#mail backup X

[appleemailbackup]

Mac email backup is very easy now

It has been a topic of discussion for long on how to mac email backup with an easy to use procedure.

Often it has been seen that Mac users complain about incomplete procedure on mac email backup. The foundation of an appropriate data backup always lies on a well instructed procedure. Therefore, it is very important to use a right, more precisely a professional tool for data backup.

While you may come across endless names for data backup tool, we offer the best in class product Mail Backup X. A well-engineered email backup tool for archiving emails from apple mailbox.

Also, the below links on Mac Operating System and Apple mail will make you understand about the subject in detail.

MacOS and Apple mail gives an idea on selection of the right tool considering different aspects of the mail communication tool.

The best way to mac email backup with clear instructions

Downloadthe mac email backup softwareand install on your Macformac email backup. Please follow the link for installation instructions.

Once the installation is completed, launch the tool from the Applications/ Quick Launch Menu.

You can start the fully functional trial run for 15 days or activate it if you have already purchased a license version of the tool.

You may choose to setup a new backup profile from the dashboard by choosing option “setup a new backup” oryou may click my backup profiles on the left side bar in the dashboard and click “set up a new backup profile”.

The next screen shows options to setup back for a list of mail clients. Choose Apple Mail and proceed to next step.

Once you click and choose Apple Mail to setup a backup you are presented with folder structure from Apple Mail accounts. Please select or deselect the folders out of all the mail accounts configured in Apple Mail.

The next step shows Advanced options like setting

* frequency of Mail backup (select automatic as its recommended or you may choose Manual or recurring at particular intervals).

* secure your backup archive by encrypting the data. So, it can only be viewed on this computer.

* you May also activate the USB Auto Snapshot option by assigning a USB drive. So, whenever you connect the USB drive, it automatically makes a snapshot copy of your local mail backup to the USB Drive in the background automatically.

8.  You can set the location of backup to local disk drive or Cloud service by authenticating and adding Cloud Space (at Present Google Drive, DropBox and Microsoft One Drive are supported). Click save.

9.   Apple Mail Backup Profile is set up and now your emails should have started to back up as per the options and settings you selected during the previous steps.

Demo is the preliminary answer on how to mac email backup on mac

In order to understand the basics of mac email backup, we recommend you to use the demo version of the tool initially.

The demo tool has various advantages before you proceed with the licensed product.

It is completely free and guides in the most systematic way on how to mac email backup. For more information, do visit the official website for a detailed tool on the software www.mailbackupx.com/how-to-backup-apple-mac-mail-mails-on-mac/.

[holyblonded]

vroom vroom | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, mapi leon x teen!reader, lucy bronze x teen!reader

summary: alexia, lucy, and mapi are tasked with teaching you how to drive

warnings: near death experience in a car, idk about spain’s driving laws but in most states in the US, you get your permit at 15 1/2 and then hold your permit for 9 months and be at least 16 and 3 months before you get you license so this is what it’s based on

notes: in my mind, both keira and lucy are still with barca 🧘🏾‍♀️

“You cannot be serious right now,” you said, staring in disbelief as Alexia secured the bicycle helmet onto her head, adjusting the straps with absolute precision.

“As a heart attack,” Alexia replied, now moving to put on elbow pads.

You turned to Olga, who was sprawled out on the couch, highly amused by the unfolding situation. “Tell her she’s being ridiculous.”

Olga smirked, barely holding back her laughter. “Amor, you are being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously safe,” Alexia corrected, tapping the side of her helmet with confidence.

Your jaw dropped. “Ale, you’re teaching me how to drive. A car. Not a bike, not a scooter, a car. Why are you dressed like you’re about to enter a roller derby?”

Alexia crossed her arms. “Because the last time I let you sit behind the wheel, you nearly drove us into a bush. I like my life, and I intend to keep it intact.”

“That bush came out of nowhere!” you defended yourself, exasperated.

Olga snorted. “Bushes don’t move, Estrellita.”

You shot her a glare before turning back to Alexia. “Fine. If you’re going to be like this, then I get to wear my own safety gear.”

Alexia nodded approvingly. “Good. I have an extra helmet in the trunk.”

“That is not what I meant!” you groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch.

Olga was shaking with laughter at this point, wiping her eyes. “You should’ve just taken the lesson, Estrellita. Now you’re both going to look like two children trying to qualify for their go-kart licenses.”

Alexia smirked. “Better safe than sorry.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I refuse to be seen in public with you like this.”

“Too bad,” Alexia said, grabbing the car keys and motioning for you to follow. “Because we’re going. And if you complain, I will make you wear knee pads too.”

You groaned, dragging your feet toward the door.

“Have fun, kids!” Olga called after you, still giggling.

“You have got to be shitting me!” you exclaimed, freezing in place as you climbed into the driver’s seat, only to be met with Mapi and Lucy sitting smugly in the back.

Both were decked out in full protective gear—helmets securely fastened, elbow and knee pads strapped on like they were about to be thrown into a demolition derby rather than a driving lesson.

“Why are the two of you here? And the helmets? Really?” You gestured wildly, turning to Alexia, who was climbing into the passenger seat like she was about to endure the worst experience of her life.

“Because I can’t do this alone anymore,” Alexia muttered, rubbing her temples like she was already regretting her choices.

“The helmets and guards are for our protection,” Mapi chimed in, adjusting the straps on her helmet until they were practically cutting off circulation. “Last time I took you driving, you nearly hit a mailman.”

“In my defense, he came out of nowhere,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“It was his job to be there! That’s why it’s called mail delivery. You don’t deliver it from the sky!”

Lucy snorted, reaching for her seatbelt. “Yeah, Ale called us in for backup after she told us about the bush incident.”

You groaned, slumping against the wheel. “The bush was literally in the way!”

“The bush was on the sidewalk, Estrelleta,” Alexia deadpanned.

“Okay, whatever. Everybody buckle up,” you muttered, pressing the button to start the car.

“Oh trust me, I’ve been buckled since the moment I sat down,” Mapi said, yanking the belt so tight that it looked like it might fuse with her body.

“Same,” Lucy agreed, giving her helmet a few extra taps. “You can never be too careful.”

Alexia sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose. “Alright, let’s go over the basics again before we even think about moving.”

“I know the basics,” you huffed.

“Oh, do you?” Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me, where’s the brake?”

You pressed your lips together, staring at the pedals. “Uh, the left one?”

Alexia inhaled sharply, her grip on the passenger-side handle tightening.

Lucy whispered to Mapi, “We are so gonna die.”

“You’ll be fine,” you waved them off. “Alright, here we go!”

And with that, you slammed your foot down.

The car jerked forward like it had just been launched out of a slingshot, sending Mapi and Lucy flying back into their seats with strangled yelps.

“ESTRELLETA!” Alexia screeched, bracing herself against the dashboard.

“BRAKE, BRAKE, BRAKE!” Mapi yelled, gripping the back of Alexia’s seat for dear life.

“I am braking!” you argued.

“No! You’re accelerating!” Lucy shrieked, hands gripping the ceiling as if that would help.

You let out a panicked scream, slamming your foot down on something—thankfully, this time, it was actually the brake.

Everyone lurched forward with a collective oof, and for a moment, there was complete and utter silence in the car.

Alexia, breathing heavily, turned her head very slowly to look at you.

“What,” she said, voice eerily calm, “was that?”

You gave her a sheepish smile. “A test?”

Lucy let out a weak laugh from the back. “Yeah, well, I just saw my entire life flash before my eyes, so that’s fun.”

“I think I had an out-of-body experience,” Mapi muttered, still clutching Alexia’s seat. “I literally saw myself floating above the car.”

“Okay, okay, let’s try again,” you said, clearing your throat.

“God help us,” Alexia mumbled under her breath.

This time, you actually listened to Alexia’s instructions (mostly). The car started smoothly, and for a few blissful minutes, it almost seemed like things were going well.

Until you had to make a turn.

“Turn slowly, slowly—” Alexia started, but it was too late.

You turned the wheel way too fast, sending the car swerving violently.

“SLOWLY, I SAID SLOWLY!” Alexia yelled, grabbing onto the handle above her door.

“WHY IS THIS THING SO SENSITIVE?!” you shrieked back, trying to straighten out.

Lucy and Mapi were screaming in the back.

“ESTRELLITA, I SWEAR TO GOD—” Mapi howled.

“I WANT TO GO HOME!” Lucy shouted.

Somehow, miraculously, you managed to get the car straightened out again. Everyone sat there, breathing heavily.

Alexia had her face buried in her hands.

Mapi looked like she might be reconsidering her entire life.

Lucy was muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

Then, you approached a stop sign.

Alexia exhaled, nodding. “Alright. Good, now—”

But instead of gently stopping, you slammed the brake, sending everyone lurching forward again.

“I SAID GENTLE!” Alexia yelled.

“My bad!” you huffed.

“I HAVE WHIPLASH,” Mapi announced dramatically, rubbing her neck.

“Oh my God, I think my soul left my body again,” Lucy muttered, eyes wide.

And then, finally, you parked.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling in satisfaction. “I think that went well.”

Alexia turned her head slowly, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

Mapi and Lucy were both still gripping their seats like they were waiting for the final impact.

“Well?” Alexia repeated, voice dangerously high-pitched.

You grinned. “Yeah! Nobody died, right?”

Alexia blinked. Then she turned to Lucy and Mapi.

“I need strong alcohol,” she announced.

“Agreed,” Mapi and Lucy said in unison.

You pouted. “That’s rude.”

Alexia pointed at you. “You are never driving without supervision.”

