#coder radio

[whitesalmanrushdie]

officially at the part of the workday where idgaf anymore, instead heres the first official whitesalmanrushdie listen-along

https://www.nts.live/shows/piper-durabo/episodes/piper-durabo-10th-september-2024

perfect for empty coder offices

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist !

Bellamy Blake - Arkadia

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ you're a coder, but what's a coder without something to code? bellamy had instructed you to keep watch of the guns and ammo instead of going out with the guard on a hunt. you feel useless to the people of arkadia, maybe bellamy could help with that. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: cursing, small kiss scene, sfw

"I shouldn't be watching the guns, Bellamy!"

I shout from inside the main room where we kept the rovers. Bellamy had ordered me to stay in Arkadia while the rest of them went on a hunt, rations had grown scarce since Kane ordered the guard to go out less with the threat of grounders. This was a rare time when people got to go beyond the gate.

"We don't need a lot of people for this, okay? So just stay here." Bellamy argued back, it made sense, only a few people were going with him. Clarke, Murphy, Miller, Harper, and another from the guard. I never got around to knowing everyone's names.

I just knew I felt trapped being behind these walls, I was starting to feel useless to the people around me as well, it's not like I could code anything to help us with the grounder attacks, all I could do was sit with Monty and try to contact other stations with radios. Which always ended up in radio silence.

I could feel my blood boiling, "Well why Harper? It's not like I can't handle a gun, swap her out with me." I hadn't known Harper was leaning on a rover near Bellamy and me.

"Gee, thanks." I heard Harper chirp up in a sarcasm-filled tone. I'd have to apologize later, she knows I didn't mean it.

Bellamy sighed and placed his hands on his hips, looking at me sternly. It was only then I got a good look at him. His curls were more defined today, for once not littered with blood and dirt, you could see his freckles more clearly as well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamt of him once or twice.

"We need Harper, she's been training with Miller and has become a good shot," Bellamy turned towards the first rover, setting his gun down in the back as Miller climbed in, Harper following after. "This isn't up for discussion." He finishes off with his back turned to me.

Clarke had come up from behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me. "It'll be fi-"

I had cut her sentence short by jerking my shoulder away, I wasn't just mad at her, I was mad at the world. I hadn't said anything further and took one last look at Bellamy before storming off to the armory.

It had been a few days since that last encounter. The group had come back with plenty of food, a successful mission with only a few scrapes and cuts. They didn't even encounter any grounders.

Since they had come back I made no move to talk to any of them- or anyone for that matter. Only speaking to Monty when I had to, which was only once.

Bellamy had tried to speak to me, he tried to sit with me during dinner, tried to speak to me at the bar, and even tried talking to me on the radio stations. Which made a part of my heart flutter at his attempts. It almost made me forget why I was even mad at him to begin with.

I was at the computer, sitting and waiting for anything to pop up about the radios when Monty said he had plans with Jasper to help cheer him up, I made no move to stop him. What's more time alone with my thoughts? They were all of Bellamy. Replaying the few moments he'd try and talk to me in my head.

Me and Bellamy weren't as close as the rest of the group was. It isn't that he didn't try and talk to me, it's just ever since we landed I've viewed him as a player who only had one goal in life; to get into girls' pants.

It's safe to say he's been growing on me- well he was. I had been starting to miss his shitty jokes, how the light from the fire would illuminate his face in the best way, how his smile looked, how it was like he got stars in his eyes every time he laughed. I always tried to impress him, so why wouldn't he let me go?

My thoughts were cut short when I heard a pair of footsteps, which I just assumed were Montys.

"Hey, Monty." I greeted in a monotone voice, not caring to check.

"It's not Monty." I heard the other voice say, a voice I knew too well. What did he want now? I spun around in my chair, seeing how Bellamy toward over me. I simply tolled my eyes at him.

"What do you need," I said flatly

"Why're you ignoring me? Avoiding me?" He asks, care lacing his voice.

I took a moment to think about my reply, why exactly was I? He made me feel useless, I can't do anything to help Arkadia besides sit her in this fucking chair.

"Why didn't you let me go?" I countered his question with a question.

I was met with a scoff, "You're still on this? I told you it wasn't up for discussion."

"Yes, I'm still on this! I do nothing for Arkadia besides sit here and listen to a radio nobody talks into!" I shout, standing up abruptly, and walking closer to him.

Bellamy crossed his arms, unmoving. "What if something had happened to you?" He spoke, trying to remain calm.

"Then so be it! I feel useless Bellamy." My voice wavered, tears threatening to spill.

"You're everything but. At least here, you'd be safe." We were now inches apart.

"Why do you even care." Tears began crawling down my cheek, I couldn't believe I let myself get so vulnerable with him.

"Because I just do," He paused, debating if he should say what he was thinking. "And I'd never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you."

His arms were now uncrossed and resting on my forearms, a touch that practically melted me. His words brought a deeper blush on my cheeks, my tears slowing their roll. I felt myself moving closer every second until finally, his lips were on mine.

It wasn't a kiss of lust or craving, it was a kiss of passion, a kiss that made me feel warm all over, it was a feeling I wanted to last forever. Bellamy was kissing me like I could break at any minute. His hands went up to cup my cheeks and wipe away my tears.

He had pulled away with a smile, leaving my lips feeling lost.

"I've wanted to do that since the day we landed," Bellamy admitted, a faint pink tint lining his face. Bellamy, blushing, something I never thought I'd see. A goofy smile made its way onto my face at the sight.

"Being useless doesn't seem so bad now."

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[smahell]

i miss otaku fm with all my heart and soul and i've been patiently waiting for satoshi kada (leviathan's va) to get back into the studio, and interview everyone all over again. i miss the live drama recordings, the stupidly funny plots, the realistic slip-ups and quirks from each of the cast members. i miss a toast in hell's kitchen and genuinely learning and listening about the talents behind the game, and people's amiable messages and questions towards them in Tell Me!

honestly i'm on my knees begging for a third season where maybe he interviews the vas for thirteen, mephisto and raphael since i haven't seen/heard much from them too in terms of personal messages to fans.

satoshi kada, with his radio, acting and tv experience is such a sweet and soothing personality who brings such warmth to every single project he works on, including obey me. i just wish solmare really really recognized how impactful these podcasts were, no matter long or short, and the abilities of this main cast because goddamit..in such a time where nightbringer is being scrutinized and obey me itself is falling in popularity, absolutely none of the voice actors have forgotten or even brushed aside obey me.

"oh it's because they're working for the game, they'd get fired if they criticized it"

//NB: ik this video is sort of old but i have plenty more proof that the vas still play the game, I thought this was just the best example.//

fuck, most (if not ALL) of the vas play the game??? they get the exact same experience as you and i!! and every boys in the house clip i see them happy to be there together, praising and celebrating the game and just having fun man. it's honestly so touching.

i miss the anime episodes: the ideas shared between the vas and the writers, and every episode seven with the va's analysing their performances and characters makes me laugh till my stomach hurts. you *should* consider how entertaining the anime is; it's obviously rather low budget but you can really tell ( even though this wasn't the obey me universe we know and love) it still kept people on their feet and entertained me like some twisted ao3 crackfic istg. you can tell that the anime was made with fans in mind, and that's where the writers for it really flourished. to this day I still see people talking and sharing screenshots from it..

basically.. let's try not focus on the fact that "obey me is getting worse", let's all look to a future and try and be positive about things, yeah? because behind this silly little demon dating sim are talented writers, artists, coders, ambassadors and fans that have kept the game alive for 5+ years.

i wish obm does flourish more in the future, and the devs focus on creating a game(s) and content that inspire, enlighten and make everyone smile.

please, as a ty, take my silly photos of my favs. I must spread the word..

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 26: a kiss good luck

Summary: Alastor finds an archivist who can translate Old World texts. Equally bound to their duty, reader and Alastor traverse the tricky landscape of love and commitment…but to whom and to what?

Chapter Synopsis: Plot moves steadily forward, and Alastor gets injured yet again. Over 5k words for you :)

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take long to figure out why Alastor couldn't hear the morse code messages coming from Vox's radio. A few pages into the manual revealed two types of radio frequencies: AM and FM.

We sat at the dinning room table with a couple of his radios scattered across the surface. I used his screwdriver to remove the back ends of the radios and found that some of them had information engraved on the inside flap. I translated them on a small piece of paper and within half an hour we had concluded that Alastor used FM to make his broadcasts. This meant the morse coder must be using AM.

I sat quietly in the dining room chair as Alastor closed his eyes and played with his magic. Every now and then the radios would sputter, crackle, then fizzle into silence as he tried to switch his frequencies. I watched him closely, now able to observe his features.

His eyebrows were slightly knit together in concentration and his ears frequently flicked or shifted, as if trying to hear the frequencies that were immune to my own ears. His cheeks were smooth but structured, his jaw line defined, and his eyelashes rather long. His hair was straight and perfect today because he wore his red button-up instead of pulling a sweater over his head. It was a little disappointing.

My eyes traced down the lining of his shirt until his arm obstructed my view. He was leaning on the armrest of the chair, fingers hugging the edge of the wood perfectly, while his other hand nestled perfectly in the crook of his elbow.

He had one leg crossed elegantly over the other and, to my dismay, wore his usual black shoes to hide his deer hooves. Though I didn't pay much attention to them as my eyes traced the fabric lines hugging his thighs.

