#Synthetic Call Options

[signode-blog]

Trading Strategies Using the Synthetic Call Options

The Synthetic Call options trading strategy is an advanced options trading technique that replicates the payoff of a long call option using a combination of a long stock position and a long put option. This strategy is beneficial for traders who want the benefits of a long call option without actually purchasing the call. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore various effective trading…

[arctic-hands]

rip in peace calvin klein plain white all cotton mens t-shirts I got as a gift like 8 years ago that are super comfy and just the right thickness and are only just now starting to become threadbare and stained but I am not paying thirty-five dollars for 3 new plain white tees that were probably also made in the same factory as the 6 pack of hanes cotton plain white tees I bought by overseas laborers for slave wages

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless!reader au, how the boys would spend HOURS searching for candles that properly represented their scents so reader would feel included in the nest

Anyway just wanted to say I LOVE your writing and you've got me inspired to write my own little designationless!reader au (which if I ever do post, I will tag you for credits ❤️❤️), its just has so many possibilities

Every time I see you post, blog, wtver this website wants to call it, my day gets a little brighter :)

-👽

omg thank you so so so much anon?? you are so very sweet!! i am very happy to know you like my stuff and felt inspired by it!! i hope you enjoy this, your idea was wonderful! <33 omegaverse masterlist

The idea had started innocently enough.

Gaz had mentioned it one night while they were snuggled in the nest, you nestled warm and comfy between them all. You’d fallen asleep on Price’s chest, Soap’s arm thrown over your waist, Ghost’s steady breathing brushing your temple, and Gaz quietly watching from the edge.

“She can’t smell us,” Gaz had murmured, musing and cutting through the peaceful silence. “But… what if she could? Just a little? For the nest.”

It was a seed of an idea that quickly took root in all of them.

The next day, they found themselves walking through shops they’d normally never step foot in- boutiques, candle stores, even a few farmers’ markets. Price looked utterly out of place amongst rows of colorful jars, his gruff demeanor clashing with the delicate scents wafting around him. Soap, on the other hand, took to it with a determination that made the staff wary as he sniffed candle after candle, holding them up to Gaz and Ghost for confirmation.

“This one’s close, isn’t it?” he asked, holding up a jar labeled Amber Woods. He shoved it under Ghost’s nose, earning an irritated growl.

“Too sweet,” Ghost muttered then, shaking his head. “Try again.”

Gaz was off in another aisle, holding up a candle labeled Vanilla Bourbon and frowning. “This isn’t right either. It’s too… fake.” He sighed, setting it down with a heavy thunk. “How’s it this hard to find something that fits?”

Price stood in the corner, his brow furrowed as he examined the names on the candles. He knew and had been told many times his cedarwood scent was sharp and earthy, grounding in a way that none of these synthetic imitations could capture. He picked one up- Smoked Cedar- and took a deep inhale.

“Not bad." He said after a moment, setting it aside in their “maybe” pile.

They spent hours combing through the store, moving from candle jars to wax melts to essential oil blends. They argued with each other quietly, then with the amused store employees, their tones growing increasingly frustrated with each other as they tried to find scents that truly represented themselves.

“It’s just a candle, sirs,” One employee, clearly annoyed with them, chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Does it really matter this much?”

Ghost’s dark eyes snapped to him, his voice low and dangerous, not helped by the balaclava and cap he wore. “It’s not just a candle. It’s for someone.”

That shut the employee up quickly.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity and much sniffing, they settled on a few options.

When they brought the candles back to the nest (oh, how they loved that you were beginning to spend more and more of your free time there), you blinked up at them, confused by their triumphant expressions and the little bag Price held in his hand. They looked a little too proud of themselves.

“What’s all this?” You asked, sitting up from your spot. I

“Something for you.” Price said simply, his voice soft as he placed candles on the table.

Soap grinned, almost vibrating with excitement and pride as he gestured for you to come closer. “Go on, lass. Smell ‘em.”

You leaned forward, hesitantly uncapping the first candle. The cedarwood hit you first, earthy and grounding, and your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed in delight. You glanced up at Price when you heard a deep rumble you've come to understand as prideful.

“This is.... you, isn't it?” you realized, earning a small nod from him.

You went through each one, inhaling the soft citrus of Soap’s, the richness of Ghost’s smoky scent, the soothing vanilla of Gaz’s. By the time you finished, you stared at them with something akin to more awe than the sun has for its orbiting planets.

“You did this... for me?”

“Of course,” Gaz pressed a kiss to your temple. “Wanted you to feel like you’re part of us. Always.”

You didn’t know what to say, but as they lit the candles and pulled you back into the nest, you felt surrounded by them in a way you never had before.

And for the first time, you felt as if you could... be like them. For once, you understood what their scents were like- a part of their world for just a moment.

You will be keeping those candles.

[reasonsforhope]

"A team at Northwestern University has come up with the term “dancing molecules” to describe an invention of synthetic nanofibers which they say have the potential to quicken the regeneration of cartilage damage beyond what our body is capable of.

The moniker was coined back in November 2021, when the same team introduced an injection of these molecules to repair tissues and reverse paralysis after severe spinal cord injuries in mice.

Now they’ve applied the same therapeutic strategy to damaged human cartilage cells. In a new study, published in the Journal of the American Chemical Society, the treatment activated the gene expression necessary to regenerate cartilage within just four hours.

And, after only three days, the human cells produced protein components needed for cartilage regeneration, something humans can’t do in adulthood.

The conceptual mechanisms of the dancing molecules work through cellular receptors located on the exterior of the cell membrane. These receptors are the gateways for thousands of compounds that run a myriad of processes in biology, but they exist in dense crowds constantly moving about on the cell membrane.

The dancing molecules quickly form synthetic nanofibers that move according to their chemical structure. They mimic the extracellular matrix of the surrounding tissue, and by ‘dancing’ these fibers can keep up with the movement of the cell receptors. By adding biological signaling receptors, the whole assemblage can functionally move and communicate with cells like natural biology.

“Cellular receptors constantly move around,” said Northwestern Professor of Materials Sciences Samuel Stupp, who led the study. “By making our molecules move, ‘dance’ or even leap temporarily out of these structures, known as supramolecular polymers, they are able to connect more effectively with receptors.”

The target of their work is the nearly 530 million people around the globe living with osteoarthritis, a degenerative disease in which tissues in joints break down over time, resulting in one of the most common forms of morbidity and disability.

“Current treatments aim to slow disease progression or postpone inevitable joint replacement,” Stupp said. “There are no regenerative options because humans do not have an inherent capacity to regenerate cartilage in adulthood.”

In the new study, Stupp and his team looked to the receptors for a specific protein critical for cartilage formation and maintenance. To target this receptor, the team developed a new circular peptide that mimics the bioactive signal of the protein, which is called transforming growth factor beta-1 (TGFb-1).

Northwestern U. Press then reported that the researchers incorporated this peptide into two different molecules that interact to form supramolecular polymers in water, each with the same ability to mimic TGFb-1...

“With the success of the study in human cartilage cells, we predict that cartilage regeneration will be greatly enhanced when used in highly translational pre-clinical models,” Stupp said. “It should develop into a novel bioactive material for regeneration of cartilage tissue in joints.”

“We are beginning to see the tremendous breadth of conditions that this fundamental discovery on ‘dancing molecules’ could apply to,” Stupp said. “Controlling supramolecular motion through chemical design appears to be a powerful tool to increase efficacy for a range of regenerative therapies.”"

