#(and of which they have multiple copies but with different changes and scribbles)

[everydayesterday]

does anyone know my mom's facebook password?

can someone please spend a few hours teaching my parents about 2FA and tokens (i.e., explain why they need a password for their password and why it has to go to their phone via a text messaging app when they want to just use a website on their computer)?

can someone please explain to my parents how to swipe down from the top of their phone screens to access notifications? can someone please explain to them how to dismiss notifications? can someone please tell my parents to actually use their phones more than once every 3 months?

can someone please explain to me why they each need a separate google account for their phones, when they already have a joint gmail account, and how neither of those have the same password as logging into windows? can someone explain that the email notifications they get on their phones are for the same emails they see on their computer?

can someone please explain to me how someone can go about life without knowing how to perform basic functions on a computer (like opening up a file on the desktop, and how it's the same file from a folder, and the same file they open up from a menu when they've got the app already open)?

I won't even mention that they book travel by phoning a travel agency and end up spending 18 hours flying on a trip when I've suggested a cheaper itinerary that only takes 7 hours.

I'm struggling with all of this. I've spent days and days over the phone and in person in vain trying to teach them these basic (but very confusing for the elderly) things.

I'm fucking struggling. #grrrrrrrrr she's got alzheimer's and makes no sense these days and my dad is having to become computer literate in his late 70s.

[ckret2]

A leaked list of some of the exciting upcoming content from The Book of Bill:

The pyramids of Giza ranked from most to least sexy.

Winning lottery numbers. He does not say which game they're for.

Three pages of Bill practicing blackletter calligraphy so that he can write the fancy-looking "The Book of Bill" on the cover. (Meant to tear those pages out before submitting book to publisher.)

A section where he implies that all your headcanons about him are stupid. Yes, your headcanons specifically. If you compare your copy of the book to a friend's, these sections will have different text. He insults all headcanons equally, even the ones that contradict each other.

A long, rambling story about a funny thing that he saw at a party in the Nightmare Realm, but he keeps getting distracted gossiping about the embarrassing love affairs and crimes against reality the partygoers have committed. Not a single one of these characters has ever been mentioned before or ever will be again. He gets so distracted he never finishes the original funny story. He was clearly drunk when he wrote this section.

A pet care sheet on how to keep a pet axolotl. All of the information is extremely wrong.

Some of the other dimensions he's tried and failed to conquer. He keeps insisting that all the failures were somebody else's fault. It's extremely obvious that they're his fault.

A photograph of a vivisected elephant, for some reason.

A phone number written on a cocktail napkin that Bill insists would be really funny for all the readers to prank call. It leads to the desk phone of the director of the CIA. 

Bill claims he definitely totally knew that Stan was disguised as Ford the whole time, he only played along to trick the Pines back, and then he quickly changes the topic.

A page of Bill's original poetry. It's all unintelligible symbols. It will take 27 years for somebody to crack the code. They're all gory but juvenile limericks.

A cocktail recipe. It will kill you.

Bill's original version of the portal blueprints that he copied to give Ford, with Bill's handwritten annotations. One part of the blueprints is labeled "component that will accidentally destroy the universe. REMEMBER NOT TO INCLUDE THIS COMPONENT IN SIXER'S COPY!!" He underlined this twice. If this page is compared to the portal blueprints in Journal 3, it's clear that Bill included that component in Ford's copy.

A personality quiz to help you meet your ideal sleep paralysis demon.

Bill's baby pictures. He looks exactly the same, except his bow tie and top hat are too big.

Bill reveals that he thought the llama symbol on the zodiac wheel referred to that farmer guy on the edge of town, and he was super confused to see Pacifica there.

Multiple pages scattered through the book about Bill's amazing powers, his brilliant and fun plans for our dimension, and all the cool favors he's willing and able to do for his friends and followers. All these pages end with a passive-aggressive aside about how somebody would have to be REALLY stupid to turn down an invitation to join Bill's crew, Stanford Pines—

A page labeled "My loyal servants and slaves!" filled with several hideous, oozing, nightmare-inducing Lovecraftian monsters, and one Mickey Mouse.

A self-portrait depicting Bill riding a rocket ship playing an electric guitar while rainbow lightning flashes all around him and money rains down from the sky.

A cynical, sneering tirade about how love is evolution's idiotic way of tricking primitive species into reproducing and how only simple-minded mortals who can't separate their true thoughts from their hormones fall for it. In the margins he's drawn a heart around the words "Bill Cipher +" a scribbled-out blot. The blot is completely unreadable. Despite this, the fandom will spend years debating the name underneath based on the size of the blot.

Extremely stupid "explanations" about various unsolved mysteries and crimes. In six years the world will discover one of them is accidentally correct and Alex Hirsch will get investigated by the FBI.

The book will be divided into four sections. Each section will begin with a big illuminated letter. In order, the four illuminated letters spell "F" "U" "C" "K".

[lushrue]

i’ve been seeing a lot of business/ceo aus with the 141, but i’ve been bingewatching “suits” lately so…law firm au?

The 141 Law Group is one of the most prestigious in London. they take on clients that nobody else will, lots of high profile people and large businesses. they have a great reputation for discreteness, getting things done quickly and quietly and mostly above board. 141 handpicks their associates from the top law schools in the UK and it’s an honor to be chosen by them.

jonathan price is managing partner. at the end of the day, it’s him who makes the decisions of what clients to take on, what expenses are necessary and which ones aren’t, and how to handle the difficult cases. he runs the show, and what he says goes. usually mills around in the associate spaces, making sure the firm’s making good investments in the rookies. his background is in criminal law, but getting him in the courtroom is tough these days. he can be tempted out of his cushy corner office on occasion, though.

simon riley is a senior partner, price’s right hand. he was one of the founding partners of the firm, but chose to keep his name off the official paperwork. he has more interest in being a lawyer than a manager, though he likes to throw his weight around from time to time. expert in business law, does a really good job at giving government oversight the finger and finding workarounds for his clients. he has his limits though, won’t help his clients take action that will harm consumers. most people think he’s sleazy and dirty, but there’s a heart of gold underneath that prada suit.

john mactavish is the firm’s numbers guy. we already know he’s good with math, he has to be not to blow himself to bits. he keeps the ledgers balanced and the firm consistently in the green. has a few clients of his own that he advises on strictly financial matters. price brings him on every new client lunch because of his charm and wit, swears they’ve gotten a couple of clients because of johnny’s sense of humor alone. likes the water cooler talk, especially with lawyers in different specializations. this man knows so many random bits and pieces of international law, business law, entertainment law all because of the people he strikes up conversation with.

kyle garrick is the freshest face, hired for a permanent position after being chosen as an associate. aspiring senior partner, would love to co-manage the firm with price someday. he works primarily with international clients, loves the late nights reading up on the laws that govern other countries. he’s great at finding loopholes, just like simon. he’s aggressive in the courtroom when he does get to go, oftentimes as co-counsel with simon or johnny. he’s scribbling notes in every meeting he’s in, soaking in all the information. despite the multiple offers he’s gotten from other firms, his loyalty lies with john.

and then there’s you, their new secretary. simon was hesitant when john announced your hiring at the partners’ meeting, didn’t really think they needed someone fielding calls and making copies when that was what the associates were for. john had purely personal motivations for hiring you, though. poached you from the rival firm, Shadow Company, LLC. while you’d been content enough in your position, phillip graves was a bit of a sleazeball, in your opinion. when price came in with his sweet talk and promise of a signing bonus, you were hooked. nevermind that it took a whole week of morning coffees and tickets to the ballet for johnny to agree to the extra expense. they change their mind when you show up to work in your tight skirt and high heels, eyes bright and ready to start. 

the second you bent over your desk and they caught a glimpse of your lacy thong, it was all over.

[shuunnico]

I don’t follow you but I saw your skullgirls censorship post and it’s the stupidest thing ever. Doubt you even play the game you stupid fucking coomer, instead you throw a fit and act like everything is going to shit because some panties were removed. Fucking baby

Already said it multiple times.

The censorship is not just the panties. The changes include:

The Black Egrets having their armbands removed. The Egrets are an evil organization, meant to be reminiscent of the Nazis, and the removal of their Canopy Kingdom armband lessens that impact.

Big Band's story, wherein corrupt police nearly beat him to death, is toned down, making BB's story more sterile and makes the police corruption less severe in the story.

An announcer voice was removed. This was a crowdfunding stretch goal, which means the devs are removing content funded by the fans who made their game possible.

The artbook was edited. Guest art was removed. Black Egret concept art was edited to match their current look. Concept art serves as a snapshot of the creative process. By going back and revising the concept art, it ceases to be concept art.

Keep in mind, the art book is a separate digital purchase and a reward for the crowdfunding campaign. The devs, functionally, just took the art book you bought and tore pages out.

The panties are some of the least concerning things about the new batch of censorship. But even then, the game was crowd funded. The fanbase knew what it was and backed the game based on that. The devs are slowly stripping out aspects of the game the original backers funded.

As an artist and someone concerned about consumer rights, I feel like I need to point out how awful all of this is.

Nobody would permit the devs to come in and scribble over their physical copy of the artbook just because they wanted to make changes to it. Why should digital artbooks be any different? You paid for it, you should own it. This is just another step towards everyone lacking any and all digital ownership.

I find censorship to be concerning. Toning down darker tones, removing sexual elements, changing the original owner's visions. As an artist, I have to stand against censorship because, if I don't, eventually censorship will come for everything I enjoy and, then, finally my own art.

I lived through the 90s and 00s. I remember this exact same kind of censorship being forced on media back then too by Christian Conservatives. It was awful then too and I had hoped we, as a society, have moved beyond the censorship of art.

The fact that you thought this was just about panties just shows how uneducated you are on this subject. Your confidence is misplaced and you're defending the censorship of art and the erosion of digital rights.

Please, be better.

[jojotier]

okay but you can't really expect post-canon to do anything with just text that's comparable to cascade. written text like books and stuff just don't have the versatility of other mediums and it really isn't fair to compare it at all

While you're right that something in text wouldn't be comparable to Cascade- they are entirely different mediums after all- that still doesn't excuse homestuck^2 from dropping the ball.

to say that 'oh but text isn't as versatile-' is a fucking cop out answer. and here's why.

Parabola by Lily Hoang is a coming of age story about an Asian-American girl trying to find her place between holding onto tradition and her own Americanization as told in the format of a parabola.

The chapters are numbered as a parabola's would be, with some chapters being teenage poetry, others being prose, others being in the form of multiple-choice tests, and still others being blocks of text and alliteration broken up across grid-like pages, as though the text itself is being calculated like points in space on a graph.

S by JJ Abrams and Doug Dorst is about two college students getting their hands on a novel called Ship of Theseus by VM Straka, a writer that does not exist, as they do academic research on the political underpinnings of the novel. The conceit is that you are reading the copy of Ship of Theseus, which has the students' annotations scribbled in the margins and a host of extra documents they leave for each other.

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski needs no introduction. It is a book about a book about an academic dissertation about a documentary that doesn't exist.

The book is a labyrinth. Just look at this fucking thing.

People have been using the medium of text for decades to tell interesting stories and incorporate the metanarrative structure of how a text is presented itself to great effect. there's an entire genre dedicated to this stuff!

And this isn't to say that text doesn't have some weaknesses when compared to visual mediums or audio mediums, but it's not because the medium of text is inherently inferior. It's because every single medium has its pros and cons; its conventions and tricks for how to make things work. The medium is the vehicle by which a story is told; some stories don't need a specific medium to thrive, but others are so married to their medium that you cannot physically extract it without completely changing the story (hence why myhouse.wad is a great spiritual inheritor of House of Leaves' themes, but a pure House of Leaves game adaptation would be extremely difficult to make work). You can use the text itself as a way to enhance the themes of a story.

So I don't think it's too much to ask that homestuck^2 do something actually interesting with it's prose bits, especially considering how medium-bending the original Homestuck was. Do you?