“I don’t think my heart can handle another lesson,” Lucy admitted.

“I know mine can’t,” Mapi added, pulling off her helmet with shaky hands.

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad!” you protested.

Alexia just gave you a look. “Get out of the driver’s seat before I have an aneurysm.”

With a dramatic sigh, you unbuckled and slid out of the car. “Such little faith.”

As you walked off, Mapi turned to Lucy and muttered, “Next time, we bring airbags.”

Lucy nodded, still dazed. “And a priest.”

[vivienne-charm]

Dr. Stone Headcanons

x Texts with them Pt. 2 x

Part 1 here!

Part 2 bc part 1 reached 100 notes. Tysm !!! ♡

Stanley Snyder

⋆ he's an asshole

⋆ but a very cool asshole

⋆ the way he talks, the way he carries himself, even the way he texts, it's so suave

⋆ god forbid you ask for his opinion on something... it's always MEAN AF

⋆ "Stanley, which pic should I post on my socials?"

⋆ "whichever makes you look less ugly"

⋆ "...wtf?"

⋆ "so neither"

⋆ he enjoys being playfully mean to you to gauze your reaction

⋆ but if he senses you're genuinely hurt by his comment, the blondie will attempt to soothe you in his own way

⋆ "don't worry, being ugly means less creeps around you"

⋆ "stfu, stanley"

⋆ "yes, ma'am" / "yes, sir"

⋆ as you guys grow closer, this non-chalant man finds himself looking for ways to make you even more embarrassed and flustered

⋆ so sometimes he would randomly text you with sweet nicknames

⋆ oh don't ever let him know that you fw being called a good girl/good boy

⋆ if you did then uh oh, pack it up, its so over for you. he's going to ABUSE that phrase. you just handed him your leash with that one.

⋆ since he's a military man he can't be with you all the time to banter with you and all... that's why the texts between you guys mean alot to him so he makes sure to keep a backup of them just in case something happens to his phone

⋆ yk those group of people who sing happy birthday and dance around with a pic of the said person if you pay them...

⋆ for your birthday, stanley motherfuckin' snyder sends them the most embarrassing, most hideous candid picture of you which he sneakily clicked so he can send you a vid of them wishing you a happy birthday

⋆ he knows how to piss you off

⋆ and....he knows how to make it up to you as well ;)

⋆ either way, texts between you and stanley can get intense real quick. whether its from an intense banter or other stuff, it is upon you guys.

Xeno Houston Wingfield

⋆ apart from being a goofy disney villain....ok sorry sorry, apart from being a cruel dicktator, he's a sweet loverboy at heart

⋆ "Good morning, sweets! Good Night, Lovey! Have you eaten yet? Oh, did you enjoy your hiking trip?"

⋆ proper grammar, no spelling error, formal greeting, detailed interrogation

⋆ you almost concluded that this man cannot distinguish between an email and a normal text

⋆ but you were wrong

⋆ because to him texting each other is like being a PEN PAL with him, far from an e-mail...

⋆ but he's so sweet, you dont have the heart to tell him that he doesn't have to end his texts with "Yours elegantly, Xeno"

⋆ btw, if he ever sees some acronyms/slangs he doesn't understand, he immediately texts you to ask you it's meaning 🥹

⋆ some kid once commented "sybau" under his social media post explaining about some scientific phenomena

⋆ you didn't have the heart to tell him what it really means so you....

⋆ "The kid's telling you to Stay Young, Beautiful, and Unique, Xen."

⋆ he ALMOST replied back the kid with a hearty thank you but you thankfully stopped him. bless his soul.

⋆ he's the kind of fella to reply back to your texts as soon as he can

⋆ he also treasures your kind messages alot. they move him to tears sometimes.

⋆ when he complained about his ideas being rejected and you soothed him with your texts, he couldn't stop crying like a baby that day.

⋆ stanley keeps noticing his bestie being progressively more occupied with his phone

⋆ xeno doesn't realize how cute he looks replying to your texts with a big smile

⋆ he is so precious

⋆ you're winning

Bonus

Chrome

⋆ "so you're telling me, if i write something here, it'll show up in your device all the way to wherever you are?"

⋆ "yup"

⋆ he then runs away from you as far as he can

⋆ types "science is damn AWESOME"

⋆ runs all the way back to you to check if its delivered

⋆ starts shouting in amazement after he sees that you did actually receive it lmao

[mytardisisparked]

Toothbrushes

While Doggett searches Mulder's apartment during "The Gift," he finds evidence that connects some non-case-related dots.

Read on AO3

The apartment is only a little dusty, which is a miracle, considering how long he’s been gone. The fish in the corner bookshelf seem content and their tank is fairly clean; a testament to Scully’s care. Doggett appreciates that she looks after her partner’s pets and home while he’s gone. There is a special kind of trust there, in giving a key to your home to someone else and knowing they will know what to do in the event that something happens to you.

Doggett tries not to think about the lockpicks in his breast pocket.

He gives the fish a little feed as a way of apologizing for disturbing their afternoon, disturbing their home.

He’s opened all the drawers in the living room with little to show for it. It’s mostly papers, supplies, bills, mail, and the occasional case file borrowed from the basement. Nothing of note. 

Despite the clutter, which Doggett feels a little bad adding to, the living room does not yield the gun he suspects Mulder has hidden here somewhere. 

He moves to the bedroom. The carpet is clean and appears to be fairly new. The mattress and bed frame are the same. He can’t help but wonder what might make a guy buy all new carpet and bedding at the same time, but he lets that thought go after failing to find anything of interest under the bed or around it, aside from a few shoe boxes full of trinkets. The nightstand is clean and holds only a few small items – a generic medicated chapstick, a photo of a young boy and girl that Doggett assumes must be Mulder and his abducted sister, and a baseball cap that says “STONEHENGE ROCKS” on it in bold letters. 

As Doggett smiles and looks at the hat, his eye catches on a small, black box tucked underneath. He sets the hat on the bed and picks up the box, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes that it’s covered in velvet.

He swallows and opens the box, finding exactly what he expected inside: an engagement ring. Judging by the wear on it, it’s old – perhaps it belonged to Mulder’s recently deceased mother? He relaxes. Carefully, he replaces the box in the drawer and sets the hat back on top of it before rocking back onto his heels and taking a deep breath.

He moves to the closet next, finding a few boxes of files inside, all pertaining to the Samantha Mulder case. They’re covered in dust. Doggett thumbs through them briefly, but finds that most of them are out-of-date. He figures Mulder has kept them for sentimental reasons, or as backups. Hanging above the boxes are a few suitjackets and a collection of the ugliest ties Doggett has ever seen. He smiles as he examines a few, reminded of the ties he wore back in the 80s. 

The bathroom is clean and well-organized. The medicine cabinet has a handful of bottles; mostly NSAIDs, but there are a few others that he assumes were for managing Mulder’s illness. There are some band-aids and other basic first-aid items. Most of the first-aid kit appears to have been used – par for the course, Doggett supposes, when you’re working the X-Files.

Under the sink is a plunger, shaving supplies, and an unopened box of tampons. Doggett nods at that – he always kept a box in his glove-box for his female coworkers, too. Beside it is a hairdryer and a scrub brush for the toilet.

Doggett stands and takes one last look around the bathroom for anything he missed. His eyes stop on a small cup by the sink.

The cup holds a comb, a tube of toothpaste, and toothbrushes.

Two toothbrushes. Equally used.

Doggett suddenly feels his cheeks heat. Investigating the life of an agent he has been tasked to find is one thing, but those toothbrushes mean that he’s looking at someone else’s life, too. Her life. Agent Scully’s life.

He knew that Mulder and Scully were close and that their relationship probably crossed more than one professional boundary, but he has never asked, never dared to assume. It’s none of his business and he doesn’t need to know.

But those toothbrushes…

The persistent, hard look in Scully’s eyes makes sense now that he has a better approximation of how far this goes, how entwined their lives really are. He can’t help but wonder what she was like before Mulder disappeared, what she would be like if she was happy.

What she’s like when she’s with the man she loves.

Doggett backs out of the bathroom and looks away from the toothbrushes. He feels a little sick to his stomach about it, but he needs to keep looking for that gun. He makes for the dining room and kitchen, hoping that space feels less sacred.

[howlingday]

Ok but imagine what would happen if Loid and Perry teamed up? No one could stop them.

Okay... Time for something new...

--------------------------------------------------

AGENT T

A Phineas and Ferb/Spy X Family One-Shot

--------------------------------------------------

"An extended conference overseas?"

"Yes, it's a sort of outreach programs between different countries to share different psychiatric methods." Loid explained to Yor. "I'm sorry this is so last minute. I will try to call you as soon as I get back."

Lying to Yor felt wrong, but it was a necessary evil in his life as a spy. The truth was that he was assisting in a joint operation with a foreign intelligence agency, though the whole thing felt like a bad joke to him. Whoever heard of a spy agency under the title of "The Organization Without a Cool Acronym"? Regardless of his feelings, his mission was clear. He was to rendezvous with the agent known as "The Platypus" and provide backup as required.

"Papa?" Anya, his daughter, pointed to picture in her book. Coincidentally, it was a platypus. "Is this a plassapess?"

"No, it isn't." Loid shook his head. "Just because I'll be gone for a little bit doesn't mean you're allowed to shirk on your studies. I expect nothing less than perfect marks when I return home."

"Aw..." Anya groaned.

"Loid, where is this conference being held?" Yor asked.

"I wasn't given the exact details myself, but it's in a region known as the 'Tri-State Area'."

