#announcement board — psa

[batwynn]

Ok not to be bitchy or anything, but some of y’all are willingly, knowingly sharing clearly labeled, or very obvious AI ‘art’. Some still doing it after months of people messaging you to kindly let you know, and you claiming that you cared and would undo the post. So, this is basically your final heads up that I’m unfollowing and blocking some of you. Some that I’ve been mutuals with for over ten years, which really hurts, but I’m just not letting it slide anymore.

You don’t get to willingly participate in art theft, the damaging of our industry and jobs, and still have all the artist friends.

And it’s fine if some artists are cool with this, I’m not judging them and they get to set their boundaries however they like. But I personally can’t stand it anymore, and I’ve been letting it go for too long out of a past love and respect for my mutuals. So, take this as a final goodbye. It was nice knowing you, but it doesn’t feel like the respect and love is so mutual anymore.

[scarletbellatrix]

i just wanna say that there might be periods of days, weeks, months or years of not writing together, but my interest on ships will never fade. we can always pick up where we left off. the thread may die, but there's always the option of starting anew. having periods of not being musey, not wanting to write, no matter the reason, is understandable. it happens to everyone. plus, the friendship we built over these ship(s) have no expiration date. i am your friend outside rp.

[regularshcw]

tag dump - ooc stuff

🗑️ ooc // trash boat 🗑️ self promo // come to the park 🗑️ promo // flyers on the board 🗑️ starter call // meeting in 10 🗑️ psa // morning announcements 🗑️ memes // quit slacking off and get back to work 🗑️ dash commentary // watching the news 🗑️ answered // dude check out what came for you in the mail 🗑️ open // not settin' up the chairs next time 🗑️ writing // hamboning will save your life one day 🗑️ wishlist // look at it ; you look at it 🗑️ v ; season 1&2 // don't look at our crotches while we synchronize our watches 🗑️ v ; season 3 // we're going to the championship baby 🗑️ v ; season 4 // you're just mad we didn't quit and now you can't fire us 🗑️ v ; season 5 // but you're gonna have to clean this room if you wanna keep living here 🗑️ v ; season 6 // i blew twelve grand on you today 🗑️ v ; season 7&8 // one of you is gonna write a letter of resignation by 5 o'clock 🗑️ v ; season 9 // all we have to do is to make it one day at a time 🗑️ v ; villain // be prepared for the chance of a lifetime 🗑️ v ; among us // i'm going through vents on a killing spree 🗑️ v ; danganronpa // hope nurtures the seed of despair 🗑️ v ; danganronpa ; mastermind em&benson // pestering with jesters is way underneath my paygrade 🗑️ v ; benson in wonderland // then today is my unbirthday too 🗑️ v ; blood is thicker than water // for you ; there's nothing in this world i wouldn't do 🗑️ v ; csi: crime scene investigation // i woke up in a Soho doorway ; a policeman knew my name 🗑️ v ; just like your father // icarus is flying towards an early grave 🗑️ v ; getting away with murder // it is impossible to never tell the truth 🗑️ v ; guardian angel // pullin' my strings 'til the melody sings and the honesty makes me spread my wings 🗑️ v ; high school never ends // nothing changes but the faces ; the names and the trends 🗑️ v ; momma's boy // our epitaph reads 'mommy knows best' 🗑️ v ; son of death // and i don't need no dog tag ; my name is on my back 🗑️ v ; misery loves company // you wait and see ; you devil undercover 🗑️ v ; tiny tots // adorable hijinks 🗑️ v ; venom // square in the face ; this fuckin' world better prepare to get laced 🗑️ v ; battle crashers // be sure to collect those shiny colorful shards 🗑️ v ; crossover // across the portal into another world

[texscan]

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine joining the Doctor on a trip in the most reckless way...

"The Sapphire Waterfall?" You repeated, slowing your walk towards Donna. "Did he say Sapphire Waterfall?"

"Yeah, why?" Donna wondered, taking a sip of her drink. You halted and gasped in excitement. Starting to trek backwards, you pointed at Donna.

"Call him back and tell him to wait!" You instructed, leaving your friend confused as you bolted in the opposite direction. Running through the hotel, you zoomed past people and aliens until you reached the train bay.

You realised that you didn't ask Donna which dock the Doctor was standing at and felt your heart sink knowing that you were going to miss an incredible sight.

The shuttle to Sapphire Waterfall is now boarding to close on Dock 6.

The overhead voice announced and you counted your lucky stars for this information. Looking above, your saw the red sign for Dock 6 less than a metre away. Sprinting forward, you recognised the Doctor's brown coat flying with the wind just outside the door to a shuttle that was slowly leaving.

He was looking forward, in the direction that the ship was going before disappearing back inside - the door luckily still open. You considered calling for him but it be a waste of energy. You ran along the edge of the platform, building up speed and lined yourself up with the doors. The platform was coming to an end so you took in a deep breath before taking a leap of faith and jumped off - headed straight for the door.

Mistake. This whole thing was a mistake.

You cursed yourself for doing something so stupid and knew that this was only going to end one way: you were going to hit the side of the shuttle and fall to your death. Just as your made peace with fate, a hand fastened itself around your wrist and pulled you into the ship. You propelled forward and smacked into a chest with a familiar scent as the shuttle door sealed shut.

"Hello there." Ten whispered mysteriously keeping his hands on you to maintain balance. "Couldn't resist some alone time with me?"

You laughed at the sound of his voice and looked up at his charming face complete with big brown eyes. You snaked your hands around his shoulders and leaned forward for a kiss until the Air Hostess appeared into view and knocked on the wall gently.

"May I advise you that all passengers are required to take their seats before we leave the facility." She informed.

The Doctor cleared his throat and nodded, giving the hostess her cue to leave. You pulled on Ten's tie gently and smiled.

"We should get going."

