#i need to put them on a notebook

[pumpkster]

[snail17]

Kunikida: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions?

Dazai: Put spaghetti in it.

Kunikida: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you.

Ranpo: Put spaghetti in it.

Kunikida: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you two.

Yosano: Put spaghetti in it.

Kunikida: I am no longer taking suggestions.

[r3dblccd]

I can't wait to use my new bullet journal 🥰

Bonus: My first bullet journal that I've been using for this a d last year. I named it CHONKY (ignore the bottom left sticker, a friend gave it to me. Probably for a reason but ain't gonna talk about that fjgfjffif)

[thedemonscrawler]

it's kind of funny, honestly, what sort of elaborate routine i have to go through to get my ipad baby brain to work with me.

for the past year and a half, ive written Permission Slip all on one document. This is suddenly no longer working, because my brain is a cat who has just decided they will no longer eat this brand of dry food

So what I've done NOW is:

One, smushed the next 3 chapters together into one entity temporarily, because One Is Less Than Three, Right? (sure, you room-temperature tapioca)

Two, i've made documents that are just the scenes with the character groups, ie one document is just Gregory and Moon's scenes, one is Freddy's, etc.

Which I'm also writing in Notepad

This isn't even like, sorting now, this is just arbitrary shuffling.

But hey it's working, so.... yay?

[cicada-circuitry]

#God tho this does make me want to pull back up that notebook fic snippet i had#of Margo confronting Molly about this too but like with science.#Margo would know. Just saying. She knows. ⃪ does this mean you have Molly/Margo fic?

Hi anon! sorry this is now several days late but boy do I. ( watched FAMK for the first time in February, wound up with Pages and pages of fic snippets (for a couple ships, margo x molly included) in chicken scratch on physical paper which is always a great sign that im being normal about a show, thought I'd cure myself if I just watched the whole thing a second time and absolutely only made it worse. )

I meant to answer this ask by just typing up the quick excerpt of the fic I was talking to myself in the tags about but...... started typing and did not stop. It lives over here now! Was not the one of the notebook fics I thought would see the light of day but you know? why not.

(I assume if you're here you, like me, have already read all the fics to be found but if you have Not read everything in that tag already, highly recommend. this fandom may be small but boy did it have good food on offer when I rolled in four years late fresh off a few episodes and absolutely screaming.)

Since I went ahead and dropped that one on ao3 at like 4am i'll throw in something a little more typical of the the notebook archives - how about this thing that exists entirely bc i noticed that used bookstore you can see beside the Outpost in season 1 and it gave me Ideas

Sometime post crossword-quiz / pre- run-in at the Jazz club.  

Margo walks fast past the Outpost on her way over to Bargain Books. When she can, she prefers to park down at the other end of the street and not have to go by that eyesore of a bar in the first place, but when you double the size of the astronaut program with twenty female ascans, you turn street parking into a blood sport. On her salary, no way is she playing chicken with the corvettes, not even to avoid mustering a polite smile for a coworker at his inebriated worst. 

Most days, that’s only an issue if she swings by after dark, the hour when everybody’s trickling out and stumbling home for the evening. Otherwise, the dingy whitewashed plywood keeps a nice impenetrable wall between book-seeking passers-by and drunken test pilots. Today, however, a spell of perfect weather is conspiring against her. Someone has the door propped open with a rusty paint can, letting the sound of laughter of clinking glass spill through it onto the sidewalk. 

A flash of green catches Margo’s eye before she can make it past. Despite herself, she recognizes that shade in an instant. It’s the flannel shirt she had to reprimand earlier that afternoon for bringing a lit cigarette into the sim. Molly Cobb, bent over a pool table, chin twisted up towards Patty Doyle, grinning like a woman about to win.  

Just Margo’s luck that this is the perfect time of day—indoor light matching outdoor light—for Molly to catch her eye straight through the open door as she makes her shot. 8-ball, dead in the pocket. 

For no reason she can think of, Margo feels heat rushing up into her cheeks. 

She stalks into Bargain Books in a hurry. 

The sweater-vested owner behind the front desk gives her the polite nod reserved for a good customer (and disinterested conversationalist) as she beelines for Paperback Fiction. She finished Matheson’s Ride the Nightmare last night— should have picked up two when she noticed how short it was in the first place, but nothing else tickled her fancy when she was in here a week ago, so here she is again, browsing spines. Maybe it's time to cave and finally grab a 10¢ copy of Rosemary's Baby from the stack on the end, seeing as it’s the one highly recommended title in her genre-of-choice the entire country seems to have read in the last couple years, but she already knows the ending (and the entire premise of demonic pregnancy does not appeal for tuning out after the work day). 

She’s dubiously eying the back-cover blurb on a Chandler detective thriller instead when a voice over her shoulder says, “Oh, Patty loves this shit.” 

