star sequence

2

The Stars

@guarddogclaudia was rewatching s1 of the anime when she noticed this newspaper during the Jack the Ripper case, and she asked around to see if this was “something”. Damn right, it is! Good catch!

Nevermind the headline; we know who Jack the Ripper was.

Look at the newspaper itself. “The Stars”. It shows two stars, both are eight-pointed, they are overlapped, and one is much bigger than the other….

Good grief, it’s the binary star system of Sirius. Sirius A is a huge, blue, main sequence star. Sirius B used to also be blue… and even bigger… until it collapsed into a white dwarf. The two stars tug at each other, getting ever closer, until (it’s expected) they collide. This overlapping of the stars in the newspaper logo shows that these aren’t just any two stars; they are intrinsically connected.

I dragged out my DVDs to figure out which episode – episode 3. So, even as far back as episode 3 of s1, we were given little clues about Lord Sirius and the Blue Sect…. Sure, s1 and s2 are AU spoilers, at best, but “Everything is for the Blue Star,” as Blavat says.

Now this makes me wonder. I’ve already supposed that Blue Star Line is owned by or under the control of real Ciel/Lord Sirius. Has he also been controlling the media, or at least some aspect of it? Is it being controlled by someone else (like the queen)?

Does this tie in with why Sebastian uses a freelance reporter to expose Sphere Music Hall? Would a larger newspaper have refused the scoop?

Thoughts?

6

If Ben & Sophie did a romantic movie together

After watching “Twin Suns”

Obi-wan is the strongest character in the whole Star Wars universe. No one will ever change my mind about this. Never ever.

Originally posted by srahwars

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Complete Triggers Guide

 
Revolutionary Girl Utena (Shoujo Kakumei Utena) is a 1997 anime directed by Kunihiko Ikuhara.  Utena Tenjou is an eighth-grade girl who wishes to become a prince, and because of it gets caught up in a strange dueling game played by her fellow middle- and high-schoolers. As Utena fights to protect – and befriend – Anthy Himemiya, her shy classmate but also the mysterious Rose Bride at the center of the duels, the stakes become higher and the game more dangerous. 

Utena is an amazing and very worthwhile anime, but it is also an extremely intense and disturbing one. I love the show, but it is irresponsible to recommend it to people without a warning about the subject matter. I believe Utena has the potential to be be very cathartic and comforting for people, especially wlw, who’ve experienced trauma, but also very dangerous with regard to triggers. I’ve put together this guide so that people curious about the show can be forewarned and watch it in safety, or choose not to if they deem it too disturbing.

Many thanks to the volunteer editors/proofreaders who helped me complete this!

🌹 @sallyjessyrofl​ 🌹 @autisticbutchgabrielle​ 🌹 @meowmagica 🌹 @tartancrusader 🌹 @amphiaria 🌹 @omelasomelette

And to the people who’ve submitted corrections:

@marquisnaberius  🌹 @ lesbeanfrodo

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embraceyourfandom  asked:

Imagine that one of them is an alien xenobiologist who falls in love with a human he is just supposed to be observing.

A/N: Tagged for violence. And pining. Also, looooong. Thanks to the OP for a truly great prompt.



The Terran’s smile was sunny. As warm and as golden as the G-type main sequence star his small blue world orbited. Phi'l found it impossible to control the tendency of his lips to quirk up in response. He’d stopped trying weeks ago.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Phil,” the Terran said, strong fingers tracing the rim of his coffee mug, “but you’re kinda weird.”

Around them the hum and flow of conversation in the busy coffee shop was a soothing, pleasant drone punctuated by the fierce hiss of the big copper coffee machine behind the bar and the clank of cutlery against porcelain. Outside, the weather, still uncontrolled and unpredictable on this less advanced world, spat sleet into crowded streets. The humidity on Terra was higher than Phi'l was accustomed to, the gravity lighter and the temperature was too warm even in late autumn. But here inside the coffee shop the impossibly rich smell of butter and vanilla, of sugar and coffee and the sweet aroma of steamed milk, of woollen coats drying on pegs by the antique oak door, of the dizzying array of scent from Terran skin, all combined into an intoxicating haze that made him forget everything but the fascinating sapient sitting across from him at the small table.

“Am I?” Phi'l hid a twinge of unease behind a sip of coffee. He’d been very careful. But Terra was a new contact, sparsely studied. Central didn’t know much about the intricacies of the various cultures of Earth. He’d been thorough in his research—of course, he was thorough in everything he did—but there was always the risk of error.

“Yeah, you are,” the Terran's—Clint Barton's—eyes were bright with mischief. Phi'l relaxed a fraction, realizing it was unlikely he was in danger of being exposed. That he was only being teased. Flirting had been a difficult concept at first but it was fast becoming one of his favorite things. Especially when it was directed at him from this Terran man. He struggled to focus on the wordplay, to stop getting lost in the blue-green of the Terran’s eyes.

