Lunamothwingss - Academic Victim

my trick for getting through grad school is learning to navigate the quadrants with all their nuances

Post Office Station 📧

This is what the Sun looks like

Art by Simone Grünewald

On the hundredth day after the new year the heralds come to the doors of the city, announcing the arrival of the Golden Caravan at the farthest stop of its route ; like every year, citizens and travellers will surely gather at the western door to see it come to pass.

Right behind the banners as customary are the sculptor priests, foremost of the stonemason orders, bringing in this year's votive masterwork for the festivities. The black and white steppe oxen precede the arrival of the head guild architect, charged with the safekeeping of the citizens' sacred geometry. The graduating apprentices and newly welcomed novices walk besides the draftsroom carriage, bearing the icons of the Citizen Architects Guild : ardor and patience. Out of the kilns of the imperial workshops come delicate masterwork sought after the world over ; the sister-ceramists are selected from various key regions of the trade system and bring their local styles to the imperial production. Those workshops are the northernmost stop on the caravan's route.

Behind the masons, the torchbearers announce the arrival of the metalworkers' guilds, chief of which the head goldsmith on a palanquin of her own design. The braseros and forges are continuously tended by guild kindlers as to remain lit throughout the entire voyage of the caravan. Second to last comes the host of the manticore, behind the braseros of the master kindlers. It is believed that the creature requires her caretakers to be pure of heart and most diligent ; the honour is bestowed only on the highest performing apprentices of the smithing guilds. On the last day finally, behind the last of the apprentices, the crones of the chain count the days left to craft, keeping misfortune at work away, and, some even say, Death itself.

damn…

I am a grown ass adult and I still get nausea when I feel like I'm in trouble. They're gonna send me to the principals office and take away my toys for a week. Can you just fucking kill me instead of making me stew in my fucking anxiety

hast thou considered the Shope papillomavirus?

Crayfish!!!

crayfish galore!