#if you don't call this generational relay

[frc-ambaradan]

And nothing... you see Alberto Angela starting a new science tv program which is the direct heir to his father's Quark and suddenly everything is perfectly fine. Piero Angela never died. Quark never stopped. And everything is just the way it should be ❤️❤️

And he called it "Noos" which was the name of the spaceship Piero used to explore the cosmos in "Viaggio nel cosmo" as if that ship never stopped its journey.

Bless you, Alberto! Bless you! 🥺

[ferromagnetiic]

"Heard you can control magnetism and I can't help but wonder how that works exactly. I mean technically all matter is magnetic, some more than others, but you catch my drift." Undeterred the brunet genius carries on. "So are you creating your own magnetic field then and can manipulate how electrons interact with each other or are you limited to the usual type of ferromagnetism? If it's the latter, do you need a certain percentage of, lets say iron, in a material so your powers have an effect on them? Or does it not matter?

To say that Tony thought about this a lot would be an understatement.

[Feel free to ignore this if you want, he's just been curious and wants to know everything about Kids powers >:) ]

          【 UNPROMPTED ASK. 】                      @ravarui 【 Tony 】

          It's not often someone takes the time to inquire about the mechanics of his devil fruit ability, and it's even less often that he answers them sincerely. On occasion his nakama have tempted him with the question, though more often than not, the individual asking hasn't been expecting a sincere explanation and they tended to give up trying to make sense of him halfway through. Kid remains notoriously terrible at explaining things. He works on visuals and feelings, and has a tendency to leave out important details; he gets irritable when people don't already know the basic principals he's relying on and he has to go back and explain things further. Most commonly, anyone who investigates how his abilities function will get a clipped answer something along the lines of ❛ Because I ate a rotten fruit, now quit worryin' about it. ❜ Over time, similarly to a father who does not have the energy to explain complicated subjects to their infant child, he started to give up on trying to go into graphic detail of how he was able to control magnetic properties, and tends to not even bother.

This time, it is not his loyal friends asking him at all. It is a total stranger, no less, and his paranoia of what consequences may occur if he provides untrustworthy people with too much information is rearing its ugly head. He doesn't know this guy, so why should he hand out all his secrets to him for him to use as his pleases? Why should he give him an opportunity to use his honesty against him? Distributing free instruction manuals for his devil fruit powers to anybody who asks is a horrible idea, and this particular man in question doesn't exactly strike him as someone stupid enough to find this information utterly useless. He's composed, well kept, displaying a degree of quiet confidence that doesn't need to be boldly stated. Kid can read his intelligence in the way his eyes move — focused, attentive, but yet somehow simultaneously distracted, as if he's juggling multiple thoughts and ideas whilst still effortlessly managing to carry their conversation. He reminds Kid of the people who have the ability to both read a book and speak to others at the same time, without one action compromising the other. People like him put him on guard. The ones who didn't need to demonstrate their intelligence were generally the most dangerous.

Maybe he was an undercover marine? His clothes didn't match, but that didn't prove his innocence. His well-groomed appearance seemed like something a marine would want to don, anyway. He should dismiss the question and tell him to fuck right off and leave him alone. None of his business, was it?

          ...Still.

He seems to know what he's talking about. At least, more than the last person who tried to make sense of Kid's powers. He wondered how much he could even really do with the most basic walkthrough of how his magnetism functioned. Understanding a concept didn't necessarily make that information particularly helpful, after all.

Besides. Something about this man was intriguing to Kid. He could sense something he couldn't name; a very particular energy that he can't pin down. At the very least, he detected no active hostility from him. Kid considered himself to be fairly good at reading people when he wanted to — this is partially due to honing his haki to be especially sensitive to the auras surrounding a person and recognizing how to detect any malice in their intentions, but additionally, it was also simply a learned behavior that stemmed from having a dear friend who could not regularly show his face. He learned to understand body language in order to adapt for his sake. Movements. Tone of voice. Choice of wording. This man was not giving off obvious signals of being an enemy, at least for now.

Kid watches him for a long time. He sucks his teeth, making an audible clicking sound with his tongue when he releases them. He's trying to decide if it's worth it or not.

Well, maybe an incredibly vague rundown of his powers wouldn't be the worst thing. He could leave out anything that might be readily used against him, and he could stop if the stranger started probing for more than he was willing to offer. Even if Kid didn't trust him, he did pique his curiosity.

     ❝ Ya answered yer own question. 'S like ya said — everything is kinda magnetic; just not always enough to do a whole lot with. ❞

There's a slight pause here as he shifts on his seat, leaning his right elbow to rest against his knee. He deeply exhales as he moves, in a way one might expect from a much older gentleman, rather than a healthy young man in his early twenties.

     ❝ Ya know all about atoms, don't ya? I ain't gonna explain that shit if ya don't. ❞

He should, since he already brought up electrons. This isn't necessarily a subtle insult. Multiple members of his crew had a limited understanding of basic scientific principals due to their upbringing and home environment. It wasn't unusual for his question to be answered 'no', and at which point, Kid was quick to lose interest in continuing the conversation. Trying to tell someone that there are tiny little specs smaller than dust that made up everything in the universe sounded like the nonsensical ramblings of a madman. The only reason he even knew about the existence of atoms to begin with was because Old Man Ketil had taken the time to tutor him, even if he hadn't been particularly happy about it at the time.

The stranger doesn't stop him, so Kid continues.

     ❝ Atoms have their own force fields, right? They got their core — their nucleus, protons, neutrons — then ya got the space around them, these little... loops, I guess. Yer electrons spin and orbit and make these electrical rings that circle them. When they move in the same direction, that's their magnetic field, right? This charge that goes all around the core. ❞

He can already feel himself struggling to tell what areas should elaborate on, and what he should skim over. He wonders how long it will take for the stranger to give up trying to follow.

     ❝ It ain't like I can see atoms or some shit; that's not what my fruit does. But I don't need to, 'cause I can feel those loops. See, the Jiki Jiki no Mi, it gives that magnetic charge a physicality. It makes it tangible. Makes ya more aware of it being there. So every one of those loops stops being this force ya can't touch, and instead it's like, they're all made of strands of thread, or silk or somethin'.      Ya try to touch one strand of silk, it's just gonna break. Ya can't move anythin' with one strand of silk. But when ya get a fuck ton of those strands all together, and ya grab them all at once.... ❞

To demonstrate, he makes a tight fist with his right hand. In conjunction, an empty, partially crushed beer can that he had earlier discarded on the ground then begins to levitate, moving closer towards him and hovering just inches below his enclosed palm; it deliberately swings, almost as if he's trying to make it resemble a yoyo on an invisible string.

     ❝ — That's how ya make rope. Then ya just gotta tug that rope in the right direction. Ya gotta decide if ya want to attract or repel, and it's like contractin' the muscles in yer arm. ❞

He squeezes his fist closer towards his bicept at this, tensing the muscle fibers below his skin. But then, he slackens, and releases his fist entirely, letting the can immediately succumb to gravity and fall to the ground with a tinny clang.

     ❝ Anyway, that's why it ain't easy to, say, control blood through the iron cells. The iron is too diluted; not enough to grab onto. Doesn't do shit. ❞

The average human being has approximately around four grams of iron in their body, though the exact quantity depends on a large number of variables. When that's dispersed, there isn't a whole lot of force to be created from moving those individual iron molecules. What created significantly more force than moving those four grams of iron was Kid's fist, punching them in the gut at full strength and rupturing their spleen. However, that didn't mean he wasn't capable of magnetizing the human body at all; since his devil fruit's awakening, he has since acquired the ability to do just that.

     ❝ — But if ya can give tangible loops to any atom, ya can start makin' the whole person into one huge magnet, and ya don't have to worry about findin' the right cells to single out. Ya just start screwin' with the electrons to stitch stronger loops to all the atoms, even if they're usually too weak to do anythin' with. ❞

The problem with that was the energy expenditure required to create a significant magnetic field for almost every individual atom that made up a human person, as well as the concentration it took. It was a work in progress, and admittedly, even just being able to do it for a short amount of time was impressive enough; but this skill is still in its primitive stages, and requires significant work before it is honed to its fullest potential. He still has yet to master isolating oxygen atoms in order to repel them from a person's body and suffocate them, for example. When it came to ambitious desires, Kid always preferred to go big. He longs for the day that he can control the entire world through its geomagnetic field. He impatiently waits for the day that he can hold the entire Earth hostage, if such a thing were possible. He has visions of controlling the tides of the seas through the movements of the moon, and the ground would split apart at his will, because the stranger was right — magnetism is potentially present in all things, if he is only able to utilize it, manipulate it, and create that which he needed in order to control anything he desired. Playing God has nothing to do with it; he just enjoys tearing things apart for the sake of seeing how they work.

