#ao3 chats

[sonicenvy]

An AO3 app? -- The next installment in my AO3 posting.

I'm going to preface this by telling you that I don't entirely understand the urge or need to have an app for everything, but then again, I am closer to 30 than 20, so maybe that's the difference. Moving on.

So I've seen a lot of people saying that they wish there was an AO3 app. Presumably these people read AO3 on their phones or tablets. The thing is, there is NO AO3 app. If you see an app in the App Store or the Play Store claiming to be an AO3 app, it is fake, and you should not download it.

Say it with me kids:

"ao3 does not have an app and will not have an app."

The thing is, there's a really good reason why it will never happen. If you've been on this site (tumblr) long enough you'll either remember or have heard about the great tumblr porn ban (aka the ban on "female presenting nipples"). Believe it or not there was time where the tumblr (official) policy on adult content was "go nuts, show nuts. whatever." <-- actual quote btw.

A big reason why the tumblr porn ban ever happened was because of the tumblr app, specifically, the tumblr app for iOS. Apple decided one day that they thought that the tumblr app contained too much "sensitive content" and they banned tumblr's app from the Apple App Store, until such time as tumblr took what they believed sufficient corrective action for this "issue." Apple also believed that tumblr's app was hosting CP, which they considered a violation of their TOS.

So, in response to Apple banning them from the app store (which did not effect current users of the tumblr app, only potential new tumblr users), tumblr rolled out the adult content ban, so that they could get re-instated on the App Store. Like many other new "features" and "updates" to this site, the roll out was clunky, badly done and deeply unpopular. It was easily one of the worst changes for this site, in no small part because of how clunky it was; lots of innocuous posts were incorrectly flagged, and many bloggers found their entire blogs flagged, with little recourse in the initial wake of the ban. Critically, this event saw a great many users on tumblr leave this platform for twitter. How this affected site culture is up to debate.

Why am I telling you this? Well, as I am sure you, as an AO3 user are well aware, AO3 hosts a great deal of "adult content," of many persuasions and forms. They are explicitly against censorship of any kind. The app store is NOT against all censorship. These are two conflicting values. Since AO3 (and by extension OTW) has no interest in purging content from their site on behest of a megacorp (which btw is also why they rely on donations only and don't serve advertisements), they have no interest in developing an app, given the potential for restrictions.

Besides, AO3's website is simple, clean, and mobile responsive. Why fix something that ain't broke??

But, wait, if you're the target audience I'm hoping to reach with this post, you still want an app for AO3 on your home screen!

Never fear, my app loving youngsters! There is a way for you to create an "app" icon on your iPad or iPhone's home screen for AO3 (or any other site you like really) Apologies Android users; I don't have an Android, so I can't show you something analogous to this on Android, and don't know if they have it. Ditto on Kindle Fire.

This tutorial will use both safari and Firefox*. I won't show you Chrome (derogatory) because I don't have it and don't use it.

*Side note, switching to Firefox today is a great thing that you can do for yourself. You can easily import all of your Chrome bookmarks if that's what worries you.

In Firefox:

Step 1. Visit AO3 in the Firefox browser.

Step 2. Tap the hamburger menu in the right hand side of the top ribbon to reveal the browser and page settings and options menu, and locate the "Share" option (highlighted in blue below):

Step 3. In the "share" menu popup, locate and tap the "Add to Home Screen" option (highlighted in blue below):

Step 4. Give your new "app" (secretly just a bookmark) a title. You can leave it as the default, but I suggest shortening it so that the entirety of it shows on your home screen. You can name it whatever you want.

In Safari:

Step 1. Visit AO3 in the Safari browser.

Step 2. Tap the share icon in the right hand side of the top ribbon and scroll down until you find the "Add to Home Screen" option (highlighted in green below). Tap this option.

Step 3. In the "add to home screen" pop up, type whatever name you want in the name field (highlighted in green below). You can leave it as the default, but I suggest that you change it to something shorter so it displays in full with the icon on the home screen.

