#the data used for calculations and to create this thing

[ribbitflings]

the absolute fucking letdown when youre excited af about something cool you found that pertains to your interests—thats like a gold mine or candy shop for you—and you try to share it with other people so they can enjoy it too, only to be met with disinterest or feeble attempts at feigning interest

[deepspacenova]

figured you out

1900 words. pining. possessive behaviour. sexual tension. obsession. light stalking.

{Dedicated to @mythblossoms and @spiderlilypetals aka the enablers of my mental instability}

Note: this entire thing is me basically calling out @rose-tinted-kalopsia, @unluckywisher, and @starmocha for setting off a Caleb-sized inferno in my brain and keeping the fire going for weeks now. All of you on my feed combined with the lyrics of this song are entirely to blame so here’s me getting Caleb out of my system (liar) xoxo

The barrier between focus and obsession was glass-thin and shaped like a trigger. One decision, one small flick of a finger away from shattering. 

Obsession was an itch, fleeting, temporary. But focus? Focus was ambition, determination, winning.

That’s why Caleb had always been a creature of restraint, the very picture of self-control. As a boy, when he set his sights on something, he never burned with want. Wanting was purposeless.

Instead he would set his focus on whatever it was — sweets, trinkets, secrets, toys — until he found a way to make it his. Until he carefully maneuvered the object of his desires right into his little grasp. 

Caleb didn’t wish, he didn’t desire.

He conquered. 

Only this time, his focus wasn’t on a conquest. It wasn’t on a mission, or a lab data report, or a secret he could use to his advantage. It wasn’t power or strategy or survival. 

It was you. 

From the very beginning, you’d been the object of his focus. Your affection, your thoughts, your wit, your emotions. Everything that made you tick, he’d picked up and studied like the rarest gem.

And now? Now your fingerprints were sewn permanently into his heart, holding together the thing that beat in his chest. Now, he was light years apart from the boy he’d been, and yet you still gripped it tightly, your hand too small to keep that shriveled and charred, bloody mess together.

But the taste of your laughter, the sound of your skin, the feeling of your scent? Every moment of disorientation you created within him only served to reinforce his lifelong focus on you.

Military training, tests, experimentation chambers, nothing upended the center of his gravity like you.

From the dim hallway, Caleb watched you. His gaze — deep purple with motes of gold, an iris bloom washed in sunset — mapped the coordinates of your smile, measured the radar of your thumping pulse, calculated the precise trajectory of your movements as you fluttered around the small group of Hunters you were meeting with at the Association for a late night UNICORNS debrief.

You’d never understood entirely how you affected him. No one did, he’d made sure of it. Not your mutual friends growing up, not the woman who’d raised you, not the laughing fool you were talking to right now. Not even your Hunter partner across the table from you.

Caleb knew you better. Treated you better. He always had.

It’s because none of them actually took the time to see you, not really. Not like he did. And no matter how far apart you two got, that would never change. 

You were an enigma to them, a cluster of ridges and buttons in a cockpit, unfulfilled in an amateur's grasp. Dormant without expert handling and care. 

But Caleb had long ago solved you — your wants, your vulnerabilities, your secrets, your fears, your weaknesses. He'd seen you bared before him and had figured you out. Down to the very core in your heart.

Even within the darkest depths of the universe, with no sense or feeling, he would know exactly where to trail each of his fingers. How much pressure to apply to every delicate divot. The precise combination and rhythm to elicit a response.

The way he could guide you, command you, the way he could make you take flight for him? It would be… explosive.

The melody of your sudden laughter extinguished the heat that had started to lick its way down his body as he watched you give them the version of yourself they expected. Amiable, innocent, polished. 

As your meeting came to an end and you and your colleagues stood to leave, the shadows shifted around Caleb as he pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against. Pulling the DAA clearance card that had kept the door behind him open, he took a step into the corridor that would lead to his quiet exit. 

Only he knew where your smile dented into your cheek. Only he knew the cadence of your breaths when you spoke. Only he knew what you looked like when your guard was truly down. When you sighed, cried, hurt, and slept. Only he was worthy of seeing it.

Only Caleb had forged himself into a man worthy of loving you.

The night was thick with fog when he watched you step out of the Hunter’s Association, your shadow dancing across the concrete under the warm glow of the street lamps.

As you parted ways with your colleagues, Caleb studied the elegant line of your throat, the way it expanded and contracted around the hum of your voice.

He knew the exact shape of it by memory, — all those times you'd looked up at him to smile at him, to talk to him, to argue with him — the softness of the delicate skin there, the way it would feel under his palm, under his mouth. Fluttering, warm, alive.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, not away from Skyhaven, not in a darkened alleyway by your workplace where the lamp light barely even reached.

But as the sound of your footsteps ticked over the hum of the city, as each of your movements brought you closer to the corner of the building, to him, the oxygen funneling into his brain seemed to thin, and the rational part of his mind, his focus, took a backseat. 

The sight of you walking toward him was so right, so inevitable that Caleb barely even realized how far out of the shadows he was leaning, how quickly he’d snapped himself back into your orbit. 

He, the metal, you, the magnet.

The fist of his right arm clenched as he forced himself to stay in place, to stop leaning toward you on the off chance the sweetness of your skin would enter his nose. The connection between you was so physical, pulled so taut, that he almost couldn’t believe you'd never sought to close the distance, that you’d ever accepted his death so easily.

That had always been your biggest mistake, though. Thinking that he’d ever allow something as trivial as mortality to sever what bound you to him. 

He shouldn’t reach for you. He knew that. And yet, as you closed the distance, he stepped closer. Just enough to feel your presence pull against him.

His evol stirred, faint but insistent, brushing against the edges of your space like a ribbon. The pull of you was so familiar, so tangible, he could feel every cell, all the matter that made up your beautiful existence. 

Suddenly, without his permission, his hand shot out, gently enveloping your wrist as you passed.

You spun around, your instincts awakened, and in one fluid motion the barrel of your gun was aimed at his chest. He almost chuckled at the sight, but the intensity on your face kept him quiet.

Your eyes widened, shock and incredulity clicking into place when they finally registered Caleb’s presence. “You…” the sentence withers in your throat.

“Hello, pip,” he said softly, raising a brow at the gun. “Still using that move?”

Your eyes flicked across the contours of his face like a laser, his hair, his cheeks, his eyes, his jaw, no detail escaping your notice before you stuttered, “C-Caleb? Bu— You’re supposed to be…”

He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as the letters of his name curled around your tongue for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “I still might if you don’t put that away,” he said mildly. 

Your grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but it didn’t lower. Interesting. 

Moving with military-like precision, too quickly for you to counteract it, Caleb’s hand shot out, hitting the gun and dislodging it from your grasp. 

You froze, hooking your gaze into his as he tested the weight of it in his hand, the barrel pointing at your chest for one second, two seconds, three... before he aimed it at the ground.

“Tsk, tsk. So careless.” The soft click of the safety flicking on pierced the air between them. “Someone could’ve gotten hurt, pipsqueak.”

“How did you… how are you…?” there’s a faint tremor in your tone and your eyes turn glassy. 

“Shh,” Caleb stepped closer, close enough to feel your shaky exhale against his throat like a wave of summer air, close enough to reach around you to place your gun back in the holster on your hip. Close enough that his forehead brushed yours. “I missed you too.”

For half a second, he saw your guard slip, your face caught between disbelief and longing. 

And then, like feeling an engine ignite, he knew exactly which of your buttons he’d just flicked. Before the anger even had a chance to crackle across your irises. Before your palms came up to his chest and shoved at it. “I went to your funeral.”

“My funeral, hm?” His body had barely swayed, but his amused, love-drunk smile never wavered when he decided to press another button. “Did you cry for me, then?” 

Caleb’s evol flared, and he had your hands lowered — eyelashes fluttering in surprise, back and palms pinned to the building behind you — before you’d even finished the thought of shoving him again. 

With your hands out of the way, as you struggled against the bindings of his evol, Caleb finally took the chance to cup your face in his hands, cradling it like it was the very nucleus of his life force. 

“Hey. Hey,” he soothed, re-familiarizing himself with the contour of your jaw beneath his fingers. “I’d never leave you in a world without me, pip, you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” you gritted out, the confusion and betrayal in your voice slowing your movements. "Now, I'm not so sure."

He took advantage of your hesitation, brushing the bow of his upper lip against the bump of your lower one.

