i ran away from my main blog cuz smth went screwy

the name i have lost to the shadows is @pingvoej (& two others). how long... how long have i traveled unaware, alone and scared in the darkness... i forgot how the light feels on my cheeks. what is warmth? what is it like, to be free of the inky claws of the unjustice? the shadow fold has the power to consume us all...

[tench]

[tkingfisher]

Get out of my studio with your accurate observations!

[joelleity]

[ID: a line labeled in three places.

flat, labeled "no create, only vibes"

a sharp spike upwards, labeled "creating something in a sudden burst of inspired hyper-fixated creativity"

flat after crashing back to the bottom, labeled "wondering how i'll ever create something again"

end description]

[tastefullyoffensive]

[prismatic-bell]

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH

I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click

And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”

So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is

“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”

I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:

“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”

I accidentally called the director of the FBI.

My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

[kuroba101]

This is my new favourite story.

[therobotmonster]

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.

There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 

The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 

During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”

So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 

I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.

So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…

“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”

It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.

There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.

The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

[arctic-hands]

Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.

[voroxpete]

But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.

Seriously, this is legit.

In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted.

Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line.

And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no.

Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says.

“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says.

The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”

His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying.

“And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.”

“It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.

And then, it got better.

“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says.

“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says.

“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.

For real.

“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.”

“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”

So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.

Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport

[arty-ari]

No okay THAT is adorable and I’m queueing this for next December.

[hiccups]

And from Dragon Island, I found this archipelago… {x}

[thegunnsara]

A small pinned info:

I don't take commissions or requests ((But I do like to hear ideas))

Looking for my TMNT comic?

Hamato Wanderers AU Comic #hamatowau

Arc 1 (Complete):

Page: 1-2, Page 3-4, Page 5-6, Page 7-8, Page 9-10, Page 11-12, Page 13-14, Page 15, Page 16, Page 17-18, Page 19-20, Page 21-22, Page 23-26

Whole Issue on Gumroad for free

Arc 2 (Ongoing):

1, 2, 3, 4-6, 7, 8, 9-10, 11-12, 13-14

Mikey's little hair comic #mgsau

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11(End)

The Bad Future AU/Donnic

This is a bit scattered as it is, I will be compiling it in the right order here as well as I can until all the pieces come together!

Aftermath of an ambush (CW:Limb loss, panic attack): (Still in construction, I might even change the arrangement if I go back to this)

1, 2, 3, 4, (Still work in progress .... paused)

Moving forward in time/Thank you for everything (The year 2038): (End)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17(Completed)

Fractured: MasterPost

One shots (Might change with certain things):

It's year 2028 and Mikey figured out Cassandras secret

The little things:

1, 2, 3,

I also have a hashtag for it that I keep a lookout for!!

#hamatowau

#thegunnsara

I also have a side blog for reblogs and scrabbles mainly for artworks and ideas, I do recommend giving it a follow for art~

If you feel like this masterpost is missing something let me know <3 :3c

Love ya all &lt;;3

[somerandomdudelmao]

Listen I BET HE CAN DO THAT

[cheaphalloweencostume]

[caseyd1a]

[beastbeneathemoonlight]

[tutant]

had this in my notes for AGES now its here in comic form

[nordidia]

BLUEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[heydevi]

i just posted gayshit

[jestradiol]

canon version

[eidolonyaldabaoth]

003989-003995

We last left off at Sollux finding out what Sburb really does, Karkat being stupid, and the siren song of the lusii.

Keep reading

[catslocum]

do you ever sometimes from time to time just realise you are in love with humans

like to the tears to the core

and then you remember that life outside fun and kindness and creativity exists and oh it was just your information/filter bubble you have sealed yourself in with the algorithms and all of humanity is not like that

of course you have

[buthowboutno]

Every once in a while I’ll remember how Casey Jr greeted sweetums like an old friend or someone similar, and now I’m just wondering if sweetums was an uncle/auntie figure to him, and if he’s ever told anyone else about how they (probably) would have been married to donnie

*looks at the snippet i just traumatized my kofi supporters with and looks back*

well, uh

you see

.....

it's been a long hiatus, might as well just show y'all (BLAME @raccoon-robyn FOR THIS. MINOR SPOILERS FOR THE BAD FUTURE REVEAL)

--

“I presume your night with Cassandra went well,” Donnie said, elbows deep in another SHELLDON drone. A few years ago it would’ve been unheard of to retrieve them after the Kraang shot them down. Nowadays, the Rebellion was scrounging for parts anywhere they could get them. 

