#tips for programming assignment

[myassignmentservicesca]

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

[dramas-vs-novels]

... mu university would have to pull weapons on a professor to get them to teach on a Saturday.

[keirapatterson]

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[rprogrammingassignhelp]

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[milkoomi]

how to make finals your bitch. ᥫ᭡

- be at your best to give it your best -

hello angels! so it’s been almost 2 months since i’ve been active on here & it’s simply just been due to me focusing a lot of my time and energy into my academics, career, & personal life! i’m nearing the end of my program with my externship just being one month away! as with a lot of us, the spring semester is slowly but surely coming to an end! and that means finals are just around the corner! i wanted my “comeback” to be some of my helpful tips, tricks, & tidbits of advice for getting through finals and making sure you pass with flying colors!

also, thank you so so much for 1.2k!! i didn’t expect to gain such an influx of followers while i was gone! it means so much to me that so many of you have supported my blog even during my inactivity/unexpected hiatus! i can’t promise i’ll be coming back completely as i have my externship coming up, so i’ll be very busy the next few months! but i hope to continue to post every now and again for you angels!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — pre-finals prep

it’s important to start prepping for finals in advance! finals may be 4-5 weeks away, but it never hurts to get a head start in your preparations!

create a checklist! — you can always start by making yourself a list or two for everything you need to get yourself prepared for that intimidating finals week! these lists could be a list of different study materials you’ll need, a list in order of priority of the different classes you need to study for, a list of supplies you’ll need to get yourself through the week (& yes, this can include snacks or any self-care stuff!), or even a list of different topics from your classes that you feel need a bit more of your attention! checklists are an amazing tool to use to keep yourself organized and can help you visual what needs to get done or what needs to be obtained!

plan out the weeks! — designate a day in your week where you take some time to plan out your weeks prior to finals week and the week of! include time blocks where you set aside time to study and time to take breaks and rest your mind & body! add small, achievable to-do lists for each day or a bigger, more broad one for each week! weekly planning can give you a tangible idea of what your weeks leading up to finals and the week of will look like, so don’t hesitate to give it a try or incorporate that into your weekly routine!

tina’s tip: utilize your phone’s calendar app! i do almost everything digitally and i’ve been making great use of the Apple calendar to plan out my weeks! it’s a great way to color code different events, classes, appointments, assignments, etc. & if you’re also someone who wants to get into digital planning it’s a great first step into getting into it!

prioritize & maintain good health! — i’m saying this with love, but pulling all-nighter’s every single day leading up to finals is not going to guarantee the best scores for you. you need to make sure your health is where it needs to be! sleep is absolutely vital to making sure your mind and body is working at its very best. as someone who used to be an insomniac and who used to religiously pull all-nighter’s for school, i’m telling you it is not worth it. i didn’t see any improvement in my grades when i was doing that. if anything, my scores and my motivation for school got worse. you can’t just go all night racking your brain over your studies. prioritize your health! this also means making sure you fuel your brain and body with good nutrients! when i’m only running on caffeine, not only do i feel physically weak, but my mind is using so much more energy on becoming anxious than staying focused.

tina’s tip: make sure you set aside time at least once or twice a week to something that makes you happy, helps you relax, and is not related to your academics! i have a rule for myself that after 7:30pm-8pm every single night that i immediately stop working on anything related to my studies so that i can truly unwind for the night. i’ll use my time before bed to have a self-pamper night, play video games, watch a show/movie/youtube video, draw, read, or chat with a friend on facetime! it’s important to include things that bring you joy into your routine! don’t burn yourself out by only focusing on your studies!

୨ৎ — the study wave

try to give yourself at least two weeks in advance to study for finals. consider these two weeks as the study wave! this is the perfect time to really lock into those time-blocks you’ve set aside for your study sessions. each day should be filled with review & ensuring you fully understand the material! the time-blocks could be as long as 5 hours or as short as 30 minutes. i recommend the start of the study wave to include longer study time-blocks and as you get closer to the week of finals to shorten those time-blocks!

week 1 of study wave — reteaching yourself the material: rewatch lectures, review powerpoints/videos/notes/previous homework assignments, and incorporate study methods like the feynman technique, practice tests, & active recall! use this time to form study groups, don’t hesitate to have longer study sessions (remember to take breaks!), and refresh your mind of everything you need to know for upcoming exams! let week 1 help you decide what material/topics/chapters/classes need more of your time and attention and which ones don’t!

tina’s tip: dedicate certain days out of the week to 1-2 classes! this will help to prevent any overwhelming feelings of stress, anxiety, and/or burn-out as you prepare for finals! prioritize which class(es) need the most review, maybe a couple classes need more than one designated study/review day and maybe other classes just need one day throughout the week!

