#also i acknowledge this makes it look like i have a lot of time on my hands but you need to understand that i have

[your-resident-boat-person]

Okay, I've taken a closer look at the study, and I can state soundly that I do take issue with several of their methods and conclusions. For example, they criticize a lot of the subjects for not knowing that this story takes place in court, even though the story uses "Lincoln's Inn Hall". Most assumed it was an Inn. I take issue with this criticism for a reason I've already mentioned. To someone unfamiliar with the location in this time period, there's nothing wrong with assuming that a place called am Inn is an Inn. They preemptively waive off this issue with "they could have googled it", but I take issue with THAT because why would any of these people who think they know the meaning of this word randomly Google it. If it was a word they've never heard before, then fine. But if you know what an Inn is, and the place is called an Inn, why the hell would you google it? My second problem was absolutely on point, without knowledge of the specific location and time period the story is set in, it is difficult to understand. The study acknowledges this, but still somehow places the blame on the readers. I suspect this also confirms my first problem. If you gave this same passage to history majors (especially ones who focus their study on 19th century England), they would have had a much easier time with this. Also, unrelated, but they made most of the participants read aloud, and they would be periodically stopped to translate what they just read into plain (modern) english. I can say personally that if I was being made to read this passage aloud to someone under a time limit, and I was being interrogated about the meaning of every few sentences, I would have done SIGNIFICANTLY worse. I had the luxury of reading it to myself in the comfort of my own home.

However, despite all of these criticisms, I do think they're on to SOMETHING. Here are 2 examples from the passage I'd like to focus on.

"As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill."

And

"Chancellor ought to be sitting here—as here he is—with a foggy glory round his head, softly fenced in with crimson cloth and curtains, addressed by a large advocate with great whiskers, a little voice, and an interminable brief, and outwardly directing his contemplation to the lantern in the roof, where he can see nothing but fog."

Now, with example one, they gave an example of a participant who literally thought Dickens was describing that the bones of a Megalosaurus washed up on the street. They quickly realize that Dickens then goes on to say that the Megalosaurus then waddles up the hill, so it can't be just bones, and settles on there being a literal living breathing dinosaur in the street. Now, the things I mentioned earlier MAY be a factor in this interpretation. Maybe if this person read quietly to themselves like I did, they would have understood perfectly. However, I struggle to imagine even myself, someone with anxiety issues, having this same problem. They note that the Megalosaurus part tripped up a significant portion of the respondents, so this isn't an isolated incident. Furthermore, this example is divorced from the historical context issue, and most respondents at the very least understood implicitly that "Megalosaurus" is a dinosaur.

Now, for the second example, the respondent they highlight thought that there was a giant cat in the room. They saw the word "whiskers" and immediately jumped to cat. Now, when *I* see the sentence "addressed by a large advocate with great whiskers, a little voice..." I imagined a lawyer who was fat, had a bushy beard, and a quiet voice. I understood that advocate meant lawyer, and whiskers meant facial hair. Maybe this is another example of my historical knowledge making this section easier for me. I don't think I've ever heard someone irl refer to facial hair as whiskers, but I have seen it a lot in descriptions of ship captains from the late 19th and early 20th century. So maybe I'm uniquely equipped to understand this section. But maybe I'm also giving these respondents too much credit, and they should have realized that they're not meant to imagine a giant cat in the courtroom.

To me, these 2 examples should more or less be understandable and interperetable without the aforementioned historical context. Or at the very least, the imagery of literal dinosaurs and giant cats should have obviously been WAY off the mark even to these respondents. They describe a story more akin to that of Alice in Wonderland or the Wizard of Oz than what is actually being depicted here.

In my personal opinion, these two examples, SPECIFICALLY, of common problem areas for many respondents is indicative of a greater issue, even if the methods of the study are dubious, and their findings disingenuous. I think more studies of this problem are absolutely warranted, and probably necessary.

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so many trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[ofeliaxoxo]

to play charlos with u… on the top of ur head what are some of ur favourite unhinged charlos moments?? or just some that make u feel particularly insane and/or u feel dont get enough attention im curious haha

Yay thank you for playing charlos with me it’s my favourite game

Ohh so hard to choose because they have one million moments that make me go Heurgh. I’m gonna list some that I particularly really like, not so much ones I don’t think get enough attention.

Ok so number one is the Abu Dhabi 24 podium. This is what broke my brain. Pre Abu Dhabi weekend I liked charlos well enough. But that hug……..like omfg. Omg!! It’s so sensual and erotic. Not to say they themselves would have experienced it as erotic but the actual shots themselves really are. Like the champagne everywhere, they’re wet, the embrace itself is not casual. Carlos big hairy hand gripping the side of Charles face. The final glance between them as Carlos pulls away. The way it starts because they have a genuinely casual hug which Charles then changes by pulling Carlos back in.

Like HELLO. It’s so intense! There are not a lot of teammate pairings on the grid I could imagine sharing this type of very charged podium hug. This is an impeccable scene from which to build rpf. For me this is the most sensual and cinematic moment and it’s always my number one. Especially since it’s the exact moment that converted me to charlos obsession. The entire weekend was completely insanity inducing in and of itself but this was the absolute cherry on top.

Another one that instantly comes to mind is one I’ve made posts about before but it’s the video where Charles is watching a match with Carlos et al. And Carlos is super into it while Charles blatantly isn’t. What gets me about that is not actually Charles just doing it to hang out (which does still get me. He wants to join….the scholars have pointed this out and I delight in the concept of Charles love language as quality time) BUT what really gets me is Charles PRETENDING to be on the same level. Not only does he not care as much but he wants them to think he cares a lot…he’s literally speaking Spanish in multiple clips (and being ignored😭) to try to engage with their conversation, he’s sitting next to Carlos and focusing on the screen while very obviously not really compelled by it. You know that thing where cats like to mirror because to them it’s hanging out and showing love. So if you go on your laptop they also want to Go on Laptop. Carlos is like hell yeah football time and Charles is like ok yay:) I know how to do Football Time:) let’s do Football Time together:D it’s his little performance that really sends me into orbit. He doesn’t just want to do football time together he wants Carlos to KNOW they’re doing it together and to look at him and acknowledge that.

