#Sphere Sound Records

[odk-2]

Crazy Elephant - Gimme Gimme Good Lovin' (1969) Joey Levine / Ritchie Cordell from: "Gimme Gimme Good Lovin'" /" Hips and Lips" (1st US Single Release) "Gimme Gimme Good Lovin'" / "Dark Part of My Mind" (2nd US Single Release) "Crazy Elephant" (LP)

Garage Pop

JukeHostUK (left click = play) (320kbps)

Personnel: The Marzano-Calvert Studio Group Included: Robert Spencer: Lead Vocals Larry Laufer: Keyboards / Backing Vocals Norman Marzano: Bass / Backing Vocals Bob Avery: Drums

Arranged by Joey Levine Produced by Joey Levine / Artie Resnick

Recorded: @ Bell Sound Studios (?) in New York City, New York USA 1968

Single Released: January, 1969 (Original US Release) Sphere Sound Records

March, 1969 (Second US Release) Bell Records

April, 1969 (UK Release) Major Minor Records

[brontes]

heaven have mercy on me but I have been provoked into hypothetical podcast planning

[mrpenguinpants]

Just the weight I needed.

— You ask to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

— Phainon, Mydei + Jing Yuan

[Masterlist]

After that monster of a Lighter fic, I just wanted to write something nice and silly. I'm serious, the next fic I write might actually be 20k words. The title is from BSD btw, love and kisses to whoever gets it.

Phainon

Realistically, if you brought the idea up to Phainon, it could go one of two ways. One possibility is that he’d be fully on board—no hesitation, no questions asked, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. He’d immediately drop to the ground in one fluid motion, presenting his back like a beautifully adorned, living throne, every muscle flexing with anticipation. His arms would be poised, elbows bent just enough to secure the perfect balance, ready to support you as he began his impromptu strength training. His determined blue eyes would gleam with unshakable resolve, like a knight pledging his undying loyalty to his sovereign. To him, carrying you wouldn’t just be an exercise—it would be a calling, an honor, a challenge to conquer.

The other possibility? A completely different reaction. Phainon, with a rare, grave expression—one that only emerged in times of true distress—would place his hands firmly on your shoulders, his grip unwavering, grounding you in place. His normally vibrant demeanor would dim, his brows drawing together in deep concern as he searched your face for any sign of distress. And then, with a devastated choke, his voice thick with unfiltered worry, he’d ask, “Are you being blackmailed?”

It's not like your request is so out there that Phainon needs to find you a scapegoat for why you're asking. This isn't even the first time he's bent far stricter rules with actual consequences slightly to fulfill your requests! The man has an impressive track record of brushing the laws of common decency and practicality under the rug when it comes to helping you out. Take that one time in the baths for instance—when you were trying to get some peace and quiet, hiding under a sea of bubbles to avoid your duties. Phainon, ever the loyal accomplice, had simply closed his eyes, zipped his mouth shut with a soft snap of his fingers, and let you lie in blissful, responsibility-free silence. No questions asked. No protest. Just remarking about how difficult it was to find you before walking away.

Or the most recent example, when you decided to spy on the newest esteemed guests. It was a delicate situation, and you knew there was no way you’d be able to sneak a peek without drawing attention. So, of course, you enlisted Phainon’s help. He positioned himself like a human shield, blocking any unwanted gazes as you peered from behind him, hidden by his imposing figure. All the while, you stayed as quiet as possible, watching the guests converse with Aglaea while Phainon pretended to be entirely uninterested, despite his complete awareness of what you were up to. The point is, this request? It’s nothing compared to the stunts he’s pulled for you in the past. It wouldn't even include anyone outside you two!

Suggestion: Inflection baby! Sound just as enthusiastic as him! (It's not like he would ever say no)

Delighted squeals and giggles echo off the marbled walls as your view of the giant sphere in the sky—situated at the center of Okhema—bobs up and down, like a real ball you used to play with as a kid. In fact, everything about this moment feels like you've been transported back in time, swept up in a childish sort of joy that you haven't felt in years. Even though it's undeniably a silly sight—you, perched sideways on Phainon's back, your toes just barely hovering above the ground—you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t at least a tiny bit fun. It took a bit of hassle to convince Phainon that no, you weren’t being blackmailed, bribed, or coerced into this request. There were no hidden motives, no dark secrets behind it—just a plain, simple, and entirely ridiculous desire to see if he could do it.

"Don't forget that you're supposed to keep count," Phainon chastises lightly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the bright, boyish grin tugging at his lips. His tone is more playful than scolding, his usual boundless energy making it impossible to take him seriously. It's weird seeing him from this angle, half of his face turned over his shoulder as your neck cranes down for once. Seriously, what were they feeding this man?

"Oops, sorry!" you manage between muffled laughter, barely able to catch your breath, "I guess I lost track... maybe we should start over?"

"If that's what Your Highness wants, then it shall be done," Phainon says as easily as breathing, bending his elbows to push up again.

Mydei

Haha. No. Just no.

First of all, you wouldn’t even be a significant weight for Mydei—he could take you on as resistance training in the same way a bodybuilder might consider lifting a single book. If anything, he’d have to stack at least five more of you just to make it remotely challenging. Secondly, why on Amphoreus would you think he’d let you sit on his back? Best-case scenario, he’d stare at you with a long, exhausted sigh before asking if you’d recently taken a tumble down the stairs and cracked your head open. It’s not like he’s even being that mean when he says it anyway. Well, for Mydei standards at least. The fact that he hasn't bashed your head into the floor is, quite frankly, a miracle. The fact he hasn't bashed your head into the concrete itself is a wild understatement that you've lowered any respect he has for you over the days you've been acquainted with him.

Your first meeting was when you had misjudged how many steps there were and slipped forward. The inviting concrete was ready with open arms to split your head open, but Mydei, ever the observant type, had caught you just in time. There you were, suspended in mid-air, not even sure how you ended up there. Your limbs flailed like a ragdoll as he pulled on the back of your shirt with one arm, effortlessly lifting you with little more than the ease of a casual stretch. You'd been too stunned to even form words at the time—only managing a stammered thank-you as he set you back down as if saving you from an embarrassing death by stairs was just another casual Tuesday for him. In retrospect, it was a miracle you hadn’t cracked your skull open on the concrete. And of course, he’d said something entirely deadpan in response, like, "Pay attention next time," before turning back to his blue-haired companion. And he wonders why you're so obsessed with wanting to sit on his back.

Mydei has a short fuse and a quick temper, and as much as you'd really like to put your hand on his chest just to see his reaction, you also enjoy breathing a little too much to risk it. Not to mention, you can’t exactly take him in a fight. If you could, staking a bet that if you won, he’d have to fulfill your request would be a piece of cake. But alas, he's built like a wall, and your ability to land a punch would probably be a joke in comparison. So instead, you're left with the very real, very sensible option of begging and wearing him down with your charm—or at least hoping he’ll eventually tire of saying no. The risk? Well, it's still there, but that’s what makes it fun, right?

Suggestion: Beggars can't be choosers and living is pretty cool. Better to ask Phainon instead.

You've barely uttered the first syllable of your question before you're unceremoniously scooped up by the back of your clothing, lifted from the ground like a disgruntled cub being dragged away by its mother. Except, in this case, it's more like being hoisted over someone's firm shoulder, your limbs dangling helplessly as you're treated like a sack of potatoes. The bewilderment on your face is a new look as Phainon's figure grows smaller and smaller in the distance, the sound of your protests muffled by the unexpected shift. Amid your confusion, you catch sight of the blue bastard waving gleefully, a cheery smile plastered across his face as if he’s just won some kind of victory.

"Um, not that I'm complaining, but... where exactly are you taking me?" you ask, your voice tentative as you try to adjust yourself on his shoulder. On one hand, you're living the dream, able to feel those muscles effortlessly hoisting you up like you're nothing more than a feather. But on the other, his shoulder is starting to dig uncomfortably into your stomach, and it's quickly turning into a rather awkward ride. You shift slightly, trying to find a less painful position, but all you accomplish is further squishing yourself against his back.

"Training room." is all Mydei says. There's no snark, no extra words, just that one brief statement that leaves you quite literally and metaphorically hanging.

"Ah. Training room, huh?" you say back lamely, even though you're internally screaming in elation, your arms up in the air as you bow toward whatever Aeon is looking out for you.

You can totally tell by the way Mydei drops you in the middle of the pathway that he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Jing Yuan

Contrary to popular belief, you aren't blind. Even if the General is a bit too old to still be in his "bachelor" years—do those even truly exist for long-life species?—Jing Yuan is... well, let’s just say he’s easy on the eyes. Super easy. A five-star resort easy on the eyes. Is this what they call a silver foxian? He was the one who off-handedly mentioned it when your traitorous eyes had decided to linger a tad bit too long on the shape of his back during a meeting. Of course, you had to act all professional about it, clearing your throat and giving him a strict reprimand about how inappropriate it was to bring such things up in a work environment. You almost nailed the tone too, until you rounded the corner and crumbled into a puddle of embarrassment. What the hell just happened? How did he do that to you with just one little comment? That was so... unfair. It didn’t help that the image of sitting on his back while he did push-ups kept playing in your mind—every chiseled angle, every movement, the way he had to flex those back muscles with each rep. Seriously, how were you supposed to function with that lingering in your thoughts?

It takes several days for neither of you to address the elephant in the room. The tension lingers in the air, thick and unspoken, but it doesn't quite impede your duties. You carry on with your work, he continues to be as "lax" as ever—his presence still an odd mix of effortless command and lazy confidence. But there's something there, a shift, subtle yet undeniable. Every time you glance at him, there's the tiniest degree of something different in his smile, a sharpness to it that grows more cat-like with each passing moment. His expression seems to hold a quiet, menacing amusement as he sits across from you, still and patient, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that feels almost predatory. He reminds you of his pet lion in those moments, the way she watches her prey with those intense, knowing eyes. Her demeanor is calm, almost gentle, until the moment she pounces, and you can’t help but imagine the way the small, frail necks of her dinner break so easily between the crushing strength of her jaws. Yet, her owner, Jing Yuan, still calls her the sweetest, most docile creature, even with blood still staining her paws. A crazy man.

