#my sample size is terrible

[swordbisexual]

Larian’s stats really do serve to remind you that more people play this game than just the gays in your phone, lmao.

[to-the-fishies]

I'm entering my Dracula-themed quilt in a show. It needs a name.

The quilt in question, with links to details about it:

[vieramars]

Alright I'm terrible at waking up to take my meds on time and I'm not sure if it's OCD, ADHD, or just my fatigue. So anyone who has this or a similar problem,

Please reblog for a bigger sample size!

[marzipanandminutiae]

the one thing I am full-bore conspiracy theorist about?

daily contact lenses

or, well, not their existence, period. they're a valid health option that is best for some people, medically. but the sheer aggressiveness with which they're being pushed nowadays

the last few times I went to the eye doctor for my annual check-up, she was HEAVILY on my case to switch to dailies. like, to the point of arrogance and condescension when I said I preferred to stick with monthlies (I've worn contacts since I was 12, for reference). I also posted about it on a forum and got massive negativity in response, as well as being talked down to by someone claiming to be an optometrist himself

now if this were like...anti-vaxxer sentiment I'd understand that reaction. but from what I've heard, while monthlies do carry a higher risk of eye infections and such, they're not medically unsound or unsafe across the board. I'm willing to accept that risk, and since science has not found that they're terrible and should immediately be discontinued, I feel like my wishes should be respected and not belittled

point two: plastic waste. they say it's somehow less than using monthlies, but frankly I just don't see how that's possible. 365 of those little eye chips- times two! -and their packaging, add up to less than a case and a bottle of solution every few months, plus 24 contacts and their packaging? it doesn't make sense to me, and it doesn't help that I mostly see contact lens websites repeating this "fact." of course all contacts produce plastic waste, and I'd be perfectly willing to accept this as one of those You Have To Consume; You Just Decide What Areas Of Your Life Are Optimal For Minimization of Waste And What Aren't things, if dailies weren't being pushed so hard

(also I found two studies showing that monthly-replacement soft lenses produce less plastic waste than daily disposables. which, like. yes, this should be obvious, but here we are. granted, that's only two, and both studies emphasize that dailies and their accoutrements can be recycled, but see below)

some big companies have "contact recycling programs" but like. who's to say that's not greenwashing? where's the oversight? where are the investigations into what these programs actually DO? god knows we've been there before with recycling and corporations trying to pull the nylon-poly-blend Vegan Wool(TM) over our eyes

they're also more expensive than monthlies, which like. does not lend a positive slant to optometrists pushing them so stridently

on top of that, I and some other monthly users have noted that our contacts aren't lasting as long as they used to. for me, it was 17-18 years of smooth sailing with barely any problems, and as of like a year ago my contacts barely last two weeks without clouding up, ripping, chipping at the edges, causing my vision to blur, becoming uncomfortable...my brand did change around that time, so I hope it's just that, and the sample size of other monthly users I've pooled is VERY small. but it sure seems interesting that they suddenly started pushing a product that doesn't last long enough for people to notice low quality, around the time that at least some users of the longer-lasting version start having problems

you're pooh-poohing all of my concerns- which are indeed backed up by science, it seems! -with a "fix" that relies on big companies being honest about recycling, to push me from a non-ideal but still medically sound option to another that makes you more money?

I'm normally a pretty grounded person but I'm full-on tinfoil hat about this one

[libraford]

More medical under the cut, I am using humor as a coping mechanism and I'm not terribly funny.

I'm having trouble getting over the size of it. Like I'd never had an ultrasound before so I wasn't sure what I was looking at. So when she did the exterior reading I thought maybe the big black hole I was looking at was my uterus and maybe it was just at a weird angle.

So when she pointed to the little white smudge at the bottom and said 'that's what we can see of your uterus' and measured out the 9cm of the big black hole and said 'that's the fibroid' I was like...

...I've picked up baseballs at the park of that size.

That's a newborn's head.

That's a christmas ornament.

That's a goose egg.

That's one of those little bottles of soy sauce they have at fancy chinese restaurants.

I have picked mushrooms smaller than that.

There's a wad of toilet paper stuck to the ceiling of my high school bathroom that size.

An orange. Like a navel orange, not those little clementines.

Trial size coffee samples.

I can go to a Michael's, rummage through the wooden balls they have there and find an appropriately sized one for somewhere between 6.99 and 10.99 and then use a 30% off coupon on it because those things never go on sale so it would be eligible for the single item discount.

Someone said it takes these things 4-5 years to get to 2cm.

... so times 4.

....so 20ish years.

...so I would have been 17.

I complained about heavy, painful periods as early as 13 and people told me that it was normal, that my body would grow into it.

"No guys, seriously. It hurts a lot and I don't think I'm supposed to bleed this much."

I'd get used to it. My hormones would even out. I was being dramatic. This was a beautiful time in my life.

Wow. 9 whole centimeters. I have a camera lens that size. Balls of yarn. Cosmetic sponges. That geode I found at my grandmama's house. Shot put balls. The roots on one of my monstera plants is forming a ball about that size.

That's kind of what it feels like, actually. It feels like digging roots into me and filling up the space.

I'm thinking about all the pairs of pants that I've ruined in 20 years. This is why I don't wear khakis.

