#you know. in the interest of transparency.

[gold-onthe-inside]

critical asset

n. def. a specific entity that is of such extraordinary importance that its incapacitation or destruction would have a very serious, debilitating effect on the ability of a nation to continue to function effectively.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you and spencer finally get closer, even if it's just because penelope's too busy. content warnings: pining spencer, r and penelope argue word count: 1.8k

It’s painful how much Spencer likes you, wishing he could just transfer to counter-intelligence and be around you all the time, especially these days. You don’t come downstairs as often anymore, not since they put away Doyle, and it makes him all the more restless. He pursed his lips, looking at the chess game he was playing out, his interest in it sapping the more aware he was of your absence.

A few weeks ago, you would have been sitting right across from him, contemplating your next move, toying with the bishop between your fingers, so focused on the game that he could stare at you as long as he liked. He liked watching your sharp eyes dart around the board, assessing threats to your victory, liked watching you chew your lip as you thought about what to do. He could notice the exact shift in your expression when you knew you were either going to win or lose.

“I see it in 4,” you said, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth, glancing up at him as his gaze shifted to the pieces, the litte furrow in his brow as he wet his lips, trying to see what you did.

“How?” he asked. He was so sure he hadn’t given you a way out… until he watched you arrange each move delicately and his lips pursed into a pout. “Rematch?” he would ask, noticing your smug smile.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say, standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you’d walk away, and he’d sigh, like he’s doing right now, sweeping the pieces into the cloth drawstring bag and folding up the wooden board to put back in his desk.

He’d get one over you more often than not when playing chess at least. He couldn’t say the same for everything else. But if anyone would say yes to a meditation sci-fi film, he knows it’s you — you’re one of the rare few people in his life who has obscure interests like his.

“My Russian isn’t that good,” you said as he waited by your cubicle for an answer, watching you turn off your desktop, drumming his fingers on the top of your transparent divider.

“I can translate anything you don’t understand,” Spencer offered, able to sense that he was close to prying a ‘yes’ out of you.

“I’ve heard your Russian,” you replied, raising a brow at him as the two of you stroll to the elevatory. “Just cause you can memorise the language doesn’t make you fluent, Reid.”

“Well, how am I supposed to become fluent if I don’t immerse myself in the language?” he asked, knowing exactly how to modulate his voice to melt your resistance. He sees your nose twitch and he knows he’s got you.

“Fine, but you’re buying dinner,” you replied, pointing at him and he frowned at you.

“How’s that fair if I’ve bought your ticket too?” he asked, pressing the elevator button. “Plus paying for snacks, and you know those places charge extra than normal—”

“Ugh, fine, jeez,” you replied, leaning against the wall. “I’ll buy dinner.” He was content with that, waiting for you to get in the elevator before following you. A thought crosses his mind, unbidden, that he had never said anything about getting dinner together, and hope flares in his chest. Maybe you wanted this to be a date as much as he did.

It’s dashed when he overhears your argument with Penelope when he’s supposed to be asking her to track down gas stations close to their crime scene — “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling left out if you weren’t constantly shutting me out!” you cried. “God, I mean, you didn’t even let me know you were going to work this early, but you seemed fine calling up Kevin to carpool with.”

“It’s… That’s… It’s just complicated, okay?” Penelope cried, already on the edge since they’d lost Emily.

“Yeah, a lot of things seem complicated with you lately,” you said, scoffing. “It’s kinda hard to support you when I don’t know what’s going on with you, Pen. You’re either working or you’re with Derek or you’re with Kevin—”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same about you!” Penelope shot back. “Been on any dates with Reid lately?” she asked and his breath stuttered where he stood, out of sight, behind the slightly ajar door.

“What else am I supposed to do when you’re always bringing Kevin home?” you demanded. “Seriously, it’s starting to feel like he’s a third roommate lately. He certainly eats like one.” His heart sinks at your words — were you only hanging out with him because you had nowhere to go? Spencer pressed himself back against the wall. “You know what, if he’s gonna hang around that much, you could at least get him to split the groceries,” you snapped at her, heading for the door.

“Yeah, well…” Penelope struggled to come up with a retort as fast as you did — she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. Or at least, she wasn’t as quick with using it. “Well, if you’re gonna spend that much time with Reid, the least you could do is throw that boy a bone,” she called after you as you stormed out, slamming the door behind you and letting out an enraged huff as you stalked down the corridor, oblivious to Spencer.

