#that's the phrase I think I'm looking for

[jonquilandlace]

I just want to pop in to say: the first thing I was taught in my master's programme was how to read early modern handwriting. And we had to do it twice, technically! I'm not looking at my notes and my memory is a bit foggy so pardon me if I use the wrong words, but they had both an italic and a secretary hand. Now, italic is probably the style you recognize in name. But that said, you are going to hate me for what I'm about to reveal about how it looked (all images I'm about to use are straight off google images, sorry for mediocre sourcing):

Look me in the eye and tell me you could read this without having to stop to think about it. I mean, it's definitely in Latin (and russian I think?), so I don't blame you for not knowing what I means, but if you give it a chance, other than a few bits and pieces, you could parse some of the letters, at least. If I told you the "uncrossed-f" shape meant "s" (which it does), you can pretty clearly make out the phrase "platonem scripsere quod plotum dixit" in the first line, for instance.

This is an admittedly bit unfriendly of an example, but you see what I mean—it's clearly similar to how our handwriting is shaped today, but even then, it's tricky. I will admit I was surprised by italic hand—largely because, once we started learning it, I discovered a lot of the little "I write this letter 'wrong' but it feels better to me" things I've done since learning handwriting actually were common in italic hand, but that's neither here nor there for this commentary, just a fun fact about me.

Now secretary hand, on the other hand—

She is the It Girl of early modern handwriting. She is mean to read, fun to write, absolutely gorgeous on paper—and looks quite a bit like cursive.

Secretary hand died out in favor of italic by the end of the period, and you can admittedly kind of see why—the letter forms of some of these letters were far too similar for easy reading; people literally had to be trained to write in this handwriting style, where italic looked more like the printed text people tended to learn to read off of with the increasing popularity of the printing press, and—like modern manuscript—was quicker to write.

In other words: secretary hand is the equivalent of our modern cursive.

So why am I saying this all? Good question! I'm not 100% sure myself; just following a gut instinct! But I think there's two main points to be seen here:

First: sometimes ways of writing are devalued and die out. Sometimes it's a slow thing—like how the "uncrossed-f = s" I was talking about has just been straight up replaced by the normal "s" shape. Other times, it is institutional. There were no need for scribes with the printing press, so the scribal profession died out, and the secretary hand with it. There's no need for cursive with the computer, so cursive dies out. It's a tragedy, sure; a whole art form is lost in the pursuit of efficiency—but it's cyclical. It has happened before. It's probably going to happen again. On that note, however— Second: Even if it dies from common usage, and this is the important part: people will still figure out how to read them, and there will always be people who want to learn. The knowledge becomes more precious, more scarce, sure. There are still pieces of early modern literature no one has translated; none of my professors or peers know what it's supposed to say. But the physical media has outlived the mechanism itself, the people who wrote it! It still exists, and it can still be discovered again! On this note, I want to talk about something I don't have enough authority not to cite—the marui-ji handwriting of Japanese girls in the 1970s.

I wouldn't be terribly surprised if you've seen this picture before, actually. This has gone viral before, in a post about how that handwriting style got "so excessively cute that schools had to ban it" (that's not a direct quote but to that point).

But that's exactly the point I want to make here—handwriting trends will always change, and it will always be possible to have fun with your writing.

As Zui in the article linked above describes, this is "[a]n example of cute handwriting in 1985, documented by Yamane Kazuma. Note the heavily stylised characters and exaggerated rounding of some strokes, and the abnormal placement of the dakuten for the character で in the bottom-right corner."

Some link the advent of this writing style to the advent of mechanical pencils, allowing for thinner lines. Others (my own opinion among them) link it to Japan's "kawaii" movement, or the reclamation of "cute" culture by young girls seeking freedom from traditional patriarchal roles in the same way the West embraced punk culture. But the point remains: from a standard beginning point, an entire new paeleographical style was born.

So on the topic of cursive again, and coming back to my second point: change is inevitable, but it doesn't have to be permanent. It may die out now, sure, only to be rediscovered like secretary hand before it.

But just like art itself won't die, even if techniques change, art in handwriting won't be gone forever, either.

So keep a record, for the historians who want to read cursive. Tutorial the hell out of it, even. But even if cursive dies—keep having fun when you write. Make your handwriting your own, and just enjoy yourself. Losing access to one thing doesn't mean you can't make something else in its place. Also writing in secretary hand is fun, too, send tweet, okay byeeee

On one hand I understand not teaching cursive in school anymore, because it actually is slower than regular handwriting and almost everything is typed on a keyboard now anyways.

On the other hand, so much of our (even recent!) history was written in cursive, and having a whole generation of kids who can't read letters written by their grandparents, momentos saved by their great-grandparents, or even photo albums from theur immediate family seems like a dangerously quick way to detach us from previous generations.

And on the third, related but slightly malformed hand, I feel bad that yet another form of small, everyday art that brings joy in the middle of mundane tasks, which celebrates personality and individual style and self-expression, is about to fade into obscurity because it wasn't efficient enough for today's world to put up with.

Like... if we continue to whittle away the small arts out of every day life, what's going to be left except stark, ruthless pragmatism?

Maybe writing a grocery list is less mundane when you get to feel elegant for a moment. Maybe you're a little more proud of what you write when you see it flow together like a painting

[pagesfromthevoid]

Honey & Glass | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, not a lot of Bob interaction just yet, Valentina and Walker need their own warnings

Author's Notes: I love him, okay? I'm not even sorry.

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Six Months Before the Void

“Sergeant Barnes, if you would just give me a chance –,”

“A chance to do what, exactly?” Bucky asked, turning to face the young woman who had –for the better part of an hour –been following him through the charity event.

“Help with your campaign!” She explained, throwing her hands in the air. “Sir, you’re an icon. A legend. So it genuinely pains me to say this. But you suck at talking in front of the camera.”

He stared at her for a long moment, considering what she was saying. Okay, sure –he wasn’t great at interviews. But he was polling better than everyone else running against him. That had to mean something, right? He rolled his neck, pushing aside an annoying tingle that had shot up his spine. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued, stepping in front of him, putting her hands up as if she could stop him from leaving. “You’re thinking that you’re polling better than everyone else running against you, and that has to mean something.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “How did –,”

“And it does mean something –but it won’t if you don’t learn how to address the public. The whole ‘man of the people’ schtick gets old fast when it’s less endearing and more ‘is this man actually qualified?’”

He doesn’t have time for this, he decided, shaking his head. Then he reached out to just move her –something he didn’t really like doing, but she was too persistent and kind of annoying, so he needed her to go away.

“I’m not going away!” She exclaimed, ducking away from his touch –as if she anticipated it. “Also don’t manhandle people –sir, do you realize how bad that looks? Like, our mayor does enough of that.”

“How are you doing that?” He demanded, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to the side. Though his grip wasn’t tight –he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Doing what?” 

“Can you read my mind?” He demanded again, glaring down at her.

“I mean…,” she dragged out the phrase, making a ‘maybe’ sort of motion with her hands. “Listen, I told you I knew what you were thinking. But that’s not all I can do –and I can use it to help you.”

“Why on earth would you want to use your superpowers to help me run for Congress?”

“Because I actually think you can do good for Brooklyn,” she insisted, and Bucky swore that she was being genuine. “I am being genuine, sir. I care about my city. And I do think you can do a lot more than most can. But you need a public relations specialist and I am really good at my job. Theoretically, at least.”

“Theoretically?” He asked, frowning deeply.

“I mean, you would be my first client because I finished my Master’s like right before the Blip then disappeared technically, but I know I can be really good at my job if you just give me a chance. Please. I’ll even do it for free!”

“I’m not –you’re not doing it for free. I’ll pay you –,”

“Yes!” 

Present Day –D.C.

“Any word on our friend?” Bucky asks, glancing at his PR specialist slash assistant slash…well, everything, really. 

He isn’t sure how to describe the young woman who stood next to him, because she’s a jack of all trades at this point in his very short Congressional career. She started off managing his social media and helping his public image before the election. Bucky had to give credit where credit was due: the girl is good at her job. Her speech writing skills are solid. She keeps his message and support consistent. She even managed to get him less stiff and weird on camera. She keeps him on schedule and pushes him through things he doesn’t want to do, with both a smile and a snarky comment that lightens his frustrations. 

Her abilities came in handy quite a bit in these tasks. Between reading the minds of the people around her –knowing what they wanted, how they felt –and being able to project positive thoughts into a crowd…well, Bucky is glad she was so persistent six months ago.

But then she had a run-in with one of his opponents supporters, showing up to work disheveled and frustrated.

“It’s nothing,” she had insisted, “Just some asshole who thinks I’m a monster for helping you.”

Bucky decided that he could teach her a few things too.

She was a fast learner, and a willing student. If she got knocked down, she got up again and immediately sought feedback and improvement. While she’s no super soldier, she is able to hold her own if she needs to —after a few months. Bucky taught her how to handle a weapon or two, she taught him how to use Twitter and TikTok (which he hated, but damn did it help his numbers). It’s a good partnership.

