#Deciphering scripts

[bearsandswears]

Asena is perfectly comfortable with nonsexual nudity (you kind of have to be as a werewolf, the clothes don’t come with), but seeing a chance to make Gale blush activates her prey drive.

[gothamite-rambler]

Dick (enthusiastically, catching a whiff): Alfred, what did you cook? It smells great!

Alfred (holding up a wine glass, with a sly smile): I didn’t, Master Bruce did.

Dick (confused, looking between them): Like he ordered it?

Bruce (sitting at the table, a forkful of pasta in hand): I made it! Why do people assume I can’t cook? I’m Batman!

Dick (raising an eyebrow, teasing): That’s not— Actually, that might be a good reason since nothing is on fire.

Alfred nodded, swishing his wine around in his glass with a knowing smile.

Alfred (impressed): I’m shocked too. He made creamy spaghetti with pesto.

Bruce (sheepishly, glancing away): I may have gotten the idea from a Pinterest video.

Alfred (smirking): That’s literally where you got it from. I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t mess up, and also proud of you.

Bruce (with a hint of defensiveness): I’m not Dick or Tim or Cass… or Stephanie when she made that cake.

Dick (nodding, a bit rueful): I wish he wasn’t right. I try to cook, I do, but sometimes I get distracted.

Bruce (still enjoying his meal, scoffing): And you think you could be Batman?

Dick (rolling his eyes): Good for you at least. I still know stuff you’re bad at.

Bruce (sarcastically): When you tell me, I’ll pay you.

[swan2swan]

This is why she had to keep changing the passcode.

[keicordelle]

I appreciate the use of the proto-Eorzean/Norvrandt alphabet in Dawntrail. But it's also really funny to me that somehow Eorzean scholars looked at Norvrandt characters and somehow came up with a proposed common ancestral script that was dead on the money

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I'm surprised I haven't seen anyone in the community talking about this. (Or maybe they have been, and I've somehow just missed it. ^_^')

All the kudos to OP for figuring this out.

@bluerosesburnblue @palizinhas @disneydreamlights

[surnumanaja]

Cool writing system you have, to bad if somone were to add diacritics to it

[artbyfuji]

someone asked for handwriting headcanons.

[visualtaehyun]

Learning Thai with Bella, or: Wear Your Fucking Glasses You Blind Bat ✨️

As I was listening to some recent favorite songs and trying to sing along with the lyrics (I swear it helps so much with learning Thai plus it's fun :P), I stumbled over this line in หนึ่งในมาช้า:

...thinking to myself "Wait, why tf did I think it was คนทักไป 🤡 I ought to know what ถัดไป means though, I've certainly heard it before! But lemme go look it up real quick", cue me skim-reading the definitions on my phone, sans glasses, like-

"ขยับไปด้วยกัน /kha-yap bpai duuay gan/??? Move (along) together?? *zooms in*"

ก้น /gon/

ขยับไปด้วยก้น /kha-yap bpai duuay gon/ = move (along) on one's butt

...if you made it all the way down here and are interested in some more of my recent favs, here ya go 👇🙂‍↕️

[owlbear33]

warning uninformed OSR Commentary (I don't know what I'm taking about)

due to prior discussion, I've been informed that magic users in a lot of old-style dungeon crawlers have such minimal access to magic because they're meant to depend on dungeon loot for a lot of their magic, scrolls and wands and potions etc

and this is frustrating - like don't get me wrong it's fine, interesting coherent game design - but why don't games spell this out clearly, (something something old dnd is 90% oral tradition by weight)

anyhow

doing away with spell slots seems sensible, all at-will magic should be in item form, break-to-cast spell tablets, potions, amulets and so on

all magic is ritual, it takes time, you cannot sit down and ritual for 30 minutes to fireball the enemy in heated combat, but it's fine with a bit of resources and extra time, a ritual can be set up to drop out delayed cast options

a wizard knows how to do this, but with a little education, any idiot can learn to smash a bit of air-dried clay (inscribed with runes), chug a vile of green slime (or was that meant to be applied to a weapon), or wear a strange pendant, they just need to focus to control the magic, in any case, going into dungeons to find lost lore is apprentice work, builds character

[loz-the-noob]

hlep

(translations under cut)

This paper has smaller squares for serious stuff.

Like Marie!

Rude.

Hehe!

Hey, I’m fun! Who made you that fuzzy octotrooper costume last splatoween?

Oh my cod! I totally forgot about that!!

