#autofill tried to write:

[desidesidesi]

Could the world handle two Professor Junipers?

[clumsyclifford]

writer pro tip: not sure what the technical name for [x part] of [y thing] is? google "anatomy of [y thing]" and click through the image results. this has worked for me on anything from walls to cars to kitchen sinks. quick and easy way to vary your language and lend your scenery/object descriptions more specificity

[squarebracket-trickster]

Actually, you know what, fuck it, I do have some writing advice:

Some things to try when you are so stuck it's eating you alive:

The "Autofill" Warm-up

I don't actually know if this has a proper name, but this is what I call it:

pull up a blank page and just start typing the first words to pop into your head.

Don't care if it's coherent or in any way related to your WIP. Just type. Pretend you are pressing the autocomplete option on your phone over and over again just to see what it types out.

Do at least 200 words of this. Do it until you get "in the zone" and the words start coming without trying.

If your paragraph doesn't read like it was written by a rather incoherent autocomplete by the time you're done, keep going until it does.

You can use this "warm up" before you start a writing (drafting or revision) session, and/or any time your writing starts to feel stale, or you just can't think of what to say next.

This probably won't give you any ideas, per se, but it will get you thinking faster and outside the box. I find it helps my prose flow more naturally, and I think up more interesting ways to say things.

--

The "15 ways to say it" Strategy

Again, this one probably has a proper name, but I don't know it. I learned this in high school for coming up with good thesis statements for essays.

This one is for when you know what to say, but you have no idea how to phrase it, and you hate everything you've come up with:

Come up with A sentence (or two or three) that gets the idea across. Doesn't matter if it's the choppiest, jankiest, most awkward or dull, gramatically incorrect nonsense you've ever laid eyes on. Write it down.

Rewrite the damn thing 5, 10, or 15 ways, depending on what you have the patience for/how much you care.

Don't worry about making it sound nice or about grammar or anything. Just think of 5/10/15 ways to get the same idea across off the top of your head.

They don't even have to be full sentences, you can write more than one sentence, and if you start an iteration and hate where it's going you can leave it half done and start another.

DELETE NOTHING!!!! You may want to see that version again!!

Eventually, you will start seeing combinations of words you like.

If you suddenly come up with the perfect phrase. Great! You can stop. Otherwise, once you have enough fragments you like, try stringing them together.

If you still don't like it but feel you are getting close take the new strung-together sentence(s) and start again, rewriting it 5/10/15 times.

Keep repeating until either you are happy, or you've hit your goal (5, 10, or 15 iterations) and still don't see anything you can work with.

If you get stuck before you hit your goal, try any of these:

rearrange a few words or replace a word with a synonymm

reimagine it in the voice of Shakespeare, Dr. Doofenshmirtz, some condescending guy on Reddit, or whomever sounds fun

Get out your frustration. Write the damn thing in ALL CAPS. Swear. Sound condescending and angry. Don't censor yourself.

The "tell me without telling me / imagine it's illegal to say what you mean" method (i.e. write around the meaning). Also, the "how can I use setting/character description, actions, to show this without directly stating it" method.

--

The "Turn off your brain" Strategy

Another one of my names, and a distant cousin to the "Autofill Warm-up".

Stare blankly at your page. Let all thought leave you. You must not think. Thought is the inspiration killer. Thought is the little box full of nothing you haven't already tried.

Now, place your hands on the keyboard and press a key, or grab your pen and write a random letter.

Add another letter, mostly at random, but make sure there are actually words that start with those two letters together.

Let your brain autocomplete the rest of the word.

Repeat 2-4 with each subsequent word, but make sure they all make at least some attempt at gramatical sense when put together.

2-5 are more suggestions than hard rules. If your brain autocompletes a whole phrase use it if you like it. If you don't like the word your brain came up with, pick again.

Eventually a word or group of words may appear that might actually sort of fit in the place you are stuck, albeit with some major tweeking.

There. Now, you have a new idea you've never had before.