[malachi-walker]

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

[wrenhyperfixates]

Loki Odinson’s Guide on How to Woo a Noble

Chapter 3: The Beauty of Love

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s time for the solstice ball, and you’re the only one Loki wants to go with. All that’s keeping him from a perfect night with you is his own fears that you don’t want the same. Warnings: ‘tis just fluff A/N: This is it: The end of my first miniseries, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and I hope you enjoy this last part :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Epilogue 

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki’s leg bounced under the table. Just a few more excruciatingly boring minutes and he’d get to be with you. His tutor droned on and on, making him wish his illusions were just a little bit better. Then he could get out of here early. Though he was doing his best to focus, Loki’s mind kept wandering to the plan he was concocting. The summer solstice ball was quickly approaching, now just a few days away. All month Loki had been trying to figure out a way to ask you to accompany him. His birthday was a mere two months away and yours would quickly follow. Then you’d officially be at courting age and he wanted to secure his place as a suitor. The looks that Fandral and the other dashing, young nobles have been sending you did not go unnoticed by the God of Mischief.

“Pssst. Loki,” Thor whispered, tapping his brother on the shoulder. “Are you following any of this?”

“Obviously, Thor. It is not very hard.”

Of course, that was a lie. Well, it may very well have been easy to follow, but Loki’s distracted mind was not allowing him to do so. Thor was scratching his head and looking intensely at his notes, which Loki peered at and realized were little more than scribbles. Though, that might just be Thor’s atrocious handwriting.

“Brother?”

“Yes, Thor?”

“Can I copy your notes?”

“May I copy your notes.”

“But I just asked to copy yours.”

“Yes, Thor, I know. But you asked ‘can I’ when the correct form is ‘may I.’”

Thor scratched his head in confusion again. “So can I then? And, by the way, I don’t appreciate your tone being so condensing.”

“The word is condescending,” Loki sighed. “I honestly do not know how-”

Loki was cut off by their tutor, Lord Asmund, clearing his throat. If looks could kill, Loki and Thor wouldn’t live to see another day. They both gave each other a nervous look, hating for this to be reported to their father, who was very insistent upon them learning Asgard’s history.

“Prince Loki,” Lord Asmund said, “perhaps you could tell me for what purpose the Treaty of Light with Alfheim was made?”

“To set up a trade route?” Loki guessed

“No. Thor?”

“For, uh. Um. Wait! To... No idea,” he ended with slumped shoulders.

“Of course not,” he said with an exasperated eye-roll. “The correct answer is to settle a land dispute. And you can both write me an essay about it due on Monday. Dismissed.”

The brothers gathered their belongings in their arms and headed out the door. Loki sped up, trying to avoid Thor, but he ran after him. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded some advice on how to ask you out, but that would surely be accompanied with teasing. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Thor wanted to talk about.

“So, brother, have you invited anyone to the ball yet?”

“Maybe, maybe not. And you?”

“Sadly for many of the ladies, yes I have. Sif and I will be going together.”

“I see. Hypothetically, if I had not asked anyone out yet and wanted to, how would I go about doing that?”

“The same way I have been telling you since the beginning. Just be your charming self and ask them. They’ll say yes to you, you know.”

“I do not know who you are talking about,” Loki lied, still not wanting to confirm his brother’s suspicions.

“Uh-huh. Listen, Loki, you can do it. I know you can,” Thor comforted his brother. He saw his friends approaching and started jogging to them. “Good luck!” he called over his shoulder.

Loki snuck away before they could invite him to join in whatever brutish activity they had planned. Heading into the lavish library, Loki breathed in the calming scent of old books. He trailed his fingers along the binding while walking towards the bay window where you were supposed to meet. You were already sitting there, legs hugged to your chest, and a book perched on your knees. Lupus was sprawled on the floor, bathing in a patch of sunlight. He perked up upon noticing Loki, alerting you to his presence. Loki sank down onto the cushion next to you, and the wolf pup jumped into his lap. The god’s face lit up when you looked at him with a radiant smile.

“How’d your lesson go?” you asked, closing your book.

“Fine, I suppose,” he replied while distractedly petting Lupus.

“But?”

“But I was getting a little distracted,” he conceded, nervously looking away. “I could not stop thinking about the solstice ball.”

“I see. Is your date giving you trouble?”

“My-my date?” he questioned, voice cracking. “I-I don’t have one yet. Do you?”

“Oh. You hadn’t mentioned anything, so I just assumed. I don’t have one either.”

You both looked out the window, Lupus’s pants the only sound in the library. He looked at you in confusion, wondering why the mood had changed. Loki was confused, too, though for a different reason. He was fairly certain that someone had asked you already, though he supposed it was possible you declined. Fandral had seemed pretty downtrodden a few days ago. Though why would you turn down your other options unless...

“Would you like to go with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes!” you replied, a little too excitedly. You calmed down a bit before continuing, “I mean, yes, I would love to go with you.”

You began to excitedly plan for the upcoming night. Naturally, the two of you coordinated outfits, and you’d be wearing Loki’s colors. As the prince’s date you’d be required to make a grand entrance, which admittedly, both you and Loki would prefer to skip. Sure, he loved the attention, but anything he did would certainly be overshadowed by his brother. Yet another reminder that he’d never be as beloved as Thor. That he’d never get what he wanted. Though, he realized, that wasn’t entirely true. After all, you were going to the ball with him, not his brother, which counted for more than it perhaps should have. But, right now, sitting here with you, with the sunlight reflecting in your eyes, meant more than the whole world.

The conversation was flowing so easily between you that Frigga had to enlist a servant to summon you for dinner. Everyone was eating by the time you arrived, and Loki slinked up to the head table, taking his seat. Odin greeted him with a glare out of the corner of his eye. Loki was sure he’d be getting a lecture later, but the extra time with you was worth it. His mother gave him a knowing smile that made him flustered, certain that she’d be asking for details later.

“So,” Thor asked after a few minutes, drawing out the “o” in an exaggerated manner. “How did it go?”

“Quite well,” Loki confessed. “They have agreed to accompany me.”

“See, brother? You should listen to me more often.”

“I doubt that. Thank you, though,” Loki begrudgingly added. “For your support and advice.”

“Of course. What are brothers for?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apparently, brothers were not for helping when one of them was extremely stressed out. Loki had checked himself in the mirror multiple times before leaving the room, but he still felt paranoid that there was something wrong with his appearance. It certainly didn’t help that Thor kept telling him he had a hair out of place or a loose buckle on his armor. In retaliation, he turned Thor’s cape bright pink, but his mother was quick to fix it with a spell of her own and a warning look. At least Odin hadn’t noticed. With only a few moments left before it was time to enter the ballroom, Loki began to pace. You’d yet to arrive, and he began to worry you decided that you didn’t want to accompany him, after all. He had no doubt that you were friends, but this would take things to another level. For all means and purposes, this was a date, and it was entirely possible you didn’t want everyone to see you together, considering that all your meetings to date had been rather clandestine.

“Relax my son,” Frigga assured him, placing a calming hand on his shoulder to still his nervous movements. “They will be here.”

Thor peered over his shoulder and gave him an encouraging thumbs up, attempting to make up for earlier after seeing how truly distressed his brother was. Loki nodded gravely, not sharing the same faith that his family did. Yes, he was a prince, but to be honest, the lesser one. Everyone knew Odin favored Thor as the next king, and in turn, the subjects adored him far more than they ever did Loki. Before his mind could stray any further, your shoes were rapidly clicking on the polished tile floor as you ran down the hall, a hand grasping your circlet to make sure it didn’t fall off.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you said to Loki after greeting the royal family with the proper respect. “I had a slight wardrobe malfunction, but it’s all good now. Sorry that I kept you waiting.”

“It is quite alright,” he replied while Thor snickered, knowing how troubled he’d been mere seconds ago. “Might I just say, you look absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks Loki. You too,” you responded, shyly looking away.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Odin gruffly said to the small group.

Following the king’s orders, the assembled pairs lined up behind the large doors leading to the grand stairs of the ballroom. Having the least status in the royal family, Loki had to go first. You gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before placing your arm on top of his in the proper, formal manner.

Loki squinted against the bright lights of the room as the steward announced your arrival.  There was a polite smattering of applause as you descended the stairs. As expected, the crowd was much more enthused by the arrival of the elder prince, and Loki sulked while his brother followed the path he’d just taken. You gently bumped him with your shoulder, offering a kind look as Odin began his speech from the landing. Though, Loki didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. He had no need to; it was the same as every other year.

Then came the first dance, Loki’s favorite part of the night. The royal family walked out to the center of the dance floor. Once they were in place, the musicians came to life and an ethereal waltz tune filled the air. Loki placed one hand on your waist and the other grasped your hand, while your free one was lightly resting on his shoulder. Your two bodies became one as you spun around the floor, lost in each other’s eyes.

“You know,” you ventured, “you really shouldn’t let what others think affect you so much. You do believe me when I tell you how amazing you are, right?”

“I thought I was not supposed to listen to what others think of me,” Loki said, trying to make light of the situation by teasing you, in the hopes of avoiding having to actually talk about his feelings.

“Well, this is different because it’s a fact,” you persisted as Loki blushed. “You really are amazing.”

Before he could say anything else, the music stopped and a new dance begun, one where you switched partners. You threw him a look that said “we are not done talking about this.” He was having mixed feelings at the moment. On the one hand, he was able to dodge a conversation about his emotions for the time being. On the other, he couldn’t spend this dance with you as his partner. Eventually, you made your way back to him and the dance came to an end. He whisked you away to the edge of the room where you could rest out of the public eye for a minute. Though it was highly improper, you and Loki made comments about the rest of the guests, being careful that no one overheard you. At some point, you were able to circle back around to Loki’s lack of faith in himself.

“I am not sure this is the best place to discuss this,” he said, trying to buy himself more time.

“You’re right,” you agreed, fiddling with the bracelet he’d given you, which you’d yet to take off. “Join me for a walk?”

Between the innocent look in your eye and the proposition of alone time with you, Loki couldn’t refuse. The night air was warm as the two of you made your way down the cobblestone path of the garden. Reaching a bench, you stopped for a spell, feet tired from all the dancing and standing around.

“If you really are correct,” Loki began after a short silence, during which you absentmindedly rested your head on his shoulder, “and I am amazing, why does no one else seem to see it?”

You considered his question for a second before picking your head up and looking into his eyes. Such a scrutinizing gaze would usually have made Loki defensive, but he recognized the soft undertones of yours, leaving him with just a worry that you wouldn’t like whatever it was you were looking for.

“I don’t know, really,” you finally admitted. “Maybe because for all your supposed confidence, you don’t really see it either. Or, who knows, maybe they’re just jealous.”

He considered that for a moment, simultaneously loving and hating how astute your deductions were. At least, on the first account. And he did often believe others envied him for the few talents he would admit he truly possessed.

“Maybe,” was all he said.

“Yeah, maybe,” you echoed, placing a hand over his.

Loki’s cheeks flushed again, and he looked at you. You really were beautiful, inside and out. It was a pity, he thought, that people usually only recognized the latter. Though, it made him feel honored that you let him get close enough to you that he could see the former as well. As he was observing you, you turned your head up to look at the sky, presumably thinking of the first time you’d met. He knew he was. The motion upset your circlet, and it slid out of place. Loki went to fix it, but as he was doing so, got an even better idea.

“What are you doing?” you inquired, fixing him with an inquisitive look as he took off the accessory.

“I just thought you might look even better in this,” he answered.

He took off his helmet and put it on your head. It was ever so slightly too large and slid down a bit farther than it should. It only served to make you more adorable, Loki thought. You looked at him for a second as if trying to make up your mind about something. Then you suddenly rushed forward and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was enough to make you both fidget and chuckle sheepishly.

Loki stood up after a moment, making up his own mind about something. He placed another kiss, to your knuckles this time, and asked, “Shall we return to the ball?”

“We shall,” you answered, beaming at how self-assured he seemed.