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: 60th Anniversary here we come! PSA - unless the Doctor is going to catch you, pls don't jump off alien platforms x

[featherandferns]

guilty as sin : where are they now?

jj maybank x routledge!fem!reader

word count: 700

read guilty as sin (part 1) | Thank you so so much for 1000 followers!!! Since starting this blog in May of 2023, I have written so many characters and storylines. I get so many lovely anon messages telling me about their favourite universes and wondering what happens next after my fics have ended. So, I thought to celebrate 1000 followers, I’d indulge. Here’s the (current) where are they now for all of my fics so far…

Raleigh airport was rather slow paced compared to Denver. People moved with minimal urgency and staff didn’t feel the need to yell at half-asleep passengers at three in the morning at TSA. It didn’t feel all that long ago that you were here last, but as a person, you feel years older. Your eyes stay steady on JJ, who’s wandered up to a departures board and is studying it intently. He turns around, half-smiles, and walks back over to you, hands in his pockets. 

“A’right,” he says once he’s near. “Says Gate B21. They ain’t boarding yet but…”

“I should probably go through soon,” you mumble, finishing his sentence for him. You purse your lips and look at the TSA queue. It’s not very long. Sensing your hesitance, JJ runs a hand down your arm, guiding your attention back to him. There’s a queasy smile on his face. It’s reassuring but also somewhat reluctant. 

“I’ll see you soon,” JJ says, “just two weeks.”

“In hell,” you mutter. 

Chuckling shortly, JJ shrugs. “Yeah, well, two weeks for a life in Kildare. A deal’s a deal.”

“True,” you sigh. “Just kinda wish you could come with.”

“Same.”

The PSA announcement for a different flight serves well as a prompt to go through TSA. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. Besides, JJ was right: only two weeks. You had your bag full of ever growing art supplies, including the paints from JJ, to keep distracted. Your mom had “requested” you return to Colorado at least three times a year, one of which being for one of the holidays. It was finally time to hold up your end of the deal. 

“Well, guess I’ll see you later,” you say, smiling up at him. 

JJ dips his head and plants a kiss to your lips. It’s short and fleeting, but stings just as much knowing that you won’t feel it for two weeks. It’s a tough pill to swallow after being attached at the hip for the past three months. 

“See you around, Little Routledge,” JJ tries to joke.

He picks up your carry on and hands it to you, and you begin to walk towards the TSA line. You turn one last time to give him a wave and JJ waves back, smiling that same smile from before. Two weeks, you tell yourself. Two weeks of your mother’s prying questions and her boyfriend’s abusive arrogance. Your friends from Colorado made you somewhat excited to return. They’d been making plans since you said you were coming back to visit, including a three-day stay at a campsite by the lakes, which already granted you some escape. Besides, you knew this time that you were coming back to Kildare. More importantly, you knew you were coming back to JJ. With that final reminder, you pass through security and venture to your gate. As promised, you drop JJ a text when you board and another just before you take off, switching to aeroplane mode. 

About an hour into your flight, you decide to dig through your backpack to retrieve your smallest palette of paints. The pocket sized sketchbook you pull out serves almost as a journal for Kildare, keeping track of the houses, the stores, the beaches and the marshes. Littered amongst the scenery are sketches and paintings of your friends and, of course, JJ. There’s a couple of pages littered with JJ’s doodles too. Cartoonish things, one of which is you circled in a love heart. It’s purposefully sappy and sweet, and it makes you smile every time you flip through that page. Just before the next blank page, something catches your eye. A short note that you didn’t write. You recognise the hand though. It’s JJ. 

Little Routledge

I’m not good at writing letters so I’ll keep it brief. I miss you and can’t wait for you to come back home. Stay safe in Colorado and call whenever you need. Happy Thanksgiving. 

Love JJ

You smile to yourself. It’s nothing that Shakespeare might envy but you know JJ isn’t the sort to write letters or leave love-notes. These few lines mean the world and more. You’re careful not to mark the page as you begin to sketch on the opposite side of the book. Today’s drawing? Of JJ, just moments before, as you recalled him in the airport, waving goodbye (for now). 

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

Hey, Im in love with the MM ‘the 1’ one shot. Broke my heart over it, please please could we have a part two, where they get back together and marry their ‘real one’ please x

< hi! i know this is way overdue and not completely what you asked for, but i sort of made a part 2, just with mason's side of the story - this love interest will eventually be the one he goes on to marry - his 'real one' x quick psa: decided to publish this one because of tonight's fwc heartbreak >

MASON MOUNT ONESHOT

to charm

SUMMARY: “Then again, who knows? Maybe you’ll fall over in the airport and some lucky person will help you off the floor—”

Where Mason falls over in the airport and 'some lucky person' helps him up...

WARNINGS: anxieties of plane accidents in bad weather; planes; READER HAS SHE/HER PRONOUNS; fluff; Mason being a self-labelled ‘cutie pie’; tripping in the airport (no, not y/n i’m not that cliche); swearing (a given tbh)

word count: 4.6k

GIF by mountmasns

Your eyes were watching the rain pound down from the grey sky with uncovered anticipation from your seat in the waiting area. The glass windows next to your seat gave you a clear view of the miserable weather, the dark clouds and the plane you were expected to board in half an hour, though a niggling voice in the back of your mind told you that if the weather carried on like it was, there was a high chance of it being delayed. 

Though, honestly, you would rather it be delayed than have to sit bravely in the seats of the plane, trying to ignore the fact that you were in a suspended container in the middle of the sky, your mind set on taunting you with images of, well…

And even though you knew you hadn’t packed accordingly to anticipate a potential delay, you’d secretly breathed a sigh of relief after the announcement came over the loudspeakers, that the flight to Greece had been delayed by four hours. The waiting room gave an audible groan, some people rolling their eyes, but it eased your anxiety significantly, knowing you wouldn’t have to board just yet.

Your friends had suffered longer waits, and there were several cafes and newsagents and shops littered around to satisfy your boredom for long enough, and you had no qualms about lugging around a small suitcase and backpack. 

You were one of the first ones out there. Having guessed there was a higher chance of a delay, you’d pre-zipped up your hoodie and put on your backpack and legged it out. There was a high chance that other flights had been cancelled too, and in which case, everyone would have flooded towards the bars and cafes. 

You’d made it down the steps and had just passed a bar on your right when - out of the corner of your eye - someone you recognised from your gate peeked into your eyeline, obviously having the same idea to camp out in a shop or restaurant or something. They were wearing black sport shorts and a grey hoodie, the hood pulled up to hide their features. He also wore sunglasses, RayBans.