Sometimes I will write paragraphs expanding on an idea using this method, and then I will put those paragraphs through a few rounds of "5/10/15 ways to say it". These always end up being my best paragraphs for some reason.

[jordanstrophe]

Whump Game: Autofill

If you're like me and write on mobile sometimes, autofill will pick up on your common whump phrases. Try writing whumpee/whumper/caretaker on your phone, then keep pressing autofill until you have a complete sentence. I wanna see what everyone else has, show me show me show me

"Whumpee tried to plead the whump community to make calls for them to get their attention to their needs"

"Caretaker was about to snap once more and I had to buy a new whumper"

"Whumper yelled for you to call out sick and get back to the floor"

[krushkreates]

uhh hi. i'm back from the fuckin' dead, it seems. all i am going to indulge is that i am incredibly glad 2023 is almost over.

anyways this is based off my Irish heritage again oh my god krush how much of ur heritage are u gonna put in ur writing?? a lot shut up i'm not gonna say anything or it's gonna give it away and that's no fun!

so i'd like to present, lasko, becoming goo when he learns what his dear listener has been calling him.

-

"Bye Grá!" The word rolls off their lips so easily as they peck his cheek before hurrying off to their car, feeling the dopamine seize their muscles.

It's one that's hit his ears so many times. He's wanted to ask, it sits so patiently on the tip of his tongue, drumming in his ears with the blood that rushes to his tympanic membrane. The question floods his cheeks with the heat that burns it when the honey-coated word drenches him in a comfort that can only be described as familiar.

It hums in the back of his throat, begging to be released, but bound and gagged by the sickly saccharined voice of his anxiety.

Would it be weird to ask? Do they think I know what it means? What if it's something mean? What? Don't think that! They'd never! Come on Lasko, pull yourself together for god's sake! Back and forth. An endless tug of war that currently sees his curiosity winning out over his nerves. A small victory, but one nonetheless.

He decides, Fuck it. I'm going to look it up.

It's a clumsy search, and if you looked at his Google history, you might laugh a bit as the searches get weirder and weirder as he tries to figure out this mystery word without asking.

Grah

Grawe

Graw

McGraw

Tim McGraw

Damn typos and autofill.

Grahe

Graw word meaning

Grawe word meaning not english

Graw word meaning in english

Gra word meaning english

He's about two more searches from calling it quits as his frustration reads the screen aloud to his empty office.

"Noun, Irish. A liking or fondness for something." He murmurs to himself. "A liking or fondness." His irritation melts away. He types a bit more.

Grá Irish term romantic.

His eyes widen, the heat of his blush tripling.

"Means love in its most simple translation." Lasko murmurs to himself. He puts his head in his hands, covering himself from the wash of emotions he feels. They're so, sweet to him. Sweet on him, sweet for him, sweet for their affectionate names that are so subtle. "Grá." He tests it, rolling it the way they do. It's clumsy, like the time they tried rolling his D&D dice and rolled it too hard onto the floor. But it's endearing. "Grá." It's a whisper. The clack of his keyboard is heard again. "Mo grá." Lasko repeats, the same way he's heard them say it.

My love.

[noficbyhalves]

I'm not dead, I was just eaten by the brain weasels. Everything is fine and I really meant for this to be over 5k :/

I would also like the record to state that I did finish this last night, I just chose sleep instead of staying up til 4am formatting it and fighting with tumblr about Malik's fucking name. So my Valentine's Day one shot was toooootally on time shut up don't look at me.

In other news febuwhump is looking more like it'll be whumpril but *gestures at the length of this monstrosity* y'all can deal. (If my life is enough of a disaster maybe my brain autofilling it as whumptober will be accurate! T_T)

Anyway!