week 2 of study wave — refresh & review: utilize study methods like the blurting method, flashcards, practice tests, & other forms of active recall! this is prime time to focus on active recall methods. doing so will help make sure the information stays fresh in your mind and will help you refine that mental list of which classes/topics still need a little more attention! week 2 of the study wave should included shorter study sessions whether it’s 1 or 2 hours shorter than week 1 or even as short as setting aside 20 minutes every day reviewing material. take this time to try and focus more on those more challenging topics rather than reviewing every single bit of information!

tina’s tip: if you use the blurting method, i recommend using it towards the end of your study sessions! this allows you to recall information as well as put it into your own words that will show whether or not you comprehend the material. review what you’ve written down based off of memory and identify any missing points or errors in your work! this will also help you refine what bits of information still need more focus! repeat this method 3 times!

i highly encourage you guys to also use this time to meet with professors/instructors to ask any additional questions! you’d be surprised at how much of a difference it makes to ask those pressing questions on different parts of the material!

୨ৎ — finals week

it’s extremely important that you are getting enough rest the week of finals! it all sounds cliché, but making sure you’re well-rested and you’ve filled your body with the right nutrients can make such a crucial difference in your exam performance!

if you have time in-between different exams, use that time to do quick review sessions to prepare for your next exam!

avoid cramming! — these in-between study sessions should be used wisely and in an effective manner. take some time to focus on material that has been challenging for you and don’t worry too much about reviewing parts that you’re already confident with!

keep the review short! — if you have 30 minutes or even a couple hours before your next final, do not use the entire time of your “break” to study/review! give your mind a break to rest! listen to some music, play a cozy game, or even take a quick nap if you’re able to! a lot of your mental energy should be put into your time taking the exam, so don’t expend all that energy into studying/reviewing!

final notes —

finals can be exhausting, anxiety-inducing, and just an overall challenge. since it’s that time of the semester where, i’m sure, most of us are starting to experience a drop in the level of our academic motivation, it’s really important to maintain a good and reliable study/school routine to keep yourself on the track you ideally want to be on!

i stress this a lot in my other posts, but self-care is extremely important in being able to maintain good routines in your day to day life! so be sure you’re still incorporating time to focus on your self care to keep yourself afloat!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

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

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

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

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

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

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

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

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

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

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

Dear sir,

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

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

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

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

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

Joel had been one of these people. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could never have forgotten.

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

He could never have forgotten.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to see the sky every single day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

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

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

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

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

Joel.

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[luigisbambinaaa]

soft spot ~

summary: you’re in the massage therapy program at upenn and luigi asks for some help! ;)

hii, first time posting something of my own but ive had this idea since like february when i made this acc. so for this fic’s sake just pretend UPenn has a massage therapy program lolll and reader and luigi are within the same friend group but not as close until this lolll. also id appreciate advice on writing if anyone would like to leave a tip or two! okay enjoy!!

—————

deep into the spring semester— a random thursday night. so close to the weekend but not yet friday.

luigi— ever the star student makes a surprise appearance in the shared snapchat group you all have with friends.

luigi 🤓:

still got an hour left of TA duties and my back is KILLING me. can’t even sleep comfortably anymore smh.

matt 💩:

somebody get ahold of shorty with the massage therapy license

micaela 👻:

yall are so unserious lmfaooo

you:

you guys are so irritating yess im in the massage therapy program but i don’t have license yet

am i the damn campus chiropractor now??

nathan 🦾:

LUIGI BOUTTA GET HIS BACK BLOWN OUT PROFESSIONALLY

cue the chat blowing up with laughter

luigi 🤓: assholes lmfaooo..

though weighing his options behind the screen, he decides to just bite the bullet and ask you in private.

luigi 🤓:

hey if you’re really need the practice im down to be your test dummy

my back just really aches

you:

Looollll yeah if you have the chance come over later you know where my dorm is

luigi 🤓:

bet. thank you.

almost an hour and a half later you hear the faintest knocks on your door. opening it to find luigi, freshly showered, curls wet, grey sweats, and a upenn sweatshirt.

“hey..”

you lean against the door smiling, “come in, get comfortable”

luigi steps and takes a look around, a bit nervous, “uhh should i take my shoes off?”

“yeah, it’ll make it easier for me to fold you like a pretzel” you giggle at your own joke.

the look he gives you is priceless, followed by his own laughter and “seriously? you all play too much” before taking a seat on your bed.

he sits there a moment longer, hands resting on his knees like he’s in an actual doctor’s office.

“lu..”

“huh?” he turns his attention back to you.

“i can’t really work through your sweatshirt.. take it off for me”

“oh right, my bad” he laughs and finally tugs his sweatshirt over his head and you take that as the perfect chance to admire his bare chest.

