#WRITING GOALS HONESTLY

[finderseeker]

Here’s that thing I spontaneously started writing for some reason. I go where my whims and capricious focus take me. I got sick of editing and rereading so I’m just posting it. This is set in the DDAU. It’s not long after things got worked out between the two sets of Dingsasters. Maybe a couple months. Windy is struggling.

————

“You know, in my world, you are a bartender as well.”

Grillby eyed the human man sitting as his bar. He was flushed, a sure sign that he was officially buzzed. Grillby knew this instantly, despite the man never having drank here before. After all, Gaster— his Gaster— was the same way: his face flushed when he drank. Of course this man was the same; The two were the same person, after all.

That was what Gaster— Wingdings— said, anyway. And, truth be told, Grillby could see it. This human had the same mannerisms, the same gestures, the same posture, the same expressions, the same name signs. If that alone weren’t enough, there was another monster with a human counterpart: Asteri. He hadn’t know the woman well, really, before all this. If he had stopped to think, perhaps he might have recalled seeing her as a little girl with her parents, half a century ago, but the family didn’t visit Snowdin often, and visited his restaurant even less. Besides, shapeshifters were easy to mistake.

The main reason he could use her and her human counterpart as evidence that this whole “alternate universe” business was real was that he had re-met her, now as an adult studying dog language in Snowdin, right around the same time that his best friend of over 400 years nervously introduced him to a human he was sheltering, who had the same name. Not only the same name, but the same voice, the same hair, the same style of dress, the same mannerisms, and the same alcohol preferences. The reasonable conclusion was that it was simply a particularly strange coincidence, but no, things with Gaster were never that simple these days. Of course it was something absurd like an alternate universe. The skeleton had always been a little too trusting— even of humans, even after everything— so Grillby initially took the story with a grain of salt. But as time went on, and Gaster spent more time with her, apparently details that reinforced the factuality of it came to light.

Not that Grillby saw either of them often. That was simply the nature of his friendship with Gaster, after so many years: long stretches of silence, occasional visits that picked up as if no time had passed, and, every once in a while, periods of frequent and excited contact. Those tended to happen during high stress situations, intense lows, or major breakthroughs. He would have assumed that sheltering a human would have been a large enough event to merit frequent contact, but no, nothing much came of it. And he, like always, never pushed. So when the next time the two visited, months later, and they held hands, well… that was Gaster’s business. But he believed his friend’s explanation about different universes, and just like when they asked him the first time, he agreed to keep an eye out for another human.

Except he didn’t see one. Not until nearly a year after his initial introduction to the human Asteri, when Gaster introduced a lanky, disheveled human man. Grillby had heard the announcement, of course, just like everyone else: that there were two humans living in the underground, and they were not to be harmed. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time besides being relieved Gaster would no longer need to hide the woman he obviously had feelings for, that she had apparently found her friend, and that both of them were so peaceful in comparison to the last time a human had fallen, decades ago.

Meeting this second human, all things considered, Grillby should not have been surprised when his oldest friend introduced him as his own alternate self. Despite this, he immediately felt an odd sort of defensiveness well up on Gaster’s behalf. Grillby and the human man had stared at each other for a few moments, both processing this meeting. Then, something had clicked for the human, and the precise way he lit up with that dumb idiot grin was so familiar, so immediately recognizable, Grillby barely needed any more evidence to be convinced.

Oh, sure, he had about a million questions about the whole situation between the four of them— two Asteris, and two Gasters, all of whom had now met each other, apparently— but they would tell him what they needed to, when they felt ready. He didn’t ask questions. This many years of bartending and people-watching had given him both the ability to read people and the patience to mind his own business and wait for an explanation. People loved to talk, and there were far more ways to say something than with words. He was the silent companion, always there to listen but never to pry. A keeper of secrets, and a staunch minder of his own business.

Nothing about today had seemed especially different, except that the human Gaster had wandered in all on his own a while ago, hesitant but trying not to seem uneasy. (Trying to hide it was futile though; Grillby had known his counterpart for centuries and could read his body language like a book.) But he said nothing as was his custom, simply nodded in greeting and acknowledgement, and let the man sit where he liked and order if he wished.

