#tips for programming assignment

[myassignmentservicesca]

Learn tips to score impressive grades in your programming assignment from Canada's top programming assignment experts. These tips will help you achieve academic success and clear your academic concepts or doubts regarding programming assignments. In case of any doubt seek professional programming assignment help from My Assignment Services.

[woundedheartwithin]

So I made a ko-fi. When I can access the internet on my computer again I’ll get prints up on it or whatever. Until then, yeah… there it is

[tech-insider19]

Life cycle method in class-based components in React JS

[keirapatterson]

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[rprogrammingassignhelp]

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[c1qfxugcgy0]

adventures in aerospace

So I recently started working at Large Aircraft Manufacturer. (LAM) The plant I work at employs 30,000 people. The company as a whole employs 170,000. Usually you only hear about LAM when something goes wrong. But no matter how bumbling it seems from the outside, it's way worse on the inside.

Three months after my first day, I have been "graduated" from "training." In reality, I'm still completely worthless on the floor: the training center has given me a paltry subset of the production certificates I need to actually to do my assigned job. A commonly cited statistic at LAM is that a hundred men a day are retiring, each one representing decades of experience, walking out the door, forever. The training center is in the unenviable position of managing a generational replacement, and have resorted to shoveling heaps of zoomers through as fast as possible. (As one of the few people with a visible hairline and who is not wearing a Roblox graphic tee; I am frequently mistaken for an instructor, and asked where the bathroom is, what time the next class starts, etc)

In theory, the training center knows what shop I'm assigned to, and can simply assign me all the required classes. In practice, they do the absolute minimum amount of training in a desperate attempt to relive the crowding in their handful of computer labs and tell graduates to pick up their certs later.

Of course, the irresistible force of the schedule meets the immovable object of the FAA. If you don't have the required production certificate to perform a particular job, you don't touch the airplane. Full stop, end of story.

And so the curtain opens on the stage. It reveals a single senior mechanic, supervising a mechanic who finally received all the certs and is being qualified on this particular job, surrounded by another three trainees. Trainees are less than nothing, absolute scum. At best we can fetch and carry. Mostly we are expected to stay out of the way. And the senior mechanic is only senior in title. He is one of six assembler-installers who is certified to actually work on the plane, out of twenty people on the crew, and spends every day with a permanent audience. He is 23 years old.

("Mechanic"? If you think the jargon at your job is bad, try joining a company that's a century old. Assembler-installers are universally referred to as "mechanics", despite doing work that's nothing like what a car mechanic does, and who are generally paid far worse than FAA certified A&P mechanics. Mechanics are the 11 bravos of LAM, grunts, the single largest category of worker. The tip of the spear. Hooah!)

Large Aircraft Manufacturer is in a dilly of a pickle. All of its existing airframe designs are hilariously antiquated. It tried designing a brand new plane from a clean sheet, and lost billions of dollars to a decade-long integration hell. After that, to save money, it tried just tacking bigger engines on an older design without changing anything else, and the stupid things plowed into the ground in an excruciatingly public manner.

LAM is now trying a middle road. It is upgrading one of its designs that is merely middle aged, rather than ancient, and with proven, de-risked components built in-house, rather than scattering them to subcontractors across the world. And it's still blowing past deadlines and burning billions of dollars LAM really doesn't have to spare.

This is the program I've been assigned to.

Advanced Midbody - Carbon Wing has taken the bold step of just tacking on carbon fiber wings to a conventional aluminum fuselage. Shockingly, AMCW is now stuck in lightning strike testing, due to that troublesome join between conductive aluminum and conductive...ish carbon fiber. But LAM, confident as ever, or perhaps driven by complaints of its customers, has announced that full rate production will begin just next year. Thus the tide of newhires. According to the schedule, we're supposed to jerk from one wingset a month to one wingset a week. That's not going to happen, but, oh well, orders from above move down at the speed of thought, while reality only slowly trickles upwards.

"120 inch pounds? Really?"

I startle upright. I have observed one hundred pi bracket installs, and I will observe a hundred more before I can touch aircraft structure. This is the first disagreement I've witnessed. A more advanced trainee is questioning the torque spec on a fastener. It is not an entirely foolish question-- most sleeve bolts we use are in the 40 in-pounds range. Doubling it that is unusual. I cough the dust off my unused vocal cords and venture an opinion.

"Well hey I could look it up? I guess"

The lead mechanic glances at me, surprised that I'm still awake, then looks away. Excuse enough for me!

I unfold myself from the stool I've been sitting on for the last four hours then hobble over to the nearest Shared Production Workstation.

