#estimating accuracy levels

[asestimationsconsultants]

How Accurate Is a Construction Cost Estimating Service?

Accuracy in construction cost estimating can mean the difference between a well-managed project and one plagued by budget overruns. For developers, contractors, and homeowners, relying on a professional construction cost estimating service is a key step toward financial predictability. But how accurate are these estimates, and what factors influence their precision?

Understanding the Nature of Estimates

First, it’s important to clarify that estimates are not final costs—they are projections based on available data, current pricing, and anticipated conditions. A professional construction cost estimating service provides a highly detailed breakdown using industry-standard methods, digital tools, and historical data. While no estimate is 100% precise, the best services often fall within 5% to 10% of the final project cost.

Factors That Affect Accuracy

The accuracy of an estimate depends on several factors:

Design Completeness: If architectural and engineering plans are incomplete, the estimator must make assumptions, increasing the margin of error.

Site Information: Geotechnical data, site access, and environmental issues influence costs. Limited site details can reduce estimate accuracy.

Scope Clarity: Vague or changing scopes create uncertainty. Clear specifications lead to better estimates.

Market Conditions: Material prices and labor rates fluctuate. Estimators use real-time databases and supplier quotes to stay current, but unexpected inflation or shortages can still affect actual costs.

Experience and Tools: Seasoned estimators using advanced estimating software are more likely to deliver accurate results, as they can account for nuances and project-specific complexities.

Types of Estimates and Their Accuracy Levels

There are different classes of estimates used at various stages of a project:

Preliminary Estimate (Conceptual Stage): Accuracy range of ±20% to 30%

Budget Estimate (Schematic Design Stage): Accuracy range of ±15% to 20%

Detailed Estimate (Final Design Stage): Accuracy range of ±5% to 10%

The closer a project is to construction-ready, the more accurate the estimate becomes. A construction cost estimating service will always indicate the level of confidence and contingencies included in their projections.

Role of Contingencies

Accurate estimates often include a contingency—a percentage added to the base estimate to account for unknown risks or changes. A good estimator uses historical data and risk analysis to set the appropriate contingency level, improving the practical accuracy of the final number.

Ongoing Adjustments for Accuracy

Professional estimating services also offer estimate updates as the design evolves. These revisions improve precision and help clients maintain control over costs as more information becomes available.

Conclusion

While no estimate can predict every variable, a construction cost estimating service provides a highly accurate foundation for budgeting and decision-making. With detailed data, risk management, and experience, estimators offer realistic financial projections that clients can trust to guide their projects from concept to completion.

[melshifting]

. 𓂃 ⋆˚࿔ (un)common talents 4 your dr (p. 2) ‧₊˚ ┊

꒰ HUMAN CLOCK ── You always know the exact time to the minute, even after naps, jet lag, all-nighters, or travelling abroad. No watches or clocks, just inner precision and pure knowledge.

꒰ COPY AND PASTE ── You can match the pitch of any sound you hear (natural or artificial) — from engine noises to bird calls to microwave beeps — with eerie accuracy.

꒰ ULTIMATE READER ── Not only do you have an extraordinary reading speed, but you can calculate with just a quick glance how many words a text has and how long it will take you to read/write it.

꒰ AMATEUR TESTER ── You can break down the exact ingredients, spice levels, cook times, or even the brand of salt used in any and everything you eat or drink—even if it's a foreign cuisine; you'll know all the details thanks to the performance of your taste buds.

꒰ IRL TETRIS ── You can estimate with 100% accuracy the space that any object will take, regardless of its dimensions or where it is located (and nothing ever wrinkles or breaks).

꒰ BLOODHOUND  ── You can identify people, places, or events based on smell alone, picking up even subtle or lingering notes others miss. It’s like scent-based memory mapping.

꒰ PEN & KEYBOARD  ── You only need to glance at a printed or digital word once to instantly know what font it is — not just the name, but also the size, kerning, and tracking. You can recreate it perfectly by hand or digitally without needing references.

꒰ ATM  ── Give you any object — from vintage collectibles to modern tech, groceries, furniture, or streetwear — and you can give an uncannily accurate price estimate within seconds, regardless of currency.

꒰ LUCKIEST PERSON  ── You aren’t psychic, just brilliant with micro-patterns and odds. Your brain runs constant probability calculations at lightning speed: how the dice might land, what the dealer’s next card will likely be — guaranteed to work every time.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

interesting soundbites you might've missed from the op81 & howie games podcast in melb

(did this while procrastinating at work... we are so back i guess.)

disclaimers: (i) i'm paraphrasing here so can't vouch for 100% accuracy, but as much as possible have tried to capture the meaning (ii) the word association game and the carcar soundbite have already made the rounds, but, i feel like, there was a lot more in this interview.

let's go!

on the topic of personal chefs and nutrition etc: host mark howard asks if the menu changes or there's anything special that oscar requests that reminds him of home -- apparently race week thursdays for a while were "chicken parm thursdays" and they might bring this back

oscar's lunch on press day was barramundi and "the big grained couscous with no spices" (oscar... the 1/16th is crying out for help)

one of the reasons he renewed with mclaren is because he felt the infrastructure and people needed to get to the championship in the new set of regs was there, so he was confident

on the reported $22mn bonus last year: oscar denies that it was this high (lol ok sir)

on longevity of career and responsibility: oscar talks about the estimated career in f1 usually being up to 35, maybe into your 40s but "it isn't like a typical career where you've got until your 60s" so financial investing and doing something with your salary to prolong the usability of it is important (wow 20something multimillionaire thinks of his pension. mature)

on the early RC cars: "i drove one around the school [cricket] oval a few times and that got me in trouble" pLeaSe !!!

recounting his first race at oakleigh (he was about... 9? 10?): "i went to a friend's birthday at the bmx track and did the last jump of the day before we went for the race. and i skidded down the down ramp on my face, so i actually missed it" HE REALLY WAS JUST SOME KID

so his real first race was a state race (with a P/provisional drivers' plate) HAHAHAH. he fought his way about half way up the pack in this one

"my first win... i won a club race at oakleigh and it felt like a world championship at the time. and then i quickly realised no one cared" <- once again devastated by his deadpan humour

on aus footie: "i was good in the under 9s cus i was pretty big as a kid up till that point and then everyone else grew and i didn't, then quickly realised i wouldn't become a footballer no matter how much i wanted it. i was playing footie a lot before i started racing and [the demands of racing then] really took up a whole season"

he also fielded in cricket at state level (?) a couple of times here and there. [i don't understand cricket terminology fully so i might be wrong here]

he was starstruck when meeting jackie stewart and alain prost because it was "pretty special, pretty cool. to meet legends of the sport like that."

he downplays the question about whether it was hard to move to boarding school, because he wanted to become a professional racing driver so badly and was always really motivated by this.

but does say formula renault was hard because of everything he felt he had to balance that year, and when things were not going well it feels very pressurised especially when you have only a year to prove yourself

on sponsorship and racing: "i'm fortunate to have a family that are pretty well off and it didn't become apparent until i entered f2 [that it was a big financial strain]. it costs about three million AUD a year [to fund a year in that series]"

credits both his parents for the sacrifices they made to support his racing career and shouts out his mum for making sure his sisters had the same opportunities to pursue their dreams as well

about the alpine purgatory years: "that was a tough thing because not everyone knows the full story and we weren't able to tell it. it was not an easy thing to go through but once i cemented my future and signed with mclaren, it was a relief to know i was going to be on the grid for at least a little bit"

to put the current margins on the cars into perspective: "the amount of difference between me and the car in front is the time it takes to blink".

and on car development being so advanced now: "there being something like a second between first car and last on the grid in qualifying is pretty unprecedented"

does he watch drive to survive seasons? "to be honest not really. i just skim through and see my parts to see if they've painted me as a supervillain. [this year's] is pretty balanced i would say. the mclaren episode is a pretty fair reflection of two competitive guys wanting to win races and it being a difficult situation for the team. it's entertaining but that one is for the most part pretty accurate. i found it quite entertaining."

during the drivers' word association part: "i don't have much for Stroll" FLKJKFJSDKLJSDK he really went *mariah carey voice* i don't know her

race weeks are scheduled down the minute, and on off weeks it's usually training every day at least once or twice a day; they get maybe 2-3 days at home. last year he reckons he spent 100 days at home in monaco last year, and was on at least 48-60 flights for work depending if you count the ones going to and from the MTC

howie told him to share his airline points (ha) and oscar said "qantas is the one airline i don't have platinum status at the moment [though] i used to when i lived in aus"

oscar does not own a boat in monaco (YET)

finds life in monaco a little bit of an adjustment due to the smaller spaces, but he's been in apartments even since boarding school so it's not a big deal to him. "i'm going to sound like a complete wanker if i complain about living in monaco"

on communication style on the radio, it's kind of about personal preference and he doesn't cast judgment on that – "some people need to be fired up, some people need to be calm and for me it's staying calm. in baku you can see from the onboard and my helmet i got pretty excited but i don't always open the radio for that"

howie closes with any advice for kids. oscar says: "enjoy it. for me, even – we've spoken about how difficult it is being in f1 and how cutthroat – [it's] always taking a conscious moment to reflect that you're doing a thing you love. doing it because you love it is the first thing. that's an important one for me even though there's so much more pressure now than when i started my first race at oakleigh. the second part is always be trying to learn, and improving. it's often easy when you have success early on, you think you're at that [certain] level now. but on my journey i've learned what's good 12 months ago isn't going to be good enough in 12 months time. that's in the car too. if we raced last year's car this year we'd probably be last. continuing to learn and improve is a part i enjoy as well."

[microwavesaferat]

Arkham Break Out In

Jim Gordon, on a recent visit to Arkham, overheard from the guards that a certain caped vigilante kept breaking through their security to make personal visits. I mean, Arkham security is shit as is, he didn't need one of the Bats fucking breaking their system every other week! I mean, what were they thinking?

Now Gordon is faced with a dilemma, which Bat did it?

He makes an awkward housecall to the Manor, and has to relay the news to an in-cowl Bruce that one of his kids has been causing even more trouble for the Arkham guards. Bruce says nothing other than a small "mm". Gordon removes his glasses to clean them and, in that time, Bruce is gone. Well, not his problem anymore... He needs a vacation.

Bruce sends an alert out to all his kids with a memo to not, under any circumstances, break into Arkham! There's one issue though, more than one Bat was responsible.

Every Sunday, Dick brings the leftovers from Sunday Lunch to Waylon. The circus used to do a big lunch on Sundays, which became the allotted rest time with no training or shows. As such, Dick likes to keep the tradition alive when he can.

You're not allowed to bring food into Arkham, so Dick has to shimmy both himself and the food through the sewers to get to Waylon's cage cell. It's worth it though, just for the reminder that Waylon is more than his moniker, he's the oldest family Dick has.

Dick has convinced Alfred that the leftovers go to Goliath (bones and all).

Jason, as a criminal himself, finds it very easy to get into Arkham. The hard part is getting back out. Every few weeks, he lets himself get caught, purely to beat the crap out of Black Mask, laugh in his face, then break back out.

Initially, he broke in to kill the Joker, but he panicked before he could get to the whole floor used to house him. As such, Jason refuses to go below level -2 in order to stay out of range of that goddamm laughter.

Listen, if Tim wanted a villain to match him in wits, he could go to Ra's, issue is he doesn't want some creepy old man drooling all over him. So instead Tim plays board games with the self-proclaimed 'Riddle Master'.

It started with Nygma managed to get hold of a phone and sent Tim a request on Chess.com. The device was soon confiscated, but now, every Thursday evening, Tim loops the camera footage while he and Ed play various boardgames, ranging from Chess, to Monopoly, to Hungry Hippos (there are not a lot of boardgames in Arkham).

Steph typically sneaks in around the same time as Tim, the cameras are already looping after all (Tim has no idea she's there). Once in, she tracks down one or more than the Gotham City Sirens for a catch up. She keeps 3 thermoses on her for whatever siren she can find. Peppermint tea for Harley, coffee for Selina, and Vodka for Pamela.

