#i mean i didn't just find out like the knowledge was available to me i just didn't pay attention

[zemnarihah]

ok i'm back FUCK my homework. literally i could just fuck off for the rest of the semester and still pass all my classes whoooo cares

[lizzybeeee]

Calling it now:

If there's ever any future installments of Dragon Age there will be no mention of the differentiation between the Dalish or City Elves.

Like in DATV they will simply all be 'elves' and the vallaslin will be reduced to 'cool looking tattoo's that some veil jumpers have' - no mention of the elven pantheon either, because why bother! They're all dead now!

They're all dead and responsible for every lore plot point in Thedas, and there's nothing of mystery or substance left in the world now.

No mention of the culture in the alienage, of the vhenadahl tree, of the horrific racism and systematic abuse the elves have been through...now its just elves. With the way the Veil Jumpers have been set up, and the fact that the elven gods were the enemy in DATV, I find it extremely unlikely that the Dalish will even exist as a group either. Why would they? Their Gods returned and blighted the world - not that the fact is even truly discussed in the game. Elves are just elves, and the notable elves are Veil Jumpers.

Maybe you'll walk in a city, pick up a codex, and get a copy and pasted explanation of history from a DAO codex - a reminder of what we used to have and what BioWare absolutely demolished in their attempt to build a new IP on the bones of Dragon Age. The absolute whiplash in writing, story, and character between DAI and DATV is staggering. How on earth could the studio that made such a gorgeous, rich world of lore surrounding the elves in one game end up utterly bastardizing and reducing it to nothing?

How can you look at a place like the Temple of Mythal and go from those gorgeous golden murals and emerald tiled roofs that reached to the heavens to a place like the Lighthouse? From the Emerald Graves to the ruins of Arlathan - devoid of halls that reach to the heavens and golden murals replaced with stained glass? The entirety of the Trespasser DLC had more character and reverence for what the elven empire once was, and DATV feels as though it's approaching it with the perspective of 'generic elven bullshit with triangles everywhere'. All that unique architecture has been obliterated by adding in World of Warcraft focus crystals and automatons.

How can you go from the atmospheric/environmental storytelling of the Lost Temple of Dirthamen to Solas just blurting everything out? No weight, no double truths or hidden meanings - just blurting it out, getting it said and done with no gravitas? That was Solas' entire thing! People have made threads literally dissecting what Solas says and does not say - now he spits lore out as though it were common, everyday knowledge.

How can anyone justify the sudden emergence of magical automatons everywhere in old elven ruins? As if Dragon Age didn't have a host of enemies/creatures available to use in their stead - or the ability to create something unique to the forest of Arlathan. What happened to the spirit guardians? What happened to the lingering echoes of the elves slaughtered by humans in wars ages past like in DAO? Magic was their very existence - spells taking years or centuries to cast, weaving in and about each other - and you're telling me the ancient elves spent their time creating magical transformers?! It feels/looks so utterly seperate from everything we know of the elves from Dragon Age.

Or look at the Crossroads - listen to how Morrigan speaks of it - the reverence for the past, the misty atmosphere, and the heaviness of this pocket of the world that carries the fading memories of a world and people that no longer exists...now it's reduced to a hub world! People are just popping in and out of it at will!

In Trespasser, the few eluvians that we were available to travel to led to the most lonely, desolate spots of Thedas, which ensured their survival over the past millennia. The mirror in the Deep Roads, the mirror in the ancient stronghold in Ferelden...now they're everywhere!The 'few surviving' eluvians are in every major settlement of Thedas and all are in operating order! More than that, everyone who sees an eluvian knows what it is - this ancient marvel of a world long gone has lost all worth and is reduced to a 'world building' justification for fast travel.

Poor Merrill, slaving for a near decade to try and restore a small sliver of her history, only to have all gravitas and wonder of her discovery utterly made void. All that accomplishment wasted, especially when Bellara can wave her magic omni-tool and fix an eluvian in a matter of hours.

If you took every specific Dragon Age terminology out of the Veilguard and replaced it with generic fantasy bullshit you would never be able to tell the difference. The world of DATV is so divorced from its predecessors its astounding.

[jiminiecrickets]

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, in an alleyway, exhibitionism + getting caught, jealousy, rough sex, biting, crying

thursdays at a nightclub – most would expect a half-alive sort of creature, mostly empty and a little dull. but the nights never sleep and neither do its people, and the building is warm with electric bodies and the sweet, heady scent of spilt alcohol.

jungkook squeezes out of the crowd on the dance floor, releasing a lungful of thick air as he meanders towards the bar. he'd lost you a few minutes ago, and nothing was as fun as grinding on his boyfriend in a dark room full of strangers. he takes a seat and orders a drink.

not a second later, a presence slides up behind him. "what's a looker like you doin' all alone?"

his welcoming smile vanishes. that's not you. he glances over his shoulder at the young man, who looks so generically attractive that jungkook feels as if he's an instagram filter become reality.

he turns away, disinterested. he scans the crowds. "i'm not alone. here with my boyfriend."

"really? where?"

there's a grating smugness to his words. he's probably never had anyone say no to him before. "we got separated. this place is pretty big."

the guy hums, leaning against the bar next to jungkook. "that's true. he probably won't find you for ten minutes, maybe more. not thinking of spending all that time sittin' alone at the bar with just a whiskey to warm you, are you?"

"i am, actually."

"well, maybe i could interest you in something else," he suggests, "to pass the time."

jungkook lifts the glass to his lips, throwing it back. he hisses at the pleasant burn. "yeah, no. i'd rather watch paint dry."

"oh, i'm not that bad," he jests. his fingers slide over jungkook's bicep, gorgeously accentuated by the neckline of his black racerback tank. it's fitted and cropped – he did it himself – and shows off his tight stomach and defined apollo's belt. "you wouldn't even have to look at me, y'know. those hands of yours would make a nice necklace, don't you think?"

he glances down at his many silver rings and bracelets. "oh. oh. uh, i don't think you're reading me right. um, i don't swing that way."

the man's brows furrow. "what? you said you had a boyfriend."

"i do." jungkook clears his throat, carefully sliding off of the barstool. the other man's eyes follow him up; jungkook has a few inches over him. "i, uh..."

"there you are, baby. thought i'd never see your face again."

jungkook positively lights up at the sound of your voice, smooth and pleasant. it's the kind of voice that cuts through boardroom chatter like a hot knife through butter, carrying with it a natural, easy assertiveness that ceos wish they had.

"hyung," he coos, giggling as you drape an arm over his shoulder and tangle that hand in his long, messy curls, tugging slightly to press your lips to his cheek. he lets you move him around like a doll, grinning up at you adoringly. "hi."

"hi," you reply, amused. your eyes flicker over to the other man, whose face is slowly turning red. your eyes narrow slightly. "sorry, i don't think we've met. i'll be stealing him for a minute."

you're usually so polite – but this time, you didn't even add an 'if you don't mind' to that second sentence. jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. are you angry? are you angry at him?

"hyung?" he asks when you lead him outside into the alley, the cool breeze soothing his hot skin. "what's up?"

you turn on him. his eyes widen. "he was flirting with you, wasn't he?"

"what?" he fumbles. "w-well, i mean, yeah, but you know i wasn't gonna do anything if that's what you're worried about—"

"i don't care about that." something in the back of jungkook's mind swoons at the knowledge that you're so secure in his affections for you that it doesn't bother you in the slightest. you lean in, pressing a hand against the rough brick wall and pinning him in. his heart begins to race. "i care that he thought you were available. all this skin you're showing and not a single mark defining you as mine?" a slight growl marks that last word. jungkook gasps softly. "we'll have to fix that."

"now?" jungkook stammers, glancing around. the alley's dark, and the streets on either side are mostly quiet. a few haggard-looking youths stumble by every so often. "but what if someone sees? my dignity, hyung, you're gonna rip it to shreds."

"i'm 'gonna'?" you lift a brow, eyes glittering. "you sound as if you want this."

he swallows. "i – i do, i always do, but i don't want anyone getting an eyeful of my ass..." he hooks his fingers through your belt loops. "that's just for you, hyung-ah."

you hum, leaning in. you press your lips against his and he moans softly, tugging your hips flush against his. "that's right, baby. you're just for me. all this..." you squeeze his ass roughly over his black cargo pants and he whimpers out a moan, arching his spine into your touch. "all mine. why?"

"'cause you fuck me the best," he gasps, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as your hot kisses travel down his jaw and collar. his cock stirs. "you fuck me so well, baby. i could never want anyone else when i have you. i belong to you – hey!"

you yank his teasingly tight pants down over his thighs, pinning him in place easily with your own body. he's already half-hard – has been for the last hour in the club – and you hum appreciatively, gently turning him over. he obliges, arching his spine as he gazes watchfully over his shoulder, pink lips parted and palms pressed against the wall.

your hand runs over the tight silver-ringed harness that cradles his chest and shoulders and emphasises his tiny little waist. you nearly growl at the sight, nails digging into his skin.

he presses his ass into the front of your pants, round eyes sparkling with anticipation. "you're being so rough," he breathes as you nip at his neck just below his ear, tugging the fitted neck of his top down to reveal more of him. "did that really touch something tender? ah!"

he jerks as your teeth clip his soft skin, indenting the shape of your teeth as a red bruise. his heartbeat thuds faster as your palms glide over the mounds of his chest, perfectly sculpted by his tight shirt and harness, and dance over his cock to stroke his sensitive inner thighs. they tense under your touch.

he's wearing a pair of tiny black jocks with a rainbow elastic that cups his ass. you stifle a laugh, trying not to break character.

"what?" he mumbles, blushing. "shut the fuck up. they're cute."

"oh, i agree." you give them a light smack and he moans sharply at the impact. "wonder what that guy would think if he saw you in these – if he saw how pretty you are, spreading your legs for me..." one hand strokes his taut stomach, passing below his hips to cup the cute bubble in his jocks. he whines softly as you squeeze. "be a good boy and keep quiet for me, yeah?"

he nods feebly, gnawing on his lower lip. you've barely done anything and yet he already feels ragged, his skin scorching and tight.

something hot and thick prods his asshole. he slaps a hand over his mouth as you snap your hips forward, burying yourself so deep in him that he sees stars, the burning stretch achingly good. "mmph—!"

you hush him softly, holding him steady as he trembles in your arms. the hot weight of your body pinning his into the rough, cold alley wall is almost mind-numbing. "that's my good boy... halfway there. my good boy takes cock so well, doesn't he?"

whining softly, he nods fiercely, gasping out a shaky moan as you press your hips tight against his ass. "mhm, mhm, i do – ah! you're just s-so big, 'm close, so close—"

 "already?" your hips smack quick and rough against his ass, the lube making things wet and messy. he shoves his hand between his teeth and claws at the wall, the thick head of your cock grinding into his prostate and gliding against it with each thrust. "i just put it in, baby."

"s-sorry," he squeaks, his breathing haggard as his eyes dart between the ends of the alleyway. the headlights of a car rumble by and he clenches around you, eliciting a deep groan that rattles his spine and echoes in his head. "s-someone's gonna see – fuck, right there – h-hyung, they're gonna see—!"

"they will if you keep squealing your pretty head off," you grunt, gaze trained on the join between your bodies. his ass ripples, bouncing off of your hips with wet smacks, and arousal flames through your veins. you grab his wrists and pin them to the wall beside his head. "but you're so much tighter than usual – s'almost hard to fuck ya," you chuckle breathlessly. "you like this, don't you, my good boy? do you want someone to see the way you're crying on my cock?"

tears prick his eyes. you're right. his heart threatens to pound out of his ribs. he sniffles, moans high and airy. "n-no, i don't, 'm your good boy – please, sir, s-slow down—!"

his hips snap forward with a sharp cry as your cock slams into his guts. his vision whites out and his head spins, his body hot and sweaty even in the cool night, and he melts.

he arches his spine, throwing himself roughly back onto your cock and babbling for more. his hair bounces quickly, sticking to his temples, and his thighs shake violently as he comes into his jocks, sniffling and whimpering with hot tears streaking down his cheeks.

he's so messy. so embarrassed. he's acting like a slut. he squeezes his eyes shut and gulps back his loud moans, turning them into gasped whines and heavy pants as your dick scrapes his insides so wonderfully, filling him up like no one else ever could.