Patience is a virtue, they say. And eventually, with enough time, water will wear down the hardest stone. You’ve tried to avoid it, to ignore the inevitable, but today feels different. The morning is quiet, bathed in the soft light of the rising sun—a golden hour where the world feels still as if it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. It’s just you and Jing Yuan, silently preparing for the events ahead, the hum of the day yet to begin. There are meetings lined up, one in particular that has been pushed back so many times due to Jing Yuan’s absences that it's now on the verge of becoming a disaster. The final meeting needs to happen tonight, or his white mane might end up skewered on the end of a spear. The weight of it lingers in the air, but for now, it’s just the two of you, and the calm chirping of his precious finches acts as the only soundtrack to the morning’s preparations. As you glance at him—his calm, unflappable demeanor, his steady hands—something shifts inside you. It’s not immediate, but it’s undeniable. You finally allow yourself to acknowledge what’s been sitting in the back of your mind, simmering beneath the surface: you’re no better than your General.

Suggestion: Life is too short for things like dignity and shame, go for the throat!

"General, I apologize for my lapse in judgment, but I seriously cannot do this, or I might suffer a stroke."

Your words come out in a strangled rush, your face contorting into a myriad of expressions—none of them quite fitting for the situation. You're staring down at Jing Yuan, sprawled out on his stomach, looking entirely unbothered as he waits for you to—well, do exactly what he’d asked. Sit on his back. You have to remind yourself that it was technically his suggestion, his agreement when you’d tentatively raised the question, and yet here you are, mentally spiraling into a moral crisis. Every fiber of your being screams that this is just... wrong. This can't possibly be something that should happen in a professional setting, in a place of authority, with a man who is the very definition of your superior.

But no, there’s Jing Yuan, lying there with that serene look in his eyes, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips as if this were just another ordinary task in his day. You swallow thickly, still battling with your internal conflict, even though the situation is slowly spinning out of your control. How did this become a thing?

"Ah, well. I will not force you to do something you're so against," Jing Yuan says with a light chuckle, standing up smoothly as if your entire dilemma was merely a fleeting thought. He pats his pants as if brushing away any invisible dust, his movements deliberate and calm. Then, with a casual grace, he crosses his arms behind his back, his posture exuding the confidence and composure only someone of his status could command. "But it is a warrior's shame to go back on their words, don't you agree?"

You blink rapidly, momentarily taken aback by his smoothness, but the weight of his words presses on you. You can almost feel the invisible pressure of your promise tightening around you. You stammer a bit, trying to regain some semblance of control, but you can only manage a meek response.

"Ah— I... yes, General."

Before you can fully process the situation, his large, warm hand lands heavily on your shoulder. It's not the usual friendly gesture, though. No, this time it feels more like a reminder—one that makes you shrink into yourself involuntarily. His hand is firm and for the briefest moment, you feel like you're pinned in place by the sheer force of his presence. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, but now, in the face of his unwavering authority, you can’t help but feel small.

"So, I can count on you to fill in my stead for today's meeting then?" Jing Yuan's voice is light, but there's an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. A satisfied lion getting away with murder, "Excellent, I knew I could count on you!"

[frownyalfred]

I had a thought about dragons and them having people as their hoards, because Thomas had sick people (etc) as his hoard but when they got better they left it, but the Joker no longer being in Bruce's hoard killed him. So there has to be a distinct difference between leaving a hoard (by their own will or the dragon's will) and being rejected from a hoard, right?

Like, if someone moves away from Gotham they'd probably leave Bruce's hoard, right? With some exeptions and/or caveats, of course, but they'd be fine, just no longer in the hoard. But being rejected would be so much worse, because, as you and previous anons described, the rejected would stop getting help from anyone and eventually their health would get worse until they die, right?

I figure if someone's rejected from a hoard it wouldn't help to leave like anyone else could, and while they could maybe be saved by getting taken into some other dragon's hoard (though it might not be a guarantee) other dragons would probably be able to sense that someone had been rejected and thus be instinctually wary of said person even if they perfectly fit the criteria for the new dragon's hoard because to be rejected from someone's hoard is very serious, both in the fate of the rejected, but also in what they would need to have done to get such a reaction, rejection isn't something that any dragon takes lightly.

In addition to that, if the rejected does survive through some other dragon there is a pretty high chance that the original dragon will turn up to just kill the rejected themself, and that type of fight over a single person (especially if the rest of their hoard might risk becoming collateral) usually isn't worth it.

I know I sound like a broken record but I also love this so much!! Rejection versus leaving, that makes perfect sense to me. It's one thing to leave a sphere of influence, it's another to be so thoroughly unwanted that you have to leave in order to not keel over and die on the spot. Or be rejected and feared by your former friends and allies.

Thomas would have never rejected someone, I think, because he knew what a toll it would take on someone. And for someone already suffering, it would likely kill them. Especially if they were ill.

[drnikolatesla]

Tesla’s Wardenclyffe Tower: Built on Sound Math, Undone by Cost and Misunderstanding

Let’s set the record straight—Nikola Tesla’s Wardenclyffe Tower was a high-voltage experimental transmission system grounded in quarter-wave resonance and electrostatic conduction—not Hertzian radiation. And the math behind it? It was solid—just often misunderstood by people applying the wrong physics.

In May 1901, Tesla calculated that to set the Earth into electrical resonance, he needed a quarter-wavelength system with a total conductor length of about 225,000 cm, or 738 feet.

So Tesla’s tower design had to evolve during construction. In a letter dated September 13, 1901, to architect Stanford White, Tesla wrote: “We cannot build that tower as outlined.” He scaled the visible height down to 200 feet. The final structure—based on photographic evidence and Tesla’s own testimony—stood at approximately 187 feet above ground. To meet the required electrical length, Tesla engineered a system that combined spiral coil geometry, an elevated terminal, a 120-foot vertical shaft extending underground, and radial pipes buried outward for approximately 300 feet. This subterranean network, together with the 187-foot tower and carefully tuned inductance, formed a continuous resonant conductor that matched Tesla’s target of 738 feet. He described this strategy in his 1897 patent (No. 593,138) and expanded on it in his 1900 and 1914 patents, showing how to simulate a longer conductor using high-frequency, resonant components. Even with a reduced visible height, Tesla’s system achieved quarter-wave resonance by completing the rest underground—proving that the tower’s electrical length, not its physical height, was what really mattered.

Tesla calculated his voltages to be around 10 million statvolts (roughly 3.3 billion volts in modern SI), so he had to consider corona discharge and dielectric breakdown. That’s why the terminal was designed with large, smooth spherical surfaces—to minimize electric surface density and reduce energy loss. This was no afterthought; it’s a core feature of his 1914 patent and clearly illustrated in his design sketches.

Now, about that ±16 volt swing across the Earth—what was Tesla talking about?

He modeled the Earth as a conductive sphere with a known electrostatic capacity. Using the relation:

ε × P = C × p

Where:

ε is the terminal’s capacitance (estimated at 1,000 cm)

P is the applied voltage (10⁷ statvolts)

C is the Earth’s capacitance, which Tesla estimated at 5.724 × 10⁸ cm (based on the Earth’s size)

p is the resulting voltage swing across the Earth

Plugging in the numbers gives p ≈ 17.5 volts, which Tesla rounded to ±16 volts. That’s a theoretical 32-volt peak-to-peak swing globally—not a trivial claim, but one rooted in his framework.

Modern recalculations, based on updated geophysical models, suggest a smaller swing—closer to ±7 volts—using a revised Earth capacitance of about 7.1 × 10⁸ cm. But that’s not a knock on Tesla’s math. His original ±16V estimate was fully consistent with the cgs system and the best data available in 1901, where the Earth was treated as a uniformly conductive sphere.

The difference between 7 and 16 volts isn’t about wrong numbers—it’s about evolving assumptions. Tesla wrote the equation. Others just adjusted the inputs. His premise—that the Earth could be set into controlled electrical resonance—still stands. Even if the voltage swing changes. The vision didn’t.

Wouldn't that ±16V swing affect nature or people? Not directly. It wasn’t a shock or discharge—it was a global oscillation in Earth’s electric potential, spread evenly across vast distances. The voltage gradient would be tiny at any given point—far less than what’s generated by everyday static electricity. Unless something was specifically tuned to resonate with Tesla’s system, the swing had no noticeable effect on people, animals, or the environment. It was a theoretical signature of resonance, not a hazard. While some early experiments in Colorado Springs did produce disruptive effects—like sparks from metal objects or spooked horses—those involved untuned, high-voltage discharges during Tesla’s exploratory phase. Wardenclyffe, by contrast, was a refined and carefully grounded system, engineered specifically to minimize leakage, discharge, and unintended effects.

And Tesla wasn’t trying to blast raw power through the ground. He described the system as one that would “ring the Earth like a bell,” using sharp, high-voltage impulses at a resonant frequency to create standing waves. As he put it:

“The secondary circuit increases the amplitude only... the actual power is only that supplied by the primary.” —Tesla, Oct. 15, 1901

Receivers, tuned to the same frequency, could tap into the Earth’s oscillating potential—not by intercepting radiated energy, but by coupling to the Earth’s own motion. That ±16V swing wasn’t a bug—it was the signature of resonance. Tesla’s transmitter generated it by pumping high-frequency, high-voltage impulses into the Earth, causing the surface potential to oscillate globally. That swing wasn’t the energy itself—it acted like a resonant “carrier.” Once the Earth was ringing at the right frequency, Tesla could send sharp impulses through it almost instantly, and tuned receivers could extract energy.

So—was it feasible?

According to Tesla’s own patents and 1916 legal testimony, yes. He accounted for insulation, voltage gradients, tuning, and corona losses. His design didn’t rely on brute force, but on resonant rise and impulse excitation. Tesla even addressed concerns over losses in the Earth—his system treated the planet not as a passive resistor but as an active component of the circuit, capable of sustaining standing waves.

