#i'm just astounded by how consistent he is

[maximura]

[chronicdelusionistsart]

No, he is not a Completely Different Character from when he was in high school - The Continuity of Bernard Dowd

SO I often see the argument that Bernard my man has changed into a completely different guy since high school. Me too, bestie. And much like Bernard, if you had met me in high school, you probably would have wanted to throw me into a lake.

People grow and change from high school to young adulthood, of course, but the nature of this criticism tends to be the idea that there's no continuity - that Bernard was completely retconned and there's very little to nothing recognizable of his personality and characterhood at the time. The common argument I see is that there's no way to reconcile the differences, even taking into account that people naturally age out of being obnoxious teens.

This just isn't the case. I got into it a little at the tail end of my previous post about Bernard and the art of Recontextualization, but it's really astounding just how much effort seems to have been put into respecting the continuity of the character. I'm gonna go through the 1993 Robin run and go character trait by character trait and see how these scenes read as foundational information for the continuity of the Bernard we have today.

Yeah you heard me. It's basically a fucking listicle. come at me

(SPOILERS for Tim Drake: Robin, Urban Legends, and the 1993 Robin run under the cut!)

1) "They just randomly made him gay" - yeah but it was really funny and based did you ever think of that

I already posted this one last time but let's take a minute to really sit with this one because it's soooooooo

It's absolutely undeniable that the original author of the Robin run almost certainly intended Bernard to be a pointedly heterosexual teenage boy. No arguments there. I actually think based on my experience living in that era and being bi that if you'd suggested the idea of an explicitly deeply closeted best friend for Tim Drake in the early 2000s at DC they would have laughed in your face and then possibly fired you and/or called you a slur or something. There are probably standout queer comics from the time, but mainstream Batman? We're making this for boys that want to ogle Steph's tits, I say, grinding up a rock into dust in my bare hand as I look over this storyline again for panels

My point here is that a lot of comics at the time come off as overly exaggerated about how cool and manly and heteronormative their guy characters are, which is of course also the ultimate refuge of the closeted gay guy. If they'd been normal about it it wouldn't have been so easy to read closeting into it, but as it is...

Yeah this is believable from a teenager but becomes a zillion times funnier as just covering a panic attack over going over to meet the cute boy's paren- wait why does he have elf ears. Why does he look 40 five panels ago

the two genders etc etc.

ANYWAY this was obviously a purposeful choice when rehauling the character. We're going to see a pattern of using things from the 2000s that were baffling or weird in retrospect and expanding on them to bring some consistency and intrigue to his character. "Now Pika," I hear you saying, having divined my nickname from some other source, "you're showing panels out of context to create a false narrative. Five panels ago when Bernard was 40 he was notably accused of staring at Tim's stepmom ALL DINNER. That sounds just, just SLIGHTLY heterosexual and there's really no other explanation f

2) He was always smarter than he looked actually

ah.

ah.

I said before that a lot of Bernard is hidden behind layers.

While he appears to be a dumbass in the 2000s, he manages to notice something is Wrong with Tim. Like, consistently. A lot of what we see on panel is Bernard questioning Tim and probing into his personal life - he notices something is unusual about Tim on literally their first meeting, and no shit, Bernard is only in a grand total of five scenes with Tim in the entire run and he spends four of them asking inconvenient personal questions at Tim.

"Tim, is your dad secretly an asshole? Blink twice for yes" "How about we stop talking for a little while"

Obviously in the context of the 2000s this is just like forced drama. But there's a sort of elegance in how seamless it is to look back at this with the context that he's been someone who downplays his own intelligence the whole time. Like "actually, he tends to hit on or adjacent to the truth a LOT, doesn't he?" Even without the new stuff, it's a pertinent observation.

3) "I like Robin a normal amount" - guy who pirates modded Robin games

This feels free. Is this free? I feel like this is free. I don't need to explain this one. Celebrity crushes on Superheroes are literally always funny

See Mario dies every time and it's like not the same guy. There's actually 3 Marios and then every time you make a certain amount of money (points) they get enough to clone a new one. Wait Tim come back I hadn't gotten to the shadow Koopa government. Bowser isn't actually in charge it's Big Goomba -

4) Alienation and the sincere desire to seek meaning in this life

The cult thing might seem to come out of nowhere if you were focused on his goofy persona and the specifics of Bernard's hilarious theories, but it's interesting to me that we get told that Bernard doesn't feel like he fits in like literally right away. One of his very first panels:

yeah okay i sure buy that dude

Bernard is textually, before adding any of the new stuff into the mix, an outsider. He has weird conspiracy theories, he's initially dressed like a douche who's trying to impress everyone and actually impressing no one, and he's obviously putting on airs here.

A lot of people who are depressed are just... you'd never know. Sincerely, the person you know who laughs the loudest and surrounds themselves with the most people might be the most depressed, the most isolated.

In the future, we see that he's similarly got a lot of people that know him, but not a lot of people that know him.