I really like the video from vegas 24 when they have to sign young photos of themselves because they’re all up in each other’s space in this very casual way. They’re not really touching or anything but you still get a sense of intimacy and familiarity. Like the passing of the pen, the way Carlos’s coffee is in front of Charles so he reaches over for it at the end, all those little infringements of personal space. There’s a calm energy but it’s still fun to watch. I like their conversation too.

Honourable mention to a more recent and smaller one but the drivers parade from the China gp, particularly the moment when Charles and Lando are both walking towards Carlos and then each separately get their own personalised Carlos Tactile Greeting which they both visibly enjoy. And then they each settle in to look only at him and talk directly To him and NOT as a trio. And then Charles spends the rest of the parade forming part of Carlos’s harem. I love the little charlando moment so much. Carlos’s two most notable ex-teammate relationships making a beeline for him without showing really any interest in each other. They said Hello Carlos we have gravitated towards you like little moths to a lamp.

In conclusion: there are one million moments of them that make me crazy. Watching them interact is like being at the zoo for hot rich men

[s0phslibrary]

'til death (will not) do us part'; bakugou x reader ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚

content tidbits: platonic bond but i deadass think there's romantic shit going on this is peak yearning, class 2-A era, following the plot but not the full on war, ANGST, mention of character death but nobody is actually dead, scenario of bkg's death and funeral, hurt/comfort, swearing, gender neutral reader, physical affection, maybe ooc bkg but we know atp, somewhat healed platonic bkdk bond, childhood friends bkdk + reader, reader is mourning katsuki despite him not even being dead, death anxiety, fear of loss, generally lots of death talk. insomniac reader, crying (on both ends, would you look at that), please give these bitches a hug. Not proofread

word count: im not sure bc I finished this on my phone and it won’t let me copy it in bulk

A/N: I read Sweet Dreams by @janasrdhr and it lit this up in my head. I love katsuki so much this isn't funny :(( all these fics im writing are making me question things about my MHA DR and i can't tell if it's comphet or hozier level yearning. speaking of, this song is the 2nd inspiration :) it's also on spotify as a podcast, but this ver is clearer

2:23am.

You had been laying there since 10:30.

The flicker of the alarm clock was almost taunting, reminding you of every second going by that you couldn’t get back. You rolled over on your side for the hundredth time, your thoughts rolling in like a following, ruthless wave. Every word, every scenario, every possibility clawed at your brain. This was the 3d night in a row.

What if you lost them? Lost him? What if there's a catastrophic battle and you're left behind? What if you're the one taken out? What if someone doesn’t come back?

Tears pricked your eyes again, panic and strife sitting chilled in your chest. Everything felt stuck, icy, voided. It felt like you were already gone. The creaks of your mattress and your pain were the only things reminding you of your maintained mortality. But it didn’t soothe the irrational terror. You couldn't handle the idea of losing him;

The scent of flowers and carpet sat in the air, a grip of visceral pain keeping everyone in the room company. The sounds of Mitsuki's wails. Izuku beside you, distraught. Class A lined in the seats behind you, all wanting this nightmare to be over. All Might, Aizawa, and the rest of the UA staff with regretful, almost faulty expressions. And you, staring ahead at his photo. Refusing to acknowledge the casket beside it, orange and black flowers adorning it like a crown. That damn fucking photo, one you took in a candid moment. Him smiling at something you said, eyes flicking to the camera right before he snatched the phone off you. Any semblance of a secure and happy future slipping away with every heart wrenching tear.

Imagining it had your chest heaving sobs, your inner monologue pleading him to just come back. But he didn't have to. He was there, a story under you, sound asleep. You knew so, but the thought that could be taken away cut you even deeper. You had enough of its persistence.

Shakily getting up out of bed, wiping your face, you tried to remain quiet as you walked through the dorm halls, in and out of the elevator, and down another hall, until you stood in front of an all familiar door. Still sniffling, you felt guilty about the idea of waking him up. He didn't deserve to lose sleep just because you were scared. He shouldn’t have to deal with a moment of borrowed greif. But before you could step away to leave, the door opened. Katsuki stood, half asleep and disheveled, but became more alert seeing your tear stricken face.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." You said in a quiet, wobbly mumble.

"Yeah, you did. Heard your sniffling and breathing from outside. Knew it was you. What's wrong?" He asks, yawning half way through.

"Can I just come in and talk about it?" "Fucking hell, at least say what you're even here for at almost 2:30 in the morning-" "I don’t want you to die." You interrupt, the sensation of crying building back up.

He looked at you confused, but knew this was something deeper than a simple statement. He stepped aside, allowing you into the room, before closing the door and sitting with you on his bed.

He's silent for a moment, before asking "What do you mean?"

You can't get a response out, before breaking down again. More freely now that he's actually here, but it hurts more at the same time. Your breathe comes out in short gasps, head spinning. He notices, and shifts to hold you against him, in which you accept by holding onto him like if your grip even let up slightly, he would evaporate. He shushed you gently, a hand rubbing over your head. He was silent in his comfort, but concerned internally. What did you mean?

Once you had calmed slightly, despite being drained from the distress, you got out a response.

“I couldn’t sleep. And my mind started going to the possibility of if one of us got hurt in battle and died. I don’t want to leave you alone, and I don’t want to lose you. I’m so fucking scared. I hate that it could happen.”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?? It will, at some point, on the field or not. I can’t- I can’t handle knowing that it could happen when we least expect it. Fuck, I can’t lose you.

