#So I'll be posting a chapter every day

[revenantghost]

I lied, I think I'll do Mon/Fri since Tuesdays tend to be super busy for me afhsjgjgzjg But there are seven chapters, so four-ish weeks of posting!!!

Ehehehe just finished my final pass for my Vashwood reverse bang fic and it'll start posting this Friday 👀

[crepesuzette2023]

New fic: Through the Trees, the Sky Is Visible (Woodland Sprite Paul)

The Story of the Beatles and John and Paul, in which Paul is a Woodland Sprite.

“I feel so close to you, so tamed in my blood and taming yours, so deep in the forest, so restful in rest, that one doesn’t really want to say anything, but that up there through the trees the sky is visible, that’s all.”  (Franz Kafka, 1920)

read on AO3

Individual Chapters (11 total): Chapter 1 (John and Paul meet) • Chapter 2 (John and Paul get closer; John brings Paul into the band) • Chapter 3 (Liverpool local fame days and the desire for more) • Chapter 4 (Hamburg! New friends, fights, strawberries, a pig, and a promise) • Chapter 5 (1963-1964: Tenerife (not Barcelona), New York, London...She Loves You and If I Fell.)

[ineed-to-sleep]

I'm still working on this btw. Chipping away at it one little panel at a time 🥲

[johnslittlespoon]

askbox question because i've never thrown like, a 'request/idea' offering sorta post out there:

what do you want to see in tough and sweet? like, specific dates you'd like to see the boys go on, certain tropes covered, different kinks/nsfw scenes, scenarios and convos tackled, idk literally anything!

i'm curious because i used to brainrot about it lots here before i started actually writing it but then i stopped so i wouldn't spoil things, and while i'm ofc writing what i love and want to write, it's fun to know what readers wanna read, and to try to incorporate those things where i can. :-) but also my list of scenes to include is So Long i feel like so many ideas will already be in my drafting doc LOL <3

i have the whole fic plotted out, but lots of room for little things in between the bigger plot points, so! no promises obvi, but i'd love to hear your thoughts. the main one i get asked for in comments/asks is about writing a gale pov oneshot, which i'm most definitely doing– sooner than you think. >:) lmkkk, anon is fine!! if i don't reply, i promise i read it, i just have 100+ asks rn and too much to do irl but i appreciate each one soso much :'))

[taegularities]

regarding: colour me in – HMMMMM okay pls talk to me about this 🎨🤍

[ghostlightfic]

ITS OVER !!!! i already left my comment on the fic but MAAAN. that was such a sweet ending. i enjoyed it thoroughly, congrats on finishing the fic !!!!!

THANK YOUUUUUU!!!! man it's SO wild that it's done. now for You -looks at **** ** *** ominously-

[vulpinesaint]

literally evil for my sacred texts professor to assign a two hour movie. i would not sit down to watch a two hour movie for pleasure much less for class

[disposal-blueeee]

gay gay homosexual gay

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Gives A Tasting - Look (Part 22)

The walk back to your room is not long, but it is enough to have Sans dogging your steps like a slavering hound. His red pilot lights for eyes glow bright in the shadows between lights, bobbing and weaving with every step. 

You’re not concerned about showing him where you lay your head. After all, you’re so rarely there. So you aren’t afraid of slipping out your room key from your hidden vambrace, of swiping it past the card reader. Of pushing the door open and admitting yourself into the dim, cool room. 

It’s a fairly standard room, by hotel standards. Though you’re considered the Manager’s right hand, your room is far from ostentatious. Tastefully decorated in classical luxury, but not overly so. A small round table stands near the kitchenette set off to the side, two ornately carved and padded wooden chairs tucked neatly under it.

Next to the kitchenette, a wall with a weapon rack, most of its slots empty, and a dresser with a repair kit on it. A door set at the far wall. A closet just beside it. And behind a wall of curtains, a wall of windows. But of course you never open them.

Your bed is big, the main focus of the bedroom, covered with dark satin sheets and a multitude of pillows. A single padded armchair stands to the side of it.  Impeccably made. Neat. 

Sans is staring at it, looking as if he wants to muss that neatness right away. 

“Patience, Mister Sans,” you say softly, a hint of a tease in your even tone. “We’ve not yet finished our negotiations.”