Wardenclyffe wasn’t a failure of science. It was a casualty of cost, politics, and misunderstanding. Tesla’s system wasn’t just about wireless power—it was about turning the entire planet into a resonant electrical system. His use of electrostatics, high-frequency resonance, and spherical terminals was decades ahead of its time—and still worth studying today.

“The present is theirs; the future, for which I really worked, is mine.” —Nikola Tesla

[marimayscarlett]

Richard needs to start doing coke again so he can be skinny again lol

I debated deleting this ask, or answering it with a meme, which didn't seem fitting in the long run. I know, I should ignore dumb messages like this, but it's so much shit in one pile, it does compel me to address it.

1. Richard has a whole history with drug abuse, which stretches from the early 90's into the early 2000's. He once mentioned that as soon as he stepped foot into the recording studio, he had the urge to consume drugs, to get that thrill to be able to work endlessly.

"I was killing myself. I was doing too many drugs. I took drugs just to work. Constantly, constantly, constantly." (article)

Most likely to be able to fuel his obsessive perfectionism when it came to music, to battle his need for appreciation and acknowledgement, to drive him further into creative spheres, doing all that while accepting the risk of killing himself, making his kids half-orphans in the process, ruining the band with his insufferable tendencies. Sounds like super fun, right?

2. Richard is pushing 60 and even though the media and society likes to disregard this little thing called "aging", it very much happens! Who would've thought that the body changes as the decades go by! Richard doesn't look like he's 30 anymore, and thank fucking God. Thank God he doesn't, thank God he got off drugs before it was too late, thank God he is able to go through life without snorting a line of coke several times a day, since he had the strength to go to therapy and through drug withdrawal. So what if he's a bit more now, good for him if he feels good in his body. I'd rather see him thick and voluptuous on stage than reading on his Wikipedia page "died age xy on a drug overdose", like many other musicians in the scene. But good to know you would embrace that possibility 👍🏻

3. If you're so much into (partly) drug-induced thinness, how about a little example, some late 1970s/early 1980s Jimmy Page perhaps? Who suffered from drug abuse through years without end?

Looks good right? Fine and healthy and like someone who is really thriving, is he not?

I'm very glad both Richard and Jimmy won their battle against drug abuse, since this is not a given. Many, famous or not, lost it.

Richard is alive, well, gives us his best on stage. Messages like yours disgust me to no end, mindsets like yours are downright dangerous, are a sign of utter stupidity and have no place whatsoever in this fandom. The "lol" behind it doesn't make it light-hearted, it makes it fucking dumb and even more immature.

Fuck off, and grow up.

[ghostbsuter]

I'm on the writing grind, you can see that I just finished rewatching the Teen Titans (2003).

Edit: Here is some art I did for Titan!Phantom

.・゜-: ✧ :-

(The end is near.)

Gripping the communicator, the bright yellow case with a cartoonish 'T' on top glared back at him.

(The portal was growing.)

He presses the button, the communicator switches on and he calls out.

"Phantom to Titans, do you hear me? Phantom to Titans."

The crackling sound came as a sign of connection, It didn't take any heavy weight off, however.

"Robin here, Phantom? Everything alright?" The soothing voice of Teen Titans leader answers him, and he suppresses a sigh.

"Robin," he bites his lip, the portal only growing.

The ghost zone is eating Amity and all just because fucking Vlad couldn't, for one ancient time, sit still.

"I—" a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he apologises with a wince. "You're gonna be really angry at me when you... find out."

Concern leaks through the voice as Robin speaks. "Phantom? What's going on?"

Thr screen on the communicator switches on and Robins brow knitted expression stares back at him.

It quickly changes, alarmed. "Phantom." The vigilante says. "Is Amity Park okay? Do you need backup?"

Always on the right track, dear leader. Danny shakes his head fondly.

"It's too late for backup," he admits quietly.

"Phan—"

"Just tell new members of me, okay?"

Danny doesn't let the other finish, giving a bitter smile before throwing the communicator on the ground, breaking it.

The familiar yet threatening green of the ghost zone welcomes him.

—

"Titans! Emergency call, Phantom got a situation!"

The bright red lights is enough for the rest of the team to flood to the common room.

"Rob?" Cyborg asks. "What's the situation?"

"We don't know!" The bird answers, stressed. He's pulling the audio and video recording of the call up to the monitor, replaying it for the team.

They don't figure it out until they are at Amity, landing with the jet and jumping from their seats.

Raven and Starfire fly ahead, and they all reach the border of Amity.

Or what of Amity remains.

Because–

The entire city is gone—!!

Complete annihilation.

(When robin finds out who did this, he will have words with them.)

"Robin," Raven waves them all over to her side. She's crouching, hand in a sphere of black, her magic. "Amity wasn't destroyed. It was relocated."

Her expression is grim. "Someone abducted a whole city."

All he does is nod, looking at the team before him.

"Someone call Herald, Titans, we got work to do. Our mission is to find Amity Park, Phantom, and save both." With sombre nods, they prepared for take off.

"Titans! Go!"

And they separate.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

A Humans Touch

“What… what did you do?” You whispered, the sound brimming with disbelief.

The being, whether or not it was still Jax you weren’t sure, scoffed. Harsh and callous, the sound was a far cry from their usually cool drawl. “What did I do? Please. I had barely made the offer before they were practically begging to sell themself away.”

Amber eyes gazed back at your own, dreadfully gleeful stare boring into you. 

If you had been blind and looking at them from the nose down, you would have been perfectly certain that it was your friend standing in front of you. But this imposter, this demon was simply wearing their skin. The voice itself made you want to wince. Its unkind lilt failed to match the soft features surrounding the mouth it came from. It was like watching a puppet show, fabric and yarn replaced with flesh and organs. Still, a bit of that original pitch came bleeding through in the background, almost as if the vocal cords were unable to fully accommodate their new owner. That haunting duet made for a destructive symphony, something akin to what one might get if they mixed beautifully seasoned live singers with a faulty record player.

Each syllable reinstated the possibility that Jax might be gone forever. For all you knew, they could be buried beneath layers of human matter or just vanished completely. Their frame could have been reduced to nothing more than a husk, the thing they had used to dance and laugh and create diminished to a mere shell for a ventriloquist to play with. 

“What a rush. It’s been years since I’ve been in one of these things before. Almost forgot how homey they are.” Bill rolled his shoulders, craning his neck to the side with a small pop, the muscles probably screaming in protest from hours hunched over a work table.

They-he, took note of your horrified expression and stupefied silence, sighing in bored apathy before continuing. 

“Ah, come on, toots. No need to overreact. Strawberry top is perfectly fine. Just gotta-” Bill paused and the golden hue drained from his gaze, slitted pupils molding into a sphere and blooming with a friendly shade of brown that was slightly veiled over with a white sheen. He seemed to almost melt from Jax’s body, form bubbling from their skin to create that recognizable pyramid that flew to your side. “Do some repurposing.”

The thin fog seemed to fade from your friend's cornea as they blinked, raising their hands in front of their face and shifting the digits, like they were in disbelief that this body was once again theirs to control. Running to their side, you grasped their shoulder, searching frantically for any sign of physical trauma or pain. “Are you okay?”

Of course, studies on the potential side effects of demonic possession were practically nonexistent, unless you included the film industries' lackluster examples. Still, you breathed a small sigh of relief when you looked into their eyes and missed any sign of a concussion or something similar. On the contrary, they glistened with excitement, matching the giant smile that had broken across Jax’s face. “I’m amazing. This whole damned state is a minefield for paranormal activity and we’ve barely scratched the surface of it!”

Shock had you lost for words, the entire novel’s worth of comprehensible questions soaked to a dampened destruction with your own panic. “What were you... why?”

They looked back at you, face filled with confusion until they realized the true inquiry resting under your hurried tone.

Why would you do this?

“Why? I’ve learned more in the past ten minutes than in five months!” The exhilaration slowly trickled out of their expression, grin melting into a disappointed purse of the lips.“Why aren’t you excited?”

“Didn’t he tell you what would happen? What you would be giving up? And you still said yes?” You asked, a useless plea to think this over meshing with the question.

As if you could undo what had been done.

As if you could change anything.

Jax scoffed. “Are you serious? I can’t believe you’re being like this right now. What I ‘gave up’ is barely anything compared to what I can learn now. What I can achieve now.”

Their fervor infested timbre had your shoulders folding over your body slightly in dejection. It hit you like a sack of bricks right in the chest, demolishing your argumentative defenses. “I just… It just feels weird.”

“Just because you didn’t feel the same doesn’t mean that I should feel bad. I’m not stupid, okay?”

The bite of their words nipped at your reasoning and you frantically began to backpedal, hoping to get a hold of the conversation with shaking fingers. 

Breath

“No, no, you’re right. I’m sorry. It was just a surprise and I was caught off guard.”

Silence filled your ears, hovering over the both of you like a toxic gas. It siphoned the air from your lungs and had you scrambling further for reprieve.

This isn’t their fault.

“If you’re happy like this, that’s all that matters. I’m sorry. I promise I don’t think you’re stupid.”

This is mine.

Maybe it had been the genuineness coursing through your tone, or the mere remnants of elation leftover to lighten the weight of despondence, but Jax took a breath of their own, walking over to meet you on even footing. 

“Just trust me on this.” They squeezed your hand, the gesture more friendly in anything else. Regardless, the pulse thumping under your skin had you pulling back slightly, as if they could have felt the muted beat with their ring finger resting above it.

“Sure. I trust you.”

⭒⋆△⋆⭒

With the new semester looming in the distance, a few other graduates had begun to make home in the small dormitory complex on the Northside of campus. Excitement from the new students trickled through the halls, most eager to further a bachelor’s or associate’s degree. For the early arrivals, this was the perfect time to form relationships. It was everyone’s hope that they would at least get along to some degree, rather than be stuck living next to an enemy for the next four months.