You went back hand in hand and made it to the center of the floor just in time for the final dance. Both of you danced so beautifully that every other guest stopped to admire your grace. As you finished, they erupted into the loudest round of applause that evening.

“Loki,” you gasped later that evening as he walked you back to your quarters. “I’m still wearing your helmet!”

“It is alright, darling. Trust me when I say you look quite ravishing. And,” he added after a split second of hesitation, “I hope you know how amazing you are, too.”

As you stopped in front of your door, Loki leaned in, and you finally met in a long-overdue, sweet, gentle, loving kiss.

[ronaldmcdonaldschoolaccount]

Blog Post 1

Vector Art is art that is made up of vector graphics; points, lines, curves, and shapes that are based on maths. It is used widely in print and screen because it’s easy to use for anyone, including those who are not artists. It’s a great way to create logos and posters in a short amount of time.

Benefits of using Adobe illustrator: Scaling doesn’t lower the resolution or the quality, unlike raster art which becomes jagged. It can be used to create small logos and billboard sized images. The tool bar is labelled clearly and easy to navigate.

The pen tool creates and edits anchor points (where multiple lines meet)and paths. The pen tool is good to use for logos and shirt designs. The brush tool allows you to draw what you want and have it scaled while keeping its quality. The brush tool is good to use for more complicated shapes such as a character or animal. It can be helpful for creating images for posters and pamphlets. The pencil tool is like the brush tool but is good for sketching in a way that looks like pencil on paper. It’s good to use for drawings and once a path is drawn with it, it can be changed.

 Here are three examples of vector art I like and why:

Vecteezy, 2021. Graduation Hats. [image] Available at: <https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/2522916-graduation-hats-background-with-balloon-and-confetti> [Accessed 12 October 2021].

I think this works well because it leaves open space while also not leaving it blank. The balloons look real and the strings too. The tools that I think were used are:

The Eclipse tool, to create the balloon shape. The same tool to make the discoloured circle on the hat. The Rectangle tool, to create the end of the balloon, then distorted to make it bend inward, and stylised to have round corners. The same tool for the hats, and small pieces of confetti. The Line tool could have been used for the ribbons, then edited with EFFECT> Stylise – Scribble. WINDOW > Gradient to create the colours lighting and shading in the balloons, on the hats and for the background.

Vecteezy, 2021. Desert Panorama Background with Palm Trees. [image] Available at: <https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/1978595-desert-panorama-background-with-palm-trees> [Accessed 12 October 2021]

I think this piece works well because it uses smooth lines for most of it but not all of it, and it keeps to the one colour pallet.

The Eclipse tool to create the sun. The Pen tool to create the camels. The Star tool to create the trunks of the palm trees, and the leaves. They would have only needed to create one tree and one camel, clicked OBJECT> Group then copy and moved them into place. The Curve tool to make the sand hills and sky lines. the Pencil tool to make the different sand lines .

 Vecteezy, 2021. 80’s Retro Futurism. [image] Available at: <https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/1914447-80-s-retro-futurism-background> [Accessed 12 October 2021].

I think this piece works well because it’s use of line, colour and shape have the distinct feeling of the 80’s, as it’s trying to convey.

The Line tool to create all the straight lines. The Eclipse tool to create the sun and the stars. The Brush tool to create the mountains. The Pen tool to create the lines on the mountains. WINDOW> gradient for all the glowing colours.

 References:

Adobe.com. 2021. Best Vector Art Guide for Beginners | Adobe Australia. [online] Available at: <https://www.adobe.com/au/creativecloud/illustration/discover/vector-art.html> [Accessed 12 October 2021].

wibisono, a., 2021. Creative Content by agung_wibisono. [online] Vecteezy. Available at: <https://www.vecteezy.com/members/agung_wibisono> [Accessed 12 October 2021].

[of-another-broken-heart]

I’m just going to copy/paste this because it took me hours and I’m drained. 

I guess I have to format it again if I want it to show up at all... 

I couldn't even make it back home before breaking down crying again.

Driving while chronically sleep deprived, exhausted, fatigued, and dissociating is bad enough. Doing it with all that AND without being able to see? How special. 

I barely had time to sit down, my phone rang. I answered it, begging for someone to hear me. For thirty straight seconds. "Hello? Hello? Hello???" Finally someone spoke, but they couldn't hear me. I'm sobbing. They hung up. I scrambled to call back, from my computer, because at least then I'm not fighting a lack of reception as well as my anxiety. They called again. I didn't answer. I waited for my computer to ring through instead. I'm put on hold.  I'm sobbing. It was just to ask what my pharmacy is. Which I already answered on my paperwork. Which I answered, again, at check-out. And I was forced into a third confirmation via a pointless, needless, anxiety-attack inducing phone call hazing. For something I already answered. 

It's not fucking fun. People don't choose this. I didn't choose this. But does it matter? "Call," the command comes. "Just call." "Call to confirm." "Call to ask." "Call." "Call." "Call." 

I want you to think of something that takes physical hold of your body and brings to you to tears. I want you to hold that and sit with it until it does those things. I want you to choose to reduce yourself to a sobbing mess, struggling to breathe, alone. And I want you to picture a world where you are commanded, demanded, required to do this. For virtually everything. Imagine needing help - but you must first re-traumatize yourself with your most painful memories until your nose is running and your eyes burn from crying. And you're exhausted for the rest of the day, too. Maybe multiple days. Absolutely exhausted. So fucking depleted that taking yourself to the bathroom is almost impossible. Feeding yourself - even eating something out of a can, or microwaved - is a herculean effort. Does that sound fun? Of course not. 

As for the appointment itself: It's the same. Much better bedside manner. But it's the same underlying capitalism-serving "care" system. It's my fault. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not blacking out alone on the side of the road enough. I haven't dissociated hard enough and/or blacked out while driving yet, so it can't be that bad, right? Not until I'm maimed or dead, right? Why address the root of a problem when we can just plaster on endless band-aids instead? When we can blame you for hurting, instead of the environment that's poisoning you? I'm not medically sedating myself into an obedient little wage slave, and that's the real problem. I should aspire to produce capital for someone with most of the remaining hours of my life. That's the purpose of living, that's the reason for "health"care - not to care about health, no, just to keep the wheels of capitalism well-oiled with wasted human life. Inherent human value? Quality of life? Nah. 

They refused my medical history. I brought the 72-page pdf on a flash drive. Because that's how I was given it. Because I can't afford to buy and operate a personal fax machine and/or print out a chapter book's worth of pages of medical records. I went through the trouble of getting the files, and it took over a month - only to be told "we can't take anything but paper or fax." I filled out a file release form as best I could. But I didn't have the phone number or address memorized. Not even before that place became synonymous with medical neglect and trauma for me. So now they're going to go through the ancient months-long ritual of requesting the self-fucking-same documents from LISH, either by mail or fax, because they "can't" access a flash drive or a pdf or use email. Welcome to 2021. We're back to "normal" and teleheath never existed and the internet is fake and technology is a myth and why do anything efficiently when you can waste time and do damage to people instead? My Aunt called to check in on me during her lunch break. (Thank you again) She offered to get the file printed and try to hand it in for me. I'm too tired to hope. I'm too exhausted to think they'll accept it without fuss. Anything and everything to make things harder.

Top priority order of business is the whole "diseased for life" thing. Hashimoto's thyroiditis. Hypothyroidism. Daily hormones for every day of the rest of forever, gatekept behind eternal doctor visits and prescriptions and pharmacies and copays and and and and did I mention this is forever? I've got a referral to have a thyroid sonogram done. Haven't ever had one of those before. Need to make that appointment. I was able to have my blood drawn for the thyroid testing without needing an additional appointment, which was a nice change of pace. Normally you're supposed to fast for that, but I wasn't expecting that could be done during the visit. Three years of having to make additional trips to the lab for blood work. I ate immediately before getting there, so hopefully nothing had a chance to metabolize and skew the results. Even though it was great not to have to juggle yet another appointment for health shit, it was stressful. The nurse took three tries before she had all the supplies she needed in the room. I already have anxiety spikes (which also raise my blood pressure and heart rate) for all doctor visits now. (White Coat Syndrome, I learned, it's called) I didn't need to have a rubber cable tied around my arm, popped off, tied again, popped off, and tied a third and final time to make it worse. A pro to that con: she was incredibly accurate and gentle. I normally have sub-dermal bleeding and some bruising after having blood drawn, and keep the bandage on for a day or two. The bandage didn't last even an hour after I got home - but there wasn't a single spot of trapped blood, and I almost couldn't even tell where she stuck me.

I have another new diagnosis to add to my growing collection. Hypertension. High blood pressure. I used to have slightly low blood pressure. It stunned the first doctor I ever saw (you know, because I'm fat, so that sort of thing is supposed to be ~impossible~) and it frustrated my last doctor at first, too. But now, with years of building stress and anxiety? It's almost like living with your most basic human needs barely provided (food, shelter, healthcare - let's not bring up social needs LMAO those don't count anyway, right?), and at constant risk of being taken away, for months (years, in some cases) on end, is some form of stress. It's almost like being constantly dismissed and told "you're just not trying hard enough" (WHILE TRYING YOUR BEST JUST TO SURVIVE EACH DAY) is some form of stress!It's almost like perpetual, ongoing, worsening stress has a negative impact on your heart! It's almost like there are decades of data that spell this out, plain as day!It's almost like I noticed my elevated heart rate back in NOVEMBER and mentioned it out of concern to my last doctor - who dismissed it outright because my reading in-office wasn't *that* bad, and also shouldn't I be on 5487 psych meds instead? If I was sedated out of my mind, I wouldn't be physically capable of feeling stress in my body despite the presence of real-world stress factors. That's healthy, right? Don't bother to solve the stressors, just neuter the body's response to them. Super healthy response. (Not) My GYN took note of my concern in December, when my vitals DID show as high in-office. Not that my GYN had the jurisdiction to do anything about it. I'm being put on another medication to try to mitigate this, and potentially also address some anxiety. I haven't picked it up yet. I don't know the name. I don't know if I'll be able to afford it. "Your copay is only a dollar!" Yes well, when you don't have a dollar, you can't afford a dollar, can you?

I was given a list of psychiatrists. To "Call!!"Precisely none of them are a reasonable distance away. Nearly half aren't even in my insurance network. Some explicitly exclude Medicaid. Others are exclusively for children. I was suggested a medication for depression and anxiety. I can't remember which one. Either Abilify or Lexapro? I declined it for now, either way. I wanted to be able to research it. Lexapro is just another SSRI and I already know those don't work for me. Adding a chemical bouncer to my brain to make sure the happy chemicals stay out to play doesn't help when there are no happy chemicals in the first place. A quick search for Abilify doesn't address anxiety at all so it was probably Lexapro. In which case, I am not interested in repeating a different-flavor-Prozac experience. It was not good. I didn't get any notes with that medication, regardless. I got a sticky note with "Valerian Root Extract (tea or tincture)" and "Magnesium Glycinate 2 capsules" scribbled on it, instead. Out-of-pocket home rem-maybes. I can't afford to experiment with snake oils, so mostly I'll probably just spend a bunch of time looking for data and research and studies for those substances, and that's it. If I get around to psychiatric care, I will have to start from scratch in my insurance's shoddy search tool, again. And, frankly, it's not a priority. My mental health struggles are the result of a lot of physical factors and external/social factors, and no amount of artificial chemicals bullying my brain is going to solve any of it. When your car starts leaking oil, you don't just commit to buying more oil forever and dribbling it all over, wherever you go. You fix the fucking leak. If your house has a gas leak, you don't invest in gas masks. You fix the fucking leak. If you end up with a burst pipe, you don't commit to wasting water and money and damaging your environment. You fix. The fucking. Leak. But in these comparisons, I'm getting prescribed oil and gas masks and infinite water damage/waste/bills as long-term care.