Having him get caught up in a cult after this setup is a very logical progression. He was already the type of personality to turn to conspiracies to feel some degree of fulfillment as a teen. Why the fuck wouldn't he become a Gotham cult statistic. Cults love intelligent people who are susceptible to isolation and emotionally not in a good place.

There's actually a really clever set of panels in the Urban legends run where Tim and Bernard are fighting against the chaos cult and they're mirrored. And Tim is the one "speaking", but the way the comic is framed, you can tell that they were both kind of having the same struggle from different angles and it doesn't snap into place until they fight together.

God, I love the medium of comics. I didn't actually notice this until I was writing this up and staring at panels. This is so subtle, but when you stop to look, the visual language clicks. They're both searching for something. The same thing. But it's not explicit. You gotta be paying close attention.

I think part of the reason people accuse Bernard of being bland or too different from before or whatever is that so much of this requires you to read. No, come back, hold on -

Like, the fundamental writing sleight of hand on this guy is that they earnestly set up the premise that he's so convincing that he managed to fool Tim, and by extension the distracted reader. To this end, Fitzmarten, and I can't believe I'm saying this, successfully weaponized the shittiness of early 2000s writing.

The idea that they went with is that sometimes you think you know people, but you don't have the full story until you really look and actively put the pieces together. He's someone, that very real kind of person, that flies under the radar both in and out of the fiction. And when the whammy hits -

- you end up wondering if you ever knew them at all.

This is very real. I mentioned earlier that you might not know someone is depressed until you know them very, very well or they tell you. And it's true. Be on the lookout for people like Bernard in your own life - from personal experience, they could use someone on their side.

Bonus: No he was legit always that insane. I think this is some A to B shit

"well if my friend won't hire me as a super-manager maybe I'll just prepare for the next time I see a superhero by learning martial arts!" - extremely normal thing to do thank you bernard. that's all folks

[cupidkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

[erikagrape]

In regards to the "Send me stuff about Dan/Phil you love" thing, BOY HOWDY‼️

I'm obsessed with the way they're both so,,, idk, visibly so so so much happier now??? Dan especially, with the way he seems magnetically attracted to Phil every time he laughs, the fact that he's now crying of laughter in seemingly every new video, he's smiling so wide and it's so amazing to see because he quite frankly deserves it. He spent so long being unable to be authentically him and unable to be truly happy and now he's out and he's making progress and it's so palpable how much he loves doing what he's doing and I hope the best for him

Phil too!! I'm so astounded by how much more confident and happy Phil is now too, like he's got such an ease to him now? Like idk how to explain it better but Phil's clearly so full of life and excitement and joy and I'm so happy we've been able to see that consistent growth, like he's been uploading so constantly for 18 years and it's such a marked difference between how he holds himself in his first video versus in these new DAPG videos

everything you just said!! 🧡

[zeninsama]

behold... the basic lore behind silas zeninsama's selfships!

this post is for linking purposes for the poll i am about to drop. selfship yapping under the cut.

✪ silas x naoya ✪

we grew up in the zen’in clan together. we have really fond memories of being kids and playing with sparklers together in the summer and catching fireflies, or watching the fireworks from nearby festivals. my name wasn't on the consideration list of potential wives for naoya as my family isn't from japan and i have absolutely zero cursed energy, but naoya and i already have a strong connection and he wants to marry for more than just social status, he wants to marry for love. we waited until naoya took over as head of the clan to marry so he wouldn't have to ask anyone's permission. we've known and loved each other in every lifetime & made a pact to die together in this one.

✪ silas x aki ✪

mutual acquaintances set us up on a blind date. nothing fancy, just meeting after work for casual dinner and drinks. to my luck, work runs extremely late and i'm sprinting down the sidewalk to make it to this izakaya on time. when i say blind date, i mean completely blind, no pictures of each other or anything. so imagine how i feel when i'm hunched over and heaving in front of this bar and realize the incredibly tall and sexy guy smoking by the entrance is the guy my coworkers were trying to set me up with... aki was surprised by me too, he wasn't expecting me to be masculine, or american for that matter, but that stuff doesn't matter to him. besides, he thinks i'm extremely cute right off that bat.

tipsy silas leans in a little too close and gushes over aki's beautiful blue eyes, astounded that they're natural and not colored contacts. aki, incredibly flustered, tells me his mom had blue eyes, and so did his brother. it's our first date so i choose to ignore that he used past tense. aki compliments my japanese, even though it's very rough, and i giggle at his broken english. after one too many drinks, we make out by the train station and know this is the start of something really amazing.

✪ silas x bachira ✪

the definition of right place, right time. i was leaving a shop right as bachira was walking by with friends. we made eye contact and it threw bachira off so much that he immediately ran face-first into a light pole and fell on his ass. i felt really bad so i went to help him up and he claimed he was distracted by how cute i am. we both fell really hard really fast.

one year into our relationship, bachira gets an offer to sign with fc barcha and move to barcelona, which puts our relationship at a crossroads – do we break up? do we try to make long distance work? do i leave the life i know and go with him? it's a no-brainer to me. bachira is the love of my life and i want to support him every step of the way, so i pack up my things and we move to barcelona together.

we have three cats (and run an instagram for them), and our regular friday night consists of me cooking dinner for bachira and we eat together on the couch while watching our favorite shows, usually anime or soaps. when bachira gets a day off, we like to pick around flea markets and play rhythm dance games at the arcade!