“lay down for me,” you tell him as you pat your bed behind him. “on your stomach.”

he hesitates for a second before mumbling a quiet “okay,” and turns around.

italian giant in your girly bed, face half-buried in your pillow,

“is this fine?”

You smile and say, “perfect!”

without warning, you straddle him and sit down on the back of his thighs to get a good angle. you feel him tense up and laugh, “oh cmon gigi relax, you came to me for help remember?”

pouring some massage lotion into your hands, you press them into the broad expanse of lu’s back— firm and slow, working through his shoulder blades like you kind of know what you’re doing.

unbeknownst to you, luigi feels like he’s being tortured. the weight of you sitting on his thighs, the warmth of your hands gliding over his skin, the tips of your fingers digging deep enough to pull little airy breaths and sighs out of him without even thinking.

your voice breaks the comfortable silence, “damn, gi you’re really tense”

“yeah well ive been hunched over my computer all week grading assignments, it’s starting to weigh on me,” he huffs a laugh but cuts himself off when your hands drag lower on his back and press into a particularly tense spot— letting out low and gravelly groan.

so deep and involuntary, you both freeze.

“Lu… you good?”

voice muffled by your pillow, he replies, “yeah yeah M’fine”

but his hands clenching your comforter, knuckles white, doesn’t get past you. you press your thumbs back into that same tense spot— testing him.

letting out that same uncontrollable groan and not going unnoticed by you— his hips jerk, grinding up into your mattress as if his body is begging for a release he’s too scared to ask you for.

“…lu…did you just?”

“M’just sensitive, you mustve hit a nerve or something”

you hum, unconvinced, still working out the rest of his lower back. then, you sit up a little, straddling his thighs, and running your hands down his sides like it’s nothing.

“Mmm,” you murmur, “well… im basically done with your back.”

you pause, letting your voice drop, sweet, and teasing.

“flip over, lu. might as well take care of your chest too.”

his breath stutters, body tensing under you, and he hesitates because he knows, he knows if he turns over something’s going to change.

you wait for him— quiet, not moving, patient, and watching the back of his curls like you can hear the internal battle he’s having.

after a beat, he lets out a defeated and shy, “…okay.”

shifting slow, careful and avoiding eye contact, he turns over laying flat on his back but immediately throws an arm over his eyes, absolutely refusing to see whatever look you’re giving him right now.

your eyes drop and then go WIDE. because holy shit… the tent in his grey sweatpants is massive. thick and heavy against his thigh— straining.

you clear your throat, swallowing down the wicked little grin threatening to spread across your face. “alright,” you murmur, “relax for me.”

your hands start at his shoulders, kneading them slow, steady, ignoring his obvious problem though your eyes definitely keep flickering down to the way he’s so hard, desperate, and soooo shy about it.

your hands travel lower, down his chest, over his stomach, tracing almost every line of him, until you’re teasing just at the waistband of his sweats. your fingers ghosting right where his soft skin meets the fabric. and that’s when you feel it. his stomach twitches under your hands and he not so subtly peeks, dark eyelashes peeking out below his forearm.

that’s exactly when you lean in— voice a little softer now and just above a whisper, “wow,” you murmur, “school’s got you all worked up, huh?”

luigi lets out the softest groan, full of embarrassment and arm shifting to cover the entirety of his face now. “It’s—“ he stutters, “it’s not like that.”

but you’re already grinning because his body has already given him away— needy, twitchy, and hard against his sweats as if it has a mind of its own.

so your hands travel lower, slow and casual right over his waistband. until your palm is ghosting over the thick outline of him, barely touching him but just enough to see his hips jerk up like the interaction shocked him.

“relax lu,” you hum, giggling softly, “M’just trying to help”

another stroke, but this time you cup him fully, watching the way his breath stutters so sharply. “…fuck,” he whines— quiet, but already a bit wrecked.

“mmm,” you purr, squeezing just a bit more, “definitely got some more tension to work out here.”

dragging your palm along the thick outline of him again and that’s all it takes— luigi’s hips lift off the bed without him even thinking. helplessly chasing your touch.

and when your hand moves away— teasing him, that’s when you hear it, soft and barely above a whisper, “please… don’t stop.”

you laugh— low and dangerously sweet. “that’s all you had to say baby.”

your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he really wanted to but he doesn’t.

and then, you finally free him. thick, heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, already leaking from how long he’s been worked up under your hands.

you take your sweet time wrapping your hand around him— slow and warm. giving a lazy stroke from base to tip that has his hips jolting right off the bed again. a broken little gasp tearing out of him, “f-fffuck— oh my god—“

the wet sounds of your hand moving up and down him get more insistent. the way his hips keep lifting, restless, frantically chasing every pass of your hand has you absolutely enamored by the once shy boy.

