#it doesn't matter if it's a small archive or a big archive

[galedekarios]

so, let me get this straight...

laiostoudenn aka wizardblood/lathanderr/spellbooking/the james somerton of the bg3 fandom instead of actually apologising and taking accountability for his repeated actions, now:

block evades, keeping his old blog up as an "archive" and making a new one, while, of course, not deleting any of the other sets he blatantly stole from others, including myself

lies and tries to change the narrative of what actually happened once again, while also conveniently not going into any details at all of what little he does admit, lest those who still believe him for some unfathomable reason look deeper

calls his stealing and constant plagiarism that has been going on for months "fandom drama" that is being "rehashed" constantly due to no fault of his own

still lies about not knowing these gifsets (or "a" gifset as he puts it) that he stole existed, while also saying at the same time yet again how it's just "gifing the same scenes" and that there would be "nothing" left to do if that isn't allowed, despite this still not being the issue and us showing ample evidence of what he is actually doing, i.e. him taking word for word captions, frame by frame sets, entire concepts down to a t, and him literally contacting us to "remake" these sets and not taking no for an answer, no matter in which way it was said to him, privately or publicly

feels he is being "villainised".......................... for plagiarising

claims we never gave him a chance to "right his wrongs"... as if he isn't 100% free still to do just that by say, deleting everything that was stolen and actually apologising, acknowledging what he did was wrong instead of lying about it, instead of whatever the fuck this manipulative collection of lies sprinkled with a pity party is...

and let me be clear: he claims he took accountability, but he doesn't like what taking accountability actually would look like in his case because he's been in this for internet clout and notefarming since day 1 & that's the only reason why he doesn't "right his wrongs"

claims he is being isolated and made to feel unwelcome in the fandom space, which i can't help but wonder.... might that perhaps be because he is plagiarising ppl, has taken back his initial damage control apology from march, while continuing to vague about the creators for months (ranging from accusation of transphobia, bullying, clique behaviour, etc) and now feels backed into a corner after it has come to light that he is still doing this and has now been blocked by various people who have been affected over a long time? might that be it?

is now further trying to victimise himself by saying he received homophobic messages, which... even IF true (and it's a big if solely based on just how much he lies and that he accused the initial person who spoke out against him of being transphobic), it still doesn't make it right that he stole despite being told to stop it multiple times. two things can be very, very wrong at the same time.

claims he did actually take accountability... which again, i can't help but wonder: was that by gleefully delighting in the fact he sees himself as the "top hated bg3 blog baybee"? that he is now in his "reputation era"? is that what taking accountability looks like for him?

still pretends he is a small blog bullied by bigger creators when his stolen sets made as many, or at times, even more notes than the ones he stole did, and as if his blog didn't grow big on the backs of actual original creators

and, finally: "And fair warning: If you do not stick to the status quo in this fandom, you will be eaten alive." like,,,, be so for fucking real right now, this is legitimately embarrassing

i thought this was finally finally over and done with, but no.

[antimatterz]

how they take selfies with you

dan heng, jing yuan, seele, gepard, march, sampo, kafka, blade, tingyun (separately) x gn!reader

honkai version. i posted the same thing on my genshin writing blog so if it seems familiar, that's why. might do this again if more characters are released. there's a bit of possessiveness in blade's but that's about all.

content under the cut | masterlist

dan heng

he's surpringly easy when it comes to convincing him to take selfies with you. as someone who's often found in the archive room, he also likes to keep his own little "archive" of all that you experienced together, no matter how big or small the moment might've been. however, to get him to actually lose his stoic demeanor in said pictures is a little harder. he often looks super serious in pictures but you manage to make him smile sometimes. and oh, when he smiles in pictures you just spontanously combust because his smile is <333

jing yuan

jing yuan is known to have a very soft spot for you and it shows in the pictures the two of you take together. gentle smile, an arm over your shoulder as you lean against him. as a general of the cloud knights, he is often busy. to make up for the times you're unable to see each other, a lot of selfies exist (and he looks at them whenever he misses you or has a rough day on the job). he likes to show you off a little, and he is more than happy to talk about you when someone asks him about the person he poses with on his phone wallpaper. told ya, he has a massive soft spot for you.

seele

this girl appears super tough, but i can totally see her loosening up around you! still a girlboss ofcourse but with a massive soft spot for you that brings out her fun side. though a lot of pictures are very dark due to her living in belobog's underworld, that doesn't stop the joy from radiating off them. she isn't a big fan of taking selfies but makes an exception when you join in. honestly i can see her trying to appear all cool with a peace sign but in reality she just looks super cute with your arm around her waist. oh, and just wait until she discovers the existence of filters. she will beg you to try them all out together!

gepard landau

especially in the beginning, selfies together are kind of a rarity because he's simply too awkward lol. you might have to use your puppy eyes often if you want to snap a picture with him. but don't worry, later on he'll let loose a little and maybe even take the initiative to take pictures together. at first he looks in the camera with a blush, rather stiffly. but after a while he gets more comfy with the whole ordeal. it all begins with a simple hand on your shoulder, but at some point he will find his favorite pose; gepard likes holding you against his chest as you take pictures together, which is the cutest thing ever.

march 7th

this girl absolutely loves taking selfies with you. the time you two spend together is basically a vlog, as she records all the things you do. "y/n, smile!" she exclaims somewhere around five times per minute, as you are faced with her phone and a smiling march who leans her head onto your shoulder and snaps a photo. she finds it adorable how you sometimes look a little confused as she surprises you with another selfie. she always looks super cheerful in your pictures together as she adores spending time with you, and it's contagious! your photos radiate joy.

sampo koski

he's probably a little hesitant about taking pictures together (he's scared he might end up finding them on those wanted posters, you know) but at some point he gives in and oh, it will result in the most extra selfies to exist. he isn't afraid of funny poses and silly faces and goofy filters and you two just have a lot of fun as you take picture together. however, as he is still sampo koski, they will eventually leak and end up on a poster so yeah, there's that. as you find a picture of the two of you together plastered on a building (with a statement that emphasizes that it regards the blue-haired male) you can't help but laugh, tearing it from the wall as a keepsake.

kafka

pictures might leak, which may expose her whereabouts, but this woman couldn't care less. she knows she looks stunning in pictures and when you join her to take a selfie? that's the prettiest picture to ever exist in her eyes (and i agree). they appear very casual but she's totally showing you off! she wears a coy smile, fingers curling over your shoulder as she holds you close, to let everyone know you're taken. her goal is probably to take a selfie with you with a stellaron in the background, basically her favorite things together in one picture.

blade

this guy likes to show you off, believe me. he wants everyone to know that you're his, and he always holds you close when you take pictures together. he barely looks into the camera, having his eyes on you most of the time. only when he places a kiss on your cheek he gazes into the camera slyly, as if to say "they're mine, back off." he knows very well how good the two of you look together and not only that, he secretly just loves to have many pictures of you. fun fact, he carries a polaroid of you together with him and gets blushy when the other stellaron hunters tease him with it.

tingyun

she adores you, and it shows! every picture you take together is so so cute and pretty and it's just goals. she always wears the sweetest smile on your photos and you're lying if you say that her smile doesn't make your heart flutter! your pictures together just look very comfy and loving, with the most adorable poses (cheeks against each other, finishing each other's heart, and so on). her ears perk up every time you open your camera and ask her to join. sometimes, she gets a little shy when you wrap your arms around her before snapping a picture, and her ears would droop a little which is also very cuuute. but the cutest thing? the joy in her pretty eyes hehe.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Like Real People Do - Part 1

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur Morgan doesn't quite feel like a person sometimes. Most days he's just an outlaw, a killer, a thief, a bad excuse for a good time. He's been doing this so long; he isn't even sure if he ever wanted to do anything else in life. That is until a barmaid asks him to walk her home and suddenly he gets a slice of normalcy.

Author's note: I can't for the life of me figure out why it won't let me post my whole stories on here. If anyone knows why, please let me know what I need to do.