--------------------------------------------------

"And that's about the gist of the assignment, Agent P." Major Monogram said through the video screen. "Find out what Dr. Doofenshmirtz is up to and put a stop to it!"

"If it's evil, sir." Carl's voice said off-screen.

"Yes, yes, if it's evil, put a stop to it." Major Monogram rolled his eyes. "We're counting on you, Agent P."

Perry the Platypus gave a salute and left the briefing room.

"I thought the evil thing was implied, Carl." Major Monogram grumbled.

"It doesn't hurt to be sure, sir. Words can be confusing."

"Not as confusing as this finger trap." The major lifted his hands to reveal his fingers had been locked in a threaded snare trap for fingers"

"Did you put your fingers in that trap again, sir?"

"Carl, we've been over this; if I don't do it myself, then how will I learn when I need it most?"

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in the middle of a city in the tri-state area, at an oddly designed building with the logo, Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc.~, Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz heard a knock at his door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" He opened the door to an elderly man delivering the mail. He was fragile and hunched over. In his hands was a clipboard and a large parcel behind him. "Oh, look at you! You're so old! Why aren't you retired yet? Here, come inside and rest for a bit. I can show you what you're delivering is being used for."

The elderly man hobbled in, his left leg limping with every step. He mumbled something alike to a thank you before being seated on a large loveseat inside a laboratory. Unknown to the oddly kind-hearted doctor, the old man was actual the legendary Agent Twilight in perfect disguise. In front of him was a massive ray-gun of sorts, like in the cartoons Anya watched, with a scope and a trigger beneath. At the tip of the barrel was a missing component.

"So, you're probably wondering what it is I'm building with a mind-tapping helmet." He held out his hands. "Oh, I'm a little rusty. I usually save these backstories for my nemesis, Perry the Platypus, but here goes." Through Agent Twilight's perfect mental imagery, every word spoken became a clear picture of the very sad and tragic backstory of the target. "You see, back when I was growing up in Gimmelshtump, it's a town in Drusselstein if you didn't know, my grandparents would always say something, but mean something else. Like, they would tell me to wash the ham, but what they really meant was marinate it, but it was one of those old sayings that grandparents use and, me being a child, I didn't know what they really meant because I'd only heard it said once." He ripped open the parcel, was handed the mind-tapping helmet, and held it to the device. "And that's when I came up with this! BEHOLD, THE SAYWHAT'SONYOURMIND-INATOR!" He then climbed his way to the apex of the machine. "With this inator, people will say what's on their mind and mean what they really say! Like, say your friends want to hang out and, I don't know, do old person things, like play cards, but the way they say it makes it sound like they want to sleep all day, so they'll say what's on their mind! Here, let me try it on you!"

Faster than Agent Twilight can react, the nefarious doctor was already on the ground and using his weapon on him. He was then hit with the powerful radio waves the machine emitted. He blinked.

"I don't feel any different." He said aloud. "Did this mad scientist's machine really work-" His eyes widened as the doctor laughed for a moment.

"Hey, who are you calling a mad scientist? I'm not mad. I mean, I'm mad now, but I'm not always mad." He looked to the platypus climbing out of the parcel package. "Perry the Platypus, tell him I'm not always mad." The platypus in the fedora chittered. "See? He gets it." At this, he gasped. "PERRY THE PLATYPUS?! Wait, were you able to hear my backstory while I you were inside the- OOF!"

Perry punched Dr. Doofenshmirtz, sending him stumbling backwards into his machine. The machine fired off in a random direction before being taken into the hands of its creator.

"There's no need to fight me, Perry the Platypus. Why don't you just-" He fired the inator on Perry. "USE YOUR WORDS! AHAHAHAHA~!"

Perry winced at the sudden radio waves bombarding him. He blinked a few times. He was looked at expectantly by his nemesis.

"Chkchkchkchkt."

"Oh, right. You're a platypus." He then pressed a button on his inator and a net flew out and ensnared Perry. "But I planned for that!" A punch flew in from out of nowhere, knocking the doctor over with his inator. Standing not far away was the old man from before. "What are you doing, Old Man?"

"My name," the mask ripped, revealing the spy, "is Agent Twilight, and on behalf of the good people of Westalis, I order you to surrender your weapon."

"Westalis? Where is that? Is he with you, Perry the Platypus?"

"Chkchkchkchkt."

"I won't allow you to threaten the good people of the world with this strange contraption." Agent Twilight said, fully removing his disguise. "Especially while I am assigned to this joint operation."

"Well, I didn't really have anything planned for someone bigger than Perry the Platypus, but I did have this in case he escaped!" With a push of a button, another net of ribbon spewed forth. Unfortunately, the new agent was too fast to be caught and rolled his way over to Agent P, where he easily ripped apart his bindings. "No, no, don't do that! That is so unfair, fighting two against one!" He groaned. "Of all the days for Norm to take one of his 'mandatory vacation days'."

This vacation day in question included going to the mechanic for a semi-spa treatment involving oil, rags, and oily rags. Back to the fight, Agent Twilight kept the doctor on his toes, swinging fist after fist, easily overpowering his opponent. Meanwhile, Agent P was altering the inator by turning the mind-control helmet around so that the machine would reverse its effects.

"I cannot fail here. I cannot allow my emotions to get the better of me. I must keep on my toes. I need to keep applying pressure and overwhelm my opponent with quick, but meaningful strikes."

"Ugh! I regret hitting you with my inator." Dr. Doofenshmirtz groused amidst his thrashings. "Why can't you be more quiet like Perry the Platypus?"

"Chkchkchkchkt." The OWCA agent chittered from atop before swinging the inator around and firing it on himself Agent Twilight. Agent P patted himself down before giving a thumbs up to his fellow agent from afar.

"Oh, finally! I didn't think you would ever stop talking!" Dr. Doofenshmirtz groused even more.

Agent Twilight was about to go in for another punch when he was dragged away by Agent P. Looking back to the inator, he saw that there was a self-destruct device placed at the device's weak point. Jumping over the balcony, Agent P held tight to Agent Twilight, the two silently gliding through the air to a safe location. On the winds, they could hear the defeated shouting of their shared nemesis for the day.

"YOU DON'T NEED AN INATOR TO KNOW THIS, BUT CURSE YOU, STRANGE OLD MAN, AND CURSE YOU, PERRY THE PLATYPUS!"

A GENT P~!.

--------------------------------------------------

"Excuse me, is this your platypus?"

"Huh?" Phineas turned around to see a man standing in their yard, holding Perry in his hands. "Oh, there you are, Perry!"

"I found him wandering around in your front yard, and I thought it was odd to see an animal so far from their home."

"He's not far from his home, he's simply living in a new home away from his natural habitat. We feed him four meals a day, plus treats, and give him as much comfort as possible." Ferb explained in excess.

"Oh, I... see..."

"Yeah, sorry about Ferb." Phineas explained. "He's been a lot more talkative than usual today. It's almost like some kind of radio wave went off and made him say everything that was on his mind."

"That's... quite an imaginative explanation." The man said. "But maybe this will help. I specialize in psychiatric help and this device helps ease those affected by 'radio wave' abnormalities in humans."

"Oh, you mean like brain stimulation therapy?" Phineas asked. "Isn't that controversial?"

"Yes, yes, it is." The man quirked his brow. "But I believe it may be the best way to help your friend."

"Oh, Ferb's not my friend. He's my brother!"

"Ah, excuse me. Now, may I use my device. I promise no harm will come to your brother."

"Well, okay, if you say so." Phineas stepped aside and let the man hold the device up to Ferb before pressing a button. Ferb blinked a few times before the man placed the device in his pocket. "How you feelin', Ferb?"

Ferb gave a thumbs up.

"Hey, it looks like it worked! Thank you, Mr... Huh? Where'd he go?"

--------------------------------------------------

"Papa! You're home~!" Anya cheered, running to the door.

"You're back already?" Yor asked. "I thought you'd be gone a lot longer, considering how far you were traveling."

"I was offered a trip on a much fast return flight than the one prior." Reaching into his doctor's bag, he pulled free a plush doll in the shape of a strange creature with a duck bill, a beaver tail and feet, and a strange greenish-blur fur color. "Anya, I found this on the way home. I remember you being curious about platypus before leaving, so I thought you'd enjoy this."

"Thank you, Papa!"

"Oh, that is so cute~! What are you going to name him?"

Anya thought for a moment, then noticed a certain look in his eyes. It was the same look he held when he was in thought of something. Focusing on him, she heard a name said over and over again.

"Percy the Plassypess?" Anya smiled, tossing her plush in the air. "Yeah! Agent Percy the Plassypess~!"

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight - A Songfic

Pairing: None 

Rating: General, although my blog is, as always, 18+ only 

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, breakups, mentions of Teresa x Patrick Jane

Summary: I am a visitor here. I am not permanent. 

A/N: @whatsnewalycat said that The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by the Postal Service was a Marcus Pike song and then I listened to it during a thunderstorm and imagined a whole scene based on it. I’m not sure whether or not to call this a songfic, but there are several direct quotations from the lyrics and the “plot” of this follows the song pretty closely.  For best results, listen to this song while you read. The lyrics are posted at the end of the fic <3

Masterlist

A lone figure cuts through the wet fog, his collar turned up and shoulders hunched forward in a futile attempt to ward off the elements. The faded leather jacket may have been sufficient enough for even the coldest winter days in Austin, but against the drizzle and wind in this new climate, it only succeeds at keeping him dry. Mostly. The notion that he may not be as well-prepared as he had originally thought himself to be grates on him, shame niggling at the back of his spine at the realization that he doesn’t even know where to go to purchase a winter coat.