You were right. How did he know? It would happen. You were right. And the thought stirred him too, causing him to pull you tighter.

“I know. I’m scared too. I don’t say it, but I am. I need you too.” He sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his face to your head.

“Why did it go there anyway? Your thoughts, I mean.” He asked.

“I don’t know. It just happens. It has been the last few nights.”

“This happened more than once? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to bother you.”

“So you let it get worse? Idiot.”

He notices that you don’t respond, and sighs. “Listen. I know I don’t know when or how we’ll die. We don’t know that. But I promise you, for fuck sake, I would go to every end of the earth if it meant keeping you safe. And if it meant keeping me with you. I don’t say things like this, but fuck, you matter to me too damn much. You always have. And you’re not- you’re not going anywhere as long as I’m around. And if I did, I’d do everything to claw my way back to you somehow. Life and death be damned, I’d get to you.”

His words make you cry harder, but it’s a mix of relief and pain. You believe him. But the idea of the hole him leaving in your heart with his absence doesn’t settle. From atop your head, you hear him letting out a shaky exhale, a small droplet onto the top of your head. He’s crying too.

“Please promise you’ll do everything to come back to me.” He whispers with a raw voice. “Promise. Regardless of where you are and why. Please come back.”

“I promise.”

He lets out another shook breath, but nods.

“I’ll be damned if I don’t do the same. Don’t ever be scared of losing me, okay? I’ll defy everything if it means you have me beside you. I can’t fuckin’ imagine leaving you behind.”

You nod again at his words, every one of them sticking to your subconscious like they were locking in.

“I am not leaving. Not now, not ever. I’m bound to you until existence itself burns up.” He murmurs.

Both of you sit in the heartache of the bittersweet declarations, the bedding over your bodies holding you like a chrysalis, each other being the new life forming within.

“I know you wont die.” You say. “Not if you can help it. But I’m still scared. I care for you too much.”

“Then care for me scared. Care for me knowing what the care is for.”

“How did you get a B in English?”

“Piss off, that was for translations.” He defends, but you’re both glad at the lightness your response gave. Your hearts beat in tandem, heavy but purposeful.

“Im sorry I made you scared to lose me.” You say.

“Don’t be. It’s mutual. That’s good. We… we know what we mean to each other.”

You nod, though not sure the exact implications of his words. But you don’t care. You still have him. You will always have him.

Sent to sleep in each other’s hold, the 3 unspoken words don’t hold the correct gravity to express what you have.

It doesn’t have to, but right as you finally fall into a silent and safe rest, you swear you can just make out the words.

Or maybe it’s just your mind telling you things again. You aren’t sure.

[x--sinner--x]

"If possible, can you write an age gap [18 x 40 something] about a girl's dad glazing his cum on her food without her knowing? Or where he puts sleeping pills in her food and brutally fucks her while she sleeps? Like, no lube, no condoms, just raw lust and brutality and lots of cum?"

My Favourite Daughter

⚠️ TW: Step - Incest (and other things) ⚠️ (not meant for real life)

------------------------------------------------------

I take pride in having a lot of self-control. But recently, I have been finding it hard to control myself.

My step-daughter was obnoxious to say the least. I kept trying my best to get her to acknowledge my presence in the family, and also wanted to be a good father figure to her. But whenever I approached her, I only received a cold stare, and sometimes she would just dismiss me.

She would often bring her friends over. Her room would be closed, but I can hear all the shouts and giggles. And her demeanour was so different. It was like she was a completely different person. A side she clearly didn't want to show me. I know she is in her rebellious phase, but I felt alienated by her actions.

One day I caught her trying to steal some money from her mom and I scolded her for it, and it made her resent me even more. With every passing day, she would keep doing something to annoy me. I would come home from work to see my clothes scattered around the room, sometimes my things went missing. But her latest infraction, that was the tip of the iceberg.

She had used my phone while I was in the shower to take naked pictures of me and fabricated a chat to frame me to make my wife (her mom) spite me. But luckily, my wife didn't see the message and I was able to delete the evidence from her phone (yes I know her passcode). I always thought I could tolerate her, but she has taken it too far, and my mind started spiralling with ideas. I had to give a taste of her own medicine.

One day I had the opportunity to be alone with her. Her friends had other commitments, her mom had to work, and I had a day off work. This was the first time she decided to be nice to me, and asked me if I can make a pancake for her. She was nice to me only for the food, I'm sure. I smiled at her and went to the kitchen to make it.

Little did she know, I mixed some sleeping pills in the milk, simultaneously making the pancake. I offered it to her, which she gobbled down in an instant, followed by the milk. It didn't take long for the pills to come into effect, and she was passed out cold. I took her into the bedroom and placed her gently onto the bed. I took a good look at her, and muttered 'sorry darling' to myself. I still couldn't bring myself to forgive her.

I started removing her clothes (but not all of them), just enough to give me free access. Her breasts were exposed by pulling her tank top down a bit, her panties pushed to the side to reveal her pussy, and of course her mouth was free. So I slowly pulled my cock out of my trousers, held her head for support as I pushed it into her mouth, moving in and out slowly. Her lips parted enough for my tip to go through, and her warm lips were enough to send me on edge.

I was groping her breasts as my thrusts increased inside her mouth, each thrust hitting the back of her throat, clenching around my cock so good, I came inside her mouth multiple times, until it started to overflow out of her mouth. I pinched her nipples, and even went down to suck on them, and I found myself feeling good from her unconscious body. It felt like sweet revenge.

It was now time to use her other set of lips, which had been waiting for me. I positioned myself between her thighs, and my hard cock perched just above her clit, as I teased her stomach by moving my hips in and out. I would also slap my dick against her cunt for her to know I will be going in eventually (even though she was unconscious). I took some spit in my hands and applied it on my hard cock to act as lube, and some on the entrance as well to allow me a smooth passage.

