#Calculate Table Width

[badassindistress]

Chemise Sewalong January 2025

Step Zero: Materials

Here's a list of materials in advance to give people the time to find fabric. We’ll do some measurements so we know how much fabric we need and get the preliminaries out of the way.

What you are definitely going to need:

Fabric

Thread

Needles

Fabric scissors

Pins

A measuring tape

A ruler or flat edge to draw straight lines

What will make this project a lot easier:

Tailor’s chalk or other method to mark lines on your fabric

A safety pin, loop turner, lacing needle or other method to get a thread through a channel

An iron and ironing board  - I would say this is a necessity but not everyone has one and you can make a chemise without, it will just be harder and won’t look as crisp.

A thimble - in the long run it will make you sew quicker and be better for your hands

A sewing machine (I am intending to handsew this because not everyone has a sewing machine, but if you do have access to one and want to be done quickly, do the long seams on a sewing machine and glory in the speed of modern technology)

A cutting mat, quilting ruler and rotary cutter – This thing is all squares and triangles and quilters have got squares and triangles figured out

If you’re used to inches, keep a converter handy because my brain is used to centimeters

How much fabric do I need?

A lot. The chemise panels use the full width of the fabric. Decide if you want your chemise to knee length, to the floor or something in between. Then decide if you want full length sleeves or half sleeves.

I’m making long poofy sleeves but a kneelength skirt.

The calculation: my neck to knee is 120cm, my full arm length is 60cm shoulder to wrist (including 5cm extra for poof), so the length of fabric needed is 120+120+60=3 meters exactly.

What kind of fabric?

For the type of fabric I’d recommend cotton or linen for the historic feeling, but go with whatever brings you joy and isn’t stretchy. It needs to be light enough you can gather it up without it getting bulky and not terribly prone to fraying so you won’t go insane while sewing

Go with what is available and sparks joy as long as it’s a light fabric that gathers down nicely. (Thin sheets or table cloths can definitely be used for this). I’m going to use a fuchsia silk I’ve been saving for the airiest dress in existence.

tl:dr – procure 3 to 4 meters (145/150cm wide) of non-stretchy fabric of a lightness and colour that you would like to wear. Wash it, iron it and congratulate yourself on being super productive.

[a-minke-whales-tale]

Estimation of Energy Consumption During Swimming

One of the big questions I have had for quite a while is to estimate really just how fast I would normally swim, my normal energy consumption, and questioning if really I could breach, either partially or entirely.

Starting from my most recent estimations of the shape and size of the suit (which I have another post on that soon so this is sort of sneak preview). The length is 2,4 meters, width 0,36 meters, and height around 0,28 meters (I originally started at a target around 3,5 meters or so I think to give an idea how much the size has changed). The flukes would be 0,7 meters across and roughly 0,2 meters in length.

We can approximate a whale as more or less an ellipsoid with several protrusions at least for a first order guess. In this case the dorsal fin is small so it will be ignored and I will only add in the flukes (however this notably only changes the result around 5%). I did not include the flippers because when swimming straight and continuously, we tend to hold our flippers against our side and bring them out only when manoeuvring. This is in contrast to the delphinids (like dolphin and orca whose flippers tend to remain in the flowstream).

Using this equation we can calculate the wetted area of the suit (note that these sorts of approximations tend to lose accuracy as one axis becomes stretched as has happened here but it is what we have for now).

The drag equation is fairly straight forward.

However to turn it into energy this drag force needs to be multiplied by the distance over which it occurs. To become power it is then divided by time. This does make the power required to move through the water functionally a cubic relation.

From this paper, Simulated and experimental estimates of hydrodynamic drag from bio-logging tags, we can get drag coefficients corresponding to velocity. It is worth noting that these values are for bottlenose dolphins, however a variety of papers tend to put the coefficient of drag in this range so we will use it.

The efficiency of the kicks also poses some question. I took 56% from Propulsive Efficiency of the Underwater Dolphin Kick in Humans which notes 56% within its abstract for cetacean swimming efficiency. It does however note that other papers have reported 79% for monofin users, and 86% in bottlenose dolphins though that those numbers are idealised and ignores body drag.

Taking this data yields the following table which gives the needed input power and MET rating.

2,5 MET is equivalent to a gentle walk and 6 MET to running. Minke whale generally cruise swim between 5-10 kph though can swim as fast as 40kph. From this swimming at 10kph is likely to be a significant struggle for any length of time, however 5kph corresponds to 1,6 which is roughly equivalent to making this tumblr post.

From this chart there is very much no way I would be able to reach the top speed of normal minke (which would require around 5kW exertion). However in very short bursts humans can produce 2000-2500W of power so it is possible for a very brief moment I could get near to 20kph, though that would have to be a very short moment given the nature of both the breathholding and thermal management of the suit.

However knowing that 1,5m/s (5kph) is a very relaxed swimming speed, and 3m/s is quite achievable for very short periods does mean that I will likely be able to breach entirely out of the water.

From Energetic and physical limitations on the breaching performance of large whales, minke whales would make breach attempts between 1,6 and 3,4 m/s of which half of the observed breaches were full breaches (which I believe in this paper a full breach is 40% of the body above the water, baleen whales tend not to fully clear the water in the way delphinids do).

I do have the advantage of being quite a lot smaller than a normal minke, so even moving at 3m/s I should have a higher chance of nearly fully lifting myself from the water.

It is nice to know that at least certain aspects of minke movement are achievable for me. 5kph is not terribly fast but that is plenty fast for movement and still potentially a very relaxed movement as I swim around. Also knowing that I can realistically breach (in the way baleen whales do) is quite comforting and exciting as that is something I have worried about quite a lot - that being said, there are human monofin users who are themselves capable to fully exit the water on a breach, and even with my old monofins which are far more flexible I can already exceed the 40% boundary of a full breach.

Zwem Vrij, ~Kala

[lemonmoxy]

Death Calling

Summary: Rook is a clever mage, Lucanis knows saving Treviso is the wrong call. He doesn’t expect them to come, no matter how insistent Spite is that they will. When he sees them, a dragon in hot pursuit, he wishes they hadn’t.

The moment Lucanis admits he’s in love with Rook, at least to himself.

(No required reading of the other parts, although, it obviously adds to it.)

read on Ao3

It is just Mimir who goes to Treviso. The tactical part of Mimir’s brain knew it was a mistake. Neve had been honest when she said Minrathous was the target more worthy of protection. However, to also be honest, Mimir almost never listens to the tactical part of their brain. You couldn’t be a good Mourn Watcher if you were too logical. It was about emotion. And, emotionally speaking, Mimir doesn’t want to be the kind of person who sacrifices a civilian city. However, they can’t abandon such an important target, so Mimir does something stupid. They send everyone to Minrathous, and they go by themself to Treviso. 

There is something like a plan buzzing in Mimir’s brain. Although it’s more like a gambit than an actual plan. They’ll need hands to accomplish it. Mimir pauses and watches a block of Treviso get eviscerated by falling icicles the width of a small bear. A hysterical laugh bubbles in their mouth. They can’t waste time looking for Lucanis and other talons. They ran for the Cantori Diamond instead. Nobody important will be there, but Mimir bets the fledglings will be sheltering there. They hate to involve them. Most of the fledglings are just teenagers, and it’s completely possible that they’ll all die doing this. However, Mimir doesn’t have time to think of anything else, so they don’t try. 

And Mimir is right. Jacobus and other fledgelings are there. 

“Rook!” He greets them, running right over. Mimir has never entered the casino at ground level before. It’s a glittering jewel of greed and hubris even empty. It feels a little on the nose for Mimir to be here with the plan that they have.

Mimir’s smile is manic but Jacobus is too happy to see them to notice. “I knew you’d come!” He looks at Mimir like they’ve already saved the city. (Mimir starts to calculate the odds of them all dying and then punts that part of their brain out the metaphorical window). “The talons told us to stay here, when our city is-” 

Mimir pulls a face. “I really hate to ask you to break orders.”

Jacobus’s eyes, on the other hand, light up. “Tell us to break orders,” he insists. 

Mimir doesn’t bother to go upstairs. They don’t have time for stairs. They produce the same chalk from their shorts that they always keep there and just start sketching out a sigil on a wicked grace table. 

“Can you, and four other crows copy this sigil where I tell you to?” Mimir asks, looking up at Jacobus with serious eyes once they’ve finish sketching it. “It has to be perfect, Jacobus, perfect.” They tap it for good measure. “Exactly like this.”  

Jacobus looks at it with the same amount of fervor and then turns to select a few fledglings.

“Do you trust them?” Mimir asks. Jacobus nods. Mimir can’t question him more than this. They just have to trust him.

The fledglings start sketching the sigil as quickly as they can with ink on paper. Mimir watches them for a moment, checking their lines. For a moment they feel like they’re back at the Necropolis working as a teaching assistant to one of the senior watchers, but then they hear a dragon roar. 

“Do you have a map?” Mimir has to go to the next stage of the plan. People are dying. They’ll get it right or they’ll all die, there’s no time for double checking. 

A fledgling Mimir doesn’t know brings one over. Mimir spreads it over a different gambling table. They scan the map looking for the perfect spot. They need a park, or some large mostly empty space within the city where they can fight a dragon without damaging the whole fucking city. 