"sir – hyung," he babbles, melting into your hot kisses a little more with each harsh thrust, "hyung, hyung! please—!"

in the alleyway, the indent of the doorway you're hiding yourself in swings open. a familiar sleek face greets you, a cigarette between the lips.

it falls to the ground.

you yank jungkook's hips back onto your cock and he squeals, whimpering in shock and embarrassment as you fill him up right then and there. his huge, teary eyes stare back at you, his shaky hands pushing meekly at your stomach in an effort to get you to pull out, but you just step closer, forcing his body still as cum drips down his inner thigh from his jockstrap.

you tilt your head at the man who once, not too long ago, threw himself at jungkook, expecting to walk away in the morning with a satisfying ache between his legs. a tug on jungkook's long hair reveals the collar of dark, bruising hickeys littering his neck and shoulders.

jungkook moans your name, exhausted, and slumps against the wall, his hands trembling as he tries to steady himself against the cold bricks. you give one final thrust and jungkook keens, practically collapsing into your arms as his knees buckle.

you turn away from the stranger at last, dropping a chaste kiss to the nape of jungkook's neck. he shivers and whines softly, gripping your hips for dear life. you're the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the ground like a stringless marionette.

rapid footsteps. the door slams shut. you hush jungkook, nibbling another hickey into his flushed skin as you slide his pants over his ass.

"such a good boy," you whisper, wiping his tears away with the pad of your thumb. "my good boy, isn't that right?"

after a minute, he nods once, sucking in lungfuls of air as his head gradually clears of the thick fog. he leans back against you, tucking his warm face into the crook of your neck. your arms wrap securely around his waist. "yeah," he whispers vacantly, the tingle of pleasure still zinging through his nerves. "'m hyung's good boy... his..."

he's so cute like this, you think as you stroke his cheek and press a lingering kiss to his bitten lips. walking out of the alley, he grips your hand as if he'll die otherwise, but he decides that it's not close enough and hooks his arm over your shoulder, keeping yours around his bare waist. you help him keep steady on his shaking legs. his rosary of dark hickeys is a public announcement: he is yours, and you are his.

[yuugen-benni]

Recently you've developed a crush on Tighnari, the best student in science, particularly excelling in biology. You admired him for his knowledge and the way he easily gained, and demanded, people's respect.

It was at the beginning of the first school quarter, passing through the corridors after class and noticing that he was still there, in the much-hated laboratory. What was so good about it? Tighnari studied, researched, and became increasingly filled with curiosity about what he loved so much, Nature. The flower on the bench, the afternoon sun passing through the window, and there he was, looking through a microscope at the carefully removed petal. From there, the desire to observe him came like a wave.

In the second quarter, interested in the fox boy - his closest friends had called him that since he was little, a reference, or a joke, about his solitary habits, although he disagreed - the investigation began, you wondered if you were almost crossing the line or seeming like a stalker… but let's be honest, who has never tried to find out more about a certain person on their own? That was the fun part. In PE classes, he hardly participated; the heat was too much for him; his ears were sensitive! So, it was possible to notice how much he hated the noise in the cafeteria; surprisingly, his circle of friends was large, although his main group was composed of the three smartest students in different subjects, perhaps smart people understand each other.

By the third quarter, you were getting a little desperate. Six months had passed, and you hadn't even spoken to him without having a class to bring you together. One of the available resources was his friends mentioned briefly, Kaveh - the boy from the art class, the friendliest among them - was a good choice. It was like talking to a friend, an advisor who occasionally humiliates you.

Still, your heart was racing with fear until one day, not even knowing what you were thinking, you found yourself in the laboratory - he had stepped out for a few minutes - planning only to leave a sunflower on his desk. It was only seconds, but then…

"What are you doing here?" Tighnari's voice sounds a little suspicious due to your presence, his arms crossed as you turn around, looking surprised. "Did you touch anything ? If..."

"I just wanted to give you this!" You interrupt

Tighnari falls silent for a few seconds, his eyes locked on the flower in your hands. "Helianthus occidentalis…" He says in a low voice, but loud enough to be heard.

"What?" You ask, confused. "Um… I think it's a sunflower." His silence sets in for the second time, and then he laughs, making you feel silly but with butterflies in your stomach. "If you intend to give someone a flower, then at least know a little more about it," Tighnari approaches, delicately picking it up and examining its stem and petals. "They're not typical of here… where did you find them? Were you wanting to know about them?" He doesn't look away from the flower for a second.

"In fact, I bought it…" But then he stops and glances at your face. He's not stupid and certainly not oblivious. Of course, a flower doesn't mean anything, but when bought for this reason, it has a meaning beyond the ordinary.

''For me, I see...''

He didn't seem embarrassed, much less hesitant. His gaze turns to the flower, and then he sighs. "There's a café around the corner. Of course, we can go to the school cafeteria; it's still open, but…"

"It's too noisy for you," you cut in, almost completing his sentence. Tighnari's mouth was left slightly open, and then he sighed again with a stubborn smile.

"You did your research well."

[max1461]

What does this question even fucking mean?

I apologize to this random reddit user, who I'm about to put on blast, but this question is such nonsense and it's nonsense in a way that is extremely common, especially on r/askphilosophy (where this was posted) but also just in general, and I want to talk about it.

First of all, as the top commenter points out, a "philosopher king" is a hypothetical type of ruler discussed by Plato, not a real category of king that actually existed. But I can forgive this user for not knowing this is where the term comes from, because it's just a piece of factual knowledge that they might not have. That's fine. The reason I find this question so dumb is because, like... suppose that "philosopher king" was a real category of ruler that existed in antiquity. What the fuck would it mean? Like, did this asker ever stop to think "what question am I asking? This category that I'm inquiring about, what defines it?"? No, they did not. They just heard a term and started using it without thinking about what it actually refers to. This is the ur-problem of like 80% of all bad thinking: speaking first and figuring out what you mean by it later.

Is a "philosopher king" just a king who happens to also be a philosopher? If so, then surely you can answer your own question about the existence of "philosopher presidents" by just googling around for world leaders who happen to also have philosophy degrees or whatever; I imagine that information is easily available. But if this is what you mean by "philosopher king", then the question doesn't seem very deep or interesting, right? I mean a king is just a guy, and a president is just a guy, so of course it might be the case that sometimes these guys happen to also write philosophy.

I suppose if the question was framed this way—"are there any recent world leaders who are also philosophers?"—I wouldn't find it so silly. But the way it's phrased sort of suggests that the asker believes there's some kind of like, underlying pattern they're noticing, or deeper meaning they can ascribe to this. Like a "philosopher king" is some special ontological category of ruler, beyond just "king who also happens to have written philosophy", and so the existence or not of "philosopher presidents" is like a fascinating and puzzling topic to ponder instead of just an incidental question about whether any world leaders who use the title "president" also happen to do philosophy.

Right? Do you see what I'm saying? It's like this user heard king Solomon or whatever the fuck referred to as a "philosopher king" once, and didn't even bother to try to parse what that means. Just went "I guess there's a special type of king called a philosopher king, I know this piece of information know". It's like an abdication of actually thinking about what anyone is saying to you.

Of course I'm inferring wildly based on a small amount of information here, but this is the general type of error that I see all the time, so I'm not really concerned with being appropriately epistemically cautious about whether this exact thing is what lead this user to ask their dumb question on r/askphilosophy. I'm riffing on this guy's question to articulate a broader point, and pattern matching it to a common thinking error.

I will say, though, r/askphilosophy seems to attract people who say shit that is dumb in exactly this way (as opposed to all the other ways you can be dumb), and so this has served me well as model for what these people are doing wrong.

Anyway, this is actually the root cause, one suspects, of the asker's knowledge gap that I mentioned at the beginning of the post. A "philosopher king" is not in fact some special category of king that really existed, but an idea discussed by Plato in the Republic. It's fine that this person doesn't know this, but if they had tried to figure out what "philosopher king" actually means before saying it, they probably would have learned this fact.

If I could give one piece of advice to everyone on Earth and have them really take it seriously, it would probably be "think about what you mean before your say it".

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Memories [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: the case of the self-appointed Fisher King comes with too many sentimental implications and you discover that you and Spencer had more in common than you imagined.

warnings: mention of mental illness and some trauma

A/N: directly based on 2x01 of the series "The Fisher King" part 2

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx (if you want to be removed or added tell me!)

To say that you were worried about the case was an understatement, you were actually terrified of what might happen. An unsub holding a hostage, who was also her daughter, and who knew so much about each member of the team, was worrying in itself. But Elle being in a hospital dying, the case being so tied to Reid's life, and you being so stupidly far from knowing where Randall Garner was, was what made you want to throw up everything you'd eaten during your interrupted vacation.

The team, as always, had split up and throughout the investigation you had stayed with Spencer and Garcia to try to crack the riddle, using the man's brain, the woman's internet find-anything skills, and your vast knowledge of the world of codes and literature. During that period you never believed that the doctor's mother would be involved, much less did you think that she would find herself in the… condition she was in. Throughout the time she was there, he treated her sweetly and calmly, but you couldn't help noticing the discomfort that was palpable in the environment. Not that he was ashamed of her, of course, although you figured he didn't visit her very often and it was obviously not her intention for the entire BAU to find out that her mother was a schizophrenic who was in a sanatorium.

You remembered, hours ago, asking Garcia to let you tell the man that his mother was fine when he requested a plane to bring her to Virginia, and all day you had that conversation etched in your mind like a tattoo on your skin.

"Your mom it's ok" you had said, approaching her desk and leaning on it to look at it "Agents picked her up. She's flying here right now” you completed, although he seemed too amused with the piece of evidence that he had in his hand and then you felt the need to say something else “How are you?”

"I feel kind of dumb, to tell you the truth," he replied. Most of the time he avoided looking at you, but you had already gotten used to it “I forgot she used to always read me this poem. And I think that I should have realized sooner than that”

"Why?"

“Nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me,” he said, with a guilt-tinged shrug. “People tell me their secrets all the time. Think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to… except… my mother. I... I tell her pretty much everything”

"It’s fine”

“Do you know that I write her a letter every day?”

"That's very nice," you said sincerely, for the idea of the man carefully writing a letter to tell his mother about the day was a sweet image to imagine.

“It depends on why I write her”

"What do you mean?"

“I write her letters so I won't feel so guilty about not visiting her,” Reid added. If it hadn't been for that case, probably you, or anyone, would have known that his mother was hospitalized and you thought it was completely logical that he didn't want others to find out about that part of his life about him, including that he didn’t visit her. Spencer was always available for everything, always working, always alone in his apartment and now that you knew about Diana you understood why. He waited a moment and then finally made eye contact with you, looking somewhat fearful “Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?”

And when he mentioned that your world fell apart. You understood that this was the reason why he didn't go with her; because he was afraid. You didn't know how to react, at least not at that moment, and you just looked at him sadly, feeling your own heart tighten a little at unfortunate memories.

Although, for work reasons, the talk hadn't gone any further than that, you'd thought about it all along, even now that you were all gathered to put the last pieces together of what you hoped would be a successful puzzle.

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?” Hotch muttered, already quite frustrated at how fruitless the search was turning out. There was little time left and you all knew it.

“I'll search the tax records, see if he owns any property”

"Excuse me," Diana Reid intervened from the chair next to the blackboard and her son practically jumped to try and stop her.

"Mom, do you know we're..."

“Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me” she continued, ignoring “It's a photo of a house with an address on the back”

After showing her direction she turned the image and you saw what was a house that looked just like a castle, with illuminated windows, trees around, and a night sky.

“Shiloh, Virginia?”