He swallowed, watching your retreating figure and letting a beat pass before contemplating whether he should go to Penelope. Maybe he should just have Morgan talk to her instead. He turned on his heel, making his way back to the briefing room instead.

Spencer stared at the clock, watching the hands tick round until you would finally leave. All this week he had been trying to convince himself that you were avoiding him, but that was just his paranoia talking. You’d been avoiding everyone, really — him, Garcia, Morgan… your behaviour towards other people was almost exactly the same. Almost, but not quite. You had been colder to him specifically.

He just couldn’t help thinking you were upset with him.

“You okay?” he asked, catching up to you outside the building, a slight pant to his voice due to the short sprint he had to do to catch up to you in time. Your pace had slowed, and with your gaze to the floor, you let him fall in step beside you. Spencer tried not to pay too much attention to the distance you kept between the two of you.

He noticed everything about you. He couldn’t help it. He had noticed the stiffness in your shoulders, the rigid way you carried yourself.

"Fine," you replied half-heartedly, turning your keys over in your pocket. "I just hate taking the train home."

“Why not get an apartment that’s closer to here?” he suggested, stuffing his hands in his own pockets, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. He’d noticed you had been taking the metro a lot more than usual. He wondered if everything was okay with your roommate.

"I like living in DC," you replied, walking with him to the station. He hated driving as much as you hated the train.

He nodded, walking alongside you. He wished you’d look at him, though. He could never guess what was going on in your head — was everything okay? Had he done something wrong? You seemed colder to him these days. “What’s been going on with you?” he asked, his voice soft. “You’ve been a bit down lately, are you sure you’re alright?” You finally looked up at Spencer and he had to catch his breath — he’d never get used to your eyes, the sharp intelligence in them, the focus.

You sighed, looking ahead again. "Penelope's been... I dunno, things aren't great between us."

“Why’s that?” he asked, reminded of your argument again. The two of you were always together, you were inseparable. “Is everything okay?” He was about to reach out, touch your arm, but he second-guessed himself, not wanting you to push him away. He couldn’t take it if you did.

"I don't know," you confessed, your nose tinged red with the cold, still turning over the key in your pocket to keep yourself grounded. "She's working overtime, if she's not on a case, she's working on something with Derek that she won't tell me about, which is fine, I get it. If anyone understands classified projects, I do. And then she's always with Kevin and I just..." You let out a breath, like you haven't let all of it out in a while, and it fogs up a little, your eyes glassy. "You know, you see yourself as this central person in someone's life and then suddenly... all these other figures come in and you just... don't know where you fit in anymore."

The look in your eyes made him ache to comfort you and he had to look away to stop himself from being overwhelmed by what he saw there. “People get busy,” he said, softly. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t value your friendship, or that she doesn’t want you around as much as you want to be.” His fingers twitched against his own palm as he spoke — he knew the feeling in your words all too well. He hated the idea that you were going through what he did on a daily basis.

You blinked the dampness in your eyes away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. "It's whatever," you murmured, tucking hair behind your ear.

Spencer looked at your profile as you walked and he had to look away again. He was starting to lose count of how many times he’d stopped himself from reaching out to you. He wanted to, he wanted to so desperately… but he was also terrified of rejection from you. He didn’t have an endless well of confidence, and he couldn’t bear it if you pushed him away. So he settled with wishing he could help you more than he currently was.

"How are you doing?" you asked, glancing at him. "With Emily and everything."

Spencer cleared his throat as he walked beside you, staring at the ground in front of him. “I think I’m still in shock,” he said, softly. “I miss her a hell of a lot, I’ve never connected with someone so quickly.” He didn’t even hesitate before he added: “Except maybe with you.”

You huffed a little, smiling. "Nerds of a feather, right?"

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He glanced over and met your gaze, and he couldn’t help the way a grin bloomed on his face, your eyes meeting his.

You smiled at him, your eyes lighting up in that way he loves — not just with amusement, but with warmth, and his chest started to ache, just a little. He could do this forever.

His heart skipped, and for a moment he could forget everything. For a moment, everything was perfect, just you and him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Miss Sunshine 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Nick and Cloudy.

Summary: a bored man needs a new light in his life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Nick's eyes stray across the street. He's distracted. He shouldn't be with the tall beauty across from him and her sparkling sapphire eyes. She's stunning to look at but he has to admit her conversation is as dull as the tablecloth. He tries not to let it show. He nods and mutters something about the earrings she keeps bobbling her head to show off.

