Perl Weekly Challenge 365‘s tasks are “Alphabet Index Digit Sum” and “Valid Token Counter”. I thought about trying to find some song referencing tokens (like subway tokens) or validity, but I kept hearing Caroll Spinney’s voice in my head.
Continue reading Perl Weekly Challenge: I’ll be the smartest bird the world has ever seen!
Perl Weekly Challenge 364‘s tasks are “Decrypt String” and “Goal Parser”. Because task 2’s second example is decidedly a tribute to Andrés Cantor, which meant I needed to think “soccer” when I was thinking about the music this week, and suddenly I heard Arsenal fans singing in my head.
Continue reading Perl Weekly Challenge: Andrés Cantor Goes West
Perl Weekly Challenge 363‘s tasks are “String Lie Detector” and “Subnet Sheriff”.
I challenge anyone to not think of I Shot The Sheriff given those tasks.
Continue reading Perl Weekly Challenge: I Shot The Subnet…
🌌 IC Quartz ELIXIR 14mm 90D
carb cap + terp balls cosmic vibes
collection transcendence
IC Quartz - ELIXIR | 14mm Male 90D Banger | Includes Carb Cap, Terp Ba
Vlasy sú našou prirodzenou ozdobou, no zároveň jednou z najviac namáhaných častí tela. Každodenný styling, suchý vzduch, slnko či vietor sa na nich rýchlo podpíšu – strácajú lesk, pôsobia unavene a končeky sa začínajú štiepiť. Práve v takýchto momentoch má zmysel siahnuť po cielenej, no stále jemnej starostlivosti.
i hope they count as their own ship because their vibe in HoM is very different and it goes crazy. indescribably horny murder husbands
ooo???? murder husbands?? ELIXIR DOES A MURDER???
also does house of m have its own like. timeline number or is it just house of m. i know its an alternate timeline like AoA or AoR, etc
joshkevin
ELIXIRRRRRR and hello kevin i dont know you kevin but i see you. buried in those boobs. <3
- 1 cup beet juice
- halfcup pineapple juice
- one ginger shot
🩷
man I miss josh foley it’s been a year since he even appeared. he was a part of the five, like what did they even Do with him
Chapter One: The Awakening
Saint James Academy sprawled across misty hills like a forgotten English manor, its ivy-cloaked stone buildings whispering secrets of old money and youthful rebellion. Founded in the 1800s as an elite boarding school for the privileged, it had evolved into a co-ed haven for the bright and the beautiful, where academic rigor met athletic prowess. Rugby fields gleamed under crisp autumn skies, field hockey pitches echoed with the crack of sticks, and the annual Gender Swap Day turned the campus into a carnival of chaos—students donning wigs, padding, and exaggerated makeup to compete for prizes in categories like “Most Convincing” and “Most Outrageous.” It was all in good fun, or so they said, but for some, it tapped into deeper desires.
Stephen Hargrove was the golden boy of Saint James. At 19, he stood 6'2" with a lean, muscular build honed from years on the rugby team—190 pounds of raw power and boyish charm. His short dark hair framed hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief, and his grin could disarm anyone. Captain of the team, top of his class in economics, he was the guy everyone wanted to be or be with. But beneath the surface lurked a secret that would have shocked his teammates: a lifelong kink for transformation.
It started innocently enough, back when he was 12. Sneaking into his older sister’s room during a family vacation, he’d found her discarded panties—soft, lacy things in pastel pink—and a pair of black high heels. Curiosity won out. He slipped them on, the silk hugging his skin like a forbidden embrace, the heels forcing him to balance awkwardly. A strange calm washed over him, a sense of rightness he couldn’t explain. The fabric against his young skin sent tingles up his legs, awakening something primal and confusing. He stared at himself in the mirror, imagining fuller hips, softer features, and felt a stirring he didn’t yet understand. From then on, the fantasy grew, burrowing deep into his psyche.
As he got older, the urges intensified. Online stories of men turning into women via magical potions became his escape. Late at night, under the covers, he’d read about bodies reshaping—chests swelling into breasts, waists narrowing, cocks inverting into slick, aching pussies—and his hand would work furiously, stroking his hardening length as he imagined it happening to him. The climax would hit like a storm, leaving him breathless and ashamed, but always craving more.
