#what a full stack developer does

[anushkarathi26]

What is A Full Stack Developer - The Only Guide You'll Need

What do you do if you get interested in a business or product or brand? Either you search for their social media presence or a website. With the increased use of technology, people tend to search for websites to get more knowledge or information about a brand. And that's why it is important to have a basic yet interesting website for every scale of business. But, have you ever wondered what goes behind creating the perfect website that you as a customer visit?

Professionals who are responsible for developing a complete website are called full-stack web developers. And, if you're curious to know about what is a full stack developer, what a full stack developer does, or even how to become a full stack developer, you're at the right place.

Gear up, this is the only guide you'll need to read to get complete information on What is full-stack web development. Let's dive into the guide, starting with the basics.

Read more: https://fingertips.co.in/blog/what-is-a-full-stack-developer-the-only-guide-youll-need

[reiding-writing]

Heyy!! i was wondering if you could perchance do a drabble with dad!spencer and mom!bau!reader where they've gotten into the rhythm of calling each other mommy and daddy in front of the kids and one of them accidentally slips up and does it work without realising. And then the team is like "hold on 🤨" (probably morgan) and they have to defend themselves. Just something i've been thinking about and i don't have the artistic ability to right it myself but you do! Thank youuuu! xxx

SLIP UP. /spencer reid/

your at-home naming habits find their way into the office.

bau!mom!reader 1.1k fluff masterlist.

a/n | this is so funny i love it.

The bullpen hums with its usual energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, conversations weaving through the space.

It’s late, and exhaustion weighs on everyone like a heavy fog. Cases have been stacking up, the paperwork never-ending, and you’re all running on caffeine and whatever sugar-laden snack Garcia has left in the breakroom.

You and Spencer, despite being used to sleepless nights—courtesy of two small children at home—are still feeling the burn.

Parenting while profiling is a delicate balance, and some days, it feels like you barely hold it together. But you've found ways to cope, to slip into a rhythm that works.

Spencer leans over his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he scans a report. His hair is slightly disheveled—likely from running his hands through it—and his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He looks exactly how you feel, drained.

You, seated across from him, are going through another file when you sigh and reach for the next document. “Pass Mommy the file, please,”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the bullpen stills. For a brief second, no one reacts. Not even Spencer, who doesn’t hesitate to slide the file over to you, his tired brain not even registering what just happened.

But then—

“Hold on, what?”

Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Across the table, Morgan is staring at you with wide eyes, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. JJ’s eyebrows are raised nearly to her hairline, and even Rossi has paused his paperwork, looking mildly amused.

Hotch looks like he’s trying very hard not to react.

You glance at Spencer, who is blinking rapidly, his brain trying to catch up with what just happened.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh my God.” Your stomach drops. Heat rushes to your face. “I didn’t mean—”

Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table, his smirk growing. “Did you just refer to yourself as Mommy?”

Spencer makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “It’s— It’s not—”

“Because I swear I just heard that,” Morgan continues, clearly enjoying himself.

JJ covers her mouth, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s not what you think,”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think.” Morgan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Reid, you calling her Mommy at home?”

Spencer makes another choked noise, shaking his head furiously. “No! I mean— yes, but not like that!”

JJ snorts, and even Hotch finally cracks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether or not to intervene.

You lift your head, groaning again. “We have two kids under four. There’s a lot of third-person referencing, okay?”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, amused.

Spencer, still red-faced, starts rambling. “It’s a psychological phenomenon, actually. When individuals—particularly parents—are frequently addressed in a particular way, their brains develop an associative response, reinforcing the use of the terms even in situations outside the expected context. It’s entirely innocent. Just an unconscious linguistic habit.”

Morgan whistles low. “Damn, Pretty Boy. You really just tried to profile your way out of calling your wife ‘Mommy’ in front of us,”

Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands.

Your face feels impossibly warm. “We’re tired, Morgan. We haven’t had a full night’s sleep in—” You glance at Spencer. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, three months, and sixteen days,” he answers automatically.

Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn,”

Emily places a hand over her heart. “That’s actually kind of adorable,”

Garcia practically vibrates with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I need to hear more,”

“There’s nothing more to hear,” Spencer says, shaking his head quickly. “It’s just a habit. Strictly innocent,”

“Oh, we believe you,” Rossi says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to let it go,”

“Not a chance,” Morgan agrees.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “This is never going away, is it?”

“Nope,” JJ says cheerfully.

Spencer sighs, rubbing his temples. “Great.”

And just like that, the teasing begins.

For the rest of the day—and likely for weeks to come—you hear variations of:

“Daddy, can you pass me that report?” from Emily.

“I don’t know, Mommy, what do you think?” from Morgan.

Garcia, of course, takes it the farthest, occasionally referring to you both as “Mommy and Daddy dearest,” complete with exaggerated winks.

By the time you make it home that evening, you collapse onto the couch with a groan, Spencer falling beside you.

“I’m never going to live this down,” you mumble.

“At least they think it’s funny,” Spencer says, leaning his head back against the cushions.

You sigh. “This is your fault,”

He turns his head to look at you, eyebrows raised. “My fault?”

“You didn’t even hesitate when I said it. You just handed me the file like it was totally normal,”

His lips twitch. “To be fair, it is normal,”

You nudge him with your foot. “Not at work, it isn’t,”

He chuckles, then tilts his head, considering. “Maybe if we just… pretend it never happened, they’ll drop it,”

You snort. “You really think that’s going to work?”

“…No,”

“Exactly.” You groan again, rubbing your hands over your face. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,”

Spencer smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “At least we’re in it together, Mommy,”

You open your eyes just to glare at him. “You better not start doing that on purpose,”

He presses his lips together, trying to suppress a grin.

“Spencer,” you warn.

His grin widens. “Yes, Mommy?”

You grab a throw pillow and smack him with it, and his laughter fills the room, warm and familiar.

Exhausted as you both are, you wouldn’t trade this—your life, your family, the teasing from your team—for anything in the world.

[regressionschool]

MOMMY KNOWS BEST: A NEW APPROACH TO MARRIAGE?

By Emily Dawson, Investigative Reporter

In an era of rising divorce rates and failing marriages, one company believes they have found a radical yet effective solution—one that redefines the roles within relationships rather than dissolving them.

The "Mommy Knows Best" (MKB) program, developed by Pampers Corporation, offers struggling couples an alternative to separation. Instead of counseling or legal battles, the program transitions one partner—typically the husband—into a fully dependent little.

By removing the stress, ego, and responsibility that often cause marital tension, Pampers claims to create a more balanced, harmonious household where the wife assumes a nurturing role, and the husband embraces a simpler, carefree existence.

To its supporters, it’s a long-overdue revolution. To its critics, it’s a disturbing erasure of masculinity.

“A Man Should Be a Man” – A Former Husband Speaks Out

Not everyone is thrilled with the program. Joseph, 38, once a participant in MKB, now lives alone after divorcing his wife of ten years. He remains a vocal critic of what he calls “forced regression”.

“They stripped men of everything that makes them men,” he says, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t love. It’s control.”

According to Joseph, his wife enrolled him without his full understanding. “She made it sound like therapy,” he scoffs. “Like something that would help us communicate better. But the ‘communication’ part? That was just me being told what to do while I sat there in a… in a… damn diaper.”

His fingers twitch on the table as he hesitates on the word, his cheeks flushing slightly, as if the memory itself still holds power over him.

I ask him how long he was in the program. He sighs. “Seven months.”

And when he left?

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding eye contact. “It… took a while to adjust.”

Adjust?

His face darkens. “By the time I got out, I couldn’t even remember how to use the potty—eh, I mean toilet.”

He corrects himself quickly, but the slip is noticeable. A shadow of something uncertain flickers in his expression.

Does he still struggle with… certain habits?

His knee bounces under the table. "No. No, I’m fine now.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

Though he claims to be fully independent again, he admits that certain instincts—like waiting for permission before making decisions—have been harder to shake.

“They train you to obey,” he mutters bitterly. “And for some guys, I guess that’s fine. But me? I lost everything.”

“He Finally Listens to Me” – A Wife’s Perspective

For Claire, 34, the experience couldn’t have been more different.

Before enrolling her husband, she says their marriage was on the verge of collapse.

“He never listened,” she explains, folding laundry as we talk. “Worked late, ignored housework, expected me to handle everything. It was like having a man-child already, just without the cute parts.”

She gestures toward the living room, where her husband—once a domineering, independent man—now sits in a soft playpen, happily occupied with colorful stacking rings.

He’s sucking a blue pacifier, his thick, crinkly Pampers diaper peeking out from beneath his cozy footed onesie. When Claire strokes his hair, he coos softly, leaning into her touch like an affectionate toddler.

“Now?” she smiles. “He actually listens.”

She explains that, in the past, every conversation turned into an argument. Now, there’s no stubbornness, no backtalk, no stress.

“When I tell him it’s naptime, he lays down. When I say he needs a change, he just giggles and lets me handle it. It’s the first time I’ve felt truly respected as a wife.”

But does he ever resist?

Claire chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, of course. He still has little moments.”

Right on cue, her husband huffs and crosses his arms. "No change," he pouts, shaking his head. "Diaper fine."

Claire sighs. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

He scowls, his lower lip jutting out petulantly—but when Claire raises an eyebrow, her voice firm yet patient, his resolve wavers.

“If you don’t let me change you,” she warns, “I’m turning off your cartoons for the rest of the day.”

His eyes widen. "Noooo!" He shakes his head frantically, the pacifier bouncing against his chest. “I be good! I be good!”

With a resigned sigh, he clambers onto the changing mat, his thick, swollen diaper squishing loudly beneath him. Claire ruffles his hair affectionately.

“See? So much easier than before,” she says with a smile.

Is This the Future of Marriage?

The Mommy Knows Best program is growing in popularity, with thousands of struggling couples enrolling every year. Pampers Corp reports that over 92% of participants choose to remain in the program permanently, claiming it strengthens marriages, eliminates conflict, and improves household harmony.

Psychologists point to reduced stress, structured routines, and positive reinforcement as key elements of its success.

And, of course, Pampers ensures that no participant ever has to worry about leaks, discomfort, or independence again.

For some, like Joseph, the program represents a loss of identity. But for women like Claire?

She simply smiles. “For the first time in my life, I’m happy. And more importantly?” She glances at her husband, who is now happily sucking his pacifier, waiting to be changed.

“So is he.”

(Sponsored in part by Pampers Corporation. Because a happy marriage starts with a happy little.)