He swallows a yawn. It's a nice restaurant, the food's always good, and yet he feels so nonplussed by it all. He lives the high life. A nice house, beautiful women, an exciting job. None of it hits anymore. It's all so boring.

Even when he's away on some mission, he doesn't feel much. It's all just so ordinary to him. He does his job and he does it well.

His eyes wander again. He's hungry. That's it. They ordered fifteen minutes ago and the wait is making him restless.

He tilts his head as he watches the girl in her hot pink jacket. He's never seen denim that shade before. Her faded jeans are tattered around the ankles and she wears a pair of heavy boots that were likely once a shade of rose but now no more than a dingy grey. She stands on the curb, watching and waiting down the road. The bus comes this way. The patio looks out on a busy street but today, the lively traffic only feels like a nuisance.

She raises her chin to see over the cars. She perks up then unhooks her large knapsack and brings it around the front. She shoves her arm inside and searches inside as she looks down. She rips her hand out and several items go flying over the pavement. She bends to pick them up as the bus nears the stop. Despite her efforts, she's too slow. The driver doesn't see her and drives past.

She stands, clutching a transparent pouch and her pass, her heavy bag weighing down her other arm. She waves helplessly and tries to chase the bus down. It doesn't heed to her nor does the cyclist heading in her direction. She barely avoids the collision and her foot slips off the curb. She lands in a heap between two bumpers.

He frowns as he watches her. He twitches, ready to get up and jump over the little fence onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians pass her by without a single look. Kelly says his name and he looks at her with a 'huh'.

"Pathetic, isn't she?" She looks across the street and snickers.

He shrugs, "seems like she's having a bad day."

"She's an idiot." She insists.

He grimaces and leans back. "You think so?"

"Sure, I mean. Look at that colour. It's not good on her complexion and she's got that bag overloaded. Can hardly blame anyone but herself--"

"She seems busy. On her way somewhere."

"Oh, I'm sure," she snorts and rolls her eyes. "She really looks like the popular type."

"You know what, I'm not too hungry anymore," he says.

"What?" She scoffs.

"Yeah, waiting kinda turned my appetite." He takes out his wallet and counts the bills. He folds them and lays them on the table. "It's on me. You can give mine to a friend or take it for yourself."

He stands and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. She gapes at him.

"This isn't about that weirdo across the street?"

He sighs, "no, you're just kind of... not interesting."

He tweaks a brow and turns on his heel.

"Nick," she squeals after him. He doesn't stop.

He struts down the street and crosses at the lights. It's only then he glances back. She's making a scene, crying at the table. He can't remember why he asked her to come to lunch. She has nice legs but she just laid there when they hooked up last week. It was just another thing that had grown stale on him.

He makes his way along the other side. He keeps his distance until Kelly storms off, engrossed in her phone as she angrily texts whatever enabler responds first. He nears the girl in the pink coat. She sits on the curb. She's deflated. Her bag is in her lap as her legs are loosely crossed as they hang off the edge.

Kelly isn't wrong, just not in the way she said it. The girl isn't pathetic or stupid, just a bit down on her luck. He feels a pluck in his chest, the most he's felt in a long time. He's always been the person where everything just sort of goes his way. This doesn't seem to be very different. After all, life brought this curious figure into his life for some reason, right?

He passes her and takes out his phone, using the front-facing camera to get a look at her as he does. She's young. Judging by the keychain on her bag, she's attending the local college. Makes sense. She probably doesn't need a man his age circling her.

He crosses the street again. He looks at her and a wrapper bounces off her head. She looks back at the litterer as they don't even notice their offense. She huffs and gets up. She checks her phone. She grabs the wrapper and puts it in a trash can nearby.. She drops her shoulders and sets off down the pavement. She might be down but she hasn't given up.

Neither has he. Not yet. He thought he was done, that he had everything, but he's so wrong. He just wasn't looking in the right places; at the right people.

[autistichalsin]

EVERY American, on reaching adulthood (or sooner if possible, if you're in the right environment) needs to be relearning history.

Even in a blue state, I can all but guarantee you aren't learning the truth about Manifest Destiny or the pilgrims. You are probably being given an extremely propagandized view of the Cuban Revolution, if you learned about it all. You were probably taught a very narrow history of the Cuban Missile Crisis. You were guaranteed to have been given a sanitized history of the world's worst atrocities, even the Holocaust, the one part of history that's "allowed" to be taught messily.