Content warning for panic attacks, implications of past abuse, light internalized homophobia, vague allusions to sexual acts, a lot of profanity, and Altaïr being horny on main

Flowers, or A First Valentine's

(or, Altaïr's biggest enemy is actually the closet in this essay I will-):

Altaïr was very careful to avoid looking at Malik when the mail appeared, or he was certain his face would give him away. He knew what was going to appear anyway, had spent a week and a half overthinking it to death. Malik may not have thought much of the holiday, but Altaïr didn't feel right doing nothing at all. He had settled on a dozen red roses - simple, tasteful, impossible to misinterpret - with a note smothered in so many layers of handwriting charms so as to make it functionally anonymous.

Thankfully a convenient distraction materialized in front of him, in the form of the rapidly growing pile of envelopes addressed to him. Altaïr was considerably less thankful the second he looked closer, realizing they were dozens and dozens of Valentine's notes. He recognized some of the handwriting - the purple one was definitely Katerina, and he noticed Rhona's loopy script, which was baffling for numerous reasons - but there were many of them that he didn't in the slightest. He gingerly pulled one open, increasingly alarmed to find a love letter as long as his arm from some lady he had never met.

Malik still hadn't said anything, which would have stressed Altaïr much more if Malik's ankle wasn't pressed against his under the table. He couldn't have still been reading the note, it was barely two sentences, and even that Altaïr had spent days agonizing over, whether it was too much or not enough. If he had tried to write something half as long as the monstrosity in his hand, he'd have given up and flung himself into the lake. He had the words on it burned into his brain:

My Vega, May your day be as bright as your smile Happy Valentine's Day - Your not-so-secret admirer

Curiosity got the better of him. He dared to glance over at Malik, and for a second everything stopped. Because Malik was looking at the note, yes, but he was also trying and failing to hide a bashful smile in his hand. There was a blush blooming on his cheeks, a sparkle in his eyes. And if Altaïr was walking on air then, the moment Malik looked up and locked eyes with him stole the very breath from his lungs. He had to bite down on his tongue until it hurt, so he didn't say something out loud where other people could hear (something like help I'm so fucking in love with you).

The words that came out of Malik's mouth were not thank you or I love you (as Altaïr's daydreams where everyone else in the great hall suddenly disappeared would have gone). Instead they were, "What in the hell?"

At which point Altaïr remembered he was, in fact, holding a letter from a crazy woman, sitting next to a pile of similarly unhinged mail. "I... this lady sent me a Valentine's... essay? I have no idea who she is." He skimmed further through the letter, but each subsequent sentence made him more uncomfortable than the last.

"Well you are a public figure, I guess. Ladies love a war hero...?" Malik trailed off in a shrug.

Altaïr winced. "She's, uh, really into me having been a Templar, actually." That part was deeply weird on multiple levels, not least of which was the interpretation that any of it had been a deliberate ideological choice, as opposed to Altaïr being backed into approximately six different corners.

"What. You're joking," Malik looked as dumbfounded as Altaïr felt. His bafflement turned to outrage when Altaïr didn't break. "Who's screening these things?"

He had an awful suspicion the answer was nobody, or at least not for anything that wasn't a death threat. Not for the first time, Altaïr was very glad they had conspired to keep Malik out of the public eye. It was bad enough with all of this addressed to only one of them. "No, apparently she wants to-" He squinted as he searched for the correct line. "-heal the wounds on my soul with the power of her love?"

The noise that came out of Malik's mouth was somewhere between a gag and a laugh. "Oh my god that's terrible. What else did she write."

"Something about wanting a summer wedding..." Altaïr adjusted the parchment so he could double check the woman's name. "I don't know who this person is, why...?"

Malik had dissolved into laughter, and it took him a few moments to compose himself. "Read the rest of it," he said, wheedling when Altaïr balked at the idea. "C'mon, give her the dramatic reading she deserves."

Altaïr opened his mouth, closed it. Considered the merits of fleeing into the woods never to return. He quite frankly didn't want to read another word of the letter, much less out loud.

Malik seemed to catch that, at least, and had switched tactics to reaching out for the letter, slightly wiggling his fingers in the please give me that thing way (rather than the wands are for amateurs way, which he was also prone to doing). His eyes were wide in an approximation of an innocent look that Altaïr knew was total bullshit, but it wasn't like he could deny Malik anything on a good day.