He had always seemed very thin and elegant, even when I had healed him from his chest wound. But there was strength behind those lean muscles, and it only made my mind wonder how strong his legs were, too.

I jumped when a single radio crackled to life in the middle of the table—the only one tuned to AM. It struggled for a moment before a series of beeps began to fill the air.

"There you are," Alastor hummed, eyes still closed. It made the hair on my arms stand up, a reminder of who I was sitting next to.

We listened to the ryhthm. Just as Vox said, it repeated the same ryhthm twice, paused, then changed. It was intelligent. And it was definitely morse code. Did the archive in Lucifer's castle have a book on morse code?

The radio coughed and sputtered. Then fell silent.

I looked over at Alastor as his eyes opened. His smile turned devilish. "This is going to be a wonderful surprise for dear old Voxy."

I leaned back in my chair. "Why?"

He lowered his chin and looked at me through his long eyelashes. "Because the signal is coming from his district."

It should've been off-putting, the way his lips curled in a smile that could only mean trouble, or the way his eyes lit up at the idea of confrontation, or the way his teeth seemed to glow in the dim morning light of the storm.

But it wasn't.

It made my stomach turn, yet not in a bad way, and I couldn't help returning his smile. I watched the small movement in his eyes as he observed me this time.

He unfolded his arms and held out his hand. I placed mine on top and, once again, watched his fingers curl perfectly around my hand, squeezing gently. I loved the way his thumb moved across my skin and left a burning, invisible line in its wake.

He took it one step further and raised my hand to place a gentle kiss where his thumb had just been. His lips felt cool on contact, but it quickly spread heat across the rest of my hand. My lungs tightened. I clenched my jaw, unable to look away from his steady gaze.

"You are a miracle, my darling." He shifted forward in his chair and leaned his lips against my fingers and stayed there, searching my eyes. Goosebumps ran along my arms and I had the sudden urge to kiss him. But I was too nervous.

The radio in the living room revived itself and deep voices called for Alastor's response. He grumbled against my hand and the vibrations reached up my shoulders. With a roll of his eyes, he kissed my hand then carefully let go.

I busied myself with screwing the backs of the radios back on in a desperate attempt to ignore the heat in my cheeks. But then I froze when his hand touched the back of my neck as he passed behind me, light enough that it could've been an accident, but we both knew it wasn't.

I waited until he was seated in his chair in the living room, then reached up to rub the area he had touched. My cheeks burned as much as my hand and neck. I quietly hit my forehead with my fist then furiously screwed the radios back together.

{|}

Alastor was determined to keep you out of Vox's district as much as possible.

The storms let up long enough for Vox to build a windmill to charge that ancient canon of his from the underground fortress-ship. It required the labor of his men, Carmilla's people, and the magic of Alastor's people.

He decided to take you along as well—for good reason. Vox's district was the last one to receive your naturalistic care against the storms, but Alastor had devised a plan to keep you from spending too much time in that district.

While he demonstrated his anger-management skills by supervising his mages in Vox's presence, you and Husker walked around the smaller district and made notes of where the necessary trees and shrubbery were needed. This meant he and his mages needed only to follow your written directions, keeping you out of Vox's claws and giving you some much needed time with Rosie in the Agriculture District.

Husker and I walked the rather empty-looking surface of the Technology District. I carried a pad of paper, a pencil, and the district's roughly drawn map in my arms. I made small sketches and notes as we walked the platforms and narrow streets.

"Hey Husker? Do you think Alastor will ever give me my wings back?"

I had been watching the way Husker's red tipped wings swayed and rustled in the wind every time he turned at a sound or approaching figure. He was on high alert.

"Well kid," he said. "He uh...he's..."

"A paranoid freak?"

Husker smiled. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it." He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled down at me, though it quickly shifted to one of sympathy,

"Eventually," he answered my previous question, though the hesitation in his voice wasn't very comforting. He saw the way my head fell and hands made a pointless mark on the map.

He sighed. "When he first brought me under him, he took my wings away, too."

My eyes widened, though I shouldn't have been surprised. "He did?"

Husker nodded. "After awhile, when we were in a bad spot, he brought them back." We slowed to a stop as he lost himself in the memory. "It really was a risk on his part. I could've flown away right then and there. I could've left him to die on that ship with the rest of his crew. But...the way he said it when he gave my wings back...it made me...it made me want to stay. It made me want to use them to get us out safely..."

I waited patiently, hanging on his every word.

Finally, when he came out of the memory, his yellow eyes found mine and he gave a twisted smile. "Alastor likes his theatrics. He might be ready to give your wings back but he's waiting for the right time to make it count."

Ever the manipulator. I sighed internally, ignoring the itch in my back. "When do you think that'll be?"

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My guess? After Storm Season."

It felt like a million miles away, but we were already more than halfway through the season. Could I wait that long? It's not like I had any other choice.

Why wasn't I more upset about my wings? It was annoying, sure, but I didn't feel nearly as upset as I had been over other things when I first arrived in the city.

My feelings, I realized.

My feelings were getting in the way. They were a buffer.

Spend long enough dealing with something and it becomes normal.

His manipulation was becoming normal.

Yet I still couldn't get myself to be upset. I just felt...tired.

I directed my gaze upwards and caught sight of the figures moving about on the surface to build the windmill.

I really needed that talk with Rosie.

A flash of light. Then a clap of thunder—in the ground. My entire body vibrated for a split second as something exploded overhead.

I looked up as fire and smoke bellowed over the ravine's edge. Husker tackled me into the wall, using his wings as a shield. The fire sailed right past us and collided with the ground on the level beneath us. It shook the ground on impact.

Husker peered up through his wings but there was only a fading smoke trail. He looked sharply around, nose twitching and ears swiveling as he furiously scanned the area for danger. He then grabbed my hand and yanked me down the pathway, back towards the center of the city.

"What happened?" I asked, frantically looking over my shoulder. Deep smoke rose into the air, darkening the already gray sky. I could hear people start to scream.

Husker abruptly stopped, swiped me off my feet, and took off. He stayed below the surface of the ravine but just high enough off the ground without crashing. I hung onto his shoulders and stared over his back as the smoke climbed higher in the sky.

Had the White Angels attacked us? Was it a malfunction? A sabotage?

All I could think about was Alastor.

Husker dropped me off at Rosie's then immediately flew off again. I paced the length of Rosie's cave, bitting my nails and ignoring her attempts to calm me.

Trees and bushes crowded the opening to her cave, as was with every cave in her district, but I still couldn't focus on anything other than Alastor. What had happened? What was happening? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was there a fight going on? How many people had been hurt? Killed? Died?

My footclaws rapped the stone floor as I continued my pacing. Rosie waited by the cave entrance, just as anxious, but more experienced in hiding it. She stared up at the sky, waiting for word about the explosion. She had ordered her people to remain inside their own caves until further notice.

Those thirty minutes felt like hours until Rosie caught sight of Alastor and called out to him. I ran over and accidentally crashed into him as he walked in. He gripped my shoulders hard and pulled me away.

His clothes were singed—barely hanging on him and revealing bright red, blistering skin underneath. My mouth dropped open at the sight.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. He grabbed my chin and jerked my head up, searching for wounds on my neck and shoulders. I yanked my face away to examine his injuries.

"Are you hurt?" he repeated more forcefully. He patted me down at all the vital points of my body, and that's when I noticed the way my clothes stuck to his hands slightly.

"I'm fine." I snapped and grabbed his wrists to look at his palms. They were just as blistered and bleeding as the rest of his arms, but it was obvious which side had taken the brunt of the impact. "My god, Al—"

"Rosie, send some of your people to the center," he ordered. "Lucifer has already rounded up the healers but they need more help. There's too many injured."

"Right away." She whisked away in a matter of seconds.

Alastor turned back to me, the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked exhausted. The thick smell of smoke that clung to him had clogged my nose and was making my eyes water.

"Sit down," I said, pushing him backwards to the bench. His legs stuttered but he managed to sit, grimacing as he did. My eyes surveyed him from head to toe. I grabbed a knife from Rosie's sewing drawer and began cutting away the remains of his clothes—only the bits that were loose and not sticking to the blisters.

"What happened?" I asked and raced around Rosie's home in search of a damp wash cloth to cool his burns.

"An attack," he said thinly, "from the White Angels."

"What kind of attack?" I moved quickly but carefully, dotting his face, arms, neck and chest with a damp wash cloth. He hissed through the pain and I was grateful his adrenaline rush had not yet slowed because he would've been spitting and fighting me against the pain. But he will soon, though.

"An explosion," he answered. "It's...they've never done this before." He swayed a little. "It must be a new weapon."

"How do you know it was them?" I knelt beside him and started cutting away at his pant legs to expose the ugly blisters, clenching my jaw at the sight.

Alastor's silence made me look up. His eyelids sagged, as did the rest of his body, and his hand fell limply from his lap. I panicked and grabbed his shoulders to wake him, only to be met with the snap of his sharp teeth mere inches from my face. I could see in his eyes the moment he recognized me.

"M-My dear..."

"Stop. I know what you're going to say." I went over to the counter and filled an empty clay mug with water from a nearby pitcher. "Just stop talking and let me handle this." I lifted the mug to his lips and he quietly drank. Though he did attempt to do it himself but the pain in his fingers had finally reached him.