This is an awful lot of time spent on conversing with someone he doesn't even know. He doesn't feel particularly compelled to elaborate in too much more detail beyond this, though the explanation is certainly missing some key elements. Manipulating the shape of magnetic materials was more complicated than simply moving an object around in the air, and involved more focused work on pinpointing individual areas and applying force to alter the structure of the metal, as if he were playing cat's cradle. Altering the patterns of electrons and changing the relationship between north and south poles were other topics that he didn't need to bother with right now. Whatever. He got his answer. Maybe's Kid would give him a few crumbs more if he bought him another beer or something. Dinner, maybe. Was he even listening? If he wasted all that time yapping to this guy and he wasn't even paying attention, Kid might just shoot him in the head out out of sheer annoyance.

     ❝ Ya get all that shit, Buttercup? ❞

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Angel Calling

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You've formed a friendship with Brooklyn's most fearsome mob boss. But he isn't James Barnes, White Wolf, head of the Barnes Family Crime Syndicate. No. To you, he's just Bucky and he'll be there whenever you call.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky usually doesn't step in when it comes to interrogations but this one was different. Sam and Joaquin managed to find the mole in his organization. Said mole would relay any information about the workings within the Barnes Family to Hydra, sabotaging any efforts for Bucky and his family to continue to reign over Brooklyn.

So things were tense and the mole, his former lawyer, Sitwell, was slumped in a chair, bloodied and bruised.

Bucky had forgone his blazer jacket, the sleeves of his black turtleneck rolled up to his elbows. His pinky ring with his family's sigil on not was caked in blood, a mix of Sitwells and Bucky's, but mainly Sitwells.

The older man sobs, "Please, just kill me," after Bucky lands another blow to his body.

Bucky straightens up, a devilish smirk on his face, "You think I'd make it easy for you after all the shit you pulled? After how well my family and I paid you to help cover up for us? Nah, buddy. This is your own fault. You thought Hydra could save you, but you're just scum to them," Bucky punches the man again, "My family and I were generous to you and this is how you return the favor?!" Another punch to the cheek, blood dripping onto the pavement.

A shrill ringing suddenly echoes within the warehouse and Bucky glares to his men behind him. Joaquin immediately searches the pockets of Bucky's jacket. When he pulls out the phone, he turns it to his boss, "It's her, sir."

Bucky's eyes immediately softens when he sees your name on his screen. He then turns to Sitwell's unconscious body, "Saved by the bell," he murmurs.

Sam tosses Bucky a towel and gives Joaquin a nod. Joaquin accepts the call and puts you on speaker.

"Hey, angel, you okay?"

"...don't say you told me so but-"

"Your car finally die?" Bucky answers with a smirk as he wipes as much blood from his hands as possible.

"...yes."

Bucky snorts, "Where are you?"

"Literally a few blocks away from my apartment, which is the most annoying thing. It couldn't have waited to die after I got home?! Anyway, if you and your guys can help me push the car-"

"Angel, we're not pushing your car down a few blocks. I'll pick you up and have one of my tow guys get your car."

"Bucky," you give him a warning tone.

"Angel," he gives the same energy back.

"It's fine, Bucky," you try to reason with the mob boss even though you know you probably won't win. Bucky is incredibly persuasive.

"I got it handled, angel. Let me do this. I like to take care of my friends." When he says this, Joaquin and Sam give each other a look and Bucky give them a finger. The other two men snicker.

"I'll let you pay half for the repair costs," you compromise.

Bucky scoffs, "Repairs? Nah, angel, we're getting you a new car."

You sigh, and Bucky imagines you shaking your head, "We'll discuss it when you pick me up. I'll send you my location."

"Alright. I'll see you in a bit. Just wait inside your car. Lock the doors and keep that pocket knife I gave you in hand."

"Yes, sir! See you soon. Bye!"

"Bye," Bucky replies and ends the call.

Sam makes kissing noises and Joaquin laughs. Bucky rolls his eyes at the two, "Shut the fuck up." He looks over his shoulder to the still slumped, unconscious Sitwell, "Keep an eye on him. Ask him more questions if or when he wakes. I'm gonna clean up a bit more and head out."

"Sounds good. Say hi to your angel for us!" Joaquin says as Bucky heads to the bathroom to scrub off the remaining blood from his hands.

_________________________

You jolt away when you hear a knock on your window. You see Bucky standing there with a teasing smirk. You roll your eyes and open the door, "You scared me."

"You shouldn't have fallen asleep. Something could've happened to you."

"I was tired from work and you took too long!"

"It took me twenty minutes to get here, angel."

"Well that twenty minutes was the longest twenty minutes of my life!

Bucky playfully rolls his eyes and rests his hands on his hips, "Okay, we going or not? Grab your stuff. I don't want you freezing out here any longer."

You grab your work bag and purse, and hand them to Bucky. He guides you to the passenger seat of his matte black Rolls Royce. He opens the door for you and lets you slip into the car. He hands you your stuff and then shuts the door.

He swiftly goes to the driver's side, getting into the car and starting it. He cranks the heat up all the way. He saw you shivering in your car. As the heat spreads throughout the vehicle, your shivering decreases.

You look to Bucky in appreciation, "Thanks for getting me. No one else was answering since it's late."

He quickly glances at you with a soft grin, "I'll always answer when you call, angel."

A warmth spreads through your chest and you know it's not from the car's heater.

The car ride is short since you only live down the next few blocks. Bucky parks on the street and immediately rushes to your side to help you out of the car. He grabs your bags and follows you to the front door where you punch in your code and the door swings open.

"Come up with me so I can bandage your hands," you point to his right knuckles that are covered in cuts.

"I'll be fine."

"Then at least have a drink with me and we can talk about a new car."

A grin appears on Bucky's face, "I'll humor you into thinking I'm going to let you pay for any portion of your new car."

"I'm not easily swayed, Barnes."

"Don't I know it," Bucky replies as he follows you into the building and towards the elevator. You stand beside each other as the lift reaches to the fifth floor.

In a comfortable silence, Bucky follows you to your apartment. As soon as the door opens, your cat, Willow, gives you scolding meows since it's passed her feeding time.

"I know, honey. I know, I'm sorry!" you rush to grab her food and scoop it into her feeding bowl. She happily scarfs down her food as Bucky bends down, giving soft pets to your cat.

"She's so cute."

"She's a menace, but I love her," you say as you head to the kitchen, "Beer or whiskey?"

"Beer, please!"

You grab a bottle from the fridge and fill a glass of water for yourself. You hand Bucky the bottle as he plops onto your couch.

"So, for the car, I don't need anything fancy or super expensive. Literally just a normal car that runs, has good mileage, and doesn't require a shit ton of gas."

Bucky chuckles as he opens the beer bottle with his metal prosthetic, "I'll take you to a few dealerships tomorrow. You don't work on Thursdays, right?"

You look at him in surprise, "Yeah...you remember my schedule?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, "Just in case," he mumbles, sipping from his beer.

"Anyway, yeah, I think it's best you come with me to the dealership anyway. Because sales people will try to get one over me because I'm a woman," you roll your eyes in annoyance.

"Well, all the local places know me so they'll know not to give you a shit deal."

"Sweet," you say in excitement.

Willow, done with her meal, hops onto the couch and onto Bucky's lap. She sniffs him and looks up at him expectantly, giving him a meow.

"She wants you to pet her," you translate for him.

He chuckles, "Well how can I say no to an adorable face like that?" he says, scratching Willow behind the ear, which she loves. She leans into his touch and it melts Bucky's heart.

You snicker, "If only your friends could see you now."

"If you tell any of them this, I will deny everything."

You laugh, "Don't want everyone to know what an absolute softie you are. Bucky?"

"I'm only like this when it comes to you, angel," he says.

"Hmm," is all you respond with. You turn away from Bucky and the air shifts.

Bucky gently picks up Willow up and places her on the floor. He turns his body towards you, "I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"You're so confusing, Bucky."

"Huh?"

"Or maybe I'm just stupid. Or both. I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

You let out a deep breath and turn your body to face him, "One moment, I think you're flirting with me and it seems like you like me. But then the next, you keep mentioning how we're friends and you like to treat your friends a certain a way. I just-I dunno. It's hard to process how I'm feeling with how your actions and your words don't match up."

It's true. Bucky has been holding himself back. He does like you. He really does, but he's also scared. You're a civilian, a completely normal person. Whereas he was born and raised in a prominent crime family. He leads a dangerous life and he's scared to get you involved in his shit. But he also loves spending time with you and talking to you, it makes him feel normal.

Bucky runs his fingers through his shoulder length dark brown hair, "You're right. I haven't been very clear on where I stand in this...thing between us. The truth is...I like you. A whole lot, angel. I didn't expect for things to go this way. I didn't expect you to stick around after finding out who I really was, but it's nice being with you. In my crazy hectic world, everything is so loud and busy. But when you, I feel peace and there's silence.

"Truth is, angel, I've fallen for you. I just don't want you to get caught up in my shit. But I also can't seem to stay away from you."

You scoot closer to him, placing your hand on top of his metal one, "I really like you too, Bucky. And I understand where you're coming from. I'll admit that what you do is scary to me, but I also trust you enough to keep me safe."

"So...do you wanna try this out?"

You nod, "Yeah. I do."

"Great," he says breathlessly, eyes darting to your lips, "Can I-"

"Please," you mumble before pressing your lips to his.

_________________________

Bucky holds a gun to the man's head, a deadpan expression on his face as the man begs for his life.