Once she looked ready to me, I pushed the tip in slowly, and her walls ripped sideways, allowing my cock to glide in easily, and it gently walloped my cock between her walls and it was so airtight inside. I held on to her hips and moved her body (instead of me thrusting) forward and back on my cock, seeing how her pussy heaved and clenched around my length. It sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, and all the blood flowed directly into my cock, as I increased the momentum of my thrusts. The friction between my cock and her walls was enough to push me into ecstasy, as I started to unload my cum over and over into her pussy. And just like her mouth, eventually it started to overflow out of her.

Even though I had used her mouth just before, I couldn't leave without sending a message. I stroked my cock fast and hard, until another spurt of cum covered her face and neck. And another stroke and it filled her breasts with my seed. I went outside the room for a second and returned with a pen. I used it to write 'a gift for you' on her stomach, and left her in that state.

(this post is fantasy, and I highly want to emphasize to only see it as a fictional story. Aftercare and consent are very important, so keep that in mind).

(hey i am so sorry I can't write about the cum glazing. And yes I made them step-relationship. I don't feel comfortable writing it, so I'll be including the rest. Hope that's okay with you and I hope you will like it)

[siri-ike]

@lbjeff it's been forever since you showed up on my dash!

It all fit. The way he makes sure people are looking whenever he smiles. The way his dialect and mannerisms seem to change based on who he's talking to. Even the channels he watches. Everyone knows Damian loves animals, but Danny hasn't expressed any particular affection for them. Only facts. Emotionless facts.

Nightwing couldn't just let information like that go. The fact that Talia was most likely the one who spoke to him, left a bad taste in Dicks mouth. The taste of moistureizer and lies. That's his little brother. So, as one does, he snooped. He snooped hard.

The fentons are a pair of scientists, Jack and Maddy, and their daughter Jasmine. As expected, the public records also mentioned a deceiced son. One that apparently "died" during a camping trip 4 days before the two of them showed up.

Dick dropped a lot of prying questions, such as, "Do you know what you would act like if you didn't mask?", "Did you make friends there?", "Did you enjoy living with the Fentons?". The last one seemed to push him over. His tone flattened completely, and he stopped using any body language.

"When mother dropped me off with them, she said she might not bother to pick me up again." There was a stiff pause. "I wanted it to be true."

Dick has seen 10 year olds cry before (he couldn't handle it), but seeing a 10 year old remain perfectly stoic when he knows he needs to cry, hurt in a new way.

Dick crouched down to meet Danny at eye level. "Do you know what burnout is?"

"The reduction of a fuel or substance to nothing through use or combustion." Danny said off handedly as he rushed out the nearest door, obviously wanting to avoid the conversation.

Afterward, Danny disappeared into his room and refused to even acknowledge anyone's existence. Yet another clue that he wasn't over it.

He'd have to wait until Damian got home to learn more.

The Zoo was great! Even if he was forced to leave his Katana in the car and only got to keep his small knife on him. The argument of "I expect my sons to be capable of defending themselves even when they are unarmed" was certainly a trick to convince him to leave it behind. But Damian enjoyed it regardless.

He got to see sea-lions, the indoor rainforest where a bird threw a stick at him. He probably spent 3 full minutes giggling about that. Unfortunately, he missed all the feeding times. He spent far too much time admiring the elephants... and then the rhinos... and then the hippos... and then their 4 hour bonding trip turned into 6. They did have to leave at closing.

He almost forgot to ridicule Father throughout. He got in maybe two or three good insults. Mostly, he just spouted endless animal facts. He couldn't sit still the whole ride home. He wanted to tell Danny everything. Then maybe he would tell Richard. Perhaps Timothy could hear some of it. Pennyworth will ofcorse hear all of it many times over. Damian predicts this will be his main topic of conversation for the foreseeable future.

Damian dashed out of the car, in the front door, and made a beeline for the TV room. His exited smile faded when he saw Danny wasn't there. Did something happen? The other two were there, and Danny never wanted to be alone if he could help it. Or maybe he just acted like he enjoyed people's company. It's hard to tell with him. "Where is Danny?"

"He went to his room." Dick sounded concerned yet eager. How dare he take any joy in the anguish/moment of piece/literally anything that Damians brother might be feeling. It's so hard to tell. "Dami, do you know anything about the Fentons? They were the last family Dan-"

"I know who the Fentons are." Damian cut him off. They're the people who took Danny away from him for six months. "He will not be returning, Danny belongs with me. You can't get rid of him."

Show no weakness.

Demon Twins AU where Danny came to Wayne Manor with Damian

Dick threw himself on the couch next to Danyal. Damian was out of the house with Bruce for the next 2-4 hours after Danyal implied Damian would love to go with the zoo with his "dad".

The family of Bats couldn't help but notice their newest pair of members acted different when apart from each other.

He nudged Danyal, ignoring the feeling of a concealed weapon in his baggy pants.

Danyal looked over, raising his eyebrows, "Huh?"

"I've been curious, Danny why are you so..."

"Normal--- While Damian is a brat?" Danyal flipped through a couple channels as he spoke, still unable to make a choice on a show.

"I wouldn't put it like that, but yeah."

"er... so as the second heir, Mother decided to focus my education on, like, blending in to any environment for infiltration purposes. She even sent me to live with a few foster families so I would get an idea of how American families think an act." He stopped channel surfing so he could list them off on his fingers, "It was two weeks with the Burns, like, a day with the Mortons, and six months with the Fentons."

"Six months?" Dick questioned, alarmed. That was a long time for an infiltration mission for someone his age. How was he not attached?

