps, I only included them because they still did some decent laps afterwards)

This can show tyre degradation. And here you can see that the lap times are all trending upwards with increasing laps. And gives on an idea of what laps people were putting in at what stage of tyre age.

For example you can see that PER has more tyre deg than VER because his laps have a higher upward trend.

Or that RUS on the mediums after a slow start has similar pace to SAI on the softs at the same number of laps. and that they also have a similar degradation because both lines trend upwards in a similar way.

But again the thing is the lower on the y-axis the better is the lap time.

And another reminder: we don't know the fuel loads. So RB looking kinda slow here doesn't have to mean that much for tomorrow!

[chiefweasel]

MOLE X RAT SNEAKPEAK

Does anyone else feel like Mole and Lesser Weasel are autistic? Just me? Okay

In my Chief x Lesser sneakpeak I mentioned that some of my wild wooder fics would also have Sheryl in the pairing. This is actually one of those stories, even though it doesn't focus on the wild wooders.

This is actually something that friend if mine asked me to write for Mole and Rat and *definitely not an excuse for me to write about the wild wooders* 👀 Hope you guys like it

Onto the fic!

--

How the Mole found out, no one really knew. It wasn’t something that everyone went about talking about. It was just that the people who knew knew and the people who didn’t, didn’t. Riverbankers were supposed to be the people that didn’t. 

Due to his people skills, having a jury who was actually fair and reasonable, a good excuse for the things he’d done, and a guilty plead, Chief Weasel was able to get off easy. 4 months in the big house and some number of community service hours. He’d expected to be greeted with celebration, so he was quite surprised to find, when he left his custody and entered his den, a Mole. 

Lesser was the first to notice Chief and the WIld Wooders erupted with excitement, they were elated their chief was back. The two he’d left in charge fought too much. The festivities had to be cut short though, because there was an unwelcomed riverbanker in the den. 

“He said he wanted to talk to you.” Lesser explained.

“We were joking about eating you the first time,” Chief began towards the mole, “but I’ve been eating jailhouse food for four months and I’m hungry!” He bared his teeth at the Mole, who backed up.

“I-I really just wanted to talk!” the Mole began, “I saw your court-case and I… I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I never thought about how you felt.”

“The middle class never considers how the lower feels. Only how hard their own lives are, HAHA.”

Some of the other animals chuckled, some looked down, seemingly reminiscing. Mole looked down, he felt horrible for having not considered what the creatures of the Wild Wood had gone through.

“Well, I just wanted to… You guys, the Wild Wooders, you’re… more accepting of things than the riverbankers, I mean…” He slowed himself, trying to think of what exactly he wanted to say, “There are so many rules, did you know that it was improper to speak of your food?”

Chief Weasel stood very close to the Mole and laughed in his face, “There are rules against everything out there. What’s offensive to one animal is rejoiced by another, if you didn’t know that, you havn’t been around enough animals.

The Mole questioned to himself what the Chief was trying to say. Nervously, he began again, in a rather quiet voice. “Ratty won’t let me tell anyone about us…”

The Chief’s eyes flickered to Sheryl and Lesser, then back to Mole. “Ugh, are we your therapists?”

“No- its just that.. I wanted to hang out with people who would accept it. Ratty says its not accepted on the riverbank.”

“Hmph, Lesser, Sheryl, outside.” The Chief then turned and exited the den, his partners following him out.

Mole sat awkwardly in the den, surrounded by stoats, weasels, and foxes. They hadn’t done anything to him, and even chatted politely. None asked how Mole found out. Eventually, the Mole stated that he’d had to go. He’d snuck away from Ratty to get here and would prefer it if the Rat didn’t find out. He’d come back another day, he promised. He didn’t see Chief or the other two when he left.

Meanwhile, Ratty awoke to find Mole missing. His jacket was missing from the chair it normally stay and his boots were gone as well. Sensing deja vu, the Rat left the home to find, once agian, the Mole’s tracks in the mud leading right to the Wild Wood. Again! 

“What is it with this mole and sneaking off to the Wild Wood while I’m asleep?” The rat asked himself as he shrugged on his jacket and boots, “I mean really, I love him, I do, but would it not hurt to ask?” The Rat knew in his heart that the Mole had asked, and that he’d said no, but the disloyalty hurt. As the Rat shoveled along the path, he begin to see the silhouette of a figure exiting the wood. As the two got closer, the Rat could tell that it was his Mole. The Mole, however, did not see the Rat. The Rat began sprinting forward, but it took the Mole it bit longer than average to notice him.

“Is that you, Ratty?” The Mole called, squinting.

“Yes, yes it’s me, where are your glasses?”

His glasses! The Mole knew something was wrong! He’d set them down when playing with a stoat-pup in fear that the fiesty child may break them. He must have forgotten to pick them back up.