A gust of wind sends thousands of miniscule, stinging droplets of water into his face, making him grimace, and Marcus wonders to himself how it could possibly still be raining with temperatures so close to freezing.

It seems as though he’s stopped at every street crossing, because of course he is, and he squints against the endless line of headlights and brake lights extending in either direction, blurring and distorting in the soggy weather, as he waits for the traffic lights to turn.

It gets dark so early here.

His phone buzzes against fingers shoved in his pockets, and he fishes it out to read the text message that flashes on the screen.

Sorry, I think you might still have my spare key? If so can you mail it back? Thx.

The cavity of his chest feels empty and raw as his vision seems to darken around the words, twisting and warping them much like the rain and the headlights. Marcus pockets the phone again without responding and stares blankly at the ground. He thinks about the endless, pitch-black tunnels stretching out in every direction beneath him, wondering how many feet of asphalt and concrete there are between the bottoms of his feet and the top of the cavernous expanse of the DC underground. He imagines the sidewalk crumbling, sending him down into the unknown depths.

In reality, he takes the escalator across the street.

The station is buzzing with life–as it always seems to be, no matter the hour–and Marcus watches vibrant humanity swirl around him. Two teenagers sharing the same pair of headphones. A tired-looking mother with two young children. A woman in a business suit, eyes glued to her phone. A disheveled old man, smelling of booze, that everyone subconsciously steps around without even a look in his direction. 

Marcus fishes in his pocket for his metro card, his fingers bumping against the badge he had immediately unclipped from his lapel upon leaving work–the one that spells out a single word with big block letters, just another indignity upon all of the other indignities he’s suffered this week.

When he had asked why his regular badge–the one he’s clipped on his lapel every morning for over a decade–wasn’t sufficient, the bored door attendant tried to explain about building access being tied to his network credentials, which were tied to something called “Active Directory,” and it couldn’t be done right now because they were experiencing downtime after a backup server failed, and Marcus didn’t really understand what any of this meant or why this hadn’t all been set up beforehand, but there was hardly a point in trying to get answers to his questions because none of it would speed up the activation of his new credentials, nor the delivery of his new laptop, which wasn’t arriving until Monday.

None of this was done with malicious intent, of course; nor is he the only new employee affected, going by the line of badged Agents standing in line every morning this week to get the day’s temporary access, but Marcus still feels like a marked man. Separate. Apart. Singled-out. 

I am a visitor here. I am not permanent. 

It only compounds upon that same feeling inside of him: that feeling that he’s on some sort of strange vacation, and that soon he’ll be able to return home. Home. To his little duplex in Austin, where he shared one wall with Mrs. Ruth Galloway, the eighty-five year-old widow he had a cup of tea with every Sunday at two pm. To the city he knows, the field office where he’d spent most of his career, with familiar rooms and familiar faces… where she walks through the familiar halls. With him. 

Marcus swallows thickly, shoving the painful lump down into his stomach. 

No, he can’t go home.

The spacious condo certainly doesn’t feel like home when he opens the door to find the large living room dark and cold and foreboding, although that’s probably mostly his fault–the walls are still lined with moving boxes, most of them still half-full with his belongings, messy and unkempt after rummaging through them to find the essentials and leaving the rest.

When he had toured the building, two weeks before the move, the large residence felt full of dreams, of possibilities, rather than empty and sterile. Marcus remembers going from room to room, his head filled with images of an idealistic future: a king-sized bed, his and hers towels in the pristine bathroom, a bookshelf large enough to fit all of their books in the first spare room, and, in the second spare room… a crib. 

Now, they’re just two empty rooms. 

The fridge is empty too, Marcus suddenly remembers, having not had a chance to find a grocery store yet. He’s been living out of takeaway containers, not even bothering to open the box of dishes and silverware. He takes out two styrofoam boxes–one half-filled with leftover Pad Thai, the other with chicken Tikka Masala, and dumps them side-by-side into the same container with a half-grimace.

Beats going back out into the weather.

There are two beers left in a six-pack bought three days ago, so he opens one and takes a long sip while the microwave heats his food. He thumbs through the mail he left on the kitchen counter absentmindedly, finding mostly junk advertisements and coupons, but a takeout menu for a Sushi restaurant catches his eye. As he sets it on top of several other menus he’d accumulated over the last couple of days, the microwave beeps, alerting him to the fact that his dinner is ready. 

Marcus sits at the kitchen table and flicks on the TV in the living room, setting the channel to some random rerun of a syndicated sitcom that he doesn’t recognize, mostly for background noise. He pulls a somewhat-soggy copy of the Washington Post he snagged from the breakroom from his messenger bag and flips through the pages without really reading any of the headlines until he finds the crossword. He halfheartedly fills out the clues as he eats, the canned laugh track from the show filtering in and out of his awareness. The clue ‘strips in geography class (6 letters)’ finally causes him to rub at his temples, setting down the pen as he rises to his feet to toss the empty container and bottle in the trash. 

The other beer is popped open, and Marcus settles down on the couch, flipping through channels. He pauses briefly on a black and white film–Roman Holiday, he recognizes after a minute or two of watching–but when Ann and Joe kiss on the riverbank, he quickly switches to a basketball game instead. Keeping the volume low, he lets his mind wander as he blankly watches the teams run back and forth on the court, not all that interested in the score. 

He needs to buy food. He needs to find somewhere he can get a winter coat. He needs to find a post office, he suddenly remembers, thinking of the text message from earlier. He checks the time–late, probably too late. Wait, no–it’s two hours earlier in Austin. Two beers is hardly enough to even feel the alcohol, but apparently it’s enough to dull his sense of judgment, because he finds himself pulling out his phone. The call goes straight to voicemail, and he tries not to think about the possibility that she’s screening her calls because of him.

“Hi, uh… Hi. I’m sure you’re busy, but I got your message earlier about the key, and… I think I do have one, yeah, but I’m not sure… where, exactly. I’m still in the process of unpacking, got a couple more boxes to go through,” Marcus says, looking at the large pile of boxes in front of him and knowing he’s got many more throughout the house. “I’ll make it a priority to find it and send it off this weekend.

“It’s really nice here,” he continues, seemingly not able to stop the flow of words once they’ve started. “There’s a Thai place down the street that you’d like, but the spring rolls are so-so. Not like that one place we found in Ridgetop, remember that one?” Marcus chuckles softly to himself, hardly recognizing the sound of his own laughter, and it sends a pang down into his chest. “I–” he stutters, blinking rapidly. “I know things weren’t perfect between us. The–the timing wasn’t right, and there were a lot of… of uh, obstacles in our way, but I’ve been doing–” he huffs humorlessly, “–a lot of thinking over the past couple of days, and I think I understand now. I saw a life that I wanted, and… I pushed for it. I pushed too hard, without–without thinking about how you felt about it, about whether you were ready, whether you even wanted a life with me. You were… you were trying to tell me, that whole time… and I didn’t listen. But I… I think I finally see it–why I was the one worth leaving. It was never going to be me, it couldn’t have been. I ignored all the signs that I was pushing too hard, not listening, pressuring you…” He takes a shaky breath, and lets it out slowly. “I’m sorry. You were right to leave. I–I wish you the best, Teresa.”

*

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

The Postal Service

Smeared black ink

Your palms are sweaty

And I'm barely listening

To last demands

I'm staring at the asphalt wondering

What's buried underneath

I'll wear my badge

A vinyl sticker with big block letters

Adhering to my chest

That tells your new friends

I am a visitor here, I am not permanent

And the only thing

Keeping me dry is

You seem so out of context

In this gaudy apartment complex

(Where I am) A stranger with your door key

Explaining that I'm just visiting

(Where I am) And I am finally seeing

Why I was the one worth leaving

Why I was the one worth leaving

D.C. sleeps alone tonight

You seem so out of context

In this gaudy apartment complex

(Where I am) A stranger with your door key

Explaining that I'm just visiting

(Where I am) And I am finally seeing

Why I was the one worth leaving

Why I was the one worth leaving

The district sleeps alone tonight

After the bars turn out their lights

(Where I am) And send the autos swerving

Into the loneliest evening

(Where I am) And I am finally seeing

Why I was the one worth leaving

Why I was the one worth leaving

Why I was the one worth leaving

Why I was the one worth leaving

[see-arcane]

Happy Friday the 13th!

Time for some updates.

Plushies

I promise I have not forgotten the little guys-in-potentia. I’ve just been going through many circles of Hell trying to find a decent manufacturer that isn’t operating on some secret ‘Sorry, We Only Work with Brands ™ and Influencers ©, Enjoy Sending Half a Dozen Queries to Our Inbox-Void, You Little Nobody~ <3’ rule. So that was fun. But, finally, I think I’ve found a prospective maker. The issue?

The smallest bulk order is a 50-count. $30 each, roughly. Just for one. 30 x 50 = at least $1,500. If I try to do Mina and Jonathan (DO NOT SEPARATE), that’s 100 plushies. $3,000.

And that’s without dealing with the logistics of storing all the dang things, figuring out shipping costs depending on where I’d be mailing them (not including the packaging), and figuring out how to fairly price them without also gutting everyone’s wallets while we’re all broke.

Fundraising options like Kickstarter, Indiegogo, and Backerkit all look like the only solid way to go here, but they come with their own caveats.

I need some kind of prototype to have on display, not just the concept. The manufacturer I have in mind does provide a physical prototype prior to going to work on bulk orders, but I’d need to talk with them about the what-ifs involved if a fundraiser fails to drop enough cash to afford the full order.