Tim, who had taken up residency out of stabbing range for this conversation, set up with his lap top and a case file spoke up, "So, you're just masking all the time?"

"Affirmative." Danyal answered in the exact same way Damian did.

"Then why is Damian so..." Tim followed up, referencing his and Damian's contemptuous relationship.

"He's throwing fits to prove to me Father won't throw us out." Danyal shrugged. He ended up settling on an Animal documentary Damian would like.

[kyoshithewriter]

The Missing Piece.

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

(Part two)

A/n: Can you tell I’m obsessed with Irish names? Also this is how I imagine him in this chapter with the facial hair. Enjoy?

It takes Niamh two weeks to fall into their routine. Their first meeting was a tense one filled with shy or apprehensive glances for about ten minutes until Shelly had broken the silence with a simple, “I like your hair.” Apparently, the younger ones were only waiting for her to break the ice because Aurora immediately agreed and started to gently play with her afro. Over the weeks, Niamh has learned that Aurora and Mason are really clingy, and on some mornings even ask that she feeds them. They love a good game of hide and seek and absolutely need bedtime stories. Shelly is a lot more independent, though she enjoys making a mess of Niamh’s fingers and toes with sticky, pink nail polish. On the nights she sleeps over, one of Mason or Aurora finds her room to crawl into bed with her sometimes. She was skeptical at first, but after discussing it at great length with Ivy, the woman discussed it with their father over text and he just said she should keep the guest bedroom door open on those nights. Besides, no one can say no to those big brown eyes blinking up pleadingly at them. When her first paycheck hit her account last Friday, Niamh muffled her cries in the soft pillow in their guest bedroom. She immediately paid off all her bills and ordered herself a nice spread of sushi back at her apartment to celebrate. In only two weeks, her life has taken a complete turn and for the first time in her life, Nimah feels at ease. No more worrying about where the next meal is coming from immediately after eating; no more worrying about how she’ll be getting to classes for the week. There’s a thought that keeps pricking at her brain though; one she’s trying and failing to ignore. Niamh has been at the house for two full weeks now and she has never seen the man once. She had done her research and won’t admit to anyone how she actually gasped when she saw what he looked like and the magnitude of his fame.

“So you just… leave his food by his door and he just… that can’t be healthy right?” Niamh can’t contain the words as she watches Ivy routinely pack his dinner on the tray she leaves by his door.

“It’s definitely not. I just… he won’t talk to anybody. I had to text him about you, you know? He refused to even have that conversation face to face.” Ivy’s shoulders slump with the admission.

Niamh focuses on stuffing her face with Ivy’s lovely lamb stew, chanting in her head like a mantra to not intervene.

***************

“Why is your name pronounced Neev but it’s spelt Niamah?” Shelly doesn’t look up from her task of polishing Niamh’s nails. Niamh tries not to laugh at the ticklish sensation of the brush against her skin.

“Well, it’s an Irish name and their alphabet works differently.”

A catchy jingle echoes through the living room from the programme Aurora and Mason are currently watching.

“Irish?”

“Yes. Irish means "from the country of Ireland.”

Shelly hums. The little girl is really smart, and is always eager to learn more. Niamh would go as far as to describe her as gifted.

“So you’re from Ireland?”

“No. But my forefathers were according to my mother. She has an Irish name and so do I.” Niamh tries not to shift uncomfortably at the mention of her mother. No matter how old she gets, it will always be a sore topic.

“Forefather? Fore means before right? So like…ancestors?” Shelly peers up at her with a curious glint in her eyes.

“Very good, Shelly. How smart are you? Hm?”

The little girl’s skin is light enough for the blush on her cheeks to be noticeable.

“You have pretty eyes. They look brown but with a tinge of red.” Shelly says instead of acknowledging her words. Niamh notices that the girl does that a lot. She doesn’t know how to take compliments— but Niamh is determined to sing her little praises every day if she must.

“Thank you, you have pretty eyes as well. Yours are tinged with a little gold hue.”

Shelly curls in on herself and mumbles a shy thanks.

“I’m glad you’re our nanny, Niamh.”

Niamh’s eyes widen briefly. She swallows around the lump in her throat.

“I’m glad I’m your nanny too.”

**************

The moonlight illuminates the guest bedroom with a soft, white glow. Niamh blinks into the dimly lit space before stretching lazily across the bed with all the grace of a feline. It’s one of the rare nights that neither Mason or Aurora have crawled into bed with her. Blinking blearily, Niamh reaches for her phone under the pillow on the opposite side of the bed to check the time. 3:27 am. She goes to clear her throat but coughs instead when she feels how scratchy it feels. Water. Gliding across the sheets, she stands and moves to exit the room. The house is dark, eerily quiet and almost still. Niamh glides through the space with a surety— already having it mapped out mentally. Her mouth is stretched wide in a yawn but freezes in an awkward ‘o’ when she reaches the entryway to the kitchen. A tall figure— a very tall figure stands with their back turned to her in the dark of the room. He’s shirtless, back muscles on display along with the mess of dark ink that trails down the length of one arm. His hair is out of the usual man bun she sees him with in pictures online; it’s a curly mass that brushes just the back of his neck. The pair of black sweatpants ride low on his hips, revealing the band of his underwear. Niamh is frozen in shock as her brain tries to quickly calculate the best course of action to take. ‘Run!’ But her feet are stuck. Stuck long enough for the man to slowly turn his attention from staring out the window above the stove to look right at her. Niamh gulps under his gaze. His face, that’s usually freshly shaved apart from the neat goatee he wears on his chin in pictures, is covered with a facial hair. It’s not an over abundance of it, but enough to add to his gruff demeanor. His eyes are blank— his stare piercing. Niamh shifts under his gaze, suddenly self conscious about the oversized shirt with a huge stain on the top that shows off her bare legs.

“Um, hi?” Her voice drifts through the room tentatively.