You squinted at him and handed him a 5/16th’s wrench, “We were on lookout, Dee-dee, it’s not like we were off to the Bahamas.” 

Donnie rolled his eyes and took the wrench from you, “I didn’t know that lookout entailed making out against the walls of the compound.”

You paused, taking in Donnie’s body language. Everything about him read neutral, but you knew him better than that. He was your best friend for Christ’s sake. You knew all of his tells. Everything from the set of his jaw to the way he gripped the wrench told you what you needed to know about that statement.

“I don’t see how it's any of your business,” you replied coolly.

“You’re threatening the safety–”

“That’s not what you’re mad about and you know it,” you cut him off, “And I thought we agreed to stop having this conversation.”

Donnie huffed at you, “I am your commander, it is my duty to know when you are off task.”

“Fifteen minute breaks are mandatory for late night surveillance,” you argued, “You’re the one that put that policy in place.”

“You are expected to stay vigilant at all times, regardless of being on a break.”

“You just wish it was you pressing me against the wall,” you said flatly. You stared Donnie in the eyes, not faltering once while you took his wrench and exchanged it for a flathead screwdriver. Even while fighting, the two of you were never any less in sync.

The both of you had been… fighting a lot more recently.

“That’s not even remotely related to this conversation,” Donnie said, tearing his eyes from yours. You didn’t miss the blush peeking out under his mask, despite how nonchalant he was acting.

“That is the conversation, Donatello,” you said, running your hand through your hair. They came out dirtier than they started with how saturated your hair was with grease and motor oil, “You said you didn’t love me, I’m trying to move the fuck on.”

“That’s not–” Donnie cut himself off with a groan, pulling his arms out of the machinery. He breathed in deeply, moving his hands to his sides, “That’s not what I said.”

“Remind me, then,” you said as you crossed your arms in between you, “Remind me about all the responsibilities and tasks and the goddamn rebellion that has to come first. Remind me how your big-headed importance keeps you from being with me.”

“Because it does! This, all of this–” Donnie gestured to the shop around you, filled to the brim with machinery and future projects the two of you only hoped to have the parts for, “is bigger than us, sweetums. I don’t see how–”

“Do not ‘sweetums’ me right now, Don,” you cut him off. You balled your hands up into fists and sighed, “I don’t… understand why you’re so dead set on making yourself a martyr, but that doesn’t mean I have to be, too.”

“I’m not–” Donnie cut himself off with a growl, gripping the inner edge of the drone’s plating. Once, when you were younger, Donnie had crushed a sheet of titanium with his bare hands just to win a bet against you. You wondered if the drone would bear the same marks after you and Donnie were done fighting.

The two of you stood there in silence, glowering at each other with matching expressions. 

In the decade and a half that you and Donnie had worked together, you had only lost a stand-off twice. The two of you had enough stubbornness for the entire resistance, but your will to be a shit just barely surpassed Donnie’s.

As per usual, Donnie broke first.

Not as per usual, you saw tears start to form at the corners of Donnie’s eyes.

“I can’t,” Donnie croaked out. 

The small victory you won was quickly pushed out of mind when you realized how close he was to tears. You felt yourself soften then, immediately reaching out to grab Donnie up into your arms. Your hands fisted into his dirty tank top and you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to squash the guilt of your chest.

There was too much to cry about, these days. You didn’t want to be one of Donnie’s reasons.

“I can’t,” he repeated, letting out a shaky sigh as he tugged you close to his plastron, “If I… let myself love you, then everything else be fucking damned.”

“Dee…”

“If I let myself love you and something happened to you? I would tear the whole world apart to get you back,” Donnie said, his hands grabbing at the back of your shirt in a desperate act to hold onto you tighter. The teenage Donatello you first met would barely high-five you. The Donnie you had in your arms now held you like his life depended on it, “But I can’t. I have my brothers, the entire damn resistance counting on me. I don’t– I can’t afford to have you.”

“I know, Don, I know,” you said, squeezing him within your arms, “I’m being a dick about this.”

Donnie sighed, “It doesn’t mean it’s any easier to see you with someone else, though.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was a one-time thing?” you asked, “Cass and I talked this morning, we agreed that it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Then why did you do it?” Donnie asked, the hurt still evident in his voice. 

You’d allow that, you decided.