A story popped into your head, one that a classmate had told you about during your first week here. Apparently, a wealthy girl had slithered her way into not only renting her own dorm, but the two on either side of her as well, just in case she wasn’t a fan of the inhabitants.

According to your classmate, her parents actually owned the small town adjacent to this one, which brought up the question as to why she would actually be going here in the first place. The professors were lovely, but it was a fairly well known fact that this was the place to go for those who couldn’t afford much else in the state of Oregon. 

However, as the tale went she had chosen this university to stay connected to her childhood sweetheart, some young education major who ended up with the highest set of grades the school had ever seen.

It was cute, regardless of whether or not it was true.

Music blared in the room next to yours, its giddy tune muffled only slightly by layers of feeble insulation. You recognized the singer, an up and coming pop star who had made her debut over the summer. Pictures of fiery red hair and a painted face had been plastered all over social media, abundant enough for you to see them, at least.

Steam washed over your face as you slit open the film to your frozen meal, coating your skin in warmed moisture. You stirred the contents gentilly before readjusting the plastic and placing it back in the microwave for a second time. The bowl spun as you watched, tired eyes reflecting the soft yellow glow. 

It had been a long day. 

The quiet hum of hot air had you lazing into a daze then jumping when the alarm went off. You scrambled to hit the ‘off’ button, not wanting to bother any of your neighbors, regardless of the jaunty toon still blasting from next door.

“Why aren’t you staying with Jax? Doesn’t the whole ‘bodily possession’ thing mean you’re connected or something?” You gave the contents another stir, finding satisfaction with the levels of heat before grabbing the meal and moving over to your bed.

“You think I wanna room with that hyper fixated maniac? They’d keep me up all night with their stupid questions. Besides, I go where I please.” Bill lazily strolled over, proving the point as he flopped down right next to you.

Scalding pasta hit the roof of your mouth as you took a bite, the flavorful sauce melting into nothingness in the wake of the heat. You exhaled, hoping to alleviate the blister as you opened your laptop and began to scroll. 

Titles and covers whizzed past your vision, certain ones popping out among the others every once and a while. It wasn’t long before you selected your film, a recently produced sequel to an 80s slasher. 

In all honesty, gore wasn’t always your top contender when it came to horror flicks. The dark genre was most appreciative when paired with a good plot and creative antagonist. 

Blood and guts seemed to be Bill’s vice of choice, though, so you didn’t mind pulling up a slightly more grisly story for your nighttime watch sessions.

This one in particular had quite the gruesome start, with one of the minor characters being decapitated with a wayward drone before the beginning credits had even rolled. The sight of his sliced, isolated head had you put your bowl down as the possessed teen rose above the lake, body supinated and drenched with a macabre mix of blood and water. 

Your gaze shifted from the screen to the male beside you for a split second, the state of your inner thoughts relocating from a state of disgust to uncomfort. “Are you able to… uh, get small? Or whatever.”

It might have been halfway visible from your now-averted gaze, but the cocky grin forming on Bill’s face was more than clear enough. “What? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

“No.” The rapid lie felt foreign on your tongue. Dryness coated its surface as the desire to spew a more detailed excuse threatened became cogent. It had been months, probably even longer since you had shared a bed with anyone, let alone a fully grown person.

Or person-adjacent.

Still, something about the extra pairs of limbs and lack of acute angles made the close proximity so much more intense, formal in an almost intimate way that didn’t seem right for the friendship you both shared. 

“I’ll let you know that I’ve had some pretty famous admirers over the centuries,” He bragged, the statement conversely lax, like he was describing an old devotee who hadn’t been anymore than an annoyance. “I bet I get that bloody little organ in your chest beating. Don’t I, doc?” 

Objectively, he was undeniably attractive, in more ways than one. 

Those human vises, the sharp features, lean stature, and bits of muscle poking out from underneath that suit made him handsome. 

But it was that otherworldliness that made him beautiful. Slightly pointed ears framed his face wonderfully; golden-tinted skin matched that gorgeously unique left eye that flashed just a touch every time Bill got excited. The other was just as hauntingly beautiful. They were endless circles of pure darkness, reflecting everything but the life many possessed within this feature. He was the type of creature that you could get lost in. 

Objectively.

You had noticed that unquestionable, shallow thought poking in the back of your mind a few times, but it was easy to ignore, especially when you knew it wouldn’t progress to anything. 

Plus, the gift certainly did not match the lovingly wrapped outsides. 

That always seemed to swiftly extinguish any looks-based spark you held for most men in general. 

Regardless, your brain was seldom able to influence any of the pesky other hormones in your body, that minute pulse traveling up your wrist speeding up just slightly at the mere implication. 

“The answer is still no. And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t say anything. I’d be scared of your ego actually detonating.” The fib came out smoother this time. “Try working on that first, then maybe you’ll be able to get a date.”

Linguine wrapped around your fork, embraced by a tangy sweet sauce and chunk of bell pepper. You stabbed at a spinach-ricotta meatball, almost wishing that you had found a less-gory time to enjoy it. Of course, the meal wasn’t homemade; you would probably need to find recipes for microwave-only courses if you wanted to start cooking. Regardless, it was pretty tasty. For a frozen meal connoisseur, you’d had your fair share of hidden gems and icy let downs, so you knew what you were talking about.

“Liar.”

Mid chew, you turned to Bill, allowing the flavors of salty cheese and seasoned vegetables to melt on your tongue with an inquisitive raise of your eyebrow.

“I can hear it.”

Taking a moment to swallow, you repeated the statement, voice lifting toward the end in the wordless appeal for completion. “You can hear…”

He grinned, creeping closer to you. The initial urge was to jump away, but the still-blistering bowl of food and laptop resting upon your lower stomach had you rethinking. 

With a slow lightness, he raised an arm up, pointer finger straightening to tap at the space between your chest. The touch was hideously warm, even through the thin fabric of your shirt. Nevertheless, it had you frozen, ice coursing through your nerves and freezing the motor sensors that kept you mobile. “Your heart, doc. You humans and your bodily systems are always so damn noisy.”

He’s messing with you

Trying to get a reaction.

Inner reassurance did nothing to the lightness currently blocking the pathway between your brain and mouth. Rational thoughts got stuck there for a moment, delayed amidst the plethora of flustered ones. He was practically on top of you, knowing smirk indicating that it wasn't a mere bluff and kicking you into action.

You smacked his hand gently, flexing your legs and forcing him to back off in the process. “Maybe because you’re being creepy. Girls don’t like that either. Or whoever… whatever gets you going.”

Finally, he seemed to be somewhat satisfied with how much he embarrassed you for the night, giving in and shifting back into his original form. “Whatever you say. Besides, isn’t it normal for someone to want to curl up in bed with his pet from time to time.”

Pet

You were starting to hate that word.

“Still not a dog.”

“Never said you were, toots.”

⭒⋆△⋆⭒

“I’m going to kill my academic advisor.”

“You and every other graduate student from what I’m hearing. What happened now?”

“He took a million years to tell me that I need Anthropology 2235 to graduate next semester and almost every section is filled. The only one left is taught by a lady with a two-point-seven stars on ratemyprofessor.” Jax scowled, typing furiously away at their computer. “Apparently, she grades attendance too.”

“Ouch.” Chewing on the words, you attempted to dig for some bright side to the situation.” Still, the attendance thing isn’t too bad. For you, at least, I suppose. I’d feel bad for everyone else, but I’m glad that’ll be an easy grade.”

It wasn’t very surprising that they genuinely enjoyed learning. Once all of those annoyingly-bothersome prerequisites had been completed, that pleasure had grown even more. Honestly, they might’ve just skipped out on renting a dorm all together, with half of their day spent in class and another quarter in one of the school’s labs. For them, graded attendance was a positive aspect to a professor, regardless of the grumbling and rolling eyes of their peers.

Silence met your statement and you swiveled your gaze to see if maybe they hadn’t heard you, only to be met with wide eyes and lips pursed with guilt, comically remnant of a small child who knew they had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Well, I wasn't exactly planning… on going to all of them.”

“Really?” Funnily enough, the response echoed something your mother might have said as well, whenever you or one of your siblings was planning to do something that she didn’t exactly agree with but wanted to support regardless. 

Jax seemed to clock that too, diving into defense mode. “My research is more important! I have a sparkly clean record for the past five years of university anyways!”

“Besides that one time the elevator in Nester broke down.” The retort was more of a joke than anything, a meager attempt to cool them down that seemed to help.

Barely.

“Besides that, yeah. But that wasn’t my fault either. And I thought you agreed that you wouldn’t judge me for doing all this.” They gestured to Bill and the rest of the room, attaching everything that had occurred in the past few days to ‘this.’ 

But a single word definitely wasn’t enough to encapsulate everything happening. It was like trying to neatly wrap a package that was bursting at the seams. A big, shiny bow might enfold it, but the contents were still poking out from the feeble cardboard.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Not judging. Just… surprised.”

That touch of physicality seemed to dim the flames just a bit, sprinkling bits of extinguishing fluid on their temper. You inwardly sighed in relief as they cracked a grin of their own, their respective agreement to the truce. “I’m just giving you guys a chance. I’d be embarrassed for the rest of you if I got on the dean’s list every semester.”

The laugh you offered back had a hint of hesitancy, the flavor leaving a sour taste as it left your lips. 

You swallowed it down.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Both being in the NSFW content creation sphere, you and Yunho find a mutually beneficial piece of content to film. Pairing: NSFW Audio Creator!Yunho x Only Fans Creator!reader Tropes: Adult Content creator au, friends with benefits au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, the reader is smaller than Yunho by a good amount Smut Warnings: recorded sex, blindfolding, auralism, protected sex, implications of a hand kink, use of the name “daddy”, pet names, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, ripping clothing Word Count: 2,416 Host Tag: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact

Listen to ♡ Often by The Weekend

“You’re sure you’re not going to get kidnapped?” Yeri checks for the tenth time.