✪ silas x karasu ✪

best friends to lovers, with karasu having the crash-out of the century at a strip club because he realizes he's been staring at me more than he's staring at the literal topless women around him. otoya gets a kick out of watching his two best friends who are obviously in love with each other deny their feelings. sometimes he likes to stir the pot, teasing karasu for his obvious crush, or just straight up telling me tabito-kun loves you, just for me to roll my eyes and tell him that joke stopped being funny the first time he said it.

all these years, the reason dating has felt so unsatisfying was because he's been comparing everyone to me. the thing is, this could've happened so much sooner, but karasu's self-esteem has never been the greatest. he let the opportunity go and now he's cursing himself for being the biggest moron the world has ever seen.

it scares the shit out of karasu. he can't control the situation, it's far too late for that. i've spent the last six years seeing his authentic self, in all his perceived mediocrity. he thinks confessing will just end in a humiliating rejection.

when i don't believe karasu's confession, he spends the next eight months romancing me until i know just how serious he is about this.

✪ silas x rin ✪

we were deskmates for a semester in middle school and ended up becoming decent friends. we drifted apart after middle school while rin focused heavily on soccer but never fully lost contact. we reconnect as adults when rin wakes up in a cold sweat realizing i very obviously had feelings for him. our first date is a horror movie marathon at a local theater, followed by a quick bite at a diner, before we find ourselves in a record shop listening booth where we have our first kiss. believe it or not, rin initiated it.

our relationship is long distance, me staying in japan while rin lives part-time in paris during the soccer season. usually it's me visiting him, sleepily stumbling off the plane late at night and directly into my giant boyfriend's arms, very excited to fall asleep in them. when i'm not there, my plush snoopy (lavender scented btw) keeps rin company. not only does he fall asleep holding it, he'll take it to his practices to send me silly pictures of snoopy in the bleachers wearing a tiny pxg jersey, or snoopy sitting across from him at his favorite cafe.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I’m going to send emails out soon to finally try to find a willing rabbi to guide me in the conversion process. I’ve said I wanted to convert in December but was thinking about it even before then (that’s just when I told people). But I’m worried about not being Jewish enough. Like I want to convert ‘orthodox’ Sephardic, which ik is kind of redundant bc most sephardic ppl just say sephardic and aren’t rlly divided into orthodox, conservative, reform either due to historical reason, but like what if I turn out being not so orthodox after? Like I love the idea of being observant, but I know that I’m not someone to wear modest dress 24/7 (rn I only wear shorts like a handful of times of year but I’ll also wear leggings, and tights pants or v neck shirts that show cleavage). And I’m not a virgin and don’t really want to be celibate. Idk I just feel like if I go through the process of converting and being observant, I will be expectant to be fully observant and idk if that’s an expectation I can’t hold. Are there any other ppl that converted only to become ‘less’ observant after? And idk observance is a personal things, but many ppl will still look at you as less observant if you don’t follow every interpretation they do

I want to preface this by saying I hope you are able to find a rabbi who you feel safe to discuss this with. Oftentimes, you'll find that they themselves can empathize with you, even if they themselves are born jews. Jewish identity for all is complex. I also hope that, in answering this further, you might find comfort and know that you are worthy of converting.

I am in a mixed Ashki and Sephardi conservative shul, and my sponsoring rabbi is himself not conservative (I'm in a unique position). When he and when other rabbis ask about observance goals, I have noticed it is so they can anticipate how they can best help you. I myself want to be a 'typical' conservative jewish man, so I find some level of empathy with you! It's hard! And you're in what can feel like a raw and vulnerable space, one where judaism feels just out of reach, something you want or need. Trust me when I say I absolutely get it.

I felt the exact same as you before I joined my shul and later again when I found my rabbi. I worried about the fact that I didn't know how to daven, when to bow, the fact that the siddur is transliterated differently than what we say. It was overwhelming! But then... my community privileged me and truly put such an astounding effort in supporting my journey. It is by no means over, but they treat me the same as any other jew in the congregation. I'd feel weird if I pulled by phone out during shabbos because they hold me in the same light as them. All of this is to say that it is just as likely that you will find a community with whom you feel embraces you through this entire wonderful journey. It is entirely possible to marry your goals with judaism - it has been done before. How could a culture, a religion, a people have survived millenniums without someone like you having made a similar journey and made it as a jew? There will always be people like you, like me, who have made this journey and made it work for them, with others who loved them as a comrade, lover, friend, and confidant.