You recognised him because you remembered thinking it was a strange choice to look so sketchy in an airport. 

He was walking hurriedly, a spring in his step, and you wouldn’t have paid him much attention but he’d been glued to his phone, his attention only deterring every few seconds to check his path wasn’t blocked by stragglers. He seemed eager to be on the move, as if he was in a rush to be somewhere or perhaps his flight had dented urgent plans. 

You were headed to the nearest W H Smiths, desperate to get to the good books before the surge of people whose flights had been delayed took all the good ones, and you found yourself unconsciously following the man. He’d gotten a good way in front of you, enough space between the both of you to ensure people could pass in the gap, but still close enough that you could see the back of him.

It wasn’t that you were searching for him specifically, but every time you looked up to catch the signs, he was in front of you, and with his rushing around it wasn’t very easy to not notice him.

There was a screech from behind you, and your heart stuttered, and you whipped around, eyes searching, only to find a child on sitting on the floor, looking up at their parents in the outskirts of a restaurant, the kid’s face red with emotion and defiance as hot tears streamed down their faces.

You turned back around, continuing to walk towards your destination, but almost immediately after doing so, you yelped, stumbling and trying not to step on the body sprawled on the floor, a suitcase chucked on the tiles and a phone a couple of feet away.

It was the Rushing Guy.

You tried to stop yourself from tripping over him by strengthening the grip on your suitcase to stabilise yourself.

It worked, but the body was still on the floor, groaning and slowly moving as though they were in pain.

You quickly parked your suitcase next to you and knelt down next to him, not wanting to startle him by touching him, and instead made a move to take his phone out of the way from wandering people and collect his suitcase, “Are you alright?” You asked, and upon hearing your voice, the man turned to you with surprise, his glasses skewed on his face as the arms hung from one eye, giving you a mighty view of his face.

There was a light washing of stubble decorating his chin and there was a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His cheeks had reddened, most likely in embarrassment of having been caught falling over, and his eyes were - for lack of better word - striking. He had the most gorgeous brown eyes you’d ever seen.

He nodded, gaze first flicking to the suitcase you’d pulled up next to him, and then immediately going to the phone you’d presented to him. He took it gratefully, his glance bouncing across the corridor in some sense of panic, and scrambled to place his sunglasses back on his face. 

“Thank you.” He murmured, and he tried to pull himself up, wincing slightly in pain as he did so.

You flashed him a reassuring smile, standing up with him.

There was something incredibly familiar about him, but your exhaustion from booking such an early flight clouded your judgement.

You scratched your nose awkwardly, noticing that nobody was actually looking at either of you, and you could sense when the familiar guy suddenly caught onto the same thing, because he loosened slightly, taking a glance back at his phone as if to check for cracks.

Within that time, you’d managed to grab your own suitcase, and were standing idly in the middle of the hallway when he turned to look at you once more, his mouth twisting into a small smile upon seeing the practised calmness echoed in your features.

It was clear he was on edge, and the last thing you wanted to do was escalate that. So you’d schooled your expression into one of reassurance. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, and you turned your attention back towards him, unable to hide your shock. His own smile was breathtaking - the only thing your mind could register was dimples.

“Yeah, yeah,” you swallowed nervously, feeling slightly caught out about the unexpected question. To save him some dignity and protect his ego a little, you answered, “I just banged my knee a little, but I’m fine.”

It was lovely of him to ask, and you couldn’t deny you were rather pleasantly surprised at his consideration.

“So, you’re not hurt?”

You shook your head, “Completely unharmed…Thank you for asking.” 

He shrugged, “Thank you for helping me up, I appreciate not many people would have done that.”

You nodded, the time spent talking to the mystifying man somewhat eating at your anxiety to get to the bookshop.

“It’s no problem, really…” you paused, feeling slightly guilty even though he was a stranger. But then — what if you actually knew the guy? If you did, you were sure he would have said something by now, so you figured you were in the clear. “But I should get going…”

His mouth parted, and you saw his eyebrows appearing from behind the sunglasses, “Shit, yeah, I’m sorry—”

“No, I should be—You’re on the flight to Greece that was just delayed, right?” Guilt consumed you upon seeing his somewhat hurt expression, and for some reason you felt compelled to ease the blunt blow. 

“Ye-Yeah, I am. You too?” He stuttered, and you resisted the urge to smile at his nervous antics as his cheeks bloomed with a faint blush.

“Yeah.” You gulped, feeling your eyebrows knit together, “Maybe I’ll see you later?” 

You knew you were rushing.

Gosh, why did you feel like you were betraying this man?

You’d never felt so vexed in a situation before.

“Maybe.” He replied, his brows disappearing as he reluctantly resigned to the realisation that you weren’t sticking around for long. 

“See you later.” You said, and he waved awkwardly, repeating the sentiment.

As soon as you were out of his line of sight you took up speed walking, carefully dodging through the gaps in the crowds until you were faced with the bookshelf in W H Smiths. 

You couldn’t help but feel excited. You’d packed books in your suitcase, but for some reason you’d forgone packing one in your backpack, and you’d initially just hoped that the flight would be short and your music would suffice, and that you’d get the chance to have a nap or two, but with the stressful four hours (at least) ahead of you, you knew there was no way you could possibly get through it without buying a book.

You settled for a Murikami one — The Elephant Vanishes. Not one you’d read before, but Murikami was a safe bet; his work was incredible and it never failed to plunge you into a completely different world.

You’d taken a seat on one of the spare rows not far from your own terminal, devoted to escaping from the airport, but every so often, your mind succumbed to flashes of Rushing Guy’s face — the flash of sorrow, or something akin to it.

It confused you, so to cope you’d set out a Three Step plan to distract yourself from your own mental anguish.

Buying the book was Step One of your mission to wait out the delay. Step Two was securing a table in a coffee shop. Step Three was to read at least another twenty pages. Step Four was optional, but it wouldn’t deter you from seeking out any opportunity to complete it anyway

Step Four was to talk to Rushing Guy. You needed to get the guilt out of your system, and a part of you secretly hoped that you’d just get to talk to him again. He was kind, and his eyes were nice. And the familiarity of his face was also an issue.

