stultiloquentia
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stultiloquentia.bsky.social
stultiloquentia
@stultiloquentia.bsky.social
230 followers 250 following 1K posts
One part pretension, two parts squee.
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stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Appreciating the kpop thread in Ngozi Ukazu's "Flip."
Graphic novel panel of a young, Black, bespectacled high school teacher reflecting, "Now, Sparklee, that was a k-pop band. Each of them had an idiosyncratic style (vocab word)." Three of his students pass judgment: "You are so old," and, "Ew, they're all, like...thirty." Headshots of four very sparkly and fashionable idol boys flirt at the reader from the corner of the page.
November 7, 2025 at 11:16 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Oi, now, would Bang Chan lie?
Bang Chan on a red carpet, saying into a microphone, "We are also tall." He's flanked by Hyunjin and Han. Han looks about six inches taller than the other two, because the camera has caught him mid-leap.
September 26, 2025 at 9:02 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Seems like a day for an old wangxian bedsharing excerpt from The Eternal WIP.
The jingshi's sparse decor presented a brief quandary. "Ah?" said Wei Wuxian as Lan Wangji shut the door behind them and crossed the room in the dark. Wei Wuxian fumbled with his shoes. "Now what, Lan Zhan? Your bed is too small for two grown men, unless you want to wake with me sprawled halfway across your chest." "I will sleep on the mat in the alcove, as I did after you were injured at Koi Tower. It is perfectly comfortable." He was already taking blankets from a cupboard. "You will not!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, hurrying over and flapping his hands. "I was, listen, I wasn't coming up the hill to bother you! Just to—aiyah, just to sleep on your roof; you know I've done it before; I like roofs! Lan Zhan! You can't let me barge into your house and kick you out of your own bed, I'll never sleep if you do. I'll lie awake, wracked with guilt. I'll take the mat." "Then I will wake with you on my chest," said Lan Wangji, and turned to the armoire to strip off his robes. Wei Wuxian gawped. Lan Wangji turned back, holding his birch comb in one hand, and this time the moonlight filtering through the window showed a hint of uncertainty on his face, as if his forwardness had just caught up with him. His eyes flicked down. "Unless..." Unless we are both nearly too foolish to exist in each other's company, and one or the other of us should flee back into the night before further damages occur. "No," said Wei Wuxian, and poked him in the shoulder with two fingers. "I am always cold, and you're like a Qinghe hearth log. If you're really forewarned and willing, how can I resist you?" He smiled up at him. "Sit," said Lan Wangji, and gestured with the comb. Wei Wuxian hadn't bothered to braid his hair for sleep, only pulled it into a ponytail as he'd left the guesthouse. Lan Wangji angled himself behind him, one knee on the bed, and untied his red ribbon. With slow strokes, he combed his hair and braided it. "Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian sighed. "Hush," said Lan Wangji. But after a pause, he spoke again. "When A-Yuan was little, he liked to play in the pine woods out past the rabbit warren. Three times in as many weeks he came home with pitch in his hair." "What! Not our perfect baby radish!" "Mm. So you see, combing Wei Ying's hair is no trouble, but a pleasure." Too sleepy and doted upon to unpack the several layers of teasing lurking in those mild words, Wei Wuxian only hummed and pressed himself against Lan Wangji's hands. They slept together in Lan Wangji's ludicrously small bed for the rest of the month. It wasn't ideal. Lan Wangji woke every night in the depths of chou shi, and meditated for an hour before returning to sleep. Wei Wuxian, like most cultivators, habitually did the same, only closer to the start of yin shi, since he went to bed later. Now, though, the stress and exhaustion of the month had caught up with him, and he slept without pause. It would have been fine, except, once asleep, he clung, trapping Lan Wangji with his full weight, and fingers that had to be pried one by one from the fabric of Lan Wangji's nightshirt. Wei Wuxian woke more than once to find his friend in the middle of this process, softly, patiently extricating himself from the Yiling Laozu's vile clutches so that he could seat himself in the pool of moonlight a few steps away. "Ohfucksorry," Wei Wuxian mumbled, and rolled face down into the vacated warm spot. "Hush," said Lan Wangji.
September 10, 2025 at 8:55 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
I love my friends 😂
Screencap of text thread. Speaker 1 (me): I would be thrilled about a GF treat, if it's easy to acquire. I also have to stay away from large servings of stone fruit and a tiresome list of vegetables, but I'm carrying lactaid pills around in an ongoing dairy experiment. Where, oh where, did all my carb-dissolving enzymes gooo? *warbles* Speaker 2: *Borg voice* YOU WILL BE ACCOMMODATED
July 2, 2025 at 4:48 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Oh, I haven't done that one yet today!