I forced him to drink the entire cup then helped him lay down on the bench. Luckily the front of him took the brunt of the attack, meaning he wouldn't be in pain while lying down. I set aside the cup then tended to his legs in the same manner as the rest of him.

"How bad is it?" he croaked, then coughed. "And don't lie to me."

I debated on listening, then decided to give him the truth. "Bad."

I searched around Rosie's home for bandages or pieces of cloth to use. I came back with a few towels and brought the pitcher to the floor with me. I tore the cloths into smaller strips and soaked them in water.

I started at his legs and glanced nervously at him. He was starting to nod off. "I'm sorry, Al. But you'll hate this part." I laid the damp bandage over a spot and his whole body seized. His hand hovered over the bandage, fighting with himself not to remove it.

I gently touched his arm where no blisters and charred fur were present, and marveled at the way he almost immediately relaxed.

His head dropped back onto the bench. "I'm such a fool."

"What happened up there?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the pain. I propped his leg up and started wrapping the different areas.

"I heard...morse code...they were—" He groaned against the pain. "I heard them talking on the radio. Soon after...soon after they attacked."

"Someone warned them?" I prompted, moving to his hands.

"Yes," he breathed out through his teeth. "They're...in Vox's district."

"So it's not Vaggie then," I said. "She's not the spy."

"We don't know that. She could be...involved somehow."

We continued to talk and theorize as I bandaged him up all the way to his neck. His magic had saved him from the blast, unlike so many others, but the biggest blow had been to his ego. He didn't say anything about it, but I could tell it was chewing at the back of his mind.

I poured the last of the water into his mug and sat on the edge of the bench. I gently raised his head just enough to help him sip from the cup. I had gone nose-blind to the smell of charred fur, clothes, and hair.

His poor hair. It was horrifyingly dry. It fell away at the smallest touch.

I lowered his head but kept my hand where it was, waiting for him to build more strength to finish the last sip of water. He sighed deeply and whispered my name.

"No," I said. "Don't try to say something dramatic. Just focus on me." I offered a small smile. "You'll probably go into shock soon, so try to stay awake."

He surprised me by smiling, as if the situation was a joke. "If I do," he said with a shallow breath, "will you kiss me awake?"

I smothered my own smile and glared down at him. "A slap will do better."

He hummed his amusement but it made him cough instead. "Then...won't you..." His breathing was getting heavier and faster. "Won't you...give me a kiss...for good luck?"

My heart twisted at the genuine way in which he asked. I smiled fully and carefully leaned down, hovering just over his lips. I saw his eyes close in anticipation and felt his breath on my cheeks as he tried to pause his breathing.

I lightly kissed him, enjoying the feeling of his lips moving against mine, but fought the urge to cough from the strong smell of smoke. He sighed through his nose and he visibly relaxed in a matter of seconds.

I leaned away with a smile, then lifted his head so he would drink the rest of the water.

{|}

I knew from past experiences that confining Alastor to one spot was a bad ideato say the least.

He was miserable within the first twenty-four-hours, even though he slept for most of it. His hands had suffered burns, but Lucifer had been kind enough to heal his hands after hours of healing the rest of the injured. I had never seen the short king look so worn and exhausted.

I sat in the hallway just outside his room while he slept, occasionally glancing in to make sure he was still breathing.

But once he woke up later that afternoon, I hurried downstairs avoid him. Now that he was stable, he had plenty of time to think. Which, in this particular situation, wasn't a good thing.

I could feel his tense magic in the air, even in the far corner of the kitchen where I helped Niffty make dinner. He was angry, of course. Disappointed, for sure. And bored. The man could hardly survive fifteen minutes of being bored.

On the second day of his confinement, he had enough.

Niffty and I were working peacefully, quietly, beside each other in front of the low fire. Some storm days were cold and drafty while others were hot and sticky. Today was a weird mix between the two.

Niffty was binding one of my finished translation sheets into a book when she abruptly stopped, stood up, and climbed the stairs, as if in a trance. Alastor's magic crackled faintly in my ears and I waited with bated breath for him to attempt whatever he did on Niffty to me.

Luckily he didn't, as Niffty came scurrying downstairs as right as rain and said Alastor wanted to see me.

I told myself I didn't need to be nervous. He wasn't angry with me. I didn't do anything wrong. He was just frustrated at his predicament. Still, it did little to ease my racing heart as I slowly climbed the stairs.

I peered around the doorway. He was sitting upright, dressed in loose maroon sleeping clothes, and his recently healed hand rubbed at his temples. I could see the new bandages under his sleeves and around his neck.

He looked tired and exhausted, but entirely like Al. It was as though we were back in the bunker...especially with the disheveled look of his hair.

His poor, dry, fried hair.

I cleared my throat. "Al?"

He instantly looked up and the exhaustion faded from his features. He set aside the book he had been attempting to read. "Come in, my dear."

I braced for nothing and took a few steps inside, holding my hands behind my back. "Did you need something?"

He gave me a feigned look of exasperation. "Is it such a crime to want your company?" One of his ears flicked.

My cheeks colored and I traced the lines in the floor with my footclaw.

"Come closer."

Gaze still averted, I approached his bed and stood roughly an arms length from him. But he expertly snaked a hand around my waist and pulled me closer so my knees bumped the wooden frame.

My eyes couldn't decide where to look—at him, the bed, the book, his desk, the boarded doors, the drapes—

He touched a finger to my chin and pushed up, drawing my gaze to him. He smiled and the sight made my heart skip a beat. Why wouldn't my heart slow down?

"Beautiful," he murmured.

I blinked. "What is?"

"Your eyes."

Heat rushed into my face and I shied away, but he grabbed my jaw with a firm hand and hugged my waist tighter, refusing to let go. My one hand grabbed at the arm around me while the other fisted my pant leg until it hurt.

He chuckled softly, amused at my reaction.

My face burned brighter as he tried to meet my eyes. Unsure what to do, and uncomfortably shy at our close proximity, I reached up to touch his hair. He quieted as several strands of hair fell away. It was amazing more hadn't fallen out already, but I suppose his magic was trying to keep him stitched together.

He suddenly leaned into my touch, eyes closed. His cheek, partially covered by more bandages, was warm to the touch—and dry. I rubbed my thumb over his painfully dry and cracked skin and thought of how I might help. I could only imagine the pain and discomfort he was in, further enunciated by his confinement.

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and pulled me closer. I used both hands to cup his face and gently touch the bandages. The smell of smoke still clung to him, though not as strongly, and the crackle of fire in my little alcove came to mind.

A cool, summer evening breeze swept through the forest and the birds chirped overhead. My knife made loud chops as I diced the vegetables on the cutting board. Al's hand came into view to take the knife from me, giving me full view of his black and red deer tail.

I stared up at the dimming orange sky through the bramble and tree leaves, only for my view to be obstructed by a pair of bright red ears. He leaned down to kiss me, fitting his knee between my legs and lowering his weight on top of me. He was warm. He was gentle. He was kind.

"Darling?" Alastor brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek, bringing me back to reality. I blinked the memory away and withdrew my hands and apologized.

"You should shower," I said, attempting to step away but failing to do so on account for his arm still wrapped around my waist. "Your hair desperately needs it." I gently pushed a strand near his neck and watched it sway stiffly.

"An excuse to see me undress?" he teased.

I firmly, but carefully, plucked his arm off my hip. "I've seen you naked enough times, thank you." For good measure, I added, "Twice is plenty."

He caught my hand and pulled it to his lips. "You wound me, my dear." He placed a kiss on my knuckles, light and feathery. "But I won't shower for some time. These blisters hurt far too much."

"I can't imagine your scalp feels any good." I reached up and threaded my fingers through the chalky strands. He instantly closed his eyes and hummed deeply.

"It does when you do that."

I giggled quietly. "Would you like me to take care of your hair again?" More softly I said, "Like back then?"

He opened one eye. "Perhaps."

I stepped closer and he lifted his head slightly, licking his lips in anticipation. I did the same, hovering mere centimeters over his lips, until I finally kissed him. My heart pulsed through my fingertips as we kissed a second time, and before we could get lost in more, I pulled away.

In the bathroom, I situated a stool close to the tub's edge and sat him down so he could rest his head backwards on it. His injuries were mostly on his front side, meaning he could lean back and move relatively normal. But his grimacing still expressed a high level of pain from the healing skin.

With a towel supporting his neck, I began to cut away the strands that were too far gone, burnt to a crisp and falling apart on contact. It should've been done sooner, preferably the night of the attack, but Alastor had been too lethargic to even sit upright.

I asked Niffty to change Alastor's pillow as I sorted through the collection of oils under the sink. I perched myself on the tub's edge, close to his head, and started combing the oils through his newly cut hair. It wasn't pretty, but it would grow back.

He was doing that thing again. I didn't even need to look to know he was staring up at me, searching my face and trying to catch my gaze.

"So what now?" I asked. "We still need to disable the White Angels' communication system."

He sighed when I massaged a certain area on his scalp. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Vox's canon requires energy we don't have."

"I thought it was destroyed."

"The windmill was," he explained. "The canon is underground."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where?"

"It's attached to his fortress."

My hands stilled. "Vox...fixed a battleship?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means."

I went back to massaging his hair, for no other reason than an excuse to keep touching him. "A type of military ship. There were different kinds but those ones had big canons." I recalled the rooms and hallways I had walked through in Vox's fortress. I knew it had been a ship, but his furnishing made it appear like something non-militaristic.