Now, at Saint James, Gender Swap Day offered the perfect cover. The $5,000 prize for “Most Convincing Transformation” was tempting, but for Stephen, it was about indulging the urge. Two days before the event, he enlisted his best friends: Sarah Beth Masterson and Mary Kay Kennedy.
Sarah Beth was the epitome of athletic grace—18, 5'6", 125 pounds of toned muscle from track and field. Her long blonde hair bounced with every step, bright blue eyes radiating energy.
Mary Kay, her roommate, was curvier at 5'5" and 130 pounds, with curly black hair framing green eyes full of mischief. They’d been inseparable with Stephen since freshman year, bonding over late-night study sessions and weekend adventures.
They arrived at his dorm giggling, arms full of makeup bags and clothes. “Okay, Stephen, time to turn you into a bombshell,” Sarah Beth teased, plopping down on his bed amid rugby posters and the faint scent of cologne.
Mary Kay held up a long blonde wig. “We’ve got the perfect outfit. Pleated skirt, blouse, blazer—classic Saint James chic, but girly.”
Stephen played along, stripping to his boxers with feigned reluctance. They helped him into padded bras, tucked everything away, applied foundation, eyeliner, red lipstick. The wig cascaded down his back, and as they adjusted it, he felt that old thrill stir. “You guys are pros,” he said, voice husky.
Sarah Beth laughed, pinching his cheek. “You make a hot girl, dude. Win that prize!”
When he looked in the mirror though, he didn’t see the hot girl the other two did. He saw a man dressed as a woman, his fantasies not yet realized. Dejected, he made his way back to his dorm room. Upset and crying, but then an idea came to mind.
Alone later that night, the real plan unfolded. At his laptop, robe loosely tied, silk panties beneath teasing his hardening cock, he browsed underground sites. Stories of elixirs fueled his arousal—men sipping potions, bodies reshaping in ecstasy. He stroked himself, imagining breasts swelling, hips widening, a slick pussy forming. Climax hit hard, but the craving lingered.
He found it: Elixir. Temporary or permanent versions available. Heart pounding, he ordered the elixir. Overnight delivery arrived discreetly.
The vial was small, the dark red liquid swirling inside like liquid fire. He hesitated, robe falling open to reveal his toned body, cock half-hard in anticipation. “Just a taste,” he whispered, but deep down, he knew. He tipped it back, the elixir thick and sweet on his tongue, warming his throat as it went down.
The warmth spread immediately, a gentle heat at first, like sinking into a hot bath. Then it built, intensifying into a fire that raced through his veins. He gasped, stumbling to the bed as his body convulsed. Bones shifted with a deep, pleasurable ache—shoulders narrowing, height adjusting slightly to 5'11". Muscles softened, redistributing into feminine grace. His chest tingled, nipples hardening painfully before swelling, skin stretching as breasts ballooned outward—firm, heavy 38DD orbs that bounced with each heaving breath. He cupped them instinctively, moaning at the sensitivity, thumbs brushing nipples that sent electric jolts straight to his core.
Lower, his waist cinched to 24 inches, hips flaring to 38 in a symphony of cracks and pulls, ass rounding into lush curves. Hair lengthened rapidly, darkening at the roots before lightening to silky platinum-blonde waves cascading down his back. His face reshaped—jaw softening, lips plumping, eyes shifting to piercing ice-blue. Flawless smooth skin emerged, pores tightening, every inch radiating perfection.
But the centerpiece—the transformation between his legs—drew a guttural cry. His cock throbbed, hardening one last time before shrinking, inverting inward with a wet, sucking sensation. Balls retracted, reforming into ovaries as folds parted, a slick pussy blooming in their place. A clit emerged, hypersensitive and swollen, begging for attention. The final wave hit, an orgasm unlike any before—internal, rolling, clenching deep inside her new form.