I mentioned my fatigue. It was the final straw that made me give up with the last doctor. It just keeps getting worse. It's been getting worse for over 3 years. And I'm so, so fucking tired of it getting pinned fully on the fact that I'm not on psych meds. I WAS on psych meds during part of those 3 years with my last doctor. And it didn't fucking make any difference! A daily chemical lobotomy does not address or restore my lack of physical energy. My decades-old medication-resistant insomnia has never vanished with psych meds before, and it's not likely to do it now. Especially not with yet another of the same family of chemicals that I already know don't work. I want my concern to be taken seriously. I don't want it just brushed into the mental health corner, again. Being too tired to even do the things you used to enjoy - no one fucking wants this! I don't want this! I miss being able to go for walks. I miss going to the gym. I miss seeing how much I could do, and feeling good, and feeling strong. And I can't do any of that now. Not without risking harming myself in the process. 

No one wants this. I keep talking, but it feels like no one listens. At the earliest opportunity, we're back to repeating the same tired old shit that doesn't work. I try to come prepared, and the stress and time and system make sure I fail to stand up for myself anyway. I didn't get to document my disordered eating history. The relapse this year. Restricting, sometimes to the point of not eating at all. I declined to be weighed, because I want my care to be based on relevant data, vitals, blood results - not the shape and size of my body. But I was too tired to realize I needed to dodge a verbal ask for the same information. Which, it turns out, is nearly as bad a trigger as having the scale spit it out for me. Being your own advocate for equal care, when you're already tapped out? I'm not winning that challenge. 

I'm frustrated. I'm not giving up, but I am frustrated and beyond tired. I don't really expect anyone to read this mess. But it's here.

[asoftervirge]

Of “Love” & Murder (7/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Logan Oxford: Esteemed Novelist

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Anxiety, Logan being A Nerd, Philosophy Jargon, mentions of a previous Murder, mentions of Poisoning CHAPTER SUMMARY:  Logan tell Patton how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And we’re introduced to Logan! :D This chapter is shorter than the Roman introduction, but it should still bring excitement for people to want to learn how xe died. That’s a weird sentence. lol And yes, xe not he. Logan has had a number of changes with this update and I’m very pleased with them, so I hope everyone else is too. Also, this chapter is PG, so that’s good! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

Patton squeaked and stood up straighter. For some reason, this person gave off a cold and aloof aura. Much different from the warmth and passion that radiated from Roman.

“You— You must be the second of Virgil’s husbands?”

“Spouses,” the second ghost immediately corrected. His lips curled into a slight scowl. It was pretty intimidating to say the least, especially with how tall he seemed to be. “While I do not completely mind being considered his…’husband,’ I would prefer to be called his spouse. Also my pronouns call be he/him, but I would prefer xe/xyr.”

“O-Oh!” Patton blushed, feeling bad he accidentally misgendered another person. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Since this is our first encounter and it was merely an accident, I’ll let it slide.” xe told the confectioner while marching toward him, maintaining a good distance. “However, should we encounter each other again multiple times after this, and you still continue to misuse my pronouns, I can guarantee I will not be so friendly.”

Patton gulped. “Got it.”

Xe held out a hand for him. “Logan Oxford. Esteemed novelist and self-admitted astrophile.”

The confectioner didn’t know what half of those words meant. “U-Uhm,” he shakes Logan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Oxford.”

“Logan, please. No need for formalities.”

He nodded. Now that he thinks about it, Patton has heard the name Logan Oxford before. His cousin Emile brought xem up a couple of times when he talked about therapy (while still keeping patient confidentiality, obviously). He mentioned how xyr essays were really good, but they seemed a little too…stuffy, for his personal tastes (like most scientists/doctors/philosophers/etc).

Now meeting xem for the first time, he can understand why Emile said that.

While Roman had on very bold, fancy colors: reds and whites and golds, Logan was a stark contrast to that. Similar to his own palette but not quite. Xe had on a dark blue dress coat with a white button-up underneath it, along with black suit pants and dark brown dress shoes. A little bit of gold was on his buttons and cuff links, but other than that, the colors xe wore were predominantly dark.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of differences between he and Logan. The novelist had dark eyes while he had baby blue. Logan had straight, gelled black hair while he had strawberry blonde curls. A medium build with a good amount of muscle as opposed to a soft curvy build with a bit of chub. A sharp face as opposed to a rounded one. Square glasses as opposed to rounded lenses.

Regardless, xe were a very clean-looking individual. Perhaps even handsome in xyr own right, much like Virgil was.

“I suppose you’re wanting to warn me about Virgil too?” he asks.

“Is that not why you’re here?” Logan responds. “Or were you just wanting to put your nose into the affairs of a relatively wealthy man?”

Patton pouted. He didn’t have to be rude about it!

“But yes,” the novelist says immediately after. “I am here to also warn you about the dangers of Mr. Virgil Nyx of 613 Rue Morgue.”

“Well take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but my past before Mr. Nyx is easy to discuss,” Logan tells him.

The confectioner nods, listening to him attentively.

“Growing up as a child, my father was a firm believer of knowledge,” Xe began. “He always believed that it was an incomparably valuable, multipurpose tool, instrumental in identifying and solving any of the world’s problems.” Dark blue eyes casted themselves over to the books. “One of the things he used to tell me was, “If you are ever worried about getting hurt, then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon, and our greatest defense.” And so, with that, my ever-growing thirst began.”

Xe went on, “I scoured for any form of knowledge, be that books or even educative television, wherever I could find it, I absorbed it entirely. I read every book from both my father and Ye Ye, every book from the libraries— primary school, the public one, university— etcetera. All of it was not enough for me. I eventually received my Master’s in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Physics, wishing to expand my love of all things intellect and share it with the world.” He turns back to Patton. “Before my graduation, I had published a few theses that were eventually used at other prestigious universities; and afterward, I had written a book or two, which resulted in my rise to celebrity.”

Patton nodded. Then he asked, “Had you known about Virgil before you met him?”

“I was aware of him, yes.” the novelist’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I had heard about the…supposed suicide of Roman Scarlet, famed Broadway actor and beloved performer of the Storytime lounge. I had also heard of his brother’s desire to take Virgil to court without any proof of murderous intent, I believe he was even in contact with a lawyer despite this.”

The confectioner looked at xem in surprise. “Even when he didn’t have evidence, his brother had contact with a lawyer about wanting to see if Virgil could be charged with murder?”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “At first, I read it off as some silly story for revenge, not exactly understanding how that was actually the truth.”

Patton nodded. “So…Did you meet him at a book signing or…?”

Logan didn’t say anything of the longest time. When xe did, it was very vague-sounding. “When I met Virgil…well, let’s just say it was…a strange sense of irony.”

…

If he could, Virgil would have openly spat about how much he did not want to be here. When he became as wealthy as he is, he swore up and down that he would never return to this place, return to the old life he lived before he knew what it was like to have money.

And yet, here he was, walking into a familiar-looking bookstore. The name re-entering his mind like he hadn’t shoved it out oh so many years ago.

Catching his eye was the small clump of beings standing outside its old, paint-chipped door; maybe the line won’t be as long as he thought. However, he quickly (and unfortunately) realized that the clump of people outside stood at the end of a line that snaked through the entire store.

Everyone and their mother apparently wanted to meet Logan Oxford today of all days.

He should’ve expected this, and yet, he didn’t. Idiot.

Actual anxiety slowly began to seize his being as he continued to approach. Everyone seemed to have a book clutched in their hands. Most were the newest release that came just before the holidays, while some seemed to be personally chosen titles by the older audience, and then there were even books of essays that were held and gossiped about by students (or who Virgil assumed to be university students).

By the time the line actually started moving, Virgil felt sweat starting to coat his palms. He let out a noise of annoyance and shoved them into his pockets.

He was not going to let his stupid anxiety ruin this chance for him. He wasn’t!

Walking in, the little jingle of the bell above sounded like the heavy dong of a church one.

Virgil forced himself to look around. This cozy little hellhole remained the same even after almost a decade. (He even forced himself to wonder if the old owner was still here. Probably not. Maybe retired. Or dead.)

The lighting was still bad, but it gave the small interior of the store its warm glow; the carpeting was still old fashioned and had that untraceable smell to it; the chairs scattered about the store were all patchy and worn-down; the wooden tables had scratch marks and random-ass messages that people carved in with pencil; and there were still crazy knickknacks and antiques hanging from the walls or seen from the shelves.

For the widower, this place was a walk-in nightmare, like walking into someone’s grandmother’s house. But for the many customers who come and go daily, it was a little spot of comfort.

Silver-grey eyes eventually found the prize he was looking for.

Logan Oxford sat at a small table with a pen in xyr hand. The writer smiled very thinly up at an admirer as xe handed back their book from across the table.

A thousand little details flooded Virgil’s mind all at once. A full mouth that could be expressive if it wasn’t so clearly behind a reserved wall. A face that was as sharp as Roman’s but it was much more angular. Rich, dark eyes that almost seemed black: dark and mysterious, they looked like they were pulled from the night sky. Slicked back hair that would still be considered neat without all that damn hair gel.

Xe were more than attractive than the widower realized. Perfect for being his next target.

Just before it was his turn, he saw a stand full of Logan’s books, all new and old alike. Making sure no one was looking, he snagged a copy before making his way towards the novelist.

The novelist took the book without even saying anything, not even so much as a polite hello. Xe flipped it open to the first page and started to scribble on the first page with blue ink.

Virgil looked down at the book he grabbed and an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat, but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Mx. Oxford?” he pretended to sound eager. “I know you’ve probably heard this before, but your philosophy essays are so fascinating.”

“You are correct, I have heard it before.” xe said. Dark eyes flashed up at him, a brow quirked and his expression monotone. “Do you have a particular question you’d like to ask me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I do…Do you believe that your field of study has been hindered by the teachings of Aristotle, or are you one of those science-y people who just nod and continuously say he’s right without any substantial proof?”

At that, Logan’s head shot up. “…beg pardon?” Xe were a little stunned by the question being asked of him.

“Do you agree with Aristotle’s teachings, yes or no?” Virgil asked again, a tiny bit amused as he made the novelist react in such a way.

Xe cleared xyr throat, trying to regain some composure. “W-Well,” he stammered. “In the case of Aristotle…the man was usually wrong. A lot. Most of his descriptions of the natural world are some variety of incorrect,” xe tell him. “Looking past his blatant sexism, his understanding of motion and forces is wrong, is astronomy is wrong, a good portion of his biology is busted, and science has in fact suffered for it. For almost 2,000 years to be specific.”

The widower hummed. (Truth be told, he hated philosophy. It was basically a bunch of old guys trying to preach certain ethics and ideologies that would eventually become outdated and criticized.) Nevertheless, he wanted to know what Logan thought about it.

“However,” Logan continued, a glimmer of something sparkling in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the 1800s when the atom was officially declared A Thing, that people began to believe his contemporary, Democritus, as opposed to himself.” Xe snort. “Not to mention, according to Cicero, his prose was apparently a flowing river of gold…when it actually was not. And it was because of him that we not only lost science but also a catastrophic amount of classical literature.”

“So in actuality, his works are basically glorified lecture-notes from his students?” Virgil smirks faintly. “I guess you know now why we should’ve listened to Gorgias instead.”

“Gorgias?” Xe ask, looking at him incredulously. “The man was, excuse my Greek, a pathological pain the ass. He didn’t care for objective truth and stated that everything was a matter of opinion, which was always bendable.”

“Exactly!” Virgil smirks more. “Everything is a construct, therefore we tried and failed. So now all we need to do is to hide under the covers until the sun goes away.” With that, the widower takes his autographed book and begins to leave the store.

“Falsehood!” A screech came from behind him, making him jump. He turns around to see the novelist get up and stride over to him, a sharp look in his eyes. The widower immediately stood straighter. Damn…that glare reminds him of a certain someone that he does not wish to remember right now. “Just because Gorgias was able to obliterate Stephanos of Thebes with straw-man arguments and casual fallacies, does not mean you can, Diogenes the Cynic.”

