#(o.c.)

[ourladyofomega]

📸 A1 Record Shop

[kimitachii]

O.C. And art practice.

[chezzitezzi]

NICHOLAS MY BAB3H

PINK WAS DONE HIMSELF

[todayinhiphophistory]

Today in Hip Hop History:

O.C. released his second album Jewelz August 19, 1997

[cherryplvm]

[warhead]

[liteboxhero]

It's Dawson's Academy, y'all!!!

(Or Starfleet Creek... 🤔)

Trekkies of a certain age REMEMBER how much they actually loved 90210 or Dawson's Creek or the O.C..

If Star Trek is a place then we have room for learning about the kids in Starfleet.

I'm in love with the new show and I don't care who knows is.

[ask-felix-aberg]

One morning, as the owls start flying around, delivering mail in a mess of falling feathers and excited screeches, an unusually small Barn Owl with a missing finger and a crooked beak clumsily lands in front of you with a little brown letter in his beak. He nudges it into your hand for you to take it. Once you do so, the little bird takes off with a little happy chirp.

Inside the not even sealed envelope is a simple brown paper folded in four.

"Dear Felix,

We never got the opportunity to really exchange and properly introduce each other. And I am mostly to blame for my awkwardness when it comes to making new acquaintances. But I have heard much of you and your kindness. So I hope that one day I will have the audacity to come and greet you.

In the meantime. I wish you a lovely day.

Dearly, O.C.

The morning rush in the Great Hall was in full swing when the small barn owl crash-landed in front of the tall Ravenclaw, skidding slightly across the polished table before steadying itself. Felix blinked, lowering his spoon as the bird fixed him with a determined little stare.

"Well done," Felix murmured softly, careful not to startle the owl as he took the paper from his beak. His fingers gently stroked the feathered chest for a moment before the owl gave a small, pleased chirp and lifted off again with a wobble that made Felix track him instinctively until he cleared the rafters.

Only once the owl was safely airborne did he unfold the letter.

He read the words of the little brown letter slowly. "O.C.," he repeated under his breath, turning the initials over in his mind. He searched his memory for a face to match them, but found none immediately, though that did not trouble him as much as it might have once.

For a brief moment, he considered the careful tone of the letter. It struck him that it had likely taken a lot of courage for the writer to send it.

"I'll be here," he said quietly to no one in particular, folding the paper neatly once more before returning to his breakfast.

If O.C. ever did find the audacity they were looking for, he would make sure they found only an open seat and a warm welcome waiting across the table.