We do not get Ikea-style step by step instructions on how to put together the airplane. Like any company that's been around for long enough, LAM is a tangled wad of scar tissue, ancient responses to forgotten trauma. If you state a dimension twice, in two different places, then it is possible for an update to only change one of those dimensions, thereby making the engineering drawing ambiguous. Something real bad must have happened in the past as a result of that, so now an ironclad rule is that critical information is only stated once, in one place, a single source of truth.

As a result, the installation plan can be a little... vague. Step 040 might be something like "DRILL HOLE TO SIZE AND TORQUE FASTENERS TO SPEC". What hole size? What torque spec?

Well, they tell you. Eventually.

(Image from public Google search)

You are given an engineering drawing, and are expected to figure out how things go together yourself. (Or, more realistically, are told how it's done by coworkers) Step by step instructions aren't done because then dozens of illustrations would have to be updated with every change instead of just one, and drawings are updated surprisingly frequently.

Fasteners are denoted by a big plus sign, with a three letter fastener code on the left and the diameter on the right, like so: "XNJ + 8"

To get the actual part number, we go to the fastener callout table:

(Note the use of a trade name in the table above. There is nothing a mechanic loves more than a good trademark. Permanent straight shank fasteners are always called HI-LOKs™. It's not a cable tie, it's a Panduit™. It's not a wedgelock, it's a Cleco™. Hey man, pass me that offset drill. What, you mean a Zephyr™? Where'd the LAMlube™ go? This also means you have to learn the names of everything twice, one name on the installation plan, and one name it's referred to in conversation.)

We find XNJ on that table, and fill in the diameter: BACB30FM8A. Now we look up the spec table for that fastener:

The eagle eyed among you might note that there is no "diameter: 8" on that table. As a LAM mechanic, you are expected to simply know that "diameter" is measured in 32nds of an inch, which simplifies down to 1/4.

(LAM preserves many old-school skills like fraction reduction and memorizing decimal equivalents like this, like flies caught in amber. Not least is the universal use of Imperial units. Many American manufacturers have been browbeaten into adding parenthetical conversions. Not LAM! Any risk at all of a mechanic seeing a second number and using it by accident is too great, and anyway, it violates SSOT. Lengths are in inches and feet, weights are in pounds, volume is in gallons and if you don't like it then you can go eat shit!)

After 10 minutes of following references, I arrive at that table, print it off, highlight the correct row, and hand it off to my senior mechanic.

"Great, thanks."

Gratified that I have enhanced shareholder value, I sit back down, and immediately fall asleep. Another day living the dream.

(next post in this series)

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her. 

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer. 

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature. 

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear. 

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people. 

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates. 

Joel had been one of these people. 

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom. 

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity. 

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand. 

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too. 

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either. 

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit. 

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite. 

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was. 

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father. 

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures. 

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever. 

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized. 

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately. 

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever. 

-

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all. 

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.” 

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby. 

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside. 

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet. 

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are. 

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want. 

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you. 

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear. 

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence. 

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like. 

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same. 

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched. 

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop. 

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?” 

He could never have forgotten.

-

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely. 

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled. 

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting. 

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding. 

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him. 

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older,  sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday. 

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky. 

You want to see the sky every single day. 

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him. 

You want to know things. You want to know him. 

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement. 

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him. 

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him. 

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet. 

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen. 

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well. 

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long. 

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big. 

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations. 

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even. 

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate. 

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness. 

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping. 

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely. 

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of. 

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you. 

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[ofstoriesandstardust]

i just want your love (twisters - boone)

a/n: whatever, you can pry this from my cold dead heads.

summary: You've been a bit busy with the start of your master's program and Boone is feeling just the teeny tiniest bit left out.

warnings: fluff, alcohol mentions, swearing, insecurities, i hate you theory, when i catch you theory, unedited i wrote this in like an hour and a half

word count: 1.8k

Now, despite popular opinion, Boone was actually smart. 

While most people would’ve written him off as an uneducated, thoughtless hillbilly, Boone actually had a decent head on his shoulders. Reckless, yeah, loud and chaotic, sure. But he was the best editor the team had, swiftly cutting through b-roll and different angles, always putting on the best show for their viewers. 

But academia was not and never had been and probably never would be Boone’s strong suit. He hadn’t even finished high school. 

And when you had made the decision to go back to school for your Master’s you had warned him that it would be a huge time commitment on your end, that you wouldn’t be able to put as much effort or attention into your relationship as you had before. 

Your first semester would be the Fall semester, right at the heart of the off-season. He had pledged to you that he would be the best partner to you as you made the adjustment and he had pledged to himself that he would do his very best to stay out of your way. 