[mayakern]

upcoming store stuff & why we're doing a super sale

omg hiiii it's devin again, and this time i'm bringing store news

the short version: we're moving ourselves back to minnesota, and we're moving order fulfillment to a fulfillment center

wow, that's big news! maya and i are so so so excited to be closer to our minnesota friends (and also my family lol). i'm hoping to be back in northeast minneapolis, but let's be real we're probably gonna get priced out and into the suburbs

in addition to that, due to a variety of reasons i'll explain in more detail below, we're transitioning from in-house fulfillment to working with a fulfillment center (or 3pl, short for third-party logistics). we're at an awkward size that makes staffing difficult and have had issues with extended processing time. the 3pl should be set up by september, and we're working on the back end to have fulfillment centers in australia, canada, the UK, and eventually the EU. if tax authorities work with us we should have all that ready by december 2024!

to prepare for that we're doing a super sale. ash told me not to call it liquidation but she said that like 30 seconds after i hit send on the marketing email, sorry about that. items that we don't want to pay to move to the 3pl are discounted by 25-70%, with some of them priced at cost. under no circumstances will anything ever be 70% off again

if you're nosy you can read the q&a i made up in my head while eating pigs in a blanket:

how are the labor protections at the 3pl?

pretty good! we were shocked to find anything even halfway decent in the US; we went looking for a fulfillment center in the EU to handle all international fulfillment, and the one we found just so happened to have bought a US location two years ago.

they're located in ohio, pay $19/hr, and provide health insurance and 401k matching. that seemed too good to be true so we dug through employee reviews on places like glassdoor, and while there were some bad reviews those were all dated prior to when the facility was purchased by this new company. they also have a very low turnover rate which is a HUGE green flag

why are you transferring to a 3pl?

the serious

sometimes we have a high volume of sales, and it makes sense to have two full-time employees plus a part timer! but usually we have a low-to-medium volume of sales. we can float by on that, but it gets risky, and the economy is in a bad enough state that we're concerned about the longevity

related, the 2023 holiday sale showed us some major flaws in our fulfillment process. if the same issues were to happen this year the business probably wouldn't survive

we're moving cross-country in early 2025 and would've had to close this location anyway

the dumb:

i'm sick of dealing with commercial landlords and if i have one more wall leak i'm going to throw it into the river brick by brick

what about your staff?

unfortunately we will have to say goodbye to our office staff. they have been given 3.5 months notice and no-questions-asked PTO for interviews with a small severance

why are you moving back to minnesota?

troy was always meant to be a temporary move. initially the plan was to move to vermont or massachusetts, but after being out here for 7 years we just kinda want to go home. the weather in troy is perfect for us, we love the mountains, and we have some great friends here, but for some goddamn reason we want our eyelashes to freeze together.

will you be returning to midwest cons?

if we return to cons at all it will be with ariel and/or ash running the booth, maya will not be involved. this would likely be in california and/or in the northeast US.

my friends are begging me to go to CONvergence as an attendee so ig you might see me there? maya has pledged death before crowded venues tho

will you do any local events in minnesota?

we might do sample sales. honestly idk what we're gonna do with the samples we have in troy, most of them are terrible. do you want samples of the strangest low rise bell bottom pants ever created? please take them from me. my bush hangs out

also my kid brother has gotten really into library events and if he asks nice enough we might do some of those

is there anything else?

i mean probably, but i started this last week and i haven't had any other ideas on what to include

[tafkarfanfic]

When I was young (like below the age of 16) my nightmares were always about something terrible happening to me - getting shot, being trapped on a yrain trestle in front of an oncoming train, etc.

When I got a little older, my nightmares were about being unable to stop terrible things happening to other people - my dad being shot to death in front of me, for example.

Now my nightmares are about causing terrible things to happen to others - realizing I abandoned an animal to starve, accidentally killing people and having to hide the bodies, etc.

So, that made me wonder, what kind of nightmares do YOU have the most?

As always, reblog for wider sample size!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for responding honestly on a poll?

Someone I follow but am not friends with recently made a poll that asked “What do you think of my writing?”

The options were something like. 1) Love it! 2) I like it/it’s alright 4) Hate it and I hate you and 5) Haven’t read it.

Now. I don’t follow this person for their writing, but I HAVE read it, and… in my personal opinion, it’s terrible. Absolutely not my taste and absolutely not up to my personal standards. I’m sure there’s plenty of reasons that other people enjoy it, but those reasons are not clear to me.

Anyway, I didn’t want to lie on the poll. Obviously I don’t hate the person who made it but I assumed the “and I hate you” was to be silly, like when people add an option on a poll thats like “No wtf thats weird” even though most people that chose that don’t think it’s weird. So either way I voted “I hate it” but if I actually was able to tell the person themselves I’d probably say more “It’s definitely not my thing” but that was the closest option. I felt a little bad because of the harsh wording but I didn’t think too much of it.

Anyway, a week goes by, they see the results. It was mostly “Never read it”s and “I love it”s with a good amount of “It’s alright” and just a small amount of “I hate it”. However, even though it was the lowest answer, they saw the amount of people who voted that (I think around 5% with a sizable sample size) and it completely devastated them.

They started going off about how rude it was and how shocked they were that so many of their followers hated them. They asked why people would even follow them if they hate them. I started panicking and sent them an anon or two explaining that I didn’t actually hate them, I just wasn’t into their writing and that was the closest answer given — they responded by saying “Just don’t vote then”. I thought it was a little ridiculous to make a poll asking what people thought of their writing but not want people to say anything negative — I understand not wanting constructive or negative criticism but they literally asked.

But I still feel really bad and I’m not sure if I should have just lied or ignored the poll altogether. Obviously I’m not the only one who voted that but still. Was I wrong?

[coal15]

Because Happy Fandom

In the interest of spreading positive vibes, I'm working on the 2nd chapter of I Never Do This so I decided to post a sample. It's Bucktommy. Explicit but also has the gushy romantic feels scattered amidst the smut. The following sample is smut-free, but if you follow the link to Ch.1 you'll find yourself tits deep in obscene material. You're welcome.

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

Tommy grinned when Evan’s lips pressed against the nape of his neck.  “Good morning.”