“What are you looking for?” Jacobus asks when Mimir takes too long for everyone’s fraying patience. The dragon sounds very close, and the glittering chandeliers rattle dangerously. 

Mimir tells him their specifications and Jacobus points to the perfect spot immediately. It’s even close. Mimir throws their arm around his neck for a tight hug. They pull away just as quickly as they hug him, because there really is not time, and they sketch out a pentagram over the map, with the park at the center. They circle the points of the pentagram and then point to the selected fledglings with their chalk one by one. “You need to go to these spots and draw the sigil. The sigil must be exact. You have some wiggle room with these spots but it does need to be as exact as you can get it.” They drop their pack from their shoulder and kick it so the contents scatter. They don’t have time to dig. The ink containers spill out and Mimir picks them up and passes them out. “You need to use this. Don’t lose it. Don’t break it.”

Jacobus picks up the ink containers that couldn’t fit in Mimir’s small hands in one go and helps them pass then out. “What are we doing?”

Mimir lips thin. “We’re going to draw on the power of the spirits that surround Treviso.” Everyone stares at them. “It’s a stupid idea.” They admit. “It’s forbidden, even for Mourn Watchers. Old magic.” Mimir’s specialty is ancient Nevarran history (or what it would have been if they had bothered to do their thesis). Technically speaking, they shouldn’t even know this spell, but the Necropolis has few doors that it locks to Mimir, and they liked to look. “But I’m going to…” Mimir paused the technical explanation to instead give an explanation that the fledglings would understand, “-supercharge myself on spirit magic and then drag the dragon out of the sky. Speaking of, do you have ballista bolts?” 

“Yes,” another crow says, “But the ballistas don’t work.”

“I just need the bolts, get them to that clearing. And the strongest chain you can find.” The fledgling takes off. 

“You think this will work?” Jacobus asks. 

“I think this is my only idea.” 

“Ok.” Jacobus says, likely because the Talons didn't have a plan. 

Mimir looks at the fledglings who are going to draw the sigil. “If you die, if you don’t make it, everyone dies. So don’t do that.” Then they add, “Destroy the copies you made as soon as you finish the sigil.”

One of the fledglings asks why. Mimir smiles. “Because if you’re seen with that, the Mourn Watch will do everything in their power to have you killed.” The room goes still. 

Jacobus asserts his control over the group with a snap in his voice. “Mimir never came here, and we never left the building.” Every fledgling nods. 

Jacobus grabs their shoulders before Mimir can pick up their staff. “You don’t die either.” 

“The plan doesn’t involve me dying,” Is all Mimir can promise, then they have to leave. 

A few Fledglings offer to go with Mimir but they refuse. “I’m a death mage, people don’t see death coming.” They say with a smile. This isn’t true, but it is true that when Mimir is determined, the Antaam just can’t catch them. They get there without any serious altercations. The fledgling they sent ahead is nowhere in sight, but the bolts are waiting for them in an obvious spot (under a painted crow).  

The ground is dirt, but Mimir had anticipated that. They pour paint from a can onto the ground. The world tunnels as Mimir focuses on getting this right the first time. The sigil has to be perfect and Mimir doesn’t have enough paint for a lot of redos. 

They had kind of lied to the kids. The plan is not to draw on spirits of the Fade. That would (most likely) just unleash an army of corrupted wild spirits mad with fear from the death surrounding them. Mimir couldn’t risk that. The plan is instead going to be to draw on the already dead. The air is steeped with entropy as people died to the dragon, to the Antaam, to rubble falling.

What happens to souls after death is something that hasn’t been proven. Those who follow Andraste in the south say that souls go to the bosom of the Maker. Nevarrans say they go to the Fade. No one has proven anything. However, souls are real, tangibly so. Death mages can fuel themselves off living souls, though it usually kills the living souls in the process. Souls are, to be unsympathetic for a moment, energy. Specifically, they are energy for someone in Mimir’s position, as a soul focused Mourn Watcher, to use. This spell wouldn’t target the energy of living souls, thankfully. The recently dead, whose souls hadn’t yet gone wherever souls go when people do pass, that is what fuels this spell.   

There is death in the air, and it would be a waste not to use it. Mimir thinks with bleak humor as they kick off their boots. They were from Lucanis and they didn’t want to ruin them. 

This spell is made for this situation, made for someone like Mimir, reckless, desperate, but reactive. It’s the only comfort they can allow themself before they step into the sigil and accept whatever is going to happen to them. There’s no way to tell if the spells will work until it is too late to escape it. Standing in the center of the sigil, they could feel when the last sigil was drawn somewhere out in the city. The spell is complete. They pull their rarely used staff from their back and twist it. I’ll make your enemies die screaming. Mimir promises the dead as they seep their magic into the sigil, binding their own soul to the ritual. 

The city, the recently dead, scream out in fear, and in rage. It’s like Mimir could hear the city itself begging for help, begging to be avenged. Mimir twists and dips their staff, moving their feet in a slow steady beat. The soundless screaming of the dead is the beat Mimir must match. They had seen the steps painted on a wall they were never supposed to find, deep in the Grand Necropolis. They had practiced it, laughing with the old spirits who came to watch and correct their steps. 

Nothing happens at first and then, and then their body floods with entropic magic. It felt sort of like being set on fire and rotting from the inside out all at once. It had been a long time since Mimir had done something so deeply fucked up to their own body. But they can't stop. It's too late to stop. All that's left is to try. 

It takes seconds for their nose to start to bleed. Their ears feel wet and it probably isn’t tears running from their eyes either. 

The problem with dragons, Mimir thinks hysterically, is their wings and breath. There’s no reason for the dragon to land. It could fly around and breathe them to death at its leisure, that was why Mimir had seized on this plan. So, I’ll just make landing it’s only option. 

Mimir blinks the blood out of their eyes and lifts up one of the huge ballista bolts, and the chains. They fuse together with nothing but Mimir’s (with the dead’s) will. Mimir looks up at the sky, ignoring the rotting feeling inside them, curling deep within their gut and up their throat. The dragon is finally in range. They throw the ballista with all their strength and the air cracks.

~X~

Lucanis knows Rook isn’t coming. They are a clever mage. Treviso is a lifeline for Northern Thedas, a civilian port, but that meant little if the gods won. And if the gods took Minrathous, the Tevinter Empire, they might just do that. Rook is kind, but they aren’t stupid. 

Liar! Spite howls. Rook won’t leave us here!

Lucanis worries for Rook’s safety - should they live long to reunite. Spite won’t be able to understand why they never came. 

He has been fighting, for how long he does not know. He’s no closer to thinking of a way to kill a dragon. He hasn’t found Illario, Viago, or Teia. It is several bloody minutes before finally he finally hears Viago issuing commands and he rushes over. 

“Where’s Mimir?” Is the first thing Viago asks when he sees Lucanis rushing to him. Lucanis has never understood the relationship between the two of them. Whenever anyone asked they had simply said “pen pals”, or that was what Mimir had said. Viago had said they were a “consultant” - Teia had specified that they were unpaid, which lends more credibility to Mimir’s claim that they were penpals.

Death. 

“Not coming.” Lucanis says and feels a rush of frustration and anger when Viago looks like he doesn't believe him. 

Death calling. 

“Minrathous has its own dragon.” Lucanis says, as a quick explanation. Viago looks gutted. Teia looks horrified. 

Listen!

“Alright.” Viago says after taking a moment to gather himself. “Then-”

LISTEN!

Lucanis spins to where Spite is. The demon is looking up into the sky, at the dragon, scanning the horizon, like he expects to see Rook fall from the sky. When Lucanis knows they aren't coming. That it's stupid and painful to hope. 

“Would you shut up!” Lucanis’s temper cracks. 

Then the air cracks.

Several people fall over as the air seems to shake. Windows all down the street that hadn’t already shatter. 

“Maker!” Viago grabs his ears, stumbling. Teia catches him, clutching one ear with her free hand. 

“Meirda!” Lucanis’s ears ache and he staggers from the sheer volume of the sound. Instinctively his eyes dart to the sky, following to where Spite is looking. 

The dragon has been pierced through the leg by a ballista. He blinks. No, there’s a chain attached. The chain is glowing a familiar green. Death magic. Spite says, and this time Lucanis believes the demon. Then the dragon’s flight pattern staggers. Lucanis gaps. Gasps go up all around him. Lucanis watches as the dragon circles around, its movements restricted as the chain pulls tighter, pulling down. 

HELP! Spite demands and Lucanis, again, listens. He turns on his heel and follows the chain. He’s racing across the city, killing any Antaam that try to slow him. 

The chain is coming from a large clearing. There is someone standing at the center of a magical glyph. They are glowing so bright with magic that Lucanis’s vision spots when he looks directly at them. He can tell that they are, vaguely, person shaped and that the energy is flowing from them into the chain. 

ROOK!

Lucanis can’t imagine it is, but then he notices the boots laying not far from them. 

“MIMIR!” He darts forward. 

“Don’t!” Mimir’s voice is a taut cord. “If you get too close.” They gasp. “It will hurt.”

Fade. Death. Rot. HELP!