“then hurry the fuck up,” he growls, prowling up to you.

At least, until he is stopped by your hand on his chest. Just a little pressure and it would cause the hidden blade nestled under your wrist to pop out...but you’re careful not to let that happen. Looking at him from under your lashes, you let a small smile spread over your lips. “Mister Sans.”

The skeleton sneers at you, impatience writ plain on his face. A sneer that turns into a pout when he sees that you’re unmoving. “sweetheart, ya wouldn’t be leavin’ me in the cold, would ya?”

“The cold isn’t exactly what I’d call it, Mister Sans.” Dropping your hand from his chest, you bring it to the lapels of your coat. Shedding it with one smooth movement, shrugging it down your arms. 

All at once, Sans freezes. Then he grins a greedy grin, his tongue flicking out to lick over his teeth. “oh, sweetheart. now we’re talkin’.”

Chuckling lowly, you turn away to drape your coat over a coatrack just beside your weapon rack. “Make yourself comfortable, Mister Sans. I won’t be long.”

“don’t mind if i do, sweets.” His voice is a low purr, just barely audible over his footsteps as he goes to sit in the armchair near the bed. Predictably, he sits with his legs spread, his arms draped along the back of it. As large as he is, he doesn’t fully fill the armchair. A surprising fact, to you. You didn’t realise the armchair was that large. 

Now that he’s lounging in it, his eye lights glued to you, you’re suddenly reminded of a man watching a striptease. A smile quirks the corner of your lip up. If he thinks you’ll perform for him, he’s sorely mistaken. But you’ll not leave him wanting. 

Under your coat is a plain shirt, well tailored, well fitted, moulded to your body in stark contrast to the coat which gives you a sharp silhouette. You can feel Sans’ eyes on you as you reach down to undo the ammunition belt around your waist. 

“how many, sweetheart?” he asks huskily, roving his red eyes all over you. 

You spare him the barest look, taking out the spare magazine without looking. “Four.” The gun is slid out of its holster next, magazine ejected, chambered round removed. Made safe. Placed back in its spot on the rack. “Miss Toriel took two out.”

When you next glance at Sans, he looks as if you had just slipped him the dirtiest pickup line. “shit, four and not a single scratch on ya,” he groans, zeroing in on the red stains around the wrist cuff of your shirt. Slowly dulling crimson amid the pure white fabric. A deep inhale, expanding the skeleton’s broad ribcage, and he growls on the exhale. “ya still smell like blood, damn.”

Ah, the perfume must have dissipated. “Is that an issue, Mister Sans?” you ask politely, unbuttoning the cuff of your shirt so you can roll it up to your elbows. Your vambraces are revealed by this action, close fitting as to be a metal skin around your forearms, stopping at the base of your wrists. It is raised on the tops and undersides of your wrists, the holsters for your spring-loaded knives. 

A hidden latch frees your arms of the metal armour. One by one you set them upon the dresser, to be taken apart and cleaned. Flakes of dried blood litter the wood and the floor where you stand, something that Sans doesn’t miss. 

“not a lotta folk use knives up here,” he idly notes, tongue flicking over his teeth. “whaddya say ya invite me to a demonstration one of these days?”

Goodness, Sans is a bit of a sadist isn’t he? Maybe a bit of a masochist too, by the sounds of it. 

“Oh?” you ask, toeing your shoes off at last. They are nudged back under the dresser, away from where anyone could trip over them. Now clad in just your socks, you lift your pant legs just enough to show the tops of them. They’re not the sexiest articles of clothing you own, not by a longshot, but you don’t miss the way Sans looks at them with blazing want in his eyes as though you had just shown him your underwear. 

Ah yes, that monster thing about socks. Well, you’ll milk that for whatever it’s worth. Lifting a foot so you can reach the last switchblade hidden in your right sock. Gloved hands close around the handle of it, slipping it from the sewn in holster and onto the dresser. As much as you want to dexterously flick the knife this way and that, your hands still ache from the exertion of earlier today.

Though he is briefly distracted, Sans seems to compose himself. He loosens the tie around his neck, unbuttoning the top button to reveal the ivory bones hidden behind. "yeah,” he just purrs, flicking his jacket to the sides and showing off the black suspenders clinging to his shoulders. Ah, he didn’t miss that you liked them.