"I swear, it was only the one time! I-" his words get cut off as Bucky's phone rings. Bucky looks over his shoulder to see Sam holding up his phone. A picture of you and "My Angel" on the screen. A grin breaks out onto Bucky's face.

He turns to the man, "Enough of this," he pulls the trigger, the man falling back onto the pavement with a bullet in his head.

Bucky walks over to Sam, trading the gun for his phone, "Hello, my beautiful angel."

You giggle, "Hey, Big Man. Just making sure you're coming over for dinner right?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be coming over in an hour and I can help you cook."

"You don't have to help, Bucky."

"I want to."

"Softie."

"Only for you," he replies with a soft grin.

"Alright. I'm gonna start prepping. Say hi to the guys for me. Bye!"

"Will do. See you soon. Bye!"

When Bucky ends the call, he points a finger at Sam and Joaquin, "Not a word!"

The two men laugh as Bucky walks away. He's ready to spend the rest of his night with you, his angel.

[monstercangirlofficial]

People have to understand that, as soon as you are in a callout, you are marked, and are labelled with a discrediting attribute that you're burdened with. This reduces and delegitimazes your voice and your ability to be trusted and interacted with, leading to being ostracized and excluded. That is the point of the callout. After being marked and labelled, those who aren't stigmatized will avoid contact with the "stigma bearer." When marked, anytime the stigma bearer is recognized, they generate a response of aversion and disgust in those who have seen or are aware of the callout, which they rationalize and justify through the notion that those who receive callouts "deserved it"

This way, the stigma is seen by others as transferable by association and as a threat that's understood as a fair and legitimate reason to keep a safe distance, as to avoid becoming a stigma bearer. When those who aren't associated, and are sufficiently separated from the stigma bearer, support and defend the stigmatized, they become "infected" by association. But, those directly marked will always be affected the most, as they're exposed first and more widely. When labelled as a stigma bearer, the perception of you being unsafe is spread around as a warning, which is done under the guise of maintaining the safety and sanctity of the community

People don't even have to believe in the callout for the stigma to work. They don't even have to see the original post, if others relay the information through other means. Once the stigma is created, it stays almost permanently. When the callout has been around for long enough misinformation will also become easier to spread, as the original source is harder to track, and it becomes "common knowledge." It may even become in fuel for another callout, creating a history or track record, as "they were already called out before." This is why the callout is inherently effective. The callout is designed to be a weapon first, making sure it damages and stigmatizes the "brand" of a user. This way, their url, name, mutuals, posts and even profile picture bear the stigma

This policing of "bad actors" is weaponized to get rid of those that are undesirable within the community, and callouts are used against those that are marginalized, as they usually lack the social resources to retaliate, and because they're seen as "reasonably capable" of doing what they're accused of. Those that divert from the norm are also the most likely to be in risk of suffering real life consequences when separated from their communities and support nets, and callouts are intentionally made to socially murder them and their brand. This is why these warnings are shared "just in case," so people can feel morally righteous for defending the community, as it is easier than taking tangible actions to stop actual issues

Callout post are designed and intentionally spread to socially murder others, and the more likely the targets are believed to be guilty, the more effective the callout post is. People will only jump to defend targets of callouts when they're sure they're innocent (which you can only know if you personally know who's being targeted). But nobody deserves callout posts, and thinking that people who are guilty deserve them too, perpetuates this problem, and is part of the reason why callouts are so effective. Callouts don't stop abusers or abuse

Evidence will be fabricated, people will lie, spread rumors, and things will be blown out of proportions, but, even if the accusations are real, ask yourself what narrative a callout is fabricating. People making callouts know that most victims of them haven't actually harmed anyone, so they instead paint them as groups that "have the potential to harm others." You're left to fill in the blanks with whatever morally repugnant thing they could've done. Just the suggestion of possible fault and wrongdoing will make most people react with aversion and disgust, and this is enough to turn a target into a stigma bearer. People will avoid them, because the feeling of rejection is strong enough to rationalize stigma bearers as abusers

The weaponization of "the truth" is also an issue in itself. People making callouts will lie, and then it's on the stigma bearer to prove that's a lie, but only to their audience. It's also specially difficult for a stigma bearer, because they have to prove they didn't do something, and how do you prove you didn't do it when your voice is being put into question by the callout? Once the callout is out there, any statement in it will be taken at face value and spread, unless challenged or ignored. Focusing on "what parts are true" is also a weapon of the callout, as the debate of the validity of a callout also helps it to spread, as stigma bearers want to clear their names, but this leads to curiosity in onlookers, which spreads the stigma

When you're targeted by a callout post (and survive the social isolation), you don't learn a lesson, you don't grow, you're not allowed to change and be reintroduced to your community. It doesn't matter if you're innocent or guilty, because people don't even have to believe a callout post in order to act on the implicit call to action and harassment. If others consider you a danger you will be isolated and bullied, sometimes to the point of suicide, and the people who decided to target you will consider this a victory. Callouts aren't interested in rehabilitation and growth, they're not interested in questioning the institutions and contexts that allow for the abuse of power and real harm to be done. Callouts are a means for quickly obtaining social capital for removing "bad actors" and keeping the community "clean"

[beezhives]

currently thinkin' about ;;

sensei Midoriya Izuku who is just a normal amount obsessed with you. truly, it's the most normal amount of obsession and infatuation he's had with someone in a while.

now that he's a teacher, Midoriya doesn't have the proper time to analyze anyone but his students. sometimes, if he gets graced by the grading gods, he can review some of his former class' battles and send them his thoughts (they love when he does this!!).

speaking of those former class fights: Pinky and Cellophane managed to snare this petty criminal that had been getting a bit too bold to be just petty, with the help of an underground hero. not too high in the general rankings but loved by those who truly know them, you caught Midoriya's eye without even trying.

"yeah Midoriya! I've worked with 'em before, what's up?" Ashido's bubbly voice felt far too small through the phone, he couldn't help but hold it a bit more firm against his ear.

"it's just- well, I've got this student–" always the student excuse, "with a sorta similar quirk to theirs. I think. and- y'know, I was just wondering if you could get me in contact with them?"

even without being face-to-face, Ashido can see the puppy dog eyes he's unintentionally making.

imagine the look of utter shock on your poor receptionist's face when he knocks on the door to your office holding a slightly crumpled sticky note, jaw slack, eyes slightly wide.

"what is it, what's wrong?" you ask almost immediately, standing up from your spot and making your way to him.

"how the hell do you know Deku?" are the words that choose to fall from his poor mouth, sticky note pressed against his chest.

"I don't?" you ask, tilting your head only slightly to verify that you, in fact, have no contact with the symbol of hope. "I don't. What- what is it? What's going on?"

with a defeated sort of sound, your receptionist offers the crumpled green post-it note out to you. on it, written in haste with blue ink, sits a phone number. and an email. and a fax number. and, for safe measure, the number for the UA office.

"what?"

"yeah, Midoriya Izuku called and talked to me," he begins to explain, to the best of his ability. "wanted me to relay that to you. he said so many numbers in a row, I hope they're all right!"

safe to say, at least one of the numbers was right as he promptly invited you out to get coffee the next week. off duty, he insisted, and on a weekend, you insisted.

he's only obsessed with you the normal amount. even if it wasn't the normal amount (for him), there wouldn't be a notebook big enough for the things he wants to write about you.

♡ any likes or shares would be appreciated. thank you for reading, see you later. ☁︎

[charaznablescanontoyota]

"marn i missed sgdq 2024 what should i watch"

hi i decided i'm doing another one of these. it's been a minute. this past week was summer games done quick, an annual speedrunning marathon raising money for doctors without borders and also a great way to get into watching speedrunning. a lot of their content is tailored towards being both clearly explained and fun to watch for an audience outside the speedrun community, so you can jump in with basically no knowledge besides “this person is gonna play a game really fast”.

gdq has the full week's worth of vods up as a playlist on their channel, but here are some runs that i personally think you should check out:

ken griffy jr presents mlb by peanut butter the dog: look it's a dog playing baseball. i don't know what else to tell you.

the entire silly block: speedrunners get up way too early in the morning/late at night to play games that feel like a fever dream. some of the commentators are going on 24 hours of no sleep. it's brilliant. my personal highlights of what i've seen so far are stuart little 2, mad panic coaster, city bus simulator race, and the golf it wrong hole only race that the players dressed up as golfers for

alan wake 2 alan%: alan wake clips through walls and generally has a bad time while a bunch of gamers call him a sopping wet catboy. the runner for this one is really charismatic and it's very funny to see staff rushing to open up the pit as soon as we sing starts (yes they do the dance of course they do the dance). i just love joyful runs of horror games man

super mario 64 blindfolded randomizer: what if you played mario 64 blindfolded and also the stars were in completely random locations. and also you had to do it very very fast.

kingdom hearts 2 critical any%: every kh2 speedrun i've ever seen is a work of art and this one is no different. some of the boss fights go down so fast you will literally miss them if you look away for a minute. and also two of my favorite runners are on couch commentary!