It had been nearly a 40 minutes by now, with naught a word but to order something Grillby wasn’t familiar with, then brandy as a reluctant compromise, and two refills. Only now, nursing that second refill, had the man finally lifted his head and signed anything beyond that.

“You know, in my world, you are a bartender as well.”

Grillby eyed him. That was certainly one way to start a conversation. It was indeed tempting to take the bait and tug the line, but he had many years of patience. He waited silently, as always.

The man sighed inaudibly and studied Grillby with a sort of look he had seen before. Asteri— the human one— always treated him with an odd sort of familiarity when she visited (which was more often than he expected, frankly), as if she already knew him. Sometimes he caught her looking at him with what he had long since learned to recognize in patrons as nostalgia. Bittersweetness. Except hers was a little different in a way he could never put a finger on. She never said anything though, and as a bartender he never asked. Now it made a little more sense: he had a counterpart too, and the two humans knew him.

That look was different on this face, though. Where Asteri looked a little sad, but mostly fond, this human version of Gaster looked far more stricken.

“You are quiet there, too.”

Human Gaster smiled a little, but it slipped almost immediately.

“Not quite this quiet, though.”

He swirled his drink around and stared at it for a moment before taking another sip.

“You used to be quite reactive, when we first met.” He chuckled, just once. “You are still learning to keep your expression neutral when customers say outrageous things. You were getting much better at it.” A bright, genuine smile split the gloom he was projecting, for a moment. “You opened your own restaurant, much like this one! It was just taking off… when Asteri and I fell.”

The smile was gone just as quickly, replaced by an even more despondent expression.

“I was supposed to visit. We moved away, after university. I had to cancel my trip…” He sighed. “No. I did not need to. You were coming to visit us the following month, and so I reasoned…”

The human blinked watery eyes and laid against his arm on the bar, hands falling still.

“I wonder what you thought,” he signed after a few moments, small like a whisper, and a few tears rolled onto his arm. “When we disappeared.” He blinked slowly, looking somewhere that wasn’t here. “I wish I could tell you I am safe. That I am sorry. I wish…” His eyes watered anew and his jaw quivered. “…I could tell you that I miss you.”

He rolled his head so his face was pressed into his sleeve, and sniffled softly.

Grillby stared at him, genuinely surprised for the first time in a while.

Oh.

This man— they called him “Windy” —was undeniably Gaster, but Grillby had only acknowledged that fact on its own. But it didn’t exist in a vacuum. This wasn’t just “now there’s a human Gaster too.” This was also “Gaster thrown into a strange new place,” “Gaster grieving something enormous,” and right now, most of all, “Gaster without his best friend.”

He knew how his Gaster— Wingdings— was. He knew how bad things were when they were young, how much he needed support. After so many years, he knew it wasn’t self-absorbed or presumptuous to say that Wingdings needed him. It was mutual. Of course it was. No longer needing to constantly be around each other didn’t change the fact that once upon a time, they only had each other. It didn’t change how integral they were to each other’s lives, even to each other’s development as people.

So what if Wingdings just disappeared?

What if the last time he visited really was the last time?

What would he do if his best friend and only anchor throughout the centuries were suddenly gone? No explanation, no clues, nothing.

Sparks, he’d be devastated. Heartbroken would be an understatement.

And if it had happened back then, when they were both still settling into who they were? Grillby wouldn’t even be the same person. Wingdings just another monster erased after the war, but the only one he’d been side-by-side with through it all; the reason he hadn’t allowed himself to succumb to the numbness that came with killing; the person who had kept him kind, kept him compassionate. The only friend he’d allowed himself to have in a world where caring had always, inevitably gotten him hurt.

He would have been utterly inconsolable.

But Wingdings, Wingdings was far more tender-hearted. He took every loss so hard, every time, even after more than four centuries. Grillby couldn’t imagine Wingdings would ever be alright if anything happened to him. Not now, not back then. No partner could ever fill the space they took up in each other’s lives. No happiness could replace each other’s friendship. It wasn’t a romantic thing; They had just known each other longer than anyone else.

Grillby blinked, mentally shaking himself out of his thoughts, and glanced around his restaurant. It was sparser than usual, being a weeknight. His attention turned back to the human in front of him. He may not know Windy, but he knew Gaster. He may have a policy of silence, but he always made an exception for his friend.