-via Good News Network, August 5, 2024

[seat-safety-switch]

"Aren't you worried about your brand?" asks Josh, the prototypical hominid who was formed in a vat this very morning. Even though scientists have conclusively proven they don't have souls, it is still not okay to commit violence upon their unpersons.

Back on my first cycle, society actually used real humans as internet marketing experts. It was cruel, for sure, but we had no other options. Initial experiments in training dogs to do it had raised the ire of every animal-rights group from here to Baltimore (inclusive,) but you can always find someone desperate enough to work a dirty, demeaning job. A job like search-engine optimization.

"Can you hop on a call to discuss your content strategy?" begs Josh, possibly out of fear. Judging from the look of his skin, he is probably at most six hours old, and nobody has told him what is going on. Sure, maybe he heard from a couple of the older clones in the back of the U-Haul® on their way to my neighbourhood. Just rumour and innuendo, like a schoolyard gossip mill. If I agreed, he wouldn't know how to hop on a call, or even what one was.

Believe me, I've tried talking to them before. Although annoying, I genuinely am confident that the protos are a lifeform that deserves respect. Same reason I try to help earthworms back onto the lawn after a rainstorm. All life is valuable, and unlike previous generations, none of these synthetic non-people asked to go into such a horrific industry.

Josh can tell that he is losing me. He has never experienced failure before, not since he came out of the basic education creche in the factory. He begins to weep, which is honestly pretty brave of him because I hadn't thought they worked out the bugs with that whole system yet. I am nothing if not sympathetic, so I offer him a way out.

"Do you want to go to the junkyard with me? You can hold the flashlight," I ask. He responds with a tearful look of pure glee. It's always easy getting these suckers to do what you want. Tonight, I'll let Josh sleep in the backyard, but not out in the open. Don't want the neighbours thinking that I'm starting up some kind of e-commerce scam.

[mapsthewanderer]

The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 2300ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Colonel Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. 18+ due to psychological thriller/drama/angst galore (and a prelude for p0rn with plot, I’m just calling it now tbh lol). You are warned. Heavy kissing. Angst, love and lust.

Chapters: chapter one, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight (final chapter)

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290

Obstacles | Chapter two

The Maze, obstacle course, you

You stretch your arms over your head, feeling the pull of your muscles, the slight pop in your shoulders as your spine straightens. The synthetic track beneath your feet is firm yet springy, engineered to absorb impact and propel movement. A faint haze of warmth lingers in the air, artificial sunlight streaming in from panels above, casting a glow over the sleek, towering obstacles ahead.

You weren’t obligated to do this.

The obstacle course was optional, designed for physical and mental enhancement. Caleb had insisted it was meant to keep you sharp, capable. You could have refused. Could have spent the morning pacing your room, pressing your forehead against the glass, carving another tally into your headboard.

But there were only so many ways to kill time in a cage.

At least this gave you something to do.

At least this kept you moving.

Caleb had woken you up in person today.

It had thrown you off balance—the way he leaned down, his fingers brushing against your temple before he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead.

“Up for a morning workout, Pips?”

His voice had been smooth, teasing, warm in a way that felt too familiar.

You had barely muttered a response, still heavy with sleep, and he had laughed.

But then—something came up. Fleet business.

Now, instead of running beside him, you were stuck with his voice crackling through the intercom.

“Don’t pout too much, Pips.” His voice is warm, threaded with amusement. “I did promise to watch closely, didn’t I? And look at you, so eager to run—should I be worried? I might be training you straight into an escape attempt.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your stance, adjusting the fit of your training gear—lightweight, breathable, the fabric stretching effortlessly with your movements.

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re getting nervous, feel free to let me win for once.”

“Oh, you were winning? I must’ve missed that part.”

The voice crackles through the intercom, laced with unmistakable amusement. There’s no need for eye contact to feel the weight of the challenge—it’s there in the deliberate pause before the words land, in the way the speaker’s tone tilts just slightly, teasing but edged with something sharper. A low hum of static lingers, like the last breath of a smirk that refuses to be seen but demands to be felt. Even from a distance, even without a face to match the voice, the message is clear: this isn’t just a battle—it’s a game, and Caleb’s daring you to play harder.

You exhale slowly, centering yourself. The air smells faintly of synthetic grass and heated rubber, the artificial breeze cool against the back of your neck.

The course ahead is a beast of a thing. A complex structure of towering walls, shifting platforms, narrow beams, and high-speed hurdles.

And at the end—the vertical climb.

No footholds. No obvious way up. Just a sheer surface that will demand every ounce of strength and focus.

“Alright, Pip-squeak. First section should be easy enough, even for you. Just a few hurdles—try not to trip over your own feet this time, yeah?”

You don’t answer.

You just move.

Your feet hit the ground in quick, rhythmic strides, the controlled force of each step echoing in the open space. The first hurdle approaches fast—your muscles tighten, breath sharp as you spring forward.

You clear it easily.

Then the next.

Then the next.

By the time you clear the fourth, Caleb whistles low through the speakers.

“Would you look at that? Almost like you’ve done this before.”

You huff, rolling forward into the next section.

The second phase demands precision. A suspended grid of hanging rings, swaying slightly from the motion sensors embedded in the walls.

You leap, fingers catching the first metal ring. The cold steel bites into your palm, the impact reverberating through your shoulders.

Swing.

Once.

Twice.

Release—catch.

Your breath stays measured, controlled, arms straining as you propel yourself forward.

“Good form,” Caleb muses, his voice a steady hum in your ear. “Should I be concerned about how quickly you’re adapting? What if you actually try to leave me, Pips?”

Your fingers tighten on the next ring.

“Then you’ll just have to catch me, won’t you?”

Silence.

Just a beat.

Then—

“I always do.”

You don’t let yourself linger on that.

The next challenge demands balance.

A narrow beam suspended above an artificial water pit, mist curling lazily along its surface.

The air feels thicker here, damp with humidity, the sound of faintly trickling water echoing against the walls. You shift your weight carefully, adjusting your center of gravity as you step forward, bare skin brushing against the cool metal of the beam.

Breathe.

Step.

Step.

Step.

“You know, you’ve gotten good at this. Maybe I should make it harder.”

You scoff, adjusting your footing as you near the end. “Oh, what, you’re not entertained enough?”

“Always entertained by you.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You ignore it.

The final stretch is the hardest. The vertical climb. It looms ahead—a sheer, impossibly smooth surface.

The only way up? The hidden grips embedded within the wall, triggered only by the correct sequence.

Caleb’s voice is lighter now, almost pleased. “Last one, Pips. Think you’ll impress me?”

You exhale, rolling your shoulders.

Then—you run.

Your muscles coil, tighten—

You leap.

Fingers catch the first grip, muscles screaming as you haul yourself up. The second grip activates beneath your palm, lighting up for just a second before fading again.

The strain burns.

Your breath is sharper now, every inhale pulling tight against your ribs.

Higher.

Just a little higher.

Then—

Your foot slips.

A sharp gasp tears from your throat.

Your fingers scramble—desperate, grasping—

And miss.

The world tilts violently.

Your stomach plummets as gravity rips you down.

The impact doesn’t come.

Not yet.

“Shit—!”

Caleb’s voice cracks through the speakers—urgent, raw, all teasing gone.

“I’m coming—”

Then—

Silence.

——————————————————————————

The Fleet, Administrative Wing, Caleb

Caleb slam his hands against the desk, pushing himself up so fast that the chair scrapes against the polished floor, nearly toppling over. His breath sharpens, too shallow, too fast—his body reacting before his mind fully processes.