[h4rring1on]

I have a request, can I have one where Eddie and the reader is Eddie best friend, later on Eddie starts dating Chrissy but he doesn’t know that the reader likes him. The reader being sad and distant towards him though out the time.. Eddie being confused and mad at reader and thinking she is jealous, later on gets into argument with her doesn’t talk to the reader for a few weeks, very angst, for the end you make your own if you want fluff or angst. Thank you, I love your writing ❤️❤️❤️

a/n: i’m so excited for this i hope i did well though. 💔💔 did i lose my touch be honest 🙏🏻

you and eddie have been friends for god knows how long, ever since that day at recess, you’d been playing with this random toy you’d seen and he was quick to confront you, it was his!

after you ran off crying, he came to you and handed you the same toy.

‘jus quit crying! jeez you can have it!!’

ever since then, you’d been inseparable. you were around a year or two younger than him. so when he was held back in school, you were catching up to him which made you even closer than you already were

soon enough, you’d developed a crush on him. at first, it was harmless. maybe a little giggle here and there, a tiny thought in the back of your mind maybe once a week

i’d date him

but it was never anything to act upon, since you weren’t all that interested in him. until it just got worse and worse, and robin had quite the earful about it practically every day!

steve also heard about it a few times here and there since he was usually in the background stacking the shelves or so, but not the full story

you couldn’t help it though. he was so kind to you, he’d get you snacks n everything! you had a tradition, every friday night you buy a ton of snacks and watch a cheesy movie!

it was your thing.

he was so caring and loving to you that people generally thought you were dating until they got the unfortunate news

you were content with being only friends though, at least he still did quite a lot for you. up until that one day

that horrible day. where everything got ruined

you’d been walking with eddie around the school halls, talking, until he bumped into chrissy.

“oh my gosh i’m so sor…” she trails off as she looks at him

he smiles and grabs the things from the floor

“it’s all good pretty” he says and she’d suddenly opened a conversation, it was too awkward for you so you just went on to class, since you were obviously not gonna sit and watch them talk. which took like a year to finish, he didn’t even come to class!

what could’ve been so interesting he missed class to talk about.

it kept going on like this, he stopped sitting with you during break time, he’d walk her home, he’d miss classes for her, and you had held it all in up until he did it.

he did it.

you had been waiting for the past three hours at the supermarket so he could come, it was friday night, which meant it was time for your tradition.

he didn’t come, and you broke when, on your way home, you saw him and chrissy going into the movie theater, smiling as wide as possible.

he’d broken the 5 year long tradition…for her?

you went home sobbing, if anyone knew why, they’d think it would be a stupid reason, but it wasn’t. it truly hurt. he practically chose her over you.

you stopped trying to think positively after that, to just say, it’s fine! it’s just today! or—he didn’t mean to, maybe he forgot!

both steve and robin noticed it after you stopped talking about him so much, or even talking to him for that matter.

everytime he’d approach you, you’d mumble out some short response and leave. and he definitely noticed, even in the times where he does sit with you, you’d get up and leave.

it kept going on like this up until on your walk home, he grips your wrist and turns you, not harshly but firm enough to stop you.

you furrow your eyebrows as you look at him, expecting something

“well?” he says and you look around, confused

“what?”

“wh—what?? you’re asking what?? you’re not gonna explain why the hell you’ve been acting so weird?” he spits out, it was clear he’s had enough

you shrug, “weird how?” you question

“don’t bullshit me. you know exactly what i’m talking about! what the hell is going on with you!”

you laugh, as if he really had the right to ask that after how he’s been acting

“what’s going on with me? how about what’s going on with you, munson!” you spit out, and he furrows his eyebrows, you’d never use his last name..

“you stop sitting with me at lunch, you miss classes just to see her, you barely ever see me! and—on top of all that—you miss our night. our night! the one we do every single week for the past five years and for what? chrissy? little princess of hawkins chrissy?”

he scoffs, “jesus christ—chrissy? that’s what this is about?!” he says and shakes his head

“yes it’s about chrissy! you barely even know her!”

“oh my god, i don’t think that’s any of your business! if youre so jealous because of how amazing she is just say that!”

“jealous? are you kidding me? that’s what you think this is? grow up, eddie!” you spit out

“it’s obviously jealousy! look at you! you see one girl that’s ten times better than you look my way and you go crazy!” he says and you pause, your heart clenched, how could he say that?

“what’s wrong with you? how could you even say that? i’ve been your best friend for—“

“don’t give me that bullshit! don’t play the victim! what is it, huh? because she’s popular? because she’s pretty? just admit you’re fucking obsessed! i don’t know how i ever even became friends with a freak like you”

your vision blurs, you don’t even say anything, you just turn and walk away, silently crying. who was this person?

eddie didn’t even bother to stay, he was quick to leave too. you walked into family video, robin wasn’t there, but steve was. and he was quick to notice your puffy red eyes, he rushed to you

“hey—hey hey peach.” he says softly and hugs you, and you breakdown in his arms, “woah woah—it’s okay…it’s okay” he rubs your back, trying to soothe you, “you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

you didn’t go to school for a couple of days, but when you did, you didn’t even bat an eye at eddie. who, in the meantime, was getting swallowed into a hole of utter guilt and shame.

he wasn’t even fully there when he was with chrissy, and in class, he’d stare at you the whole time. it went on like this for weeks, and eddie couldn’t take any more.

he didn’t even care about chrissy, and he’d realized your words were right and that she wasn’t really all that. how could be so blinded by her popularity and looks?

those weeks were hell, he’d truly realized how much he liked you, and how agonizingly painful it was to not be able to see you or talk to you at all.

so he dumped chrissy, and didn’t really feel anything. he picked up some flowers on the way and knocked on your door, this was it

you opened the door, surprised to see him, eddie noticed how pretty you look…and how he looked dead compared to you, he’s been suffering without you, you were too…right?

he calls your name and sighs, “i just…i wanted to explain myself—that day—i didn’t mean anything i said i swear to you. and—for chrissy—you were right. you were right about everything and it broke me when i stopped talking to y…” he trails off, his heart shattering at the sight of steve, in some boxers and no shirt, showing up from behind the door

you look away, and eddie didn’t speak, he just stays there, the anger building up.

“i’ll see you in a second baby okay?” you say and kiss steve before walking out and closing the door, and the look on eddie’s face got worse when you kissed steve

“wh—you’re dating him? you’re dating the king of hawkins?! that dipshit?!” he yells, how could you do this?!

wasn’t this ironic?

“what! jesus christ, this is about steve? really?” you mimic him, “if you’re so jealous about how amazing he is just say that” she says and smiles, walking away.

eddie mentally curses himself, she’d repeated the same words he said to her.

it was over. he’d lost his chance with the most amazing girl he’s ever met without realizing it.

that’s what he gets though

[fairyboygenius]

lifeguard!ghost is shirtless at the pool. my personal headcanon is that he overheats easily and wearing a shirt would be a sensory nightmare for him. he’s almost comically big for the lifeguard chair and can never quite sit properly- one foot propped up on the armrest, manspreading to the extreme. the red swim trunks are tight around those tree trunk thighs. he does wear underwear under the trunks to avoid chafing and for monster dick purposes. he’s maskless at the pool (again with the overheating) but in the dining hall or out on camp, he wears a black gaiter made with cooling fabric over the bottom half of his face. off the chair, he wears athletic shorts and loose t shirts. sometimes they have a gimmicky phrase or a dad joke, other times they’re just a plain color. he does in fact tan (an impeccable bronze) and though he’s missing canon scars, he’s covered in moles, stretch marks, acne scars, scars from his father and a thick layer of golden hair on his chest. he has nipple piercings- two silver bars. the sleeve is still dark and moody because of course- a byproduct of his punk anarchist tendencies from sixth form & his first year of university. he still wears dog tags. shaves his face and nothing else.

lifeguard!butch!gaz is wearing a sports bra and swim trunks on the stand (she does not wear underwear). both red, both designed for function over fashion. she also manspreads on the chair, big sunglasses over her eyes as she observes critically. she wears her hair in short twists, and when she’s on the stand, she wraps it up in multicolored scarves. wash day is a pain in the ass in the camp showers, but she’s used to it. off the stand, she’s mostly wearing basketball or cargo shorts and boxy t shirts or muscle tees. the shirts are old concert tees from her moms and sisters. on cold mornings, she wears an oversized flannel on top of her shirt. the stack of faded friendship bracelets on her wrist never comes off- especially not the ones her dove gave her. a heart-shaped purple carabiner hangs from her backpack straps, the perfect place to hook her blue owala covered in stickers. she burns fairly easily when she’s not reapplying sunscreen, especially on her stomach and shoulders. she’s got a nose ring and a few tattoos- an anchor, an old school bird, a full-color hammerhead shark, a bunny. all in places hidden away from prying eyes. she takes the rest of her piercings out for the summer. she doesn’t shave, letting it all grow. (not pictured: sodapop in bi panic mode seeing ghost and gaz both man spreading on the stand)

STEAM specialist!butch!soap mostly exists in loose, baggy pants or boys’ basketball shorts and simple, athletic tank tops. he loves to flex and show off the beginnings of muscles, developed at camp. she’s also got a stack of quickly accumulated friendship bracelets. his shaggy, tangled wolf cut has an undercut, and she never has a hair tie. his carabiner is simple, classic- green like her backpack and bedding. she burns, turning tomato-red without consistenly reapplying sunscreen. he’s scared of needles and only has one tattoo. it’s on her right thigh, a tiny double venus easily hidden. when the kids ask what it means, he can smile vaguely and go back to staring at her coworker. when he gets to swim, she’s wearing an oversized t shirt over an athletic one-piece or wearing something similar to gaz. he hasn’t touched a razor in 7 years and ignores stares from people. sometimes she puts on goggles during experiments- not because they’re needed for baking soda volcanoes, but to make kids laugh & turn into a “serious scientist” for the day.

ranger john price dresses like my dad. he mostly wear jeans and plain t shirts, cargo pants and shorts making their way into his rotation fairly often. he’s partial to a flannel shirt- during the spring and fall, he’ll wear one unbuttoned enough to let the thick brown fur on his chest peek out. tattoos from his time in the military decorate his arms, chest, and legs. a bucket/boonie hat sits on his head when he’s working. his skin is leathery and tanned from these last few years working in the sun. he’s, of course, got the beard and mustache still, smelling like musk and trees. the happy trail is visible when he’s chopping wood and the bottom of his shirts ride up.

[centrally-unplanned]

3 questions:

What is it you like... do, where does all the political expertise come from?

Do you have a platonic ideal of city development and what is it?