'What can I get ya, mister?' Arthur grumbles in response before looking up at the barmaid. She looks too clean, too kind, to be here. She smiles and he hears angels singing. Cheeks rosy red, eyes like gemstones, she's pure. But she has the scars to prove she's been her a while. He notices the callouses on her hands, the scars on her arms, and the big scar running vertically through the left side of her lips to her jaw.  'Don't matter. Anything to take the edge off,' he tells her, his words raspy like crumpled up paper. She smiles a little brighter and puts a glass in front of him that she fills with bourbon.  'That should help,' she states and slides the glass over to him. He nods a thanks to her and tries to peel his eyes away to look over the bar. It's quite empty this time of day, then again, morning ain't really the time to be drinking. When he can't find anything to keep him entertained in the saloon, he looks back over to the barmaid, who is cleaning glasses in front of him with a rag that is cleaner than he has ever seen one in this particular saloon. She glances over at him. 'What brings you this early in the morn’?'  'Rough night.'  'I can imagine,' she says with a chuckle.  'Hey sweet cheeks! Can we get another bottle?' Arthur's head snaps towards the two men in the corner who so rudely interrupted their little talk, if you can even call it that. They look beyond drunk, beyond caring. But, the barmaid does as asked and brings them a bottle. 'Yeah, that's what I'm talking about,' the grimey man says when she puts the bottle down. He stands up and pulls the barmaid into his chest, groping what he can for the split second he has her before Arthur pulls him off. Like it's nothing, he pushes the man back into his chair.  'Listen here friend, I do not care about you. I do not care that you are here, I have no quarrel with you. But disrespect the lady and you have got a fight on your hands. Friend. Behave, or I'll make sure that that is your last drink.'  'Are you threatenin’ me mister?'  'No, simply making a promise.' Arthur puts his hand on the small of the barmaid's back to lead her back to the bar. She walks back behind it with a bit of shock still lingering on his face and he returns to his drink.  'Thank you mister.'  'No problem.' 

Continued on AO3

[venomous-ragno]

Writing advice...

... About military things from a soldier

Pt. 2 / ?: Women and relationships in the military

You wanna write a story with a militaristic setting, like CoD or R6S? You wanna create a female OC, self insert or character, but you don't know where to start, if women are even allowed in the military?

Well, lucky for you or not I know what that feels like and I've also got the combat / real life experience to help ya out!

Feel free to hop in my askbox or dm's and ask questions. I'll gladly elaborate and do my best to answer in full and plenty.

Disclaimer: My experiences and knowledge are mostly based on the German military, the Bundeswehr. They may differ from those of other countries.

Happy writing y'all! :)

Are women allowed in the military?

The answer seems obvious: Yes. Most militaries around the world do allow women to enlist. Some, however, do not allow women to join the special forces, such as the SAS, for example.

Certain branches report a higher number of female soldiers than others. The US army air force and sanitation in the German military are two examples I can think of.

Some countries do allow women to enlist but forbid them from partaking in "action", such as North Korea, Sweden, Norway, Bolivia and some more.

What about misogyny by male soldiers?

In my six years of active duty I've learnt that sexism rarely occurs, but when it does, it's straight forward and nasty. Most men don't care about your gender. They treat you like you're one of them, and oftentimes even forget about the fact that you're a woman. The few times I was talked down to for my gender was blatant and hateful though; but even then, some of these opinions didn't come from within the military, but from civilians. (Cue the old granpa who saw me travelling back home in uniform and just had to tell me that women belong in the kitchen, how in the good old days women were still women yadda yadda. Yeah, I had the same look about on my face like you now.)

Appearance is important!

As is in any military. I can't speak for them though, but in my experience, light and natural make up is allowed. Nail polish and lipstick are a hard no though, albeit the latter may be allowed for special occassions. If there's one thing my comrades have taught me it's that most men in the military got no clue about make up, so you'll probs get away with more than you'd think.

The exact rules however depend on your unit and what you do. Back when I was in sanitation I'd be working a pretty standard 9 to 5. Worked in the medbay and treated patients, kept the medical archive in order, pretty normal stuff. My superior allowed us to wear small ear studs. When I got deployed to another base I was almost lynched for wearing them. Really depends on the ones in charge.

As for hairstyles: Most units are fine with anything as long as your hair is up and out of your face. Now, we didn't have to use gel to keep stray hairs at bay. It wasn't that strict. Just don't use any flashy hair accessories and hair ties that match your hair colour. Oh, and your hair must be a) one colour and b) a naturally occuring one. The length doesn't matter as long as you're not Rapunzel. If your hairstyle is anything other than a pixie cut, you will have to wear a hair net under your combat helmet.

Do men and women stay in seperate dorms?

Seperate rooms? Yeah. Seperate dorms? Nope.

Sometimes you'd have couples who shared a dorm room. It's a whole process that your superior has to give his ok to, but I honestly wouldn't recommend it. Dorm rooms aren't exactly big. You need privacy? Well, that's too bad.

If you're lucky enough you get to have a room for yourself. Depending on what branch / base you're in, the rooms will be more or less furnished. Back when I worked at the ministry of foreign affairs, my room was pretty luxurious for milutary standards: TV, fridge, sofa, bed, desk w chair, a closet and a bathroom next door. That's definitely not the standard though. We usually had to buy and bring our own stuff, like blankets, fridge, decorations, whatever you'd need to make that cold room somewhat comfy. (Wifi is also not a given. Gotta get your own connection running.)

Flings, relationships, cheating spouses... How common is it really?

They do happen, though not as often as you'd think.

It's more common to hear rumors about who has smth going with who and these rumors can get BAD. As in reputation and career ruining bad. At that point there's gonna be an order from higher up to stop talking about these rumors and punishment can be quite strict. (Speaking of rumors...Hate to say it, but the more women a unit had, the worse talking behind others backs was.)

One thing that I always found particularly disgusting were relationships between higher ups and recruits. Yes, they happen. No, they're not allowed. These things are like open secrets. If found out and proven to exist, the superiors will be held accountable by military law. Outside of basic training it may be frowned upon if a superior were to enter any kind of relation with someone of lower rank, thought not outright punishable.

As for cheating... Well, I haven't enountered any cheating myself, nor heard of it (yet). Not saying that it doesn't happen, but at least over here in Germany it's rare. It's highly frowned upon and will open you up to rumors and... Not so nice treatment by comrades. Cheating on a spouse is punishable by military law. A soldier found guilty may be demoted in rank, suffer financial losses or even get dishonourably discharged.

[jojosquires]

So, the next chapter of "Dizzy Edges" is actually not the doozy chapter I thought it would be. I'm doing a small (I'm limiting myself to 3,500 words) chapter following Tim in the (slightly) distant aftermath of Ch. 26. He's going on a field trip! Then, it'll be time for the big chapter that may destroy my brain (parallel Dick and Tim POVs as they have one-on-one conversations with two guest characters--can you guess who?)

BUT... I found this note in my phone and I think it's a pretty good breakdown of Helena, Dick, and their relationship to Tim in this story (makes sense because I wrote both the note-which I forgot existed-and the story). Helena isn't a terrible caretaker... She's just not equipped to be what *Tim* needs all the time (~sometimes~ her ability to just let things go actually *is* a benefit to Tim...) He's pretty good at balancing himself out of given time and a little space to think things through. Even in RR he's fully aware he sounds crazy and he might be wrong... He's got some level of self-awareness even if he ignores it.

So, here's the note and I hope it helps make sense of a few things that have happened:

Helena is fighting for Tim but in the way she *thinks* he needs her to: taking down crime, with prejudice, in Gotham. The reason she got to know him in the first place is because the usual systems *failed* this kid so she has to work outside of them to *fix* things on his behalf. It's an intentional parallel that she *leaves* at night to fight the problems that plagued him and he *left* at night to escape those problems. He had to leave to find comfort, by leaving she (accidentally) isolates him *from* comfort and stability so he finds himself wandering the city again looking for things to do to take his mind off... Just everything. Tim appreciates her dedication and is aligned in her goal to protect the innocent (even if he disagrees on her methods). But she isn't fighting *for* him the way he actually needs her to (just by being there to listen and being open/honest with him).

Dick is fighting *for* Tim... He wants to protect Tim and that's his number one goal when he thinks of Tim. Long-term goal may be to fix/break the system, but short-term he's concerned with Tim's well-being (physical and mental). He wants him to keep existing yes, but he also just *needs* Tim around. His support and his jokes and even that incessant little head tilt. He listens to Tim and remembers what he says and values his steadiness and adaptability. He keeps showing up when Tim is out looking for a distraction, for comfort. If Tim asked Dick to stop doing something on his behalf, he would because he's fighting for Tim in this scenario and he actually listens to what Tim says he needs (even if Tim is wrong about that).

Helena loves Tim like a brother (genuinely), but that means she thinks she knows best what he needs and doesn't ask Tim what that might be. Dick *is* Tim's brother and he trusts him to make the right call when it matters. He'll catch him if he falls. That's the difference. Helena would kill for him, Dick would *spare* someone because Tim asked him to. And Tim would ask him to stop to save *Dick* from having to grapple with the guilt and the consequences of a choice like that. They're each other's life raft and lighthouse. Saving each other and guiding each other in the storm. Each is the other's biggest supporter and, honestly, one of their most trusted advisors.

Sorry if this isn't interesting. But if you stumbled across this by accident maybe give the first few chapters of this weird and overly long story a go.

Either way, I hope you have a great day (or night).