Barely dressed now, he—no, she— explored tentatively at first, hands roaming her voluptuous body. Fingers traced the swell of her breasts, pinching nipples that hardened instantly, sending sparks of pleasure radiating outward. “Oh God,” she whispered, voice higher, silkier, laced with command. Down her flat stomach, over flared hips, to the apex of her thighs. Her pussy was soaked, folds glistening as she parted them, gasping at the sensitivity. One finger circled her clit, the touch electric, building pressure like a storm. She plunged deeper, two fingers sliding in easily, curling to hit spots that made her arch off the bed.
Orgasms crashed like waves—first one, clenching around her fingers, then another as she rubbed faster, hips bucking. She lost count, body writhing in bliss, each peak more intense, juices coating her hand. Hours passed in this self-discovery, no regret—only power, a wicked thrill at the permanence. This body was hers to command, a vessel for conquest.
After she was finally finished, the new woman looked into the mirror. A name like Stephen obviously wouldn’t do for her. She decided right then her name would now be Stephanie. But she needed a last name, something strong, something powerful. She smiled as she looked over at her desk and saw a playing card. The Queen of Spades, upright on the desk. And then she had her last name. Queen. Stephanie Queen.
Chapter Two: The Reveal
Stephanie lingered on the edge of the bed the next morning, her new body still humming from the aftershocks of those intense, rolling orgasms that had carried her through the night. The sensations were unlike anything she’d imagined as Stephen—every nerve ending alive, every subtle shift against the sheets sending sparks of residual pleasure through her core. She glanced at the empty vial on the nightstand, the dark red residue clinging to the glass like a taunt from fate, a reminder of the irreversible step she’d taken. A quick search on the laptop, its screen still glowing faintly in the soft dawn light, confirmed what her instincts already screamed: she’d ordered the permanent version. No temporary six-hour window. No going back. But instead of panic, a wicked thrill coursed through her veins—not regret, but pure, unfiltered power. This body, this life—it was hers now, and she intended to claim every inch of it, bending the world to her will.
Outside, the campus of Saint James Academy was winding down from the whirlwind of Gender Swap Day. The quad, usually a hub of manicured lawns and stone pathways lined with ancient oaks, was still littered with discarded props—wigs tangled in bushes, fake mustaches ground into the grass, echoes of music and laughter fading into the crisp morning air. Stephen had planned to use the elixir temporarily, strutting out in his “disguise” to win the $5,000 prize for the most convincing transformation, charming the judges with his boyish grin turned feminine allure. But now, with the permanent change sealed, Stephanie had skipped the spectacle entirely, letting the day pass in her private ecstasy. She texted a vague excuse to the rugby team chat: “Not feeling great, sat this one out.” Then she turned off notifications, severing another fragile tie to the past. The team would wonder, but rumors could be managed—people disappeared from boarding schools all the time, off to “family emergencies” or “transfers.”
Her mind, now clearer and more calculating than ever, raced with possibilities. Sarah Beth and Mary Kay—they’d been in this very room two days ago, helping “Stephen” practice for the contest. Giggling over the long blonde wig that now mirrored her own platinum waves, smudging eyeliner to accentuate eyes that had shifted to ice-blue, playfully adjusting the padded bra that paled in comparison to her real 38DD swells. It had been innocent fun to them, a lark among friends. But to Stephanie, it had been reconnaissance, a glimpse into their potential. Sarah Beth’s vibrant energy, her athletic poise that hid a deeper vulnerability; Mary Kay’s clever wit, her curvy confidence masking a thirst for adventure—they were ripe for molding. She didn’t want quick seduction; she wanted control, ownership, to turn them into devoted servants who craved her command, who would ache for her approval like air. The thought alone made her pussy throb again, a warm pulse that spread through her hips, reminding her of the night’s explorations. Sarah Beth’s boundless spirit could rally allies; Mary Kay’s tech savvy could forge the digital facade she needed. They’d be the foundation of her new empire on campus.