you stroke him again— your fist twisting just right at his tip, catching that sensitive little spot that has him gasping so desperately.

he’s biting his bottom lip, trying to keep quiet, trying to hold himself together. but you slow your pace and teasingly drag your thumb across the head— “shit—“ he lets out, hips stuttering, “faster, pl-please go faster.”

you blink and pause, “you want it faster lu?” you ask, “is that what you need baby?”

he nods, fast— face flushed red all the way down to his chest. “mmhmmm, y-yeah i need it.” he chokes out, hips already moving again into your closed fist.

and you give it to him without hesitation. fingers tightening around him and your wrist flicking harder and faster. your strokes pick up their rhythm, wet and noisy now, almost obscene in the silence of your dorm room, accompanied by the sweet, sinful noises you’re pulling out of him.

“f-fuck— oh my god— don’t stop— please don’t stop—“

his thighs trembling, stomach tensing every time your hand meets the base of his cock, and then back up with just the right twist at the top.

your hands keep working him fast, slick, and filthy and every stroke has him getting closer and closer until— you notice his thighs shift under you, spreading a little wider and his hips tipping up into your fist like his body just needs to be closer to you.

and then slowly and shakily, he props himself up on his elbows. dark curls messy across his forehead, face flushed, and his chest rising and falling in sharp, desperate little pants. you look up to see his eyes— blown wide, locked right on you.

his lips part as you slow your pace again, “p-please—“ he pants, “let me cum— i need it so bad— please.”

it knocks the air out of your chest. sweet and shy luigi begging for you like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

your voice comes out low and sultry, “yeah? that bad?” and he nods, his curls bouncing a bit at the movement.

“s’bad—can’t— please let me cum— please.” and you stroke him a little faster and grip him tighter and the sound you rip out of him is raw.

“pleasepleaseplease— wanna cum for you— please” and it’s like he’s not even aware of how much he’s begging anymore, only sure of the immense pleasure you’re giving him.

your voice drops low and firm, “then give it to me lu.”

and it’s like his whole body snaps— hips jerking up into your fist, head tipped all the way back, curls sticking to his forehead, and mouth falling open to let out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard him make.

“Ah—fuuuuuuuck—“

hot ropes of cum spill out of him, messy and hard splattering all over your hand and his stomach. twitching through it so hard, his elbows almost give out, but he rides it out. tilting his head back up to watch your hand slowly milk every last drop from him as his breath comes out in panting little whines.

until finally, he slumps back against your bed. completely wrecked, chest heaving, and his lashes fluttering heavy against his red cheeks.

you lean over to press the softest kiss to his cheek, right against his warm skin. letting him know, “gonna clean you up okay?” and then slip off the bed, padding over to your bathroom, coming back with a damp towel.

luigi’s still laid out where you left him, now with his eyes barely cracked open, watching you like you’re an angel that’s come down from heaven. you settle between his legs again and carefully start cleaning him up— wiping the mess from his stomach and his softening cock.

you glance up to get a good look at him and catch the heavy look he’s giving you. it makes something curl in your chest. your fingers skim over his tip, collecting a small bead of cum still clinging there and without breaking eye contact, you bring it to your mouth and suck it clean off.

luigi lets out a sound that’s in between a whimper and a laugh.

hours later, your dorm is quiet.

you’re tucked into bed still smelling like your massage lotion and him, scrolling absently on your phone, and your dim fairy lights casting soft shadows across your room.

and just as you’re plugging in your phone for the night, ready to sleep, your screen lights up with a snapchat notification.

luigi 🤓:

thank u again for earlier like fr

feels like i’ll actually be able to sleep tn

you smile, heart swelling at the thought of him still not over your hang out. and then the screen lights up again.

luigi 🤓:

sooo when can i book a second appointment?

you:

depends…

your back still hurting baby?

delivered, read, yet no reply. not for a whole minute.

and then:

luigi 🤓 is typing…

————

to be continued?

[c1qfxugcgy0]

adventures in aerospace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the program I've been assigned to.

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

"120 inch pounds? Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, they tell you. Eventually.

(Image from public Google search)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Great, thanks."

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

(next post in this series)

[actually-lame]

Study tip: pretend you’re Peter Parker.

I owe all my academic success - however little it may be - to spider-man. Whenever I need to study, I just imagine I'm peter parker studying for his exams after patrol. Projecting my life through his somehow helps me feel more motivated.

When I’m exhausted and all I want to do is go bed-rot but I still have a thousand things to do, I tell myself if peter parker is juggling school, patrols, and his internship on zero sleep. Surely I can survive doing a school assignment.

Honestly, one of the biggest reasons I joined my school’s internship program was to channel his energy through me and to give this mantra of mine a bit more truth. In my mind if peter parker can do it? so can I. And it works so well. I have been doing this for years and I will to continue to do so until I graduate.