[winniemaywebber]

Honeysuckle Rose • Part 2

part one part three

masterlist

olive's playlist

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 @archival-hogwash

Wheeling her two large suitcases down the winding country road, her nose twitches. The all too familiar smell that she'd long forgotten of the nearby cow farm attacked her nostrils with such vigor that it took everything in her to not gag. Nostrils accosted for the first time in years by that godawful smell, Olive gained some composure as she pulled open the still creaky gate of her grandmother's cottage.

The gate, taken by the rough breeze of the countryside, clicked back into place suddenly, causing Olive to jump. Even before she has made the ascent up the garden path to reach the front door, Joan has started to make her way down to greet her.

Joan, the lady that had been helping Grandma Pearl since her first fall eighteen months ago, was a tall, stocky woman that took no shit from anybody, especially not Pearl. No matter how many times Grandma was rude, cranky, and downright mean, Joan stuck by her because she just loved taking care of her so much. She looks different than Olive remembers, her round, apple like cheeks having lost their usual blush, but instead, look gray and sunken in. She's lost her plushness, and she stands in an all black outfit, a total change from her usual bold outfit choices of tie dye, purple denim and, what Grandma liked to call “circus attire.”

“Joan!” Olive greets brightly, opening her arms for an awkward hug. Joan hugs back so tight that it draws the breath from Olive's lungs, and she finds herself gasping for air, patting her shoulder as a sign to let go. “Jesus, Joan,” she murmurs under her breath.

“I'm so sorry to hear about Alfred,” Olive says, voice back up to normal volume. “He was such a kind man.”

“Thank you, dear,” she replies, her eyes glistening with tears. “I miss him terribly…” her voice trails off, wistfully and she comes back to the conversation a few seconds later. “I'm so happy you're here. I really am grateful for you coming at such short notice like this.”

“Oh, of course!” Olive says, shrugging as if it was nothing.

“I just need time to get everything in check,” she sniffs, leading you into the house. “Who'd have thought that planning a funeral would be so stressful?”

Olive titters, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. “Right?” She pauses, a moment of silence between them. “Well, I'm here to help now. Not just Pearl, but you, too.”

Following Joan into the living room, Olive sees Pearl sat in her favorite armchair, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“Grandma?” she calls, hoping she'll tear her eyes away from whichever midday soap opera has caught her fancy.

“Oh, hello, you,” she replies, eyes instantly softening. “Big city girl. Come here!” Her big, gentle arms outstretched, Olive walks over to her and kneels down to where she sits to be enveloped in her arms. “Hi, Pearly Girly,” she mumbles into her, suddenly glad to be home. “How goes it?”

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs, blanket falling off as she does so. “Not too bad if you forget the fact that I'm old as dirt and can't go to the bingo alone.”

“It'll much more fun with me,” Olive says, her tone lowered so Joan doesn't hear her from the kitchen where she's busy making tea. “I'll let you have a tipple. Guinness and blackcurrant. Maybe even two if you let me sleep in on Sundays.” Pearl laughs, her blue eyes lighting up.

“Deal.”

Joan brings in the tea tray, her hands shaking slightly as she begins to set it down on the small table in the middle of the room.

“Let me get that,” Olive stands, holding her hands out to grab the tray before Joan's shaking causes everything to fall off it onto the light carpet. Placing it on to the table, she begins to pour Grandma a cup of tea, just the way she likes it. Milk and sugar in first, then the tea and stirred clockwise eight times.

“You remembered!” Joan says, her mood lightening slightly.

“Of course,” Olive responds, getting to stirring. “It's been drilled into me since I was out of the womb.”

A warm, cozy feeling envelopes Olive as she sits on Grandma’s faded pink sofa, sipping on her tea. Joan silently hands her a sheet of paper, looking at her expectantly.

“Found this for you,” she says, her eyes now downcast. “When you're ready, give them a call.”

Wanted: actresses of every experience to play Land Girls at Thorpe Abbotts.

Thorpe Abbotts, famous for hosting the 100th Bomb Group during World War II is seeking girls 18+ for reenactment roles as we begin school tours for the summer months. Call XXX-XX-XXX to arrange a meeting.

“Wow,” Olive stutters out, slightly impressed. “Didn't know they did stuff like this.”

“Not usually,” Joan replies. “But it's for the schoolkids. It's good money, good hours, too. Lines up for when Pearl has her home help and I'm not here. Go on, put your skills to good use.”

“You know what,” Olive says, placing her teacup upon the tray. “I think I might.”

—

A moody woman with a pinched face looks Olive up and down. Despite her glares, this happens to be the easiest audition Olive has ever had.

“You can start tomorrow. Be here at eight in the morning. Do you have dungarees?” Olive nods, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Good,” the stone faced lady carries on. “Feel free to walk around and get familiar with the place while it's quiet.”

Practically tiptoeing on the wooden floor, Olive finds herself suddenly curious about the place she'd had no intent to visit until now. The museum, a smaller one than the ones in London she'd visited during her time there, had a comforting stillness to it. She stops at certain exhibits, her eyes becoming glassy when she sees a picture of two men, facing each other and gazing into one another's eyes with such admiration that it almost knocks the air from her. “The Two Bucks,” she reads aloud, staring into the window. A few steps later, she is learning all about a heroic man named Robert Rosenthal. His information card tells her that his men called him Rosie, and he flew fifty-two missions during the war, the odds stacked against him at every turn. She also reads about the animals the airmen kept during their time at Thorpe Abbotts, including a sweet dog named Meatball.

Making her way outside, Olive spots the control tower in the distance, squinting up at the blurry windows that shelter it. She swears she almost can make out the shapes of airmen busy at work in there, shaking her head to rid her eyes of the tricks they play. Next to the control tower stands a large aircraft, the letter D painted on it in black. “Just-A-Snappin',” she reads aloud, walking up to it. Placing a hand on its wing and peering into it, a sudden sound stops her in her tracks. The sound of a large dog barking distracts Olive from her investigation of the plane, making her jump suddenly. She looks around and sees no sign of a dog, nor does she see from where the sound came. With a shrug, she begins making her way back through the courtyard of the museum and starts the short walk home to Pearl’s.

—

The day begins earlier than Olive is used to, struggling to leave her cozy bed at what feels like the crack of dawn. Sleepily taking a look at the time on her phone, she rubs her eyes to try to wake herself up a little more. The time reads 7am, leaving Olive just enough time to get ready for her first day at Thorpe Abbotts after getting Grandma out of bed and ready for the day. Despite Pearl’s protestations, Olive wants to ensure that the home helper has minimal work to do when she arrives.

“That's what the bloody helper is for,” she berates as she washes her face with a warm cloth. “Let them do their job, Ollie Pop.”

“Well, it's also why I'm here. I'm here to help, too. I've got time and you, young lady, need a wash.”

“Fine!” she relents, brow furrowed. Taking her granddaughter's hand, she looks at her, her eyes going soft. She takes in her appearance: dungarees with a checkered shirt underneath, a head scarf tied at the top of her head, boots and a small tote bag. “You look just like me, girlie. Just like I did during the war.”

“You were a land girl?”

“I was. It was the best time of my life. I made so many dear friends - and the men! Jesus, you've never seen a finer bunch of fellas. All American, all well built. All so handsome I couldn't help but swoon. One of two of them were very keen on me,” she says wistfully.

“Grandma!” Olive scolds, giggling as she pulls a lightweight shirt over Pearl’s head. Her eyes narrow towards her Grandma. “Not like I blame you. I'd have done the same.” Grandma breaks into a peal of laughter, her eyes beginning to shine again, just like they did before she took her first fall all those months ago.

—

Olive arrives at the museum, five minutes before the scheduled time.

“Hi,” she greets another girl meekly. “I'm Olive. Where am I meant to go?”

“Oh, hi, Olive!” she replies, giving her a big toothy grin. “You'll be with me. We're just walking over to the field right there. You look great!”

“Thanks,” she responds, tucking a strand of hair back into the scarf on her head. The era Olive had with being obsessed with wartime fashion and hair had finally come in handy, she thinks to herself, placing her bag into a small cubby that had been shown to her by the girl.

“I didn't get your name?” Olive says.

“Heather Crouch,” she replies. “You know what, I'm sure we went to school together.”

Olive squints a little, trying to make out the girl in front of her with younger features. “My goodness!” Olive says, finally recognizing her. “We had English literature together, in sixth form.”

“That's it!” she winks at Olive, holding the door open for her. “Come on, let's get started.”

Heather leads Olive and four others over to a field that's covered with straw, a few bean bag chairs hidden off to the side and a little shed of rakes and shovels.

