elsaismycat

[elsaismycat]

au that has been haunting me for a week now where grian is an architecture lecturer with a wildly successful architectural firm (international awards, famous clients, huge government projects, minor celebrity status, the whole shebang) and a number of successful spinoff companies, at the same university that scar is a business/economics lecture with a string of moderately (emphasis on moderately) successful businesses and a deep personal interest in architecture (to the point he’s designed several of the buildings his companies are in).

and they have just the most unhinged rivalry.

like. they’re not in the same department. they’re not even in the same school. the buildings they work in are on opposite sides of campus. and yet, whenever there’s an architecture department party, scar will show up for the primary purpose of politely antagonising grian. same with economics department events - grian will be there, charming to everyone else, incredibly annoying to scar. they’ve been known to turn up at conferences the other is presenting at, or speaking events they’re doing, purely to heckle and ask annoyingly difficult-to-answer questions. scar tweets links to grian’s papers/books whenever he publishes, with pithy little 280-character critique. grian refuses to get twitter, but uses scar’s buildings as “what Not to do” examples in his lectures. scar attempted to get grian prosecuted for tax fraud due to some filing irregularities a few years back. grian attempted to get one of his buildings closed because he claimed it wasn’t up to code. every time it seems like they’ve hit the pinnacle of petty inconveniences, they manage to escalate somehow.

the punchline is, of course, that they’ve been married for ten years and just not told anyone.

this is discovered when pearl, one of grian’s close friends slash business associates, attends the university as a mature student (she’s a chartered architect, but needs a business masters for career reasons). some other student tells her all about the infamous grian-scar rivalry at some department mixer during fresher’s week, and she’s like, “his… infamous rivalry… with his husband???” in utter bewilderment.

and every student in earshot goes wild.

the entire university knows within 24 hours, because at this point their rivalry is that specific kind of university legend that’s a point of pride for the people who go there, regardless of what department you’re in. #scarian trends locally on twitter. the student newspaper runs a front page article on it. the vice-chancellor has to send out a university-wide email asking people to please not mob the architecture and economics departments, and especially not the specific corridors that prof. goodtimes and prof. xelqua have offices in. absolute chaos.

(grian and scar take an impromptu two-week holiday to some tropical beach somewhere until the hubbub dies down, and toast the end of the greatest practical joke ever played with a) very colourful cocktails, and b) equal parts sombre mourning and hysterical laughter. they are subject to an inquiry by hr when they return, because the university has policies about declaring relationships to other staff members - which they very much absolutely did not do - but they’re both in agreement that it was Worth It even so. otherwise, absolutely nothing changes; less than a month after the news broke, scar pans grian’s new architecture book on twitter, and grian responds by attempting for the third time to get scar’s latest building declared unsafe for habitation. love wins <3)

[elsaismycat]

from the scarecrow and the tin woodman...it reminded me a lot of them so i drew it out

[elsaismycat]

The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.

Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.

So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.

Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.

[elsaismycat]

I’M STUCK IN THAT SUNFLOWER FIELD. And in the desert.

[elsaismycat]

my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them. 

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of… sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband  “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings. 

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks to be sure i spoke to only him and no one more, for fear a man might snatch me. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spent so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

[elsaismycat]

There are actually a lot more Rs:

1. Rethink your consumption and waste habits and their impact. Become a more conscious consumer.

2. Refuse to buy wasteful, harmful or non-recyclable products. Say no to products you don't need or won't use. Bring your own utensils, coffee mug or bag.

3. Reduce your dependency on wasteful, harmful, non-recyclable products. Lower the amount and how often you buy it. Look for stuff that lasts and have many uses, and that has more sustainable packaging. Use two-sided printing. Perhaps you can borrow what you need.

4. Reuse what you already have. If you already own it, do you really need another?

5. Repurpose or upcycle what you already have as something else. Glass jars or plastic containers can become tupperware. Trash can become art. DIY.

6. Regift or Resell it. Perhaps there is someone else who could find use in it? Donating is also an option.

7. Repair or Restore or Refurbish what you can. Learn how to repair everyday items yourself, or pay a craftsperson.

8. Recycle it when it has no more reasonable use left. Learn to recycle correctly and what the rules are where you live.

9. Rot. Food waste and yard trimmings can be recycled through a home composting system, or if your muncipality has some kind of green waste pick-up.

Remember "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" ? I feel like there's been a distancing from the "reduce" and "reuse" part and a favoritism towards "recycle" by corporate American.

Capitalism can still thrive with recycling in the mix. You buy Plastic Thing 1, throw it away after one use, and they take that and recycle it into Plastic Thing 2 and sell it back to you. All while continuing to harm the environment.

Reusing puts a damper on things. They can't sell you Plastic Thing 2 when you're still using Plastic Thing 1. Plastic forks, for example- there is literally no reason why you can't reuse plastic forks more than once (aside from maybe microplastics, but it's too late for that)

Reducing is the one everyone wants to ignore. Just don't buy Plastic Thing 1. You don't need Plastic Thing 1. Pick up a set of metal forks and use those for years. Convenience is killing the planet

[elsaismycat]

My pen breaking in half isn't going to stop me from zedangoing it up 🙏🙏

[elsaismycat]

more redscape Spider-Guy au propaganda

[elsaismycat]

"pourrions-nous revenir sur cette histoire ?"

[elsaismycat]

i walk a fine line between “i’m asexual and i hate how much the world revolves around sex” and “sex is way too stigmatized and people should be able to be more open about it if they want to”

[elsaismycat]

See also, "We're in a drought; conserve water!" Meanwhile, bottled water companies and golf courses for rich folk empty the aquifers.

[elsaismycat]

late upload bc I don’t like this too much but. Them…

[elsaismycat]

these designs belong to @kitsuneisi . they were really cute so i had to draw them

can we all agree this called desert duo kitty au by doody (ddkau)

cutes

[elsaismycat]

[elsaismycat]

[elsaismycat]

[elsaismycat]

i love your art style by the way it’s so crunchy, may i request boat boys?

here you go, boat boys with Joel being excited and Etho being "WHAT is going ON"!!