He pried his gaze away, focused on the contents of his cup. “How so?”

“Well, a fancy guy like you, coming in here week after week, to have coffee with a guy like me.”  

“Like you? I don’t understand.”

“Well, I mean, lookit you. All—” Clint Barton made a vague circling wave in his direction. Phi'l frowned, baffled for a micron.

“Ah. You mean my attire.” Phi'l looked down ruefully at the perfectly tailored dark suit, the subtly silken waistcoat, the fine dark tie. This level of formality had been one of those errors he could have avoided if he had been more experienced with the culture. Here, in this Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America, Terra, he stuck out like a bin!‘ti in a yarm'ot patch. Initially he’d chosen the attire because it felt familiar, comfortable, like the SHIELD Consortium uniform he’d spent his whole career in. He wasn’t sure he knew how to dress ‘casually’ anymore. Either here or on his own home-world.

Phi'l’s expression must have slipped into something Clint Barton found disconcerting. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. It's…I like it. You look, uh, y'know. Nice. Good.”

The warm glow Phi'l felt in his chest at the Terran’s words was also unfamiliar. He glanced away, hoping the man didn’t recognize how pleased he was at the compliment. He wasn’t sure his reaction was proportional. Or…appropriate.

“You, also…look good,” he said tentatively, hoping it was the correct thing to say. He looked up. This Terran’s emotions were always so close to the surface, his expression so honest, so unguarded. Clint Barton seemed unconvinced but there was a trace of high color on his cheeks as he looked back openly. Phi'l could smell the heat in his face, the blood rising up, so close to the surface of his skin. Warm, alluring.

“Aw,” he said, “not really. Everyone says I look like ten miles of bad road.” Clint Barton self-consciously picked at the edge of one of the plasters that criss-crossed his forearms.

Ten miles of…what? What did that have to do with—? But the Terran’s pained expression was easy enough to read.

“You don’t,” Phi'l said, with maybe just a little too much force. Clint Barton looked up, startled. “…look like…road. You're— ”

Phi'l paused, off-balance, feeling his way. His last scholarly paper on intertribal diplomacy among the VosTo'kk of Altair Six had won two Imperiale Awards. His efficiency and ability to communicate within the Consortium was, although it wasn’t a word he would have chosen, legendary. He routinely declined speaking engagements that would have funded his retirement twice over, had he been interested in retiring. Why was being honest with this Terran so difficult? He took a breath and went at it from another direction.

“Clint Barton, the first time I saw you, you were actually rescuing a kitten from a tree.”

Clint Barton laughed. “Well, you helped—”

“The second time I met you, you had just given a homeless man all of your currency.”

“That’s why you had to buy me coffee. Maybe that was part of my evil plan.”

“—and your coat. And scarf. And it was 0.5C.”

Clint Barton shrugged, looked down at the tabletop. “I could get another coat easier than that guy.”

“Then there was the time that I happened to observe you jumping out of the third floor window of the Alcot building to apprehend a man who had just stolen a student’s backpack, fracturing your foot.”

“And you rode with me to the clinic. You didn’t hafta do that.”

Phi'l paused helplessly, trying to summon the strength to speak clearly. He sat back in his chair. “You’re impossible,” he finally said.

Clint Barton huffed out a breath. “Believe it or not,” he said, “it’s not the first time someone told me I’m a pain in the ass.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, where I come from, you’re impossible.”

Clint Barton looked up.

Phi'l stumbled on. “You simply…couldn’t exist. You could only have come from here. I’ve never met anyone like you in all of the wor—, all of the places I’ve been. You are a unique construct of this place, this time. And it is so improbable that I would have met you just by random chance that it takes my breath away. I didn’t know that someone like you could exist.”

Phi'l didn’t add that the desire to take his Terran man into his care, to treasure him, to protect him, had been growing over the weeks since their first encounter and was, by now, almost overwhelming.

“I sometimes feel I’ve been waiting my whole life to have met you,” Phi'l finished softly, just now realizing the truth of it.

He realized he had erred, had overstepped convention with his honesty, when he looked up and saw the Terran’s shocked expression.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry if that was too—”

“No, no!” Clint Barton’s voice was pained, urgent. “I,” he said, “you—” Then he seemed to give up all at once and grabbed Phi'l’s hand.

Phi'l gasped. The Terran’s basal metabolic rate was much higher than the people of his own world. The shocking warmth of his grasp hit Phi'l’s nervous system like the injection of a powerful drug, like a wave of plasma that swept though him, warming every part of him, igniting parts of his body he’d forgotten he even had through long years of nothing but the cold adherence to duty and the vast black emptiness of space.

He struggled, trying to keep his breath under control. Fought the sudden impulse to reach out and take more of him, keep more of this, hold him close, claim him.

“Phil,” Clint Barton said, “that’s actually the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” The Terran’s expression was wondering, disbelieving. As earnest and open as a youngling’s.