Virgil blinked. “…Diogenes the Cynic?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Logan says. “A philosopher who believed that all Sophists were liars, the Philosophers were too pretentious, therefore taking immense pleasure in poking fun at their logic.”

The widower pondered thoughtfully. “…yep. That sounds like us just now.” A glint of wicked humor shone in his eyes as Logan just looked done with him. “But in all seriousness, Mx. Oxford. You have to realize that philosophy can be a bit asinine, right?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment before breathing out. “I suppose so,” xe states. “All of the big, complex ideas simply come from those who are fallible and prone to…ridiculousness. For every Plato’s Republic, there is a Diogenes urinating at a banquet table.”

“There you go,” Virgil laughs. “I hope you really didn’t get offended by what I said. I like presenting counterarguments just to see how people react.”

“No harm done. Although I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy socializing with others all that much,” Hard same. “I would like to talk to you more. Maybe about science-based media— or whatever it is you’re a fan of?”

Virgil nodded, smirking internally. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to challenge your claims on what you call cognitive distortions. As someone who has generalized anxiety, I wanna know what your psychology thinks about my over-reactionary mind.”

Logan hummed in interest. “Oh? I look forward to it then, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

“Mr. Nyx.” Named after the Roman Goddess of the Night, the novelist mused. Xe liked it. Xe scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, handing it to Virgil. “Again, thank you very much for coming and I hope to communicate with you again soon.”

“See ya.”

With a finger salute, Virgil left the bookstore with a sigh of relief. He was quite glad that his anxiety didn’t make him look the a fool and that he was out of that atrocious place. He opened the book and saw the fancy penmanship of the novelist.

On the bookmark, was his phone number.

He smirked. Maybe he did succeed after all…

…

Patton listed as Logan finished telling him about xyr first meeting with Virgil. He had to admit, it was rather nice to not listen to any…graphic details about things he didn’t want to know, even if Roman told him in a vague manner.

“So how did you stay close with Virgil?” he asked, remembering the questions he presented Roman. “You gave him your number; did you call each other on the phone? Or did you both kept meeting at the bookstore.”

Logan shook xyrs head. “No. However, I would invite him out for some coffee if I was in the area. And every time we did so, we would always have little discussions that would turn into…not-so-little discussions after a period of time…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

The novelist scowled. “We did not argue, if that is what you’re thinking! We…debated, that’s much more civil.” The confectioner giggled but allowed him to continue. “And, while I’m not a traditionally…emotional person…it was quite nice to have someone debate on certain subjects with me, even if they tended to hiss at me from time to time.”

Despite this slowly becoming a sad tale, Patton giggled again. He won’t lie, Virgil did act like a cat every once in a while. It was actually kinda cute (you know…despite the fact he murdered three people…).

“I would also take him to any conferences or panels that I would be invited to attend or speak at,” xe told him. “He would act as my plus one, if you will. I must admit, even if I could manage them on my own, it was…almost beneficial for me to have him around during those events.” Xe chuckled. “I say this despite the fact that he detested such things, as they tended to prompt his anxiety and cause him to rudely hiss whenever someone— and I quote— “reached his limits with stupid questions.” Not only that, he was not primarily invested in the actual subjects of said discussions and was more interested in the catering they served.”

That caused Patton to actually laugh. That also seems like something that Virgil would do, though he doesn’t blame him at all. In fact, if he were in his shoes, he would be a bit more curious in the food too.

Logan couldn’t help xyr lips from twitching upwards. “I shall confess, there were times where I myself have agreed with his sentiments.”

Unfortunately, the smiles and laughter had to end at some point.

“But what happened afterward?” Patton eventually asked. “What caused everything to go downhill?”

The little twitch of a smile instantly when back to a frown. The confectioner sees xem turn to grab a book that was suddenly on the table (when did that get there anyhow?). It was a very beautiful looking book: dark indigo in color with a title that he couldn’t quite make out, but he could see Logan’s name at the very top. Xe opened the book, flipping it to the very last pages before handing it to Patton.

‘ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS’ Baby blue eyes skimmed through the short paragraphs of text. Logan gave simple but kind words as xe thanked the people who helped xem achieve such a feat, such as his parents and former professors.

Then he followed to where the novelist had pointed a finger at.

“Lastly, I would like to give acknowledgments to my husband, Virgil Nyx.

While we have not known each other long, and have newly become married, but having your support throughout this journey was momentous for someone like me to complete this project. Your harsh and honest (almost too honest) criticisms of my work were what kept me going to make and achieve better than my means. And while I am not an emotional person, nor do I express my emotions often, I quiet enjoyed having your company while I wrote and rewrote my rough and final drafts… And I must thank you for bring me my favorite green teas and jellied biscuits whenever I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for hours on end.

This is the most I have genuinely praised someone so highly (and also a first), but it cannot be helped. I truly hope you see the appreciation and respect I fester for you.”

Patton couldn’t help but tear up. To Logan, they may appear simple, but they were also so beautiful.

“As you’ve read, by the time I had written my last book, Virgil had become my spouse.” Logan says. “We were married in a simple ceremony. Something that was vastly different from Roman’s grandiose nuptials.”

Patton giggled. It was amusing with how Logan was poking fun at Roman from beyond the grave. (In an almost magical way, he could almost hear an indignant noise in his ear).

“But,” Logan’s face grew sad, almost angry. “That did not last long, unfortunately. I had quickly fallen for Virgil’s rouses like the one before me. And, like him, I was met with an unfortunate end.” A deep, almost tired sigh. “To think, someone like him could have been two steps ahead of me in a metaphorical game of chess…I must say, it was truly a checkmate on his end.”

“Him murdering you, you mean?” Patton asked, fearing the answer Logan will give him. Silence. A very familiar silence.

Then, Logan nodded. “Yes. Although, poisoning is the correct terminology this time around.”

[adhd-sorcha]

Im trying to get into the medical field and I have a super hard time with adhd. Any advice for getting through all that schooling?

I am soooo sorry I took so long to answer this (good thing you didn’t go on anon!). I have no excuse, I’m just like this.

Before I get into anything, I just want to say that I was only diagnosed a few months ago, so I didn’t go through school consciously coming up with ADHD-busting strategies and there were definitely mysterious difficulties that I’m only now understanding but at the time I never managed to sort (*shakes fist at essay based subjects/exams*). I will tell you what I think were my accidental ADHD-helping techniques though! One other thing, I have predominantly inattentive ADHD ( or formerly ADD) so if you or anyone else are looking for tips on how to stay seated for extended periods or anything like that, I’m afraid I’m no help there. Sorry!! Also, since I don’t know what stage you’re at school-wise, I’ll include things that I found useful in secondary school too, in case it’s useful.

So, in no particular order! (this may get long...)

- Diary, diary, diary: In the schools (primary and secondary) here in Ireland you get given a diary at the start of the year. At the end of every class, the teacher writes up the homework and we copy it into our diaries. Great system!! The diary is only for school so it never needs to leave your school bag, so it should be hard enough to forget. I used to only write short notes, eg. Maths: pg 20, part a-e or something like that. It makes it easy to look through at the end of the day when collecting your books to bring home. I used to look at one line, put those books in my bag, then look at the next line. One at a time. And I often double-checked. It made me slower to get ready to leave than everyone else, but hey! I remembered my stuff! I got myself a diary for college when I moved on. They are soooo helpful. And it’s so satisfying to tick things off as you do them!!

- Have ONE school bag: Might sound weird, but I know people who, in college, just bring whatever handbag matches their outfit that day. No! You’re going to forget to transfer something over. With one bag, you can keep your school diary and pens and student card and things like that in it. They will always be in there. No need to go moving them around, they’ll only get lost if you do that. It just helps to limit the things that you have to remember to bring with you, if your bag is already kind of packed as a default.

- Take advantage of desk/locker space: Keep spare items at your desk/in your locker so that even if you forget to put them in your bag, you’re still covered. Things that I’ve kept at desks/in lockers include: spare pair of glasses, hair ties for labs, spare writing paper (so it doesn’t matter if you forgot your copy!), pens/highlighters/pencils, socks (it rains a lot here, probably not the most relevant...). Absolutely anything that you think you may be likely to forget and is safe to leave at school just keep a spare one already there! (maybe don’t leave valuables...)

- Set your timetable as your lockscreen/homescreen: I’ve never done this one personally. I kept my timetable in my diary. I find it easier to read. But, I know a few people who used to make out their timetable in Word or something and set that as the lockscreen on their phone. People tend to keep their phones somewhere that’s easy to reach, so it shouldn’t conflict too much with executive dysfunction or anything like that.

- Routine: Having a set routine can really help with getting homework done. It becomes a habit and so a certain amount becomes automatic. I used to do mine as soon as I got home from school/college. And I had a set time for when to start my work at the weekends.

- Bring the lecture slides to lectures: I assume this will vary by college, but our lecturers used to post their lecture slides to the class site before the lecture so you could bring them to class. You could either bring the pdf on a tablet/laptop or print them off. (If you’re using a tablet/laptop you can always download the notes when you get there so it’s okay if you forgot to do it before class!). I found these helpful because I only had to make note of the extra information that the lecturer said out loud or I could just highlight important words, thereby limiting the amount I actually had to write. When I just had blank paper, I was always trying to write everything for some reason and just became lost...

- Make study notes that suit you! I remember being shown in school how to make notes when studying. But I found the standard neat lines, black/blue pen that teachers wanted didn’t work for me. They were boring to look at so they were boring to use. So I made them interesting! I used lots of colourful pens, sticky notes just to create little ‘boxes’, scribbled in the margins, drew labelled diagrams instead of putting some things into words. People would actually ask from time to time how I studied from them XD Study notes are one of those things that we’re taught how to do, but there really isn’t a one size fits all approach to it, so don’t be afraid to do different things with your notes. I used mind maps to study history in school! Here’s an example of my 3rd year pharmacology notes (believe it or not there isn’t any colour-coding XD I just went with what was fun!). 

- Have a study buddy: This seriously helped me when I moved from school to college. The two girls I became friends with in first year were so much better at organising study and assignment work between lectures than I was. They’d just automatically go to the library to get stuff done between lectures so I went with them and just worked on whatever they were working on. Having them around kept me on track. We did this informally (by which I mean I’ve only recently come to realise that copying their behaviour is why I got through my first two years so well, they have no idea that that’s what I was doing XD), but you could always formalise something like this with someone. There is no shame in needing someone to help you organise your study or needing someone around to work on assignments together.  You don’t have to do education on your own.

- Have multiple study places: I know study advice normally says have one dedicated location for study, but that gets so boring. I might be able to study at my desk in my room this month but then it gets boring and I can’t study. So, I have multiple dedicated locations for study. My desk at my room, the main college library, library on a different campus. People with ADHD like novelty, so sometimes I find having a change in study scenery can help focus on work!

- ASK FOR HELP: To be fair, this is one I still struggle with myself. But honestly, so many problems can be solved so easily if you just tell someone about them. Can’t remember when that exam is happening? Ask. Don’t know how to make that application/do that assignment? Ask. What did those instructions even mean? Ask. Forget where that office is? Ask. So many educators, particularly at third level, genuinely want their students to do well, but they can’t help if they don’t know you need it. I know for myself I don’t want people to know how disorganised or confused I get so I put off asking questions, but the sooner you ask, the sooner the problem gets fixed!

- If you need to do something differently, do it differently: Before I started my leave I was starting to realise that my having ADHD meant that I would have to do things differently to my neurotypical labmates. I was going to need to write more reminders of basic things for myself and stick them all over my bench. I was probably going to generate data more slowly than them because time management and organisation is difficult for me. I was going to need to have a detailed protocol next to me at all times instead of knowing the procedure off by heart like the rest of them. The neurotypical way is not the only way. Doing something differently does not make it wrong.