The latest lesson is a bit of espionage –nothing super intense. Bucky is working on how to get Valentina Alegra de Fontaine impeached –and while his assistant was a great asset in confirming that Valentina was, in fact, guilty…well, the public doesn’t know he has a mutant in his employment. And while Bucky has no issue telling anyone, she does –and it isn’t his secret to tell.

“None of my family knows,” she explained over a beer one night after another charity gala. “I don’t…It’s not something I need anyone to know. I already know what everyone thinks; I don’t need them to start thinking specifically about me too. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Her assistant –her name is Mel –is on the fence about her boss,” she explains, clicking away at her phone as she sends him over her notes. “I tried talking to her but she pretty much immediately beelined for the door when I got closer.”

“Who's the unapproachable one now?” He jokes, grinning down at her as he grabs a champagne glass for both of them. 

She snorts in response, taking a sip of the bubbly he hands her. “Still you, sir.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, nodding some as he looks around the room. “Anything else?”

“She’s getting rid of any and all evidence of O.X.E and something called Project Sentry,” she continues, though she’s hiding her lips behind her glass. “I couldn’t figure out what that was –I’m sure something ratchet.”

“Ratchet?” He asks, frowning deeply.

“Terrible,” she offers. 

Her and her millennial slang. He couldn’t understand it half the time.

“I’ll try to get closer –,”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, stepping in front of her. “Cool it for the night. I have some angles that I can work with; I need you to do what you do best now.”

“Get people to think you’re not a weird old man from the forties?”

“...yes.”

“Can do, sir.” She salutes him, grinning up at him. 

Bucky shoos her away, shaking his head, then heads off to locate Congressman Gary about his findings.

*****

She sees coordinates.

She knows she promised Bucky she wouldn’t get closer to Valentina, but she never promised she wouldn’t pay attention to Mel.

“I know you’re avoiding me,” she comments as she slips behind Mel with a polite smile and glass of champagne. “I don’t know why. I thought we were like…I don’t know, two peas in a pod. Assistants to weirdly powerful people –,”

“Oh, I’m not –,” Mel starts but bites her tongue. “I’m not avoiding you. Just super busy. You know, being an assistant to a weirdly powerful person.”

She nods, sipping her drink thoughtfully. But Mel is focused on her tablet again, and the coordinates are flashing in her mind as she looks at a name –John Walker. U.S. Agent. Dime store Captain America. She makes a face behind her glass, unable to help it. 

The same coordinates flash again, indicating that Walker was being sent somewhere to get rid of someone named Belova in Utah. 

She hums as she jots down the coordinates in her phone, fully intending to send them to Bucky.

“Well, well –finally, I get the pleasure of meeting the little girl who’s made our junior congressman remotely functional,” Valentina announces from behind, catching her off guard. “You know, you could do a lot better.”

She smiles politely, though she wonders if it looks as forced as it feels. “I don’t think I could, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Valentina hums, bumping shoulders with Mel, who looks painfully uncomfortable. Her thoughts are loud. What is she doing? She literally told me not to talk to this girl. Why is she talking to her? What’s her angle? Is she trying to fire me? Do I want to be fired?? “Could work with us –I bet your skills would do wonders.”

She narrows her eyes at the inflection –at the implication –in Valentina’s tone. “I think you have an excellent assistant already, Ms. de Fontaine –,”

“Oh, I don’t need another assistant. Mel is perfect,” though her tone sounds…alarmingly poisonous. “You, though…you could be so much more than just Bucky Barnes’ pretty assistant.”

“I am more than that, ma’am,” she argues, narrowing her eyes. 

“I think you have the potential to be a hero,” Valentina continues, ignoring her. “Think about what you could do with those powers of yours.”

“I don’t –,”

“Oh please,” the director of the CIA interrupts. “Number one, it’s obvious that you can read minds. You know way too much and have almost no contacts in D.C. Just because everyone else in this room is oblivious doesn’t mean I am. Number two, you have an actual talent –something that can literally calm down the worst of the worst without even touching them. Think about what you could do with that.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself. Valentina is manipulating her. She knows that the director is. It’s obvious, and Valentina isn’t even trying to hide it.

“I’m making an impact here,” she says, though she’s not half as confident as she was before. 

“Are you, though?”

“More so than a woman experimenting on humans and destroying the evidence.”

Valentina laughs –well, snorts really, because her laugh is not from amusement. “Shit, you know. I thought I could get you. That’s unfortunate. Now you’re just a liability.”

Her brow furrows and as she’s about to call out –for Bucky, for someone –there’s a high pitched screeching in her ears and everything goes fuzzy. She curses out loud as Valentina calls for help –as someone helps her up and leads her away. She can’t hear what’s going on –she can’t see what’s being presented to the crowd. But through blurry eyes, she can see Bucky trying to make his way through the crowd. 

She’s blacked out before she knows if he’s going to help her.

*****

Her head hurts.

That’s all she can focus on.

There’s a dull ache in her skull like someone took a screwdriver and tried to scramble her brain through her ears. 

The pain, however, is overcome by the sound of gunshots echoing in an empty room.

She rolls over, bumping into a crate or something, and tries to push herself onto her knees. There’s yelling and gunshots and she’s barely able to think let alone move. But she manages to get herself sitting up, eyes screwed tight as she presses her head into the crate behind her. She needs to get her bearings. She needs to figure out where she is and she needs to call Bucky because she fucked up and now she’s probably in danger and –

“It’s getting kind of tense out there,” a voice whispers –trembling, soft. 

But she’s not expecting anyone to be so close to her and she screams out, throwing herself away from him. 

The gunshots stop, and there’s a silence for a moment as the weapons shift towards her and this man she doesn’t recognize. Though, she’s certain that even if she could see properly without feeling like her brain was bleeding, she wouldn’t know who he is.

“And who are you?” Someone asks, and she can hear footsteps coming closer. 

She tries to mask herself –hide from whatever is probably going to kill her –but the moment she even considers her powers –there’s another violent jolt down her spine and she cries out in pain.

“Oh,” the man above her says, putting his hands up. “I’m –I’m uh, Bob. I don’t –well, I don’t know who she is –,”

“Don’t involve me in this,” she hisses as he points to her, though she looks up as John Walker peers down at her. She glares at him through squinted, bloodshot eyes. 

“Aren’t you…Bucky’s assistant?” He asks, holstering his gun.

She nods once, swallowing hard. “Yeah…yeah, I am.”

“How the hell did you both get in here?” the Russian asks.

“I don’t remember,” Bob admits, still trembling some as he looks down at her on the floor. “I found her like that –,”

“I think I was kidnapped,” she explains as Walker offers her a hand to stand. She slaps it away and slowly pushes herself up. “Fucking Valentina –,”

“So just to confirm,” the Russian begins. “Valentina sent…all of us here, to kill each other. Plus two civilians?”

“I think she sent me here to get killed,” she offers, leaning against the crate to hold her up. “I, uh, can read minds and shit.”

“Ah, okay. Liability,” the Russian confirms, as if it was obvious. “Doesn’t explain Bob though.”

“Wait, you guys were sent?” He asks, and she’s taking a breath and finally finds herself focusing a little better.

She glances at Bob now, taking a moment to finally look at him. He’s in scrubs, disheveled and confused. She, probably inappropriate for the moment, thinks he would be kind of cute if he was a little more cleaned up. Or least not in scrubs. 

There’s not a chance in hell she can read his thoughts –her brain is still a mess. She tries to focus her gaze, blinking away the fuzziness that had overwhelmed her. Things were getting clearer; their thoughts —though still fragmented and scrambled like a TV without signal —were finally breaking through. He’s standing there barefoot and it's hard to believe that he wasn’t just…here already. He seems too confused to have snuck in, and more importantly too scrambled.

“I don’t think it matters, really,” she finally says, standing up straight. “We need to get out because Valentina is absolutely trying to kill all of us.”

“Okay, these two —yeah, I get it,” Walker argues, motioning to the Russian —Yelena— and the other woman —Ava —she’s gathered. “But I’m a decorated war vet. I was Captain America —,”

Bob suddenly laughs, and the sound feels almost unnerving in the situation they’re in. She turns to him, his fragmented thoughts loud and…and scary.

Walker isn’t amused. “What’s so funny, Bobby?”

Some thought —or maybe emotion —flares up in Bob but he just laughs uncomfortably again. 

“You keep saying you’re Captain America,” he explains, wringing his hands. 

“And why is that funny?” Walker presses and his thoughts are getting louder now too. 

“It’s just…you’re an asshole.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Walker looks mortified and angry. Yelena is clearly holding back her laughter while Ava is more focused on getting the hell out. But Bob is laughing —boyish, timid, and dare she admit it, kind of cute. And she can’t help but laugh now too. 

“Oh, god. He’s got such a point. God bless you, Bob, thank you so much for seeing things clearly,” she agrees, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Walker’s literally the worst.”

There’s a moment. The room shifts, like how it shifts when she uses her powers. But it’s darker, and she’s familiar with her room she’s standing in. It doesn’t last though. As she’s trying to figure out where she is, it shifts back. 