“I woke up alone,” Buck pouted. “How dare you.” 

“Will a Denver omelet earn me forgiveness?” Tommy asked, swiveling sideways to reveal a cutting board and a half chopped bell pepper.

“I’m listening.”

“Light on ham, heavy on veggies, average amount of cheese. With a side of beautiful sliced tomatoes I just picked off the vine. They turned out really great this year.” Tommy smiled and mmm’d into long, gentle a good morning kiss. 

“I’m gonna get spoiled dating you, aren’t I?” Buck sighed, sounding so love-drunk he may as well have had little cartoon hearts floating around his head.

“Oh, absolutely. I try to spoil all my guests, especially the cute ones.” 

Buck gave him a quick nuzzle and stepped aside so he could get back cutting peppers. “Wanna point me to the cheese grater?” The chance to help prepping a meal in Tommy’s kitchen made him feel all giddy. ‘Kid-with-an-extra-helping-of-dessert’ giddy.

Tommy tapped his bare foot against the cabinet door behind him. “Grater's in there. And you might have to dig around a little for the cheese, I’m terrible at keeping my refrigerator organized.”

Normally the sight of veggies, condiments, leftovers and so-forth scattered around a fridge all willy-nilly would awaken Clipboard Buck with a vengeance, but this time he just shrugged and made a mental note to tackle it later. “Are these green beans from your garden?” he asked, pushing aside an overfilled bag to reveal a block of sharp cheddar. The block sat between a takeout container and a bottle of ketchup, but Buck kept his attention riveted to Denver omelets and Tommy.

“No, they’re from my neighbor Cathy down the road.”

On the counter next to the knife block were four cutting boards of descending size held upright by a cat figurine wearing a chef’s hat and apron holding a whisk. It was impossible not to notice how much the kitschy object clashed with the rest of Tommy’s decor, so Buck figured it must have sentimental value. The thought gave him a soft, warm feeling. “It took me a minute to escape your hall by the way.” He teased after selecting a cutting board and getting to work.

“Uuuugh, sorry.” Tommy cringed. “I should have thought to label the doors with post-its before you woke up, I literally do that every time I host an event. It’s the only thing I really don’t like about this house. But I’ve got major renovations planned and that nightmare is getting fixed as soon as I’ve got enough money saved up.”

"Do you wanna hire a crew or go diy?” Buck asked whilst imagining Tommy wearing a toolbelt . . . maybe taking a big sledgehammer to a wall, all covered in sweat and drywall dust and wearing beat up old work clothes with streaks and splatters of dry paint all over them from past projects. And, and maybe the jeans hang really low. Like barely perched on his hips so just the slightest nudge might–

“Woohoo!” Tommy whistled, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Oh!” Buck flinched and cleared his throat. “Hi, yeah. I’m, I’m back–did you say diy?”

"I did." Tommy chirped.

"Neat. I'm, uh, happy to help out if you want."

"I will keep that in mind."

The couple returned to their self assigned tasks, chopping, grating, and frequently sneaking glances at eachother.

Buck tried to maintain focus on grating cheese, but found himself increasingly morning-horny, which was slowing down progress more and more. The sense of arousal surprised him. He had never really been a morning sex kind of a guy–then again, he’d also never been a ‘fucks other men and likes it’ kind of guy a until recently. He supposed this was just his season of revelations. Morning horny. Okay. What to do with that energy? Huh. “Soooo . . . we’ve officially had sex in both of our beds now.”

“God Evan, you say that like there’s a bingo card!”

“There could be bingo cards.” Buck gazed sidelong at Tommy with a sly grin that seemed to broadcast certain intentions.

Let’s play.

****To read the 1st Chapter go HERE

[abyssal-ambience]

prefacing this with I'm not necessarily punk, but I like customizing my clothes. and i wanna help other people find stuff for battle jackets! (and other stuff) I'm not the authority on this, but I still want to give my two cents!! also don't expect much more to this, my profile is pure cringe.

If anyone is starting out and I can help, I'd like too!!

The spike/stud dilemma

one of the biggest issues i've noticed is "where do I find studs/spikes without fast fashion??" which is totally fair. something like that shouldn't have to be a minefield. obviously if you buy from a small business that re-sells them from aliexpress you're still indirectly supporting aliexpress.

im sure there ARE slow fashion alternatives and if anyone knows some please let me know so I can add it!!

BUT here's what I'd recommend.

-goodwill bins, sometimes they have old clothes or broken belts, very rare though. also any thrift store or reclaimed craft store.

-Local businesses, sex shops

-metal paper fasteners

-borrowing. it's inevitable, I know. JOANNs is definitely the best selection imo, but Hobby Lobby is better to steal from. Because They are Terrible. Michael's is OK but less selection usually. They use peal off tags usually which are easy to remove.

-also if you're feeling extra insane, hot topic uses mainly ink tags, which can be removed with heat (look up tutorials on) or just cut off a stud/spike belt. their studs are pretty easy to remove. same with bracelets, they break a lot. ofc it depends on the place whether they use beep beep tags.

-ask people for broken shit!

TEXTILES (the easy part)

-fabric samples are easy to find for free online. get whatever colors you want, i usually stick to black, white, grey and 1-3 other colors. they're usually pretty small so order around until you find the right size. you want cotton and linen, usually upholstery if you're painting on them. if you're not or you're ok working with leather, leather is easy to find too. A lot of companies mentioned how stretchy your material is something not stretchy most cases.

-FACEBOOK!! A.K.A the boomer method. This is where I got almost all of mine!! I recommend downloading FREEBIE as well! I got mine thru that, it links to facebook, nextdoor, and so on. Ofc you can pay for them- but you don't have to! I have lifetime supply of textiles basically bc of this. A lot of people get them for hobbies or work.