What's your take on communitarians? I never got the basic intuition about what makes it appealing, honestly smells totalitarian

- I lie about having political expertise on the internet mainly, that is where the expertise comes from!

But otherwise I am an ex-political analyst/quasi-academic - I took many classes and read many books on the subject. And also blogs, which certainly used to be an incredibly good source for more "foundational" knowledge - still good ofc, but we are past the heyday of the blogosphere. I personally think there is no substitute for "reading a bunch of diverse books in sequence on a topic", not only because you learn about the subject but because you start to see all the diverse approaches to any subject and how to synthesize it all, which can be applied elsewhere.

My actual job these days is in higher education, I build courses, degrees, etc. It definitely is something that keeps me exposed to good info sources but it is not load-bearing on how I grow as a writer. It's true perk is giving me access to good scanning equipment for anime archiving.

- I don't "actually" have one as I think all city development should be organic and contextual, no two places should look identical. In particular you can't really force economies, the industries be where they are. Overall I think the key things are to reduce localism while preserving democratic engagement, so you build up a strong regional government with elected officials holding critical power that can't be overridden by institutional stakeholders so they can pursue majority-benefitting policies. To be more granular, I think diversity of housing options is perpetually underappreciated - you want neighborhoods having studios to 4 bedroom units to even detached homes as you trickle out from the metro stops all next to each other so you can cultivate local economies that cater to diverse crowds and governance units that are "full stack" on the people they need to support. This happens pretty organically without zoning restrictions - US cities just try very hard to force housing types into specific zones.

I do also support every city of a sufficient size having a Kowloon Walled City-esque hyperdense housing complex at their center as a "stopgap" housing option for anyone of any stripe who wants to come to the city and try their hand at it. I am not even joking on that.

-Definitely too diverse a field to have "one" take! So to paint a very broad brush, they are a classic "cause" ideology that hits on correct social problems but doesn't give their solutions the same treatment. It is true that no one is an island, that social dependence is endemic to modernity, that "we are all connected" and individualist decision-making results in suboptimal outcomes. And not only for "others", but even for the individual, the isolating anomie of modernity that everyone falls into is a legitimate problem. In the abstract "more community" can do a lot of good.

But once you move away from abstraction the grubby realities of implementing something like the Responsive Communitarian Platform it tends to fall apart. Individuals are not the best deciders for themselves, but they are typically better than the rest of the options on the table as flawed, biased, or openly hostile governing authorities are the only real alternative. Community orgs are often populated by niche interest groups and oddball activists as typical people are too buys living life to care. Welfare is typically better done by distant, standardized, centralized cash payments instead of a "community" with its fickle resources and personal agendas. And so on. Obviously community has its place, but it is a place that typically already exists - we have had say schools and school boards for a long time! So as a movement it tends to collapse back to good ol' incremental social liberalism as those are the only practical things it can offer.

(But again YMMV based on individual thinkers, a diverse field)

[see-arcane]

Quincey Harker discovering he's a little less human than he thought.

A tasty flavor, that one. For angst in WWI rendition, I recommend @ibrithir-was-here's work in The Soldier and the Solicitor comic. Especially this particular oneshot comic.

In my 'verse, I picture Quincey suspecting a difference when he can do a lot of physical and intuitive tricks that other children can't. I hesitate to overload him with Jonathan's cryptid abilities, but he's definitely much quicker than a little boy ought to be, and he definitely has a wisp of Mina's keener than normal Sense. He's unbeatable in games of hide and seek. I don't think he clocks just how far off the human scale he really is until adolescence, per the trope of pubescent growing pains setting things off.

Baby teeth fall out and the adult set comes in sharp. His eyes can go from soft brown to hard animal glints. Sometimes, when a sour mood strikes, he will hear the nearest dogs in the streets begin to bark as if in warning. Little things. Easy to shrug off.

Then Uncle Jack gifts the Harker family a new color camera for some holiday. They smile and pose for pictures. They're developed professionally, but the man behind the counter must apologize profusely. Somehow their photographs must have been damaged in the dark room. A full refund for you, young man, terribly sorry.

Quincey flips through the whole stack of 'damaged' photos. Knowing (Sensing) better. And so he confronts Jonathan and Mina at home, brandishing the proof of all he still does not know about them or himself.

"You have to tell me."

The photographs tremble in his hand. Images of a man, a woman, a boy. But only from the neck down. Above the neck:

The man's eyes are burning hollows, his shadow dark and towering. The woman's eyes are red flames. She has no shadow at all and the edges of her face are fog. Between them, the boy is nearly normal, but for his eyes that are like hellish Valentines; red searing through white.

"Tell me what we are."

[comfy-whumpee]

The Speaker

The lights in the lecture theatre are more yellow than white, and the floor is carpeted with thin grey material. It makes the space in front of the seats feel more like a sparse living room than one of the largest halls on campus.

The lectern’s surface is a simple rectangle of wood, but does have enough space for his laptop to rest on. Connected to the screen, he’s free to move away from it with his Bluetooth clicker in hand. Resting on his cane with each alternate step, he makes his way over to the chair that rests alone at the front of the room, and sits. The cane hooks over its arm, and he props his leg out in front of him.

Gone are the days when he could claim only to have a bad ankle. Physio and surgery are behind him, and while the pain is lesser, it has spread as he’s aged. The years of compensating have left its mark on his knees, hips and back. He has never delivered a full lecture standing, and he probably never will.

He waits there, patient, as the students filter in. He likes this lecture hall for the lighting, but its main appeal is that the doors are on the sides instead of at the front, to one side of the projector screen. It allows him to observe as people enter.

This lecture is an annual event, and always attracts a range of attendees. Mostly he sees second- and third-year teens, and a rare keen first-year, still exploring their options and interested to learn. Occasionally he picks out an older student, although mostly it is impossible to tell whether they are undergraduates or higher up in the academic ladder.

Every year, the audience has more female and gender-nonconforming students. He enjoys seeing the shift and broaden of his field. Although there will always be a high proportion of nerd-aligned young men before him, he relates to both sides. Even now, he keeps his hair long enough to pass his shoulders, and wears a smart cardigan instead of a blazer.

Last of all to enter, forgivable because she also helped him set up, is Doctor Lee. She is probably the only student of astrophysics in the room, but she’s the one who asked him to start this yearly talk for Careers Week, so she’s honour-bound to attend. She wears a blazer, and it suits her well.

The students must never, ever know that they are not just friends, but exes.

He waits patiently for the room to settle, being careful to keep his shoulders relaxed. Then, he flicks the mic on.

For a moment he is gripped, as he often is, by the memory of a version of himself that could never have done this. He was, once, someone who couldn’t even speak aloud to a loved one in a private room. Raising his head, hair tied back, showing his face to the two or three hundred students in the seats…

Iz has climbed the central staircase and is sitting halfway to the top, right in the centre, as she always does. His eyes find her when they need a place to rest. His voice comes loose without a conscious effort.

“Good morning, everyone, and thank you for joining me. My name is Ellis Reece, and I’m a freelance full-stack web developer. I’m here to talk to you today about my field, and the careers and skills that relate to it.”

Another voice flickers in. Rule five.

He ignores it. “Let me start by telling you about what I do, before we explore related roles. I’ve been working as a freelancer on and off for twenty years. I started as a front-end developer, and quickly expanded to back-end, so I could pick up more work.”

He taps the clicker to progress to the next slide, which shows examples of his recent sites and clients. It stands in place of what other speakers usually give, which is more like a CV extract showing roles and skills undertaken. He prefers to let his work speak for himself, and always has.

Besides, those slides are often year by year, and his has a noticeable gap, near the beginning that would only distract them.

“I have also worked in some corporate positions,” he acknowledges, “and spent some time on software and UI teams. I will touch on those in a moment. For the majority of my career, I have been a solo developer, responsible for every aspect of a site design and implementation.”

Nic played a big part in writing his lines, although he knows them by heart these days. Self-promotion was never his strong suit. But facts are facts, after all.

Another comment from a voice. I don’t know what’s real. Nobody is close enough to have said it.

“I will be happy to answer questions about any of these experiences,” he adds. “As it is, my day consists of the technical work you would expect, alongside conversations with clients, collaboration with branding teams and other stakeholders, self-development and training courses, and, I’m sorry to admit, self-assessment tax returns.”

There is a reliable murmur of chuckling at the gentle quip.

He no longer admits, for me, the hardest aspect is the boundaries.

“Self-employment requires you to have knowledge in your chosen profession, but also administrative skills. The perks,” as the slide now shows, “include setting your own wage, taking holidays when you want them, more control over the work you do, and flexibility in where and when you work. The downsides…” He brings them on screen. A few of the quicker readers in the room grant him another soft laugh. “…are exactly the same. The boundaries, motivation, creativity and discipline all come from you and you alone.”

You don’t get boundaries, pet.

It’s no longer true.

Instead, as he often does, he pauses for early questions on self-employment, and then moves on to an additional point that draws non-compsci students to his talk year on year.

“Another underrated benefit of self-employment is how well it combines with self-advocacy. For example, my capacity for work fluctuates depending on my level of pain and how suitable my work environment can be made.” He moves his free hand to gently encircle the chair, cane and clicker. “When I worked as an employee in a team, I benefitted from their support, the structures of policies and HR, and accessible workplace wellbeing measures, including a useful occupational health referral. However, I made the decision to return to freelance and consulting to regain the ability to refuse work that would be detrimental to my health.”

The students before him will be picturing high workloads, horrible offices and inflexible bosses, and mostly, that is exactly what he means. They have no reason to think any different.

Another university reached out to him once to do this talk, and he declined. He told them he only did it at all as a personal favour, which was true. Their old economics guest lecturer was ancient history.

“This includes when work is offered to me, but also during the course of a project. I am fortunate to be in a position where I can, if needed, walk away from an employer who does not treat me as I deserve.”

It’s been years since he felt a flutter of nerves at saying those words. Instead, now, as he often does, he smiles with pride.

[stellamancer]

2.6k words of absolute ridiculousness. contains essence of selfship coding. inspired by and takes place in @nagumoan's hsr office au so thanks goes to loni for letting me play in her sandbox!! i apparently love office aus. i was originally writing something different but uh. idk how this happened. proofread to the best of my ability. ALSO. i didn't research. anything about how this process works. i am sorry to anyone who works in this field.

There are many evils in this world and, for you, public speaking is one of them. Always has and always will be, but despite that, here you are, about to speak to a sizable group of people. You know well enough that this is just a part of your job, but it doesn't make it any less agonizing.

"Well then," Aglaea urges you and her normally soothing tone sounds more like a death march right now. "Go on."