But to claim that empire, she’d need a clean slate. Become an official transfer student, slipping into the system with no traces of Stephen. Field hockey would replace rugby—a women’s sport where her retained strength and agility would let her dominate, turning heads and building influence. Mary Kay could hack the records, altering databases with her forbidden skills honed from late-night coding sessions. Stephanie stood, her reflection in the mirror commanding attention: 5'11" of hourglass perfection, 140 pounds curved in all the right places—38-24-38 measurements that screamed power and allure. The platinum waves fell perfectly, framing her flawless skin and plump lips. She dressed simply for the reveal—Stephen’s dark gray oversized Saint James Academy Rugby hoodie with blue embroidered lettering and matching light gray sweatpants to hide her curves—but even concealed, her posture radiated authority. Soon, she’d curate a wardrobe of fitted dresses, lingerie that teased, outfits designed to ensnare. But first: summon them.
She grabbed the phone, typing with deliberate precision: “Hey, it’s Stephen. Come to my dorm ASAP. Big news—life-changing. Don’t tell anyone.”
While waiting, she paced the room like a predator in her lair, refining her plan. Admit the truth upfront—shock them, shatter their reality. Show the vial and laptop as irrefutable proof. Then sweet talk, weaving their loyalty to Stephen into devotion to Stephanie. If needed, embellish his “secret” kinks to make the transformation seem inevitable, a destiny they could share in.
The knock came—hesitant but quick, betraying their curiosity. Stephanie opened the door, standing tall, the hoodie zipped but her confident posture hinting at the transformation beneath.
Sarah Beth’s bright blue eyes widened in alarm. “Who… are you? Where’s Stephen? He texted us to come over.”
Mary Kay peered inside, her green eyes narrowing in confusion, curly black hair framing a face full of skepticism. “Yeah, this some kind of joke? You look… almost like him, but… a girl version? Where is he?”
Stephanie stepped aside with a calm, almost inviting smile. “Come in. Close the door. I’ll explain everything—and it’s no joke.”
They entered slowly, Sarah Beth glancing around the familiar dorm—the rugby posters still plastered on the walls, Stephen’s desk cluttered with economics notes and a half-eaten protein bar, the faint cologne scent lingering like a ghost. Mary Kay crossed her arms, her curvy frame tense. “Okay, start talking. Now.”
Stephanie locked the door softly, leaning against it with deliberate poise. “Sit down. This is going to sound crazy, but it’s true. I’m Stephen—or I was. Look at the vial.” She held up the empty bottle, turning it so the residue caught the light, then pointed to the laptop open to the purchase page, the order details stark on the screen. “I drank it yesterday. The change happened right here. I’m still me inside, but better—stronger, free. Gender Swap Day was my chance to win big, but now it’s permanent. I need your help to make this work. Mary Kay, you’re the tech genius—hack the system, make me a new transfer student, no ties to Stephen. Sarah Beth, help me fit in with classes and friends. Don’t mourn me; celebrate Stephanie. I’ll make it worth it—you’ll see.”
The room fell silent for a beat, then shattered into sobs. Sarah Beth’s eyes filled with tears, her athletic frame shaking. “He was the nicest guy,” she choked out, voice breaking. “Our rock. How could you do this?”
Mary Kay wiped her eyes angrily, green gaze flashing with betrayal. “We can’t just replace him. This is too much.”
Stephanie’s voice dropped into a velvet register—low, soothing, threaded with an undercurrent of steel that made it impossible to ignore. “I’m not replacing anyone. I’m evolving. Think of the fun we’ll have. No more boring old Stephen dragging you to rugby games, you can help me with makeup and shopping, we can do girly things. And the elixir… God, it feels amazing, like every sense is heightened, every touch electric. Help me, and maybe one day you’ll understand what I mean.”
Sarah Beth nodded, her voice thick with unresolved grief. “Fine. But I need time.”
As they rose to leave, Stephanie spoke softly, her ice-blue eyes locking on Sarah Beth. “Sarah Beth—come back later. Alone. We have a tradition to keep. Pizza night, like always.”
Sarah Beth hesitated in the doorway, eyes red and conflicted. “…Okay. For Stephen.”
The afternoon dragged for Stephanie, her new body a constant distraction—breasts shifting under the hoodie with each movement, a subtle reminder of her power. She planned, envisioning how to weave Sarah Beth tighter into her web first. The girl was vulnerable, her energy masking insecurities that Stephanie could exploit.