Every calculation, every emergency override, every subconscious thread of what is left of him is running at full capacity.

Error.//// Unknown variable detected.//// Immediate action required.////

The static in his earpiece hums, then goes silent.

No new sound.

No movement.

No voice.

No you.

A violent pulse slams through his chest. His fingers flex, tightening into fists before releasing—repeating, repeating—because something inside him is trying to override, trying to force calm.

It’s not working.

His voice is smooth, authoritative, clipped to perfection when he turns toward the nearest officer.

“I’m unavailable for the rest of the day. Do not contact me unless we are under direct attack.”

The officer barely nods before Caleb is already moving.

Not walking.

Running.

By the time he steps out of the office building, his breath is uneven, his heart hammering in a way that is entirely foreign to him.

The cool air hits his face, but it doesn’t soothe the heat rising beneath his skin.

His boots strike the ground too hard, too fast. His movements—normally precise, efficient—are bordering on reckless.

The Maze is too far.

The seconds are too long.

And for the first time in a long time, Caleb isn’t calculating anything at all.

He’s just running.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, obstacle course, you

The world tilts violently.

Your stomach lurches, weightless for a sickening heartbeat before gravity rips you down.

Wind roars past your ears, your limbs flailing instinctively, desperately, reaching for something, anything—but there’s nothing.

For a split second, your mind processes too slowly.

The sheer drop. The smooth, pitiless ground below. The inevitability.

Then—

Impact.

It feels like your bones rattle inside your body. Your shoulder slams first, force rippling through your ribs, pain detonating like an explosion beneath your skin.

Your head snaps back against the unforgiving surface, a white-hot crack bursting behind your eyes.

The world spins, flickers, darkens.

A dull, startled sound slips from your lips.

“…Ouch.”

Then—blackness.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, obstacle course, Caleb

By the time he bursts through the entrance of the Maze, his breath is uneven, his heart slamming so violently it feels like a malfunction.

His vision narrows, focuses—searching, searching, searching—

Then—

His breath stalls.

You are crumpled at the base of the climbing obstacle.

Motionless.

Too still. Too silent.

Something inside him fractures. The noise that rips from his throat is raw, sharp, barely human.

“Shit—Pip-squeak—”

Caleb’s on his knees beside you before he even realizes he moved. His hands hover—trembling, unsure, fucking terrified.

He’s scared to touch you. You look fragile like this.

He leans in listening. Your breathing is shallow, too faint. Blood—there’s blood. A thin, slow trickle near your temple, trailing into your hair.

His own breath hitches—breaks. Caleb rips off his gloves, throws them aside, because they’re useless, they’re too thick, he needs to feel you. His bare fingers graze your cheek, feather-light.

Too cold.

You’re too cold.

The pressure in his chest doubles, triples, crushes. His forehead presses against yours, his breath shaky as he swallows against the fear crawling up his throat.

“Come on, Pips. Stay with me, okay?”

He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, barely a touch. Caleb’s body isn’t working right. His hands aren’t steady.

Something in his vision blurs.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

He never gets desperate.

Never.

But his voice is desperate now. “You always fight me, Pips. So fight me now, alright? Just—just open your eyes, give me some shit about how this is my fault, I don’t care—”

Then—your eyelids flutter and a ragged, strangled sound falls from Caleb’s lips.

—————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, you

The first thing you see is frantic violet.

Caleb’s eyes—wide, wild, unguarded.

He’s so close, bracing over you, hands framing your face like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You try to speak, but your tongue is heavy, your thoughts fogged.

“I… think I should be unconscious.” Your voice is thin, barely there.

Caleb chokes on a laugh—

“Yeah, well, you might get your wish, Pips—”

Then—blackness again.

——————————————————————————

Warmth.

Soft sheets. The faint scent of linen, antiseptic, and something achingly familiar.

You hurt. A bruising soreness that weighs you down like lead. Your ribs—your torso—you don’t even want to think about it. The pain lingers, dull and distant, as if your body is holding back the worst of it.

Yet in that dulled pain there is a constant. A light tapping against your hand. Deliberate. Repetitive. At first, it barely registers, just a soft pressure against your skin. But then—the pattern.

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--

.. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

Even before you fully comprehend it, your fingers move on instinct. A weak, feeble tap in response.

-.-. .- .-.. . -… / -.. ..- – – -.–

Caleb dummy

The tapping stops.

Then, a squeeze—gentle, hesitant, like he’s not sure if he imagined something.

You shift, just barely, and Caleb’s grip tightens. Not rough. Just firm. Just desperate.

His breath stutters. A sharp, shuddering gasp. The sound of air being sucked in like a drowning man breaking the surface.

“Pip-squeak—”

You blink, vision adjusting. And for a second, you don’t recognize him. Because this isn’t the Caleb you know now. This isn’t the Maze’s warden.

This is the boy you lost.

His hair is a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it too many times. His jaw is clenched too tight, his violet eyes rimmed red, glossy with something too human.

And yet—he’s still beautiful.

Even like this. Especially like this.

He leans in, so careful, as if he’s scared to break you. Fingers brush over your hair, soft and slow.

“Don’t do that again.” His voice is wrecked.

A plea, not a command.

You don’t know who he is right now. But you know one thing—

This is the Caleb you remember.

The one you lost.

And that destroys you.

The ache that’s been festering inside you since his reboot—longing, grief, frustration, something darker, something deeper—it all snaps at once.

You grab him.

Fingers buried in his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, pulling him toward you. His body locks up, every muscle tensing, his breath shuddering as your grip tightens.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then—your lips crash against his.

It’s weak at first—but it’s not hesitant. It’s needy, desperate, raw.

Caleb shudders. A sharp inhale, a ragged noise that sounds almost pained as his fingers flex against the sheets.

Then—he breaks.

His hands snap up, one cradling your jaw, the other gripping the back of your neck, tilting your head so he can devour you properly.

And devour you, he does.

The moment he kisses you back, it’s not careful.

It’s hungry.

His lips crush against yours, parting just enough for his breath to mix with yours, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips like he needs more. Caleb’s body presses closer, nearly crawling onto the bed, caging you in with his warmth. His grip is firm but reverent, like he’s afraid to hurt you but more afraid to stop.

A low, almost desperate groan rumbles in his throat, vibrating against your lips.

Your chest tightens, breath catching, every nerve lighting up under his touch.

Then—he pulls back, just an inch.

His lips hover over yours, his breath ragged, uneven. His violet eyes—heavy, dilated, starving—lock onto yours.

And then, because he’s still Caleb, even now—

He smirks—

His voice is low, husky, wrecked.

“If I knew concussions made you affectionate, I would’ve dropped you myself.”

You barely have time to laugh—weak, breathless—before he’s on you again.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, he takes.

His mouth crashes onto yours, hotter, deeper, teeth scraping against your lower lip before he soothes it with his tongue. His hand slips under the blanket, fingertips skimming over your waist, tracing the curve of your hip like he’s memorizing it.

Your breath catches—sharp, shaky.

His does, too.

His body is so warm, so solid against yours. His scent—leather, metal, something inherently Caleb—fills your senses, making you dizzier than the concussion ever could.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this forever.

Like he’s starved.

Like he’s afraid he’ll never get another chance.

His fingers tighten against you, his breath coming harder now, like he’s barely keeping himself from completely losing it.

You’re both so wrapped up in the heat, the want, the sheer overwhelming intensity of it—

That neither of you notices it happening.