He sighed, and handed it over. "You do it."

Malik's expression grew gleeful (not benevolent, not by a long shot, but gleeful). He started to read but immediately choked on a laugh, trying and failing to muffle it into his elbow. "She spelled your name wrong," he wheezed.

Altaïr had noticed the writer had used his grandfather's surname instead of the one he had chosen, but hadn't thought it was that funny.

"No, look," Malik said, turning the parchment around and showing him. Sure enough, the top of the letter had Altear scrawled on it. Altaïr let out a huff of laughter.

Malik pulled the letter back and cleared his throat, beginning to read in a deeply overblown falsetto. "My dear Alteeeer Wrong-Last-Name," he said, before switching back to his normal voice, "you're not even good at being deranged and obsessive, honestly..."

Altaïr snorted. "Is that the offensive part to you?"

"It's not wrong to expect a base level of competency. If you can't trust your stalker to get your name right, who can you trust?"

Altaïr decided there was no good response to that, and tore open a different envelope.

The falsetto was back. "I am writing this letter to tell you that I am madly in love with you. I had a vision you see, months ago, foretelling that you and I are destined to be soulmates." Malik rolled his eyes, "see, this is why divination is bullshit."

"That's not how divination works," Altaïr said tiredly, pulling out what appeared to be a normal card, along with a little bag of chocolates. "What are the odds these are laced, d'you think?"

"Too high to risk it. Novice, do not."

"I wasn't going to!" He insisted. Malik gave him a doubtful look. The problem, Altaïr thought, with Malik famously being half of his impulse control, was people refusing to believe that he was capable of the other half.

They steadily worked through the pile like that, Altaïr putting anything edible directly into the baskets that vanished garbage, and Malik providing scathing commentary on the letter all the while. It helped, having Malik there, the grounding contact under the table and the reassurance that "oh, ew!" was a reasonable response to someone telling him she wanted to lick his scars what the fuck.

He had gotten down to the last few envelopes when he dared to look at the one from Rhona again. Altaïr couldn't fathom why she would write to him. He was pretty sure there was no possible combination of words that wouldn't be weird. Would an apology be better or worse than none at all?

Malik had paused, eyeing the note in his hand, but didn't say anything. He just sipped at his coffee and let Altaïr sort it out in his own head.

That, more than anything, made up Altaïr's mind. "Mal?" he said.

"Yeah?" He frowned when Altaïr held the envelope out to him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Altaïr nodded. "Can you burn this for me?"

"I'm not a fucking matchbook," he grumbled under his breath, but flicked his wrist regardless. The paper caught in an instant, flames licking up the edges. It was ash before it hit the table, vaporizing in the scorching heat that merely felt pleasantly warm against Altaïr's fingers.

***

By the time they had gotten midway through the day, Altaïr was already cracking at the seams. He couldn't make a beeline directly for the secret passageway down to the second floor, no matter how much he wanted to. Malik had been giving little pleased smiles (pointedly at the flowers, not at him) all through class and making his heart flutter every time. If he couldn't get a second alone to kiss his fucking boyfriend, Altaïr was going to go insane.

Malik caught on anyway, steering away from the main stairs without Altaïr having to say a word. He was talking about the Runes essay he had due later that week in a way that was clearly intended to be space filler, so Altaïr let the words fade into comforting white noise. He made affirmative noises at the right times, used to the steady rise and fall of Malik's tone as he more-or-less monologued.

By the time they reached the tapestry hiding the entrance, the hallway had emptied around them. Altaïr dared to reach out and grab Malik's hand. The bright smile Malik turned on him when he threaded their fingers together made his heart skip in his chest. He sped up, towing Malik along behind him, shoving the tapestry aside with more force than necessary.

 "Slow down!" Malik laughed.