He scooped a glass of ice and nudged Windy’s arm with it. Windy lifted his head just enough to look up with bleary, red eyes. The ice in the glass was half melted when he reluctantly took it.

“If Gaster disappeared, I’d be pissed," Grillby signed flatly as the glass was taken. Windy wilted again. Grillby's expression didn't change, but a crimson shimmer of worry and guilt flickered through his flames. "Wouldn't think bad of him though."

Windy searched his face, probably struggling to read it, as most people did. Fire elementals didn’t tend to have a lot of facial expressions; it had more to do with brightness, intensity, and color. Most monsters didn’t know that. A human from a world without monsters certainly wouldn’t. Indeed, Windy didn’t seem to find whatever he was searching for, and his eyes fell once more as he sipped his ice water.

“I’m sorry for unloading this on you.”

His signs ran together and stayed close to his body, like he was muttering.

“This must be so uncomfortable for you. I- I apologize for being so selfish. I should not have come and said all this.”

He made to get up, shoving his hand in his pocket to fish for his wallet. Grillby reached out to grasp his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up. Grillby paused, not entirely sure what he had intended by this gesture. Seeing Windy sad like this was like seeing Wingdings from long, long ago. It made his heart ache.

“Not selfish,” he said. Another moment of hesitation, then, “It’s good you came. Stay.”

Windy’s jaw trembled again, and once more Grillby was struck by how uncannily similar his expressions were to Wingdings’, somehow, despite having skin and muscle. Windy hesitated, torn. “I should get home…”

It was a weak protest, and Grillby knew Gaster well enough to know when he needed to be pushed and when he needed to be left to it.

“Sober up first.” A reasonable excuse.

Windy hesitated once again, but then nodded and got back on his barstool.

He took another sip of ice water.

Grillby wiped out a cup.

It must be strange, he thought, to meet someone who you know, but who doesn’t know you. If he were in Windy’s position…

He set the cup aside and eyed the other man once more. “How do I look?”

Windy looked up, confused.

Grillby nodded toward him with his head. “Human.”

“A-Ah! Well…” The other man cracked a smile. Success. “You are shorter, but otherwise have the same build. You have pale skin, and freckles. You keep your hair long, except in summer. It is usually tied in a high ponytail. It is wavy, and—” He chuckled softly— “fiery orange.”

A sliver of violet wove its way up through Grillby’s flames, and he crackled pleasantly. After a moment of consideration, he leaned forward closer and dimmed, just a little, pointing to his face. Windy squinted in the heat, but after a second his eyes widened and he grinned.

“Freckles! I did not realize you could—” He caught himself and waved his hands sheepishly. “Ah! That is to say, I know so little still, I find that my reasoning frequently returns to the principles of my own universe. I was not aware that a being made of fire could… could have freckles.” His smile split his face despite himself.

There was a flicker of violet in Grillby’s flames. “What else?”

Windy lit up even more. “We are the same age, but while I am often mistaken as being older, you have a “baby face.”” He giggled a little. “You cannot grow facial hair save for patches of stubble, either, and we have had more than one silly argument about it. In university, you would come home and complain about how many customers asked if you were old enough to be tending a bar to begin with.”

Grillby raised nonexistent eyebrows. “We lived together?”

“Yes, for a few years. You see, the living arrangements on campus…”

⁂

By the time Windy left, it was late. He was smiling though, and that made Grillby feel better. By then, Grillby had learned many things about his human counterpart and the world this other Gaster had once lived in. He learned that human Grillby liked the cold weather too, preferring snow over sun; that his name there was a nickname (his real name was Gilbert); and that there was no war they’d ever had to fight, only academic and social struggles. It sounded like a much nicer past.

Grillby had told him to come back soon— they needed to settle on a different name sign for him after all, so it wasn’t the same as Wingdings’. Windy eagerly agreed; both of them being “Dr. Gaster” to everyone at work was difficult enough.

“You can pick me a new one,” Grillby had offered as well. “If you want.” He shrugged. “Don’t have to.”

It seemed that Windy liked the idea. He had launched into over-explaining himself immediately upon agreeing though, as if Grillby would be offended by it when he was the one who brought it up. He held a hand up to stop him. “I already know.”