Lucanis ignores Spite, not daring to disobey Mimir’s direct orders. “What can I do?” He asks. “You came.” He can’t believe it. He still doesn’t believe it’s Mimir’s voice coming from that glowing shape. If it’s a demon, it knows just what to say.

“Prepare for-” Mimir takes a deep pained breath. “-a fight.” They pull. The dragon topples down into the courtyard. 

Mimir steps out of the sigil and the brightness fades. They look worse than they had when they first met. Mimir’s white hair is so soaked that you couldn’t see its natural curl. Nor could you tell it’s real color, instead it looks a deep red. Their cheeks are streaked with drying blood. Their mouth and teeth are red. Their neck and ears have blood dripping down, streaking down their neck. The blood still dripping looks wrong in a way that he can’t understand, like it's spoiled. But their eyes are still glowing with death magic. He can’t see their pupils or irises, he can’t understand how they can see through the glow. Mimir’s grin is feral as they quickly spin the chain around their shoulder, so they can keep it on them. And they sprint without hesitation at the dragon, barely ducking out of the way of a blast of ice. Lucanis follows them without any hesitation.

They can't manage to kill the dragon. Lucanis is sure they could have. If it hadn’t just been him and Mimir. If Mimir hadn’t been so weakened by whatever fucked up spell they cast.

A pitched battle ensues. Mimir unleashes the last of their pent up magic and rots the dragon's scales, weakening it enough that Lucanis can get a dagger through its thick hide. Spite and his Fade wings are needed for Lucanis to twist through the ice breath enough to get close to get underfoot of the dragon. He didn’t know where dragons were weak, but with Mimir’s rot, he didn't need to. He sticks it in the stomach and the scales that his daggers had been glancing off of are now nothing, he sinks it in. The dragon thrashes and Spite whirls them away, out of the dragon’s path. 

The dragon is focused on him now, giving Mimir the chance to get up on the dragon unmolested. They dash, fearlessly at the dragon, rolling under it. On their back, underneath the dragon (in a terribly vulnerable position that makes Lucanis want to scream at whoever trains those of the Mourn Watch) they kick the dagger deep inside the dragon. The dragon howls and Lucanis’s eardrums quake. 

The dragon flees back to its monstrous mother. Mimir staggers up, before the dragon is fully out of their now insane range, and runs for the glyph.

STOP THEM!

If Spite thinks it’s a bad idea, Lucanis doesn’t hesitate. He locks his arms around Mimir as they run by. They momentum brings them up, but not forward. Their legs kick at the air as they try to break his grasp. However, Mimir is shit at breaking locks when they don’t cheat by using their monstrous strength.

“LET GO! LUCA! IT’S GETTING AWAY!” 

“It’s over! Rook! Rook, you did it. You saved Treviso!” Mimir’s foot catches his stomach and knocks the wind out of him. It’s an amateur move on his part. He had been taking his submission hold on Mimir lightly, because he knew just how terrible they were at even attempting to break at a lock. He goes to the ground and loses his grip on them as he wheezes trying to get the breath back in him.

“Don’t go. Don’t cast it again.” Lucanis begs. 

Mimir pauses, finally seeming to come back into themself. The glow in their eyes had left them sometime during the fight, but they hadn’t seemed fully there, even after the visible magic had faded. 

“Ok. I won’t.” Instead they go to the glyph and kick at the soil, breaking it. The moment the first line is disrupted, there is a sickening crack and the ground seems to implode on itself, turning quickly into a sinkhole that Mimir has to jump back from falling into. 

“What..." Lucanis breathes, incredulous as the bizarre reaction. "What exactly did you do?” He asks, feeling baffled by what he’s seeing. 

Mimir turns back to him with a smile on their cracked lips. They open their mouth to answer and then immediately vomit up blood and something clumpy and black. 

“Mimir!” Lucanis scrambles to his feet, racing towards them but he doesn't manage to reach them before they hit the ground.

Mimir lands on their hands and knees, coughing out black sticky ichor and a worrying amount of blood. 

Spite hovers over them. DO SOMETHING!

Lucanis isn’t a healer, Mimir is the healer. They keep coughing. Lucanis hovers, afraid to touch them. “I’m fine.” Mimir says through wet coughs.

“I think you are lying.” Lucanis says. His stomach is turning with worry.

Their eyes harden for a moment and Lucanis stiffens. He is sure they are about to tell him that they are dying. “You can’t tell anyone what happened.” They say. “That spell is very, very forbidden, Lucanis. And I’m not supposed to know it. Just tell them I did something stupid, like show the dragon I had the knife. That sounds like me.” 

Lucanis definitely can’t promise that. More people than he can silence definitely saw Mimir pull a dragon out of the sky. His heart stutters on that. Mimir had come here alone (not for him, he reminds himself) to save a city (his city, his heart insists).

Told you. Spite boasts, he’s hovering around Mimir, his hands ghosting over their back. 

“Lucanis.” Mimir whines, getting his attention back. “Promise.” He can tell from how his eyes ache and the faint glow radiating them that they’re healing whatever damage the spell did to them. 

Lucanis deflects from an unkeepable promise (though he’s already thinking how he will keep anyone from figuring out what spell Mimir used) “Forbidden? For its side effects?”

“Yeah, well, for a lot of reasons, but yeah, if you don’t do it right… well the least bad thing that can happen is you blow yourself up, obliterate your soul, or/and become the host of thousands of undead souls.” They pause. “But really nobody knows what happens to people’s souls when they die. Or they don’t have proof, so thpse last two might not even be possible.” 

“What.”  

Spite stops petting Mimir’s back. Instead he kind of looks like he wants to throttle them (and for just one second, Lucanis contemplates letting him). STUPID! He says. Tell them! His purple eyes flick to him. Right now! He insists. STOP GAWKING! AND TELL THEM!

Mimir looks at him, and then to where they can vaguely sense Spite is, and gives them a smile that breaks Lucanis and makes Spite grow quiet. It’s so bright. “Wasn’t it so amazing?” Their eyes glitter. “I was amazing.” They laugh as if they can’t quite believe it. “It’s been thousands of years since it’s been cast. And I did it perfectly. First try.” They sound smug. 

It should be insufferable but Spite and Lucanis can’t help but stare at how bright Mimir shines. They laugh so brightly the air around them seems to shimmer despite the smoke. 

“But I might need you to carry me home.” They blink, suddenly realizing what they said, despite everything they blush. “I meant to say the Lighthouse, I don’t know why I said that.” They laugh, and the blood in their teeth doesn’t make it any less cute.  

Lucanis’s anxiety unknits and all he can think is, oh. Mimir is here. Mimir saved his home. Mimir risked everything to save his home, just like Spite had believed they would. 

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” Lucanis tells them and he means it. Spite paces around them, eager for him to scoop up Mimir and take them away. 

Mimir laughs. “Oh, now I feel like I should take advantage of this.” 

“Ok.” Lucanis agrees immediately. “Do it.” 

Mimir smiles. “I wish I could.” They sigh. “But the only place I want to be is at the Lighthouse, eating something warm, maybe a blanket.” They make a face. “After a long thorough bath. But... but we need to go to Minrathous first. To make sure everyone's ok.”

Lucanis lifts them. He wants to argue but he knows he won't get anywhere, and he's worried too. “I’ll cook whatever you want.” Lucanis promises as he makes their way to the Eluvian. 

“I like whatever you make.” Mimir says with an honesty that makes Lucanis’s stomach curl like a schoolboy put on the spot. 

Not true. They don’t like meat. Spite is quick to tell him. They smile more when they have fruit. 

“You’re impossible.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your dagger. It’s in a dragon now.” 

Lucanis laughs loudly. “I’m not. I’m not sorry at all. I have more daggers.” He is so tired, his muscles ache. His fingers are trembling from effort, but he feels nothing (Nothing but warmth). Of course, this feeling will end when they reach Minrathous and see what a city without Mimir looks like.

[ddarker-dreams]

random yan chrollo blurb because i can't stop thinking about him even if i try . 🙏

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“… Are you still sure?”

“I’m still sure.”

“Swear to me.” 

“I swear.”

“That wasn’t sincere enough… swear… swear on the Troupe. In the name of their, uh, honor, or whatever.”

“Honor?” The word sounds humorous coming from Chrollo’s lips. “Very well. I swear on the honor of the Phantom Troupe that I won’t go back on my word.” 

You sit across from a formidable opponent. Fate has decreed this your lot, so you’ve taken what has been forcibly thrust upon you and sworn to crush it. However, at this stage, you’ve modified your parameters to be more realistic. The new, somewhat more obtainable goal is to leave a dent. Or a scratch, perhaps. 

For this dream to be realized, risks must be taken. The risk in this case is a willingness to interact with a man named Chrollo Lucilfer. His is a species defined by its tenacity. Through trial and error, you’ve concluded that typical avenues of escape aren’t in the cards. Nothing concerning the life you lead now is ordinary, so creativity and a solid vision are paramount. 

Your adversary sits leaning forward, his elbow on the table, forearm extending upward, and palm open. He observes you with the degree of amusement he always does, content in waiting for you to make the first move. 

You take a deep breath. Oxygen floods your being and blood circulates in full force. Every system in your body is primed and ready, there’ll be no better window, so you take it, springing into action. 