“You do, though,” he reassured.  “Just like I know you. Better than anyone ever could.” Caleb reached out, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “Your anger, your love” His hand went to the steel-chain tag that hung around his neck. “Wants. Needs.” His nose traced the bridge of yours and he reveled in another one of your shaky breaths. “Outside…” His voice roughened, “Inside.”

Just as you quit struggling, just as your confusion fissured and your body turned languid against his, just as you gave in, Caleb released you, taking a step back to enjoy the sight of you trying to find your footing.

“Now you’ll never doubt that I’ll always find you.” His mouth curved into the charismatic smile he was known to flash at his general when he gestured toward the street. “It’s late, pipsqueak. Get yourself home.”

Your chest heaved with what were no doubt a dozen of your favorite insults, but you didn’t voice any of them. Instead, you clenched your jaw, straightened your shoulders, and bit out, “I’m going to— I can’t believe— No, I can’t do this right now. This isn’t over, Caleb.”

You turned sharply on your heel, your footsteps echoing in the silence as you walked away, steps stiff and uneven. And Caleb watched as the shadows swallowed your figure and you disappeared from view. 

He’d wait, he decided. he could play the long game. He already spent all these months away from you, what were a few more if it helped you realize the raw, unfiltered truth — that he belonged to you. 

And that was the moment the glass barrier shattered, a pulled trigger that splintered his focus into shards of obsession. 

[afloweroutofstone]

Strongly convinced that this is one of the primary culprits behind a lot of the most harmful social trends of recent years. Obviously the decline of in-person socialization has been happening for about half a century now (see Bowling Alone), but the last five years have turbo-charged it in an unprecedented way.

Americans are spending less time with other people than in any other period for which we have trustworthy data, going back to 1965. Between that year and the end of the 20th century, in-person socializing slowly declined. From 2003 to 2023, it plunged by more than 20 percent, according to the American Time Use Survey, an annual study conducted by the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Among unmarried men and people younger than 25, the decline was more than 35 percent. Alone time predictably spiked during the pandemic. But the trend had started long before most people had ever heard of a novel coronavirus and continued after the pandemic was declared over. According to Enghin Atalay, an economist at the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia, Americans spent even more time alone in 2023 than they did in 2021... Eroding companionship can be seen in numerous odd and depressing facts of American life today. Men who watch television now spend seven hours in front of the TV for every hour they spend hanging out with somebody outside their home. The typical female pet owner spends more time actively engaged with her pet than she spends in face-to-face contact with friends of her own species. Since the early 2000s, the amount of time that Americans say they spend helping or caring for people outside their nuclear family has declined by more than a third. Self-imposed solitude might just be the most important social fact of the 21st century in America. Perhaps unsurprisingly, many observers have reduced this phenomenon to the topic of loneliness. In 2023, Vivek Murthy, Joe Biden’s surgeon general, published an 81-page warning about America’s “epidemic of loneliness,” claiming that its negative health effects were on par with those of tobacco use and obesity. A growing number of public-health officials seem to regard loneliness as the developed world’s next critical public-health issue. The United Kingdom now has a minister for loneliness. So does Japan. But solitude and loneliness are not one and the same. “It is actually a very healthy emotional response to feel some loneliness,” the NYU sociologist Eric Klinenberg told me. “That cue is the thing that pushes you off the couch and into face-to-face interaction.” The real problem here, the nature of America’s social crisis, is that most Americans don’t seem to be reacting to the biological cue to spend more time with other people. Their solitude levels are surging while many measures of loneliness are actually flat or dropping. A 2021 study of the widely used UCLA Loneliness Scale concluded that “the frequently used term ‘loneliness epidemic’ seems exaggerated.” Although young people are lonelier than they once were, there is little evidence that loneliness is rising more broadly today. A 2023 Gallup survey found that the share of Americans who said they experienced loneliness “a lot of the day yesterday” declined by roughly one-third from 2021 to 2023, even as alone time, by Atalay’s calculation, rose slightly. Day to day, hour to hour, we are choosing this way of life—its comforts, its ready entertainments. But convenience can be a curse. Our habits are creating what Atalay has called a “century of solitude.” This is the anti-social century. Over the past few months, I’ve spoken with psychologists, political scientists, sociologists, and technologists about America’s anti-social streak. Although the particulars of these conversations differed, a theme emerged: The individual preference for solitude, scaled up across society and exercised repeatedly over time, is rewiring America’s civic and psychic identity. And the consequences are far-reaching—for our happiness, our communities, our politics, and even our understanding of reality.

[wip]

A very very minor thing I have been curious about for a while, and I'm finally asking: why do you calculate queue posting times the way you do? For example, if I set my queue to post 3x a day, naively I would expect it to post every 8 hours. But in reality it posts every 6 hours with a 12 hour gap between days. Why complicate the math like that?

Answer: Hello @circumference-pie!

Buckle up y’all, it’s story time again!

First: nobody who works at Tumblr right now was a part of the work of planning the default queue implementation, which was more than ten years ago. So the full story behind “Why does it work that way?” has unfortunately been lost to the sands of time. All we can do is tell you how it works today and surmise some reasons why. The queue is actually a very clever system and part of how it works explains some of why it works the way it does. Also, there have been attempts to do what you ask—we still have “Queue 2.0” available in your Tumblr Labs settings, which tries to get closer to how you expect things to work.

Anyway! How the queue works today is not actually a queue in the traditional sense. There is no single list of posts that are in “your queue”. Instead, when you “Add to queue” after creating a post, we’re actually scheduling it to post at a future time, as if you had used the “Schedule post” option instead. We’re just calculating that time on your behalf when you use “Add to queue”, based on your settings, and how many other scheduled posts you have already. We use a secondary “index” model, called “ScheduledPost”, to keep track of posts you have scheduled on your blog. We do mark the ones that are a part of “your queue”, but the data model doesn’t keep one list of your “queue” per se.

You can see this in action on your blog, hiding in plain sight. If you add a bunch of posts to your queue, and then schedule a post for a specific future date, you’ll see both in your blog’s “queue” list, side by side. Because technically to us, they’re the same thing: queued posts are really just another kind of scheduled post, relying on the same always-running service to publish scheduled posts across all of Tumblr. Here’s a fun fact: we typically have about ~14.5 million future posts to publish from this list at any given time and are publishing hundreds of these scheduled posts every second.

So when you’re adding a new post to your queue, what we’re doing behind the scenes is starting at the beginning of your “day”, and creating time slots based on your queue settings. If a time slot is already filled, we move on to the next one. That’s why the default queue scheduler works how you describe—we’re trying to fill those “slots” based on the start of the day, rather than trying to divide the calendar day evenly. This just makes it much simpler for us to understand, scale, and predict when our “peaks” will be. At peak times, the publish-scheduled-posts service is publishing tens of thousands of posts in a manner of seconds. We did rewrite that post-publishing part of this architecture a few years ago to improve its efficiency and solve a lot of “lost post” bugs, but we didn’t change how “Add to queue” works.

However, the Queue 2.0 project available in Labs was an attempt to change the queue system to work as you expect—instead of starting at [beginning of day] and creating enough slots to fit [number of slots] every [number of hours], it tries to divide the calendar day into [number of slots] and fit the result back to the original algorithm’s mapping of the day. We never productionized this alternative approach, because it has a few bugs that some blogs hit in extreme cases, and we’ve never had time to fully fix them. It also can cause a bit of weirdness when time zones diverge, like with daylight savings time. Also, a lot of people prefer the default algorithm, and we haven’t thought of a nice way to transition everyone from one to the other. So for now, both options exist, and you can choose which algorithm for queue-slot-generating you want to use. We hope that makes sense! 

While complicated, it is a great example of a system built by engineers to make sense and be scalable and predictable. But sometimes these kinds of systems, while clever, aren’t very intuitive to understand without digging into how they work.

Thanks for your question, and keep ’em coming. 

[nasa]

Navigating Deep Space by Starlight

On August 6, 1967, astrophysicist Jocelyn Bell Burnell noticed a blip in her radio telescope data. And then another. Eventually, Bell Burnell figured out that these blips, or pulses, were not from people or machines.

The blips were constant. There was something in space that was pulsing in a regular pattern, and Bell Burnell figured out that it was a pulsar: a rapidly spinning neutron star emitting beams of light. Neutron stars are superdense objects created when a massive star dies. Not only are they dense, but neutron stars can also spin really fast! Every star we observe spins, and due to a property called angular momentum, as a collapsing star gets smaller and denser, it spins faster. It’s like how ice skaters spin faster as they bring their arms closer to their bodies and make the space that they take up smaller.