-the goodwill bins!!!! you can absolutely find fabric there, it's pretty common actually

-you don't need to steal this tbh it's easy to find second hand and less wasteful

PAINTING

-Facebook, goodwill, or reclaimed/used craft stores if you have them

-borrowing (same places)

-use something like Painter Eye (AR tracing app) and draw out any complex band logos etc.

-you can also use sharpies or whatever nobody's stopping you

Other stuff

-one of the best ways to find stuff is just GO FOR A WALK! Find little shiny objects!

-hardware stores are good so are army surplus

[fairytalearista]

I saw a post that resonated with me the other day, and I'm now wondering if my experience is more universal than I realized. So, would you mind answering the following:

And, by "experience anxiety" I mean disordered anxiety, where your nervous system will go into disproportionate panic modes on a semi-regular basis. Bonus points if you have been diagnosed by a professional, but it's not necessary.

I also pulled out "trained in handling crises" as a separate options, because I'm more interested in natural tendencies here. You are welcome to ignore those options if you want to think of crises you are NOT trained to handle.

Please reblog to increase sample size, please

[lookninjas]

Pick a SPOOKY Song (with only a bad description!)

It's been a while since I've done this, so hopefully my bad descriptions aren't that terrible.

Same rules as always. Pick a song that appeals to you based on my really bad descriptions. Some of the songs you might be able to guess what they are, others probably not so much. If you want to know what a song is and don't want to wait a week, send me an ask and I will tell you!

At the end of a week, I will take the poll results and make a playlist in that order, from the song that gets the least votes to the song that gets the most votes. Should there be ties, then I'll pick the order of those songs, but I always kind of feel like that defeats the purpose of having the poll in the first place, so please please reblog this poll. I know trying to get proper sample size on social media isn't gonna happen, and that's fine. I just don't want to have another six-way tie situation.

If you would like to be notified when the playlist is posted, please leave a comment or put it in the tags -- I will keep a list so I can @ you when the time is right.

Playlist will be posted in a week, which works out brilliantly because that's Halloween.

And that's it! See you guys in a week! (except not because I'll reblog it a few times; I always do.)

[icallhimjoey]

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I have girlies helping me out, telling me what LFF is like, telling me what parts of being a PA are realistic - it's amazing! Thank you so much for reaching out, it helps a lot! Here's part two!

Wordcount: 2.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Um, oh my God?”

Your eyes were pulled up towards the high ceilings in Joe’s hallway, peering up the stairs that curled ‘round at the top. Down the hall you could see into the kitchen, and you assumed that the door on the side lead into the living room.

Joe placed your suitcase down at the bottom of the stairs and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yea, I know,” he looked almost guilty for how nice this house was.

“Is this all Stranger Things money?”

Joe bit both his lips into his mouth, made big eyes and didn’t answer. Though, he did, because those eyes spoke volumes. This was all Stranger Things money.

“Holy fuck,”

“Wait ‘til you see upstairs,”

Joe was right. The upstairs was insane, because that’s where the newly redone bathrooms were. They had deep tubs, and shower heads the size of pizzas that stuck out from the ceiling. Joe showed you around, and although you marveled at every room, Joe had been right about the mess and lack of furniture too. Most rooms were empty, just had boxes in, and it kind of looked like no one really lived there at all.

Except for the guest room. Your room.

“I’ve got to stop saying oh my God, but, oh my God?”

It kind of felt like you walked into a very fancy hotel suite. Tall headboard, wide dresser, lush curtains and big doors to an inbuilt wardrobe that Joe walked towards to open.

“Look,”

They’d redone it to have a desk inside. A little office nook, so you could hide all of the work mess by closing the doors before you’d go to bed. The room was large enough to have its own little seating area too, without it looking silly or overcrowded.

On the dresser they’d left you what could only be described as a care-package, except it spanned the whole surface area of it. Packets of crisps laid next to bottles of water, and perfume samples laid next to make-up wipes, and skin care laid next to spare phone chargers.

“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know,” Joe said, and you scoffed at him.

“I think you’ll find it’s the other way around for the next five days,”

“Oh, yea, you’re right,” Joe laughed at himself. He’d never really had someone new as a personal assistant before. Not like this, anyway.

You took another look around, walked around to see the ensuite and sighed.

“Could I not move in permanently? Shit, this is gorgeous,”

Also, Joe was gorgeous. But, you know, you were a professional. Kept the compliments for the inanimate objects rather than, you know, his ass.

“I know,” Joe laughed. “Come see my bedroom, it’s ridiculous compared to this,”

Up another flight of stairs, you stepped into a comically large space that made one of the larger pieces of furniture – his bed – look absolutely tiny.

“What the fuck,”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Joe scrunched his face, and you would've laughed at it, but the room really eyed kind of... sad.

The space itself? Beautiful.

Pretty much the size of your full flat. But this reached Airbnb levels of bad. Zero personality. No curtains on the windows. One bedside table, on the left. Two big, opened suitcases on the floor with clothes spilling out. Not even proper bedding on the bed. A small skinny table was placed in the middle of the room, and on it stood a flatscreen TV. And Joe had zero cable management. Extension cords, phone charger, laptop charger, the TV cables – it was a jumbled-up mess on the floor and made the place look untidy. 

“I'm sorry but, yes. This is terrible. You can't bring girls up here, not with it looking like this,” you gestured a wild arm around, knowing very well that the comment was edgy. But you were in his bedroom. In his house. Just the two of you. The entire situation was a bit edgy overall to begin with.

“Oh shit, quick, close your eyes,” and like you'd been friends for years, Joe moved both his hands over your face, not touching, but definitely close enough for your eyelashes to tickle his palms if you were to blink and you were reminded that, oh, yea, you were in fact a girl.