And suddenly she’s back in the vault, hand on his shoulder, and everyone staring at her like she’s lost her goddamn mind. Maybe she has, because she’s worried she’s accidentally lost control. And that’s never happened before. She’s usually in far more control —but she chalks it up to anxiety and shakes herself out of it. She didn’t mean to do it; it wasn’t on purpose. Bob does seem a bit put out by it though; blue eyes wide as he stares at her like he’s done something wrong. 

“Sorry, I —,” he starts, but an alarm goes off, interrupting her thoughts and she drops her hand from Bob’s shoulder. 

“We need to get out of here,” Yelena states, pointing to the clock on the wall. “We find the console that controls the barrier, Ava can get through and open it from the other side. Once we’re out, we split up, we find an exit. Walker, keep assistant girl and Bob alive.”

There’s arguing, and their thoughts are getting louder as she’s finally coming into focus again. She wants to argue and remind them what her name is but it seems redundant at this point, given she’s probably going to die. 

Oh. Oh god. She’s actually going to die. She’s actually enough of a liability that someone wants her dead and she’s going to die in a vault underground, with a bunch of assholes and some guy named Bob. Her hand grabbed at her chest, trying to ease that panic as she fell against another crate, sitting down and breathing hard. 

“I’m going to die because I’m too good at my job,” she mumbles to herself. “God, what the fuck?”

“You’re not going to die,” Walker insists as Yelena shouts out in discovery. Walker turns his attention to the Russian, hurrying over to smash the controls in with his shield. 

“We might die,” Bob offers, as if that was reassuring. He sits beside her, hands in his lap as he picks at the skin around his nails. “It’s fine, I think.”

Another yell of triumph and they both watch as Ava phased through the walls, finding an escape. If she wasn’t so scared of death, she would have been wholly impressed. Bob patted her shoulder awkwardly —though she pulled away. 

“Don’t —I don’t want to accidentally make you see my thoughts,” she explains, frowning deeply as he drops his hand. “I appreciate the thought, Bob. I just —I don’t want to freak you out.”

“Oh,” though he doesn’t really seem to understand what she means. 

“Come on!” Walker suddenly screams, hitting the door. “Where the hell is she!”

The two civilians stand, moving to stand behind Yelena and Walker. The timer is counting down and the thoughts around her are…alarmingly accepting of their fates. Walker and Yelena both seem to be totally fine if this is where the line ends for them. And Bob…well, his thoughts are still fragmented and confusing, but he seems just as willing to die down here as the other two. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers, covering her eyes. “You’re all suicide risks.”

[spiderb00bs]

- I DIDN'T GET THE HYPE

Jenna Ortega x reader  

“maybe Jenna's fans had underestimated you"

Genre – fluff        warnings - none 

(request) 

Now playing – Donk, by Beyoncé

“I think i wanna go back to school, and have my locker full of pictures of you. So give me that A in biology, i'm graduatin' soon"

“I didn't get the hype.” 

That was one of the phrases you saw most about yourself on social media. Ever since you started dating Jenna, people always seemed to have a certain opinion about what you looked like. Which was ironic, because those same people had never seen your face completely. The paparazzi always caught you at times when half your face was covered with a cap or a mask. 

Jenna knew you weren't much for cameras, always working behind them. You hardly used social media, and when her fans discovered your profile, you had to keep it private for your own safety - and comfort. Even so, your girlfriend's fans still managed to get into a small part of your life. They discovered your passion for video games, literature, music and science. And it wasn't long before people on Twitter (r.i.p), started calling you Jenna's nerd. 

You never minded the comments, even you knew that Jenna was too much for you, so the fans' surprise didn't bother you. In fact, you even agreed with some of them. Even you don't know how you pulled a girl like Jenna. The fans were split almost equally, half of the people thought that underneath the glasses and masks you wore on the street, there was a beautiful, hot girl. While others simply thought you were a nerd. And you were fine with that. 

Jenna, however, always wanted you to go to an event with her. As much as the brunette didn't like the constant showing off, she kind of wanted to show you off to everyone. So here you are, getting ready with Jenna's team for the red carpet of “Death of a Unicorn”. 

You certainly weren't used to so many people working on you. Hands adjusting your shirt, helping you put on your blazer, fixing your hair, putting on some make-up. Damn, you didn't know how your girlfriend dealt with all that. 

“Are you ready, honey?” Natalie, your girlfriend's mother entered the room, approaching you with a smile on her face. 

“Oh, well... I don't know...” You stammered, looking at the make-up artist next to you, only for the woman to laugh and shake her head positively. 

“She's ready.” 

Smiling at the woman, you stood up from the make-up chair as you walked alongside Mrs. Ortega. Your hands were ringing, and you couldn't lie that you were completely nervous at the thought of being on a red carpet. 

"Relax, darling, you look really beautiful. I'm sure people will love you two together." Natalie said, seeing your obvious nervousness. 

Your steps slowed, until you were face to face with the door to the room where your girlfriend was standing. 

“It's just that I'm not used to all this.” You said, nervously adjusting the collar of your dress shirt. "All this public stuff makes me a bit nervous. But I'd do anything for her." 

It took no more words for Mrs. Ortega to understand who you were talking about. The woman's smile opened instantly. 

“That's good to know.” 

Opening the door handle, you let your girlfriend's mother in first. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room, only for your breath to go out again as soon as you laid eyes on your girlfriend. The black dress with the plunging necklines that made you want to stare a second longer, the hair falling past her shoulders, the make-up, just how beautiful your girlfriend was in general. 

“Wow, you look wonderful, mi amor.” You said, grasping Jenna's hand before slowly lifting it and making her turn around. 

The brunette's laughter echoed around the room, only for her smile to widen when you pulled her towards you. Jenna's eyes sparkled as she looked at you, and yours were no different. You knew the power you had in Jenna, and she certainly knew the powers she had in you. 

“Did you like it?” The woman asked, tugging at the collar of your shirt, making you move closer to her - if that was even possible. 

“I loved it!” You emphasized, kissing Jenna's lips slowly. 

As much as you wanted to, you knew you couldn't smudge Jenna's makeup, so all the passion and that hint of aggression you wanted to give her would have to be saved for later. 

“All right, lovebirds, let's go or we'll be late.” Enrique said, clapping his hands, making you and Jenna laugh. 

The ride in the car was tense for you. You couldn't deny to anyone how nervous you were. It was almost impossible, your hands were shaking slightly and all you wanted to do was turn around and go home. But you had to do it, support your girlfriend, this was all very important to her, and if she wants you to be there for her, you will be! 

Noticing the way your hands moved, and how your leg hadn't stopped bouncing since you got into the car, Jenna grabbed your hand, intertwining the two of your hands and placing them on top of your restless leg. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at her, the brown of her eyes doing a phenomenal job of calming you down. The reassuring smile, the squeeze on your hand, the kiss she left on your shoulder, over the fabric of her chic shirt, all made you calm down.

“You'll be fine, mi amor.” Jenna said, looking at you with those doe eyes you knew so well. “Do you trust me?”

“With all my heart!”

"Good! Because we're about to do it."

You felt the car park, the beats in your chest getting slightly faster as Enrique told you how to act. You just nodded positively, before the car door was opened for you to get out. The flashes followed you momentarily, but you didn't let it affect you, turning around and holding out your hand so that your girlfriend could have some support to get down.

"Thank you. I love you!" She said, stopping for a second next to you, ignoring all the paparazzi and people shouting her name.

“I love you too, superstar.”

Smiling, Jenna pulled you by the hand, the two of you once again being blasted with camera flashes as you posed for red carpet photos. I mean, Jenna was landing, while you were trying to keep up with the whole situation happening in front of you.

At some point, you stepped back a little, just so your girlfriend could take a few pictures by herself. The weight of your cell phone in your trouser pocket reminded you that maybe this would be a good moment to keep it. Opening the camera, you imitated the paparazzi, pointing the lens at the beautiful woman in the black dress, taking several clicks, which - almost automatically - became your new wallpaper.

You followed Jenna to interviews and all this stuff, staying with Enrique and her team at times when she needed to be alone. Whatever it was, you didn't mind, it was great to see the woman you love achieving everything she deserves, and you loved every second of it.

The next morning hit you hard. The drinks you'd had last night seemed like a bad idea now, and despite wanting to get up and take the longest shower of your life, you stayed in bed because of the weight on your chest. Jenna was still sound asleep, snoring and making cute noises as she practically drooled all over you.

Smiling, you groped for the bedside table, reaching for your phone to take a cute souvenir photo, one of a thousand. But your plans quickly changed when you saw how many notifications you had, almost all from Twitter. You opened the app, scared and curious to see what you'd done so seriously to get so many comments.

The internet is crazy!

Hi guys

I hope you are all well! Sorry for taking so long to update, it's just that I have a lot of ideas on my main blog. But don't worry, I still have some drafts that I'm going to finish, so they'll be ready to be posted here.

for now I took advantage of Jenna's request.

Stay safe and drink water,

xoxo, spider.