- Be kind to yourself: The education system is tough enough on it’s own, but those of us with ADHD have some extra obstacles in our way. There really is no point in comparing yourself to someone who doesn’t have ADHD (or similar problems) and berating yourself for not getting as much done as them or doing something slower etc etc. Don’t let ADHD limit you by any means, just remember that the route to success looks different for different people.

I think I’ll stop it here. This is getting quite long! Like I said, I’m newly diagnosed so there are things that I’m still struggling with myself (time-management is a big one!! I am 100% unqualified to give people advice on that one!!) and the things that I have done well have been more lucky accident than anything else. I hope these are somewhat helpful? Feel free to ask anymore questions though! And I wish you the best of luck with getting into medicine!!

[internetexplorersclub]

brightness and movement of the sea

A man named Martin Parr has spent 20 years collecting Soviet space dog memorabilia and I'm veryjealous of his collection. The important thing is you can purchase a decanter of Belka and Strelka online.

Longtime readers will know I'm always interested in the history of language and the meaning of words change, so this piece on how the Greeks thought of color is right up my alley—it starts with how they didn't use the word blue to describe the ocean, it was instead "‘pansy-like’ (ioeides), ‘wine-like’ (oinops), or purple (porphureos)." This is just fascinating:  

When the sea is called porphureos, what is described is a mix of brightness and movement, changing according to the light conditions at different hours of the day and with different weather, which was the aspect of the sea that most attracted Greek sensitivity.

In an interesting parallel, scientists know that sharks' eyes see only the blue-green spectrum, but they recently discovered that certain types of sharks emit a bioflourescent glow when viewed in blue light—a glow that we're unable to see without a filter.

A secondary parallel from the pages fromThe History of Ink, listing out names of ink across languages. I like that you can see the multiple origins, and how Old English and Anglo-Saxon pull from two distinct sources for ink and blæk, respectively.

Pompeii archaeologists have found what they call a "sorcerer's treasure trove," and what's interesting is they believe most of the items are ritualistic, and would have belonged to women!

Also, apparently the accepted date that Pompeii erupted (August 24) is wrong—because they found graffiti that listed a date of October 17, which would have (obviously) had to have been written before the eruption. This is amazing for two-fold reasons: the first, because this is a scribbled inscription in charcoal and I have no idea how it survived, and secondly because the previous date we had was just based on Pliny the Younger's account, which he wrote 20 years after the eruption!

I want a copy of this sign in the Cloisters gardens desperately.

The USS Constitution museum has shared a story about how a figurehead of Andrew Jackson got his head sawn off in 1833. A 28-year-old captain rowed out in the middle of a storm, sawed the head off (there was a metal pole that prevented him from sawing it off at the neck), then went to Washington to try and present it to Jackson. He ended up giving it to Van Buren:

Upon Dewey’s announcing himself as the person who had taken off the Constitution’s figure-head Mr. Van Buren gave a great start and was thrown off his usual balance. Recovering himself, he demanded the particulars of the exploit, which seemed to afford him no small satisfaction.

Dewey's seal later in life, which is Veni (I came), [a Saw], Vici (I conquered), which cannot be improved in any way.

Finally, and I cannot make this stuff up:

No they have not found him, no it is not the first time it has happened in the county.

etcetera: The BBC once described the Teletubby Tinky Winky as "a sweet, technological baby with a magic bag" which is truly A Mood.

[itsbuckysworld]

Come Over, Come Closer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (implied female)

Guest Appearance: None. World: AU - no avengers Genre: Fluff bomb Warnings: implications of smut.

Summary: You started staying over so much that Bucky wondered why didn’t you just move in? Prompt: “That’s the best thing i could wake up to in the morning” + Toothbrush by DNCE (i’m envisioning a similar apartment than the music video, and also a similar model for the part)

A/N: This is for @becaamm​’s Valentines Writing Challenge. This is a messy chopped up piece just really getting into the fluff of things without much backstory and whatnot. Told somewhat from two points of view. It’s like the few instances of a relationship, growing towards the big move in with me. 

Smooches! xoxo L

   “Come over?” he’d texted you, biting the nail of his left thumb almost down to the nail bed. It was risky and way past visiting hours. You two hadn’t been dating that long, but long enough that maybe, just maybe, this was okay territory. He sprinted up from his bed when he’d seen the three dots turn into a sweet “ok” from you, excitedly looking around his pad and deciding what needed urgent picking up so that the place wasn’t trashed when you arrived.

You knew deep down it was a little risky but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no to his invite. You couldn’t deny yourself that you wanted to see him, your week had been awful and you wanted to spend time with him, so why not? You were a grown woman who made her own decisions, and you had decided you were going to go to your boyfriend’s place knowing full well that the ‘come over’ doubled as ‘stay over’. It was fine, right? You had never stayed over at any boyfriend’s place, not even the last jackass whom you dated for over a year, yet here you were, month six and already yearning, deep down, to stay at his place, the butterflies caused by excitement rather than nervousness. Why was Bucky so different?

Coming up to his door and being greeted by him in comfortable joggers, an old band t-shirt and his hair tousled casually – wow did he look good – answered the question straight away. Why was Bucky different? He was Bucky. Sweet, caring and possibly too charming for his own good Bucky. He pressed his lips to yours in a sweet peck as he welcomed you in his familiar abode. You’d been over at his place before, in fact the dinner where he asked you to be his girlfriend officially had been held in his cozy kitchen, but the mood was different this time.

Different was good though. Different was perfect.

Bucky’s nerves dissipated the moment you stepped in and let your body flop on his couch. It was only you, his girlfriend who he cared for so deeply. You were comfortable, a safe space, no need for nerves to be taking over his body. And with a deep sigh, he let his body fall on the couch next to yours as he clicked on a movie that the two of you ignored as you chatted about your days, fingers dancing around each other’s bodies under the blanket.

“You’re coming over?” he’d asked you over the phone, ten months in the relationship and the nerves of that first night you spent over long gone. He remembered it with a smile, how giddy and shy you both were, and he compared it with the contrast of today, how it became a routine for you to knock on his door after your work shift was over, and how slowly you had invaded some of his spaces with parts of you. He would find some of your shirts and dresses in his laundry, your shampoo in the shower, your favourite snacks and coffee mugs in the pantry and cupboards. It was an invasion he welcomed with open arms. 

“Coming up as we speak” you answered him and he could hear the smile on your voice. Just as you had said, a few seconds later there was a short knock at the door and he hopped over the center table in his living room to open up, greeting you with his usual kiss and a squeeze to your left hip. You tossed your uncomfortable work clothes, piece by piece on your way to his bedroom, and donned a pair of his boxers and a sweater you’d left over what felt years ago as you got comfy on the kitchen counter, waiting for whatever he was cooking for dinner to be ready. The soft music coming from his radio, the warmth and distinct aroma of his home, the sight of him moving around you in the space as he made you both some food, it was a sight for sore eyes, and you cherished every second of it. How his sweater sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his strong forearms, his bare feet barely making a sound as he expertly danced around the place, his bright eyes focused on the task at hand but also moving to scan you and pay attention to you as you spoke, and his soft lips, finding every excuse to be pressed to some part of your exposed skin.

It wasn’t anything like this the first time around, when you were silent and modest and both of you barely touched the other in fear of taking things a step too far. No. Now it was more casual, laid back and known. Now it was familiar and after doing the dishes, you didn’t wait a second to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Come closer” you said and he did, despite already being flush against your chest. “Closer” you giggle and the tip of his nose is already in contact with yours, hands splayed over your lower back, your body between his legs, and then his mouth devoured yours, like dessert after a hearty meal, legs bent over to help pick you up in his arms and direct you to the bed where neither of you were afraid to touch and grab and bite.

The sun was sneaking in through the blinds and despite having seen it multiple times by now, the ethereal sight of you in nothing but your underwear and his shirt from the day before, tying your hair up in a knot and brushing your teeth was something Bucky can’t see himself ever getting tired of.  “That’s the best thing I could wake up to in the morning” he says, his voice heavy and laced with sleep, making goosebumps appear all over your skin. You give him a soft smile, spitting out toothpaste and cleaning up. He’s stark naked as he gets up, his morning glory on display for your hungry eyes as he approaches you and traps you under his arms. You’re kissing for what seems like ages but it’s barely seconds. Seconds where he leaves you breathless, your fingers running over his light stubble. “I’m going to make us breakfast, yeah?” he says before giving you one last kiss and stepping around you to get his own toothbrush.

The idea sounds magnificent, and you’re halfway agreeing when your phone blares out with an alarm. Your eyes almost fall out of your head as you realize “Fuck! I’m gonna be so late!” You’re rushing around, picking up your clothes and gathering your belongings. “Woah woah, relax. Isn’t there a dress you can wear here?” Bucky wants you to stay, enjoy your morning with him, but the clock ticks and you should be out the door if you wanna make it back to your place to get ready and into work in time.  “Even if, I have to do my makeup and my hair’s a mess and all my reports are back home- ugh. Raincheck on breakfast, babe” is your answer as you slip on your shoes and sprint up to hi for one last kiss before rushing out with a “Love you, see you tonight” that he answers loud and fast so you can hear him say “I love you too” back before you’re gone. He’s left all alone and he sighs, pouting. That’s the only part of you staying over that he hates, that you have to leave. It’s why he’d bought you a toothbrush, why he’d made so much space for you between his things, it’s why he clearly now has a side of his bed, the other one belonging to you long ago. That morning is the first time he wonders if maybe, just maybe, it’s too soon to give you a copy of his keys and ask the big question.

You come into Bucky’s apartment after hearing him answer your knocks with an “it’s open!”

The lights are dimmed and he’s playing soft jazz, much like he did on your third ever date. The place looks exactly the same, except for the few things here and there that have changed, like the couch – the old one gave out and you’d helped him pick the new one – and the kitchen table – if you were getting a new couch and some decorations and frames for the wall, might as well tie the whole look together and do a bit of remodeling, right? At least that’s what he said and you’d found yourself picking out pieces with him, giving your input on all the changes he was making around the place that was just as yours as it was his by then –

It was your one year anniversary and he thought only fair to make tribute to the dinner date that practically started it all.

He cooked the same dish, lit up candles in the same fashion, and if your memory serves you right, he even played the same music. You give him a soft smile, feeling the same butterflies even after so long. That’s why Bucky was so different, because everyday was like day one with him.

You had agreed to no gifts, your lives too busy recently for over the top displays of affection added to the ones you displayed on the daily, which explained your soft groan when he slid over a small box and letter your way after you’ve sat on the couch after dinner, a glass of wine on your hand. 

“Jesus, Buckyyy” you whined and he sits next to you and you put your glass down.  “What?–” a chuckle escapes his lips – “just open it” he rests his head on his chin in the most endearing way, eyes glimmering with hope and anticipation, and in that moment you swear he’s the prettiest little thing you’ve ever seen.

The box is wrapped in red paper, a tiny bow taped to the middle, the letter accompanying it is short and simple. Just three words make up the contents of it. The front just says “Come over” when you slip it out of the envelope and when you flip it open you find one last word scribbled in his messy handwriting “Forever”.  As you remove the top of the box you find a keychain with a set of two keys, a gasp slowly leaving your mouth as realization hits. 

“Bucky...” comes out of you in a breathless gasp. “I know we said no gifts but… I’ve been sitting on this key for like, two months, there’s no way I was waiting” he lets out a small huff of a laugh to cover up his nerves. He doesn’t know what he’s nervous for, half his closet is littered with your clothes, you do the groceries with him every two weeks and you complained about how your apartment was dark and dusty with how little time you spent there. If he misread the signs he would be shocked beyond belief, because you were practically living with him by month seven, more so now, so there was no way under the sun that this was moving too fast. If anything, Bucky thought, this was long overdue. 