“I-I must have set them down in the Chief’s den.” The mole said, turning around, “I’ve got to go back and get them.”

“No.” The Rat said firmly, grabbing the Mole’s shoulder.

“But Ratty, I can’t see without them.”

“We’ll go back and get them tomorrow. You are not going back to the Wild Wood again today. It will be cold and dark by the time we find them and get back. Now come on, I need that nose of yours."

The Mole didn't argue. He knew he'd made the rat upset.

"What in the deep blue sea were you thinking!?" The second the two were in the safety of Rat's home and away from the prying eyes of the Riverbank, Rat seemed to blow his lid. "Sneaking off without me, running off to the Wild Wood of all places!" When the Mole didn't respond, the Rat continued, pacing his kitchen, he yelled. "You could have been hurt, Moley, or worse! Can't you see?"

Frankly, without his glasses, Mole couldn’t see a thing. He opted, though, not to mention it.

'’This is the second time, Moley the second time that you have run off to the Wild Wood while I was sleeping! You had me worried sick! What is wrong with you!?” The anger in the Rat's voice grew with each word of his final statement, and he only stopped when he heard the choked sound behind him. He turned around to find his beloved mole, eyes filled with tears and trying to hide it. 

"Oh, Moley, oh no no no nonono, Moley, I didn't mean it like that. I I-I really didn’t mean it like that. You just don't know how much stress you put me through, Moley, when I wake up to find that you've gone off somewhere. I.." he gave up on trying to explain things when the Mole began to wail.

[nathank77]

8/20/24

1:00 p.m

Mike asked me if I'm experiencing any hypomanic symptoms. Of course I was offended cause like IM NOT MANIAC. He was like well you're taking 3000mg of white mulberries despite the LD50.

And I explained what's the difference between me taking 3000mg of white mulberries that are actually significantly improving my life and yes there is risk but at the same time, the short term benefits outweighs the risks.

The golden rule question of medicine is, do the benefits outweigh the risks? Like does taking Methimazole make sense to treat your thyroid versus not taking it, when Methimazole can actually kill you? There is a rare side effect it causing severe liver damage which is why I get my liver levels pulled every months. It can actually kill you if you're one of the unlucky few and your Dr doesn't do level as much as they should.

He asked if I was having racing thoughts and doing risky behaviors. No I'm not. The most Risky thing I've done is increase white mulberries. I don't spend money unless I essentially do a spread sheet and plan my monthly finances for a couple months to make sure I can afford it. I don't have sex with strangers. I don't idk, do drugs for fun.

Racing thoughts I mean they have actually decreased since taking xanax funny enough. Tbh I don't have racing thoughts at all. My thoughts are truly careful and slow and articulated.

I think he thinks that taking white mulberries at 3000mg is a risky behavior. But how is it any different than deciding to develop a movementdisorder from antipsychotics? Short term reward (less hallucinations) but long term life altering side effects...

The only difference is we don't know what will happen from long term use at this dose or any dose at that rate bc the research doesn't exist.

What do we know about white mulberries:

1) they help gum disease per a number of clinical research studies

2) they lower blood sugar per a number of clinical research studies

3) they lower cholesterol per a number of clinical research studies

4) they reduce hallucinations per a number of clinical research studies

5) they can be used as a treatment for Parkinson disease

6) in conjunction with antipsychotic caused tardive dsykinesia and other movement disorder they caused less symptoms of tardive dsykinesia.

I wish he didn't ask cause then he went into the LD50 and it's like, man I just want silence. 90% of the time I've been writing this it's been silent with an ear worm...

I may not live long but all I want is to hear the birds chirp and to sit in the woods and never hear the voice again.

I don't need anxiety about the white mulberries everything I read about antipsychotics are bad. I mean people on them for 3 or more years and they have all sorts of movement disorder and they STILL HEAR THE VOICE. HOW IS THE RISK WORTH THE BENEFIT?

I have a reduction in my hallucination. A significant reduction in it. Enough to say the risk is worth the benefit. Yet I'm suffering no ill effect from it.

I just didn't need the anxiety. I'm the furtherest thing from manic.

Last night when I was struggling to sleep my facial muscles twitched... prob metopolol leaving my body. Maybe the statin side effects still leaving.

Sure it could be white mulberries but now I have more anxiety. I didn't even tell him about the facial twitch cause I didn't need him making me more anxious about it.

Christ it could be from xanax!

Either way I heard a cricket chirping last night and it was the most beautiful sound I've heard in months. Pure silence. Just the chirps.

If I developed a movement disorder from white mulberries I'll kill myself. I don't think they cause it.

For all I know it could be xanax. For all I know it could be the statin. For all I know it could be a the metopolol leaving. It could also be ANXIETY!