[sanaexus]

"doing what i can, tryna be a man" -nagi seishiro

snyposis- nagi knows he's not perfect but he thought you loved him, until he saw you happy with someone, for the first time in his life he doubted himself

because its my babyboy's birthday and he deserves this and more!! please don't get misled by the synposis it was a bit too dramatic but i didn't know how to phrase it better

based on this req!

nagi knows he's not perfect, he knows he slacks off a little too much, he knows he doesn't put as much effort into things as he should, he's well aware of all of thise. but he really does try for you. he puts into just a little bit more effort into everything just for you. waking up just 15 minutes after his alarm instead of shutting it off and sleeping in. try just a bit harder during practices and even the matches just so you can say "good job baby, i'm so proud of you." he thought you two were happy together.

so what's the problem now? you both attended a party, it was just supposed to be for a little while but now you saw you chatting away and laughing with someone he wasn't bothered enough to care about. he felt this pang in his chest and felt his stomach sinking. he trusted you, he really did but this felt different sure he was jealous, but it was deeper than that. it was fear. fear of losing you.

if someone would have told him a couple of years ago he'd be feeling sick to his stomach because of some mid testosterone talking to his girl he'd laugh at their face, but now? he wasn't so sure.

you looked happy, glowing even. this radiant bright smile on your face with this twinkle in your eyes he had never quite seen before. was he not enough? no that was bullshit. you chose him. you loved him. everyday you came home to him, so why didn't you look as happy with him?

hesitantly he stopped staring at you from a distance like a creep, and walked up to you, casually putting an arm around your shoulder like he wasn't just questioning his self worth two minutes ago. "hi pretty, who's this?"

his voice sent shivers down your spine and made your face flush. it doesn't matter how long it had been since you both got together, you pretty much still had a crush on your boyfriend. "hi baby, just a friend, give me 5 minutes and then we can go alright?" with that you turned your attention back to the conversation.

the rest of the conversation you had was a blur for nagi. some joke he didn’t get. a story he didn’t know. he just heard your giggling and saw you smiling and felt his heart break real time. was this the part where you leave him? no it couldn't be.

he didn't even realise when he zoned out and when your conversation ended. his chain of thoughts broke with you tugging on his shirt looking up at him confused. "you okay baby?" your voice was sweet, sickly sweet and so innocent, he felt horrible for thinking you'd leave him when you loved him so much.

"yeah, 'm alright angel, let's go?" his voice was weak and sluggish but it was best not to bother him about it. he intertwined your pinky with his as you both head out from the party.

the car ride home was quiet. the only sound was from the traffic outside and the quiet music playing on the radio.

and then his voice barely above a whisper, "do you still love me?" you turned to him instantly. he sounded unsure. raw. scared. you’d never heard him like that before, and it shattered your heart.

"of course i do baby, you're the only one for me, why'd you ask?" you tried your best to sound reassuring but it was hard to do so when you're freaking the fuck out if your boyfriend is okay.

"why? why do you love me? you're so cheery and bubbly shouldn't you be with someone more like that?" he finally tore his eyes away from the road to look at you with such soft eyes that would melt you if it wasn't for the way he sounded so sad.

"what do you mean why? i like you just the way you are. i like the way you ground me, i like the way you just listen and let me talk your ear off. so no i don't want someone more 'cheery and bubbly' because you are what i want."

"oh." he was a quiet for a moment when he reached out for your thing carressing it with one hand when he whispered a small "i love you, please don't leave me i won't have a duo in val like you ever again."

his words made you giggle "i love you too and i'm not leaving you ever, who else is gonna carry me in tryhard diamond lobbies."

he let out a small chuckle when you asked him "so you thought i'd leave you? because i laughed at someone's lame joke to be polite? that's so silly sei"

you were right. it was silly, silly because you'd always choose him. "oh. oh yeah no i never thought about any of that." he tried to play it off nonchalantly like he wasn't just in the verge of crying and begging you to not leave him.

“sure, sei. sure you didn’t.” he did. but it didn’t matter. because you’d always be there to remind him. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

a slightly late birthday post for my favorite boy!! lit stopped all my upcoming fics for this one because my baby deserves it

[copperbadge]

Wikipedia is a good model for this if you look at citations there -- factual statements usually come from news stories, journal articles, research papers, interviews, etc. If it's a news story, check the paper it's attributed to, or find a unique phrase and google it in quotes to see where else it shows up. If you're searching for information about something and you see a lot of sites parroting each other, look for sites that stand out for not doing that. Check who owns or runs a website -- for instance if you google ANYTHING about psychedelics, the vast majority of top-ranked sites talking about them are addiction recovery centers trying to strike up business. They may be informative but are likely to be biased.

If someone has posted up like, an informative essay, and they don't have citations, look into the topic for yourself. If they do have citations, check one or two to see what's what.

Quotes are a tougher issue because there were always a ton of those that were wrong or unattributed online anyway. Your best bet is to ensure that the quote isn't just attributed to a person but also states WHERE they said it. If it doesn't, and you can't find a place that says where they said it, maybe roll on past.

Until you develop varied skills for fact-checking, which just kind of comes in time when you're doing it repeatedly, a great way to think about it is to ask yourself, "If someone told me this was false, what would I show them to prove them wrong?" and proceed from there.

I'm not saying you have to verify everything you see -- just that you should be verifying what you share. If you can't verify it, or even if you just don't want to, you just...can move on without reblogging. That's allowed. (This isn't necessarily aimed at you -- some people are just getting real weird in the notes about the idea of not reblogging.)

As AI art gets harder to clock, I feel like we are going to need to have a discussion about attribution and it's probably going to bum some people out.

Because the surest way to avoid platforming, reblogging, or encouraging AI art posting is to know where every image you share originated and that's 1) boring, tedious research and 2) extremely limiting in what you feel you can reblog. But if unattributed images never gets traction, people will start attributing their images.

I've been guilty of this in the past, but for a while now it's been my policy that if I can't verify the origin, I don't share the image. That goes for stuff like screen grabs of headlines too -- more than once I've avoided spreading misinformation by saving a post to research before I reblog, then seeing the post refuted before I've been able to verify it.

And I usually try to attribute photos I take -- case in point, the "woman with shrimp" post gets a lot of attention but not one comment about it being AI, despite it being pretty similar to something you'd get from an AI. That's because I clearly state it's in a museum and link to its catalogue page.

I'm not saying this to scold anyone -- I think yelling at the Internet to cite its sources is very much a losing game -- but because I don't see this discussed much. We're such fertile ground to be fooled by AI art because we've grown accustomed to not questioning the origins of any given image. And of course I also want to encourage both OPs to attribute their images and rebloggers to verify unattributed ones.

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 1

Gotham City Airport was, for better or worse, on the outskirts of the mainland, basically not even in the city, meaning that it was almost a straight shot from there to Bristol. Another place that isn't technically part of the islands that make up Gotham City, but who is Danny to judge? A spiteful bitch, that's right.

The car parked and he rushed out to grab his bags before Alfred could. Then, he made it a point to drag his feet the entire way up the drive to the doors of the Manor itself.

"Talk about old money," he muttered.

As he already knew, the sky that covered what he was calling the Gotham Archipelago and all of it's sister-cities-that-are-actually-a-part-of-Gotham-City-for-some-reason and Bludhaven was murky and blocked out all chances of seeing the sun, let alone the stars. He'd be amazed if he even saw a single person with a natural tan in this place.

And the cloud cover, despite what Gothamites would have everyone believe, isn't even clouds! Most of it's left over shit from rogue attacks that've found their way into the condensation cycle! Fear gas is too heavy to evaporate properly, but too light to stick to the ground; whatever Mr. Freeze puts in his ice sticks to whatever clouds there are like glue, holding them together and keeping them in place; light pollution from both the actual lights and the fires that start every week; whatever toxins have made it into the harbor and river; et cetera.

And don't even get him started on the names on the Rogue Gallery Roster! It's great and all that they're explaining their whole gimmick, but can't they be at least a little creative?

"Danny?" Damian said, making him realize that he'd made it to the gilded front door that was way too tall for any human.

Alfred pushed the doors open. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danny," he turned with a smile, "You're home for as long as you'd like it to be."

Danny scoffed and hefted his bags up the stairs.

The entry hall was more befitting of the phrase 'Grand Lobby', somehow making the too-large doors seem normal. A grand staircase was carpeted red, leading up to the second floor. There was a gold and pearl chandelier, too, flanked by two smaller, identical chandeliers. Huge windows on wither side of the door were framed by red velvet curtains, open and letting whatever sun they could into the room.

He felt small. He hated it.

"If you'll follow me, Danny, I'll take you to your room." Alfred started to walk up the stairs, Damian following only a few steps behind him.

Danny didn't move. "I'm not sleeping in a room big enough to be an apartment."

Alfred turned and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "It would be inappropriate to put you up in the servant's quarters."

Damian was looking at Danny like a kicked puppy. Well, as much like a kicked puppy as his training allowed him to look. Danny didn't particularly care.

"Then stick me in a shed. I'd rather not spend the summer feeling agoraphobic, thanks."

"I can assure you that the others in the house-"

Danny interrupted Alfred by shaking his head. "I don't want anyone to know I'm here."

"But, then how will you patrol with us?" Damian asked.

"Go without me," he answered.