It was a short little joke, his hands backed away just as quickly as they'd been shoved into your face, and when your laughter died out, you wondered how long Joe had been living like this.

“When did you move in?” 

Because this looked like Joe was 17 and had just moved out of his parents’ house, priorities being the TV he could now watch from the bed and um, nothing else, really.

“A month ago,”

“You’ve been living like this for a month?” the words were out of you before you realised how offensive they sounded, but they just made Joe laugh.

“Technically, yes. But I’ve only spent the night here maybe... four times?” 

Joe’d been off to The States for a few weeks. Very cool, made him instantly sound more impressive than he already was. He pointed at the suitcases for proof, which honestly didn’t mean anything to you – you’d gone on holiday and left suitcases out for weeks upon returning. But, all right, you’d believe him on his word. 

On your way back down, you asked if Joe needed help furnishing the place, and he said, yes, he absolutely did, but not to worry about it. 

“Are you sure? The things I could do with this place,” your minds-eye was already decorating the spaces that weren’t yours, but God, would this place not look fantastic in soft neutrals with strong black accents all throughout? Warm, but high contrast? Contemporary with some vintage thrown in for the vibes? 

“Be my guest, but please don’t feel obligated, we’ve got a lot going already,” 

And Joe was right, because you checked the time, and realised you had 20 minutes until you’d have to leave for a studio in East London somewhere for a photoshoot for a magazine and Joe had to bring an outfit – or wear one, which was easier – that he could wear after, because it was straight from there to a film screening and even if he wasn’t going to get his picture taken, he was probably going to get his picture taken. 

In Joe’s living room there was one large armchair. And there were two paintings on the floor that leant against the walls they had to be put up on. But that was it. Yes, boxes, they were there too, but there were boxes everywhere. 

His dining room, however, wasn’t a dining room at all, because there was no table to sit at. Instead, there were two clothing racks, the wheelie kind, that had Joe’s good stuff on, and Joe said, “Please, help, I like all of it, but if no one tells me what to wear, I tend to pick the exact things that don’t go together.” 

Men. 

“Can I ask what you would pick? Just to get a gist?” you asked Joe, and he looked, pulled a few things out and you said, “Actually, that’s nice,” but you thought that, actually, Joe would look fucking stunning in just about anything. Or nothing. You'd have him either way. But then Joe pointed at a pair of shoes, and you went, “Maybe not,” and suggested perhaps he could go with the less flashy black boots. He didn’t fight you on it, picked them up and handed them to you.

You thought you'd selected a pair of shoes that weren’t designer, but learned quickly that actually, all of the clothes down here were very much designer. Even the items that absolutely didn't look it. You were staring at an absolute fortune on black velvet hangers and felt stupidly underdressed in your outfit that was one hundred per cent black H&M items that were no longer black, but instead had been washed into a sad state of charcoal grey.

“I promise I have normal stuff too,” it was as if he read your mind.

“Balled up in the suitcases upstairs?” you joked, and Joe was about to reply, but the doorbell interrupted you. You both looked at where the sound came from, and because you were in Joe’s house, you expected him to make his way over to answer the door. But he didn’t, and you realised then that, oh yes, you were an assistant now, and you could open the door to his house like you’d lived there for years. 

Better get used to this fast, bestie, you thought to yourself as you made your way to the door and greeted a delivery driver with two smallish boxes at his feet.

Behind him, you noticed that the car you’d gotten out of a little while ago was still there, driver still in the drivers’ seat, waiting. What a life; huge house, designer clothes, drivers waiting, a personal assistant... a very good personal assistant, mind you. One that admittedly, yes, wanted to stare into Joe's eyes for hours on end if she could, but also was going to furnish his whole house in a few days.

How? No clue. But you didn't have problems - you carried solutions. You were convinced that if you kept telling yourself that, it would somehow be true. And if it wasn't, at least you could fool yourself and feel better about it.

You signed for the delivery and learned quickly that the small boxes were heavy. Of course, they were. Joe called out, “Are those the photos?” and you remembered. You ripped one open to check and were greeted by shiny large photos of Eddie Munson’s face, tongue out, fingers up as horns beside his head. Five thousand of them. “Yep. Which reminds me... until what time do you mind working?”

During the photoshoot, you hung back a little. Afraid to be in the way, because, shit, how many people were actually involved in a fucking photoshoot, Jesus. And half of them looked like they weren't really even doing anything. But then, you kind of belonged to that group a little - girl sat on her phone, tapping her feet to the music, looking up to scan the room every now and then to see if you were needed.

You kept an eye on the time, made sure Joe had water nearby, babysat Joe's phone and his cigarettes, crossed things off the schedule, fiddled with your engagement ring that was no longer an engagement ring, double checked the rest of the day and googled interior design styles to show Joe later. To see what he liked.

You liked that Joe seemed human. Had humour. Eased situations that could've very easily been awkward because, how long had you known each other? And you already had access to pretty much all of him?

You tried imagining what this morning would've been like had it been any other celebrity you'd be working for, and you honestly couldn't think of someone better. Wait, Ryan and Blake, maybe.

When Joe was asked to change outfits, you saw his eyes search the room. He located you, nodded the tiniest of nods to himself, and followed the stylist to the racks of clothing waiting for him.

That almost felt like he was checking to make sure you were still there. As if he needed to be reassured of your presence, and you felt something in your chest that you didn't really like.

Keep him company. He's used to having someone with him.

You made your way over, with no real goal in mind other than to just be a bit closer.

Joe and the stylist were quietly talking, going through several colourful clothing items, and when you stepped into earshot, the stylist smiled at you.

“What do you think, pink, or blue?”

