ICED OUT

this morning my UNMASKED self helped out at school arts department here in LOS ANGELES. this is not usually something i talk about to protect privacy of my other creative life but given whats happening in LA i think its worth the mention because ICE raids hurt these kids in so many insidious ways

they have NOTHING to do with how they arrived here and right now the fear hangs over them in a way that effects everything they do. yes, they could LITERALLY get snatched off the street, and some do, but even outside of the physical threat THE THREAT ITSELF is so harmful

the strange vibes and mysterious absences hung over everything at the start of the day, but when i popped in after helping i watched the assembly i saw something really beautiful: kids having fun. they were with their buds, they were in community, they were forgetting the threat for a moment.

there are so many ways to help. you can march in the street, you can volunteer, you can use art to urge others to do the same. you can CREATE spaces like an assembly auditorium full of cheering kids. today i am suggesting a donation. here is post of suggestions im trottin

i am going to be donating my own sum as well, and DOUBLE the profits of all tinglers sold today. so if you need a reason to check out the tingleverse now is your time. LETS TROT BUCKAROOS LOVE IS REAL

FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT HAVE BLUESKY I WILL LIST SOME OF THE DONATION LINKS HERE AS WELL:

amnesty international

we are casa

chirla

immigrant defenders law center

al otro lado

mid south immigration advocates

the young center

The last days of the petition against conversion therapy are FASCINATING to watch. I have been following it pretty closely for almost a year now, and the progress was, above all, steady. There was this jump when some algorithm in Finland picked it up, but even that was local.

And now, everyone is panicking.

Which really shows.

These past three or four days, multiple countries have reached the threshold. Even more notably, the number of signatures in total, the ones that we need to get one million of, are growing rapidly. There are only 400'000 signatures missing. Two days ago, it was closer to 600'000.

You can see the progress here:

Consider joining the fun by making everyone around you sign it!

This now needs less than 300k signatures, and even gained 2k between the time I reblogged it and me adding this edit!

Only 170k signatures needed now! The deadline is May 17th aka TOMORROW - which is close, but it's gaining 100k+ signatures per day - which means there's a real chance the petition could make it! And they've already met enough of the per-country thresholds to qualify on that basis!

AO3 has been scraped, once again.

As of the time of this post, AO3 has been scraped by yet another shady individual looking to make a quick buck off the backs of hardworking hobby writers. This Reddit post here has all the details and the most current information. In short, if your fic URL ends in a number between 1 and 63,200,000 (inclusive), AND is not archive locked, your fic has been scraped and added to this database.

I have been trying to hold off on archive locking my fics for as long as possible, and I've managed to get by unscathed up to now. Unfortunately, my luck has run out and I am archive locking all of my current and future stories. I'm sorry to my lovelies who read and comment without an account; I love you all. But I have to do what is best for me and my work. Thank you for your understanding.

The sky breathed in high above the too-full seas as the stars watched. They flickered, they sang, they whispered follow us, follow us, follow us as wind battered a ragged sail and the water lapped at a makeshift raft.

Crowley-Crawley-The Tempter of Sin stared up at them with their cloak whipping around their ankles and the rain drenching their long, crimson hair. Divinity had been spilled across the earth like pomegranates, like apples, like figs and wine and blood. It would be washed away from ground and the red would live on only in memory.

Crowley breathed in. Breathed out.

Who is the monster? They wondered. The creator or the created? Those who choose verse those who don’t?

The stars laughed, high above, untouched and watching as creation stirred in the tight hold of a painter wishing to wash their canvas clean.

Do you sympathize with a painter for destroying the canvas? Or choose to mourn the creation that never had the chance to be finished?

Amazon Unveils a [Horrifying] Fanfic Publishing Platform

Today, Amazon announced the imminent launch of its newest endeavor, Kindle Worlds, a publishing platform for fanfiction. When I read the announcement, I was horrified, then angry, then sad. I want to take a moment to explain why this is such a tragedy.

Read More

This is REALLY IMPORTANT guys. AO3 is so special as a platform. Don’t get suckered in by shiny features or whatever!

If you don’t feel like reading after the read more, here is the most important stand out of Kindle World’s TOS.

“By using the platform, authors give all rights to the work to Amazon, who can then license your elements to other authors with no compensation to the original poster.”

If you want to retain rights to your work, don’t use this site. Stick to AO3.

KINDLE WORLDS SHUT DOWN IN 2018 THIS POST IS FROM 2013!

New face of GQ (genderqueer) Magazine

ko-fi - insta - Patreon

@smiling-like-a-snake​

Just have the idea that when Aziraphale is nervous/anxious/stressed he has the tendency to chew on his own halo… (´;ω;｀)

Cinnamon and Gold

     Brass clicking shut echoed through the room with the force of close-by thunder and softness of a whisper between silk sheets. Aziraphale’s eyes traced over Crowley’s collarbones, over Crowley’s black ink line of a jaw, over Crowley’s thin shoulders as she stood perfectly still; a serpent in waiting. All patience, hungry eyes, and skin draped in the color of fall candles. 

     The room was all reds and golds and browns. Lions bared their teeth from curved armrests, velvet cushions were stiff and unused, and the bed - softened by silk and carefully woven cotton - waited like a hungry beast with teeth shaped like pillows and hundreds of eyes blinking and winking and watching from the wood. Pale wood was cold beneath large white rugs stolen from some Arctic creature, the dresser was cluttered by ceramic decorations, and a single mirror sat on the closet door, turned just slightly so he could make out the interior of the marble bathroom. 

     Aziraphale couldn’t stop the feather curve of his smile. Didn’t want to stop it. He turned away from the door, stripping away his suit jacket, pulling off the top hat, and placed them both, carelessly, on the cherrywood coat rack. “Well,” Words dripped between them; sweet like honey and sparking with the cinnamon promise of fire candies as he undid the gold angel-wing cuffs. “Didn’t find what we were looking for, but it was still a rather lovely ball.”

     His eyes flickered up and focused with predator intent. 

[to be continued…]

Snippet of a thing @smiling-like-a-snake and i are working on >:) prepare for d/s ineffable husbands with soft dom!aziraphale and fem!sub!crowley

rb and tag ur gomens demonsona animal form, what car would youd have and what all the music turns into after a fortnight