The lack of light in the passage left him briefly blinded, operating mostly on muscle memory to pull Malik forward without running into a wall. If they had twenty feet or so of distance, they'd be hidden enough and Altaïr could finally kiss him.

When his vision adjusted, he froze. Just ahead of them in the corridor (twenty feet from the entrance that's enough space not to get caught) were two other students - a boy and a girl, a couple years younger than them - locked at the lips. He dropped Malik's hand like it had burned him, and he must have made some sort of noise because they suddenly sprang apart, staring at him.

Oh fuck they had seen them. Anyone could have seen. Other people used this passage. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"So much for that shortcut," he distantly heard Malik huff, through the ringing in his ears. There was a hand tugging at his elbow, pulling him back out into the sunlight. "C'mon Altaïr, don't be a creep."

Anyone could have seen them. Altaïr would've been too wrapped up in Malik to notice. How many times had he closed his eyes in hidden corridors, trusting that they were alone?

His head was full of static. Everything was too loud but indistinct and blurry. Malik was talking but he couldn't make out the words. He dug his fingers into the fabric of his robes. It didn't help. The only solid thing in the world was Malik's steadfast grip on his arm, tugging him forward.

They could've seen anything. Altaïr kissing Malik, fuck, Altaïr on his knees. Everyone would know, his grandfather would find out. A blasting hex would be the least of his worries, with a stain on the family name like that-

"Oi, habibi!"

Altaïr startled. They had stopped walking, and Malik was snapping his fingers in front of Altaïr's face, looking at him with poorly disguised concern. The floor was swaying beneath him, shit they were on one of the moving staircases how the hell had they gotten there. He surreptitiously glanced around them, at all the other people on the landings and other flights of stairs. "Don't say that here!" he hissed.

"Unless half the school became fluent in Arabic overnight, I think we're fine," Malik said dryly.

Altaïr blinked. On second thought, fair. The tone of voice Malik had used was more in tune with calling him shithead than darling (though with Malik the line between insult and term of endearment had always been very thin).

"Are you okay?" Malik asked, stepping back to a more respectable distance.

Altaïr clutched onto the banister as the stairs began to pivot. He didn't want to lie to Malik, but the weight of the proverbial gaze of the entire school kept him from admitting just how shaken he felt. He settled for a wobbly so-so gesture and whatever the hell his face was doing.

"I can spin Berg some excuse if you need to go back to the dorm."

The offer was tempting, but he knew Malik couldn't join him if Altaïr didn't want anyone to suspect anything, especially not today of all days. Sitting alone with his thoughts for a few hours would probably be a bad idea right now, at least going to Alchemy would give him something to do with his hands. "No," he cleared his throat. "No, I'm good."

Malik's flat look clearly expressed his doubt on that front. "Am I going to regret handing you a knife?"

"I'm fine, Malik. I'm not going to cut off a finger."

Malik's face contorted as he tried to fight a smile. "You're not funny, novice."

***

Alchemy helped, for the most part. With a little breathing space, his panic felt slightly ridiculous (his grandfather had been dead for months, he wasn't sure why his brain had jumped to that). No one had stumbled across the two of them, or there would have been rumours or gossip or worse. Instead, Katerina was trying to bat her eyelashes at him from across the room, looking rather like she had been hit with a twitching jinx, while he was struggling not to stare too blatantly at Malik.

The heat and humidity in the Alchemy classroom worked unfairly well for him. With his sleeve pushed up and his hair mussed and his dark eyes focused intently on wandlessly adjusting the flame beneath their cauldron, he looked a bit like if a fire elemental had a ridiculously gorgeous human form. Altaïr, in comparison, felt a bit like a drowned rat. (A drowned rat that really should be paying more attention to the herbs he was mincing; if he actually injured himself, Malik would be pissed and worried and also would never ever let him live it down.)