“That's only 10 miles from here”

"Well, there's no time to waste. Morgan and Reid are coming with me”

"I want to go too," you said immediately. Something about the whole thing gave you a very bad feeling and you wished you could help in any way you could, but you were surprised to see that Spencer was the first to oppose your request.

“We don't want anyone else to get hurt, Y/N,” Morgan added, his voice almost pleading for you to obey Hotch's orders. You were in no position to demand a ride and only agreed because you knew that an argument would only take away valuable time. “We have to get ready. Reid, let's go.”

"I'll be back soon, mom"

"I'll stay with her" you suggested, hastening to take a step towards him, in an attempt to continue your mission to help.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," you said to reassure him. Diana already seemed quite satisfied with the fact that you were going to accompany her and you still didn't know why “Go. And be careful, please."

"I will" he nodded and immediately went after Morgan and Hotch, the three of them leaving the room to carry out the rescue mission. You had your heart in your hand for thinking about what could happen to them and only the woman's voice brought you back to reality.

"I'm glad you're the one who stays"

"Really?" you asked, somewhat flattered to think that she had liked you within a couple of hours of knowing you. 

"Spencer talks to me about you all the time" she confessed and both you and the other two women present widened their eyes in surprise “He said you like literature"

"Yeah, I'd say so," you muttered, trying to smile at her to hide the nervous wreck you were, partly because of concern for your partners and partly because of what she had just told you.

"He's going to be fine, right?"

By God you hoped so. You didn't know what you would do if he got hurt or… he just didn't come back from there.

"Yes, I promise" you managed to say, as serenely as possible to try to keep your companion calm "And if you tell me about your favorite book? I imagine it will be a good one,” you said kindly, taking her arm and leading her to a couch where the two of you could sit. You knew that part of suggesting the talk was to distract yourself from the bleak outlook and thus kill time until the team returned.

Waiting was all you could do.

Diana had talked to you for a while until she ended up finding it more interesting to write in her notebook so you decided not to bother her, although she left you silent and ready for anxiety to grip you tight. After about an hour JJ herself had come to tell you that Elle was safe after surgery and you swore you could have cried with happiness when you found out. So, the pain that stayed in your chest was just from waiting for news from the three remaining agents and when what felt like an eternity passed without receiving any reports you couldn't take it anymore and apologized to Diana to leave the room. with the excuse that you needed to go to the bathroom. You were confident that she would not be a suicidal or aggressive patient, but you still wanted to hurry to get back to her as soon as possible, and when you had barely walked a section of the corridor you met a gangly figure who was already on his way to look for you.

"Rebeca?"

“She's safe” was the first thing you said, making the knot in your stomach finally dissolve “But Randall died. He blew himself up,” he continued, and you thought you wished you had heard a better outcome, even if the man was a criminal “And my mom?”

"Calm. Writing” you assured him, taking a few steps towards him to get a better look at him. He was dirty and what would later be a bruise could be seen on the left side of his face, but other than that he seemed to be safe and sound. "Is everyone there okay?"

"Yes," he breathed out. It was a relief to know that, it was a relief that things were finally over and that no one had been lost.

“I'm so grateful to hear that, Reid,” you said. You stretched your fingers up to his side and ran the tips over the mark that was beginning to form. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," he assured you, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Your mother. It will make her happy to know that you're back" you murmured immediately, and tried to go back the way you had come to go tell him, but he held out a hand to stop you "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I could take a moment before going with her?" he asked you and you retraced your steps to face him, still not letting go of his hand. You nodded and he sat on the floor with his legs drawn up and his back leaning against the wall in an attempt to calm down a bit from the adrenaline rush of all the previous events. You dropped down next to him in the same position and looked at his profile, thinking that if you had something to say, now was the time to talk.

“She told me you talk about me all the time,” you ventured, and he bit back an embarrassed smile.

"You weren't supposed to have found out about that"

"So you say bad things about me?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No" you answered kindly.

"It's a relief"

“So these are definitely bad things, huh,” you teased, pushing your shoulder against his and seeing him shake his head slightly, too embarrassed to admit what he had written to his mother about you. You were silent for a moment as it didn’t seem that he had any intention of getting up to cross to the meeting room, you spoke again "Do you really not want to see her?"

“It's not that I don't want to see her, it's just that dealing with everything sometimes is so… so hard. You wouldn't understand,” he told you, his voice threatening to crack at any moment. You took a deep breath before opening your mouth to reply and the lonely hallway muffled your words, which were barely a whisper.

"What do you know about Alzheimer, Reid?" saying this, he turned a little to look at you, just in case he had misheard, but he realized that now it was you who wasn't looking at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Alzheimer" you repeated.

"Huh, it's a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking, and behavior," he replied, still not quite sure why you were asking, “It is progressive, which means dementia symptoms gradually worsen over the years, and it is also the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. Live an average of eight years after symptoms become apparent, but survival can range from four to 20 years, depending on age and other health conditions. There is currently no cure."

“Have you ever lived with someone who has it?” you exclaimed and he shook his head. It was easier to look directly at you when you were the one who looked away “There are experimental treatments that reduce symptoms, but none are totally effective, appearing early in life in only about 5% to 6% of people. Although there is no defined cause, the genetic factor can affect you if you had a direct relative who suffered from early Alzheimer's” you exclaimed. He wanted to ask you why you were doing this exchange of information, but he thought it impolite to do so, so he just kept quiet "You said earlier that people tell you their secrets because you have no one to tell them to, but I'm sure it's not because that. We trust you because you are kind, understanding, but above all a good friend who we know will never judge us" you took a moment to take a deep breath again, feeling the nervousness running from the tip of your feet to your head and also to gather something of courage "I personally tell you because I am very afraid of starting to forget them"

It all clicked in Spencer's mind in a split second and he wished he was misreading things, searching your gaze so he could identify something that indicated you didn't mean what he was assuming.

"You…?” he started to say, but the question died on the tip of his tongue.

“It was my father. He was barely 35 years old when it all started, it was with the time he forgot to come to his birthday party. I remember it perfectly, he hadn't been feeling well for weeks due to the stress of work and the company decided to run all kinds of tests on him, without finding anything to worry about, so we just ignored it. But the symptoms recurred: he was disoriented, discouraged, sometimes he became aggressive with the family and forgot plans or things that we had told him. When he almost crushed one of his colleagues with a machine that he forgot that he was working, the company decided to give him a permanent break and we began to worry.

»By 36 it was already a fact that it was the beginnings of dementia. The doctors were surprised by the diagnosis because it is not very common to find the disease in patients of his age and for more explanations that we tried to find, we didn’t find any other. They prescribed a treatment that only kept him calm and it got to a point where it felt inhuman to drug him daily, and about two years after he got the diagnosis my mom decided it was better to put him in a mental hospital.

I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I already understood everything perfectly. I went to see him every day, after school, talked to him, read my homework to him, and we watched movies together, which to a certain extent made his illness feel tolerable. The worst thing at that point was that he asked me to watch the same movie as the day before or that he asked me if I was nervous about the exam I had done a week ago" you looked at the man just to make sure he was following the story, which that you verified with the way he was looking at you; fully attentive.

“Anyway, the years went by and it got more and more complicated. Sometimes a nurse had to remind her of my name and at some point my mother just gave up, probably when my father completely disowned her and started yelling all over the hospital that a woman was harassing him in her room. I continued to visit him, but when I grew up and entered the FBI academy my hours were cut down considerably, so in recent years I only went to see him once a week.

»At 42 my father no longer knew that I was his daughter, he thought that I was a nurse doing social service by keeping him company. He talked to me all the time about his family and sadly told me that neither his wife nor his daughter had been to see him for a long time, but I assured him that they had both asked me to tell him that they loved him very much and that they would go soon” silent for a moment, careful not to burst into tears, and prepared to finish the story “He died during my first year as a BAU agent. I saw his decline over the years and even at the end I think he left thinking that his family had abandoned him. I don't talk to my mother anymore, because I think she feels very guilty about me for having left me all the burden of taking care of my father. But every day I feel at peace with myself because despite how painful it was to see him, I never left him.

»Many times I cried before entering the hospital and when leaving, thinking that I had to pretend to be able to spend a moment with the person I loved the most and who was now only a ghost of what my father once was. And it was terrible to look at it and think that this was my future, even to this day. They say that reading is a good exercise to reduce risk and that's why I always carry a book wherever I go, that's why I always want to do new things and that's why I strive every day to solve our cases because I don't know when the last. I have gone to specialists who have told me that there is nothing to worry about and that, if I have it, Alzheimer's could last until I am an old woman, but even so I am afraid every day.

If I really get sick and manage to get old, the most likely thing is that I will end up in a sanatorium, but right now what is worth it are the things I do every day. I'm scared, yes, but it's worth fighting for if I can help people in this job and especially if I can live with people like you.

I know you said that I wouldn't understand, but the truth is that of all the people in this building I can assure you that I am the one who can do it best. I know that you can't bear to see her because you are afraid of ending up with her like her and that at the same time you are so worried that you take the time to write everything about your life to her. I'm probably boring you with all this stuff that you never asked me to tell you, but I just wanted to tell you how important it is that you be with your mom. And more than doing it for her, do it for you.

I would only give you one piece of advice, which you can decide to take or not: don't waste your time, Spencer. Your mother loves you very much, go and talk to her, accompany her, listen to everything she has to tell you and forgive her faults if there are any. Because you don't know about her when it may be the last time you see her, either for your health or for hers”

There was total silence. You hadn't noticed until that moment that your cheeks were already wet from crying and you still didn't dare to look at his face. No person knew that part of you, because after your father got worse you had decided not to talk about it with anyone, so you could say that you were practically giving your heart to that man bruised by the mission a few hours ago. Suddenly you thought that perhaps you had talked for too long or that for him it had no relevance and he had only stayed to listen to you because he was not rude enough to leave you talking to yourself. But while your head was drawing the wrong conclusions, something you never expected happened: Spencer extended his hands to you and wrapped you in a hug.

It only took a bit of effort to make their bodies fit perfectly and he clenched the fabric of your knitted sweater in his fists, tucking his head into the crook of your neck to allow you to lean yours against his golden hair. It was as if all the time you had been destined for that particular moment, fused in that embrace that communicated everything that words could no longer express.

He wasn't the person who loved physical contact the most, all of you had noticed that, so hugging him was totally new to you. The feeling of peace that this brought you had no comparison point and the softness of his body covered you completely.

“I had no idea,” he murmured, the sound of his voice muffled by your skin. And Spencer was being completely honest, because he didn't even imagine that you could fully understand him after having lived through such a tragic story. He had understood many things thanks to your story and he was eternally grateful that he had felt the confidence to tell him something like this, so he also thought that maybe it was his turn to be honest with you "What my mom said is true, I always talk to her about you. I tell her that you are the sweetest companion I have ever had, that you always pay attention to me, and that you make sure that I feel comfortable wherever we go. I tell her that you are strong, that I want to be half as brave as you, and I also tell her that I have never felt affection and gratitude for someone as I feel for you, because you have made these two years different from any other time in my life” his words, whispered so close to you and drenched in so much love, only intensified your tears "And as long as my conscience remains intact, I assure you that if I need to remind you of all the secrets you have told me, I will do it"

That, more than a proposal, was a declaration of pure love that promised to reach many years into the future.

"Maybe we'll even end up in the same sanitarium, you and me, huh?" you exclaimed, with a slightly joking tone "And so I will have the opportunity to know your wonders again every day"

You felt on your neck that you managed to get a smile out of him and that made you smile too. That's when he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I think that… I will go with my mother back to Nevada. I guess we both deserve it, don't you think?" he told you and you nodded with a small smile. He didn't want to leave your side, but you got up first and held out your hand to help him do the same.

“She still has enough lucidity to tell me what your favorite food is. Maybe you should eat with her on the plane” you suggested. You didn't want to rob him of any more time he could spend with his mother, so you just wished him luck and started walking in another direction.

"Y/N, before you go" he called out to you. You were already a fair distance away, but it was enough for you to still speak in a small voice. "You know you're not alone, right?"