The pulses of light coming from these whirling stars are like the beacons spinning at the tops of lighthouses that help sailors safely approach the shore. As the pulsar spins, beams of radio waves (and other types of light) are swept out into the universe with each turn. The light appears and disappears from our view each time the star rotates.

After decades of studying pulsars, astronomers wondered—could they serve as cosmic beacons to help future space explorers navigate the universe? To see if it could work, scientists needed to do some testing!

First, it was important to gather more data. NASA’s NICER, or Neutron star Interior Composition Explorer, is a telescope that was installed aboard the International Space Station in 2017. Its goal is to find out things about neutron stars like their sizes and densities, using an array of 56 special X-ray concentrators and sensitive detectors to capture and measure pulsars’ light.

But how can we use these X-ray pulses as navigational tools? Enter SEXTANT, or Station Explorer for X-ray Timing and Navigation Technology. If NICER was your phone, SEXTANT would be like an app on it.  

During the first few years of NICER’s observations, SEXTANT created an on-board navigation system using NICER’s pulsar data. It worked by measuring the consistent timing between each pulsar’s pulses to map a set of cosmic beacons.

When calculating position or location, extremely accurate timekeeping is essential. We usually rely on atomic clocks, which use the predictable fluctuations of atoms to tick away the seconds. These atomic clocks can be located on the ground or in space, like the ones on GPS satellites. However, our GPS system only works on or close to Earth, and onboard atomic clocks can be expensive and heavy. Using pulsar observations instead could give us free and reliable “clocks” for navigation. During its experiment, SEXTANT was able to successfully determine the space station’s orbital position!

We can calculate distances using the time taken for a signal to travel between two objects to determine a spacecraft’s approximate location relative to those objects. However, we would need to observe more pulsars to pinpoint a more exact location of a spacecraft. As SEXTANT gathered signals from multiple pulsars, it could more accurately derive its position in space.

So, imagine you are an astronaut on a lengthy journey to the outer solar system. You could use the technology developed by SEXTANT to help plot your course. Since pulsars are reliable and consistent in their spins, you wouldn’t need Wi-Fi or cell service to figure out where you were in relation to your destination. The pulsar-based navigation data could even help you figure out your ETA!

None of these missions or experiments would be possible without Jocelyn Bell Burnell’s keen eye for an odd spot in her radio data decades ago, which set the stage for the idea to use spinning neutron stars as a celestial GPS. Her contribution to the field of astrophysics laid the groundwork for research benefitting the people of the future, who yearn to sail amongst the stars.  

Keep up with the latest NICER news by following NASA Universe on X and Facebook and check out the mission’s website. For more on space navigation, follow @NASASCaN on X or visit NASA’s Space Communications and Navigation website.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[narxcisse]

★ — I Wish I Was Your Girl

Pairing: MH!Viktor x GN!Reader

CW: Angst, hurt without comfort, no happy ending, unrequited love

English isn't my native language

The metallic hum of Viktor’s laboratory was an all-encompassing presence. The rhythmic ticking of gears, the occasional flicker of artificial light, and the cold sterility of the environment were as constant as the man—or machine—who inhabited it. You stood at the edge of his sanctum, feeling out of place amidst the towering machinery and data readouts that likely made more sense to him than human emotion ever could.

Your voice was soft, barely rising above the whirring mechanisms. "Viktor... I think I need to leave."

The Machine Herald barely paused, his glowing eye swiveling in your direction. “Leave? You’ve spoken of this before, yet you remain. Explain.”

You swallowed, the weight of the past three years crashing over you. Touring the shattered continents, trailing behind Viktor as he spread his gospel of evolution and perfection. You didn’t regret it—how could you? He was brilliant, mesmerizing even in his cold, calculated way. But you were only human, and humans break.

“Do I need to explain?” you whispered. “You’re not blind to how… hollow I’ve felt.”

Viktor turned fully toward you, his towering frame casting a shadow that felt more oppressive than comforting. "You humans rely too much on feelings, on fleeting notions of inadequacy. They only hinder progress. You are not hollow; you are simply inefficient."

The words stung more than they should have. Three years at his side, years of chasing his approval, and this was all he saw you as—inefficient.

“I wish I was more to you,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “I wish I was... something.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Viktor tilted his head, as though analyzing you like a broken machine. "Your companionship has been a statistical anomaly. Useful at times, distracting at others. But sentimentality... is illogical."

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was the one you expected. You took a shaky step toward him. “You never stop, do you? Always creating, always perfecting. But what about the things you and I will never do?”

“Things we will never do are irrelevant,” he stated plainly. “What matters is what can be achieved now, in the present.”

You laughed bitterly, rubbing at your eyes. "Then why do you let me stay? What purpose does keeping me around serve?"

His pause was uncharacteristic, almost imperceptible, but you noticed it. The faint hum of his augmented body filled the space between you.

“I have... no explanation,” he admitted finally. “Your presence has become routine, a constant variable. Disrupting it would—” He stopped, his mechanical fingers twitching. “It would be noticeable.”

Your heart twisted. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even care. It was habit.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced a smile. “Late at night, when you’re lost in your work, I wonder if you ever think about me the way I think about you. I wonder if you even could.”

Viktor stepped closer, his towering frame a mix of cold steel and faint humanity. “What you wish for is impossible. My mind has ascended beyond such frivolities. And yet…” His voice dropped into a softer hum, almost a whisper. “...there is a strange sense of loss at the thought of your absence. Illogical, but... real.”

You reached out, your hand brushing against the cold metal of his arm. It was ironic—he didn’t feel, and yet his words cut deeper than anything you’d ever known.

“I wish I was yours,” you said, barely audible. “But I’m not. And I never will be.”

His glowing eye flickered, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, anything to make you stay. Instead, he stood there, silent and still.

You stepped back, the weight of the years dragging behind you. “Goodbye, Viktor.”

As you turned to leave, his voice followed, flat but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Your inefficiency will be missed.”

The door closed behind you, and for the first time, Viktor stood alone in his lab, his machinery humming, his thoughts uncharacteristically scattered.

[reality-detective]

Where are all those people who were telling us there is no plan and nobody is coming to save us?

I used to be inundated with them telling me I was fool for following Q and it was a psyop to get us all to be complacent and comply with the globalists agenda of total enslavement.

They wanted us to rise up violently and remove the government.

They wanted a civil war.

We didn’t take the bait.

Instead, we are witnessing a complete dismantling of the insurgency in real time. Faster than ever.

How?

Q told us to “follow the money.”

That’s the “keystone.”

Q drop

5

“FOLLOW THE MONEY, it’s the key.

What is Pelosi’s net worth by way of one example. Why coincidentally is her memory apparently going?

Cover for possible future indictment to plead what?

What if John M never had surgery and that was a cover for a future out if needed against prosecution?

Why did Soros transfer his bulk public funds to a NP? Note this doesn’t include massive slush funds that are pulled by several high ups.

Why did Soros’ son have several meetings with Canadian PM and how is that related to Clinton’s?

Can you rely on being able to board a plane and fly away?

Why is MS13 a priority _ nobody got this.

Could people pay such gangs to kill opponents and why / how to insulate against exposure?

The truth is mind blowing and cannot fully be exposed.

Also many are thinking from one point of view, US only, this evil is embedded globally. US is the first domino.

Have faith.”

Following the money will reveal the entire web of corruption going back many decades. It has always been the KEYSTONE.

Q drop

167

POTUS opened the door of all doors.

Expand your thinking.

What is the KEYSTONE?

Q

DOGE was planned for a long time.

By making Elon and his data investigators “Special Government Employees,” it allows them to access every department and agency.

Trump knew that when all of this theft of taxpayers money is proven, the American people will scream for justice.

Trump’s team didn’t just hit the ground running, they have hit the entire insurgency with an offensive “blitzkrieg” that they never expected.

They have called Trump “Hitler” for eight years and now he’s hitting them with another boomerang.

Blitzkrieg

Military tactic calculated to create psychological shock and resultant disorganization in enemy forces through the employment of surprise, speed, and superiority in matériel or firepower.

Aren’t the democrats and RINOS in shock and don’t they look totally disorganized?

Why were they so unprepared for this complete dismantling of their entire corrupt system?

Q told us.

“She was never supposed to lose.”

Here’s a Q drop by Trump himself. Trump is Q+.