It was like recognising a song but not being able to place the singer or song title, and being completely honest, it jarred you.

You prided yourself on being good with names and faces, but for some reason his just came up as a blank.

That was how you found yourself in a cafe, the capacity almost full to the brim with people complaining about delayed flights and muttering about the predicted weather forecast, a cup of hot coffee and a plate of red velvet precariously balanced on a tray as you wandered aimlessly through the sea of people, attempting to pinpoint a free chair. You didn’t mind much if there wasn’t a free table, and you knew there was a higher chance of getting seating elsewhere, but you couldn’t walk out with plates, trays and mugs, so you were restricted to where you could dine.

And your exhaustion partly meant that you couldn’t be bothered exploring much more of the airport.

You’d wandered and weaved through the tables, somehow avoiding tripping over outstretched legs or pushed out chairs, until a table pushed and hidden away in a darker corner caught your eye.

As luck would have it, Rushing Guy was sitting by himself, phone on the table, his sunnies still on and hood still pulled over his head. His suitcase was next to him and his backpack was placed between his legs. 

There was a free chair opposite and because you didn’t know any better just assumed he’d left the chair free instead of placing his bag on it like any other Brit would have done, to leave it available to stragglers.

You pondered over wandering over, but Step Four (Optional) was blaring madly in your mind - way too loud for you to possibly ignore it.

So you took the opportunity.

Your suitcase trailed lamely behind you, and you were hyper aware of the squeaking of the wheels.

You had barely made it within a few feet of his table when he’d looked up, having noticed the presence heading towards him.

He offered a timid smile upon seeing you hesitantly approach, and guilt — fucking guilt — coursed through you again, a tidal wave of self-reproach so strong it almost knocked you off your feet.

For some odd reason, however, you felt that his hidden face grounded you a little, knocking you back into reality. Your feet remained firmly planted on the floor, and—

“Would it be okay if—”

“Oh, it’s no problem, please do.” You could have melted at the genuineness in his tone, but simply placed your tray on the table, flexing your wrist to rid of its aching, and lined up your own luggage in a suitable place, away from the danger zone of customers — the last thing you needed was someone tripping over your luggage in such a busy place.

“Thank you.” You replied, introducing yourself to him.

He looked as if he was about to take his glasses off, but you saw his head tilt in the direction of the crowd, and he remained stationary, nothing but a smile left for you to get a read on him, “Mason.”

You refrained from asking if you’d ever met before, something telling you to wait it out. 

“Do you mind me asking…if you’re going to Greece for business or pleasure?” You were hesitant, unable to read the expression on his face, and feeling slightly out of your own depth asking questions you’d usually keep to yourself, but he seemed genuinely glad to answer, a laidback smile on his face.

“Pleasure. I’m meeting a few friends out there for a quick holiday; they’re already there, I’ve just had to postpone it all for a couple of days, but…y’know. What about you - holiday or work?”

You breathed a laugh, somewhat intimidated by him as you looked at your hands fiddling in your lap, “Yeah, I’m off on holiday too, but my friends aren’t gonna be there for a couple of days. We’ve rented a small villa in Spartia. There’s a few empty rooms but – we’re all really looking forward to it honestly.”

“Yeah? How long have you had it booked?”

“About six months now. We had to pre-book everything to get the weeks off work and make sure everyone could make it on time and what have you. What about you? Are you staying anywhere nice or…?”

“A yacht, actually. One of my mates found one on this website, and apparently it’s pretty decent, I mean, I've been sent some pictures and it looks fantastic – Not far from Spartia, actually.”

You raised your eyebrows, unable to hide the impressed expression on your face, “A yacht? Fuck.”

“Yeah…I mean–” he stopped short, twisting his mouth up in consideration. “I can show you pictures, if you want?”

Truthfully, you’d never even stepped foot on a yacht before in your entire life, and the fact that Mason sounded so casually about such a matter made you think that perhaps it wasn’t exactly a new thing for him, so you jumped at the chance to see pictures. 

It had barely taken ten seconds before he was sliding his phone along the table, a sheepish expression adorning his face as you flicked through the pictures. It was gorgeous - they were simple images, no people obstructing the view, of clean rooms and epic views of the ocean. The thought of how Mason would possibly be able to find the boat did cross your mind, but upon careful consideration, it would have made sense if the boat was locked in a specific location. 

“Shit, that looks like heaven.” You flicked through his pictures, your mind being blown by every single image you saw. He seemed to live the dream life you'd always aspired to achieve, and it fascinated you. Then, your mind guiltily flicked to the earlier events, and you couldn't help addressing it as you slid his phone back to him, “I wanted to say I’m really sorry for earlier. For ditching you like that–”

“You had no obligation, please don’t feel like you were–”

“Obligated wouldn't have been the word to use, but I – It was rude of me to rush off after you’d been so polite to me. And I just wanted to apologise for that.”

He softened, flashing a small smile, lifting his sunglasses off his face allowing you to see his real expression, “You really don’t have to apologise, you did nothing wrong, but I hope that wasn’t the only reason you sat over here.”

His comment was shockingly flirty, and you froze, mid-spoon of red velvet. You couldn’t help the smile that took over your features, and you felt your cheeks redden as you pulled a knee up onto your chair - desperate for something to do to distract yourself, “No, I only sat with you because there’s no other seats available.”

He blanched, his eyes automatically going to scan the crowd, as though he’d only just remembered their presence. He sobered up slightly, shifting uncomfortably in his chair despite no one in particular paying much attention. You thought it was because of your comment, but you could see there was something else residing behind his eyes - perhaps a trace of paranoia. You saw his hands go to rest on his thighs - a nervous tick?

“Are you okay?” You asked, not for the second time in the last half an hour. There was a faint desire to place your hand over his, to prevent his knees from bouncing up and down, but you swallowed the urge - deciding it would have most definitely been weird to do such a thing.

He turned back to you as you took a small bite of your cake, “Airports stress me out. That’s all.”

You nodded, “Any particular reason?”