And if you were in a red state, you not only have to learn more, you have to actively unlearn giant swaths of your schooling, even outside of history. In many southern states, the Civil War is taught as "the war of northern aggression" and students are told that Lincoln didn't care about slaves at all, he just wanted to stop the south from seceding at all costs. You were probably taught that native Americans "willingly relocated" from their homes rather than being victims of genocide.

Other countries can and do hide ugly parts of their pasts- Germany is the best at transparency- but few do propaganda on the level of the USA.

You need to learn the truth. Not just so you can learn what was kept from you, but also because if you don't, the only people with the full truth will be people with a vested interest in keeping it from you and using propaganda to control you and future generations.

You need to know about native American "boarding schools", which were an inspiration for Hitler's concentration camps. You need to know about Unit 731, the Rape of Nanking, and other crimes against humanity that happened outside of the Holocaust during WW2. You need to know about the role of slavery in the Cuban revolution. You need to know about religious persecution perpetrated- rather than escaped- by the Pilgrims. You need to know all of it, so that you can correct the inaccurate version of history those around you are being taught.

[sgiandubh]

Another sales expert...

Does The Idiot Impersonator (she is not Scottish by any stretch of the imagination) really have the slightest idea about the amount of time and the crowds needed to get rid of such an (alleged) surplus?

In anyone's rosiest dreams, organizing such a tour for that purpose only can't be a serious way to solve the problem.

Don't you just love that All Those People, who -one more time - would be unable to manage the till at a school bake sale or lemonade stand, suddenly display an acute interest for sales management?

You know, without the slightest transparency on the real production vs. sales volume ratio of above spirits, how can one draw any common sense conclusion on the real available/lingering stocks (and costs thereof)?

It was Puffy's guess, initially, and then many jumped on and ran away with it. The whole nine yards and beyond, never looked back to check.

Nope, frantically counting the Sassenach bottles in random promoted bars, as Marple does (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, woman!) does not count as a valid estimation base.

I asked Shipper Mom what the hell did she think about these Tours, after a lifetime spent in sales and operative (in a different sector, but still), up to the level of Regional Sales Manager (3 neighboring European countries at once, actually):

'Do those people really think he's selling his bottles just on those occasions?'

'Mainly, yes.'

'But those bottles are available on a retail basis at least in selected locations, anyways?'

'Correct'.

'They can't be that... [following emoji sums up the reaction - 'clueless', perhaps?] 🤷‍♀️'

'Why?'

'Baby, that's promo. Not a good one, if he wants to get on the luxury bandwagon and my God, all those women [showed her some pics]...but that's probably mainly promo.'

'People say he's selling the surplus'.

'What? Oh. The world is a colorful place, eh?'

[ofgrenvde]

Her directness kept pulling him in deeper, past all the careful defenses he'd built. Perfect match? The thought should have sent him running, yet it made him want to lean in closer. Her comment about fate had him fighting back a grin—she had no idea how many times he'd deliberately positioned himself to create those "chance" encounters. The way she handled the conspiracy angle fascinated him. Most people either dismissed it entirely or went full tinfoil hat. But she walked that line with practiced ease, like someone who knew exactly which parts were true. "Not all money is clean money" hit closer to home than she realized. The casinos laundered enough dirty cash to fill an ocean, and here she was, casually dropping truth bombs like they were discussing the weather. Her cunning smile told him she knew exactly what game they were playing. When she called him out about finding her suspicious, his mind raced through all the surveillance footage he'd reviewed of her casino visits. She moved like someone who understood security systems, always staying just outside camera angles while appearing completely natural. "You caught me there. But in my defense, you do have an interesting way of conducting business." The real question was whether she'd figured out how much he actually knew about her operations.

An audible gasp escaped when she mocked his open book comment. She had him there—transparency wasn't exactly his strong suit these days. The real question was why he kept letting her push past his carefully constructed walls. Maybe because for the first time since Chicago, someone saw through the act without trying to tear it down completely. Or maybe he was just tired of keeping everyone at arm's length. Her challenge about finding out what he wanted sparked something dangerous in him—a desire to show her exactly how much he'd been holding back. But old habits died hard, and complete honesty wasn't a luxury he could afford, not with the shadows still chasing him. Still, he found himself wanting to give her more than the usual deflections. "I guess I'll just have to keep sharing meals with you. What better way to get to know each other, right?" This was some dangerous game he was playing.