[ofstoriesandstardust]

i just want your love (twisters - boone)

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

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

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

word count: 1.8k

Now, despite popular opinion, Boone was actually smart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you want me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds heavenly baby.” 

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

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

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

[madrone33]

SPOILERS for Andor season 2 episodes 4-6

I've seen some people thinking that Bix and Cassian went rogue at the end of episode 6, and killed that man without Luthen sanctioning the mission, so I just want to clear up what exactly happened.

In episode 4, the same night Cassian and Bix semi-argued over dinner, Cassian wakes up and finds Bix by the window. He asks if she couldn't sleep because of Dr. Gorst again, but she replies, "Not tonight," and hands him some binoculars, saying, "Have a look. It's flashing."

When he looks out the window, he zooms in on a distant tower where the blue light at its tip is flashing:

Cassian sighs, laments, "We just got back," and then it cuts to Luthen talking to him about Ghorman.

This establishes that the tower light is a signal, a way for Luthen to discreetly alert them when he has a new mission for them, without the danger of using comms.

Luthen tells Cassian that Ghorman will be a solo mission - to Cassian's displeasure - and Bix has to stay behind when Cassian leaves at the end of the episode.

A lot happens in episode 5, but what's relevant is that while Cassian is en route to Ghorman, Luthen checks up on Bix and evaluates how she's handling things, which is not well, understandably, but that's not ideal for him. Cassian only finds out this happened when he gets home in episode 6, where he then recklessly confronts Luthen directly, pissed off that Luthen specifically waited till Bix was alone.

They argue. Luthen thinks Cassian is holding himself back because of Bix, and says, "I want her as strong as you do" but that she "has to pull it together," and Cassian is bitter that Luthen would've preferred if Cassian didn't have any attatchments and Bix wasn't in the picture to have to work around, accusing that, "It would just be easier if I was alone," which is a point that Vel and Cinta will also later talk about between themselves.

Cassian leaves after telling Luthen, "I came with you to be part of something. You want my blood? You help me work this out."

The scene directly following is with the ISB, where Major Partagaz tells Supervisors Lonni and Heert that the people in Military Intelligence have "convinced the Emperor that Dr. Gorst is too valuable to be a one-man, ISB asset. He's to be expanded into a program." Partagaz goes on to say that "the Navy's donated a facility here in Coruscant," and assigns the both of them to represent the ISB and keep watch on the program.

Lonni, being Luthen's spy, presumably informs him off-screen that same night.

A little later, between the scenes of Vel and Cinta planning with the Ghorman Front, it cuts to Cassian once again waking up to find Bix watching the window. She says the tower light's flashing again, and after he uses the binoculars to confirm, she tells him, "Whatever the mission is, I'm coming. Do you hear me?"

Cassian agrees - since he hadn't been happy with leaving her behind last time anyway - and the scene cuts back to Vel and Cinta.

What's not shown, is what Bix and Cassian's mission briefing actually entails. The episode doesn't show us when they meet with Luthen before he has to leave for Sculdon's party the next night, so we don't know what mission they were given.

Not until the end of the episode, when Bix and Cassian assassinate Dr. Gorst.

Reading between the lines, Luthen likely gave them this mission to kill three birds with one stone.

1) Gorst is clearly becoming more of a threat. It was bad enough when he was alone and just with the ISB, but a whole program being dedicated to him means that his device might be produced in a wider capacity and spread around. Better to stop it before it even begins. Now that they have the man's confirmed location, he has become a prime target.

2) Giving this to Bix puts her back in the game. Perhaps if Gorst was any other Imperial torturer, Luthen wouldn't have thought the risk worth it - blowing up a Navy facility right in the middle of Coruscant - but he did this with the intention that it would give Bix both revenge and closure, and thus help her heal and move on, at least a little. Taking out a dangerous military tool is a win, yes, but gaining back a skilled operative at the same time is an even bigger win.

3) Helping Bix will bring Cassian back in line. His weak spot has consistently been his family. But Maarva and Brasso are dead. Kerri and Bee and Wilmon are out of reach. Bix is all he has left. And that's both good and bad for Luthen, because Cassian will fight harder and fiercer to return to her, to keep her safe, but he will also fight more cautiously so that he can return to her, and might not take missions at all to stay and keep her safe. So getting Bix back out there - strong and determined and fighting - will put Cassian back out there with her, less protective and defensive, knowing that she can take care of herself, while at the same time proving to Cassian that Luthen does care about his agents and will take action in their favour, thus smoothing over the rift that was beginning to form between them.