He shrugged, placing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, “Just a lot of people, and I guess the time restraints are kind of pressuring.”

You understood it - admittedly not in the way he intended to get his point across, but you understood where he was coming from. You got the people thing and the stress the time limits and deadlines to reach certain parts of the airport in order to not be late for a flight could cause. It was quite a lot of money riding on the simple act of you reaching the correct terminal at the right time, and an incredibly expensive mistake if you didn’t. But there was something else - almost a double meaning - behind his words that had you thinking deeper into his true intentions. It seemed as though he was talking about the people and time aspect from a different light, and your mind almost instantaneously seemed to cast you back to the hood and sunglasses. They were methods of hiding someone’s identity, and to add to the fact that his face was oddly familiar - like an unreachable itch. It was frustrating and it toyed with you endlessly.

Then, in the pictures he’d shown you: the contact that had sent him the photos of the yacht was Deccers.

Deccers and Mason.

Fuck.

That moment of realisation only came a little late. 

You knew where you recognised him, and you cursed yourself for not putting it together sooner - it wasn’t as though you’d been watching the England men in the Euro’s only a couple of days ago, and you were sure Mason had become somewhat of an internet sensation throughout the entire competition. Deccers could only be Declan Rice, too.

So when he said he’d booked a yacht with his friends, there was a voice in the back of your mind telling you that half the England squad would be unwinding there, and the notion of that thought sent a tidal wave of nausea through your entire being, because now you were all too aware of the fact that if Mason caught onto the fact that you knew who he was, he’d just assume the only reason you’d be willingly spending time with him was for bragging rights. 

It also made sense that he was so careful to hide his identity in the airport, and why he was so damn wary around people. You didn’t know if it was anger from the British public at England losing in the final, or just the sheer humane need and want for privacy on his end, but either way it made complete sense.

You schooled your expression into one of neutrality, forcing back the desire to tell him the truth — it was what he deserved, but a part of you wished to keep the easy dynamic between you, the dynamic that would ultimately be quashed with the addition of your new realisation.

God, how did you not immediately place him?

Saying you felt like a complete and utter idiot would have been the understatement of your entire life.

His face dropped slightly - his smile faltering and hand lowering to the table, “You’ve just clocked who I am, haven’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught out, and you pursed your lips, nodding, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he waved his hand, flashing a warm, reassuring smile, as though he’d already had a scripted response, “I was hoping it would have taken a little while longer to catch on, but…”

“Wow, you must think quite highly of yourself, just assuming that I’d eventually recognise you.” You arched a brow, fighting a smile as he stuttered slightly, a short, awkward laugh being expelled, but before he could defend himself, you jumped in, taking advantage of his hesitancy, “Is that also why you took your glasses off and pulled your hood down? So that I’d be less inclined to recognise you?”

By now, he’d placed his head in his hands against the coffee table in something like resignation of how quickly the conversation had taken a different turn, but at your last words he straightened back up, something mischievous glinting in his eye. It sent a thrill of excitement shooting down your spine, the anticipation of his next words leaving you hanging off your seat.

“Oh, I actually did that to charm you. I figured – you know? I think I should show my face, let you see what a cutie pie I actually am underneath the disguise.” He shrugged, lifting a hand up from the table in mock seriousness, and breathing a laugh.

“To charm me? Cutie pie?” You laughed in disbelief and excitement at his words, clapping a hand to your mouth, “You’re wearing some Avengers-level type shit disguise, and you expected to go unnoticed in the first place?”

This time he furrowed his brows, and from the way he placed a finger between the two of you, visibly puzzled, you could just tell that he was slightly offended by the comments.

“Excuse me, but the so-called ‘Avengers-level type shit disguise’ is actually pretty effective. And you’re telling me you weren’t dazzled by my adorable brown eyes and pretty smile?” He laced his fingers under his chin and rested his head upon his hands to look up at you through his lashes.

It would have been cringey if it wasn’t so fucking funny, because you could tell he’d mocked the action purposefully and completely ruined the effect of it.

“Okay, okay.” You held up your hands, “I’ll admit, your big brown eyes are adorable, and you do have a pretty smile, and yes, it caught me a bit by surprise, but…” you shrugged, “At the end of the day, you’re using sunglasses and then ditching them to charm people, which kind of goes against the whole ‘nobody can recognise me’ agenda.”

He shrugged, taking a quick sip of his coffee and leaning forward on his elbows over the middle of the table, “I don’t know, I’m kind of glad you did recognise me.”

You were silent, the shock of his words numbing your mind.

“And I only flirt with the kind, gorgeous girls, and so far you’re the first one.”

***

You were standing in the line about to board the plane when a finger tapped you from behind. You waited a moment, preparing yourself by smothering the smile that had made its way onto your face. You knew who it was behind you - you’d both walked back to the gate together after a somewhat surprisingly enlightening conversation in the cafe. Time had flown by - a cliche that used to have you cringing out of horror - and you hadn’t even gone to pick up your book. Not once.

When you turned around, you weren’t met with the sunglasses, but those goddamn eyes boring into yours with a heated intensity. You raised your brows, and from the way he smirked, you figured he did the whole stare thing on purpose, especially after what you’d admitted to him earlier - something that you bitterly regretted you’d ever done.

“What can I do for you?” You asked.

You were spending an awful lot of energy trying to stop yourself from smiling and blushing under his gaze, and it was starting to grate on your nerves. No other man had ever had this effect on you after a mere conversation, and you were beginning to rethink every single previous relationship you’d ever been in because of it.

“I was thinking…when do you finish up in that villa you’re staying in?”

You swallowed, trying not to get ahead of yourself.

“In ten days.” A slight pause as his mouth twisted, trying to work out the dates in his head, “The 24th.” You clarified.

He nodded, smiling nonchalantly as he nodded his head in thought before turning back to you, “Would you maybe want to spend a couple of days on the yacht when you’re done? Your friends are welcome, and everyone would have their own rooms because some of the guys would have left by then…”

You tried to quell the excitement that was bubbling in your chest at the invitation, and - trying to downplay it - you simply responded with, “I’d have to check with everyone else…but I’d love to.”