You smiled as he looked at you with those eyes that only showed sincerity, and you wished you could encapsulate that moment for eternity.

"I know" you replied calmly "And I trust that now you know it too"

[pellucid-constellations]

angstober (7)

Prompt: "Weakness"

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/n: This is a heavy one. Anywaysss love you <3

angstober masterlist here ♡

~~~

A door hinge creaked somewhere far off. 

Bucky waited. He’d been waiting for hours now, hands tied behind his back, chains digging into the skin of his right wrist. He’d tried ripping them away to no avail. 

Whoever had taken him had been prepared. Had known him and his weaknesses. 

But it didn't matter; the second he got free, their knowledge would mean nothing. Pure fury was fueling his stay, and pure power would fuel his fight to freedom. His fight back home.

A door creaked open, dim light dusting the grime on the solid floors. Footsteps, each carefully measured, echoed as they made their way toward Bucky. It wasn’t until the shine of leather came into his view that Bucky looked up—that he gave his captor the privilege of the rage burned into his expression. 

“You want something from me?” he gritted out, narrowing his eyes at the older man above him. 

The man only shot up a brow. “There are several things I want from you, Sergeant Barnes.” A thick accent held his words together. “But none of which I am sure you will give lightly.” 

Bucky let out a humorless chuckle. “How would you know? Haven’t even tried yet. Just left me sitting here. That your tactic? Isolation? Because I can tell you right now, I’ve waited a lot longer for a lot less.” 

In hindsight, goading the man who held his mercy in his hands wasn’t the most clever move. But Bucky got mouthy when he was angry, even more so when he was sure Hydra had a hand in whatever bullshit he was currently caught up in. 

Looking back, Bucky would take back his words, even if it wouldn’t have helped. 

He knew they wouldn’t have helped. 

The man grabbed Bucky’s chin and craned his neck harshly, putting him inches away from his face. “You will wish it was isolation. I simply needed time to procure what I needed to make you speak.” 

“What do you want to know?” Bucky seethed, roughly turning his face away. He spoke his next words to the floor. “Typically you ask nicely first. Haven’t even tried that.” 

“I do not have time for those theatrics.” 

With a snap of his fingers, the door opened wider. Bucky heard a struggle in the hall—scuffling feet and grunts and muffled words. The man before him rolled his eyes, hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch the door. 

“What, some kind of animal?” Bucky scoffed. “You’ll have to try—” 

Blood ran cold. At that moment, Bucky couldn’t tell whose blood it was. Because his blood, the very same that pumped beneath his skin and warmed him, didn’t feel like his own. His body felt foreign, each limb tightening and then cramping to the point of pain.

This wasn’t his body. 

He wasn’t here. 

You weren’t here. You couldn’t be. 

“No.” His whisper was only a breath. He hadn’t meant to speak. 

Bucky flinched as a cloud clap resonated in the space, followed by a mocking laugh. “Finally something to stop your ridiculous taunts,” the man rejoiced, leaning over to hold his thighs, coming nose-to-nose with Bucky. “I would have brought her in from the start, had I known.” 

Your gaze met his, and Bucky lost it—in his mind, body, being, he came undone. He pulled against the chains harder than before, letting out curse after curse at the man in front of him. He threatened death, torture, and far worse that he wouldn’t be able to follow through on. 

But he would find a way. 

Because your face was already bruised. Your hands were tied together at your hips and he could see the way the rope chafed at your skin. The same skin he had kissed countless times before. It was marred now, and you were in pain. He could hear your muffled sobs beneath the cloth shoved into your mouth, and Bucky promised far worse things than death. 

You weren’t meant for this—to ever feel this way. 

“What the fuck do you want!?” he snarled, his eyes leaving you for a singular moment to direct his rage towards the man. He found you again a second later, not wanting to leave you unguarded. 

It was silly to think his eyes had any power now. 

“Attitudes change so fast in the name of love, do they not?” the man posed, coming around to linger at your side. 

Bucky’s chest rumbled in warning... in anger and frustration and desperation. “Tell me. I’ll give you anything you want. Let her go.” 

The man seemed uninterested in his request, letting a finger track the shape of your cheek. You flinched back, running into the woman that had dragged you in. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Bucky barked out, words punctuated by chains slamming to the floor. 

The hand left your face, only to move to your hair. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut with the heavy intake of your breath. Bucky mourned the loss. Mourned any time before this—before he was the reason you had been hurt. 

There was no going back from this. This was his fault. You were here because of him. 

Unimaginable sorrow fought for dominance in his chest, but he kept the anger burning. It was the only way he’d be able to save you. 

“I find—anecdotally—that there is much less resistance in my…clients when there is a contract up front,” the man hummed. He grabbed the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin. You let out a whimper, and Bucky let out a threat coated in a surging panic. “Shall I spell it out for you, then, Sergeant Barnes?” 

You were thrown to the floor, knees crashing against concrete. You cried harder and Bucky felt all the wrath he’d been kindling die out. Fear replaced it. Unbridled fear. He couldn’t get out of these chains. He pulled and tugged until he was sure the vibranium bent and his skin broke, but nothing budged. 

He couldn’t save you.

“I will tell you anything you want to know,” Bucky pleaded, tone dangerously low, breath coming out in heavy pants. His eyes were glued to the way your chest heaved. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. You know that. That’s why you went after her, isn’t it?” 

The man laughed again, this time a deep, soft disruption in the otherwise stagnant room. “You always were smart for a mindless drone.” 

Hydra. 

The label was meaningless. Everything in Bucky’s world had shifted the moment you were shoved through the door.

There was nothing left of him as you braced your bleeding hands on the same floor he sat. 

When you locked gazes with him—for the last time, Bucky would later remember—it was with finality. Your eyes told him you forgave him. You shook your head like you knew some secret he wasn’t privy to, and he tracked the movement with so much fear lodged in his chest—piercing at his ribs—that it hurt to breathe. 

What had you known? 

What had you heard? 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

“Let her go. I’m—” Words meant nothing to this man. Bucky brought his face up to him, his broken, pleading face as he trembled beneath his next word. “Please.” 

“I do love to hear you beg. But this is for me, as well, Soldat. Who doesn’t love a little torture?” 

Bucky wouldn’t remember the wicked smile the man sent him after his damning words. He would only remember your scream. The panic that ruined him. 

I love you, hold on. Please, hold on. 

I’m so sorry, please.

Stop! Stop hurting her! I can’t—she can’t—

All spoken to unhearing ears. 

His weakness had never been a physical constraint, but from then on, Bucky did not feel strong. 

[yayakoishii]

Picture This | Balam Shichirou x Reader

Fandom: Mairimashita Iruma-kun

Pairing: Balam Shichirou x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre/Tags: Fluff

Summary: You find out about the kind and gentle Balam Shichirou and meet him with a proposition of your own.

A/n: I have known this demon for 3 episodes and I'm in LOVE;; so I basically got possessed by the sudden urge to write something for him. he's the kindest, the sweetest, the BEST TEACHER EVER 😭 I love teachers like him so much, this was very self-indulgent and kinda just me admiring him hehe... I hope you enjoy this short thing I wrote, even though there's a high chance that he might be slightly ooc since I haven't known him for longer than 3 episodes.

also available on ao3!

The chatter in the class was a low hum as everyone worked on their own worksheets that you had just printed out. The Apocalypse Test was close and as a new teacher at Babyls, you wanted your first results to reflect well. If the results were not good then that would mean you had to work harder as a teacher.

You were walking amongst the students, listening in on their discussions or aiding them in finding where the answer could be found in the textbook. It was an open book, open discussion worksheet solving session and you were pleased with how well the students seemed to be handling it without making too much noise. The abnormal class could be really serious about studying when they put their mind to it, huh?

The bobbing of a blue head caught your attention and you walked closer to Iruma's seat. As always, he was sitting between Alice and Clara but the three of them were referring to their own books. (Except for Clara; you were pretty sure the book in her hand had nothing to do with studying…) The book in Iruma's hand was one you had never seen before but it looked interesting.

"Iruma-kun?" You stopped in front of his desk and looked down at the book curiously. Said boy startled and looked up in panic until he realised it was just you. "Where did you get this book?"

"Oh!" He gave you a warm smile, the kind that always made you smile in return. "Balam-sensei gave it to me because I was… y'know… struggling to understand."

"Can I see it?" You asked, curiosity taking a hold of you. Iruma handed you the book and you leafed through it. Surprisingly, it was a picture book with really easy explanations. Whoever wrote it had your gratitude; these were the kind of books that made learning enjoyable and less daunting. You closed it and looked at the cover to check the author's name. "Huh? Balam Shichirou…? Balam-sensei wrote this book?"

"Yes!" Iruma beamed at you. "He made some of them especially for me."

"That's wonderful," you felt touched even though you had never met the man. When you had aspired to be a teacher, this was the kind of teacher you were aiming for. Somebody who helped even the students who were struggling to understand, from the basics so they could build a stronger structure of knowledge on it. "Is it easier for you to understand this way?"

"It is," Iruma admitted, shyly scratching the back of his neck. You smiled and lightly patted the top of his head, startling the boy a little.

"I'll keep that in mind for my next class," you said. "And while I'm grateful for Balam-sensei… Why didn't you tell me if you were struggling to understand my teaching, Iruma-kun? I would have adjusted for you."

You pouted at him so he knew you weren't seriously mad at him; just a little upset.

"No, no, no!" The boy panicked and shook his hands in a negating gesture. "That's not it, (y/n)-sensei!! I just didn't want to burden you because I was the only one struggling even with your easy explanations… I guess having it in written form like this just helps to remember what you've already taught."

"It's not a burden, Iruma-kun," you reminded him. "It's my job as a teacher to make sure you understand. If you don't understand something, that's my responsibility. If you're worried about being a bother to the rest of the class, you can always come to me after the classes are over to get a quick personalised lesson."

"Eh?" He looked surprised. "Wouldn't that take up your time, sensei?"

"If it helps my students then it's time well spent!"

•

After your classes for the day were done, you asked around the staffroom for where you could find Balam Shichirou. Kalego gave you the directions and you made your way to his office, curious about what kind of person he must be and how he would look. From whatever Iruma had told you, he already sounded like a kind person and a great teacher. You found the door and knocked on it before looking inside.

"Balam-sensei?" You asked. There was a demon with long white hair sitting on a table, writing something down, who startled at your voice. "Can I come in?"

"O- Oh, yes, please!" He seemed a little confused by your presence but you stepped in and closed the door behind yourself. There was an empty stool across the table so you sat down on it. "Um, (y/n)-sensei, would you like some Hell Grey Tea?"

"Oh!" You hadn't expected him to know your name. Suddenly, it felt embarrassing that you had never heard of him before this. "Yes, thank you for the offer, Balam-sensei."

He nodded and got up to make you some. He worked in silence so you took the time to look around his office. The shelves full of books were eye-catching and your hands were already itching to dig into them and read all the unfamiliar volumes. Your eyes drifted over to the book sitting in front of you that Balam was working on. Your eyes widened when you realised it was another picture book, this one on one of the battles that had occured some centuries ago. Your hands moved to check it before you could even think that it would be rude.

"Here you go– oh, you saw my book," Balam placed the tea just out of the way enough so that you wouldn't accidentally bump it. "Do you… like picture books, (y/n)-sensei?"

"Not particularly," you admitted as you skimmed through what was already drawn and written. "But I like to read so picture books are fun too! I suppose I never got much into them because my home was full of textual books and I liked those just fine so I never had any picture books as a kid. I may not know much about them, but this is really well-written, Balam-sensei! You draw so well too."

"Oh," the other demon pinked at your words as he took his seat. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I'm making this one for a student but you could borrow a different one if you're interested."

"Ah! That reminds me why I came here," you beamed at him, gently placing the book back where you had picked it up from. "I saw the picture book you gave Iruma-kun in my class today. Our subjects have a small section that overlaps so he was referring to the book you made for him and I couldn't help noticing it. It was truly so easy to understand and it gave me the idea that such a method would be helpful with other subjects too."

"Really?" He seemed surprised by your words but you could tell that he was also touched. "I would like to share them with all the students too, but for some reason, they keep running away when I try to show them my picture books."

