#very briefly considered using a magnet but that's probably very obviously stupid

[your-god-empress-lavender]

Magnetic shittery

Okay, someone who knows things about magnets and types of magnetism, please help.

I have this powder, its composition not entirely known, that reacts really funny near a big magnet. Sometimes it just sits there and barely moves, but if i bring the edge of my strong magnet near the powder, it flies away really fast. Like, i put the powder on a plastic lid, brought the magnet under it, and just the slightest movement sent the powder in all different directions, but mostly in the opposite direction as the magnet moved. Some of the powder just flew out of the lid and landed a few feet away, some of it just jumped about in the lid.

Can anyone explain this? It's very confusing to me. I'd be happy to provide any more information that i can if you need it. At first when i saw this weird phenomenon i was like "OH SHIT, IT'S ACTUALLY SUPERCONDUCTING, OTHERWISE IT WOULDN'T HAVE THIS MUCH DIAMAGNETISM" then i was like, okay, but most superconductors have flux pinning, and this also doesn't look like textbook diamagnetism (to my knowledge). Also, if you're reading this like "why the hell would she thing this is a superconductor?", it's because the reason i made this powder was in an attempt to construct a new stp superconductor (mostly based on what i learned from the theoretical studies into LK-99)

[welllpthisishappening]

I Would Sing You to Sleep

Hey, uh, remember when I was like “Immmma focus on original stuff and that’ll be that.” Good joke. @lillpon wrote this incredible meta recently and, like, you ever have a thought that just grips your brain and then you hear a My Chemical Romance song one morning and you type two-thousand words in 45 minutes?

Well, that’s what happened. If you’re not here for angst or just a metric ton of Millian feelings, this might not be for you. Happy Thursday, here’s some Underworld nonsense that ignores the timeline of things completely.

-----

They can’t move very quickly.

He’s covered in blood still, every inch of him stiff and awkward even as Emma supports most of his weight. It’s not doing much to help the overall state of her knees, but she’s already used her magic to teleport them out of Hades’…torture chamber, or whatever it was and she’s not sure if she should use more. Isn’t really even sure what to do, if she’s being honest with herself, far too many twisted emotions and fears that rattle around the spaces between her ribs.

So they walk. Slowly. Methodically. Every step is a challenge and Killian’s fingers aren’t all that tight where they curl around her shoulder.

“It’s not that much farther,” Emma promises. “We’re—do you think your lungs are alright? I don’t…I’m not really sure if I can fix that, but then—you’d…we’d know, right? If something was wrong?”

She’s rambling.

It’s stupid. But Emma isn’t sure what else to do and the silence stretches heavy over both of them, oppressive and far too warm, a heat that reminds her of that cave and the fire and she absolutely cannot cry.

Not right now.

Not yet.

She’s determined. She’s impossible. He loves her for it.

He loves her.

Still.

“What is this?” Killian breathes.

Emma has to remind herself that he’s actually just said words. It doesn’t really sound that way in the moment. Because his voice doesn’t sound right. It’s not even soft, really, just a slight scrape of syllables against the inside of his throat and passing through chapped lips. There’s no lilt to it, nothing positive, exhaustion hanging from every letter and Emma tightens her hold on the back of his jacket.

There’s a fucking hole in it.

And it’s a fair question.

It doesn’t look the same, not with the hazy color of the sky behind it or how the shutters are barely hanging on outside, more than a few loose bits of wood on the wraparound porch that Emma has found herself thinking about with a startling amount of regularity.

“It, uh—well, it’s a house,” she stammers. She hates that. “Our—“ Killian tenses slightly, and Emma bites down on her lip so sharply she tastes blood. “Can you lift your legs, do you think?”

He grunts in response, even slower movements because Emma doesn’t trust her balance all that much either and they both flinch when the door to a house with less creaky hinges at home flies open. Mary Margaret’s standing there, breathless and obviously worried, tear tracks on her cheeks and Emma can dimly hear a baby crying a few feet away.  