He was Grillby, but wasn’t Windy’s Grillby. It was as simple as that. That fact wouldn’t change. They knew different versions of each other who had lived very different lives. At the heart of it all, though, they were the same, and that was what mattered. There was nothing he could do about this other Grillby, no replacing him, just like Windy could never replace Wingdings. They didn’t have the same history. They weren’t each other’s oldest and dearest companions. No. But they could still be friends. It was a start.

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

On the outskirts of Gotham a farm is made.

No one can pinpoint when it was started but it was clearly bountiful.

New orchards of plums apples and several other fruit whisper promises of fruits in the years to come.

Bee houses buzzed with life and ducks quacked and scurried to and from their pond, coop and the garden.

Vegetables by the rows with seasonal berries brushes spring up at the corners of the property.

Greenery that almost seemed to glow with how lush it was.

It was like a small oasis in the desert of Gotham’s dirty land.

And it was ran by only three people.

The woman’s name was Sam. She was known as an activist who seemed to do the primary care of the plants. The property was in her name and she went out of her way to invite people to take what they need.

Danny was the most well known of the trio. He brought the produce into the heart of the city. Anywhere that would take the food, kitchens, pantries, school cafeterias even people’s doorsteps.

Tucker was the technical mastermind, hidden but equally important. The sprinklers, planning of the pollination rotation, harvesting planning and statistics were his main focus on the farm. Not a single square inch of the the land was not under his watchful gaze.

All the food was fresh or properly stored and most interesting of all free.

Of course people were going to talk.

[incandescent-creativity]

Over 51,000 words in 18 days… that’s a new personal record!

[green-thunder1]

Meta Knight knows what sex is but believes all babies come from space

[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic March 24 – prompt 24: Ferula – word count 499

Ferula - A healing charm that conjures wraps and bandages for wounds

It had been a bad full moon. As soon as the wolf shifted and finally let Remus come back, screaming on the floor of the shack, Sirius transformed back from Padfoot and fell on his knees by his boyfriend’s side, quickly taking in the damage. Moony had a broken arm, a broken lip and a bleeding gash from his right hip almost to his ankle.

“Padfoot, we have to go,” James’s voice came from the corner of the room where Prongs had been standing a couple of seconds before.

Sirius ignored him, reaching out to pass his hand in Remus’s hair, cradling the back of his head like he knew it soothed him. The screams slowly stopped, changing into muffled sobs.

“It’s alright,” Sirius whispered helplessly. “It’s over now.”

“Padfoot, the sun’s coming up, Pomfrey will be here soon,” James insisted.

Sirius knew he was right, but of all the things that happened during a Full, this was what he hated the most. Having to leave Remus hurt, shivering and crying on the floor, even if he knew the nurse would be there the minute she was sure she would find a human and not a Werewolf anymore. It had gotten worse after they had started dating. Leaving him there had been hard before, now it was almost impossible. He took his wand out of his pocket.

“Ferula,” he whispered, and bandages appeared on Remus’s leg, covering the gash.

“Padfoot!” Peter hissed from behind him. “You’re not supposed to do that, what will Pomfrey think?”

“I don’t give a fuck, Wormtail,” Sirius growled. “Get started, I’ll follow you in a second.”

“Pads?”

“I promise, Prongs,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Now get going.”

With a sigh, James took Peter by the shoulder and they got out of the room. Sirius got a blanket off the battered couch and wrapped it tightly around Remus, being careful not to move his broken arm.

“You should really go,” Remus’s voice was barely more than an exhausted whisper.

“I know,” he sighed, passing his hand again in Remus’s hair.

“I’ll see you soon in the Hospital Wing.”

“I love you.” Sirius blurted out.

He hadn’t planned to say it like that. He had hoped in a more romantic setting, in flowers or a sunset or even just a quiet moment cuddling by the fireplace. He looked up at Remus’s face anxiously, only to see him smile.

“I love you too, Sirius,” he murmured. “Now go before Poppy finds you here.”

Sirius nodded, carefully brushing his lips on Remus’s before finally getting up.

Some minutes later, while she carefully approached the Whomping Willow, her wand at the ready and her bag of emergency potions in the other hand, Poppy Pomfrey stopped as she saw a big black dog happily jump in the distance. She smiled as she froze the aggressive tree and made her way to the tunnel. At least she would have a cute story to tell Remus while she healed him that morning.