Contact is made with his outstretched palm. You steady your footwork for better balance, then pull, demanding everything your muscles can deliver and then some. This immense exertion of force is the culmination of your efforts. Hours of scheming by the window, exercising self-control not to pour salt on his strawberries so he’d be more affable to your requests, running mental calculations and simulations… 

… Alas, it’s not enough. 

You pitched a pseudo arm wrestling competition where you could use any means necessary to make him budge. You didn’t dare stipulate that you successfully pull his arm down, your hubris doesn’t extend that far; but the slightest movement on his part would spell your victory. A victory that’d have him fulfill any request your overactive imagination could conjure up. These terms and conditions were smoothed out in a verbal binding contract. 

His countenance is the same as it would be if he were flipping through a book or pulling his phone from his pocket — entirely casual. He isn’t even straining himself to maintain this stalemate. It’s possible that his physical strength is simply beyond your understanding, as is that parapsychological phenomena he refers to as Nen. 

“What,” you heave, disbelief coloring your tone, “Is your body made out of?” 

“Oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen—” 

“It was rhetorical, Mr. Alchemist,” you cut him off. 

He simply shrugs and smiles. Somehow, his arm still hasn’t moved an inch throughout that exchange. The thought of this metric gives you pause. An idea is sown and imbued with life in the span of a few seconds. 

“Ah, that’s the expression you get before you say something endearing,” he comments, almost dreamily. 

You ignore him and straighten up, ready to argue over technicalities like your life depends on it. Seeing that you’ve abandoned your previous scheme, he relaxes back into the chair. 

“I have a case. How do we know your arm didn’t move… an atom to the side?” 

Chrollo tilts his head. “An atom?” 

“Yes. If an inch is a unit of measurement, there has to be something smaller. So maybe your arm didn’t move an inch, but it moved the width of an atom. Are you following me?” 

“...” 

You barely comprehend it. 

One second, you’re standing, the next, you’re sitting, with arms and a familiar cologne engulfing you. You can feel the low rumbling of his chest. He chuckles into your ear and secures you tighter against him upon sensing your instinct to struggle. Scowling, you cross your arms while he regains his composure. 

“Don’t be cross with me, dear,” he smooths out your shirt, as if it’d exonerate him of his transgressions. “I’m not laughing at you. You’re just… everything. Everything I need. I’m sorry. Please finish your point.” 

“Court’s adjourned.” 

“That’s a shame. When might it reopen?”

“Never, you’re sentenced to death. No appeals.”  

“I thought you opposed capital punishment?” 

“Each second that has passed since this conversation began has regressed my views by a decade each.” 

"I'll just have to hold onto you for the time being then."

All you can muster the strength to do is sigh.

[kattsmuse]

TF 141 Flirting and Love Languages pt 3

MDNI - 18+ - NSFW

Kyle's turn! Little headcannon/ramble about Mr. Garrick's initial meeting you in a bar, how he flirts with you, and what his love language would be!

See OP here for the other TF141 men's flirting styles and love languages.

Kyle is the most 'prince charming' type upon first meeting. He says all the right things, he's got that intense but kind look of his eyes, and he's usually calm and collected. If he gets turned down, he lets it roll off his back and he moves on. He's the type you wouldn't be afraid to bring home to your family. The type who would charm your father and flatter your mother. Have them telling you how much of a "nice young man" Kyle is.

He's the type to hold the door open for you everywhere you go, has you walking on the inside of the sidewalk away from the road, brings you 'just because' presents, and if he can, does his tasks the first time he's asked.

What the rest of the world doesn't know, is that when the bedroom door is closed, he's completely feral for you. Your kind, gentle lover turns into the only thing that can make you completely unravel. He's got your back arched as far as you can possibly bend, his hand twisted in your hair tightly against your scalp, his hips slamming into yours.

You can remember the first time you had met... little did you know your life would change the moment he approached you. You were at a bar with your friends, the three of you giggling, splitting a plate of the sampler from the bar's menu. Each sipping on your signature drinks, and probably talking about the drama that occurs in your respective jobs.

Kyle isn't ashamed of himself, nor does he beat around the bush going for what he wants. You'd been catching eye contact him from across the bar for half an hour. He walks over to you three, his walk confident, but also a little calculated. He almost reminded you of a jaguar the way he stalked over to your seats. He nodded to the bar tender, "'Nother round for the ladies, if you would?" He requests, sliding his credit card onto the counter.

His left forearm rested on the back of your sear, his right hand on the bar. You weren't trapped in, you could get away on the side your other friends were sitting on if you needed to.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that." You say softly, your eyes scanning his beautiful face, so close you could touch it if you wanted.

"It's no trouble, really. Besides, I needed an excuse come to speak to you ladies, if you'd like to entertain my company." His voice was sincere. He wasn't being coy, and his tone expressed a genuine interest in these ladies. Though... he really only came over to speak to you.

The three of you exchanges glances. His proximity to your seat gave you three the suspicion of who he was over here for. You nod a little bit allowing him to sit beside you.

Your friend on the end introduces you, your friend, and herself to him, giddy about this potential opportunity for you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ladies, My name's Kyle."

"Kyle." You repeat, his name so common and easy to say, yet the hopeless romantic in you thought it rolled off your tongue so perfectly.

You all speak for a short while longer before your friend in the middle takes the other lady to another area with the excuse to hit on these guys at the billiard's table. It was a lie- they wanted you to have a chance alone with him.

This lie wasn't over Kyle's head. He chuckles a bit, his eyes scanning over your features, taking in the curve of your cheek bone to your chin, the width of your nose, the color of your eyes. It was like he was committing your face to memory.

Kyle continues the conversation, and what you find to be the most magnetic part about him is that he's not staring at your body. Well, if he was you didn't notice it. He wasn't being brash or obscene with his flirtation. He was rather polite. There was an odd power in his subtlety. Like the more low-key he was about his affections (even though some were obvious), the more you were drawn in.

That's until you pull the conversation to the right. You're attracted to him, you've had enough to drink that you're relaxed, but not so much that your judgement is hindered. "I saw you looking at me... before."

"Guilty," he nods taking a drink of his whiskey.

"You're probably the most charming man I've met in a while."

Kyle chuckles softly, "being a gentleman gets a guy pretty far, I find."

"I guess so. But I have to admit... I'd kind of like to see if you're as nice when we are really alone."

And that's how you got there, with him pounding away at your poor pussy, whispering filth into your ear like you'd only read about. You'd hooked up with guys before, but not like this. It felt like two puzzle pieces sliding together. He was not one you'd be willing to give up any time soon.

So, Kyle starts off as a polite flirt. He's not so subtle you don't know it's happening, but subtle enough to not deter you. He's nice about it, but his intentions clear. As your relationship develops he does get more bold, especially when you're home alone.

One of his favorite things is when you come home from work, stress, overwhelmed, and on the brink of tears, he asks if you'd like him to help you calm down. You agree, and soon enough his head is between your thighs, muting any concerns and thoughts you had, even if only temporary. He knows your orgasms usually help settle your racing thoughts and he's more than happy to serve.

Kyle's love language is acts of service. He adores doing things for you. You ask him to do something for you, and it's 98% of the time a yes. Even if he can't get to it right away... he will do it.

He also loves just doing things. As mentioned, opening doors for you and bringing you your favorite food, flowers, or wine just because he thought of you. He loves helping you set up for your self-care reset Sundays. He adores helping you make dinner, or making your lunch for you. Anything he can do to see that smile of admiration on your face. It's the bit of praise that scratches deep in his brain.

You thank him every time he does something for you, and it only spurs him to do more for you. Kyle's got a praise kink and you can't tell me otherwise. Even non-sexually, seeing you so appreciative of his actions satisfies that for him.

[topazadine]

A Primer on Dyscalculia: The Learning Disorder You Weren't Told About in School

I rarely see people discussing this learning disability, to the point that many believe it doesn't exist (ie, saying math is the universal language and everyone understands it but just doesn't try) so I thought I'd explain a bit about what it is.

Dyscalculia is a learning disability characterized by difficulty with math, numbers, and some systematic learning that requires the use of memorization and application. Like its relative, dyslexia, it is not that someone is "stupid" or "not trying hard enough" to learn math; our brains are essentially wired not to absorb information in this form.

Common symptoms of dyscalculia include:

Inability to do basic math problems

Struggling to count, often using their fingers to count

Difficulty using multiplication and division

Challenges with visualizing heights, lengths, and widths

Difficulty counting change

Struggling to read a clock or divide time into reasonable measurements

Challenges with memorizing numbers, dates, and sequences

No one is actually sure how many people have dyscalculia because it is rarely diagnosed. Right now, estimates are around 3% to 7% of the population, but this is likely a vast underrepresentation.

Educators still believe the myth that everyone can do math and that those who say they can't are just refusing to apply themselves. This causes lifelong problems for dyscalculiacs because if not treated early enough, it is nigh-on untreatable.

Many people with dyscalculia may complete math problems in unusual and time consuming ways. For example, if you asked me to divide 145 by 5 without a calculator, this is how my brain would have to do it:

100 by 5 (20)

20 by 5 (4), then multiply this by 2 (8), then divide 5 by 5 (1)

And finally, add up all the results (20+8+1) to get 29.