Phi'l fought to focus beyond the salient fact of the man’s hand on his skin. “It’s true,” he said. “And it is only right that you should know it is true.”

A silence fell. And in that moment, in all of the galaxy, Phi'l was aware of only two things—the buzz and hum of energy of the Terran’s hand against his own and the deep amazing colour of his eyes. Then Clint Barton seemed to realize what he was doing and withdrew. He raised his hand to the back of his neck, rubbed at the short hairs of his nape with a grimace.

“Uh, Phil—would you like to get dinner with me?”

Phi'l blinked, trying to regain his composure. “Dinner? We have just eaten breakfast.”

Clint Barton’s expression showed him that he was missing something.

“No, I mean dinner dinner.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“How ‘bout you let me explain it to you tomorrow night, huh? What do you say, 8pm, Anthony’s down the street, meet you there?”

“I—”

The hard buzz of the communicator in Phi'l’s breast pocket startled him. If the ship was contacting him in what was nominally supposed to be immersive field work it was deadly serious.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I must take this.” He retrieved the communicator, disguised to look like a Terran phone, out without meeting Clint Barton’s eyes. “Yes?” he snapped in full command voice, only realising he’d forgotten his mild-mannered alias as an insurance adjustor when Clint Barton flinched across the table.

May’s tone was clipped, efficient. “Regrets for the interruption, Commander. We’ve just detected a HYDRA ship in orbit, we need you back up here.”

[[Read more, or the whole thing entire on AO3]]

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3

Go on,” Ren says, desperate to give Hux something he needs. “You can have them. They’re all for you.”

“Where did you find them?” Hux asks, a slight tremble rising in his voice when as he continues to stare at the buttons, wanting to take them but afraid, too, that Ren is only ever going to be a cruel trick, another heartless joke at Hux’s expense.

“I made them for you.”

————

More art from Chapter 4 of Under the Ruins of a Walled City. @hollyhark continues to alternately inspire and destroy me, like some terrible god.

10

Moon Eternal, Make Up

Description: The command that Usagi Tsukino used to transform into Eternal Sailor Moon.

User: Usagi Tsukino
First Appearance: Episode 168
Last Appearance: Episode 196
Upgrade: None
Item Required: Eternal Moon Article

Type:

  • Transformation: Usagi used her Eternal Moon Article to transform into her alter ego, Eternal Sailor Moon. This involved changing her appearance and gaining new powers.
  • Hyper Form: This transformation gave Sailor Moon the ability to achieve her strongest form. Her skills, powers, and energy were unrivaled to any other Sailor Senshi.
  • Lunar Empowerment: By transforming into Eternal Sailor Moon, Usagi also became strengthened by the Moon. This allowed her to become stronger, faster, more durable, and unlock new abilities.
  • Feather Manipulation: During Usagi’s transformation sequence, white feathers swirled around various parts of her body to create pieces of her sailor fuku.

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Return - Part 2 (Jim Kirk)

Part 1

Summary: takes place during sequences of star trek beyond; the last few years of episodic space travel have been taxing on jim as his heart remains with you and the abronath remains with him. a trade-off is imminent, however, when he spots you and someone else spots the artifact. (series following loot; no real reason to read it, though)

Warnings: language, lil angsty

A/N: i’m still taggin’ those i used to tag for loot, tell me if you want me to take y’all off the list. extended author’s note at the bottom


You slid onto the booth bench without so much as a greeting to the man that sat before you. You took the drink he was nursing and offered him a small scowl prior to tipping the glass back and draining it of its contents. You both knew a pleasant, emotional greeting was unnecessary.

You scowled deeper and sighed at the burning in your throat. You placed your hand flat on your chest and sighed. “That’s not my drink. Why would you order that?”

“Because it’s my drink,” he told you in a voice that rivaled your own in terms of irritation and a grimace that rivaled yours in terms of depth. You could have smiled at his Southern drawl, though. It still reminded you of warm peach cobbler.

Leonard then gave you a once over and seemed to be dissatisfied with what he saw. “You looked good a few days ago. What happened?”

“Oh, I’ve just been in a bit of a tizzy seeing as we spoke three days ago and you didn’t think to tell me the Enterprise would be docking here.” You cleared your throat and sat back, your head lolling against the cushion behind you. You frowned. “Didn’t even give me a chance to leave the planet.”

“Ain’t allowed to leave the planet while on parole— even I know that.” His scowl was slowly shifting into a half-smile that touched his eyes as if the largest grin. “Besides, Yorktown ain’t so bad once you stop thinkin’ about how a crack in the glass could kill us all— you’re lucky to be here.”

You hummed, smiling at the bartender that set your usual drink before you. Your polite smile turned to a rueful one as you swirled your fingertip over the rim of your glass and sighed. “Anything’s better than a jail cell.”

“Try livin’ on the Enterprise for three years.”

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