“Oh, Killian,” she whispers, rushing forward and Emma tries to shake her head discreetly. It doesn’t really work. She’s going to blame her knees. “Look at you. Are you alright?”

And that’s an entirely unfair question with an almost too obvious answer, but Killian makes another nose low in the back of his throat.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Emma, couldn’t you—“ Mary Margaret continues.

For a moment she briefly considers yelling at her mother. But that’s just pent up frustration and her own lingering guilt and Emma has a list of people to apologize to, least of all the man still hanging off her side and there are more footsteps.

She shouldn’t have brought them here.

Not with an audience and goddamn swords everywhere. She can see Robin’s quiver of arrows in the hallway.

The house feels wrong.

“Can you just help us get inside?” Emma asks, tempering her own emotions and the small flickers of magic that lick at the base of her spine. “Please?”

Mary Margaret blinks. Her eyes jump, scanning Killian’s face and the bruises there, an eye that’s still swollen shut, but then she’s nodding and moving and Regina might mutter holy shit under her breath when she sees them.

“Emma, why didn’t you—“

She grits her teeth — something vaguely threatening, or so Emma can only hope, but then they’re a mess of shifted weight and unsteady steps and David is pacing in a living room that doesn’t look entirely familiar either.

Killian freezes.

Emma nearly pulls him to the floor with her.

That’s not ideal.

“Hook,” David exclaims, and Emma can just make out Regina’s less-than-subtle hand movements. He does not get the hint. “Where have you—we’ve been waiting and it’s…Emma, are you alright?”

She sighs. And not because it’s almost nice that her father has asked her that, but that also feels exceptionally selfish and Emma wants to get rid of the blood. She wants to do something.

She wants—

“Killian?”

He tilts his head. That’s it. No response, no words that don’t sound like words, just a slight shift and blood-caked hair that still manages to fall artfully towards his eyes and Emma holds her breath.

Milah has taken her jacket off.

And Emma isn’t sure why that feels important — as if she’s shed the costume she’s been forced into for the hundreds of years she’s been stuck in this actual hell hole, but something about it sparks in the back of her brain and her eyes dart towards Killian.

He swallows.

She can see the muscles in his throat move, the way his teeth obviously clench and how tight his jaw goes. His fingers grip her shoulder like a vice. Like he’s making sure she’s still there.

Like he’s making sure he’s still there.

Milah nods.

“Real,” she promises softly, steps that aren’t cautious or desperate. They’re balanced, like falling back into a memory and a moment and feeling, air that’s suddenly a little easier to breathe.

He exhales.

And Emma isn’t entirely sure what happens after that. Because it all seems to happen suddenly and impossibly slow, Milah’s steps crowding into Killian’s space, a hand on his cheek and his nose brushing the inside of her palm and she doesn’t flinch at the blood, Emma didn’t really expect her too and—“Are you alright?” she whispers.

Maybe it is a dream.

Emma blinks several times to make sure. She looks at her mother, glances towards her father, tries to focus on the crying baby she could probably time most of her breathing to at this point, but that would also require her to be breathing evenly and Killian shakes his head.

She didn’t expect that.

He’d told her he was fine. And she knew it was a lie — could hear the forced bravado even as he screwed his eyes shut and held onto her when the first few bits of smoke curled around their ankles, but this something else altogether.

This is—

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know, I—there wasn’t any light and I—“ Milah hums when Killian can’t finish the sentence, pushing up on her toes to brush the hair away from his eyes and something clenches in Emma’s chest when his eyes flutter shut.

It’s not jealousy.

It’s not. It’s something deeper, another brand of want and maybe even a few flickers of hope, trying to memorize exactly how easily his shoulders move when he takes another deep breath.

“You’re here now though,” Milah continues, “not quite sunlight out there, but sometimes if we’re lucky—“

“—You can smell the salt of the sea if the wind turns.”

