#Universies

[timaeuslover001]

Dr. King never said Barcade or Burn down a Schools, or the USA Flag because of segregation , why do you all think you can do that at your universities for Palestine?

[leviismybby]

You know what's fun about writing a modern au Levi x reader fan fiction? I can make Jackson Wang host a party lmao.

[io-pentesilea]

(Chissà.

Forse in un qualche universo parallelo tu sei qui, sdraiato sul mio letto, nudo, dopo aver fatto l'amore.

E io... mi incanto a guardarti.

Barbara)

[coffeecatsuwu]

love studying when i have cute new stationary

[incorrect-guilty-gear]

Ariels: What do you MEAN they don’t have gregorian chants at this karaoke bar? What kind of establishment is this?

[cerebrodigital]

Su capacidad de resolver problemas, que supera la de cualquier otra supercomputadora, podría tener la respuesta.

Te contamos aquí:

[lersley]

regretfully so ozian racism exists, so i think there’s a parallel universe in wicked where elphie has a bunch of poc friends and they just call each other reclaimed green slurs and i think that that’s totally something a gay person would do

[ipierrealism]

Non so se fanno discorsi più fuori dal mondo le persone nate e cresciute estremamente ricche o le persone nate e cresciute estremamente belle

[i-did-not-mean-to]

YOTP - April

I've only realised now that this has never been posted! I am so sorry! I am really not super good at keeping track of these things.

Pairing: Caranthir x Finrod

Prompts: pranks, canon divergence, (seemingly) unrequited love, "No, I am not dating your brother", peace, university

Words: 2 205

Warnings: sadness, insecurity, misunderstanding

Caranthir frowned.

His brothers would have qualified his present mood as cantankerous—he would have called it the “status quo”.

As such minor inconsistencies in vocabulary did nothing to dispel the storm clouds sitting heavily on his fair brow, though, he put the thought from his mind and returned his focus to the vexing problem at hand.

Before him, in the middle of his perfectly orderly desk, flanked by neatly arranged stacks of notes and copies, lay a garish flyer, announcing the upcoming spring ball organised by and held at his university.

Usually, Caranthir managed to avoid this kind of overly dramatized, idiotic social gathering, but a strange sense of unease and helpless frustration had kept him from simply throwing away the crumpled piece of paper.

He wanted to go.

Of course, he would rather have bitten off his own tongue than admitted as much to anyone alive, but a part of him was sick and tired of being perpetually alone—undeniably unloved and universally unwelcome.

Nonsense, he chided himself sternly. It would only exacerbate his reputation as an unpleasant curmudgeon and his subsequent misery if he were to turn up alone and uninvited to a party where everyone else was making out in deserted classrooms and unsanitary lavatories.

“Good grief!” he exclaimed softly and pushed the flyer under a stack of homework—he was already late for his afternoon classes, and he’d rather not lose any more time just moping around.

The first thing he saw upon stalking into the much too brightly lit foyer of the university was his brother, winsome as ever, and his mood soured even further.

Leaning suavely against a very old, very valuable pillar, Maglor was entirely caught up in a hushed conversation and thus didn’t notice his younger brother sweeping past dramatically.

Caranthir’s heart sank—for a fleeting moment, he had considered approaching Finrod to find out whether he had any intention of attending the laughable circus that was upon them.

He knew for a fact that his co-student—ridiculously radiant and blindingly handsome—was not entirely averse to mopey, overly serious, and unbearably stiff specimens of his own gender; after all, he had dated Turgon, the only man who could compete with Caranthir’s glowering looks and hostile demeanour, for a while.

Considering how bright-eyed Finrod now looked, though, as he hung on Maglor’s full, sensual lips pointed to another conclusion: the cheery, popular, charming object of all Caranthir’s repressed desires had surely grown tired of men of his calibre. It made sense—unfortunately, that sober realisation did nothing to alleviate the painful twinge in Caranthir’s heart despite the quick onset of gruesome rationalisation and well-rehearsed self-denial.

Huffing an unnerved sigh, he hastened up the winding steps and slammed down his supplies on an old, worn table, determined to lose himself in his statistics class. He’d think of that silly ball and his agonising loneliness no more.

As soon as the class was dismissed, Caranthir slipped into the comforting silence of the library so he could make sure that he’d not meet anyone else, crush or sibling, once he was ready to return to the self-imposed isolation of his childhood room.

There was much work to be done, and he prided himself on his irrefutable excellence. This, he knew he could not only do, but do well, and so he disappeared into theories and long lists in his sullen escape from the bleak reality of wanting.

Every so often, his phone vibrated in his pocket, but Caranthir didn’t feel like reading the updates in the family groupchat, undoubtedly pertaining to the exciting plans of his various brothers to which he was never invited anyway.