The smart move would be backing off before this got complicated. Instead, he found himself drawn deeper into her orbit. She represented everything he should avoid, sharp insights that cut too close to home, questions that probed his carefully maintained façade, and an uncanny ability to make him want to lower his guard. Yet here he was, actually considering letting someone past his defenses for the first time since Chicago. The truly dangerous part wasn't that she might be playing him—it was that he found himself hoping she wasn't.

Cynthia wondered if Ezra would ever break, but doubts began to set in as he was consistently and effortlessly keeping up with her. She really wanted to know if he was doing this because he was interested in her or was he doing this all for information. Surprisingly, her gut was telling her it wasn’t the latter, especially with how authentic she was being in this dynamic, she believed he was doing the same. However, that tiny voice in her head that was trying to protect her, was overall doing their best to be the voice of reason and so, she had to reconsider the opposite as well. “Then we’re a perfect match.” she concluded with a nonchalant shrug. “It now makes sense why fate has us always stumbling into each other. Your loss if you don’t take me up.” 

With her current career and alliance, it’s a no brainer for Cynthia to be aware of the true Devil’s Junction. Majority of the conspiracy theories were either known or done by her and the Onyx Circuit, but she wasn’t going to downright admit that, especially the latter. Instead, she kept it high level, if he’s going to keep her guessing then she might as well mirror Ezra’s behaviour. “Not all money is clean money.” she concluded and with that, she reached her glass to conduct a fake toast and downed the rest of her wine before breaking out into a cunning smile. Will he be revealing his truth? She could only hope and would rely heavily on whatever patience she had left. 

Once Ezra responded to what he did for a living, the assassin started piecing together everything she knew about him up until now. It all started to make sense why he is the way he is, from being observant, the attention to detail and being standoffish. Perhaps she’d been made given that she’d been hanging around the casinos here and there, but in her defence it dealt with money, more importantly her clients’ money. Boy, did this get even more complicated. “How fitting. So I’m assuming you found me suspicious?” she mused. “You’re a poor liar though, ‘always been an open book’ my ass. It's more like pulling teeth when it comes to learning about you.” When Ezra spoke about what he wanted from her, the cliché answer had her laughing as she shook her head in disbelief, "And how will I find out?" she asked.

[comite-de-salut-public]

but the athists and catklics will just be mad at you instead!

I dunno, maybe if we give them a common enemy they'll stop doing civil wars? Sometimes we've gotta play non-Newtonian chess with the situation.

[volfoss]

it is beyond infuriating how anne rice seems to insist on marius being a positive force in anyone's life ever. like she can't fully commit to exploring the fact he groomed armand and has repeatedly taken away his consent for what marius thinks is best (take the end of TVA as an example) and just kind of flatly puts it in the narrative. there's not really much interest in how these horrific events make marius come across as the worst because EVERYONE loves him. for gods sake, lestat learns from armand exactly what marius did to him in TVL and then proceeds to go find marius and be super friendly to him in the same fucking book. even armand and pandora, two of the people who have MORE than enough right to hate him, do not. it doesnt feel like shes trying to explore the toxicity of the abusive dynamic he traps them in, it just is there. and like yeah ofc the toxic vampire romance series but i think that this should be handled with more care. and it is not ever really framed in a way that she is interested in exploring how marius should easily be one of the most horrific characters in this series because it kind of feels like sa/rape/grooming/other things of that sort are just put there to further plot and not to really get the respect that they deserve in a medium.

[okkanai]

hello,   friends   !   thank you to everyone who has taken the time to fill it out already,   but if you could please spare a few minutes to fill out my interest tracker that would be much appreciated.   by completing the form linked, i can have a better gauge of your   preferences   &   interest   when it comes to blog interaction(s).   thank you sm in advance.

[coriander-candlesticks]

I've been trying to figure out how to incorporate religious practice into my life & trying to get over the fear of being...annoying? If that's the right word? It feels a little like tugging on the gods' sleeves when I make more than one offering a day to them even though I know I'm not, like, being rude by *checks notes* giving them things or dedicating time/activities to them. Today I made a dessert in preparation for tomorrow's Pathfinder game and dedicated that time spent baking to Hestia and Aphrodite, and it was really nice! I feel like I'm starting to find my footing despite my worries. I'm also trying to make sure I take time where I'm not thinking about religion at all so that I don't start to ruminate/spiral. It's happened a few times already to varying degrees and it's! Not fun!