He eyes for a while longer before responding.

“Hi.” His voice is deep, gruff even a bit scratchy— like he hasn’t used it in a while. It makes her want to shiver.

She hesitates for only a second before approaching him.

“I’m um, I’m Niamh, the um- the nanny.”

She sticks her right hand in his direction. Niamh sees his hold on the bottle of water tighten a little but then he reaches to accept her offered hand. He easily dwarfs her hand with his— it’s big, warm and calloused. Niamh releases a trembling breath. The man drops her hand like it burns before rounding her figure and striding out the kitchen. After being here for a little over two weeks, this is the first time she has seen him. Niamh hopes to see him again. And again and again.

************

“And they lived happily ever after..”

“The end!” Aurora chimes in like she always does at the end of her stories with a toothless grin.

Niamh offers a smile in return, tugging the sheets further up her body.

“Sweet dreams, Aurora.” Niamh whispers softly.

“Niamh, does daddy hate me?”

Niamh’s hand freezes midair on the way to switch on the little lamp by her bedside. Aurora and Mason can’t sleep in a completely dark room, so she learned from Ivy to turn on their lamps before switching off the light.

“What do you mean, Aurora? Of course he doesn’t.”

Aurora toys with one of her pigtails as she looks away from Niamh.

“It’s just, I have a performance at school. I want him to come, but he won’t even speak to me. Everyone else’s dads will show up but I know mine won’t.”

Niamh blinks away the tears in her eyes at the little girl’s crestfallen expression.

“Daddy is just going through a lot right now.” She tries to ease her worries gently.

“I know. He and mommy aren’t together anymore and he hurt his knee so he can’t play football. But we never wanted daddy and mommy to get ‘vorced either or- never mind. Can you come to my play?”

Niamh’s heart sinks even lower in her stomach. Divorce is such a mouthful for a girl her age and yet she still understands the concept.

“I’ll come and guess what? I’ll get your father to come too.”

Aurora’s eyes light up. “You promise?”

Niamh gulps. She shouldn’t but she nods her head anyway and says; “I promise.”

*********

Niamh moves through the house like a malignant spirit. After doing her rounds and making sure all the children are in bed, she marches down the hallway with a stormy expression on her face. She’s so angry she can physically feel the heat of it burning beneath her skin. She wastes no time in banging against the solid surface of his door.

“Open up. I need to talk to you.”

Silence.

“Okay. You want to play this game?”

Niamh fists both her hands then pounds them against the door. It rattles loudly beneath her hands, the insistent banging echoes throughout the hallway. It goes on for what feels like minutes before the door is swung open suddenly and she stumbles into his room a bit before quickly righting herself again.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He’s furious. She almost cowers beneath his scathing glare but steels her spine. She’s angry too.

“You should be asking yourself that question! Do you know what Aurora asked me tonight?!”

His demeanor changes at the mention of his daughter. Worry quickly takes the place of anger.

“She asked me if you hated her! Your seven year old daughter is under your roof and thinks you don’t love her!”

Niamh has never yelled at anyone in her 25 years of life, but her ire is too much to handle.

“I know you’re going through a lot. But your children need you. They are not the cause of your divorce or your injury and they shouldn’t have to suffer for it. I’m tired of dancing around questions from them about how you’re doing. Talk to your fucking kids!”

Niamh brings a finger to jab at his bare chest.

“And Aurora has a school play this Friday at six and I promised her you’d be there so you better fucking be. I’m leaving.”

Virgil stares at her, eyes wide with surprise and a hint of melancholy dancing just beneath. Niamh marches off and out of the house. That was a stupid way to talk to her boss. But Aurora’s sad eyes while asking her that question makes the anger shimmering beneath her skin overshadow any feeling of regret. In fact, she feels relieved. She has been wanting to say it to the man for days now and she’s glad she did. Outcome be damned.

****************

Niamh checked her phone obsessively throughout the day. Body tensed in anticipation for the “you’re fired,’ text from Ivy. Instead, her day progresses like any other since she got hired. She had a full breakfast before leaving her apartment; attended her classes and took the bus to work, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Niamh is greeted by a beaming Ivy who grips both her hands in her own and starts an awkward dance in the middle of the foyer.

“What are we celebrating?” Niamh asks in amusement at Ivy’s clumsy feet tap dancing on the spot.

“You won’t believe what I discovered this morning when I came into work.” Ivy hastily drags her into the kitchen, clearly wanting to gossip.

“What?” Niamh inquires with an edge of impatience to her voice.

“He was awake, down here with them. He made them breakfast. He basically ran and left me to take over after I came but still! That’s progress! And Aurora, poor sweet thing, she was so happy. Apparently, he slept in her room last night and promised to attend her school play on Friday.”

Ivy’s eyes glint with happy tears.

And Niamh? Niamh can’t help that her smile is a little smug as warmth spreads throughout her entire body.

[malkaleh]

I did think ‘oh maybe I’m not failing/behind in life compared to my peers maybe I’m actually kind of…like…[hands because I have lost words]???’ recently so there’s that.

[starzfield]

Truly, Veronica was simply delighted by Jackson’s words and company. The comment about her son had made her laugh - she was aware her two older children were quite rigid, though she had no explanation to offer.

More than ‘stumbled’, the man had been ‘trapped’ into a family dinner. Or at least, it was a half hearted attempt of the woman he had just saved.

She smiled fondly as Jackson acknowledged her husband’s skill and offer in an amused way, finding the interaction entertaining. Though the offer had been perfectly genuine, Sean more than ready to give blood and sweat for a person who saved his love.

As the punk exclaimed about the taste of food, Veronica giggled, and a laugh could be heard from the kitchen as well. It didn’t bother her stitching at all, experience speaking in her assured gestures. The bottle of rum was left on the table, free to be used - Jackson was a dear guest after all.