And yeah, sure, it was an adjustment for you. The long days were killer on you but he always made sure you had a lunch packed and a decent dinner to come home to (and if Cathy and Tyler were giving him tips and tricks and recipes on the side, no one needed to know). He had made sure to make himself scarce or at the very least quiet on weekends, hanging out more with Javi or Tyler and Kate, putting together more footage for compilation videos, and even picking up a new video game Javi had recommended to him. He was pretty sure even Dani and Lilly were sick of him hanging around their place, always bugging Lilly about Cairo and upgrades they could make, even though none of his friends ever had the heart to tell him to go away.

But this was killing him. He had been doing okay, because you usually spent time with him after dinner on the weekends or made breakfast with him and on Friday nights he could coerce you to curl up on the couch with a beer and takeout and watch a movie before you inevitably fell asleep with a piece of pizza in hand, forty five minutes into the movie. 

But last night, a Saturday, you hadn’t left the office for dinner until an hour and a half after he had finished it and had stood in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down two helpings before disappearing to finish your homework. And dammit, he missed you. He wanted to curl up with you, you tugging your fingers through his hair, as he laid his head on your stomach and you told him about your day. He wanted to be able to finish editing a video and get your feedback on it before sending it over to the rest of the group. He wanted to tell you about the improvements he and Javi and Lilly were making to Cairo to get better footage and data from the drone. 

So today, as you’re blinking yourself awake through your third sip of coffee, Boone declares he’s going to help you with your homework. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, silent question in your look. He chooses to ignore it, silently proud of himself, thinking about all the time you’ll get to share with him if he finds a way to help you. Maybe he can read your readings to you as you take notes, or help you come up with questions for discussion, or edit through your reflection assignments for class. 

A stack of paper lands in front of him and he glances up at you. You gesture to it silently as you take your seat, clearly waiting for him to “help”. 

He gingerly picks up the packet, flipping over to the first page and is instantly overwhelmed by the words “empiricism” and “epistemology” and “temporal” and “postulates” and “discursive constitutions”. 

“What in the fresh hell does any of this mean?” He mutters as he flips through it, confusion and embarrassment blurring the foreign words together in the face of the truth: He couldn’t help you with this. He wasn’t smart enough. 

You snort into your coffee. “You tell me. You’re the one who said you could help.” 

He lets the papers fall to the table, cheeks burning in shame. You falter, setting your cup down before standing up, wrapping your arms around him from behind. One of your hands combs itself through his curls, working out the knots that had formed while he was asleep last night. 

“Baby, if I can’t figure it out, I don’t know how you expect to figure it out.”

“Hey.” He protests weakly, face growing even hotter in shame at the callout, twisting to pull away from you but your grip tightens. 

“Easy, that’s not what I’m saying.” You say with a tug on his hair. “‘M saying it’s hard all-around and I’m familiar with this field. No wonder it don’t make sense to you. And maybe I shouldn’t have given you the theory, that shit’s meant to be hard, but I wanted to make a point.” He sighs, knowing you’re telling the truth. “Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I just-” He sighs, feeling like an idiot for even saying it. “I just miss you.” 

Your hand pauses in his hair. “Boone, we talked about this.” 

And you had. You had made it so clear to him that you would be busy, maybe too busy, and you’d understand if he wanted to break it off. But he hadn’t wanted to lose you and that fear had made him panic, promising things he wasn’t sure he could sustain. 

And Javi and Kate had both warned him separately, the sacrifices grad school required, and even Tyler and Lilly had warned him that the crap he had put up with while they had been in school would be nothing compared to the long work and internship hours, class blocks, and homework loads of grad school. 

But he wanted to be with you more than he cared about a couple of road bumps for a few years while you got a degree that would ultimately, hopefully, let you make a little bit more money to create a better life for the two of you. Not that he thought the life you guys had had before was bad, but if another degree and a bit more money in the bank made you happy, he’d back you in that effort, a hundred and ten percent. 

And yet, he was starting to get the feeling that he was going to get left behind. You had complained to him that there were primarily men in your program, and while he had laughed with you at the idiot comments they’d make in class, he was starting to wonder if it would just take one connection with any of them for you to realize you could be with someone more your speed. Someone smart and someone who understands whatever fancy-pants words this author was using and someone whose schedules matched yours and would just be a better fit all around. 

“Baby, you’re crying.” You whisper and to his horror, he realizes he is, face suddenly wet. 

Before he can even do anything about it, your face swims into view as you sit on his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, the need to have you close persisting past the urge to pretend like nothing is wrong. 

Your thumbs wipe away his tears. “What’s wrong, my love?” You whisper softly, concern etched into the lines of your face. He gives a pitiful shrug. 

“I just think that- that maybe you need to be with someone better. Someone smarter, I guess. Someone who understands what the word postulates means.” 