“It's nothing strenuous,” Heather explains. “Just sort of poke at it all and make it look like you're doing something. The kiddos seem to lap it up.” Right on cue, a bunch of small school children begin their rounds of the outside of the museum which includes Olive's group, a tour of the B-17 she'd looked at yesterday and the control tower. Their eyes bright and keen, ready to learn, Olive listens intently as Heather explains what a land girl did and their contributions to the war effort. It isn't just the children that are learning today.

—

A few hours later, it's lunchtime. Olive takes her bag over to the only place that's shaded: underneath Just A-Snappin, the wings and body of the aircraft sheltering her from the warm sun. Biting into a sandwich bought from the museum's small kiosk, she breathes in the fresh country air, finally finding some comfort in her decision to come home. Despite all of its shortcomings, it was worth it to feel some semblance of peace for the first time in years.

Her wistfulness is once again interrupted by a familiar sound - the sound of a dog barking. She looks all around her, turning her head back and forth to find where the noise is coming from, but sees nothing. Looking over towards the field where she'd been working, she expects to see a large dog bounding on the yellowing grass, but it doesn't happen. Another bark startles her, it seeming to come from the aircraft door above her head.

Opening the door - emblazoned with the words “JERRY, IF YOU CAN READ THIS, START PRAYIN’” - the bark seems to echo through the plane, making her brow furrow. Looking all around to find the other reenactment people distracted by their own lunchtime conversations, Olive takes a deep breath and clambers into the aircraft as gracefully as possible, closing the door with a slam.

It's quickly sweltering hot in there, the heat almost making her choke. Shaking her head at her stupidity - “why on earth did I think I heard a dog barking in here?” she says aloud, metaphorically beating herself up - she opens the door again to let some cool air in. She's taken aback by the noise of a crowd of men, all deep in banter and conversation. Leaning out of the plane to get a better look, she clumsily falls out like a newborn baby giraffe, right at the feet of a handsome man, holding the leash of a husky.

“Wow,” the man begins, trying to hold in his laughter. “Never had a girl fall that hard and fast for me before.” Olive chuckles, slightly winded from the fall and also breathless from how wonderfully gorgeous the man is. He stands just shorter than her, his dark hair expertly gelled into place, his skin slightly tanned. “What were you doing in there?”

“I–uh…I was, uhm,” he nods at her to carry on. “I thought I heard the dog in there,” she shrugs, the words spilling out so fast that he has to pause to make sense of what you said.

“Right…” He replies, his eyes narrowing. “Well, you'd better get out the way,” he smiles, nodding over to the side at a group of men joining him.

“Oh, yeah,” Olive stutters nervously, moving out of the way quickly and almost wracking her head on the open door.

“Hey, careful,” the man says, shaking his head at Olive again. He pauses for a moment. “What's your name?”

“Olive,” she replies, voice slightly raised over the loud hum of airplanes. “You?”

“Demarco. Benny. And this here is Meatball.”

[little-annie]

Not that anyone knows, but Steve secretly has a green thumb (or so he believes) and in recent years, he seems to have developed an affinity towards growing his own produce. It was never something he felt comfortable doing while living under his parents’ roof, though he still tried. When she was home, his mother appreciated the fresh greens, but his father always had something cutting to say when he was around, like the snide remarks about masculinity that seemed to be on an ever-running reel, no matter the topic.

But now that he has his own home and plenty of space to grow whatever his little heart desires, well, how could he not?

Crouched down with his light washed Levis pulling tight over his thighs, Steve thumbs through the seed packets, picking out a small handful to start later in the evening. Strawberries, watermelon, carrots, beets, tomatoes and something called a cucamelon, whatever that is.

It's when he's deep in thought, still crouched down and thumbing through Pinterest on his phone trying to figure out what plants grow best together, that a deep voice dances through the air above him. Sudden and unexpected, but warm and soothing to the ear. It almost makes Steve shiver.

"Need help finding anything, Sir?"

Nearly dropping his phone and the seed packets he has pinched between his fingers, Steve turns toward the faceless voice and dumbly huffs out a quiet, breathless, "Oh.”

Immediately, he's met with black denim, tight on the slender thighs they cling to, and a tattoo high on the man's leg peeking out of a rip in the worn fabric. A flower of sorts, he notes with a small smile. Stomach swarming with butterflies from the gravelly voice alone, Steve stands from his crouched position, letting out a hardly concealed grunt of struggle to answer the rather striking young man before him. "N-no I think I'm good."

As Steve reaches his full height he can't help but be taken aback by this guy's beauty. Eyes and hair the colour of the earth covering the soil-stained gloves in the man's grasp, and a smile that blooms just as bright as the flowers around them.

Handsome doesn't even begin to describe him.

After a moment of pause and probably some obvious ogling, Steve continues with a dry throat and racing heart. “Just uh–” he coughs into his fist attempting to dispel any lingering nerves. “Just picking out some seeds to start."

The young man, Eddie, his name tag reads from where it sits next to a pride pin and what appears to be a pin of D&D dice, looks at the seed packets in Steve's hand and smiles around his words. "You a gardener?"

"Um…" God, words are difficult with those big brown eyes looking back at him. “Trying to be, I guess.” Steve settles on, flashing the packets of seeds in Eddie's direction.

"Want some advice?"

Steve hums a question in response, eyes still hopelessly analysing the man before him.

Plucking the strawberry and tomato seed packets from Steve's grasp, Eddie grins, slapping the packets against his own open palm. "It's a little too late in season to start these bad boys, you'll wanna pick out some more mature plants instead."

And who is Steve to believe any different? He simply smiles, nearly choking on his own tongue as his eyes stay focused on Eddie's hands, tattooed down to the knuckles, wrapped in shadowed flowers and vines, gilded in an array of silver rings. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie grins back, plush lips turned up at the corner and cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink as he turns heel to head in the direction of where Steve assumes they'll find already started strawberries and tomatoes. "Follow me, Big Boy."

And oh, how that nickname feels like an ice cold lemonade on a hot summer's day, swirling with body and brilliance, spreading like the roots of a newly established tree under his skin and staking some sort of permanence in Steve's cracked foundation.

Trying to hide his ever-growing blush by sipping his coffee, Steve quietly follows behind. And if his eyes drift south to stare at Eddie's ass, then so be it. He’s allowed to look, even if there's not much to look at concealed behind the dark worn denim.

Continue reading here⤵️

[unhingedpolycule]

Summoner AU Ghost x Soap x König (Part 2)

(Part: 2/?)

(Part 1)

There is this local summoning community, kind of a very loosely associated circle of people who are working with the occult. They are, for the most part, fiercely competitive and manipulative. Everyone tries to get information out of the other people, giving back as little as possible.

Valeria is known for ending up with peoples notes and research after they die under mysterious circumstances, presumably murdered by entities they had in their service for years and years without any problems. The circle suspects her and is wairy, but they can't really prove anything.

Shepherd is a nasty piece of work, always trying to set himself up as a coven leader, trying to establish an archive under his control with all of the knowledge they have. He is power hungry and uses demons to further his political and social sway. But he gets shit done and has been in the game for longer than most, so the other summoners do not downright disrespect him.

And Graves? Graves is sucking up to him, rubbing shoulders with any person who can benefit his motives. Shepherd has taken a shine to him as well, because he basically does as he is told, no questions asked. Soap keeps away from him as much as possible because crossing Phillip means messing with more powerful people than himself and he is basically just there to learn more.

But almost all summoners have one thing in common: no matter if they keep familiars, temporary servants or entities of any form, they treat them like shit. Trapping them in objects, using cattle prods to whip them into shape.

It is common knowledge that your demons will kill you, if you let the control slip, if you untighten the leash, so nobody does, there have been too many cautionary tales. People ripped apart, eaten, strung up on their own ceiling.they tell each other “It is like dealing with a rabid dog. If you need to keep it, you do not coddle it, you keep it locked up, its fangs away from your throat.

So naturally, resident sunshine Johnny MacTavish sticks out like a sore thumb. He is happy to share small tidbits, mostly stuff he is particularly passionate about. He usually doesn't brag unless someone prompts him or laughs about his accomplishments. He is notorious for having things blow up in his face, but he usually walks away from it with just a few bruises, head still firmly attached to his shoulders. Everybody knows he messes with forces who seem way too big for such a young and inexperienced summoner. It makes him a liability and a risk to be around. But sometimes, on the rare occasions he shows off his summoned entities, they are baffled. He shouldn't be able to keep such a diverse and strong portfolio of spirits.

He also rotates them at an alarming speed, never binding entities for very long. It is honestly a mystery what he is up to.