Either way, you should end up with an icon on your home screen that looks like this:

This is not an "app" BUT it is an icon on your home screen. When you tap the icon, it takes you to the home page of AO3, in whatever browser you created the bookmark in. You can move it around however you'd like, just like a real app, and put it any folder you'd like.

So that's all I have for this chat.

See you again next time I get inspired to write an ao3 chat/tutorial post for newbies!

Final note, If any of my followers have Android devices or Kindle Fire devices and want to add a photo tutorial for this on those platforms to this post, please feel free to, since I don't have any devices with either of those OSes, and thus could not do that myself.

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,” he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[lady-hibiscus]

THERES UHC SHOOTER X READER YAOI NOW. AO3 NEVER CHANGE

[trashart00]

Ladynoir July 2024, Day 15: Soulmates

@ladynoirjuly

(something about them choosing to be each other’s soulmate with the stamps or whatever)

First | <- Previous | Next ->

My other soulmate-y Ladynoir July drawing

[m1d-45]

hourglass

summary: he's running very late for a very important date !

word count: ~1k

-> warnings: none :3

-> gn reader (you/yours) ++ takes place pre-fontaine !

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

lyney’s schedule was not one with wide margins. every minute was accounted for, dedicated to an explicit purpose. his shows (preparing, checking the stage, checking props, checking the stage again—sorry, lynette) took a large portion of his time, but there was also his family (checking on freminet, checking on lynette, checking on the rest of the House, checking on freminet again—are you sure you’re alright?) and missions from father (steal this, leave that, don’t be heard, don’t be seen).

honestly, he barely had time to breathe most days. and that was fine! he rarely knew what to do without some problem to fix or task to complete. it was an unfamiliar feeling, and so he often took on extra work whenever he could. as such, he’d developed a bit of a knack for all the odd jobs you could think of: flower arrangements, finding lost things, getting stains out of clothes, cooking, any and everything.

he’d never had a problem with this. his life was crowded, but straightforward. he knew the answer to every problem, and if he didn’t, he knew who did.

this was, of course, before you entered the picture. now, the tasks he sought out felt too heavy to carry. yes, he wanted to help his family, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was only so many times he could show up late before you’d stop trying to invite him places, and that was the last thing he wanted.

you weren’t fatui, but you didn’t mind that he was and father had given him clearance so long as he was “responsible with his loyalties,” which was entirely achievable! what showman couldn’t juggle?

…him, apparently. because between helping lynette find her tea (someone had moved it) and keeping the local wildlife safe from foltz, he’d lost track of time. he still wasn’t used to a block of free time in his schedule, automatically trying to fill it before he could remember that there was a reason for it. and now, he was rushing through the streets of fontaine, fixing his cape as he all but ran.

you were sat outside the cafe in the same chair as usual, and he slows to a regular pace as he approaches to gather what remained of his appearance. you were reading a book, and he felt both proud that you hadn’t forced yourself to sit there plainly and also ashamed of the fact that it was his fault. regardless, he cleared his throat and called your name, sitting across from you and meeting your smile with his own.

your book was a mystery novel, one he easily enough got you talking about with a bit of prompting. judging by the place your bookmark held, you were a good ways through it, likely just before the reveal. just from your summary, he could easily guess the culprit, but what was the point in ruining your fun?

“so, who do you think it is?”

there were few things lyney liked more than seeing the people he cared for happy and in their element. you got to share your theories and he could listen to your voice out of all the bustle in the city, ordering ile flottante to have an excuse to keep quiet. your own tea was growing cold, but he could always get you another. would picking up the tab make up for his tardiness? it probably shouldn’t.

around halfway through your defense of the butler—cleared by his alibi, but still deemed suspicious by the bartender—you stopped, looking somewhere over his shoulder. he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary..

your hand rose to tap at your face, just at the corner of your lip. “you’ve got icing on you, by the way.”

ah. well, wasn’t that the perfect topping to his evening?

he grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped across the offending cheek, but you shook your head. “no, the other one.”

at least you were smiling? that made his mistake worth it. he was usually a tidy eater—but he also usually didn’t order flottante, since it was usually too sweet for his liking. today, he’d decided to give it a try, and look where that had gotten him…

he told you as such, and you laughed. he liked hearing you laugh. laughter meant happiness, and happiness meant a job well done. maybe he should get it more often?

