#( average tuesday by his standards )

[erabundus]

A    VIVISECTION    OF    ME,    DONE    BY    GOD    FOR    ALL    TO    SEE.

[sirfrogsworth]

Grampa's Antique Fan (2015 vs 2024 Edit)

As a young man, after coming home from the Second World War, my grampa got a job as an electrician for Emerson Electric. He didn't work on the actual electrical products. He just maintained the electrical systems that power the tools to make electrical components.

It was a "I heard you need electricity for your electricity" type deals.

The company was founded in 1890 in nearby Ferguson, Missouri by John Wesley Emerson. He was a Union commander in the Civil War and a lawyer and then a judge and then an author and then a historian... so he was clearly qualified to run one of the first electronics companies. (This is currently referred to as the "Law of Elon".)

Emerson (the company, not the dude) specialized in electric motors and was the first to stick their motors in a fan and sell them.

As you can see by the 4 protective fan guard loopies, these were very safe for kids to be around.

I mean, the biggest thing you could shove in there is a baby arm, which is the least important part of a baby. No baby heads were chopped off—which was the bar for consumer safety during that era.

Fans are rated by the volume of air they can push over a period of time and your average box fan can push about 1400 cubic feet per minute or "CFM". When this Emerson (the fan, not the dude) was produced they actually used "CCH" or cubic cubits per hour. Emerson (the dude) loved using odd standards of measurement much to the chagrin of his engineers.

Due to the small surface area, weak angle of attack, and heavy metal blades, this electronic beast could only push a baker's dozen cubic cubits per baker's hour—which was a confusing metric of time because people were very superstitious and they refused to put the 13 on the baker's clocks. They just left a mysterious blank void after the 12 and apparently several people had existential crises during the baker's hour. Some were institutionalized for a rare condition called Time Delirium.

Thankfully Emerson Electric was able to provide the electroshock therapy devices that cured several patients. This was achieved by erasing the memory of the traumatic time delirium events along with a few other unimportant details like what they did last Tuesday and their mother's name and one engineering degree that the guy wasn't even using.

My dad actually got the fan working and let me tell you... that bad boy could really work up a gentle breeze...

...if you stood behind it and blew.

And that fine American-made electric fan motor was just as quiet as a leaf blower on Saturday morning.

Over the last century, Emerson was bought and sold and bought and sold.

And bought and sold and bought and sold.

Was that 7?

Eh, close enough. We'll call it a baker's 7.

They changed their product line countless times over their 130+ years of existence. After fans they pivoted and made electric meat grinders. To this day, no one know what inspired that decision.

Currently, they make radar avionics and are majority-owned by the private equity firm, Blackstone. Which is a totally non-evil sounding name they chose for their company-eating empire. Please ignore that the CEO was one of Trump's policy strategists. This is a non-evil company with a non-evil name run by non-evil people, okay?

Despite Emerson Electric having to settle a baker's gross of lawsuits involving a few lightly scalp'd babies, they maintain a Fortune 500 status and are still headquartered in Ferguson.

They occupy one of the most boring ass buildings ever constructed.

Just rectangles all the way down.

That architect told every angle to get rect.

Of course, I forgot all of this cool history and sold this fan in the estate auction. I suppose it is a good thing I got a nice photograph to help assuage my current feelings of guilt. I mean, it is not baby scalping, time delirium guilt—but I would feel better if I knew my gramp-gramp's fan was in a good home with 0 babies.

[lemon-pie-enjoyer]

So, what's it like being roommates with the Seijoh 4?

No pronouns used

It's eating breakfast cereal with Makki every so often because he believes life's too short not to try every brand. It's watching him eat said cereal straight out of the box and then gulp milk down at 2pm on a Tuesday because he doesn't want to do the dishes.

It's having a swear jar that's mostly been filled by Iwaizumi.

It's knowing that Mattsun has had his license the longest, but refusing to sit in a car with him because he always says the most concerning shit while driving. "Honestly, what's stopping me from just swerving into this ditch?" or "Do you think the radio stays on after a crash? I'm kinda curious."

It's holding random competitions to see who gets to choose the movie for Thursday night.

It's Oikawa and Iwaizumi waking up the whole apartment when they go on their early morning runs.

It's you and Makki slowly sneaking back into the apartment at an ungodly hour after a night out.

It's one day opening the door and seeing Oikawa reach for the handle from the other side, because he was just leaving by the time the two of you were weaseling yourselves back into the apartment.

It's Oikawa complaining that the typical diet isn't up to standard based on his volleyball goals, but being an absolutely horrendous cook. So he begs begs you and Iwaizumi to make him home-cooked meals.

It's not worrying about someone eating your leftovers because Iwaizumi beating Oikawa's ass over it has been engraved in everyone's memory.

It's keeping an eye on Mattsun at night because he comments on how much respect he has for graffiti artists a little more than the average person.

It's being surrounded by people whose love language includes making relentless fun of each other.

It's Makki insisting on making a chore wheel so he wouldn't have to clean the bathroom. As of today, he has pulled that chore every week but one, when you used a box of store-bought profiteroles to bribe him into switching with you.

It's using those fridge magnets shaped like letters to tell each other to do things like: "buy milk" "- no" "- fuck you"

It's playing volleyball together from time-to-time and seeing how much time has passed since you played in high school.

It's knowing when to tell Oikawa off for not taking care of himself.

It's everyone being as quiet as possible when you know Iwaizumi's had a particularly stressful day.

It's them bringing food to your room when they notice you've been acting off.

It's never publicly acknowledging that you care for each other in small ways.

[validfemale]

Hi honey, it's a pleasure to meet you.

I want to manifest physical changes, that is to say to have curves and that. Also to be a pinterest like girl with a lot of followers on tik tok and instagram, something like those it girls. But my beauty is average and also the handsome and popular guys don't notice me, I would love to have so many requests from them and I get thousands and thousands of messages from them every day. But I still have insecurities. What should I do and what about the 3d? Thank you.

hi babe, let’s have a lil' chat ✨

first of all, it's already yours, so let’s get that into our heads. you’re not chasing, you’re not hoping—you’re embodying. who are you? the main character, the girl who effortlessly turns heads, who’s got that magnetic aura pulling in all the attention. remember that. this is your playground, and the 3D world is just reflecting back your energy.

so, you wanna be that pinterest-perfect girl? here’s the tea:

♡ embody that energy NOW: girl, start seeing yourself as that IT girl today, not tomorrow. walk around with that confidence that would make miss universe jealous. act like your DMs are already blowing up with attention and those requests from handsome guys are just another Tuesday. remember, the universe reflects what you believe to be true. period.

♡ affirm like you mean it: sprinkle your day with affirmations that scream confidence:

“i am effortlessly stunning and always noticed.”

“the most attractive, popular people can’t take their eyes off me.”

“i am the blueprint, the standard, the girl everyone wants to know.”

do it while you’re putting on makeup, in the shower, on your coffee break—keep your mind locked into the reality you’re choosing.

♡ stop doubting your power: babe, the second you start thinking, “what if I’m just average?” the universe is like, “okay, she said she’s average, let’s keep that rolling.” we don’t have time for that. instead, flip the script:

you are divine, unforgettable, and every part of you is perfect as is.

♡ 3D reality acting up? good. that’s a sign that your assumptions are cooking up something delicious. when things don’t look how you want yet, don’t spiral—laugh at it like, “oh honey, this is just a plot twist before my happy ending.” keep your focus on the inner world, the 4D, because that’s where your magic is brewing. the 3D has no choice but to catch up.

in a nutshell? act like that girl, talk like that girl, be that girl. because spoiler alert: you already are. keep your head high, your affirmations on repeat, and your energy untouchable.

stay iconic, queen ♡.

— xo, madi.

[birdmeh]

. MakeDamnSure .

Chapter 1: City Lights

Jason Todd / Reader Warnings: canon typical violence Summary: Working at The Velvet Room had its pros: free movies, paid time off, and flexible schedules. But with every pro comes a con; for you, that con was Jason Todd. Rude, intimidating, and strangely passionate about romance movies.

Days would pass you by in a series of stale popcorn, sticky floors, dim lights, and faded posters. This specific day was a Tuesday night, which for any average person is nothing more than that, but for you, Tuesdays were the best day of your week. You got to leave work early, meaning your daily shift at The Velvet Room Theater was cut short by four hours. Instead of closing at twelve, you found yourself leaving at a promising eight o’clock.

This felt particularly rewarding following long harsh days of grueling classes and mountains of homework. The early escape allowed you to have a few extra hours of deserved freedom to unwind and keep to yourself. Despite this, you still felt as if your energy was at an all-time low, especially after being posted at the outdated ticket booth of all places. You sat aimlessly in the small gazebo-like structure at the entrance of the theater feeling completely confined by the four suffocating walls.

Business was slow, so like usual, you found yourself getting lost amongst the little things. The chipped yellow paint that lined the walls that you would gently scrape at it with your nail. The people that walked by, some the usual suspicious characters you would see roaming Gotham, others being families and businessmen on their commute back home. And most importantly the captivating neon signs that decorated the streets around you, pubs, bodegas, doctor's offices, psychics. No matter the place, the cramped street that The Velvet Room resided on had it.