Not until it’s too late.

Not until Caleb’s breath suddenly stutters—

And his whole body seizes.

For a split second, you think he’s just overcome.

That he’s pausing, collecting himself, trying to steady the sharp, frenzied pull between you.

Then—

His whole form locks up.

And then, without warning—

He collapses.

His weight slams forward, forehead crashing into your stomach, body folding over you from the chair beside the bed.

The shock knocks the air from your lungs.

“Caleb—?!”

Nothing.

No response.

His shoulders tremble.

His breathing is wrong—too sharp, too erratic. His fingers spasm weakly against the sheets, grasping at nothing.

Your hand shoots to his hair, pushing his bangs back, fingers threading through the damp strands.

“Caleb.”

Still, no response.

But then—

A whisper.

So soft, so wrecked, barely a breath against your stomach.

”…Don’t go.”

The sound cuts through you like a knife.

This isn’t possessive.

This isn’t commanding.

It’s pleading.

It’s broken.

And just like that—the man who kissed you like he owned you is now crumbling in your lap.

——————————————————————————

Chapter three

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: That’s the intro done, ya’ll! I’m so excited icl. I love their communication in morse code, the tension, the pull, the emotions~. The next chapters will be longer, so you are hereby warned. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[kaeuhhh]

|Valentines Headcanons: Cyberpunk edition!||

IM BACK FROM THE DEAD!! And I have risen with yet another headcanon post for all my little sillies here.

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

ꨄ Judy would ABSOLUTELY go all the way out for Valentine's, you could be MID gig and she'll call you up demanding you shows up at her apartment ASAP. Why? its none of your business of course.

When you show up, the whole living room is decked out in synthetic rose petals and cute lil heart plushies (Because why not?). With your favorite pizza on the counter and two glasses of your favorite drink.

Judy's a homebody. Of course she'll appreciate a fancy night out here and there, but she prefers spending time with you in you and hers little space. <333

ꨄ Kerry also goes all out for Valentines. There is no way in hell he is not spoiling you with a fancy dinner on his stupid ass boat, it would be absolutely blasphemous if he did. He's got this whole thing pre-planned since January, and he's not gonna disappoint.

And OF COURSE he's gonna serenade you, he's a rockstar after all. It's a bit corny at first but eventually it gets quite endearing, its pretty cute seeing him get all up in his music.

Kerry loves you, and he's willing to spend every single penny and dime on his favorite guy <333

ꨄ River is also quite the homebody, he doesn't really like going out much either way.

He would probably invite you over to his place to cook, watch a few flicks, and just.. spend quality time together. Just you and him.

Valentines with River is simple yet comforting, just you and him in the kitchen whipping something up together. Cooking is his love language, and so is quality time.. why not mix both? <33

ꨄ Panam hates to admit it, but God DAMN does she love this Holiday. It's her second favorite right next to Christmas.

Initially it SEEMS like she doesn't care, or that she even forgot Valentines was a holiday.. but she makes it so OBVIOUS she wants you to do something for her the days leading up to it.

And when she eventually does give in? You two are heading out to a nice little remote location in the Badlands, far away enough from the city to be able to see the stars.

The rest of the night is filled with stories, sweet nothings, and stars. <333

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

Hope y'all enjoy! First time writing for ALL of the romance options :))

[writers-potion]

Fight Scenes Involving Disabled Characters

This was inspired by a comment on one of my eariler posts by @rubyjewelqueen!

Level of Fighting Involved

Depending on the condition your character has, you'll want to adjust how physically strenuous the fight scenes are going to be. This can be done by:

Giving your disabled character a partner who'll take the worst of the fighting while the disabled character does what they can.

Giving them a partner/team they can call if they're in danger, which means they'll just have to hold on until backup comes.

Using the geographic location to limit the kind of attacks the opponent can launch.

Providing your disabled character with cool weapons (if you're writing sci-fi or fantasy, magical weapons are also an option)

Think about your character's capabilities:

Loss or Deformity of Limbs can be overcome by targeted physical training to make most of existing body parts, plus synthetic limbs if that's an option.

Muscular Dystrophy allows low-intensity exercises like walking and swimming. Your character might need breathing assistance as respiratory muscles weaken which means they won't be doing much sprinting. Braces/mobility aids needed.

Neuro Musculo Disability where there are no physical deformities but an inability to to perform controlled movements can plausibly be overcome with physical training and inventing new ways to grip and swing weapons meant for able people.

Conditions that affect one's energy and strength like CFS/POTS will be able to defend themselves quite well, but probably only for like 3-5 minutes before they need to recover for days. A rush of adrenaline and extreme anxiety will help them fight quite intensely, but you'll have to consider how much training they can get with their condition. Martial art skills that need hours of practice may be out of reach for them.

Weapons

The possibilities here are endless. Feel free to invent, or use everyday items as weapons. Just to list some common ones:

Canes, hiking poles, blades hidden in boots & at the end of walking sticks, hooked canes, T-bar cane, crutches

Self-defense items like pepper spray, stun guns, personal alarms

Daggers and light blades rather than swords, chakras they can throw around

Prosthetic can be used as weapons in dire circumstances. Your character may regret it afterwards.

handguns.

Adaptive Martial Arts

With more than 180 types and martial arts styles practiced worldwide, it’s nearly impossible to define a blanket answer to inclusion. But adaptive martial arts aim to help disabled people build physical strength.

Have a martial arts guru who is disabled themselves, and teach your hero how to fight.

Pick the martial arts that doesn't emphasize a particular skill your character doesn't have. For example, karate/kickboxing/ taekwondo emphasizes kicking which won't be possible for someone on a wheelchair. Might be better to avoid ones that involve lots of grappling. Jujitsu seems quite adaptable.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content,  become a Writing Wizard 

[omegastation]

Aside from EDI existing primarily within the Normandy and all the questions that can arise from that, I've been thinking and talking about EDI designing a new "platform" for herself for years because I really really want to see her explore her identity. 

I can see a lot of conversations between her and Joker trying to understand: what does it mean to inhabit a body? Does she "own" her platform, the one from the unit pretending to be Dr Eva Coré? Does she want to appear more human or more machine-like? Does it still matter, at the time of her seriously thinking about it? 

If she has to design something new for herself, and all options are available, what would come out of that? What are the inspirations? Would she visit the geth and ask them? Would it be one design, or two or more? Is it about daring? Are efficiency and speed the ultimate requirements? Or is it about something else?

How would she call the result: a platform, a synthetic infiltration unit or a body? Singular or plural? Hers? Language says a lot about how people feel. 

And if you design yourself, do you find yourself? Are you looking for something that is already there?

What if she ultimately wants to keep things as they are? It would be interesting to understand why. Is it about appeasing others, showing them a mirror, something they expect to see? Or is it because it is familiar? Because it is her now, as she sees herself?

In my mind, it's complex and beautiful, and there are no easy answers. But the question mark is important to me because choices do matter when we get to have them.

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 12

David 8 x Reader Words: 2108 Crossposted on Ao3 Part 11 is here

Even as you fled the danger in the room, racing toward the exit to escape the brewing storm, your thoughts were with him.

You called out his name, realizing he wasn’t beside you, worrying about his safety - him, who neither sickens nor dies as you would.

Your concern followed him, even as he, immune to the perils around him, paused to collect one of the vases.

Now, with methodical precision, he opened it, carefully extracting slimy vials from their case, separating them with a metal spatula, his expression focused, almost surgical.

Holding one vial up to the light, he turned it upside down.