The sun had gone down and the world seemed to have been dipped into translucent black ink by the time he re-emerged from his frenzied study session, and Caranthir dragged himself to his locker reluctantly.

A pounding headache was taking root behind his bleary eyes, and it took him a moment to realise that the flash of white he’d only vaguely registered upon tugging at the rusted metal door was a note addressed to none other than himself.

With trembling fingers, he unfolded the missive and gasped. It was an invitation to the very party he’d refused to obsess about all day long, and it was unsigned.

Caranthir was known for having no patience for this kind of childish game, but—as nobody but the mysterious sender—knew about this, he didn’t have to pretend that he was utterly untouched by the instinctive excitement such a communication would have incited in any living soul.

Nevertheless, before his fancy could absolutely get the better of him, he shoved the precious paper under a stack of hefty tomes and went to bed without expecting to find much sleep with the way his heart was pounding, and his mind was racing.

“Lame,” Beren commented as he folded a half-torn flyer into a paper aeroplane and sent it sailing across the spotty lawn. “How about you come with me and Lúthien instead? She’s had a rad plan for…”

“Something illegal?” Finrod interrupted pointedly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be your get-away driver this time—I’ve been recruited by another mischievous rogue for his morally questionable scheme.”

“Oh? Tell me all about it,” Beren exclaimed, suddenly no longer fashionably bored by the mundane and yet deeply moving intrigues of the small university his friend attended. “I truly hope there is a handsome someone involved…”

“Several,” Finrod purred.

“Not your stuffy ex, though?”

Shaking his golden head, Finrod leaned back on his elbows and stared at the sky wistfully—he had no doubt that, once he’d explained the whole ploy to Beren—he’d be mocked cruelly for his fatal weakness when it came to overly serious, lethally handsome men with dark hair and flashing eyes.

“Your stuffy crush, then? A bird has told me that you were seen in an intimate conference with Maglor,” Beren—who somehow always managed to stumble upon the most extraordinary bits of information—drawled provocatively.

“If you know everything already, there’s no point in testing my patience!”

At once, the shaggy-haired youngster lifted his hands—palms outward—in a gesture of apology and goodwill. “No need to be so touchy! My source, of course, misunderstood and speculated that you might go to the ball with the pretty singer. That doesn’t sound right to me, does it? Tell me then, what is going on?”

“He’s asked me whether I’d consider inviting his brother to the party,” Finrod replied anticlimactically. “And I’ve agreed.”

“So, it’s some elaborate hoax?” Beren cocked one eyebrow in unashamed scepticism. “You know that you’re allowed to disagree with people, right? You may say that their idea, at the root, is not a bad one, but also express your uneasiness when it comes to their way of going about things. This sounds like one of those stories that get you into serious trouble only because you were too kind to share your doubts.”

He took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth downturned expressively still, and then shrugged lopsidedly. “So, did you ask the brother out?”

“I’ve sent him an anonymous letter,” Finrod confessed—he’d just been all but explicitly called a coward, which took the wind out of his sails regarding his big reveal.

“Sounds more and more like a prank,” Beren groaned. “You bloody fool. What’s his name again? Cat something?”

“Caranthir,” Finrod sighed longingly. “’Moryo’ to his brothers, hitherto ‘unobtainable’ to me…”

Nodding seriously, Beren pondered the matter for a while. “Say,” he then piped up, startling Finrod out of his own longing thoughts, “how will he let you know whether he accepts or rejects your invitation?”

“I thought that I’d wait for him in the foyer, flowers and all, a banner maybe…” Finrod admitted sheepishly.

As expected, Beren was highly in favour of that ploy, and, strangely enough, his very enthusiasm—earnest and exuberant—gave Finrod pause. He knew that this friend would have broken into the darkest, dankest dungeon or wrestled a wild beast for his girlfriend, but Lúthien was a woman who expected and enjoyed ridiculously grand gestures—Finrod was almost certain that Caranthir was not.

“Wish me luck, man,” he muttered as he changed his mind and cut his timeline in half. “I’ve got to run!”

He’d pick his secret date up at home, he decided, so as to give Caranthir a chance to let him down discreetly without anyone but his brothers witnessing the embarrassing scene. It was a sacrifice, and it left Finrod very little time to make all the purchases he’d planned, but he was now sure that this was the right way to go about his own grandiose gesture.

Caranthir paced across his room nervously; he felt foolish for having gotten ready for a party he might very well not attend after all.

Fingon had arrived 20 minutes earlier and was presently regaling his parents with funny stories while Maedhros was trying desperately to keep from blushing every five seconds—Caranthir hated them, and he loathed his father’s throaty, echoing laughter booming through the whole house.

Celegorm and Curufin had also already left; as always, they had “things to do” before even considering going to the ball, and everybody only half-expected them to make an appearance.

The twins had gone to the cinema with friends, and Maglor was sitting on the stairs, yowling to himself.