You shrugged against him, feeling shy now, “She was there, I guess. Cas is a fucking smokeshow, don’t get me wrong, but… she’s not you.”

You put your hand to Donnie’s face and wiped away a tear that had managed to fall. Donnie leaned into your hand, a rare show of vulnerability you haven’t seen in, well, years. The two of you rarely shared this much physical affection beyond squeezing onto the workshop cot together when it got too late to head back to the sleeping quarters.

“I love you,” you said plainly, going back in for the hug and tucking your face against his chest. He stiffened the way he always did when you said those three words, but you kept trudging on, “And I’m sorry I keep pushing you like this. I just… I wish that we didn’t have to meet in the fucking apocalypse. I wish we had at least a few months together in the normal world before the Kraang decided to screw things up for us.”

“You have no idea,” Donnie said. He rested his cheek on the top of your head, “I would’ve liked to take you for a movie.”

“I would have pegged you as a bowling alley first date type of guy,” you replied, bringing a hand up to grab at his neck. Just to hold. Just to feel the texture of his scales beneath your fingers Just to know the two of you were as okay as you were ever going to be, “Show off your skills and spend the entire night trying to get me to stroke your ego.”

Donnie snorted, grabbing your hand from his neck and pressing his mouth against your palm. 

It wasn't even a kiss, really, but it had your heart clenching in a way that you hadn't felt in years. The tears that formed in the corner of your eyes finally fell down your cheeks as you softly hiccupped.

Donnie churred soothingly and wiped them away with a gentle care that he reserved for you, only for you. The two of you sat there in silence again, not wanting to move away but not having an excuse to keep holding each other like that.

You coughed in your hand, making the first step to let Donnie go. His hands reluctantly let go of your shirt and the two of you stood awkwardly in the middle of the workshop and refused to make eye contact with each other.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence first for the third time in fifteen years, “we’re not in love.”

“That’s not–”

“That’s the only decision,” you said resolutely, “Agonizing over each other is as big of a distraction as being in love, so we can’t do either.”

Donnie opened his mouth and closed it. He spent one, two moments looking intently at your face before sighing with a shake of his head, “I suppose you’re right.”

“I always am,” you said with a humor you didn’t feel. You wiped a hand over your face, no doubt getting more grease all over your skin, “Anyways… the drone? Still gotta finish installing the navigation system.”

Donnie nodded, accepting the wrench you handed him.

In another life, you could have had this. 

The thought of it had granted you many sleepless nights. What would the world be like with a Donatello that didn’t have to hold you at an arm’s length? Where you could have met him at some mundane coffee shop instead of a last minute rescue from Metro Tower? Maybe even a world where even the tiniest exchange of touch didn’t have to mean so damn much.

(You’d like to have your arm back, if anything else.)

You returned the soft smile Donnie gave you when you already had the soldering iron ready and a brush full of flux ready to assist him.

You supposed that Donnie was worth it, regardless of how you got to have him.

[buthowboutno]

This has been sitting in my procreate for so damn long lmao

The stupids <333

[jasontoddiefor]

Yeah sure we’ve all binged a long fic, but have you ever read a WIP and followed someone’s life?

Tidbits of information - (“I graduated today!”) - and small joys (“It’s my birthday!”) and you get to be there to say “This chapter made me cry, happy birthday, thank you for gifting us this”.

I remember reading this fic of someone at the end of high school, older than me then. They seemed infinitely wise, spoke of their future career and getting into the college they wanted. I remember them posting on days they felt like nothing could bring them down - and on days the whole world did and it’s the aftermath of a hospital visit. Cancer, I think it was, their father. I got to the end of the story, I know their father was fine, but also they got to finish their WIP. I graduated three years later than them, still dutifully wrote thank you notes in every comment. I wonder if they remember me, or just the collective of people reading the story as it updates.

Four years ago I was into my first year of university, my first year of figuring out being out in public spaces. I made excuses as to why my name didn’t match my paperwork and read a fic on the train, the same five chapters over and over again for the next years as I thought the story abandoned. It updated this week after such a long hiatus, I left another thank you comment.

There’s an author I love, they update their stories like a clockwork. When they don’t, I check their blog, just to see if their doing alright, not because I feel like they owe me, just to ensure whether I better get out my laptop to write that really detailed university level essay chapter analysis to get them smiling when their day sucked.