Not super relevant to Bix, but in regards to Luthen's portrayal these episodes, in the scene where Mon asks him about Vel, he completely misses why she's asking, assuming instead that something happened and she has important information she needs to convey. When he asks, "Something urgent she needs knowing?" her stony reply is, "Yes. I care about her."

One big part in his character is how because he's lost and burned away everything about himself until all that's left is the Cause, he's forgotten that the people around him don't just think according to what's the most pragmatic and utilitarian thing to do.

Relationships within a community and a family and to each other are what ultimately drives a rebellion, because people care about each other and want to protect each other, want to fight for each other. And I think Maarva and Cassian and Mon reminded him of that.

[mechncheese]

Wait you’re in an animation program at a school? Do you have any tips for someone about to go into a 2D animation course?

I wish I could offer more good animation-related advice but my experience has been a lot of allnighters, grinding, and endless balancing on top of being the number one procrastinator. Here are some general tips I've learned </3 Looking at this now, this is just advice rather than tips oops

Manage your time-- It sounds like very surface level advice but please.. Do not end up like me with 33 scenes to finish in 2 days. I wish I had time management advice but I have the worst management on the planet. I keep everything on a written to-do list taped on the wall and sometimes I forget about it.

You will learn that not everything you make will be up to your own standards or satisfaction. Balancing several classes on top of animation is not easy and sometimes you will end up with work you are not proud of and that's okay. We keep pushing forward and there's always time afterwards to revise. Part of the learning process is accepting that sometimes we flop and sacrifice quality to finish something. Time constraints are something we just have to deal with and it doesn't make us bad animators.

Take video reference for character animation-- It helps a lot. Don't know how a character would bow, jump, or run ? Take a video of yourself doing the action and reference it as you go !

You may be tempted to go above and beyond with every animation assignment given, and that's a good drive to have ! Do not push yourself to burnout though, nothing is worth burnout or carpal tunnel.

Speaking of carpal tunnel, stretch your hands. During long work sessions, stretch at least every hour. Stretch your wrists, back, and legs. Take a walk once in a while, go outside, look at the sky. Looking at a screen for a long period of time will give you crazy headaches. Do not destroy your body for school. PLEASE. Also drink water, too many sweet treats will make you feel sluggish, tired, and icky.

20 minute naps/breaks.. When I'm stuck on a scene and can't get it looking right I straight up nap for like 20 minutes and come back to it. It refreshes my head and I find that I work better after a quick break. Staring at your animation for too long will make you second guess yourself and get frustrated when things are not working out. Take a break and come back, it's gonna be okay, you just need to not look at it for a bit. Adjustments and edits are easier to see and make after a break.

Be open to critique. ask for help if you're stuck-- also sounds like a given but when I first started I was a little stubborn and wanted my ideas and my way of doing things to work really bad. You will find yourself a lot happier with your work when you start taking suggestions and changing your perspective !

Remember you're here to learn ! No one expects you to be a professional animator right off the bat. And don't compare yourself to your peers, we all go at our own pace and we are all students. Make friends, live life, have fun ! I find that the worst years were the ones where I isolated myself working to death trying to get my work to look just right. I'm about to graduate and I wish I learned sooner how green the grass is on the other side of constant grinding. Animation student life is so hard and difficult but it doesn't have to be miserable ! GOOD LUCK OUT THERE SOLDIER !

[hyperlexichypatia]

So you want to support your local public library

You’ve been following the news about book bans, funding cuts, Moms for Liberty, censorship, and you’re outraged! You want to Do Something! What should you do? 

Here are some tips from a small-town public library worker. Some of this is stuff I’ve seen a lot of other people saying, but some isn’t. 

DISCLAIMER: Every library has different needs, policies, funding situations, etc. What I’m saying may not apply to your local branch. Ask your local library staff. 

THINGS THAT HELP A LOT: 

Use your library. Really, just using it helps a lot. Check out books. Download ebooks on Libby. Listen to audiobooks. Come to programs. Stream movies on Kanopy. Join the book club. Bring your kids to storytime. Help spread the word about library services and events (we don’t have an advertising budget). Not only do we rely on usage statistics to justify our funding, but also, robust attendance makes the library feel more like part of the community. 

Check out controversial/challenged books. Popularity affects whether it stays on the shelves. Ask the staff to order certain titles. Show demand for these books!

Give us some money. Just fork over some cash. Go to the online donation portal. Write a check if you’re feeling fancy. We rely on donation money for everything from cleaning supplies to prizes. Participate in library fundraisers. If there’s a friends of the library group, join that. If your library posts a wishlist, go shopping. 