A thought came to mind. "How did he make it work?"

Alastor peered up at me, but didn't voice his thoughts. "Trial and error, I suppose."

"Why haven't you used it before?"

"From what he told me, it wasn't positioned correctly. He had to carve out more stone in order to move it in the right direction."

"So how does he know it'll even land where he wants it to?"

Alastor tried to shrug but grimaced. "He doesn't. But it was the best thing we could think of."

I mindlessly combed through his hair in silence, enjoying the intimate moment, as was he, until my hands grew tired. I helped him up and led him back to his room. I sat on the edge of his bed and talked with him some more until Niffty brought his dinner up.

He grabbed my wrist when I went to leave. "Won't you stay? It's positively boring up here. All alone~," he dramatized. I gave in.

Niffty joined us for dinner and sat cross legged on his bed while I pulled up his desk chair. We talked further on the White Angel issue, particularly on how to find the traitor in Vox's district and if Vaggie had any ties to it. It seemed impossible for the ex-White Angel to be involved when she was under constant surveillance.

The tone of conversation turned lighter as Niffty detailed her imaginary war of her crocheted bugs. Alastor watched me as I listened to her, fully aware of what he was doing. His gaze left a hot trail wherever he looked, and it wasn't because of his magic.

After we had finished eating, I pulled the chair back to his desk and offered to take his plate from him. He looked at me with surprisingly big, round eyes and soft features. "Will you work some more or do you plan to sleep soon?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. "I'll probably translate a few pages before I go to bed."

"Then do them here." He gestured to the empty side of his bed. "You do know how much I loathe boredom."

I smiled and took his plate. "I knew I was just entertainment for you."

He scrunched his nose at me in response.

While Niffty cleaned up the kitchen, I brought my text and pad of paper to his room. I clumsily sat on his bed and shifted closer, but not too close. My hands were shaking slightly as I opened the text and tried to find the page I had been working on.

I shouldn't have agreed to stay.

My heart was racing again and for no reason. He wasn't upset at me—he was actively searching for my presence. It took twice as long to translate a single sentence knowing that he was sitting less than an arm's length away.

My mind couldn't get around the fact that I was sitting on his bed, on his sheets, in his room. Could he feel my anxiety? Was I making it obvious?

Alastor repeatedly glanced over at you. He could see the way your shoulders hunched tightly, your hands moved statically, and could faintly hear your erratic breathing. He was having difficulty understanding what sprouted these random anxious moments. He originally thought close proximity, but you had been perfectly find when you were taking care of his hair and you had initiated a kiss.

Regardless, he was going to test out another strategy of his. The only problem was that it included waiting.

He metaphorically dragged his feet through his work, half listening to his radio frequencies in the back of his mind as he sifted through orders and journalists' records. The easiest thing to do in his current state was to continue compiling the play of events from the different caves. Rosie's caves, by far, had the least amount of difficulties.

Finally, finally, you started to nod off.

Your head repeatedly dropped as you fought sleep and gravity simultaneously. He waited, desperately hoping he could time it correctly.

With your elbow propped on your leg and your head in your hand, you drifted off longer than usual. He used a touch of magic to pull your textbook and his work off the bed, then slowly but surely shifted further down the bed until he was laying flat on his back. He ignored the stings from his injuries and reached over to pull your paper off your lap.

You startled awake but your eyes were still droopy as you looked over at him. He blew out the lantern on his bedside table and dropped the paper on the floor next to the bed.

"S-Sorry, I'll go now."

His shadow pushed against your knees to bring you close enough that he could wrap an arm around you. Your eyes suddenly widened as you realized what he was trying to do. But instead of running and panicking, you let him pull you against his side and drape his red sheets over your shoulders.

Uncertainly, you rested your head on the edge of his pillow and set your arm on his chest where there were no injuries. You were as stiff as a board but he knew he needed only to wait a few minutes for you to grow tired again.

And right he was.

You shifted closer and brushed your feet against his hooves. You brought your face closer to his neck where he could feel your steady breathing on his fur. Somehow your head, arms, neck, and legs were touching all the areas on him that were safe and free from blisters.

You were perfect.

He knew this bliss might not come again once Storm Season was over, but he savored the way you leaned into him, the way you melted against his side. As much as your fear of him still lingered in ways he couldn't understand, he knew there was a deep desire to seek his presence, his company, his passion.

He turned his head and nuzzled his nose into your hair and took a deep breath.

But maybe, just maybe, he could have something real with you. Forever. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

I think we all needed some sappy Alastor and sweet fluff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:@drevisrose @until-thedaysof-spring @torustesseract @sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette @eris-norwega

[dollydearful]

May I request a internet/network inspired ID pack? Thank you!

angel thinks this request is super cool :0 angel will try its hardest! Also, you're very welcome! Angels favorite thing is making ID packs :D

Internet ID pack requested by anon

⧘ ๋ Names ֢

Webston/Webbie/Web, Ennie, Glitch(y), Filly, Nettea, Viru, Rere, Bee, Pixel, Virus, Techi, Techette, Screenie, Button, Sitette, Click/Clickie, Linke/Linkette, Radi, Error, Codie/Code/Codette, Plug, Comie, Browser/Browsette, Ox, Exe, X, Fille/Filie, Interne, Computie/Compute, Corrupt

⧘ ๋ Pronouns ֢

web/webs/website, internet/internets/internetself, com/computer/computerself, png/pngs/jpeg, file/files/fileself, error/errors/errorself, code/coder/codeself, glitch/glitches/glitchself, virus/viruses/virusself, pix/pixel/pixelself, site/sites/website, net/nets/internet, link/links/linkself, button/buttons/buttonself, ex/exe./self.exe, radio/radios/radioself

⧘ ๋ Labels ֢

HTMLgender, Purplewebpopupic, Computercatic, Divirusproutaen, Novtechic, Pcordo, Computergender/Computerkin, Trappedinacomputergender, Monospaceyn, Y10Kglitchic, Verazusingularic, Webcoric, Crashcoric, Linuxboy, Computergender, Hackgender,

⧘ ๋ Titles ֢

The one who resides within wifi/internet, The digital one/being, [prn] who is prone to glitching, The one within the web, [prn] whom is made of tech, The technical one, The corrupted being/file, The forgotten file, [name].exe/.jpgeg/.png, The digital virus, [prn] who is made of links, The pixelated one, The broken web

Goodness...angel really went all out on that one, but angel thinks this is its best one yet! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 2

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

The man lets you go as the bouncer approaches again. He hands over a green bottle of Perrier. The stranger uncaps it and offers it to you as the carbonation hisses from the open neck.

“Have a drink,” he says gently.

You take the bottle and gulp, the bubbles nearly choking you. He looms there with you, watching you drink. You pop your mouth off the bottle and stare at his lapel.

“I'm sorry,” you gasp, “I think I'll be okay now.”

“No need to apologise,” he assures you. “I'll stay with you until you're better.”

“You don't…” he leans in again and your breath catches, “you don't have to do that.”

“Oh, I couldn't leave you. Go on, have some more water,” he says, “Jonathan, by the way, I'm afraid our introduction was lacking.”

You're confused. You don't know this man. Why is he so interested? You glance over at the pretty girls in their mini skirts and strappy dresses.

“And you?” He prompts.

You give your name to the brim of the bottle before you swig again. You rub you cheek then let your hand drop to your stomach. You cringe at the gurgle in your stomach. 

“Have a bit much to drink?” He asks.

“I don't… I don't drink,” you answer, “but… they gave me it.”

“They? A friend?”

“Coworker.”

“Ah, a work outing. Rather odd choice for that but who am I to say? I was lured here upon the premise of business myself.”

You hand the bottle back to him and hug yourself. He twists the cap on as you peer down the street. They probably won't even notice you're gone.

“I should go,” you stand up, “thanks, uh, sir, for your help.”

“Go? Are you driving?”

“Yeah, my car is over…” you trail off as you brave a glance up at him. His blonde hair is tidy and his eyes are a perfect shade of sky blue. “...there.”

“You can't drive, you said you've been drinking,” he tilts his head.

“Oh, uh, I guess,” you peel around, keeping your arms crossed, “a taxi…”

“We could share? I have an early morning meeting so I'll be off about now.”

“Oh, no, that's fine–”

“I don't mind. In fact, I'd be more bothered to send you of not knowing if you got home safe,” he intones.

“But… you don't know me.”

“Well, you can't get to know people if you don't start there,” he chuckles lightly, “how are you feeling now, then? Calmer?”

You nod. He holds out the bottle. 

“Keep it. Finish it if you can. It will help sober you up,” he lets you take the bottle before he turns and raises his arm, hailing down the street for the approaching headlights. You'd be on the curb for a while before anyone saw you jumping and waving. That would be embarrassing. 

“Dear,” he looks back at you as a yellow cab approaches.

“I said…” you don't bother repeating yourself. People don't hear you. It's why you prefer email or IM.

The driver is there. That's a safeguard, right? The man, Jonathan, opens the door for you and you get in. He goes around the other side and gives his address, “but first…” he gestures to you.

You say your own address as you place the water bottle in the cup holder and buckle in. You stare out the window and watch the street roll by as the car pulls out. You keep yourself nestled into the door, making yourself as small as you can.

“So… coworkers… what do you do for work?”

“Code.”

“Ah, interesting, valuable skill set. I have many coders on my team. Always reliable, always honest.”