"Now, now, Danny," Alfred said as he walked back down the stairs, "I will not allow you to spend the whole summer cooped up in a garden shed."

"Great!" Danny smiled falsely, "Then I will take my things and go back-"

Alfred grabbed a hold of his bags and swiftly started his way back up the stairs. "Then you will simply have to go without your stuff. What will your mother think-"

"I don't have a mother." Danny spat, making the two others pause. He took a deep breath. "Fine. If that's how you want to play, then fine." He glared up at the two. "Game fucking on."

Part 3

[tenisperfection]

This is likely going to be an unpopular opinion but I think Eddie was kind of being a dick but I still love that scene a lot and it was very clear to me he was completely overcome with grief. I am also not sure that Buck wasn't being a dick in his own way. Now, I love Eddie and I love Buck and yeah Eddie perhaps should not have phrased it quite that way, that Buck was making [Bobby's death] all about himself. But also, if I was dealing with the heartbreaking agony of horrifically losing my captain/friend/father figure/family member, I'm not sure that what I'd need is for my other friend/family member to do a psych eval on me as a way of reaching out. I think that was an extremely endearing detail and it was very in character for Buck, but they tell us clearly that he's not actually talking to people and instead feeling shut out when his attempts at psycho-evaluating them are probably not well received. This is Buck looking out for everyone, but I'm not sure that a grieving person would not look at this as Buck centering his coping mechanisms as a substitute for/solution to dealing with their collective grief, or actually talking to or listening to them. I love him so dearly for it because it's Buck in every way and he definitely means well, but I don't hate Eddie or anyone else for being exasperated/angry/concerned.

Grief is not easy and especially not when you're dealing with losing someone while you were thousands of miles away, now always wondering if you could've saved him like he saved you so many times and in so many ways. Eddie saying he wasn't there and couldn't be sure if Buck did everything he could've to save him was mean and harsh, yes. But he's angry and he's hurting and he wants to push back, and that's something that Eddie does whether with Shannon or Bobby or Buck. They were both acting perfectly in character and escalating on previous fights they've had along similar veins, and they aren't perfect. I am not making excuses for Eddie poking at Buck's sore spots but I also don't want to act like Buck is a victim because he is not. Ultimately, I'd always, always take my characters hurting and lashing out and messed up and saying things they don't mean over therapy speak coming out of people who would not fucking say that.

[6okuto]

(Subtle) Care for a Depressive Episode

GN!reader x Ais, Vere, Mhin | cw: depression symptoms e.g. isolation, anhedonia, irritation, sleeping problems/insomnia (not too deeply! mostly a mention before saying what the chara would do). food and checking if you're eating (<- vere's)

for the anon who requested on wifeiy!! made sure to talk about your ideas of course 🦔

AIS

If you notice Princess and other Soulless approaching you more, being more affectionate and playful, I'm not saying that was (all) Ais, but I'm also not denying that they might be cooking. His pet spoiling is put on hold for spoiling You! :') Buying things you've needed or wanted recently, doing that "bought extra of your favourite do you want some" trick, etc.

If you enjoy physical affection, he puts in an effort to give you more. Maybe it's a kiss to your head while he walks past, hugging you from behind while you're distracted, a hand rubbing your thigh while you sit down together. It's subtle things he can brush off as his general casual affection. Neither of you really have to bring it up, both of you knowing what he's doing

^ He teases you less when you initiate (depending on your... vibe... it'll be a light comment). Just lets you wrap his arms around you and approaches whenever you ask. Sometimes you hug him silently, and he doesn't try to ask what's wrong. Just holds you and lets you let go first

Not good at small talk?... Ais is a small talk lover suddenly. Little check-ins to see how your day is going. He has never loved talking more about what he did today so you're still in the loop. <- Guy who noted things he could/would bring up to you later

If you're in an isolation stay-at-home state, at some point, you might realize Ais hasn't been going out to bars as much, instead staying with you or picking quieter spots. He chooses his words carefully so you don't think you're 'keeping him from having fun' or something—maybe he says the crowd's been more annoying than usual, or he needs a break from the smell of cheap drinks and piss, or that he likes spending time with you more. Y'know how it goes.

If you're dealing with anhedonia, not enjoying the things you usually do or feeling pleasure really at all, it's. Shit. Like Fuck my stupid baka life. Ais checks on you and sees how well you're sleeping, asks you to join him on a walk, maybe asks you to talk to him about your hobbies and teach him something. Just seeing if it'll get you up and moving

Always love the thought of him teaching you phrases!! Maybe you're in a bad mood and curse first, and he responds in a different language. You look at him like ...? and he smiles and says it again. Gonna use Korean because I'm familiar HABFHB but he'd be like, "씨발. Fuck," and ask if "You wanna learn some, sparrow?"

^ He'll teach you anything from "bastard" to "your shirt looks like shit and so does your face" if it distracts you for a while. Though I think it would also be cute if he complimented you and taught you sweet things too! Only for usage between you two, of course. (Jokingly complains he can't secretly call you attractive anymore without you understanding. Grins when you laugh.)

VERE

Leniency... He already has more for you than most others, but even the things he jokingly gives you shit for are now okay. Not just that but he like, makes the first step? Gives you the opportunity? If you know he doesn't like his tail being touched and wouldn't try first, he'll rest it against your thigh and won't move (other than a reflexive flick) when you touch it.

^ With the leniency, if you're easily annoyed or angered, he doesn't necessarily let your remarks slide (take a breath or reword what you just said), but he doesn't hold it against you, either.

He mentions different events and performances that are supposed to happen and gauging your reaction. You might be happily surprised when they coincidentally happen to be (related to) things you enjoy, even and especially if Vere doesn't particularly like them himself. If you don't want to go, that's fine, he didn't want to go much either. You can spend the evening together instead

Vere is generally more... blunt or pushy than the others... when it comes to getting you to do things. His subtlety manifests in how he won't explicitly say "Hey this is good for you and your depression" rather than actually Subtly Suggesting or Doing Things. If that makes Any sense. He's putting a meal on your desk and checking to see if you've eaten it—he's brought his own so you can enjoy a meal together.

...Nicer. Still Vere, but maybe he drops genuine compliments more often. You say something self-deprecating or try to deflect and he doesn't let it slide. (already does this but he's a little more firm about it if it happens a lot)

I love the idea of him doing art with you! Even just drawing in the same room because he never lets anyone see the finished product let alone his process, so when he sits down and doesn't mind you watching him, it means a lot I think. If he happens to draw a place or object that you really like, well, it's just practice y'know. He lets you keep it too

If you want to partake, he's.. maybe surprisingly? chill and good about it? If art isn't one of your interests, he gives you tips and likes whatever you draw, even if you don't. Maybe you do something simple together! Or something purposefully ass! You draw him and his ear twitches and his tail swishes a little.

If he knows you're already into art, he teases and say he has expectations considering he's lending some of his best supplies, but y'know. He seems satisfied no matter what you end up doing because at least he's gotten you focused on something

When Vere 'gets sleepy', he finds you to fall asleep next to. When he really wants to nap or sleep, he pulls you into bed and wraps an arm around your waist, tail curling around you both. Sometimes this is a lie and he just wants to stick near you and give you an opportunity to be affectionate if you'd like! Silly guy

You brushing his tail... Vere offering to brush or wash yours... very gentle and careful and thorough(?)... yeah...

MHIN

Of course they'll take you around to see the cats. In case you aren't well-acquainted with the little angels already, for every cat you point at, Mhin will teach you their name and describe how they met or share a fun fact (e.g. He has no survival sense and will show you his stomach immediately, She likes to climb your pants, Those two always sleep in that corner together, etc.)

And if you laugh at them when a cat jumps at them or catches them off-balance or whatever else, Mhin only jokingly huffs but never gets annoyed at any person or cat present.

They ask if you'd like to help cut up the fish and feed them, or even fish when evening comes. If you're nervous or aren't very good at it at first, they quietly help and encourage you, complimenting you when you succeed. It's good to have a schedule and something like a family of cats to look forward to, so Mhin always asks you to accompany them for the meals :]

Sorry for the 3 cat points. Like it's my fault or unexpected

You can try to help each other fall asleep, or at least stay up Together. The demons are always the worst at night... Mhin is good company, and they know what it's like wishing you could just go to bed the Whole night. Maybe you make a couple drinks and talk about nothing and everything!

If they notice you're distant or debating asking for physical affection throughout the day, Mhin silently moves to cuddle you that night, and every night. If you squeeze, they squeeze. If you try to sink further into them, they pull you in as much as they can. They'll tuck your head under their chin and rub circles into your back as long as you need.

Mhin getting you a little gift or trinket... They know it isn't a lot, but since they're doing commissions so much of the day, they figure a little cat figure might keep you company while they're gone

They already take care to clean themselves and their things before coming home, but I think. They take extra care. So that you don't worry about them or have to see something that might otherwise make you feel worse

Incredibly good at figuring out where you've been if you're staying distant. Even if they don't happen to Pop up while you're there, they'll do stuff like leave little things for you to find (something to give the cats? a cool coin?), anonymously send a drink or meal your way, etc.