[rinbylin]

okay... idk at all if this has been discussed or that I'm just stating the obvious. I'm posting any way to get more feedback.

so. can we be sure that the last boat scene even happened (in the way we saw it at least)

yeah the letter was delivered to the intended recipients. the letter also did say 李相夷绝笔 lit. the final writing by li xiangyi. there's a brief exchange between him and the assumed "boatman" asking him where he was going. and we see he spat blood while writing yeah but:

llh/lxy's eyesight had been failing for some time.

Professional Letter Writers are a thing in the past in service to people who can't write their own letters (idk enough to verify the historical accuracy in this specific context though)

what has been bugging me since forever is the manner of speech of the letter. yeah it's different from their everyday speech, but that's actually perfectly fine since this is A Letter so I'm good with it being more formal. but... there's something I just can't quite pinpoint. especially with the use of the 君 jun pronoun by llh/lxy to refer to dfs when there could be other pronouns with less connotations of intimacy (and scholarly/imperial court system) implied and still conveyed cordiality, marking a shift in their relationship. (I'm not well versed with wuxia as a genre enough to know what are the conventions. someone else who does can say something though.)

whatever these put together means (eg. he may not have written the letter personally, or he wrote it in a different situation from what we saw, etc etc.) alongside:

this scene existed only as part of a visualisation as the letter content is revealed to the audience (or assumed to be fdb reading the letter to dfs & guests of the wedding spectators of the duel)

the boat lxy/llh jumped on is not the same as the one he was writing the letter on - the boatman is also not on it despite the conversation at the beginning, but lxy/llh's dressing and hairpin are the same as the ones before he jumped. (the boatman delivered the letter so he's real though.)

also as @wonderfulnonsense happened to have just pointed out in the tags left in my other post: it's in fact the same boat he took to go fight dfs at donghai 10 years ago. (edit: or maybe it isn't? as pointed out by anon.)

if we viewed whatever we perceived in this scene as imaginary (not what actually happened), then the reading of it being a metaphor for lxy/llh being on his way to enlightenment just makes sense. (the boat being a carrier on his spiritual transformations.) especially when you consider that 彼岸 the other shore is another concept in buddhism to represent enlightenment, alongside the motif of lotuses. (credits to @markiafc for the buddhism reading - edit: mark's meta here) and then, consider the beach ending... yeah.

[fizzigigsimmer]

I need baby drag queen Steve being mentored by Billy. Like he’s so confused. Got kicked out of daddy’s house for putting on lipstick and his mother’s heels. He doesn’t think he’s a girl - he’s not trans. Maybe? He doesn’t know. He just knows he likes how certain things feel, makeup on his eyes, the flowy hem of a skirt against his thighs. But it’s always been forbidden. Taboo. He can’t have those things without certain labels - consequences. Like getting kicked out of his parents house with no job and no prospects to speak of.

I need him to land at some out of the way bar, spending his last few dollars on a cheap meal and indoor heating. It’s drag night and Billy’s the headliner - whole crowd buzzing in anticipation for some queen named Cherry Lane. Billy kills it. He’s so enthralling, and Steve barely breathes through the entire first song. And it’s only when Billy speaks that recognition slams through him. That’s Billy Hargrove. Cherry Lane. Fucking duh.

I need Billy, suspicious and snarly at first because what the fuck is Harrington doing here and looking at him like that. But when he finds out Steve is basically living out of his car he lets him cash on the couch and before too long he realizes the way Steve looks at him is about want, and not just wanting Billy’s body. I need Billy teaching Steve how to do his makeup and giving him shit for his terrible taste in clothes - he always ends up looking like a Real Housewife of Jersey Shore - and I need them to kiss and cuddle and fuck when they’re not being a bitchy dynamic duo.

[therentyoupay]

Hello, Kris! I think I might’ve already gotten the gist of it, but it’s been some time. What exactly IS Academia Mode? Are you still in school, or is this your actual job, and it just happens to be involved in the education system?