A perceptive man is a dangerous one. But you’ve always known that about Sans. 

At last fully disarmed, you pad over to where he sits. He watches you keenly, crimson eye lights roving up and down your body hungrily, admiring the swing of your hips, the delicate steps you take, until you’re bracing your hands on the arms of the chair and looming over him, casting him in shadow. 

This close, you can see every flicker of his eye lights, feel every breath he takes. You can see how his eyes lock on the collar of your shirt. Dark ink creeps up your skin from under the white fabric, dark tentacles curling and weaving under the fog. Through your shirt, too, the barest hints of a tattoo can be seen. A collar tapped into the skin around your neck, a visible, artistic weight across your collarbones, your shoulders, closing behind the nape of your neck. 

“nice ink, sweetheart,” he purrs, lifting a finger to press over the top of your chest. “mind letting me see the rest of it?”

Perhaps if he looks closer, he can see the skull wreathed in vines and laurels sitting at the base of your throat. 

But you don’t give him the opportunity. 

“If you secure a second meeting, Mister Sans, then I would be glad to accommodate your request,” you say evenly, though with a smile in your voice. 

Sans growls briefly, “pfft, second meeting.” Then it hits him. He narrows his eyes. “whaddya mean?”

Your lips tip up in a sly smile, your eyes glowing bright with dark desire. “One thing at a time, Mister Sans,” you murmur, your knee coming up to rest on the chair between his thighs. One day, you’ll figure out how he has such thick thighs for being made of bone. Perhaps it works like his belly. 

His eyes flick to your gloves then, still tucked up tight around the base of your palms. “them too?”

“Third meeting, if you’re lucky.” You’re confident he will make it that far. 

The eternal grin on Sans’ face widens and he leaves the matter of your gloves alone, tipping his chin up so he can leer at you. “ya like teasin’, don’t cha sweetheart?” But it doesn’t look like he’s protesting. Of course, he’s much the same, dragging a distal phalanx down the centre of your chest until he hits the waistband of your trousers. 

You don’t say anything in response, figuring the satisfied expression on your face evidence enough. Bracing yourself on one hand, you press the other flat against his sternum. Levering more and more of your weight on him until he is pinned against the chair. 

Like in the elevator, Sans just wheezes slightly with a grin, panting up at you, “fuck...”

And just like in the elevator, you lean close. Close enough that your lips brush against his sharp teeth with every word you speak, “Allow me to take the lead in these negotiations.”

The skeleton monster looks as if Gyftmas had come early. “oh yeah sweetheart, take the wheel.”

Oh, you’re going to have so much fun. 

[dyne-osaur]

everyone lives/no one dies au (+ karnak maybe but he would appear later) that i've been working on who wants it

i've talked ab this au in an earlier post but yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ basically everyone lives but penny doesn't know she's penny so she's just jane doe instead... it's going to be very self-indulgent but it kinda grabbed me by the brain and mixed some stuff up so i MIGHT add this one thing in but i'm not sure if i'll add it here or make a separate fic for it 🧍

the ships would be nischa blackrose and spacedolls BUT it would be a slow build up (i hope)

not going to be nischalia unfortunately but talia and mischa stay friends bc... talia is real to me :(

very found family ! bc they are the found family ever

even if no one interacts with this/wants it i'm going to post it bc it's for funsies :) just wanted to talk about it though

[raksh-writes]

I have Finally finished the first chapter of my Master's thesis! 🥳🥳 Im like at least half a year late and have around 2-2,5 weeks to write the whole ass next chapter so Im COOKED still but oh well :') Im gonna take the rest of the day off to let myself marinate in this small win and then from sunday on it's gonna be a grind of reading material and trying to write at least the first version of the next chapter so hopefully my (truly wonderful :')))) supervisor (who sprung the '2 chapters minimum to pass' ultimatum on us Last Night) hopefully lets me pass and then I can work on all the bells and whistles of making it a proper chapter 🙈 But yeah, first a break for the mental health and hopefully teaching my brain its fun and nice and totally worth it reaching a goal 👌

[laugtherhyena]

Is csm chapter 168 dropping tomorrow??

[sketchtastrophee]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the employees under his supervision. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Fuck it. Got the rest of All'inzio posted in my Drafts. About to Queue/schedule it up.