She gives you what you assume is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it doesn't help. It must be nice being her; not only is Aglaea good at this sort of thing, she's already presented— went first even.

Since Aglaea's no help you look past her at Blade in the futile hope that he might be able to save you, but he merely gives you an impassive stare before saying, "…it'll be over soon enough."

Should have known better.

As much as you love your coworkers you know full that they can't help you, can't fight your battles, and they certainly can't do your presentation for you. But, Blade is right, it'll be over soon enough— you just need to start.

With that in mind, you take a deep breath before standing up, gripping the folder in your hands like a lifeline. Shakily, you pull out a stack of papers and walk the room, offering a handout to everyone who's decided to attend the meeting. Obviously, there are your fellow members of the product design and development department, and naturally a few people from sales and marketing, and—

You stop short.

Sitting in the very back corner of the room is none other than the HR department's very own Mr. Sunday, legs crossed, notebook on his lap and—

Oh god.

You're not sure what's worse— the fact that Mr. Sunday is here right now or the fact that you can very plainly see an annotated drawing of the dildo prototype that Blade just showed off to everyone present.

He holds out his hand expectantly, offering you that pleasant yet chilling smile he always has in exchange for the handout you've been giving out. After a split second of careful consideration, you decide that Mr. Sunday's presence is much worse than the contents of his notebook; it's only natural to take notes at a pitch session after all.

You nearly crumple the sheet as you shove it into his hand before you spin around to make your way back to the front of the room. Why is Mr. Sunday even here of all places? You know that anyone in the company is allowed to sit in on pitch sessions, including anyone in the HR department, but as far as you're aware, Mr. Sunday has never come to one. Not only do you think that, as head of HR, he would be too busy to attend, but you can't imagine he has any reason to unless—

You nearly trip as the realization that he might be here to keep an eye on you dawns on you. There's no way, right? That would be ridiculous. Sure, you'd earned a spot on his watchlist, but everything you've done pales in comparison to what you've heard about Sampo in sales. You remember seeing him here too, so maybe he's the one Mr. Sunday's keeping an eye on. That has to be it, you tell yourself, if for no other reason than your own sanity's sake; you're only mentally equipped to deal with either this presentation or Mr. Sunday's scrutiny, not both.

When you get to the podium, you choose which problem to deal with and banish all thoughts of Mr. Sunday from your mind. Unfortunately, that does very little to dispel your unease because as you turn to face the crowd you remember, all over again, how you are not made for this sort of thing. You clear your throat and say, in an unintentionally squeaky voice. "Um… good morning everyone!"

If anything, the chorus of good mornings that echoes back at you is mildly comforting.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Aglaea give you a soft smile and next to her Blade nods, both of them encouraging you in their own way. You take a deep breath and continue. "So, the product I'm pitching today is called, um… nipple nibbler."

There's a quiet snicker somewhere in the room and you try to ignore the instinctive reaction of feeling like you're the one they're laughing at and not the product name. You swallow your self-doubt down and give everyone a sheepish smile as you add. "The name's still a work in progress.

"That said, the current name does an effective job of conveying the product's intended use. It's meant to—" you pause and glance down at your notes, "—be applied to your partner's skin, be it their… nipples or any other part of the body (excluding the vaginal area) and essentially licked off. It's similar to food play, though this product has been made with intimate scenarios in mind."

You look at the crowd to gauge their reaction and the fact that they seem amenable so far makes you sigh in relief. "Truthfully, since the product is this fairly straightforward, that's all I really have to say, so if anyone has any questions, I'll do my best to answer them."

Though you hope that no one has any questions.

To your dismay, a hand rises and it's March 7th, the marketing intern. "I was wondering, how exactly is…. nipple nibbler applied to someone's body?"

You flinch. That information is on the hand out you've given everyone, but it's something you should have probably explained yourself. "It's applied directly to one's body using your hands like a topical."

"Oh! I see!" She nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

"Any others?"

To your horror, not only does someone else have a question, but it's Mr. Sunday, of all people. Your anxiety shoots through the roof once more and you wish you could ignore him, but you can't. "…yes, Mr. Sunday?"

There's a quiet murmur of surprise throughout the room and it's obvious you're not the only one that's surprised that he's here. He stands and eyes the crowd, silencing everyone who has turned back to look at him instantly, then he turns his attention to you and asks, with that trademark smile of his, "I have a follow up to the previous question; is there a particular reason why you chose for this product to be applied by hand and not with some sort of applicator?"

"Packaging costs," you say automatically and while you wonder if perhaps you shouldn't have been so candid, it is something that needs to be considered if the company chooses to go forward with production. "For the most part anyway. I think there is probably some appeal in using one's hands."

Though, you suppose, for someone like Mr. Sunday, who is known to be a bit of a germaphobe, there is no such appeal.

"But, if the product is popular enough, we can look into investing in alternative packaging that's less hands on." You grab a pen that's sitting on the podium to jot down a note about looking into applicator options. "Any other questions?"

One more hand goes up; this time it's Sampo from sales.

"Yes?"

He gives you a smile and there's something about it that seems… odd, but then again he's an odd kind of guy. Reminds you of a used car salesman and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing for someone in his department. "Do you happen to have any samples?"

"Oh." You take a second to process the question. "Oh, yes— yes, I do! They're not very big but, I do have some. Just come ask me when the session is over."

"Okay, sounds good~" he says, seemingly positively thrilled. You try not to give too much thought as to why.

You wait to see if anyone else has any questions, but when no one raises their hands you take that to mean that you're just about done. Excited to finally be done, you thank everyone, give a small bow and scurry as fast as you can back to your seat.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Aglaea whispers to you as the next person moves to take your place at the podium.

"I guess…" It could have been worse, though you realize that you should have been much, much more prepared. If anything, this will serve as a lesson for next time. You make another note under the one about the applicators about being more thorough with product descriptions next time.

The rest of the presentations proceed smoothly, with a couple of people from R&D pitching a few ideas too. Of those, the most notable is Anaxagoras' lubricant which sparks a borderline argument with Aglaea that Mr. Sunday is forced to intervene on.

Once everyone is done and the session is officially over, a few of the attendees make a beeline for you, looking to obtain samples of your nipple nibbler. In addition to what you think is a good chunk of the sales team, both Ruan Mei and March 7th ask for some as well. As you hand out the samples, you get the distinct feeling that you're being watched and when you look around, you lock eyes with Mr. Sunday.

The bubblegum flavored nipple nibbler sample nearly slips from your fingers as your entire hand goes still. You can't begin to fathom why he might be staring at you. Quickly, you duck your head and and try to see if there's anything or anyone behind you he might be looking at instead.

There is none.

So, then why? You don't get it.

"Thanks for the sample!"

It's like a lightbulb goes off in your head. Could it be that he wants a sample too? But then if that were the case, wouldn't he just come over and—

Mr. Sunday's question echoes in your head. Right. It makes sense that the lack of an applicator would keep Mr. Sunday from trying a product, even if he wanted to. Even if he makes you nervous, you'd like to give him a chance to try the product if he wants to.

As if on instinct, your brain starts to spew out ideas for Mr. Sunday friendly packaging alternatives. It almost feels as if your fingers are itching to get back to your desk to look into the possibilities because surely there's one that can appease someone like him.

It's not uncommon for Sunday's office to receive visitors; as head of HR, one of his many job duties is to lend an ear to the company's employees and help them resolve any issues that he can. While he would prefer that people tell him ahead of time if they'll be stopping in, there's still a fair number of people who will drop by unannounced.

Like right now.

If anything, though, this visitor has the courtesy to knock before just walking in.

"Yes?" Sunday answers, looking up from his computer.

The visitor slowly pokes their head out from one side of the door frame and Sunday recognizes you instantly (though he's proud to say that he's memorized everyone's name and face by this point). As usual, when you're in Sunday's presence, your expression is hesitant and unsure. "…do you have a moment, Mr. Sunday?"

This is a surprise. Sunday doesn't think you've ever come to his office of your own volition before; your visits have always been summons to address your attendance issues. You've since remedied your truant behaviors, but he's been keeping an eye on you to make sure you don't relapse. "Of course, how might I be of service?"

"Um…" You slowly walk into the office and your visage makes Sunday feel as if he's watching a fawn walk into a lion's den.

He motions to the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. "You're welcome to sit if you'd like."

"I-it's fine, this won't take long." You reach into your pocket and pull out a clear plastic zipper bag that contains a single plastic tube that resembles chapstick. Carefully, you place it on Sunday's desk before elaborating. "So I thought about what you asked at the pitch session the other day and came up with this. The nipple nibbler's consistency is a little softer than regular lip balm, but it's still solid enough that you can use this twist tube rather than your fingers."

By the end of your explanation, your features have relaxed a little and you give Sunday a small smile.

"O-oh. I see." It's clear that you're quite pleased with how you've decided to address the question he'd posed during your presentation. Truthfully, he had been merely voicing a thought that he believed consumers would have, but Sunday gets the impression that you believed that he had a personal interest in the product. After all, why else would you come here? Still, as HR he should be congratulating you for this accomplishment. "It's rather fortunate that you've come up with something so quickly. Am I correct to assume this applicator has roughly the same production cost as your previous prototype?"

You blink at Sunday, your expression growing oddly blank. "…yeah, it's about the same."

The disappearance of your shy enthusiasm only confirms Sunday's suspicions. While he doesn't quite know why you thought he he was interested in the product, your reaction makes him feel like he's failed you in some way.

"Anyway!" Your voice is an octave higher, the chipper tone obviously forced. "I just thought I would come tell you, Mr. Sunday. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

Hurriedly, you grab the new sample that you clearly meant to offer Sunday from his desk and start to rush from the room but before you make it out the door he manages to call out to you, "Wait."

Your entire body stills and slowly you turn back toward him. Sunday holds your gaze for a moment before he holds out his hand. You stare down at it before looking back at him.

"I don't mind if you leave that sample with me," he tells you.

You look away, "It's okay, Mr. Sunday, you don't need to feel obligated to take it if you don't want it."

"Nonsense," Sunday argues. "It would be rude of me to not accept since you came all this way to bring it."

Hesitantly, you turn back toward Sunday and, for once, he has trouble trying to figure out what you might be thinking. There are too many thoughts on your face to discern just one alone. Finally, you settle on one: hope. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

You seem to search his face, evaluating his answer before you move back to his desk and place the bag back on it. "…If you use it, would you mind with giving me feedback?"

He smiles at you. "Naturally, though, I cannot tell you when exactly that will be."