Numbers that are not easily divisible or "chunked" like this would be nigh-on impossible for me to do in my head. I wasn't able to memorize the times tables and in fact needed a laminated times table well into elementary school (think 5th grade).

I distinctly remember feeling like everyone else was on the helm of the USS Enterprise when they could so easily shout out answers to simple multiplication or division problems, and I was always the last person to do those stupid times table sheets. Sometimes I couldn't even complete half of it by the time everyone else was done.

I failed 3rd grade math class and had to be assigned a tutor. This was despite getting all As in every single other class. In fact, I failed multiple math classes during my academic career.

Since my grades were so high in other classes, I had to petition to be put in a remedial math class. Everyone assumed that because I did well in things like English, science, civics, and so on, I must have been able to do what my peers could.

A college-level physics class was the hardest class I have ever done in my life, and I have a Master's degree in International Relations, which requires a lot of very dry and complicated political theory. That is the A I am most proud of because it required far more effort than anything before or since.

No one told me what dyscalculia was or identified a problem throughout my entire time in education. I had to seek out resources myself in adulthood before finally learning what my problem was. This, of course, led to significant "math fear" and self-esteem issues, especially in a society that is obsessed with STEM.

This learning disability can have far-reaching effects and impact things that other people may not even consider. There are many connections between systematized learning and math.

Dyscalculiacs may also have trouble with:

Learning languages

Playing musical instruments (because sheet music and tempos are a form of language + math, though it is possible to learn by ear)

Reading maps, including general world geography

Estimating distances

Navigating a new place because they can't make "mental maps"

Dancing (due to the sequencing)

Reading diagrams

Remembering step-by-step instructions without a cheat sheet

Completing complex tasks that have a lot of steps

Starting a project that necessitates doing things in a certain order, such as building something

Cooking or baking (because it requires measuring and matching measurements to specific ingredients)

Repeating sequences, like a phone number

Remembering numbered streets or highways (like I-480, 5th street, or etc)

Playing games that require counting or keeping score, like Yahtzee, card games, and so on

Completing spreadsheets with numbers

Of course, not every dyscalculiac will struggle with all of these things because there are different degrees of severity. Many also learn tactics to compensate. For example, I never learned sheet music but did well in choir because I memorized all the songs entirely by ear.

I have developed visualizations of common routes I travel and can navigate to them by remembering the landmarks I pass. If you tried to ask me specific step-by-step directions of anywhere, I couldn't tell you, but I can tell you that you'll pass a KFC on your right if you're going east (parallel to Lake Erie), and then you will turn left at the big shopping center.

There are plenty of adaptations that everyday people use which are lifelines to dyscalculiacs in ways that other people may never recognize. Formulas on spreadsheets, conversion websites, built-in calculators, and turn-by-turn navigation apps are all examples of accommodations that appeal to everyone but are especially important to dyscalculiacs.

So, the next time you scoff and say "everyone can do math, they're just being lazy" or "cooking is easy" or "anyone can learn a second language if they want to" or "using a calculator is cheating" and so on:

Recognize that you are ignoring a very real learning disability. These statements are ableist.

Such rhetoric is equally damaging as anti-dyslexic statements like "everyone can learn to read," "open dyslexic fonts are ugly," "audiobooks are cheating," "video lessons are lazy" and things of that ilk.

Ableism takes many forms, many of which people refuse to recognize. Difficulty with math is a widespread problem, and it often has nothing to do with trying hard enough or refusing to learn. I remember breaking down in tears trying to do my times table; I would spend hours trying to understand them.

These issues are NOT a lack of willpower or application. They have to do with real neurological deficits. Please be kind to those who can't do math, and stop assuming we're lazy.

[physics-of-one-piece]

HELLO PHYSICS OF ONE PIECE !! It's me, back again with another seriously down bad question for your consideration if you have the time and wish to 🙏

Now, I was going through the images saved in my phone and found this one I edited to zoom in on Doflamingo’s thighs. I was wondering...are we able to quantify their size? 🤔 purely for science, of course...

Thank you very much! 💫❤️🙏

Hooves, bless your heart, genuinely, I love doing this. 🩷🦩

I did a lot of research for this one. I saw so many crazy men's thighs. In short, I don't think he would have 30" thighs? He could, with his size and all, but they wouldn't look like the 30" thighs on the normal guys. They just look like that cus 30" thighs are bigger even for 6 foot guys. Doflamingo is nearly TWICE that size. For him those size thighs would be quite normal and look normal on him. Plus, he needs to have enough leg weight/leg strength to keep that big muscular torso of his afloat, yeah? 😌

At first, I did think myb 30" but idk... he has those lean, skinny-like legs, which aren't really skinny they just look like that cus he is so TALL. His legs are like a basketball player's. They focus a lot on jumping & running and using those quad muscles, much like our flamingo man here. Also, wonderful picture, thank you for providing it.

For example, I'm sure Luffy has 19" thighs, and Law 20". Both are big runners, lean & skinny etc. Running doesn't make your thighs thick, it makes them lean. Eating+lifting makes them big. According to his weight, Doflamingo eats 6,000 calories a DAY. It's easier to tell for Luffy & Law bcs they are still a normal height.

For Doflamingo... Well, let's just calculate. There are multiple ways to do it. The first one gave me 30", which isn't impossible. For my own sanity we won't look at his chicken legs pics, though those are cute and I consider those shots that he has 22" or 24" thighs there from that point of view.

First, the fun parts. With chest circumference, waist circumference and waist to thigh ratio which actually helps a lot to get the thigh circumference. I could say for his chest is 1 m wide so his thighs are 50 cm wide each and that is 19" wide and... Actually not a bad guess! (Takes a ruler)

"I would be so squashed he would suffocate me."

That would be my "not using formulas" estimate but that's without making it a thigh circumference. The width is 2D, circumference is 3D and will be larger.

OKAY! DOFFY! PANTS OFF!

NO, NOT YOUR ENTIRE -

He's naked.

Okay. I can... Work with this. Totally. (Clears throat) Right. I need to buy a measuring tape for circum- wait, I got one from IKEA! YEAAAH! Found it!

Okay, so 22" is already HUUGE circumference for thighs. We'll put the limit to be 76cm which is 29". Can he be 30"? Absolutely, because as I said the guy is BIG & TALL. That circumference is normal for him and he looks NORMAL with it. Okay? Okay. Let's go!

WHY DID THEY TAKE DOWN THE LIFE-SIZED DOFFY STATUE IN JAPAN?! I COULD HAVE FLOWN TO JAPAN AND TAKEN THE CIRCUMFERENCE OF HIS THIGHS, GODDAMIT.

Doffy's Waist Circumference

Rule of thumb is ratio 0.8 to 0.9 against chest circumference. Lordeth, help.

150 × 0.8 = 120 cm

Doffy's Waist Circumference = 120 cm-135 cm

For an athletic build, thigh circumference is 55-65% of waist circumference. I'll put it to 60% bcs I don't like to suffer.

60% × 120 = 72 cm (28")

Doffy's Thigh Circumference = 72 cm (28")

Overall estimate 66 cm (26") - 78 cm (30")

You guys don't understand, his thigh is thicker than a big ass PIPE.

For width you just put the tape measure flat so... The width of his thighs if they are 72 cm circumference...

Width (by Physics putting the measure tape of 72 cm flat on the table and taking a flat measure tape bcs Physics is a lazy shit)...

Width of Doflamingo's Thighs = 34 cm (13")

If we go by the actual formula (boring result but meh):

D (width) = 72/Pi = 72/3.14159 = 22.91 cm

Thank you, @ohnomyhooves for the ask! In short, he has BIG thighs but they look normal for him (so none of those muscles & veins shown as they are on 30" thighs bcs those thighs don't fit the height of normal sized men and therefore look like that on them). I think his thigh/leg was once shown to be bigger than Luffy's HEAD in the anime. Anyway, pick from the rough estimate of 66-76 cm circumference, and you won't be wrong anywhere.

Time to get squished between Doffy's thighs, I guess. (Shrugs) There are worse ways to go.

Sending you all the love, thank you for all your art, and happy Doffytober! 🩷🦩🎉 P.S. Pls DM me the full pic for... Science.

Tag List: @fanaticsnail

[punished-impartial-speaker]

store going in in Northeast Ohio. owner wants 4.5" storefront instead of 6" to save costs. no problem, we do 4.5" all over the place in this area and the tenant is completely fine with it. get drawings wrapped up, in for permit, out for bid.

GC sends me storefront shops for review. I note that they have 6" storefront specified instead of 4.5". I mark that up and send it back to be corrected. everything else looks fine.

GC emails me immediately:

GC: Your spec sheets show 6" storefront.

me: The 6" spec is included in the standard sheets for reference. I have 4.5" specified for this project in my details on the storefront sheet.

GC ignores this, calls me:

GC: My glazier is saying we can't specify 4.5" storefront here because it won't hold up to the wind load.

me: we use this 4.5" system all the time in this region, I have literally no idea what you're talking about. Structural didn't bring up any concerns about wind load during CDs.

GC: Well all of the other stores I'm doing in this area have 6".

me: great! My drawings say 4.5" for this one.

GC: but wind load!

me: Let me get back with Structural and ask because this has literally never come up before.