Contact your local elected people and tell them you want libraries uncensored and well-funded. Invoke your identities that politicians care about. “As a constituent,” “as a voter,” “as a taxpayer.” Be specific about what you want the remedy to be. If the issue is censorship, say you want libraries to have free and uncensored material for all. If the issue is resources, say you want to increase library funding. If you say “The library should be open longer hours,” you and I might interpret that to mean that the solution is to fund the library to be open more hours. But politicians and their staff do not think like you and I do. To them, “The library should be open longer hours” may mean “The library is unpopular and not meeting people’s needs, so let’s defund it.” 

EXTRA CREDIT IF YOU WANT TO GO ABOVE AND BEYOND: Apply to serve on your local library board.

THINGS THAT MIGHT HELP, BUT NOT AS MUCH AS PEOPLE THINK. Again, this is going to vary wildly based on your particular public library branch. At some libraries, these things might help a whole lot! At other libraries, not so much. 

Donating books. Some libraries don’t even take donated books. Most libraries put donated books in their book sale, or put them out for swaps. Very few donated books end up catalogued for circulation. Donating banned books really does nothing – if a library is ordered to remove a book from their shelves, they won’t be allowed to re-add a donated copy, either. Our library sometimes catalogues donated books if they are new (published within the past ~5 years) and in like-new condition. Your childhood favorites are not “in good condition,” I’m sorry. 

Volunteering. Again, this is going to vary widely from library to library. Some libraries rely heavily on volunteers. Some libraries don’t let anyone volunteer at all. My library requires volunteers to go through a criminal background check first (I loathe this policy with the fire of a thousand suns, but have been unable to persuade my boss to change it). Even if you are allowed to volunteer, don’t be surprised if the tasks you’re assigned look more like “clean the bathrooms” than like “read aloud to a roomful of rapt children” or “comb through archives.” Most libraries don’t let volunteers do circulation tasks, and there are very good reasons for that. And for Pete’s sake, don’t offer to “volunteer” to do someone’s actual paid job. 

I’m not saying “Don’t donate used books and don’t volunteer”; I’m saying “The well-meaning viral posts about how you can save your local library by donating used books and volunteering are missing a lot.”

BONUS EXERCISE: Kill the Mom for Liberty inside your head. The right-wing anti-library movement feeds on the same censorship, bigotry, and “think of the children” moral panic that runs rampant in progressive spaces. If you want to support public libraries, you’ve got to snap out of the idea that books, media, and truly public space are “dangerous.” Here, imagine this scenario: At a public library, a 10-year-old girl, who’s walked to the library by herself after school, is sitting at the table with her books. She’s been reading Warrior Cats, but today she’s branched into the adult section and grabbed the newest T.M. Frazier book. Across the table, a 31-year-old man is working on his laptop, but he looks up to mention that he also loves Warrior Cats, and they have a brief conversation about Bramblestar’s character development. In the lounge chair across the room, a 62-year-old woman with a huge backpack who looks like she might be unhoused is dozing and slightly snoring. At the lego table, a couple of kids are collaborating on a tower, while a 47-year-old man is twitching and talking to someone other people can’t see. A 15-year-old is checking out [most offensive book by most hateful author – I’m not even going to give an example, it’s whatever is the worst option in YOUR mind]. At a public computer, a 9-year-old with headphones is watching a video of Pokemon farting. A 25 year old woman with Down Syndrome is checking out The Joy of Sex and Because of Winn Dixie. If you want to regulate or ban anything in this scenario, fix your mindset. If you think the library “shouldn’t have to deal with homeless people because that’s mission creep,” or that there needs to be some kind of protection against the “danger” of “adults interacting with minors,” or that people should only read “age-appropriate” or “reading-level-appropriate” books, or that someone should “get help” for voice hearers in public, you are part of the problem. If you don’t support the ideal of public libraries as places where any-yes-any member of the public can hang out and read whatever they want, you don’t actually support the anyone-can-hang-out-and-read-whatever-they-want place.

[retiredteabag]

sorry for informality but i was stalking reading your pinned post and you’re in grad school at twenty!??!!!

unless i’m tripping or misunderstanding something, academic weapon tips please because holy shit that’s insane! what’s ur field of study if you want to talk about it/don’t mind me asking? any application tips/things you wished you knew before getting there/habits you wished you’d formed sooner? independent research has always been difficult for me because of how much i depend on structure (adhd imposter syndrome anxiety lets go) so if you’re working on a thesis/something similar, how has the process been in your experience?

i’m in undergrad atm and heavily debating going further, so i’d love to hear from someone my age who’s actually doing it! also unrelated, but i’m a certified notion/goodnotes girlie if you vibe with those as study resources!

🎸 tagging with an emoji in case i pop back around, yk?

I'm sorry to say, but my tips might come off as sort of typical... but I hope they're at least a little helpful!