And when it comes to a varying of practice once you are jewish? It is only natural if that happens. A conversion is not an ever-lasting contract to stay stagnant in your practice - it is, essentially, formalizing that you are part of this people. I have been following plenty of jews who have converted and who have both become more observant and less observant. In fact, a ruling about this which has truly comforted me is from Ben-Zion Meir Hai Uziel, a Sephardi chief rabbi who made a ruling about this:

You are human, and there are 613 mitzvot. Hardly any of us consistently follow them all - especially when many require the temple! We can only expect you to do your best, to live jewishly under your terms and readiness! It takes some of us years to work up to certain observances, and that is regardless of jewish status. It would be unfair to expect you to take on more than you are ready for, regardless of if you have immersed yet or not. Heck, I only feel comfortable observing a select amount of mitzvot because I want to understand all of them before doing them. I want my soul to yearn for an aspect of observance, because my personal goal is to fall hopelessly and madly in love with jewish life, judaism, and this wonderful people. I want to emphasize that we all come at judaism with a unique, interesting, and worthy background. Yours is no exception.

I hope that, maybe, you got something out of this rambling. You are worth it to convert if you have decided this is your desire, want, or need. I for one welcome you here, and hope that our paths continue to cross. Please don't hesitate to talk anytime - judaism is a communal practice. It is not something you can wholly do alone.

[void-of-unparalleled-chaos]

WFA Jason has no clue how to shoot a damn bow. Like I know that most media doesn't get it right but this is... this feels worse than usual.

What the hell is up with that one panel? Why is his palm facing out like that? Never in my eight years of archery have I ever met anyone doing that without a release aid. Not even that one couple I had to stop from killing somebody because they decided to try to learn off of YouTube (yeah, great idea guys. Let's learn how to shoot the deadly weapon off of YouTube and then not follow range rules at all. These people were in their thirties. What even?). Did the artists even LOOK at a picture of an archer? Honestly I'm astounded and not in a good way.

The rest of this is pretty typical for media to screw up but I feel like I'm this far into rambling I might as well discuss it.

Every archer has what's called an anchor point where the shooting hand makes contact with their head, typically around the jawline. For example, olympic gold winner Lim Si-hyeon:

Having a consistent anchor point is super important for aim, as it helps with sight reference. Jason's aim is probably so bad because he has no anchor point. His hand is just kind of floating in the air, which means his sight will be off. I wouldn't be surprised if the lack of steady contact also caused a bit of a bow wobble upon firing. If the bow wobbles, it can hit the arrow off its trajectory.

Also none of them are wearing any protective equipment! At the very least they should have arm guards to prevent string slaps, and if Jason is shooting like that, I GUARANTEE he is getting string slaps, and those hurt like a bitch. They leave big bruises and welts depending on how bad the slap is, and if anyone is using a recurve like Roy, Artemis, and Jason are, they more than likely will get them. I won't share photos on here, but go ahead and look up Archery String Slaps if you're curious.

Roy, at least, should know better.

[froldgapp]

We Need a Hero. Ladybug Ain't It

In a July 2023 interview for the Guardian, creator of the Bechdel test, Alison Bechdel, bemoaned the toothless response from big media properties to demands for more complex female leads:

Is it dismaying that so many films continue to fail the test?

What’s really dismaying now is the way so many movies cynically try to take shortcuts and feature strong female characters – but they just have a veneer of strength and they’re still not fully developed characters.

I won't argue that Marinette/Ladybug isn't developed, but rather, that in Astruc's pursuit of a Strong Female Lead, we have a character whose strength, agency, wit, grief and elation, is most often at the expense of the cast around her.

We see this most clearly in her relationship with Adrien/Chat Noir. Here is a boy who is controlled, neglected, (arguably) abused, lied to, used, and weaponised by his sole guardian; his father. This has resulted in a sheltered and naive character who canonically has a desperately conditional understanding of love and loyalty. Most if not all of the displays of love Gabriel shows Adrien rest not on Adrien the person, but on Adrien the asset. His life is not his own, and as is revealed in very literal terms in Season 5, nor is his body.

The Gabriel and Adrien dynamic echoes through the Marinette and Adrien relationship. We are shown, explicitly in canon, that Marinette doesn't really know Adrien. He's a heartthrob and she understandably has a crush on him. But while in later seasons she casts aspersions at his army of adoring fans who go to any length to be close to him, she herself is clearly no better. Evidence says she's much worse actually. She takes astounding liberties with his day to day life, she lies to get closer to him, she polices his relationships with specifically other female characters, she delights in his sadness as seen in Glaciator 2:

Marinette: Oh, Adrien! Fancy seeing you here! And you look so sad, that's good!

Marinette as hero even abuses her position as Ladybug to break into his room, rifle around his things and even sniff his pillow. The show seems to make some attempt to explain away her behaviour in Derision by telling us that, in fact, Marinette does all this because she is the wounded party. Even if we accept for the moment that Derision wasn't a lazy retro-justification in service of Marinette's poor behaviour, her trauma does not trump Adrien's right to privacy.

Except, in-show, anything Marinette wants or needs trumps anything anyone else wants or needs, including Adrien–her ostensible partner. Adrien feels left out? Actually, this is more stress for Ladybug. Adrien dates Kagami? Actually this is competition for Marinette. Adrien is locked in a near-sensory deprivation chamber by his super villain father and feels forced to relinquish his miraculous? Actually this is bad news for Marinette.