Malik straightened, content with the temperature, and reached past Altaïr to write something down. Malik had been the dedicated notetaker in Alchemy for basically forever - for a myriad of reasons, including but not limited to the weird language of symbols he used to delineate changes in fire spells that only made sense to him, his handwriting was generally neater, and the fact that Altaïr never remembered to bring pencils instead of quills on Alchemy days. The problem was that he was so close Altaïr could feel the heat of him, and on any other day that would only be mildly distracting. On any other day Altaïr wouldn't feel quite as flayed open, equal parts desperate for contact and terrified of being too close. It just wasn't fair.

"Those, then the moth wings, then the gold dust. Ninety seconds between each of them," Malik muttered, reading out of the textbook. It snapped Altaïr back to the task at hand.

He frowned. "Shouldn't that be gold dust first? For stabilization?"

"Quote-" Malik flipped a few pages. "Nicholas Flamel, goddammit, gold dust is last."

Altaïr knew the rant that was brewing there quite well - he internally called it the "you idiots have trains (why is progress scary to you)" rant, after a particularly inspired rendition several years ago. Malik probably had three or four multi-hour lectures worth of content for it in his back pocket at all times. As entertaining as it usually was, Altaïr was still puzzling out the gold dust thing. "No, shush," he said, running back through the contents of their cauldron in his head.

The look Malik leveled him with would have caught a lesser man's hair on fire. Altaïr was more than willing to blame the heat in his cheeks on that. (It was, on occasion, reassuring that his taste in women was not so diametrically different from his attraction to Malik. This was not one of those times.)

"It shouldn't mess up the xanthosization, if anything it'll give us a wider window. Three minutes, maybe four?" Now that Altaïr thought about it, they could probably rework the whole recipe, cut the brewing time, maybe improve the potency?

"Makes sense," Malik said, jolting him out of his scheming. He dropped the bag of gold dust next to Altaïr's hand, where he hadn't realized he started drumming his fingers against the table.

Altaïr glanced up at Berg, who was standing across the room, scowling at another student's cauldron, and not paying them any attention whatsoever. Perfect.

"Don't fuck up," Malik said in an undertone, as he scattered the gold dust into the steaming liquid. The slight curl of his smile belied the severity of his words.

"Gee, thanks." Altaïr thought he did remarkably well at keeping his voice even, though Malik would probably be the only one who would notice. It took all of his concentration not to fumble into an overpour, with the way his heart was hammering. Malik was moving over to his right, grabbing the herbs, leaning into Altaïr's shoulder as he did. He was so close, Altaïr could slide an arm around his waist and hold him. Maybe if he was quick, no one would notice him kissing Malik's cheek. Maybe they could-

Maybe he needed to add the moth wings.

Malik plucked the stirring stick out of his hand when he did, taking over now that he was empty-handed. Altaïr could see his pinky twitch as the fire beneath the cauldron grew steadily, until the elixir was hot enough to bubble merrily.

They had half an hour or so until the filtration step, which left them sprawled in the chairs around their clean workstation. Malik had pulled out the project notebook and, based on the runes scrawled all over the pages, was trying to sort out the last set of enchantments for the map. Altaïr was tilted back in his chair, twisting his sash over his fingers since Rosa had glared at him when he was audibly tapping a few minutes ago. (And wasn't that interesting, how when it was Rosa it was just kind of uncomfortable, but when it was Malik it made him want to- nope.)

He had counted the number of cracks in this part of the ceiling months ago, and though he had a History essay he could be editing he deeply did not want to. He couldn't really help Malik - while Altaïr could probably pass a Runes exam based solely on several years of listening to Malik chattering about it, that didn't mean he could make heads or tails of whatever hellish combination of that and numerology that Malik had been beating his head against for months. Something about a youclid and a quantum whatsit? It made his head hurt, was the point. And trying also ran the risk of someone noticing the amount of enamored staring he would inevitably devolve into once he stopped being able to say anything meaningful.