“I’m sure!” You laugh, “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve talked with him before, too, several times. You know Yunho and I are friends.”

Yeri’s jaw falls to the floor. You meet her eyes through your mirror after you finish fixing your makeup. You look at her as if you’ve just said the most mundane sentence in the world. On the other hand, she looks as if you just told her you’re not actually who you told her you are.

“You mean to tell me–”

“I haven’t fucked him. Not in the literal sense, at least.” You explain, “We’ve fucked around in DMs before a few times but nothing in person yet. We’re genuinely friends, too, it’s not just about our jobs. He’s seen me. I’ve seen him. We’re both being safe. Now go back to your own apartment unless you want to witness something you probably don’t want to.”

She shakes her head and scrunches her nose. You laugh at her action and start walking her toward your front door. You start to pull your door open to let her out when she starts to sound like a broken record.

“Seriously, if you think he might–”

She’s cut off by someone clearing their throat. She turns around, and you look up. He’s right in the doorway, looking devastatingly handsome. Yeri buttons her lip and slips past him. You bid her goodbye as she’s already halfway to the elevator.

“Come on in.” You smile at the tall man, moving to let him in.

“It’s nice to see you in person finally.” He smiles

You nod, mouth suddenly dry, “I hope it wasn’t too bad of a trip here.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “It was actually really nice. It’s beautiful out.”

You’ve been friends online for a while now, and this sudden awkward tension is almost suffocating. Yunho smiles at you and takes your hand in his. You look at your connected hands before looking back up to his face. You’ve seen him before in pictures you exchanged in the past. Some of them are more distracting than others. Seeing him in person seems to create a whole new level of devastation for your panties and your heart at the same time.

He drops your hand and leans against a bookshelf at the edge of your entryway. He’s nearly the same height as it. You need a stool to reach the top shelf of it. Now you take in just how tall he is. You knew he was tall. Knowing a fact versus seeing it is so different. You already know his cock is big too. You’ve been blessed to see it several times. Your mind starts to wander to your activities planned for the afternoon.

“You okay?” Yunho’s eyes fill with concern, “If you don’t want to do anything, we don’t have to. We can just hang out.”

“No, no,” you chuckle, “I just forgot how… big you are…” You admit.

Yunho smirks as he leans over you while leaning against the bookshelves. You gulp at the sight.

“Did you, sweetheart?”

Fuck.

Your mouth goes dry again, trying to find a proper response. You knew damn well what the plan was walking into today. Both of you had planned out the entire scene in depth to ensure safety and quality content for your followers. Hearing his voice, seeing that stupidly hot smirk, everything about him renders you speechless.

“Sweetheart?” He calls again, “You still with me?”

You nod, “Just… thinking…”

“About?” He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips.

“We have a bit of content to film, and–” You stop yourself and stare at his lips for a moment.

“And?” He questions.

Your gaze stays fixated on his lips, “And… I fucking need you right now.”

Yunho doesn’t waste a moment closing the gap between you. The way he pulls you tight against him, combined with the heat of the kiss, makes your knees buckle. You stand there for a while, just kissing him. Your neck hurts a bit from stretching up to reach him, though you’re sure he is hurting more from craning down. By the time you pull away, your lips are puffy and wet with spit. His aren’t in much better condition; he has a bit of your lipgloss smeared near his own lips.

“Is your camera all set up?” He asks, his voice slightly raspier than earlier.

“Mm,” you hum, “You’re okay with your face being on camera?”

“We already talked about that.” He reminds you, “It’s okay. My face isn’t fully a secret to my audience.”

You take his hand in yours again and guide him toward your room. As you had told him before, your camera is already set up in front of your bed. You reach over and press record before you even say another word to him. As much as you’d love to get wrecked by him now, you know the goal is to get content. Your high-quality microphone is already connected and tested to ensure it gets the best recording it can. After all, it’s not just being uploaded to your Only Fans. The audio from today is being edited and uploaded to Yunho’s NSFW audio subscription as well. Short free clips are going to be posted on both of your Twitter accounts in addition to helping with the traction. Before you get in the view of the camera, you slip your shorts off from under your oversized T-shirt. Per the agreed-upon scene, you’re playing the role of his pretty little stay-at-home girlfriend and won’t be needing pants if you’re at home all day.

“You ready, princess?”

You know he’s put on his acting, but he still searches for any uncertainty in your eyes.

“I’m ready, Daddy.” you respond, voice sweet and needy.

Despite neither of you truly having a daddy kink, you both agreed to that title for Yunho to both protect his identity and play into the content you both know people want. You sit on the side of your bed and look up at him with wide, faux-innocent eyes. Yunho hums and leans down to cage you against the bed. One hand slips back a bit to grab a silk tie just behind you. He pulls it off of the bed and leans back a bit to hold it between you.

“We’re gonna play a little game, okay?”

You nod, “Will I get to feel you?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ll feel me. You just won’t see a damn thing.”

Yunho leans forward again and kisses you sloppily. The wet sounds of your kiss are enough to make you rub your thighs together. He, of course, notices it and grips your thigh with his other hand. Massaging the flesh, he pushes your oversized shirt up to expose your soaked panties. He guides you back further until you’re nearly laid down. He drops the tie just long enough to pull the shirt off of your body. You’re only left in your panties while he’s fully clothed. That doesn’t last long, though. He pulls his own shirt off. You appreciate his toned body and end up fixated on the noticeable bulge under his sweats. You gulp before meeting his eyes again.

“Can’t I suck you off for a bit? I wanna be a good girl for you.”

Yunho gives you an endearing smile, holding your chin in his hand, “That’s so sweet of you, baby. As much as Daddy would love that, I have other plans for us today. I’m gonna blindfold you now, okay? You know our cues.”

“Colors, if I can speak. If not, two taps for a break and three for a full stop.”

He kisses you again, “That’s my girl.”

It’s for the camera, you know that. Still, it doesn’t stop you from nearly melting at the praise. He takes the black silk tie and carefully secures it around your head, checking to make sure it’s not too loose or tight. You feel him guide you to lie down on your bed and push your thighs apart to be flat across the bed as well. Every sound sounds so vivid. The soft sound of his hands moving across the bedding, the gentle sounds of his breath by your ear, even the light creaking of your bed as he puts his full body weight on it. A gasp escapes your lips as he leaves more wet kisses along your throat. The noises he makes as he kisses you while letting his hands wander are enough to make your panties even more soaked than they previously were.

“You’re so jumpy, baby.” He chuckles, “Relax, let me make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” you whine, bucking your hips when his hand trails along your inner thigh.

“Yes, princess?”

You gasp when his kisses reach your chest, “Need–” 

You let out a broken whine when he wraps his lips around one of your nipples. His fingers lightly trail up and down your thighs, intentionally skipping over the place you need him most. Each time you buck your hips toward his touch, he lightly nips at your chest. The lack of vision only heightens your other senses more. Each time he so much as grazes your body, you jolt in reaction. Each word he says and each noise he makes sends you into another plane of existence.

You feel his body pull away from you, leaving behind a waft of his addictive scent. You feel as he pulls your panties to the side and strokes through your folds. The squelching sounds that come from your lower lips are loud. Each rub against your clit, each time his pretty, long fingers push into you, you feel yourself crave him more. He fucks you on his fingers for a while. His thumb presses perfectly against your clit while two of his other fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that makes you see stars. His unoccupied hand holds one of your thighs down. His fingers dig into your skin in a way that may leave bruises, not that you mind at all.

“You hear that, sweetheart? You’re so fucking wet. What’s got you such a wreck? Hmm?”

“Daddy, I– fuck! Everything, it’s everything!”

“Everything? It’s how you keep whining and moaning while I finger your pretty little pussy, the way I’m speaking to you, the fact that you can’t see a damn thing. You’re at my mercy, sweetheart.”

You want to close your thighs so badly due to the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. A light slap on your thigh stops your action. A moment later, Yunho pulls his fingers from inside you, and you feel his weight lift off of the bed. The sound of foil ripping fills the space, followed by a low, growly groan. Though you can’t see it, you know Yunho kept his promise to put a condom on.

“Daddy,” your voice wavers with uncertainty.

You feel his hand rest against your waist, “It’s okay, princess. Daddy didn’t leave you all alone. I’m right here.”

The small gesture of reassurance makes your heart flutter for a brief moment. You feel the bed sink again and feel his bare skin against yours. He places a sweet kiss against your lips and whispers a quick check-in.

“You want Daddy to fuck you now?”

“Please, want Daddy’s cock, please.” You whine.

You feel the head of his cock rubs through your folds a few times before pushing in. Your panties are still pushed to the side, though they aren’t terribly in the way. Yunho continues to shower you with filthy comments and praises. Your hands fly forward and feel their way to his hair. Pulling him forward more, you pull him into another sloppy kiss. His thrusts are loud, and the squelching sound of your pussy is louder than it was with just his fingers. Your moans are muffled slightly by his kisses, but still, they’re loud. The fact that you can’t see anything makes it hard to know exactly what is happening.

“Wanna see you.” You request.

“My princess wants to see me now? I thought you liked not knowing what’s coming.” He teases.

“I- I do, but I wanna see Daddy now. Please?”

Yunho gives a particularly punctuated thrust, “Alright, princess, pick up your head a little, and I’ll take it off.”

You do as he says, and light floods your field of view a split second later. It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the light. Once they do, you’re met with the sight of Yunho above you, sat up straight on his knees as he thrusts into you. He has a heated, lust-driven look in his eyes that brings you closer to your orgasm.

“Are you attached to these panties, baby?”

You shake your head at his question. A moment later, the telltale sign of clothing ripping fills the room. You break eye contact for a moment to see that he ripped the seat of your panties and was seconds away from ripping the waistband, too. Yunho smirked at you and leaned in close to your ear.

“I’ll buy you a new pair later, or I’ll pay for you to get some new ones.”