If she's a hero, then she's one that comes with a price–one far beyond what I'm willing to accept as audience. I want a flawed hero. I don't want perfection. But equally, I don't want to be force fed the notion that this girl's dominant flaw is being a clutz. We get a few brief glimpses into the cost of her controlling behaviours but generally we suffer almost the entire cast telling us she is the Most Wonderful and Supreme Being That Has Ever Existed, all this while she consistently excels within the narrative through the diminishment of others. Need we remember her acing the gamer competition having never displayed a previous interest? How she surpasses even Joan of Arc in all matters miraculous?

Marinette the knight and Adrien the supposed Princess in the Tower: on paper the concept is a little tired but interesting, worth exploring. The role reversal that Astruc aimed for fell short though, and what we have instead is a role amplification. As I write, I struggle to think of a piece of media where the romantic interest has been quite so violated, lied to, limited and enfeebled.

Why did Bechdel's quote ring so true with how Marinette/Ladybug is drawn? That I feel cheated. That the potential for greatness was there, but instead we have a character who from a slightly different angle looks like a hero from wow-heroes-are-jerks juggernaut, The Boys.

I hope Season 6 interrogates Marinette's issues of control and denying agency more. I hope we see consequences beyond what is now a tedious series of panic attacks from Marinette when she's caught short. I hope real contrition and growth are modelled and that real, impactful, damaging character flaws aren't swept away by a cloud of narrative magical ladybugs.

[formulatrash]

the trouble truly is, is that people disliked lando before any of his trump comments, when he was making supportive statements regarding blm, refusing to engage with his twitch chat’s sexist remarks, and saying that the fia ban on political statements is trash. trump comments were wild and worthy of criticism, full stop, and yet, charles’ liking comments about blm being a “marxist cult” (a white nationalist god whistle) or lewis being pal’s with a rapist are never cited as reason for disliking them. guys, all of f1 drivers are not great people. they are millionaires, most born with a golden spoon, men, and, worst of all, european (the racism here is astounding). my comment btw isn’t meant as a whataboutism, or stating that lando is actually a misunderstood communist, but rather, if to dislike one, it’s to dislike all of them, or be transparent that it really ain’t about the comments, but just not liking them as a personality. there is a way for us progressives to be fans of, let’s be real, the worst sports regarding equality, on the lines of gender, race, sexuality, tackling climate change, but we’ve got to be honest and consistent.

yeah I'm gonna publish this one - you're right. remember I worked in this sport, I fucking know how dogshit people in it are and I also know Lando, he's not shit.

Lewis being friends with Brad Pitt makes me so angry I can't fucking think. I still like him. I still think he's generally right.

[justagingerwithredhair]

The Blue Moon Ball: Feast

Oh food glorious food, how I've missed you so. My mind tells me to try and maintain my composure, but my body has already taken off to the nearest spread. It looks like cheese, grapes, crackers, veggies, pinwheels, dip, all the typical light snacks one would find at a party. I begin to realize the severity of my starvation when I completely disregard the silverware, electing to take matters into my own hands by skewering the snacks with magically made icicles. Absolutely barbaric, I know. I end up crafting a chilled charcuterie kebab and scarfing it down. Did I look refined? Probably not, but at this point I'm too hungry to care much for manners. Ivory must also be starving because he detaches from my staff and starts picking at the vibrant berries. Where we live, our diets typically consist seafood, root vegetables, grains, and magical flora adapted to the climate of a frozen coast, so this dinner will be a welcome change of pace. After satiating ours stomachs on a base level, I can begin to truly appreciate the spread. The variety is astounding! I start to search for a real meal. I look at the dining table and see it stretched the length of the hall to an almost imperceptible length. At glance, it looks to be an enchantment that causes the room to loop on itself to accommodate every guest. How clever! I walk past the chairs and benches until I can find a spot that is open and somewhat close to Lurien. I let him get away once, not again. After walking for a bit, I finally spot him. He is surrounded by friends, all laughing while eating away merrily. It doesn't seem a seat is open in that particular circle, but one is available close enough to get in his sight. Moving quickly, I slide onto the bench next to a stranger.

My my mouth waters as I take in the options: chicken, pork, beef, lamb, fish, vegetables of all kinds, exotic fruit slices that look perfectly ripe, bread rolls of every variety and, oh be still my heart, CALAMARI! Ivory and I notice at the same time and immediately snatch the plate. Such golden crispy chewy goodness paired with thick zesty sauces. As we bite down, that oh so satisfying first crunch is enough to make the whole night worth it. Forget the waltz music, this is the real symphony we needed. The squid's flesh gives way to our teeth and we munch away blissfully. Calamari has always been our favorite. I'm not much of a chef, so making it ourselves has been... difficult, thus we typically depend on restaurants to get our fix. However tonight has increased my standards tenfold. No calamari will ever top this, not in a million years.