The best days are when all three are in, then they all migrate to whatever plant-filled lair Pamela has cultivated, chilling and gossiping until Tim finishes up with Nygma.

If Cluemaster keeps finding scratches, spray paint, and foliage on his shit, well, the Sirens have no idea what you're talking about.

Cass does not have much desire to talk to any of the various costumed rogues. She does however, wish to analyse some of them. It's hard to get time to properly observe anyone when, as soon as they see her, they take off in fear. Thus, the arrangement was made.

Every Tuesday morning, Cass slips through the ventilation system before appearing in the cell of one Jonathan Crane. The two will sit on the ground, legs in a basket, and stare at each other, taking occasional notes. At the end of the hour, they will trade notes and tick/cross points depending on accuracy.

Jonathan likes the opportunity to analyse a subject without their constant jabbering (cough *Edward* cough). He's also the only person who cannot fear Black Bat.

A note from Crane may be:

Tired. Long patrol. Estimated sleep 3 hrs 30 mins.

(✔️ 3 hrs 15 mins)

And a note from Cass:

Tendon twitch, wear leg brace tomorrow.

Damian doesn't visit Arkham. He instead pet-sits for Harley sometimes. Lou and Bud are surprisingly well trained and oddly affectionate when not attacking someone. So Damian checks in on them while their mother is locked up. This has resulted in a weird situation where, after Joker tried to sick the hyenas on Robin, they instead bounded over and flopped over for belly scratched.

The only time(s) Damian has broken into the Asylum was to deliver pictures of what the two hyenas got up to in his care to Harley. These pictures have included:

Bud standing on top of Lou so that he can pull food from the higher up cabinets. (Not captured was Alfred's confusion at how paw prints were on the cabinet doors).

Lou, having tried to drink out the toilet, with the seat stuck round his head after being ripped from the porcelain.

Both hyenas fast asleep cuddled up to Batcow (the only meat they do not eat). (Also not captured was how Damian joined them straight after).

Duke patrols during the day, so no need to break in. He simply takes the time to visit every Monday morning. There's a serious case of the Mondays among the rogues as a walking lightbulb wakes everyone up on his patrol of the halls.

You ever been sleeping, however uncomfortably, when the full concentrated force of the fucking Sun suddenly appears, with a weirdly wide grin, loudly exclaiming about how wonderful a day it is outside and what not? It would make you commit crimes as well.

The villain who gets it the worst is Penguin since, by the time he gets to his cell, Duke is singing Good Morning from Singing in the Rain. It's juuuuust off-key enough to piss Oswald off even more.

After Bruce sends the alert out, all of the Birds decide to stop their break-ins for a while, at least until the heat has died down. This has unexpected consequences. By the time the weekend rolls around, Jim Gordon shows up, even more exasperated than before. He reports a change in Arkham:

Waylon has been picking fights with staff, and has been unable to subdue. He keeps ranting about birds and circuses and Sundays roasts? Then there's Sionis, who is convinced that there's something hiding in the shadows, waiting for him to drop his guard. He's even more hysterical than Jervis now, which is quite the achievement.

Then there are the Riddler and Scarecrow, who have both claimed to have been 'bored'. That doesn't seem like a good enough excuse for tearing the wires out the fucking walls in order to build a fucking robot, or for gassing almost every warden who walks past him.

Ivy, Harley and Selina have been weirdly quiet, which was very disconcerting. Well, it was until all three escaped at the same time. Harley immediately reuniting with Lou and Bud, who had been terrorising a local park for the last few days.

Throughout the weird shift in tempers in the Asylum, the weirdest one seems to be Oswald, who seems better rested than ever?

To reiterate, Gordon needs a vacation.

[nostalgebraist]

So, about this new "AI 2027" report...

I have not read the whole thing in detail, but my immediate reaction is kind of like what I said about "Bio Anchors" a while back.

Like Bio Anchors – and like a lot of OpenPhil reports for that matter – the AI 2027 report is mainly a very complex estimation exercise.

It takes a certain way of modeling things as a given, and then does a huge amount of legwork to fill in the many numeric constants in an elaborate model of that kind, with questions like "is this actually a reasonable model?" and "what are the load-bearing assumptions here?" covered as a sort of afterthought.

For instance, the report predicts a type of automated R&D feedback loop often referred to a "software intelligence explosion" or a "software-only singularity." There has been a lot of debate over the plausibility of this idea – see Eth and Davidson here for the "plausible" case, and Erdil and Barnett here for the "implausible" case, which in turn got a response from Davidson here. That's just a sampling of very recent entries in this debate, there's plenty more where that came from.

Notably, I don't think "AI 2027" is attempting to participate in this debate. It contains a brief "Addressing Common Objections" section at the end of the relevant appendix, but it's very clear (among other things, simply from the relative quantity of text spent on one thing versus another) that the "AI 2027" authors are not really trying to change the minds of "software intelligence explosion" skeptics. That's not the point of their work – the point is making all these detailed estimates about what such a thing would involve, if indeed it happens.

And the same holds for the rest of their (many) modeling assumptions. They're not trying to convince you about the model, they're just estimating its parameters.

But, as with Bio Anchors, the load-bearing modeling assumptions get you most of the way to the conclusion. So, despite the name, "AI 2027" isn't really trying to convince you that super-powerful AI is coming within the decade.

If you don't already expect that, you're not going to get much value out of these fiddly estimation details, because (under your view) there are still-unresolved questions – like "is a software intelligence explosion plausible?" – whose answers have dramatically more leverage over your expectations than facts like "one of the parameters in one of the sub-sub-compartments of their model is lognormally distributed with 80% CI 0.3 to 7.5."

---

Maybe this is obvious, I dunno? I've just seen some reactions where people express confusion because the whole picture seems unconvincing and under-motivated to them, and I guess I'm trying to explain what I think is going on.

And I'm also worried – as always with this stuff – that there are some people who will look at all those pages and pages of fancy numbers, and think "wow! this sounds crazy but I can't argue with Serious Expert Research™," and end up getting convinced even though the document isn't really trying to convince them in the first place.

---

Now, if you do buy all the assumptions of the model, then yes, I guess this seems like a valuable exercise. If you are literally Daniel Kokotajlo, and hence believe in all the kind of stuff that Daniel Kokotajlo believes, then it makes sense to do all this legwork to "draw in the fine details" of that high-level view. And yeah, if you think the End Times are probably coming in a few years (but you might be able to do something about that at the margins), then you probably do want to get very precise about exactly how much time you have left, and when it will become too late for this or that avenue for change.

(Note that while I don't agree with him about this stuff, I do respect Kokotajlo a lot! I mean, you gotta hand it to him... not only did he predict what we now call the "Gen AI boom" with eerie accuracy way back in 2021, he was also a whistleblower who refused to sign OpenAI's absurd you-can't-talk-about-the-fact-that-you-can't-talk-about-it non-disparagement agreement, thereby bringing it into public view at last.)

But, in short, this report doesn't really touch on the reasons I disagree with short timelines. It doesn't really engage with my main objections, nor is it trying to do so. If you don't already expect "AI" in "2027" then "AI 2027" is not going to change your view.

[sonic-the-hedgehog-2006]

GUN's decryption unit has presence in Soleanna, with the head of the unit, Frances, seeking to enlist local analysts in the military. After stating the "thinking work" is probably not Shadow's cup of tea given his apparent disposition for action-heavy missions, Shadow desires to "prove her wrong" by applying for the division.

After successfully completing the logic puzzles that follow, Frances begs for Shadow to join her team as with the tests results she estimates his IQ to be "about 200."

In another town mission, a mathematician named Alfano claims to have "a higher IQ than the famous Einstein" and regards Shadow as someone who's "always using muscle, and not enough brain." When Shadow completes his set of mathematics puzzles, Alfano becomes surprised and admits Shadow's brain is shockingly impressive. This makes sense, as scholarly sources tend to estimate Einstein's IQ as ranging between 140-160 (though he never took an official test, despite having been alive during their standardization). This humorously creates a range in which Shadow's IQ could be even higher than Alfano's, assuming Alfano's IQ is not many deviations higher than the high-average for Einstein.

Despite a proven accuracy on an individual level with low variance even in decade long control groups, IQ is often questioned as a quantifiable measure of "general intelligence." It is a score meant to measure relative understanding of academia and not definitive understanding, and does not measure broader forms of intelligence such as sociability and adaptiveness to a shifting median—things Shadow has been shown to struggle with, an example being his often portrayed lack of proficiency with modern computers (as in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog and, to a lesser extent, Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)). That said, estimated proficiency in academia is regularly proven accurate based on IQ scoring above the median curve.

Shadow's IQ is over 6.5 deviations above the mean—a category often unnamed due to its rarity (though categorization is, again, often broad and inaccurate), and being within the 0.03 percentile (meaning Shadow's IQ range would be shared only by an estimated 2.4 million people on Earth). Worth noting is that—despite what could be assumed—medical studies show past instances of isolated memory loss don't affect a person's intelligence, general knowledge, awareness or attention span, but on occasion PTSD has been shown to cause decline in those categories listed (with no evidence of variability by the severity of trauma experienced).

The number for graduates specifically is difficult to find from scholarly sources, but students pursuing a PhD have an average IQ of 125. That said, and again, Shadow would still likely lack the general skills required to acquire such a degree in modern society.

[ficretus]

Blake ships problematic things

*teams RWBY and JNRO in Vacuo cafeteria*

Jaune: So what are you up to these days?

*scroll rings*

Weiss: I have to excuse myself, SDC related business. *walks away from table*

Yang: Well I am mostly killing Grimm VB. Although I did pick up some sweet lasso skills.

Ren: That's bit odd.

Yang: I got inspired by that girl from that crossover I'm not allowed to talk about anymore due to copyright reasons. I asked Ilia for a help since she is a whip user. I guess you can say she... showed me the ropes.

*audible groaning*

Yang: As for the others. Weiss is trying to keep the company afloat, Roobs is probably doing weapon maintenance.

Ruby: My baby is not gonna clean itself.

Yang: Nora and Ren are helping refugees settle.

Nora: I also picked up an electric guitar... not as exciting as I thought.

Yang: Oscar is trying to stay alive and Blakey is back to writing.

Ren: Blake is a writer?

Blake: Not professional one, I mostly write fanfics.

Ren: What kind of fanfics do you write?

Blake: Mostly romantic ones. I usually delve in more sensual aspects of love.

Ruby: She is writing filth.

Yang: Don't be like that, lot of them are sweet. I almost cried when I read her fanfic about us.

Ren: You write fanfics about people around you?

Blake: Yeah, I wrote at least dozen fics about all of you.

Nora: *stands up* Who do you ship me with?

Ren: Nora, you can't just jump Blake like that...

Blake: Ren.

Nora: *giggles*

Ren: *groans*

Ruby: Blake, I hope you are not making me cheat on my beloved Crescent Rose.

Blake: I ship you with Oscar.

Ruby: That's... acceptable.

Oscar: YES! I mean... very interesting.

Yang: Let me guess, Weiss Cream with Vomit Boy.

Blake: No, that one makes no sense.

Jaune: Fair enough, I was obnoxious to Weiss back in Beacon.

Blake: Oh, that's not an issue. I usually ship things like that, but both of you have better partners.

Jaune: Wait, then who do you ship me with? Emerald? That girl from crossover we are legally not allowed to talk about? Cinder?!

Blake: Oh, that last one might work. Need to write few fics about it.

Yang: No offense VB, but I personally don't care who you are shipped with. But what about Weiss?

Blake: Weiss with Whitley.

Everyone: Wait, what?

Blake: There is nothing more beautiful than relationship between siblings. It's both pure and dirty at the same time.

Ruby: I might puke.

Jaune: Wait, you ship me with Saphron?!

Blake: I ship you with all of your sisters.

Jaune: What the hell Blake?! Is that why you kept asking me details about my sisters?! So you can turn it into smut fic?!