“are you doing this intentionally?”

he folded the napkin twice, eyes on you. “doing what intentionally?”

“you missed it twice.” oh, archons- “here, just sit still.”

he didn’t have much time to protest before you were taking your napkin in hand, carefully swiping it an inch or so to the side from where he’d guessed. like him, you folded the mess inside, but unlike him you actually had something on yours, a pale gold in the afternoon light. the whole interaction had lasted maybe a second or two, but it stuck in his head for far longer.

you put a lot of trust into him, more than he knew what to do with. people were not typically fond of the fatui, and even less fond of the magician who could snatch their wallets before they could blink (nevermind that he’d had to learn that skill to survive). it was strange that he could make the same mistake over and over and your faith that he would show never wavered.

not that he ever wanted to give you a reason to. he always kept his promises to those he loved.

[tea-time221]

yknow, those horns suit you

ive been gone for like 6 months forgive me gang 😍 i forgot posting art on social media was a thing

i hope this doesnt come across as those weird twink x buff fanarts, i just find it infuriating that WYLL (renowned monster hunter, travels frequently) has the same body shape as ASTARION (vampire spawn isolated in a crypt for 200 years thats also been starved frequently) in game

[rwby-confess]

Confession #315

[erinwantstowrite]

if i wrote a MLB or a Danny Phantom crossover with Batman i know i would own that shit so hard. the secret? cringe is dead. i'd treat them so serious and i will change someone's life

[ghostpebble]

i made this literally just for a reblog 💀

[cocopop-04]

Dick: *ordering the other batkids around* Steph: yes, mum Dick: *splutters* why am i the mum? Jason: Dickface, have you seen your motherhenning? Steph: Plus, Babs has to be the dad Dick: But I'm dating Wally! Tim: You and Babs are divorced. Wally's the fun step-dad. Dick: *sighs* Well, fine. What about B? *all fall silent* Steph: He's the weird, edgy uncle

From chapter 5 of my fic World Without Grown-Ups on ao3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46697407/chapters/117609160

[daryfromthefuture]

i have another wild au concept i need to share: bttf shifted like 40 years forward and marty and doc meet online (maybe during the covid pandemic even?)

doc has some sort of username that's just "science_guy_121" or something and he like. replies to martys instagram story at some point where marty maybe just had to tag random ass accounts for a challenge. marty didn't expect anyone to reply but doc was like "Thank you for tagging me! 😃" and marty knows just from this message that doc is OLD lmao

marty goes "yeah no prob" and doesn't think he'll talk to the guy ever again, but doc just keeps messaging him. they find out they share an interest in music and ramble about bands a lot.

the man does know about internet anonymity and doesn't say his name, but he does say how old he is at some point and marty probably should be concerned about talking to 60 year olds online at like 13/14 years old, but he really isn't since the guy is so friendly. he does ask at some point, and doc is just super confused as to why anyone would even have bad intentions and assures marty he just likes talking to people, and that topic is never brought up again

a year later or so, marty convinces doc to get discord, and that happens at like two in the morning, so doc asks what's keeping the kid awake and marty goes on to tell doc about his family situation. doc is really empathetic and grows to be martys support system, and even as an online friend, he helps marty so much, talking to him at 3 am to calm him after hearing his parents fight all night. doc also helps him with schoolwork via internet, essentially helping marty pass several classes.

in early 2025, doc leaks that he's building something really cool and that he'd love to show marty his new invention, to which marty goes "damn, i wanna come see. may i ask which city u live close to" and doc replies with "Oh, I believe San Francisco seems adjacent enough." marty cannot believe this and texts "NO WAY, SAME HERE".

doc: That's quite the coincidence! Well, I might as well say I live in a small town called Hill Valley.