"Ah," you leaned back when you realised that you had accidentally leaned over in your excitement. The other teachers in the staffroom had told you about Balam's reputation amongst the students. "I'm sure they would benefit from it. I could share your books with some of my students if that works for you, Balam-sensei. And, if you would be interested, I wanted to try making a picture book explaining my subject too. It's a huge task and I would compensate you accordingly for your time and efforts–"

"You…" If Balam had seemed shocked before, it was nothing compared to his face now. Although his mouth was covered by a metal mask, you could tell from how wide his eyes had gotten. "You want to… make a picture book… with me?"

"Only if you're interested!" You bit your bottom lip nervously. "I personally really liked your books and I thought it would be a great way to learn for the students who have a weaker or slower grasp of understanding. Since I'm not very familiar with the process, I thought it would be amazing if I could have the aid of your experience. I understand if it's a commitment that you don't have the time for, and there's no guarantee that it will work out but I would love to at least try it with you."

"I would love to," Balam uttered softly and even without seeing his mouth, you could tell that he was gently smiling at you with how his eyes curved just so. The sight made your heart unexpectedly quicken and you fidgeted in your seat, picking up the Hell Grey Tea you had forgotten about. "I didn't think any of the other teachers liked me much but I'm very happy that you thought of me when you wanted to try this out."

"I don't think they dislike you, Balam-sensei," you smiled from behind the cup of tea. "But I suppose people just get so caught up in appearances and assumptions. People who have much to hide seem dangerous at first glance and we don't take time to get to know them if we can help it. I admit I might have fallen prey to the same kind of thinking if I hadn't heard about you from Iruma-kun. I could tell you were a kind and wonderful teacher from the way he spoke about you."

Balam's eyes widened and for a second, you thought his eyes seemed glassy. You blinked and the light was gone but Balam's eyes were still the soft shape. Now that you took the time to study his face, you realised he was quite handsome. The thought made you accidentally slam your tea cup down on the table in panic and the ceramic broke, startling the both of you.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!!" You were flustered but you hurriedly tried to collect the pieces together without hurting yourself. "I'm so clumsy…"

"It's okay," Balam reassured you, coming over to your side to help you pick up some of the pieces. "I'll take them to the trash. Are you hurt?"

"I don't– oh, just a little it seems," you had a very tiny cut from a sharper piece you had picked up. It didn't hurt. You waved it off as you carefully put the pieces you had collected in Balam's large gloved hands. "Nothing to worry about. It will be healed in a day or two. I really am sorry for troubling you, Balam-sensei!"

"I told you, it's fine."

He carefully threw away the trash then returned to you with an ointment from his desk drawer. You had stuck the finger into your mouth to suck at the blood and stop the flow but it felt embarrassing when you realised that Balam was watching you. You hurriedly removed the finger and tried to find a cloth to wipe it off but Balam crouched in front of you and asked for your hand silently. You ended up placing yours in his and watched him carefully pat it off before putting on the ointment.

"Thank you," you blushed fiercely when he was done and still hadn't let go of your hand. In fact, he was now standing up and holding both your arms in his own; the proximity was making your heart beat unnaturally fast. "Um, Balam-sensei..?"

"Yes?" He asked, blinking down at your comparatively smaller form in his arms.

"Y- You can let go of me now," you mumbled. Your words made him stutter and he let go in a panic.

"I- I'm so sorry, I just tend to do that without thinking!" He was blushing too, embarrassed. Balam didn't want to make you uncomfortable after you had been so nice to him. For once, he was actually getting along with someone new. For that matter, you were the one to approach him first! Not to mention, he had found you really beautiful when he had first seen you in the staffroom, laughing at Dali's joke. You hadn't seen him then, but that brief memory flashed in his mind when you softly giggled.

The sound of your laugh made his heart skip a beat. Balam stared at you as you flashed him a warm smile.

"If you wanted to hold me, you could have just asked, Balam-sensei!" You beamed and opened your arms for a hug. "I don't mind you touching me. I was just surprised."

Oh.

Balam's hands twitched for a second, the same nervousness he felt when Iruma tried to touch him popping up. But this time, it felt a bit different. The nervousness in his stomach felt like those fantastical creatures called butterflies that he had read about. His heart seemed to be thumping louder than usual too.

It was only when his larger frame swallowed yours into a gentle grip that he realised. He could feel the outline of your smile against his bicep.

Ah, this was what they called a crush, huh?

°•❀•°

All likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

[trianglesimpfordpines]

ok so like 2 people said they wanted to see the "ford is the most realistic genius" post and that's all the encouragement i need. i'm probably gonna sound pretty full-of-myself on this post but that's just how it be like sometimes.

a lot of the time, "intelligence" is assumed to mean "knows more things." fictional characters who are supposed to be geniuses typically just...miraculously Know information they have no real way of acquiring, anticipate events that cannot reasonably anticipated, or every other character just suddenly gets stupid when the genius character is around so that the "genius" character just doing the logical thing comes off as particularly smart.

so you have a character who supposedly has a really high iq, but in practice they may as well be psychic.

as someone who actually has an iq of 147 (bear with me, because this isn't a flexing post), being "really intelligent" does not mean Just Knowing Things. what it means is that someone who's "smart" (in the traditional sense) can process more information, draw more conclusions, and do so faster than most people. it also usually means being really good at rationalizing things. so if you're someone who's well-adjusted and well-informed, that can definitely look like knowing all the right answers...but if you're someone who's not well-adjusted or well-informed, it can, if anything, make you even wronger. you get better at rationalizing your mistakes and digging yourself in deeper. and heaven help you if you have paranoid tendencies, because it's that much harder to convince someone they're being irrational when they're on a whole 'nother level of finding information to back up their irrationality.

ford is a genius. he learns incredibly fast and thoroughly. but he's also constrained by the information he has available to him, and by his own biases and past trauma and people issues.

that one writing advice post that made the rounds saying that a character's biggest flaw is usually their biggest strength in the wrong situation is very true of people who are very intelligent. it's why, for example, you'll sometimes see doctors, academics, experts buy into conspiracy theories. it's not because they're stupid; it's because they're smart enough to recontextualize all their knowledge to support their biases and beliefs.

and so many people do not understand this because they still think of "intelligence" as "knowing & being right about everything." so you get people arguing that ford isn't really a genius, because he was wrong and he made mistakes. but in my opinion, the mistakes he makes make perfect sense because he's a genius. that kind of recklessness is exactly what you get when you combine abnormally high iq with ford's myriad of personal issues. you get someone who's great at rationalizing, great at taking in information, and great at finding surprisingly well-thought-out reasons why their paranoia and antisocial tendencies are totally just the rational response.

think of it this way; the smartest people alive in the medieval era believed in the miasma theory. they weren't too stupid to understand what bacteria and viruses are; they just didn't have the tools needed to observe them. so they came up with a theory based on the information they did know, wrote essays and papers about it, made medical practices based on it...and it was completely incorrect, because genius without correct information leads to spectacular and very well-thought-out mistakes.

anyway, all this to say, as someone who could nominally be considered a "genius" but has been hella wrong about a lot of things in my life, i think ford is an incredibly realistic take on what most "geniuses" are really like. impressive in the right situations, not so much in the wrong ones, and very much not magical beings capable of mysteriously knowing all the correct information because they're Just That Smart. and very much not immune to emotional and personal issues getting in the way.

thanks for coming to my "i-just-slept-for-20-hours-and-my-brain-is-a-bit-scrambled-right-now" ted talk

[papermariosuggestion]

So... here's The Situation™

First of all, if you're new here, welcome! Thank-a-you so much-a-for to enjoying my blog.

If you're not new here, and I haven't welcomed you yet, then belated welcome! Thank-a-you so much-a-for to enjoying my blog.

You probably remember a- uh- "brief" period from mid-2020 to mid-2024 where I didn't post very much on here, and I wanna say that I appreciate you sticking around through that. I haven't really explained what happened then, and I think it's important that I do that, especially given what's happening now.

I'm a filmmaker by trade, and I've always (for over 15 years now) wanted to create my own YouTube channel- not for any kind of fame or clout or anything like that, but simply because I enjoy creating videos that matter, that make a positive difference in some way, and despite my profession, that's not something I get the chance to do very often.

Considering that I have a ton to say about the Paper Mario series, it would make sense to create a channel dedicated to that subject. There's only so much that can be said using existing meme formats, and quite frankly, a majority of the formats I've seen since 2020 have been too political, too explicit, too redundant, or otherwise useless for inspiring entertaining, safe-for-work, and meaningful Paper Mario content.

I've been making an effort to start creating Paper Mario videos since 2018, and going far out of my way to eliminate the obstacles standing in my way since 2020, but unfortunately, all these years later, it still seems that I just... can't. It's not for any lack of knowledge or skill, but simply due to my circumstances.

I'm disabled. I won't get into the details, but I have multiple disabilities and several debilitating medical conditions that I can't do much (if anything) about. I've been repeatedly trying to find some kind of treatment and/or management that would enable me to create the kind of content I want, but to no avail. Fifteen years ago, this wouldn't have been as much of a problem, but my situation then doesn't help me now.

I don't want it to seem like I don't enjoy making the kind of content I create for this blog- I do- it's just not sustainable to continue posting as often as I have been, especially when the future (for me and for Paper Mario) is so unclear.

In general, people seem to be losing interest in Paper Mario, and I don't just mean on Tumblr, or even just on the Internet. The Switch remake of TTYD sold a little over half as well as The Origami King. That might have something to do with TTYD being a remake released toward the entire of the Switch era, but regardless, I highly doubt that sales like that are convincing anyone at Nintendo we need a new Paper Mario game like the first two or three.

As of writing, the latest RPG news we've received is that, surprisingly and fortunately, despite AlphaDream going out of business, we're still getting a new Mario & Luigi game in early November (Mario & Luigi: Brothership). I'm really looking forward to playing it, and if I'm able to, I might do a livestream of it, like I did for the TTYD remake.

Nintendo has also sent out multiple surveys to random My Nintendo users concerning Mario RPGs, which suggests that they intend to make more of them, but aren't sure exactly how they should go about doing so. I would hope that the survey responses push them to create a Paper Mario game more like the first two or three, but looking at the actual sales data, that seems extremely improbable.

TL;DR: I'm gonna be posting less often/more sporadically on here, but I'm not going anywhere, and also, I'm looking forward to Mario & Luigi: Brothership.

[fake-sturniolos]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬

pt2

SYNOPSIS:  a hopeless romantic teen attempts to secure a happily-ever-after moment with her forever crush, but finds herself reluctantly drawn to the boy next door.

WARNING: none!

word count: 1,722

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ 'ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇꜱ'

I've wanted love since I was old enough to spell the word 'love', probably because of my mom's obsession with romcoms. I would watch romcoms with my mom all the time; it was our thing. We would get snacks, snuggle up on the couch, and binge all of her favorites. When she passed away, what I inherited was the knowledge that love is perpetually present, always a potentiality, and eternally worthwhile.

I walked out of my house in a relatively good mood, only to be met with the sight of the person who annoys me most in this world, Matt Sturniolo. He was standing in front of my car with a grin on his face. Well, that couldn’t be good. I shut the door behind me and pretty much ran at him. “What are you doing near my car.”

Matt just shrugged, giving me a smirk.

"What's in your hand?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, putting his hand behind his back.

i rolling my eyes at him. "What did you do to my car?"

“technically i didn't do anything to your car”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He gave me a grin before saying, "Well, this has been fun, but I've gotta run.”

"Matt—" I began, but he turned around and walked back to his house as if our conversation hadn't just happened. I sighed and turned back to my car to see what he could have done to it.