[tamilethnicity]

Anyone who can decode 5,000-year-old stone slab can get £800,000

Do you think you can work out what’s on these ancient seals? If you can prove it, you could be in line for a whopping $1million (£832m) reward. Archaegological sites and artefacts left behind by the Indus Valley Civilisation, which emerged more than 5,300 years ago in what is now northwest India and Pakistan, have long been a source of intriguige – and frustration – to researchers. The…

[isca-rambles]

Watching the twitter side of the Chenford fandom grabbing at the tiniest pieces of BTS stuff and dissecting it so thoroughly they end up uncovering entire plot points.

I mean, kudos to them. A whole gaggle of little detectives running around out there.

[tokushuhere]

Me reading on Wattpad for the first time.

Writer decides to use words/code language that I don't know.

Notice the website doesn't support copy-paste so translating text is very hard.

Sigh and switch from smart device to computer to use F12 and locate the text from the website's code itself.

This is now my reason, why I went to study programming.

To learn how to copy paste text when the website itself doesn't allow people to copy-paste.

[cack1e]

interesting.........

[notlongtolove]

your star next to mine

nobody loves the earth for spinning, not really. it's been turning for 4.6 billion years with no applause. the sun rises then sets, and the moon follows suit. the stars flicker in their wake and the earth spins regardless. spencer thinks you’re more than the sun, moon, and stars combined.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: established relationshippp ugh waking up to spencer reid <3 actually more like spencer reid waking up to bau!reader (spoiler: hes out of this world in love with her)

word count: 1k

note: writing this made me SICKKKK with longing and yearning (they r so in love and i hate them for it ugh) sorry sorry writing ab stars and spencer reid in bed AGAIN im sorry i just want to romanticise small moments in life (theyre coming for me with a strait jacket as we speak)

a line: It’s hard to tell where you end and where he begins—Spencer hopes he never has to find out.

When The Big met The Bang and science happened before eyes that did not exist yet, collided and made love to each other was your star next to mine? Tell me, my love; did someone ever wish upon the star we are made from? - m. chase

There are roughly 7100 languages spoken and signed on earth. Spencer himself is familiar with at least seven of them. Russian, Latin, Middle English, to name a few. You remember him explaining the intricacies of medieval typography during your third date—You think you fell in love with him somewhere between his comparison of Gothic and Carolingian scripts. 

Before there were text messages made up of abbreviations and emojis, there were letters. Love letters of thoughts born from lovelorn minds that made their way into granite, pressed against the grain of paper. Before that, feathered quills dipped in ink, sometimes splattering on parchment. A testament to words too heavy to get out right, but a need to get them out all the same. 

But the earth has been spinning for 4.6 billion years. And before that, there were cavemen that carved primitive symbols into stone—etches and notches that archaeologists still devote their lives to deciphering. Spencer sometimes thinks that had he not joined the FBI, he might’ve found himself in their shoes, decoding ancient scribbles, a circle with four notches, stick figures huddling around it. 

Now, he thinks, there’s not much left to figure out after all.

You turn in your sleep, hand searching for him in the mess of sheets. No words needed. I missed you, even in sleep. I miss you. Spencer shuffles a little closer to appease you, the small crease in your brow softens, almost vanishes, content when you find the curve of his hip. When Spencer places his hand over waist, he knows you know what he’s saying. I missed you too. I miss you, even in sleep.

Your hand shifts to accommodate his, intertwining with his in a way that makes his chest squeeze. It’s a dance you’ve both perfected, your fingers settling into the spaces between his. His hands are far from soft. The callus on his left palm is rough and worn, a result of years in the field with his gun. Yours aren’t perfect either—nails a little less neat than you'd like, a few nicks from the hurried days of recent weeks. His thumb traces the back of your hand. You give a small squeeze in return. And then two more. It’s instinctual—fingers find fingers. Spencer gives three squeezes back. 

But then your hand pushes past his, brushing lightly over the scab on the small of his back��A close call with a bullet during last week’s case. Even in sleep, you frown at the reminder. Not a big deal, baby, he’d winced through the burning pain in an effort to reassure you. You’d cried anyway. Later, you’d marched straight to Hotch, demanding better bulletproof vests—I don’t care if they have a bigger budget, I want the kind they use down in D.C.

Spencer gently takes your hand and places it on his chest. The tension in your brow visibly eases. For a moment, it rests there, still and quiet, before it stirs again, sleepily travelling up to settle on the curve of his neck. The birthmark on your shoulder makes a quiet appearance when his shirt slides off you a little. A lover’s kiss from a past life. Spencer hopes it was him in your life before this. And the one before that. And all the other ones before that. 