marty: WHAT

doc: Yeah, I'd assume you've never heard of it. 😂

marty: NO NO

marty: I ACTUALLY

marty: I LITERALLY AM FROM THE SAME TOWN?!?!

and that's how marty finds out he's been talking to the "crazy doc brown" the ENTIRE TIME lol

the two can, without any trouble, meet in person, and the first thing marty does when getting to the garage is apologize profusely for still laughing about the rumors about doc while texting him online about how kind he was at the same time. doc forgives him, and that's how they basically start spending time together in person. marty's screen time goes down significantly, but he's actually so goddamn happy about having a friend like that and will defend doc with his life.

yeah that's kinda it. also a bit of a homage to all the awesome people i have met on the internet. love you guys <3

[elodieunderglass]

is PCRF still where you recommend people donate, or do you have another recommended group? I would like to donate but haven’t had time to do research.

(In reference to fundraising campaign I did for PCRF)

One of the most important things I have learned about conflict and healthcare and devastation, from someone who deals with them for their living, is that it is fractal, each piece of it containing unimaginable complexity, and that as a human you can’t really deal much with fractals that get more complex than, like, ferns. I am oversimplifying here. But the thing is that you cannot get bogged down endlessly in debating the nature of fractals. You decide on the level of complexity you can manage , perform an action and move on. You cannot take responsibility for every mathematical pattern that follows from your action; if you were a sort of cosmic weatherman, affecting the fates of people you’ve never met through some vague alchemy of intention, you’d know about it already. Therefore do not obsess too much over The Good Place levels of ethics and research, spiralling into fractals in search of the perfect. Therefore, also, if you want to give £2 to someone, feel free to ignore people who say “ah but if you give £2 to that guy they’ll spend it on something bad, and the whole fractal is rotten and broken.” You can only ever claim your own actions, a small piece of the fractal: to insist on your power over distant pieces of mathematical patterns is bonkers. It is religious nonsense. This is what I’ve learned and I thought it was pretty good, from someone who’d know.

So I believe the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund is not able to operate in Gaza at the moment, like many non-profits; I believe Medeciens Sans Frontiers aren’t in Gaza at the moment and that’s pretty dire indicator. However, they are mobilised in Lebanon.

The reasons why I selected PCRF to support include the fact that they have been able to deliver material aid, had pragmatic routes to evacuate children, and were reporting some success in providing/stabilising healthcare infrastructure. They have stated from the beginning that their intent was to support, and ideally restore, healthcare infrastructure, without which you cannot run a nation. I have known healthcare professionals who traveled with PCRF to work on complex cases prior to this conflict and I personally know/respect one of their prominent supporters, which helped me to make this choice. I also was hoping in the future that Gaza would have restored healthcare infrastructure and PCRF had stated their commitment to doing so.

I have received and listened to criticism about this choice, and I firmly believe that no matter what choice you make to support a cause, you’ll receive some measure of criticism (the fractal! Elodie you must consider the fractal nature of reality at all times! Scrupulous frantic morality is necessary at all times !), and that this should not stop you. To explain a bit about this, the criticisms I’ve received have mostly fallen into two camps:

- “the wrong sort of charity” - one concern is PCRF are not able to promise that their work will never support Hamas supporters or their families. This has been raised as “PCRF support Hamas”. but genuinely, given the realities of conflict, it is not practical or sane to require that people bring proof of political affiliation when seeking healthcare for their children. I’m comfortable saying that this, like other risks of fundraising/donation, is always possible but not a major consideration for me.

- “the wrong sort of fundraiser” - conversely some people stated they’d prefer I support individual families seeking evacuation through GFMs. This is also fine but my choice in the charity was partly in thinking about families who do not have GFMs, and children who do not have families. I also felt, at the time of fundraising, that supporting healthcare infrastructure was very worthy in a different way - after all, at the time the same people doing GFMs were also using/needing what healthcare was available.

My shoulders are broad, and I’m comfortable with these criticism. I am fully aware that this is not a complete solution but I personally continue to support the charity. I am explaining this to indicate that there will always be criticisms; you must accept that you can only take a small piece of the fractal, and you must accept that quite a lot of the fractal was never in your gift to control.