And it was very kind, too kind, almost a bit patronizing, because obviously you had no real say or any influence here, but you still said pink, and then Joe said, “Then pink it is,” and minutes later you were watching Joe pose in a pink suit and it all felt a bit surreal.

He looked so good, so hot.

You were only like, what, five hours into this job? And now you just got to stare at this and be paid for it?

Stupid.

But then it got bad, and it got bad fast. Because after the shoot, you were both sat in the backseat of a car, your car, on the way to a film screening – one Joe was actually excited to see – and you went through the rest of the day together.

Screening first. Drinks in the lobby after. Not quite industry happy hour yet, but important to stick around for a little while none the less. Then you'd fit in dinner somewhere and then, there was the proper networking event. Joe nodded, said yep throughout, said he fancied seafood for dinner, and oh, yes, his fridge at home was empty. You added a Tesco order and delivery to your to do list, and then, whilst stuck in London traffic, asked Joe if he wanted to do the phone interview that needed doing, the number already typed in, ready to go.

“You're asking me if I want to?” Joe challenged. “Or are you telling me I have to?”

Beginners mistake.

The interview was in Joe's schedule. He'd just done the shoot. He had to do the interview now. Joe had his head cocked to the side, looking up at you with raised eyebrows and that smile. Fuck, that smile. It was going to get you in trouble if you weren't careful.

You chuckled in defeat, and Joe was already holding out his hand to take the phone from you as you pressed the green call button.

“No, it's nice you asked, really,” Joe said sarcastically, teasingly, trying to deepen the blush you had going just before they picked up on the other end, “Hey!”

And you made a face at him, mocked anger, shock and sheer frustration because now you couldn't make the snarky comment you wanted to make and as a response. Joe squeezed your knee for a few seconds in recognition.

Just placed his full palm over your knee.

Used his fingers to squeeze into your flesh.

You felt your stomach muscles tense up.

For what?

Joe talked on the phone and squeezed your knee.

For that.

It only lasted a mere second, but then, when Joe had safely made it into the screening and you'd found a coffee place to sit and order Joe some groceries, you still felt his hand there. Firey skin, just tingling away freely under the table.

And you were going to have to sleep at his house?

Oh man.

You checked the time. Did mental math. One hundred and ten and a half hours left, still.

Fuck.

You were so screwed.

---  

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[dandylovesturtles]

Donnie and Raph treat

I didn't really have anywhere to state this exactly but this is set pre-canon, Raph is 13 and Donnie is 12 here.

---

Raph's halfway through his workout when someone knocks on the wall outside his room. "Buzz off!" he yells.

The knocking becomes more insistent. He grits his teeth, not putting his weights down.

"Whatever it is, deal with it yourself."

"Oh Raphala," comes Donnie's voice through the curtain. "I require the assistance of my one and only older brother."

Raph sighs and puts the weight down, getting to his feet and yanking the curtain back with a snap.

"Someone better be dyin'," he says, before his eyes trail down from Donnie's face to the ziploc baggie he's holding in his hands. "...Is that hair?"

"Fur, to be precise. Rat fur." Donnie shuffles his feet. "...Splinter's fur."

Raph drags a hand down his face. "What did you do?"

"Well, I've been testing my new DNA analyzer. And Papa wouldn't give me a sample of his fur, so I thought I would procure one myself while he was taking his post-milk and cake nap, and... it would seem I... miscalculated and cut too much." He half-bows, imploringly. "I need your help to fix it."

"Yeeeaaah, this doesn't sound like my problem," says Raph, turning to go back into his room.

"Raph, wait! If Splinter finds out about this, he won't take me to the junkyard later! And I need parts for my new battleshell!"

"Still not my problem!"

"You're really going to abandon your little brother to his fate?"

"Yep."

"...Well, I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice: I'm telling Dad who broke his life-size Lou Jitsu cardboard cutout."

Raph whirls on him. "You swore to secrecy!"

Donnie crosses his arms. "That was before you turned me away in my hour of need, brother."

"...Argh, fine!" Raph waves Donnie forward. "Let's see the damage."

Immediately, Donnie is smiling. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Raph follows him to where Splinter is asleep in his chair, his snores echoing through the room. On his forehead is a very noticeable bald patch, jagged and uneven from Donnie's hack job.

"Why did you need to get so much!?" hisses Raph, voice low.

"I wanted to run several tests," Donnie answers, doing a terrible job at volume control. Thankfully, Splinter is too deep under to rouse at that.

"You couldn't just take it from his back!?"

Donnie holds up a finger and opens his mouth, then seems to think it over. Raph watches the gears turn, impatient.

"...An excellent suggestion that I'll remember for the future."

"Fine, whatever." Raph rubs at his temple, trying to think of a solution. He's too young for the wrinkles he's already getting. "Look, just... go to Mikey's room and grab some duct tape, then go to the bathroom and get that fancy hair gel Pops says he's saving for a special occasion."

"Duct tape, hair gel. Got it."

Donnie retrieves the items quickly enough, and Raph puts his plan into action. He folds the tape in a circle and presses it gently to the bald patch on Splinter's forehead, careful not to wake him. Then he sticks all the fur he can onto the tape. It doesn't all stick, but enough does that the spot is... mostly covered. Then he uses the hair gel to slick all the hair on Splinter's head down, so it's laying flat to match the taped part.

"There," he says when he steps back to admire his work. "It looks, uh... good?"

"I guess... it's not obvious... from a distance," says Donnie, uncertain.

"Look, it's just gonna have to work, because-"

"Mmwah... Purple? Red?"

Raph and Donnie both jump as their father wakes up, looking at them both suspiciously. "Why does my forehead feel... wet?"