“Naan cheese ! Not that I knew that when he first made it, but I learned. I bake dessert and cake, but he’s the one making everything else, really. A good thing that I exercise a lot !”

Amusement danced in her eyes as he fed his dog a piece as well. It was sweet to her, he really seemed to be a good kid… The woman sighed internally, wondering what her son did again to somehow make the relationship between them so tense.

“All done ! You’re an angel, Will always complain the whole time.”

Maybe partly because while she stitched him up, she always asked things he didn’t want to answer, and he couldn’t escape.

“Cool ? Awww, thank you sweetie, it’s always nice to hear the kids calling us cool.” Chuckling, she started putting back the stitching kit, humming as she pondered the answer to his question.

“Are you trying to say our son kind of has a stick up his ass ?”

Veronica teased, her brown eyes sparkling. But quickly, she sighed, a hand to his cheek.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. We were always giving our kids the freedom and space they needed to grow, so why he chose to take such a restraining path is beyond me. He’s always been prompt to anger, but also the protective kind… I still don’t understand a lot of his choices. At least Gin is not a bad girl, so that’s comforting…”

Curiosity seemed to get the best out of her, and Veronica gazed at him, intrigued. “Why do you ask ? Did my son bother you ?”

The end of the sentence brought a sorry look on her face. She didn’t think William was ungrateful, but… He could be very proud and stubborn.

“If he did, we can punish him with no dessert !”

She offered, mischievous again.

A knock made her lift her head, smile beaming at the sight of her husband. “Love, they will arrive soon, you know ?” He informed her.

Recognition flourished in her expression, and she glanced at Jackson, just like a kid that tried to guess if they could get away with what they wanted or not.

But that melted away in a soft smile, just on the edge of apologetic.

“Right. I really wished you’d stay eating with us, not just to thank you but also because it’d be nice to have you over longer, but I understand you probably don't want to. As you surely guessed, our kids are about to come and eat here… So. I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

She gestured at the basket with a handful of naan still inside.

“You can take them, we’re going to have more than enough food. I mean, unless you’d like to stay…?”

It wasn’t exactly puppy eyes, but the hopeful way she looked at Jackson may aim for a similar effect.

At the entrance of the room, Sean chuckled at his wife’s shenanigans.

“Don’t worry young man. She looks like she’ll be crestfallen if you refuse, but she actually won’t. She’ll just pout, at worst. So if you really wanna leave, don’t worry, you can say so.”

Sean was used to his wife’s antics, he knew her like the back of his hand. But he chose her, and was feeling a bit of pity for that guy who may not be prepared to face Veronica.

It wasn’t like she was trying to trick the punk. Her emotions were genuine, she was really hoping he’d stay for dinner, but she instinctively acted in the best way she could think of to get what she wanted.

And obviously, past the fact she genuinely enjoyed hanging with Jackson that far, she really couldn’t resist the temptation of trying to have both him and William in the same space.

It may not lead to anything sweet, but it looked like it’d be at least fun.

She still gave her husband an offended gaze for his words, only making him smile and wave at her. Veronica huffed.

“I just wanted to thank him ! …And I thought it’d be funny to surprise Will.”

The woman couldn’t help but giggle as she pictured the horror on her son’s face. He hated when she meddled with his life. But it was a mother’s job !

“He’s going to be grumpy the whole dinner.”

Sean pointed out, but sounded amused.

Jacks smirked, eyeing the woman up and down. "You sure Officer snoozefest wasn't adopted? You really aren't like him at all. Like, I totally expected his parents to be super strict and lame." It made Jacks wonder just what drove William to be such a stick in the mud when it came to his job, considering his mom just stole a dude's knife and wallet.

"Heh, you sure got that right. Lady, you got balls." Eventually the Punk had to snort out a laugh, unaware that she reminded him a bit of his own mother. Maybe that's why he felt like he was warming up to her so quickly.

Once they reached the apartment, Jacks and Mosh looked around curiously. The sight of the table made him frown, just how many people were living here? Or had he stumbled into family dinner time? He didn't have time to think too much about it all however, as her husband showed up.

And that suddenly turned the older woman into a teenager as she threw herself around this guy like a highschool girl clinging to her first boyfriend. She sure was full of spirit, the thought made Jacks smirk as he gave the man a nod in greeting.

In the living room, he took some time to look around before Veronica returned, offering him even a choice.

"Damn I guess I'll go with rum then." Plopping himself onto the sofa, he let Mosh down who began sniffing the room. The Punk would offer her his arm, looking up when Sean came back inside.

"That's a crazy combo but sure, I bet I could always make use of either." The singer smirked, not seeming to mind the pain from his wound. Instead he was more interested in the cheese. The smell of food in the air was starting to make him hungry anyway so he popped a piece into his mouth only for his eyes to grow wide.

"Holy shit what is that? I just had a mouthgasm." Immediately he went for another piece. It was so warm and cheesy, yet had a bread texture with different spices. It was like... Grilled cheese but better!

Of course Mosh was pushing his nose up the coffee table as well, giving Jacks puppy dog eyes so the punk fed the Corgi a piece as well.

He was so busy eating the food and drinking his rum, the stitching went by so quickly. Also because Veronica was apparently an expert at stitching people up.

"Okay so, how come you guys are so cool? Like, Will is totally not chill like that." he rolled his wrist, trying to find the right words.

[fagofgod]

kind of immensely weird to me how strongly and widely the consensus opinion of what butchness (and/or masculinity in general) is appears to just be. being buff? like. agh.

[jelliebeanbitch]

I CAN DO THIS!!!! I CAN LEARN TO BE A THEATER DESIGNER!!!! YES I AM JUST STARTING OUT AND DOING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME!!!! THATS CUZ IT IS A TRADE AND YOU LEARN A TRADE BY PRACTICING!!!!! SO I AM GOING TO PRACTICE DAMMIT!!!!