If there's something you wanted to do with them earlier that Mhin declined, now is the time that they bring it up again. Like yeah, okay, let's go visit those stores, they have to scope out the area. You wanted to know how Mhin was on that rooftop before, right? If you still want to know, they're going again tonight to stargaze

i hope this helps a little and you're doing ok friend.. if u (or anyone!) would like a solo drabble or something less subtle or anything else,, just let me know! we're in this depression shit together fr🦔🪩🤍

[loveafterdeath-if]

Yeah, similarly to what another anon said, I was kinda hoping for this to be a story about moving on after losing a lived one, specifically your partner, which I thought was a beautiful and heartbreaking concept, and while we did get that in the first few chapters, it feels like this plot twist kind of defeats the whole point.

Though, unlike the other anon, I personally will probably continue reading because I think you are an amazing writer and because I love Ekissa. The only thing that makes me not sure about continuing is that the situation is a bit awkward, makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, so I was wondering about how you were going to manage it? Because MCs moving on process obviously gets cut short, but for those of us who are gonna romance someone else, we still need to finish that process, and one important thing when moving on from an ex is time apart, especially for one you were grieving not so long ago. Otherwise old feelings, nostalgia and a lot of other emotions get mixed up and that would probably lead to confusion. (Sorry, for the long paragraph, just a bit worried about how this is gonna continue)

It's heavy spoiler territory, but I'll have to address this for anon. And it'll be a long-ass response, so be prepared,

You are right about one thing, the whole plot falls apart if El is alive, doesn't it? And like someone said in the LAD discord "why love after death then". They didn't phrase it exactly like that, but you know what I mean. The plot does start with El, but it won't end with them. Idk how to explain without giving away too much, lol

There are clues that El isn't really dead in the first chapters. The flowers MC receives, and now players know El was the one offering them. The doc and Athiel never talk about death when discussing El. MC doesn't have the right to go to the funeral or even see El's body. Even L being called by Juliet at the beginning will have its importance. They're small details, nothing too obvious, but they're here.

I'll be honest, sometimes when writing Athiel talking with MC, I struggled to remember El wasn't dead because I tried to make it look and feel like El was dead, so I drowned a bit in that department.

The characters might seem like a lot, but each has their own purpose, big or small. Some are a breath of fresh air for MC since they're not caught up in all the drama and can be objective. Others are here because they'll play an important role later. Then there are those who serve as reminders of the past with El (like the neighbors). And some are just like those background characters in anime; you don't even see their features because they're just there to serve a small purpose and keep the intrigue going. They come and go.

Sorry, I'm talking too much. So how I'll manage it, is by—and it's where it's gonna get tricky—make MC aware of it as soon as possible. There will be a reunion between MC and El. The tricky part is showing that El won't remember MC, no matter how much/if the MC tries to jog their memory.

The past El is dead; the memories won't come back, and if any fragments do resurface, El won't feel the love they once had. It's more like a ghost of memories; their body remember, but it's more mechanical than actual feelings. Like an old habit that won't go.

MC will have to grieve the old El anyway, even with them actually alive.

In El's route, it'll be all about falling in love again, getting them out of this toxic relationship with their mother, helping them learn to love themself again, and living with someone who is El but not the El you used to know. They have trauma, the confidence they once had is gone, they're insecure and they're more reserved than before.

Juliet is like, the first villain before introducing the final boss. What I wanted to do was weave two kinda plots in the same book because I didn't want to make two separate books. Love After Death is Love After Death for a reason. The plan is to make the players realize that El wasn't the focus of this book in the first place.

I hope there won't have any inconsistencies in this story, but if you find any plot holes, you're free to let me know, and I'll do my best to improve. It's only with advice and constructive critique that I can do so. I'm sure there are blind spots I won't see right away; I'm only human😭

[sonic-takeover]

Sonic, how are you healing? Here’s a chili dog- how long will it take you to heal?

Also shadow! Is there anything you do that flusters Sonic? He doesn’t seem like the type to get embarrassed by sweet talk lol

He-Heyyy, thanks buddy! I love these. Uhh, I dunno how long it takes.. But hopefully not too long. I hate sitting still. It's been nice napping all day, though. It's really sweet that Shads is here with me, too. *He takes a bite of his chili dog, sighing happily*

You are right that Sonic doesn't fluster easily. I'm the one who tends to get embarrassed at that kind of thing. But then again, I don't flirt with him very much. Not like that. *He glances over at Sonic as he eats his chili dog* ... Darling.

Hm? Yeah babe? *Sonic looks over at him*

... I love you.

*Sonic stops chewing* .. Aww! What's that for? I love you too.

*Shadow takes his free hand, rubbing his hand with his thumb* I was terrified when you got hurt. I never want to feel that fear again.

*Sonic nods* Yeah.

You're the most incredible.. gorgeous, funny, charming, brave.. stupid hedgehog... If I could switch bodies with you again to take away your pain, I would do it in a heartbeat. You need to stop throwing yourself into danger, my love.. *He kisses Sonic's palm* How am I going to marry you if something bad happens?

*Sonic is staring at him with wide eyes. His eyes are watering and he swallows his bite of chili dog* Oh... I... Gaia, Shads.. *he wipes his eyes with the back of his arm*

Shit.. Sonic, I didn't mean to make you cry-

No, I'm just kinda emotional now.. head injury, heh.. Don't talk like that until I get a chance to propose, okay?

*Shadow's cheeks flush* I.... No promises.. *He leans close to Sonic, gently holding his cheek and wiping his tears with his thumb* I can't help but think about it when I see you like this... I'll never allow you to leave my side again.. Mi temerario.. *He kisses Sonic very gently*

*Sonic is speechless for a moment, his cheeks pink* ... Te amo..

*Shadow stares into Sonic's eyes as they sit nose-to-nose* ..... You spoke Spanish..

I uh.... I learned it.. for you... Just a couple phrases.. Rouge taught me-

*Shadow hugs him tightly* Mi corazón.. My heart..

Ow ow ow! My rib..!

[vampiilure]

In Translation.

Summary: Reid finds you as you work as linguist at a local college in the town his teams stopped in for the time being and invites you to work with him to figure out some murders that have been happening on campus.

WC: 2238

The chalk screeched faintly as you scribbled a phrase in ancient Greek across the board, pausing just long enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The lecture hall had mostly cleared, except for one figure still seated in the third row, dr spencer reid, notebook in hand, gaze focused and curious.

“You translated that wrong,” he said softly. Tilting his head.”

You raised a brow. “I beg your pardon?”

Reid stood, walking toward the board. “It's not a mistranslation exactly-it's just…too formal. In the context of the original inscription, it was more of a plea than a proclamation.” he picked up a piece of chalk, hesitating. “May i?”

With a nod, you stepped aside.

Reid corrected the phrase with precise strokes, then glanced at them, almost shyly. “Language is so much like people, isn't it? Always layered. Always saying one thing while meaning another.”

You smiled, arms crossed. “Are you always this poetic when you challenge someone’s translation?”

He gave a small, awkward laugh. “Only when I'm impressed.”

There was a pause, filled only by the sounds from the hallway. Reid slid his hands into his pockets, looking at the board, then back at you.

“I, uh…i heard about the message left at the latest crime scene,” he said. “Coded latin, but with what looked like phonetic substitutions. I could use a second opinion.” 

You nodded, already reaching for your satchel. “If it's what i think it is, it might not be latin at all- it could be a constructed hybrid. Some killers like to show off.”

Reid’s smiles widened just a little. “Then we’re in the right place.”

You both walked out of the lecture hall side by side, the hum of conversation and clatter of footsteps echoing behind you two. It wasn't exactly a date, and it wasn't just work. But it was something.

Reid leaned over the heavy oak table, papers and photocopies spread between him and you. The dim desk lamp cast long shadows, turning the university office into a cave of soft light and sharper focus.

You traced a line of symbols with one finger. “I keep thinking about the vowel structure…its too balanced to be random. Look here: every third character matches a pattern. Almost like a chant.”

Reid looked up, eyes narrowing in though. “Ritualistic, maybe? That could explain the Latin-Etruscan blend. There's precedence in early religious syncretism.”

You both reached for the same file at the same time, fingers brushing briefly. You pulled back a second too late.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

“It's fine,” Reid said quickly, then cleared his throat. “I, uh, don't usually work this closely with anyone who keeps up with me.”

You smiled faintly. “I don't usually let anyone this close.”

Silence again, comfortable this time. Then Reid tapped the paper with a pen. “Let's crack this.”

For the next hour, the only sounds in the room were pages turning, pens scratching, and the occasional hum of agreement. Their voices merged like parts of the same thought, dissecting and decoding with ease.

At some point, Reid glanced up, watching you quietly. “You know,” he said, “this might be the first case that makes me look forward to the paperwork.”

You didn't look up, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “Careful. That almost sounded like flirting.”

Reid smiled, soft and surprised. “Almost.” 

You leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the jumble of symbols again. “The repetition isn't exact, but it's consistent . they're using a substitution cipher, partially phonetic, partially visual.”