"Oh, that's, uh... Donnie and I were just... givin' you a makeover!" says Raph quickly.

"What? Is that what we're going wi-" Raph elbows him quick in the side, and Donnie hisses a breath in before standing straighter and nodding. "Ah, yes! A makeover. That is definitely what we were doing, no ulterior motives here."

Splinter looks between them, his suspicion still evident. "A makeover...?"

"Uh, yeah!" Raph casts his gaze around, then grabs the first reflective surface he sees - an old hubcap they were using as a frisbee the other day. He lifts it, holding it out for Splinter. "See? Looks great!"

"Hmmm..." Splinter leans in, tilting his head this way and that in the improvised mirror. Raph holds his breath, and he can feel Donnie doing the same next to him.

"...Ahhh, I see!" says Splinter at last, grinning, and Raph sinks in relief. "I look even more handsome now. Thank you, sweet boys!"

"Heh, glad you like it, Pops!"

"I like it very much. I will look veeery spiffy for our trip to the junkyard." He looks at Donnie, still grinning as he tosses the hubcap aside. "Speaking of, I'll be ready to go soon, Purple."

"Yessss," says Donnie, doing some happy wiggles with his hands. Splinter nods at both of them, then hopes down from his chair and heads toward his room.

Raph watches until he's gone, then lets out a sigh of relief. "Can't believe he bought tha- oof."

He's cut off by Donnie suddenly throwing himself against his plastron, arms wrapping around him as much as possible. Raph can't help the rush of surprise at the gesture; Donnie hugs are rarer and rarer these days.

It's nice. Raph wraps his arms around Donnie and gives him a quick squeeze, only as tight as Donnie will allow, and thinks that maybe he doesn't mind helping him.

(In the end, his little brothers have him wrapped around their fingers.)

"Thanks, Raph," says Donnie when he lets go.

"Heh, yeah, yeah, just don't do it again." Raph shakes his head at him.

"I won't," says Donnie, and Raph knows that's absolutely a lie but doesn't call him on it. He glances back in the direction their dad went, and grimaces. "What are we going to do when he showers, though?"

"Let's just hope he forgets about this by then..."

...

It's the next morning when Splinter walks into the kitchen, still a bit damp from his shower and wearing one of his fluffier robes. Leo snorts as soon as he catches sight of their dad, bits of his frosted flakes spraying the counter.

"I didn't know rats got receding hairlines," he says, and Splinter glares up at him from the floor.

"What are you talking about, Blue?"

"I'm talking about your bad combover job," Leo says, his grin huge. "Come on, Dad, we're all bald, just own it."

Splinter frowns at him, reaching up to touch his head. "You are talking nonsense, Blue. I am not... not..."

He freezes when he touches the bald patch. Raph catches Donnie's eyes, but luckily Leo and Mikey are too busy looking at Splinter to notice their expressions.

"What... what has happened to my hair!?" Splinter yells, before running back out of the room. Leo cackles after him, and Mikey joins in with laughs of his own.

Donnie and Raph look at each other again, then both decide to become very interested in their cereal.

"BLUE!" Splinter comes back into the room like a whirlwind, leaping onto the table and smacking Leo across the wrists with his tail ("Ow!"). "What did you do to my hair!?"

"I didn't do anything!" Leo protests, but Splinter isn't having it.

"This is not a funny prank! You are grounded!"

"What!? But I really didn't do it!"

"No comics, no TV, no going to the surface!" Splinter continues, ignoring his pleas. "Not until my hair grows back!"

He storms out of the room, and Leo gets up and scrambles after him, continuing to protest his innocence.

Donnie crams one more big bite of his Cheerios into his mouth before looking at his bare wrist and saying, "Oh geez, is that the time? I have to go do something somewhere that isn't here." Then he flees the kitchen.

Mikey looks in the direction Leo and Splinter went. Then he looks in the direction Donnie went. Then he looks at Raph.

Grinning.

Raph sighs.

"There's ten bucks in my teddy bear stash."

"Thank you!" says Mikey in a sing-song, hopping off his stool and disappearing toward their bedrooms.

Raph runs his hands over his face.

Definitely wrapped around their fingers.

[bear-man-xstitch]

Emergency Commissions

So my roommate got fired .... Again. My pay isn't terrible but it can't support 3 adults and pay the rent for a house that was planned for 3 incomes by itself. I'm doing what I can't to pinch everything that comes in and find some extra sources on top of it.

So that's where this post comes in. I'm opening up emergency commissions. I can generate cross stitch patterns, stitch pieces of varying sizes for physical products, and do sample stitching for other pattern makers. Because of the high variability with material cost/time based on complexity of the piece, estimates are difficult to give for physical products, but patterns start at $5 for up to 3" x 3" font work and go up from there. All is open to discussion based on the product and the budget of the customer.

My Kofi is also in my about if anyone wants to support me that way.

[coraniaid]

Who do you think tended to be consistently the strongest and weakest writers on the Buffy staff? [With the obvious caveat that TV writing is collaborative of course.]

Looking only at writers who are credited with at least five episodes so that we've got a decent sized sample of their writing (and, as you say, pretending for the sake of the argument that each episode was written entirely by the writer named in its credits), our long list is:

Dean Batali and Rob Des Hotel co-wrote five episodes together, starting with Season 1's Never Kill A Boy On The First Date and ending with Season 2's Killed By Death

Jane Espenson wrote twenty-three episodes, starting with Season 3's Band Candy and ending with Season 7's End Of Days (co-written with Doug Petrie)

David Fury wrote seventeen episodes, starting with Season 2's Go Fish (co-written with Elin Hampton) and ending with Season 7's Lies My Parents Told Me (co-written with Drew Goddard)

Drew Goddard wrote or co-wrote five episodes, all in Season 7, starting with Selfless and ending with Dirty Girls.