You nod. What do you say? Your work isn't exciting and the few times you worked with other coders were less than pleasant.

Silence. A strangling dearth of sound. You fidget, wiping your sweaty palms on your skirt. You just want to get home. The prospect of having to pick your car up the next day adds to your anxiety.

“I am rather too talkative for my own good,” he chuckles.

The driver seems to take a hint and flips on the radio. You exhale, relieved for the white noise, and refocus out the window.

It's an odd end to the night. You knew going out would probably be unsettling but this is all so strange. You suppose you've been in your own space for too long. You've never been good with other people.

As you recognise the street you're one, you sit up. Jonathan inhales and hooks one leg over the other. The driver steers around the corner sharply and nearly has you falling across the seat. You slap a hand on the leather and resist the physics. 

You peek up and meet Jonathan's eye. An accident that has you boiling and looking away. You see your house and lean forward.

As the driver stops, you pull at the purse slung around your body. You look at the meter and search for your wallet in the slouchy body of the bag. Jonathan tuts and flutters his fingers at you.

“My treat. Please, save your money.”

“But–” you gulp back a response. You should pay but you also shouldn’t argue with kindness. That’s what your mother always said.

You click the seat belt and let it recoil. Your hand is already on the door as you’re ready to run and hide. The man says your name. You pause and look back, not wanting to be rude.

“Well, have a good night,” he drawls.

“Oh, uh, thank you, you too,” you pull the handle.

“Very nice meeting you,” he calls softly, right before you close the door.

[the-slasher-files]

[CALL OF DUTY]

A LIFE WITH HER

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!OC

Hello friends! It has been a while, but I'm excited to return and do more exciting things! So, this piece is an introduction to a new oc I have been working on, Simon's girl. Her name is Cholena "Raven" Belanger, name is pronounced Ko-LEE-nah. A beautiful, powerful and now civilian Metis woman. This fic is angsty comfort with hints of smut and gore... I hope you enjoy as much as I do 🔪🤍 MASTERLIST

A long sigh departed from rose tainted lips, the breath was deep and bone rattling. Almost 40 hours straight in the hospital, running around to codes of all types, tending to wounds, directing 3 teams beneath her, and doing all the paperwork as coworkers shifts changed over and over again.

"... Fuck..." Green eyes cascaded down to the blue gloves that were now drying in deep brown once bright crimson.

"Stay with me now, solider," the thumping of the helicopter blades above you drowning out your strained voice. The words were more for yourself as you held your teammates shoulder together. You could feel his heart pounded with the blood that drenched the bandages. "... Almost there"

He was fading and you didn't have enough medical supplies here, not in the air, all you could do was give directions through the radio for the medical staff on the grounds to be prepared for 3 soldiers you saved. You saved them. You hoped you did as the man's breath below you wanned. "Come on... fuck..."

Finally, the helicopter landed. It had felt like hours, painful, hopeless hours sitting in that plane, and you were left there. Slumped on your knees as the men were taken away, your men that you prayed to any god listening that they would go home to their families, but you knew that there was no god above you as the red faded to brown.

"Cholena?" There was a faint voice, "... Hey, Cholena?"

Keen emerald eyes flew upwards as the gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, flinching it off in the wake of a flashback.

It was her coworker, the one who was her equal and switching her out on the shift, took a step back with his hands face up in defence and presenting no threat. Jonathan knew of your past, obviously not understanding it completely, but there were times she spilled the truth of her PTSD.

"Sorry," He whispered, "...hey, it's ok. He lived,"

There was a held breath that she released, one she wasn't aware that was held. Relief washed over her tense frame as an innocent man riding his motorcycle home and was struck by a car could go home tonight. But, she couldn't ease the tension as that feeling of relief was quickly numbed. This woman lived through wars, saw death more than anyone in her team would ever know, and faced it multiple times herself, somehow living today. She was numbed to this. It was just another day.

"Co, please go home... get some sleep and long shower, okay?" Jonathan stared at the dried blood on the once sterile gloves, then back to her eyes. "Text me tomor—"

Interrupted by the coder on his lanyard going off, quickly giving a pat on her shoulder and running off down the white-walled hallway, "Go home! Get sleep!" He yelled back, trying to be some type of light to get her to smile... and it worked.

With a shake of her head, the smile slowly faded, peeling the nitrile gloves off and getting herself ready to go home. Home. A strange word to her as she spent the past 2 months more between the cold cement walls of the hospital than in the comfort of a home she shared, half the time alone. One more week. It repeated in her head, that British accent across the gritted phone lines.

Tense muscles guarded by heavy black tactical gear stood in front of the sink, emerald eyes, bloodshot and staring as the water washed you clean. It was too hot but you couldn't feel it. Just scrubbing over and over again the pores of your skin, rubbing them raw and steam coating your face. The water ran clear long ago, but all you could hear was the screams calling your name to help, to save them.

"Raven... Raven, shit" A voice lay unheard.

Quickly shifting around your frozen body, he turned off the tap, grasping your shoulders and turning you to look at him. Look within the deep amber masked in smeared paint. Grounding you as your hands shook desperately clawing at his vest, tears streaming heavy and collapsing within solid arms that held you up.

"I couldn't save them... I could've. I-I could've... Ghost" Your body broke against him, sobs caught into him like he could take care of it all, and he wished he could. On days like these, he wished you never thought about being in the military, you should be home, nestled in the arms of your lover and watching some dumb tv show and falling asleep in peaceful bloom.

"I know angel, I know," He clenched tightly around your frame, protecting you "One more week, just one more week"

Throwing the bloody scrubs away into the neon hazard bins, Cholena changed into some jeans and just threw on a larger, much larger hoodie that kissed halfway down her muscular thighs, the smell faded but it was still his regardless. Saying goodbye with silent waves, the exhaustion began to creep in as each step led her closer and closer out of the god-forsaken building.

Shrugging her military-issued backpack on one shoulder, she walked through the automatic sliding doors and stepped into the pitch-black night as it was softly raining. Rounding to the back of the hospital and towards the train station, beaming street lights above had her attention drawn to a black truck and a man leaning against it, cigarette in hand.

"No trains tonight, sweetheart," The familiar voice, one of comfort and home, hit her like a bullet, a gunshot clapping like thunder, it made her stop for a moment to process that he was actually here.

"Simon..."

He walked forward, tossing the cigarette to the cold, wet pavement and she walked faster, meeting him more than halfway under the warm glow of the lamp above. Reaching only a foot apart, Simon's body covered in hers in an everlasting shadow, his phantom that she welcomes whole. Sweet lotion of shea butter and coconut met fire and metal that mixed together in cascading rain making reflections at their feet.

This was something they always did when meeting again and again, no matter the territory, sand, snow, rain, concrete, rubble, blood and gore. They let their senses adapt to each other before utter absorption.

"You're home," Soldiers don't have homes, but he made one in her.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be" Simon admitted the truth openly for her to bare and she took it all without question.

Wrapping her hands around his thick neck, green eyes meeting warm hooded amber, easily, as if she was nothing, he lifted her with strong hands supporting her thighs. As many times as he would hold her, she never failed to seem so small. At first, it was out of place when Ghost held her, like a rabbit seeking comfort within the paws of a wolf, but something in their souls fit together in a bloody puzzle and now it was home.

"God, I missed you," she exhaled all her stress as if he could ease all her pain and tucked into his neck, shuttering with exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of having him back.

He didn't respond, and he did not need to. The rumble of a storm at sea grew within Simon's chest, and she heard it, clinging closer as if it was possible. Slowly, the scent of tantalizing pine and musk sprouted as her nose brushed under the mask. It was just the simple balaclava allowing you to see the shape of his face and the yellow that brushed through brown wartorn eyes. She never pushed for him to take it off. It was his security and his alone. When Ghost was ready to fall into the shadows, he would, always there beneath the skin, but that was when she would protect him the most.

Secure gloved hands began to wander, muscles flexing each time he could feel her shake within his hold, and Simon brought his head back, about to speak, but she beat him to it, tensing slightly, "J-just a long shift,"

Another rumble, softer this time, rolled through him, "Well, let's get you home, pigeon,"

Whenever Simon called her that, he knew it would earn a smile, perhaps a huff of sweet laughter, one that he wished he could hear forever. Everyone called her Raven. It was her call sign. Even her family used it as an honour, and no one questioned it. The onyx long hair, her feather-light touch even while stitching brutal wounds, the way she was ever graceful with sniper and was a beacon of life and death altogether. Not to count out her indigenous roots calling to her the title, a feather often within her hair on the battlefield, creative, cunning with an intuition like no one else on the team. She was a raven, glorious to him in every way, so the fact that he called her pigeon would almost be an insult.

Moving effortlessly, Simon placed her in the passenger seat of his truck, the leather slightly squeaking when Cholena took off her backpack. Eyes watching as the love of her life got into the seat beside her, a warm smile gracing her as he looked massive within the closed space.

The armoured truck was parked in the dimly lit garage of the safe house. Everyone had found a spot in the old farmhouse to settle in for the night, but you couldn't sleep, and neither could he.