You nod, and Sunday isn't quite sure what to make of the lack of surprise on your face. Now that you've accomplished what you've come here for, you move to leave the office again. It's not quite 5PM yet so Sunday can only assume you're going to return to your department, but…

"Before you go, may I ask one thing?"

You pause once more and glance back at Sunday, tilting your head in an odd way.

"…What flavor is it?" He'd heard from the other employees who had sampled the product mention a variety of flavors, most of which seem to be fruit inspired.

Sunday watches as your expression slowly morphs from a blank slate to sheer embarrassment. You avert your eyes as you answer in a quiet voice. "…caramel pudding."

A beat passes, then you add, your voice barely audible, "…because I heard you like it."

why is it that long. it shouldn't be that long i don't understand. if you read to the end, thank you, you're a real one.

[jinx-xxed]

Reports

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Something small I’ve had sitting for a little bit! I like the simplicity of this one

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; Being in the harsh environment of the First Order causes you to find unlikely solidarity.

Content; Commander Kylo Ren, General reader, original characters, domestic, living life in the First Order, sharing a meal together, slight hidden feelings

Wc; 1.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The night is getting old, time passing by in a trudging slowness. Of course, it’s somewhat difficult to tell when you’re floating in space, but you judge the hour by the dimming lights in the main halls. The lights are set to mimic a full daytime cycle, lessening their light once it gets to evening.

You’ve been stuck in your office all day, finishing outstanding reports and requests under the Commander’s order. You almost don’t mind, it’s given you some peace and quiet, after all. Well, except for the part where Chief and some other members of the Fleet came in to make fools of themselves on their lunch breaks.

Sometimes you’d pause for a while and watch space lazily pass by, needing to give your eyes a break from the paperwork. All the stars twinkling together were a pretty sight, one that could end up sucking you in for longer than you’d like.

You’re nearly finished now, only two sheets left to go over and fill out. They’re both simple mission reports involving your Fleet, used to state what occurred and if anything of importance was found. You cross reference the data pad beside you, inputting missing information where needed and fixing up comments by the Fleet members who were on the expedition.

You’re close to complete with the first report when the door to your office opens. There’s only one person who’d come bother you at this hour.

“I see you finished your work already?” You ask Kylo as he steps inside your space.

“I see you haven’t finished yours.” He retorts, taking off his helmet as he does. It creates a strange effect of his voice going in and out of the vocoder.

You huff. “I’m almost done. It’s not my fault you pile all this on me at the last moment.”

He shrugs. “And it’s not my fault that you procrastinated on it until the last moment. You could’ve finished these at the beginning of the month.”

You grumble some indecipherable response, not looking at him, continuing to scribble away on the pages before you instead. He sighs, sitting himself down in one of the chairs in front of your desk, robes billowing around him. His helmet sits in his lap and he leans his head back over the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling.

“You know, you could go to the mess hall without me.” You point out, typing extra statistics into the data pad.

He merely goes “hm”, like he considers it, and then makes no effort to follow your suggestion. You shake your head, mostly to yourself.

It’s like a weird routine you’ve developed whenever you’re on the Finalizer together; your shifts end at the same time so often that you end up going to the mess hall with each other. Perhaps it’s because you both need whatever company you can get in this place, you don’t know.

It takes you a while to finish the second paper, but still he waits. It’s another twenty minutes before you at last put it onto the neat stack to the side with the others, then stretching and cracking your joints. “Alright, finished.” You say while you stand, flicking switches to power down your office as you do. Kylo’s up and ready by the time you’re done, waiting by the door.

“C’mon BB-12, day’s done.” You say, the droid immediately waking up from his resting spot beside your desk. He beeps at you, rolling around next to you as if he’s just as excited to get out of your office as you are.

You and Kylo walk together down the halls, his helmet still off. It’s late enough that the chances of running into others on the ship is small, meaning he can relax a little. If he even knows how to do that, you think, almost snickering to yourself. You don’t miss his side eye towards you.

The mess hall is also blissfully empty. The mess hall you stand in is meant for superior officers like the two of you, meaning it doesn’t get overcrowded with the many, many Stormtroopers on the ship.

You take whatever’s left from the day, then sitting across from each other at a table located near the back. You eat in comfortable silence, something that’s familiar between you. The food is bland as usual, sticking to the roof of your mouth or crumbling as soon as it touches your tongue. That’s probably the one bad thing about being up in space all the time—the standard issue food.

Throughout the meal, you don’t miss the way his leg is subtly bouncing up and down. It’s impossible to miss, actually. Just a nervous habit, you’d guess, it’s nothing unheard of. Though you can’t help thinking it a bit odd for him, someone who usually acts as if he’s a statue. He’s a person who moves only when necessary, you’ve noticed it’s like an intimidation tactic. There’s clearly an undercurrent of tension he’s holding on to, something that crackles angrily behind the impenetrable walls he keeps up. You can’t decipher it, can’t reach through his defenses and grab it and you know he wouldn’t tell you if you question him. You won’t even waste your breath.

“Any expeditions coming up?” You decide to ask, breaking the long period of silence.

He takes a moment to consider. “Not that I know of.”

You break a piece off one of the nutrition bars, crumbs dusting the disposable tray below. “Well, if you don’t know then I guess none of us do.” You tease.

“You’re just hoping to get out of here, aren’t you?” He asks, breaking his staring contest with the right wall to glance at you.

“Would you blame me if I was?” You say around a mouthful.

He looks at you a moment longer. “No.” There’s an understanding beneath his words and it doesn’t fail to remind you how many similarities you share, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You take one more bite and then scoot back, lip upturned. “I can’t take this food anymore, I’m finished.” BB-12 chirps in amusement from where he sits on the ground next to you.

“Are you so pampered by the food of other planets that you can’t handle this?” He asks. It’s no secret that whenever you’re sent out or the Finalizer docks at a planet, you like to fully indulge in whatever local cuisine is offered. You sometimes blow whole paychecks just on food for you and the Fleet.

You scoff in disbelief. “You can’t seriously tell me you enjoy this stuff.”

His head tilts. “You’re lucky, I’ve heard the food in the lower mess halls is even worse.”

Your face screws up in disgust at the thought. You then see that Kylo somehow managed to finish the whole meal. How he’s been able to stomach this “food” for so long, you’ll never understand. You both throw your trays away, BB-12 taking up his dutiful place at your side.

Since you’re both superior officers, that means your sleeping quarters are in the same sector. Which means you get to walk there together as well. Considering how much you despise this man, it’s almost comedic how much time you have to spend near each other.

The walk there is once again silent, and your room comes up first. Kylo’s is more secluded, meanwhile you’re placed with other generals and members of Fleet 74. If it were up to anyone else, your Fleet would be put with the rest of the Stormtroopers, but you specifically ordered that they be near you for peace of mind. It was something most of the other generals weren’t a fan of.

You hesitate in front of your door before saying, “goodnight, Commander.”

He doesn’t stop walking nor turn back as he responds, “goodnight, General.”

You hum to yourself in thought, watching his bulky form disappear around the corner, his footsteps steadily fading. The corridor is eerily quiet after that, leaving you with an uncertain feeling you don’t want to bother acknowledging in the moment. You place your palm against the scanner in the wall, a beep of confirmation sounding before the hexagonal doors are opening with a hiss.

You walk into your room, breathing in the nice, crisp air. You sigh in relief, shedding your layers and not hesitating to flop onto your bed while BB-12 settles himself into his charging port for the night. You spend time merely looking up at the ceiling, letting your thoughts wander aimlessly.

What a long, boring day.

[ultra-raging-ghost]

All my egg designs!!

Click for better quality!!!

Design gushing under the cut vv

SO my height hc's for the eggs may be a lil controversial but i have several reasons lol

-Dapper, tallest, obviously in cannon bbh is a tall mf and dapper's the oldest demon it would make sense to me for her to be the tallest. A lot of ppl draw them in full suit but i prefer the sweater + button up look? I still gave him the bow that i enjoy drawing him with - sometimes i put it on his hat sometimes i put it on his neck lol also!!! i gave him blue accents and freckles for skeppy!!!

-Tallulah, second tallest, have you fucking seen wilbur soot?? wilbur soot is possibly the second tallest man ive seen in my entire life only preceeded by a 7 ft tall blonde man i met at the hospital, his daughter's gonna be tall. If dapper wasnt there she would be the tallest egg nobody can convince me otherwise. Obviously i gave her the classic wilbur sweater and beanie but i wanted her clothes to be pretty intentional - in my heart the death family all wear the cancer bows, so her and chayanne both have one and for Tallulah it's the only cool color in her palate aside from her matching shawl. Also it pained me to give her short hair but unfortunately its cannon :') oh also!! her hearing aid :D I also gave her little underdeveloped wings - theyre still growing in!! Alongside that theyre very downy, still got a bunch of pinfeathers and fluff <3

-Ramon, third tallest, in my mind ramon in a fucking unit. I gave him thick clothing and leather accents, good materials for hands on work and such, itll last a long time it makes sense Fit MC of 2b2t would dress ramon for function rather than fashion (although he still looks adorable). I normally see people drawing him with this wind breaker hat and goggles i dont really understand, ive always envisioned him with a welding mask (is that what theyre called??)!! I gave him pac's big doe eyes and a pair of soundproof pacman over-the-head headphones!!

-Chayanne, i dont know a ton about him but i do know hes a protector and i have seen what people draw of him!! Obviously i gave him the cancer pinned to his jacket, and as for his jacket its just a simple hoodie with a duck print on the front pocket. I wanted his palate to be yellow and purple - yellow for phil, purple for missa, wow revolutionary/s. His pants are tore up a lil and have stitching and patches in them (see the anarchy patch). His wings are more developed than his sister's and are pretty full with a dark, organized feathers. I gave him a shield, it has two wings on it (one light for missa, one dark for phil) i just feel like he'd carry one.

-Leo, i may have projected on her a lil <3 She's a softball girl in my heart!! Shes average height and kind of stocky cause in my mind shes very athletic. She mostly resembles Foolish, appearing mostly as a Totem, but she has purple accents such as in her clothing and eyes that are reminiscent of Vegeeta!

-Empanada, very short but still the tallest of the newest batch of eggs. She's the string bean of the bunch but i imagine under all the fluffy clothing shes a little muscular, gets it from her mamae bagi!!! I dressed her in mostly neutral and pink tones to match her sign and hat color - and as for her hat i imagine it as a VERY stylized beret, similar to pommes but it designed to look like a stack of pancakes with syrup pooling beneath them and the button on top is supposed to appear like a little square of butter!! Her horns, wings, and tail are white like mouse and tina's and she wears them proudly, even if she only has one horn <3 Her hair's split in two, black and pink.