balatro showcase: genuinely made me rethink how i'm playing some of the balatro decks. also great commentary and just fun all around despite (or perhaps partially because of) the absolute struggle session going on with plasma deck in the beginning

super mario world kaizo relay: kaizo is a shorthand term for a game hacked to its absolute limits of difficulty that often requires strict precision of movement and can punish the player for thinking they're smarter than it. in this segment, two teams of 4 very very good mario runners race to complete 8 kaizo levels they've never seen before in their lives

mario maker 2 troll level race: i always like the mario maker races for the same reason i like the kaizo relays. i love watching two speedrunners thrown blindly into the shit have to make up strategies on the fly via trial and error (and error, and error, and error, and...)

kirby air ride race: two high level kirby air ride speedrunners race for an actual physical title belt. the trash talk game happening here is of the insane variety that only two very skilled people who truly respect each others' talents at their game of choice can provide

kaizo mario galaxy: what if mario galaxy hated you even more than usual and would stop at nothing to kill you. also most of the commentators are only familiar with the vanilla game and their reactions to the added-in bullshit are hysterical

tony hawk pro skater 1, 2, 3, and 4: i fell asleep watching this and woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of a bunch of people singing superman by goldfinger. good run

super mario rpg remake: this was the finale block and it's just great to see a bunch of people who really really love the original mario rpg get to hang out and talk about how good it is and also watch a world record level player absolutely stunt on the game

halo 3 four-player co-op legendary: dudes rock

[xoxoemynn]

Transcript of tweets below the cut but in short: calling makes the biggest impact, focus on DEI, you can call more than once, and you do not need to be in the US or have a Max subscription to call.

Everyone, I just talked on the phone to an absolute ally at Max, and they gave me extremely useful information! We need to be calling WAY more. It's a higher impact that most other things we can do. Here's the phone number: (855) 442-6629. But read on if you want to know WHY.

Every time Max receives a customer feedback call, that information is logged in the system. The info, *including all the details* is pushed to a server that relays it to the higher ups. They don't just get a tally of calls and general opinions—they get the full feedback.

And it's not just higher-ups at Max. Per the service rep, "it's actually read by the higher ups who are in charge of what happens within Warner Media/ Discovery."

The rep also suggested that particular types of feedback, especially those around DEI, might bear extra weight. They had to be a bit cryptic for job reasons, but they made this very clear.

They ask for an email but don't triage based on whether that email has a subscription. E.g., if you're outside the US and watch elsewhere, you can still call, and your feedback will still go up the chain.

In fact, the rep was very clear to encourage ALL people with feedback to call individually. And to keep calling! I asked whether multiple calls from the same person make a difference, and the answer was a clear yes bc the feedback gets shared as it comes in, not batched.

It's also worth noting that phone calls in general are always higher-impact than letters, online engagements, etc. This is true for political campaigns, and it's true here. There's a real cost to having people answering phones. It takes time, which equals $$.

So: Call. I know it sucks; I hate the phone too. If you have phone anxiety, you can also delegate to a friend and have them provide your name and email. If you *don't* hate making phone calls, ask friend for permission to call on their behalf!

I'll put together a little phone script shortly and add it to this thread.

Source

[imaredshirt]

Post Weirdmageddon, Stanley continues to recover his memories. It's a gradual process, one that he sometimes gets frustrated with, but he's surrounded with a support system of friends and family that are more than happy to help.

Every so often, Stanford checks in with Fiddleford, who's a few steps ahead of Stanley in the memory recovery process and is an invaluable resource of knowledge and helpful tips. The fact that he invented the memory gun also helps, of course, and although he won't ever rebuild the thing, he has been studying the old one and just how it affects the mind.

During these calls between old friends/colleagues, Fiddleford will casually ask after Stanley's progress and general wellbeing, and Stanford will relay a summary of Stanley's most recent recovered memories.

One day over the phone, Fiddleford says, "So we know Stanley's recovered much of his childhood memories, some of his early twenties, and he's able to recall quite a bit of the past several years. Has he, ah, mentioned anything 'bout his time in the '80s? When he first started runnin the Mystery Shack and workin on the portal?"

"Not that I know of," Stanford answers. "I'll ask the kids. If he's mentioned anything to them, then Dipper's already added it to his notes." He frowns. "Should we be worried that he hasn't recalled anything from that period in his life, yet?"

"No, no," Fiddleford says. "At least, I don't think so. This all seems to be a sort of non-linear recovery process. Sorta like a stack o' cards that's fallen on the floor all mixed up and on top of each other, and he's pickin up the ones on the top layer, completely outta order. For all we know, this could be the card he picks up last." He pauses and clears his throat. "But if he does start mentioning anythin from that time - anythin at all from events to sensory memories or, uh, people - you be sure to let me know. I'd like to add it to my notes."

He sounds almost too casual. Stanford doesn't want to doubt his friend after all this time, but he vividly remembers what Fiddleford sounds like when he's trying to be sneaky, and he sounds like it right now. So much as he doesn't want to be, Stanford's suspicious.

He's just not quite sure what to be suspicious of.

He files the suspicion away for later. "You got it, old buddy."

"Well alrighty then! I'll call again tomorrow to check on today's progress. And why don't you order him an egg and sausage omelet from Greasy's? The one with all that cheese on top - but no mushrooms. He hates those. His favorite foods might jog his memories a bit."

Stanford blinks. "We were actually thinking of doing that. But how do you -?"

Fiddleford hangs up.

Stanford's still blinking at the phone, frowning, when Stanley walks up behind him.

"Hey, who was that?" Stanley asks. "Why do you look like someone just gave you a math problem you can't solve?"

"There are very few of those left in the universe," Stanford says, only half joking, and smiles when Stanley rolls his eyes, chuckling.

"Yeah, yeah, my brother the genius - whatever. Look, since you're on the phone already, why dontcha call up Fidds and tell him to pick up some pizza. If the kids are hungry, then you know I'm starving."

"Alright, but no broccoli pizza this time, I --" Stanford freezes. "Wait. Fidds?"

"Yeah, he's not in the shack or out back, so he's gotta be out in town, right?"

There's only one person that "Fidds" can be, but Stanford hasn't heard anyone use Fiddleford's nickname since college. He raises an eyebrow at Stanley, who's relaxing back in his recliner.

"Fidds, Stanley?"

"Yeah," Stanley says, raising an eyebrow back at his brother. "You know, your nerdy buddy? Scrawny guy with an accent? Helped me out with the portal right after you got stuck in it--"

"What?" Stanford's never heard about this. From either of them.

Stanley goes on, "Can't fight off a gnome to save his life but builds a giant crazy gnome robot anyway - whaat? Why're you looking at me like that?" Stanley sits up and his confusion becomes anger, almost startling Stanford out of his shocked state. "What, now that I'm getting all these memories back, you're uncomfortable?"

Stanford has no idea what he's talking about. "What? Uncomfortable with what?"

"With your college buddy shacking up with your twin brother," Stanley snaps. "We've been together for years. Maybe you should get over it, huh?"

"Get over it?" Stanford's reeling. Fiddleford's strangeness suddenly makes sense. "Stanley, I would never - I would accept you however you - I'm not straight, either, you know, and - wait." He holds up one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. "Before we even get into that - WHAT?"

Stanley blinks. "What??"

"You - you and - when did you-" Stanford throws his hands in the air. "He doesn't live here!"

"What?" Stanley snorts. "Yeah he does. I told him to move in."

"When?"

"Back in the '80s," Stanley says. "I just started remembering this morning. Where's be been, anyway? Why hasn't he been doing nerdy shit with you in the lab lately?"

Stanford's leaning against the sofa's armrest, mind racing. He answers distractedly, "We haven't been in the lab together since before you came to Gravity Falls, Stanley."

"Bull. You expect me to believe you two aren't cooking up some science project already?"

"Stanley..."

"What," Stanley says. Then he grins. "Are you the one with messed up memories now or what? Jeez, I got a better memory than my genius brother - and I've been hit with the memory gun twice!"

"Twice?" Stanford turns a sharp look on his brother. "What do you mean, twice?"

"Yeah. That one time when you used it on me, and then back in the '90s when Fidds . . ."

Stanley trails off. He blinks and then frowns, gaze falling to the floor as he mutters, "Back when Fidds . . . when he used it on me the first time, and. . ."

Realization dawns on them both at once, and Stanley looks at Stanford with an odd mix of emotions.

"Stanley," Stanford says in an effort to calm him. "What exactly do you remember of-"

"Who cares!" Stanley jumps to his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "He used that thing on me! When I told him not to - when I asked - begged -" Stanley punches the wall and glares at the splinters littering his knuckles. His voice is shaking. "After everything we went through - he just took off 'cause he was, what, scared? Do you have any idea how much I've forgotten? Who knows if I'm gonna remember any of it? I didn't want him to leave! And after he did and used the gun, I - I was so broken and angry I didn't know why, couldn't remember why--"

With a growl, Stanley grabs the car keys from the little bowl by the TV and stomps towards the front door. "Get in the car. I've got a bone to pick with your old college buddy."

Stanford grabs his journal and hurries after his brother, calling for the kids as they head to the car. They're all likely going to be at Fiddleford's new mansion for some time.