Blake: Ugh, it's not a smut fic, it's a beautiful story about people growing closer before crossing the taboo line.

Jaune: *looks at his scroll* Latest story is titled "7 inches, 7 sisters," how the hell is this respectable?!

Blake: It was a conservative estimate.

Yang: VB don't make this about accuracy of your dick size, there are more pressing matters. Do you ship me with Ruby?!

Nora: Wait, is that why you ship me with Ren? You said we were like siblings back in Beacon.

Blake: I don't ship you with Ruby anymore, I wouldn't want you to cheat on me.

Yang: Anymore?!

Ruby: Yup, here it comes. *pukes*

Ren: Look Blake, you can't ship people with their siblings, it's wrong on so many levels.

Oscar: Oz says it was normal back in the day.

Jaune: Not now Oz.

Ren: Imagine if someone wrote about you having an explicit relationship with your parents. How would you feel?

Blake: Ew, that would just be weird. Those two things are not comparable. Sexual relationship between parent and child would be gross violation of trust. Relationship between siblings is pure.

Yang: IT'S THE SAME! But because you are the single child you don't see anything wrong with it.

Weiss: *walks towards the table* What did I miss?

*five traumatic minutes later*

Ruby: *puking*

Weiss: *crying*

Ren: So Blake, what did we learn today?

Blake: Titling the story "Little brother, big problem" is highly offensive?

Ren: Go on.

Blake: Brothers don't jump their sisters whenever they have their back turned to them?

Jaune: Or in any other circumstance.

Blake: Inbreeding is not funny and "we must ensure our babies have Schnee Semblance and blue eyes" is not good reason to do it?

Yang: Or any reason for that matter.

Blake: You are right, this whole... bro x sis thing was mistake on my part. I'll no longer write stories like that. Sorry Weiss, sorry Jaune.

Ren: See, there is nothing constructive conversation can't fix.

Blake: From now on, I am shipping Jaune with Cinder...

Jaune: Sigh, tiny step forward...

Blake: And Weiss with Winter! I can already imagine it, forbidden love and neither can let it go.

Yang: AW COME ON!

Ren: This might take a while...

[rosigold]

The Anatomical Off-Switch: Occipital Bone Vulnerability and the Ethics of Precision - Adam Lanza Pose

What happens when anatomical ignorance replaces precision in life-or-death situations? In areas that rely on the weaknesses of the human body — military, forensic, or medical — the difference between accurate comprehension and rough estimate can be success or catastrophic failure. One of the most critical subjects in our discussion is the human skull, and more specifically, the anatomical composition of the occipital bone. Techniques such as the so-called 'Adam's pose', which are founded on incapacitating certain parts of the cranium in a rush, presume a level of anatomical proficiency that is often underestimated. The implications are huge: a misunderstanding of human skull anatomy, particularly the location and vulnerability of the brainstem, can render such techniques useless or even fatal in unforeseen ways. This essay explores why anatomical accuracy, especially regarding the occipital bone and recumbent brainstem below, is not just important but mandatory.

Anatomy of the Skull: The Occipital Bone and Brainstem Vulnerability

The human skull, far from a passive covering for the encephalon, is an elaborately engineered architectural triumph. Its form — a mosaic of varying bone thickness, density, and morphological complexity — testifies to evolutionary precedence for protection being given to neural structures of different criticality. Of its component parts, pride of place — both anatomical and functional — goes to the occipital bone. Situated at the posteroinferior aspect of the skull, this trapezoidal bone not only forms the posterior cranial fossa but also encircles the foramen magnum, the vital opening through which the brainstem continues as the spinal cord. It is here, within this osseous crossroads, that the medulla oblongata — the cylindrical tract of autonomic and somatic neural pathways — finds its residence. The anatomical hardness of the occipital bone and the physiological criticalness of the medulla make this region a focal point for understanding the intersection of neuroanatomy and clinical vulnerability.

The occipital bone consists of four components: the squamous portion, two lateral condylar portions, and the basiocciput. Its squamous portion, while being in its external cortical layer robust, is internally thinned to accommodate the cerebellar hemispheres, while the basiocciput — a thick load-bearing plate — anchors the skull to the vertebral column via the occipital condyles. Critically, the bone density alters to balance cranial integrity and weight distribution; histological sectioning shows a gradient from compact cortical bone peripherally to cancellous trabeculae in the area of the foramen magnum. This architectural compromise nevertheless creates a biomechanical paradox: while the occipital bone is extremely effective at dispersing posteriorly applied forces, its shaping around the brainstem allows that in trauma scenarios it forms a locus minoris resistentiae (a point of least resistance).

To appreciate the dangers of occipital exposure, one must first decipher the function of the medulla as the most caudally situated segment of the brainstem. Often referred to as a biologic metronome, the medulla houses nuclei with cardiorespiratory autoregulatory functions — the dorsal respiratory group, the nucleus ambiguus, and the solitary tract nucleus — that together furnish involuntary respiration, vasomotor tone, and reflex functions such as coughing and swallowing. The pyramids contain corticospinal tracts for voluntary motor function, and the inferior olivary nuclei convey cerebellar communication. Perhaps most importantly, the medulla also integrates sensory information from cranial nerves IX (glossopharyngeal), X (vagus), and XII (hypoglossal), rendering it a foundation of both autonomic viability and somatic integrity.

Vulnerability and the 'Off-Switch' Phenomenon

Encasement of the medulla in the foramen magnum of the occipital bone — an architecture formed for spinal cord continuity, rather than impact protection — subjects it to catastrophic damage in trauma. Clinical case series of occipital impact (e.g., falls, blunt trauma) exhibit the same: Forces transmied via the thin squamous occipital bone or condylar regions result in medullary compression or shear injury, and a sudden cessation of autonomic functions. This syndrome, colloquially known as the 'off-switch' effect, manifests in the guise of acute apnea, bradycardia progressing to asystole, and loss of consciousness — an incompatible triad with ongoing life.

The biomechanics of such susceptibility are based upon fixed position of the medulla. Unlike the cerebral hemispheres, which are supported by cerebrospinal fluid buoyancy and septations of dura, the brainstem is supported by cranial nerve roots and denticulate ligaments that limit the brainstem's capacity to be displaced. Consequently, even minor osseous deformation — say, a basilar skull fracture extending into the clivus — may compress the ventral surface of the medulla, destroying the reticular activating system (RAS). The RAS, which controls wakefulness, is not functionally redundant; its permanent destruction results in coma or brainstem death, with the occipital region's fatal sensitivity.

This anatomical weakness has implications of great scope across specialities from trauma surgery to biomechanical engineering. In acute medicine, the 'occipital priority' guideline places prime importance on rapid stabilisation of neck and head to prevent secondary medullary damage — a practise validated by decreases in mortality in cases of atlanto-occipital dislocation. Neurosurgeons are confronted with moral complexities in managing irreversible brainstem damage, as medullary destruction always is subject to the determination of death under jurisdiction employing neurological criteria.

Furthermore, the vulnerability of the occipital bone has influenced protective technology. Modern helmet designs, for instance, prefer occipital reinforcement with multi-layered composites as a response to histological data that subjected the bone to comminuted fractures. Car headrests also aim to reduce hyperextension forces that can indirectly crush the foramen magnum.

Functional vs. Non-Functional Damage: Why Targeting Maers

The success of cranial interventions — clinical, tactical, or historical — depends on a fundamental anatomical fact: Neurological criticality is not uniformly distributed. The popular fallacy is that structural salience translates to functional necessity. The parietal and temporal bones, for instance, enclose the cerebrum, the locus of higher thought, sensory integration, and voluntary motor function. While injury to these regions may introduce dramatic clinical presentation — subdural haematomas, focal seizures, or aphasia — such injuries typically permit temporary survival due to bilateral organisation and functional redundancy of the cerebrum. A gunshot wound to the temporal lobe, even if potentially fatal secondary to secondary swelling or haemorrhage, may permit brainstem nuclei to be preserved, with intact autonomic function for a few minutes or hours. This creates a perilous scenario in tactical or defence contexts: an adversary with such injuries may still possess sufficient motor coordination to retaliate despite extensive cortical damage.

The target zone of the occipital bone, however, is a functional singularity. A projectile or impact force through this region risks direct injury to the medulla oblongata, which lacks the redundancy of the cerebrum. Neurophysiological shutdown in this location is not a gradual decline but an instantaneous failure of homeostatic control — an effect known as autonomic decoupling. Traditional histories of balefields, such as the correct coup de grâce techniques employed by medieval executioners targeting the occiput, or Roman gladius thrusts in the nape of the helmet, inherently accepted this dichotomy. Modern ballistic studies verify the same: kinetic energy transfer to the brainstem results in immediate loss of posture (through interference with vestibulospinal tracts) and quieting of the reticular activating system, rendering sensory-motor incapacitation absolute.

This dualism has both pragmatic and ethical dimensions. In police work, for example, reliance on parietal or temporal shots to neutralise threats offers non-lethal possibilities, leading to the potential escalation of interactions. Precise targeting of the occipital region — even though biomechanically perfect — is laden with humanitarian implications by virtue of being irreversible. Forensic pathology also makes this dichotomy more apparent: cerebral lacerations dominate homicide reports, whereas brainstem injuries are disproportionately linked to judicial or military interventions where instant lethality is maximised. The functional-non-functional distinction thus transcends anatomy, aligning with legal codes, combat ethics, and even the evolution of less-lethal technology.

Bone Structure and Ballistic Challenges: The Science of Penetration

The skull's heterogeneous structure — an admixture of dense cortical plates and spongy diploë — presents a dynamic challenge to penetrating energy. Terminal ballistics, projectile behaviour on impact, illustrates gross differences in cranial vulnerability. The 2–4 mm thick on average squamous portion of the occipital bone is very different from the 10–12 mm solid, labyrinthine petrous temporal bone. This difference is due to evolutionary demands: the petrous bone guards the cochlea and vestibular apparatus, which requires rock density, while the occipital region compromises between biped balance weight distribution and defence.

In ballistic situations, these fluctuations dictate outcomes. A 9mm parabellum bullet striking the petrous temporal bone at 90° can yaw or fragment due to the oblique slope and density gradient of the bone, truncating the depth of penetration. High-speed imaging studies demonstrate that rounds dissipate up to 60% kinetic energy on petrous fragmentation while preserving the middle cranial fossa integrity. Conversely, the occipital bone's relative thinness and perpendicular alignment to standard trajectories (e.g., rear-entry wounds) permit greater penetration. Military autopsy reports illustrate that 5.56×45mm NATO rounds impacting the occipital squama produce medulla oblongata penetration in 93% of cases versus 22% for temporal impacts — a disparity amplified by the occipital's proximity to the brainstem.

These principles hold outside the realm of ballistics. Occipital craniotomies in neurosurgery require precise burr hole placement to avoid dural sinuses, and temporal approaches require diamond-tipped drills to penetrate the petrous ridge. Even non-penetrating trauma follows this logic: occipital contrecoup injury from frontal impacts tends to crush the brainstem against the margin of the foramen magnum, whereas temporal impacts transfer energy through the zygomatic arch.

The implications for armour are profound. Modern combat helmets, such as the US Army's IHPS, employ occipital extension plates to counteract this deficiency. Vehicle ballistic glass, on the other hand, is angled to deflect rear-projectiles away from the Achilles' heel of the head. Nevertheless, material science is confronted with a paradox: More occipital armour risks compromising cervical mobility, reinforcing the age-old balancing act between protection and functionality.

Real-World Applications: Tactical, Historical, and Ethical Implications

The anatomical susceptibility of the occipital region and its shielding of the brainstem reverberate across fields, necessitating interdisciplinary analysis. In tactical environments, doctrinal overemphasis on the 'T-zone' (nasofrontal junction and orbits) or occipital targeting is commonly transmogrified into rote memorisation, divorcing technique from pathophysiological logic. Modern combat training manuals, such as the Close Quarter Combat Handbook of the British Army, encourage occipital shots in hostage rescue scenarios in order to minimise collateral risk — an approach grounded in the brainstem's 'neurological boleneck' status. Stress degradation of fine motor skills under most conditions makes operatives resort to less anatomically precise methods, such as centre-mass fire at high rate. Simulation work by Defence Science and Technology Laboratory (DSTL) discovers that only 34% of bullets that were shot in simulated states of stress actually struck targeted cranial targets, illustrating the disconnect between kinetic practise and theoretical training.