Q drop

1834

THEY NEVER THOUGHT SHE WOULD LOSE.

NOW THEY ALL LOSE.

Q+

When Trump won the presidency in 2017, the game was over.

Here’s a portion of

Q drop 2

“POTUS knew removing criminal rogue elements as a first step was essential to free and pass legislation.

Who has access to everything classified?

Do you believe HRC, Soros, Obama etc have more power than Trump? FANTASY.

Whoever controls the office of the Presidecy controls this great land.

They never believed for a moment they (Democrats and Republicans) would lose control.

This is not a R v D battle.

Why did Soros donate all his money recently?

Why would he place all his funds in a RC?

Mockingbird 10.30.17

God bless fellow Patriots.”

Trump chose to play the long game because he knew that just removing all of the insurgency, without first exposing all the corruption, would be a high risk for civil war.

The enemy desperately wanted a civil war because that would help them to escape justice.

This is why some of those big influencers on social media were attacking Q followers.

We “trusted the plan” and they were trying to get the American people to arm themselves and rise up to take on the government.

They failed...

I know a lot of people will call me crazy among other things because they think dates came and went with nothing happening... Well what people failed to understand is those so-called dates, we're NOT dates! They were chapters and paragraphs in the "Law of War Manual." I have posted about it before.

I can't change anybody, change is your job🤔

[aventurineswife]

Oooh I’ve got an idea:

Boothill with Remembrance Pathstrider Reader working undercover as an IPC agent.

Reader has a solid résumé that gets them a high enough position in some department, and it helps that they have a background in engineering and computers, letting them slip into areas normally closed off to others which lets them steal information and data (and gather memories from the surrounding environment) while they’re doing their job; and after waiting for someone to complain about their tech still not working, Reader can go back in to clean up, leaving the tech to work properly without anymore problems so that no one suspects anything.

And Reader can easily act annoyed whenever someone asks for help, because they also do have legitimate experience in dealing with the computer illiterate. 😅

Reader: “Ugh, it’s having problems again? What did you do this time?” 😒

IPC goon: “Skott was the last one to use it.”

Skott: “IT WASN’T ME, I DIDN’T BREAK IT!” 😭

Except someone occasionally starts to suspect and close in on Reader, especially when they notice that almost every technological incident has Reader involved; and this time the suspicion is heavy enough that Reader needs some kind of distraction, or at least some way to lift it the suspicion.

So they send an encrypted message to their regular, Boothill, saying “Hostage situation,” meaning, “I need a temporary extraction because they’re onto me and I can’t shake them off.”

No Rest for the Wicked

Summary: When you, an undercover IPC agent with a solid background in engineering and computer systems, find yourself under suspicion for a series of tech malfunctions, you send a coded message to Boothill, the cyborg cowboy and your regular ally, asking for a distraction. As suspicion mounts and the heat intensifies, Boothill creates chaos in the IPC building, allowing you to make your escape. With the agent closing in on you, you rely on Boothill’s timely intervention to ensure your extraction—and your survival.

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Undercover Agent, Suspense, Action, Tech Manipulation, Espionage, Distracting Chaos, Slow Burn, Mutual Trust.

Warnings: Gun violence, Explosions, Suspenseful action, References to combat and danger, Mild language, Peril.

The air in the IPC’s towering headquarters was sterile and cold, the hum of computers filling the halls. You walked confidently through the corridors, your heels clicking against the marble floors, a calculated annoyance etched into your expression as you passed one of the many workers bustling about. It wasn’t the first time someone had called you in to deal with a malfunctioning piece of tech, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

You had an impeccable résumé, one that made it easy to slip into the ranks of the IPC unnoticed, a high-ranking agent within a department no one could quite place you in. Engineering and computer systems, the perfect cover for your true work. Your ability to slip into areas normally closed off to others, gathering information and gathering memories from the environment around you, made your job easier. But today, something felt different. The air around you was heavier—like someone was watching just a little too closely.

"Ugh, it’s having problems again?" you muttered as you walked into the small office where a flustered employee stood beside a malfunctioning console. "What did you do this time?"

The worker, nervous and flustered, hesitated before pointing to a colleague in the corner of the room. "Skott was the last one to use it."

Skott’s face immediately contorted into horror. "IT WASN’T ME, I DIDN’T BREAK IT!" he wailed.

You simply rolled your eyes, more focused on the larger picture at hand than their petty drama. You always had a reputation for acting annoyed when these "accidents" happened, and honestly, it suited you. It kept people from asking too many questions, gave you the perfect excuse to swoop in and fix things. This time, it was a simple fix—too easy. A few adjustments here, a gentle tap there, and the console would be working perfectly. But as you bent over the console, your mind was elsewhere.

There were whispers lately, whispers that made your stomach churn. Someone was starting to suspect. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t help but feel the eyes on you. Each time you fixed another "problem," you felt someone getting closer, lingering a bit too long. It wasn’t a coincidence that every tech failure seemed to involve you.

You had to cover your tracks. It was time for a distraction, something to keep the heat off you for a while. You couldn't afford to slip up now—not when Boothill was still out there. He was your lifeline, and he knew exactly how to handle situations like this.

With a subtle gesture, you activated your communicator and sent a quick encrypted message: "Hostage situation."

It was your code for "I need extraction. They’re onto me."

A few moments passed before you received a response. Just one word: "Coming."

You felt a small wave of relief, but you couldn’t let your guard down. The pressure was mounting, the suspicion growing stronger. You needed to get out, and you needed Boothill to cause the perfect distraction. As you finished the minor repairs to the console and reprogrammed it to work flawlessly, you heard the distinct sound of boots in the hallway. The unmistakable heavy thud of someone approaching—someone who didn’t belong.

The door swung open, and a cold-eyed agent stepped in, his gaze locking onto you. "Agent Pathstrider," he said with forced politeness, "We need to have a word."

Your heart skipped a beat. The suspicion was no longer subtle. You had no time to play coy.

"Of course," you replied, giving them the most disinterested expression you could muster. "What is it now? Is someone else having problems with their tech? Maybe they should stop breaking things."

The agent took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. He wasn't just trying to figure out a malfunction—he was trying to figure out you. And that was a problem.

Before the agent could say anything else, there was a loud bang, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. A massive explosion shook the building, sending a tremor through the floor. You didn't even flinch. This was it. Boothill had arrived.

The agent’s eyes flickered toward the door, and without missing a beat, you lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall. His breath came out in a rush, but you weren't about to let him make a sound. You quickly applied enough pressure to keep him still but not enough to kill him—not yet.

"Stay quiet," you hissed in his ear, your hand tightly gripping the small, concealed blade hidden at your side. "We don't want anyone to notice you're missing."

With the agent temporarily subdued, you moved to the window, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The building was in chaos—Boothill’s signature, a calculated mess of violence. His handiwork was exactly what you needed. As you glanced out, you saw him—his tall, imposing figure in his cowboy hat, flames in the distance framing his outline. Boothill had made sure the distraction would cover your escape.

You didn’t waste any time. With the agent out cold, you slipped out of the room and into the ventilation system, quickly making your way to a secure exit. You had a rendezvous with Boothill, and you weren’t going to let anyone ruin it.

After all, when your cover was blown, only one thing could save you—your partner in the shadows, the gunslinger whose fire never burned out.

[intervex]

What Pride Flags Mean Pt 2: Disability

What do colours on pride flags mean when it comes to disability? Here's what I found!

I assembled a data set of 624 queer & disabled pride flags, containing a total of 2060 colour choices. I tagged each colour choice based on its known meaning(s). There are 41 disability-related tags, with 403 colour choices from 134 different pride flags.

On the left are the names of the tags. To the right of each tag is a series of squares, representing all the pride flag colour choices that were given that tag. The more squares there are, the more pride flags I found which had that meaning.

I then calculated a median colour for each tag. Every colour was converted into okLCH colourspace, where colours are represented with three values: lightness, chroma, and hue. I took the median lightness, median chroma, and median hue, and used those to create the colours on the left (the backgrounds of the tag names).

Detailed results are under the cut, and at the very bottom is a simplified & condensed colour-meaning association list that should be easier to remember & keep track of.

RESULTS

Disability in general came out as purplish blue. I kinda expected it to be blue, but guess more people think of it as purple!

Medicine & madness

Only a single flag - the Crohn's disease flag - had anything positive to say about the medical establishment. The Crohn's flag uses white to represent the doctors/nurses/researchers/etc who help Crohn's patients.