Everyone who's a practitioner is like "Soap is a fucking terrible demon handler, none of this is safe, he'll get himself killed! In fact, how hasn't he already gotten himself killed already?" And Soap's only secret is that he treats the entities with respect and kindness like a good fucking cookie and they wife him

He just rolls up with Ghost and König at some point, they are visible, following his every step, silent and menacingly. And PHILLIP out of all people is practically salivating over Soaps entities and asks how he „keeps them enslaved“

And Soap is like: „Uuuuhm? Enslaved? I do not keep them enslaved?“

Graves just rolls his eyes and is like: „You know exactly what I mean, it must be a hell of a workload to keep them docile like that, what do you use?!” Soap looks at him as if he is stupid (which he is, it’s Graves we are talking about) and tells him that usually, he just „asks them nicely“ and when they refuse he drops it. But they seldom do and if they do, he asks if they would like to tell him their reasoning. And usually they have thought of something he wasn’t aware of so it makes perfect sense why they refuse him. And even if they don’t, wouldn’t it ruin their friendly relationship if he made them do something? He is an adult, HE can handle being told no.

Graves is fucking livid because he thinks Soap is fucking with him and implies he is stupid.

Hid daddy will hear about this.

~Corr

@forestshadow-wolf this is for you because you have been so enthusiastic about this AU

[fandomregression]

Can you do headcanons for little Martin Blackwood?

Age Regressor Martin Blackwood Headcanons!

martin is Baby

he is Tiney

such a tiny baby and everyone loves him

martin learns that he regresses when hes still a teenager, but he keeps that secret all the way to his time in the archives. he knows when hes about to slip, and he finds a way to excuse himself and go be alone

he hates being alone, and he wants someone to take care of him, but he can't dare ask someone to do that. it just isn't fair! martin's always the one to take care of others, so they shouldn't have to worry about him!! but he needs the love and affection so badly...

sasha and tim already take care of jon, so it doesn't take them very long to figure out Something Tiney is happening with martin. he chews constantly, be it pens or his fingers or his shirt collar, doesn't matter. he goes quiet for long stretches of time. he gets this far away look in his eyes, and this sweet look about him when he does, but he always snaps out of it and looks surprised when he does

sasha and tim start experimenting, just to see if their suspicions are correct. they'll get his tea for him, they'll give him praise on his notes, they'll play disney songs on the stereo, and a few times tim even got him some stickers just to see what he'd do

(martin covered his desk in stickers)

after a while, sasha and tim are positive that they've got another regressor on their hands. they ask him about it, and at first martin denies it like crazy. but he does give in and explain yes, he regresses, but they super don't need to worry about him!! hes okay on his own!!!

they invite him over to hang out one evening (after explaining to jon, who is now a bit pouty and grumpy that his cgs are gonna make him share. the horror) and the four of them have dinner, hang out and watch tv, until martin gets sleepy

the thing with martin is when he gets sleepy, he starts feeling tiny. so he gets shy, and he tries to make himself as small as possible in the corner of the sofa. sasha notices, and she coaxes him out of the corner for cuddles. this squarely lands him in the 'fully regressed' category, and martin ends up with his thumb in his mouth, rubbing his eyes, and sleepily watching cartoons

it takes several times for martin to start really getting comfy with the idea of regressing with others, but once hes comfy he becomes the most spoiled baby

martin already has toys and things that he likes, like a taggy blankie, a crinkle book, a rattle, and a rubber chewy giraffe. he also has a stuffed highland cow named brownie who he HAS to have in order to sleep (brownie goes everywhere with him!!) and he has a plain cream colored paci

with tim and sasha, martin learns all the cutest things that make him feel even littler than anything he could do alone. tim holds his hand up and down stairs, across the street, or in stores so he doesnt get lost (he does this with jon too). sasha plays games like patty cake and peekaboo, and she reads lots of stories with him

martin is a fussy eater when hes small. when hes big, he'll eat just about anything, and he'll try anything once if it smells nice. but when hes small, food can be overwhelming, so he really likes simple things. lots of buttered noodles, plain chicken nuggets, and apple sauce pouches. apple sauce pouches are a life saver, really, he loves them so much

he also really likes getting bottles, and he likes when one of his cgs gives him his bottle. it makes him feel positively tiny, and it makes him feel very very safe and loved (esp warm vanilla milk!)

since he tends to lose his words, martin knows some baby sign language. it helps make sure his needs are being met, and the praise his cgs give him for asking for things makes him so happy

he doesnt like loud noises, so storms and things scare him very badly. he'll hide under covers until tim comes to rescue him

tim is dada, and sasha is mama (of course)

when hes big enough, martin likes to help them however he can. he'll dust the furniture, sweep the floors, or mix batter for baking to feel helpful. sasha and tim will praise him for a job well done, and he gets rewards like milkshakes or a new toy

loves loves loves warm baths. he loves bath bombs more than bubbles, especially pretty glittery ones with swirly colors. he has bath crayons and duckies and a little boat, and bath time is just so relaxing for him

charlie and lola >>>>>

he doesnt like high energy shows or movies, he likes nice and calm cartoons

i feel like he collects sylvanian families. and he has a playhouse for them. he takes such good care of them and has never lost a piece for any of them

this boy has an Aesthetic, and if he could ever figure out how to make sure he could surround himself in only his aesthetic, he would be the happiest baby on the planet

i've been reading lotsa lil martin recently so hes on my mIND thank u for this ask sgksgmafjagn hope u enjoy 🤲

[yellowcry]

All eyes are on you

Fifty years ago, Alma and Pedro lost their lives, protecting their children. That's how Casita was born. A pure wish for the babies to be safe away from danger.

Casita will make sure in it.

TW: Eating disorders

Mirabel groaned, stretching inside her bed. Ahh, another morning. For a moment, Mirabel concindered just turning over for another minute of sleep. Before realization hit her through the dreamy fog, smapping her mind open. Antonío's birthday! OH, OH! Mirabel junped off the bed faster than ever before. She's better go get ready to help the family. Anything is better than sit in one place doing nothing. Pull on the daily outfit, decorated by fine enbroidery. Mirabel made it herself. Sometimes planned, sometimes just because she was dying of boredom.

She was about to go out, check if anything needed her help. Before Casita pushed her back in the middle of the room. Oh, right. Casita doesn't like when Mirabel (or anyone else) is going anywhere without its knowledge. The house was alive, always moving. Clicking tiles, watching them. Every movement was strictly defined by Casita itself.

"¡Oh, buenos días, Casita!" Mirabel knocked on the edge of the bed. "I just want to check if the preparation for the birthday has started. Maybe wash the dishes?" She knew there was no reason to. She did it yesterday after the dinner. Several times.

The house pushed Mirabel to the door, accepting her reason. Okay.... She wasn't punished. She didn't fail completely. The bringht light blinded her vision, morning is just beginning. Quiet. Mirabel was always one of the first to wake up. Just at the morning with the first signs of the sun. The portrait of Abuelo Pedro and Abuela Alma swayed at the middle of the staircase. Always young. Sometimes Mirabel finds herself wondering what would her grandparents be like if they didn't die that night many years ago. Nobody really knows Abuelos at all. Not even Casita, and it knows everything about everyone.

Arrange the plates. Put the coffee boiling. The usual routine. Never changing. Mirabel isn't sure if Casita had changed even a little since the day she was born.

"Awake, Corazon?" Julieta croaked, she wasn't very good in talking out loud. None of the triplets was. Mirabel assumed it came with the fact that for years, until Tío Félix and Papá broke in, their only companion was Casita abd eachother.

Mamá smiled at her, crouching for a cheek kiss. Eww, gross. Mirabel rubs away the wetness. "Antonío's birthday is coming!" Of course, she knew she wouldn't be able to leave the house. Casita didn't like, didn't want them out of it's control.

Part of Mirabel felt bad for Antonío. He had a way too big age gap from everyone else. Dolores and Isabela were born like twins, Mirabel and Camilo did too, even if he was annoying, seeing someone abd know you aren't the only one with those changes was helpful. And while Luisa didn't have anyone the same age as her, she was only two years apart from the older girls, which wasn't a big age gap. Antonío was ten years younger than Mirabel. This put him on a completely different stage of development. Leave him alone like an outcaster out of their family.

Papá said there were a lot of kids if their age outside to play with. Which had caused enough arguments where Camilo begged Casita to let him out to meet other kids. The only thing he got was being locked in a small room as punishment. Mirabel wasn't sure if she should believe it. She knew Papa and Tío Félix broke into Casita one day when they were teenagers from the outside. As well Mirabel knew Casita didn't let them out. No matter what they were doing, Casita's control was inescapable. House is always here, an all-knowing observer. Make one wrong move and Casita will know. A little mistake and everyone will hate Mirabel because she failed because she can't be as good as everyone else. And she couldn't hide and the whole family would know.

Patío was the only way Mirabel could see the outside world. A cold blue sky rising above them. Sometimes a naughty sun would show up. Or black ink patching it at night. With the dots of starts breathing hight above Casita.