Reid nodded, scribbling notes into his spiral-bound notebook, his handwriting a rapid scrawl of symbols, arrows, and theories. “See how they use that one character here and here?” he pointed. “That's not a coincidence. It's acting like a pivot, some kind of anchor for the rest of the pattern.”

You stood, crossing to a whiteboard in the corner of the office. You began to write, slow and precise, outlining the repeating structure.

Reid joined you, standing just close enough to share the marker tray. “Its clever,” he murmured. “The kind of clever that wants to be noticed.”

You turned to him. “So we notice it. We speak back to it.”

That earned a smile from reid. Not his usual polite one, the real kind, rare and fleeting. “I like how you think.”

Minutes passed, then another half hour. Coffee cups cooled. The whiteboard filled. And finally, in the middle of a row of seemingly nonsensical characters, a pattern emerged.

You stepped back. “There. That line- it’s a palindrome.” 

Reid’s eyes lit up. “A mirrored message. Which means the killer wanted it read both forward and backward.” 

He leaned in, decoding the letters slowly aloud. “I… burn.. What binds me.”

You looked at him. “It's a reference. Possibly mythological. That phrase shows up in older texts, sometimes connected to purging or sacrifice.”

Reid was already flipping through one of the reference books. “It's from a fringe version of the Prometheus myth. A variation where fire becomes a metaphor for memory, and chains represent guilt.”

He stopped on a page and tapped it. “Here. the killer is aligning themselves with Prometheus.”

Your voice lowered, thoughtful. “So they're not just sending a message, they're rewriting themselves into the story.”

Reid nodded slowly, expression unreadable. “Which means the next scene won't just be symbolic. It'll be theatrical. And deliberate.”

You and him stood in silence for a moment, side by side in the quiet office, minds racing in tandem.

You finally spoke. “We need to tell your team.”

Reid nodded, pulling out his phone but not dialing right away. Instead, he glanced back at the whiteboard, at the chaos now ordered into meaning. “It's strange,” he said, almost to himself. “How something meant to terrify can end up bringing clarity.”

You looked at him, your voice calm. “It's not the message that matters most. Who's there to help decode it.”

Reid met your eyes for a second, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a quiet, thoughtful way. Then he dialed.

As he spoke to the team, you turned back to the board, studying the patterns you guys unravel together, no longer symbols, but sentences. No longer chaos, but connection.

 By the time Reid and you arrived at the temporary FBI field office set up on campus, the mood had shifted. The usual low murmur of analysis and agents had grown tenser, quicker. Jj and Rossi were already reviewing evidence on a projection screen when the door opened.

“You cracked it?” jj asked, standing as you both walked in.

Reid  gave a short nod. “It's a composite cipher, with Latin and Etruscan roots, layered with palindrome structures. But it's not just a code. It's a narrative.”

He stepped forward, laying the decoded transcript on the table. You followed quietly, setting your own notes beside his. Garcia's voice piped in through the speakerphone.

“Im patching in now. Give me something, genius, preferably something that keeps another body from turning up.”

You spoke up, eyes scanning the board. “The killers aligned themselves with Prometheus, mythological speaking. Rewriting fire and punishment into a personal symbol. They're staging these scenes with symbolic weight, not just violence.” 

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “So, he's not just acting out, he's performing.” 

“Exactly,” Reid said. “And the phrase we decoded, ‘i burn what binds me’, suggests the next victim will represent something personal. Maybe even someone he believes he's ‘freeing.’”

Morgan, standing near the case files, looked over. “Any guess where he'll strike next?”

You stepped in again. “He's following a mythic arc, if we map the crimes to that, the next stage would be the ‘release.’ a symbolic ending to his story.” 

jj tapped her pen against the table. “Graduation ceremony is in two days. Large crowd, emotional significance, symbolic ‘transitions’..” 

Reid and you exchanged a look, thinking the same thing at the same time. 

“He's going to stage the final act there,” Reid said. “In front of everyone.”

Rossi exhaled. “Then we stop the curtain from rising.”

Hotch entered just in time to catch the last line. “Then we move now. JJ, coordinate with campus security. morgan , get your team on recon. Reid, stay close to the linguist. You two seem to have the clearest read on his mind.”

You looked at Reid, and just for a moment, your shared focus softened into something unspoken, but steady.

“Let's find him.” Reid said.

And both of you moved, no longer just decoding symbols, but racing to interrupt a story before its final chapter could be written in blood.

The makeshift command post buzzed with quiet urgency. Reid and you sat shoulder to shoulder in front of a bank of monitors, each one showing a different angle of the university's main quad, where rows of white folding chairs were being filled with guests. On screen, the stage was decorated with banners and ivy, the podium centered like a spotlight waiting for its final act. 

Garcia's voice came through a headset, crisp but tense. “All feeds live. I've got facial recognition running on every entrance and exit point, but there's a lot of movement.”

“Keep it running.” Reid said. “Let us know the second a match pings.”

You leaned forward, fingers hovering over the keyboard, scanning crowd patterns. “Look at the upper left camera, east side of the bleachers. Someones moving against the flow.”

Reid zoomed in on the figure. The man wasn't running, but wasn't walking like everyone else. His path was deliberate, straight lines in a field of curves.

“I've got him,” Reid said into the radio. “Tall male, gray blazer, no graduation credential. Heading west along the outer seating ring.”

“Copy that,” Morgan replied. “We've got eyes.”

Reid switched feeds quickly, tracing the man's route with practiced speed. You called out another screen.

“Camera three, he just ducked behind the AV tent. There's a stage access path back there.”

“He's not going to wait for the ceremony to start.” Reid muttered. “He's using the setup time, less security, more freedom.”

Hotch came over the radio. “All units converge on the AV tent. Do not engage until confirmed.”

You both watched as agents moved in from different sides of the quad. Reids knuckles whitened on the desk edge. You leaned closer, lowering your voice.

“You think he's armed?”

Reids jaw tightened. “Well he went there for a finale.”

Suddenly, the man on the screen reached into his coat, and stopped, frozen by a voice just out of frame. Seconds later, Morgan and another agent moved in. The man turned slowly, hands raised.

“He's surrendering.” you said, stunned.

Garcia confirmed it a beat later. “That's him. That's your Prometheus.”

Reid slumped back slightly, tension bleeding from his posture as he took a long breath.

“You got him.” you said, quieter now.

“We got him,” Reid corrected, offering you a glance. “You saw him first.”

A flicker of a smile passed between you both before you guys turned back to the screen, watching as the crowd continued to cheer, unaware that the story had nearly taken a very different turn.

The graduation had ended without incident. The crowd dispersed in waves of applause, blissfully unaware of how close the day had come to tragedy. Hours later, the campus was quiet again just wind in the trees and the faint hum of cleanup crews.

Inside the field office, most of the equipment was being packed away. Reid stood near the folding table where he and you had worked side by side. His go-bag rested at his feet, and his satchel was slung over his shoulder.

You entered quietly, holding two paper cups. “Last of the coffee.” you said, handing one to him.

He smiled, taking it. “Thanks. I think i've run on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline the last 48 hours.”

They stood in silence for a moment, sipping the coffee, eyes flickering now and then to  the whiteboard still covered in symbols.

Reid was the first to break it. “I should be heading out. Our team’s wheels up in an hour.”

You nodded, keeping your expression even, though the words landed heavier than expected.

Reid reached into his pocket, pulling out a small notepad. He tore a sheet off and offered it to you, his handwriting was neat this time, deliberate.

“My number,” he said. “In case another cryptid killer shows up..or, you know, if you just feel like talking about vowel structures again.”

You took it slowly, your fingers brushing his just slightly. “Thanks,” you said softly.

He started to turn, hesitated, then gave a small, genuine smile. “Take care.”

He was halfway to the door when your voice called out behind him.

“Wait.”

Reid stopped and turned as you crossed the distance between you both with quick steps. Before he could say anything, you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, brief, warm, sincere.

He blinked, momentarily stunned.

But you had already turned and walked away with a soft smile and the note still folded tightly in your hand.

Reid touched his cheek, then let out a quiet laugh, one of surprise, not disbelief. Then he picked up his bag and walked out the door, still smiling.

[innocentcurse]

It really was strange, how fast life could shift without warning. One moment she was wandering the outskirts of town, minding her business and trying to sort through her own tangled thoughts, and the next, she was hauling a tiny goat into her room at the inn like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It really is," Ingrid agreed, her voice soft with a kind of wonder. "Although I must admit, I don't think a lot of people who know me would be entirely shocked at the addition of Kitty into my life." Having always been an animal lover, Ingrid had always tried to save every struggling creature she came across.

Felix’s blessed heirlooms had her laughing again, a clear, melodic sound that always seemed to brighten the air around her. Unbeknownst to Ingrid herself, that was very much the energy she supplied every space she entered with. "Oh I need one of those spoons already. Not necessarily for tea, but I'm a big hot chocolate lover, and I always hate how the cocoa powder ends up settling at the bottom before you finish it. Makes for a very bitter last mouthful, you know?"