He certainly has a bit of explaining to do.

[arch3ontumbl]

World Bearer Part 1

Bearing his child as he was fighting in Shibuya

It wasn't intended neither it was accident, the child you caress in your womb, it was the result of love. A couple of days earlier barely even recalling the dates, news came unto you as Shoko informed you of Gojo captured, impossible..

He promised

He always promises y/n, you thought to yourself having filled with worry and doubt this time the result would be different, this time he wouldn't be able to be by your side, the last smile he gave you, the last kiss, it floods all to your every bit of sanity left.

You wept unsure of what to do, this is bad for your child. It's stressing you out knowing you can't do anything and you can't ask anyone about it. It pains you that you cannot be beside him nor come to his rescue, you carry the world inside you and you can't risk to lose any of which.

Your whole relationship with him was hidden deeper than 6 feet graves could even speak, only Shoko were informed and were supposed to be the only person besides him to assist you on giving birth.

'missed a call from Shoko'

You missed her first call as you were to focused on picking up some shards of glass, you dropped the mug you and Gojo share for every morning coffee.

Broken. You struggle to bend down as your belly bump is clearly on the way, you stood up and checked your phone to your surprise

Is it finally good news

You called back as she picked up in a hurry, she seemed to hesitate to tell, she hesitated to cause anymore stress than to bear the very weight of the next possibly most powerful sorcerer to mankind in the next generation. Even the weight of the child causes a wave of imbalance in the world between curses and the burden of being expected to be the sword and shield for the most dangerous circumstances awaits your child if his birth were to be exposed and known to the world.

It's what Gojo went through afterall

"y/n listen, Gojo is out now and currently facing curses and possibly Sakuna. I am called for support for the sorcerers in Shibuya—" she paused for what seemed eternity, fueling my anxiety and worry.

"y/n I just wanted to tell you to worry a bit less, he told me to relay you his message: I'd win, I'd be there when our son is born. I'm the strongest afterall" Shoko whispered to the phone as I let out a little chuckle still with a hint of nervous yet comfort. Atleast feel a little ease for the child you bear, for the child you birth with Gojo beside you.

"Thank you Shoko" I whispered back, your voice crack and break devours the silence of the room.

2 hours pass, and shit you feel building up contractions, painfully telling you your world is about to arrive. You rush to get some lukewarm water, a damp towel, quickly sterilize some scissors and a warm blanket

Yet he is not here, he's in battle, fighting

Unable to contact anyone else you try to reach for Shoko again. Afraid, you're just straight up afraid. Your timing your contractions yourself as you lay down your soft bed sheets, slowly painting it with blood. Gojo is in his battlefield and so are you, you combat the pain as you try to push harder and harder not trying to pass out on the way.

One

Two

Three

You push, again

One

Two

You push, you can't stop here. Your child needs to get out now

You gave another hard push screaming your lungs out, cursing, fist balled in the sheets as the other scratched the bed board.

Finally, a cry

Don't faint, don't faint

You pick yourself up, positioning yourself to sit back at the bed frame for support. Picking up your child and expertly cutting his umbilical cord before you could finally fix your eyes on your child you made sure to hear his heart beat, your scared you did a step wrong.

But his heart beat as loud as he cried, you admire your child clearly reassembling your husband. His hair and the same goes for his eye lashes, white as snow, his eyes with a hint of you a hue of purple and mainly the blue skies, high and mighty, adding the captivating and deep capture of the ocean you admire from Gojo.

You cried, as your child slept in your arms. A call notifies your phone enough for you to immediately answer before it wakes up your son.

"He's here" you said as Shoko could picture your smile from the phone call before she could even speak a word, her seconds of silence sends you a break of her heart like she's about to break another bad news for you.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Little Witch (Pt 4/5)

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

When you find your mother you nearly rip yourself apart to end her

You knew the moment the barrier came down in your head that you were working against the clock. The surge in magic from you would alert the old hag that your memories were back, she'd know you were coming and she'd know it wouldn't simply end with one of you scarred this time. A death would be the only thing to end this, and one gruesome enough to ensure no chance of resurrection.

You spared a glance around the hotel room you'd been staying in. You needed to grab anything worthwhile out of it but it occurred to you nothing there mattered. The clothes were those you'd brought just to have some on your back. Every material possession that mattered still lay within your shared room with Klaus.

Your heart ached when you thought of his smile. The way so many viewed him as nothing shy of evil yet he was so gentle with Hope, with you. The memory of his laughter when Hope had covered you and Hayley both with bright pink icing at her first birthday. 

You'd never meant to fall for the hybrid. Your goal when you first came to New Orleans was to be by Hayley's side for the pregnancy and birth then to ensure that a deep enough line in the sand was drawn to make anyone think twice of letting a threat towards Hope fall from their lips but your traitorous heart had other plans. He'd proven to be such a different person at his core then you'd originally thought him to be.

The Mikaelsons in general were an anomaly to you. They fought each other, daggered each other and claimed to hate each other at moments but the only thing fiercer than the Mikaelsons fighting against each other was when they were fighting for each other.  That's how you knew they would be with your loss. They'd survived worse.Each member of the ancient family held a place in your heart and you hoped they knew it.  

Your mother wouldn't win this fight no matter what it cost you. If mutual destruction was the only way to ensure she never crossed paths with those you loved then so be. You could make peace with it knowing you'd taken at least one threat down with you.

—-----------

You shut the door to the hotel room and walked towards the stairs. You didn't have time to wait for the elevator. There were normal humans here, on this floor alone you counted three families, two couples and a few guys on one last road trip before they graduated college. You needed to put distance between you and any collateral damage.

You made it to the first floor of the hotel and headed for the door. The moment you stepped into the cool night air you felt the stir of another's magic brush against yours but this was no witch native to New Orleans. Marcel had made the introductions himself between you and local covens to make sure there were no “misunderstandings” as he called it.  

No, this magic felt familiar. Yours answered the call, flaring with long buried anger from abuse at the hands that waited at the other end of this call. “Come and get me bitch” you muttered under your breath heading for the cemetery you'd picked for this confrontation. You refused to let her have the say so as to where you fought this time.

She'd ambushed you and Elijah like the coward she was but this time you were ready. No siphoner was in the state of Louisiana. Without that added advantage she couldn't take you one on one and win. You were a lot older than when you'd given her that scar. This time you wouldn't miss. 

 

“There's one cemetery we haven't checked. Where Hope was almost killed the day she was born. Klaus, her power draws strength from her emotions the memory of the anger she felt that day would be enough to wipe out a coven”  Hayley was home with Hope considering everyone she'd be safe with was trying to find you but that didn't stop her from helping the search. Klaus relayed the idea to his siblings then started to hang up but Hayley called his name “Yes?” “Don't let our daughter lose anyone tonight. Promise me” “I promise. Come morning her entire family will be together to greet her”

He hung up and turned his attention to the matter at hand. The air hung heavier the closer they got to the cemetery in question. Magic was at use, something he at one time would've avoided. The closer he got to the cemetery in question he could feel what magic was yours, it felt familiar. As familiar as your lips brushing against his or a whisper of your voice in his ear. What he at one time despised now was a comfort. You were alive and from the feel of it putting up one hell of a fight to stay that way. 

You groaned as you shoved yourself to your feet. How the hell was she this strong? You glared at her as you rotated your neck in a tight circle and got your answer. Multiple auras were around her, not just her own muddled brown one but an orange aura and two pale yellow ones. Your aunts. “You resurrected their powers but not them? You're that determined to kill me?”

You could feel energy swirling inside of her, she was building another attack “You're the biggest mistake I've ever made. I should've killed you the moment you were born but hoped getting rid of that father of yours would help” you let a smirk slip onto your face “Didn't expect his mother to come get me huh?”

You could see the stolen auras shimmer as if she was barely holding onto them. “The difference between me and you? I'll die before you walk out of this cemetery and go anywhere near the people I love” you hoped if you could keep her talking you could build a big enough blast of energy to rip her very soul to shreds. 

You tossed a small amount of power at her and she staggered then grinned “I'm going to kill you then I'll siphon power off your hybrid” you felt anger roll through you at mention of Klaus but then she tilted her head and said “Then I'll drain the little tribrid dry” your vision burst in a haze of blue, your magic oozing out of you “Did you really just threaten the two most important people to me?” 

You walked towards her and for the first time in your life saw true fear in her eyes “I'll tear myself apart before you hurt them because unlike you, I know what love actually is”

"I can't go in” Freya nodded to the entrance of the cemetery “She's got it warded too strongly but I can feel her Nik. She's using too much of herself. If someone with vampire blood isn't there to give it to her the moment she hits the ground she's gonna die alongside that old bitch”

“Kol stay with Freya” Rebekah ordered before nodding to her other brothers “Let's go”

—-----------

In all their years neither Mikaelson had ever seen a show of magic like what they just walked into.  Every inch of your body was covered in a blue light, your magic no longer hidden within your form. Even your eyes had shifted from their usual color to a vibrant blue that glowed in the dark light. A shield was formed of your magic, blocking them from getting closer. Whatever happened now they were forced to watch.