"Hey, sis?" Luisa once asked, back when they were kids. The middle child loved to stargaze and knew so much about these cosmo-aliens. "Do you wonder what it's like to be free like these?"

Casita clicked its tiles, threatening. It didn't like the family speaking of an idea of being out of this.

Luisa's eye twitched. Mirabel shook her hands. "Casita, Luisa didn't mean it like this! Just a possibility!"

Luisa groaned, pulling the cupboard against the brick tiles of the patio. Casita had allowed to make a little permutation and swap some of the room in their places. Which Luisa was busy doing at the time. Of course, she had technically did it with every combination several times already. There was no real need to draw furniture from one corner to another. But it kept Luisa busy. And becides she loved to be helpful. (Even if she knew that from objective view it was not helpful to anybody.)

Just keep herself distracted. Busy. Anything would be better than spend her time doing nothing at all. And she was the strongest out of her family, so moving furniture would be easier for her. Just make sure to ask Casita first. It didn't like them moving without its knowledge. Much less moving anything that belonged to it. (Tho, maybe the family also counts into this category. Luisa isn't sure if Casita actually counts any of them as living beings who can have their own opinions and wishes).

"Luisa?" Agustín called out, making Luisa wince. What's else? Did he need her help? "What are you doing? Do you need some help?" She placed his palm on Luisa's tricep, looking up at her.

"Ah, nothing!" She waved her hand. "Just some moving!"

Dad blinked at this explanation, fixing his glasses. "Didn't you move this cupboard less than a week ago?"

Maybe? Luisa didn't really count. "Well, now I'm moving it back!" She announced, rubbing her palms, chafing the cold sweat.

Becides, Luisa loved working out. So why wouldn't she treat this as one big exercise. And for a proper work out you have to lift heavy things. Which she was doing right now. What would be wrong with that?

Well, maybe Luisa kept feeling this inescapable agony in her muscles, the pain like her bones would just snap from the pressure. Maybe she collapsed from exhaustion once she entered her room. Because her muscles were all strained, unable to hold herself. But it was distraction. And as long as Casita didn't have any problems with it, a house couldn't fully understand the concept of biology, Luisa would be fine.

Antonío's birthday would give her a lot of moving for today. Place the table in the patio, set the dance zone. More work than in any normal day. It's not like she had anything better to do anyway.

Isabela flipped another page of the plant encyclopedia. She didn't actually read it, but the pictures were facinating. Yellowish from time, telling about what would be beyong Casita. At least to Papí's explanation.

"Do you think it's real?" Isabela turned her head. Luiza looked up from whatever she read at the time, something about mythology that she found a few days ago. A demand of their parents to read a book. "Like, the world beyong Casita?"

Casita questioned with the slide of a book. Luisa clentched her fists. Of course, a daddy girl she is would argue to defend their papá. "Papí wouldn't lie!" She pouted. And Isabela wanted to believe it. But, sometimes it was hard.. Casita didn't let them out. It had never let them out. No matter what. Which was stupid! Sure, Isabela loved Casita, and she loved her bestie cousin. Maybe even her annoying sisters on a good day. But it's not like Isabela could actually say it out loud.

Isabela pushed the plate away from her. Hot breakfast steaming with wonderfull aromas. So appetizing that she can feel her mouth watering.

"Bela, you haven't eat anything?" Her mamá asked, concerned.

Isabela smiled, her gace didn't twitch. "Sorry, ma, I just don't have appetite." She tucked a staggler back behind her ear.

Now that was a lie. Her stomach wretched. Nothing new. Isabela was used to it anyway. Her head feels a bit dizzy. Alright, the last time she ate was was.... she didn't really remember.

Isabela didn't know at which point she stopped eating. She just... needed control. She couldn't control where she was, what she was doing. Casita was always here, always watching. Controlling every aspect. And Isabela grew sick from it. This constant feeling when she couldn't say a word without a painful ring of the furniture. Without a fear of being locked in a small dark room all by herself.

So she grabbed onto the only thing she felt was possible to control. How hungry she was. How much she ate. (She couldn't really choose what to eat too.) And so she did. Of course, Casita tried to interfere. It was trying for years probably. But it couldn't really shove a spoon into Isabela's mouth. And asking her parents to do it instead would mean a defeat.

Casita was solid. Never changing. Isabela could swear she learnt the house up to every millimeter. It never changed. Every moment, every second was the same. Sure, Luisa did rearrange rooms sometimes. (why? Isabela didn't really know) But with time it became just as normal part of routine. You can move an orchid into new pots all you want, but it won't become a cactus. (And Isabela would die to see both)

Isabela hated this lack of control. She felt like a caged animal, confined in a small place. Going round from isolation. Ahe wanted to escape. To have her own life. One that wasn't defined by Casita. Where she could do something without asking first. Where she could take a step out of her room without asking if she's allowed to.

She knew better than assume it would happen.

[nym-wibbly]

Fic: My Bonds in Thee by Nym - Good Omens (TV)

Aziraphale comes back. Their love was never in doubt but they still have different exactlys.

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Wordcount: 42,600 of (probably 80,000 - WIP) Rating: Explicit AO3 Archive Warning: No archive warnings apply Tags: Second Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49148341/

If you need an AO3 invite code to view fanworks set as 'visible to logged-in users only', just contact me at the e-mail address on my AO3 profile.

Excerpt from My Bonds in Thee chapter 8:

The world ended here just a few days ago. His world. He's not sure he feels good about returning, but Gabriel got one thing right (one damned thing in his damned smug damned charmed damned bloody Supreme existence). Home is wherever the heart is. And Crowley's already given his to Aziraphale. That's like Armageddon: You don't get a do-over when it goes pear-shaped. Push on, then.

Crowley scratches his head through the cloth of the hood, relieved to feel that he still has hair.

"How, um, deviant are we thinking? I mean," he gestures to the spiral staircase, upstairs, shocked to feel his cheeks and ears getting hot. "Physically?"

Aziraphale freezes while putting the front door keys into the top drawer of the desk. He clears his throat lightly and composes his features into his usual expression of placid warmth.

"If you can't choose your form, my dear," he says, with a facade of ease that Crowley really admires under the circumstances, "I'd say, 'very'. Not that one knows much about these matters, being an angel." He closes the drawer, slowly, and turns around. "Were you, um, hoping to find out now?"

Crowley pictures Aziraphale in Eden, hastily turning his back on Adam and Eve with a shocked little huff when they figured out what all the naked bits were for.

He still wonders what would've happened if he hadn't tempted Eve to try the bloody fruit. Suppose he'd seduced an angel instead—whispered visceral temptation in that innocent ear and stroked that sweet, soft, angelic hair until Aziraphale shivered and dropped his flaming sword?

That would've looked great in Genesis.

"One doesn't bloody know," he says, throwing himself lengthways onto the couch in a dramatic sprawl. "And one would like a bloody big drink now."

Aziraphale brings him a small drink, a careful measure of Scotch, but he has the decency to bring the bottle too.

For a moment, the angel hesitates about where to sit. Crowley sees the moment when Aziraphale remembers the park, the water's edge, and their kiss. It softens his whole face with wonder and quiet joy. This in turn makes Crowley stop breathing. He pats the edge of the couch beside his hip, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Aziraphale sits there, flustered, and hands him the glass.

"Can we really do this?"

"It's too late to ask that now." Crowley's not sure of much right now, but he's clear on that. They can only move forward.

"No. I mean, the other thing. 'Pillar of salt time'."

"Oh." Crowley empties the whisky down his throat in one gulp. "I've no idea. Can we? It's not actually written down anywhere, is it? 'Thou shalt not have carnal knowledge of an angel stroke demon'?"

"Carnal knowledge," Aziraphale echoes fretfully. "Sounds very bad when you put it like that."

"You'd blush if I put it any other way."

"I'm already blushing. They call it 'making love'. The humans, I mean. That's nice. I like that one."

"I think we..." Frowning, Crowley tries to think it over. He's not supposed to be out of his mind with temptation. It's been his job to do that to other people. But the possibility of the two of them, more together than they're already together... "We can be anything we want. Any shape, I mean. So I guess we can find one that, you know." He gestures vaguely with his glass, unwilling to sully the idea with what Aziraphale would call 'vulgar language', "Works," he finishes, awkwardly.

"Do snakes, um..."

"Don't go there."

"I'm a bit worried that we could accidentally destroy each other," Aziraphale admits. "With carnal knowledge."

"According to most humans, it's one hell of a way to go."

"Oh." Aziraphale bites his bottom lip. Crowley holds up his empty glass with a meaningful nod. Aziraphale ignores it, instead putting the whisky bottle down on the floor. "It's worrying me," he confesses, almost whispering. "I know nothing worries you, but—"

"You think that?"