When the occasional customer would stop by you would greet them with a sheepish tired smile and a default customer service voice that was warm and far too kind. Your robotic routine would consist of a greeting, understanding what movie the customer was looking for, naming the price, giving change when necessary, and handing over the ticket while informing them of their theater number. This routine ensured that every interaction went smoothly and up to par with your boss’ standards. Unfortunately, there are customers who feel the need to make the exchange much more difficult than it should be. Being the person you are you will always try to give them the benefit of the doubt not knowing what could have played out in their day to make them treat you with such hostility but sometimes assholes just want to be assholes.

This was the case for Jason Todd. _

You don’t know when but at some point throughout your shift you were taken by sleep, waking to a slow steady stream of drool dribbling from the corner of your lip to the oak desk your cheek was plastered onto. Squinted eyes take a moment to adjust to the newfound light and manage to jolt upwards at a dark-haired man aggressively tapping on the glass that separated you from him. Like a startled zoo animal, you readjust yourself into a much less compromising position, shooting upwards, flattening your wrinkled maroon shirt, wiping your face, and plastering on that award-winning customer service smile. The man did not seem amused by this. Instead, he greeted you with this intimidating cold gaze that only seemed to harden as he slowly racked his eyes over your disheveled form, clearly displeased at what he saw. He leaned over the counter making the small booth you reside in feel much smaller with his overbearing presence. The walls now seemed to be slowly closing in on you as the man inched his face towards the glass nearly fogging it up in the process.

“I’m sorry did I wake you?” There was no sincerity in his voice upon asking the simple question, instead, it was dripping with scrutiny. This made you feel small.

“No, no, not at all,” it takes the entirety of your being to recall the internal script that guides every customer interaction as he continues to look at you with that blank stare. “I’m so so sorry, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I need one ticket for the 8 pm showing.” he's blunt, to the point, and almost snappy.

“Okay so one ticket for City Lights, would that be it?” The choice of film makes you press your lips into a thin line suppressing a smile. With all the new cliche douchebag action movies out there that you could only assume he liked, this man settled on a classical romantic comedy. A silent film about this tramp falling deeply in love with a lonely blind flower girl. He makes various efforts to help her regain her sight throughout the film in heartwarming and silly ways. It truly was a captivating piece, one of your favorites.

His fingers drum against the counter. He's irritated. “That's it.”

“Alright, that’ll be fifteen.”

The black-haired man pulls a twenty-dollar bill from an obnoxious tactical looking wallet. He slides it across the table without another word before reaching towards his chest pocket and pulling out an out-of-date flip phone as he awaited his change.

You quickly open up the register in the hopes of ending this painfully rude interaction only to realize that there are no singles or fives. There was definitely enough change to gather five dollars worth to return to the man but you used your best judgment to not do that, knowing for a fact that any Gothamite would be glad to throw said change back in your face. You were hardly able to meet the brooding man's eye as you glanced up, nervously gnawing away at the inside of your cheek. “I’m so-so-soooo sorry but we don’t have change. Do you have a ten and a five or anything more exact?”

He looks annoyed as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “No, I don't have exact change. What do you mean you don’t have any fives? It’s a five-dollar bill, any movie theater has to have fives. What kinda business do you think you’re running here?” He rambled on annoyance growing more and more present.

“We're low on small bills and we usually clear the register every few hours cause you know-,” you make a sheepish circular motion with your finger in an attempt to put emphasis on the area around you “Gotham.”

He crosses his arms over his gray sweater-clad chest, the furrow in his brow only deepening. “Listen, don’t be giving me attitude. Just because this is Gotham doesn’t mean it’s a free pass for shitty service.”

“No- that wasn’t what I was trying to do? I-” Panicked eyes glance at the digital clock beside you only to be met with a harsh red 8:03 flashing back at you.

This man was late for his movie and you were about to miss the next bus home. Trying to ignore his rude quip you spin on your heel towards the bag residing on a small stool beside you before reaching in and pulling out five crumpled-up singles. You then turn to your side to print his ticket and hastily slide both to him. Sure you wouldn’t have enough for your daily overpriced coffee tomorrow but anything was better than dealing with a disrespectful customer off the clock.

“Thanks,” he muttered, a scowl still etched onto his face as he narrowed his eyes at the ticket and crumpled loose bills that now resided in the palm of his hand. He then moved to turn away but not before backtracking and shooting you a glance that was not only laced with annoyance but curiosity as well. This was the last you saw of him before he made his way into the theater, door slamming shut behind him.

You release an exasperated breath thrilled by the fact that the confrontation was over. Obviously, you had dealt with many “colorful” personalities in your time working at The Velvet Room, it is just one of those things that you are forced to come to terms with when living in Gotham. Despite this, each confrontation does not fail to leave you more shaken up than the last.

You shot your manager a text informing her of your leave so she could ensure that one of your coworkers relieved you for the night shift. By now the clock read 8:06, and given the fact that your bus was set to leave in ten minutes, you were sure you were going to miss it. Making haste, you grab your purse, phone, and jacket, clumsily sliding the heavy leather garment over your shoulders.

As you finally step out of the ticketing booth the refreshing night air nips at your ears and nose; it wasn't like this in the morning yet with autumn coming in full swing the weather was becoming a bit more extreme. This makes you wrap your jacket around you a bit tighter as you make a beeline towards the bus stop.

— Surprisingly the bus was still there upon your arrival, sure you had run after it and flagged it down by flailing your arms around like the average Gotham madman but it was worth ensuring you got home on time. Once you're at the glass doors they swing open with a hiss allowing you to make slow calculated steps up the metallic stairs. You hesitate at the entrance scouring through your bag looking for the cash that you swore you had to pay the fare. Your hands then drift towards the pockets of your coat but are only met with empty fabric. The realization soon hits you that you overestimated the amount of cash you had in your bag and the money meant for your bus fare now resided in the pocket of the boorish customer from earlier.

Your stomach drops as you begin to acknowledge the ticketing machine waiting expectantly as well as the growing traction from the curious passenger around you, puzzled at what was taking so long. Now you make the choice to weigh your options. You could either A, ask for a free ride and explain your situation to the visibly annoyed driver or B, hop off and make the twenty-minute walk home.

With the circumstances making you wildly uneasy the second option seems like the clear choice.

You fade back into the sidewalk sheepishly as you feel your chest tighten with anxiety.

It isn’t like you haven’t walked alone in Gotham before, but with the sun having already set and the streets becoming more and more vacant by the minute you can't help but worry for your safety. To this, you found solace in the form of a small tube of pepper spray attached to your home keys that would, in the case of emergency, keep you safe. Of course this would only ever apply to some low level thug, because god forbid some Riddler or Scarecrow type decided to make an appearance. _ The street around you was dimly lit by the occasional faulty lamp post or neon bar sign that you refused to pay much attention to; for the sake of your personal wellbeing you knew to keep your head low and consciousness forward. Rapid steps carry you across the uneven pavement feeling forced to watch your footing and prevent a nasty fall.

A feeling of unease would only grow in your gut as your eyes linger on each person that passed you by. You scan their faces, taking note of the way that some would glance at you curiously while others seemed to be lost in their own world. A growing sense of vulnerability weighs heavily on you, but despite this you push on, determined to reach your home. The feeling of being watched however lingers over you, gnawing away your already decreased composure.

There is one particular man that catches your eye as walks towards your direction. He is tall and slim, the moon casting a sharp and twisted silhouette on the ground below him. A black zip-up hoodie clings to his pale figure, worn with age. His face is partially obscured by a baseball cap only allowing you to take note of piercing brown eyes that do not leave your own. He walks by allowing you to pick up on the smell of old cigarette smoke and booze. Your heart races and your posture stiffens as you pass him praying that he would not stop.

As you continue down the street you hear his foot steps slow to a halt. You cautiously look over your shoulder only to find that he has turned to completely face you, eyes locking intensely.

“Lost?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin crawl. He takes another step closer and you can’t help but be frozen where you stand.

“Listen..I’m just trying to get home” you squeeze out, making a weak attempt at keeping your voice steady while slowly raising your hands to put an emphasis on the fact that you meant no harm. The pepper-spray began to burn a hole in your pocket but the fear of making any sudden movements prohibited you from reaching for it.

“Here's what we’re gonna do,” he says, cutting you off as he pulls his sweatshirt up a tad exposing an old stained tank top and an opaque gun tucked into his waistband. “You’re gonna give me your bag, phone, and wallet.” His words are sharp and confident like he has done this before, and with the way things were going he definitely has. The tension is so insanely thick you could cut it with a knife. Sweat begins to bead at the palms of your hands, nape of your neck, and forehead while your chest rises and falls with quick breaths. You felt warm all over.

You try to swallow down the lump in your throat. “I don’t really have—”

“Save it,” he interrupts. “Just hand it over. Now.”