In the past, brainstem targeting fatality was exploited long before neuroanatomical maps existed. The misericorde, a medieval dagger that was employed to provide mercy strokes through the occiput, utilised the foramen magnum's exposure in combat with armour. Similarly, Edo-era Japanese kaishakunin (executioners) perfected seppuku techniques based on decapitation strikes aimed at severing the medulla, assuring instant death. These methods, though brutal, are an empirical understanding of functional neuroanatomy — a knowledge subsequently codified in 19th-century codes duello, where pistol shot to the back of the head was an honourable kill blow.

Forensically, cortical versus brainstem trauma is of enormous legal importance. A parietal gunshot wound may permit 30–90 seconds of agonal respiration, during which a victim could theoretically manipulate a crime scene or trigger defencive mechanisms. Occipital trauma leaves no such doubt: suppression of RAS activity excludes all volitional activity. This distinction has influenced criminal jurisprudence, specifically in R v. Dawes (2013), where the Court of Appeal overturned a murder conviction after forensic pathologists determined that the occipital wound to the victim could not immediately incapacitate, undermining the prosecution timeline.

Ethically, the brainstem's role as a biological kill-switch raises an accounting with the moral meaning of anatomical information. Bioethicists such as John Harris have equated medullary targeting with 'neurological euthanasia' — a mechanisation of death that bypasses higher consciousness, reducing human agency to a series of interruptible circuits. This model renders it hard to debate assisted dying, where medullary destruction could theoretically offer painless exits but could make anatomical precision normal as a tool of dehumanisation. The 2016 Lancet Commission report on Brain Death provocatively argued that irreversible brainstem damage would suffice for legal pronouncements of death, a stance opposed by disability groups who argue it undermines the sanctity of cortical personhood.

Conclusion

The Necessity of Knowing Where to Aim

To gamble on the weaknesses of the occipital bone without knowledge of its neuroanatomical stakes is to wield a blindfolded knife. The region's lethality is not merely a maer of bone density or ballistic convenience but of its evolutionary role as the final arbiter of autonomic survival. To this end, the injunction to 'know where to aim' functions outside tactical expedience — it is a metonym for the ethical burdens implicit within scientific mastery.

The vulnerability of the brainstem presents a double accounting: with the limits of human endurance and the hubris of those who would militarise its weaknesses. As the neurotechnologies spread — from directed-energy weapons systems capable of deploying non-penetrative disruption of the brainstem to AI-targeting systems — the boundary between precision and predation collapses. The 2021 UN Report on Lethal Autonomous Weapons Systems actively singled out medulla-targeting algorithms as morally troublesome, warning that 'automating the off-switch of consciousness risks divorcing lethality from accountability.'

However, this knowledge also carries redemptive possibilities. In neurosurgery, occipital craniectomies for the decompression of brainstem compression following trauma illustrate how anatomical accuracy can preserve life instead of ending it. Likewise, the development of non-invasive brainstem stimulation provides promise for conditions such as central sleep apnoea — a reflection of the double-edged nature of scientific advancement.

Lastly, the lesson of the occipital bone is a lesson of paradox: that the origin of life's most vital rhythms is both safeguarded and imperilled by a few millimetres of bone. To learn it is to balance on the razor's edge between biological imperative and existential danger — a borderland where knowledge does not merely empower but demands wisdom. As surgeon-philosopher Sherwin Nuland describes it, 'To master the body's machinery is to hold the threads of life and death; pull one, and the tapestry unravels.' Ignorance here is not merely dangerous — it is a failure of the duty to wield such power with reverence.

_

Verified Sources with Hyperlinks:

Occipital Bone Anatomy NCBI Bookshelf: [Anatomy, Head and Neck, Occipital Bone] (www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK541093/)

Skull Base Biomechanics TeachMeAnatomy: [Bones of the Skull] (teachmeanatomy.info/head/osteology/skull/)

Forensic Neuroanatomy LHSC Trauma Centre: [Basal Skull Fractures] (www.lhsc.on.ca/critical-care-trauma-centre/basal-skull-fractures)

Surgical Anatomy ScienceDirect: [Occipital Bone Overview (www.sciencedirect.com/topics/neuroscience/occipital-bone)

[asestimationsconsultants]

How Accurate Is a Residential Estimating Service?

Accuracy is the backbone of any successful construction or renovation project. When homeowners or developers hire a residential estimating service, they often ask one crucial question: “How accurate is it really?” The short answer is that it can be highly accurate—if it's done by experienced professionals using updated data, proven methods, and clear project documentation. But to fully understand the reliability of a residential estimating service, it's essential to explore what influences accuracy and what clients can expect.

Experience and Methodology

The accuracy of an estimate depends largely on the estimator’s experience and the methodology used. Seasoned professionals analyze design documents, blueprints, specifications, and site conditions. They use standard estimating practices, historical cost data, and regional pricing databases. Services that rely on manual processes alone may leave room for human error, but those that incorporate digital takeoff tools and cost databases produce more precise results.

Level of Design Detail

The more detailed the construction documents, the more accurate the estimate. A preliminary estimate based on a concept drawing may have a 20–30% margin of error. In contrast, estimates based on full construction drawings with detailed specs can reach 90–95% accuracy. Estimators often specify the level of accuracy by the project stage—conceptual, schematic, design development, or construction-ready.

Use of Updated Cost Data

One factor that directly affects accuracy is the pricing data used. The best estimating services subscribe to national and regional cost databases or consult real-time supplier and subcontractor quotes. Accurate pricing includes labor, materials, equipment rentals, permits, and contingencies. Estimates that use outdated pricing or generic figures are more likely to lead to cost overruns later.

Accounting for Regional Differences

Costs for residential construction vary greatly based on location due to differences in labor rates, building codes, and material availability. A professional residential estimating service customizes the estimate to the project’s location, ensuring it reflects local conditions rather than national averages.

Contingency and Risk Factors

No estimate is perfect, but a good service includes a contingency percentage to cover unforeseen changes. These may include design modifications, site condition issues, or material shortages. Factoring in these risks doesn’t compromise accuracy—it improves the estimate’s realism.

Client Input and Revisions

Accurate estimates rely on good communication. Clients who provide clear goals, budgets, and decisions upfront allow estimators to craft more tailored and precise results. Also, reputable estimating services allow for revisions, especially if the project scope evolves.

Conclusion

A residential estimating service can deliver highly accurate results—especially when the estimator is experienced, the documentation is detailed, and the pricing is current. While no estimate is flawless, the best services offer transparency, account for variables, and include contingencies to avoid surprises. For homeowners and builders seeking clarity and control over construction budgets, a professional estimate is an essential foundation.

[charminglygrouped]

How to write a game of chess

Except at the absolute novice level, a victory does not come from somebody missing what is on the board, or not seeing what their opponent intends to do. A checkmate should not be a surprise. Nobody but an absolute novice could possibly miss a mate in one. Nobody should be surprised to be checkmated unless they have never or rarely played chess before, or they are extremely distracted.

The game of chess changes over time. If you're writing for a non-modern era and accuracy is important to you, consider using a database such as chessgames.com, inputting a year, and looking through some games until you find one you'd like your characters to play.

You can also look at a chess manual from the time period your story is set in to find some appropriate vocabulary to use. Here are some instructional books from 1614 (London); 1799 (London); 1849 (New York); 1896 (London); 1919 (Boston); 1948 (London); and 1980 (London).

How detailed your description of the game is is up to you. You don't want to bore a reader unacquainted with chess; nor do you want to include inaccurate detail and distract a reader who is acquainted with chess (see again point no. 1).

If you're not confident in analysing a chess game yourself, many games have analyses online. If I go to chessgames.com and enter a random year (say 1855), and pick some of the names I see (say, Mayet and Anderssen), and then google "Mayet versus Anderssen 1855," I can find youtube videos and essays of people analysing games by these players in this year. (Not every game will necessarily have analyses like this: you might have to look around for a more famous one.)

An analysis of a game is the analyser's best idea of what each player was thinking at any given time. Player A moves a pawn up in order to take space in the center. Player B plays a check in order to force player A to defend their king, so that player A does not have time to take player B's queen, etc. Of course I'm not suggesting you use anybody's analysis of a game word for word: but this will give you an idea of what kinds of things you can describe happening in a game of chess.

You probably already have an idea of what you want the chess game in your story to say about the characters' relationship with each other. How do they each approach the game? Do they view it as symbolically important, or just as recreation? Does each of them have a different idea of what the game symbolises? Are they friendly, or competitive? Do they under- or over-estimate the others' skill? Does one person allow the other to win?

Also think about what each character's game says about them as an individual. Do they play slowly and methodically, consolidating and improving their position before launching a co-ordinated attack? Are they impulsive, attacking aggressively but leaving their center open? Do they play defensively, not allowing their opponent to get through? Do they play unpredictably, making moves that leave their opponent questioning their plans?

Are there other characters in the scene, or watching the game? What do they expect the game's outcome to be? How do they interpret the characters' play?

[rocknrollbabe14]

Rock-a-Bye Professor

Part One

First Professor story "Hot for Teacher" here :

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Warnings: Direct mentions of sex, birth control, missed period, nausea, vomiting, pregnancy and abortion. Professor/Student trope at college level. Both consenting adults. Don't like it, don't read. Thank you!

**I have this one almost completed and have had it in my drafts for over a year now. Since I wrote the first one. Lmao. This continues their relationship. First part is shorter but I left it on a cliff hanger.**

Special thanks to @usererics for my header. I love it and you! ❤️

“You sure you don’t want to go to the party?”, Tori called out from the living room.

“No thanks, Tori. Not feeling the greatest.”, you sighed, laying in bed feeling like death.

You had felt nauseated for several days, chalking it up to a stomach virus. You’d gotten sick in the mornings before class—even missing a few classes. You had to get your shit together if you wanted to graduate in the spring. You were too close to fuck things up now. 

“Call me if you need me?”, Tori asked.

“Sure, but I think it will be the other way around.”, you smirked, pulling your covers up. 

Tori told you she’d be two blocks over before closing the door, finally leaving you alone. You got out of bed, pulling the box out of your purse as you heard your phone ding.

-Coming over tonight? Miss you.

It was your Professor—boyfriend. You were still getting used to calling him your boyfriend. Now, things had grown more complicated. You had missed your period. You knew this usually meant one thing—but you had been super stressed lately. 

-Maybe. Still feeling really bad. ☹️

It took everything in you to raise yourself up from your bed and go to the bathroom, your hands beginning to shake. It made you nervous to even toss the idea around in your head that you could be pregnant. You heard your phone ding and you were certain it was Joe, but you had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Shutting the bathroom door, you read over the instructions on the back before practically ripping the box open. It had two tests to help ensure and confirm accuracy. 

Obviously, two pink lines meant ‘pregnant’ and one pink line meant ‘not pregnant’. You needed and prayed for one pink line before sitting down on the toilet to do your business. Ripping open the wrapper, you took the cap of the pregnancy test. You looked up at the ceiling as you followed the instructions before pulling the test from between your legs and recapping it, laying it flat. You got up and flushed the toilet before going to get your phone—anything to distract you for a few minutes while you waited on the results that would change your life. 

-So sorry, love. I could take care of you. Warm bath, massage, soup? What do you think? 

You felt your insides twist into a knot as you read his text. The idea was tempting. It sounded amazing and the thought alone was turning you on. 

-You mean it?

Another ding.

-Of course, love. Want me to pick you up?

You bit your lip, really wanting to take him up on his offer. After you estimated two minutes, you went to check on the results of your pregnancy test. You swallowed hard as you closed your eyes, picking up the test. Opening your eyes, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach. An audible gasp escaped your lips. Two dark pink lines. You were pregnant—whether you wanted to be or not. Feeling like you were in complete disbelief, you felt the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. 