"Ghost," Your moans filled the truck. Trying to stifle the noises begging you to scream, "Please. Fuc-"

"That feel good, huh?" Accent thick with pleasure as he leaned across the middle console, your head buried within the crook of Ghost's neck. His devastating hands taking what he wanted and giving what you needed. "So fucking needy for me,"

He hummed lowly, sounding more like a growl as calculated eyes watched his fingers slip in and out of your cunt, dripping on the seat and cascading along inked skin. Curling knuckle deep inside sent a shockwave through you, shaking and biting his jacket with gentle mumbles and whines. Ghost could feel you were close, fisting your soft black hair to make you pull back with a hiss.

"Look at me when you cum," He groaned feeling your walls clench tightly around strong fingers and you let go. Your teeth biting hard on your bottom lip to not make a sound, your legs shaking and dark brown eyes observing you, eating you whole as you came undone. "Such a good girl"

Ghost whispered now, the hard skull of his mask bowed against your forehead. You saw him, not the commanding force but the man beneath the bones and viscera of a legend, and he allowed it. He was safe with you between the fogging windows. It was just you and him in your world, cupping his jaw as he mirrored the actions.

"Such a beautiful girl," Simon spoke, barely above a whisper as Cholena nuzzled into his hands. Green eyes speaking to his brown in a dead language they brought back to life.

"Such a handsome man," She replied smoothly "my handsome man"

His eyes crinkled with a smile beneath the mask, placing a kiss on her forehead. Simon was still adjusting, not quite ready for his lips to feel hers, for him to feel 100% human yet. His mind was still half inside the battlefield being the embodiment of his callsign and haunting over the ones he protected with his life.

Cholena's soft fingers grazed down Simon's body, releasing her own tension and grounding him back to her at the same time. "Let's go home," She found herself whispering, eyes becoming heavy and body letting go in his presence, relaxing and easing, slumping into the seat as he gruffly nodded.

As he drove away from the city, the rain and darkening of fewer city lights lulled her into a soft sleep. Their fingers interlocked naturally together the whole drive, brown eyes floating over to watch her peaceful state reminding him that he was safe, he was home and he was hers.

Pulling into the driveway of their forested home just outside of the busy city, Simon turned off the truck and released a sigh. A shutter rolled through him this time, sharing a similar exhaustion and flood of relaxation. It was time to be a man again. Pausing for a quiet moment, his eyes closed, the freehand holding the steering wheel reached up to the soft fabric on his face and pulled the balaclava off. Strong, chiselled features made his face, scars and healed broken bones made him who he was, a man she loved wholeheartedly, but someone he strayed away from most of his life. Keen amber caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror and he stared almost as if he couldn't recognize who he was without the skull mask.

"Simon," She whispered groggily, even half asleep she could feel himself begin to crawl within his own head and her small hand flexed on his.

Cursing lowly he got out of the truck, rounded the vehicle and opened her door. Simon grabbed her bag first before he picked Cholena up bridal style trying not to shift or wake her much.

Flashes of fire, blurred black and white melted together in your vision. You could taste the copper and feel the smoke burning through you. It was hot, pure violent hellish heat consuming your soul. Were you screaming or crying as your breath felt like broken glass slicing through your ribcage? No one was listening except the reaper. It didn't matter.

It was a landmine that went off and no one could see it until bodies were broken and the building beside you had collapsed. Concrete, rebar, wood, and electrical had all come down within seconds and you were gone. The world turned and your team was gone.

Blood seeping through your gear made wide streaks in the dirt around you, barely able to lift your head, but your body tried to crawl away on pure instinct. In and out, the world faded. Tasting your life force being torn away so brutally. And you couldn't hear the voices on the radio anymore, no screams or calls for you, everyone checking on position and counting the injuries.

"SHE'S HERE"

A black shadowy figure stood before you, it was him, death coming to take you and your lids closed.

"S-stay, NO, STAY WITH ME. RAVEN... Cholena, keep those eyes open!" A barking scared tone made your eyes flutter open, only seconds at a time before falling back into darkness.

A white skull now covered in soot, bore down at your helpless frame that was clinging to life. He kept talking, orders yelled and words directed at you that were no longer understood, Ghost had never spoken this much in war but the rumble in his chest kept you sane. With every jostle of your body, you felt something horrid, it would catch on soaked clothes and send violent shocks through you. It was bone being held together by your gear. It was your spine.

"Simon..." Your voice was weak but you whispered his name, his real name over and over. He wasn't your reaper.

"Simon..." Cholena whined, nuzzling into his hoodie as she was set down on the big comfy bed, "don't go"

"I'm not going anywhere, angel... Never"

"I'm not going anywhere, angel... Never"

[allastoredeer]

Radiostatic is the general ship name, can be reciprocated or not

Radiosilence/Onewaybroadcast is unreciprocated (usually Vox being in love with Alastor), Radio Silence is also the name of a book so some people are trying to get Onewaybroadcast to take over so the book tags aren't full of hazbin art (not as much of a problem on Tumblr, because we can have spaces in our tags)

Staticlovetune was/is the OG reciprocated radiostatic name I think

I might be wrong, but that's what I've gotten so far

😵‍💫 there are so many.

I totally get people wanting to separate certain depictions of the ship, especially because not everyone vibes with unrequited love and there is a LOT of unrequited love in the RadioStatic tag. I get it. That shit hurts.

I just cannot keep up with all the names. I think I'm going to stick with just RadioStatic/StaticRadio for now, but thank you for explaining them to me. I knew about RadioSilence, and then I saw people saying Onewaybroadcast, and to my understanding they were the same, so I just couldn't figure out what was going on 😭

Bless all ya'll for knowing what content you want and do not want to see, that's the fandom curation I support.

I'm gonna stick with the general ship name for my own sanity, though. But now that I have a de-coder (thanks Anon) I'll at least know what people are talking about unless I forget the names which is also a high possibility

[realcleverscience]

AI Customization: How I Dealt with a Stupid Youtube Feature

Youtube has a feature where, if you didn't finish your last video, it'll pop up in a miniplayer on your youtube homepage.

Personally, I hate this thing. I never use it. It just blocks the screen and means more button clicking. I emailed google months ago about it, asking them for an option to disable it, but no luck.

Today, annoyed again, I asked AI for help. It noted that there were some options in the youtube app to turn them off, but I'm just using the browser on my laptop, so that wouldn't help. It then linked to a firefox extension, but it only had like 5 reviews and seemed very sus. I didn't want to install it.

So, I asked chatgpt to help me create my own extension that would run on my laptop.

Now, I am not a computer coder. I can do some basic html, and that's about it. But after 10 minutes of back and forth, q and a, with the AI, I now have my own firefox extension that does exactly what I want: It blocks the miniplayer on the youtube homepage. It's perfect.

I think one of the things about AI that most people don't appreciate is how it will allow on-the-fly creation of customized coding solutions.

I think we're all used to having problems, and trying to find software that hopefully addresses our needs, and isn't too expensive or complex. But with AI today we don't need to find existing one-size-fits-all solutions and shoehorn them into our workflows. We are reaching a point where AI can just design our solutions on the spot. As another example, let's say you got some complex data to be analyzed. If the AI doesn't have the intrinsic ability to answer your data analysis questions, it can just code for programs that do. (This is, in fact, how some AI models work.)

Just like the internet lowered barriers to information access, AI is lowering barriers to intelligence and its products. When I was a kid, if you wanted to know about, say, the history of dandelions, you'd need to go to the library and prepare for a lot of research - and it probably wasn't something you'd just do randomly; today, you can jump down any ol data rabbit hole at 2am from your bed. Of course, libraries still exist, researching still exists, etc - but the internet made it so much easier, we can now indulge our every curiosity with ease. Similarly, AI will not just accelerate research, but will allow us in our daily lives to indulge in whatever intelligence endeavor we so desire.

p.s. AI is still a young field. It's still far from perfect. But it's improving at breakneck speed.

p.s. some customization ideas I'd love to be able to implement: in the car "move to another radio station anytime the band Queen comes on the radio" (I love queen but its SO overplayed). "If a phone call with my folks exceeds an hour, make the phone ring so I have an 'out' to go if I want." "Block any youtube videos or tumblr posts about episodes of my favorite shows that I've not yet seen."

[nitrosodiumgameanglia]

Massive Renovations

Something unexpected occurred today. One of the teachers played my game, and did not like it. He gave me a gigantic list of things to add and change, which was unfortunate since we have a day of development time left, and both the artist and coder are absent for the rest of the week. The changes that the teacher himself implemented are:

Altered radios so they can be turned off, along with a popup saying if they are turned on or off.

Gave doors a collision box which says that they can be interacted with.

Altered the staircase so it is made of actual staircase pieces, and gave it a bannister.

Gave the staircase a collision box which says if you are on the third floor (which he has renamed almost all instances of to the Second Floor, to keep in check with English naming conventions).

Altered the random pitch and volume of door sounds.

What I have to do is:

Create respective collision boxes for each floor.

Alter the note so that is written in English naming conventions (ground floor, first floor, etc) and also so that it is not on a piece of lined bright white paper.

Change the final quicktime event so that it no longer uses the mouse buttons.

Change the end screen font because it supposedly looked more like a metal album cover than anything about dementia.

Alter the map layout so that more areas are lit up and the glass door in the cafeteria is better explained, instead of being some Tartarus-esque chamber where food is kept out of reach of patients.

Change the size of chairs (some chairs, not all chairs).

Change the post process volume because it is apparently nauseating.

Change the motion blur because it is apparently nauseating.

Change the mouse delay when looking around because it is apparently nauseating.

Change the view bob because it is apparently nauseating.