“I think if anyone who understands theory should legally be considered a psychopath.” Your face falls when he doesn’t laugh at the joke and you sigh. “Baby, you are plenty smart, even if it isn’t with this shit.” 

“But what if you meet someone better there? Someone who can understand you?” 

You give a sad smile. “Baby, you do understand me. And all those men are old or married or gay or extremely annoying. Or E, all of the above. I don’t want them.” 

“But you want me?” 

It doesn’t make sense to him. It has never made sense to him, but it especially doesn’t make sense to him now. 

“Booney, of course I want you. How could I not?” 

And well, he could think of one or two reasons. Or twenty. 

“Booney, this has been one of the hardest adjustments in my life. But you’ve been so great through it, always making sure I eat and go to bed at a decent hour and do all my homework so I’m not waking up at odd hours of the night, stressed out of my mind. And it’s been really fucking lonely, being at a school where I can’t along with any of my classmates and I don’t know anyone else, but you’re always making sure I’m seeing the Wranglers for barbecue at least once a week, or catching up with Kate over coffee or going riding with Tyler. You’re making sure my head stays on, making sure I’m taking care of myself. And I’m sorry I haven’t been taking care of you in return. 

“No,” He protests. “No, this is dumb shit, it ain’t-”

“It ain’t dumb shit, it’s your feelings, and I’m sorry I haven’t been paying attention. I’m gonna make more of an effort to try.” Once he nods, and you see the confirmation you’re looking for, you sigh, hands leaving his face. “Listen, I only got one chapter to read today, so let me finish eating and go do that, and then I’m yours the rest of the day. You can have me all day, although I should maybe shower at some point, cause I can’t remember the last time I took one.” 

He offers you a watery smile. “You mean it? I’m not gonna be a major distraction? If you got shit to do, I- I understand. I can go over to T’s or something.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I mean it.” 

“Can we just- just stay in bed the whole day? Watch movies or something?” He asks shyly. You nod, a grin growing. 

“Sounds heavenly baby.” 

He lets you go, maybe a bit reluctantly, as you finish your eggs before disappearing into the office, and then to the shower an hour later. He can’t help but join you, almost too pleased to have your undivided attention. 

Later that night, as both of your phones are set on the nightstand on do not disturb, takeout containers strewn across the room, the Harry Potter films flickering on a forgotten screen, he nudges your cheek with his nose. “I fucking love you baby.” He whispers. “You’re- the whole world to me.” 

You hum, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you too, baby. I ain’t going nowhere, nowhere in the whole world I’d wanna be then right here.”

[rqfreak]

How do I become plural and/or programmed? I want to soso bad :[

hai !! thanx for asking !

here’s my personal compilation of trans - plural , tris - plural , willo - genic , etc. tips !!!! i hope they are helpful ! （＾ω＾）

1st . yu need to dissociate . like , a lot . if yu don’t already dissociate , try forcing it . zoning out and convincing yurself yu aren’t . . yu , is helpful . depersonalization , which is the disconnect between the mind and body , in particular is rlly important ( but derealization works too ) . depersonalization is the building block of everything .

2nd . yu need to be creative . make up headmates ( or use bah blogs { i have one ,, go follow @bahfreak ;3 } ) and pretend to be them . fake it ‘til you make it is really helpful here ! assign them roles and front triggers so yu know when to act as them .

3rd . exaggerate symptoms . convince yurself yu don’t remember certain aspects of yurself , yur items , people yu should know , skills yu should have , etcétera !!! doing research on multiplicity / osddid is also important so yu know what symptoms to act out . it’s easier if yu fake symptoms yu already have and make them a bigger ordeal !

4th . imagine / pretend . think of yur desired headmates as already being present . make spotify playlists , tumblr blogs , pinterest boards , pluralkit members , and more !! if yu see something a headmate would like , tell yurself that . convince yurself they are real .

5th . use inspiration . look at other systems ; how do their alters act ? how different are they ? what are their inner - worlds like ? remember , every system is different , so yu can do whatever yu want !!! inspiration is just helpful to get yur creative juices flowing !

that’s all i have at the moment . . . for being trans - programmed , i would have to get back to yu later on that . im not as informed about programs , but these tips should help there as well .

research , pretend , make it real .

i wish yu luck , anon !!!

[pforestsims]

Tutorial: How to adjust joint position (in TS2 object skeleton)

This tut is NOT meant for beginners because I don't explain how to use SimPe or Milkshape. But actual process is very basic: you change joint coordinates and do GMDC model rebuild. The tricky part is to get coordinates right.

If you don't know much about joint assignments, start with this tutorial: "Retaining object animations in your new package" by Bluetexasbonnie @ MTS2, which explains how to add joint assignments to custom stuff cloned from functional objects (to make parts of the mesh move when Sims interact with it).