Later that evening, the knock was softer, tentative. Sarah Beth stood there with a pizza box, shoulders slumped under her casual light gray fitted t-shirt and dark blue jeans, her long blonde hair tied back as if to ward off emotion. “I brought our favorite—pepperoni. Thought… maybe it’d help us remember him.”
Stephanie opened the door wider, now changed into a fitted dark blue tank top and light blue tiny shorts that hugged her curves shamelessly, platinum hair cascading loose like a siren’s call. “Come in. Let’s talk… and more.”
To be continued in Chapter Three: Queen’s Uprising
With Perl Weekly Challenge 354‘s tasks being “Min Abs Diff” and “Shift Grid”, I was a bit stuck for a musical theme. So I free associated, and “grid” made me think of the cover of The Rolling Stones’ album, Some Girls. So let’s listen to that while we write some challenges1.
Continue reading Perl Weekly Challenge: Some Grids
I lay nestled in William’s arms, our bodies glistening with sweat, hearts still racing from the fiercest lovemaking we’d shared in years. He had taken his time at first—slow, deliberate thrusts that teased me to the edge, his mouth on my neck, fingers digging into my hips. Then the pace built, harder, deeper, relentless, until I shattered around him, screaming his name as wave after wave crashed through me. Only then did he let go, burying himself fully and spilling hot inside me with a raw, broken groan that made me clench around him again.
He pressed soft kisses to my temple, breath ragged against my skin. “Tell me everything,” he whispered, fingers tracing lazy, possessive circles over my breast, brushing my still-sensitive nipple. “What does it really feel like… when you come as a woman? Every detail.”
I smiled at first, then a helpless laugh escaped me—deep, uncontrollable.
William propped himself up, hazel eyes searching mine with gentle confusion. “Sarah… what is it?”
“I can’t keep the secret anymore.” My voice trembled with excitement. I reached for my phone, unlocked the hidden folder, and turned the screen toward him.
The photo filled the display: three naked women sprawled across silk sheets in a lavish Vegas suite. Me in the center—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded in post-orgasmic bliss. Emily on my left, smiling lazily. And on my right, a breathtaking dark-haired beauty with full, heavy breasts, endless legs, and a satisfied smirk that promised sin. All of us tangled together, skin marked with kisses and bites, bodies still glowing.
William’s breath caught sharply. His cock, still half-hard against my thigh, twitched noticeably.
“Who is she?” he asked, voice husky.
“That’s Stephanie,” I whispered, leaning closer. “Except… Stephanie is Stephen. Emily’s husband. There’s this elixir—six hours, turns a man completely into a woman. Every curve, every sensation, utterly real. And the three of us…” I bit my lip, heat flooding my core at the memory. “We fucked all night. Tongues, fingers, toys—everything. It was the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.”
His eyes darkened with shock, but beneath it burned unmistakable arousal. He knew my fantasies—my openness to men and women alike. We’d talked about them for years, used them to fuel our own nights.
“You’re telling me this actually works?”
“Completely.” I brushed my lips against his ear. “And if you ever wanted to know exactly how it feels to be fucked as a woman… to come again and again without stopping… I can get more.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he rolled me beneath him and slid inside me again—slow, deliberate strokes, eyes locked on mine as if trying to feel it through my body. We came together quietly this time, clinging desperately.
Days passed in electric silence, every glance charged with possibility.
Then one evening, he pressed a small vial into my hand. “I want to know,” he said simply, voice thick with need.
My heart raced. I’d already prepared everything: a crimson silk slip that would cling like a lover, sheer black stockings, a tight red dress cut dangerously low, lacy lingerie that would frame new curves perfectly.
“You have to be completely naked,” I told him, already aching. “The change reshapes everything—clothes would tear.”
William undressed slowly, deliberately, his cock standing hard and proud. He lay back on our bed, vial in hand, eyes never leaving mine.
The liquid shimmered rose-gold. He drank.
