“I’m like, ‘Okay, she’s a doll. She’s a plastic doll. She doesn’t have organs. If she doesn’t have organs, she doesn’t have reproductive organs. If she doesn’t have reproductive organs, would she even feel sexual desire?’ No, I don’t think she could,” Robbie said. “She is sexualized. But she should never be sexy. People can project sex onto her. Yes, she can wear a short skirt, but because it’s fun and pink. Not because she wanted you to see her butt.”
Margot Robbie said Ace Barbie Rights with her whole chest.
A thing that bothers me about wizard schools in popular media – outside of the magic-grade-school stuff, anyway – is that they're typically depicted as being basically magic universities, but their actual curricula and pedagogical approaches look much more like those of a technical institution. Like, buddy, that's not a wizard university, that's a wizard trade school. You can't just slap university student culture on top of trade school pedagogy. It doesn't work like that – the one emerges from the other!
"Well ACTUALLY wizards are" wizards are made up. They can be analogous to whatever real-world class or vocation the author wants. Wizard-school-as-university and wizard-school-as-technical-institute are both perfectly fine; what I am grumping about is wizard-school media that doesn't seem to have a clear picture of how different sorts of educational institutions actually operate.
Okay but now I really want to know what a Wizard technician would look like. Would he wear magical overalls with all kinds of reagents and magic tools sticking out of his numerous pockets?
A guy like that walks into your tower with a toothpick in his mouth, takes one look at your summoning circle and goes
“I see yer problem. You used chalk B12 instead of S3. B12 is only for transmutation circles. Gimme a sec I think I have a piece somewhere here.”
He fixes your circle, test summons an imp and goes.
“The chalk? I always use that chalk, it’s never been a problem.”
“Ah - yes. This stuff will work just fine for most circles, but, uh - here, take a look with my loupe. You see the off-color flecks? Can’t hardly see them with the naked eye, but those are impurities. Silicates, might even be some iron in here, to be honest. Usually won’t cause a problem, but - you said you hadn’t tried this particular summons before?”
“First time trying a 5th level, yeah.”
“Those silicates will make your scribing a little fuzzy when viewed from the astral plane. You see, for example, these three fine lines here? With this chalk, on the astral that looks like one thick line with fuzzy edges. They can’t tell exactly what you want, and they’re picky lil’ critters so they just won’t do anything in response.”
“Really? Oh. I always thought the expensive chalk was just fancy to be fancy.”
“Making pure chalk is difficult, you need a dedicated production line or dust gets in the finished product. To be honest, you don’t need to bother with it for most things, but 5th and up, 5th level and up, it actually is necessary. Anything with lines within about two millimeters of each other.”
“So I need to start over?”
“Unfortunately yes. You’ll have to erase all this, but with some good chalk it should work just fine. Next new moon your summons should go off without a hitch.”
“Dang. At least it’s not my sigils, I was worried it was my sigils.”
“Nah Your sigils look good. Even and balanced. You know what you’re doing, it’s just an equipment problem.”
“Thanks for the help, sorry to make you come all the way out here.”
brennan lee mulligan has the greatest superpower: the unlimited ability to make an absolutely off-the-cuff monologue and then follow it up with the ultimate turnaround.
he can share the power with others
but credit also needs to be firmly planted in the hands of oscar for hearing the prompt say "dramatic video game cutscene" and then going "got it, mario and luigi."
You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.
Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?
Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station AU.
extremely random thought for shy friday: r works up the courage and bakes steve some kind of baked good. little do they know it’s with the one ingredient steve absolutely HATES (idk man like grapes or something) and he feels bad so he doesn’t tell them and eats it until dustin or someone walks in and is like 🤨🤨🤨 ur eating that???
thank you for your request! steve x shy!reader
Steve knows that while you may not seem nervous on the surface, you're a shy girl. You're always overthinking things, always watching people out of the corner of your eye so you can respond to their behaviour. You minimise yourself.
It's why he can't tell you he doesn't like raisins. You've made him something, expressed your creativity, your passion, and your feelings (he thinks) through baked goods. Steve's sure your German apple strudel would be delicious if he could stand raisins. He does a great approximation of a smile as he eats one.
"You like it?" you ask hopefully.
"Who doesn't?" he asks, clumsily avoiding the question. "Everybody likes strudel. Thanks, Germany."
Your smile cleaves him open. It's a mixture of incredible sweetness in line with your proferred treats, a hint of bashfulness he adores, and your usual go-to grin. It's familiar and new at once, and Steve wants to take a photo.
"I promised some to your friend," you say, closing the lid of the tuppperware you'd brought with you, "but what he doesn't take you can have. I kind of made them for you, anyways."
Steve melts. He's cool and sophisticated, obviously, but his stomach goes molten at the idea that someone would care about him enough to make him food from scratch without his having to ask, and that someone being you makes it all the more warming. He feels like jelly.