I still need to figure out what a fair funding target would be that would cover cost of manufacturing/shipping/etc and I do not know that magic number.

Tiers? Do I do tiers with this? If so, how do I portion those out dollar-wise? What goodies can I throw in that would sweeten the deal? At the moment all I have is my writing.

Argh.

Really, 4) kind of sums up the whole thing at the moment. I really, really want to make all my assorted little guys come to cuddly life, but the numbers involved are looking more complicated than pi, especially when I—(frankly, all of us)—have Zero Money to gamble away. If I’m off by one (1) digit that means the difference between ‘Yes, I can pay for manufacturing and shipping and et ceteras no problem!’ and ‘WHOOPS SURPRISE YOU’RE PAYING AN EXTRA FEE OUT OF POCKET NOW BECAUSE YOU DID NUMBER WRONG, HA HA.’ Add that to the fact that I really don’t have anything tangible to pin to hypothetical tiers just now?

I’m afraid the plush Harkers (along with Quinn Morse and his new accessory) have to go on a back shelf for the time being.

But, for a more positive note…

October Scares and Scribbles

I plan to have a Substack in place sometime within October. It will include not just Harker’s current helping of chapters, but…

A new Harker teaser

Backups of some older stuff

[REDACTED] as a little Halloween treat

A generally tidier domain to keep my scattered scrawling in order

As it stands, I don’t feel comfortable turning it into a paid subscription Substack. I won’t be doing clockwork updates and what I will have up won’t be worth a routine fee. I’ll likely have a Ko-Fi link up as a sort of tip jar, but that’ll be that.

Speaking of money…

Maybe Making Merch?

Turns out the options for making less complicated bric-a-brac than stuffed animals are…less complicated. Imagine that. I’ve also been poking around looking at possibilities for stationery, bookmarks, cups, assorted bits and bobs. You know the Dracula Cast(ula) was made for journals and coffee mugs. However, I need to know what kind of designs folks would want to see. So:

The prospects here are much less stressful as far as puzzling out details goes, so I feel a little better about chewing on this. Still need to settle on Official Designs, but I’d wave those around for folks to see first.

All that said?

Argh

Because it bears repeating.

You’ll notice I haven’t laid out exact dates or timeframes for any of this stuff. That’s because I’m still neck-deep in the job hunt, along with grappling with the possibility of having to burn more money on new courses to enter a field I hate, but looks to be one of few career paths that will actually pay me more than pocket change. Said positions not even being guaranteed to still be in the same shape once I’m out of class. Same as my last job.

In four months, I’ll have been applying for a solid year. Every day. All to positions that either send copy-paste rejections, ghost outright, turn out to be thin veils for scams, or, most fun prospect, aren’t even real, because companies keep putting up false job openings to look like they’re expanding. My time has alternated between this and writing and trying not to look at my bank account. Between that and anxiety bordering on nausea concerning the upcoming election, my Halloween vibes are pretty bruised too.

It has. Not been the best time.

But the best part of it is still going on. Because that part is you guys. The people who’ve enjoyed my nonsense. The people who’ve actually dropped some bucks my way on Ko-Fi or bought my book! The people who’ve encouraged me for ages and have turned out to be some of the coolest folks a fellow bookworm could hope for. Thank you.

I hope you’ll cross your fingers for me going forward.

Postscript

I’m also working on the rough draft for this thing. Whether I can get it up on the platform I’d like or not, it will see daylight even if I have to drag it outside myself.

Living’s not cheap, but complaining is free. >:}

[ferrariswiftiespace]

chapter 1

busy woman - art donaldson x fem!oc

faceclaim mikey madison as emma zweig

warnings no tashi duncan; nsfw +18; my first story; a little of patrick x art but it’s not reciprocated

summary emma zweig always got what she wanted—except for art Donaldson, the one person her brother, patrick, had forbidden her from pursuing. that only made him more intriguing. but emma always get what she wants.

2006

stanford university.

emma zweig.

"this is the best news i've heard all day. thanks, maria," i said with a wide grin. my college counselor blinked at me, confused by my enthusiasm, but i couldn't care less. ornella, my chaotic, weed-smoking roommate, had finally been caught and expelled. with dorms already at capacity, it meant i'd have my room all to myself.

maria adjusted her glasses. "well, i'm glad you're pleased, but—"

"thanks again!" i interrupted before she could ruin my mood.

"wait, emma. you also have two packages waiting for you in the mailroom," she called after me. "remember, unclaimed mail after three days earns you a penalty!"

"got it, maria!" i waved her off, already heading toward the mailroom, my mind preoccupied with my newfound solitude.

when i arrived, my mood dampened. two massive boxes sat by the counter, and i immediately regretted my freshly done manicure. dad had mentioned sending my books, but this? this was excessive.

i crouched down and tried to pick up both boxes at once, wobbling precariously before the top one fell.

"shit," i hissed, scrambling to grab it. but before i could, a pair of strong hands swooped in, lifting the box with ease.

"let me help—"

"i've got it," i said sharply, not even looking up. but when i did, my words caught in my throat.

art donaldson.

he was unmistakable, though not entirely the same. his golden-blonde hair caught the light, but he wasn't the lanky boy i remembered. his shoulders were broader, his frame more athletic, and there was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself.

"emma?" his voice was familiar but deeper, more assured.

i blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "oh. hi, art." i glanced away, pretending to adjust the other box. "when did you...grow up?"

he chuckled, the sound warm and easy. "tennis does that, i guess," he said, shifting the box in his hands. a faint pink flushed his cheeks. "you look...different too. grown-up."

i snorted, crossing my arms. "is that your way of saying i was awkward before?"

"no," he said quickly, his grin widening. "just surprising to see you here. what are you doing at stanford?"

"graduated early," i said, lifting my chin. "decided to put patrick's college loans to good use since he didn't bother with higher education."

"that tracks," he said with a laugh. "i can't imagine patrick sitting through a lecture."

i smirked. "yeah, he's more of a hands-on kind of guy. but what about you, golden boy? still the tennis prodigy?"

his grin turned slightly sheepish. "i wouldn't say prodigy, but yeah, tennis is still the focus. i'm double majoring in econ and poli-sci. you know, just in case."

"stanford's golden child with a backup plan? impressive."

he chuckled again, adjusting the box. "and you? psychology, you said?"

"yep. someone has to figure out why men like you can't seem to handle a strong woman," i teased.

he rolled his eyes. "still as sharp as ever, i see."

we reached my dorm, and i unlocked the door, holding it open as he set the box down on my desk.

"thanks for the help," i said casually, though my heart was racing from the proximity.

"anytime," he said, lingering by the door.

"wait." i grabbed my phone and handed it to him. "give me your number. you know, in case i need more boxes carried."

he smirked but took the phone, typing quickly before handing it back. "sure. but don't expect me to answer every time."

"please," i said, leaning against the doorframe. "you'll be waiting for my call."

he laughed, shaking his head. "you haven't changed a bit."

"neither have you," i said softly, watching him as he walked away. he glanced back once, his smile lingering.

after he disappeared around the corner, i leaned against the closed door, my heart thudding. i hadn't seen art in years, but he was just as magnetic as i remembered. maybe even more so.

later that night, i stared at my phone, debating whether to text him. my fingers hovered over the screen before i typed:

emma: thanks again for your help today. guess i owe you one.

the response came almost immediately.

art: don't worry. i'll think of a way you can pay me back.

i smiled to myself, feeling the familiar thrill of our old dynamic creeping back in.

2004.

zweig’s house.

emma zweig.

the summer air was warm, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of chlorine from the pool. the backyard was alive with the hum of bees buzzing around mom's hydrangeas and the faint melody of this love by maroon 5 drifting from the kitchen stereo. sunlight dappled the stone patio, and i stretched out on a lounge chair, the heat of the sun kissing my skin as i worked on my tan. my sunglasses perched on my nose, a half-empty glass of iced lemonade sweating beside me, and a paperback novel i wasn't really reading sat open on my lap.

dad was by the grill, his polo shirt untucked and a spatula in hand, overseeing a barbecue feast. "you want chicken, or is steak okay with you, sunshine?" he called out, his voice carrying over the soft crackle of the coals.

"steak's fine, dad!" i answered, tilting my head lazily to look at him. he gave me a thumbs-up before flipping the meat with a practiced hand.

mom had left earlier to pick patrick up from the airport. it wasn't just him she was bringing back—it was them: patrick and his best friend, art donaldson. the two were inseparable, and every summer, we had this little routine. art would spend the first half of summer with us, and then patrick would head over to art's house for the second half. those weeks when both of them were here were my favorite. the three of us would spend long days in the pool, battling it out in mario kart on the living room tv, or just talking late into the night about everything and nothing.

the sound of tires crunching on the driveway signaled their arrival, and i sat up quickly, adjusting my bikini straps as excitement coursed through me. seconds later, the sliding glass door separating the living room from the backyard opened, and a familiar burst of laughter spilled out.

"hello, emma baby!" patrick's voice rang out before i even saw him.

i jumped up from my chair and ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck as he lifted me off the ground in a bear hug.

"i missed you so much!" i grinned, pulling back just enough to look at him. then i wrinkled my nose. "ew, why are you letting your face hair grow? you look ridiculous."

patrick rolled his eyes, grabbing my cheeks playfully and squeezing them. "and you look so grown up! stop it. it's weird."

"let go, idiot," i muttered, swatting his hands away, but i couldn't stop smiling.

then my attention shifted, my heart skipping a beat as my gaze landed on art. he stood just behind patrick, his blond hair catching the sunlight, his easy smile spreading across his face. my face flushed, though i hoped it didn't show.