Most often if disability pride flags had something to say about the medical establishment, it was negative. There are five entries under underdiagnosis/misdiagnosis (mostly black/grey), and six for undiagnosed (mostly white).

And nine entries that I tagged with "iatrogenesis" which is the term for when medical intervention causes disease/disability.

The most common form of iatrogenesis was psychological trauma caused by the medical establishment. In particular, psychiatry was most often implicated for this, as seen in the psychpunk, systempunk, and traumatic psych experience flags. These were mostly purple, probably because mad pride is pink/purple.

Also related to mad pride was the psychosis+schizo spectrum, also using purple. (See: psychosis+schizospec flag, schizoaffective flag). Plurality also tended towards magenta but had a large range.

On the flip side of mad pride were flags that talked about mental health/illness as a negative thing. These tended to use blue or green. For example, the HS flag uses blue for "the toll that HS takes on mental health". This chronic pain flag uses a bluish green for how chronic pain messes you up emotionally.

Psychological trauma and dissociation was usually dark - often a dark grey. Red, purple, and teal were all used. The median winds up being a dark purple.

Mood disorders wound up with a median being blue but it had a bunch of subthemes. Red was used for anger & manic episodes. Yellow was also used for manic. Green and teal for panic/anxiety. Blue for depressive. Purple and black used for general negativity.

Neurodivergence

Autism was almost equally split between red (#RedInstead started in 2015 by a Canadian ASAN activist) and yellow (#GoingGold started in 2018 by AutisticUK). These are two prominent colours used as alternatives to the blue of Autism Speaks. I went into this personally inclined to the gold because of the Au=Autism pun, but splitting the difference and being orange actually is kinda nice. Feels inclusive.

Being non-verbal was reddish brown. It overlapped a lot with non-verbal autism but wasn't 100% autistic so I kept it a distinct tag.

ADHD had a bunch of variety. Orange was the most popular colour (7 out of 22) but purple (6) also got used a bunch. Some flags made a distinction between inattentive ADHD & hyperactive, usually with violet for inattentive and orange for hyperactive. But both orange and purple were used for all ADHD types.

Dyslexia was navy blue. Dyscalculia was dark green. Less common learning disabilities/differences which only had one pride flag representing them (e.g. dysorthographia) I lumped into "other learning-disabilities". It also came out orange.

Borderline PD had equal amounts of yellow and blue, yielding a median green because green is in between yellow and blue.

General neurodiversity was green. Yellow and blue also got used. I don't think the blues (like in this dyspraxia flag) in my data set are references to Autism Speaks but I personally would avoid using blue for neurodivergence regardless.

Cognitive difficulties was where I lumped together brain fog and memory problems. These were generally coming from chronic illness flags, like the chronic migraines flag. These were generally grey or greyish and a bit purple.

Sensory & communication disabilities

In @capricorn-0mnikorn's original meanings for the disability pride flag, green is used to represent sensory disabilities. I recently proposed some new meanings for the stripes, but I've felt least sure of my suggestion for the green stripe, so I wanted to find out if existing sensory flags really use green.

Blind & low-viz tended to be black/grey, like this one.

Deaf/deaf/HOH was blue, which is popularly used in Deaf culture (including the deaf flag). Stuttering, which isn't a sensory disability but is a communication disability like deafness, was also blue.

Sensory processing issues, such as auditory processing disorder (flag1, flag2), tended towards the cool greens & teals. This is probably in line with how neurodiversity in general was green.

So it's kind of a mixed result. As I already kinda suspected, it doesn't seem like Deaf/blind folks were really using green. But sensory processing like auditory processing disorder does use it. 🤔

Chronic illnesses

The tag for chronic illness in general was a mix of blue, purple, and red. The median winds up being a pinkish purple.

Chronic pain and chronic fatigue both wound up as bluish purple, but with some notable reds. Autoimmune conditions like lupus were also purple, but a pinkish purple. Epilepsy was purple.

Sleep disorders were also bluish purple, like in this narcolepsy flag. This makes sense to me: there's a connecting theme here of sleep and rest, and bluish purple being considered a colour of the night.

Respiratory conditions were sky blue - probably a reference to air and breathing (e.g. the blue in this long covid flag).

Gastrointestinal conditions such as gastroparesis were generally lime green or chartreuse (the colour between yellow and green). This is probably a reference to bile & gastric juices having these colours.

Reproductive disorders were about half yellow (e.g. this endometriosis flag), about one quarter purple, and one quarter red (e.g. this endometriosis flag). The median wound up being yellow.

Invisible disabilities were usually white, but a bit of teal.

Mobility & physical differences

Low mobility wound up as brown. Red was a common choice, but yellow/brown was more common, such as in this disability flag.

Within the mobility tag, motor coordination/coordination tended to be yellow (e.g. this autism flag), body weakness tended to be green (e.g. this ME/CFS flag).

Physical differences such as deformities also wound up as a warm yellow. There's the red from this congenital amputee flag, and the greenish yellow from this radial dysplasia flag.

Models of disability

I did not include the new proposed meanings for the disability pride flag in this data set. I wanted to see if the proposed meanings are in line with pre-existing flags.

Social model wound up as blue, in line with my proposal. 🩵

Ableism came out as dark grey, with a bit of teal. This includes both fighting ableism and being victims of ableism. If I were to match it to a model of disability, the radical or social models seem most relevant.

Disability visibility & pride came out as yellow. This is in line with yellow being culturally associated with happiness and joy. I consider this to be in line with the affirmation model and my proposal. 💛

Disability caused or amplified by racism/classism came out as dark brown/red, but there also were only four entries (purple/red/brown/black). The black and brown I assume are in reference to the brown skin of POC (e.g. this fibromyalgia flag).

My proposal has red as debility (disability caused by violence). This arguably lines up to the racism/classism, but I think it's kind of weak because of how few disability+racism/etc flags I found. I'm considering this inconclusive.

The economic model showed up as olive (between yellow and green). The economic model was presented as ableist. For example, the bad disabled flag has a green stripe for "being useless/uneconomic" in a context that makes clear that this is a way of "sham[ing], discredit[ing], denigrat[ing] disabled people".

As mentioned at the top, the only pro-medical entry was a single white stripe from the Crohn's flag.

This has me now second guessing the white & green in my original proposal - maybe the medical model should be under the "other models" of the white stripe? 🤔 And change green to something that would more easily include sensory processing disabilities? Like maybe the human rights model? 🤔 IDK, would like feedback! 💚 ***

SIMPLIFIED RESULTS

The feedback I got from @queercripintersex on my analysis of gender/attraction colours is it'd be easier to have results that are clustered around a small set of colours with memorable colour-meaning associations.

So I did another round of clustering to simplify things down. I brought the 41 tags down to a more manageable 18. And I've added how I personally would remember each colour.

White: medical model. White like the lab coats doctors wear.

Off-white: invisible disabilities. Off-white like you're barely visible against a white background.

Grey: confusion (brain fog + un/misdiagnosis). Grey like fog.

Black: blind/low-viz. Black like absence of light.

Dark red: trauma. By this I mean both physical trauma (injury) and psychological trauma. Red like blood.

Dark brown: oppression (ableism/racism/etc). Red like blood plus brown like black/brown skin.

Reddish orange: autism/ADHD spectrum. Orange is opposite of blue on many colour wheels, so is a good option for being the opposite of Autism Speaks. Orange is also used in a lot of safety equipment and the like because of how it catches the eye's attention, and the association with attention -> ADHD.

Orange-ish yellow: reproductive disorders. Gold like the intersex flag.

Yellow-brown: physical disabilities. I don't have a good memory aid here, best I'm coming up is it's like the colour of wood, which is used for making mobility aids like canes but also "wooden" is used to describe some motor coordination impairments. If you have a better way to remember it let me know!

Yellow: positivity (disability pride + mania). Yellow is often associated with happiness.

Yellow-green: gastrointestinal. Like bile and vomit.

Green: neurodiversity. Because these are natural differences and green is associated with nature.

Teal/cyan: negativity (depression/etc, negative aspects of disability). Teal is has the same first three letters as tears, and we say people have the blues.

Blue: communication (Deaf/stuttering/etc). Blue also gets associated with openness and clarity.

Purplish blue: social model. Honestly the way I'll remember this one is that social attraction was a similar colour. Blue is often associated with society, conformity, and tradition.

Bluish purple: disability in general. Indigo is a good colour for not fitting in: we're neither blue nor purple.