It's possible it's hindsight/confirmation bias, but I do think the vibes of my tarot deck changed when I started reaching out to the Greek deities. It makes sense: I was using my deck to reach out to a completely different deity/deities before I started exploring Hellenic polytheism. And it's definitely not in a bad way, just more energetic and...light? When before it was heavier (in a comforting way). I've gotten consistently coherent pulls, too, which is nice.

I've been trying to remember to pour a libation to Hermes at certain street corners when I'm out & about, but I have to make a game plan for when other people are also in the area, even if it's just psyching myself up so I don't look awkward while I do it. I have a pendant that I keep in front of his altar/shrine jar that I try to remember to take with me when I travel, and it's been cool having something in my pocket that's consistently reminding me of him because I check so often to make sure it's still there. There were some...issues with my commute on Monday (a true comedy of errors on the city's part) but the change in routine was a *lot* easier to handle in the morning. Of course, the unusually cool temperature helped, but I do accredit the smooth transition to Hermes because I wasn't stressed at *all* for the vast majority of my commute when I usually would have been wiped from the mental/sensory strain of having to pivot & kinda just hope I guessed right on what to do next. The commute home was a nightmare but I didn't have a whole-ass work day ahead of me after that so the stress didn't matter as much (and I was able to get through the last bus ride & walk from the stop which I wasn't sure I'd have the mental fortitude for).

I'm almost done with the statue of Hermes I've been working on, and I finished a set of alphabet oracle "stones" (squares made from air dry clay...would that technically be closer to potsherds?) tonight. I'll share a picture of them once I finish their bag- I have some leftover green cotton yarn from a recent project that I think will go well with them. We'll see how well they hold up, though I'm not planning on doing the "shake them until one falls out" method so hopefully they'll last a while. I worked on them in the living room this evening, instead of in my room. I'm getting more comfortable showing little elements of what I've been exploring to my housemates; it was nice to be able to sit & paint & listen to the iliad while my friend did his own thing next to me on the couch.

I'm still trying to figure out how to gauge each housemates' potential reactions. It'll probably be fine: friend 1 actively has an altar-esque space and uses tarot cards and a pendulum and friend 2 is friend 1's wife. I'm a bit worried about friend 3 being weird about it, at least at first, but considering he was experimenting with witchcraft-esque things a few years ago (I distinctly remember charms & him discussing which of the wheel of the year days he wanted to observe) I think I'm overthinking things. He's an atheist & his view of witchcraft was, at the very least, *similar* to the psych model, which I think is where the hesitation has been coming from on my end. I have therapy this weekend so I think I'll start bringing things up then. The office my therapist is in openly advertises all sorts of alt/witchcraft things so I think I'll be safe there lol

[boogiewoogieweeb]

it's all fun and games typing up a silly, rickety little au idea in the tags of someone else's post and then suddenly you find yourself expanding on the world-building and plotting out interconnected stories for characters you swore would only make background appearances and your brain is On Fire with the need to write even when you know you can't commit to yet another doomed wip

[baltears]

its truly not that i have a problem with ppl continuing to engage with a persons work after theyve been called out for being problematic or whatever but the way m//lanie m//rtinez stans literally just convinced themselves all the allegations were false, called the alleged victim a liar and then proceeded to pretend it all never even happened is frankly chilling to me

[devilsskettle]

i feel like i’ve been WAITING for the other shoe to drop wrt people’s opinions about watcher for this very reason. not that i think the reaction is completely not understandable but the greater the parasocial relationship, the greater the fallout as soon as public opinion shifts. you don’t have a relationship with these people they’re just content creators, chill

[goofyguppy]

.

[crescentfool]

i think something that is important to me to remember is that there are small ways i can do things to spark joy for myself and others without waiting for someone else to do it... (conjures up little sparklies from my hands) life is so whimsical!!!

[talentforlying]

none of the muses on my hellblazer multi are linked to the canon of my constantine portrayal, but i think that i am going to bring my ellie's canon divergence over here (summary post) in regards to hellblazer #104 & its ramifications in 125-128, bc that still does not sit well with me and i will be annoying about it forever. john constantine respects chantinelle in this house, even if they did still betray each other in the end; they simply have too much history for him to be so pointlessly goddamn cruel when he knows full well that she would probably have agreed to a trade of some kind instead.

[marrelica]

Insane how my uni friend knew me for 1 day and recommended me "Invisible Monsters" by Chuck Palahniuk because "it seems like something you would really enjoy"