The pic above: SimPe GMDC skeleton preview. You can click on each joint name to see which part is assigned to it. Gate is here.

This will work for simple object skeletons without IK Bones.

There are no plugins that would allow us to properly import TS2 CRES skeleton data with IK bones - like sims, pets and more - to any 3D program

If object has IK Bones - you'll find out when importing CRES to Milkshape. If it displays a notification "joints with rotation values found...", IK Bones are present and there's a high risk that skeleton: A. will not be imported. B. if it's imported, it will get mangled. C. will be mangled after using model rebuild option.

I've experimented with car skeletons (those have IK Bones), managed to edit car door joints but it required removing wheel bone assignments - because wheel movement becomes wonky after doing model rebuild

/FYI: steps 1 - 5 are optional, you can edit CRES joint coordinates right away if you know the right values - which is usually not the case/.

Export GMDC with your custom mesh

Export CRES (if you wish to preview entire skeleton and/or joint names)

Import GMDC to Milkshape

Import CRES (if you need it. Plugin is called: Sims2 AniMesh CRES Skeleton Import. Click 'yes' to 'replace all bones?'). You should be able to see entire skeleton imported. Note that Milkshape won't let you export a GMDC after you imported CRES skeleton unless you change joint comments (point 7.)

Measure how much you need to move the joint. You can create a box as ruler substitute, then check the distance with extended manual edit plugin. If you're not sure where to place your joint, you can move it and test if object animations look alright (import CRES again to reset joint position).

tip: when working on GMDC in Milkshape you can rename the model parts in model list (door right, door left etc). Only names inside the model comments actually get exported.

6. Go back to SimPe, open CRES resource. Remember TS2 is using flipped coordinates: X = -X, -X = X, Y = Z, Z = Y. Edit joint Translation data, commit, save.

Optional: you can export CRES skeleton again and import to Milkshape to test if joint has moved to the right position.

7. Go to GMDC, Model tab - hit rebuild, commit, save.

if you have the edited object placed on a lot, it's gonna look weird when you load the game. You need to re-buy it from catalogue to see results.

If for some reason you'd like to export entire GMDC with your imported CRES skeleton, Milkshape won't let you do that. You'll get "ERR: No quaternion values stored" error. You need to go to Joints tab and edit each Joint comment to ImpQuatDat: (that's imp, with capital i )

Notes:

if you go to GMDC Joints tab, there's also a rebuild option to update single joint - but I've tried it on car door joints and it didn't work.

If you edit joint coordinates in CRES, for example- move the car door forward, and preview skeleton in GMDC viewer, your model is gonna look fine. But in the game every vertex assigned to that joint will also be moved forward. That's why you need to use model rebuild option. In theory, if you'd like to skip rebuild, you could import GMDC to milkshape and move the door backwards to compensate for joint adjustments? I haven't tried that (yet).

[nenelonomh]

time management in the ib

good time management is crucial in the ibdp (international baccalaureate diploma programme) due to its demanding workload and diverse requirements. effective time management helps you focus better on your tasks, leading to higher quality work and more efficient use of your time.

by organizing your schedule and prioritizing tasks, you can reduce feelings of being overwhelmed and manage stress more effectively.

good time management also allows you to allocate time for relaxation and social activities, which is essential for maintaining mental and physical health. the ibdp involves numerous assignments, projects, and exams, so managing your time well ensures you meet all deadlines without last-minute rushes.

balancing extra-curricular activities

balancing your ibdp workload with extracurricular activities can be challenging, but it’s definitely achievable with some strategic planning. here are a few tips to help you manage both effectively:

create a schedule: use a planner or digital calendar to map out your week. allocate specific time slots for studying, completing assignments, and participating in extracurricular activities. this helps ensure you dedicate enough time to each area without neglecting any.

prioritize tasks: identify your most important and urgent tasks each day. focus on completing these first before moving on to less critical activities. this way, you can stay on top of your ibdp requirements while still enjoying your extracurriculars.

set realistic goals: break down larger tasks into smaller, manageable steps. set achievable goals for each study session or activity, which can help you stay motivated and avoid feeling overwhelmed.

use downtime wisely: make use of short breaks between classes or activities to review notes, read, or complete small tasks. this means no doom scrolling. at all. these pockets of time can add up and help you stay productive.

communicate with teachers and mentors: let your teachers and extracurricular mentors know about your commitments. they can offer support, provide extensions if needed, and help you manage your workload more effectively.

take care of yourself: ensure you get enough sleep, eat well, and make time for relaxation. maintaining your physical and mental health is crucial for sustaining high performance in both academics and extracurriculars.

be flexible: sometimes, unexpected events or deadlines may arise. be prepared to adjust your schedule as needed and stay adaptable to changes.