He breathes you in as you nuzzle into his neck, the motion guided by how tightly he pulls you to him. The only thing he loves more than falling asleep to you is waking up to you. It’s hard to tell where you end and where he begins—Spencer hopes he never has to find out. You pull back slightly humming lightly into his skin, a good morning before the good morning. A hi again, i’m glad it’s you i’m waking up to. 

The strands of hair falling into your face can’t hide the explosion of color in your eyes when they sleepily blink open. Once, then twice, before you’re closing them again—It’s woefully insufficient. Spencer thinks of how constellations were once used for navigation. They guided sailors across vast oceans, helping them find their way home. 

Then you’re leaning in to kiss him, eyes still closed. When the big met the bang all those years ago. His hand moves from your waist, tracing the curve of your spine, down your arm, and back up. You catch his bottom lip lightly between your teeth and Spencer sees stars. He thinks it’s a wonder you still have this effect on him after 439 days—206 of those being nights spent together. His fingers graze along your jaw before resting gently on your lips. A journey from waist to lips—one Spencer would gladly make a thousand times and more.

As someone with a PhD in Mathematics and who prides himself in his comprehension of logic and reason, Spencer knows infinity is an abstract idea. It’s an unreachable concept through mere arithmetic. But for you, he’d solve for it a million times over just so he doesn’t have to spend a single day without you. Honest to god, he doesn’t think he can. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how he’s managed to go so long without you in the first place.

When you pull away breathless, grinning, it’s almost a little wicked. You're definitely fully awake now. Cheeks flushed, lips red and rosy and you’re both leaning in again.

No words said. Lips to lips. A universal love letter through the ages. Pieces of parchment, folded and sealed, wax stamps guarding tenderness in ink. Hairs tucked inside lockets. Pictures in weathered wallets. From the sea to the shore, from the granite to the quills, from the stone to the paper. No words needed. 

Nobody loves the Earth for spinning, not really. It's been turning for 4.6 billion years with no applause. The sun rises then sets, and the moon follows suit. The stars flicker in their wake and the earth spins regardless. Spencer thinks you’re more than the sun, moon, and stars combined. 

There’s nothing else to decipher. A fact, pure and simple. An absolute consistency through and through. 

Lips to lips, over and over. The big meets the bang, again and again. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: sidelines by phoebe bridgers sailor song by gigi perez

[kashverse]

nanami’s handwriting is, as expected, immaculate. each letter crafted with the precision of a master calligrapher who moonlights as a salaryman. his strokes are even, calculated—like he’s silently judging the lesser beings who dare to write with anything less than perfection. of course, the sheer volume of paperwork he deals with has refined his skill. he’s the type to write his grocery lists in flawless cursive, only for gojo to ruin it by doodling sunglasses on the "eggs" entry.

gojo, on the other hand, has the handwriting of a child who just learned how to grip a pencil. it's an offense to the written word. his letters are uneven, loopy, and aggressively inconsistent, like they’re protesting against being confined to the page. it’s a miracle if he doesn’t turn a signature into a doodle of his own face. not that he ever signs anything—he usually leaves that to nanami, much to the latter’s dismay.

geto’s handwriting is elegant, of course. smooth, refined, the kind of script that belongs in historical documents and love letters no one was ever meant to find. it’s clear he’s practiced—perhaps too much. he probably picked up calligraphy in secret, pretending it was some profound, personal pursuit, but really, he just wanted his notes to look better than gojo’s (not a high bar). and they do. he could write an insult in the most graceful script and you’d thank him for the honor.

toji’s handwriting is less handwriting and more a desperate scrawl. he writes like someone trying to forge an ominous killer’s insignia and failing miserably. his letters look like they were scratched into the paper with a dull knife rather than a pen. half the time, he runs out of ink mid-sentence, but instead of refilling the pen, he just presses harder, as if brute force will solve his problems. it never does.

and then there’s sukuna, a man who has never written a single word in his life. why would he? he had servants, he had uraume—why dirty his hands with something so menial? and it shows. if you ever did manage to get him to write something down, it would look like an ancient curse that needs an entire research team to decipher. his grip on a pen is likely unnatural, like watching a cat try to hold chopsticks. at best, he can carve his name into flesh, but paper? absolutely not. his handwriting is a crime against literacy.