[altruistic-meme]

Updates in bookbinding:

BOOKPRESS!!! yes it's kind of bad bc it's 2 $5 cutting boards from walmart and some screw c-clamps but im EXCITED to have smth better than. a large stack of books piled on top of each other.

currently being pressed is Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die) by @major816 bc its what i managed to get to the printing stage first! I'm gonna be sewing tomorrow since I'm only working a half-day so wish me luck with that :')

and for printing stage... well...

let's say I've had quite a time figuring that out

something something my printer was only like $40 and among the things it lacks, including the ability to actually do printing on both sides automatically (I could cry)(actually I did cry), i have also learned it likes to do scaling when printing in booklet :) which is why I've been having such a difficult time with the huge margins and tiny fonts and printing 2789 signatures trying to fix the issue as you can see above :)

with Scared to Live, I did the typeset for it which meant I had a lot of ability to edit the original document in order to fix the issues presented by my printer, which meant ultimately there were only ~6-7 test prints to fix it.

Even In Another Time by @irregularcollapse however. well. she did the typeset herself and shared it and i have spent so much time staring at it bc it's so pretty and i adore it. however that meant I only had the pdf version and pdf is infamous for being basically uneditable. which has been fun.

outside of staring listless at my computer, I also got help from my dad, and then help from a family friend who does printing semi-professionally (among other things), and we Still Didn't Kniw What To Do. eventually I caved and got the adobe free trial and FINALLY I fixed the issue. So yay! EIAT is next to be printed, possibly tomorrow or over the weekend :)

now i need to find a place to recycle paper. bc I have So Much.

[kaikamahine]

Now that I have a desktop instead of a mid-2000s laptop that would take 20min to load every map, even a fast travel (not an exaggeration,) I decided now was a great time to ...... completely redo all of my Inquisitors from scratch.

on one hand. fuck that prologue demon. fuck the entirety of the exalted plains. "sEe ReASoN, lYseTTe." PLEASE WILL THE BEARS JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.

on the other!!! not to get goopy on 9yr old computer graphics, but have you PLAYED DA:I on ultra mesh settings?? OH MY GOD.

it's SO DIFFERENT when you're not on super low resolution and don't take 20min to change maps!!!! is this how y'all were living THE WHOLE TIME????

mods 😎

From top to bottom we have:

Jem, my child-soldier templar

Persefene, my widowed Avvar Adaar

Chenelo, Edgelord™

Maia, my Kirkwall throatcutter turned mom

Emmory, the hearthkeeper

Aodhán, the agoraphobe

and Steven

NOT pictured, because they're perfect the way they are and I felt no need to tinker with them: Dain Cadash, the least qualified person here, and Esperantha Lavellan, the unfortunate heterosexual.

[paging-possum]

Guys pro tip don’t burn urself out because recovering from burning yourself out sucks so bad

[loptrcoptr]

When one team complains that the historical materials you gave them for their project aren’t cool enough to use because they aren’t photos of individuals or big group meetings

And then they end up using the materials anyway and the whole workplace thinks it’s so cool and sends it around in an email chain praising the team for providing such fascinating insight into the organizations history

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I feel like we need a refresher on Watsonian vs Doylist perspectives in media analysis. When you have a question about a piece of media - about a potential plot hole or error, about a dubious costuming decision, about a character suddenly acting out of character -

A Watsonian answer is one that positions itself within the fictional world.

A Doylist answer is one that positions itself within the real world.

Meaning: if Watson says something that isn't true, one explanation is that Watson made a mistake. Another explanation is that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made a mistake.

Watsonian explanations are implicitly charitable. You are implicitly buying into the notion that there is a good in-world reason for what you're seeing on screen or on the page. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie all the time because they're from a desert culture!")

Doylist explanations are pragmatic. You are acknowledging that the fiction is shaped by real-world forces, like the creators' personal taste, their biases, the pressures they might be under from managers or editors, or the limits of their expertise. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie because somebody thought they'd sell more units that way.")

Watsonian explanations tend to be imaginative but naive. Seeking a Watsonian explanation for a problem within a narrative is inherently pleasure-seeking: you don't want your suspension of disbelief to be broken, and you're willing to put in the leg work to prevent it. Looking for a Watsonian answer can make for a fun game! But it can quickly stray into making excuses for lazy or biased storytelling, or cynical and greedy executives.

Doylist explanations are very often accurate, but they're not much fun. They should supersede efforts to provide a Watsonian explanation where actual harm is being done: "This character is being depicted in a racist way because the creators have a racist bias.'" Or: "The lore changed because management fired all of the writers from last season because they didn't want to pay then residuals."

Doylism also runs the risk of becoming trite, when applied to lower stakes discrepancies. Yes, it's possible that this character acted strangely in this episode because this episode had a different writer, but that isn't interesting, and it terminates conversation.

I think a lot of conversations about media would go a lot more smoothly, and everyone would have a lot more fun, if people were just clearer about whether they are looking to engage in Watsonian or Doylist analysis. How many arguments could be prevented by just saying, "No, Doylist you're probably right, but it's more fun to imagine there's a Watsonian reason for this, so that's what I'm doing." Or, "From a Watsonian POV that explanation makes sense, but I'm going with the Doylist view here because the creator's intentions leave a bad taste in my mouth that I can't ignore."

Idk, just keep those terms in your pocket? And if you start to get mad at somebody for their analysis, take a second to see if what they're saying makes more sense from the other side of the Watsonian/Doylist divide.

[cygnusposts]

i think it's really funny when people try to assign batfam characters their own colors or whatever but refuse to use duplicates. could not be me. the inherent tragedy in using red for both jason and tim is something i will never get over