Change the footstep sounds to be slower because they apparently made the player seem as if they are giant.

Make the signs double sided (this will require making 18 textures that don't break the style of the pre-existing ones).

Make more signs.

Add more objects in the hallway outside of the spawn room because granted, it does make sense that the protagonist would remember them in their day-to-day life.

I really don't have time to do all of this, not least with 2/3 of my team absent. So in two days I will do what I can.

[eurovision-revisited]

Eurovision 2006 - Number 29 - Belle Perez - "El mundo bailando"

Back to Belgium already for a breakout star from a previous Eurosong. In 1999, Belle Perez (real name Maribel Pérez) took part in Eurosong with Hello World and that song endeared her immediately to coders and Belgians. By 2006, she'd already had four studio albums releases, switched to Latino pop often sung in Spanish, and was now hosting a live music show in the Netherlands.

Getting Belle on Eurosong was a statement of intent from VRT. She was a big and popular enough star to get the country pulling for her from the outset. She already had fans outside her native Flanders with hits not only in Belgium, but also the Netherlands, and, oddly, New Zealand and Australia.

She was hoping her 2006 song El mundo bailando (The World is Dancing) would not only get her to Eurovision, but would also break her in the German-speaking part of Europe with planned releases in Germany, Austria and Switzerland. The song was composed by Fernando De Meersman, Juan Guerrero and Patrick Renier and is a Latino party song based on a theme of love, love, peace, peace - the most stereotypical of Eurovision subjects - although in 2006 that stereotype was perhaps not quite as strong as it became in the subsequent decade.

Not only has Belle got the voice and looks, she has stage presence expressed with every gesture she makes. I'm not sure about the basic staging she has here - surely just Belle on her own would suffice? Given the theme of 2006 Eurovision - Feel the Rhythm - and the sense that the entire shebang was a party, this song would have been completely perfect for the Athens stage. It's fun, fully danceable and catchy as hell.

It also made its way serenely through the heat (winning it by miles), the semi-final and into the Eurosong '06 final where it was one of the favourites to win. It did well with the juries, being one the three big-scorers with them. It cruised to victory with the Radio station jury, however the televote let Belle down. Whoever was watching and voting didn't appear to want a Spanish language song representing Belgium. Belle finished third.

The consolation was that the single of El mundo bailando topped the Belgian charts for three weeks, spending a total of sixteen weeks on the chart in total. It also went to number seven in the Netherlands. The big breakthrough in German language countries didn't materialise, presumably because she wasn't on stage in Athens.

Given the success of the song, I don't think this would qualify as a disappointment and Belle went onto bigger things. She's still touring and performing with a greatest hits tour on this December (2024). There were five more albums after 2006 as well as a slew of singles coming out almost every year throughout the 2000s and 2010s.

Just to prove her Eurovision credentials, and show just how great she would have been, here she is from 2018 doing a medley of songs that the Gipsy Kings have recorded - kicking off with Nel blu dipinto di blu

[freackthejester]

When did the Simpsons loose their piano?

The piano was clearly the precursor to the radio;

Therefore: Mozart was literally a cat girl in tight socks who was a coder/ wiz on the moog.

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2024 #12: In which Donna visits Cameron at home

[CN: food/snack/eating mention] . . After she and Gordon managed to put COMDEX behind them, it occurred to Donna that she might not ever see Cameron Howe ever again. Gordon came home every day of December of 1983 with more tales of J0e’s slow but apparent descent into despair over Cameron’s abrupt departure from Cardiff and repeated refusals to take J0e’s calls, and Donna had started to look forward to them. At the very least, Cameron was still in Dallas. But what if J0e, despite his alleged remorse, pestered her out of town? The thought troubled Donna, for some reason that she couldn’t articulate — not that she had anyone to talk to about it.

And so somewhere in between wrapping gifts and writing cards and printing address labels and shopping for groceries Donna decided to stop quietly hoping that she might run into Cameron again some day, and just go visit her instead. Late in the afternoon on the 27th, with Gordon back at the office and the girls busy with a playdate with the kids next door, Donna drove to Cameron’s house.

Cameron, who had just gotten home from a day at her new job, had looked shocked, and a little suspicious, when she found Donna on her front doorstep, holding some kind of covered ish. “Uh, hi! Merry Christmas!” Donna had said. Nose still wrinkled with what looked like both confusion and annoyance, Cameron hadn’t replied. Unsure of what else to say, Donna said, “I brought pie!” and held up the chocolate pecan pie she had baked herself so Cameron could see it. This got Cameron to open the door enough so that Donna could come in.

Donna realized as she followed Cameron to what looked like the kitchen that she had no idea what to even say to her. “Uh, so, how are you? How was your holiday?”

Without looking at her, Cameron said, “I don’t really celebrate.”

“Oh,” Donna said, feeling both embarrassed and sad. “Well, a lot of people don’t celebrate Christmas, right? It’s not mandatory, even here in Texas.”

Cameron turned to look at her. “Is there something you want?”

Donna frowned. “Uh, no. Just to bring you this,” she said, as she set the pie down on the kitchen table. “Oh,” she said, rifling through her purse, “and this.” She produced a gift certificate for Radio Shack, for twenty dollars, and held it out to Cameron.

Cameron’s face softened, and she reached out and took the certificate. She looked at it, and she said, “Uh, thanks, Donna.” She looked back up at Donna and said, “So how are you? I guess you probably had Christmas with Gordon, and the girls?”

“Yeah,” Donna nodded. “It’s mostly just, more work to do when you have kids, but I think everyone had a nice time.”

Cameron put the certificate on the table, and then turned toward the cabinets and drawers. As she grabbed a plate and a pair of forks, she asked, “How’s work? You’re at T.I., right?”

Donna sighed. Cameron returned to the table, took the lid off the pie tin, and cut an awkward slice out of it that promptly fell apart. She dug the pieces out with a fork and put them on the plate and then put it in front of Donna. “Uh, sorry,” she said, as she sat down. She then started eating the rest of the pie directly from the pan.

“Work is…well, I’m thinking of quitting,” Donna admitted.

Cameron’s fork, holding its first bite of pie, stopped in mid air. “Wait, really? That bad, huh?”

Donna mopily ate some of her pie. Cameron finally tried it, and her eyes widened. “Wow, you made this?”

Donna grinned. “I did. One of my many hidden talents.”

Cameron ate another forkful of pie, and then said, “If you’re looking for a new career, I think you might have something here.”

Donna smiled sadly. “I’ve wondered it maybe engineering isn’t right for me. I love it, but it feels sometimes like I don’t really belong there.”

Cameron chewed on another bite of pie, and thought about how she’d probably never belonged at Cardiff, but had never felt like it, or like she shouldn’t be a coder at all. She imagined Donna leaving T.I., and the idea of it made her incredibly sad.

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “Work has just kind of been unbearable since the excitement of COMDEX….” Cameron visibly flinched. “I know that COMDEX wound up being painful for you,” Donna said. “Your operating system was…special and wonderful and I’m sorry that they removed it and for the part my marital problems and bad decisions played in that. But, I’m glad I went.” Donna leaned forward, and looked Cameron in the eye. “And I’m glad that you were there.”

Cameron made herself think about COMDEX. “It was pretty amazing, right? I mean, until it all went to shit.”

Donna laughed as she tried to get some of her broken pie onto her fork. Then, she said, “I’ve seen your code, and I think you’re gonna be fine, Cameron. You’re gonna find your place as a coder.”

“I’m not really sure about that,” Cameron said. “But thanks, Donna.”

[djwhaletrain]

Well, you did it. It took 18 months, several thousand dollars of scrap, breaking into a secure facility to steal a space suit, and the invention of an element unknown to humans (thankfully also described in the book) but you did it. The ship was ready. Sure is a good thing you learned how to weld. Now, the tricky part. Airspace control and NASA probably aren't going to be pleased about some rando launching an "impossibility" in their backyard, but you reckon they'll have to catch you first.

You sit in the pilot's seat (old gaming chair) and put on your seatbelt system (from an old racecar you found in the scrapyard, seriously, who throws this stuff out?!) Doors sealed, unobtanium generator primed. Ready.....ignition. The centrifugal gravity matrix was probably the hardest part of the whole project (yes, including the space suit theft and unobtanium synthesis) but damn, if it isn't making the ride smooth like butter. The radio picks up a signal. Seems your little homemade UFO's been spotted. Looking out the side window...well now that's 3 F-35s en route to your location. Time to see if you left any holes in the hull! You push on the throttle, shooting out of the atmosphere at an absurd pace, and yet it feels no worse than an elevator. In just a few seconds, you're in lunar orbit.

A moment passes. Another. No explosive decompression. She's space worthy. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Alright, time to get comfortable. The route's been charted, but even at the FTL speeds this thing can go, the trip will take a while. Stardust can't be harvested from live stars (such as the Sun). Instead, you're going to be taking a short trip over to the Large Magellanic Cloud over in the Tarantula Nebula. Just a brief 168,000 light years away. You'll be there in about 3 hours. Thankfully, you downloaded some music and a couple podcast episodes to pass the time.

You would let the autopilot do it's thing and go to sleep, but you aren't the best coder and while the book did give protocols for starship autopilots, most of it's base code was ripped off a Tesla's self-drive mode. Elon Musk probably didn't anticipate it being used to predictively dodge asteroids at several thousand times the speed of light. So you keep watch, in case a black hole decides to not look like a black hole enough for the system to adjust correctly.