“Daddy, wanna– gonna–”

You’re not on Earth anymore. Your mind is so far gone, lost in the obsession you’ve discovered you have with his voice and the filthy, debauched noises being created in the space. In all honesty, you didn’t even process what he just said to you. All you can think about is the fact that you’re mere moments from your orgasm.

“Pretty baby wants to cum?” He asks, gripping onto your now bare hips.

“Please,” small tears form in your eyes, “Please, please!”

Yunho smirks at you again, “Cum.”

Your orgasm rips through you, stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before. Yunho’s thrusts grow stronger and faster. As you ride out your high, he reaches his own. He releases his load into the condom with a loud groan. His eyebrows furrowed together while his eyes remain locked on your own. You both start to fall from cloud nine around the same moment. Yunho leans down to hover above you and places a small kiss against your collarbone.

“You did such a good job, pretty girl. I’m so proud of you.”

That last comment wasn’t for the camera. That was specifically for you.

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

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[mister-a-z-fell]

I was asked to provide a guide to the Celestial Hierarchy, so this is a very rough guide, with certain details omitted for various reasons.

The ‘alt text’ thingy didn’t seem willing to contain a full description, so I include it below:

An attempt at describing the informative ‘graphical’ representation.

The image describes the Hierarchy of Heaven, with the titles of angelic choirs and notes on their roles and functions.

God is, of course, at the top (although in a more dimensionally accurate depiction, this would be the centre).

Beneath God is the Metatron - Voice of God. The appended note reads ‘TECHNICALLY PART OF THE SERAPHIM’ but further information is blocked out with ‘REDACTED’ in its place.

There are three groups of angels below Metatron. They are the First, Second and Third Spheres.

The First Sphere includes Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones.

The following notes are attached:

1: ARCHANGELS (this is written with a capital A)

Senior management, drawn from the ranks of Seraphim and Cherubim.

Theirs are CENTRE-FACING ROLES (Enacting the Will of God, facilitation of the Plan, long-term strategies and Angelic Resources).

2: As a point of etiquette, Seraphim and Cherubim are only to be spoken of as a plurality. Do not refer to one Seraph or one Cherub.
3. Cherubim are not to be confused with Cherubs — young/neonate angels, or cherubs — quasi-sentient firmament devices. (The word ‘cherub’ is written with strangely accented letters, suggesting that the words may sound different.)

Thrones have their own role description: LOGISTICS & LARGE-SCALE

MACROCOSMIC FORCES, and an additional, emphatic note: NO WHEELS. NONE OF US HAVE WHEELS.

The Second Sphere includes Dominions, Virtues and Powers.

The role description for Dominions and Virtues reads: ARCHITECTS. ENGINEERS, FIRMAMENT-SMITHS, but the description beside Powers has been redacted.

The Third Sphere includes Principalities, archangels (with a small a) and Angels.

A note on etiquette regarding archangels reads ‘don’t forget the small a. But don’t bring it up in conversation’.

This Sphere is characterised as ‘EARTH-FACING ROLES & ADMINISTRATION — Guidance, observation, soul-conservation & procurement, record-keeping’.

A note on Principalities warns ‘Don’t make jokes about how few of them there are’ and ‘This means you, Sandalphon.’

Conversely, regarding Angels, the advice says ‘There are so many of them. Millions. Don’t try to remember every name when you can generally get away with ‘Mumble-iel’.

[wromwood]

My main thought regarding the new Doctor Who episode "Lucky Day":

As I was watching the episode for the first time, I was surprised that the show told us hardly anything about Conrad's podcast. All the way up until his main reveal, the only things we really know are that 1) the podcast relates to Conrad's supposed interest in alien theories, especially regarding the Doctor, 2) it has enough of an audience that he was able to find Ruby by posting a picture of her online, and 3) it's relevant for him to mention that some people think UNIT and their work is just a big hoax, and that these deniers have their own communities and shows.

Obviously, in retrospect, this is because of the Doylist reason that the show wanted to keep Conrad's podcast a secret until the mid-episode reveal, and showing the podcast's name/too many hints could have made that reveal less impactful. However, even before that reveal takes place, I was distracted by the lack of satisfying Watsonian reasons for this information to be hidden, mostly because this shows a worrying lack of foresight on Ruby's part.

I'm not saying Ruby should get some kind of blame for her getting betrayed and hurt by Conrad. She absolutely didn't deserve it, and Conrad was definitely working to keep his UNIT-denying side hidden during their relationship. But from the moment Conrad mentions the UNIT-deniers while recording his podcast, I thought, "Wait, that's a good point. What stance is this podcast taking on the matter? What kind of audience does it have? What is this show's premise? Hell, what is its name?"

And again, the Doylist reason is clear! With these details out of the audiences' sight, we have to fill in the blanks ourselves, leading us to assume that this character - who had a personal interaction with the Doctor as a kid, who witnessed an alien (albeit in glimpses) himself, who saw the Doctor and Ruby out on a mission, AND who witnessed the TARDIS vanishing - is on the side of "UNIT is working on real issues and these aliens are real."

However, I think part of the reason we filled in the blanks like that is because of another assumption: "Well, Ruby would know better than to go on the podcast of one of these deniers."

Which begs the question: how didn't she know, or suspect, from the start?

As we learn later in the episode, Conrad is established in the UNIT-denying shitty-belief sphere. He has a lot of paid subscribers and a growing movement behind him. Granted, we learn this after a timeskip, during which he likely experienced a boom in his popularity. Still, even before then, his podcast is established enough to not only have the budget for pretty decent monster costumes and matching t-shirts, but to also have the numbers and ability to use a small village for a stunt. He already has people parroting his (or saying their own) shitty views, and he has the audience to spread the word once he releases that first major livestream. Hell, like I mentioned before, he had that audience when he first wanted to find Ruby. Since we see Ruby's own mother and grandmother looking Conrad up on the Internet and finding (what sounds like) his personal social media accounts, how did neither or them, nor Ruby herself, encounter Conrad's presence in these groups? His podcast's core message or audience?

The ONLY solution I can think of is that Conrad was somehow deliberately playing a long game, and he had enough followers who were wiling to keep their mouths shut about it, at least publicly.

Maybe Conrad only engaged in these communities and planned everything by using "anonymous" accounts. He didn't post his face or voice, and when he formed a team that he could interact with IRL, he made sure that everything stayed between them and them only. That way, at least on the surface, searching for Conrad's given name wouldn't yield any worrying results, and he only revealed his true face and name during the Colsin Village Shreek staging.

At the same time, Conrad starts his podcast, which may or may not be called Think Tank (I can't remember if Conrad says that the podcast is called Think Tank, or if it was just the name of their group as a whole). He makes his show either a convincingly innocent podcast that "just asks questions" (so that his audience is largely comprised of skeptics that are biased towards his opinions, bad-faith arguments, and deliberately staged "reveals" about UNIT) and/or he fills every episode with dogwhistles so that the hardcore UNIT deniers could find him from day one, all while making the show seem harmless to people who aren't in the know. This way, Ruby could look over his podcast before agreeing to be on it while not suspecting a thing.

The last tricky thing to handle with this theory is the idea of Ruby being found by Conrad's audience. How did she not encounter UNIT-deniers while people were looking for her? Well, either the hardcore-UNIT-deniers in Conrad's audience at the time knew (or were instructed) to keep their worse beliefs hidden and play nice in order to help bring this girl to their leader, the UNIT-deniers weren't as vile and whipped up at this point in time, or Ruby just happened to be spotted by Conrad's less extreme audience members (possibly the previously theorized "skeptics"). All of these possibilities have their pros and cons, but I guess any could work.

STILL. I am annoyed at the episode for not explaining any of this, because without a hell of a lot of head-scratching and "What if"ing, it just feels like Ruby carelessly guest-starred on a podcast with no background-checking whatsoever.

What do you guys think?

[yridenergyridenergy]

Burrn! Japan vol. 23 Individual Interview Translation Notes

Kyo's favourite movies are those that leave a really bad aftertaste, which he just can't watch more than once or twice. Besides Holy Mountain, some of his highlights have been Pearl, MEN and Midsommar. Ideally, he'd love to replicate this in a live show: as a fan, you would be so shocked and blinded by tears that you couldn't even see Kyo. He thinks that Dir en grey is more and more working toward this kind of mission. Kyo would also love to perform in Las Vegas' SPHERE venue, with this type of overwhelming shock.

If he had to make a movie, it would also be one that leaves a bad aftertaste and which nobody could sanely watch more than twice, but since he would have to do multiple reviews as the director, it won't happen.

Kyo finally explained the focus on Uroboros more: he feels that Dir en grey was able to build something more from this point onward. The worldview started with Withering to death. too, but the base was set more firmly with Uroboros.

For Kyo, the inclusion of Oboro is what totally changes a setlist. He feels that it's a bottomless pit, like he's cutting deeper and deeper into a wound. For Die, The World of Mercy is the song that can make a whole difference in a setlist, because of the change of tempo in the middle.

Die described that when they try to compose songs, sometimes, after 25 years, they can have the impression that the melody's already been done before. But then, let's say Kyo adds his singing on top of it, and it goes through the filters of the other members too, and in the end, Die feels like: "Wow, it's something totally different now!"

Die doesn't usually work on melodies in his free time. The ideas come to him the most when there is a concrete release decided and deadlines, even if he doesn't like deadlines.

Regarding the upcoming European tour, Die reflects that Withering to death. was the first time that they toured in Europe, and in general they have never done "concept tours" overseas. He feels that the band will be able to do things in 2024 that they weren't able to do back then.

Apparently Dir en grey is thinking of celebrating the 30th anniversary since their formation!! And they are wondering whether to release the next album before that or around the same time.

Kaoru mentioned that at first, only Acro no Oka and Zan were supposed to be recorded with Yoshiki in LA, but when they arrived, it was decided to add Yurameki. About Acro no Oka, Yoshiki commented that it was a concern because of the lack of "collision of sounds", whereas Zan was a problem of collision of sounds.