...lol.
Screencap: "Congrats, you solved the mini [crossword] in 18 seconds."
July 2, 2025 at 1:28 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
D'aw, lookit her go!

J has a whole nursery of clippings from our silver-leaf mothership. Wish it would show some interest in flowering. Some plants we have to bully into growing their roots first, like, "COME ON, ROOTS BEFORE SEXYTIMES, KID!" but the begonia is above such base concerns.
A majestic potted begonia with varigated silver and green leaves.
July 2, 2025 at 12:42 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
I am enjoying this person's commentary almost as much as the show itself: www.tumblr.com/gizkasparadi...
Tumblr screencap that says, "Xiao Qiao: *flirts with her husband* Husband: *stares at her like she's a malfunctioning furby*"
May 24, 2025 at 6:59 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Mei Changsu, smiling serenely, his hands raised for a bow, captioned, "your little meow meow is in his forties and an enemy of the state."
May 12, 2025 at 2:14 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Bun and bee about their business.
Cottontail rabbit cleverly disguised as a patch of dry leaves in front of some evergreens. Bumblebee sampling the azaleas.
April 24, 2025 at 6:29 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Gotta keep these guys and all their comrades happy.
A silver-leaf begonia in a sunny window A dumdum and a geranium with a big, silly blossom in a sunny window
March 10, 2025 at 4:20 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Xiao Pingguo is communing with the frog on my desk at the moment. I may move her to the mantel or the fridge door later, so JJ can admire her.

(Hey, y'all, did you know @bettytheteapot.bsky.social can *knit*? ❤️)
A small knit donkey with a red-tasseled harness communing with an even smaller plastic tree frog beneath a large computer monitor on a wooden shelf. Close-up for knit donkey and plastic frog.
March 6, 2025 at 3:19 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
#WIPWednesday Renewed War of Faith #cdrama chatter has me all inspired. I don't think I've shared this snippet yet?

I left out a short, unfinished bit between the two caps.
And then came word that her husband was alive, and then that he was preparing to come to England. She discussed it with Yu-er. They could rent the rooms as planned: a ready excuse to keep Shen Tunan at arm's length at first, in case Yu-er's old night terrors came back, in case he were too much changed by violence or zealotry, in case she were too much changed and disinclined to honour and obey, if Tunan took it upon himself to march back into her life and dictate how it ought to be managed, as he had when he'd returned to China after his schooling abroad, puffed up with fresh credentials and self-importance. Or they could welcome him home, as thousands of others had done at the end of the war, for husbands and fathers and wounded strangers, no matter how haunted or changed. Most of all, she remembered what it had been like, twenty years ago, to stand outside the customs office at the Tilbury wharf, clutching her daughter's hand, and see in the crowd a large, hand-painted sign with her name and Yu-er's written in careful hanzi, held by an elderly couple wearing twin expressions of hope and welcome. The sheer relief of not being alone, of having a brisk, confident voice call for a porter, her hand tucked into the crook of an elbow as they were ushered toward a fashionable car. Of, "No, no, my dear, never mind the hotel; we have plenty of room. Tunan was Fred's favourite student, you know, and whenever he wasn't talking business it was always Cishu this, Cishu that..." How could she do any less—for any countryman, let alone for Shen Tunan? "He's a good man, isn't he, Ma?" Yu-er asked. Good is as good does, thought Cishu, but Tunan had always tried. He'd tried so hard. "Yes," she said. "Well, then," said Yu-er, as if it were settled. And so it was.
January 8, 2025 at 6:32 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Sekrit project help request: Can anyone say more or less when or in which ep this set piece shows up in Love Between Fairy and Devil? #cdrama
A tower lit with hundreds of red lanterns
January 3, 2025 at 11:39 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Drop the lock screen.

Painting by Mum titled, "We're baaack!"
Watercolour painting of three fat geese facing the viewer.
November 28, 2024 at 3:55 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Show me a picture on your phone that has your energy but isn't a selfie.
Dr. Kim Jun-wan from Hospital Playlist looking world-weary. The subtitle reads, "I'm old. I can't do two different things on the same day."
November 27, 2024 at 12:37 AM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Meme time! What are 4 fics (or fewer) that you'd tell people to read if they want to get to know you as a fic author? Ignore hits, ignore kudos—simply vibe.