-Pomme is very short, and she's dressed very fancily!! I like to imagine theres a stark contrast between the lolita/semiformal fashion of pomme and dapper to the informal wear of the rest of their siblings. The pattern on her dress is big apples trailing along the bottom of her skirt, and she's got star pattern tights to represent Etoiles <3 She's kind of a lil cryptid child, with a mouth at the back of her head just above her neck grinning away and two twin braids that float alongside her head.

-Richas!!! The shortest of the older eggs, his designs very simple mostly because he already wears a shirt which is the main focal point of his design for me. He's always been a cargo shorts egg to me, i dont know why!! But he lives in cargo shorts!! Richas chooses to be barefoot, its how he came into this world its how he'll leave. I actually looked up a prosthetic leg for reference for him and the top portion of prosthetic legs are usually patterned for the person wearing them, and i cant help but imagine that richas would choose for his leg to be the most atrocious yellow to ever exist and have all his family sign it. This is unseen, but under his hair he's wearing a bandanna with the brazilian flag on it! When viewed from behind you can see the knot tied around the back of his head, and when his hair's out of his eyes you could see it plastered to his forehead. I gave him lil horns because in my heart of hearts he's a demon, that lil egg is bad's egg too in my heart nobody can tell me otherwise.

-Sunny, one of the first eggs i designed - shes dressed just as i was as a child and by that i mean shes 100% a trailer park princess. They sport a "2 COOL 4 SCHOOL" shirt, with a plastic silver crown with jewels in it, and a pair of light up sketchers!! She has bear ears and paws and a bear-like nose and tail, they view Fred as their step-pa and he was the second parent they ever knew, it makes sense she'd wanna look like him!!

-Codeflippa looks almost identical to Juanaflippa, except she floats and is slightly greener... and is glitching..... and the shirt heart's on the other side than charlie remembers, but who's counting aye?? after your third death and revival maybe things get messy - hes not judging!!! I have this HC that the fed's aren't the only ones who can revive the eggs - theyre just the ones who've perfected it. I like to imagine codeflippa is the code/the rebellion's attempt at egg revival.

-Pepito, the smallest egg alive!! smallest ever so itty bitty so tiny!! only two months old!! Pepitos the smallest egg obviously, Pepito's wearing a cute little jumper with matching socks that dont really fit properly but are still just the cutest little thing to me <3 Pepito has devil horns and a tail because bad was the only person to really care for pepito properly before Q came along. Pepito mostly looks like a mix of roier and quackity, sporting a matching yellow pair of duck wings <3 I was tempted to put pepito in pepito's xmas bows because they were just the CUTEST but i restrained myself

-The dead eggs, the smallest.... Most of these babies were less than a month old when they passed for one reason or another so theyre all very tiny :') Flippa mostly looks like charlie, but she's got layered shirt and layered her skirt on top of her pants because he nor marianna know how to dress a baby </3 Tilin is a carbon copy of Q, she's a very shy young lad, shoeless and wearing one of Q's jackets which are absolutely huge on her. Not seen is his yellow pair of duck wings - theyre still baby wings so theyre very small and hidden behind him, full of downy feathers <3 Trumpet we didnt know for very long, but they were very fun to design!! Maxo definitely loved him, so i modeled his clothing after him mostly. I was trying to go for something like Blacklight aesthetic?? black paired with bright, contrasting patterns that would look good under a blacklight. Bobby is dressed the most ummm domestically id say. Very simply, like he was living on a farm and spent his days in the soft grass. I imagine he was shoeless by choice, because it was fun!! It was very obvious jaiden and roier loved him, so i tried to give him a kind expression and well taken care of wings. His feathers are still kind of downy and muted, but theyre more developed than Tilin's and are very well taken care of! I wanted his bandana and overalls to be the centerpiece of his design so aside from those he's got a plain white baggy shirt. I imagine its made of linen or something, bobby would smell like fresh laundry all the time..

-Gegg.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Board Game Betrayal

character: Young-Il X fem!reader

Summary: A friendly board game night turns into a full-blown war when Young-Il betrays you in Monopoly.

Warnings: none🦑🦑

It was supposed to be a cozy, laid-back evening. You, Young-Il, and a couple of friends gathered around the coffee table, snacks scattered everywhere, a board game in the middle. The game of choice tonight was Monopoly—a classic. Young-Il grinned at you across the table, his eyes sparkling with playful energy. "Ready to lose?" he teased, shaking the dice in his hands.

"Ha," you chuckled, rolling your eyes. "We'll see who loses." You gave him a mock challenge before focusing back on the board. The rules were simple: buy properties, build hotels, bankrupt opponents. But somehow, every game with Young-Il always turned into a fierce competition. You kept a steady lead throughout the first half of the game, carefully managing your properties, watching your money stack grow. Meanwhile, Young-Il—ever the sly one—had been playing aggressively, making risky trades with the other players, and somehow coming out on top. "You're gonna regret that trade," you warned him after he'd managed to snatch up an important property from you in a deal that felt like a personal attack

."Oh, please. I'm just doing what I can to win," he said with a smirk, winking at you. You couldn't help but laugh, even as you felt a little uneasy. But that was just the beginning. As the game wore on, it became clear that Young-Il was a man on a mission.

He'd bought up the most expensive properties, and soon, you were stuck paying him exorbitant amounts in rent. The tension in the room grew as everyone took their turns, but it seemed like you were the only one struggling. "I think it’s time to buy this," Young-Il said smugly, landing on your property with a devilish grin.

"Really?" you asked, trying not to sound desperate. But there was no stopping him. He bought it with a flourish, and now you were nearly bankrupt.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, he dropped the final bomb.

"You’re out," he announced, watching you sigh in defeat. "I won."

You felt a pang of frustration hit your chest, but it didn’t last long. Young-Il leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. He had that cocky look on his face—the one that meant he knew exactly what he’d done.

But you weren’t done yet.With a glint in your eye, you leaned forward, eyes locked on the board. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave this round to you," you said, forcing a smile. "But just wait for the next game."

Young-Il laughed, clearly thinking he’d crushed your spirit. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead, get mad. You’re just bad at Monopoly." You grinned back, but this time it wasn’t out of defeat—it was the grin of someone plotting revenge.

The next round of Monopoly began with a fresh deck, and this time, you played differently. You kept your moves subtle at first, quietly building your properties, staying out of Young-Il’s way. He wasn’t paying much attention at first, still feeling high off his victory in the previous round. He didn’t notice that you’d been quietly laying traps for him.

When he landed on your property again, the one you’d carefully developed over several turns, you smiled sweetly. "That’ll be $1,500."

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden price. "What? But how—" His voice trailed off as the other players laughed, already seeing what you had done. You’d developed your properties to the point where he had no chance of avoiding bankruptcy.His smug expression faltered. "Wait, hold on—"

And just like that, the tables had turned. He tried to fight it, but there was nothing he could do.

"How does it feel?" you asked, leaning in with a grin. "A little payback."

Young-Il’s jaw dropped as he slowly realized he had been outsmarted. The room erupted into laughter as you took your victory with ease.

"You may have won the first round," you teased, "but this one’s mine."

"I... I can’t believe it," he groaned, slumping in his chair. "You played me."

You smirked, giving him a playful wink. "Sometimes, Young-Il, you just have to know when to go all in. And sometimes, you get to be the one on top."

🦑🦑🦑

[whentherewerebicycles]

my baby is eight months old and every month of his wonderful little life has been better and more joyful than the last (which is saying something, because every month has been so good). he is still very Baby but he is also suddenly blossoming into a little kid before my eyes and it’s so much to handle 😭 he has always been an expressive talker but these days he has the most delightfully animated little conversations with himself, full of complex baby feelings like surprise and delight and shock and glee and of course spluttering indignation (you would not BELIEVE the wrongs done to angelic little babies these days! they have to take naps in their CRIBS!!). he laughs and gasps and hoots and fake coughs, and then he looks at you with a sly little expression to see if you think he’s funny. he is silliest with me by far (he still gets a bit shy and reserved around new people) but he also absolutely adores Liz & A and his nanny and breaks into the most bashful gummy little grin as soon as they walk into a room. he is still bald as an egg but NOT FOR LONG, as he wakes up every morning with more dark fuzz on his big round noggin. this month he learned to sit up and now he wants to be sitting up playing with his toys all the time (he is over the moon to have discovered a mother-approved alternative to accursed tummy time). he has developed strong preferences for certain toys along with the motor skills to select the objects he wants, and he is quite discerning—last week’s toys are so last week and he gets an impatient expression on his face if you try to entice him with formerly beloved objects that are just like sooooo over, mom, pleaseee don’t embarrass him in front of his friends (the dogs). speaking of the dogs it is his most cherished desire to pat them but they give him a wide berth except for the occasional facewash sneak attack. he spends a lot of time bouncing up and down in his seat reaching longingly for them while they ignore him completely. he has the chonkiest most solid little baby feet you have ever seen in your life and little fat bow legs that curve down to his chonky little feet and perfect fat little baby hands that he loves to slam repeatedly against his tray or his mat or your face. he has one little razor-sharp sliver of a front bottom tooth and I genuinely CANNOT handle it, it is just too much, he gives you his square little gummy smile and then you see the TOOTH and you’re like that’s it, I’m dead, this killed me. he had perfectly shaped little orecchiette ears when he was born and I am delighted to report that they remain absolutely perfect and when you nibble on them he acts like you’re tickling him and does his little turtle-in-a-shell teeheehee reaction. I would say that his basic temperament is the same but perhaps tends more towards a happiness default than the reserved watchfulness of previous months. he is still quite watchful—in all the daycare videos I get he is sitting with the big kids observing them play with a totally focused expression—but he is also delightfully silly and laughs a lot, especially at home. if he’s not hungry and has napped reasonably well, he is easygoing, adaptable, and game for pretty much whatever. he is such a good sleeper I can’t tell anyone in my offline life about it except liz whose baby is also a unicorn sleeper… but honestly I think that’s probably the root of his default good mood (if I slept 12 hours a night I’d also be the best possible version of myself). let’s see what else… idk this month has just been so fun. he’s just a little person now and I genuinely enjoy hanging out with him. I just think he rocks.

his favorite toy in this exact moment: his stacking cups, especially when you put a plastic ball inside of them for him to tip out onto the floor. his most beloved object: his squishmallow, of course, which sends him into transports of delight when he sees it. his favorite food: with the exception of arugula this child has never met a food he didn’t like. he LIVES to EAT. words his daycare teacher most frequently uses to describe him: “Owen is SOOOO hungry!!!” other favorite activities this month: kicking in the bath or in the pool, watching trees go by on car rides, slamming his hands as hard as he can against his high chair tray, watching the dogs wrestle, being swung slowly back and forth like the pendulum in a giant clock, gazing at his beautiful reflection in the mirror, kissing his beautiful reflection in the mirror, having mom make his squish swoop down from high above to CHOMP him, chewing on the edges of plastic bins, and scritch-scratching the rock wall outside of our house. he’s perfect. my beloved little kiddo.