In Yurameki, apparently they recorded some strings separately and overlapped them in post-production because Yoshiki asked Kaoru to play something in a specific way that was impossible, because the string couldn't be held down simultaneously. They figured: "No one will notice."

This European tour was supposed to happen in 2022 to coincide with the band's 25th anniversary.

Shinya would have preferred to sleep until 4PM on the day of this interview. He also appreciated that the songs of Phalaris were introduced in three segments/tours, because he had trouble memorizing the structure of the songs. It would have been impossible for him to play all of the album's songs at once live.

His favourite kind of ending is when the show doesn't end with a bang, but that it instead leaves a lingering worldview, which was accomplished with Kamuy. His favourite part is when the curtain was lowered in front of the stage as soon as Kamuy started. Ideally, he would always just walk off the stage without throwing drumsticks or anything.

For the first time, the rehearsal for Tour23 Phalaris Final –the scent of a peaceful death- was not just [rhythm section] then [whole band]. At Die's suggestion, they had rhythm first, then the four musicians, and finally the whole band rehearsed together.

Shinya was ecstatic that his composition, Yurameki, was chosen for the major debut and that it was produced with Yoshiki. Ever since then, he felt like he could die happy, and all the way up until now, Shinya has continually felt like he could be content to die at any moment.

For ten years now, Shinya has wished to record simple drum melodies. Also, he thinks that he will struggle to re-learn how to play the Uroboros songs.

Toshiya reveals that the imagery projected on the curtain in the opening (during Otogi) and ending (during Kamuy) of the shows in Tour23 Phalaris Final –the scent of a peaceful death- were generated by AI.

It seems that a lot of people have commented that going to see Dir en grey is more like a spectacle than seeing a rock band's live performance.

Toshiya was initially opposed to the idea of re-recording the three singles of their major debut. He feels that old songs are out of their hands, and some things about them belong to the listeners and their past experiences of it. In other words, he is worried that re-recording could destroy something about the memories associated to the songs. In his view, it's better for the creators to re-imagine the songs, like they have done with their remakes so far. At the same time, in retrospection, Toshiya is glad that they decided to do it, because it made him realize that a lot has changed in 25 years, but a lot also hasn't changed, with the band.

[boneapplet]

Shrouded in Silence

Relationship: Magnus the Red x assassin!afab!reader

Word Count: 1036

Requested Tags for All Works: @beckyninja @runin64 @ilovewolvezz

Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

               The warp doesn’t scream. It whimpers. A sickly, shivering thing, trapped beneath glass and smothered under silk—still breathing, but barely.

Magnus stands in the inner sanctum of The Photep, the flagship of his grand Prospero fleet, deep within its command-spire, beneath a vaulted dome inlaid with gold-thread runes and Prosperoan obsidian. The room hums with energy. Gilded light pooling around his feet, drawn from psychometric projectors that render the Immaterium in complex threads of gold.

The chamber pulses with layered data— casting luminous maplines of warp-tide shifts, the harmonic resonance of Gellar-field hymns, the pulse of astropathic traffic threading between vessels into the air like drifting constellations. And something within all of it was...wrong. Not shattered. Not broken. Muted. Not in the ship’s mechanisms—those obeyed. Nor in the discipline of his sons. It is subtler than that. A wrongness of absence. An echo that returns no sound.

His hands twitch behind his back, fingers tightening around the edge of his belt. The Eye of Magnus, the flame-slicked orb that blazes open in the center of his brow, narrows as it drinks in the flow of the Immaterium. Warp-vision flooding his mind in ripples of light and resonance, revealing the thousand candles that flicker across his fleet: psykers, ship-minds, astropaths, thought-forms echoing between Librarius cells and choir sanctums. But in the heart of it all, there is a place where nothing stirs. A blind spot. A cold seam in the weave. He reaches toward them, threads of warp-light vanishing like dust motes the closer he drew.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the third day, the whispers had begun. Not from the serfs, they are always muttering, but from his own sons. In the Librarius vaults, where words are chosen carefully and meanings wrapped in precision, even there he hears it:

“Fatigue in the astropaths.” “Dream disturbances among junior initiates.” “Shielding instability. Vox thrones returning static.” “The resonance of thought feels... displaced.”

Displaced. The word needles him. They don’t bring him panic or accusations—his sons are too composed for that. But the signs were there in their tone. The measured hesitations. The way they linger after dismissals. The unusual frequency of dream journals being submitted for peer review.

Magnus stands before the central warp-array during morning diagnostics when Librarian Valessan approaches. Having been summoned to the secondary Librarius wing, beneath a sphere of muted starlight and ritual-scripted iron. The two stand in silence before the sealed pict-records of the last astropath who had perished during warp-channel alignment. The younger psyker bows his head, his aura flickering pale yellow with unease, seemingly decided to finally voice it aloud.

“My lord,” Valessan begins, “we lost another astropath during the dawn shift.”

Magnus turns slightly, his cloak rustling across the inlaid runes on the deck. “Cause?”

“Translation collapse. The last three occurred within seconds of contact. Autopsies reveal hemorrhaging across the primary psychic cortex. No warning. No strain signatures.”

“And the survivors?”

“Unstable. Listless. Dreams flicker and die before the second layer of trance. Even the strongest of them are complaining of... vagueness.”

Magnus’s third eye opens wider, pupil blazing like a solar flare. Warp-sight flooding his perception—and even here, among trained psykers, he sees it: A sagging in the weave. Like water heavy with salt. A shape where resonance should be. The primarch’s silence is heavier than accusation.

Valessan continues quickly. “It is the fifth in a week. And more report disorientation. Even the Gellar-chant priests speak of their voices echoing back... empty.”

“What do you feel, Valessan?” Magnus asks.

The Librarian hesitates, words forming and dying in his throat before finally surfacing.

“A weight,” he finally says. “Not on my limbs. On my thoughts. Like someone placed a mirror in my skull—and I cannot see myself in it. As if someone’s taken a part of the world and…erased its voice.”

That catches Magnus’s full attention. Slowly, he turns. His gaze meets the younger man’s. The Eye above his brow flares once—subtle, inquisitive. Not madness. Not sabotage. Something was pressing in from the outside. Something that made even memory quieter. Magnus says nothing, but he too had felt it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, long after the deck chiming of the sixth cycle, Magnus remains in the data sanctum. He is methodical in his search, filing through countless forms. Incident logs. Vox-trace failures. Subdeck air integrity fluctuations. Gellar-shield misfires. Crew transfers. Minor deaths, unnoticed errata. Patterns beneath patterns.

It emerges like a bruise through the layers. Everything—every anomaly—clustered around Decks Thirteen through Sixteen, lower midship, near the secondary astropathic choir chambers and the warp-buffer harmonics. Too low for remembrancers. Too secure for outsiders.

There, one name repeats, never overtly. No one filed complaints. No citations. No malfunctions tied directly to her, but she is always nearby. Aetanna Vale: Handler-Adept, Theta Clearance. On record, she is assigned to oversee shielding compliance and astropathic emotional telemetry. Standard duties for one managing long-range translation staff. Though she doesn’t appear in pict-feeds. Or personal logs. Or mission rosters beyond the minimum. A blank space in the latticework of discipline. Her name surfaced where warp-resonance dimmed. Where dreams falter. Where voices stopped.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Magnus doesn’t confront her. Not yet. Instead, he sends Valessan to walk the decks. Told him to check for faulty harmonics in the psychometric altars, and to carry no overt power with him. Just presence. Valessan returns hours later, sweating, pale, and silent.

“She was there,” he says simply.

Magnus studies him. “And?”

The Librarian struggles for words. “I lost my thought mid-prayer. I began to speak—and forgot the tongue. I could feel her, Lord. Not through the warp. Around it. Like she wore silence as a second skin.”

“Did she see you?”

“She looked through me.”

Magnus nods slowly. He walks the lower decks himself that night, silent, senses wide. In the guise of inspecting a collapsed astropath personally. He passes the secondary choir chambers. Past the scriptorium. Past the meditation vaults. As he turns down a side hall—and feels it, viscerally: The warp recoils. Not flare, not surge. Recoils.

His third eye clenches shut. Not by choice. By reflex. He knew then, this isn’t coincidence. He hears footsteps, as he turns the corner but finds the hallway empty.

[samueldelany]

Another jazz titan, John Coltrane was a major part of the Afrofuturist movement in jazz music. Coltrane was known, especially in the years leading up to his premature death, for spirituality in his music (one of the core tenets). On the year of his death, he recorded Interstellar Space, which was released by Impulse Records posthumously in 1974, in the heat of the Afrofuturist wave. Each of the tracks are named after the planets in our solar system, and the album is full of the classic Coltrane avante-garde sound with frantic runs of saxophone notes and fast drumming tempos.

Pharoah Sanders, another major player in the spritual jazz sphere released a couple of Afrofutuist jazz albums, such as Thembi (1971) and Karma (1969). Sanders takes inspiration from eastern spirituality in these albums, bringing in a new perspective to the jazz sound, while still keeping the aspects of spirituality and the future that Afrofuturuism is known for.

While the movement took off and had its heyday in the early to mid-70s, there is still a well established Afrofuturist movement in today’s jazz sound.

[twilightarc-gm]

Why do you like jiang cheng?

At the risk of liking him for the wrong reasons, let me be verbose and annoying about it.

A short anecdote: I finished the donghua before the novel and I liked JC's aesthetic so I was happy to have that imagery in my head for the novel, but mostly I came out of the donghua like "cool story, the ending was frowny face though" and I came out of the novel like I was lost in the IKEA store "there's stuff here but it's not what I want and it's organized in a way that's hard to navigate through." Bit like giving me a puzzle to solve.

Anyway, imagine a cat bapping at a thing trying to get fandom to show me what to do with MDZS (i.e. reading fanfic) and then I come across anti-Jiang Cheng stuff.

//record scratch

I'm sorry what?

Why?

NO.

I started then on Shuangjie reconciliation fic and quickly evolved into Jiang Cheng "Apologist" ((I actually don't think he has anything to apologize for even if he would do so anyway.))