After I scarf down the last piece, I scan the table for something more novel but catch the gaze of the woman to my right (@these-detestable-hands) . She wears some brilliant combination of pirate apparel and ball clothes with a red and white polka dot sash. Though that isn't what stood out to me first. As I locked eyes with her, a horrified visage burned into my memory.

"You monster!" she shuddered in a low and tense tone, "That was my sister you just ate!"

Confounded my eyes finish observing her and spot her hair. Well, it isn't so much hair, but red octopus tentacles growing from her scalp. I immediately put the pieces together, and throw myself into a coughing fit out of shock.

"I'M SO SORRY-- I DIDN'T KNOW--"

As profuse apologies tumble out of me, her shell shocked grimace turns into a delighted grin as she begins to laugh unyielding. She pats my back saying,

"Oh calm down red-head, it was just a joke."

My horror subsides and I begin to chuckle a little which then grows into a contagious laughter I must have gotten from her. We both revel in the absurdity of the moment. As we calm down, she introduces herself,

"The name's Haley."

"Ah! A pleasure to meet you, Haley! My name is Seros. I apologize for the whole 'eating your sister' debacle. Think you can forgive me?"

She expels another hearty laugh. We have a delightful conversation over our meals and the time flies. It's not until we say our momentary goodbyes when I realize I have yet to meet with Lurien. I think I still have time. He seems to be up and mingling now! Ok, time to get some answers.

[anewbeginningagain]

In addition to all of the Green Parsons discourse, I would just say that Scott knows the pitfalls of training with your biggest rivals (specifically Meryl and Charlie). Even if Green and Parsons want to go to IAMO (I’d guess IAM over IAMO if at all) they will have to contend with more change and with being the newbies to CPom who have spent time establishing a relationship with Scott etc. I don’t think IAMO is a big enough or elite enough school to support the kind of “we’re all friends” vibe that you can get from IAM. All that’s to say Scott may say no if they approached him bc of CPom. But also! I would say that Scott needs another 1-2 really elite teams in the near future to keep building his coaching brand and IAMO. Other than CPom, he’s got some mid to lower tier top Canadian teams and then a handful of other countries? It would be good to have one big name that helped him and also pushed CPom. Who would that be? Not sure.

I agree with everything you said. I think that everyone watching CPom in the past 4 years has been astounded by the transformation they went through. There's the obvious - packaging, programs, basic skills, but then there's the confidence and how Christina is a new skater. And one of my favorite things - CPom have been consistently getting the highest levels in every competition they attend, I'm not sure they got any step sequence lower than level 3 this entire season. That's Scott IMO, the ability to get your levels while still staying in character and performing the hell out of your programs? Scott.

[wutheringmights]

Ok an extra little kudos on ur last chapter as usual (WOW ur ability to write so much so consistently yet with such high quality is literally astounding and insane)

Just wanted to say that Spirits is mentioned to be taller than Twilight which I find sooooo interesting. Plus Spirits being older than Legend and finding it amusing that a teenager would boss him around. God these small details make the characters that much more lifelike. Hey so actually can we get a general height for the cast—specifically I want to know if Spirits is taller than TWILIGHT he’s taller than Warriors now right? But is he taller than Time or Lincoln?

Thank you!! I try my best to write the best that I can (ironically, that sentence? not my best).

I'm a bit lame in that in my brain, the age of everyone in the Chain is more or less how tall they are. Things get a little funky with some of the other members of the larger cast, though.

Nonetheless, here's everyone from tallest to shortest:

Midna

Lincoln

Time

Warriors and Spirit (they are about the same height, but Warriors just barely has a few centimeters on him)

Twilight

Wild

Lana

Sky

Legend

Hyrule and Linkle

Wind

Four

[hiro-of-hyrule]

I had a dream last night about Master Kohga (which is a testament to the condition of my brain i think)

There was this monster in the desert that looked like a big lizard that was destroying basically everything in its path. The Yiga Clan tried to stop it, with Sooga leading the charge, but it ate all of them. Link tried to kill it with a squad of Gerudo soldiers and it ate them too, leaving the only people who could defeat the thing to be Riju and Master Kohga.

They made this plan to launch Kohga's spike balls at it using the power of Riju's lightning (at some point a cannon was made for this exact purpose, I wouldn't be surprised if Kohga had a hand in it, but that gives me a lot of questions. This dream was not as "thought out" as some of my other dreams)

Anyway, before they decided to make their last stand, they decided to just talk. They talked about their motivations as leaders and realized that they were pretty similar. That both of them were just trying to protect the people that they loved. They went silent for a bit, watching the big monster in the distance. Riju told Kohga that he was a good leader and he said something like "you're not so bad yourself kid" before they set out to destroy the giant lizard.

(I won't bore you with describing the conclusion, because I don't have many details, but they won and it turns out everyone was okay. I think they bonded over being swallowed by a giant lizard or somthing because everyone was very buddy buddy with each other afterwards)

vvv--- thoughts under the cut ---vvv

I'm going to be thinking about how it took a massive disaster and a lot of people "dying" for Riju and Master Kohga to get along with each other for a while.