"hi, art," i said, stepping toward him, my voice softer now. "i missed you too."

"hey, emma," he replied, his smile widening as he pulled me into a hug. it was quick, polite, and far too short for my liking, but my heart still fluttered at the feel of his arms around me.

patrick, ever the clown, shoved himself between us, throwing an arm around each of our shoulders. "you two are my favorite people in the whole world," he declared dramatically.

i laughed, reaching up to grab his hand. without warning, i bit it lightly, causing him to yelp.

"emma!" he shouted, laughing as i took off running. "you're dead meat!"

i sprinted across the yard, the sound of patrick's footsteps behind me, art's laughter trailing in the background. the chase was a familiar ritual, one that always ended with patrick catching me and threatening to throw me into the pool—though he never actually followed through.

that summer day felt endless, bathed in golden light and filled with laughter. even as i returned to my lounge chair and patrick and art started kicking a soccer ball around the yard, i couldn't stop sneaking glances at art. i was just patrick's little sister, i reminded myself. but still, i couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he noticed me the way i noticed him.

chapter 2

[maninthemiroh]

About my Criminal Minds DR

Full name: Gagak (Yes, that's it. I was born in Java, Indonesia, in this DR)

My nicknames: Corvid/ae/ (most of the team), Raden Mas (most of the world), Bird boy (Luke), The Crow (film fans)

My faceclaim: LØREN

Gender identity: Cis-male

Orientation: Demi-romantic/sexual

Age upon first shift: 20

More about me and changes I made below the cut <3

My style:

I wasn't going to have this kind of style, as evidenced by my previous post about this DR, but I read through one (1!) fanfiction series about cowboy!reader x Criminal Minds yesterday and… Also, for some reason, black, red, and white were thee colors when I was making the wardrobe section on this Pinterest board? I blame my top #6 video game characters: Ash (King of Fighters), Iori (KOF), Rock (also, KOF), Shadow (Sonic), Skarlet (MK), and Vice (KOF, again). Ahaha, guess what my favorite video game is 🤔 Anyway, RDR2 outfit pic creds to user @/kaddishaun on Pinterest!

Fun facts about me and my life:

Youngest FBI informant a month after moving to the US (subsequently also a month after I turned 10), I'm sort of replacing White Boy Rick in a sense, but without the bad ending and horrible father figure.

Officially joined the FBI at age 11 once I got dual citizenship for the US and Indonesia (yes, I know that's not possible in this reality).

IQ of 304 because I'm an attention whore 😀.

Tallest person ever, as per usual, "only" 9'3 this time, though.

Youngest person to graduate high school, age five at SMA Taruna Nusantara

Youngest person to ever graduate college, age six, via an accelerated course thanks to a 127-page dissertation on serial killers that earned me my first PhD, one in Criminal Justice, at the University of Indonesia.

Besides my first PhD, I have twelve others, one in Chemistry, another in Computer and Information Sciences, then Cybersecurity, Engineering, Mathematics, Pharmacology, Philosophy, Physics, Political Science, Psychology, Public Administration, and Statistics.

Took the CTY entry exam, after it was mailed to me, and aced it, but they originally said I would have to move to Maryland, which I simply refused to do, so I almost turned it down before my parents mailed them a letter back asking if I could do dual enrollment and they'd, as rich people, pay for the transport of my schoolwork to and from our estate in Java, and it was not a surprise when the school board agreed.

When I first opened my eyes in the emergency room, my dad was holding me, and he was wearing a jade necklace, one long enough for me to reach out and grab—I did so, though, my grip wasn't very strong. As such, my mother suggested I be named after the jewel, but my grandfather, who recently visited Banggai, suggested the name Gagak, meaning crow, and my parents liked that better.

I spoke for the first time at 4 weeks and four days, simply said the word "shiny," and grabbed at my great aunt's pearl earring. This further reinforced for my family that my name was meant to be.

It's rude to call an Indonesian person by their full first name, so most have nicknames, and, my first name being what it is, my nickname wasn't hard for Spencer the team to think up.

Unit chief of the BAU since Hotch and Jack went into Witness Protection

I can speak, write, and comprehend all 700+ languages used in Indonesia.

I can read 30,000 words per minute and write 15,000.

Autodidact with an eidetic memory.

I played Eric Draven in the 1994 action fantasy film, The Crow (I will go on to play the same role in the 2024 remake)

From ages 14-19, I was the lead singer and backup guitarist in a faceless V-Kei trio called Birds Dig Us under the stage name, Rook, and we were actually the number one boy band at the time 😭. We haven't released music since 2001, but we didn't break up either [Insider info: things are cooking].

My other bandmates were Miyavi (Dué le Quartz, Skin, The Last Rockstars) on guitar and backup vocals, stage name Tsubasa, and Kai (the GazettE) on drums, stage name Torrio, by the way.

Also, Birds Dig Us made all the songs for The Crow's soundtrack.

I have a southern accent because, after moving to the US and before joining the BAU, I lived in Texas.

Reid's autism and mine feed off of one another, if you couldn't tell…

Some other things I changed:

I scripted that Austin the Bartender, Beth Clemmons, Elle Greenaway, Jason Gideon, Jordan Todd, Kevin Lynch, Maeve Donovan, Maxine Brenner, Stephen Walker, and Tyler Green don't exist, as well as that Aaron Hotchner, Alex Blake, Derek Morgan, and Kate Callahan never leave the BAU (for good, at least).

After Scratch dies, Hotch comes back to the BAU, but I keep my new position as unit chief, and Hotch just becomes a regular member of the team.

Reid and I both get actual diagnoses 😓

It takes longer for the team to go through the motions of Rossi's past because it felt far too quickly done in canon for me. Rearranged a bunch of episodes in the timeline for this and other reasons.

Morgan has lessened trust issues.

JJ didn't emotionally cheat on Will, her fucking baby daddy, because what the fuck was that??

Also, Haley and Hotch were less toxic because WOAH and Strauss and Rossi aren't hunching.

To sum things up: As of now, the BAU consists of its legal expert and former Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner; Alex Blake, a linguist who assists with nuances in communication; David Rossi, one of the first BAU agents and a specialist in hostage negotiation; Derek Morgan, an ex-Chicago policeman with proficiency in obsessional crimes and explosives; Emily Prentiss, a master at child advocacy and counter-terrorism; Jennifer Jareau, the communications liaison and a standard profiler; John Blackwolf, a standard profiler; Kate Callahan, an experienced undercover agent; Luke Alvez, an adept fugitive tracker; Matt Simmons, a skilled profiler from the FBI International Response Team; Penelope Garcia, the technical analyst; Spencer Reid, an elite geographic profiler and chirography analyst; Tara Lewis, a forensic psychologist; and myself, the squad's current Unit Chief and sex crime expert.

PS: My voice claim is Corpse Husband because when given the choice to become my ideal self, why wouldn't I? Before anyone comes at me, I did use to have GERD! I didn't script myself having any disorders I don't or didn't have in this reality.

Taglist: @amiivrse @the-badass-penguin

Divider credits: @/i-mmaculatus and @/v6quE

[24-7-testing]

URGENT! ARTWORK WANTED!

PHSI has an artist for 2023, but they aren't sure they'll be able to finish the artwork in time. I know this is short notice, but are there any Portal artists out there who want to create artwork to be featured on the Holiday Cards?

If this year's artist pulls through, your artwork will be saved and featured on the Holiday Cards in 2024! If they don't pull through, your artwork will go out on this year's Holiday Cards. There is no monetary compensation for helping with PHSI, just the knowledge that your artwork will be mailed/emailed all across the world (and a card of your own too)!

Here's what artwork PHSI needs:

Option 1: With Characters

Must contain the following characters: Chell, GLaDOS, Wheatley

May also include other characters from the games.

Characters must be drawn as they appear in the videogames. No humanizations, gender swaps, animal versions, etc.

Scene prompt: A snapshot from the company holiday party.

Option 2: Without Characters

A background, scene, or location somewhere inside Aperture that gives cozy Winter vibes.

Possible elements of the scene include: views of snow at night, warm lighting, fireplace, hot chocolate, and other cozy winter things.

Requirements for Both Options:

Must be Holiday/Religion neutral (based on Wintertime in general).

Must be high resolution.

Must be 7.25 x 5.25 inches, landscape/horizontal format.

Must be completed no later than November 24th 2023.

I will be circulating this post daily for the next week, or until suitable artwork is found. Please DM me if you are interested in helping, and don't be afraid to submit your artwork! If I get more than one backup artwork, they will be saved and featured in future PHSI events.

If you're not artistically talented, please reblog this post to boost it instead! Thank you everyone for your help!

- 24-7-testing

[nitpickrider]

I dislike this...learned helplessness this era brought out in a lot of mutants. Since when would someone like Marrow need to mail out for backup? X Men Unlimited Infinity 76

[angelasscribbles]

Savage Love Chapter 36: Lost and Found

Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: R         

Warnings: Mature themes

Word Count: 1,982

My other stuff: Master List.

Leo

The world spun as I struggled to put the pieces together. The woman sitting in front of me wasn’t Cora Illiopolis, she was Helena Rys née Samaras and she was my mother.

Or at least she had given birth to me. Eleanor had raised me. I had lost my mother when she was murdered just as much as Liam had. Eleanor had brought love, warmth, and laughter into the cold, sterile world I had existed in with Constantine. She had given me a brother and she had loved me as if I were her actual son.

Helena was barely a memory. A scandal. An unfortunate footnote in the history of the Rys family.

But the framed photo in my hand contradicted everything I had been told about her.