The situation is constantly changing and with the departure of organisations there is genuinely less hope of materially restoring the infrastructure in Gaza. At the moment donations to PCRF will likely be mobilised to Lebanon. It may be that this speaks to you. It does still speak to me.

Ultimately while it’s important to do research, it is always going to become fractal, especially in conflict situations. Nobody’s ever going to be able to point to a perfect thing that will fix everything and absolve us of criticism, you know? You will always only be able to pick up a piece of the fractal.

Now moving away from “what I personally support” there are many people more informed than myself and I would like to direct you to them as well. @gothhabiba is someone I follow who has posted several very useful posts about this and has been extremely informative, and spent a lot of time and attention on this, so I would defer to the resources and fundraisers they’ve put together. Her response to a similar question has been “pick 1-3 personal fundraisers” - this is a piece of the fractal. At the moment if what you want to do most is “materially help people in Gaza” that seems like the best option.

Also he doesn’t post much on social media, but when you get the opportunity to read a scientific article or anything by https://x.com/sullivanprof it’s worth stopping and processing. To me, Richard’s life work really shows how a piece of the fractal unpacks to reveal the whole world. I think if you have emotional space to research, it’s honestly a good investment to read some of his “manifestos” on intersections of healthcare and conflict.

[josephtrohman]

patrick wearing an alpha bracelet oh i’m SUREEE. CHECKMATE omega patrick truthers

[blackkatdraws2]

They are my lifeline

[individual drawings below]

[thestrangedazebouquet]

Two Sides of the Same Coin // Merthur Oneshot

Arthur has always been quite proud of his people.

He knew that, outside the city walls, there was a beautiful range of cultures and traditions and celebrations, and it felt only right for the people of his kingdom to feel celebrated, even away from home.

And that is how John of Longstead, Alexander of Willowdale, Joseph of Ealdor and Robert of Howden came to be in the court chambers this sunny afternoon.

They had spoken for hours about Willowdale's spring festival, Howden's work ethics, Longstead's family-like community, and - for reasons Arthur could never explain - Joseph of Ealdor was brought onto the topic of courting

."Well, Sire," the short man began, "one of the first stages of courting is proof you are willing to protect your beloved. Any sort of protection, from a lending of the jacked during winter to, i don't know, saving them from a flying knife." He chuckled lightly.

Arthur looked at Merlin, who was acting as a scribe, to remind him to write all this down. Merlin nodded, a small pink creeping onto his cheeks. Arthur assumed he was just nervous and made a mental note to discuss that later.

"Then, we tend to give small gifts. This is usually something like a few extra potatoes at dinner, or more feathers for their pillowcase," Joseph continued. "If these are welcomed, it becomes bigger acts of service. Resowing clothes that have had the thread worn out, dusting and polishing without instruction, mucking out their stables if they have any and feeding their farmyard animals."

"After it is sure all these acts are being known, there is the withdrawl period. You leave the person you're courting with time to think, room to breathe. Sometimes by going to taverns or markets. If they come looking for you, then this means their interest in you has been confirmed." Joseph smiled, reminicing on the very night his now-wife had ran into the tavern where he worked, unable to go without him for another moment.

It wasn't until later that night when Arthur had came to the realisation.

Merlin had saved Arthur from murder with only days of knowing one another. Merlin constantly slipped extra dumplings, sausages and bread onto Arthur's plate, despite the horrible rows from Cook Audrey. Merlin was always on top of the feeding schedual for Arthur's dogs and horses, and the tops of even the highest shelves remained dust-free at all times. All those nights of disappearing, all those days spent in the tavern.

Arthur felt his face grow warm.

Not only had Merlin courted Arthur, oh no. Arthur had confirmed his interest. Well, it wasn't like he didnt have an interest, of course he did. But he was completely unaware he had been, essencially, married to his manservent.

Well, what could a king do in this situation?

"𝘔𝘌𝘙LIN!"