Also, the cannon thing? I know it's a dream, so I don't have to flesh it out, but I really love the idea that Kohga spends time building contraptions that could work maybe one day but only under very specific circumstances.

A device like that cannon, which was powered by lightning, would almost never be able to be used, even in a thunderstorm. The only reliable way for that thing to work is to be allies with whoever has inherited lightning powers at the time, because that's the only way they could get that much power behind the cannon, despite consistently being enemies with people who have lightning powers. Maybe the plan was to trick them into blasting a specific spot by wearing the thunder helm and standing where it needs to be zapped??? Which is also not a great plan Master Kohga I hate to tell you-

I mean, it's not the only way to get that much power behind a cannon, Shiekah tech is crazy powerful. But! The cannon was specifically made to be powered by lightning and nothing else, which is why I'm so astounded by it

[genzsherlockholmes]

🌠sapphoshards follow

why the fuck did we need to move to britain. i hate it here

🥀its-mari-bitch follow

welcome to hell! i said much the same thing when i moved

15 notes

🏉jhwatson follow

i h8 going 2 ikea but the highlight is prob my mum trying 2 pronounce products. ur not swedish its ok love

🚂cluelock follow

Didn't your mum say "Dskungelskjog" last time you went

🏉jhwatson follow

how do u rmbr that m8.

🚂cluelock follow

Have it saved

🌠sapphoshards follow

you cant just say that and then not show us the video smh my head

614 notes

🍆phatass follow

i get the argument about men changing in girls changing rooms and like hell yeah get em but can we also talk about how bloody weird it'd be to be changing next to a bloody girl.

🥀its-mari-bitch follow

the way you consistently have the worst takes on this site is astounding to me. no one fucking likes you philip.

🍆phatass follow

he/him using lesbian dont talk to me fucking weirdo

🥀its-mari-bitch follow

mhm and how does your girlfriend feel about this post? oh i'm sorry do i need to clarify which one

76 notes

⭐gracelestars follow

brother came home crying today bc someone took his gf. he's SEVEN.

🌠sapphoshards follow

😨

🔥fredweaslesleftsock follow

your brother has game 🤷🏼‍♀️

⭐gracelestars follow

NO.

12k notes

🏉jhwatson reblogged

👽tearsforqueers follow

rb if you still have your first binder (and put in the tags if you still use one)

#yep i do #not old enough to not need one

🏉jhwatson follow

its-mari-bitch asked:

john yk what a binder is right

-

yea???

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S04E02 Look at me.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Prize Task: Most boastful item.

"Boastful" is not the same thing as "impressive." It doesn't have to be true and it doesn't it even have to be good. It just has to speak loudly for itself. Hugh's loser medal does not. Joe is going to suffer from my Americanness this time because, while I've heard of The Chuckle Brothers, it's an act that doesn't really resonate with me (also I would argue that bragging about meeting someone is pumping their greatness, not your own).

I looked up GCSE mathematics and Lolly's claim is that she was basically doing pre-calculus during fourth grade. This is very impressive if not for two things: (1) She was never tested on it. (2) She isn't nine anymore. I finished 95th percentile on the SAT's when I was in high school and it did not stop me from becoming an absolute imbecile at my current age.

Mel brought in several awards for best guinea pig and I honestly don't care that she was in her 40's when she did it. That's an interesting award and I want to hear more! Noel won sexiest man of the year . . . I mean c'mon it's not even fair.

Hugh: 1 (0) Joe: 2 (0) Lolly: 3 (-1) Mel: 4 (+1) Noel: 5 (0)

VT 01: Keep the basketball on the running machine for as long as possible. You may not touch the basketball or the running machine.

Note: Is this the first time Joe kisses the portrait of Greg?

I'm keeping an eye out for DQ's here. Joe and Noel fail terribly. Lolly and Mel get so close to solving it, but they don't quite get to where Hugh ends up.

Hugh proves the simplest solution is the best . . . but he also unplugs the treadmill. I would contend that the plug that attaches to the treadmill is part of it, but I'm willing to give it to Hugh for a few reasons. (1) He might have just unplugged an extension cord, I couldn't tell. (2) He beat everyone by a lot. (3) The task never said touching it results in disqualification, so it could be interpreted to mean that touching it just stops your time. He'd still win in that case.

Hugh: 5 Joe: 2 Lolly: 4 Mel: 3 Noel: 1

VT 02: Paint the best picture of the Taskmaster. Only the paint and brush may touch the mat, easel, and canvas.

Joe kisses Greg's portrait again and his reward is being the victim of the solo task. He has to smile with increasing enthusiasm every 30 seconds. I'd say he gets to his sixth smile until he accidentally goes way too big and can't beat it. Not DQ worthy because it's a solo task and you can't actually measure his enthusiasm.

The way I read the task, accuracy is not as important as quality. It does have to be a picture of Greg, but an impressive painting beats a worse, more accurate one.

Lolly's is bad, but I can see eyes and the words "task" and "master." Joe's is frankly astounding given the way he painted it. Hugh is an easy DQ (although the task never said the easel could touch the mat and it starts there, but whatever). Mel's is barely better than Lolly's because there's some consistency towards an artistic vision in it. Noel's is really good and I do think it beats Joe (which makes sense because Noel painted like a normal person).