Drew Z. Greenberg wrote six episodes, starting with Season 6's Smashed and ending with Season 7's Empty Places

David Greenwalt wrote eight episodes, starting with Season 1's Teacher's Pet and ending with Season 3's Homecoming

Rebecca Rand Kirshner wrote eight episodes, starting with Season 5's Out Of My Mind and ending with Season 7's Touched

Steven S. Knight wrote five episodes, starting with Season 5's Blood Ties and ending with Season 6's Seeing Red

Marti Noxon wrote twenty-three episodes, starting with Season 2's What's My Line? (Part 1) (co-written with Howard Gordon) and ending with Season 7's Bring On The Night (co-written with Doug Petrie)

Doug Petrie wrote seventeen episodes, starting with Season 3's Revelations and ending with Season 7's End Of Days (co-written with Jane Espenson)

Joss Whedon wrote twenty-seven episodes, starting with Season 1's Welcome to the Hellmouth and ending with Season 7's Chosen

Unfortunately for people who like to claim that being a good person and being a good artist are correlated, I think it's pretty much indisputable that Joss Whedon was consistently the best Buffy writer. As well as every season opener and season finale except for Season 5's Buffy vs Dracula and both Season 6's Bargaining and Grave, Whedon-written episodes include Lie To Me, Innocence, Doppelgangland, Hush, Who Are You?, Family, The Body and Once More With Feeling. You could easily make a plausible top ten of Buffy episodes without picking episodes written by anybody else.

It's true that Whedon has a very particular style, that his characters all tend to default to speaking in a certain way and that he is a lot better at mood and metaphor than tight, multi-layed plotting. I'm not sure this is an approach that necessarily works well outside of the show (as well as easy targets like Avengers 2 or Whedon's bizarre Wonder Woman script or whatever was going on in the post-Chosen comics, I should admit I don't think fan-favorite Firefly is very good either), and by all accounts he's a pretty terrible human being as well, but as a writer on Buffy I think his work is consistently very good. The worst Whedon-written episodes are probably the opening two parter, Welcome to the Hellmouth/The Harvest, Season 1's Nightmares and Season 3's Amends, and I think it's a stretch to call any of them bad episodes.

Of the other good Buffy writers ... well, I wouldn't be much of a Faith fan if I didn't mention Doug Petrie (whose best episodes include Revelations, This Year's Girl, No Place Like Home and Fool For Love), but I think his Season 6 and Season 7 episodes are quite a bit weaker. I'm not a huge fan of Season 4's The Initiative either.

Marti Noxon had as big an influence as anyone on the show other than Whedon, but 'consistent' is not the word I'd use to describe her. Her best epsiodes (I Only Have Eyes For You, Consequences, The Prom, Forever, Bargaining) are fantastic, her worst ... well, she wrote the worst two episodes of Season 3 (Dead Man's Party and Beauty and the Beasts), she wrote Buffy vs Dracula (which I know some people love but I can't stand at all) and she wrote (or cowrote) Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered and Doomed and Into the Woods (all three of which, I think, would be in the running for a list of the show's worst ten episodes).

I think Petrie and Noxon are probably the show's best two writers after Whedon. I know a lot of people really rate Jane Espenson's work, and I do like a lot of her episodes (Earshot and Band Candy are both very good), but she also wrote some real stinkers (Pangs, A New Man and ... again, Doomed). She doesn't quite have any real knockout episodes, for my money.

Worst writer is a more hotly contested category.

David Fury wrote (or co-wrote) Lies My Parents Told Me and Go Fish (and, not to keep banging on about it, Doomed) which is a pretty good claim to the title of "worst writer", but he also wrote Helpless, Choices, Fear Itself and Real Me and at least co-wrote Bargaining. So I don't think, hand on heart, that he can possibly be the worst Buffy writer. Certainly not consistently so.

David Greenwalt wrote (or co-wrote, with Whedon) School Hard and Ted and Faith, Hope & Trick and Homecoming, all very good episodes. But he also wrote Teacher's Pet, which .... uh.

Probably the consistently weakest writers are the ones who didn't really write anything dreadful but also never wrote anything particular amazing.

Dean Batali and Rob des Hotel's worst episode is the forgetable Killed By Death, and I'm not sure I could tell you what their best episode is. Never Kill A Boy On The First Date, maybe? I think I like that one more than most people do.

From the other end of the show's run, there's Drew Z Greenberg, whose worst episode is probably a tie between Him and Empty Places and whose best episode is ... uh. Entropy, maybe? And David Goddard, who only wrote for the show's worst season and who managed to cowrite Lies My Parents Told Me, easily the show's worst ever episode (and I am not as much of a fan of Selfless as many people, although I'd agree it's certainly his best work).

It's no secret that Season 7 is my least favorite season, and while I don't think Season 1 is objectively great, it -- and the early parts of Season 2 -- have a certain nostalgic charm I don't really get from the rest of the show. So I guess I'd pick one of the Drews, either Greenberg or Goddard, if I had to pick a single worst writer. Or fail to pick one, as it happens, because I can't pick between them.

Though I think the absolute best sign that an episode is likely to be a stinker is if it's credited to more than one writer, especially writers who don't normally write as a team. There are a handful of exceptions -- Conversations With Dead People comes to mind -- but on the hand you've got 'classics' like The Pack and Go Fish and Flooded and Life Serial and Sleeper and Bring On The Night and Lies My Parents Told Me and End Of Days. That's a pretty consistent list of dubious to terrible episodes right there.

Oh, and don't forget Doomed, the only episode of the show officially credited to three different writers. Have I mentioned that I don't like Doomed? Because I really don't like Doomed.