practicing time-management techniques

there are several effective time management techniques that can help you stay organized and make the most of your time. here are a few popular ones:

pomodoro technique: work in focused intervals (usually 25 minutes) followed by a short break. this helps maintain concentration and prevent burnout.

time blocking: allocate specific blocks of time for different tasks or activities throughout your day. this ensures you dedicate time to important tasks without interruptions.

eisenhower matrix: prioritize tasks based on their urgency and importance. this helps you focus on what truly matters and avoid getting bogged down by less critical tasks.

pareto analysis (80/20 rule): focus on the 20% of tasks that will produce 80% of the results. or, the most urgent and impactful of the eishenhower matrix. this helps you prioritize high-impact activities.

experiment with these techniques to find which ones work best for you.

still struggling with time management?

if you’re still struggling with time management, don’t worry—it’s a common challenge, especially with a demanding program like the ibdp. here are a few additional steps you can take:

seek support: talk to your teachers, school counselors, or a mentor. they can offer guidance, resources, and strategies tailored to your specific situation.

review and adjust: regularly review your schedule and time management strategies. see what’s working and what isn’t, and make adjustments as needed.

limit distractions: identify and minimize distractions during study time. this might mean turning off notifications, finding a quiet study space, or using apps that block distracting websites (i recommend tracking yourself on ypt).

practice self-compassion: be kind to yourself. it’s okay to have off days or to struggle with time management. recognize your efforts and progress, and don’t be too hard on yourself.

consider professional help: if time management issues are significantly impacting your well-being or academic performance, consider seeking help from a professional, such as a therapist or a coach who specializes in time management.

in summary, mastering time management is crucial for success in both academic and personal areas. with commitment and practice, you can develop strong time management skills that will serve you well throughout your life. keep aiming for balance and don’t hesitate to ask for help when needed. you’ve got this!

❤️ nene

i hope this post helps, @cherrybros

[tech-insider19]

ReactJS vs React Native — An Overview for Business Growth

[habken]

Hello! I’m starting college next week. I’m technically only taking four classes but three of them have both 2-3 hour labs and tutorials so my schedule is pretty full. The three are chemistry, physics, and calculus. (I’m a total nerd so this is not overly daunting to me) What concerns me is my time management. Any chance you have tips on how to stay on top of academics and still have time to feel human?

Schedule in breaks if you’re going to be working at stuff for long hours, make lists to keep track of all the things you will have to do and when you have to get them done and how long you estimate it will take. Unless you’ve got a huge deadline or test or whatever the next day, hanging out with friends is a great way to stay sane lol. Just getting outside is good for you too

Seriously though, having a list was really helpful for me, especially when I was working like 80hrs a week, this is how I kept track of what I had to do:

I’d write out at the top what I needed done for each class and when it was due, then I’d go through each day of the week and decide what I needed to work on each day and sometimes how long to spend on it. I factored in when I had classes and tried to be as realistic as I could about how long things would take.

I didn’t always stick to it perfectly but it helped put into perspective what I needed to do when I had like eight assignments due in one week, and made everything a lot less overwhelming.

I’m gonna be completely honest by the end of the semester I was not feeling human 😭 but I tried to get out when I could, and spent time with friends and went to events at the college, etc. I think one of the biggest things that kept me sane was literally just going to get groceries lmao, it was something that needed to be done but wasn’t homework so it was like a fun little adventure

My program is very work heavy, so you’ll probably have more time on your hands than me, or at least I hope you will lmao. I’m wishing you the best of luck at college!!

If anybody else has advice please feel free to share!

[melodygatesauthor]

Extra Credit

Professor Steven Grant X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by Anon - NOT in the ABD fanonverse

Kinks - Size Difference + Deep Throating

Summary

You got a bad grade on your history paper and need your professor to fix that for you.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, deep throating, size difference, reader is smol, age gap (reader is college age, Steven is 38), transactional sex, gagging, swallowing cum, Steven's a little rough, Steven's a tad OOC, rough oral sex, face fucking

Word Count: 968

“I can’t accept this grade.” You said, looking down at the big red ‘F’ on your paper about the mummification process.

You’d slammed it on your professor’s desk. Dr. Grant looked up at you over his glasses, clearly having been unprepared for your sudden barging into his office. His lips were slightly parted while he looked at you in surprise.

“You clearly didn’t do the assignment. I mean, I ran this through the program we have and it was very obviously plagiarized. You’re lucky I didn’t report you and have you expelled.” He took his glasses off and put them down on the desk.

“I can’t flunk this class, I suck at history and I need this grade, please,” you looked at him pleadingly. “I’ll do anything.”