I go talk to my structural engineer. they are very confused because we are in Northeast Ohio, a place not typically known for hurricane-force winds, and they don't understand why I'm even asking if there will be an issue.

I go back to the GC and tell them structural doesn't see an issue. GC sends me the calculations from his glazier. He is still pushing us to just change to the 6" storefront, which we want to avoid because that changes a lot of details in the drawings for both me and structural and will require an owner approval. I am starting to suspect that he already ordered the 6" and wants us to change it so he can cover that up. I send the glazier's calcs back to Structural and explain the situation.

while discussing with structural, we note that the glazier is basing his calcs on a wind load of 20 psf, which is only specified under the performance requirements in the storefront spec for ASTM testing. for the actual anticipated wind load, structural provides a table in their sheets to calculate based on the tributary area of each structural member (in this case the storefront mullions.) the engineer walks me through how the table works - based on the dimensions of our storefront, wind load is 14.2 psf. glazier said in his original calculations that the 4.5 system is fine if the wind load is below 15 psf. I send structural's explanation of how to do the calculation back to the GC and ask if his glazier followed the table or if he just pulled 20 psf out of the spec sheets.

GC ignores my actual question and starts picking apart structural's explanation because 3'-0" was given as an example width and our storefront bays are actually 5'-0 1/4" wide. funnily enough, per structural's calculation table for wind load, a larger surface area actually decreases the wind load, so this is even less of a problem. i'm about to explain this when my boss messages me:

Boss: Can you send the storefront dimensions back to Structural and ask them to do the calculation based on the actual storefront dimensions?

me: I actually worked out the tributary areas for the dimensions and went through the chart already and it's fine. I was going to send that back to the GC but I can ask Structural to check my math for legitimacy.

Boss: Actually I think we need to ask the manufacturer rep to make sure.

me: ....ok.

so the crux of this whole problem is that the GC didn't actually look at the drawings outside of the spec sheets before bidding, and when I pushed back and asked them to order what I specified, they had their glazier run calcs based on incorrect numbers that also came from not looking at the fucking drawings. now I'm trying to get ahold of the manufacturer rep to ask them if the system will fail in this application because boss said so, and they're going to ask me about the anticipated wind load, and I'm going to give them the number from my calcs per the table in the structural drawings, and I feel like I could save so much time by just sending my calcs back to the GC with a hearty "look at the actual drawings and not just the specification sheets you utterly useless lumps of cartilage." GC is pestering me for an answer because he needs to get shit ordered and I'm holding him up by not just agreeing to change everything for 6" storefront, and it's like my guy you caused this entire situation by not just actually reading my goddamn drawings and specifying the right thing to begin with.

I hate this. I hate this so fucking much. all I do every single day is manage people who don't know how to read and apologize for things that aren't my fault, and I have to be nice and hold everyone's hand while I do it. this is one of seven or eight completely retarded situations that I'm currently managing. I can't fucking take it anymore.

[saturniandragon]

On today's episode, let's delve into how utterly massive our solar system is, and how much empty space there is in between planets and other celestial bodies.

I feel however this won't work well if I were to use standard scales and units like speed of light and AU, so for simplicity let's scale down the universe all the way down until the speed of light matches a typical person's walking speed, about 1.42 meters per second as opposed to 299,792,458 meters per second.

Let's also calculate the scale factor by dividing 1.42 by 299,792,458. We get a scale of 1:211,121,449. This will be useful later.

On average, light from the sun takes about 8.3 minutes to reach Earth. So let's start walking for 8.3 minutes ≈ 498 seconds!

After 498 seconds, we would've traveled about 700 meters (707.16 to be exact). Roughly just under half a mile for those Imperial unit users. That's pretty far.

How big is the Sun and the Earth at this mini universe scale model? This is where the scale factor from earlier comes in. Luckily for you guys, I've already done the maths.

The sun would be a sphere with a diameter of about 6.6 meters, or roughly 20 feet. That's about the size of a shipping container. Not bad. But what about Earth? How big is our home at this scale?

6 centimeters.

Just slightly over 2 inches. This is about equivalent to the size of a chicken egg.

So just imagine a chicken egg and a shipping container, separated by a distance of 700 meters/½ mile. We live on the surface of this egg.

An average human is 8 nanometers at this scale. That is 100,000 times smaller than the width of a single human hair.

Our moon is about 1.6 centimeters wide. Less than an inch. About the size of a marble. And it's about 1.5 meters (≈5 feet) away from our egg-sized Earth.

Think we're done? Nope, let's get more scale comparisons!

Mercury, the closest planet to the Sun! About 1.7 centimeters wide, slightly bigger than our Moon. About 272 meters (≈886 feet) away from the Sun. 3 minute walk from the Sun.

Venus, our sister planet! Also similar size as our Earth, about 2 inches wide. Roughly 510 meters (≈1600 feet) away from the Sun. 6 minute walk.

Mars, our orange buddy just on the outer edge of the habitable zone! A marble about half the size of Earth, at 3.2 centimeters (≈1.2 inches) wide. Just over 1 km (1,074 meters to be exact) away from the Sun. 13 minute walk.

Jupiter, the largest planet in our solar system, is a sphere about 70 centimeters wide (66.2 to be exact). Slightly above 2 feet. About the size of a coffee table, I guess. And it is 3.6 kilometers (≈2.2 miles) away from the Sun. 44 minute walk.

Saturn, the famous ringed planet, is 6.8 kilometers (≈4.2 miles) away from the Sun. 1 hour and 24 minute walk.

Uranus, the weird ice giant that is tilted 98⁰ on its side, is 12.9 kilometers (≈8 miles) away from the Sun. 2 hour and 42 minute walk.

Neptune, the most distant planet in our solar system, is 21.3 kilometers (≈13.2 miles) away from the Sun. 4 hour and 18 minute walk.

And for our palate cleanser, we have Pluto, our beloved dwarf planet. It's 28.1 kilometers (≈17.5 miles) away from the Sun. 5 hour and 30 minute walk.

-

Ponder this for a bit. This is a scale where the speed of light, the fastest thing in the universe, matches a typical person's walking speed. And yet at this scale, 211 million times smaller, planets are separated by hundreds of meters (for the 4 inner planets) and up to kilometers (for the 4 gas giants) of distance. That's how much empty space there is between planets.

To reach Proxima Centauri, the closest star to us? You will have to walk non-stop for 4 years, 3 months and 18 days to get there.

When you've completed this journey, you will have traveled a distance of 44.8 million kilometers (27.8 million miles). This is enough distance to circle the entire Earth 1,100 times.

Feeling small yet?

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

Doing another random word generator little one shot cuz I feel like writing just not ready to commit to updating my fic

Ok this one was just handed to me…

Caitlyn’s exasperation was written all over her face as she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, sinking uncouthly into her desk chair.

It was new and entirely too expensive, a gift from her father as a congratulations on promotion to her position of Sheriff.

She would never admit that deep down she believes the exorbitant amount of gold spent on something as simple as a chair was worth it, even considering the heating and cooking settings.

Caitlyn wished she wasn’t sitting somehow both comfortably and uncomfortably in her office, surrounding by mountains of paperwork, instead of out on the field with her team.

She missed the adrenaline and the weight of her rifle always on her, unfortunately trading it for a sore wrist and not in the fun way some would imagine.

Caitlyn sighs into the empty air. Everything was under control. Access to shimmer was progressively becoming more and more difficult, Jinx seemed much less active and Piltover was almost completely recovered from the attack, carefully dodging the anticipated war by the width of a hair.

But Caitlyn did not, could not, feel relieved. Not when if she takes one wrong move, shifts her finger a little too far to the right or places her foot a little too far to the left, everything will fall apart again.

But even with the load on her shoulders, she breathes. It’s shaky and unsure and full of fear, but a breath all the same.

Caitlyn’s ready to get back to her working on chopping down her own personal forest when someone bursts through her door.

She doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is. There’s only one person who would forget the common courtesy that is knocking.

“Cupcake, there’s a problem.”

Trying to get Vi to address Caitlyn by her proper title, especially at work, was an unnecessary struggle, maybe even worse than attempting to convince her to wear her uniform. Caitlyn had given up long ago.

“There’s always a problem, Vi, you will have to elaborate,” Caitlyn sighs, dropping her pen to run firm fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp before fully taking out her updo and tying her hair back up into a clean ponytail.

Vi plops herself down on one of the chairs in front of Caitlyn’s desk. “None of the assholes out there are listening to me even though I’m in fucking charge of them. And I know there’s a stupid hands off rule and I can’t just shove ‘em around a bit to get it through their thick skulls who they answer to.”

Caitlyn watches Vi lean forward in frustration as she explains, a certain glint in her eye telling her there’s something that she’s missing, straightening herself up as she prepares to address the situation.

Vi was not just angry, but hurt. A deeper frustrated than the shallow scars now healed on her skin.

“How did you approach them?”

“Like a fucking normal person. Even tried using the dumb examples you gave at training.”

“And how did they respond?”

That’s when Vi pauses, blowing a gust of air out from her puffed out cheeks and past her lips.

She chews on the inside of her mouth with flared nostrils before speaking. “They fucking laughed in my face and told me to run back to you to take my official place as your lap dog.”