I screencapped quotes instead of summaries. Fic links below.
The Jingshi gave a great shudder, pressed back on its haunches like a cat sighting a bird, and leapt into the air. It rose like a huge, ungainly lantern, wobbling in the cold evening wind off the mountain. In the garden, the crane woke with a start, and took to the air as well. The crane circled the house once, gave a single, trumpeting cry and shot off toward the north. The Jingshi followed. Lan-furen staggered to her feet and pushed open the door. Snowflakes skirled inside, and she slammed it shut with a gasp. Opened it again, braced, this time, for the cold and the height and the swooping speed. She began to laugh, even as her joints began to ache. Lan-furen was confined to the Jingshi, but the Jingshi wasn't confined to Cloud Recesses. "Oh! Hang on!" she says to the phone pressed to her ear. Balancing on one foot to undo her shoe buckle, she calls across the room, "Kurt, is it offensive to gay people if I record me and Jesse singing 'Best Worst Mistake' and change the pronouns?" Kurt's knife hovers briefly over his bunch of scallions before dropping back down. "I don't know, Rachel, I never applied for my license to speak on behalf of all gays." "Does 'Best Worst Mistake' have pronouns?" Blaine wonders. "The pronouns in my head," Rachel explains, ridding herself of hat and jacket. "Oooh, ramen!" And then, "Because it's a gay anthem, and Jesse and I, as you know, are het, even though Jesse did go through an experimental phase in which he—" "Gah," Kurt interjects hastily. "Rachel!" "Sorry!" Rachel washes her hands at the sink, then reaches into the cupboard above her head for a box of tea and a mug. Kurt lights the burner under the kettle for her and she hip-checks him lightly in thanks. "I change pronouns when I sing," Blaine offers after a moment. "Or change the meaning by not changing them; whichever." "Mmhm, but usually you're queering your repertoire, not straightening it," Kurt says, scraping the scallions into a tiny, flea-marketed glass bowl. "It is true, I queer everything I touch." Kurt hands him a knob of ginger root. "Queer this into slices, please." Jack collects his shoes and eases the porch door open. Out here, the sky is the velvety gray of moth wings, the woods smudged and shadowed. Jack prowls around to the shed, unlocks it with the loose key in his pocket. He pushes aside folding chairs, rake and mower, tips the canoe out from the wall and tugs. It slides forward with a rattle of dislodged fishing gear. Jack props it up against his knees and leans over to peer at the hull, runs a finger across scuffed brown paint. Hairline crack. Still good for a morning spin, but he'll go rummaging in the back of the shed for some fibreglass, later, patch it up before he tries to put Daniel in the bow. He grabs bailer, paddle, life vest from the wall; the whistle attached to it jingles against his thigh. It's an old metal one with a cork pea, useless if it gets wet. He makes a mental note to pick up a fistful of Fox 40s next time he visits the tackle shop. He always forgets. Jack hefts the canoe onto his shoulder and strides down to the shore. Sweeps the tops of the grass stalks with his foot, gives the frog he's startled up time to hop away. Sets the boat down and takes up the rope, slides it in past the reeds that hiss against the gunnels. Pulls it around the dock, tosses his gear, clambers in. Debates kneeling, huffs a sigh for lost youth and dodgy knees and sits his ass down on the bow seat, facing the stern. Shoves the vest under his knees. Mist rises off the lake in thick ghost-shapes. As he pulls away from the dock, he imagines he can hear, in the cabin behind him, three heartbeats, easy and sleep-slow. Stowed safe. The fall is compulsory. Did he court you with sweet fruits Expensively out of season, Or with their blushes painted on, The apple's bitter pip wrapped up in glistening marzipan? Or did he court you with sweet words Sleek-metered and soft-rhymed All jagged edges sanded down and painted over No purchase to be found anywhere? No purchase to be found anywhere On the white-painted windowsill Rubicons never turn up where expected And too late your fingernails scored the wood And failed to take your weight As you took his. Did he score your white skin? Or just your virtue? You'd have been pushed, sooner or later. The fall is compulsory. "Free verse?" Thomas blinked at the page Janet handed him. "Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?" "I know. It's the first one I've written since the stupid sampler chapbook we all had to do in high school. But I tried blank verse, and then I tried villanelles, and I even thought it was going to be a fucking sestina for a minute there, but. I can't make it play nice. I'm too angry. I am too angry to iamb."
November 26, 2024 at 12:47 AM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Hot sun, cool fire by bylambd: archiveofourown.org/works/43694848
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are grad students and neighbors. WY gets involved in community organizing for undocumented immigrants. The whole fic is great, but the kicker for me is this distillation of my entire romance novel manifesto:
The few times he had tried dating had been long ago, back in college, and they had all started with the sex. He’s not even dating Wei Ying, doesn’t know for sure that his romantic feelings are reciprocated, but the intimacy they are growing together feels overwhelming at times, even contained as it is to these late night conversations, where half the time they can’t even see each other’s faces. It feels almost painfully precious to him, and fragile in equal measure. Most of the time, the sexual attraction that Lan Zhan feels towards Wei Ying seems small and unimportant compared to the exhilaration of truly learning him, for all that it used to keep him up at night. But sometimes they lie facing each other in the dark, their faces just inches apart, and Lan Zhan feels Wei Ying's humid breath on his skin, feels his own pulse racing in some extended anticipation, a tension whose sweet release is unknowably far away.
November 21, 2024 at 2:02 AM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Hello I love to recommend things.
Graphic text: "Get to know my taste in fics. For every like I will post one fic I love and why!"
November 19, 2024 at 11:06 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
This is actually my favourite part of a jack-o-lantern's lifespan.
An aging, sagging jack-o-lantern sitting on a porch. It has beady little eyes and a wide, toothy mouth that has shriveled and curled inward, so it looks like a grandpa who lost his dentures.
November 8, 2024 at 11:02 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
#WIPWednesday #Wangxian #CQL