Drowning in an ocean of sound and life, Caranthir felt profoundly lonely.

And then, the doorbell rang.

At once, he threw his door open and hastened out onto the landing only to hear Maglor’s pleasant voice. “Ah, finally. I’ve been awaiting you.”

Of course, Caranthir thought bitterly. His brother had secured a date with the most beautiful, eligible bachelor on campus, a fact he’d banished into the remotest corners of his usually meticulously rational mind.

Now, though, the envy and jealousy almost made him black out with impuissant rage—here he stood, in a suit he’d stolen from Maglor’s wardrobe and embroidered in long hours of painstaking labour, to be the only one left behind, again.

Not that anyone would notice, he thought miserably; everyone was so enthralled by their own pleasure and delight that nobody would even remember that he, sullen and unloved, was still puttering around in his room.

“Good evening, Maglor,” Finrod’s chiming voice resounded, followed by a suspicious pause. “Will those do?”

“Carnations,” the gracious host cooed in his most detestable singsong tone. “How adorable!”

Caranthir was already halfway back in his room when he heard his name being called, no yelled, up the stairs for Maglor’s voice carried far and wide, and nobody could outrun it.

“Moryo, for Eru’s sake, tell me you’re ready! Nelyo said you were good to go half an hour ago…”

Leaping down the stairs two by two, Caranthir came to a slithering halt—wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked—in the brightly lit entrance, only nearly missing a stunningly handsome Finrod who was kneading a bouquet of bright red flowers in his slender hands.

“I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation,” the latest arrival said carefully. “So I thought I’d give you a chance to politely decline without witnesses present.”

“Ooops, that’s my cue,” Maglor laughed and moonwalked into the living room and out of sight.

“I…But…I thought you were taking out my brother,” Caranthir stammered, his eyes darting between Finrod’s luminous face and Maglor’s retreating frame. “Aren’t you dating?”

Throwing his head back, Finrod gave a merry peel of laughter. “No, silly, I’m not dating your brother. Maglor, as ever fond of dramatics, has graciously agreed to be my confidant in this.”

Caranthir gave a strangled hum of doubt and insecurity, dreading the imminent and inevitable arrival of the others on the scene, laughing at how gullible he was, to share a ride or just to distract their father so someone could steal some liquor from his private cabinet, and rubbed his thumbs bemusedly against his other fingers in a desperate attempt to soothe the contradictory impulses and desires raging within his chest.

“Please, say something,” Finrod pleaded. “I realise now that it was cowardly not to ask you in person, but—after Turgon—I wasn’t feeling quite brave enough to stomach another rejection…”

“Rejection,” Caranthir jeered feebly. “Of course, I wouldn’t have declined. I’m not doing so now—I just need a moment.”

“Certainly,” Finrod said fervently, extending his battered bouquet jerkily as if he’d forgotten that it was there. “Here, these are for you. They compliment your charming complexion.”

“Charming complexion,” Caranthir muttered mockingly. “Sure thing, my man.”

“You’re lovely—you must know that!” Heartened by the quasi-acceptance he’d been granted against all odds, Finrod quickly grew bolder and grabbed one of Caranthir’s pale, trembling hands. “I will make it up to you; I promise. Please say you’ll be my date for tonight!”

“Very well! As you can see, I’m already dressed. Let’s go before Maglor wants us to go over in a big cluster of noise and strangely clad limbs…lest you’d prefer going with my brothers?”

“They’re of no consequence,” Finrod assured him. “Let me walk you to your carriage then.”

And, extending his arm gallantly, he promptly abducted Caranthir from his parental home unnoticed.

How did those two become one of my OTPs? Nobody knows (well one person certainly does)!

Anyway, thanks for indulging me!

-> Masterlist

[thegretchenimages]

La mia BFF che mi chiama a mezzanotte ed un quarto (però ignora ogni sorta di messaggio o contatto da parte mia) credendo fossero le 22 solo per dirmi che ha appena visto al cinema un film stupendo che "Dobbiamo vedere insieme non ti spoilerare!!" Film del quale avevamo già parlato e che è uscito quasi un mese fa del quale ho visto più volte il trailer al cinema e so per certo essere anni luce lontano dal mio gradimento. (Oltre al fatto che ci sono aghi ed ignezioni) Credo che sia la cosa più strana che mi sia successa oggi e mi fa anche capite che possiamo essere sullo stesso pianeta, sullo stesso meridiano ma saremo comunque in due concezioni temporali differenti. Almeno non mi annoio.

[dallapartedegliultimi-last]

Doctor strange ❤️

[animatormentata]

-🪐

[scotianostra]

On December 17th 1907 William Thomson, Lord Kelvin died.

Kelvin was outstanding in theory as well as practice. His nephew died at sea and caused him to work for safety at sea; his compass was adopted worldwide; his tide gauge was in use for many years. He provided solutions for the laying of the first transatlantic telegraph cables. A system of temperature and make of refrigerator are named after him.