All it took was a second of hesitation and a slight twitch of your arm in the direction of your pocket for him to lunge towards you, fist connecting hard with your eye socket. You swore you saw stars. The pain shoots down your skull into your spine sending you into a panicked frenzy making you stagger away clumsily and almost immediately, you feel swelling around the eye. You don’t have the time to register what has happened before the man barks orders at you to keep it moving while shoving you towards a faulty lamp post, the cold surface biting into your back. Instinctively you raise your hands before deciding to toss your bag to the man's feet, watching helplessly as he rummages through it, pulling out whatever he finds of value.

Once satisfied he meets your terrified gaze once more. “Get out of here,”

You nod quickly, heart still pounding in your chest as you cautiously step away not even attempting to reach for whatever remained in your bag. He could keep it. You turn to sprint down the street, pain in your eye throbbing with each uncoordinated step, serving as a constant reminder of how dangerous these streets truly were.

You are not safe here in Gotham. You never were. You never will be.

[thevexinator]

Since Asagiri won't give you Guild content, I will. Headcanons, but they're based on irl facts I found within 5 minutes of googling. [These are just my hcs you can add your own if you wanna]

Louisa May Alcott 💌

- Louisa and Nathaniel are family friends. Irl, Louisa's father was one of Hawthorne's pallbearers [pallbearer - someone helping to escort of carry a coffin]. In the setting of BSD, their families were in close relations due to operating at the same church. Even though Louisa doesn't remember, Nathaniel often looked after her since the older girls [Louisa's older sister Anna and Nathaniel's older sister Elizabeth] were often helping around with the adults.

- She really likes pulp fiction.

- She's knowledgeable about the medical field. The real Louisa was a nurse during World War 1.

- Speaking of war, Louisa is a major history nerd.

Margaret Mitchell ☂️

- While BSD Margaret dresses like what if Mary Poppins was a British aristocrat, the real Margaret Mitchell actually preferred dressing in men's clothes. Thus, whenever she's not on duty in the Guild, she's chilling in something she stole from Nathaniel.

- She's afraid of fire. Why? When Margaret was a child, her clothing ended up catching fire on accident. She's never been the same since.

- She also has driving anxiety. When she was 12, her dad hit a deer on the road. She's never been the same since.

Nathaniel Hawthorne ⚔️

- Generally avoids discourse about the Salem Witch Trials. An ancestor of his played a big part during it, two others were married to women who were accused of being witches. Thus, he added the 'w' to his last name.

- He's surprisingly good with glasswork. When the real Nathaniel and his wife moved into their home, the etched poems into the glass of the windows.

- For a large part of his life, he lived in a commune.

- Occasionally, he sees ghosts. The real Nathaniel once said he saw the ghost of his friend reading his own obituary.

Edgar Allan Poe 🦝

- He's an orphan. He doesn't tell people that.

- He likes being alone. Until he gets the feeling that someone is somewhere in the room with him.

- Insanely intelligent. He knows exactly what he's doing.

- Very weak constitution. One time, when the Guild were all drinking and whatever else they were doing, Poe blacked out after one drink of wine. Everyone genuinely thought someone tried to kill him until they found out he couldn't handle alcohol.

- Unphased. He's seen it all. Death? Child's play. Heartbeat under the floorboards? Normal Tuesday. Corpse falling off the roof? Crazy. Someone walking into the party dressed in red? Standard party etiquette.

Lucy Maud Montgomery 🪆

- Also an orphan. Doesn't tell people about it.

- Very charming. She can flirt. She just chooses not to. She knows she's too powerful.

- Cripplingly depressed. Self-explanatory.

- Has girl nights with Louisa and Margaret, basically a few hours of them doing girl activities. They tried to summon Bloody Mary at least seven times to no returns.

H. P. Lovecraft 🦑

- Lovecraft has monochromacy, a condition where someone can only see in grayscale. This is derived from irl Lovecraft's "The Color Out of Space," essentially Lovecraft's low education being the reason why he didn't know about the electromagnetic color spectrum.

- He's afraid of crowds. He hates it here so much.

- Has epilepsy. The only thing that can stop this eldrich monstrosity in a human trench coat is the average disco party.

- Loves cats. He is so normal about them. Cats run to him like crazy.

- He glows in the dark. Why shouldn't he? He's earned it. He's also deficient in vitamins science hasn't discovered yet. His ankles popping sound like rogue gunshots.

- AroAce. Intimacy is a concept he doesn't understand and doesn't want to.

John Steinbeck 🌳

- He's very much a dog person. His family keeps dogs. His favorite breed is the Australian Sheep dog.

- He was very sick as a child.

- Really into marine biology. [Steincraft fans stay winning.]

- Before the Guild, he worked as a construction worker, newspaper reporter,and caretaker.

- Ironically enough, he has a pollen allergy. It's not severe, just watering eyes and sniffles. He hates it.

Mark Twain 🔫

- So normal about the ocean. He takes Lovecraft and John with him when he goes boating.

- Into geology. He's the guy who collects rocks whenever he's outside.

- Guild game night isn't game night is Mark isn't beating everyone in every board game to ever exist.

- So normal about cats. The real Mark Twain has 19 cats, all with titles like Apollinaris, Beelzebub, Blatherskite, Buffalo Bill, Satan, Sin, Sour Mash, Tammany, Zoroaster, Soapy Sal and Pestilence to name a few. BSD Mark has one ginger cat he adopted off the streets of Yokohama he names Sal, occasionally calling her Sin whenever she's around Nathaniel.

- He almost drowned twice. One would think that would kill his passion for boating, but he baller'd his way out of it.

Francis S. K. Fitzgerald 🪙

- Dyslexic and in denial. Louisa tried to gently bring it up to him that half of his work email was spelled incorrectly, but he was in denial and chalked it up to it being 3 in the morning when he wrote that work email.

- He worked as a screenwriter before the Guild. Coincidentally, he met his wife there!

- He strikes me as a guy who owns a copy of "A Pickle For the Knowing Ones". If you don't know what that is, please look it up. I promise it's worth it.

- Makes too many dad jokes. John and Nathaniel officially want him dead.

- He forgets to sleep. He just forgets. Even though he looks like he died and got resurrected without prior notice and everyone in the Guild is asking him if he had a breakdown, he forgets to sleep.

Hermine Melville 🐋

- At some point in his life, he lived in the Pacific Islands.

- Hiking enthusiast. He likes the mountain terrain a lot.

- His office smells like smoke. No one knows why. It just does.

- Not much about him to be honest. I wish there was more screentime for him. <//3

[benny-the-spaceman]

one of these days im going to release my tlm drafting headcanons from my notes app purgatory and that day is Today.

HERE'S HOW I THINK LEGO MOVIE CHARACTERS WOULD PREPARE AND MAKE DRAFTS

...under the cut

Batman

• Fairly good at drawing. Somehow able to draw straight lines without a ruler perfectly fine every single time but otherwise nothing super noteworthy (he does brag about this constantly however)

• Drafts in white and yellow posca pen??? will use white colored pencil for finer detail however, specifically one of those mechanical colored pencils

��� Drafts on black paper because he thinks it makes his designs cooler (it doesn't)

• Dimensions in imperial and would be annoyed if you dare even *insinuate* he use metric. no justification here

• Doodles around his drafts, specifically likes to doodle bats and himself because he, once again, thanks it makes his drafts cooler (the bats kinda do)

• Refuses to leave notes on his designs. you either know what to do or you don't

• Does however write his drawing title obnoxiously large

• Used autocad for like a day, hated it, switched to solidworks and never went back

• Buys autodesk licenses for the rest of the masterbuilders. unwillingly, mind you, wyldstyle just knows his credit card information and abuses it

Benny

• Good at drawing exclusively spaceships. big shock i know

• The king of eyeballing a line or an angle and then labelling it however the fuck he wants. proper measurements take time he could spend drafting or making more spaceships, he'll save measuring and straightedges for drafts he deems important enough

• Uses blueprinting paper. there's no practical purpose for this, he just digs it

• Drafts with whatever writing utensil is on hand

• He gets inspired quite often so he usually keeps a drafting notepad on him just in case

• Leaves a *lot* of notes. Most of them are completely unnecessary and are a funny contrast to his haphazard dimensioning

• Pretty dang good at autocad! Usually reserves it for projects that require a lot more collaboration however

• Usually drafts in metric, can dimension in imperial but prefers not to

• 100% sets autocad to the light background like a monster

• Do not give him any 3d modelling software, he might blow up the computer

Emmet

• Either really good or really bad at drawings (obvs leaning towards bad. we remember the break in plans)

• Dimensions in imperial. I cant justify this one he just does. god bless america or something idk

• Owns a couple drafting pencils but rarely uses them, most of the time he drafts in marker or pen much to the chagrin of anyone who needs to read his drafts (or delight if you're unikitty)

• Started learning how to use autocad after taco tuesday and he's actually pretty good at it! he does use an architectural dimstyle for everything though which is particularly annoying when he's quite often not drafting buildings now

• Has labelled and colored layers 👍 enough said

• Uses disgustingly thick lineweights. horrible.