Matt and I have an ongoing battle over who gets the parking spot, though he typically wins because he cheats. It's become a game of wits between us, each of us trying to outsmart the other in our quest for the coveted spot. But no matter how hard I try, it seems like Matt always has the upper hand.

I sighed and got into my car, only to find a parking ticket taped to the middle my windshield. Great.

I walked into school with 'Florida Kilos' playing in my headphones. I entered my first-period class and took the only available seat next to Lacy Johnson. Lacy is a high-class bitch, but there's no denying that she's gorgeous. We both grew up in the same neighborhood and hung out with the same kids. And every time we were together, she would find some way to call me weird or insult me in any way possible. It was like she had a radar for my insecurities and took pleasure in poking at them

“Nice dress, y/n," Lacy said, looking over at me.

I gave her a fake smile. "Thanks."

I pulled my phone out of my bag to see a text from my best friend, Audrina.

From Audrina:

You will not believe what I found out

To Audrina:

Spill

From Audrina:

You're not gonna want to be in class when I tell you, so meet me after

The bell rang, and I rushed out of class to our lockers. Audrina showed up right as I did.

"Okay, before I tell you, promise me you won’t freak out," she said.

"I can’t promise anything."

Before she could say anything, I glanced behind her and saw no one other than Tristan Parker walking in my direction. Audrina noticed the look on my face and turned around.

"Well, there it is," she said.

Tristan Parker was my childhood crush. He lived in my neighborhood and hung out with me and the few other kids on our block (Me, Matt, Audrina, Lacy, and a few other kids.) Till one day he moved to South Carolina. I never thought I would see him again but here he is.

“Y/N?” Tristan's voice jolted me out of my daydream, his gentle tone drawing me back to reality.

“Tristan?” I responded, my lips curling into a smile as I met his gaze.

In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between us, enveloping me in a warm embrace that felt like home. I felt my stomach flip. Oh my God.

All of a sudden, I feel someone bump into me, and I turn around to see Matt. Of course, if anyone was going to ruin this moment, it would be him.

“Matt!” I exclaimed, turning to face him. “You should really watch where you're going,” I said with a fake smile.

"‘Yeah, so sorry.” he said sarcastically, then turned to look at Tristan.

“Tristan!” he exclaimed, reaching out to dab him up.

“You were right about the biology teacher.” Tristan said.

“Yeah, she's a real bitch.” Matt grinned.

I watched as Tristan laughed. I tried to contain my smile, but it was useless.

“Relax, you're drooling all over yourself” Audrina whispered to me. I had pretty much forgotten she was standing there.

“You know Michael White, right?” Matt asked Tristan.

“Of course.”

“Well, he's having a party tonight. Would you be down to go?”

“Yeah, sounds good” Tristan replied.

“Alright, cool. I'll text you the details. But I gotta go. If I'm late one more time, I'm cooked.” he said, then turned and walked the other direction.

Tristan turned his attention back to me “I've gotta go too” he said “But we'll catch up later?”

I nodded eagerly, feeling a sense of anticipation bubbling within me. “Definitely” I replied, my heart skipping a beat as he flashed me a brief but warm smile before walking off.

Audrina sighed. “Don’t get too excited. I heard he's been talking to Lacy Johnson.”

I felt like someone had just punched me in the face. Why her? I didn’t get it. I couldn’t comprehend how someone like Lacy, who seemed to effortlessly have everything handed to her, could possibly be vying for the attention of the same guy I wanted. I couldn’t bear the idea of seeing the perfect guy for me end up with someone like her.

"I mean, they aren't official. I still have a shot,” I said, trying to reassure myself.

“Please don’t be that girl,” she said, giving me a pleading look.

Her words struck a chord within me, a reminder of the line I was treading. Did I really want to be that girl, the one who clung onto hope despite the odds?

I swallowed hard, the weight of my indecision heavy in my chest. "I won’t." I promised, though the words felt hollow even to my own ears.

Matt had beaten me to the parking spot, leaving me no choice but to park around the block and trek home through the pouring rain. As I reached my doorstep, a sudden realization struck me. If I could persuade Matt to take me to the party, it could be my ticket to getting closer to Tristan. I turned on my heel and headed next door, where I knocked on Matt's door. After a few moments, he opened it slightly, a bemused grin on his face.

“Well, well, well,” he chuckled, taking in my drenched appearance. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

I rolled my eyes, feeling the chill of the rain lingering on my skin. “I need to talk to you.”

His eyebrows raised in mock suspicion. “Why? Planning to exact your revenge?”

“Matt, just let me in,” I pleaded, my patience wearing thin.

From behind him, I heard his mother's voice. “Matt, stop teasing and let the poor girl in.”

“I think she's here to assassinate me,” Matt joked

“Hi, Mary Lou.” I said smiling at her.

“Hello, y/n. Come inside before you catch a cold,” she said kindly, ushering me into the warmth of their home.

“Thanks, Mary Lou,” I said gratefully

Mary Lou smiled warmly. “Of course, dear. Let me grab you a towel to dry off,” she said before disappearing into another room.

Left alone with Matt, I couldn't help but feel a pang of nervousness creeping over me. What if he refused to help me? What if my plan to get to the party and see Tristan up close fell apart before it even began?

Mary Lou returned with a fluffy towel, and with a grateful smile, I accepted it, quickly drying myself off as best as I could. Matt gestured for me to follow him, we made our way to the cozy living room, where the soft glow of lamps cast a warm, inviting ambiance.

As we settled onto the comfortable couch, I couldn't shake the nervous flutter in my stomach. Matt leaned back, his expression curious yet attentive. “So, spill it,” he prompted, his eyes fixed on mine.

“okay so I need your help.” I said meeting his gaze

he smiled “and why would I help you?”

“i have an offer for you.” I said clearing my throat “you will get full access to the parking spot for the duration of our deal.”

he looked back at me with a shocked expression “your giving me THE parking spot?”

I sat back and nodded.

“Deal.”

“What? You don't even know what I want you to do yet.”

“Whatever it takes, I'll do it.”

“Okay, but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone or give up halfway. If you do, the deal is off.”

“I swear. Now, tell me.”

I looked at something other than his face. “I want to get close with Tristan.”

“And you want me to help with that how?”

“Well, since he's going to the party, I was hoping you could take me with you, so I could talk to him.”

He nodded. “So you want to get with Tristan, and you want me to take you with me to the party so you can get him to like you?” he said, scanning my face.

“Pretty much.”

“Isn’t he interested in Lacy?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about that.”

He smiled. “How scandalous of you, Buxbaum.”

“Shut up.” I said smiling back "Alright, so here's the plan," leaning in closer to Matt. "You'll invite me to the party as your plus one, and once we're there, you'll introduce me to Tristan. From there, I'll work my magic."

Matt raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Your magic, huh? Should I be worried?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but laugh. "Just trust me, okay? I'll handle it."

After exchanging numbers to discuss Tristan after, we agreed that he would pick me up at 7.

"Alright, you've got yourself a deal."

ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ɪᴛ! ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ʟᴀᴜɴᴀ

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Plan

So the poll is still running, but I think I'm safe in saying there's sufficient interest, so I'm going ahead and typing up a "how we're going to do this" thing, which I will schedule to post after the poll ends properly. As of the time I'm writing this, over 500 people have voted for the "yes I want to draw things" option, and I had been expecting to get maybe a dozen, so we definitely have enough participants. Let's get started then:

Our Source

I had originally planned to translate an Old or Middle English bestiary, but haven't been able to find a good one -- the best option I was able to dig up only has thirteen critters, which I feel like isn't enough to really have fun with. I was debating the idea of translating a Latin one -- this would have been far more time-consuming since my Latin is terrible, but also I do need to practice it, so I figured it evens out -- when I found a solution that doesn't involve me spending hours and hours on translating.

It seems that when Aberdeen University created their digitized version of the famous Aberdeen Bestiary, they released it under a Creative Commons license. (Assuming I'm reading their copyright policy correctly; I'm not a lawyer.) It does not seem to specify whether the transcriptions and translations they attach to the scanned images are also covered by Creative Commons, but since all of those are already freely available online through their website, I can't imagine they would have a problem with me posting them here as long as I provide attribution (which I am hereby doing right here on this post) and am not using it for commercial purposes (which I am not).

The Aberdeen Bestiary is missing a few pages, but there exists a very similar manuscript, the Ashmole Bestiary (they're sometimes called "sister" manuscripts), which is not missing those pages. And I happen to have a translation of the Ashmole Bestiary in hardcopy on my bookshelf, so I can just use it to fill in the gaps. Edit: whoops, the one I have is the Bodley Bestiary. They are in the same bestiary "family", though, so it still works well enough. (I think that should qualify as "fair use", since I'm only taking excerpts and not using them commercially.)

The upside of using the Aberdeen Bestiary is that it means when I round up all the art of each critter, I can include their very nice illustrations alongside the reveal of what animal was being described.

The downside of using the Aberdeen Bestiary is that since it already is free online, people might be tempted to "cheat" by looking up the entries and finding out what animal they describe. For that, please see the next section...

Guessing the Animal

Guessing what animal is being described is not the point of the exercise. (Feel free to have theories and whatnot, but please keep them to yourself so as not to influence the artists.) If you see an entry and think, e.g., "oh that's describing a raccoon"*, and then you create a picture of a raccoon... well, you could have done a perfectly good raccoon at any point and didn't need this framework to do it. So just don't worry about what animal is meant, and do your best to draw (or paint or stitch or whatever else) based on the description! You're not getting ranked on accuracy and there are no prizes forthcoming, so... just have fun with it.

*Example chosen as something that will, for obvious reasons, definitely not be in a 13th-century European bestiary.

Edit after starting to type these things up: some of these are going to be super easy to guess, though, to the point where I don't know how possible it'll be to block out prior knowledge. Sorry about that.

General Procedure

I'm going to schedule a post every Monday (I'm thinking of queuing them for 6pm Eastern Time) with a new entry. It will be the translation of an entry from the Aberdeen Bestiary with all references to the animal's name replaced by a randomly-generated nonsense word. (Henceforth to be referred to as "nonsense-names". I'm Googling* each one before using them so I don't accidentally generate one that actually means something.) These posts will all be tagged maniculum bestiaryposting, so you can follow that tag if you want to make sure you see them.'

*Later Note: Did you know that if you search dozens of nonsense words within a short span of time, Google makes you prove you're not a robot? Repeatedly?

Anyone who wants to draw the critter being described should do so. (You are encouraged to describe your thought process re: why you've depicted it the way you have.) You can put it in its own post, or reblog the description with an image, or however you want to do it. Then tag your art with the nonsense-name I've given to the animal.This will let me and others find it. (You should probably employ copy/paste there to make sure the spelling is the same, since nonsense words are hard to spellcheck.)

A week after posting the bestiary entry, I'll go through that tag and round up all of the art contributed. Then I'll put the images in a big post (or series thereof, considering how many people might participate), along with an @ and a link to your original post.

If you want...

to not have your work included in the round-up post

to have only a link to your post included and not an image

to have me include a link to your website / other social media / etsy shop in addition to or instead of your tumblr

to have other information included alongside your work

anything else along those lines

... then just say so in your post and I will follow your instructions to the best of my ability.

I will also include, at the end of the round-up post, an image of the creature as depicted in the Aberdeen Bestiary and what it is actually called.

All posts I make on this will be collected at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting so that people can look at previous ones without scrolling through the tag.

Various Notes

I'm going to trim out any religious digressions in the original entries -- bestiary authors had a habit of adding stuff like "and the raccoon is symbolic of god in such-and-such fashion, which teaches us...", and I just don't think that's relevant here.

The entries will also be presented in a random order. This is because they're sorted into categories in the original text, so if I don't change the order we're going to get stuck with, e.g., a few months of All Birds All The Time.

You should all be aware that the animals described are not guaranteed to be, you know, real. There are several entries describing animals that straight up do not exist -- some of which are mythical creatures familiar to most people, others of which are extremely obscure.

Explanations of the animal's name within the entries will be redacted.