I am currently in a masters program within the analytics field. Research/independent studies vary widely depending on the area of specialization, however, my program has an intensive practicum that is similar in nature. I have not started it yet, but what I can say for sure when it comes to research: make sure you are picking a topic that you could speak about for hours/answer argumentative questions about.

For applications, I would say to narrow your options down as much as possible and look into each program before applying. Know the curriculum and standard outline and what stands out to you as you decide.

^ on this same note, you will likely need at least one interview in the application process. Speak slowly and enunciate. Taking a moment to think of the proper words will always be better than speaking quickly without much thought. Most people say to use "down-speak" in these interviews, but in my experience, matching the examiners tone and energy makes the whole thing much more comfortable.

For study tips, I have a large notebook that I keep on my desk where I write down every assignment and the date that it is due. This is just for organization purposes, I find a physical copy helpful for a few reasons but also because crossing them off feels rewarding :]

Time managment is incredibly important. Everyone says this because it is true. Prep everything, organizing your day into chunks. Since you also like structure, this probably wont be an issue. I would also get comfortable with being self-aware of your priorities. There will come a time when you will need to choose between academics/work and other areas of your life.

Keep your spaces clean. Dedicate a day or so to just organizing/doing a deep clean. It will help you stay focused and minimize external anxiety. It’s also much easier to keep a place clean if you have put in such an effort.

Participate in class. I cannot make this clear enough. I promise it is not embarrassing to ask questions or "try". You will learn far easier if you put effort into the classroom/lecture setting.

It is a pretty typical "tip" is to just ask questions. Even if you feel like you might understand, just ask to make sure. And in this same vein, go to office hours if you need to.

Prioritize sleep lol, that and mental rest. You can't always be studying. For me, it is a real challenge to work and be full time in school so it's important to carve out those sections of "you time".

Try not to be on your phone tooooooooo much, I know it’s hard but I make an effort to not be on my phone while eating. Don’t use entertainment as a distraction, I find that it just delays anxiety :(

Lastly, apply for scholarships and know that you absolutely can appeal for more money.

I hope this was useful. Do know that it REALLY depends on your area of study and 5-year-plan. I would recommend not going to grad school unless you're absolutely sure it is worth it.

Good luck!

[pforestsims]

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

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

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

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

This will work for simple object skeletons without IK Bones.

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

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

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

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

Export GMDC with your custom mesh

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

Import GMDC to Milkshape

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

[genericpuff]

Could you share with us more about your process? I’d love to see some behind the scenes, what program you use and how you get such nice glowy effects!!! Love the work, just read mid season and can’t wait for it to come back🥹

Here's some of the basic stuff / tips:

Banshriek and I both use Clip Studio Paint, synced up via Teamworks / the CSP cloud so that we can work together on the same file

Though we do have some brushes we use exclusively from one another, here's the standardized brush set that I use to achieve those unique brush textures that mimic the LO look (and it contains a lot of other brushes Rachel used in her backgrounds / effects / etc. !)

Much of the glowy effects are achieved with Add Glow / Dodge layers BUT ALSO merging all the layers into one flattened layer (Right click a visible layer > Merge visible to new layer) putting it on top of everything except for the speech bubbles, applying a Gaussian Blur of about 60, and then setting the layer's blend mode to Overlay and the transparency to ~25%! (there are also brushes within the aforementioned brush pack that we use to get those sparkly effects, like the Sparkle Smudge and Sparkle Debris brush!)

We work on high-resolution canvases of roughly 2400 x 10000px (350 dpi) The height doesn't matter at all (though note the longer the page, the more memory the program will use, so stick to shorter heights if you want to reduce strain on your PC, that's what Banshriek and I wound up having to do recently to keep CSP from crashing lmao) but keeping a consistent width is super duper important, I like 2400px because it's high-res and it's divisible by 800 which makes my pages simpler to reduce when I need to post to comic platforms like NamiComi / Webtoons / etc. (it's a habit that carried over from my original comic days lmao) When exporting my pages as PNG's, I reduce the output size by 50% so that the images aren't too massive - but I do NOT permanently change the resolution size of the original file !! Work big, export small !

When coloring comics, the Color Set tool is your best friend ;3

-----

Beyond general tips that I can sum up quickly, I actually stream about 1-2 times a week, usually working on new updates of Rekindled, that's the best way to watch along with my process and see how it looks before they've been released! I usually tend to stream on weekends between Thurs-Sat. Those streams are entirely free, I always announce when they're happening in the Rekindled Discord ! (you'll be notified directly if you opt in to the Viewer role in the #role-call channel ! Just note that for security purposes you need to be assigned a role after joining the server, so please make sure to select a role before you tab out of the server otherwise you'll get booted ;p)

I also have time lapses available (and other behind-the-scenes stuff planned) over on my Patreon if that's of any interest to you! As well as VOD's from older streams and other neat lil' things :>