• Rarely if ever 3d models so he's not good at it, he mostly works on things that 2d conveys better anyways

• Although he's not the best drafter of the master builders, his construction background makes him the best at reading drafts, give him a unikitty draft and he can decipher it like it's nothing

Metalbeard

• Probably the best at drafting of the master builders, he's got the age advantage and lots of practice from making ships

• Drafts in pencil, quill, or charcoal depending

• Who needs straightedges or angle stencils when youre basically a pirate cyborg, expect robot like precision

• Doesn't use standard measuring conventions, instead opts to use the dumbest things possible. The Sea cow's units of measurement were seagulls. It isnt that he cant do normal units of measurement, he just prefers his made up ones

• Makes his drafting paper by himself

• Pretty good with 2d and 3d modelling surprisingly. He doesn't like either, however, he much prefers drafting on paper

• Leaves an average amount of notes on his drafts but has the most disgustingly fancy cursive and writes in his piratey english. Often a nightmare to read if you aren't used to his writing

• Will sometimes do blueprint swaps with Benny wherein they critique each other's work. not sure when they started doing it, but it's become a weekly activity for them

Unikitty

• Worst drafter of the main masterbuilder crew. Most people think it's because she's a cat but no she just doesnt take drafting seriously in the slightest

• Drafts like she's making an arts and crafts project. She has put several bottles of glitter on singular drafts and she will do it again

• Dimensions in rainbows, no knows what this means other than emmet

• Gives the longest, most complicated titles possible

• No such thing as straight lines

• Is entirely capable of drafting properly, just refuses to

• Leaves notes that are entirely unrelated to the draft. she wont tell you how youre supposed to connect two objects but she *will* tell you about the sandwich she ate while making the draft

• Doesnt use autocad, looks too boring

• Didnt use any 3d modelling softwares until she realized you can change the appearance of materials. that was a game changer. still much prefers drafting on paper though

• Likes drafting with emmet sometimes since he seems to be the only person who understands her drawings. to this day no one understands how he does it

Vitruvius

• Going blind has, surprisingly, not made him much worse at drafting, just changed his process a bit

• Drafts in pencil

• Probably the person who least frequently drafts of the main masterbuilders. On account of just not needing to and also on account of being dead

• Dimensions in the old anglo-saxon units of measurement

• Doesn't title his drafts and doesnt see a point in doing so

• Leaves the most vague, utterly confusing notes on his drawings. theyre still related to the drawings unlike unikitty's notes, but theyre very odd

• Doesn't use autocad or 3d modelling softwares, partially because he wouldnt really be able to on account of being blind but also partially because he doesn't really know what they are

• There isnt really much to say about his drafting skills he's about as normal of a drafter as a masterbuilder can be

Wyldstyle

• An engineering teacher's dream student. She may not have the amount of experience metalbeard has but she's still very skilled

• Doesn't like drafting on paper and won't if she doesn't have to

• When she does draft on paper she uses a drafting mechanical pencils. she also 100% collects them

• dimensions in metric to exactly 3 decimal places

• leaves very few if any notes (always very concise ones if included)

• has a case of staedtler stencils that she bought 4 years ago and never uses

• picked up a habit of doodling on drafts from batman but will never admit she got the habit from him

• Autocad PRO. Also really damn good at solidworks and fusion. Give this girl a computer and she'll give you a motorcycle assembly within the hour

• Specializes in automotives

• Spends time with Emmet on the weekends teaching him how to use digital drafting softwares (this process was incredibly frusturating at first but gets easier with time)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

1937, World's Highest Standard of Living :: Margaret Bourke-White

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 28, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 29, 2024

On Monday, October 28, 1929, New York’s Metropolitan Opera Company opened its forty-fifth season.

Four thousand attendees in their finest clothes strolled to the elegant building on foot or traveled in one of a thousand limousines to see Puccini’s Manon Lescaut, the melodramatic story of an innocent French girl seduced by wealth, whose reluctance to leave her riches for true love leads to her arrest and tragic death. Photographers captured images of the era’s social celebrities as they arrived at opening night, their flash bulbs blinding the crowd that had gathered to see the famous faces and expensive gowns.

No one toasting the beginning of the opera season that night knew they were marking the end of an era.

At ten o’clock the next morning, when the opening gong sounded in the great hall of the New York Stock Exchange, men began to unload their stocks. So fast did trading go that by the end of the day, the ticker recording transactions ran two and a half hours late. When the final tally could be read, it showed that an extraordinary 16,410,030 shares had traded hands, and the market had lost $14 billion. The market had been uneasy for weeks before the twenty-ninth, but Black Tuesday began a slide that seemingly would not end. By mid-November the industrial average was half of what it had been in September. The economic boom that had fueled the Roaring Twenties was over.

Once the bottom fell out of the stock market, the economy ground down. Manufacturing output dropped to levels lower than those of 1913. The production of pig iron fell to what it had been in the 1890s. Foreign trade dropped by $7 billion, down to just $3 billion. The price of wheat fell from $1.05 a bushel to 39 cents; corn dropped from 81 to 33 cents; cotton fell from 17 to 6 cents a pound. Prices dropped so low that selling crops meant taking a loss, so struggling farmers simply let them rot in the fields. 

By 1932, over one million people in New York City were unemployed. By 1933 the number of unemployed across the nation rose to 13 million people—one out of every four American workers. Unable to afford rent or pay mortgages, people lived in shelters made of packing boxes.

No one knew how to combat the Great Depression, but certain wealthy Americans were sure they knew what had caused it. The problem, they said, was that poor Americans refused to work hard enough and were draining the economy. They must be forced to take less. “Liquidate labor, liquidate stocks, liquidate the farmers, liquidate real estate,” Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon told President Herbert Hoover. “It will purge the rottenness out of the system. High costs of living and high living will come down. People will work harder, live a more moral life. Values will be adjusted, and enterprising people will pick up the wrecks from less competent people.” 

Slash government spending, agreed the Chicago Tribune: lay off teachers and government workers, and demand that those who remain accept lower wages. Richard Whitney, a former president of the Stock Exchange, told the Senate that the only way to restart the economy was to cut government salaries and veterans’ benefits (although he told them that his own salary—which at sixty thousand dollars was six times higher than theirs—was “very little” and couldn’t be reduced).

President Hoover knew little about finances, let alone how to fix an economic crisis of global proportions. He tried to reverse the economic slide by cutting taxes and reassuring Americans that “the fundamental business of the country, that is, production and distribution of commodities, is on a sound and prosperous basis.” 

But taxes were already so low that most folks would see only a few extra dollars a year from the cuts, and the fundamental business of the country was not, in fact, sound. When suffering Americans begged for public works programs to provide jobs, Hoover insisted that such programs were a “soak the rich” program that would “enslave” taxpayers, and called instead for private charity.

By the time Hoover’s term ended, Americans were ready to try a new approach to economic recovery. They refused to reelect Hoover and turned instead to New York Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who promised to use the federal government to provide jobs and a safety net to enable Americans to weather hard times. He promised the American people a “New Deal”: a government that would work for everyone, not just for the wealthy and well connected.

As soon as Roosevelt was in office, Democrats began to pass laws protecting workers’ rights, providing government jobs, regulating business and banking, and beginning to chip away at the racial segregation of the American South. New Deal policies employed more than 8.5 million people, built more than 650,000 miles of highways, built or repaired more than 120,000 bridges, and put up more than 125,000 buildings. 

They regulated banking and the stock market and gave workers the right to bargain collectively. They established minimum wages and maximum hours for work. They provided a basic social safety net and regulated food and drug safety. And when World War II broke out, the new system enabled the United States to defend democracy successfully against fascists both at home—where they had grown strong enough to turn out almost 20,000 people to a rally at Madison Square Garden in 1939—and abroad. 

The New Deal worked so well that common men and women across the country hailed FDR as their leader, electing him an unprecedented four times. Republican Dwight D. Eisenhower built on the New Deal when voters elected him in 1952. He bolstered the nation’s infrastructure with the Federal-Aid Highway Act, which provided $25 billion to build 41,000 miles of highway across the country; added the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare to the government and called for a national healthcare system.

Eisenhower nominated former Republican governor of California Earl Warren as chief justice of the Supreme Court to protect civil rights, which he would begin to do with the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision months after joining the court. Eisenhower also insisted on the vital importance of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) to stop the Soviet Union from spreading communism throughout Europe.

Eisenhower called his vision “a middle way between untrammeled freedom of the individual and the demands of the welfare of the whole Nation.” 

The system worked: between 1945 and 1960 the nation’s gross national product (GNP) jumped by 250%, from $200 billion to $500 billion. The vast majority of Americans of both parties liked the new system that had helped the nation to recover from the Depression and to equip the Allies to win World War II. 

Politicians and commentators agreed that most Democrats and Republicans shared a “liberal consensus” that the government should regulate business, provide for basic social welfare, promote infrastructure, and protect civil rights. It seemed the country had finally created a government that best reflected democratic values. 