It's a mildly stressful 3 hours, but you finally arrive at your destination, an in progress supernova. From what Earth can tell, this baby went boom back in 87, and is supposed to keep going for a few millennia or so. So, hey, you can come back for more!

You grab your gear and begin to suit up. (the suit did of course have to be modified to properly withstand the nigh-unmatchable energy of a stellar-scale collapsing fusion detonation, but that actually wasn't very hard) Even with protection, the heat and speed of the stellar winds catches you off guard for a second. Nonetheless, you press onwards, floating out of your ship.

Stardust floats by in streams as it blows past you. The container you were instructed to build looks like a fancy thermos with a funnel on top, but it seems that it will work. You hold it up to a stream as it passes by, and watch as it fills up. It takes a couple for it to fill completely, but you soon have a liter of stardust. Now to fill the others.

What? Of course you made more than one container! You sure are not going through all this effort just to turn that page and see that you should have grabbed another half liter of stardust while you were over here! You are leaving with four piping hot liters of stardust and nothing less!

It's while filling the third one that you notice something. In between streams, you've been looking out at the supernova. The simulations and telescope images really don't do it justice. It is beautiful. All the light and flowing patterns and glittery stardust. It's like a constant firework (without sound, of course). Regardless, there's someone else here.

The ship looks kind of similar to yours. Cleaner, more professionally done, perhaps. Their suit looks like it has the same idea as yours. Even the device they're holding resembles yours, albeit much bigger. But it isn't human. The proportions and limb count give that away pretty easily. As you stare at them, they also seem to notice you. A moment passes. They raise one of their limbs, and wave at you. You wave back. You both return to collecting stardust.

You peel off your suit with a sigh. It sure gets sweaty in there. Thankfully, you installed A/C in the ship. Really, this whole thing has been a learning experience. The amount of fields you could go into with this thing as a reference is staggering. Anyway, you strap back in and get ready for the ride back. It's less stressful since now you know the route is safe, but you still keep one eye on the HUD, just in case.

It's right when you're entering the atmosphere above China that you remember that the model of the ship you built comes standard with a cloaking field. Great, you scared NASA and the conspiracy loons for nothing. Flicking that on somewhere above the Pacific, you bring the ship in for a landing back in your backyard. Bring it down nice and easy....and....there goes your shed. Believe it or not, your insurance doesn't cover extraterrestrial collisions. Sigh. You'll...just deal with that later. Long starship rides are proving to be like long car rides, you've been just sitting for 6 hours today, but you're dead tired. It's also late, as you left in the afternoon. You'll make the dish in the morning.

It's a bright sunny day when you wake up, and today, you're eating stardust for lunch. The other ingredients for the dish are far more mundane, and are prepared quickly. Then it comes time for the 1 liter of stardust. You open the container and begin pouring. It's just as beautiful as when you harvested it, glowing and shimmering like iridescent sand. You mix it in with everything else, and then pop it in the oven.

When you take it out, the top is bubbly and popping, sounding almost like a mix between Pop Rocks and a fantastical shimmer sound effect. You allow it to cool, and serve yourself a portion. You stick a fork in it and take a piece. It's certainly colorful, if nothing else. Smells very sweet, despite only adding a little sugar. You take a bite.

The taste is intense. Not, bad, quite good actually, but undeniably intense. It's got kind of a zing to it. Not quite the acidity of something with citrus or vinegar, and not the spice of something with hot peppers, but a kick you can best describe as electric. It tastes like you just licked a plugged in phone charger. Before you know it, you've finished the portion you gave yourself. You grab seconds. You consider thirds, but decide to pace yourself. It might be a good idea to wait and see what the health risks are of a human consuming stardust before eating a full liter of it.

You decide to see what the next recipe is. Hopefully this one won't take a year and a half. You flip the page and start going down the list of ingredients. Flour, water, ground beef, carrots, 1 pound of metastable black hole, celery, wait WHAT. You look ahead and see several dozen more diagrams, blueprints, and guides on how to safely harvest and stabilize a black hole.

You think this might go good with some fries.

You discovered an abandoned one thousand page cookbook one day, and strangely, you found that you can’t flip to the next recipe without making the current dish. Flipping the page, you see the next dish calls for a liter of star dust and gives a “simple” explanation of how to build a starship.

[ilearnedthistodaysblog]

#1294 What was the ghost army in World War Two?

What was the ghost army in World War Two? The ghost army in World War Two was an American army unit that was responsible for tactical deception and misleading the enemy. Nowadays, this kind of warfare is common sense, but it was the first such unit of its kind? The ghost army was officially called the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops and they were formed in 1944. The ghost army weren’t the first soldier to employ deception, but they were the first official unit to be tasked with doing so. The idea came from successful British attempts to deceive the Germans in North Africa several years earlier.  The British troops, led by Montgomery, were facing the German troops, led by Rommel. Rommel outnumbered the British forces and he was winning battle after battle. An officer on the ground, Dudley Clarke, came up with a way to make Rommel think they had more troops than they did. They built trucks, tanks, and guns out of any material they could find, including palm trees. The subterfuge worked and the Germans thought they had far more troops and would be attacking from a different direction. This trickery helped the British win that battle because Rommel couldn’t be sure where to focus his forces. The British attempt was so successful, that the Americans decided to form a whole unit of people devoted to deception. The British had done it with what they could find, but the Americans decided to take it to the next level. They recruited artists, modelers, carpenters, advertisers, sound experts, actors, set designers, and other people skilled in design and construction. By the end of the war, the unit had 1,100 people in it.    The Ghost Army had several props at their disposal. One of the most effective was a large number of inflatable rubber tanks, vehicles, aircraft, and large guns. These were all manufactured back home and shipped out to the front where artists painted them to look like the real thing.  They used gasoline powered air compressors to inflate all of the vehicles and they ended up with a small army that they could easily position. They worked out how to camouflage the inflatable vehicles enough so that they wouldn’t arouse suspicion but not well enough that they couldn’t be seen from the air. After all, the idea was for them to be spotted. Then the sound effects people went into action. They recorded many different types of army noises, from practice to warfare, and they recorded them on records. Then they used well hidden, very large loudspeakers to broadcast the sounds great distances. There were also radio operators who would send dummy signals. Regular radio operators and Morse coders had recognizable signals and styles that the Germans recognized. The Ghost Army mimicked these styles so that even when the real operators had moved on with their units, the Germans would think they were still in the same place.   Their first job was on D-Day. They went ashore shortly after the main attack had happened and they built a fake landing harbor down the beach. They set it up to look just like the real thing, but they lit it up so that it would draw away the German fire from the real landing stations. They used their inflatable vehicles and dummy artillery to make it look real. The Ghost Army went into action several times during the war. They added their dummy tanks and weapons to the siege of the port of Brest so that the besieged would think there were greater forces than there actually were and surrender more quickly. On another occasion they used 50 dummy tanks and sound tracks close to the front line to make the Germans think an attack was coming from a different direction, allowing General George Patton to cross into France. They also used their inflatable army to fill up a hole in General Patton’s line when he attacked the French city of Metz. They managed to hold the line for seven days, despite not having a single real weapon. Their most daring escapade was in 1945, when the 9th Army were trying to cross the Rhine River. It was heavily defended and there was no way across it. The Ghost Army built an entire army base down river and manage to impersonate 40,000 soldiers. They used all of their inflatable vehicles and weapons, along with hundreds of dummies in army uniforms. They built buildings and used radio chatter to convince the Germans they were the main force. They even played recorded sound of an army building a pontoon bridge over the river. It worked, and the German army attacked the fake army, allowing the 9th army to safely cross the river. Amazing. And this is what I learned today. Try these next: - #1071 Why don’t army ants make nests? - #816 Why did America lose the Vietnam War? - #779 Why was the First World War fought in trenches but the Second World War wasn’t? - #1159 Why are the two Koreas still at war? - #495 When did the British empire end? Sources https://www.history.com/articles/ghost-army-world-war-ii https://www.nationalww2museum.org/visit/exhibits/traveling-exhibits/ghost-army-combat-con-artists-world-war-ii https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_Army https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Bertram Read the full article

[onemanscienceband]

god i hate it when someone has a feature request in the FOSS space and the response is "it's open source, code it yourself." if that person could do it, had the time to do it, and was familiar with the code-base, sure! they probably would have done it already!

like, i get it. the coders are mostly volunteers, it's a motivation-driven project, and everyone has their own responsibilities on top of random user feature requests. but at the same time, the asker has their own responsibilities. they don't know your package, they don't know all the hidden footguns and edge cases you worked around, they might not even know the language very well or understand all the features and tricks of the language you're using! It straight up might not be possible for someone to just write it themselves.

but why did you write this package and release it to the world if you weren't interested in helping provide a service? why did you sign up to help maintain the package if you're not going to improve it? you stepped into the public spotlight and when people said "I'm really interested in what you've done but it doesn't quite fit my needs, can it be changed?" you said "don't feel like doing that, have a good day". mark the repo dead and abandoned in that case! don't even respond to questions! just go radio silent. the internet is full of abandoned repos no one will ever touch except to check that someone's CV isn't full of shit.

and if it's not one of the package maintainers who's telling you "just code it yourself", those people can fuck RIGHT off because none of the caveats apply to them. just keep your mouth shut!