—--------

Your vision was narrowed down on one thing, making this bitch suffer before she died. You could feel others approaching and vaguely registered that they were familiar to you but you couldn't falter and give her an opening. It was time to end this. You leant down and grabbed her around the throat before lifting her up off her feet. 

Where the physical strength to hold her three feet off the ground had come from you weren't sure but you didn't care either. You looked into her eyes and smiled as a blue flame began to devour her from the inside out. “You shouldn't have come for me. You shouldn't have dragged anyone I care into it” your grip tightened on her throat before you added “and you damn sure shouldn't have threatened Klaus or Hope” you held onto her as her aura and the stolen ones of your aunts burnt under your flame “You'll die too” she tried but you simply smiled “So be it” 

When the final glimmer of her flicked away it was like you'd been drained. Your vision shifted from the blue haze to a gray fog. You'd burnt a piece of yourself off to kill her and there was a chance you'd burnt off too much. 

You felt your legs go out from under you and expected to hit the hard ground but two strong arms caught you and you heard a voice that fought against the darkness threatening to take you “Stay with me love” “Klaus?” You whispered before your eyes drifted shut.

“She's breathing and her wounds are healing. Your blood worked Nik. She just needs rest now” Freya stood protectively over where you were laid on one of the couches in the Mikaelson compound.

Klaus let his eyes track the movement of your chest rising and falling simply to reassure himself you were still alive. “It shouldn't have taken this much out of her. She's taken on covens before and didn't tire” 

Freya glanced up at him “A mother to a witch is like a sire to a vampire. In a way she broke her sire line. That's why it took so much out of her, why it nearly killed her. A lesser witch would've burnt with her mother and had no say so over it”  

Klaus flicked his eyes from his sister back to your still form. He'd nearly lost you. He'd do everything in his power to keep you safe. No one would harm you again. “Just give her space. We'll see how she's feeling come morning” 

@benbarnesprettygurl @secretdreamlandmentality @svtbpbts @a-beaverhausen @snowtargaryen

[pygmi-cygni]

Playing Favorites - pt 2

do i have another fic I should be updating? yes

am i?

no.

i like having gifs of poe to stare at dreamily while i mentally scream over my writer's block.

warnings: none, feels, mentions of anxiety, comfort

xox enjoy

@brighterthanlonelywords part 2 as promised!!!!!!

read part one

--------- Episode 2 - Baby steps -----------

You steadfastly ignored him for the next week. Your bruises healed with bacta and time, but the residual terror still had its claws fully seated in your mind. Thompson's glare flashed every time you closed your eyes. The raw, unadulterated hatred still shook you. Never had you seen somebody so cruel.

"Knock knock."

You froze at the familiar voice, back turned to the door. Your seat was big enough, could you pretend like it was empty and hide under the desk? If you sat still long enough, he'd go away. Maybe-

In your pondering of an escape plan, Poe had already rounded the desk and stuck his beaming face into your line of sight.

"Hiya, cutie. Changed the hair again, I see." Your hair was tied up with ribbons, colored orange and black.

"Nice colors," he winked. You flushed.

"They're for BB," you lied through gritted teeth. Poe, unaware or uncaring of your closed-off attitude, collapsed into a chair opposite you and grinned.

"Been a while, I was wondering if you'd forgotten me." He was fiddling with the galactic model on your desk, spinning the Inner and Outer Rim like a DJ disc.

You didn't answer, picking at your skin. He paused, scooting closer. His gaze was soft, imploring.

"You okay?" Poe's voice was soft, intimate. It had been a week since the Thing. Thompson had been decommissioned and General Organa had done her best to soothe the concerns of you and your fellow squadmates.

But still, the fear remained.

You nodded mutely, knowing you couldn't speak the lie. Poe, smarter than he looked, called bullshit and sighed.

"I know I'm not your favorite," he said, "but that doesn't mean I don't care about you. Just a little bit." He held his hand up for emphasis, fingers almost touching.

A faint glimmer of a smile, and then it was gone. You still stared at the floor, willing yourself not to cry. Realizing you needed space, he touched his forehead to yours and left, closing the door gently behind him.

A still warm cup of caf had been left on your desk, with a little BB unit sketched on the side.

Sorry for the trouble. I'd like to see that smile again.

P

You dropped your head on your desk and cried.

It went like that for the next few weeks. You would hide away in your office and Poe would silently walk in, leaving coffee and a note. Sometimes he'd linger, poking around your belongings and tossing out a relayed hello from Beebs.

You never looked at him.

Until a Tuesday in the middle of the blandest week to date. A few officers stormed in, making you spill your coffee, and tossed a very burnt looking pilot into your office.

"Engine fire,"

"Messin' around,"

"Fistfight,"

they all said over each other. Still pissed about your precious caf, you waved them off and toweled your desk down.

"This better be good, because that was my last cup of caf."

"If it's the caf I brought you, does it cancel out?"

Your head snapped up to meet Poe's sheepish grin. He was smoking slightly, the very ends of his hair crisped to charcoal. Ashen grease coated every inch of him, and you frowned to think of the stain he was leaving on your chair.

"What the hell?"

Poe, to his credit, told the story neatly and without embellishment. He'd been fooling around in his X-wing and shot a rogue blast into another pilot's droid pit. A grease fire followed, and here he was. You shrunk into yourself. There was no getting out of this.

"I'll need a full damage report within the hour, and your flight status will be reconsidered for ineligibility. Please-"

"Don't."

You stopped, stuttering like a broken speeder. This wasn't- shit, no, you needed to stick to the script and don't look at him- your eyes met his. Poe was looking at you desperately, eyes shining.

"Please don't ignore me," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to get you hurt and I just wanted-"

"Poe," you stammered, looking at him with raging tears. "I need...I need you to go away. For a wh-while. Please."

He looked like a kicked puppy. "I'm-"

"Please."

Your cheeks were streaking, the mascara you'd carefully applied with the hope of no tears today was pitifully washed away. Just like yesterday, when he'd faked an argument with Rose to end up in a disciplinary meeting with you.

Or last week, when he tried to tell Organa that you needed to interview him for a recon debrief.

Or every single other time he'd tried to apologize and you'd shut him down.

It hurt you, too. You missed him, and you wanted to accept his apology and hug him and wipe the mopey look off his face. But it made your heart quake and your breaths come short.

It was scary. You could be cold, you could shut down, that was familiar. But the new thing with friends and a fuzzy feeling inside made you cower with fear. You didn't know what to do with that. Where did it go from there?

You curled up in your bunk, shuddering in the darkness. It didn't feel comforting anymore - it felt like you were a little kid hiding from the monster under your bed.

Driving a stake through your heart, you wrapped a comforter around your shoulders and padded down the hall.

Your voice was soft when his door shhfffed open.

"Can I have the R2-D2 light this time?"

Your legs swung off the edge of his bunk. Poe sat gingerly across from you, cradling his night-light so that both of your faces were lit. As promised, R2-D2 sat comfortingly on the bedside table.

"Why are you scared of the dark?" You asked suddenly.

He perked up at your voice and smiled. "Dunno. Just never got over the idea of something hiding in the shadows."

You nodded, burrowing into your blanket. Poe was anticipating your next question, rocking slowly on his heels.

"Why'd you change your hair?" He asked, timidly. Not sure if you'd bite or run away.

You poked your nose out of the blanket burrito.

"I missed you," you blurted, tears welling again. Containing his monumental relief, Poe settled a hand on where he thought your arm was under the duvet. Me too, his gentle caress said. More than you think.

"I-I'm sorry, Poe, I didn't m-mean to..." you trailed off into tears as he soothed you, wiping the tears from your face. The warm glow from his nightlight was dimmed by you being pulled into his lap. He leaned against the headboard, your head under his chin.

The hug was messy and uncoordinated; what with you being wrapped in a comforter and his hands being entangled in your hair. Your heart had broken into shards, and it wouldn't be easy picking it back up. Poe knew. He knew enough to stay quiet, letting you wring yourself dry in the safe circle of his arms and the halo of R2D2's glowing form.

Poe was in agony. He knew this would take time. A single night of closeness wouldn't shatter the sky-high walls you'd built around yourself. But he was losing his mind with the urge to pound them down with his fists and skip to the i love you please love me back and fly into the sunset.

But he could wait. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets to prevent from touching you, almost tearing his flightsuit with the strength of his grip. You sat stiffly next to him, so distant he wanted to cry.

He wanted you to look at him. To say something, even if it was a tease or a scathing remark for his tardiness. He'd purposefully strode into the meeting late to attract any kind of attention from you, but your eyes stayed shut.

So he laid his chin on his hands and tried to pay attention. He was never good at these kinds of events. Too much talking, too many pictures and pages of information. He needed time to read and think and doodle and do something other than just sit there.

Poe knew his fidgeting was distracting, so he tried to keep it to a minimum. You weren't acknowledging him directly, but he could feel your mild irritation every few minutes.

General Ackbar was still talking, but the buttons on his suit were so tempting to snap and his hands were bored-

A sharp jab in his ribs made him yelp. Whipping around, he was prepared to cuss out-

oh.