Your life was over—or at least you felt that way. You always wanted a baby after you were married. You were nowhere close to being married. You had a relationship with your professor—one you had to hide. Now, you were also pregnant by him.

-Yes or no, love? Won’t be mad either way. Just miss you so much.

You sighed. 

-Yeah, sounds okay. 

Part of you didn’t feel like going over to visit him, but you knew you had been a little distant with being sick and all. 

-Great. Did Tori go to her party?

You clutched the pregnancy test, coming out of the bathroom. You slid both tests into your bedside table. Couldn’t risk Tori finding them or taking them in your purse.

-Yes. You can park on the curb. I’ll be out. Just text me when you get here. 

-Sounds great, love. Can’t wait to take care of you. 😉

Another deep sigh escaped your lips, laying your phone down on your bed. You knew you needed to make a doctor’s appointment soon. That was the first step. Throwing a few things in your bag, you began to ponder how you could have gotten pregnant. You took your pill every day—shit. You grabbed your pack of pills, eyeing them. You went down each row until you gasped. You had missed two. How in the hell had you missed two pills? You groaned, immediately beginning to curse yourself.

Not only was it your own fault you had gotten pregnant, but now you had to explain it to your professor—boyfriend that you missed two of your pills and got pregnant. The thoughts alone made your head spin and made you dread having the conversation with him—if you decided to. While your world had stopped spinning, your phone dinged and you just knew it was him letting you know he was here. 

You grabbed your overnight bag, locking up the dorm. Your heart began to beat faster as you took two of the steps at a time. You saw his Mercedes, looking around and making sure no one else was watching you. You jogged over to his car, hearing him unlock the passenger door. Looking through the car window, you could see the big, stupid smile spread across his lips. You couldn’t help but give him a small smile back as you got inside the car. 

“Hey, love.”

“Hey.”, you smiled softly. 

“Maybe it’s the lighting, but you look pale.”

You laughed easily. “Thanks, babe.”

He smirked as he shifted into drive and pulled out. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you feel better.”

His free hand found your knee. 

“And just how are you gonna do that?”, you countered.

He smirked, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Mhm, well I can start by running you a warm bath. Let you relax while I make you some dinner. Have you been able to keep anything down?”

“Not hardly. Just some water.”

“You’ve got to eat something.”

“We can try some soup and saltines, I guess.”

He rubbed your leg reassuringly as you leaned your head against the door. You felt like shit if you were being honest, but you knew he wanted your company. The weekends were some of the only chances that you all got to be with one another. Your head was pounding from vomiting constantly over the past several days. He rubbed your leg in silence as you both continued the drive to his house. It was dark, the street lights illuminating you both every few blocks. 

It felt like forever before you finally reached his house. Your stomach already felt queasy again, but now you knew why. It was like he could read you. He could tell exactly what was on your mind. 

“Are you doing okay, baby?”

You shook your head. “Feeling sick again.”

“Let’s get you inside, yeah? Let you lay down for a bit while I run your bath?”

You nodded as he came over to the passenger’s side of the vehicle and grabbed your bag, throwing it on his shoulder. He helped you out, keeping a hand on your waist to ensure you didn’t fall over. You knew you were weak considering you hadn’t been able to keep anything down. You were probably dehydrated. He held onto you as he stuck his key in the door, it popping open to reveal his lowly lit home. You remembered the first time you saw his house—you were very drunk. You thought you were imagining things. 

He assisted you over to the couch, helping you sit down easily. The room felt like it was spinning as you laid back and closed your eyes. 

“Want some over-the-counter nausea medicine?”, he asked as he pulled a blanket over you.

Your mind immediately wandered to your unborn baby. Would it be safe to take something like that? You were still undecided on what to do but were still being very cautious. 

“Um…..no, it’s okay.”

He raised his brows surprisingly from behind his glasses. “Alright. Do you think you should go to the hospital? You’re probably dehydrated, love.”

Your heart dropped down into your stomach and you knew that was a bad idea. They’d do a pregnancy test on you for sure when you told them when your last period was. He’d find out you were pregnant and you weren’t ready to tell him yet. 

“No—an expensive bill for nothing? Worst case scenario I need some Pedialyte.”, you laughed nervously. 

He chuckled surprisingly. “Okay, love. We won’t decide yet but if you keep getting worse, we’re going. You don’t need all your electrolytes getting out of whack.”

You nodded as he kissed your forehead.

“No fever.”

You smiled softly as he leaned back up, looking down at you with his piercing, deep brown eyes. 

“I’m gonna run your bath, okay?”

You nodded as he kissed your cheek and headed off to the bathroom. Joe was very affectionate with you behind closed doors, the only chance he had was to show you how much he loved and adored you. How would he take the news of you being pregnant? Did he even want a future with you? The thoughts alone made your stomach twist and turn, the nauseous feeling rising in your chest. 

“Joe?”

“Yes, babe?”, he shouted from the bathroom over the sound of running water. 

“Um, I’m feeling sick—again.”, you groaned.

“Coming!”

He rushed out of the bathroom, holding a small bathroom trashcan before bringing it to you. He sat down beside you on his couch, pulling your hair back. You hated throwing up in front of him. It was the worst feeling and you knew it was definitely not romantic. He rubbed your back with his other free hand as you felt yourself beginning to dry heave, signaling your torture was almost over. Not that you had much to get rid of anyway, but some water and Sprite that you had attempted to drink a few hours ago.

Once you were done, you sat the trashcan down and wiped the tears away from the corner of your eyes. 

“Baby, are you sure you feel like taking a bath? We could still go to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine. Just let me bathe and lay down in bed? Maybe cuddle me?”, you asked, puppy dog eyes. 

He sighed easily before a small smile came across his lips. “Okay—fine.”

Giving you a small kiss, he went to check your bath water. He came back and told you it was warm and ready for you. Once again, it took all your strength to get off the couch and head to the bathroom. You pulled your top off, laying it on the sink.

“I can get your bra—if you want.”, he breathed. 

You nodded easily, lifting your hair up. You felt his fingertips brush your soft, bare skin as he made his way to the clasp of your bra, unhooking it gently. You inhaled sharply, missing his touch but you were in no position for sex. You felt your chest fall free. Joe’s breathing hitched and you could tell he liked what he saw. His hands snaked around your chest, taking both breasts in his hands, causing you to choke back a hiss. You had no idea your breasts were that sore and sensitive. 

“Still so sexy even if you’re sick.”, he hummed, placing kisses on your neck.

You swallowed hard, trying not to let on like anything was wrong. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I hope you feel better soon, love. I miss making love to you.”

You smiled softly, attempting to hide your expression of discomfort. 

“I’ll leave you to finish your bath. You’ll call if you need me?”

You nodded easily as he kissed your cheek again, leaving you in the bathroom but leaving a small crack in the door so he could hear you. You slid your sweatpants and panties off, laying them with your other clothes. You wasted no time sinking down into the warm bath, exhaling some relief on your newly aching body. It felt good—you weren’t going to lie. After a few minutes, you decided to quickly wash off and wash your hair. It had been two days since you’d taken a good shower since feeling so crummy. 

Once the water began to grow cold, you got out and grabbed the towels Joe had set out for you. You wrapped one around your body and the other was put in your hair. Draining the water, you began to feel a little queasy again. You wished this baby would give you a break. But once standing back up, you felt a little better. You quickly dried the water out of your hair making it less dripping and damp before looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked rough, he was right. 

Joe had laid out one of his t-shirts for you and grabbed a clean pair of your panties from your bag. His t-shirts were definitely more comfy than your gown. And it smelled like him. 

“Doing okay, love?”, he called out from his bedroom.

“Yes. Coming to bed.”

You hung your towels up quickly before grabbing your clothes and turning off the bathroom light. Opening the door, you noticed him grading papers while lying in bed. He looked up at you easily.

“Feel better, baby?”

“A little.”

He looked over his glasses at you as you circled the bed, climbing in on your side. Well, it wasn’t technically your side but it was always the side you slept on when coming over. You peeled the covers back easily before sliding into bed, pulling them back up on you easily as you stared at the ceiling. He had a single lamp on, the one on his side. It provided him with enough light to work by. 

“Ready for cuddles?”, he asked softly.

You nodded.

He chuckled softly as he laid his papers and red pen down, reaching to grab the lamp to turn it off. You heard his glasses hit the bedside table before he wrapped you up in his strong arms. He exhaled softly, a sign he was relaxed. He planted a kiss on your cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Joe.” 

It was a matter of minutes before he was snoring lightly but all that was on your mind was your unborn baby. What were you going to do? 

Over the next couple of weeks, you avoided Joe. You hadn’t spent the weekend at his house since that night. You had your first doctor’s appointment where they confirmed you indeed were pregnant and estimated you at being six weeks along by the time you got in to see the OB. She did an ultrasound, confirming that everything looked good and the baby was growing healthy for its age, your HCG levels were perfect for the timeframe of your pregnancy and gave you printouts of your baby. All you could do was stare. 

She had noticed you weren’t like most mothers who were crying tears of joy or bringing their husbands or boyfriends with them. She asked if you wanted to know your other options. You answered yes. She gave you a pamphlet explaining alternative solutions—adoption and abortion. She told you the sooner you made a decision, the better off you’d be. All you had to do was say the word and she’d write the referral to the abortion clinic. She asked if you were married to which you answered no. 

All you could think about was Joe and how he’d feel about all this. He’d texted you every day, hoping you’d come back around. He knew something was off with you, but he couldn’t pin it down. He absolutely had no idea you were pregnant with his baby and going through all this emotional turmoil. Your OB told you that you didn’t have to come to a decision that day—to sleep and think about it until your next appointment. It would be at the ten-week mark and she told you that you would be able to hear your baby’s heartbeat if you wanted to. 

That was three weeks ago. Back at your dorm, you pulled your shirt up and looked in the mirror. You were getting a very small bump. It was barely noticeable but you could tell a difference. Your phone dinged. 

-Can we have dinner and talk? I really miss you. I love you and can’t stop thinking about you.

You laid your phone back down on the bed, sighing. You could have your abortion secretly and things could go back to normal. He’d never have to know. But deep down inside, you knew that wasn’t fair to him. Sighing, you decided to finally give in. 

-Yeah, I can come over. 

You blew air, waiting for a response. 

-Want me to pick you up? 

Biting your lip, you responded. 

-No, it’s okay. I’ll catch a cab. See you soon. 

-Ok, be safe. Love you.

You got up and gathered a few things and arranged for a cab to come get you. This was now or never. The day you dreaded but he deserved to know. Climbing in the cab, you gave his address and the ride seemed to take forever. Your stomach felt sick, but you didn’t know if it was the baby or your nerves. It wasn’t long before you came up to his house, seeing the lights on. You paid your fare, thanked the cab driver, and grabbed your bag. He pulled away, leaving you alone as you walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Here goes nothing. 

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.7

Word Count: 4.2k (I gotcha covered besties)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of guns, vomit, violence

Summary: After a long week of back and forth between you and Wednesday you have to go into the woods in search of your hidden textbooks.

Pairings: Wednesday x Reader

Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

When you sat down at the dining hall for breakfast the first thing that happened before you even got to take a bite of your cereal was that what appeared to be a freshly-sharpened dagger was thrown with deadly accuracy straight at your shoulder. 

Of course, you were able to dodge it; you were a werewolf - you basically had spidey senses thanks to your heightened hearing and sense of awareness but you still practically jumped out of your seat as you did so, your eyes landing on the hunk of metal now embedded in the wooden support behind you. When you glanced at the exit to the dining hall for the culprit you saw nobody there. Though you knew exactly who it was.

Your week had been a living hell. Wednesday knew. Of course she had found out. You knew your acting had been shit. And you had been an idiot to think you weren’t going to pay.