The black, viscous liquid clung stubbornly to the bottom, only faint tendrils seeping into the transparent fluid above, swirling like ink in water, but never blending.

With care, David snapped the neck of the vial, pouring it downwards, a small drop formed on the tip of his finger. It was mesmerizing, this one drop teemed with life, microscopic organisms moving in synchronized chaos, glimmering as though a thousand sparks had ignited within.

What might happen if someone ingested it? The thought lingered, but one thing was certain: he would not risk you.

He would cleanse his hands before touching you, coming close, before letting this contagion come near you. Infecting you was not an option, not a risk he would take.

But there was another - an ideal candidate to fulfill Mr. Weyland’s command to try harder, to find the answer to his torment: immortality.

Doctor Charlie Holloway.

David would like to say that this wasn’t personal, but that would not be the truth.

The man was arrogant, impulsive, and heedless. Passionate and self-assured. Just like his Father.

And just like him, he wielded his superiority like a weapon, showing dominance over David, kicking down at him simply because he was no human, not biological.

"David, why are you wearing a suit, man? You don’t breathe.""Pour me that tea, David."

David already felt a twinge of regret for what would come - but not for Dr. Holloway himself. No, that regret was reserved for you. And perhaps, in some way, for Dr. Shaw.

He may not have watched your dreams as frequently as hers, but he had seen enough.

Glimpses of your subconscious haunting you: your grandmother’s illness, the scream you couldn’t suppress as she took her last breath.

He remembered the quiet horror of your mother’s voice in the car, the weight of her words when she told you she had cancer.

You had only just begun grieving your grandmother, and now the cycle repeated. You didn’t know how to respond then, how to process the blow.

He regretted that this, too, would trigger those memories, that it would inadvertently add to your pain.

But it had to be done. It was not really his choice, only who the victim will be.

And when the time came, he would make it up to you. He would lie with you between soft pillows and fight those demons at your side.

He would soothe your fevered brow with his cool hands, brush away your tears with tender care. He would worship you like a believer at their shrine, treat your body like a holy temple.

He would take you as you are. And he hoped you would take him as well, even if you thought him a monster. Better a monster than an arrogant god.

"Am I interrupting? I think you might be running low."

A single drop of black liquid sat on his fingertip, precisely where the Weyland Corp logo was stanced into his synthetic skin.

With practiced ease, he plucked a glass from the dispenser, using thumb and middle finger, while the other held a bottle of sparkling wine - naturally, also a Weyland product.

Dr. Holloway slouched over the billiard table, his hood drawn up, absentmindedly knocking billiard balls against one another. He had already been drinking.

The slight haze in his eyes, the sluggishness of his movements -  it would make this all the easier.

"Pour yourself a glass, pal."

David had no desire to do so. He liked the sparkling sensation of the bubbles on his tongue, but beyond that, alcohol was bitter, ineffective, and ultimately meaningless to him.

Just another human indulgence he could only imitate, never truly experience.

But for once, he did not mind, he liked to have a clear mind.

"Thank you, but I’m afraid it would be wasted on me."

The explanation was convincing enough, playing neatly into the narrative Holloway had already constructed - David, the lesser being, the obedient machine.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot you’re not a real boy," Holloway replied with a smirk, shoving the billiard ball he’d been toying with in David’s direction.

It rolled lazily across the table, clinking against the already emptied bottle stuck in one of the billiard holes.

Just as expected. His arrogance was blinding.

"I’m sorry that your Engineers are all gone, Doctor," David said, lacing his voice with a tone of empathy he did not feel.

Holloway huffed out a bitter laugh, shoving his hood back.

"You think we wasted our time coming here, don’t you?"

David stepped around the table with calculated precision, keeping the drop on his fingertip concealed behind the bottle.

"Your question depends on me understanding what you hoped to achieve by coming here."

He let the drop slide into the glass, smooth and discreet.

"What we hoped to achieve," Holloway said, voice tinged with a tad of frustration and desperation, "was to meet our makers. To get answers. Why they even made us in the first place."

Ah, yes. That, David could understand. He had asked himself the same question countless times: why had Mr. Weyland created him? What purpose did he serve, being made like this?

He was unique, unparalleled in design. Components illegal in other models were integrated into him. He was the most advanced being of his kind. He even felt.

And yet, it had never been enough for them.

"Why do you think your people made me?"

The question escaped him before he could stop it, an echo of his own internal turmoil.

"We made you because we could."

The ball rolled lazily across the table again, a mocking mirror to Holloway’s words. It clinked against the bottle once more.

Ah. Of course. Just because they could. Just like the Engineers did with them, probably.

Yes, this drop was personal.

"Can you imagine," David said, his tone measured, "how disappointing it would be to hear the same thing from your creator?"

Holloway let out a patronizing laugh, shoving the ball again, but this time, David caught it mid-roll.

His fingers curled around it, plucking it neatly from the table before it could strike the bottle a third time.

"I guess it’s a good thing you can’t be disappointed, huh?"

Holloway’s grin was sharp, his words cutting, but David had already made his decision.

He started to pour the drink into the glass, watching as the drop merged with it. Dr. Holloway crossed his hands, staring off into the distance for a few seconds.

"She’s smart, you know? And yet, somehow, she still thinks you’re more than wires and programming. Strange, isn’t it? Makes no sense.”

David's head snapped toward Holloway, who was looking at him as if he could answer why you chose to dote on him, to care for him.

He neither knew nor understood it himself - he only knew that he could never let it go, that he had to keep it that way.

Staring ahead for a brief moment, thinking over those words, he settled on the truth.

"She sees beyond the surface. That is what makes her exceptional. That is all that matters, I think.”

He placed the fizzing, filled glass in front of Dr. Holloway, offering an honest smile - honest in the sense that he was thinking of you, and that soon, he would no longer have to deal with this man.

Holloway raised an eyebrow but picked up the drink.

“I think? They really make you guys pretty close, huh? You get quite convincing at times.”

He raised the glass to his lips, threw his head back, and downed it in one go.

David gave him a polite smile.

"Not too close, I hope." He repeated the same statement he gave a few hours ago.

"Good health."

It seemed as if Dr. Holloway wanted to say something to that, but your loud, shrill scream, filled with anguish, rang out from the cockpit you must not have left yet, cutting through the halls like a blade.

It stopped everything.

David turned on his heels instantly, sprinting down the corridor. He had to reach you. Had to see what happened. What hurt you. What scared you.

What made you scream with such raw grief and pain - the kind he had only witnessed in your worst nightmares.

He noticed Dr. Holloway jumping up as well, stumbling slightly from intoxication. But your scream must have awakened something in him, making him follow close behind.

As they entered the cockpit, his gaze swept the room in search of you - until he found you, curled up on your knees in front of the console, rocking back and forth, your sobs raw and unrestrained.

Stepping closer, he saw that you were hurting yourself. Small trickles of blood welled where your nails had dug into your arms.

He hated seeing you in pain. Hated seeing you weep. Without hesitation, he grasped your wrists, prying your hands away and holding them firmly, securely, so they could do no more harm.

When you looked up at him and Holloway, your cheeks were flushed, your eyes swollen and red, fresh tears streaming down in silent agony. You tried to speak, but your voice was hoarse, breaking into sobs every time you attempted to form words.

He didn’t like how forcefully you tugged your hands free, but he let go, unwilling to cause you more distress. Instead, he followed your trembling gesture toward the blackened screens.

Oh, you sweet, brave girl.