"Artisanal hay?" she repeated, like she was trying the phrase out for the first time. "Garnished with thyme sounds kind of good, actually. I've never tried hay myself, but that could have me considering it. Kitty’s going to think she’s royalty - which, honestly, might be fair. This wouldn't be the first time that I've called her my little princess." She looked somewhat guilty, as if she was afraid that Felix might think she was spoiling the creature to an absurd extent.

With thoughts of artisanal hay aside, however, Ingrid began to think about just how much she was enjoying the other person's company. She smiled brightly, turning her head towards them. "You’re really kind, you know. I hope your complimenting mirror tells you that enough." While Ingrid was an incredibly earnest and honest person, she often softened her somewhat random compliments with a little humour when possible.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “It’s interesting how quickly something can become the new normal, isn’t it?” Felix responded to Ingrid’s comment on finding herself with a goat, but some of it was for themself as well. Six years and now I can’t even speak to her. The sigh that threatened to escape their lips was calmed only by their thought of Kitty. “One minute you’re rescuing a goat, and the next she’s just part of your life.”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Felix grinned, delighted. “Blessed heirlooms? That’s a niche I could get behind, really. Antique mirrors that give you compliments, teacups that never chip… oh! Maybe a spoon that stirs your tea exactly the way you like it. That would outsell the cursed section in a heartbeat.” When Ingrid complimented them, they rubbed the back of their neck, feeling suddenly sheepish. They had been working on picking up the broken pieces of themselves for months, and they felt like they were undeserving of the praise. They attempted to push back the rising current in their mind, but it was hard.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ They perked up slightly, nodding toward a nearby aisle. “Alright, dried alfalfa it is. If Kitty turns her nose up at it, I’ll personally find her something worthy of her palate. Like... artisanal hay. Maybe garnished with thyme.” They laughed. “Only the best for Cardinal Hill’s unofficial mascot.”

[copperbadge]

In order to write the second-to-last scene I had to finish in the chefs novel, which is actually a blog entry Simon makes about foods that people cook when they're emotional, I was researching complicated recipes that require a lot of focus. The idea is that if you are extremely sad, you make an extremely complicated recipe and you're distracted -- and if the recipe doesn't come out, well, you were already sad, now you can wallow in your new failure as well.

I won't spoil what I ended up choosing, but looking up recipes that people think are difficult or complicated was...kind of an interesting moment. A lot of the sites are obviously cribbing from each other (using the same phrasing, etc) but even so, most of the lists of "difficult" recipes are things I've tried without knowing they're supposed to be difficult, or haven't actually found to be super difficult.

That's not to be "What, like it's hard?" about it all -- sometimes I've failed to make the recipes properly, for sure. But like...I've made croissants, I've made macarons -- admittedly macarons are a little harder than meringues but not that much. Consomme and cream sauces just need patience. Deboning a chicken does require knowledge and skill with a knife but that's the hardest part of making turducken, although admittedly turducken is a lot of ongoing work until you pop it in the oven.

Reading up on the ones I haven't tried, like aspics, baked Alaska, and souffles, makes me want to try them. It's true I'm not great with gelatin that doesn't come in a box with a recipe for jigglers on the side, and Italian meringue is more difficult than French, and well -- souffle? Dans cette economie?? -- but still. Could be fun to take a swing at them.

That said, I think I'll hold off until life is a little less hectic.

(My personal "complicated cookery" Everest? Panettone. I am terrible with sourdoughs.)

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

look, i'm a white woman (or more pertinently, not a Black person) so like, I fully might be talking out of my ass here, but describing tumblr's treatment and moderation and censorship of trans women and saying that "separate but equal isn't equal" uhhhhh just doesn't seem 1. like an accurate assessment of the situation 2. an appropriate allusion for a non-Black person to be making. Like that's a phrase really only associated with both Plessy v. Ferguson and Brown v. Board and the precedents they set, both of which have to do with like, de jure segregation in a physical sense, not merely unequal treatment more broadly.

Although I don't think I'd use the phrase, at the very least I'd be curious to hear more on the idea of "digital second class citizen," it feels like there could be something there--though frankly I'd be most curious to hear about it from trans women of the third world. Just like, idk, like I don't want this to be taken like I think the blatant unequal treatment of trans women by this website isn't a big deal, it for sure is, I just think that drawing inaccurate parallels with heavy racial connotations really doesn't further the discourse or move us towards the changes we seek.

[monosanimegenericzone]

Hunter x Hunter: Meteor City bullshit

bruh i am still hung up on this one detail about the phantom troupe and meteor city

so is it or is it not "common knowledge" that the phantom troupe is associated with meteor city. this detail is the crutch of Kurapika's character arc and the entire finale to Yorknew and both don't add up to each other.

i don't have volume 0 and i can't find it anywhere online, so i can't provide screenshots as evidence. the only other place i can get evidence is the phantom rogue and aint no fuckin way youre gonna get me to do that again.

but in the wiki and in the movie, the massacre is reported to the world in great detail and the last detail in the report is a note with the Meteor City slogan written on it. "We'll accept anything you leave here. But don't take anything away from us."

it's not stated whether or not the news claimed it was the troupe or not, but Kurapika either figured out on his own or assumed based on [SOMETHING] that it was the phantom troupe.

fast forward to yorknew. the fucking WORLD MAFIA???? DID NOT KNOW THAT THE PHANTOM TROUPE WAS FROM METEOR CITY?????

EXPLAIN YOURSELVES. I KNOW YOU (world mafia) WERE JUST THERE TO LOOK LIKE BITCHES. BUT COME ON.

there is only one or two ways this makes sense to me.

timeline-wise there is about 4-5 years between the kurta massacre and Yorknew. I'm pretty generous with this timeline and say 5.5 years and round up to 6.

explanation 1:

the mafia knew at one point that the phantom troupe protected meteor city, but had a massive member loss over the last decade and the information was diluted to a point that the ten dons doubted it was even true.

the troupe is never seen around the city, and if they are it looks like they're there on black market business alongside the human traffickers and mafia folks. to the mafia and world governments, they are there for the business and business only.

kurapika would hear about it through either ex-mafia personnel or to the rest of the world justices, it's still common knowledge and treated as fact.

explanation 2:

kurapika associated the phrase with the troupe before he associated it with meteor city.

the only way this would happen is if there was already a rumor or a claimed fact that the troupe was responsible for this attack. so that would be eye witnesses or what the newspaper reported but either one would make that slogan a troupe saying.

and later he learns that the slogan is actually a meteor city thing and connects the dots post-yorknew. (he admits after the evidence is presented that it makes sense that pt is from meteor city

to the mafia, this looks like an act of meteor city. the troupe would have never taken public credit for the massacre. to the mafia and other people who know the calling card would see the note and think: "oh the kurtas did something to mess with meteor city. good to know, more eyeballs for us :D"

and the troupe just stays completely silent about it.

explanation 3:

kurapika is a super sleuth and kept quiet about it because he cant be bothered. its not common knowledge at all, kurapika just built completely different at age fuckin.

how old was he when he left?

11 i guess. maybe 10.

this plot wrinkle has driven me insane for the last 5 years and i can't get it out of my head.

[gaylordscooter]

how bad is Blues memory, exactly? Like, obviously stuff from his AU is iffy from what he's said but- is it progressive? Did he originally have a significant amount of memories from his AU but they slowly fade? I didn't look too hard for the quote, but I think(?) he said something about probably finishing (school? College? Degree?) And that things were blurry. Is the loss in part to the memories being, er how do i phrases? Uhhh, like, not fake but incomplete??? Like- his AU went south because it was poorly made (i think specifically said it has alot contradictions/plotholes) so are the events that actually happened remembered as contradictory and incomplete, too? Also, does he have current memory issues? Originally when the concept came up in the story i assumed not but that one line from ink peeked my interest

“When he's found, you and I probably won't even remember this conversation!”

Does that mean he has something similar to Ink with short-term related memory loss or is it a memory retention issue where long-term memories have a low retention rate or 'things get fuzzy' (ofc thats assume i was reading this right)

[Pleassseeee tell me if I'm too long/too many asks!]

[[Also the last ask i sent bout blazar didn't give me the ask sent msg so im not sure if it went thru or not]]

so fun fact about my version of the star sanses

they all have bad memory (to differing degrees but still).

so yeah blue has a bad memory in general, even before his universe shattered. it's nothing as serious as ink not having a soul, he just has the monster equivalent of adhd, lmao. Ink said that because they forget stuff all the time

as for stuff from his au, he doesn't feel like he's forgotten stuff from it and can recall events from time to time during normal conversation, it's when he actively tries thinking about it when he begins forgetting about it. and the stuff he does remember is contradictory/incomplete because it changes all the time due to his universe's canon simply NOT existing. the things he remembers technically didn't happen, but it feels like it did to him. and it's not exactly progressive it just feels like it is to him because he's realizing all this stuff he's forgotten but he's also remembering all these things that happened as the story goes on

the way his memories work regarding his au is pretty weird because it's on a meta level where the more i write about it the more blue remembers

and another fun fact, if i were to theoretically flesh out botchedswap enough to be a finished au, it would be in the multiverse again. except it won't be blue's specific universe and there would already be a sans there since blue's already written to be an outcode