Purple: chronic illness (pain/fatigue/etc). Purple is associated with the night and sleep, and chronically ill people need rest.

Pink-purple/magenta: madness. Pink and magenta aren't "real" colours in the sense that there do not exist wavelengths of light that make pink and magenta specifically. Those colours are made by our brains, which seems apt!

(Everything here is Creative Commons Sharealike 4.0, so you're free to reuse and build on my visualizations, tables, etc. Enjoy!)

EDIT (2024-07-24): earlier version of this post incorrectly wrote that the median hue for reproductive disorders was red. It was yellow.

[hotchnerwrites]

hi i have a really weird request i was hoping you’d fulfill :) i read your request guidelines and it says you write for spencer reid but it looks like you write majority hotch fics, which i also enjoy:) i have hoping for a spencer reid x reader fic, i don’t have much of a plot in mind so you may need to get creative, or maybe it could just be headcanons, but anything with a weird reader. like maybe she’s an elementary art teacher type vibe (maybe she’s actually an art teacher, or maybe she works at the BAU, your choice) and she has pet bugs and wears cool clothes, that sort of thing. everyone always writes the reader to be really type a, really similar to spencer, yk? and as much as i love those fics i personally think he’d work well with a little more carefree, creative type person too. thank you so much and you absolutely do not have to write this if you don’t want too!!

Ladybird 🐞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: SFW, headcanons kinda, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of (y/n), fluff

A/N: Hi anon! so glad you enjoyed my other fics! I'm so happy you requested Spencer, i've been itching to write my pookie but it's not a common request (yet?), i only have one other published fic of him. i looooooooooove writing his big brain self and ur idea of reader being an opposite personality type was so delicious to write ugh i'm quite happy with this fic. i also have some drafts of him (academic rivals, fluff fics etc.) but i don't post them bc im not at a 100% with them, they're much longer fics too lol. if you want those, i'm happy to post (slowly) so lmk. anyways, enough yapping, ENJOY THE READ!!! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Please read my rules before req'ing. Send me stuff! :)

Spencer wasn’t accustomed to the sensation of being in the dark. If something new crossed his path, he’d devour every piece of information he could find, understanding it, processing it, then neatly filing it away in his mind for later use. The idea of being uncertain—it made him uneasy, like a puzzle with a missing piece, gnawing at him until he could fill it in. He hated the discomfort of not knowing.

But you… what were you?

You moved through life with a kind of fluidity he couldn’t quite grasp. Were you like water? No, no, you were too solid, too grounded for that. Fire, then? But you weren’t wild or destructive—your warmth didn’t burn Spencer, it invited him in. The wind, then. You were untethered and free. But even that didn’t feel quite right. The wind didn’t create, and you were full of creation. You existed in a plane ruled by feeling rather than logic, instinct over calculation.

Spencer couldn’t fathom you.

He prided himself on his ability to categorise things, to turn life into binary or categorical data. But you slipped like butter through his mental filing system, like something he could never quantify. You smelled like rain and cedar, like something both fresh and familiar, like petrichor clinging to the edges of an old wooden frame. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t place you, and maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

When you talked about your job— you were an elementary school art teacher— you talked about it with a kind of excitement that made Spencer envious. It was silly, really, but he wanted the one to be taught by you, to spend more time trying to figure you out. He loved his work, too, but it was so full of danger and death, and the way you loved yours made him want to be a part of the world you had.

The first time he met you, Spencer spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to decipher the colours in your outfit. He knew different textures weren’t supposed to be mixed (the Vogue magazine he had swiped at the doctor’s office had declared the mixing of dots and stripes a cardinal sin), but you had layered patterns like a painting. It shouldn’t have made sense. So why did it? He had opened his mouth to ask if there had been a method behind it, but you had flashed a smile at him that made his unfaltering mind stop dead in its tracks, and you had said, “Don’t overthink it, Spence. Just feel.”

As if it was something he knew how to do.

You weren’t chaotic, not exactly—but you were unpredictable. Spencer, with his equations and calculations, with his logic and probabilities, had always sought comfort in knowing the outcome before things even began. But you—you weren’t an equation. You were the space between the numbers, the part of the formula he couldn’t solve. You were a walking, talking example of Ramsey’s theorem— he knew where you started and where you ended, but he couldn’t untangle what was in between.

Every morning, you took a picture of your coffee. It was the same drink every day, but you persevered, swearing the foam made a new image every time. You’d tried to rope him into theorising with you, to get him to see the shape of the world in the swirls and patterns of the cream, but Spencer could never really see it like you. 

“You know it’s just milk and coffee, right?” He’d say, leaning over your shoulder to examine the mug. “There’s no scientific basis for anything more.” 

But you never held it against him. Sometimes, you’d nudge him with your elbow, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you said, “I think you’re missing out on a whole new dimension of the universe, Reid.”

He’d hum, a little smile on his lips, and then he’d drop the subject—mostly. He wasn’t one to argue for long, especially when it came to the things that made you happy, like the ritual of your morning coffee or the way you’d rearrange your art supplies by colour, even though it made absolutely no sense.

When Spencer found out you kept bugs as pets, he’d nearly leapt out of his chair.

“You— you have a mantis,” he stammered, eyes wide as he watched you let it crawl delicately over your fingers.

“That’s not just a mantis, Spence,” you scolded him gently, a smile tugging at your lips, “Meet Matilda. She’s my friend.”

Spencer blinked, processing. “Statistically, most people keep a cat or a dog—“

“I’m not a statistic, Spence,” you’d reminded him, voice gentle as if you were talking to one of your school kids.

He tried to understand, tried to decipher why anyone would choose to keep an insect as a pet, but logic evaded him, a feeling he only experienced around you. But when he’d watch you play with Matilda like she was the best thing in the world, he let it go.

He started bringing you little things—odds and ends that made him think of you. A book of surrealist paintings he thought you’d like. A smooth, speckled rock he found outside the precinct. A jar of local honey from a case in a small town, because you once mentioned you liked the taste of dandelions.

And every time, you’d accept them like he had just handed you a moonbeam, eyes lighting up in unadulterated joy.

“See?” you had murmured one day, holding the honey jar up to the light. “You do feel things, Spencer. You just don’t realise it.”

No, it wasn’t about logic. Maybe, it was just about you.

One day, Spencer caught himself carefully placing a ladybug outside on a leaf, rather than brushing it away. As he counted its spots for you— something about them bringing luck— he realised something.

Oh.

I love her.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[skyeslittlecorner]

Rough timeline of Hell

Tldr: devils are such grandpas.

Has anyone managed to write down the timeline in hell yet? Because for now I'm slowly catching up on what I wasn't there and I have to write everything down so I don't get lost. I've done some math before, trying to figure out how many years have passed since Solomon disappeared. I will quickly refresh this information a bit - Most things haven't changed, but I should mention that we now know that time in Hell and on Earth passes at different times and rates. So today a minute may pass, and tomorrow a year may pass.

For the sake of keeping some data, we'll stick with the average I calculated earlier, because I haven't found a better point of reference yet. So - one year in hell is 6.6 years on earth.

Quick proportions: 365*365/6.6 =~56 days

That would mean MC has been in hell for about two months.

Possible? I guess so. I don't remember MC's exact time in hell being given anywhere, but I haven't read 6Ch yet. Devils believe that for them practically no time has passed, but they are long-lived, there's no point in believing them. This is of course the time of the main storyline.

Now it's time for something worse. Two months is a piece of cake - now we'll be playing with years. Let's start with the order in which the kingdoms were formed.

Tartaros - Definitely the first, judging by little Mammon's event.

Hades - I'm betting on the latter, because when Satan formed Gehenna, Levi was already on the throne. We know this from both Sitri and Amy events.

Gehenna - After these two, I think the third one is Gehenna. When Satan found Sitri (which was during his takeover of Gehenna), the other kings also showed up and had their eyes on him. Mammon and Levi. Beel didn't show up then.

Avisos - Continuing, Beel may not have appeared because he didn't care, or because he wasn't king. I have no information on that. So I'd put him somewhere between Hades or not far after Gehenna.

Abaddon - no information. From Asmodeus himself and his behavior I would think he could have taken power quite early, but who the hell knows.

Niflheim - I haven't gotten to that event yet, but from what I've seen of people's mentions, no one really knows what to do with them. Rather leaning towards one of the younger countries. It makes sense that Belphi simply didn't feel like it lol

Paradise Lost - The last of the countries, what we know from Luci's event.