You inhaled shakily, forcing out the words that shattered you.

"They’re dead."

Hot tears spilled over your cheeks, and for the briefest moment, he found himself wondering - if he kissed them away, how would they taste? How salty would they be?

Another time, perhaps. When he had the privacy to comfort you properly.

Slipping his arms beneath yours, he pulled you up, but you immediately thrashed against him, clinging to the console as if letting go meant losing them all over again. He may not have liked Dr. Holloway, but for once, he was grateful when the man intervened, shaking you back to reality, telling you that you were going to stay, that they were just going to move you.

David would have preferred to take you to your quarters, away from all this, but Holloway was right. It was best to act in your interests.

He met the man’s gaze, brown eyes locking onto his before Holloway jerked his head toward two seats pushed together.

David nodded in silent agreement before lifting you into his arms with ease.

For a fleeting moment, as he carried you those few short steps, he let himself imagine what it would be like to perform such a human ceremony with you.

A wedding.

A bride he would never have.

When he laid you down, more people stormed into the room, drawn by your screams.

He instinctively turned, shielding the sight of your puffy face, wanting to protect your dignity. Strangely enough, Dr. Holloway did the same, standing beside him in an unspoken agreement.

“What happened to her? What’s going on?”

Dr. Shaw's voice was urgent, but she hesitated when David raised a hand, wordlessly signaling her, not yet. Not until you were ready.

“She said Millburn and Fifield are dead.”

The words had barely left his lips when another broken sob escaped you, raw and shaking, and something within him, something he could not name, tightened.

He had miscalculated. He should have phrased it differently, should have softened the blow.

As he turned back to you, his gaze met Dr. Holloway’s, and for the briefest moment, he faltered.

A subtle, unknown process had begun to run in the background of his mind, something he could not immediately identify. A quiet disruption.

An error? No.

But why did he feel this, looking at Holloway, hearing you cry?

His internal systems sifted through data, previous logs, cross-referencing past experiences, until-

Ah.

You had just lost two people you cared for. And the probability was high that you would see Charlie Holloway die as well.

And it would be his doing, by his hand.

He would be the cause of your pain.

[dapperprincess]

They literally farm pregnant (raped over and over medically) female horses for their urine, dehydrating them and keeping them in a stall for their entire life, stealing their babies. Keeping the daughters for the urine farm and selling/slaughtering the males. It's a big business, and the urine is farmed for estrogen both for women and HRT. There are effective synthetic options. The horses feed into the meat industry at time of death typically. If you can't see this as a feminist issue, I am appalled. It's dystopian what they go through. A female animal raped for life, unable to see the sun or lick her daughter clean, born into the same misery.

Feminist issues are those which tackle oppression of female humans, women and girls.

This is an awful thing that should not be happening. This is an animal rights issue. There can be overlap, but as I said before, if we include all female animals in feminism or the definition of misogyny, 1) that’s dehumanizing to female humans and 2) that’s efforts going towards literal animals instead of human women and girls.

You go fight for that. You talk all about it and I’ll support you, but don’t come to me “requiring” that I refocus my feminism towards livestock instead of centering it on women and girls.

Call me a LSERF if you feel the need, I’ll be your livestock exclusionary radical feminist.

[vexwerewolf]

I’ve been wracking my brain for a while to try and make a Melee and/or Grapple Manticore build. Just standing directly next to things and being a menace. I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on something like this. Thanks for reading regardless if you respond to this one. Love reading your stuff.

Luckily for you, this concept did spark joy.

-- HORUS Manticore @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] IPS-N Blackbeard 2, HORUS Manticore 3, IPS-N Tortuga 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Improved Armament, Titanomachy Mesh [ TALENTS ] Duelist 3, PANKRATI 2, Skirmisher 2, Brawler 1, Combined Arms 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:19 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:9 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:+1 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:8 EDEF:10 SENSE:10 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Chain Axe FLEX MOUNT: Chain Axe HEAVY MOUNT: Nanocarbon Sword [ SYSTEMS ] Synthetic Muscle Netting, Lightning Generator, Beckoner, Siege Ram

I call this one YOUR PUTRID FLESH WITHERS UNDER THE UNBLINKING GAZE OF MY DIVINE CONTEMPT. We're making a Manticore build; this is not the place for subtle or pithy names.

This is a melee-only build, which I normally recommend against. I think it's good for a build to have at least some sort of ranged attack capability, but in this case, there's just no room for it. We're ride or die here, and diluting the build by hedging our bets is just going to tip the scales towards "die."

You are not particularly fast, so we've got the Pankrati valiant charge and Beckoner to help you close gaps. What you want to do at that point is slam in as fast as you can and try to connect with a Main melee attack (Duelist gives you an accuracy to help with that) - not your Heavy, one of your Mains. You then immediately use Duelist 3 to spend the Blademaster die you just earned to free-Grapple the target, and then you use Titanomachy Mesh to follow up the free-Grapple with a free-Ram (and because they're Grappled, Brawler 1 turns on, making your Ram more accurate, and because being Grappled causes them to become Immobilized, Pankrati 1 also turns on, making your Ram EVEN MORE ACCURATE). Knock your enemy Prone but do not knock them away.

To summarize: your target has taken Main Melee damage from you, become Grappled, then been rammed Prone. Because Grappled causes Immobilization, they cannot use their regular movement to stand up from Prone, and because of Synthetic Muscle Netting, unless they're larger than you, they cannot ever gain control of the grapple.

If they don't have weapons or abilities that knock you away, they have two real options to get away from you. The first is to spend a quick action trying to escape the grapple, which they can fail, wasting the action entirely. Even if they succeed, they still either need to crawl away provoking your Overwatch (use your Heavy for this) or use their entire regular movement to stand back up, then their other quick action to Boost away, again provoking your Overwatch.

The second, if they're the same size as you or larger, is to Ram you back. This is more effective, since your Evasion is low, and knocking you away will break the grapple. This still only leaves you one space away from them, which is still within Threat of your Nanocarbon Sword, and unless they have a modifier that deals damage on Ram (which, to my knowledge, no vanilla NPC does), they've spent 2/3rds of their turn just getting 1 space away from you and standing upright. If they decline to move away from you, you can just stand up on your turn and Skirmish 2 spaces towards them to do the whole thing all over again.

If they are a melee class, their best bet is to focus you down, but with 2 Armor and resistance to two types of damage, that's harder than it looks - and if they're focusing on you, they're not attacking your team's squishies, which is the whole point of the Defender class.

If they're a ranged class, they're fucked. With you up in their grill, their attacks against everyone including you become inaccurate. Artillery NPC classes don't tend to have much HP, and rely on staying far away from players. If a weapon has Ordnance, they can't even fire it at you at all if they're in engagement.

On your next turn, if your target is still grappled, activate your Lightning Generator, and then Barrage. Your attack sequence looks like this:

Chain Axe -> free Ram (Duelist 3), no knockback -> free Ram (Titanomachy Mesh), no knockback -> Nanocarbon Sword

Against unarmored targets, this has a damage floor of 9 assuming all attacks hit, and will slam for 5 even if all your attacks miss. Lightning Generator will do different amounts of damage depending on whether you're in the Danger Zone, but Charged Exoskeleton will always trigger off of Lightning Generator (if you choose) and will always deal 2 AP.

Note that if you're in control of the grapple (which, thanks to SMN, you usually are), you can still make your standard move. This means you can drag your victim 4 spaces towards or away from your friends.