Although born in Northern Ireland, at 21-25 College Square East in Belfast in 1824, William Thomson spent most of his life in Scotland after his father became Professor of Mathematics at Glasgow University. Kelvin attended university classes from the age of 10. He wrote his first scientific paper, under the pseudonym 'PQR', aged only 16.

In his teens he learned French well enough to read the work of eminent French mathematician Jean Baptiste Joseph Fourier. Philip Kelland, Professor of Mathematics at Edinburgh University, had criticised Fourier's work on the theory of heat. Kelvin boldly stated that Kelland was wrong – and later scientists agreed with him.

From 1841 to 1845 Kelvin attended Cambridge University. He was an excellent student – although he shocked his father by spending his allowance on a boat, so it was not all work for the young scholar!

After graduating, Kelvin worked in a Paris laboratory with physics professor Victor Regnault.

Kelvin was influenced by the mathematical ideas of George Green, a self-taught miller's son from Nottingham.

He later brought an essay of Green's to the attention of fellow mathematicians and physicists by republishing it in a respected scientific journal. Until then the essay on mathematical analysis, electricity and magnetism had gone largely unnoticed.

In 1846, aged only 22, Kelvin returned to Glasgow to become Professor of Natural Philosophy. He remained in this post for 53 years. Keen to see students involved in practical experiment, he established what became the first university physics laboratory.

Kelvin continued to study the nature of heat. He realised that it would be useful to be able to define extremely low temperatures precisely. In 1848, he proposed an absolute temperature scale, now called 'the Kelvin scale'.

After further research, he formulated the second law of thermodynamics. This states that heat will not flow from a colder to a hotter body.

His interest in the transmission of electricity prompted his appointment as Director of the Atlantic Telegraph Company in 1856. The company was to install a telegraph cable under the Atlantic Ocean. Atlantic Cable Expeditions in 1857, 1858 and 1865 failed, but communication by cable finally succeeded in 1866.

From 1870 onwards, Kelvin spent many summers on his yacht 'Lalla Rookh', and invented several marine instruments to improve navigation and safety. He introduced a mariner's compass more accurate than any other in existence, and a machine to predict tide levels worldwide.

In 1884 Kelvin travelled to the United States to give a series of lectures. These were enthusiastically received, and were published in 1904 as the 'Baltimore Lectures'. He became a Lord in 1892 and took the name Kelvin because of his Glasgow connections. By the time of his death in 1907, he was an international celebrity, widely respected and honoured.

[praazlwurm]

so, while im at it with all my hisui thoughts, i have a Mighty Need to know what was on the pedestals in the shrouded ruins and if the Gapejaw Buildings were also smaller temples in the vein of the small ones on coronet

bc at the base of mt coronet you'll find a set of ruins with a relatively small footprint that houses two statues that baffle me to this day -- one of a clefable and the other a probopass

and i think, combined with my uhhhhh theory on celestica honoring the garchomp line with the little froglike statues around the arenas, these two go to show they honored other pokemon lines found around coronet!

which got me thinking abt what a split off sect might honor if not the same groups of mon (though i think garchomp is an overlap!)

and thaaat brought me to the theory that the gira clansmen are the ones who brought zoroarks to hisui! dark type effectiveness to ghost (while still being aligned with ghost in someways, like spiritomb) and the association between illusion and distortion, makes original zoroark a good fit. And my schism theory could connect here by saying the reason zoroarks were driven out is bc their relationship to the gira clan, and its poetic and tragic that their typing changes to one part immunity and one part effective/weak to itself.

i also think that the gira clan mightve been the ones to especially honor the togekiss line, as the mirelands are where you find wild toge lines! additionally i entertain the idea that they mightve aligned themselves with the honchkrow and mismagius lines for their typings, and i like to think the spells described in the myths abt mismagius might be the Unown carvings/runes that might enabled the creation of the Odd Keystones (with the implication that mismagius themselves are the ghosts humans who learned/used these magics)

its the height of indulgence to just pop all my faves into lore spots but what else am i here for ahdksjdksl

oh lastly, if not gira/arceus/dia/palkia on the four pedestals its very possible it was the Forces of Nature! considering you find enamorous in the mirelands and she stuck around cogita all these years. tbh they might not have even been statues but platforms for offerings -- if the temple itself was fully open air they could leaving the offerings there for the quartet to indulge as they like (ofc i still think its a gira temple, and designed like the temple of sinnoh with bunch of insigna related to gira but the statues/pedestals for other mon of honor as the nobles are)

[al-mayriti]

i have to choose to which usa universities i should apply to cause i refuse to pay almost 500 € only to apply to all of them. should i throw representatives of each university in an arena and make a battle royale situation out of this