From my contribution to the post-canon get-together corpus, which I still intend to finish!
The guest house, more gracious than the student dorms, was clearly meant for visiting masters on prolonged stays. Though modest, it had every amenity, including its own tiny garden, with a spectacular borrowed view of a neighbouring mountaintop. It was also about as close to the jingshi as anything was, especially if one cut through the bamboo forest, but the prescribed path took one down into one of the public courtyards, then back up at an angle. After Lan Wangji departed, Wei Wuxian puttered aimlessly in the deepening dusk, hung his clothes, washed his face, inspected the bookshelves, rejected the idea of grinding ink and wasting fine paper while he was too tired to bring order to his thoughts, and finally brought a book of poems to bed. He read until his candle burned down, then lay on his back and stared at nothing. He sat back up and tried to meditate. The moon rose, and Wei Wuxian's restlessness only rose with it, tide-like. Finally, he left his cushy bed, donned his boots, lit a fox-fire talisman so he wouldn't trip on his face in the shadows, and plunged into the woods. Lan Wangji was there. Wei Wuxian nearly shrieked, not fearing the apparition, but the possibility that he was hallucinating again. The figure was still distant, but picking its way swiftly and confidently over the bumpy terrain in a manner distinctly unghostly, and the closer he came, the more indubitably he was Lan Zhan: he wore only two layers and a sash; his ribbon was tied hastily above his braid. His eyes, meeting Wei Wuxian's, were wide with surprise, and his mouth had a rueful slant. They blinked at each other in the glow of Wei Wuxian's talisman and the cool gaze of the moon. "I could not hear you breathing," Lan Wangji said.
October 30, 2024 at 7:38 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Squash in and out of the oven all weekend to the tune of The Sorcerer's Apprentice
6 little squash halves in a 9x13 pan 6 MORE little squash halves on their way to the oven
October 27, 2024 at 8:55 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Frands.

Orange by me, white designed by HW (age 5, with a brilliant career ahead of him) and carved by @toft.bsky.social
A photo of a large, orange jack-o-lantern with tiny, round eyes, many teeth, and silly little ears, and a small, white jack-o-lantern with a hideous, wide, round mouth
October 26, 2024 at 8:05 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Might paint a tiny Wei Ying and Lan Zhan on top of this hill, though.
Wallpaper mural close-up of inked trees and hilltops.
October 24, 2024 at 11:21 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
Roomie's dad let me invade his basement lair and borrow his power tools so I could make myself a monitor riser instead of paying $$$ for a wobbly piece of pasteboard from Etsy. Office transformation is complete!
My home office desk with a laptop and external monitor sitting atop a simple but handsome wooden shelf. In contrast, the wallpaper behind it is a pastoral mural in extravagant greens and blues and creamy yellows.
October 24, 2024 at 11:17 PM
stultiloquentia.bsky.social
#WIPWednesday Well, that's an easy one this week.
"I wish you wouldn't be at such pains to conceal your intimacy with Tunan." The glass he's rinsing falls into the sink with an unfortunate crack. "Oh. I'll find some paper." She jogs upstairs and pulls a few sheets of newspaper out of the kindling basket by the fireplace to crumple into a nest for the broken glass. When she returns, Ruolai has fished the shards out of the sink and lined them up on the counter. "I'm sorry," he says stoically, helping her transfer them to the paper. "My fault, my fault. I shouldn't have said it. Or, said it like that. I only meant..." She uses the slight excuse of crossing the kitchen to dump the paper-wrapped glass in the bin to order her thoughts. When she turns back, Ruolai has turned to face her fully, hands braced on the edge of the sink. His expression, which she has taken some delight in learning to read over the last two months, is entirely unreadable. "I know you're very close, and I'm glad of it, I'm so desperately glad that he's had some
July 31, 2024 at 4:28 PM