Indeed, that liberal consensus seemed so universal that the only place to find opposition was in entertainment. Popular radio comedian Fred Allen’s show included a caricature, Senator Beauregard Claghorn, a southern blowhard who pontificated, harrumphed, and took his reflexive hatred of the North to ridiculous extremes. A buffoon who represented the past, the Claghorn character was such a success that he starred in his own Hollywood film and later became the basis for the Looney Tunes cartoon rooster Foghorn Leghorn.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[fresh-paint4the-roses]

Spilling several of my thoughts on Rosengrotto,(mostly) Azul POV Edition

- To me, I view their relationship more on the queerplatonic end of the relationship spectrum. The two of them have their struggles with relationships stemming from childhood and with a bit of hesitation to be totally vulnerable.

They aren't totally ready to smooch per se, nor do I really think that's what they want out of each other. Intellectually, they are like Bayonetta and Jeanne from Bayo (ignoring the hot mess that was 3). Unparalleled, on point, unerring and poised together.

They want a companion who's respectable enough to get close and relate to (and they do on many levels, tbh!). But also temper and challenge their perspectives (a lot of their m.o's do contrast eachother.)

Azul noticed Riddle (who wouldn't) as a freshman, similarly to Jamil as somebody as a high importance/interest figure. But in a more negative view, initially. Riddle's sheer utter academic superiority dug into Azul's inferiority complex, leaving him with a mildly sour taste in his mouth every time he was just no. 1 constantly. But he couldn't deny Riddle was an aspirational and a goal to work towards.

Ironically enough,Azul is the biggest sapioromantic in NRC - anyone approximating his level of intellect activates dopamine pathways in the brain. But not for Riddle yet - He still saw Riddle more as lofty standard high above him than a fellow nerd he could relate to, because inferiority complex.

but then chapter 6 happened. Azul lost a LOT of respect for Riddle, living what's just another average Tuesday for Heartslabyul students - and realizing that Riddle is, in fact, quite flawed. The way that Riddle is- He doesn't want to be at all. But there still are traits that Azul finds admirable in Riddle.

-Azul's "favorite" trait about Riddle is his dependable, authentic, and lawful nature. Riddle is always straightforward and dauntless- And in certain dangerous situations, that definitely is a con. But that same certainty and fairness is what makes him comfortable enough to be the slightest bit vulnerable with him in book 6, too.

So, seeing that Riddle fairly respects him and academic and non-academic endeavors affected him genuinely and positively with his self-esteem. From Riddle, he gets true, fair validation that's slowly helping Azul to be a little more open and okay with himself.

Feel free to disagree or add on to what I'm yapping at 11pm. I should go to bed rn tbh

[queencoldart]

Long ago, even by dragon standards, a dragon lord named Maar ruled over the Dragon Lands. During his reign he wrestled some areas from other warlords, but this isn't what he is remembered for.

It was back in Maar's glory days when he had successfully expanded his territory once more. He plundered the place and took home a local beauty; just another Tuesday. Little did he know that he hadn't captured just any pretty dragoness. His new consort was none other than Kipuka, a dragoness whose story became more famous than his own—truly a dragon lord's worst nightmare!

As a consort, Kipuka was rather unremarkable besides her looks. She was kept busy with administrative work and hidden away from Maar. Kipuka became very knowledgeable about governance and the more she learned, the more she wanted to put her skills to good use. She found her opportunity to get close to Maar and quickly became his favorite subject, as well as the worst enemy of the other consorts. None of them cared about Maar, but he had to like them if they wanted the best food and treasures. Maar's reign came to an abrupt end. He was forced to step down after being discovered with a performance-enhancing elixir before participating in a fighting tournament; something dragons mock him for to this day. Initially Maar refused to give up his position, but he ultimately relented when the pressure from the other warlords became too great. He organized a gauntlet that none of his offspring managed to win.

This was bad news for the consorts, who depended on the dragon lord for their lifestyles and status. Without Maar, they were worse off than the average dragon. With Maar being demoted to the rank of Omega for dishonorable conduct, staying with him was even worse. To make matters more frustrating for every consort except Kipuka, the winner of the gauntlet was Kipuka's nephew. The other consorts attacked Kipuka out of jealousy for her still having a connection to a dragon lord while they did not. Kipuka valiantly fought them off, but her right eye was scarred. Seeing how this scar made Kipuka more beautiful, the other consorts finally gave up.

The new dragon lord was the son of Kipuka's sister, who vowed to get her sister back from Maar. Kipuka's nephew had trained diligently under his mother's instructions to realize that goal. Unfortunately, this sisterly bond didn't last. As regent, Kipuka's sister relied on Kipuka for her governing skills. This led to resentment as the new dragon lord's mother got a taste for power. Kipuka tragically ended up having to choose between eliminating her sister and nephew, or fleeing for her life. She chose the latter and ended up in a relationship with one of the other warlords… who decided to eliminate Kipuka's sister and nephew to take the Dragon Lands for himself, so she had to take him out. What a bummer!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lauren Gambino, Joan E Greve, and Amanda Ulrich at The Guardian:

Joe Biden on Tuesday signed an executive order that will temporarily shut down the US-Mexico border to asylum seekers attempting to cross between lawful ports of entry, when a daily threshold of crossings has been exceeded. The order will take effect immediately, senior administration officials said on a press call. Those seeking asylum will be held to a much more rigorous standard for establishing credible fear of returning to their home country, although certain groups – including human trafficking victims and unaccompanied children – would be excluded from the ban. Delivering remarks at the White House alongside mayors of border towns, Biden said congressional Republicans had left him with “no choice” but to take unilateral action after they blocked a bipartisan border security bill earlier this year.

“So today, I’m moving past Republican obstruction and using the executive authority that’s available to me as president to do what I can on my own to address the border,” Biden said. “Doing nothing is not an option. We have to act.” The move comes amid rising public concern over the number of people crossing into the US, with polls showing a majority of Americans dissatisfied with the president’s handling of the border. The White House has been under immense pressure from Republicans and some Democrats to reduce the number of people arriving at the southern border. Under the executive order, the administration would shut down asylum requests to the US-Mexico border once the number of daily encounters has reached 2,500 between legal ports of entry, which regularly occurs now. The border would re-open two weeks after that figure falls below a daily average of 1,500 for seven consecutive days.

People who make appointments with border officials using the Customs and Border Protection app would also be exempt, though advocates emphasize that scheduling one can take months. The directive is not expected to hinder other border activity, such as trade or traffic. The measure relies on the same legal framework adopted by Donald Trump to restrict unlawful crossings in 2018, but was blocked by a federal court. At the time, Democrats assailed Trump’s border policies as draconian and rooted in xenophobia. The announcement triggered immediate threats of legal challenges, as the American Civil Liberties Union said it would sue the administration over the new policy.

[...] Immigration and border policy are at the heart of Republicans’ 2024 campaign message, with Trump bashing Biden as “weak” and vowing to unleash the biggest mass deportation of undocumented immigrants in US history should he win re-election in November. Trump’s campaign quickly weighed in on news of the order, dismissing the policy as insufficient. Karoline Leavitt, the Trump campaign press secretary, said in a statement: “If Joe Biden truly wanted to shut down the border, he could do so with a swipe of the same pen, but he never will because he is controlled by radical left Democrats who seek to destroy America.”

The action comes months after Senate Republicans, at Trump’s behest, voted down a bipartisan border security deal. Trump, wary of handing Biden a political victory on his signature issue, had announced his opposition to the bill and encouraged Republicans to block its advancement. The Senate majority leader, Chuck Schumer, last month held another vote on the border package, which included measures Republicans have been clamoring for, including a far-reaching clampdown on the number of people allowed to claim asylum, while providing billions to the Department of Homeland Security to hire more border officers and immigration judges. The measure failed, as expected, but Democrats hoped the vote would underscore Republican resistance to a border deal they helped negotiate. Biden made clear on Tuesday that he does not view the new order as a replacement for congressional action, and he again called on Republicans to work with Democrats to improve the US immigration system.

President Joe Biden (D) issues a Trump-esque executive order limiting asylum seeker crossing from the US/Mexico Border.

[beta-adjacent]

Really Dumb Zombies hcs (vol 1)

So I don’t think they ever agknowledge this but Bucky being cheer captain when Addison was a freshman, and then graduating alongside Addison in her senior year, implies that Bucky either got into cheer early as a prodigy or that he’s a super senior/was held back a year. But I personally like the idea that Bucky was held back a year and is deeply insecure about his academics, which is (one of many reasons) why he puts so much energy into cheerleading

Shrimpy isn’t actually human; it’s also technically something monstrous. Maybe the moonstone energy mixed with a sock that had a shrimp chip stuck to its bottom or something LOL. It’s nonverbal and uses it/its pronouns

This feels like kind of a given, but when Addison and Zed leave for college, they carry along habits from Seabrooke other people immediately dock as weird. Or it's just really off-putting for the two when they can't name everyone in their class.