"What?"

"That nothing worries me?"

"Well..."

"I'm terrified." Crowley slaps a hand to his chest as evidence of his thundering heart. "I'm absolutely scared out of my mind. Hence the empty glass," he adds, meaningfully. "I don't have the answers, Angel. I'm not sure I even know the questions."

Aziraphale takes the glass out of his hand and puts it down next to the bottle with a tidy little 'chink'. Crowley watches it go with a tiny pang of grief, the hint of a pout.

"I had no idea. I'm sorry." He lays his hand on top of Crowley's with slow care. "I assumed again. That you'd— Being a demon, with all the temptations and everything..." It tails off as the merest hint of a question.

Crowley wrinkles his nose.

"Humans?"

"Yes."

"Ugh. No. It was my job to get them doing it to each other without, you know. The love bit. Selfishly. Destructively. Unadulterated lust. Except when it's adultery, I suppose. Does that adulterate it? Does it get cancelled out if it's adultery but they love each other? Or if they love each other but do it selfishly? There's a few decades of temptation time I'll never get back."

Crowley realises he's babbling and stops.

"I see." Aziraphale's fingers curl around Crowley's unresisting hand, fingertips brushing his chest. Even through two layers of clothing, the sensation makes Crowley's toes curl. "And how exactly does one tempt a human to succumb to the flesh?"

"Uh..." Crowley blows out his cheeks. It's been a while. His temptations, halfhearted anyway, have been on a larger scale since the Industrial Revolution. Whole populations, technology, not furtive couples. "Well, you know. Rainstorms, shelter together under an awning, Jane Austen's balls. That sort of thing. They look uncertainly into each other's eyes, go in for the big, climactic kiss and... and Bob's your uncle. Carnal knowledge all over the sho—place." He fidgets uncomfortably, suddenly regretting the way he draped a nonchalant leg over the far arm of the couch. He's exposed everything, and Aziraphale is looking uncertainly into his eyes. His sunglasses, anyway. "It's programmed in for them. Some of them. A lot of them."

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, making a devastatingly unsuccessful attempt to look naughty. "Take off your glasses. I can't kiss you if you're not looking at me."

Never, never, in the thousands of years since he invented the bloody things, has it taken Crowley so many agonising eternities to snatch the stupid bits of glass and wire from his nose.

Aziraphale plants a hand on either side of Crowley's shoulders and bends swiftly, pecking him on the lips and—Crowley gulps—chuckling in the back of his throat. It's a deep sound. It's the sexy, evil twin of Aziraphale's guilty, nervous titter.

"Oh, God," Crowley mumbles, kissing upwards, like it's programmed in. "If this doesn't work—" kiss, "—we'll be cringin—" kiss, "—cringing about it 'til mumnff—" kiss, open mouths, a shared gasp, "'til the heat death of the universe."

[continue reading on AO3]

[manicplank]

This may have already been asked and is deep in the headcanon archives, but

How does everyone act in front of their crush? (For the goober (Fake Peppino) it could just be his favorite person)

It has not yet been asked!

How do they act in front of their crush?

Peppino: Very bashful. He'll put on his customer service facade and act "normal". He will be very short in conversation and act more nervous than usual. He lets his low self-esteem get in the way of him making moves on them.

Gustavo: Bashful and goofy. He'll initiate conversation and try to get to know them. He gets giggly and will try to make them laugh. He'll talk about his interests with them as he kicks his little legs like a schoolgirl.

Mr. Stick: He'll be nice to them. Usually, he's pretty curt when it comes to interactions, but around his crush, he actually acts like a decent person. He will compliment them here and there about small things. He will be very subtle.

Pepperman: He talks less about himself and more about them. He tries to get to know them, and he'll compliment them A LOT. He might even offer to paint them sometime (for free). He comes on pretty strong as his social skills aren't the best.

The Vigilante: Very polite and gentlemanly. He'll do small gestures for them that he usually doesn't do; opening the door for them, buying them their favorite food or drink, etc.

The Noise: Acts cocky but gets flustered at times. He tries to act all cool, but he's filled with butterflies and fuzzy feelings. He will flirt with them lightly (but normally, he's a huge flirt anyways).

Noisette: Sweet and giddy. She smiles and giggles a lot. She'll touch them in small ways like a small bump on the shoulder if they say something funny and a hug every time they say hello and goodbye.

Fake Peppino: (Doing favorite person) YAAAAAAAAAAY! YAY YAY! Hello favorite person! Him loves favorite person! He will make little noises of excitement when he see them. He wants hugs! He will nuzzle his head on them! He will hop around in four legs in glee!

Pizzahead: Overly friendly. Super nice to them, treats them differently from most people. He treats them like they matter as opposed to treating them like a peasant. A real "Hey, you!" type of guy.

Pillar John: All of a sudden, this big, outgoing goofball is super shy! He will be a bit quiet, sometimes stumbling and stuttering his words. He's afraid of embarrassing himself in front of them.

Gerome: He gets super friendly. Usually, he's pretty stoic and closed off. Around his crush, he's a decent guy. They'd actually think he's just being nice as opposed to having a crush on him.

[shujiinkou]

rouge. | 575 words. dancae, honkai star rail, sfw, small angst.

Dan Heng's eyeliner pen broke. This wouldn't be a big issue, except it was in his pocket before his memory lapsed, and he doesn't know where to get it. He's been discreetly looking around whenever he had the chance and resulted in asking March if she's seen it.

Unlucky as he was, March has never seen the same shade of burgundy that laid under the man's bottom lash line, and the pen was snapped clean in half with no way of fixing. Luckily for him, March was able to find a dupe - a few of similar colors. Just glancing at the colors, Dan Heng could tell none of them were an exact match and he was unsure completely of what to do, this rouge color was one of his last ties to his past.

This delimmia of Dan Heng was unbeknownst to Caelus, who found himself wandering into the archives. "What's the matter, Dan Heng?" Caelus asked once he noticed Dan Heng staring for a moment too long at some pens in hand.

"It's of no issue discussing, our time would be better spent on-"

"Wait, if it's troubling you it's obviously important. I want to help, use me as you seem fit." Caelus interjected, touching his large hand on Dan Heng's shoulder.

The intention was not loss on Dan Heng, though he felt no use entertaining him. "Fine," he started as he stood up from his chair at the mainframes desk and moved to a cushion he had laying on the floor near his bed. "Come sit in front of me."

Caelus was rather nervous, he didn't think his flirtatious advance would ever be taken seriously from Dan Heng. Doing as he said, he sat across from him, bending his knees out in front of himself as he rested his arms on his knees.

Dan Heng uncapped a pen and leaned forward, noses almost touching as he tried to swatch the red liner to Caelus's face. Caelus jerked back, unsure of what Dan Heng was doing. "Hold still," Dan Heng scolded as he grabbed his jaw lightly.

"I'm trying, I'm not used to someone trying to put makeup on me." Caelus retorted, his eye twitching and face jerking every time Dan Heng goes near it.

"This isn't working," Dan Heng said as Caelus agreed. He sighed, thinking for a bit before he came to a solution. "Don't move." He instructed Caelus. He carefully moved his feet on either side of Caelus, touching the floor behind him. His legs were draped over Caelus's thighs.

A small blush formed upon Caelus's cheeks as a his stomach did somersaults. Being close to Dan Heng wasn't uncommon for him, but Dan Heng was the one initiating the closeness, and Caelus wasn't used to that. Almost as if reading his thoughts, Dan Heng scooted closer into Caelus. Caelus was sure each breath they took their chests were touching, sure that Dan Heng could hear his heart beating out of his chest. If he could, he wasn't commenting on it.

Dan Heng got as close as possible, placing his thumb on Caelus's cheek and pulling it taut while he tried to compare the eyeliner shades. The men had two different undertones in their skins, using Caelus was a template wouldn't help Dan Heng anymore than using an art canvas, but the means to use Caelus as a model for the new eyeliner was never what Dan Heng had in mind.

give kudos and comment on ao3

[ladytauria]

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd

Rating: Mature

Words: 2k

Confined in a small space, with no way to get out, would be bad enough... but on top of that, Jason's got to piss, too. Lucky for him, his boyfriend doesn't mind.

i’ve been wanting to try writing some new kinks / scenarios so the other day i took a break from my big fic to write this <3

it didn’t quite scratch the itch i wanted it to but! it was interesting / diff to write. i hope you enjoy!

>> AO3 <<

Jason swears under his breath. His bladder aches. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it does nothing to relieve the pressure.

Fuck. He’s had to go since before Tim and he got nabbed, and now? The urge is almost unbearable, and there's nothing he can do about it. He’s stuck, trapped with Tim, in stupid fucking box too small to even turn around in.