Caitlyn’s frown is deep, her eyebrows diving down to meet the bridge of her nose.

She breathes. It’s angry and feels like one step closer to a loud and incredibly unprofessional shout, but a breath all the same.

Caitlyn stands and Vi watches her intently. “And I did exactly that when they weren’t looking.”

Caitlyn carries herself around the table carefully, her blinking and the rise and fall of her chest slow, calculated.

Training herself to be steady, the same way Grayson was, was much harder than she imagined. She never lost her passion, letting the screams and yells out in the privacy of her own bedroom, sometimes with Vi keeping her company.

Caitlyn stands beside where Vi slouches, her body facing her but her face not following suit.

“Would you like to know what I think?”

“What, Cupcake?” Vi inquired back,

“I believe that you underestimate your authority,” Caitlyn says matter-of-a-factly, feeling Vi’s gaze on her. “It’s difficult to make people believe how powerful you are when you don’t even believe it yourself.” Caitlyn finally meets Vi’s eyes, a kind smile, only discernible enough for her beloved partner, on her lips as she does so. “So, what do you want to do to them? Other than bash their teeth in.”

Vi’s chuckle is deep, slowly taking Caitlyn’s hand that previously rested on her knee into her own palm. “I wanna fire them so hard they shit their pants.”

That forces a laugh out of Caitlyn’s throat, a snort joining in.

Vi’s grin is wider, the sound of Caitlyn’s newly developed ease contagious.

Caitlyn takes her other hand to cup Vi’s cheek and stroke the small tattoo under her eye, soft and gentle, pulling the tension and deep seeded frustration out of Vi’s muscles, allowing her to lean into the touch. “So what are you going to do, officer?”

Vi lets herself enjoy the feeling of Caitlyn’s palm and her ever relaxing presence before she stands, her smirk growing confident.

Before she leaves the Sheriff’s office, she presses a grateful kiss to her knuckles and pairs it with a sly wink.

“Don’t cause too much trouble now, darling.”

“Can’t make any promises, baby.”

[justarandombrit]

36. “I'm lost without you.” - Curtwen (Spies Are Forever)

Owen had had a lot of partners in his line of work. Or, depending on how you want to look at it, he'd had none.

If you'd have asked Owen how many he thought he'd had, he'd have, a, grilled you on who you were working for and why you would need that information, and, b, told you he'd only had one.

Sure, he may have worked with some of the most talented agents from a dozen countries, but there was only one man who Owen Carvour ever considered a partner, in both senses of the word.

Agent Curt Mega of the American Secret Service, with his confidence and charm, and the self-assured swagger that would usually tip Owen off to an egotist, was the one man Owen ever truly trusted.

Where Owen was sharp and brusque, Curt was witty and charismatic. Where Owen was disconnected and reserved, Curt was proud and extraverted. Where Owen was meticulous and calculated, Curt was hasty and reckless. Where Owen was cold, Curt was warm.

They were the ying to each other’s yang, and who could blame darkness for falling for light? As it turned out, quite a lot of people.

Owen shook off all thoughts of his and Curt’s secret, and the potentially disastrous consequences of it getting out. He needed to focus on the mission at hand, besides, that would never happen.

Slipping soundlessly past a couple of security guards, Owen ducked behind swords with blades the width of his forearm, and edged around various maces and antique guns. He didn't even entertain the idea of taking one with him, he knew his own pistol packed a punch far greater than any he'd find in this museum.

He also knew Curt definitely would've. In fact, due to the gap on a table a small dagger should definitely have filled, he suspected that Curt already had. Right. Curt. He was supposed to be rescuing Curt.

Owen blinked as hard as he could, he knew Curt was waiting for him, and he desperately needed to snap back to reality.

He pulled up his watch, yet another piece of tech far superior (and more top secret) than any other in the building, maybe in the world.

He'd spent enough time perusing through the floor plans for the museum that he didn't really require the map MI6 provided him, but it never hurt to check.

After a few seconds, he'd verified his route, and from there it took no time at all to make it to the room he assumed Curt, and, incidentally, the secret weapon plans he'd stolen, were located.

Ever melodramatic, before slipping into the room Owen applied a quick fake moustache, just for the hell of it.

He took a deep breath and flung open the door.

Half an hour later, Curt and Owen were careering down the corridors and halls of the museum, dodging cabinets full of anachronistic firearms, and occasionally pushing the occasional suit of armour behind them to shake off their pursuers.

Curt had taken about three wrong turns in the span of ten minutes, which Owen thought was less a reflection of Curt’s intelligence, and more of a testament to how few resources A.S.S supplied its agents with.

However, he couldn't be too mad with the organisation, as it did mean Curt kept having to lean over his shoulder to check Owen’s map. Or, even better, rely on him for directions.

“It's the–” Owen glanced at the floor plan. “– second left!”

Curt fired a bullet over his shoulder, causing the man chasing them to fall to the ground.

“Thanks, O, you're a lifesaver… literally. God knows I'm lost without you.”

If Owen had been the type to get flustered, he certainly would have been now. Instead, he set his jaw and pointedly avoided eye contact.

“You can say that again.”

18/5/24

I don't know how I feel about this one. It was a bit long, and my first time writing from Owen’s perspective so it's kinda clunky, but it's not the worst. Also, THROWN IN BACK LIKE A BURLAP SACK-

[queen-mihai]

OK I've got a little time. Let me tell you about 7 dimensions because it's way easier than I think we're imagining. Fair warning though, I only have words, and like, extremely basic drawing skills, so you're going to have to bear with me.

In some cases people talk about how we "can only imagine life in 3 dimensions, and to imagine anything more would require us to completely blahbity blahbity whatever"

I'm here to defy that notion. And I'm bringing math with me. Don't worry, it's basic and super easy. I literally do not have the patience to write out big crazy formulae, although you could with this if you wanted to.

Now imagine a sphere.

You're on it, hanging out, usefully for me, this sphere looks like planet earth.

Now let's say you wanted to put yourself right there in Africa someplace. That's a sphere, so we're gonna need height, length, and depth so I know exactly where to put the little smiley face that's going to represent you.

Oops, we already have to think in FOUR dimensions, because we can't forget that we're not stationary in the universe. We have to include "time" which is a concept that will help us soon. I went ahead and calculated that for you so you don't end up in the vacuum of space. No worries.

But scientists all over are talking about 4 dimensions. How the heck do you magically get to 7?

Well because we're already operating in 7 dimensions and I can prove it.

We're gonna leave the pictures behind for now and I'm gonna tell a story.

You're at a party. You got some bad news earlier and got your friend to come out with you. He wasn't gonna come out, but heard the distress in your voice and changed plans. He wanted to play beer pong, so that's what the pair of you do. Now with our 4 dimensions of space-time, you can calculate your shot to make sure your friend drinks when your turn comes up.

Throw at the right height, the right angle, the right distance? Perfect. In like Flynn

I'm not drowning anyone in technical jargon am I? Didn't think so. This is about as hard as it gets.

OK so you make your shot and he drinks. Great job.

But let's back up. You'll forgive me a little time travel since this is an imaginary scenario.

Now it's earlier in the day. I mentioned you got some bad news. Well you just hung up the phone and you're considering asking your friend to attend the party with you. Let's say you don't.

Well now..I mean you can throw a million balls in a million cups, your friend is not going to drink.

He's not there.

And with that, we've introduced our other 3 dimensions.

Let's put them all up on the board

Length

Width

Depth

Time

Potential

Influence

Probability

7 dimensions. We know the first 4 so let's go back to our story for the last 3.

Potential: in every situation, there are a seemingly infinite number of possibilities. Let's call each possibility a "Potential"

You're at the party, you're aiming your throw.

Potential 1: you hit, he drinks

Potential 2: you miss, he doesn't drink

Obviously an asteroid could strike, but.. that's not likely. These are the main 2 we need to be worried about.

Influence: You Are the one throwing the ball. Your influence on the ball will affect...

Probability: the likelihood of that ball going into that cup.

The thing is, going back in time again:

If you decided not to invite your friend to the party, he wouldn't have come. The probability of "he drinks" drops to zero because *he's not there*

Just like the thing with time.

Go back to the phone call and you're on with him:

If you just invite him to the party, he will tell you he's thinking of skipping this time. Still a low probability that our situation with beer pong is going to happen.

If you tell him you really want him to come, then you're increasing the level of influence, but maybe not enough to change that probability.

But then you tell him "I got some bad news today and I just really need a friend" and suddenly the potential of being at that table throwing that ball and getting him to drink rises above basically zero.

And I hear the argumentative asshats already "Mihai you iDiOT! YoU'rE jUsT dEsCrIbInG sTuFf ThAt HaPpEnS"

Yeah that's the point. I told you there's no "Woo Woo" here.

You had a bad thing happen

You applied your Influence over your situation by asking your friend to join you which they would not have done without your bad news call.

Your friend attending the party opened up the Potential that you may play a game including cups and balls and drinking

Your friend exercised influence over the situation by asking if you wanted to play beer pong

Then when you started playing, you threw the ball.

You didn't throw it before the cups were set up, meaning you interacted with time as well.

ALL of those things had to line up, just for you to even HAVE a cup to throw at or even a ball to throw.