I've been in the xianxia/wuxia sphere of media consumption for a year or so before trying out MDZS and JC just fits so well as the main character of his own story; destined for a position of power through birth, friends with someone in his life that causes conflict, seemingly betrayed by said friend when needing that friend the most, losing and losing and losing as his trust in said friend proves unfounded because the friend walks a path he can't follow, and then he's left with the tragedy that befell the world because--ultimately he trusted this friend too much.

It's a classic story of love and attachment and how good intentions can have massive consequences. Two men entwined by fate and in the end there's a battle on a hill (off screen in this case) where one is forced to "kill" the other.

MDZS could have ended with the past timeline, and I would have liked it more but at least in the present timeline we get Jiujiu and a-Ling.

Anyway: Excerpts and Commentary Below about WHY I LOVE JIANG CHENG, courtesy WANYIN

Of all the clans to offend, you don’t offend the Jiang Clan, and of all the people to offend, you never offend Jiang Cheng.

We stand by a badass mf in this house. The first thing we learn is that he gets credit for killing a big baddy and the second thing we learn is how fierce the rest of his reputation is. He brooks no shit and leaves no quarter. Amazing 💜

Well, I was done for at "gaze like two streaks of cold lightning" so RIP me, I guess. Reminds me of some antis that are like "you only like him because he's hot" which isn't true but it is a nice plus. He's described as inferior to LWJ so like, if it was only about hotness then wouldn't I like LWJ???

“I am his uncle. Do you have any last words?”

At the sound of that voice, every drop of blood in Wei Wuxian’s body seemed to surge to his head but then immediately drained away again. Thankfully, his face was already a mess of ghastly white, so it didn’t look strange when he went a little paler.

A man in purple attire strode over. He was dressed in a narrow-sleeved light robe, with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. A silver bell dangled from his waist, yet there was no sound when he walked.

This young man had fine brows and almond eyes, with a chiseled handsomeness to his features. His eyes were deep and intense with a hint of aggression, his gaze like two streaks of cold lightning. He stopped and stood three meters away from Wei Wuxian. His expression was like that of a nocked arrow on a bow, ready to shoot, and even his composure was suffused with arrogant pride.

Jiang Cheng ruled the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng alone, so it could have been said that he was in a state of isolation.

🥺 Alone?? And he could still afford 400 Immortal Binding Nets? Self-sufficient king 🤩 And like, his reputation is so fierce and he's boiling over with anger in that scene, but still he restrains himself because he did the cost-benefit analysis! And then later he takes a huge risk on WWX, like he always does for WWX, and that doesn't work out for him--like it always does.

Seeing that nothing had happened to Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng was greatly relieved. However, that relief soon turned into a furious reprimand:

Parent behavior. Enough said.

He has a twisted smile when encountering a trigger for his PTSD and then he decides to fight it instead of letting it paralyze him. He's such a doer. Like, every other moment of the day he's carefully calculating pluses and minuses to every choice (valid) but when it comes to facing his personal demons he's ready to throw down. Excellent.

A moment later, Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand subconsciously began stroking that ring once more.

He said softly, “Excellent. Back, are you?”

He let go of his left hand, and a long whip dangled from it.

“Oh? Then please enlighten me, what is your type?”

Walking A-Spec flag very concerned about what the man who might be his shixiong thinks about him, more at eleven!

Wei Wuxian waved him off and then hooked his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. “Who cares? I’ll tease him a bit more before I go. You’ve already collected my corpse so many times. Once more won’t hurt.”

Okay but big lol that JC doesn't get to collect WWX's corpse that final time. //sounds of sobbing

A smile appeared on his face, but then he immediately humphed.

He's so grumpy and adorable! I love him! pre massacre JC is precious and I just want him to have someone to bring out that smile again.

He literally didn't have to do this. He makes all these excuses how he'll be embarrassed if WWX is rolling around 😂 Perfection. Boy, you are still carrying him and he doesn't want you to stop.

Jiang Cheng, walk slower, you’re gonna throw me off.”

Not only did Jiang Cheng want to throw Wei Wuxian off, but he practically wanted to bash his head into the ground to create a human crater. “So fussy even though I’m carrying you!”

“I didn’t tell you to carry me,” Wei Wuxian reasoned.

Jiang Cheng flew into a rage. “If I didn’t carry you, I think you’d hang out at their ancestral hall all day, rolling around on the floor. I can’t afford this embarrassment! Lan Wangji took fifty more strikes than you, but he walked away on his own, and you’re not embarrassed, pretending to be an invalid? I don’t want to carry you anymore. Get the hell off!”

“No, I’m wounded,” Wei Wuxian said.

Alrighty, like I'm just going through the entire book at this point.

Let me see if I can make this more concise:

Sacrifices himself despite his very dutiful nature that would oppose this. He throws away all his responsibilities for WWX, again and again, carrying on a tradition of favoring WWX over his own health and happiness. Citing: JFM favoring WWX to the detriment of his marriage, JYL dying to save WWX, and JC (exhausted and with little or no power) running into danger to save WWX ala distracting the Wen patrol and 2nd Siege.

Can't be honest in his affections and makes up excuses to do nice things for others.

Loves and understands his sister. She wanted JZX so he made it happen when LLJ had absolutely no reason to reinstate the marriage contract between Xuanli. JGS notes in the CR arc that he didn't want the marriage for his son in the first place and that there were better options than YMJ, and that was before the war! JC helped her get to Yiling to show off her wedding dress! Even though she married out he still felt so attached to her son he couldn't not co-parent Jin Ling.

Yes, he has Zidian, but he also has a second horsewhip that he keeps on him which is very exciting to know.

The narrative hates him but he survives. (He survives because the narrative hates him).

Most BAMF entrance in the novel at the temple scene with the busting the temple doors down and coming in from the rain with an umbrella. Like sure the narrative hates him but small blessings that rule of cool still counts for something.

Mama's boy.

Just some dude, shows up late to treasury room nonsense, knows all the gossip, no one has faith in him including himself, but he keeps going and doing what needs to be done even when he's so so tired and his shixiong shows up 3 months late with a ghoul lady and a latte, or disappears to liberate slave property without warning first and now he's called into a midnight meeting after trying to get some much needed rest and now he's got consequences to deal with. Someone help him!

An expert at sneering. Threats as a show of worry and care. This makes all the little and brief smiles so much more endearing.

Sandu Shengshou is an amazing title, get out of here if you don't agree. Holy Hand of the Three Poisons? Brutal, perfect 💜 It gets used like, ONCE. Crime against me personally.

Link to Blorbo Sheet for JC

He loves, he hates, he wants to hate he's not allowed to love. Zero middle ground, he's all in and there's no way out.

//is shot and dragged off stage

But just as the Wei Wuxian of the past who’d extracted his golden core for Jiang Cheng had been unable to tell him the truth, the Jiang Cheng of the present could no longer bring himself to speak up.

[linguisticdiscovery]

7 undeciphered writing systems

(While reading, remember that it’s possible to decipher a script and still not understand the language that the script represents.)

(Each heading links to that script's respective Wikipedia page.)

Byblos Syllabary

The Byblos syllabary is attested in 10 inscriptions found in Byblos, a coastal city in Lebanon. It likely represents a Semitic language, but despite a handful of attempts at decipherment, there still isn’t a consensus as to what sound each character represents.

Cypro-Minoan Syllabary

The Cypro-Minoan syllabary appears on ~250 objects—especially clay balls and cylinders that were used for recording economic transactions—on the island of Cyprus.

The script suddenly disappears in 950 BCE and was replaced by the Cypriot syllabary, which was used to write Greek, and based on Cypro-Minoan. This evolution allows us to infer the sounds of some of the signs in Cypro-Minoan, but we still don’t know what language it represented—probably either Minoan or Eteocypriot.

There are only ~2,500 total instances of signs for Cypro-Minoan, which is significantly less than Linear B when it was deciphered (~30,000).

Indus Valley Script

The Indus Valley script is known from ~4,000 objects with very short inscriptions found in and around the Indus Valley, and represents the Harappan language (the unknown language of the Indus Valley civilization).

It has about 400 distinct signs, which is too many for each sign to represent a single sound or syllable, but too few for each sign to represent a word. Scholars thus think the system is logo-syllabic (basically a mix of the two).

Linear A

Linear A: Everybody’s favorite mysterious undeciphered script. Linear A was used by the Minoans on the island of Crete, and is called “linear” because the script is written by cutting lines into clay, rather than pressing wedges into clay like cuneiform.

Linear A was adapted to write Mycenean Greek and became Linear B (deciphered in the 1950s), and because of this we can infer many of the sound values of symbols in Linear A. However, 80% of Linear A’s signs are unique, not shared with Linear B.

Linear A itself probably developed from the earlier Cretan hieroglyphs, which are also undeciphered.

Phaistos Disk

The Phaistos Disk. Also from the Minoan civilization on Crete, yet seemingly unrelated to Linear A. This disk is the only certain attestation of this (assumed) script, spiraling around both sides. There are 242 tokens comprising 45 distinct signs.

The Phaistos Disk also happens to be an early example of moving type printing, since each character was made by pressing seals into clay.

Proto-Elamite

The Proto-Elamite script developed alongside Proto-Cuneiform, and was used for similar functions and in similar ways until it was replaced by cuneiform. Proto-Elamite, like cuneiform, began as a system of marking tokens and spheres with details of economic transactions.

Rongorongo

Rongorongo is a system of glyphs used on Rapa Nui (Easter Island), found only on about two dozen wooden objects. According to oral history, the tablets were considered sacred, and only a small elite class could read them. Unfortunately, that tradition was wiped out after slaving raids and epidemics caused the collapse of Rapa Nui society.

Though the glyphs, if they are writing, undoubtedly represent the Rapa Nui language, little is known about it because modern Rapa Nui has had heavy influence from Tahitian.

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Want to learn more about the world’s writing systems and their history? Check out my curated list of books on Writing & Writing Systems!