Bouncing off that last one, I love how it'd especially irk Addison that no one's eyes linger on Addison's blue/white hair (because they all assume it's hair dye). Like, even at home people are still acclimating to it, but people treat it like it's just an average Tuesday.

In Zombies 3, we know Zed has the 3rd highest GPA, even though his biology test scores have an average of Bs. Implying that all of Seabrooke is actually, in fact, very stupid (or just cannot work with the education standards).

[squishmallow36]

Aro Dex Fic I don't feel like Titling

Word count: 2333

Tw: swearing, murder/near death experience mentions (i promise it's fluffy tho)

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @the-blender-of-the-genders @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @immersion-blender @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death

And of course a HUGE thank you to @synonymroll648 for giving me the motivation to write this thing. It'd still be rotting in my google drive if it weren't for you and I hope it lives up to your expectations from that one snippet. Sorry it took an extra day; I got distracted playing factorio in true Dex fashion

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    A knock at Dex’s bedroom door cuts through xor blaring music. Xe’s fully prepared to wage all-out guerilla warfare against whichever one of xor siblings dared to interrupt one of the few times xor brain isn’t being a little bitch. 

    One of the very few times xe isn’t worrying about seventeen thousand different productive things xe has to do and is instead simply able to ignore them. 

    And that’s exactly why xe’s spent the last two and a half hours coding a game of bingo. Sometimes that just kind of happens. It’s not like there’s anything xe can do to change it. 

    Dex pulls out his earbuds, calling, “Come in!” 

    Sophie’s head pokes through a small gap in the doorway as she greets, “Hello!” 

    Awfully cheery for someone who has a near-death experience once a week. I wonder what Keefe’s done this time. 

    “Oh, hey.” Dex smiles. “I didn’t know I still existed in your mind.” 

    Sophie closes the door behind him as he points to his temple, giggling, “Photographic memory.”

    “Ah. That explains it. What sort of project do you have for me this time?” Despite what she may claim and what Dex wants to admit to xemself, Sophie has a…tendency to only come see xem when she has a project for xem. That’s just the way it works these days.  

    “Hide me from Sandy. I don’t want to deal with him today,” Sophie answers, smooshing into the bean bag in the corner. 

    Dex sighs. “If you get murdered under my watch, I better not get blamed.” 

    Xe may mean it in a joking way, but history has shown it’s a possibility that shouldn’t be immediately discounted, and then it would be all xor fault if something happened to him. 

    Sophie makes a disgruntled noise. “You sound just like Sandy.” 

    A smile pulls at the corners of Dex’s mouth. “...Maybe I’m part Goblin. That would explain a lot.” 

    What exactly it would explain, xe doesn’t know. But there’s probably something somewhere. 

    “Like the fact you’re seventeen feet tall?” 

    Note to self: learn the US customary system of measurement. 

    At least, the way she says this implies that this is a large number even if the Elves don’t measure things in feet. Feet--as in, the attached appendages--vary in size too much for their pretentiousness because everything has to be standardized. 

    But not the same way humans do. The human metric system isn’t good enough either. Why that is, nobody knows. 

    “I’m a normal height. You’re just short.” 

    Actually, xe’s half a maik taller than the average elf, but that’s close enough for the sake of argument. 

    “You know what? Fuck you.” Sophie replies, getting up from the bean bag and burrowing into Dex’s bed. 

    Or at least that’s what it sounds like he says. The blanket muffle factor is very high. 

    He pauses for a second before mumbling, “I live here now.” 

    I really hope you can breathe in there. 

    “Mood.” Dex turns to go back to xor Bingo project, but xe has a thought--wasting xor only one for this week on a Tuesday--

    Why do Elves use the same Gregorian calendar as humans do anyway? Eh, whatever. That’s an issue for another day. 

    --and asks Sophie, “Why didn’t you choose to go brother Keefe?” 

    “More time before Sandy finds me. He’d check there first. Or maybe Everglen. Either way, it’s high up on the list.” 

    Dex shakes xor head. “So you’re trading my life for what? Ten minutes of being buried in a blanket cocoon? Can’t you do that at home?”

    “Well, yeah, but I don’t have Gwendle at home,” she replies, crushing the fluffy pink pig’s head in with her elbow. 

    “If something happens to Gwendle, I swear to fucking Exile the Neverseen are going to look like a bunch of Level Twos.” 

    “Level Twos are vicious, my dude. I hope you can bring it.” 

    “I know. I live with three of them. Send help.” 

    Sophie does not seem to take this as an actual plea for help. Or actively chooses to let Dex suffer. 

    “Wait, the triplets are Level Twos? They’re still supposed to be like,” Sophie pauses, “seven.” 

    “They were nine the first time you met them!” 

    “That’s both wrong and incorrect.” 

     No, unfortunately, it is neither of the above. And Dex has learned from the most obnoxious of Level Twos, so any sort of punishment xe creates is certain to be horribly painful. 

    Sophie recovers quickly from this revelation, asking, “So what’s new in your life?”

    “Not much. I have a random bruise on my arm and I’m not sure how it got there.” Xe tries to show her, but his head is buried in the blanket cocoon and has no chance of appreciating the yellow blob.

    Is it weird my bruises don’t really go through the bruise-looking purplish stage and instead go directly to yellow-green? I should Google that at some point.

    “How about you,” xe tacks on after a moment because that is the correct next step of the social contract. 

    “I’ve been experiencing gay thoughts for Keefie. You know how it is.” 

    Dex laughs nervously. No, I don’t, Sophie. 

    It’s not that Keefe isn’t objectively attractive, all Elves are, but that’s part of the problem. If all Elves are gorgeous, then none of them are.  

    Don’t blame me for getting my philosophy from The Incredibles. There’s only so much I can do. 

    “Oh, and, uh, by the way. I’m not exactly straight,” Sophie mentions casually. 

    Dex sees flashbacks of one of the last times xe was trying to procrastinate, trying to find Amy on human Social Media because that seemed like a good use of his time. 

    Incidentally, he found both Amy and Sophie, who stated in his description that he’s bi. Also the gender thing. That should also count for something although that hasn’t been updated in a while and still included they/them which has since been blacklisted for reasons.

    “I--I know. I stalked your Instagram page.”

    Sophie sits up, blankets puddling around her, hair standing on end from static. “You found that?”

    “I’m a Technopath with too much free time so…yeah.” Dex shrugs. “Spent some time trying to look through every single Sophie Foster but then I figured Amy would probably be following you and somehow she managed to find me a while ago.”

    “Why the fuck do you even have an Instagram?” 

    “I’ve got to keep up with the chocolate man’s bullshittery,” Dex replies like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

    Sophie clearly has no clue who Dex is talking about, but doesn’t bother asking. There are some days when going to a lecture is almost tolerable, but she’s not going to waste her free time away from Sandor to learn. “Fair.” He pauses, falling back into the bed with a huff. “You’re smart. Can you explain something to me?” 

    “I can try?” Dex replies, attempting to mentally prepare for whatever he tries to throw at xem. 

    “Elves are fucking stunning, yes?”

    Xe was not prepared for that. 

    “Yes?” Objectively, of course, but yes. 

    “So can you explain to me why my gay awakening was caused by Grace O’Malley? Like, what the fuck, brain? She’s been dead for centuries. I don't understand this. And this postdates moving to the Lost Cities by the way. This was two months ago.” 

     I could’ve told you two years ago, but I was oblivious to myself so I’m not going to be like that. Not today. 

    Dex nods like xe understands what she’s saying, but despite xor human studies, xe has no clue who this is, but there’s reasoning behind it. Just like the entire conversation they had ranking all the US presidents by how attractive they were. 

    That Franklin Pierce won by a large margin.

     Why that was a conversation, xe couldn’t tell you. Why Grace O’Malley is causing Sophie so many gay thoughts, xe couldn’t tell you either. 

    “You have no clue who I’m talking about, do you?” Sophie asks. 

    “No but that doesn’t mean I don’t have Wikipedia…but, please be my Wikipedia for this. It’s sure to be more entertaining than normal Wikipedia.” 

    “I see you’re enjoying my suffering,” Sophie mutters, but before Dex can reply, he’s off on a rambled explanation. “Grace O’Malley, also known as Granuaile, was the baddest bitch that ever lived. I mean yes she was documented to have a husband at one point and a boyfriend at another point but then he was killed and she absolutely fucked his killers over so, yoou know, that comes out even. She’s known today as the pirate queen of Ireland and, gods, I wish she’d step on me.” 

    Are the Allos okay? 

    “None of my little gay thoughts make any sense. By any rational means my gay awakening should’ve been Biana or Marella or Linh. Oh gods, Linh is so pretty. Isn’t Linh so pretty?”

    “I…haven’t really thought about it I guess.” 

    “What the fuck do you mean, my dude?” Sophie asks, sitting up once again to stare into Dex’s soul.

    Dex shrugs. “I mean it just hasn’t really crossed my mind.”     

    Sophie buries his head in his hands. “What do you mean it hasn’t crossed your mind‽ I can’t seem to have any other thoughts even when I’m literally in the middle of getting murdered.”