Dr. Grant gulped, neck bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes trailed down to your chest where you were unbuttoning the top three buttons of your blouse. His eyes went wide and you watched him tug at his collar as though it were sweltering hot in the room. You didn’t wait for him to answer, you just slid around the corner of the desk and stood in front of him.

“What do you say?”

He turned his rolling chair to face you, legs spread out. You could see the shadow of his erection already testing the seam of his pants. He still stayed silent, as though not saying he wanted it would relieve him of guilt if you did do anything together. You didn’t wait for an answer, and lowered yourself to the ground on your knees. Using both hands, you started at his knees, dragging your palms up the smooth fabric of his slacks before sliding your right hand over his bulge.

“Y-y’know this isn’t allowed, I could lose my job you could-”

“Sh, no one has to know. You fix my grade, and I’ll fix your…problem,” you grabbed the waist of his pants and started working on his button.

“B-but you can’t…oh god.”

You pulled his cock out through the fly of his boxer-briefs and gasped at the sheer size of it. Dr. Grant was bigger than you in every way, and this was no exception. You couldn’t even fit your small hand around the width of this girth. It felt deliciously heavy in your hand. You looked up at him when he gently brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“Don’t think you’ll be able to fit the whole thing love, d’you?” He bit his lip and furrowed his brow while he looked down at you.

“Gonna try,” you murmured, pressing your lips to the underside of his bulbous tip.

He whined, shifting in his chair slightly. You stuck out your tongue, flattening it at the base where his balls meet the shaft and then dragging it up to the head. Dr. Grant let go of your cheek and grabbed both arms of the chair. It creaked under the pressure. You weren’t even really doing anything yet. You started to wonder when the last time he’d had any action was.

You opened your mouth, bringing the fat head of his cock past your lips and feeling the satisfying way he stretched your mouth out. You lowered yourself as far as you could go until you felt his length hit the back of your throat. You came back up for air, breathing deeply, chest heaving.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want me to fix that grade darling.” You wondered what made him change his mind so suddenly, you wondered if it felt that good to have his student gagging over him.

It did feel that good to him. His entire body shook when you brought your mouth back down over him. Your tongue was warm as it lapped over his cock and you bobbed up and down. You were so sloppy with it, getting a mixture of spit and precum all over his length. After a moment, when you tried to pick yourself back off of it, Steven cupped the back of your head to keep you there. You tried to come up more for air but he held you in place.

“Stay right there please, oh-shit-that’s-oh,” he started thrusting himself into your throat, and you tried to breathe through your nose.

You let the muscles of your throat relax around him, feeling his length go down into your esophagus and stretching you out. You looked up at him through the blur of your teary eyes. His gaze was so dark and intense. He was biting his lip so hard you thought it might bleed.

“God your little mouth looks so pretty stretchin’ out around me love. Look how beautiful you are, cryin’ all cause of me. Makin’ a right mess out of you aren’t I? Fuckin’ hell-you-feel-so-ah.”

He held on tight now with both hands, thrusting himself into you so hard that you felt your nose start running. You were crying uncontrollably, but if this is what you needed to do to get a good grade, you were willing to do it. You couldn’t afford to flunk that class.

“Gonna feed you a mouthful love, are you ready? Gonna fill your little tummy-and-gonna-oh-shittt-”

He held your face down over his entire length, shooting hot ropes right down your throat. His thick cock throbbed, stretching you further until finally he was spent. He fell back into his chair in a huff, releasing your head. You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest. When you both finally were able to collect yourself he nodded and waved you off.

“I’ll have a new grade f’you tomorrow alright? Keep up the good work and…I think you’ll do just fine in my class.”

You nodded eagerly as you headed for the door, “okay, whatever you need Dr. Grant.”

----

Steven Grant Masterlist

Moon Knight Masterlist

Melody's 1k Celebration Masterlist

Melody's 1k Celebration Post

[moonstonerain]

I somewhat recovered from the devastating news of YoI Ice Ado cancellation, so to celebrate Yuri on Ice brings me joy day (which should be everyday) I'm writing down my headcanons.

The pets in the YoI universe have the general lifespan of their humans. Pets tend to die days before or after their owners died. Unless they have an accident, or a sickness (poor Vicchan). So essentially Makkachin is in fact immortal.

The YoI universe is kinder: there is no homophobia. I understand that sometimes exploring topics like these in fiction is important, but personally I think there is enough of that in the real world. So I want to believe in at least one universe where people are kinder. Viktor and Yuuri can get married anywhere in the world and it would be recognized. Nobody is bothered by the two being men.