Hugh: DQ Joe: 4 Lolly: 2 Mel: 3 Noel: 5

Team Task: Land the flower on the target. You may not leave the bandstand. Most flower lying loose on the bandstand wins.

I still find it crazy that outtakes show that Alex stole Joe's "Mel and Shoe" joke and then he uses it multiple times this series without it ever being explained. Regardless, Noel's antics make this really easy to score. Taskmaster does not abide cheating.

Hugh and Mel: 5 Joe, Lolly, and Noel: DQ

VT 04: Without touching the egg or the egg cup, get the egg into the egg cup. You may only use the equipment currently on the table. If you touch a piece of equipment that another contestant touches, you will both receive a 1 minute penalty per piece of equipment touched.

So this task is a little confusing on how the penalties work. You can either receive a one minute penalty per type of equipment that's touched or for each item of equipment that's touched. With the former, if all five contestants use the bread then they all get a one-minute penalty. With the latter, they would all get a four-minute penalty (one for each piece of bread the other contestants touched).

The show chooses the latter definition and I think it's the right call. The point is to force people to choose worse items by punishing more the more popular it is. It's worth stating that the other definition drops Lolly to third behind Noel and Joe.

Hugh: 2 Joe: 3 Lolly: 5 Mel: 1 Noel: 4

Live Task: Looking at the Taskmaster at all times and with your arms always beneath your hairdressing smock, attach as many balloons together as possible. Longest balloon chain wins.

Greg gave himself a task to set the episode title by shouting "look at me" as many times as possible. Alex seems to count the chains correctly. I contend they should have broken the tie between Noel and Lolly by measuring.

Hugh: 4 Joe: 2 Lolly: 3 Mel: 5 Noel: 3

Final

I only moved one point around in the episode, so Mel holds onto her win!

Hugh: 17 (0) Joe: 13 (0) Lolly: 17 (-1) Mel: 21 (+1) Noel: 18 (0)

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Choose Violence asks! Pick the most inflammatory ones you can find on the list and answer them. If Danger!Josh has an unpopular opinion on specific things mentioned therein, he can share them too.

Oh yes! Let's get riekling over here! This includes ART! Under the cut for length. I'm mostly just gushing about a Danger!Josh HC that I have. :3 You know the one ;)

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

So I have two of these, the first one being Cicero and the second being Miraak. Prior to seeing any discourse I either gave zero shits or just didn't care for them (based off of Cicero, I can't handle his voice, it's so grating and hurts my ears.) But I didn't think that much about either of them until I started actually participating in the fandom (in my own way, I don't really contribute outside of personal conversations and any of the art I produce...which has nothing to do with either of those characters...except my one joke about Miraak as a Shoggoth being sexy).

I had no idea that it was immoral or moral to dislike either character and I'm sorry but Cicero makes me think of smelly ham water (as someone who is very mentally ill from trauma I also find him a bit insulting.) and Miraak is a missed opportunity that has been pulled in so many directions that I just can't. I won't.

18. It's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

Teldryn Sero! Blade for hire, best swordsman in all Morrowind and absolute goddamn Dwemer-loving dorkface! Yes, you heard me! That guy is astounded by those ruins! I present to you his vanilla dialogue when you encounter a Dwemer ruin: "The dwarves were a clever race. I wonder what happened to them?"

And his Markarth line:

"Can you imagine what Markarth must have looked like when the dwarves were living here? I can't even begin to imagine." It's there hidden amongst all that dramatic cynicism, sarcastic bravado and slight "Dunmer are better than you" attitude. This guy is a nerd for anything Dwemer! I never see anyone point this out though. I think it's a missed opportunity for character-building. His tone, still sarcastic as ever (because he is dripping in it) does change to one of awe. The only other thing he gets this way about are the Telvanni mushroom Tels. So he seems to appreciate grand architecture (though not Nordic or Imperial styles interestingly enough), it would explain why every town you walk into in Skyrim elicits a bitch-a-thon from him. He hates everything because it looks unimpressive to him. Blacklight must be as grand as Markarth is intended to be in the lore. Since he compares that city to everything. I have my own thoughts on what it looks like too ;) Guess who else is a dork for ancient shit? Me! So naturally I grabbed onto these lines and ran with them. I HC his interest in Dwemer is a full-on obsession. He wants to go to that museum, he wants to go dungeon diving with you and he insists on dumping as many dwemer nick-nacks into his pack as he can. He also does this with knives lol.

I also HC him as the Nerevarine, so on top of that I have him swiping that Dwemer Coherer back from Divayth Fyr as payback for not actually curing his corprus. Now what on earth is a coherer? An electrical component formerly used to detect radio waves. It consists of a tube containing loosely packed metal particles. They were used to pick up and measure radiowaves. And so Dwifi was born! Danger!Josh wants to reverse-engineer that shit! And I ran with that and created this <3

My baby bird fiddling with that damn machine part!