I remember before I started taking white mulberries or anything, I would randomly have twitches sometimes facial twitches and I'd just be like it happens move on and not worry but I wasn't taking a mystery supplement at a high dose.

And now I'm anxious. Imma tell my doctor I take White mulberries.

I just was already anxious about my insomnia, my thyroid nodule and my heart. And now I keep thinking about that facial twitch and white mulberries and now I'm scared.

[studentbyday]

Quantum Behavior Pt. 2: Electron Behavior

Though this is only a thought experiment, we know the results that would be obtained if this experiment could be done because of previous experiments where these results were found out.

Electrons start being accelerated.

We hear sharp "clicks" from the detector (that is, the loudspeaker the detector's connected to), which are akin to finding bullets in the detector in the particle behavior experiment. All "clicks" are the same, there are no "half-clicks" like all bullets are the same and there are no "half-bullets".

"Clicks" are erratic, similar to the erratic "clicks" of a geiger counter operating, and we can find the average number of clicks per unit time - the average rate at which clicks are heard. If we do that twice, each for the same amount of time, we'll find that the 2 averages are almost the same.

This rate is faster or slower as we move the detector along the x direction (the only direction the detector can move in), but the size (loudness) of each click is always the same. If we slow the rate of clicking or increase the rate of clicking (by lowering or raising the temperature of the wire in the gun, respectively), each click still has the same loudness. Thus, like the bullets, electrons always arrive in identical whole lumps - lump size doesn't depend on rate of firing. And if we were to put 2 separate detectors at the backstop, only one or the other would click. Never both at once. This means that each identical lump arrives one at a time in "lumps", similar to the idea that "At a given moment, either no bullets arrive or exactly one arrives at the backstop."

Thus, since electrons seem to act like particles, we can experimentally answer a question similar to the one in the bullets setup: "What is the relative probability that an electron which passes through the holes in the wall will arrive at the backstop at the distance x from the center?" aka "What is the probability that an electron which passes through the holes in the wall will be heard through the loudspeaker connected to the movable detector?" We can only talk about probability because we can't say definitively where any particular electron will go and where it may end up - it could hit the wall and not make it to the detector.

Just like for the bullets, the probability that lumps of electrons will arrive at a particular x is proportional to the average rate of clicks at that x.

If we were to cover hole 1, all we have is the probability that an electron which passes through hole 2 will arrive at the detector, P2. If we were to cover hole 2, all we have is the probability that an electron which passes through hole 1 will arrive at the detector, P1.

But similar to the water waves experiment, P1 + P2 ≠ P12. P12, the probability that an electron which passes through either hole 1 or hole 2 will arrive at the detector, looks like the curve for I12 in the water waves experiment. Thus, there is interference.

How did such interference come about when the electrons have so far acted like particles? We could think that the electrons don't go through either hole 1 or hole 2, because if they did, the probabilities should add. We could think that the electrons go in a more complicated way. But they can't split in half (one way you could argue that electrons don't go through only 1 hole or the other) because electrons always arrive in lumps. And if we were to compare P1, P2, and P12, we would see that at some points, very few electrons arrive when both holes are open, but which receive many electrons if one hole is closed - closing 1 hole increases the number of electrons coming from the other hole. Yet at other points, the number of the electrons that arrive is more than P1 + P2, as if closing 1 hole decreases the number of electrons coming through the other hole. Since both these happen, not just 1 or the other, you can't propose that some of the electrons go through hole 1 and then around through hole 2, or by some other complicated path that makes it so closing hole 2 only increases OR decreases the chance that an electron that started out through hole 1 would arrive at the detector. A conceptual explanation for how P1 and P2 give rise to the interference seen in P12 is elusive, but the math describing the relationship is simple: it's the same as the math describing I1, I2, and I12 in the water waves experiment.

Conclusion:

The electrons arrive in lumps, like particles, and the probability of arrival of these lumps is distributed like the distribution of intensity of a wave. It is in this sense that an electron behaves “sometimes like a particle and sometimes like a wave.”

[softersinned-arc]

@xfindingtrouble said: ❝   i’ve made mistakes. but they were mine.   ❞ from percy, maybe one of the nights they stay up together? maybe they're trading vague sentiments about their lives, dancing around the entire truth but sharing little bits of themselves.

But this time is different. He doesn't need to say it for her to hear it; she could swear for a moment that his eyes flicker towards the twins' sleeping bodies, and her own eyes settle on the rise and fall of their new Champion's chest, each breath deep and slow and rhythmic despite the circumstances surrounding them. Astoria scrapes her teeth over her lower lip, bites down just hard enough to pierce the skin, comforts herself for a moment with the taste of her own blood.