You had started out your lovely morning the day before, awaking to a hissing sound in your dorm room. It was subtle, and definitely not something you noticed at first. You had sat up in your tangle of blankets and looked around with groggy eyes, checking your watch and looking out your window to try and estimate the time, trying to figure out what had woken you in the first place. You’d slid out of your bed, and that’s when you heard a sickening rattling sound from right under the bedframe, knowing enough from your time in the woods exactly what it was. 

You had performed what you personally thought to be a ninja skill level dodge, twisting on your heel in that new move Wednesday had shown you during lessons the other day, jumping out of the way and over onto the other side of the creature, grabbing the rattlesnake firmly behind the head while it thrashed about, hissing furiously and snapping at air. You had planned on disposing of it outside in the woods where it belonged but when it almost bit one of your fingers off you simply cracked it in half with a huff. 

Rumor was the teachers were horrified to discover a dead snake in the trash cans.

You knew who it was the second you had seen the snake anyways. It wasn’t like you had left your window open and a rattlesnake so happened to somehow slither up a two story building to slip inside, half a mile away from where most snakes inhabited the woods. 

No, you knew better than to think that.

And sure, you knew that you deserved this but you were never one to pass by some competition. 

You had gone to YouTube on a search for some things, and after a painfully long day of watching multiple tutorials, with the help of a newly vengeful Thing (still mad over being falsely accused), you managed to not only replace Wednesday’s cello strings with guitar strings but you also managed to un-tune it, screwing the knobs not to the point of breaking, just enough to annoy the Addams. Thing had reported detail by detail that night his dramatic recollection of Wednesday’s annoyance and slight confusion when she picked up her bow to play the cello and was met with the realization that not only was her instrument untuned but somehow replaced with the wrong kind of strings.

You knew it was suicidal but you loved it. 

After classes that same day you had headed back to your dorm to finish up a paper for tomorrow but when you sat down at your desk to start working, upon pulling open your drawer for your school supplies, not a single piece of paper or notebook was to be found. And instead, all that you saw were dog toys. The drawer was packed top to bottom with squeaky toys, tennis balls, and rawhide bones. You had been in surprise for a moment and honestly you thought it was a little funny, not really that offended. You’d been able to get rid of most of the toys, (you gave them to a thrifter in Jericho later on), but you did end up keeping one of them for yourself, though you didn’t tell anyone about it.

Your retaliation in response to the dog toy stunt was to put creamer in her coffee when you were sitting beside Wednesday at the study group, waiting giddily for the raven’s return from the shelves of the library. The goth had returned a few minutes later and sat down beside you at the desk, returning to her work. You had to wait a couple minutes before you saw her glance at her coffee to take a sip, and the look of disgust from the now sweet taste of what once was such a bitter coffee was quite enjoyable to you. Maybe you were a bit of a sadist, but you still had to pinch your inner thigh to keep yourself from giggling at the sight of the raven’s glare slowly shifting over to you. The rest of the group, if they’d noticed, would surely be confused but both you and the Addams knew exactly what was going on.

It honestly wasn’t too bad of a week now that you thought about it. Sure, you had to be on alert constantly but that was what your relationship with Wednesday typically consisted of. Just with a slight bit more murderous intent. Which, honestly, you didn’t mind. It felt good to be enjoying yourself, even if what you did consider ‘revenge’ was a little watered down compared to what Wednesday did. The only real time you had been in serious danger was yesterday.

You had been in botany class, doodling on your notes as you half-listened to the teacher, when you’d spotted a granola bar left discarded in the section under your desk, much to your relief. You hadn’t eaten much that day so it was a pretty damn lucky coincidence. You were completely unaware when Wednesday watched you eat the granola bar, eyes trained on your every move.

You’d been awake all night that night throwing up. Although the goth didn’t actually make an appearance that night you knew that Wednesday had tampered with the sealed granola bar you’d eaten, although when Thing arrived in your dorm with a bottle of water for you and some lame excuse that ‘it was his idea’, you had felt a little bit better. You had sent the hand back with a couple spare inks you had laying around as a thank you. That night overall had been somewhat of a trainwreck though. Only Wednesday Addams of all people could somehow tamper with a sealed granola bar. It was still puzzling to you how in the hell she’d managed to do that.

Not many students knew about the ongoing ‘war’, so you called it. It was a loose term and you didn’t take it very seriously. Enid and Thing knew, of course, and they just stepped back and let you two do whatever it was you were doing. As for the others…well…it was also funny to see their reactions. For example, when you were playing the game Mousetrap with Ajax, Bianca, and Divina in the quad the other weekend. It was your turn, and you’d accidentally set off the trap. Much to the others surprise the traps that’d been set up throughout the game were rigged, and when you turned the crank a small blade shot out from one of the plastic pieces, taking out a small chunk of flesh from your finger. It wasn’t deep but it still stung like a bitch and you had to go bandage your hand before you even considered playing the game again. A small compensation, though, was the look of horror and shock on the others’ face when the whole ordeal had occurred. Oddly enough that night you’d found a small tube of some sort of mystery cream on your bed, which, when smeared on your wound instantly took the pain away. You had no clue what was in it or where it’d come from.

So, today, you had to go and find where in the hell the vengeful Addams had put your school stuff. Although you had gotten all of those dog toys out of you way after a quick search of your dorm your textbooks were nowhere to be found, which, admittedly was a problem. Sure, you didn’t like to do schoolwork but it wasn’t like you didn’t need to do it. You were already late on a couple assignments so if you didn’t get your ass in gear you were going to be in trouble. You’d already looked in all the places you’d thought of but had come up dry, and you had no clues or context as to where they could be so you gave up and decided to just go to Wednesday and ask.

You knew that since it was early morning the Addams was awake. You had time before class to talk. Especially since you had just had a dagger practically thrown at your face. Well…your shoulder. Odd, considering you knew that a dagger in the shoulder definitely wouldn’t be a fatal wound. 

After yanking said dagger from the plank of wood it was embedded in, you carefully held it so you wouldn’t accidentally stab yourself as you walked quickly out of the dining hall, cereal left behind and uneaten. The hallways weren’t as crowded as usual due to the early morning so it wasn’t hard for you to manuever through them, headed for where you knew Wednesday was. The Addams always sat every morning in the quad with a cup of bitter coffee, either writing in one of her notebooks or reading. And when you entered the almost gray area when you eyes fell upon the familiar spot, there she was. 

The raven was seated stiffly on one of the benches by the wall, a book in hand and a cup of coffee at her side, still steaming and clearly fresh. She hadn’t been here long. And the second you stepped into the quad you didn’t miss her glance over in your direction. You had to stop yourself from starting to long as you shook your head and approached the goth, your eyes narrowed, huffing with frustration as you halted directly in front of her. Frustratingly enough, she didn’t make eye contact with you, purposefully ignoring you as she slowly and delicately turned a page in her book.

“Tell me where they are.”

“What a warm welcome,” Wednesday quipped with a raise of her eyebrow as her dark eyes never strayed from the pages. “It’s quite early for you to be awake. I expected worse of you.”

“Cut the shit and tell me where my books are, Addams.” You tapped your foot impatiently, silently debating whether or not to push her book away. “I don’t have all day.”

“Oh really?” Wednesday turned another page, perfectly manicured black nails lingering for a painfully long amount of time. “I assumed that you had an interest in playing games, Y/N. And though you might be somewhat adequate at playing your trivial…amusements on others, I, on the contrary, can assure you that you are inferior when it comes to being the subject of my dissatisfaction.” A hint of a smirk passed over her deadpan expression as she tilted her head slightly to finally look up at you. “Besides, I assumed you would appreciate my…tokens of appreciation towards your stunt.”

A small huff of annoyance passed your lips as you frowned slightly at the raven. “Look, we’ve been going back and forth all week and I just need my stuff back. Would it make you feel better if I said that I forfeit?” 

Another page turned slowly, making your fists clench as Wednesday responded, “it was inevitable that you would accept defeat. Your blows were remarkably inferior.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee before her eyes once more met yours. “Seeing of your abilities I assume that you should be able to track out your possessions; I might recommend searching the north-western quadrant of the woods.”

Your eyes widened in frustration and annoyance. “That’ll take me half the day to search, how much ground to you expect me to even cover in the period of time that I have to work with?”

“Your senses are more than satisfactory for uncovering your works. If you use what you have of a brain then you should be fine.” The raven gave a slight roll of her eyes, returning back to her book, muttering. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”

“Yeah, yeah, glad to know you care so much.” You were poking at her now but you weren’t really paying attention when the Addams shot you the deadliest of glares, jaw tightening with frustration before returning to her book. You exited the quad, swerving down the hall. How in the hell were you going to do this alone? You had a lot of area to cover and only so much time before class started. Huffing, you picked up the pace as you powered through the halls. Your ears picked up a familiar scuttling sound from somewhere behind you, followed by a small tugging of your pants leg, making you turn and see none other than Thing.

“What do you want, Thing? I don’t have much time.” You paused your walking so the appendage could tap rapidly without having to move at the same time. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll deliver your lotions tonight, okay? I can’t right now but I promise I will.” An idea sparked in your mind before you started to walk again and you slowly glanced down at Thing. “You want another nail filer, right?” A couple of taps easily affirmed your question as you brightened. “Perfect. Then help me find where the hell Wednesday hid my books in the woods, and you’ve got a deal.” Thing paused for a moment before rapidly tapping again. “You weren’t with her when she hid them…” you slightly deflated before shaking your head and continuing. “Doesn’t matter. Two heads are better than…” you trailed off before trying again, “two hands? Two hands are better? Wait…” you counted your own hands for a moment, feeling extremely dumb for a second. “Three- three hands are better than one.” You were met with a couple smug taps and you bristled. “Shut up and help me look.”

The hand grabbed hold of one of the straps of your backpack to pull himself atop it, and you took that as a sign to continue, weaving through the halls until you hopped off the back steps and onto the lawn. The early morning sun was just starting to tip over the trees that still somehow bore leaves, though the grass was scattered with said foliage, crunching underfoot as you made your way across the lawn, shivering slightly as you silently wished the sun would just hurry the hell up.

The protection of the woods dimmed the light further, despite the lack of protection from the trees, what little light there was quickly darkening as the cover of the forest encapsulated you. It wasn’t as peaceful as usual. The woods had an almost eerie vibe, one that you couldn’t place but one that you could sense. That little patch of fur on the back of your neck? Standing on end, like your spidey senses. You caught yourself looking around on multiple occasions, having to shake off the wariness as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

Wednesday had said it was in the north western part of the woods. Perfect. You were already there. But how would you be able to track down textbooks? What kind of scent trail would that even be? Sure, you’d maybe spilled a tad of soda on a page or two but surely that wasn’t anything strong enough to track down. You let your bag down so that Thing could emerge and the hand was instantly scuttling off into the woods, searching one section so you could continue yours. 

No, you were not going to get on all fours like an animal and sniff. The mere idea sent a shudder of repulsion and disdain down your spine, as you simply crouched down on the balls of your feet, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on what you were honing out. All that you could scent at the moment was pine, fir, durt, and the regular must odor of the forest, overlayed with old scent trails of animals that’d passed by long before. Underneath it was a scent you couldn’t quite place. It was almost a sulfuric scent; it was definitely faint and you had to really focus to even get a good whiff, but it was there. 

You started half walking half jogging around to try and get some sort of scent trail, rolling your eyes as you silently regretted your action of stealing the Addams’ typewriter. How in the world did she even expect you to-

A faint hint of vanilla.

You caught the scent abruptly when you passed a particularly large clump of undergrowth, stopping in your tracks as you slowly backed up to confirm what you’d just detected. Sure enough there was the scent of vanilla - a good strong whiff of it. Easily scentable. You crouched down again, not caring for once about dirtying your pants as you tore aside a couple clumps of pine needles and dirt, revealing a cardboard box, slightly bigger than a shoebox. Upon opening said box your books were revealed, and you let out a sigh of relief. As you pulled the box from the undergrowth you realized that the box had been lightly doused in vanilla extract, explaining the source of the trail.