“Ah, there it.”

Milah smiles, leans back as soon as Killian’s arm circles her waist and Emma is loathe to realize he’s kept his left arm trained at his side. She bites her lip again.

And part of her knows she should leave. Retreat back to the hallway and the arrows and the crying baby, but her legs feel like cement and David’s fingers have found hers, lacing them together with a soft squeeze.

So Emma doesn’t move.

She watches and listens and—

“I wanted to get out,” Killian mumbles, and those words are different. They’re not scratched out, they’re rushed over, as if he’s simply been waiting to admit to them and Milah’s smile turns understanding. Emma tightens her fingers. David doesn’t let go.

“Wanted to leave…would have done anything, but I didn’t deserve, Gods, what I’ve done, it’s—I…it was—it hurt, everything hurt and he was there and then he’d leave, but I could still hear—“

“—I know, darling—“

“—Couldn’t sleep, even when it went dark…it was always dark and—“ He takes another deep breath, eyes gone glossy and Emma should have moved. “Gods I’ve missed you.”

Milah drops back to her heels. Presumably because Killian’s knees also give up at that precise moment.

They drop down — no twisted limbs, but a few grunts of pain because his legs are cut too and there’s a rather large bruise obvious under a rip in his jeans — but Milah’s face doesn’t show anything except a quiet determination and her fingers move into Killian’s hair like there are magnets involved.

Emma isn’t sure there are magnets in the Enchanted Forest.

It’s a ridiculous thought.

Particularly when she hears the first hitch in Killian’s breath.

And the tremor that runs through him isn’t like anything she’s ever seen — no sign of Captain Hook or any hint of Darkness, not even the Killian Jones she’s come to love with every single fiber of her being, not really.

There’s nothing even remotely familiar, which is frustratingly cyclical considering the house they’re in and the place they’re stuck and Emma’s mind surprises her once more because the only thing she can think as soon as she realizes that Killian is crying is that he looks so much younger.

No jacket. No metaphorical weight. No armor.

There are no adjectives or precursors, no monikers, colorful or otherwise.

The color in his cheeks is blotchy, uneven dots of pink, Milah’s voice barely audible over the sound of his sobs and Emma can’t remember the last time she took a deep breath. Her lungs burn with the lack of it, but she doesn’t dare do anything except stand there and watch.

Her eyes trace over him, watch Milah’s fingertips ghost across his temples and the side of his jaw, dragging up the ridge of his spine and the bend of his neck, his nose burrowing into the curve of her shoulder.

Killian Jones cries.

And cries.

He mourns and mutters words into Milah’s t-shirt. Lets her push his own jacket off his arms, the leather dropping behind him with a soft thump and it takes a moment to tug the left sleeve over his hook, a terror that etches itself on his face as soon as he realizes.

“Don’t be silly,” she murmurs. And, well, that’s that.

Killian hums, head dropping back down and the whole thing starts again. Emma doesn’t blink. She watches, waits until the crinkles around his eyes disappear and the tension between his shoulder blades evaporates and—“It was so dark,” he whispers, more than once.

She’s going to need stitches in her lip.

She’ll ask Regina about a spell for that later.

“That’s over now,” Milah says, and it sounds like a guarantee. Emma hopes she can follow through.

Although she is ridiculously stubborn. Impossible, even.

Her fingers reach up to curl around the ring hanging over the front of her shirt.

And there’s more, all in rather quick succession — a glow and a voice that makes Emma’s heart jump, but she doesn’t actually cry and Milah’s smile as soon as she sees her son is enough to inspire just a bit more hope. She turns towards Killian before she leaves, another look that’s as heavy as it is light and he leans into her hand as soon as it cups his cheek.

“I love you,” she says.

He kisses the inside of her wrist, tucks a strand of hair behind her cheek. “And I love you.”