And then, once, when I was 17, I read a fic that hadn’t updated in over a decade. I wasn’t even in primary school when it started posting. On the last chapter, I left a comment that, in retrospect, was horribly rambly and most likely full of grammar mistakes. The author replied and though I couldn’t see their face, I thought of them crying. They were married now, had children, and hadn’t thought about this fic in years. They went through their files again, found another half written chapter and an outline. I got two new chapters to read that year.

And then, recently, someone told me they got back into writing original fiction because of my comments. I get to read nearly weekly chapters.

I love binge reading a finished fic, but nothing is ever going to top the feeling of anticipation of waiting for a chapter, the pure joy when someone tells you I was done with this, but you made me think of it again, so this is for you.

Anyway, I think we should romanticize reading WIPs more, growing up alongside the authors writing the stories we love.

[ollieofthebeholder]

I hope this isn't overstepping, OP, but as someone who writes those long fics, I just want to say: This goes both ways.

I posted leaves in regular installments, two chapters a week, for around seven months. I had a tendency to put those life updates in my author's notes ("Everyone in the house except my uncle has The Plague." "Posting early because I get to go see a local performer tonight!" "Baseball season starts next week but I will hopefully still be on time to post."). And yeah, it always made me feel good to see the people who would comment on them ("Hope you get well soon!" "I thought this was awful early - hope you have a good time." "Don't worry about being late! Enjoy the game!") and I tried to respond to those as much as possible.

But then there were the people who would start off their comments by telling me what they were up to. The ones who were getting ready to graduate high school, or preparing for exams in medical college, or start a new job. The ones who were going camping, or having a birthday, or visiting family. The ones who were dealing with problems or getting over sickness or just had a rough week and needed a pick-me-up.

And that made me feel a lot closer to them. It certainly made me feel more inclined to write - because these weren't just random faceless people on the internet enjoying the emotional damage I was dealing out, these were friends. People I could chat with and who were as interested in my life as I was in theirs, and who cared and let me care about them in return.

It's the same with promise. I am humbled and honored by the people who are reading and who continue to let me have those little insights into their lives, and who comment on the insights I give into mine. We're forming a bond on more than just fandom, and it inspires me to keep putting out these words, because I'm not just producing for an audience, I'm sharing with friends.

Please read WIPs. We like growing alongside our readers too.

[heedra]

if you learn to love bugs with all your heart the world will feel half as hostile and a thousand times as big

[heedra]

Theres a sentiment I'm noticing in the tags that I'd like to address. I dont think learning to love bugs with all your heart means forcing yourself out of discomfort you have with them overnight. It's about observing a different sort of being going about its life and deliberately trying to reframe your observations through a sense of wonder and delight. It's about cultivating a positive interest and curiosity for their ecology and behaviors. It's especially about trying to uncouple the value we find in them from how 'convenient' they are to us; to face head on the part of us that wants to assign moral evil to another organism who just happens to live life in a way that is not harmonius with ours. You can love insects in this way and still recognize your own health and safety needs. We are animals living side by side within a biosphere. This is how it is, sometimes.

I think this is important to cultivate because, if you are alive at all, you are coming into conflict with countless other people and things that dont owe you an apology for their existance and needs. If you are alive at all, you are encountering countless other people and things that harmful bias and personal discomfort have made repulsive to you. This is about bugs, but its also about way more than bugs.

[invertebrates]

It's hard to explain to the uninitiated that you can just go for a walk just about anywhere with a bit of green (and sometimes even in the heart of a city) and find like a dozen neat little unique guys if you're patient and observant.

People get really into bird watching but here's a secret: bugs are WAY easier to find than birds and they let you get a lot closer.

Try to approach the world with wonder and curiosity rather than fear and revulsion. Bugs are a great place to start.

[mikeyberryart]

@scamlikelys post reminded me to dust off my own classpecting doc that I hadn’t touched in a while and now it’s finally finished!!

DnDadstuck

DnDadstuck: Dungeons and Daddies Classpecting Minor Key Chart* Rust Bronze Gold Lime Olive Jade Teal Blue Indigo Purple Violet Fuschia Tim

I included Castes, Classes, Aspects, Moons, and Extended Zodiacs (the last one just being a combination of Caste + Aspect + Moon). I also included explanations of what each of the assignments mean, all sources to descriptions linked as well. That way even non-Homestuck fans can understand what any of this means.

Huge shoutout to Mack for helping me narrow down on a bunch of these; I was so indecisive.

[quimerical]

GIRL you are KILLING IT! GIRL i don’t think it’s MOVING ANYMORE. GIRL you can STOP BITING