First taste sour—he winced. Then it bloomed into strawberries and thick cream. He moaned softly, tongue tracing his lips.
Warmth spread through him like liquid fire. I watched, transfixed, as the transformation began.
His chest rose and fell faster. Skin flushed. Then breasts swelled—slowly at first, then fuller, heavier, 38DD perfection with dark, sensitive nipples that hardened instantly. He gasped, hands cupping them instinctively, pinching, hips bucking as raw pleasure surged through him.
Waist cinched inward while hips flared dramatically, ass rounding into plush, feminine curves. Thighs thickened, silky smooth. Between his legs, his cock pulsed—then retreated, reshaping into slick, swollen folds. A prominent clit emerged, throbbing visibly. Clear arousal dripped freely as the new pussy clenched on emptiness, desperate to be filled.
She cried out, fingers diving between her thighs, plunging deep twice before pulling away, overwhelmed by the intensity.
Long silky raven-black hair cascaded over shoulders. Face softened into stunning beauty—high cheekbones, full plump lips, piercing sapphire eyes framed by thick lashes.
In minutes, my husband was gone.
In his place layed a very gorgeous woman, commanding, radiating pure sexual power.
She opened those sapphire eyes and looked down at herself, hands roaming greedily—squeezing heavy breasts, rolling nipples until she whimpered, then spreading toned thighs wide to circle her dripping clit. Her back arched violently as the first female orgasm built fast and fierce.
“What should I call you?” I whispered, crawling onto the bed, dying to taste her.
She smiled—slow, wicked, dominant. “Charlotte.”
The name stole my breath. Years ago, William had confessed his teenage artistic obsession: endless sketches of an imaginary woman—tall, raven-haired, curvaceous, with a cruel, knowing smile. He’d named her Charlotte, admitted she fueled his deepest fantasies.
Now she was real. Alive. Staring at me with hungry intent.
I leaned in to kiss her throat, sucked a dark nipple into my mouth until she moaned—but when my hand slid between her thighs, she caught my wrist firmly.
We dressed her in the tight red dress—fabric straining over 38DD breasts, hem barely covering the curve of her ass. Red lipstick made her mouth obscene. Heels accentuated endless legs.
At the club, she owned every inch of space. Men and women stared openly. Charlotte danced like liquid sex, letting hands graze her hips, her waist, her breasts. She brought home a tall, rough stranger that first night.
I listened through the wall as he took her—her cries higher, needier, orgasm after orgasm until she was sobbing with pleasure. I fucked myself frantically to every sound, coming harder than ever.
Six hours later, William returned—dazed, tender—making slow, reverent love to me while describing in breathless detail how it felt to be filled, stretched, to come endlessly.
A week later, he begged for it again.
Charlotte returned bolder, hungrier. She took two men at once—one in her mouth, one deep in her pussy—screaming through shattering climaxes.
William reappeared briefly the next morning, sweet and loving—but I saw Charlotte lingering in his eyes.
The third time changed everything forever.
I woke to soft, rhythmic moans. Charlotte stood naked before the full-length mirror, admiring her reflection—hands kneading heavy breasts, pinching nipples hard, fingers lazily circling her clit, hips rolling slowly.
The six-hour limit had passed long ago.
On the nightstand: an empty vial—deep crimson. Permanent.
She met my gaze in the mirror, smile predatory. “I found the one you hid. Drank every drop while you slept. William fought… but I won.”
She sauntered toward the bed, breasts swaying, hips hypnotic.
Straddled my chest, pinned my wrists above my head with one hand.
“Now,” she whispered, voice dripping command, “you watch. You obey. You serve.”
That night she brought home a big, dominant man—exactly her type. She ordered me to the corner chair, legs spread wide, forbidden to touch until permitted.
I watched, aching, as he stripped her slowly, devoured her nipples, bent her over our bed and fucked her savagely from behind. Charlotte kept sapphire eyes locked on mine the entire time, moaning louder for my benefit, coming again and again with wicked smiles.
When he finally spilled deep inside her, she dismissed him casually.
Then she crooked a finger. “Crawl to me, pet.”
I dropped to my knees instantly, crawled across the floor, heart pounding.