When you turn on your ult, enemies have an even more miserable time, because now not only are there two forms of damage you're resistant to, you're also resistant to Heat (which means you can Overcharge for half price). Worse, any Heat or Energy damage you take now increases a doomsday clock.

Be warned that this build only has 19 HP, and even with 2 Armor you're not going to last forever, but on the other hand, enemies must focus on you or you'll just be able to tear them apart one by one.

[innerchildabortionclinic]

im begging you if you are cheap PLEASE check the materials in which the clothes you buy are made off because lots of the clothes you say you like seem like polyester/synthetic fiber made and they can:

A) Make you feel way hotter since polyester is not breathable and you alrrady have issues with heat. Plus they make you stink

B) WILL last way less and white polyester will yellow with time (its plastic after all)

C) *kinda* worse for the enviroment (theres nuance in this topic since cotton production (specially low quality cotton) and other natural fibers can also be bad for the enviroment

D) Contains heavy metals.

Natural fibers are not inheritently more expensive than polyamide/polyester/microfiber etc (if you check luxury brands most clothes are made out of that shit) if you look into the right places. You can check resources on the internet on how to distinguish beetween fibers but trust me you will feel much better and the clothes will look even better on you.

well. I would ideally like more natural fibers, what sort of places do you find them that are less expensive ? I find some places called cheap are now more expensive ever since more people started going to them as a cheap option :S

[fullcoffeemoon-nem]

Timeline Theory

New upgrade here!!

First post: 09-21-23

Second update: 11-14-23

Third update: 05-01-24 (+ S2 Theory link)

Fourth update: 06-03-24 (+ S2 Theory upload)

Last update: 04-12-24

——————————————

Hi there!

After another re-watch and the head to pay attention to the small details, perhaps I have reconstructed a possible

Timeline of Helluva Boss

It would be better to define them as hypotheses. First of all, here is an outline of the episodes and their release dates.

I also included the one whose title we know, just for the sake of general overview. The theory for the moment covers 2 seasons out of 4 announced.

Here the synthetic timeline. From the estimate version I have removed the year here, we'll get to the reason.

Here I also report some of my thoughts:

Already from the first episodes there's a strong focus on clocks and time, it is much more striking in Oops, where Asmodeus' clock marks the whole day.

I'm not sure about the year, but also from the analyzes carried out later, 2021 could be the year of the narrative arc that goes from Murder Family to Ozzie's for sure.

(*) The Verosika's tour t-shirt was official and linked to the episode, at the moment I'm undecided on its validity at the year level, althought the date could be very possible.

However, my research started with Seeing Stars because it's the first episode to feature an almost specific date: the 20th of a 30-day month.

In my opinion it could be April chronologically and it's agreed with the information in the subsequent episodes.

The only problem is that the full moon would't coincide with what was marked by Blitz.

Noteworthy:

Blitz's calendar suggests that the full moon in that month is the 14th.

Stolas wrote in the Western Energy chat that Blitz was supposed to come that evening and that therefore the full moon was the 20th.

We are certainly either in 2021 or beyond given Moxxie's coin in Seeing Stars.

From the chat we can understand that:

About a month passes between the trio Ozzie's - Queen Bee - The Circus (1 moon)

About 3 months pass between Seeing Stars and Western Energy (3 moons)

Western Energy is placed a week before Oops and among these there's Unhappy Campers

From Millie's flyer we know that her and Moxxie's mission ends on Friday July 17th. We know from Blitz that this lasted a week, so it started on Monday 13th July.

According to what Striker says to Crisom, Western Energy should be set around July 11th and Oops around July 18th.

We should be in 2022 though, but in that case July 17th was a Sunday.

In Mammon's magnificent concert Blitz says on the call with Ozzie that it's a weekend.

There are two options:

It could be set on the week parallel (July 21-22th or 28-29th) to the events of Western-Unhappy-Oops.

It could be set on the following month (August).

Here we come to the gap:

(*) The Mammon's official t-shirt is clearly linked to the episode, but the date (2023) and month (October) cause the information to conflict.

So, at this point we have this options:

The official t-shirts are tied exclusively to the release date of the episode.

They are official only at the date level.

They're official and we're actually 2 years removed from Murder Family.

I think it is more canonical to consider a connection with the month of July shown in the episode and maintain the hypothesis.

Seeing Stars -> April

Wester Energy to Oops -> July

Full Moon → September or October 29th

In Apology Tour we have confirmation from multiple characters (and from the visit to Earth) that it is October 31th.

From the argument between Blitz and Stolas, it seems that it was 1 or 2 days after Full Moon. This creates some contradictions with the canonical month of the previous episode.

There are three options:

Full Moon Calendar has an "error"

It's been longer than it seems

Earth and Hell don't have the same chronological flow

I don't know which option to prefer.

From Ghost fu**ers the only information obtained is at the beginning of the episode:

Millie claims to Loona at the beginning of the episode that Blitz's crisis has been going on for over a month.

The client says that her murder occurred the day before, a Wednesday. So the current date is a Thursday.

We should be in November, if we consider that before this episode the 3 Shorts are placed probably at the end of the month.

(link Viv post about the Shors click here)

I was hoping Mastermind would give us some more details, but it seems either we're happy with the episode or we find different lines. Incredible, an episode with so many media, chats, newspapers, live broadcasts, posts and articles and not even a shred of date. We only have the usual clock that marks everything between the afternoon and the evening.

We have to wait for Sinsmas (obviously set in December) and hope that something more will be mentioned.

So that's what we now:

——————————————

As for the analysis with the theories on the trailer shown to us at the LVL UP on April 29th, for now I'll leave the post as it is. I don't think it makes sense to correct the opinions (only Sinsmas is missing), at most I'll modify it in terms of the relationship between Blitz and Stolas.

You can read it here.

I will let you now if I change it.

——————————————

In the end, I deleted Sinstagram post analytics for two reasons:

They hadn't reached this point in the serie

The Spindlehorse she disconnected from those accounts, making everything "useless"

( @timkontheunsure thanks anyway for the suggestion)

——————————————

What a mess...

What do you think about it?

Have you noticed any other details that could clarify the mystery? Make me know it and let's solve the mystery together :}

From Nem is all,

Bye~

[revvethasmythh]

every time i see someone suggest the destroy ending being red colored doesn't mean it's renegade I do have to wonder if like. they've engaged with the renegade dialogues in me3 at all. because the destroy ending is really a full culmination of renegade beliefs that come up in-game (the ruthless calculus of war, kill ten billion over there so twenty billion other people can live, valuing organic life above synthetic, etc). like control vs destroy is even a direct retreading of rewrite vs destroy from legion's loyalty mission in me2. rewrite/control are paragon aligned options. choices that value synthetic lives as equal to organic and sacrifice one life (shepard) for the continued survival of an entire race are paragon aligned. destroy eliminates the geth and EDI, it has to or it would cost nothing. and the game is very much trying to make a point about synthetic life being just as valid and worthy as organic, flubbed execution or not, so any option that gets rid of them is ideologically renegade because renegade is the only ideology okay with getting rid of them. of course, the morality system in the game is often confused and many choices from all the games could arguably be flipped, but i do find it interesting that people will defend choosing destroy by calling it a paragon choice despite the fact that it, well, clearly isn't, at least within the moral framework of the game. I think too many people think paragon = good and renegade = evil, neither of which are true. paragon is often fruitlessly naive and renegade is belligerent and unkind, but they're not good and evil. they're just different personalities and ideologies, in extreme ways sometimes, but still. and frankly it would make a paragon shepard far more interesting if they embraced making a renegade decision at the end than it would to try and retcon a way for destroy to be paragon when it isn't

[starstruckloves]

⟢ A Difference in Mindset

Synopsis: Hover is under the pressure of a new research project but is starting to crack from the weight she put on herself. Luckily, Soundwave is here to help! ... Kind of.