Had you or your friend not exercised influence, you would not have been playing

Had your influence not won your friend over, they wouldn't have come

Potential? The Potential when throwing the ball is mostly it lands in the cup or it doesn't. The ball doesn't turn into a blue whale or sprout wings and fly away. It lands in the cup or it lands somewhere not in the cup. Those are the Potentials with the highest Probability.

We can think of these new dimensions as new x, y, and z axes.

Our entire universe is the original x, y, and z. Imagine a marble lying on the floor.

It itself is moving through time, which will be your fourth dimension. Meaning if you wanted to touch a specific spot on that marble, you would have to touch where it IS and not where it was or will be. That's dimension 4.

Potential would be like pushing the marble to the side. Left, the ball lands in the cup. Right, it bounces off. That's dimension 5

Influence is your up and down. Pick up the marble, it's no longer in the same place. Let it roll down a hill, it's not in the same place. You act on the universe with your decisions, influencing events around you. Eat a bowl of Ramen? That's an Influence. Drive to a party? You are influencing the universe the entire way there, the entire way back, and every step you take at the party. Even if you just sit still and meditate, the universe is actively being shaped and changed by your presence in it. That's Influence. And that's dimension 6.

And the finally, the one we've been talking about the most. Probability. That's your "in and out". Your marble universe isn't flat. You're not just touching the surface. You can stick your tweezers all the way into the middle of it. And the wider an area you want to hit, the higher probability you have of hitting it. The more precise you want to be, the more difficult it is.

And this scales all the way up and all the way down. Because it's affected by EVERYTHING.

Magnetism exerts influence on things that have gravity. Radioactivity affects the probability of a material staying together or breaking apart. Your desire to stop reading this long ass post is, even as I write it, exerting an influence on my willpower to make it any longer. Meaning the probability of this getting more paragraphs is growing smaller and smaller, and will soon lead to the potential of it being posted. Which will lead to new Potentials that will pop into existence as people read this and go on to affect the universe in their own ways.

The old gods never went away. They are reading this post. The 7th dimensional beings were in the house the whole time. 😂😂😂

Anyway I ain't nobody and I wouldn't presume to know anything more than people who have studied the universe for their entire lives.

It's fun to think about though 🥰 love you. Hope you're having fun!

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL YOU"

I wrote a fic inspired by The Gorge cause WHY SHOULDN'T I? THIS MOVIE IS AWESOME (and not only because Anya and Milles) YOU SHOULD GO CHECK IT OUT

I hope you like it!

It had been two days since the US Army helicopter had dropped you off on the side of the mountain, a kilometer from where the abyss was.

Because of your paramilitary training and the service you had given to your country in the Korean War, your commander told his superior that he considered you to be the ideal person for that job, so there you were.

You checked that the weapons were ready and well calibrated, just in case you had to use them.

Then you entered what would be your home for the next year and looked at the food you had in the fridge, which, you calculated, would last you approximately two months.

At least since they had sent you to where Christ lost the lighter, they had bothered to leave you the fridge full.

It was at that moment that you felt someone watching you. You turned around slowly, and scanned the room, without finding anyone, of course. There was only you and your thoughts, so who…?

You noticed the south tower, placed directly in front of you at a distance of about two kilometers, in accordance with the width of the abyss between your positions. You adjusted the glass of your binoculars and looked through them.

Apparently the army had sent someone else to take care of the security of the abyss. A man in his thirties was reloading the ammunition for his weapons.

You watched him for a few moments, until this time it was he who noticed your gaze. He raised his head, and when he saw you he waved, to which you responded in the same way.

You quickly grabbed the huge notebook that you had left on the kitchen table as well as a black marker to write with. When you finished, you turned it towards him so he could read it.

He picked up the binoculars to look at you for a few moments, before focusing on the notebook.

“We’re not supposed to have any contact with each other” it said, to which he responded by taking out his own notebook where he wrote

“You started it”

You smiled when you realized he was right.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your chores”

“You didn’t interrupt anything” he assured before writing again “It feels good to talk to someone… you know what I mean”

He saw how you nodded your head, while you wrote again

“What’s your name?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you”

“We’re also not supposed to be “talking” and here we are” you wrote, and this time it was him who smiled

“Levi Kane”

“Clare Keene” you wrote

“Nice to meet you, Clare Keene”

[y2ksnowglobe]

Sparrow Oak Garcia Cosplay Part 5 (boring math edition)

Shirt

Dear Amazon,

I'm sure you're inflating the wait time like the lines at Disney World, but I cannot comprehend why you estimate that it should take seventeen days after receiving my returned microwave to refund me my money.

Many Thanks,

A person who really wants to buy a specific shirt pattern with their microwave return money

Pants I was so ready to start cutting the patchwork squares. Absolutely so ready! I had a video tutorial and everything! Then I measured the width of all of the fabric since they shrank varying amounts after being washed and I was suddenly aware that I had no idea what my yardage was once I started cutting it down. And as a dyscalculic nightmare of a human, I started freaking out and turning into the sewing equivalent of this gif.

But after some mild panic I was like okay, let's measure the size of these babies. I quickly realized that I was going to have so much left off since the thinnest piece was 9inches across and I was thinking about doing six inch squares.

Then I remembered that I was altering the pattern because this particular pattern is very confusing in how it's supposed to look and I decided to avoid it entirely.

Like, looking at the line art, I wanted the C pants, but then when they show the C pants in the picture they look nothing like them? And my brain just can't figure out what's going on. So to avoid that uncertainty, I was like...what if I just cut the pattern off at the line before the weird little tulip thingies and just use elastic to bring it in like the view for the D pants. So to ease the process of figuring out how many squares I needed, I bit the bullet and did probably my least favorite step of any sewing project process...tracing my pattern pieces.

I was relieved to find I only needed to trace four pattern pieces (and one was the elastic guide which doesn't really feel like it counts)

I was then trying to decide if it was long enough to satisfy my pants needs, and even though I measured the pattern and then measured it against my legs, I was nervous it was still shorter than I wanted it because I dunno, patterns do that when you put them down. It got to the point where I just straight up took off the pants that I was wearing that were like...around a similar length to what I wanted and put them on the table to compare.

Being like 70% satisfied with that comparison, I then utilized the grid pattern on my craft table to calculate the size of the patchwork panel each piece would need and then did some math to it.

Was it the most precise math? No, but it was imprecise in the direction to err to give me more yardage than calculated. Then I played with two different square sizes. One that was approximately five inches and one that was approximately four inches. The 5 inch version ended up with only 6 panels for the entire height of the pants which felt super underwhelming, so I opted for the four. Then after some math, I got to the result of needing 120 squares (and that would give me a little room to play with the length if I decided the pant legs were too short). I then ran the numbers the square against my fabric and found it would yield 176 squares which was a huge relief because I also wanted to make some panel pockets for the back and knew I needed some wiggle room.

Accessories Someone brought a bunch of stickers in to work for people to take and I liked that there were Oak leaves in this one. I'm not super sure what or how to incorporate it into something, but figured it might be worth having just in case.

I also remade some Love Wolf kandi with better elastic. So, ta-da!

Sparrow Cosplay: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

[webvampzz]

A tables length is 5 feet

And the width 3 feet

Calculate the area of the table

( do you know ahout thr formula?)

15?

[ariel-seagull-wings]

"Spengler was leaning across the kitchen table, an eggroll in each hand, his face a mask of intense concentration.

“Imagine, if you will, that this eggrollis equivalent to the total amount of extrasensory energy available to the average man. We will call it one. . . one . . .” “ER,” Stantz suggested.

"ER?" “Eggroll. E-R. ER.” Spengler lifted one eyebrow. “We can’t call it ER. An eggroll is a thing, therefore a conceptual entity, but it is not a unit of measurement. Eggroll length? Eggroll width? Eggroll what?" “Call it ERM. Eggroll mass. One ERM." Spengler was satisfied with that. “Okay, one ERM is the equivalent measurement for the amount of ESP available to the average man. Now,” he said, bringing the eggrolls together. “I believe that if you double the amount, to, say, two ERMs, you’d have enough energy to blow the lid off a city the size of New York.” “What lid?" “The psychic lid. 'I'he inbred controls that make even one ERM unavailable to most people.” Spengler smiled smugly, popping one of the eggrolls into his mouth. “Sort of like critical mass at a nuclear reactor, huh?” Stantz asked. Spengler nodded. “But how would you join two ERMs? What kind of psychic link would you need?” Spengler whipped out his calculator, made a few notes on the side of an overturned carton from Hong Fat’s Noodlerama, and announced, “It could be done. A modification of the visual image tracking headset, filtered through an archetype unscrarnbler, locked into a psychic potentiometer on a feedback circuit would do it.”

Stantz was dubious. “Do we really want something like that?”

“Not unless you've got a powerful grudge against the City of New York. An unbridled psychic link between even two people would pull out the stops. It would be like unleashing all the ghosts that have ever lived in New York." He stopped, thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah, that scares even me.""

(From: Ghostbusters, The Supernatural Spectacular, pages 87-88, by Richard Mueller)

@bixiebeet @spengnitzed @shelleythesapphic @amalthea9 @professorlehnsherr-almashy