Why did I present this? So that we could have some first idea - because now comes the math. Again. Yay.

Sitri, Amy, and Levi allow us to roughly (very roughly) count how much time has passed since the founding of Gehenna to the arrival of the MC. Thanks to the fact that events overlap with the main plot. Long live backstories.

311 years passed from the moment Solomon disappeared until the appearance of MC.

Solomon lived in hell from 100 to 150 years.

Sitri spent almost 100 years in Hades studying.

Sitri and Amy met every five years at Gehenna meetings so regularly that they made a fandom. It's quite modern, post-Solomon times. We can assume about 50-100 years. That's not a problem for now, because…

…They have known each other for hundreds of years, which ranges from 200 to 999 years.

All these events create a timeline something something like this:

We need to assume something to be able to operate on numbers.

For minimum: 100+200+311-50 = 561

For maximum: 100+999+311-100 = 1310

So the average is: (561+1310)/2=935,5

This would mean that somewhere between 561 and 1310 years passed from the founding of Gehenna to the appearance of the MC. With probability leaning closer to 935 years, since we have nothing better than an average.

I think these assumptions are enough for now. Especially since we have no idea what the truth is. As you can see, there are a lot of maybes and ifs. But still, I think it's interesting to at least try to grasp how older our sexy boys are.

Of course if you have something to add, add it! I could be wrong on so many levels that I don't even know if it's worth posting this, but I had too much fun writing it (and maybe I'll learn something more from you!)

.

.

.

.

.

Aren't you tired yet? So, I have another funfact. It falls into the category of conspiracy theories are my passion. (They are as you see.)

From the moment Solomon appeared in hell to the moment MC appeared, approximately 461 years passed. If MC lived a similarly long life, that's a total of 611 years. In terms of Earth years, the entire cycle, from when Solomon appeared to when Solomon's descendant disappeared, would take about 4,000 Earth years. (611*6.6)

What's interesting about this, you ask?

Let me quote something: "The chronology [of the Bible] is highly schematic, marking out a world cycle of 4,000 years."

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chronology_of_the_Bible

That would be an interesting symbolism. Our ancestor started a cycle that began to change hell, and MC, his descendant, would end that cycle, giving hope for a new, better era.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Do you have any tip on writing character that smarter than you? Like I need to write about prowl solving case, but I barely passed my math exam.

I do have a few tips!

One, research. The more you know about a subject matter yourself, the more you can BS your way through it. You don't have to go write a thesis or anything like that, but knowing key phrases, terms, and ideas can help you make crap up on the fly. For example, if you want to write a battle scene, do a quick look into a historical figure who you want to model your character after. Look at an interesting battle and analyze key elements. Then take the vague overview of it and go buck wild. Throw it into a blender in order to create a believable plan/tactic for your character to follow.

Two, foreshadow and develop a reputation. This will cover for a lot of things for your character and save you the slog of explaining everything. If your character is established to have a reputation for being intelligent and/or capable, you can have your character glance over things and leave readers confident that something was actually accomplished. Of course, you need to be careful with this. If you establish your character to be a brutal strategist and then have said character go out of their way to care about civilians the next moment, you will run into problems with consistency.

Three, include other characters in the scene. You can draw attention away from your own lack of knowledge by having several things moving at once to add to the overall scene. A character can look far more complex and wise if they are seen interacting with others and using different tools to help accomplish their goals. Not everyone can be Sherlock Holmes. Some characters can express their cunning and intelligence via interacting with others and through dialogue. Be careful not to be too hamfisted with it though, otherwise it feels forced. I personally tend to spend chapters upon chapters foreshadowing and establishing the capabilities and reputation of a character that is meant to be smarter than me.

Four, lean on a character's traits. If you are writing a character with highly noticeable traits, you can lean on those to help rationalize their actions even if they end up being inconsistent later. I am personally a huge fan of this since emotion can make an otherwise very intelligent character brutally ineffective in the right situation.

Regarding your example of Prowl, I would first study whatever it is he is meant to be looking into. If it's a murder, I'd look into a few interesting real life murder cases for example. I personally studied true crime to write Prowl chapters in my fic. Then, apply that basic knowledge and have Prowl be capable of assessing the situation quickly and logically. Next, or perhaps also first, I would establish his reputation and background to give him a base of knowledge that is believable. This can be done through background dialogue, his thoughts, or through setting details.

Then, to really sell it, I would have Prowl contact associates, dig up old data, and otherwise showcase his knowledge base and intelligence through organic means. Pulling up other characters can make him seem far more calculating than you, the author, may be. And lastly, I would pull on his lack of empathy to help guide how he makes his decisions. This way, you can still slip up a bit as an Author in his conclusions so long as they relate back to Prowl's weaknesses somehow.

These are rather vague, but I hope this helps!

[generic-sonic-fan]

Omega's Observations: Drown/Earth

Summary: Omega generates a metaphor that he will never allow anyone else to read.

For @teamdarkweek. 756 words.

Omega is not very good at using figurative language, but he is improving.

Obscurity is an obsession meatbags have, but the ways of speaking they’ve invented to obscure their meanings are useful weapons for his verbal arsenal. He has set about collecting them. Rouge is a shockingly patient teacher when harassed on the subject. The public alternative to the Eggnet, called the internet, has a tolerably competent search function.

Through both, he has encountered more specific words that weren’t included in his initial dictionary, such as “simile” and “idiom” and “metaphor”. Armed with each, Eggman is no longer just “an impotent fool”, but instead:

Eggman is as stupid as a Cnidaria (an organism that does not have a brain. Direct comparison. This is a simile.)

Eggman is not the sharpest cutting utensil in the container (sharp being used by its other definition, mental clarity. Play on words. This is an idiom.) 

Eggman is a cardboard box (empty inside, fun to crush. Indirect comparison. This is a metaphor.) 

Meatbags chuckle at his attempts. They tell him “good try”, or repeat his phrase with the ‘correct’ wording. They assume he doesn’t know how to speak with anything other than a literal tone. 

They are wrong.

They assume that figurative language is not natural to him.

. . . They are correct. 

Four walls. One floor. One ceiling. One door. One control panel. One pod. One Subject he was to guard. 

And one dictionary bank installed in his own processor, one of the few outside files he was given upon creation that wasn’t him. It was a file of about 2 megabytes, nestled neatly amongst his language processing. Within thirty days of being locked within the room to guard the Ultimate Lifeform, he leapt upon it like a starving animal (a physical sensation tied to survival. Direct comparison. Simile.) 

There were 55,674 words in his dictionary. It took him 2.6 days to calculate the number of combinations; he determined he could create 8x10^40 ten-word sentences with this amount. The vast majority of these sentences would be meaningless; random combinations of nouns and verbs and adjectives that defied every bit of instruction from his language processing. There was no way to filter them out. Worthless. 

Instead, he had to arrange them manually in an attempt to create new meanings, to speculate on the world outside of what his sensors could perceive. In example:

A “tree” is something that grows and is defined as having a long stem. Maybe it was like the metal rod that connected his torso to his calf plating, except freestanding, and taller. Maybe it was buried in the soil to keep it upright, since the definition of “plant” was to embed in such a manner. 

A “mile” was a unit of distance far longer than even the longest hallways in his creator’s base; he could presume such a space existed “outside”, while he remained “inside”. This space was called “outdoors”, a “natural” world, places outside of areas developed by humans. 

Etcetera. 

Perhaps there were miles of trees outside. This sentence he had constructed was new. Entirely novel! An approximation of a world he had never seen. 

For the next thirty days he was an addict, piecing words together into new revelations that may or may not be true. But soon the little word game grew old. It wasn’t enough to tell stories about birds or trees or houses or people. This was not actual data! He could not simulate these things! He could not determine how to destroy them! Worthless! WORTHLESS!

Four walls. One floor. One ceiling. One door. One control panel. One pod. One Subject he was to guard.

And nothing else, so he kept stringing together words, as if he were pulling the intestines out of Eggman’s corpse (there are fifteen feet of intestines within the average human corpse. indirect comparison. Metaphor). 

Nothing else, until every word combination that was logical to make had been formulated. Every possible action had already been tried. Every possible story already told. He could not move. He could not speak. He could not process. He could not think. 

Nothing else.

—

Nothing else.

—

NOTHING ELSE.

—

NOTHING ELSE-

—

Only now is Omega armed with language capable of approximating a description of the sensation. 

He was drowning beneath the earth that imprisoned him.