“Oh, god” you murmur under your breath, picking up the keys and the pretty keychain he’d added. You nodded you head as you pressed the set to your chest, cherishing it with all your heart, your other hand bringing him closer by his neck, pressing your forehead to his “Yes, god, I’ll move in” it’s hard to kiss through the smile almost splitting his face in half, but you manage as he pulls you closer to his chest, his hand running warm under your blouse, and he deepens the kiss, sinking both your bodies down on the couch until you’re laid flat on top of him, giggles filling the air and the distinct clatter of keys hitting the floor, but you don’t mind, all you want to do is kiss him, love him, fall more in love with him.  “I also did get you a present though” “Huh, did you now?” Bucky’s laughter rings around the room. Of course neither of you respected the no gift law.  “I have to… change into it though” You point over the couch to a pink bag he saw you come in with. He recognizes the brand as a store that sells lingerie and he groans in ecstasy at the thought, letting his head drop back as he mouths a breathless ‘Thank you’ towards the ceiling. You slap his chest and laugh, leaning down to kiss him.  “Go, go. The faster you change, the faster I can rip that off you” “Hey, no ripping” “No promises”

The following morning, his eyes have barely had time to adjust when he sees your silhouette standing by the closet. It’s the sight he loves the most.  “Man, I love waking up to this view” he mutters and you giggle, twirling and giving him a show. “Why are you up so early though?” “I was just thinking, how will i fit all my stuff here?” you tell him when you realize he’s awake and he can’t help but chuckle. Of course you’re already planning ahead.  “I thought you already had all your stuff here” he jokes. “Oh Barnes, I have a way bigger closet than you think” he smiles, his fingers pushing back his hair and you can’t help but bite your lip at the sight.  “Ok, we’ll figure it out, my closet’s yours.” “Really?” “Everything is yours if you want it…” your heart flutters at his words and the warm look on his face, his smile and caring eyes, that speak nothing but honesty and love towards you. Bucky is so different from any other man. He’s perfect. He’s the one and you know it. “Now,–” he sits up a bit, showing his naked torso that has your mouth watering – “would you mind closing the bedroom door and coming back to bed?” he makes grabby hands at you and you waste no time rushing to him after the door clicks shut, getting your bodies re-tangled under the sheets.

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED! HERES MY ASK, HERE’S MY MASTERLIST Have a good day lovelies

Smooches, L xo <3

[workingonit-currently]

(Title Pending)

Part 2 (Start!)

In this words everyone has one thing in common, a Spark.

It's the number one thing you're judged on. Sparks are special abilities but also give the person they belong to other side abilities that relate or compliment their Spark's main ability.

But sometimes Sparks are what hold you back.

Boze wasn't one to turn down an assignment but with her Spark, eternal youth, she feels she could be doing more with her job than invading a stupid school. Though this was her first assignment since transferring to Shīru city's police station and they'd read her previous jobs and seen her abilities they still decided to assigne her this job.

The task was to invade the local school, Monogatari High School, and report any suspicious activity, the Shīru police having had a tip-off from a local that something is going down there.

Boze was the only officer known who could convincingly get into a school, looking young enough thanks to her Spark, but Boze wanted a juicy assignment, not just some stupid job like this. She couldn't understand why she was saddled with an assignment like this when Officer Corn and Sohin', the two goof-balls of the station, got to go to multiple bomb sights and mess around! It was so unfair!

Fair enough that Officer Corn's Spark is more chaotic than most and Officer Sohin' couldn't be more off in the clouds and neither could pass for convincing teenagers but despite all odds Boze's mind still found a way to convince her that they could do it instead.

She wouldn't dare bring it up to Chief Takahashi though, to afraid of losing both her badge and her life. The Cheif was about as tough as they came, survived time in The War of Vallies, braved the heats of Ghosts with nothing but a cup of milk as sustinence and most recently fought against the great Domination Extermination Force Fighting You. The station myths even say her hair is purple because it's dyed everyday with deadly poison from a giant snake that she keeps, all so that when she finally meets death they'll be running from her.

Despite this Boze still hates the fact that she has to pretend to be a hormonal teenager and spend her day learning in school. She finished school for a reason!

That's partly why she can't believe she's actually standing at the corner of the street she lives at with a backpack, waiting for the Monogatari High School bus, but she is.

Sighing and gripping the light purple strap of her backpack around her left shoulder Boze thinks of her days in school, not thinking this will be that hard. Breath

She was wrong.

As soon as she stepped on the bus she knew she was wrong. The scent of body odor and the sound of teenagers screaming and shouting brings Boze back to her school days and she struggles to find a seat, each person she passes side-eyeing her and sneering as if they have a personal vendeta against her or her bloodline.

Eventually she does sit down, at the back of the bus to avoid the glares and sneers, her face already feeling inadequate and ugly. Trying to take time to ready herself for the day Boze finds it extremely difficult, wild thought of what she must look like or how she must smell distract her mind and suddenly the thirty minute bus ride from her home to the school seems like hours.

.

She gets out of the bus just as school starts, following the crowd into the main hall and sitting down, trying to blend in. The crowd of teenagers are like snakes, tightly crushing her but she still moves, ready for anything at this point and her seat in the hall is not much different, she's wedged between a skinny and boney boy and a slightly buff girl.

A very official looking woman steps infront of everyone and brings a speaker to her mouth, Boze assumes she's the head. She stands up on a platform infront of everyones seats and has a flowey suit-dress thing so it only makes sense that she owns the school or is high in status here and you don't get much higher than the head.

This is correct as Boze finds out when the woman announces she is the head.

"Good morning all of you and welcome to your second year at Monogatari High School, I also welcome the new additions that have only come this year. Welcome all!" The lady starts with and Boze now remembers why she hated school, the teachers all seemed condisending to her and they don't seem to have changed now.

"For those who are new please let me make you aware of some things, firstly I must ask you to call me Miss Rose, secondly please make sure you know your place as there are five ranks and Leader is the top so try not to cause any trouble before being assigned your rank, thirdly can we all please try to finally put and end to CB, it is not funny anymore and students have got hurt." Miss Rose, the head, asks with a slight hint of frustration on that last one but she takes a deep breath and continues, "That is all. Thank you and have a good day!"

Boze takes out her notebook and pen before scribbling down her fimdings, 'CB is something to watch out for'. As she writes she feels a pair of eyes on her notes and swiftly turns her head to meet them.

"Oh! Umm...sorry. I was just curious!" The skinny boy next to her stutters and Boze rolls her eyes, not lowering her guard around this guy as he could be a suspect.

Bringing the notepad to her chest Boze casually struts out of the hall and towards a classroom of sorts that every other child is heading to. She takes this time to inspect those around her, knowing extreme Spark usage of immense power would give off physical signs such as discolouration of hair into an unnatural colour.

Her eyes meet only one, a tall silver boy that the crowd seems to avoid subconsiously.  Interesting.

.

Boze sits far away from the teacher, planning to be undisturbed and alone to note suspicious activity but as she pulls out her pen the same skinny boy she sat next to sits by her and smiles, avoiding her death-glare.

“Hi. My name’s Logan, nice to meet you.” He introduces and sticks out his hand for Boze to shake, the morning light bouncing off his glasses and making Boze unable to see his eyes.

"Nice to meet you to. Boze." Boze responds with, using a more sour tone than the boy and shaking his hand slowly. Boze hates this boy already, so she can't understand why he would keep almost trying to make her hate him more.

For example all throughout the lesson whenever Boze would answer right Logan would grab her hand a hogh five it, shouting loudly "yes!". Or maybe whenever Boze took notes Logan copied those note but in smarter language. In all ways of the word, Logan was getting on Boze's nerves.

It also didn't help that when the bell rung for lunch and the teachers obligation to care ended a quater of the class stayed behind to glare at Boze and Logan, narrowing their eyes at Logan's new 'friend'.

"Oh why hello hot-cakes, I didn't see you last year. Are you new baby?" One calls, a girl with black hair covering one eye.

Boze chooses to nod to this, Logan shaking in his boots as she casually packs her bag. She's use to sexual name calling and next to nothing intimidates her anymore, especially not this overly-sexual teenager.

"Also looks like you're one of little Lo's friends. Any statements?" The same black haired girl spits this time and Boze cringes, disgusted by the girl. Boze observes that the girl is the only one actually speaking, probably meaning the group around her would fall to pieces and give up if Boze were to take her down.

"Fuck. Off." Boze states with her middle finger up, finally having packed her bag and slinging it onto her back. Logan of course shakes more and goes pale, eyes darting between the black haired girl and Boze, muttering under his breath.

"Oh you're going to pay!" The girl shouts, trying to intimidate Boze as she cracks her knuckles and glares at her. Boze casually walks towards her and punches her in the face, not having the actual time or energy to draw the fight out any longer than it has to be.

After Boze's first punch the girl topples down, blood pouring from her nose. (And not the good kind.)

Boze simply grabs Logan by the arm and walks away. She may not exactly like him but if he's getting bullied she mighy as well stick by him.

"That was awsome!" Logan finally says and punches the air, Boze slightly smiling at the compliment.

"We should get lunch though." Logan muses before turning the tables and dragging Boze forward.

.

As Boze and Logan walk with their trays full of food, remembering to sneak a quick glance as they pass the black haired girl who is now looking less than peachy, they wander.

Of course they can't wander anywhere they want, Logan could since he's a Leader but he says he's never abandon his new friend. Boze appreciates this but asks anout Leaders.

"What are they?"

"Well, it pretty much means we can go anywhere anytime and people HAVE to treat us with respect." Logan tries to explain but Boze rolls her eyes teasingly.

"That black haired girl I punched didn't seem to be treating you with a lot of respect." She comments and Logan awkwardly laughs, looking away from her.

"Yeah, that's the sad thing about being a Leader, you can't exactly lose per-say at...anything!" Logan starts and chuckles nervously, "If you do lose at something they strip you off your title and give it to the person who beat you. I guess it's meant to make you train harder and be better but I can't handle all the pressure but need the actual title for my oen project I'm working on and I couldn't afford to lost the title so I just let Grace, that's the girl by the way, keep beating on me with the promise she's never tell anyone. My projects actually interesting though and, in my opinion, worth it. It's this sph-"

Boze interupts Logans ramble by placing her hand over his mouth, her eyes glued to the same silver haired person she saw while walking to the classroom. He's just as tall as Boze imagined, now that she could actually see all of him. He is also very muscular which is saying something since most people here are physically fit.

"Oh. That's Wes." Logan noted as he saw where Boze was looking, he pushed his glasses up his nose, "Don't talk to him."

"Why?" Boze asks, already suspicious of this Wes boy, firstly his hair is unnaturally silver and then Logan tells her not to talk to him. This is just a recipe for disaster and Boze wants in.

"Let's just say he's a last resort." Logan tries to explain, giving Boze chills when he talks about Wes. What kind of power does he hold if he's deemed a last resort? What kind of person is he?

"But...Why are those people talking to him then?" Despite this feeling of impending doom Boze enquires more and Logan sighs, covering his face as he notices the blonde haired girl and glasses-wearing boy talking to Wes.

"Those people are Joven and Courtney, both Leaders, and they usually talk to, and hang out with Wes. They're probably disscussing 'buissness'." Logan explains simply, putting air quotes around buissness and making Boze more curious.

"Buissness?" She asks Logan, eyeing the trio of suspicious trouble-makers and already getting ready to report this to base. I bet Officer Corn and Sohin' don't see anything this interesting ever.

"Yeah, those three are all kind-of, most of the time, seen together and most people here think they're in a group despite being from different clicks. Joven claims that he's telling Wes off most of the time and Courtney claims Wes just messes with her personally a lot but I think it's because they're all Leaders." Logan explains and nervously laughs, awkwardly waving as the trio finally notice them.

"Wes isn't a leader though?" Boze finds the flaw in Logans words and wonders if he's trustworthy.

"Only because he doesn't want to be, he could probably take down everyone in the school right now." Logan explains, quieting his voice as the trio approach but Boze still hears.

"Really? So do you know any more? Any way to...I don't know..take him down if he snaps? Wes I mean. A teacher maybe or the Head or-" Boze asks and Logan cuts her off quickly.