If other animals are mentioned within the entries, they will not get replaced with nonsense-names. Originally, I was going to make the switch globally, so that if, e.g., the entry for "raccoon" read "a raccoon is about the size of a possum", and the random generator had decided that a raccoon was a balzikhear and a possum was a flunggrish, the "raccoon" entry would now read "a balzikhear is about the size of a flunggrish". However, I decided that it will cause more problems than it solves to obscure any comparisons to other animals -- so the name-switch is now localized only to the specific entry. A possum is a flunggrish only in its own entry, and remains a possum everywhere else.

I was originally going to do one post for every single entry, but there are a lot of them and they vary wildly in length & quality. So I've cut it down to exactly 52 posts, meaning that if I queue them up for once a week, this will run for roughly a full year.

Most of that cutting-down mentioned above was done by combining a bunch of the really short entries into categories -- the last half-dozen posts in this series will be group entries. You can choose to make art of any of them that strike your fancy, or do a group portrait, or just ignore them --I dunno, I'm not a cop, do what you want.

I did also directly cut some, mostly domesticated animals because there's a somewhat different approach to them based on author and audience familiarity.

So yeah, that should cover everything.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

i don't much know tmc so i hope this makes sense, but 65 for adam and jonah and friendly alternate reader? maybe it goes the way you laid out in your original post, where the events of volume 2 make them distrust reader briefly and the fic is set in the aftermath?

Good idea! Also this is slightly different from how I wrote those hcs, but the general idea is still there!

65) "I didn't mean it...please forgive me."

.......

While waiting for your human friends to finish their investigation inside the house, you remained in the van that you all arrived in, trying your best to remain patient.

You would have much rather accompanied them, knowing of the dangers present....however the fragile trust you've formed with the two was close to shattering.

Preacher arrived without any warning on the second night, and you caught her whispering things to Adam while he was trying to get some sleep. Jonah was wide awake and had the misfortune of seeing her face-to-face before he hid somewhere, allowing you to confront her.

Although you succeeded in driving her off by pretending that they were your victims to claim, he wildly misinterpreted your actions and believed you summoned her here to kill them both. He didn't believe your ruse for a second, as he freaked out on you and demanded you to get out.

In fear of triggering a panic attack in the already frightened boy, you just quietly left, but stayed inside the van to ensure that no other Alternates could interfere with the radio signal or hijack it.

Yet as the minutes dragged on, you grew more and more worried about their well being.

Preacher easily believed your lie--considering Alternates were master manipulators--so she won't be coming back anytime soon...but you didn't like the thought of leaving those two all by themselves.

Sometime later you saw the front door open, and you teleported out of the van, finding Jonah standing there. He appeared unharmed, much to your relief.

However that's when you noticed only he emerged from the house..Adam was nowhere in sight.

"Jonah, are you alright? Where's Adam?"

"Th-The basement door opened..and he wanted to check it out. I-I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen!" He panicked, before he suddenly fell silent as his expression turned to a hateful scowl--aimed at you. "I bet you opened it, didn't you? Or was it your freaky lady friend?"

"That was neither my doing nor hers. And she's not my "lady friend"." You huffed, wishing he'd stop accusing you. "Why did you leave him all alone in there? It's too dangerous."

"He doesn't know the first thing about "danger". You don't think I've been trying to tell him these ghost hunts are gonna get us killed one day?! It's like he doesn't even hear me! We both know his mom is dead and he's looking for something that's not actually there..but god forbid I ever tell him that. I'm just sick of him getting pissed off at me for wanting to fucking live."

"I understand your frustration, but..leaving him behind is not the solution here." You tried to reason with him. "To my knowledge that's not how friends should treat each other, even if they-"

"I'm not sure if I even see him as my "friend" anymore." He scoffed, hugging himself as the air grew chillier. "He literally screamed at me to leave, [y/n]. So that's what I'm doing. I don't give a shit about him or the fame or the money anymore. I'm done. I'm going back home. Alone."

Hoping to put this conversation to rest, Jonah stormed past you and hopped into the driver's seat, trying to start the engine...but it wasn't turning on at all.

He tried hotwiring it as well--to no avail.

"Shit, [y/n]..are you doing this?" He glanced at you, annoyed. "Are you screwing with the transmission?"

"........."

"C'mon, I'm not in the mood for-"

"We cannot leave him behind, child." You insisted. As much as you hated to anger your friend, this was the only way he'll listen. "Is this truly how you wish to end things between you two?"

"I'm not a child, I'm a grown ass man. And I've made my choice, and he made his."

"It doesn't have to be that way. I can still help you both-"

"If you're so insistent on "helping" me, you'll let me start this goddamn car and stay out of my life!!" Jonah slammed his hands on the steering wheel, but unfortunately for him, you weren't about to give into his childish tantrum.

"The only way I can help you is by NOT letting you leave." You shook your head, trying to stay calm and logical. "There is no running away anymore, Jonah. If the others realize you are all by yourself...they will come for you, including him."

"...wait, how do you know he'll show up?" He blinked.

"Because...I've known him since our creation. I'm aware of his patterns. Your government calls him Intruder, children call him Stanley....we call him Six. His connection with technology knows no boundaries, including radios and GPS, so it's imperative that I'm here to stop him from- "

"Oh, so you've been bffs with that child kidnapper since the dawn of time...and you're telling me he could've been fucking eavesdropping on all our conversations regarding BPS?!!"

"I.." For a moment you tensed up, realizing you may have said too much. "No, Jonah. That's not what-"

"Damn, I wish I knew all of that before we decided to trust you." Tears welled up in his eyes again, threatening to spill over. "Adam never should've let you come along. I told him he was making a huge mistake letting you out of that TV..and guess who was right?!!"

Your nonexistent heart sunk slightly at his words.

"Jonah, please calm down. You're not thinking-"

You tried setting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he violently smacked it away before your claws could even graze his jacket.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!! You're all the same....you're a bunch of heartless, lying, demonic bastards who destroyed our lives and made our loved ones kill themselves!!" He choked out. "You've taken everything from us...a-and if it weren't for you....THEN MAYBE ADAM WOULD STILL BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW!!"

You physically flinched at his screaming, having never seen a human look so enraged...yet sorrowful at the same time. The emotions emanating from him were quite powerful, and when he stopped to take several deep breaths, you needed a moment to absorb them all.

But seeing as you didn't immediately leave, Jonah felt his resolve completely crumble as he gritted his teeth together, trying to stop his sobs from escaping..only for them to come out as small hiccups and gasps.

"J-Just stop pretending to care, alright? Go and...a-and leave me be." Tears streaked down his face as he clutched the steering wheel with trembling hands, laying his head on it as he tried muffling his sobs.

He felt like he just gave himself M.A.D with how badly he felt like dying right now.

Although you were initially stunned by his emotions going from one extreme to the other so quickly, you snapped out your shock and frowned slightly at his distraught state.

'He's so young...and has gone through far too much...'

You gently reached over to set your hand on his back, feeling his entire body trembling beneath your fingertips. Surprisingly enough, he didn't shove your comfort away this time as he was too busy scrubbing away his tears.

You understood that he didn't actually mean those hurtful things. He just needed to lash out after all the stress of these past few nights, and you so happened to be the closest person--whose species is the very cause of his anxieties.

"[Y/n]..I-I..I know you're not like the others. It's just...I'm so lost and I'm so fucking scared to lose one more friend...!" His voice cracked. "I-I don't wanna lose him.."

"I know, my little fish.." You soothed. "I know your heart and mind are deeply troubled. I know you're very afraid...but rest assure, I will not let anything bad happen to either of you. Whatever you think of my kind is fine, but please understand that I would never pretend to care for your safety. It is...my purpose to protect you both from their evil ways."

"..a-according to who?"

"Me. Not my "Savior" or anybody else." Taking your hand off his back, you stepped away as he finally looked up at you. His eyes were wet and tinted red from crying so hard, but through blurred vision he could see you offering your hand. "Come, let us seek out Adam. I sense he is still alive."

With a small nod, Jonah grasped your hand so you could help him out of the van, though as soon as you let him go....he hugged you unexpectedly.

You blinked, looking down at him in confusion. "Jonah? Is everything okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I...I'm just sorry about what I said to you." He sniffled quietly, his forehead pressed to your chest. "I didn't mean it..please forgive me. You know how I tend to say stupid shit when I'm scared and-"

"You needn't justify yourself, my friend. I absolve you." You smiled as you patted his head. "I have gotten worse insults in my lifetime, so they don't affect me as much."

"Good to know. Also...why did you call me "little fish"? I don't hate it or anything, but I was wondering."

"Ah, because you remind me of some...old friends, we'll say. Were you ever told the story of Jonah and the Whale?"

"...uh-"

"What ever happened to "I won't be here to confirm that"?"

The moment was cut short as Jonah suddenly let you go, looking back to see Adam emerge from the house completely unharmed. He had the camcorder and other equipment in his arms, and an annoyed expression on his face.

As he approached the van, he stopped short upon seeing the other male, blinking in bewilderment. "Were you crying?"

"..n-no, it's the allergies. I told you it's that damn cat's fault.." After making a point to wipe his eyes, Jonah shoved his hands into his pockets. "So um...what did you find in that basement?"

"Just an old TV. And you're right about that cat..it was actually an Alternate. But I got some other good footage, so I'm ready to bail."

"What about staying-?"

"We'll tell the lady we stayed all three nights." Adam shrugged. "It's not like she'll know."

"Oh, so now you listen?"

"....look, this shit's getting heavy. So if you don't mind-"

"I'll help." You spoke up, disliking this growing tension in the air as you took the heavier equipment away from Adam and loaded up the van with it.

But still, you refused to allow it to start, and Jonah knew exactly why.

He couldn't just act like he didn't have that huge fight with his friend only a short time ago, so they both talked for a few minutes, apologizing to one another and hugging it out.

When they heard the engine crank on, they immediately rushed towards the van...only to see you sitting behind the wheel, much to their confusion.

They didn't know Alternates could drive.

"You kids had a rough few nights. I'll take us wherever you desire to go." You offered.

"Jeez, since when did we have our own chaperone?" Adam rolled his eyes, but opted to climb into the back while Jonah called shotgun. "I guess we owe you an apology too, right?"

"Well..Jonah and I talked it out already, but I forgive you both."

"Yeah...I still feel like shit, though."

"Dude," the brunette huffed. "What did you say to them?"

Jonah opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it as he didn't wanna bring up the harsh words he said out of frustration and anxiety. Instead he just shook his head. "I-It doesn't matter. Let's just get outta here and go for some pizza."

"I would very much like that." You agreed, backing out of the driveway and heading down the main road.

"And....as thanks for putting up with our bullshit, we'll let you pick the toppings this time."

"What?!" Adam's jaw dropped, but your smile only grew, and he had no choice but to relent.

It was certainly something to think about on the way to the pizza shop you all knew and loved.

[icarusbetide]

Since you are a purveyor of odd Hamilton takes... Came across this in American Military Biography (1830) by Amos Blanchard:

I had assumed the "orphan Alex" narrative was there from the start (and maybe this is just a very badly researched book), but that made me wonder when that actually became the default version of the story.

(Also how can you be an orphan with a living parent anyway...?)

I love my curated collection of odd Hamilton takes...some of them are printed out on a dart board so I can skewer them to hell along with the corresponding historian's picture but the ones I agree with are 100% accurate and concrete facts.

And thank you so much for sharing, this is really interesting! My first thought was maybe Blanchard was aware of Ann Mitchell, Hamilton's cousin. She lived in America for several years, may have been his major benefactor, and he singled her out in his final letters, entreating Betsey to treat her well.

From a quick search it seems unlikely she accompanied him (Allan McLane Hamilton thought they never met in America), but perhaps the knowledge of a maternal figure helping Ham was public at the time, and the author rolled with "mother"? I stumbled on a paper from 1952, "Alexander Hamilton: The Fact and Fiction of His Early Years" by Larson that addresses the popular myth that Hamilton received help from two friendly aunts; apparently there was an aunt Ann Lytton who died before all of this, separate from the actual helper: Ann Lytton Venton Mitchell, Hamilton's cousin. Not sure how far back that mixup goes, but maybe this author heard about this mother who was actually an aunt who was actually a cousin through the grapevine. Christ.