She presses up again, a quick brush of lips and then she’s gone and Killian glances over his shoulder at Emma. Neither one of them say anything, but they don’t really have to — not after all if it, life and death and quasi-life, but his eyes flash down to the ring she keeps toying with.

One side of his mouth quirks up.

“C’mere,” she says, nodding towards the couch they’ve both been ignoring. “Let me help with some of those cuts.”

[quicksilverslover]

Missed Opportunities - Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Three times Pietro missed the opportunity to ask Y/N out and one time he didn't.

Word Count: 1.4K+

Welp. I am pretty new at writing, and my English is... A complicated mix of British, American-ish and Rubbish lol, so I beg your forgiveness for the silly mistakes (like prepositions and such)! Hope you enjoy!

Tagging @thedevilwearsvibranium because I tried a thing (?!¿¡) and she gave me a few tips which I used wised wisely (?!?!?) :^)

x

i.

Late.

He was late.

Pietro wasn't even paying attention to whoever was in front of him. He was just thinking about the Chemistry class, of which the professor was kind of intolerant about punctuality. So yes, of course he had (literally) run into someone, dropping all of their books.

“Er… I am sorry, I…” He started, but shut up as he saw who the person was.

Pietro couldn't believe his luck.

Did God hate him or something?

He had just bumped into Y/N, the girl he'd been eyeing for two months now.

“It… it's ok, Pietro…” She smiled kindly, hypnotizing him to lean down and help her grab the books. He absolutely forgot he was late for Chemistry.

He'd been head over heels for her since the day they met. Okay, maybe not since their very first meeting, but he developed a crush on her pretty quickly.

Pietro returned the Y/N’s books and picked up his own, smiling at her and trying not to look like an idiot. “I'm really sorry, printesa.” The (h/c) girl returned his smile. He then took a deep breath and…

“By the way, I was wondering if-” “Oh.” She cut him, looking at the books on her arms. “This one is yours.” She picked the first book in the pile and handed to him. Pietro read the big word “Chemistry” and felt the blood drain from his face.

“S-Sorry again, Y/N, I'm late for class!!!” He ran past her like a missile, mentally slapping himself for missing the chance to ask her out.

ii.

“Pietro, are you even paying attention?” Y/N asked, waving her hand next to his face. Said boy realized he'd been staring at her without even blinking. He quickly made up an excuse. “It's… This is boring, printesa! Can't we take a break?”

“But we barely went through the first part- ah, forget it…” She sighed in exasperation, yet ended up smiling slightly at Pietro. “You're incorrigible.”

He just chuckled back. Y/N had been meeting with him in the library so she could help him study subjects in which he had difficulty.

That's how Pietro’s sapiosexuality took over his heart and he ended up being a mess around Y/N, which was totally out of character considering his usual flirty behaviour towards everything that breathed. And she seemed just not to notice it. His sister had told him a million times to ask her out and he’d never found the right opportunity to do so.

Well, why not now?

“So, Y/N, how about-” He paused at the vibration of a mobile phone. Y/N’s. On the screen it read “Mum”. He saw her frown at it. Of course she did. It was recently found out by Y/N (and eventually her closest friends, including Pietro) that she was adopted. It was very fresh, and therefore a delicate matter.

“I… I have to pick this up.” She said, trying not to let her voice fail. She grabbed the insistent vibrating mobile phone and whispered an “excuse me for a moment” before leaving the library momentarily.

In Pietro’s defense, the blame was on the circumstances. But he missed his chance again, nonetheless. Even after Y/N came back, she was clearly not in the mood for chit-chatting. And obviously, he respected her, so they just resumed their studies awkwardly.

iii.

To say that Pietro was popular with the girls is an understatement. He was physically attractive. He had a foreign accent (everyone loves foreigners). He was good at sports.

That meant, like in every cliche movie about teenagers, that he was a girl magnet.