Yuuri Katsuki is not a Viktor Nikiforov fan. He is THE Viktor Nikiforov fan. I'm talking fan accounts where he's protecting Viktor. The posters in his room are just the tip of the iceberg. He has hand fans, body pillows, limited edition bottle of water where Viktor did some promotion. One time he ordered a limited edition, signed poster from a "fan". (The person was thinking of ripping him of. And then he got an email. The only text read: his name, his address, his age, his social security number. Man was so scared he payed triple for ice show tickets, just to get the signed poster. Incidentally he also got invested in ice skating and found Yuuri Katsuki, Japan's ace. He's been a fan ever since.) After Viktor cut his long hair, Yuuri mourned for a few days and then layed waste on everyone on the internet who dared to complain about Viktor's decision.

All of Yuuri's fans, as well as all of Japan knows that Yuuri Katsuki is THE Viktor Nikiforov fan. Journalists that are usually ignored by Yuuri know that they only need to mention Viktor before Yuuri goes on a 30 minute tangent about his newest programs, his music, his outfits, that obscure program he did only once six years ago. If the journalist is brave, and willing to risk life and limb, they'll even add some sort of critiscism "Viktor's landing was a bit wobbly" Yuuri Avoider of Anything that Risks Conflict Katsuki: "First of all how dare you." 40 minutes later "I'm done! I'm done! ... And another thing!"

Yeah Yuri Plisetsky admires Viktor Nikiforov. He's ugh Viktor. But Yuri is a fan of one skater and one skater only and that is Yuuri Katsuki. I'm talking posters, hand fans, body pillows, limited edition sports drink Yuuri did some promotion for. He came to Hasetsu with one luggage, left with three filled to the brim with Katsuki merch. And a giant poster from the train station. When Viktor discovers Yuri's collection he is incredibly jealous.

Phicit, Yuuri, Leo, Guang-Hong Ji, Otabek, Emil, Michele, J.J., and Seung Gil have a group chat for gossip. While the group chat is used pretty frequently Seung Gil will only wildly appear once every blue moon, leave a devastating one liner and dissapear once again. Once Viktor goes to coach Yuuri the group has front rows to live updates: "omg Viktor just showed up buck naked at my parents' onsen" "ok so he asked if I want him to be my boyfriend. do you think this is code for something?" "He sure likes to be very touchy with me. very touchy. hmm silly europeans" "he just wants us to be close friends" the despair the others are feeling. after the live kiss, seung gil: "just friends huh. never lie to my face again bitch"

minami and yuri have beef. minami has a limited edition photo card that he brought with him to the juniors. yuri has another limited edition card that he also brought to juniros. they saw each others limited edition cards, argued which was superior, both incredibly jealous of the other. loathed each other since then.

yuuri was the first to give Viktor his blue roses crown. One time when Viktor was assigned to NHK Trophy Yuuri busted his entire allowance and some odd jobs to buy him the crown, to an exhorbitant price because roses are expensive, blue roses even more so, and a flower crown?! Yuuri was standing near the rink when Viktor saw him holding the crown. Viktor's heart melted, and he let Yuuri put the crown on him. ever since then Viktor was associated with blue roses. Years later a skating fan uncovered an old photo of yuuri putting the crown on viktor and posted it online. the skating world collectively lost their minds. at their wedding they each put a flower crown on top of each others heads.

[phone4pills]

would nerd!reader eventually find a way to program robot!chris some form of emotion? would he ever be able to feel love?

Sadly, not love. Robots just can’t show that kind of affection because they don’t have that nature. But Chris does understand happiness, anger, curiosity, sadness and more of those emotions. Although he doesn’t really express them himself, he can point them out it in humans and can mirror human tendencies.

robot!Chris has to learn what people do when they feel a certain way

you stared at the bright screen of your computer, laughing nervously as your ears turned pink. you had accidentally sent your teacher the wrong assignment and it was definitely one of the most embarrassing moments of your life.

Chris entered your room with a wire hanging out of his fingertip. he a got it caught in a socket and it burned off the tip of his finger. he’d come to you to fix it but he noticed your laughter and smiled. “what’s got you so happy?”

you but your nail. “i’m not happy Chris! i seriously messed up.”

he lowered his head, kinda disappointed that he didn’t clock onto that. but also sort of surprised. “are you… looking at something funny to cheer you up?”

you shook your head with a sigh, internally calming down before you spoke again. “no, I’m laughing because… it’s something I do when I’m nervous.”

he tilted his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. was he missing something? you used to laugh all the time when he’d jump at the image of a cat on your phone screen or when he’d tell you stupid robot jokes that weren’t even that funny but you found them laughable anyway. now you were laughing for another reason? “do all humans laugh when they’re nervous?”

“no, Chris. not everyone. and we only do it sometimes. you have to learn about that.”

he nodded, scratching his neck before walking over and slumping down, face first onto your bed so his expression was buried between the soft, neatly arranged pillows with a loud huff. “noted. humans are complicated!”