You saw him bite the inside of his cheek momentarily, then he held out his hand, “Please could I have your phone?” He asked carefully, anxiety seeping into his eyes. For some reason he was more nervous about this part than the actual invitation.

“Sure.” You handed him your unlocked phone, curious as to what his intention with it was, then you smiled upon seeing him navigate to the contacts app and add in his details. He shot himself a quick text, and you heard his own phone buzz from his pocket.

“Feel free to text me anytime.” He handed it back, his own timid smile creeping on his face, and he tugged his hood further over his head, pulling at the strings of his hoodie as though to hide himself from you, and you took the liberty of looking down at the message he’d sent himself.

“Cool.” You read out.

“Cool.” He repeated, voice somewhat muffled through the material of the hood.

You turn back around in the queue, releasing the giddy grin that had been locked down, and calmly place your phone back into your pocket, facing the customer service desk, readily handing them your ticket and boarding pass.

When you settled into your seat, you didn’t even question it when Mason took the one next to you, nor did you bring it up in conversation when your phone pinged with an Instagram notification.

masonmount has requested to follow you.

You figured you’d wait until you landed to accept that one.

[odysseywritings]

Fear

(tw: body horror, paranoia)

The creaking, aged house John Philips lived gave limited shelter in the pitch black nothingness outside the windows. The branches scratched the roof with piercing screeches. The wind slammed and drowned out everything. He had only radio, television, and books to calm his nerves.

He sat as the scant pale lighting drew his attention onto the book, unaware of what the appliances discussed. His ear heard a news story about the young man found dead in the woods nearby him. Mangled, twisted, with a head found in the drainage canal.

His heart weighed on him for the morbid news. But the radio went on. It talked about the trail of blood running past the flailing arms if trees. Into his remote area. The audio became specific. It told of the list of suspects. His name was one of them. John never knew the man, never was near that place, but he thought it was another man. The gusts quickened and slammed on his walls. Bang! BANG! His nerves were still intact, but a chill came down his spine.

The radio talked more about John, with his features told bit by bit, his manner described as antisocial. Voices were heard, John assumed, from the radio yelling for his death. His popularity was never high, but he was practically a nobody. The venom spewed was not taken lightly.

Wind roared and swirled above him, louder than thunder, and his power line died. No light. The radio was around, but the battery was dying. Alone in pure black with a sound of pure static. Only violent twisted voices coming through. The wind hitting his home. He gripped his chair in pure firmness. A bright light and sound blared. The television turned on. A PSA shot its explosive ear shattering noise. And another. And another! A thin line of high pitch followed that mimicked tinnitus. Static followed in that blue screen and white text.

This is an announcement for the following counties: Jackson, Harrison, Shawnee. Be on the lookout for a dangerous individual living among you. He will not go quietly and is not to be encountered alone. Law enforcement will set up designated checkpoints for supplies and ammunition. If you see John Philips, yell out, and do not tread lightly. If you are listening to this, Philips, stay where you are. Do not run.

The PSA ended, but the TV blared on and on. John struggled to turn off the alert system. No dials. No plugs. He had to break it with a chair. Then he heard something like a mob. It sounded human but distorted. Metallic and sharp. A mesh of sounds bleeding together in one pattern of razor yelling.

He froze. He didn't want to make a peep. He took what he could to board the windows and doors. The voices came closer. He could see fiery light from the pitch black. The silhouettes came into view. He saw teeth. Teeth on bodies with no eyes. All yelling, all gnawing, all spitting bile.

Their fingers clawed, a neck extending, a glassy eye staring forever at him. The rest clawed inside, breaking everything, bloodied from window shards. All John could say was a blood curdling shout, scratching his throat, "I'm not guilty! I'm not guilty!" in pure automatic fear in his eyes.

The night passed. All was calm the next day. People pleased and content in justice. A man killed, a man avenged. The news and police and crowd calling the case closed. Then as boredom kicks in again, they find another victim to make; another nobody no one will miss to pin it on.

[thdrama2]

Just a small note to everyone if your call out on someone is not because they're a pedophile groomer rapist harasser or something actually dangerous shut the fuck up. I don't care if they're your ex or they used similar colors literally shut up nobody cares. Save psas and call outs on important shit like scamming. I don't care if no inspo or no colorpicking is on your rules. Literally just block you do not need to make an announcement publicly shaming other artists for being inspired or having a similar idea too late. Bc it's mfs like yall that pin artists against eachother over the tiniest bullshit. Good fucking lord I'm sick of yall and these dumbass psas. Save it for important shit. If it's something that has miniscule issues like using the same color or them having a character similar to yours just block and move on. You do not need to tell the masses why you're blocking this person because of insert issue. You just look like a whiny bitch when you do that. Respectfully shut up and go to bed.

I agree that unimportant or inane PSAs have a habit of clogging up boards and drowning out threads with more important accusations.

It helps if you start blocking the artists who make unimportant ones.

[duckprintspress]

Fandom Lexicon: P and Q

Tomorrow’s a busy day, so here: have the next two Fandom Lexicon letters a day early!

View the entire Lexicon posted to date!

Spot a mistake or know of an entry we should add? Let us know!

Lexicon Entries Beginning with P: (read more)

P4P: Abbreviation for “pay for production.” A term for a campaign to make merchandise, a zine, or other fandom merch where the original creator(s) will not be making a profit – the amount they are charging is purely enough to cover the cost of producing the thing they are selling. Read more about p4p.

Pedo: Shortened form of “pedophile” or “pedophilia.” Especially among antis, accusing people of being pedos is common if they do not oppose the creation of fiction related to underage characters in sexual circumstances. This runs the risk of diluting the actual meaning of the word and the real danger that child abusers represent.

PF: Abbreviation for “Pillowfort.”

PFP: Abbreviation for “profile picture.” An image chosen by an individual that typically appears next to their posts/at the top of their profile on social media sites, chat platforms, and/or message boards. See also: avatar.

Pillowfort: A blogging/social media website created in response to Tumblr’s porn ban. Visit Pillowfort.

Pinned: Term used to refer to the pinned post on a blog, which – on platforms that including pinning functionality such as Tumblr – is a post that the blog’s owner has chosen to have always appear as the first post on their personal blog feed.