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Why Twilight is better when we make it gay

a overly detailed, totally unecessary, post that wants to prove that Twilight is better when we make it 🏳️‍🌈 GAY 🏳️‍🌈

So, follow along 👇🏻

Esme with This Bella

Kinda of set up the vibes of Carine or something, so I'm all on board with this. You know, this Bella has some serious aspirations in life. She's getting her master's degree, maybe a doctorate even, in Philosophy, Greek Mythology, ancient history, literatute or something oddly specific that takes a full minute to even say it. You know, she's a nerd. Esme loves her for it.

Bella also loves to spend a ridiculous amount of time listening to Esme talk about anything, she also sits in the garden with a book when Esme is arms deep in the dirt, and they for sure spend their days off making food for homeless people or volunteering in shelters or knitting clothes and blankets for donation. Well, Esme does most of the knitting, but Bella has no problem holding the wool for her.

Rosalie with This Bella

Okay, so this Bella is still pretty shy and clumsy, but she has a backbone and knows what she wants. She’s also a flirt, even if a bit awkward because of her shyness. She also has a stack of dad jokes ready to be used and she’s not afraid of doing so. You can’t blame her, she’s just socially weird and she makes jokes when she’s uncomfortable. Which Rosalie gets. She doesn’t hate Bella for no reason at all, as we see in most Rosella’s fics, she’s just determined to keep a safe distance. It all goes to shit, obviously, when Bella starts showing up at her house to work on a school project with Edward.

Bella is a mess around Rosalie. A gay mess. She stumbles over her words and her face is constantly red, but she keeps smiling and she finds Rosalie’s sneers particularly funny. She breaks Rosalie’s walls by not doing anything else, really. She’s just there, and she talks with Rosalie, and she has no problem backing away when Rosalie needs a break.

When they get together, Bella’s favorite activity is to ride in Rosalie’s fancy cars. She’s still scared, but she loves it when Rosalie goes so fast that everything outside is a blur. Sometimes they will ride in complete silence, sometimes there’s song playing, sometimes they start telling stories to each other, sometimes Bella has a whole new stack of dad jokes to tell.

Bella also develops a taste for motorcycles, a passion she’s eager to engage with Jasper. So, every once in a while, Rosalie will be working in the garage under a car and she will hear Bella’s bike pulling outside. She just knows she’s supposed to go there, so she goes and finds Bella waiting for her with a helmet and a bright smile. Rosalie is smitten.

Bella also has a way to make Rosalie feel like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. She is aware of her beauty, always has and always will be, but she can’t help but feel special when Bella looks at her with those green eyes that kind of makes her forget that the world is fucked up. At least for a while.

They would go off to college together. Rosalie would be getting another engineering degree and Bella would get a bachelor's in Chemistry or Biology, maybe Psychology. She would whine and complain every day, though Rosalie is sure she’s only doing that to piss her off.

And Bella would have to learn to enjoy baseball because Rosalie just loves it.

Alice with This Bella

These two are the only ones I see working with Bella’s personality being the closest to canon. You know, happy little Alice with a slightly depressed Bella, who also has some low self-esteem problems. Bella is aware of her intelligence, though, and she also would impose some clear boundaries, like not sneaking into her room while she was sleeping and making her a part of discussions to make decisions and not just dropping shit at her for her to deal with. Alice has zero problems with her immortality, so she would have no problem turning Bella when the girl felt ready, although she asks Bella to be sure she had experienced everything she wanted as a human beforehand.

In this scenario, Alice doesn’t force Bella to be her personal human Barbie doll. Actually, she steals Bella’s hoodies very often, to the point where the girl has to have a search party in Alice’s gigantic closet one day. One of their favorite thing to do together would be to watch the stars and Alice finds it amusing to come up with fake information about space or fake names for constellations. It took Bella a very long time to notice this and, by the time she did, she had already spread some of it to her friends. They also go to the movies a lot and there’s a lot of dancing in the rain, even if Bella can’t barely keep herself standing.

Alice would be Charlie’s absolute favorite, of course. They would be pals, you know. Charlie would take her fishing one day - when Alice manages to convince him to go somewhere other than La Push - and he would teach her very patiently all he knew.

Tanya with This Bella

This Bella is grumpy. She has a lot of self-derogatory jokes to make, she’s sarcastic and she likes using it as a weapon. Tanya finds it not so amusing, quite concerning actually, but then Bella will flash her with one of her side smiles that makes her knees go ridiculously weak and Tanya will forget what she should be worried about.

Bella moves slowly, very slowly, and her shoulders are a bit drooped as if she can’t hold herself straight. For Tanya, it takes a lot of patience because, even with how much time she had to adjust to humans, she’s not used to spending so much time around one. Especially one that takes so long to get down the stairs for no reason. Tanya is also the most romantic person alive, so Bella needs to be prepared to basically everything.

Tanya is sugar mommy. Bella tries to fight it, but there’s no point. Tanya is always giving her presents, booking tickets, taking her to weekend getaways, and making every single desire come to life. It takes Bella out of balance in the beginning. She doesn’t know how to deal with it, to the point where she asks Irina to help her talk with Tanya to slow down a bit. It helps… until Bella shows a slight interest in something new and things skyrocket again.

They met in college. Tanya is a teacher - not her teacher because that would be too much - and Bella is getting her degree in History or Sociology. Bella can skate, so it’s not uncommon for Tanya’s students to leave her classroom and find Bella leaning against the wall holding her skate under her arm while waiting for her to go get lunch.

Once she turns, Bella goes around feeling very proud of her coven leader wife, but she wants nothing to do with it. She would hate the responsibility of it.

Kate with This Bella

Have you ever heard of a chaotic duo? They’re it.

Bella is all about adventures and trying new things, and Kate is… well, she has zero respect for humans’ mortality, which almost becomes a problem once or twice. Tanya, Carmen and Eleazar had to remind her more than once that humans couldn’t jump from a plane with no parachute, even if Kate was supposed to grab her before hitting the ground. It’s not like she doesn’t care if Bella gets hurt, because she does! Her eyes fill with tears that will never drop every time she sees even a scratch on Bella’s skin - which happens quite a lot - but she hasn’t been human for a long time and it’s easy to forget a few things when she gets excited about something.

They would do everything together and Kate would teach her to do anything she knew, like surf or change a house’s electric system. Eventually, after Bella is turned and good to go, they would totally have one of those handyman services where they would go around town helping people with the most mundane of things like installing a shower, changing the plumbing, changing tires, all of that. They would have fun doing those things and then running as fast as they could to jump off a cliff at the end of the day.

[cursedonyx]

HL Cast in a Muggle Nursing Home

Time has passed, as it does so well, and our sweethearts have all ended up in the same nursing home in the late 1900s/early 2000s for the sake of convenience. Why a muggle nursing home? Why not?

Sebastian Sallow

Still a troublemaker through and through. Sebastian’s charm has only increased with age, and it only takes a wink and a smile before whatever tomfoolery he got into is forgiven. He has no concept of curfew (has he ever?) and will regularly wander off either alone or with Ominis to see if they can get into mischief or visit the local library (or pub). He will absolutely use his advanced age to excuse whatever nonsense he gets up to, but he’s still sharp as a tack and perfectly lucid. He really enjoys quieter moments as well, settling in his favourite chair with a good book, though the muggle TV holds a lot of fascination for him. He loves watching The Bill, and he once stole a muggle policeman’s hat, though his absolute favourite thing to watch is cartoons, particularly Tom and Jerry.

He doesn’t have family to visit him, he never had children, but he’s more than okay with that. He’s got his friends and his partner, and that’s all that matters to him.

Ominis Gaunt

Extremely proud, he refuses even the slightest help, and gets very angry if the staff don’t respect this. He would quite literally rather die than have someone help him shower or feed him, and he has on occasion used the Confundus charm on staff that won’t leave him alone. Aside from this, he is unendingly polite to the staff and generally keeps out of trouble, unless he feels things have gotten too quiet. Then, it’s a whisper in Sebastian’s ear, and the pair of them cause no end of bother, reliving their school days with abject glee. His favourite muggle invention over the last century is absolutely personal audio players, and he’s got a little mp3 player stuffed full of audiobooks and dramas. Make sure he’s got plenty of tea and a good stack of sandwiches, pop him in a patch of sunlight, and he’ll happily stay there all day, listening to his books.

Similarly to Sebastian, Ominis never had children, but he’s content with this decision. Considering what happened with Voldemort, he’s even more convinced that he did the right thing by not breeding. He and his wife are perfectly happy together as they are. Besides, the other's grandchildren/great-grandchildren get on his nerves, and he'll hide away if they visit.

Garreth Weasley

Loves a spongebath, our Garreth. He’s definitely the type to pretend he’s more helpless than he actually is just so he can flirt with the staff. He has absolutely dropped something on purpose and asked for someone to pick it up for him just so he can smirk at the view as they bend over. He’s energetic for his age and has visitors from his family at least twice or thrice a week, who always try and convince him to come and live with one of them instead. The main reason he’s here instead of at home is so he can keep Leander company. Garreth’s not able to experiment with potions so much in a muggle nursing home, so he’s swapped his passion for potions into culinary experiments. He’s a surprisingly talented chef, and when he’s allowed in the kitchen, everyone enjoys a magnificent meal. He keeps up a friendly rivalry with Sebastian and Ominis (house pride and all that), but over the decades they’ve all become extremely good friends.

Leander Prewett

Leander’s grown in confidence over the years into quite a suave person. Of course, it's not a patch on Ominis’ charm but he’s no longer interested in imitating people to try and seem impressive – he’s just happy with who he is. He’s developed a bit of an eccentric fashion sense and his wardrobe is huge. Poppy can often be found raiding his closets looking for something he doesn’t wear anymore so she can make outfits for her pets. He’s still reserved in some ways, and his favourite thing to do is potter about in the garden (usually wearing his favourite feather boa and some 1991 novelty glasses that he picked up somewhere). He does sneakily grow some magical plants among the usual muggle ones, and it always makes him chuckle when the staff think they’re hallucinating the big bush by the window moving by itself. If the weather’s not right for gardening, he’s tinkering with muggle items, and Garreth’s great-grandson, Arthur, is more than happy to show him a thing or two.