“You were the lady in the park?” It felt like a stupid question. Clearly, she was. I had the photographic evidence in my hand. I had my own fucking memories. They might be decades old, but I remembered her. I remembered her laughter, her smile, and how kind she always was to me.

“Yes,” she seemed sad as she recalled, “Eleanor was generous enough to meet with me secretly so I could see you on a regular basis, even if I couldn’t tell you who I really was.”

“Why?” I demanded as I struggled to keep my emotions under control, “Why did it have to be a secret?”

Her gaze darted from my face to Liv’s as if searching for some backup. She looked stricken as she stumbled over her answer, “Because…ah..your father…I don’t know if you realize….it wasn’t my choice….he….I wasn’t supposed to….I shouldn’t have even been in Cordonia, but Eleanor, she….she saw that it wasn’t right….”

Nausea flooded over me in a rush as the truth hit me. She hadn’t abandoned me, she had been forced out. So many things from my past snapped into place, this one crucial piece of missing information making it all make sense. My father’s over-protectiveness, his close scrutiny of guest lists, the vetting of my mail, more so than his own, or even Liam’s. As if he were trying to keep the world away from me. Not the whole world, apparently. Just my mother.

Liv’s hand on my shoulder shook me back to the present. “I’m sorry,” I managed, “I need a minute.”

“Of course-“ Helena said more, but I didn’t hear it. I jolted out of my seat and straight out the front door.

“Leo!” Liv threw a quick apology to Helena before chasing after me. “Are you okay?”

“I….” I was bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air. I had just been delivered the shock of a lifetime, and I felt like a fool. I should have known.

Constantine Rys was nothing if not controlling, manipulative, and vengeful. That man could hold a grudge like no one else I’ve ever met, and he did not brook disagreements, insubordination, or independent thought.

Of fucking course he had banished my mother after the divorce. Cordonian law ensured the crown had primary custody, but no, that wouldn’t have been enough for the old man. He would have wanted to make her pay for the sin of leaving him. For the embarrassment. And so what if it wrecked emotional devastation on his son?

My entire childhood had been spent wondering why my own mother didn’t want me. I shook my head as Liv’s hand landed on my back. I looked up at her from my bent-over position, angry tears in my eyes, “That fucking bastard!”

“Oh, Leo…”

I straightened up and pulled her to me, drawing her into my body and crushing her against me as if the tightness of my embrace could shield us both from the cruelty and capriciousness of the world. “I promise I will never turn into my father!” I sobbed into her hair.

“I know,” her voice was soft and soothing as her fingers threaded through my hair, “I love you, Leo. You’re nothing like him.”

“I love you so much, Livvie,” I sniffled as I finally managed to wrest my emotions into order, “I don’t deserve you. Are you sure you don’t want to find someone with less baggage?”

“Hush,” she scoffed, “We have matching baggage. There’s no one out there better than you. Not for me.”

I pulled away and wiped at my face, “Thanks. We should…we should go back in.”

Helena was coming out of the kitchen as we entered the living room, “I cleaned up the tea, I wasn’t sure if you were coming back...”

I strode quickly across the room and engulfed her in my arms, hugging her just as tightly as I’d hugged Liv, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you. I didn’t know….I would have looked for you sooner!”

She dissolved into tears in my arms, “It wasn’t your fault! You didn’t know. How could you? I’m sorry, Leo! I should have tried harder, I should have-“

“You couldn’t fight a literal king and the entire King’s Guard. I get that.”

“I was going to contact you once you became king-“

I laughed as I released her, “I’m here now and I won’t lose you again, you can count on that!”

“I’m sorry I had to go into hiding, I had to protect Lena…”

“Right,” I had all but forgotten the thing that had brought us here, “Lena. How did that happen? How did you end up with her?”

“I was only supposed to take care of her for a week or two while Eleanor went back to Cordonia for you and Liam. She was leaving him. We were all going to disappear together. She would have her two children, I would have mine, and we would both be free of Constantine. But she never came back.”

“Yes. We know that much.” It explained why Eleanor had planned to take me too. She had been going to deliver me to my mother. What would my life have looked like if their plan had succeeded?

“Jackson thought it would be safest for the baby if she disappeared and no one ever knew she existed.”

“But why? My father is a monster, but even he wouldn’t hurt his own child. I mean, physically anyway.”

“That’s the reason she was running. The baby wasn’t his. He would have killed her if he’d known.”

Now I felt like I was going to throw up. Had he known? Was he responsible for her death? I hoped to all that was holy he had not been, for Liam’s sake. That just might break him.

“Who was the father? Do you know?”

“Yes. It was Jackson Walker.”

Riley

Sigrid excused herself to go and mingle. I had no choice but to let her. I couldn’t seem too eager. People like her could sniff desperation a mile away. Besides, I wasn’t desperate. I was so close I could taste it.

Taking down the Cordonian branch was no longer good enough. Not when I had the entire European division within my grasp.

We could take down the local organization and they would have a stranglehold again within five years. Cutting off a tentacle wasn’t enough, we needed to take the head.

Bringing down the entire Via Imperii would be quite the feat for a GIA agent. It would fast-track my career into upper management and ensure me any assignment I wanted.

That’s what I told myself anyway. That it was all about the feather in my cap. The professional prestige, and that it had nothing to do with the fact that as long as the Via Imperii had a foothold anywhere in Europe, the future king of Cordonian would be in danger.

The moment Leo’s abdication was officially announced, Liam would receive the same offer Leo had and though I had tried to pitch the usefulness of playing along for the sake of gaining a tactical advantage, Liam had been just as steadfast as his brother in his refusal to even pretend to entertain their offer.

I understood his reasons, but Jesus fucking Christ he wasn’t making my job easy.

The social season was almost over. I was running out of time. I had been putting off submitting my report for days now because I knew the mission objective was in hand. The Corodian branch had been compromised. I knew who led it, I knew who all the members were, and I knew where their headquarters were located. After tonight, I would know if the missing Rys heir was a real threat or not.

Command was going to say there was no reason not to breach. The mission's objective was clear: Take down the Cordonian branch of the Via Imperii. That’s what we were invited here to do, and that result was well within our reach.

But it was no longer enough for me. I needed to protect my friends. I needed to protect Liam.

I just needed a little more time to worm my way further into the organization, to gain Sigrid’s trust. To find out if the estate we were standing in was the headquarters of upper leadership and if not, what was. To find out who the leader of the European division was. And if my intel was correct, the leader of the entire thing.

We could rid the planet of the whole putrid, rotting, evil cabal. And who wouldn’t want that?

Hopefully, Lena was an unwitting pawn and not an evil sibling hell-bent on taking down her brothers. Experience told me the chances of her seeing reason were slim. Power corrupts. The promise of a throne and the lure of a crown might be too much to overcome, but a girl could hope.

As we took our seats for dinner, Sigrid stood at the head of the table. Every head turned to face her. Every voice quieted in her presence. She smiled benignly, “It’s so nice to have you all here tonight. Thank you, King Eirik, for hosting us, and thank you Duke Richards and Duchess Ebrim for making the trip. As you all know, Cordonia is next on our list of…acquisitions.”

She paused as quiet laughter rounded the table.

“I heard the crown prince turned us down,” Eirik tipped his head expectantly.

Sigrid shot him a look of annoyance, “Yes, he did but he’s no longer the crown prince. It hasn’t been publicly announced yet, but Leo Rys has abdicated. Prince Liam will take his place. We anticipate a rejection from him as well however, he must pick a queen, and the two top contenders for that role are members in good standing within our ranks.” She tipped her glass of champagne toward me and Madeleine.

I inclined my head in acknowledgment as curious murmurs broke out and heads craned in our direction.

“That’s fine and well, but on the off chance that he doesn’t pick one of them….” Godfrey shot Madeleine an apologetic glance, “I don’t doubt you darling, but I have intelligence that suggests he might be considering another suitor. In that case,” he turned his attention back to Sigrid, “I have been assured we have an insurance policy.”

“Indeed, we do,” Sigrid smirked as she gestured to one of the guards near the door.

The door swung open. A figure strode through it. I quickly noted dark hair, like Liam’s, the signature Rys chin, and the same ocean blue eyes that belonged to both Leo and Constantine. But the detail that took me completely aback was that the lost heir to the Cordonian throne wasn’t Leo and Liam’s sister at all.

I didn’t know where Lena was at that moment, but she certainly wasn’t in Hidar.

Sigrid smiled lovingly at the newcomer as she announced to the room, “Allow me to introduce my cousin Constantine’s long-lost child. The one I have raised as my own son. Anton Severus Rys.”

Well, shit.  

[techniktagebuch]

4. Dezember 2023

Der weiß doch nicht mal, wie meine Laufwerke heißen

Im Traum bekomme ich eine Mail, eine unangenehme Mischung aus Aggression und "ich möchte dich kennenlernen". Der Absender teilt mir mit, dass er meinen Laptop gehackt hat und ich mich bei ihm melden muss, wenn ich wissen will, wie ich wieder an meine Daten komme.

Es ist zwar wirklich gerade irgendwas seltsam an meinem Laptop, aber gehackt, das glaube ich nicht. Denn es ist der Laptop, den ich real vor siebenundzwanzig Jahren hatte, ein drei Kilo schwerer AcerNote, auf dem Windows 3.1 läuft, mit Disketten. Der Verbrecher weiß doch nicht mal, wie meine Laufwerke heißen, denke ich. Im Traum heißt das eine Laufwerk B:, und das ist für diesen Hackvorgang wichtig, oder ich glaube das jedenfalls. Auch sonst ist auf diesem Gerät bestimmt alles anders, als Hacker von 2023 es erwarten, außerdem habe ich Backups von allem. Ich mache mir wenig Sorgen.