At least the pain of it distracts him from the panic.

Rescue is coming, he tells himself. Any minute now, the others could come busting the door down—or the criminals could come back, give them the opportunity to escape.

“Are you hurt?” Tim’s voice is low and concerned. His hands travel over Jason’s torso, performing an injury check as best as he can through the armor.

Jason doesn’t even think about lying, no matter how embarrassed he is. He shakes his head. “N-no, just… I— I gotta piss.” He starts out whispering, but by the end… he might as well not be speaking at all, for how quiet he is.

“Oh.” The simple surprise in Tim’s voice makes heat crawl up the back of Jason’s neck. He squirms.

Tim tucks a strand of hair behind Jason’s ear. When he speaks again, his voice is full of warmth. “It’s okay. You can… It’s just us. You can go, if you need to. I won’t think less of you.”

Jason’s blush climbs to his face. It burns so hot, so brightly he’s almost surprised it doesn’t light up the dark around them.

“I… Tim.”

Tim doesn’t scold him about names. He cradles Jason’s cheek in his palm. His glove is gone; bare, callused skin cool against Jason’s heated face. The relief of it—the comfort of it…

Jason exhales slowly, leaning into it.

“I know, I know.” Tim’s thumb moves in slow, sweeping strokes over Jason’s cheek. “Will… Will you give me a color, baby?”

Jason’s breath catches. There was a time when he would have said ‘green’ immediately, but now… He takes a moment to check in with his body, his thoughts, his emotions.

When they’d started to get more kinky, more serious— Tim had printed off a list for them to go through, separately and then together. Watersports… Jason had ultimately given it a maybe. They hadn’t spent a lot of time discussing it beyond Tim promising not to spring it on him unexpectedly.

This…

Well. This is about as unexpected as it gets, but Jason’s not going to blame Tim for it. No— He… he appreciates the offer. The ability to turn the decision, the control over to Tim…

It relaxes something in him.

“...green, sir,” he whispers.

[whatiwishfanfiction]

Lorax Rewrite Excerpt

Without focusing on Ted, the story can start earlier and show more of Once-ler's background trying to sell his Thneed. What bad influences did he have when it came to running a business? Some of the advice in this chapter are real things I've been told...

Excerpt below:

He pulled the Thneed from his neck, and spread it on the table. "Ah, you know what, let me just show you."

"It's brilliant," said the main representative immediately.

He was the shortest man and wore a sleek white suit. "The audacity is stunning. It's the perfect balance between essential and useless. Whimsical enough to capture the imagination, yet quaint enough to be marketed as a necessity. This is, indeed, something everyone needs. We would just have to make it out of a better material. For the most part, there's not a single thing that could be improved. However…" He looked up from his spinny chair at the long table. "There's one problem."

His colleagues in smaller chairs around him nodded their heads knowingly.

"Whaddya mean?" asked Once-ler.

The salesman pressed his fingers together and leaned forward. "To sell a product, you need to have a certain degree of charisma," he explained. "The creator's image is even more important than the thing itself when it comes to commerce. That is, you can't just come into a company in your dirty lumberjack clothes, dragging a mule, singing out of tune, and expect to be a success."

Once-ler turned red. There were no barns in North Nitch, so he'd been taking Melvin everywhere with him on a leash. The buildings were so big it hadn't occurred to him there was anything wrong with it. Plus Melvin was such a well-behaved mule, or maybe it was just that he hadn't had any human friends in so long, Once-ler had unconsciously started to think of him as a person.

He also resented his spiffy new outfit being called dirty lumberjack clothes. The fashion of his old town must've looked that way to outsiders no matter how new or clean they were. He observed the stiff, sleek blazers the businessmen wore and took note.

"There seem to be two of you here right now, Mr. Ler," the salesman said, and Once-ler got the feeling he wasn't talking about the fact that he'd brought his mule.

"On one hand, I see a powerful inventor with an ingenious work ethic, capable of bringing impressive ideas to life. But you can’t let humility hold you back. My advice to you is to try and think of yourself a little more selfishly, if you know what I mean."

"No, sir… Could you expand on that?"

"I mean stop thinking of yourself as someone small from a lowly background. You have to imagine yourself as bigger than everyone else."

The salesman hopped from his chair and drew his own short body to its full height in front of the towering woodsman.

"It doesn't matter if you're the tallest person in the world, if you never think you can reach anything." The businessman threw a pointed glance at a geeky young intern with glasses and braces. "Isn't that right, Aloysius?"

"I get it, Dad." The teenager rolled his eyes.

The salesman folded up the Thneed, and handed it back to Once-ler. "You have potential, but come back when your marketing strategy has improved. Have you ever read The Virtue of Selfishness? I look forward to hearing back from you. In the meantime, have you considered applying to other job options at one of the O'Hare companies?" He handed Once-ler a pamphlet.

Once-ler walked out of the building buzzing with embarrassment. He'd butchered his delivery on his first try. Why was it so easy to sing about Thneeds at his family's farm, in the forest, or the privacy of his wagon? He hadn't expected to start shaking like a leaf the instant he started playing for other people. He needed to practice.

Full story here:

[brofisting]

Brief thoughts on AI writing/art data-scraping and subsequent content production, & the conclusion I've come to.

Thought #1: There has been a lot of discussion about how AI is or is not art theft (or writing theft); from my understanding every model works slightly differently. What isn't up for debate, though, is that all AI models require data to function, and that data has to come from somewhere. The companies developing AI have a strong incentive to get data by any means possible; the internet is the easiest place to start, but there's no way to get permission from every single person who has ever put something on the internet for the use of that thing to develop the AI, even if every single person were inclined to give it.

Conclusion #1: Doesn't matter if the AI's output is a copyright violation; instead, it was a violation of copyright to feed that data to the AI in the first place, making the AI itself inherently legally problematic.

("BRIEF" DO NOT @ ME OKAY. SEE BELOW FOR THE REST OF MY BIG ASS ESSAY. I WILL REBLOG WITH THE SHORTEST TL;DR I CAN MANAGE.)

Thoughts #2&3: Due to how easy it is to scrape data online, and the way technology is currently progressing (silicon valley motto of Never Ask "Should" I Do It, Just "Can" I Do It), there is almost no way to prevent these AI from being developed with stolen data, and there's enough out there to make these very, very good. They've gotten immeasurably better in just the past few years. Also, preventing them from scraping one thing (ie archive-locking fic) is probably not going to do anything about the problem as a whole, even if it stops that one thing from getting used (and if it even does prevent that thing from being used; I am not sure there's not ways to get around that kind of obstacle).

Conclusions #2&3: Can't stop the technology from developing, and trying to prevent your data from being accessed through technological barriers is at best small potatoes and at worst futile.

Thought #4: What is the incentive for people to do this? Money. These AI are being developed in hopes that they can be used to do things humans can currently do, for cheaper, so they can sell them to companies who will then use them to replace human labor. Will it produce results as good as human labor? No. Will that matter? Not enough, and not in all circumstances.

Conclusion #4: How to prevent this from happening in a way that loses people jobs (or loses the least jobs, or at least protects creative work, or does the whole thing slowly enough to save your job and my job)? Make it so companies cannot legally make money by using the output of these AIs.

WHICH... takes us back to Conclusion #1 -- due to the copyright violation inherent in these programs, it is important to make sure the output can't be copyrighted. Which, at the moment, legal precedent says it can't be. But that's something that companies which stand to make money off AI-generated work are going to try to change.

THEREFORE... we gotta fight those fuckers every step of the way to make sure that AI generated work can't be copyrighted. Which, IMO, means:

educating people about how these models are developed using data theft

make the connection between AI development and potential harms clear (both things like face recognition tech and hurting creatives by replacing them in jobs)

encourage people to fight legally instead of technologically; ie instead of archive-locking work on AO3, continue to throw a fit at the AI company, file legal copyright complaints, etc (any useful suggestions here would be great!)

And then, bonus, if your company is considering using this kind of technology to replace artists or writers, throw a giant fucking shit-fit. Bring up possible legal ramifications. Bring up possible public backlash ramifications. Bring up ramifications of you personally quitting and being a huge bitch about it the whole time. Whatever you can safely do!

I don't think we can prevent AIs, nor do I necessarily think they're inherently evil; I DO think they are being made by people who do not care if they are being used or made in an evil way or not. I'm not sure we can prevent their usage to replace creative jobs entirely, but I think we should try. And I am willing to put my money where my mouth is on that. Which is all I can say about it!

NOTE: I am not a technical expert or legal expert on AI; I am some guy online, but I have a vested interest in this both as someone who pays to have art made and who makes art themselves. I have recently done a fair amount of research into this, and this is what I came to personally. If you have more information from a legal or technical perspective that contradicts this, I'd love to hear it!