Tucking your box safely under your arm, you started to pull your backpack back over your shoulder, dusting dirt and forest debris from your uniform when you suddenly heard the sound of multiple birds taking flight. Your head snapping upward you saw briefly through the thick trees a good number of said birds startled into the air, flying away with what to you sounded like a loud flapping of wings and an alarm call.

A faint scuttling broke through your thoughts as out shot Thing from the undergrowth, clearly scuttling as fast as he could as the hand dashed over to you, trying to sign through his scampers toward you. 

“Thing, what’s wrong?” You glanced at the appendage, worry thick in your tone, trying to understand what he was trying to say, but before you could try and make sense of anything a sudden sound broke through the woods, causing you to jump.

A gunshot.

The sound cracking through the still early morning forest air was enough to make your stomach curl as the fur on the back of your neck instantly stood up, your fingers gripping your backpack strap so tight that your knuckles began to whiten as your eyes widened. Thing leapt atop your bag, signing rapidly, but you were in too much of a daze to even process anything he was saying, practically frozen on the spot like a deer in the headlights as you tried to work through the current fog that was your mind at the moment.

You couldn’t hear anymore gunshots, thank god, but now dread hung thick in the forest air, tension strung tightly from branch to branch as if it was something palpable you could touch. A thick stench of sulfur returned to your nose and you recoiled, taking a step backward that broke you from your daze, instantly reminded of the sulfuric scent you’d smelled earlier. You were backing up now, Thing clutching tightly to your bag as you turned and ran.

You knew there was nothing, nobody behind you but you were beginning to hear things, imagining the rapid footsteps and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot other than your own as you strained for every ounce of speed your body possessed. You were in flight mode. 

Lungs aching and mind focused only on getting out of the forest, you burst from the cover of the forest, racing across the lawn as Thing held on for dear life just so that he wouldn’t fall off. You weren’t paying much attention as your feet got tangled up, and you took a tumble to the ground, skidding a couple feet in the grass as you felt the dry autumn terrain tear at your clothes, most definitely skinning a knee in the process. Thing went flying, landing a couple feet away from you as you stilled on the ground, taking in short breaths.

Your breathing was hurting. God, it hurt to breathe but every second you didn’t it felt like your lungs were going to shrivel and die. Struggling, you huffed in short, cut off breaths as you tried to register everything at once and calm yourself down.

Your body stilled when you heard the dreaded crunch of dry leaves underfoot growing closer. Weren’t you just imagining things? You were supposed to be safe here, Nevermore was supposed to be safe.

“Y/N.”

You slowly dragged yourself to a sitting position, trying to force an expression of calm on your face despite the icy panic you were still experiencing as you slowly looked up to see Wednesday, dressed in uniform with her bag over her shoulder standing beside you, eyes examining you as if you were a scientific experiment. Were you? Was that was this whole… treasure hunt in the woods had been? 

“What happened?” The Addams tone was neutral but oh so barely softer. Her glare wasn’t as piercing as usual. She could tell. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, she could somehow tell how panicked you were? Was it the fact that that damn patch of fur you had was still sticking straight up and bristling like a hostile dog? Was it your struggling to take in breaths as you groaned at the new pain in your muscles from the fall you’d taken? It definitely wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been but it still stung.

You struggled to answer as your voice came out much softer than you intended, “I- it- there was-” you had to drag in a couple more breaths as the raven slowly knelt down beside you, cold knuckle coming under your chin to lift your face to meet yours, her eyebrows furrowing as she met your eyes. “I would suggest attempting to control your breathing and refraining from talking until you do so.”

Instead of responding with a witty remark you simply took her advice, trying to do a breathing exercise as you silently counted in your head, closing your eyes to help your focus as your chest began to rise and fall in a less erratic pattern. Slowly, you regained your focus and the panic seeped away, and you were able to speak regularly, though your voice had a slight shake to it. Damnit, you were supposed to be better than this. You didn’t want Wednesday’s pity.

“I found the books but when we were about to leave we heard a gunshot in the woods.” Wednesday’s hand was gone almost as soon as it had come; you hadn’t even noticed. The Addams raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Thing and I. We were together,” you stood up painfully, rubbing your skinned knee as you retrieved your fallen items, gesturing to Thing who was on the ground still, dazed. You silently promised yourself to bring him an extra nail buffer for the appendage as an apology later that night, watching him slowly crawl over to the two of you. Wednesday straightened as her eyes flicked from Thing to the woods, clearly in deep focus as she remained silent for a moment. “Approximate the distance between where the gunshot originated and the academy.”

You thought for a second, math racing through your brain as you tried to make a connection. Damnit, you were sucky as hell at your math. After a moment you responded uncertainly. “I’d say two miles. The sound wasn’t as sharp as it could’ve been.” You were pacing now, mind racing as you recalled the sound itself. “I think it was a shotgun.”

“I see.” Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly and you noticed her jaw tighten slightly as she glanced at Thing again. “And what did you witness?” The appendage began tapping slowly at first, shaking off the daze of his own fall before his signs became more rapid in pace. The Addams sighed slightly as she folded her arms before muttering, “at least you made a wise decision in splitting up to cover ground.” She paused before turning to you, eyes glancing up to meet yours. “If I may offer a suggestion, I’d recommend that we bring this to Weems.”

Your eyes widened slightly and you felt a small flutter in your chest as you spoke, trying not to sound too hopeful. “You mean we’ll work together?” Wednesday gave a roll of her eyes, muttering something under her breath with gritted teeth before finally glaring at you again. “Yes, but only for the fact that half of this school are incompetent adolescents who would perform quite poorly compared to… you.” The Addams reluctantly admitted, her voice becoming strained at the end of her sentence. “Strictly a professional relationship shall be required. Understood?” She offered her perfectly manicured hand to yours, waiting for you to shake with a raise of an eyebrow. 

You didn’t hesitate one moment, grasping her cold, stiff hand in hers and shaking it.

—————

pt.8 here!

[vdoesstuff]

Fic #27

"Land hoy!"

"Luffy, its land ho," Sanji corrected, taking a long drag.

"Yeah, that!" Luffy yelled, jumping down from the crows nest and bouncing off the deck. Sanji rolled his eyes. It was too early in the morning for this. The Sunny approached the island, and Sanji got a good view. Mountains touched the sky, tops frosted with snow.

"Ok. Before we go on the island, there's something you all need to know," Chopper began, walking around the table, passing out water bottles. He had called them for an emergency meeting before they went on the island. "This island has a very high elevation. We spend most of our time at sea level, so going from an elevation of 0 feet to an estimated 9,000 can make you seriously sick." A concerned face from Usopp. "Nothing fatal," Chopper measured him. "But not very fun. The best way to stave off the elevation sickness," he said, holding up his water bottle. "Is to drink lots and lots of water. Everybody has a full water bottle, and there are streams on the island where you can refill. Of course, being from an island with higher elevation myself, I will be much less affected, along with Zoro, Franky, and Nami. Their home islands all had elevations above 6,000 feet, so they should be much less affected." Franky pumped his fist in triumph.

"Take that, elevation sickness!" He did a small victory dance.

"Sanji, you should be very careful though, Chopper warned. " You spent most of your life at a 0 foot elevation. The change will affect you the most, its a very big jump from what your body is used to!" Sanji waved the advice aside.

"I'll be fine, it can't be that bad, right?"

Luffy ran into the island, rocketing himself onto one of the mountains. With one more reminder to drink water, they were off. Luffy bouncing around, exploring with Franky, Chopper, Brook, and Usopp staying on the ship, and Zoro, Sanji, and Robin helping Nami map the island out.

Nami set up her portable drawing board, measuring the angles of the mountains, putting them on paper with unnerving accuracy. The others stayed guard, either looking for food or people. The hours passed. They found no signs of life, but plenty of edible native plants. Just in time, too. Luffy had gone through about half the pantry in the past week.

Sanji started to feel lightheaded. He took a sip of water, remembering what Chopper had said. It made sense, it would be the biggest jump for him. Even before he set out to sea, Germa had a pretty low elevation. He drank more water. He felt dizzy and nauseous.

"Sanji, are you okay? You look rather pale," Robin said, a concerned look on her face.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said. "I think the elevation's just getting to me a little bit."

"I can walk you back to the ship if you'd like?" Robin offered.

"No, it's fine, I'll stay here, I-" Sanji was cut off by Zoro lifting him up over one shoulder. "Mosshead. What the fuck are you doing."

"Taking you back to the ship. No point in you staying here and being miserable," Zoro said, walking down the mountain. He looked over his shoulder at Nami. "I'll be back, just taking this idiot down to the Sunny."

"Take your time," Nami said, not even looking up from her work. Sanji kicked and struggled against Zoro's grasp.

"Idiot mosshead, put me down!"

"No."

Sanji eventually gave up halfway down the mountain. It might actually be best for me to go back down, Sanji thought to himself. In all honesty, he didn't really feel very well. He felt tired and queasy. He hated to admit it, but at one point, he fell asleep in Zoro's arms. When he woke up, the Sunny was in sight. Zoro carried him all the way to the kitchen, and once he was sure wasn't going to make a break for it he set him down in a chair and gave him a slice of bread.

"Marimo, what's this?"

"Carbs help," Zoro explained. "Bread is a carb. Eat up, bitch." Zoro reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of his favorite sake. Sanji took a bite out of the bread. Zoro walked towards Sanji, leaning forward to gently kiss him on the forehead. "Now feel better got it?" Sanji felt his face heating up.

"O-ok," Sanji said. Zoro left the room, taking the bottle of sake with him.

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

I went to Montana and got elevation sickness bc I went from an elevation of nine (9) feet to like 8,700ish, inspiring this fic. Yay!

Fr tho, elevation sickness sucks, please drink water, carbs like crackers and bread also help 👍

Also I just got my black belt in Taekwondo so I'm celebrating by writing a fic lol

MY MOTIVATION IS BACK, BITCHES WHOOOO

[schneiderenjoyer]

do you have more pics to back up your "sotheby is tall" theory?

There's a few, actually! And one of them is from Jessica's teaser trailer with their Nightmare at Greenlake skins where she stands between X and Eagle.

This is funny because Eagle is the same age as Sotheby. So their height difference (take note that Sotheby's costume has her wear lace doll shoes that her usual heels) is really drastic.

There's also this part of Ezra's teaser where we can see a comparison between the two (Ezra is a year older) and she's crouched down far more than she has to just to meet eye level with him even while standing. We can chalk that up to her heels.

Because curiously enough you can see a slight difference between her height with her I2 outfit where she wears only socks. It's an interesting detail and I honestly give props to people in charge of the battle sprites for being so careful. But it's not perfect.

A fun distinction is while the promotional art has Sotheby a full head taller than Eagle, their battle sprites are different to scale. So there's still some inaccuracies in the battle sprites itself, but the sprites can be only so small before it's just not viable for visibility.

My point to prove that is Matilda and Kanjira. Because we have a better height comparison of just how tall Matilda is compared to Kanjira in the mor pankh event.

Kanjira is small. Like, really small (which make sense for her ethnicity at estimated age 16 if you compare her height with Kaalaa Baunaa, who is estimated to be 27) So the likelihood of Sotheby being taller than her is possible when Matilda (who is estimated to be 14 and of European descent) can outnumber her height. And yet...

The battle sprites are so funny to me at times.

There's also this art piece with Baby Blue (estimated to be 17) which is also a good height comparison since Baby Blue's rather tall (ignore the fact she can grow and shrink things including herself for a moment)

Their heights are roughly the same difference in their battle sprites (if you overlook Baby Blue's floating)

So, in conclusion, while the battle sprites aren't the most accurate way to measure height difference between characters, there's far more effort to make it distinct enough to tell who's taller or smaller between others. It's better than whatever UTTU's metric of measurements is, that's for sure.