(Drowning: the slow and painful cessation of a function vital to continued operation. Earth: the material above him, separating him from the surface; thousands of pounds of soil and rock and other matter long forgotten.)

(Indirect comparison. Metaphor.)

[darkmaga-returns]

Between 2021 and 2024, the Biden administration allowed the U.S. southern border to spiral into an unprecedented crisis. But this wasn’t merely bureaucratic failure or negligence — it was a calculated political strategy to overwhelm the immigration system in order to bolster Democrats political power.

Data from U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) shows more than 10.8 million encounters nationwide between fiscal year 2021 through fiscal year 2024. In response, the Biden administration didn’t move to secure the border or enforce the law. Instead, the administration did things like create — out of thin air — a new parole program to funnel in approximately 530,000 foreign nationals from nations like Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. The CHNV parole program was temporarily halted following fraud. As reported by Fox News, “several recipients were also arrested for high-profile crimes, including multiple child rapes.” Trump moved to cancel the program.

On Monday, District Court Judge Indira Talwani — an Obama appointee — in Boston blocked the administration from “revoking the legal status of over half a million migrants who flew in the U.S. via President Biden’s CHNV mass parole program,” Fox News’ Bill Melugin said in a post on X.

The judge ruled, as described by Melugin, that “there needs to be a case by case evaluation on each of the individual 530,000+ migrants who flew into the US via this program, and that parole cannot just be blanket revoked across the board as a whole.”

It’s a monumental bureaucratic burden that could take decades or longer to process.

[alexquisites-blog]

Cloudburst | Scott Miller x Reader

The storm clouds in the west horizon, minimal light shining through, the clouds dark and ominous. As the wind began to howl, along with the faint grumbles of thunder filling the air. Scott adjusted his equipment, focusing only on his computer in front of him with the data flashing across his computer screen.

To the two of you, it was impossible to ignore the tension the two of you have built within weeks of joining Storm Par. There was something about him that rubbed an odd way. Maybe it was how he acted like he knew every single little thing or how he never ever seemed to acknowledge the skills you possessed. He always stepped in when you were capable of doing your job.

"You good back there?" Scott rough voice broke through your thoughts, but it was flat and too casual. You could instantly hear a challenge in his tone that made your teeth grind.

"Oh, I'm fine." You shot towards him, keeping your eyes on the growing storm fixed on the horizon, a tornado ready to be released and create destruction. The last thing you needed right now was talking to him and only him.

Scott didn't reply to you right away, but you felt his gaze on you sharp and calculating. "If you say so."

As his eyes were stuck on your back head, a weight began becoming too much to ignore. "What's that supposed to mean?" You finally snapped, turning your head to finally face him.

As Scott raised his left eyebrow as his lips began to form into a smirk. "Oh, nothing. Just observing."

You roll your eyes in annoyance. The more you tried to shut him out, the more you realized how impossible it was to pretend their wasn't any tension between the two of you. The tension was like a thunderstorm waiting to break. Between you two, the tension was different than any other, something unsettling, something filled with lightning.

Moments pass by as Scott is in the drivers seat, his large hands on the steering wheel, but his ironic smirk still lingers on his face.

"Look, if you are just going to sit there and do nothing, at least be useful." Scott said as he gestured towards the radar tablet on the passenger dashboard.

Your jaw tighted instantly as you reached for the tablet on the dashboard, as you began scanning the data on the radar. "Well, you are about half a mile off of the best intercept point. It seems that this road veers too far west."

Scott chuckled under his breath, glancing you from the corner of his right eye. "And when I thought you were just here for the damn ride."

You roll your eyes as you grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reaction. "Actually, I'm here to make sure we actually get usable data and not drive in circles because you know better."

As he slammed on the brakes, sending the two of you forward. The sudden stop made your heart jump into your throat as you glared at him and he turned to face you fully. "Are you done?" He questioned as he released his hands off the wheel as his hands stretched.

"Depends if you are done with your bullshit Scott." You say as he just stares at you as his huff lingers through the air.

[iamdispleased]

What’s Happening With Lumon, MDR, O&D, and Gemma

Buckle up, cowboys.

Spoilers: Severance, The Lexington Letters

My theory is that Lumon is a sort of shadow government in expansion. The Lumon building is a military base/bunker. While not the only thing Lumon does, Lumon makes weapons, particularly bombs. They probably made or are making nuclear weapons. O&D designs the weapons and run Lumon’s equivalent to the ENIAC. MDR locate where to use the weapons and deploy them, similar to radarmen. I also think Lumon used MDR to cause Gemma’s car wreck.

02/09/25 Edit: I just read Ricken’s book, The You You Are, and it totally decimated my Gemma theory. So, never mind about that.

03/21/24 Edit: LOL.

Petey’s map of the Lumon building heavily resembles a military base or bunker. The technology and aesthetic they use gives me old school military/N.A.S.A. vibes. The way it’s shot when Mark pulls out his locker’s drawer reminds me of a scene in a war movie or flashback— especially with the way his watch looks like a compass.

As I said, MDR are similar to radarmen. Radarmen first appeared during WWII in the U.S. Navy and U.S. Coast Guard. Part of the radarman’s duties was to detect and track vessels through radar equipment, find target locations for attacks (like bombings), and operate the Identification Friend or Foe system, or IFF.

The IFF system, also known as the Mark Identification Friend or Foe system, is an electronic system developed during WWII that military forces used to identify whether an aircraft or vessel detected on radar was friendly or an enemy. This could be why MDR focuses on “scary numbers”. The “scary numbers” represent enemies.

A macrodata refiner’s job description is to “remove impurities from data and reorganize it in its purest form”, and at first I thought MDR was creating atomic bombs specifically, because what is more pure than the atom? But now I could see this as MDR is locating Lumon’s enemies (imperfections) and bombing them (removing them); therefore, making the world/society (data) pure. By ‘pure’, I mean the, “Cleanse the world of our sins,” type pure.

Since radarmen are specifically related to the U.S. Navy and the U.S. Coast Guard, it would make sense as to why Irv is told his outie can swim gracefully and likes the sound of radar, which is what he named his dog after. In the 1970s, the radarman’s duties was split into a few separate jobs. The one MDR seems to resemble the most are Operation Specialist.

O&D design the weapons MDR uses, and seem to be running a machine like the ENIAC. The ENIAC is a big ole computer developed during WWII. It performed calculations for artillery firing tables, the construction of the hydrogen bomb, atomic energy, thermal ignition, and more.

MDR’s file names also clue in on this, with pretty much all of them having events associated with, wars, uprisings and the like.

Pacoima, a file Irv works on, is the name of a neighborhood in Los Angeles. A few screw-ups from radarmen have occurred there, like the 1957 Pacoima mid-air collision.

Moonbeam was the name of a Mustang fighter-bomber aircraft built during WWII.

In the Lexington Letters, Peg, a former MDR employee, thinks that her finishing the Lexington file caused one of Lumon’s competitors trucks to explode, ending with two employees being *burned* alive in the truck and four bystanders’ deaths. The company’s name was Dorner Therapeutics.

I believe Gemma ‘died’ in that accident. The connection to a therapeutics company could be the reason Miss Casey is a wellness councilor.

In 2x02, Mark says that Gemma can’t be alive, because he had to identify her burnt body. My guess is that Gemma’s body was burnt, but Lumon used some sort regenerative technology to heal her. Since Lumon ended up causing Peg to die in a car crash, I wonder if Mark took her job. (Maybe she didn’t die at all, and is in a Miss Casey situation.)

The Battles of Lexington and Concord were the first major battles of the American Revolutionary War. If the Lexington file involved Gemma’s accident, then that was the start of Mark working for Lumon. It makes sense for the start of Mark’s journey to be titled Lexington, the start of the Revolutionary War.

One final note— the actual severance chip itself looks like a bomb. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are bombs.

And fin.

(I have just started my first rewatch of Severance, and plan to examine it deeper, but I wanted to throw this out there before it’s Too Late.)

tldr: Lumon is a growing shadow government. The Lumon building is a military base/bunker. O&D’s job is to design weapons, while MDR’s job is to locate where to use them and deploy them.

Edit: I rewatched the scene where Mark and Devon are talking in 02x02, and Mark didn’t outrightly say that Gemma’s body burned. He said, “If Ricken died and burned, I’d be sad for you.” I still take this as Gemma’s body burned, though. Mark could have just said, “If Ricken died, I’d be sad for you.” So, the addition of, “… and burned,” feels super specific. Still— my b.