This did get me thinking about how I've never dug into Rachel's death because it seems like such a concrete incident. There is the 1768 probate court transaction available on founders online for anyone looking for easy access but now I'm having a second hand existential crisis. Maybe Hamilton was actually chilling with his very alive mother who is so confused rn.

I also assumed the orphan narrative thing was present from the start. From what I know, the "lacks good parentage, native land, and money" aspect was always subtly present (which is in itself honestly misleading, he was very privileged. but it makes sense since he's beefing with the elite who can use that relative disparity against him). but maybe the "all alone in the world with nobody to help him" aspect was not.

I'm considering the various examples of people being shady, like Jefferson writing that Ham is a man who "from the moment at which history can stoop to notice him, is a tissue of machinations against the liberty of the country which has not only recieved and given him bread, but heaped it’s honors on his head". This was a letter to Washington of all people, so maybe this indicates that there was some general understanding of Hamilton's background as lacking that allowed him to say all this even in consideration of his frustrations. Newspapers alluded to it. In 1800: "And you might find yourselves equally mistaken, in supposing, that the mode of your descent from a dubious father, in an English island would be no bar in this country to the pretensions to the Presidency."

So clearly there's some aspect of the lowborn narrative peeking through, but I think it would make sense for people to believe & say that he came from questionable, middling backgrounds, but still not see him as an orphan. His childhood wasn't happy or stable by any means, but he still had some support from family and benefactors going for him in America. And he never let go of his deadbeat dad for all the good that did him so he probably didn't refer to himself as an orphan. He didn't even like people thinking of him as lower-class, ("I have better pretensions than most of those who in this Country plume themselves on Ancestry") so I'm sure he didn't embrace the Charles Dickens characterization.

I dunno, maybe it's later historians who dug into Ham's insecurities, feelings of isolation expressed in certain letters, and his elusive background to complete the orphan narrative.

If anything, I suppose this further shows just how far back ambiguities about Hamilton's origins go. Blanchard also claims that Hamilton was born on St. Croix, and apparently there's some modern speculation that he wasn't even born on Nevis. 1830 isn't too far off from Hamilton's death; what book/person did Blanchard consult, if he even did, for this info? I also know that Adams referred to Hamilton as the "Scottish Creolian of Nevis", so Adams must've heard from a different source that Ham wasn't originally from St. Croix. So confusing.

But anyways, thank you so much for sharing this with me - I'm so bad at finding old resources, and I would've never learned that some doofus wrote about Hamilton with - gasp - a nondead parental figure.

Hope you're having a great day! :)

[petricorah]

i wanna start making comics but like. i dont really know how??? are there any tips that you could give me perhaps?

hi!

i've been working on trying to compile a list of resources for people (@aangsfrogs--i didn't forget!) who want to make comics for a long time. It would consist of some of my personal tips and a lot of links to other people's PDFs and youtubes. But that's...a hefty project, so if you had any specific questions for the meantime, my askbox is open!

But, for just beginning, here would be my tips:

Read comics. Read manga and webcomics and cartoons and medical comics. There is so much out there, and reading is such a big way to learn. If you see something you like, take a moment to think about why you like it. Are the expressions or colors appealing? Did it make you feel a certain emotion? Analyze what the artist may have done to get across what they did. (Is it the camera angle? the style they chose to draw in? the paneling? the pacing? the color? etc.) Doing this over time will help you recognize the tools available for telling stories through this medium, and you'll be able to put them in your own work.

Try to think about what you want to make comics about. What moves you? What topics interest you? What ideas or tropes do you love in media or think about often? What do you hate and wish was done better? What characters are you drawn to, or what characters do you want to create? (What about them compels you?) I find it's hard to create an idea out of thin air, but if you start writing down random ideas you have, you'll start thinking about them, and over time, you'll have a bank of things to pull from when you want to create.

Lastly, anatomical skill or knowledge of color does not a comic make! You don't have to know much to begin, and there aren't rules. Just start drawing what is meaningful to you!

This is just cursory and doesn't get into super specifics like paneling or scripts or plotting or colors or thumbnailing or....etc, but I'll try to expand my list of resources and get that out! And, hmu if you have any specific questions on topics!

happy drawing~

Book list under readmore:

Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics and his Making Comics. These books are taught in like, every comic class ever. While not my complete favorite, they do a good job of showing some history and fundamentals, and how easy it is to make comics even if you don't have a lot of drawing experience.

99 Ways to Tell a Story: Exercises in Style by Matt Madden: Really good if you don't know how to start analyzing comics. (Also it's just a fun visual exercise.) It shows the same short story done in 99 different styles with different emphasis on different moods and points of view.

The PreHistory of The Far Side: A 10th Anniversary Exhibit by Gary Larson and The Calvin and Hobbes: Tenth Anniversary Book by Bill Watterson: Two great books with work from my two favorite cartoonists. They both have writings from the author about getting ideas, developing stories, and being a comic artist.

Uncanny Bodies: Superhero Comics and Disability, edited by Scott T. Smith and José Alaniz and Black Comics: Politics of Race and Representation, edited by Sheena C. Howard and Ronald L. Jackson II: These two aren't really about making comics, but they are great collections of analysis about old and new comics alike.

By no means a complete list, but some good ones that I can think of off the top of my head.

There's also the book Webtoon School: Everything you need to know about webtoon creation and story writing. To be honest, I didn't read this completely through because it was a bit more fundamental than I was expecting, but it gives a good cursory look of how to write comics if you're just starting out! It covers some history, how to write stories and arcs, etc.

Also, look to your favorite writers! A lot of webtoon/webcomic artists do tutorials or youtube videos. for instance, velnxi has this great tutorial up I really suggest looking at here.

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Everyone's Fate Is Up To The Saints, Except Hers - Tolya Yul-Bataar

Prompt: “If you wish to keep your fingers, I’d take your hands off her.”

Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat

This is really just a drabble but what can ya do.

Not proofread because "no beta we die like men"

Had anyone asked, Tolya would have made it very clear that he 'never doubted her for a moment', that 'her capability was easily beyond that of the task at hand' and he knew, given the opportunity, 'she would've likely taken it on alone'. But Sturmhond, in a brief moment of clear insight, had drawn the conclusion that Tolya would have been very little help carrying out his duties if his mind had been following someone out on the mission. Waiting, wondering and worrying were three things not very conducive with carrying out duties to their requirement. So Sturmhond sent the both of them. No one questioned him, everyone else because he is the captain, but Tamar because she held the same knowledge that Sturmhond had based his call on: her twin for all his openness and cheer, was not letting on quite how deep the river of his care flowed when it came to one particular crewmate.

The she in question, had picked up a pace while Tolya had been somewhat lost in his thoughts.

"Falling behind there sesh?" You ask, turning around with a wicked grin, continuing to walk in the direction you both were headed, but now watching Tolya instead of the path. Walking backwards was something you had gotten very good at with the years of sword training, if you lean to step back with balance enough times, learning to follow the pattern is easy. Yet now, it was certainly more to show off than for practical use.

"You're still not using that correctly," Tolya smiled, an abundance of laughter in his voice. His shadow was being cast by a far off light and the distance made the silhouette looking deceivingly small, compared to the reality. Tolya was just as tall as he was handsome, which is to say more so than anyone really hard the right to be.

"Well if you gave in and told me the word I am looking for," you tease, the sentence hung in the air, feeling unfinished and incomplete. But the years have taught Tolya that sometimes you spoke in half, and it was up to the one hearing the words to decide if it was their turn.

"I will not teach you words in Shu just so you can mock me," he means the words he is saying but his tone is far from mean.

"I'm not mocking you," you defend. "I'm attempting to describe you."

"Describe me in your own language," he pulls his graze away, hoping that maybe if he stops staring, you might start looking where you're going, but to no avail.

"So you'll read me poetry in a language I do not know, but you shall not teach it to me?"

"Not when I know your interest lies in different intent, if you wish to understand the poem I'll happily explain it-" he is suddenly silence by a quiet and quick whistle, a signal that stops him in his tracks.

You look on edge, looking around the dim lit street with such concentration and apprehension that Tolya notices how small it makes you look, the fear. He isn't used to seeing you look afraid.

"Sorry," you say pulling yourself back in, raning it back and composing yourself. "I didn't mean to interrupt you when it's about poetry."

"I don't take it personally," he says. "You know Tamar well enough."

"Exactly, I try to let you talk about it as much as possible when there is no one to tell you to stop," the comment is offhand and absentminded, you hadn't meant much by it. It was a truth, and you did not choose to shy from the truth often, but it wasn't something you had meant to declare in any kind of way. Yet the look in Tolya's eyes makes you run the words back, trying to find the secret of the universe, the strangely powerful compliment that had to be hidden in the words you'd spoken without a second thought.

"Thank you," he says, his voice so soft, it hits like whisper.

"There's no need, there are few ways to show someone how you matter to them, and this is mine," if you had to break it down, the moments before, the reasons that this moment unfolds, you could lay out each factor in pieces. The light being so low. The quietness being so rare that sound is a welcome visitor and therefore can lull into a false sense of security. Maybe even your own foolishness, having not turned around despite your previous scare. But if you were honest with yourself, truly honest, it was not your ego or your environment that betrayed you in this small moment. It was your heart. Had you not been searching for something tangible in the unspoken distance between the two of you, there was no way someone could have gotten close enough to place a blade into the small of your back before you reached for your weapon.

"I wouldn't try it," the blade is pushed closer as you move for the weapon, the voice is dark and quiet, but the accent isn't from around here, and there's a gruffness that shows the man's age.

"I am guessing you are exactly who we are looking for," you reply. Tolya reached for his own blade the moment the assailant had stepped out of the dark, he holds it tight and his eyes are fixed over your shoulder. "We aren't here for a fight."

"Tell that to your friend," the man replies.

"Tolya," you say calmly. Tolya is reasonable, Tolya is smart and above all Tolya knows better than most, much better than his twin, when there's not a need for a fight. But he doesn't look willing to backdown.

"Perhaps I might be more inclined to step down if you remove the blade from my friends back," Tolya says slowly.

A hand grips your shoulder tight, and the blade moves from your spine to your side. A much more defendable position, but a still a threat. "Better?" The man asks.

"If you wish to keep your fingers, I’d take your hands off her.”

You watch him and your heart, against your practiced calm, races in your chest and his eyes flicker to meet yours. It dawns on you why he hasn't calmed the situation, why he is defensive and not quite like his normal self. He senses your confusion, your fear and he is not used to that in you. He isn't paying attention to the man's heartbeat or his emotions because he is still fixed on you. And that realisation makes your heart jump in a way you should know better than to let it do, and Tolya feels it. "He won't repeat himself," you tell the man, and he drops the blade to his side. "We were sent to get you, alive was the preference."

"Who sent you?" The man asks.

"Sturmhond," Tolya explains, listening to his heart now, sensing the fear, the anger, the loss. "We are here to help." Tolya's expression softens, he has been in the world and really seen enough of it to know that there's danger in the most unexpecting of places, but one of the many things about him that is never unsurprising, is how he still sees the opportunity for kindness and grace amongst them.

Sturmhond stares at the two of them and is quick to dismiss Tolya, who walks out on the deck and is soon shoulder to shoulder with Tamar.

"You seem tense brother," she muses, eager to hear what had happened.

"I shouldn't have gone," he thinks aloud. Tamar frowns.

"How did you come to that ridiculous conclusion?" She asks, pulling at a piece of the bread she is eating.

"Because it was my presence that made her vulnerable," he explains. "She was scared, I've not seen her scared before."

"Are you sure it was fear, and not anxiety?" Tamar asks nonchalantly. "Besides, Everyone's fate is up to the saints, is it not?"

"Not hers," Tolya says without pausing to think. Tamar gives him a side glance and he shoves her shoulder.

"Not hers?" Tamar echoes. "Not if you can help it."