Many thanks!

hahah no worries!!! that is a good question 🤣😭😭🙏 for me, academia mode is currently finishing the 5th and final year of my doctoral program and includes (but is not limited to lol):

data collection, analysis, write-ups

writing python programs to support my data cleaning, data coding, stats, and data analysis/visualizations

applying for GRANT MONEYYYY

submitting abstract proposals to conferences (and applying for MORE GRANT MONEYYYY)

reporting research findings (writing journal article manuscripts, preparing conference slides)

writing my actual dissertation manuscript lol

supporting and instructing my research assistants

sharing my research with mainstream public audiences

writing my non-fiction book based on my ongoing dissertation research

teaching classes, grading papers, holding office hours, fielding emails, writing letters of recommendation for all sorts of students' fellowships/grad admissions/grant applications, teaching students how to strategize their personal statements, grant purpose letters, and other aspects of apps, etc.

peer-reviewing others' journal manuscripts, providing feedback to colleagues (blind review or not)

assisting with my advisor's research and textbook manuscripts (proofreading, copy-editing, internet sleuthing, finding more up-to-date citations, occasionally writing rough drafts)

writing chapters for edited volumes on various topics

READING. all the time. reading new literature and research articles constantly. ALL THE TIME. writing 1-pagers and mini-annotated bibs for future lit review use, etc.

WRITING. all the time. professional-speak, academic-speak, insructor-speak.

getting paid to travel to conferences to present my research (GRANT MONEYYYYYY)

by may 2025, i'll be a Ph.D.!!!!!! [screams]

academia mode! ✨🤣🤣🤣😭🤣💕 every day, i think about how lucky i am that i get paid to do what i do 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 hope you are having a magnificent day, and thank you for the ask!!

[bachirasbodyguard]

why are we not talking more about the Blue Lock TV rankings from vol 22 😭😭

[sad-eyed-lady-of-the-paperbacks]

Why is this chapter turning out so LONG to write?!?! Mitya tell a story in a concise manner challenge level impossible

[lockedfighter]

happy mothers day to tifa !! 💖✨

despite losing her own mother when she was only eight years old , she always held her dear . thea lockhart was a treasure to nibelheim . ( i’ve many headcanons for another time as i wanna focus on teefs being a mumma ♡ )

due to circumstances beyond her control , she ended up looking after marlene whom she came to love —- even started introducing her as her daughter to people around the slums and created a special bond . she took care of her often at seventh heaven , cooking her meals and making sure she was able to be free as a kid . after they moved to edge , tifa officially adopted marlene .

when denzel found cloud’s phone upon one of his visits to the church , tifa wasted no time in telling him to bring the boy home . an orphan who was homeless and suffering with geostigma —- broke her instantly . she vowed to care for him ; never wishing to take the place of his own parents who had sadly passed but wanted him to feel loved and know he was safe .

at the tender age of 22 , she became a young mother of two wonderful children who may not have been her own by blood but she did everything in her power to bound their makeshift family with the power of love . worked endless hours tending to 7th heaven and even took on the work load of strife delivery service while working around the clock ( with the help from little marlene ) to care for denzel’s sickness . despite her concerns of if she’s a good mother having not been able to learn much from her own mother passing when she was so young , she yearns to do everything right for the kids .

i have so much to say about these events but just wanted to post a lil something for mothers day . but omgosh wait til the headcanons start pouring out !!

[jessicas-pi]

omg you guys I just came up with the most perfect oc ship ever. you gotta just. just hear me out on this. ok. aylan x katka

[rollercoasterwords]

still pondering but. i actually don't think it's possible for "[x thing] was unnecessary" to ever be a valid or useful or productive critique of fanfiction....

[princessmoms]

A lot of new followers to the blog recently, so we gotta reiterate our main rule with asks!

It's gotta include who it's addressed to! Like your writing a letter.

Ex:

"Dear [NAME HERE], question question question?"

As is our gimmick. Sadly had to delete a few asks, but feel free to send them in again if you'd like!

[pastafossa]

My favorite opening line in a book remains, "The building was on fire, and it wasn't my fault." (Especially funny considering the protagonist previously WAS responsible for setting buildings on fire).

But this opener in The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home now ranks a close second for me. Poor Craig. 😂

[essektheylyss]

I struggled so much to plot out this book structure and after like five versions finally ended up breaking it into seven sections, and as I'm going into the final two, I've realized that in the end, it's broken down by accident (or instinct) into a perfect three act structure.

As it turns out you can take the writer out of the screenplay but you can't take the screenplay out of the writer.