Your hand was outstretched, hiding under the table. A small silver ring was in your palm, attached to a thin chain. He took it slowly, gauging your face. You stayed turned towards Ackbar, but inclined your chin subtly and returned to writing notes.

His heart trilled at the small gift, turning it over to inspect it. There were multiple bands, and they spun together nicely. Poe fiddled with it, grateful for the distraction. A gentle whirring sound made him grin. It was a neat little toy. The rest of the meeting fell on his deaf ears, totally enraptured with the ring.

As soon as the debrief was adjourned, you sped off before he could return it.

Oh well, another excuse to see you. Not that he wanted to give it back, but he did want to see your face. Poe hung it around his neck and tucked it under his collar fondly. It clicked against his mother's ring, right over his heart.

That night, in his bunk, he sat awake. His gaze was focused on the door, awaiting a timid knock. He'd made sure both the night lights were charged and waiting.

A small ping on his tablet and he was scrambling to pull it off the charger.

Notes from today, read the message, and your familiar scrawl filled the screen. He grinned, settling down to peer through your looping handwriting. You'd drawn diagrams, which he knew you hated but helped his brain connect the dots. The sections were even color-coded.

He studied the drawings until his eyes fluttered closed, hugging the glowing remnants of you close to his chest.

One step forward.

Poe was back to his chipper self the next day, revived by your small act of kindness.

He engaged in a raucous round of sabacc with the Gold squadron, still laughing even after being thoroughly trounced.

"Good to see you again, Black Leader," Rose jibed, nudging him in the ribs. "I was afraid that last engine fire mighta smoked your brains out."

"Yeah," Gold Two chimed in, "what's up with your record, dude? Got some kind of unlucky streak?"

Poe's ears were flaming. "Uh, whaddya mean?"

Rose's eyebrows were dancing a mirthful tango. "Oh, nothing, we've just noticed your tendency for clumsiness has...increased. I mean, I knew you were a mess but damn-" she pulled up his record. "Two grease fires in a month? Sheeeesh, those HR officers must be sick of you."

Gold Two's eyes glimmered. "Unless....it's one officer in particular?"

He was certain his cheeks were blistering from the heat pulsing under his skin. "It's been a rough while, alright? Until I see you complete a barrel roll without pissing yourself, shut your mouth."

Two guffawed. 'Low blow, Dameron, low blow."

Having barely dodged that bullet, Poe laughed. "Hey, at least I'm not walking around with wet boxers."

"Boxers? Who said I was wearing any?"

Rose made a gagging noise and shoved away from the howling men. "Y'all are nasty," she said, screwing up her face, "I'm out." Another raucous round of laughter followed her out. Poe chuckled again, poking at his food, but the familiar nagging in his chest was beginning to return.

Just go say hi. Wave. Walk past her door. Maybe peek through the blinds?

He wanted to toss his food at the wall. This was so stupid. You were both adults, you could have a normal conversation without stumbling around each other like emotionally repressed apes.

Before he could lose the nerve, Poe stood up and strode out, jaw set. Gold Two looked up quizzically but made no comment. You were most likely holed up in your office, buried under paperwork and meetings and Important Things that permanently framed your face in a pout.

But he wanted to see you. And because he was also Important and desperately in love with you, his attention took priority over all else. Well, he thought it should at least.

To his shock, you were leaning back in your chair with a holovid playing quietly on your tablet. You looked up, but didn't tell him to go away. Poe hovered, waiting for a dismissal.

It didn't come.

Like trying not to spook a bluurg, he carefully seated himself next to you and slid his gaze to your screen. It was some action flick that had been released a few days ago. It looked awful, in his opinion, but your shampoo smelled nice and he liked the domesticity of watching a movie.

You had a penknife in your hand and were flipping it around. It was mesmerizing; the nimbleness of your fingers as they twirled around the glittering blade. Poe's hand went to the ring you gave him, gaze glued to your gentle expression. He wanted so badly to hug you.

"Hey," he whispered, mindful of the vid.

You swallowed and he saw your lips twitch.

"Hi."

"How's it been?" God, it felt like an awkward first date.

You looked at your hands. "Okay. Not too bad."

Poe nodded, picking up on your hesitant tone. You didn't want him here. He hung his head, biting his lip. Maybe next ti-

"How...about you?" You added softly. He looked up, surprised. Your head was tilted to him, hands stilling. A tiny sliver of hope begun to shimmer in his chest. Maybe...

"It was good," he said, "did a bunch of drills, some reports-"

"I saw," you blurted. "I...I um, I saw your scores. You did a good job."

Poe sat back, awestruck. you were talking. to him. nicely. was he dreaming?

"An honest to God compliment," he breathed. Immediately, he clapped a hand over his mouth. Fuck. It was so immediate; that comfortable banter from Before. he'd forgotten.

But you didn't hide this time. He saw it, the instinct to cower, but you fought it. "Don't get used to it," you poked drily.

A grin brighter than the Yavin suns split his face in two. You gave a tentative smile in return, subtly leaning closer to him. Your gaze returned to the movie, but Poe's stayed firmly on you.

Baby steps.

His hand twitched, inching closer until he looped his pinky with yours. His heart preened when you linked tighter, brushing your palm against his hand.

Baby steps, one at a time. You'd get there. One day.

do you guys like it??? idk how to feel oh well xox

also I will die on the hill that Poe is ADHD. 100%.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@krakenkitty

comment to join the taglist

[giveupcoffeeforsanka]

My whole thing is this: you all are looking for confirmation on made up theories because you've never been part of production.

Along comes an account that purports to be in the know, and it "confirms" what you've driven yourselves to believe.

It's called confirmation bias.

Nothing, and I mean nothing that thetuliproselilyhyacinth has shared is independently verifiable.

They drop tidbits that sound accurate, but are really easy to guess at if you're paying attention. Oh, Yerin's announcement is coming Wednesday, Sept 11! Yeah, because they were back on set and that was always the plan, to have an official announcement at the start of production. That's common sense. Not insider knowledge.

"Netflix is really unhappy with the reception to season 3." Are they? It's the only English-language show with 3 seasons in the top 10 most-watched shows.

"General audiences hated it." Who are these people? When you say general audience, what is the audience segmentation? General doesn't mean anything in this context except...general. And it's vague enough that people who need to believe season 3 did poorly will believe it. It's, once again, confirmation bias.

By tuliproselilyhyacinth's own admission, they don't work in production (they're not on set), they don't work in costuming, they don't work in the writer's room, they don't work for Shondaland. That leaves Netflix: a company that employs ~13,000 people. But they said they work in the UK, there's around ~300 UK Netflix employees. Netflix is the network for Bridgerton. Only the executives parlay about high-level decisions. If tuliproselilyhyacinth's one of their EAs and hears enough to come online and talk about it? That's extremely dumb and easy to track. That's why their posts are vaguities! They're making stuff up to relay to an audience that is primed to believe the worst about Shondaland and their treatment of cast members.

If this was a person truly ~in the know~ regarding anything remotely verifiable about Bridgerton where were they in seasons 1&2? How'd they just decide to appear like a weed around season 3 with only season 3 information? Lol.

This person is attempting to be some insider spoilers a la DeuxMoi except they don't know anything!

TL;DR: you're not immune to disinformation or propaganda even when the stakes are low. You need to ask yourselves why you're willing to listen to someone so vague and so bold talk about absolutely nothing.

[gemharvest]

wyd!Boyfriend (Beef) Reference Sheet

Extra info will be under a cut to spare y'alls dashboards, but here the guy is. The Beef Bastard. For anyone who desires to draw him.

-----

Design Notes:

Palette is flexible; can be drawn in this palette, with canon BF's palette, or given a custom palette. Colored lines are not a requisite, but if you do pure black lines while using the ref's palette, please keep everything using that color the same color (ie; his piercing, opt. nail color, sweater on Christmas outfit, etc).

Shirt does not have to be tucked! I mostly drew it like that just to have the belt visible; up to you if you want to draw it half-tucked or untucked. idc

Shading colors are optional, I just have them there because I like using them; I personally still draw the shade in on his hat/ hair, but that's just how I like doing it. His hair base can be either color tbh it doesn't matter much to me, I just have it marked as the lighter color bc that's what feels right to me personally.

Would have a square face shape & brown eyes when not as stylized as the ref. I do not have a specific eye color picked out, as I do not see myself drawing it, but anything works as long as it's a darker brown.

-----

His playlist is at the end of this post (both Spotify and YouTube versions), but if you just want to hear his sample songs, here are links (+ 2 honorable mentions):

(fw + eyestrain) WHOKILLEDXIX - Kismet

Marina - Are You Satisfied?

(fw + insect & xray clips) Will Wood - Cicada Days

Twenty One Pilots - Fake You Out

100 gecs - 745 sticky

-----

Base Info:

Cisgender bisexual (he/him); polyamorous.

Has: ADHD with RSD; anger issues that usually come out to “protect” himself (can be to “protect” others as well, tho); an inferiority complex that makes him highly competitive & masks as a superiority complex.

Astraphobic (fear of thunder & lightning) as well as having a fear of abandonment. Other than that, he’s comically fearless; acting on impulse rather than any sense.