"Shut up for a second and don't tell anyone I told you this but no one can take Wes down, that's why he's the last resort..." Logan explains and goes to run off to avoid the trio approaching but Boze grabs his tie and stares at him. She stares deep into his eyes, seeing them wide with fear as she smiles.

"There's something you're not telling me..." Boze hisses quietly as Wes passes, Courtney and Joven heading off in seperate ways away from Wes.

"N-no! Really! There's no one in this school who can take down Wes..." Logan insists but Boze doesn't loosen her grip on his tie, still not believing him.

"Okay! Maybe Damien but...-" Logan starts and Boze growls, growing impatient with Logan. He lied to her!?

"Where is he!? I thought you said no one in this school could take down him?" Boze hisses and grits her teeth, not caring about making a scene. Mari wanted her to invade this school and gain info, this is how she gains info!

"Damien is probably in the club house. That's technically not in school, just on school grounds" Logan explains casually with a smirk before running away but calling back, "Good luck getting him to help you though!"

.

Boze enters what she thinks is the Clubhouse as it's stationed near small wooden houses and she instantly smells cinnamon. Crinkling her nose aand looking around Boze finds no one in the clubhouse, just the evening sun shining through the five small glass windows.

Boze doubts Logan, wondering if he was lying, when a sneeze disturbs her from her thoughts and her attention is brought to a single soft chair with someone sitting diagonally across it.

Readying her fists as she approaches, Boze moves towards to front of the seat to look at the person who just sneezed. Just as she manages to sneak around to the side of the seat and black hair becomes visable the voice of the person casually comments.

"What's taking you so long? I thought you'd be quicker."

"Huh?"

"Oh, so you're here now? What do you want?" He asks, dissinterested and casually leaning back in his seat.

"You are Damien, correct?" Boze asks, trying not to get thrown off by Damiens casual and lazy facade. If he truely is as powerful as Wes or even more powerful she can't let her guard down, he wouldn't be this casual so it must be an act.

"Yeah. And you're Boze." Damien answers, waving his hand in a 'speed-up' movement and catching Boze off-guard in the fact he knows her name., "Now that we're finished with introductions can we please get back to what the hell you want New-Girl?"

"Umm...okay? Well I need to know something first-" Boze starts but Damien cut her off, picking at his nails and consentrating very little on the coversation or her.

"Yes, I am as strong as Wes. No, I will not fight him. Why? I like him, he's useful to me and we need him as a last resort." Damien quickly explains and answers all of Boze's questions, silencing Boze momenteraly.

Damien takes this chance to stretch and sigh, placing a hand at the back of his neck and lying his head back, trying to relax. He is very much acting like the owner of this whole place, ignoring Boze when he feels like it and not taking anything seriously.

It's getting on Boze's nerves.

"So...Why do you need him? Why is he a last resort? For what!?" Boze suddenly finds her voice and rambles, the volume of her being not to Damiens liking and he can feel his rage rising. When Boze gets annoyed she rambles and that annoys Damien, can you see the problem.

Damien closes his eyes and grits his teeth, feeling the heat rise in him and bubble like lava, "Boze, shut up!"

Boze takes a break to look at him, staring at him and his rude words before continuing, "Now what's up with you? Are they experimeting on you? Would you be willing to file a report? Anything you know about this Wes guy? He's shady right?"

"Please...stop..." Damien pleades slightly, gripping the back of his head as the feelings inside him rise but Boze continues, ignoring him.

"I mean what is going on! I'm new here so could you explain literally anything!? Like more about Leaders! What is under Leaders! There are like five statuses in school but all I've heared about is Leaders!? Why!?" Boze rambles and her volume increases.

Damien can't take it anymore and sits up, opening his eyes suddenly and grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from barking at the rambling gurl.

"Listen! I-" Damien shouts at her but is cut off by the school bell, freezing them both and silencing them.

As Boze looks back at Damien she finds him having regained his seemingly natural lazy and aloof attatude, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes, a smirk on his face as he feel Boze's eyes on him.

"Looks like you were saved by the bell. Come back here tomorrow morning before lessons and we'll talk more okay?" Damien explains and sighs, his breath calm and relaxed. He has a smirk on his face and if Boze wasn't told any better she would think he was just some random aloof idiot.

"Just try to not get yourself killed first aye?" Damien teases and Boze feels heating gathering around her cheeks so she turns her head to try to hide it.

Boze nods hurridly to herself, agreeing with Damiens plan, and looks back at Damien only to find him having dissapeared into thin air.

"Huh? He's gone?" Boze asks herself and pokes the air around and on the chair, checking for Damien.

[storywood]

Tutorial and or tips in color studies?

Hi there! Sorry to keep you waiting on this ask!

I do have another post about landscape painting which overlaps slightly with this. But here I’ll talk specifically about the observational color studies I like to do. Other artists might have different ways of approaching them (and I still have a lot to learn myself), but these are some of the ideas I’ve found useful.

1. Don’t seek perfectionObservational color studies are just that – studies. Sketches. Note-taking to reference later. They’re not supposed to be complete paintings, so you shouldn’t feel pressured to make them “perfect”. I like posting them sometimes (and hopefully you like seeing them) but there are TONS of messy, scribbly studies I haven’t posted anywhere. They’re primarily a tool to help me learn, and if messy studies help me learn, so be it!

2. Simplify your shapesSo how do you avoid getting overwhelmed and lost in the details? Focus on the BIG IDEA. Decide what is most important to include in the study and leave out everything else. Start with big shapes, and add details at the very end, if you have time. Personally, I’m often interested in the sky and the color clouds become when light passes through. So I might make the study about the clouds and ignore buildings/details on the ground. or I’ll add only a very simple ground plane. Other times, I’ll rearrange a composition to include all the important information (like making an object bigger or smaller, or bringing two objects closer together).

3. Step by stepIt helps to find a good workflow, especially when you have to quickly prioritize what information to include. This is relevant especially when you’re painting something like a sunset, when the light changes RAPIDLY and you’ll have only 3, 4, 5 minutes to put your colors down. For me, this usually means I build my study from background to foreground: sky, clouds, ground plane, background shapes, foreground shapes. Since I work on iPad Pro, I also keep those parts separated out into layers. In the case of those quick sunset studies, I also observe the parts I haven’t painted yet in case the lighting changes enough that I’ll need to work from memory.

4. Some fundamentals to keep in mind:

Value structure: Even though these are color studies, value plays a major role in the colors you’re observing. Pay attention to the difference in value between subjects. Sometimes this can solve color-related problems when your study seems “off” somehow. (For example, maybe that sky isn’t as light as you think it is? A darker value might mean painting a more vibrant color.)

Lighting setup: Identify the different light sources in the environment. Is it cloudy and overcast? Sunny? Are you indoors, with multiple different light sources? A little study about lighting theory can really help you know what colors to look for in different lighting conditions. For example, in overcast light, you’ll see more of the objects’ local color, while in bright sunlight you’ll see a strong direct light (the sun), blue diffused light on shadows and top-facing planes (from the blue sky), and a warm bounce light (from sunlight reflecting off the ground). Will forever recommend James Gurney’s book “Color and Light” for help learning this.

Materials: Different materials reflect light sources in different ways. Being aware of how light passes through or reflects off different materials can help you understand the colors you’re seeing.

5. Going beyondAs you become more comfortable making observational studies, the more you might wish to push them even further by not just copying from life but communicating a feeling. A few ways you might accomplish this:

Exaggerate your colors. Suppose you see a hint of color you wouldn’t normally expect to find, such as notes of purpose or red near the horizon of an otherwise blue sky. Try making it brighter/bolder than you really see it. Bump up the saturation, maybe. This is a delicate balance, as you don’t want to exaggerate to the point where the colors become garish. But putting emphasis in certain places can remind yourself, or show whoever’s looking at your study, that you found certain details interesting.

Think about mood. A color script from an animated film follows the emotional beats of the story. As you’re making your studies, consider: how does this moment feel to me? Take a cloudy scene, for instance. Is it cold and miserable? Windy, full of movement and energy? Calm? Dark and ominous? A moment of anticipation or hope with the clouds about the break apart? Each of those conveys a completely different mood. So you might decide upon one and push your color palette to support that idea.

Don’t just copy: communicate. This last one is a bit of an abstract idea I need an example to explain:

This sunset study here gave me difficulty because it involved not just color but the properties of light. The sun didn’t actually appear white to me - it appeared a bright red/pink color, glowing brighter than the sky around it. But that wasn’t something I could reproduce, because if I only painted the color, it wouldn’t appear glowing and would blend into the rest of the sky. Instead, I had to think critically: how do I communicate the brightness of this sun? In the end, I opted to make the sun white, with the color I actually observed the sun to be surrounding it.

On my Instagram, I’ve posted a lot of process videos to accompany my studies, if that interests anyone! They’re always second image on the studies’ posts.

I hope you find these thoughts helpful! 

[deuce-duce]

BORN IN BABYLON

For I’m Not Done Yet a...lot has happened since the last time we spoke but I wanted to reassure you I’m still alive and well amidst the the death threats that I receive on a daily basis. HA! Some times I wonder if its all really worth it and then I think hmmm you know what, I think it is... look at how many millions of dollars just grossed from the Netflix series Dahmer. Where does that money go to....? DAHMER??!! I really hope not, I hope the money goes to the families of his victims. I don’t know about you but I couldn’t watch the series because of how true it rings in my own life, but if I knew the money was going to go to the victims families... I just might stomach it. All I’m saying is a man who conned the entire world into persecuting his brother, is a story I believe deserves to be told, and if not from the person who lived through it all then WHO?! 33 is Free for Amazon Unlimited go Check that Shit Out 3.33 to purchase (harmless promo there HA!) 

I wouldn’t really care about promoting my book, if I could find a job to pay my bills but it seems overly coincidental that nobody even responds... I think in the last year I have had three interviews all of which I never hear anything back from... even though they say I’m going to be called about a second interview... (nope) People will have me come in for interviews, just to make fun of me and waste my time... oh well maybe one day.

It seems like the more I do these days the more they talk and I think I should give you a couple updates. currently I’m working on book 2 of 3. I tried fitting everything into one book but it just wouldn’t be possible. Book 2 is in the final stages and has been changed multiple times by some else’s hands... (elaborate at another time. I’m hoping to get it published soon but I’m not from Russia, so I wont be Russian! This project has presented a lot of different problems/challenges which have only encouraged my growth. When I see my growth as a writer I’m impressed with how much has changed/improved since my first Tumblr scribble... HA! I don’t know how many of you have gotten a pirated copy of 33 but I would be fool to believe that there aren't any out there (I hope you enjoy). In my brief description I said I would have book II completed by 11/11/22 but it didn’t feel right rushing through to meet a deadline. On multiple avenues I was being told to slow down (Slow Down Nahko and Medicine for the People) played over and over. Then I was watching an Eminem interview on YouTube shorts and they asked him if he could have done anything differently what would it be?! He said he should have slowed... down... and at that point I knew it was time to turn out some quality and take my time like The Dirty Heads on Midnight Control (FIRE)!! After I slowed down and stopped rushing to meet my deadline Slow Down stopped playing. So It will be out when its ready “Ask Me Will I Stop?!” MIND BLOCK (Stick Figure Feat. Eric Rachmany) 

Now today of all days, but... it may have been tomorrow or maybe even yesterday that I made a commitment to the creator to abstain from my vices and change my ways. It’s been 2 years and I cant believe how much has changed since that cold dark day on quarantine in the basement of a homeless shelter. I remember the date because it was right after I watched the live performance by Tribal Seeds on YouTube (Live: The 2020 Sessions). I’m beyond grateful for the changes I have made and have never been happier! I will elaborate more on this in Book III but it really was a turning point in my life. Thank you to those who read for I Get the Feeling that there’s More Like Me... 🎶🎵🎼

LOVE & PEACE

PS. I did create a Instagram Check it out @officially_deuce_duce, some interesting shits on there... take care of yourselves... Until next time!