Their elixir had been getting bluer by the minute but wasn't done yet. Which left looking blankly around the room, avoiding making eye contact with Berg lest he decide Altaïr looked too bored and made him grade essays or something. No one was doing much of anything interesting, only one other pair hadn't gotten to the simmering stage yet, but they weren't messing up in any interesting ways. Katerina had been distracted by her brewing partner, at least, so she wasn't trying to convince him to... canoodle with her or something. Whatever that couple in the corner was doing whenever Berg wasn't looking directly at them - Altaïr was not going to examine them closely enough to check. Though, speaking of-

"Hey, Malik?"

Malik glanced up at him, twirling his pencil around in his hand.

"Why didn't you tell off those kids, in the corridor?"

It took a couple blinks for Malik to catch where his train of thought had wandered. "It would be a pretty futile endeavor? I mean it is Valentines," he said, as if Altaïr were particularly oblivious. As if he hadn't been the reason for the flowers tucked into Malik's bag, as if seeing every couple in the castle didn't feel like they were flaunting it in Altaïr's face, as if it didn't make him want to scream. "They'd just go make out somewhere else." He shrugged.

Wasn't that the point? Altaïr thought but could not say. It wasn't like kicking them out would have stopped him from spiraling, but at least away from prying eyes Malik could have held him. "It's definitely not allowed, though," he said petulantly.

"They weren't doing any harm," Malik's tone softened. He flicked his gaze deliberately over to his schoolbag, with the roses peeking out from where they sat just inside the flap.

And Altaïr knew that logically. They hadn't set out to hurt him, to mess with his brain. They were not unlike the two of them, looking for a safe place away from prying eyes, and clever enough to know at least a couple secret passages. If Altaïr hadn't been so in his own head they probably could have just passed each other in the dark, not a notable encounter in the slightest.

"Besides," the corners of Malik's mouth tipped up ever so slightly, "I'd be a massive hypocrite if I did."

Altaïr was very glad for the roaring flames masking the flush in his cheeks.

***

The rest of the day dragged on. When they finally made it back to the dormitory that evening, Altaïr could barely wait for the door to be shut before he was pushing Malik up against it to kiss him. Malik breathed a laugh into his mouth and tugged him closer, draping his arm around Altaïr's shoulders. He tasted like sunshine, like warmth and fire and home.

Altaïr only broke the kiss when air became an issue, leaning back just far enough to notice Malik's breathless grin. He was sure it was mirrored on his own face.

"Holding that in all day, were you?"

"Yeah," he croaked. His cheeks heated with the heady mix of embarrassment and arousal he found all-too-common around Malik.

And he knew it was his own fault, that there was a very simple solution to this problem. If the idea didn't scare him so badly, they could have spent the whole day hand in hand, sneaking kisses in alcoves without caring if others knew.

Malik didn't bring it up at least, despite the easy opening to mock him. He just kissed Altaïr again, slow and deep, stealing the breath from his lungs. One of his hands slid down Malik's torso to clutch at his hip, his fingers fitting into place like they belonged there. Like his hands were crafted to fit Malik, and vice versa.

The idea of soulmates had seemed silly from the mouth (quill?) of a stranger that morning. It seemed a little bit less so now. Soul magic didn't work like that (he knew in excruciating detail how little it worked like that), but Altaïr knew without a shadow of a doubt that Malik would be the other half of him if it did. He felt more calm than he had all day, having wasted the morning tying himself up in knots over the flowers.

Speaking of... "They were okay? They weren't..." too much not enough somehow both. He asked, when they separated again.

It took Malik a few seconds to catch up. "Oh, the flowers." He smiled. "They were very sweet. Thoroughly unnecessary, but sweet."

Altaïr blinked. "Unnecessary?"

Malik let go of his shoulder to cradle his face. "You don't need to give me flowers to keep me, habibi. I'm already here." He kissed Altaïr's nose.

"That's not, I don't..." he trailed off, struggling to phrase the feeling that had been clanging around his head the whole week. Malik waited for him, held him tight and didn't bat an eye when the implication of his gaze became too much and Altaïr had to bury his face in Malik's shoulder. "...I just, I want to do more than just necessary. I want to do this right, I guess?"