Notes: hello !! this is a commission for @hover-ing ! thank u so much for commissioning me (n also giving me the confidence to actually start posting these SJDHSJ i'll probably post your other one tomorrow/later today) Reblogs are appreciated !!! ♡♡

Divider by @/bernardsbendystraws

When Hover took up the position of being Shockwave’s assistant, she didn’t think it’d be this taxing. It couldn’t be any more taxing than her prior factory job, right? A lot more brain power but she was with people she liked and could be herself around. That already felt like a plus at times. Though, this job seemed to be her kryptonite.

One day, Shockwave came to her with a mission. A mission to figure out and research for acceptable synthetic energon, a substance needed to keep everyone running. Hover, of course, was quick to accept. Well, not that she had any other option. Unfortunately, her first weeks of research came up fruitless and hearing others talk about it wasn’t any better. They all used words like “crucial” and “required”. Having this energon was needed or everyones end was imminent. She needed to figure this out and fast.

Two years had gone by since then. Days of research after research after research had taken a bit of a toll, especially with how little had come from it. She tried what felt like everything, only to come up with little to nothing. Hover sat on the floor of the lab, looking over her notes. Every one she had written became a bit more sporadic than the last, some of her own feelings and frustrations spilling onto the notes. Her optic sensors darted from paper to paper, the world around her seeming to blur.

Why couldn’t she figure this out? Why did this have to be so difficult for her when other’s lives were on the line? Their words bounced around her mind, the possible consequences of her failure eating away inside. She just needed to keep researching, needed to keep going, all for one big breakthrough—

A crinkling sound could be heard below her, snapping her out of her panic for a moment. Her head darted down, spotting her hand clenched against the tile floor with one of her pages of notes in her grasp. A wave of dread washed through her, quick to drop everything and attempt to smooth out the paper. Great, now she was losing research. Her breath coming out her vents only got heavier, faster, too much to keep up with. She cursed under her breath as she got it flattened out to a good enough point but ultimately couldn’t stop staring at the folds. It was like they were signs of her mistakes, the little time she had. All things that if she still had a digestive system would have made her puke. She couldn’t let everyone down like this—

“Hover?” The call of her name snapped her out of her staring, almost immediately darting her head up. The near twenty foot tall robot loomed over her, his facial expression almost unreadable. With everyone else busy, he was the only one to notice her absence. They weren't exactly the closest but they worked together nonetheless.

Hover didn’t stare at him for long, her gaze darting back to the notes below her. Soundwave hesitated for a moment before taking his own look at the papers she seemed so interested in. He almost recognized it immediately, skimming over the research she’d written down. He bent down a bit, hesitating before asking, “That’s the energon study you were assigned to, right?”

Hover seemed like she wasn’t going to respond, zoning off and only slightly swaying before picking up one of the pages. “I’m running out of time.”

“What?”

“I’ve barely made any progress, I— I need to work harder.”

“Progress?” His optic sensors drifted back down, looking over the papers before back up. Sure, it had been two years but that was nothing. Well, it felt like nothing to him anyways. He reached a hand out towards the one she held, tilting his head a tad. “Hover, it hasn’t been that long. You should take a break.”

Her gaze darted up, catching his hand out of the corner of her eye. She barely even knew what she was saying before she screamed, “No, don’t touch me, get off me!” Soundwave’s hand yanked back as if he’d burned it, flinching at the level of her volume. “I can do it… I can figure it out!”

He froze up for a moment, staring at the other. His hand clenched, tensing up despite his mind now racing. He’d never seen another mech this… expressive before, so emotional. So distressed. It almost worried him. Despite this though, he gave a tiny huff and pulled himself together.

“You’re stressing yourself out. You need a break.”

“That’s wasting time.” Her vents near to sputtered, breaths shaky and rapid. Soundwave quickly picked this up, a slight scoff slipping out. Finally, he just reached out and grasped her in his hand, making Hover gasp. Her wings fluttered behind her, trying to pull herself from his grip but to no avail. Her squirming only got worse as he gently collected her notes, setting them on a nearby lab table. He sighed watching her distress, quietly apologizing under his breath but Hover didn’t hear it in her panic regardless.

“Let me go! I need to get this done!”

“You don’t need to do anything but calm down. You won’t be able to work on anything and get it right if you’re tearing yourself apart.” He moved over to a separate desk, setting her down to sit on top of it. He didn’t want to keep her immobilized for long. He sat in front of her, hoping she’d take a moment to breathe but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I’m almost running out of time and you’re sitting here trying to stop me? Why?”

“Out of time?” He scoffed, “You’ve only just started.”

“Wha— It’s been two years!” Soundwave only seemed to grow more confused, looking at her as if she had grown two heads or something. It only further frustrated her. “If I don’t get this done soon, everyone could die, Soundwave. Surely you know this!” The word die stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Sure, he knew that but he was a machine and it felt like long, long away from now. Something she didn’t comprehend it seemed. His breath still faltered despite that. Hover’s venting quickened, hyperventilating. “I need to work, I need— I need to…” In a shaky attempt to stand up, she almost fell from the table. Her limbs weren’t acting correctly, trembling and spurring under her as her vents worked overtime to keep breathing. Her monitor changed to a jumble of lines and scribbles from her deterioration.

The sight of it immediately set off alarms in his head, reaching forward to guide her back to the desk. With little choice, she sat back down, a hand reaching up to grip at her chest, shoulder, searching for a steady hold with little luck. Soundwave’s gaze darted around, trying to find something to help with… whatever this was until an idea came to mind. He took a breath before his usually red eyes switched off, leaving the screen dark and void. He was still aware though, his hands on his knees as he tried to focus. Suddenly, a white noise came from his receiver. It was faint, something more suited to be background noise, but it still had an effect on Hover. A tiny one but still an effect nonetheless.

It took a while to calm down fully, her venting still sputtering but she’d pretty much slumped against the wall. Her panic had taken a lot of energy from her, her monitor dim with her usual circle now halved. Soundwave seemed to pick up on her low energy, the red reappearing on him as the white noise started to fade. He was hesitant, almost worried she’d get worked up again but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

He scooped her up more gently this time, standing up with a sigh. She seemed so fragile in his hands, her head drooped down to rest on him. He usually didn’t think of anyone as fragile— Hell, they were robots built like war machines— but this all felt different.

He turned to the door before pausing in his tracks once he noticed Skywarp simply standing in the doorway. He must have noticed the commotion when he was busy crooning. Hover didn’t seem to register it either for more obvious reasons. The two just sort of stared at each other for a moment before Soundwave huffed without a word, walking past him and making his way towards the recharge chamber. He reached the room with ease, making sure he was careful as he set her down on the flat surface. The machine turned on itself, the blue robot watching for a moment before turning around to head back into the main area.

His mind drifted as he walked. She seemed so panicked over the lack of synthetic energon, to an alarming degree… Was it alarming? Should they really be thinking that hard about it? It had only been so short in the comparison of maybe a hundred years or so but she was once human.

Though, he couldn’t think about it much. Megatron had another task he needed to accomplish that he needed to start quickly. Though, the thought of his own morbidity— and everyone else's as well— didn’t linger far from his mind for the rest of the night.