Natsai Onai

Natty is the kind of granny everyone loves to sit by as she tells the most fantastical stories. She’s filled out quite a lot over the years, and she gives the warmest hugs. Natty’s more often than not surrounded by all the grandchildren of all the residents that have them, including her own, who call her ‘Nana Nats,’ much to her delight. She’s a published author, writing about her adventures at Hogwarts and as an Auror as though they were fantasy detective stories. Though she’s quite well off because of this, she stays here with her friends and uses her money to always make sure there are sweets for the grandchildren and presents for her friends and the staff. In quieter moments, she’s either cozied up with Amit or taking tea with the girls, gossiping and pouring over muggle magazines about knitting and crochet. She adores making jumpers for everyone for Christmas.

Poppy Sweeting

Poppy is just as obsessed with animals as she has been all her life, and she’s constantly rescuing birds that fell out of their nests, squirrels with injured paws, hedgehogs that need a good clean, not to mention the veritable army of stray cats that know they’ll get fed if they come to this particular nursing home. The staff have long given up trying to stop this, and Poppy’s bedroom looks kind of like what would happen if Snow White sang for three hours straight. She frequently frightens the life out of the staff when they find her halfway up a tree in her slippers and poncho, trying to see baby birds in their nests.

When she’s not hoarding every wild animal under the sun, Poppy can most often be found trying to use the internet to learn more about animals, or watching nature documentaries by Sir David Attenborough (something she and Ominis share a fondness for). She enjoys helping Garreth in the kitchen when he’s allowed, especially if he’s baking, but that’s mainly so she can lick the bowl.

She leaves cat hair everywhere.

Amit Thakkar

Amit is a kindly old grandpa who knows more about space and the cosmos than perhaps anyone else alive, and he’s written several books on the subject that are popular in both wizarding and muggle communities, though he is best known as one of the country’s leading Magical Historians. He delights in sharing this knowledge with anyone who will listen, and he’s usually got a pocketful of Indian sweeties to share with anyone who endures his lectures for longer than ten minutes. He likes to keep active and loves going out for walks with Natty when they’re both feeling up to it before enjoying a hot chocolate and retiring for a nap.

Imelda Reyes

Imelda achieved her dream of becoming an International Quidditch Star, and even now, seventy years later, she will not shut up about it. Her trophies are proudly displayed in her room along with banners and posters that she’s had to charm to stop the muggle staff noticing anything weird, and if asked, she poutingly tells them she used to be a Rugby star, which is also true. Imelda played Rugby in between playing quidditch, and she was very, very good at it. She adores the sport and watches it religiously on the muggle TV, deriding football as a ‘game for ninnies.’ Any Rugby matches happening nearby, no matter who’s playing, she’s going to nab herself some tickets and go. Poppy frequently tags along to these, and these two little old ladies cause no end of mayhem once there. They’ve even been on the news a few times by accident.

Masterlist

[avocado-writing]

Hi! I love your Good Omens fics<33 *sends you little cut out paper hearts*

May I request an Aziraphale and nonbinary reader? where Azi fell in love with them and always becomes a cute, blushed babbling mass around them?

(I just want fluff after that season ending:’) )

notes: thank you for the love & the paper hearts *hangs them on my wall* I paired you up together hope that’s ok !

words: 1.4k

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: T

tags: mild claustrophobia; mutual pining

Aziraphale is in love, and Crowley is annoyed.

Not that he’s annoyed about the love, per se, they’re immortal beings after all - occasionally they end up developing feelings for humans. It’s not unheard of. Aziraphale has had his share of infatuations, but the problem is he very rarely acts on them. Just makes puppy eyes at someone for fifty years, and then they die.

So when Crowley sees how Aziraphale is around you, he knows the angel is going through the same steps again.

There you are, every week, doing your delivery. Looking “rather smart” in your postie’s uniform, as Aziraphale once remarked. Arms full of parcels and a smile plastered on your face. You clearly like him back, it’s obvious, but neither of you will bloody talk to each other about it.

Aziraphale becomes a bit pathetic around you. Crowley would tease him for it, if he didn’t know he was already agonising over every interaction after you’ve gone anyway.

“Good morning, Mr Fell!”

You call out as you gently nudge the door open with your boot. You’re holding a stack of parcels using your chin as a wedge to keep them in place, lest the pile topple over and litter the shop floor. Aziraphale gets out of his chair - where he’s been sitting for the past hour, waiting to hear the sound of your engine like a child might wait for the trill of an ice cream van - and skitters over to help.

“My dear, let me help you with those–”

“Oh, it’s alright! I’ve got strong arms. Just show me where you’d like it.” You pause, then quickly correct: “Them! I mean, like them.”

From the corner of the room, behind his gossip magazine, Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Just in the stockroom here, thank you.”

“Gosh, you are ordering a lot of books lately, Mr Fell.”

Crowley bites back the urge to comment that he’s doing it in order to see you. One week you were off sick and a different postie covered your route, and Aziraphale was miserable about it for days.

“Well, I am a bookseller!” - lies - “And please, my dear, I’ve asked you to call me Aziraphale.”

“Alright,” you say, shyly, but you never do.

The angel’s cheeks go a rosy colour as he signs for his packages, and Crowley can tell he’s desperately trying to think of a way to get you to stay for a bit longer. His normally erudite friend is reduced to blabbering awkwardness around you.

“Actually I was just boiling the kettle, would you like some?”

A beat, then Aziraphale looks mortified.

“Tea! Would you like some tea?”

“What is this, a bloody Carry On film?” Crowley mutters under his breath. You don’t seem to hear him, and if Aziraphale does he pointedly ignores the comment.

“Oh,” you say, looking perhaps a little disappointed at the correction, but recovering quickly, “I can probably spare ten minutes before I need to get going. I’d love a cup, please.”

Crowley watches the two of you engage in idle, unimportant chatter, and the way you stare at the other when you think they aren’t looking, the brush of fingers as mugs are passed, the affectionate smiles. It’s maudlin. It’s saccharine. 

Aziraphale manages to stumble his way through ten minutes of conversation with you despite his nervousness, and it makes Crowley nauseous. When you finally have to say goodbye the angel looks like a kicked puppy, and he follows you to the bloody door to see you off, and then starts making a list of what else he can order to make sure you’re back next week.

It’s been this way for months, this repeated pattern of dancing around each other. And it’s getting dull. 

Crowley snaps his magazine shut. If neither of you will make the first move, he will.

📕

“Where would you like them today, Mr Fell?”

“Same as always, my dear. Stockroom!” 

He holds the door open for you and you haul the ridiculous pile in with surprising strength. Crowley waits until you’re both fully inside, Aziraphale showing you where the delivery needs to go, and quite suddenly a gust of wind slams the door shut behind you both (and somehow manages to lock it).

You yelp, dropping the parcels all over the floor.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry Mr Fell, let me–”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, it made me jump too! Here, I’ll help…”

The two of you get to your knees, gathering up parcels and stacking them neatly on one of the tables. The room is not large, a couple of metres left in space maybe, every other inch being taken up by books; so when you both stand up you’re rather close.

Aziraphale looks into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. You want to say something, anything, but instead you chicken out and reach for the door handle.

It’s stuck.

“Oh, erm,” you say, rattling it harder. Aziraphale frowns.

“Let me have a go, hang on.”

But the outcome is the same. The door is locked. Aziraphale knows it didn’t lock on its own, but he can’t really miracle it open while you’re right there. Instead he knocks hard on the door.

“Erm, Crowley, are you out there?”

“Oh dear, Aziraphale, is something the matter?” comes the reply from the bookshop.

“Yes,” the angel answers through gritted teeth, “by some terrible luck the door has gotten stuck. Can you be a dear and find the key for me? Should be in the desk drawer.”

“Alright, I’m having a look for it now,” says Crowley, as he walks over the road to go and get a coffee.

Aziraphale turns back to you, ready to assure you that you’ll be freed soon, only to find you looking very peculiar.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m, erm, not great when I’m trapped in small spaces,” you tell him, eyes darting wildly, looking for a way out and coming up empty.

Aziraphale swallows. You do look quite worried. Crowley had better be quick. (Crowley is currently ordering a large americano and taking a seat in the corner of the coffee shop).

“Can I help?”

“Can I–” you wince a little, “gosh, this is so unprofessional, can I please ask you to hold me? Having someone rub my back calms me down. You don’t have to, of course, just–”

You don’t need to ask twice. Aziraphale steps forward and takes you into his arms. You fit perfectly, and feel just like he always imagined you would: soft but sturdy, the most wonderful shape against him. His hand is unsure at first, running up and down your back lightly, but when he feels you relax into him he renews the gesture with gusto.

“Thank you. Sorry, I feel very silly.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sure Crowley will get us out of here lickety-split.”

“Mr Fell?”

“Aziraphale, please.”

“Aziraphale…” it’s the first time you’ve actually used his name, and he’s pleased as punch to hear it fall from your lips, “may I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Do you actually sell the books you buy, or just order them to see me?”

There’s a beat, and Aziraphale freezes.

“It's just because whenever I drop off new packages I always notice you never unpack the old ones, so I thought…”

“Erm.”

“It’s alright if you do. To tell you a secret, I always rush my route so that I can spare the time to have a cup of tea with you. It’s my favourite part of the week.”

“Oh. It’s mine too.”

And suddenly he’s not comforting you, he’s embracing you, and you’re returning the gesture. You readjust your position so you can look up into his face, and he finds you have the softest eyes.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out for dinner?”

You light up.

“I’d love that. Are you free tonight?”

“Call it seven?”

“Sounds… perfect.”

When you reach to kiss him, he finds your lips are soft too. So he kisses you again. And again.

📕

Crowley comes back forty minutes later with a little pastry in a bag for Aziraphale, to say sorry for locking him in. A wave of his hand at the door means he doesn’t even need to bother with finding the key, and he throws it open, hoping to find you finally properly talking.

Well, turns out your mouths are a bit busy for that.

Snogging. Snogging is what’s happening. Your hand is buried in Aziraphale’s curls, tongue firmly pressing against his. Aziraphale has a hand full of your arsecheek and has lifted you a bit so that you can wrap your leg around his calf, letting you caress him a bit with your foot. His waistcoat is undone, your shirt is untucked from your shorts. Both of you are a bit of a mess.

Crowley opens his mouth to speak, can’t find the heart to interrupt, and gently closes the door again.

-

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