I'm just some guy

lawyer! sammy

Love him... love mr. cool...

So deer have this instinct to stand tall and walk like a king when they notice something (a predator) watching them so they look like strong opponents since predators usually target the weakest members of the herd. The baby is doing the Don't Eat Me Walk.

Predators: “How could I possibly eat someone THAT cool??”

watching Seven Samurai

i wonder how many they'll need

i hesitate even to speculate

As a Human, I enjoy having fingers and toes. High five! For five fingers!

Would you like to buy some high grade copper? It’s what humans do.

Copper can be used for many rudimentary applications. As a Human, all I have are primitive applications. I would like some of this high grade copper for my Human applications!

Should I pay with cash, credit, check, or war bonds?

Shekel is preferred.

I am handing you the Shekel. With my hands.

Excellent. Thank you for this transaction.

Fantastic! Thank you, fellow Human. I will now apply this copper to my Human applications with my Human Hands.

what they don't tell you is that a well-written fic can get you to ship anything, and i mean ANYTHING. notp? not anymore. you will stay up late thinking about and crying over them for the rest of your life. characters you don't even know from a piece of media you've never engaged with? fuck it, they belong to you now. problematic ship that you loved to hate and now just love to love, that you must never tell your friends about? don't worry, ao3 knows how to keep a secret. like. a well-written fic will have you acting UP and that's a fact baby !!

The ocean molded this clump of bricks into a rock shape

via

real life texture glitch

This is really funny on dark mode

On dark mode this is like a clown trying to hide behind a light pole.

Some wild shit goes on in ppls lives

For everyone who doesn’t spend their time on Reddit, the here’s the equally wild follow up that OP referenced in the tags.

Title and first paragraph: Wow yeah OP is a complete arsehole

Second paragraph and follow up:

I also did the little redraw that @frijolebean started :)

Gay sex

scream.

You wake up suddenly to find an androgynous being by your bed, congratulating you on your ascension to godhood and vanishing without explaining your domain or power set. Now you have to figure out what kind of god you are, and why you're a god to begin with

The Goddess Emerges

I woke up feeling groggy and disoriented, because that’s what happens when you’ve been at work until 2 AM, got home after three, and then some asshole wakes you up at DAWN. I sat up - on a bit of a tilt, I admit - and tried to glare.

The androgynous person with the wild curls, brilliant smile, and faint glow around them didn’t seem to care. “Hail, Jenna! I congratulate thee on thy elevation to godhood!”

I stared at them for a second, then managed a semi-comprehensible mumble. “Wha?”

“Thou art a newly ascended goddess, and I am sent to bid thee congratulations and well-wishing!” The smile got even brighter. Whoever… whatever… this person was, they were abso-fucking-lutely delighted about this wonderful news. “I must away, for I am a busy messenger, but we twain shall meet again!”

And then the bright figure was gone and I was left sitting there, still half asleep and fully bewildered. After a second, I tried speaking again. “… goddess of WHAT?”

There was no answer.

I lay back and tried to convince myself it was all just a dream, but… it wasn’t. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but not this time. Some glowing, jolly … being… had woken me up at the asscrack of dawn, told me I was a goddess, and then left.

I mean… what the fuck?

I would have decided that it was a hallucination, I think, except that as I lay there, I realised slowly that even though I’d been asleep for maybe a couple of hours, I wasn’t tired. I really, genuinely wasn’t tired. It’s been so long since I wasn’t tired that it took me a while to even identify what was going on. And nothing hurt. Not my back, my shoulders, my knees, my hands… nothing.

I got out of bed and looked down at myself. I still looked the same, as far as I could tell. Medium build with a bit of middle-aged sag, scars on my hands from decades of kitchen work, the pallor of someone who spends all their time working nights, and the same ratty nightshirt I’d gone to sleep in. I went over to the mirror to check my face, and that was the same too. Lined, pale, with sharp eyes and a thin mouth, framed in slightly greyed brown hair. Ordinary. Not the face of a goddess.