He's slow on the upkeep, and doesn't know who you mean until Dustin and co. are peddling up to the bench you're sitting at full pelt. Steve curses under his breath as they come to a slow, and Dustin's eyes hone in on your box.
"You have the goods?" he asks, like this is some box office drug deal, and not like he's interrupting your almost-date.
You shake your box gently. Lucas and Will share an enthusiastic, "Nice!"
Mike, less prone to distractions that aren't his girlfriend, nods at Steve's hand. He's frowning. "What are you doing?"
Four sets of eyes move between Mike's stare and Steve's hand like spectators at a tennis match. Steve can't tell him to cut it out while you're looking, so he polishes off the apple strudel, feels sick at the wrinkly, gelatinous texture of the raisins as they go down, and glares at the kids full force. "What, you're so greedy you need them all?"
"You don't like raisins," Mike says.
Dustin blinks at him. "You actually ate one of those?" He shifts on his bike, foot on the ground so he doesn't fall. "You said raisins are the evil cousin of a chocolate chip."
Steve doesn't know what's worse, the embarrassment of being caught red-handed or your tiny pout.
"Sorry," he says to you quickly, uncool, so uncool, "I mean. No, I don't like raisins. But they were still good!"
You're expressionless despite his insistence. "It's okay," you say, and there, a twitch to your brow he actually understands for once. You're amused.
You dole sweet treats out to the boys and they bike off calling thank yous and giggling like idiots at the mess they've made, no doubt. You smile down into your almost empty box, one remaining strudel with nowhere to go.
"Steve," you murmur, sounding pleased, "why didn't you say something?"
He hooks his elbow over the back of the bench. "And tell you to your face I don't like what you made for me? I know I fell off the wagon, but I'm not hopeless. You don't do that to girls."
"Well. Next time, you should. Is there anything else you don't, uh, don't like?" Steve can't hide his surprise. You drop your gaze to your lap. "You know, so I can make you something else?"
"You want to?"
You rub your thumb against the opposite index finger. You can't meet his eyes, but Steve knows you're alright.
"Yeah, I'd love to make you something you'll actually enjoy. Was kinda the whole point."
Steve places his hands between yours where they worry in your lap, dipping his head to the side hoping it'll encourage you to look up. You do, and he can practically see the heat emanating from your face, even if there's no evidence of blush.
"Anything you make I'll like."
"So long as it doesn't have raisins," you say.
He squeezes your hand gently. "Exactly. And maybe not too much cinnamon. It makes me think about my great grandma's house. Which wouldn't matter, but she totally died choking on a snickerdoodle."
You laugh, and you clamp your free hand over your mouth.
"That's terrible," you say between your fingers.
He elbows you gently. "You laughed. Makes you the terrible one." He thinks about your offer, and how sweet you are, and how horribly he fucked it up by pretending to like something he didn't. "Thank you. For the thought."
You take your hand from your cheek and place it over his. It's practically aflame it's so hot, and your lips are worse when you dot forward to kiss him. You were likely aiming for his cheek, but he turned a little and it ended up a centimetre from his closed mouth.
You sit back sharply.
"You're welcome," you say, eyes widened.
"Thanks," he says again. He clears his throat.
He pretends not to notice how flustered you are from your almost kiss. Maybe he should poke a little fun at you, call you forward or eager or in a rush, but he doesn't.
He'd be a hypocrite to make fun of you, because Steve's flustered too. Your lips are the sweetest treat you could give.
hi everyone🌸 felt like coming back, im sorry for being mia and for not replying to people, i genuinely am, but i hope you’re all doing well and life’s good❤️ sending u all love
Muggle-borns who pull out their phones asking for the WIFI password and are aghast when they realize there isn’t one. Muggle-borns who explain the practicality of a phone and who band together with a petition to have Hogwarts accept phones school-wide and get some damn internet. Bonus points if half-bloods sigh in relief and whisper “thank merlin someone said it”
Muggle-borns and half-bloods who start using pens because “fuck that quill I ain’t doing that shit”. Professors start to notice that handwriting is neater and that the ink is different because “why the fuck is it red?” and investigate because more and more students were using this strange new quill. Bonus points if pure-bloods are really against using a pen because “it’s not natural” and it’s “not how it’s done” but they reluctantly use them anyway and fucking LOVE them
Students who convince the professors to let them mix houses at meals because “my best friend’s a hufflepuff, and I want to sit with her”. No one cares about what house you are unless it’s a quidditch match
Professors quickly realize that gays and bisexuals and everyone in between exist, so they get rid of the girls’ stairs becoming a slide because they can’t stop everything from happening, and it was more of a nuisance than anything. Bonus points if they know they just have to trust their students to be safe
Heads of houses encouraging their students to speak openly with them. They attend monthly game nights in their respective common rooms to bond with their charges and form trust
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