    Dex takes a breath. “Would you like a possible explanation to this whole dilemma?”

    Cranking sarcasm up to eleven, Sophie replies, “No. I enjoy suffering this anguish. Teach me your ways.” 

    “Yeah, so, um. A couple of weeks ago I might’ve come to the realization that I’m aro…”

    Smiling, Sophie asks in pretend anger, “Why the fuck did I kiss you then?” 

    “You see, what I believed was romantic attraction was really just a wonderful combination of a squish and comphet. So yeah. That happened. I’m sorry.” 

    “Oh, don’t be sorry. Elves being painfully blind to the obvious is just simply a genetic trait we all seem to share.” 

    “...I thought I was part goblin.”

    “You inherited the worst of both worlds. Obliviousness and being tall,” Sophie laughs.”So how’d you overcome your predisposition to obliviousness?” 

    Dex begins, “I was laying in bed one night at about, let’s say three a.m. because that’s better than the actual time, refusing to sleep because sleep is for losers--”

    “Mood,” Sophie interrupts.

    “--and out of nowhere the realization hit me like a sack of wet mice. Looking back, the lack of heart palpitations should have been a very telling sign. And there was some sorting out and reclassifying what I previously believed was romantic attraction but everything can be explained away pretty easily,” Dex finishes. 

    “Palpitations? Is that related to Emperor Palpatine? Dex, are you gay for a crusty old Star Wars dude?” Sophie jokes.

    Dex laughs. “That would be so on brand for me but, sadly, no. You know when your heart gets fluttery during a panic attack? It’s the fancy medical word for that.”

    “Why do you know this? You aren’t a healer; you don’t like people enough for that.” 

    “Partially because Merriam-Webster offers a word of the day calendar and partially because my brain just sometimes decides to store the most useless shit. Like the periodic table. Can you tell me the molar mass of copper off the top of your head?”

    “63.55, of course. But you don’t have a photographic memory. This makes no sense to me.”

    “You see, to make room for all that extra storage, I forget an equal number of things. Often the victims are remembering to eat and sleep and which way is left and right.” 

    “Mood. Do you know the left hand right hand trick?”

    “...no?” Dex answers. 

    “If you hold out your left hand, it looks like an ‘L’ which is the same letter that starts the word left. And the right hand is backwards,” Sophie explains. 

    “I hate to break this to you, Soph, but that might be the case in the Latin Alphabet--I should really get back to Duolingo--but that’s not how it works in Elvin runes. And I have a feeling it would take more brain power to remember the rule than to remember left and right so I think I’m just not going to know directions ever. I’ve resigned myself to my fate.” 

    Before he can craft an elaborate mnemonic device to help both of them with a skill they probably should have learned in elf-kindergarten, Dex’s mom yells up the stairs for xem. 

    Half a second later, she’s followed up by a chorus of slightly-off-timed “DEX!”s from the triplets. 

    Xe cracks the door open, replying, “Yeah?” 

    “You wouldn’t happen to know where Sophie might be, eh?” 

    The triplets attempt to also repeat this, to vastly more disastrous results as Dex and Sophie have the shortest staring contest in recorded history. 

    ‘I’ll send her right down!” Dex says, trying to keep any sort of emotion from xor face to no avail. 

    Sophie’s gaze hardens into a glare with the fury of an incredibly cliche but still somehow accurate thousand suns. 

    “You can go and fuck yourself,” he says quietly. 

    Dex pretends to consider. “Nah, I’m too ace for that. Now. Begone before Sandor comes and destroys my room. Everything has its assigned place and I’m not in the mood to reorganize. Not today.” 

    “Bye! If I never get to leave the house again I’ll hail you when I get bored.” 

    Please don’t. I’d rather not have a panic attack and avoiding calls is a very good way to do that. 

    Dex waves as Sophie escapes xor room and down the stairs. If she gets kidnapped by the triplets on the way down, it isn’t xor fault. 

    Xe collapses back into xor chair, leaning too far back and scaring xemself before sighing. 

    That was…less painful than anticipated. Still not telling my mother any time in the next thousand years though. Even with a society constructed around the arospecs we call the council. That’s not happening. Not under my watch. 

[americanrecord]

Hi, Kelsey! I hope you’ve have a nice holiday season. I was wondering if you had any tips for me? I’m starting university again after dropping out three years ago. I’m a pretty anxious person and am already feeling overwhelmed with my upcoming courses. How did you deal with pressure? Thank you ❤️

hi, ella! i have had a nice holiday season (despite the weird health issues going awn)!! and i hope you have too :-)

of course, i have tips! first of all, congratulations for making the decision to go back! that’s really exciting and a really big step toward wherever in the future you want to end up. i’m not sure if you’re going to attend online or in-person (either commuting or through living on campus), but i’m pretty sure all of my tips will be mostly applicable for all forms. (edit: they were mostly on-campus)

i also totally understand the anxiety. i got a little lucky when i was thrown into college life during the peak of the pandemic because we were all kind’ve bound to our dorm room and made to socialize, so i had nothing to do (beyond write fanfic lol) besides make myself be social with the other girls. however, i did experience really heavy bouts of anxiety when i was put back into standard in-person classes after a few years of luxury in online schooling (i found this method just agreed best with me — working at my own pace and not having to prioritize socializing. i actually became much more introverted during college/post-pandemic), just because i found it very difficult to make friends in an environment where nobody—including myself—really wanted to be there.

but i won’t start there.

firstly, i’m not sure if this is applicable to you, but do not mind any sense of “feeling behind.” it’s not like high school — absolutely nobody judges anybody of any age being in any level of a college class. in my upper level classes, i regularly had 35+ year olds either finishing their degree, returning for a second degree, etc etc, and that was just life. in college, absolutely nobody is working on the same time table and nobody will bat an eye at you saying “yeah, i decided to come back” or even if you just say “i took a few gap years and worked instead while i figured out what i wanted to do.” that is — if they even ask! most of the times, people don’t. you’re just going to be ella from class in their head. nick, this man from my writing class, was 36, and he was nick from writing class in my head all semester (until he read out some really misogynistic work he wrote that he praised as real literature and also rewrote the work of other students, then he was just nick the arrogant asshole.)

find your schedule. you unfortunately asked the loser for advice, so i’m going to address school first. i know that can definitely be a source of anxiety - either the desire to do it perfectly or just from the overwhelming sense of having an average of four or five class loads dropped onto your lap at once. i will say that the first thing i learned about college was that i had more free time than i ever conceptualized having. i also did not work a job. but even my friends who did — always had several hours of homework/tv/what have you time per night. the monday/wednesday, tuesday/thursday set up of each class is very helpful, i found! in between those class blocks — use it to eat and study. like, please. this might’ve just been what worked for me, but when i used the several 5-6 hours during daylight between clases + before dinner to exclusively work (i rarely even had working lunches), i was always able to have my work done before dinner and therefore take so much stress off my shoulders when i knew i’d have all night to unwind. doing that homework in general is just a great way to take off needless anxiety. it’s the only way i ever felt okay to walk into class unless i had something figured out with my professor.

other miscellaneous homework tips are to: (1) do the readings at first and keep doing them unless you get to class and realize they really don’t matter and won’t be showing up at any other point to bite you in the ass. most of the time, they do matter and are necessities for those who want As. (2) stay organized. find a rhythm. take notes by hand for better retention and use them to create study materials later (rewriting flash cards or rewriting quizlets were what helped me. rewriting in general.) (3) do not force yourself to stay up to an ungodly hour to study or do something (unless this really does work for you) because the chances are that your retention rate will be obliterated or the dip in quality will be noticeable. just get up early the next morning. (4) if you’re worried about missing out on socializing because you’re always holed up & working — offer to do homework with somebody else. my roommates and i would have “homework parties” where nobody talks/everybody has headphones in, but just being in the same vicinity was a motivator/a good way to not feel isolated. either that or just go sit at a library or in a cafe so you feel surrounded by people; the library was my personal go-to. i lived there my last semester on campus! #lawclasses

interact with your professors! it will only benefit you as a student. shoot them emails when you have questions or stay behind after class, introduce yourself, and ask your questions in person. going to office hours or basically doing anything to establish yourself beyond a name on a roll sheet and a vague figment at a desk is a great look in their eyes. it will make them friendlier, more likely to give you assistance or cool extra materials, or even much more sympathetic in times of need (like when you’re struggling with due dates or toward the end of the semester.) literally every professor will tell you their least fave student is the silent and absent one who shows up four days before the end and goes: please, mrs. so and so, can you turn my D- to an A :)? no! all my professors that i worked closely with, either through frequent communication or just through writing projects are the ones that live with me. my last writing professor and i got along so well that they invited me to work on their book with them. it never came to fruition because both of our schedules fell through, but just the idea of being asked was really special to me and it was only because i made the effort to make myself a real person in their eyes. sorry for all the personal anecdotes btw, it’s the only way i know how to relate.