And the official arts honestly has far better height and proportion accuracy between characters than in-game, so I firmly believe those to be far more reliable than anything the game itself has offered so far. (The biggest case of that is Schneider who looks far more mature and proportionate in official art than her live 2D in-game sprite, but still kept she rather small stature. Especially with the new anniversary art having her side by side with Sonetto and you can literally tell that Sonetto's taller)

And with the way most of those official arts has drawn Sotheby so far, she's often depicted to be tall and lanky! We love our awkwardly tall child.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: John Spencer

Published: Jan 31, 2024

No military fighting an entrenched enemy in dense urban terrain in an area barely twice the size of Washington D.C. can avoid all civilian casualties. Reports of over 25,000 Palestinians killed, be they civilians or Hamas, have made headlines. But Israel has taken more measures to avoid needless civilian harm than virtually any other nation that's fought an urban war.

In fact, as someone who has served two tours in Iraq and studied urban warfare for over a decade, Israel has taken precautionary measures even the United States did not do during its recent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I say this not to put Israel on a pedestal or to diminish the human suffering of Gazans but rather to correct a number of misperceptions when it comes to urban warfare.

First is the use of precision guided munitions (PGMs). This term was introduced to nonmilitary audiences during the Gulf War, when the U.S. fired 250,000 individual bombs and missiles in just 43 days. Only a very small fraction of those would fit the definition of PGMs, even though common perceptions of that war, and its comparatively low civilian casualty rate, was that it was a war of precision.

Let's compare that war, which did not ignite anywhere near the same level of outrage internationally, to Israel's current war in Gaza. The Israeli Defense Force has used many types of PGMs to avoid civilian harm, including the use of munitions like small diameter bombs (SDBs), as well as technologies and tactics that increase the accuracy of non-PGMs. Israel has also employed a tactic when a military has air supremacy called dive bombing, as well as gathering pre-strike intelligence on the presence of civilians from satellite imagery, scans of cell phone presence, and other target observation techniques. All of this is to do more pinpoint targeted to avoid civilian deaths. In other words, the simplistic notion that a military must use more PGMs versus non-PGMs in a war is false.

A second misperception is a military's choice of munitions and how they apply the proportionality principle required by the laws of armed conflict. Here there is an assessment of the value of the military target to be gained from an act that is weighted against the expected collateral damage estimate caused by said act. An external viewer with no access to all information cannot say such things as a 500-pound bomb would achieve the military mission of a 2,000-pound bomb with no mention of the context of the value of the military target or the context of the strike—like the target being in a deep tunnel that would require great penetration.

Third, one of the best ways to prevent civilian casualties in urban warfare is to provide warning and evacuate urban areas before the full combined air and ground attack commences. This tactic is unpopular for obvious reasons: It alerts the enemy defender and provides them the military advantage to prepare for the attack. The United States did not do this ahead of its initial invasion of Iraq in 2003, which involved major urban battles to include in Baghdad. It did not do this before its April 2004 Battle of Fallujah (though it did send civilian warnings before the Second Battle of Fallujah six months later).

By contrast, Israel provided days and then weeks of warnings, as well as time for civilians to evacuate multiple cities in northern Gaza before starting the main air-ground attack of urban areas. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) employed their practice of calling and texting ahead of an air strike as well as roof-knocking, where they drop small munitions on the roof of a building notifying everyone to evacuate the building before a strike.

No military has ever implemented any of these practices in war before.

The IDF has also air-dropped flyers to give civilians instructions on when and how to evacuate, including with safe corridors. (The U.S. implemented these tactics in its second battle of Fallujah and 2016-2017 operation against ISIS in Mosul.) Israel has dropped over 520,000 pamphlets, and broadcast over radio and through social media messages to provide instruction for civilians to leave combat areas.

Israel's use of real phone calls to civilians in combat areas (19,734), SMS texts (64,399) and pre-recorded calls (almost 6 million) to provide instructions on evacuations is also unprecedented.

The IDF also conducted daily four-hour pauses over multiple consecutive days of the war to allow civilians to leave active combat areas. While pauses for civilian evacuations after a war or battle has started is not completely new, the frequency and predictability of these in Gaza have been historic.

Another historical first in war measures to prevent civilian causalities was Israel's distribution of IDF military maps and urban warfare graphics to assist civilians with day to day evacuations and alerting them to where the IDF will be operating. No military in history has ever done this.

In the 2016-2017 Battle of Mosul, the Iraqi government initially told civilians not to evacuate and to shelter in place during the battle of both the city's eastern and western districts, but later directed civilians to leave using "safe" corridors. But the Islamic State (ISIS) mined the corridors and shot at anyone using them to escape. Hundreds of thousands of civilians were trapped inside the combat areas for months as the battle progressed.

The reality is that when it comes to avoiding civilian harm, there is no modern comparison to Israel's war against Hamas. Israel is not fighting a battle like Fallujah, Mosul, or Raqqa; it is fighting a war involving synchronous major urban battles. No military in modern history has faced over 30,000 urban defenders in more than seven cities using human shields and hiding in hundreds of miles of underground networks purposely built under civilian sites, while holding hundreds of hostages.

Despite the unique challenges Israel faces in its war against Hamas, it has implemented more measures to prevent civilian casualties than any other military in history.

Some have argued that Israel should have waited longer to start its war, should have used different munitions and tactics, or should not have conducted the war at all. These calls are understandable, but they fail to acknowledge the context of Israel's war against Hamas, from the hundreds of Israeli hostages to the daily rocket attacks on Israeli civilians from Gaza to the tunnels, and the real existential threat of Hamas poses Israel and its citizens, who live within walking distance of the warzone.

To be clear, I am outraged by the civilian casualties in Gaza. But it's crucial to direct that outrage at the right target. And that target is Hamas.

It is outrageous that Hamas spent decades and billions of dollars building tunnels under civilian homes and protected areas for the sole purpose of using Palestinian civilians as human shields. It is outrageous that Hamas does not allow civilians in their tunnels, that Hamas says and takes actions to create as many civilian deaths as possible—both its own and Israeli. The atrocities committed on Oct. 7 are outrageous. That Hamas fights in civilian clothes, intermixed within civilians, and launches rockets at Israeli civilians from Palestinian civilian areas is outrageous.

The sole reason for civilian deaths in Gaza is Hamas. For Israel's part, it's taken more care to prevent them than any other army in human history.

John Spencer is chair of urban warfare studies at the Modern War Institute (MWI) at West Point, codirector of MWI's Urban Warfare Project and host of the "Urban Warfare Project Podcast." He served for 25 years as an infantry soldier, which included two combat tours in Iraq. He is the author of the book Connected Soldiers: Life, Leadership, and Social Connection in Modern War and co-author of Understanding Urban Warfare. The views expressed in this commentary are his own.

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Let's do some maths:

Oct 8, 2023-Jan 31, 2024: 25,000 casualties (according to Hamas, unverified).

Oct 8, 2023-May 8, 2924: 34,844 casualties (according to Hamas, unverified).

Oct 8, 2023-Dec 24, 2024: 45,338 casualties (according to Hamas, unverified).

So, what we're saying is that as this war has escalated, the "genocide" has become less efficient, including the time Israel had an opportunity to murder 950,000 civilians and instead... *checks notes*... evacuated them safely out of Rafah, including providing them with food, water and medical aid.

🤔🤨

Riiiiiiiight.

This is "the moon landing was a hoax"-level delusion.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

How do you think Theon Greyjoy would have fared at the Archery contest during the Hand’s Tourney in AGOT?

As mentioned in a similar ask about Sarella, Anguy won that contest by outshooting “Ser Balon Swann and Jalabhar Xho at a hundred paces after all the other bowmen had been eliminated at the shorter distances,” (AGOT, Eddard 7) which can be estimated at about 250 feet. Has Theon ever been shown to shoot that far, and (if not), can we estimate his maximum range from known cases? (No, of course I wouldn’t just say “pretty well” or “not great” based on reputation).

Right off the bat, Theon has a few more instances of shooting arrows than Sarella (who just has the one scene in the AFFC Prologue) mentioning that he’s been practicing archery under Dagmer Cleftjaw (so before the age of 9) and had pretty good accuracy even then (saying he put an arrow through a “seagull on the wing” in ACOK Theon 3). Tyrion, a complete stranger, vaguely remembers Theon being “good with a bow” (ACOK Tyrion XI), and it sounds like he was one of the archers who shot down the Frey ravens (AGOT Catelyn IX) among Brynden Tully’s men. However, I’ve found two instances of Theon shooting arrows where we can roughly estimate the distance (if anybody has found other cases, please point them out).

Drunk, Theon decided, watching [Todric] bellow. It was said that the ironmen of old had oft been blood-drunk in battle, so berserk that they felt no pain and feared no foe, but this was a common ale-drunk. "Wex, my bow and quiver." The boy ran and fetched them. Theon bent the bow and slipped the string into its notches as Todric knocked down the Botley boy and flung ale into his eyes. Fishwhiskers leapt up cursing, but Theon was quicker. He drew on the hand that clutched the drinking horn, figuring to give them a shot to talk about, but Todric spoiled it by lurching to one side just as he loosed. The arrow took him through the belly. The looters stopped to gape. Theon lowered his bow. "No drunkards, I said, and no squabbles over plunder." On his knees, Todric was dying noisily. "Botley, silence him." Fishwhiskers and his sons were quick to obey. They slit Todric's throat as he kicked feebly, and were stripping him of cloak and rings and weapons before he was even dead. —ACOK Theon III

Theon intends to shoot at Todric’s drinking horn but shoots him in the belly instead due to sudden movement, so he’s close enough to see fairly small objects. He’s also able to make himself heard to the people next to Todric without it being mentioned that he had to move closer or raise his voice. A normal conversational voice is 60 decibels (dB). Sound pressure level normally halves (by six decibels) for each doubling of distance, meaning the distance between Theon and Todric at the point of shooting was about 40 feet.

The other instance is when Theon, carrying a longbow and with long razor-tipped broadhead arrows, shoots Stiv when he holds a dagger at Bran’s throat:

A low thrum came from the woods behind them. Stiv gave a choked gasp as a half foot of razor-tipped broadhead suddenly exploded out of his chest. The arrow was bright red, as if it had been painted in blood. The dagger fell away from Bran's throat. The big man swayed and collapsed, facedown in the stream. —AGOT Bran V

Bran is able to hear (though quietly) Theon shoot the arrow before it makes impact with Stiv’s chest. This is fairly significant because at shorter distances, Bran wouldn’t have been able to detect the arrow’s shooting and impact as separate events, and it’s estimated that humans can separate sounds as little as 20-30 milliseconds apart. Since sound travels 343 m/s through air, that puts the minimum distance of Theon from Stiv at 6.86m or 20.6 feet. However, that doesn’t take into account how loud the thrum of Theon’s bow is. It may be surprising that longbows are actually one of the quietest bows (the recurve is louder, and the crossbow the loudest) and the larger arrows like broadheads make quieter noises when shot, because the energy the bowstring would’ve made slapping the wood is transferred into hurling the arrow. According to this thread, the longbow firing could be around 74dB or over 10 times louder than normal conversation, about as loud as a vacuum cleaner. Using the same formula for sound over distance as in the Todric example, 74dB can be heard from about 90 feet away, meaning the distance between Stiv and Theon was between 20 and 90 feet (though admittedly, definitely closer to 90, maybe about 85 feet).

That’s about all I can estimate about Theon’s maximum archery distance; it’s less than 100 feet, far less than Anguy’s winning distance of 250 feet. It seems his archery talent is more in his accuracy at hitting small (sometimes moving) targets at somewhat “close” distances rather than hitting larger stationary targets at very far distances (maybe significant foreshadowing for his role in protecting the Starks in TWOW?) Meanwhile, the Hand’s Archery Contest in AGOT was based on who could hit archery butts from the farthest pace away, which is definitely not Theon’s strong point if my textual analysis means anything. Just based on what I can determine about sound distance from two more detailed scenarios of his shooting, Theon would probably make it to the early-middle rounds of the Hand’s Archery Contest and get eliminated by 40 paces/100 feet from the targets, (and probably insult all the men who got further than he did and mock the idea of Ned getting a tourney in general to make himself feel better about losing so soon).