But I wasn’t tired. Nothing hurt. In fact… I felt great.

Figuring I might as well ride the weird rush while I had it, I went to make myself an early breakfast… and a proper breakfast, too, with scrambled eggs and bacon as well as toast and coffee. I sat down to eat at my battered old kitchen table, and tried to think.

Obviously I wasn’t, like, capital G God, or anything. That would have presumably involved more fanfare than a single cryptic messenger. And they’d said ‘a’ goddess, not ‘the’ anything. And they’d used my name, so I wasn’t newly appointed as one of the gods anyone had heard of.

So… goddess of… something, I guess? One of those minor deities that accrued around stronger pantheons, or in isolated places. Like how little European villages in the middle of forests accumulated forest gods, or island countries picked up gods of seas and streams and stuff. I really hoped that was it. That level of godhood was something I could just about comprehend. Maybe I was the goddess of something really minor, like aglets, or deep-frying. I am really good at getting a balky deep-fryer to behave.

I really hoped that was it. I thought I could just about cope with becoming the goddess of deep-fryers, or pancakes, or something. That seemed like a… a manageable amount of divinity.

It felt strange being awake all day before work, and I did try to nap, but I just wasn’t sleepy. I tried, and ten minutes later I was standing in the kitchen again, mixing a batch of cookie dough. Baking helped - it kept me busy, at least.

It was a relief when I could head to work. I’ve worked six days out of seven at the Blue Plate Diner for the last fifteen years, and been part-owner for the last six. That kitchen was as much my home as my shabby apartment, if not more so.

I went in early, and sent Rio the day cook home. He looked exhausted, and was grateful to have his shift cut a little short, especially since I promised to pay him for the hour regardless. The day waitresses greeted me, though we don’t know each other well - I never work days - and Stanley the sous was there already.

I walked into my kitchen and immediately felt better. This was what I’d wanted, I realized, what my apartment kitchen hadn’t been able to give me. My kitchen, my domain… every inch familiar, every dish known by heart.

And then… I knew. I felt it.

I could feel the heat of a million grills. The bubble of a million fryers. And the prayers… oh, the prayers. A great silent roar of prayers that the orders would be right, that the rush would end, that the pizza wouldn’t burn and the fries would cook quickly. The pleas for endurance, for patience, for enough tips to get by, for a good smiting for a shitty customer.

Oh, I’m definitely going to be doing a lot of smiting when I figure out how.

I am a goddess.

I am the goddess of short-order cooking. And here in my kitchen, in the very seat of my power, I could do anything.

Stanley yelped and jumped back as my eyes snapped open, and I could see them glowing in my reflection on the grimy window. And then I did what every cook, whether they admit it or not, has always wanted to do. I raised my hands and I woke my kitchen up like a goddamn Disney magician.

Utensils flew on their own to their tasks. The fryer bubbled, blorped, and cleaned itself in one swift shudder, hocking out a lump of unknowable black ick into the nearest garbage can. The fridge opened itself so a dozen eggs could float out and over to the right station. I looked the other way, and the walk-in freezer popped open, spitting out two dozen rolls ready to be thawed. Sauces refilled themselves with a glance. A fry basket filled itself and put itself down in the cleanly gleaming oil. Oh, yeah. This is my domain. My temple. Here, my will is all.

Stanley was still staring, open-mouthed, and I grinned at him. “I became a goddess today.” He stared at me, eyes popping, and then he slowly grinned back. “If anyone was gonna be a kitchen goddess, you’re it. No doubt.”

I didn’t just stand there and watch the magic cooking. I’m a cook. I use my hands, always. But now it was like I had a hundred, a thousand more hands. Like I could see every inch of the kitchen, all the time.