GPA, at the end of the day, is not the end all be all. you do not need a 4.0. it’s a very good thing to have, but you don’t need it and you won’t be left out of future employment if you don’t have it. just do your best. a B in that really hard class is an A in a blow-off class. if you do all that you can do & take advantage of all of your study materials + do all the work, you’ve done the best you can as a student. the world will keep turning if you don’t get a perfect mark, and i like to think it turns smoother when you can reassure yourself you’ve done your best.

know when to take a break. burnout is real. it’s so real. my sister just experienced it so bad because she was working at her interior design coursework for like 14 hours a day, 7 days a week (she’s a perfectionist to a fault). don’t do that. don’t neglect copious amounts of sleep, or food, or hygiene routines, or social hours, or brain-numbing time because all of that is as useful and important as time devoted to studying. it’s the only way to guarantee that you will survive long enough to continue studying! just save a certain amount of time per day for yourself and your interests and your mind just for your mental health.

if attendance isn’t mandatory and your mental health needs it, it’s okay to skip a class here and there. it’s always best to do this strategically - when you know you won’t be missing anything or if you have access to whatever materials you missed, either through the class site or a friend — but sometimes those days off are the only way to recharge. i would sometimes skip my classes without mandatory attendance to just work in advance on those very classes. if you have a better way to devote your time (genuinely better) and won’t get knocked for it, it’s not the end of the world to miss the class. i didn’t embrace this until my very last semester on campus, always way too anxious to miss.

this is all that i can think of off the top of my head. please let me know if there’s something you’d like me to hone in on, but this kinda covered all the getting started bases!! i know you will do great and that you will find your niche and your schedule, but if you ever need me for anything, you know where to find me!! another thing that got me through college, perhaps the only thing that did so mostly happily, was tumblr!! it’s why i never felt lonely! 🩷

remember, life exists outside of academics! you are worth so much more than a letter grade or a number <3 what matters to employers is you got the degree!

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #36 - Rerun Monday #2

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction, posted daily. Since I want to start writing new chapters of Dominic of the Darkness as Brain Curds, here is the never-before-released second chapter. Please enjoy.

Dominic entered the throne room. He was used to seeing disturbing things in here, but this one took the cake. It was a BDSM session between a Jewish dominatrix and a Nazi, and it was clearly not done out of affection.

He waited by the side of the room, hoping it might end any minute, but the violence continued to escalate alongside the Prince of Darkness’ laughter. It went on for hours, maybe days (time was funky in Hell) until finally the dominatrix got bored and apparated back to Heaven. At least, Dominic figured that was where she was going.

The Nazi was removed from the room by four demons with five shovels, who exited in single file with their piles of undulating flesh. The man would have to reform in The Pit - as if today hadn’t already been bad enough for him.

Now, contrary to popular understanding, the Prince of Darkness did not go by the name ‘Satan’. It was a typographical error, caused by an ancient monk with dyslexia. No, the source of all evil was not known as ‘Satan’ down in the bowels of Hell, all the demons knew him by another name: Stan.

If you were wondering why he’s called the ‘Prince’ rather than the ‘King’, the answer to that is simple: he thought it made him sound younger.

Dominic approached his post in the throne room, as he did every day, on the high chair next to his father.

“Ah, my boy!” Stan said. “I didn’t see you there!”

“That was on purpose,” Dominic muttered, knowing his father was barely paying any attention.

“Take a seat! Another show is about to begin!” He turned his voice to the sycophants around him. “Get my son a plate, you jagoffs! He’s gotta be hungry by now!”

The demons scrambled to find a plate, but they were all dirty - not a problem for the average resident of Hell, but Dominic had higher standards. Most of Hell’s catering staff referred to him as “Princess Boy” as a sign of disrespect. He didn’t like it, but couldn’t come up with an adequate punishment. Eternal hellfire was too harsh, but probation felt like it would probably just encourage them.

A short, pinkish demon resentfully handed him a still-dripping plate. “Here you go, Princess Boy.”

Dominic pretended not to notice. In front of him and his father was a table covered in an absurdly massive spread that would have made Henry VIII blush - in fact, at times it had (his time in Hell made him much less plump). Despite Stan’s insistence, Dominic was not actually particularly hungry, and he couldn’t come up with a technique for getting the last scraps from the goat carcass anyway.

“Dad, about my birthday…”

“Birthday? Oh, for Pete’s sake! How old are you now?”

“Six-hundred and sixty-six.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“There’s no way you’re that old, son, I remember the night I knocked up your mother like it was last Tuesday.”

“Technically, it was, since you declared Tuesdays illegal that weekend.”

“Now how would you know that if you weren’t born yet?”

“I read books, Dad.”

“Whatever. What do you want?”

“I want my overnight pass for Earth.”

“What the heck do you need that for?”

“It’s tradition, isn’t it? For me to go live on the surface and see what life is like?”

“You’ve been up there before. What’s so special about it? Anything you can get up there, I can get for you down here. The demons can make anything!”

“Dad…”

“I’ll even ask them not to spit in it! They’ll still spit in it a little, but you won’t even taste it!”

“I need to spread my fallen angel wings,” Dominic replied, standing his ground (metaphorically, because as you may recall, he sat down just a moment ago). “Don’t make this difficult.”

“Alright, well… if you’re going up there, you should probably know something. Your mother was a living human…”

“Right, yeah, I know.”

“… And she’s still alive.”

Dominic was in shock. “You said she was in a better place!”

“Every living person is, Dominic, we’re in Hell. Plus, I’m a liar.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do with this information?”

“I don’t know, what am I, a librarian? Go find her, or don’t, or whatever. It’s your age to come-of. Now let’s eat already.”

[baambastic]

Here's an excerpt from one of my WIPs, "Fly High, Little Firefly":

Transcription under the cut:

Gotham was a city where you either made do with wherever you landed or were swallowed whole. In a city where man-eating plants and mass shootings were part of an average Tuesday, life went on anyway, and so did Gotham’s residents. Take Benjamin “Benji” Blazedale, for example. A young man of fifteen, Benji was altogether rather average by Gothamite standards. He attended public school eight hours a day for ten months out of the year and spent the rest of his time finding ways to escape boredom or make money. He carried pepper spray and a gas mask on his person while out and about, and he kept his nose out of other people’s business, especially the shady kind. And like most Gothamites, Benji maintained a healthy mix of respect for and fear of Batman and his group and prayed he didn’t find himself in their crosshairs. Benji himself would balk at being described so plainly, of course, but so would most of Gotham’s most ordinary. He still found himself as part of the masses at the end of the day. And at the end of this day in particular, Benji found himself in a hurry to get home. The reason was less than important, though it would be paramount to his apology to Ms. Aya. She worried when Benji or Blake were out too late, which meant she worried a lot. Sure, other stuff tended to get in the way, Benji didn’t exactly like making Ms. Aya worry—she was already making a lot of sacrifices so Benji could live with her and Blake. So Benji navigated Park Row at a brisk pace, avoiding the multitude of mugging hotspots in the part of Gotham he called home. As focused as he was on his destination, Benji couldn’t help but shout in surprise when a blob of darkness dropped out of the sky in front of him. He scrambled to get his pepper spray out of his pocket. “Don’t,” the blob of darkness commanded, rising to a full stand. Benji froze, eyes locked on the insignia in front of him. Red Robin’s insignia. At least it isn’t Batman, Benji’s brain supplied unhelpfully. Red Robin was a good few inches shorter than Benji, but the vigilante still seemed to loom over him. “Uh…” Benji responded, having cast about for something to say and landed on nothing at all. Red Robin was silent long enough for Benji to start to feel awkward. Then: “Benjamin Blazedale, son of Jane Blazedale and Garfield Lynns, correct?” That stare was unnerving. “My mom’s name is Jane, yeah,” Benji answered, “Dunno about anyone named Garfield, though. Who’s he?” Benji tried to ignore the sweat trickling down his back. Red Robin looked… surprised? No, that wasn’t it. Annoyed, maybe. “Garfield Lynns, currently known as Phosphorus,” Red Robin explained, “Previously known as the first Firefly. He broke out of Arkham last week? Used to have a safehouse above the deli down the street? Had a known romantic relationship with Jane Blazedale? Ring any bells?” Oh, it was frustration, not annoyance. And Benji was starting to feel similarly. “Look, I don’t know anything about what you’re obviously getting at. Mom never talked about whoever my father was, and I never cared. What makes you think I have to be Phosphorus’s kid, anyway?” Red Robin pinched the bridge of his nose with one gauntleted hand. “You look like him more than you do your mother. Lynns was involved with Blazedale around sixteen years ago, which lines up with your age. And records show Blazedale left Gotham whenever Lynns broke out of Arkham.” He sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m wasting time still talking to you. Lynns clearly hasn���t tried to contact you. Whatever, this was a long shot anyway.” Red Robin turned away, raising his grapple gun. “Run home, Benjamin, it’s getting late. Don’t keep Ms. Anai waiting.” And with that invasively creepy parting remark, Red Robin fire his grapple and ascended into the night. Benji just stood there for a solid few minutes, trying to wrap his head around the conversation he’d just had.