"It's the nature of living, I'm afraid. We never stop making mistakes, no matter how much we learn." Old enough to know better, too young to be taken seriously, at least as far as vampires go, but Astoria knows enough to know that much. "They won't all have such dire consequences, but—there will always be mistakes. And some will be much harder to claim." A few meters away from them, Vax'ildan frowns in his sleep, shudders, rolls onto his side.

If she were Percy, she would want to know. She has learned by now that she and Percy are often alike enough that it's a safe bet to assume he wants to know, too. She worries her lip between her teeth until she tastes another droplet of blood, and she leans forward, as if to further take Percy into her confidence.

They look so tired. The urge to reach around the fire to smooth her thumbs under their eyes and stroke their hair back is near overwhelming. She pretends not to notice it.

"I am, perhaps, not the most objective source of information." Her lips twist into a crooked, angry smile, and she shows too many teeth. "But I did love her, once. I loved her dearly, as I imagine most children love their mothers. And if I had lived as I expected to, and only died once, I think I would have loved her eternally." Her expression, more grimace than gladness, softens into something gentler, something sorrowful. In a rare show of trust, she makes no effort to hide it.

She doesn't speak of this. To speak of it is unquestionably painful; she remembers all of her foolish, youthful hopes, and the agony of having those hopes stripped away. Unconsciously, she clasps her right hand around her left wrist, thumb stroking where the scar from her devotion should still be, underneath the ink on her skin.

"Service to her isn't easy—you bleed for it. Often quite literally. But when you choose her, you would gladly give your life for her. And when she loves you, there's nothing like it. It's simply that her love can—did, for me—transform into indifference. I sometimes think it would have been easier had she taken a more active role in rejecting me. If she were angry, or hateful, or cruel. I could have had something to be angrier about, perhaps, or something to crush all hope, but I was an abomination in her eyes and so she simply ceased to care. She took the proof of my devotion and she wiped my name from her books, as though I'd never mattered to her at all.

"But I don't think that's what she intends for your friend. To choose someone to wear her champion's armor is profound, but to do so when it would mean violating her own most sacred laws? We believed that death was inevitable. Death is the natural end of life. Grieve the fallen, but do not pity them. Exult in the time they were granted." She numbers each of the commandments she recites with a raised finger of left hand. The words come as easily to her as any prayer could. She wishes she could scrub them from her mind. "The path of Fate is sacrosanct. Those who pridefully cast off destiny must be punished." She raises her third finger, and her expression shifts again; though she tries to keep her tone even and her face calm, there is a murderous fury in her eyes, a barely-audible quiver to her voice, as she speaks the final commandment. "Undeath is an atrocity. Death is too good a punishment for those who pervert the rightful transition of the soul. And yet she allowed Vex'ahlia to be resurrected in her temple, granted her favor to a man who would gladly have rejected fate and death and everything attached to it for the sake of his sister—"

She catches herself before she can speak more, and she raises her right hand from her wrist to press two fingers over her lips. She has shown Percy much of herself, but not yet this anger. "She has already broken all of her rules for him. My guess is that she favors him, though I don't know why. And while it bodes well for your friend remaining in her favor, I don't know what this means for his service. I don't know what she'll ask of him, but I know it will someday amount to everything." Astoria shivers, suddenly cold, and the urge to touch Percy now is almost painful: she wants the comfort, the ease, of their presence.

Instead she shrugs a shoulder, and she fists her hands in her skirt, her movements quick and almost mechanical. She rarely feels so far from life than she does right now. "It is terribly human of her," Astoria says finally, quietly. "To be so inconsistent. To have such a capacity for indifference. To be so cold. I will always love her, more than I could have dreamed myself capable of loving, and I will never forgive her for that exact reason. For what it's worth, dear heart—" And here she softens considerably, and she does stand, now, moves around the fire to sit closer to him, facing him. "—if she wanted him, your mistake was only the opportunity she waited for to claim him. It would have happened regardless. Vex'ahlia is alive. Vax'ildan is protected in ways we cannot begin to imagine. And you're alive, too, and you are left with your guilt."

Her hand is ghostly pale in the dark and she reaches forward, presses her palm over Percy's chest. He is so fragile, so warm, so alive. So human. It strikes her only then, when she feels the thrum of his heartbeat against her hand, in perfect rhythm with the song of his blood, that she has told him more, now, than she has ever told another soul.

"Someday you'll have to forgive yourself for it." She lifts her hand now to gently knock two knuckles under his chin, though she finds herself stroking the backs of those fingers along his jaw instead. "But—if, to achieve that, you need to know more, I'll answer whatever questions I can. And," she adds, eyes flickering back towards Vax's sleeping form, "if he has questions—you may extend my offer to him." Her hand falls, and she clears her throat, flushing a gentle pink. She can only hope the light of the fire isn't so bright as to reveal it. "Much as I enjoy the company—do you need to sleep?"