Eigentlich war ich gerade damit beschäftigt, mit diesem Laptop ein ganz neues Speichermedium auszuprobieren. Es ist etwa 5 x 5 cm groß, nur so dick wie eine stabile Plastikfolie und zum Teil, vor allem am Rand, transparent. Der nicht transparente Rest sieht aus wie eine Mischung aus Photovoltaikpanel und QR-Code, und wenn ich das Speichermedium mit Daten beschreibe, kann ich sehen, wie sich diese Zellen füllen. Der alte Laptop hat im Traum einen passenden Slot dafür an der Vorderkante des Gehäuses, dort, wo bei meinem allerersten, noch viel älteren Computer die zwei Diskettenlaufwerke waren.

Mein Kollege Harald N. hat dem Angreifer inzwischen schon höflich-abweisend geantwortet: Er glaubt auch nicht, dass mein Laptop gehackt worden ist, denn er kann ihn in seinem Netzwerk noch sehen und <noch irgendwelche anderen Argumente>. Ich freue mich, denn ich lese aus der Mail, dass Harald selbstverständlich davon ausgeht, dass ich aktuelle Backups habe und dass er genau wie ich an die Unhackbarkeit meiner Verhältnisse glaubt. Auch wenn das vor allem an meiner uralten Technik liegt.

(Kathrin Passig)

[firespirited]

I should probably make a scavenging tag to keep tab of this buuuut it kind of goes under the home hacks and multipurpose crafting i've been doing ever since that first 2008 doll streaks with gold embroidery floss rooted using a toothbrush handle with the needle inserted by melting over a candle.

Guess this is kind of my brand. ¯\_(◡‿◡)_/¯

On Friday, I walked Lily briefly and found a big bin bag that was someone's chest of drawers emptied so I sorted it into clothes, recyclable and rubbish put it all in the correct bins and left the clothes and accessories for others to go through after picking out a few gorgeous scarves, a brand-new djellaba in bronze cotton, a lovely stained cream jumper (sweater) that i'm going to dye: it had a snagged loose knit - crochet looking but done by machine - back that just needed re-knotting/rethreading (what ever the word is for when you use tweezers to weave the yarn back through its original pattern and knot it down), a machine knitted snood to frog/unravel, some glitter body lotion and a notebook.

*I found the glue at another bin next to a bunch of tools (including a stainless ratchet wrench 😍 with accessories I couldn't carry 😥) thought I'd grab the glue in case there was a chance you could get some out by using a pin through the top as I'm currently waiting for superglue in the mail. Score: It's not jammed at all.

Loctite powerflex is pricey (€7 for 3g when you can get 20 x 3g liquid superglue for €4) and takes about double the time to set (hold tight and count to at least sixty not thirty) but it is magical stuff: not only does it go where you direct it to, you have a window to wipe off any excess without it leaving damage and it holds really well without cracking on flexible surfaces like vinyl, shoe soles, headphone wires. It's got superglue in it but also some kind of rubber base solution. It's one of those fancy glues you want around for the special stuff while having a backup of bog-standard superglue for basic repairs.

*I keep sleep and symptom notebooks to keep track of any circadian rhythm disruptions, migraines, gastrointestinal issues so I can circle back to a particular food or activity. I'd been using these cute panda shaped accounting notepads and stocked up but as with all things good, they got discontinued. I tried other notepads but it wasn't quite right: it needs to be lightweight, easily replaceable if I drop water on it, as unobtrusive as possible. This merch pocket book with the 5mm squares is just right when unbound into 6.

/// I learned this trick as a kid, someone showed me how different books were bound and how to salvage thrown out school exercise books, remelt crayons, use carbon copy, properly wash brushes... that kind of stuff. I think it was a free summer art class where you turn up and there are all sorts of different people and even if you end up just drawing ye olde square house, you absorb a bunch of history or techniques and get to watch other people: how they sketch, how they observe, I think that was the first time i'd seen cross-hatching and then couldn't unsee it in illustrations. I'm so glad my parents dropped me off at the various council, museum and church free events as a kid: some are really rigid and you get in trouble if you don't assemble the pompom bird exactly as instructed, others are an occasion to bond with some grandpa who'll show you how to whittle or learn and learn. ///

Why not go digital? because you don't want your phone on: you'll forget what you were supposed to do and go down a rabbit hole. Besides, half those things come with weird reward systems that make me feel obligated or guilty, or worse: diet propaganda. So that lil find has me set for the next year, I transcribed my current messy too big notepad into two pages and voilà! (well i still have a couple of symptoms to add now that i look it over)

*After working with yarn for a while, you start to get a sense for the type that doesn't pull apart when brushed or tugged and it's rarer than you'd expect so I took the snood despite not liking the green tinge to the mustardy colour: it doesn't make clawdeen's skin tone pop for example. So it's the right fibre with a light enough base for some dye experiments.

*it has taken forever and it's just a start (50+ more) but I have listed 12 more dolls on ebay!! there are reroots from before I got injured and deglued dolls i'm really proud of. If you're interested, I'd much prefer to sell in bulk to the EU, will happily sell at cost instead of those higher ebay prices and have a ton of doll heads and partially finished projects if you repaint or reroot.

[necromancercoding]

¡Hola, Necro! Llevo varios días que no puedo crearme foros de prueba usando mails de usar y tirar (10minutemail, por ejemplo), cuando hasta ahora siempre he podido. Que el mail de confirmación no llega. ¿Sabes (o a lo mejor algunx de tus seguidorxs) si est�� pasando algo con FA? Que seguramente seré yo la única del problema, pero para confirmar que no es FA haciendo algo (como que esté prohibiendo ese tipo de mails no reales, no lo sé). ¡Un saludo!

¡Hola anon! La verdad es que no sé si esos mails pueden tener algún tipo de problema, y no recomendaría su uso para empezar. Porque si pierdes en algún momento el acceso al foro por X razón, es lo primero que los admins de FA te van a pedir para poder reinstaurarte el foro, hacer un backup...

Mi recomendación es que uses un email real, al que tengas acceso, y si ya es uno que tienes registrado en otro foro, uses la técnica del plus. Si tu mail es ejemplodemailnumero1@direcciondemail.com, pon un plus seguido del nombre del foro. Por ejemplo: ejemplodemailnumero1+lasarandonga@direcciondemail.com. Apunta esas cosas siempre en un bloc de notas que no vayas a perder por si se diera el caso de que necesites el mail tal cual lo pusiste en el fundador y listo.

PD: Esta técnica funciona también para crear múltiples cuentas con el mismo mail. Útil para que todas las notificaciones te lleguen al correo correcto 😉

[xsoldier]

It's like he's TRYING to broadcast to the entire world how little he knows about any of the things he's doing and how he's eliminated all of the competent staff who would normally prevent this kind of thing.

Like "Twitter" is one of the most globally recognizable brands in the WORLD, and trying to achieve that type of marketing awareness is INSANELY difficult, not to mention that effective SEO for a single letter is basically impossible to achieve.

For example: think about searching for something like "Jack Black Twitter" and now think about the search for "Jack Black X" how likely are you to land on the result you're trying to find? There's a REASON companies choose names that are natural sounding but slightly obscure. Google, Bing, Yahoo, MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, TikTok etc. are names designed to effectively optimize the ability for search engines to locate and elevate the results when people are looking for them. Now think about how many other pages have "X" in them and how a search engine can effectively surface that.

The worst part of this is that this is what the ultra rich are capable of doing to an entire communications system at their whim. Imagine if this was a private postal service, but if it suddenly shut down, every letter or piece of mail that you'd ever sent with them would also vanish. Like, there will be Internet Archive backups, but that's mostly it.

Back in the early 2000s, if your admin went fucking nuts & privated the whole community, if they became mad with power and drove everything into the ground, if someone just didn't renew the domain name or the server owner didn't allow you to keep being hosted — the community could still find backups of the information and restart it somewhere else. I know this because we did exactly that in the early 2000s with the forums I've been an admin of now for almost 15 years.

Twitter can't really do that and Threads or other pop-up replacements are just solutions of other mega corporations trying to monetize upon an unstable market and reinforce their own existing ecosystem, and further gain control over more of those things in a single location that's incentivized AGAINST allowing multi-party interoperability like Reddit cutting off API access to third parties after Twitter did the same. Yes, tumblr is a refuge but for how long?

This is also why online communities moving off webforms and on to Discord gets worrying, because when THOSE communities go dark, the totality of that information up and vanishes. No Web Archive backups. Nothing. There is a worrying volatility about historic information these days, and while I know online platforms don't seem all that important sometimes, it's important to remember random documents and manuscripts are historically significant.

Conversation about preserving digital video games is getting more prominent as companies stop supporting the distribution platforms and the games just up and COMPLETELY vanish at the whims of some random rich idiot who doesn't know what the fuck they're doing, or who does know and doesn't care.

Not just that, but a lot of modern social media platforms are usually the only methods of correspondence we have with at least a few people, and there's a wealthy third party who essentially owns your ability to stay connected to them. It's kind of terrifying to watch how easy it is for someone to sabotage that out of idiocy and ignorance, but it should be more worrying to consider how much easier that would be for someone with the full intent to do so.

Capitalists & oligarchs don't care about the things they preside over, and while it's fun to point and laugh at their expense when the extension of the thing they represent is catching fire, it's important to also consider exactly what the big picture of that means for the future.

I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:

Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.

The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.

The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.

The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.

Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.

The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.

Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".

He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.

This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.