“Clean your goddess.”
I buried my face between her legs without hesitation—tongue delving deep, lapping every hot, salty drop of him mixed with her sweet arousal. She gripped my hair tightly, grinding against my mouth until she came hard, flooding my tongue with fresh release.
It became our sacred ritual.
Some nights a man—rough, gentle, multiple. Once, a tall blonde woman with a thick strap-on. Charlotte dominated her first, then surrendered gloriously, screaming as she was pounded while I watched from my chair, rubbing myself raw, allowed release only on command.
Every single time, I cleaned her afterward—worshiping her used pussy with my tongue, swallowing every trace of her lovers until she came again on my face.
I became her perfect cuckquean.
Utterly broken.
Completely obsessed.
Desperately craving the next time she’d bring someone home, fuck them senseless in our bed while I watched, denied pleasure until she decided I’d earned it.
Then rewarded with the divine privilege of tasting her pleasure mingled with theirs.
Charlotte ruled absolutely.
William never returned.
And I had never been wetter, happier, more alive in my submission.
“Validate Coupon” and “Max Words” are the tasks for Perl Weekly Challenge 353. I can’t believe I’ve done tasks with Max before and it never occurred to me that I needed to feature a song with Max Headroom.
Ok, swing code… swing!
Continue reading Perl Weekly Challenge: Ok, swing code… SWING!
Elixir really IS the perfect teen character from the standpoint that he’s so desperate to fit in!
It’s hard to hate Josh, because we’ve all at some point had that moment where we wanted someone to like us or be popular… and Josh Foley is simply just an extreme of that!
Where Quentin is a contrarian/edgelord for the sake of contrarianism… and Julian is obstinate and always honest, even when it makes him as asshole… Josh is more vague and nefarious. He’s willing to completely sacrifice his opinions or frankly doesn’t seem to even care about morality at times, if he knows it will be an unpopular stance.
Josh is essentially the “Golden boy” who’s desperate to never fall from his tower. To never have anyone see his “dark side”.
He’s essentially an omega level mutant… that’s biggest weakness is being constantly emotionally compromised or being manipulated by his intense desire to be “liked”.
Josh is undoubtedly the biggest “wild card” of the X-Men and for a while even unreliable… because you never know what he’s going to do.
David even essentially exploits this in his dream sequence; using Josh’s powers and their friendship to use his dead body to cure cancer!
Rahne also *kinda* exploits it in their relationship; knowing Josh is desperate for attention and an easy way for Rahne to escape her own loneliness, even though their relationship is completely inappropriate.
Elixir is a really nice contrast to Prodigy, who cares solely about logic… or Hellion, who constantly has an opinion and is fine with sharing it even if people hate him for it.
I really WISH Marvel would use Elixir more, because it really is a fascinating weakness to a character that has God-level powers!
Because I started re-reading X-Force… would you be okay with “Laura and Elixir being a couple”?
YES! 😁
NO! 😡
Can we please stop setting Laura up with f***boys?? 😬😬😬
I mean… he IS probably immortal? 💛
“Clone or not…you’re real” gets me every time! ❤️😭😭
Meh. They’re better as friends… 😑
Still a better choice than Zane….🙄
Yes…but solely because Hellion’s meltdown would be so epically funny 😆
He’s already hooked up with Rahne, the Cuckoos, Loa, and Wallflower! Enough!
A better choice than Hellion… (blasphemy but whatevs 🤣)
Does Marvel even remember he exists??? 🤔
He DOES fit Laura’s TYPE… (Pretty. Kinda obnoxious. Extra. 🫣🤣)
See Results
I could go either way… but I do actually like Elixir and this run -\_😕_/-
And before people complain that I am biased. I am. Deal with it. 🤣🤣🤣
We wrote him as an only child. If we’d have planned him having a sibling, we would have had him mention it, like we did with Noriko, or even shown the sibling, like we did with David.
But since we never really stated he was an only child in the book, we suppose others could create a sibling, as long as the relationship was such that it justified never mentioning that sibling when Josh was talking about his parents refusing to speak with him.