Playthrough: Playing a game from beginning to end.

Plinko Horse: See Horse Plinko.

Plot Bunny: A plot idea that pops into existence but hasn’t been given substantial form yet. Have a tendency to reproduce unchecked. Read more about plot bunnies.

PM: Abbreviation for “private message.” See DM.

Podfic: An audiobook of a fanwork, recorded and published for free by fannish voice talent. Read more about podfic.

Polyshipper: Someone who enjoys polyamorous ships. Not to be confused with multishipper.

Poor Little Meow Meow: An evil (or at best morally gray) character who is also deemed pathetic for one reason or another. Read more about the term “poor little meow meow.”

Prev: Shortened form of “previous.” Generally refers to the previous post or person who posted in a thread or reblog string. On Tumblr, it’s often used to reference the previous poster’s tags on a post without copying them over. Repeating use indicates muliple steps back, so “prev prev” would be the tags on the post before last.

PRICK: Abbreviation for “personal responsibility informed consensual kink.” A term used by the BDSM community, particularly those engaged in more dangerous sexual activities, to emphasize the importance of taking personal responsibility and being educated about the risks involved in that activity.

Pro-ana: Shortened form of “pro-anorexia.” Typically used in profile taglines to indicate the user has an eating disorder or encourages unhealthy eating in an effort to lose weight. Tends to focus on anorexia but is not restricted to it.

Pro-shipper: Original definition: Someone who believes in YKINMKATO and Ship and Let Ship; someone who is pro (supportive) of shipping. Essentially, someone who is anti-censorship. Historically, in fandom, this was considered the default position and didn’t need a specific name; it came to be called “pro” shipping specifically in contrast to “anti” shipping, as pro and anti are opposite positions. Recently, antis have propagated alternate definitions, for example insisting that the term “pro” is short for “problematic,” and that anyone who uses the term pro-shipper is by definition someone who ships “problematic” shipping such as incest, underage, noncon/dubcon, or other objectionable themes. As is the way of cyclical conflicts, as a result some people who ship “problematic” things have embraced this definition. See also: anti-anti. Read more about pro-shipping.

PSA: Abbreviation for “Public Service Announcement.”

Pspspspsps: Referring to the noise made when calling a cat. Used humorously to summon people who might be interested in the topic under discussion.

Purge: 1. A general term for when someone decides they no longer wish to share their works and so they delete everything they’ve made and/or delete their account. 2. Any time a platform either changes their terms of service to exclude previously allowed material (and then deletes that material) or when a platform decides to begin enforcing a previously non-enforced aspect of their terms of service (and therefore deletes material). The best-known example of this is the LJ event called Strikethrough. Read about some examples of purges.

Puriteen: Term coined to reflect the extreme Christian purity views that are most often espoused by young people new to fandom who have not yet unpacked their upbringing. Puriteens are most often anti-porn, anti-kink, anti-sex-work, and otherwise against discussion or “normalization” of sexual matters. A major example of puriteen rhetoric is “no kink at Pride” discourse. See also: anti. Read more about the term “puriteen.”

PWP: Abbreviation for “plot? what plot?” or “porn without plot.” A tag used to indicate a fanwork contains gratuitous smut/porn, often without any plot to structure it or explanation for how the characters ended up in the sexual situation. Read more about PWP.

Lexicon Entries Beginning with Q:

QRT: Abbreviation of “quote retweet.” A feature on Twitter that allows people to share another person’s post while adding content of their own. QRS (“quote reskeet”) is a variation that has arisen on Bluesky, where shared posts are called skeets instead of tweets.

Queerbaiting: An intentional marketing tactic in which the producers of a piece of media suggest, via advertisements, interviews, or other channels that a relationship or character may be queer in order to pull in queer consumers, when the producers do not intend to follow through on that promise. Read more about queerbaiting.

[therecordchanger62279]

In the summer of 1976, I was working as a DJ at a small station (the only station) in Sidney, Ohio. It was an MOR daytime AM station with antiquated equipment, and a sales staff of two. The news division was also just two people. The station manager was on site, and there was a receptionist. There were three regular DJ's, and occasionally the program director let a 14 year old kid who wanted to make a career in radio fill in for an hour or two when somebody had to be somewhere or was out sick.

I thought of all that this afternoon. I was doing my second workout of the day on the stationary bike, and listening to an all-Beatles solo playlist on my iPod. The Wings single Let 'Em In is what triggered this memory. That single, and its predecessor, Silly Love Songs, had come out within a couple of months of each other. They got a lot of play not only because they were hits, but because they clocked it at 5, and almost 6 minutes respectively. They were a godsend to a DJ working with old equipment because instead of the usual 2-3 minutes you had to make a dent in the workload between songs, you had 5-6 minutes to update the log, cue up the next record on the other turntable (IF it happened to be working that day), pull your commercials and PSA's, and stack them near the board, check the temperature on the thermometer outside the studio window (it really was "eyewitness weather"), tear the news sheets off the AP wire in the outer room, and maybe grab your next three or four records from the shelf. The record would end, you'd switch your mic back on, back announce the record, give the station ID, maybe the temperature, and start your next record. Oh, and don't forget to smile. The listener can always hear a smile. Good times.

[diversityequityinclusion-caucus]

About

Welcome to Science Visions! This is the new internet home for news from the Philosophy of Science Association Diversity Equity & Inclusion Caucus. Our editorial board is made up of volunteers at all different career and life stages. Our goal is to gather the best of the web on issues of interest to our readers, from research and teaching issues in philosophy of science and the experience of minorities in the academy to conference announcements, news briefs, and career advice.

Science Visions features:

News from the Caucus

Highlighted Philosophers of Science

Feature Articles and Interviews

What We Wish We'd Known

Our old internet home for the Philosophy of Science Association Women’s Caucus is here.

What we have shared on Tumblr is archived on the PSA website here.

[sdcuevas16]

Conceptualization: 'Becoming Filipino' Analog Horror

"Don’t be fooled by the facade. The ugly truth hides in plain sight."