To her great chagrin, Margo jumps, gasps, and drops her book. “Jesus, Molly.” 

“My bad.” 

Molly squats down to pick it up, slouchy brown corduroy flexing over her thighs. She fixes a bend in the cover before offering it back to her, but when Margo tries to take it away, Molly doesn’t let go. Instead, she adopts a playfully quirked brow and tugs it back towards herself inch-by-inch, bringing Margo, frowning, a step closer than she was before. “Came here to see if I could talk you into a drink.” 

Margo’s voice comes out approximately four steps too high as she looks around for some explanatory audience and says incredulously, “In there?” with a jerk of her thumb towards the Outpost’s adjoining wall. 

“Yeah. NASA central, shithole though it may be, but I never see you around.” 

“Well, I’m not an astronaut.” 

“Neither are the five white-shirts who monopolize the best booth in the back six nights a week. They don’t check for a pin at the door, Madison. That’d be no way to run a business. It’s a bar. Come have a drink with me.” 

“With… you.” She asks because she expects there to be an and. Me and the other ascans. Me and the rest of you white-shirt types in the back. Me and Patty Doyle. 

But Molly just raps the cover of The Lady in the Lake with her knuckles and says again, “With me.”

[ozymandiasdirge]

i understand why people hate on the one piece powerscalers they are deeply annoying but they gave me the phrase useless captain midd so actually i think they should be allowed to keep doing whatever it is they do on reddit

[spacespore]

HI TUMBLRR it’s me

[queensparklekitten]

I think I just guaranteed queen of nothing by the crane wives a place in my spotify wrapped tonight because of time princess

[eyepatchdate]

i can't believe i never posted any of my snk fic. like. i have MULTIPLE NOTEBOOKS of handwritten stuff, and a LOT on my phone but like. i was into snk when i didn't have access to a computer. so almost none of this is typed and so thus also none of it was ever posted.

[number-one-hog-hater]

The floors have evolved.

I'm trying to make my dnd character's family flower shop (which he also lives in the apartment above)

I wanna try and make it so the area could be used in battle so I'm trying to make it to scale and the floors will double as a battle map.

I'm shit at not sharing so I'm hoping if I do it here it'll prevent me from telling my friends cause it'd be a nice surprise.

Hshsjskksksk I was only really planning to do the front but doing the inside would be so much FUN. HSHSIS

[oh-gh0st]

fuck it we're drawing in bed

[chintzwife]

despite that i love to window shop i hate to actually buy items because it makes me so anxious . . . . . that said i have made a Purchase and i am excited. soon i will be just as powerful as i am now but in a slightly different direction

[itsalwaysdark]

straightened up my room yippeee

[stressedandsleepdeprived]

HowToWriteAndComposeMusic.jpeg//HelpMe

[the-dragon-invasion-is-near]

i hate having to re-estudy stuff for homework. Do i know how to determine the LGR of a control system? yeah, child's play

Can i do it right now after six months at least of not doing it? I GUESS, if i were able to find my stupid NOTES, and UNDERSTAND THEM because they are shitty notes that i understood at the time, but now they're things like "this wrong, check picture + matlab" like, THANKS past me, i'm sure i'll be able to find those six month old files abshabshabahbsahsb

and WHERE is my GOOD notebook? the one that has the still shitty but more correct info??? why am i like this why can't i orginize my stuff

[whateveriwant]

I have this one very specific headcanon that Simon is naturally left-handed.

From the moment his little infant consciousness kicked in and he realized he could grab things and bring them to his tiny slobbery mouth, Simon was instinctively reaching with his left hand. But as he got older, for some reason or another, he lost his left-handedness. Well, “lost” is the nicer way of putting it; the truth was he rejected it.

Maybe it was because he was being bullied at school or, hell, maybe he was being harassed by his own father because of it. Whatever the reason, when he was still a boy, Simon forced himself to use his right hand until it became second nature to him.

So now fast forward 30-odd years to where Simon is now a grown adult. He’s got a good job, a nice house, a loving partner…

And, wouldn’t you know it, he’s got a kid who’s left-handed.

Well, let me tell you, the moment Simon realized his kid seemed to favor their left hand over their right, he literally started to weep. But he didn’t cry out of sadness or frustration. Though, it wasn’t out of sheer happiness either.

To be honest, Simon wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling at that moment. Pride? Envy? Catharsis after experiencing a lifetime of people being cruel over the most trivial of reasons?

Either way, you can bet your ass Simon immediately bought his kiddo any and every left-handed-specific gadget that was out there. Left-handed scissors, left-handed notebooks, left-handed can openers.

Why does a toddler need a can opener? Who cares! The point is that Simon knows just how hard it is to be a leftie in a rightie’s world. So if he can do something to make his kid’s life a little easier – to make the world a more forgiving place than the one he grew up in – he will do that with zero hesitation.