Except for the one he actually liked.

x

“You're an idiot.” Wanda said in Sokovian, crossing her arms in disbelief. Pietro was flirting with Amanda, one of the cheerleaders of the football team when his sister arrived. He didn't really mean anything serious with the cheerleader, everyone knew he only had eyes to one girl.

The twins often talked in their native language so no one would understand them. And one of the most frequent subjects was Pietro’s ridiculous lack of attitude towards Y/N. “What is it now, sister?” He rolled his eyes, watching as the girl excused herself.

Wanda discreetly pointed at the nearest grandstand. There sat Y/N herself, wearing earphones and and reading a book. He gulped, again, not believing his luck. When she noticed Pietro’s not so discreet staring, she waved, smiling coyly, as if not very comfortable about something. She had obviously seen the previous scene.

“Go talk to her! If you didn't just screw up any chances you have, of course…” Wanda said, a fake sweet smile on her face as she also waved to Y/N, before giving her brother one last look and leaving.

Pietro knew Wanda was right. Even though everyone knew about his appealing demeanor, Y/N was the last person he wanted to see that. What if she never gave him a chance, for being afraid he wouldn't take her seriously or cheat on her? Of course he would never do that, but he could never tell what Y/N actually thought of him in that aspect.

All those thoughts dragged him down. Yet it didn't stop him from going to sit next to her. “Buna dimineata, printesa~” He gave her his best smile, watching as she marked the page of her book before closing it and removing the earphones.

They talked about several subjects and, eventually, “dating” popped up. He thought about asking Y/N out right then, but dismissed it as a bad idea (and timing). She had seen Pietro flirting with Amanda, so opening up with Y/N about his feelings could be misunderstood and she could think he was a womaniser or something.

So he missed that chance due to pure paranoia and stupidity.

+1: iv.

God seemed to notice Pietro’s struggle after all.

He forgot his scale ruler at the library. It was late afternoon, so he didn't expect to be more people than the library lady. But there was one bookworm that looked up from her notebook and glanced at Pietro, who felt his heart melting. She sent him an inviting smile, and he approached her after retrieving his material.

They talked briefly about what she was studying. And, with that, he found out that Y/N had the habit to study his subjects besides hers, so she could help him later. He had thought that Y/N simply knew everything. Not that she made such effort for him.

And he knew he was screwed. At this point he was probably in love. He tried to act normally, I swear he did. But in the end he earned a laugh from Y/N. “Pietro, you are being a mess. Breathe.” She said among giggles. Well, he was already in hell, might as well dance with the Devil! Looking down, he somehow managed to answer.

“... That is... Because... I like you, printesa. A lot.” He took a deep breath, honestly not knowing what to expect. So that was the sensation of telling someone his feelings and finding himself before the possibility of being rejected. It was the first time for him.

A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, before Pietro finally looked down at Y/N. She was grinning playfully, not surprised at all. “Yes, I know~”

What?

Pietro must have been looked stunned, because she was giggling now. “Believe it or not, it's really easy to know when you and Wanda are talking about me. Plus all the staring, stuttering, blushing...~”

Heat rose to his cheeks. Pietro gave Y/N a seemingly confident smile, trying to hide his utter embarrassment. “I guess you were smarter than us, huh~” he muttered, smirking at himself. Now the big question was: would she return his affections?

“So…” Pietro almost couldn't hear himself. His heart beated faster than a hummingbird's. “Do you wanna go out with me?” He raised both eyebrows, uneasiness practically dripping from his mouth. But he still managed a shy, loving smile.

He only relaxed when Y/N touched his hand, taking it gently. She bit her lip before replying. “Of course I do. I would love to, actually.” She said that so easily, so honestly. “I haven't said anything before because… I was a bit affected by that thing with my parents and-”

For impulse, Pietro approached Y/N before she could finish and finally locked their lips, being corresponded immediately. Right now, neither of them were thinking about anything else in the world.

And all his worries vanished.

x

What the bloody hell was this ending :B

Anyways, I hope you like it more than I did xD