My groupmates and I worked together eagerly on an engaging story design proposal. Sir Lloren challenged each of us with developing an original story concept. We merged our individual thoughts and creative visions as a team, weaving them into a seamless narrative that not only satisfied, but exceeded, the conventions established by our mentor.

Let's take a closer look at "Becoming Filipino," an analogue horror web series on the complexity of cultural identity, societal inequity, and the terrible reality that Filipinos experience. "Becoming Filipino" is a game-changing web series that employs analogue horror as a storytelling approach to create an unnerving, thought-provoking sensations. The series, which consists of three main episodes, immerses the audience in socio-cultural identity. We'll get into the project here, with an emphasis on my key contribution of selecting the website as the primary media.

The Discourse The story concentrates around a young Filipino adult navigating the procedure of registering for a government-issued identification card on the Philippine Credential System (PCS), a fictitious government website. However, a bug takes them to a subsite where they are confronted with three disturbing Public Service Announcement (PSA) films, each of which addresses a distinct aspect of being Filipino.

A. The Mediums

Website. The media used in "Becoming Filipino" is the essential innovation. It was my idea to use an interactive website, the PCS, as the series' major platform. The viewer actively interacts with the website, increasing immersion and participation. The prompts on the page get increasingly strange, adding to the disturbing experience.

Videos: The series features a trio of PSAs, each delving into a specific facet of Filipino identity: PSA 1: "Me and You" focuses on the scientific aspects, examining gender roles and social class. PSA 2: "Behind the Smile (is the Struggle)" highlights the struggles faced by the working class and the peasant sector. PSA 3: "Why are you Filipino?" challenges the viewer's identity and existence as a Filipino.

B. The Rationale

"Becoming Filipino" strives to raise social awareness and spark meaningful conversations about the difficulties that Filipinos face today. The series' horror components serve as metaphors for these difficulties, producing an unnerving and thought-provoking environment that appeals to older audiences. The horror style, while unconventional, has a unique allure that draws viewers into the narrative.

The Design A. Analog Horror

This online series thrives on analogue horror, a storytelling style that combines antiquated technology and found film. It is a genre that plays on key anxieties and nostalgia in order to emotionally connect viewers. This medium, aided by an interactive website, invites audience participation, increasing their emotional investment in the plot.

B. Story Board/Visuals

Conclusion "Becoming Filipino" is a monument to the power of creative digital storytelling, and one of the most important contributions I made was choosing an interactive website as the key medium. This decision has given the series more complexity and interest, making it a really immersive experience for viewers.

"Becoming Filipino" successfully addresses societal concerns, encourages conversation, and focuses light on the hardships encountered by the Filipino community via the prism of horror. This project demonstrates how creative storytelling can act as a catalyst for meaningful change and awareness.

[totaldisplay02]

Different Types Of Sign Boards You Can Get Customized With Total Display

Sign boards hold a lot of importance because it helps the person in getting to know about various things and directions. We are happy to announce ourselves as one of the leading Sign Board Manufacturers In Mumbai because we are engaged in making excellent quality sign boards with the help of the latest technology. We have years of experience and expertise with the help of which we always assure that everything is done according to the pre-defined guidelines. Today, in this blog, we are going to shed some light on different types of sign boards. 

Different Types Of Sign Boards 

Informational Signs: It includes directional signs, wayfinding signs, and informational panels. 

Regulatory Signs: These include traffic signs and safety signs and requirements in the workplace, construction sites, and public spaces. 

Warning Signs: It includes hazard signs, and caution signs at the sight. 

Prohibition Signs: It includes no entry signs, no smoking signs, and no parking signs. 

Mandatory Signs: It includes safety gear and handwashing signs. 

Facility Signs: It includes restroom signs, elevator signs, staircase signs, etc. 

Advertising Signs: These include large billboards, shopfront signs, etc. 

Educational Signs: These include educational panels in public spaces and interactive signs. 

Emergency Signs: It includes signs such as emergency exit, fire exit signs, and a lot more. 

Digital Signs: It includes electronic displays used for ads, news, and PSA, and also includes LED signs. 

If you or anyone you might know is looking for Glow Sign Board Manufacturers In Mumbai, then you don’t have to search for it any further, as we are the destination for you. Since the time of our inception, we have become the top choice of people who wish to get customized sign boards. So, what are you waiting for? Reach out to us, and we will deliver you the best signboards designed by experts.

Source: https://totaldisplay02.blogspot.com/2023/08/different-types-of-sign-boards.html

[capecodartist]

“Closed for the Day” is included in the #pastelsocietyofnh PSNH National juried Show, now through November 18, 2022 at the Discovery Center of Portsmouth. Thank you to all the volunteers and board members who made this show a success. Many thanks to Gail Sibley, Juror of Selection and Alain Picard, Judge of Awards for choosing my work to show and for the #cmps Central Mass Pastel Society Award and the CMPS for their generous sponsorship! PSNH PEOPLE’S CHOICE AWARDS 🗳 Your Mission, should you accept it, is to help pick PSNH People's Choice Winner! Please Vote by 11/15! ​ To cast your vote, click on the heart on the image in the gallery. You can only vote for your favorite painting once per internet IP address. If you click it a 2nd time, your vote will automatically be removed. https://www.pastelsocietynh.com/2022-its-pastel-virtual-exhibition Thank you everyone who casts a vote 🗳 🙏 #capecodartist #pastel #softpastel #uartpastelpaper #portsmouthnh #lilypads #psa #psnh #ppscc #cmps #iapspastel #pastelsocietyofnewhampshire #capecodartcenter ##creativeartcenterchatham #peopleschoiceaward Please check the entire show in link and vote your favorite piece by clicking on the image that you like; there is a heart that you can click to vote! We will announce the People's Choice winner on 11/16! https://www.pastelsocietynh.com/2022-its-pastel-virtual.. . Congratulations to all the winners and accepted artists! This in-person show is ongoing till 11/18 at the Portsmouth Discovery Center. (at Portsmouth Historical Society) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkGxvvyp18e/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[shsl1dioticcasanova]

Tw:SA mention

So today in class I looked at the board and I saw the word psa and I thought it meant personal SA and I thought wth at first…not it’s a competition between me and two of my friends to see how many words we can put into psa without it meaning public service announcement.