And not just mine, either. While I grilled steaks and burgers, made salads and fixed milkshakes, my awareness expanded out further and further. Blocks away, a nervous kid at McDonalds stumbled and tried to catch himself, and I steadied him before his hand went into the deep-fryer. A woman at a food cart, out of napkins, prayed and found a package that hadn’t been there a moment before. An over-worked pizza chef got their second wind and three simple orders in a row. Food didn’t burn, orders didn’t go wrong, soft-serve machines unclogged and coffee-machines purred obediently. I was aware of all of it, doing all of it, and yet I was still fully aware of my own kitchen, my own diner, of every order going out in record time and the food being better than anything than even I’d ever managed before. I didn’t get tired… in fact, the longer I was in my kitchen, the better I felt.

By the end of the night, Stanley was a fervent believer, as were both the waitresses. I couldn’t hear their prayers quite as clearly as those of actual cooks, but counter staff and wait staff seem to come under my protection too, if they’re in one of ‘my’ restaurants. I tested my limits… anything that could be called short-order cooking seemed to be it. Fast-food, diners, and the like, mostly. Food carts that served hot food were mine, but dessert places of all descriptions weren’t. Bakeries and cafes were both off my list, and I could feel - I can’t explain how - that they belonged to different gods. Fine dining restaurants were outside my purview, and most delis, but anywhere with a deep-fryer or a grill lit up in my mind’s eye.

Closing up was a lot easier when the kitchen had become self-cleaning, so Stanley helped out in the front of the diner. Then we headed home. When I got back to the apartment, I wasn’t tired at all… I felt better than I ever have, charged by contact with my temple and my mostly unknowing believers. Turns out that gods - even minor ones - don’t need sleep to recharge, which is certainly a nice perk.

So that’s me. Jenna, the Short-Order Goddess. The Lady of the Grills. Patron of the Order Window. I have nothing to do with coffee. That’s someone else’s domain. But from the chain burger to the corner chippie, I watch over the kitchens and the staff of them all. They are my people, and I will care for them.

This is a documented thing! It occurs most often with hearts but can happen with any transplanted organ. It's called 'cellular memory' and I wrote a whole paper on it during my freshman year of uni. It's also why some transplant recipients experience new preferences, thoughts, and sometimes behaviors their donor was known to have. Like favourite foods or drinks, subtle changes in personality (like becoming a bit more daring, etc), and more. It's usually temporary as the organ adjusts to its new person's preferences, experiences, habits, etc. It's fascinating and awesome and I would love to study it in-depth someday.

Which is why I want all of my organs upon death given to the same person. Hostile takeover from within.

I'm just trying to figure out what situation would require multiple organ transplants all at once.

Doctor: well the bad news is that all of your everything is fucked. The good news is that someone with an odd final request just died

One thing I don't often see people talk about in Steven Universe.

In the series most of Stevens powers come from a need to protect those around him. His shield, his bubble, healing spit/tears, all designed, and come from the desire to, protect those around him. With the exception of his floating which comes from a sense of joy and happiness.

In Future his new powers stem from a subconscious need to protect himself, instead of a need to protect others. He's dealing with a lot and his powers are reacting in an explosive way to keep him safe. Super speed to escape a dangerous situation, explosive screams to throw the threat away from him, and panels, thicker and stronger than his shield and bubble, to shield him from the perceived threat.

Which then makes me wonder, since Pink on Homeworld was known for destructive "temper tantrums" how often she must've felt so unsafe, scared and unhappy that her powers reacted the way Stevens do in Future.

When she became Rose Quartz she felt confident, comfortable and more safe as Rose than as Pink. She had a strong desire to protect the Earth and the Crystal Gems, developing her powers into the ones we see most in the show.

Oh fuck I uh I just realised that Everything Stays now also gets to be about Simon. He’s changed so much but he’s also exactly the same. The world he lives in is different, alien, isolating. He was a normal man, then he spent some 1000 years in a dreamlike state, and now he’s normal again but everything is different. He carries that trauma in everything he does even though he’s “better now.” He was waiting in the garden so long for someone to turn him around but the underside is lighter. Only he seems to notice that he’s faded. Ever so slightly. Daily and nightly. In little ways