Has a bad acne problem; some on his face, but the worst of it is on his back.

Wears loose clothes, and kinda just throws on whatever he finds first. (Which tends to be his usual outfit.)

Slightly chubby, but his clothes make it harder to tell.

Street-smart, in spite of his general stupidity. Able to hold himself pretty well in a fight, as long as he’s thinking clearly.

Fairly strong as well, though he doesn’t make an active effort to work out. Stupids his way into being able to lift shit, I guess.

Shaves his face (prefers the look) but doesn’t bother with the rest of his body. 👍

-----

Headcanons:

(there is a lot here, I do not blame you if you don't read all of these 🙏)

Stims with a lot of repetitive hand movements (shaking, snapping motion w/o sound, opening and closing); beeps are sometimes vocal stims as well.

Would benefit from chewlery dear god, but would also need high strength ones. Maybe one day someone will get him a chew stim.

Enjoys high energy & loud music. Obviously a rap fan, but would enjoy breakcore/ speedcore/ hyperpop and similar genres, as well as things like YTPMVs or stupid mashups.

His beeping is not a language, as is the same in canon, though it generally has enough of a rhythm to it that people can get the gist of the intended words the longer they're around him.

95% of the time he speaks in beeps, and if he needs to relay info to someone who doesn't understand it, he'll write his words down (as long as it's an option).

Not comfortable speaking regularly, but can do it if the situation calls for it. Takes a lot to get to that point though, and was way less confident in his words when he was younger.

His beeping can also be a vocal stim, as mentioned previously, which can throw conversation off. Beeps will also lose their proper rhythm if he's upset/ super excited and etc., making them harder to understand.

Loves small animals, rats being a particular example, and is also fascinated by insects.

Usually just ignores insects, but picks up a catch & release habit w/ ones that get inside from GF.

When they get a shared apartment, he's the one who spends the most time in it, usually alone and working on music. Sometimes he gets overwhelmed by missing his partners being around, but manages it well knowing they'll be back soon.

Likes involving his partners with his music. Most of his album covers are art by GF, and will ask Pico for input on mixing or just general thoughts on how it sounds. Will sometimes get them to do vocals as well (takes a lot of coaxing for Pico to agree, so GF features more often than he will).

Usually prefers his nails unpainted, but will let GF paint them to match with her and/ or Pico.

Before Pico entered their relationship, he had his nails painted more frequently to match her. Went down in frequency because Pico really likes it & it became something the two do together. BF is not excluded, he’s just more indifferent about it whereas Pico and GF actively like painted nails.

Prefers black above all, then blue, but also enjoys red or green for his partners.

HUGE issue with picking at acne/ scabs. Has tons of little scars from doing it.

Clingy as shiiiittt to those he’s close to. Will not be the first to let go of a hug and will be content to cling to someone for hours; need to take care of his body be damned.

Related; he has issues wanting to stay up to work on projects instead of get proper sleep, but is pretty easily convinced to go to bed if his partners are around. Because cuddle time babyyyyyy.

Can’t cook for shit. Is like a Sim with 0 cooking skill and insanely bad luck. Best dude can do is make a sandwich/ salad/ anything that doesn’t require the oven or stove, and even then he sticks to simple things because he wants to do other shit.

Relied a lot on fast food/ pre-made meals when on his own. Once moved in with his partners, Pico cooks a lot of the meals & eventually is able to teach BF and GF enough of the basics to where they can prep stuff on days he’s gone.

BF is way slower to take to cooking than GF is; ADHD partially at fault (not finding it “worth it” = not going out of his way to cook still = learns way slower, which also makes it more frustrating). He gets it eventually tho it’s Okay.

Can be kinda an ass to those he doesn’t know, though more because he’s not thinking about it than actually being malicious. Though if he realizes he’s coming off rude he doesn’t quiiiiteee care. This behavior bites him in the ass w/ how he thinks about himself but whatever he’s not thinking in the moment.

Can sometimes be hostile when first meeting people, though usually isn’t too bad.

(RGBFverse exclusive, he is super hostile to the other BFs out of confusion, and then lashes out to keep himself from getting close, because he assumes he will be let down if he does. This later feeds into a fear that, after he becomes calm around them, none of them really like him, because why would they, after how he acted?)

Has spirals related to his inferiority complex where he begins lashing out at others to push them away, because he feels they’re going to leave anyways. These don’t happen often, but it’s really hard for him to pull himself out of it when they do. Feels he’s wearing others’ patience thin, but he appreciates those who stick through it nonetheless.

List subject to change, most likely w/ new additions as I remember things I forgot, or just clarifying anything I may have worded poorly.

-----

3 songs didn't make it to the Spotify playlist because they aren't up on there. Otherwise, both have the same songs & are ordered the same.

[qqueenofhades]

Do you think part of what makes people feel like voting isn’t worth it because things don’t get better under democrats is because we can’t see what would have happened? Like I see a lot of people saying “well biden hasn’t made america much better so there’s no point” but it’s like they don’t understand that under a republican they would actively do everything they could to cause more harm. It’s like they don’t understand that 1. The president can’t do much, and 2. IT WOULD BE WORSE. like they don’t understand the possibilities. Idk people just frustrate me

I'm sorry, as I know you're just relaying what these people think and not claiming so yourself, but the whole "things don't get better under Biden/Democrats" line to which we are subjected so very, miserably often is a lie!!! It is demonstrably a lie! It is peddled by people who deliberately live in their echo-chamber leftist misinformation bubbles and either don't read the news, don't accept anything less than the Magical Socialist Revolution Now, and don't think partial or incremental progress (aka the only kind of progress that exists) is valid. "Biden hasn't single-handedly fixed everything wrong with America and the world after the most damaging presidency ever to exist and 250+ years of flaws, while other countries actually are their own actors with agency making complex choices, so we shouldn't vote for him" is a bullshit lie and I'm tired of it!!!

(Again. Sorry. This is not directed at you. This is just my frustration with this entire ridiculous situation speaking.)

We have had multiple elections now where people voted for Democrats, which resulted in abortion protections, protections for LGBTQ people, the biggest climate legislation ever to pass Congress/be signed into law (the Inflation Reduction Act), vast improvements in the job market, executive actions both large and small, improvements in labor and the economy, a general democratic system, a defense of the rule of law, a warning against fascism, and everything else that Trump trampled on in 4 years and will finish the job of doing if this godforsaken country is either right-wing-zealot or left-wing-zealot enough to put him back into office. (Like, people. Google is free. You're welcome to look up the improvements Biden has actually made, but that would harm your Narrative.) So much of this misinformation is also peddled by people who are proud that they don't have a clue how the American government works and/or deliberately lie about it: see all the claims that it was Biden's fault for not magically stopping a Trump-stacked SCOTUS, selected for the express purpose of overturning Roe, from overturning Roe. Because the president could just unilaterally overturn the Supreme Court with no problems at all if He Really Wanted To, I guess. Even if that is literally not the way it has ever functioned in history.

All the noxious Republicans in state legislatures passing anti-trans/anti-abortion/anti-voting laws ARE NOT SOMETHING BIDEN CAN STOP. If you're going to criticize him for not doing something, for God's sake at least make it for something he can do (like not calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, though I would argue he's already taking a more nuanced approach than the entirety of the American establishment during the War on Terror). And then vote for him when/if he follows it up, not just throw your hands in the air and scream about how you Can't Possibly Sully Yourself (especially when there is some very selective support going on here and a deliberate white-washing of how many orders of magnitude worse absolutely everything else in America and the world would be under Trump. So.)

I'm tired of it. I'm really, really tired of it. I've been trying to cut back on my politics posting because my mental health is bad right now and I often feel like a broken record screaming into the void. But. Yeah. Anyway. Whoof.

[thementallyillapollochild]

OKAY!!

Meow (meow back or your not sigma🔫)

i dont meow, i mew cuz im an alpha 🤫🧏🏽

[anotherguynamedjeremy]

There were a few more interesting bits of OD trivia given by Toei Animation producer Hiromi Seki in that same interview (and another one) and I wasn't sure how to relay the good ones. I didn't want to do a multi-part post so instead I'm going to do one big post. Enjoy!

(And again, a big thanks to Ayumi for translating both interviews to English.)

Did you know that the show was originally going to called Ojamajo Onpu? Why didn't they go with that title? Trademark issues.

So Ojamajo Doremi had the distinction of having more male viewers than Sailor Moon and Precure. This was due to the show running with Sentai, Kamen Rider and Digimon in the same Sunday morning block.

Here's the reason behind the running gag of Doremi's love for steak. Good thing they didn't went with rice balls.

Here's a little design trivia related to the Ojamajos' witch outfits.

I think this was the general idea for episode 40 from the second season (Ojamajo Doremi #) and Doremi's backstory in the Sharp movie.

I love this bit of trivia. Whenever the girls use their magic spells you can hear their respective instruments for a short while.

The last three are probably going to be important for some fans. I don't know if it's worth waiting another 5 years so they can bring back Ojamajo Doremi. A lot can happen in the span of five years and they could easily change their minds.