"So which phase of doing it right is breaking blood curses, exactly? In case it comes up," Malik said. Altaïr couldn't see his face from this angle, but he could perfectly picture his shit-eating grin.

He jabbed Malik in the side, making him twitch and curse at him. "You know what I mean," Altaïr grumbled.

"I can't say I do, actually."

"Maliiiiiik," he whined.

"Should I expect a candlelight dinner and rose petals next year?"

Altaïr snickered, but he couldn't help but get stuck on that thought. It felt a little crazy, talking about next year as something attainable. Making plans with the expectation that the world wouldn't burn down in the interim, and there being an actual chance of being right. "...Yeah," he mumbled into Malik's jaw, "next year."

"Novice, that was a joke, don't-"

"Too late"

"Altaïr-"

"'M gonna romance the shit out of you." It was starting to take form in his head, an image of when they'd have their own space and he wouldn't have to smother his feelings outside these four walls.

Malik let out a massive sigh and let his head thunk back against the door. "Why do I have a feeling I'll regret this."

Altaïr pulled back so he could kiss him again. "Because you're being melodramatic?" he teased.

"Rude. Also, hypocrite."

"I have never once acted like flower petals were the end of the world."

"They're not the end of the world, I'll just genuinely be annoyed with you if you fling them around."

Altaïr squinted at him, attempting to make sense of that logic. Malik was deeply opinionated, sure, but there was usually at least some amount of internal consistency in those opinions. For the life of him, Altaïr could not parse how rose petals were that meaningfully different from roses themselves.

Maybe it was another don't treat me like a girl thing? But that missed the point, that when Altaïr imagined a nebulous future, a place that he shared with someone, where the idea of scattering rose petals on their bed felt indulgent instead of fake and performative, there had only ever been Malik in that image. (Truthfully, even just the idea of sharing a bed with someone long-term had been only Malik in his head for an embarrassingly long time.) "...what?"

"It's messy, and wasteful, for something that looks nice for what? Thirty seconds?"

"I... magic? You're a fucking wizard, Malik, come on." Malik's insistence on ignoring magic as a solution still blindsided him sometimes.

"That's still wasteful!"

"How?!" Altaïr fished his wand out of this sleeve to better make his point... somehow, and realized halfway through that nothing was stopping him from demonstrating right that moment. Unfortunately, Malik could read him like a book and immediately made a grab for it.

Any advantage Altaïr may have had by being right-handed (and therefore giving Malik fuckall for leverage), was swiftly countered by the fact that Malik had never once fought fair in his goddamn life. Malik dragged him into a truly filthy kiss, which made it difficult to focus on much of anything except Malik's tongue in his mouth, Malik's body pressed against his. Malik's fingers sunk into his hair, lightly tugging with just the right amount of pressure to make Altaïr's brain go fuzzy. A moan bubbled out of his throat, entirely against his will, as he melted into it.

Altaïr's hands fumbled of their own accord, clinging to Malik's shoulders, dragging him closer by the small of his back. He wasn't sure how exactly he could get closer, only that he needed to. That every inch of distance was unbearable, with how his blood was singing in his veins.

Malik shifted slightly, and Altaïr dimly realized he had been played when his wand was knocked out of his grip. Faced with the decision of letting it drop or letting go of Malik, he opted to pin his boyfriend harder against the door. Finding his wand - wherever it rolled after he heard it hit the floor - in the morning would be annoying, but if Malik stopped touching him Altaïr might actually die.

Altaïr pulled his lips back just a hairsbreadth, Malik nipping at him as he went. "You're an asshole," he panted.

He couldn't physically see Malik's eyeroll, but it was thoroughly implied. "Pot, cauldron." Altaïr was a bit appeased that Malik sounded just as out of breath as he did.

He kissed Malik again, just because. One kiss turned into two, turned into more, turned into Altaïr pressing his hips flush with Malik's, devouring the quiet groan that came out of his mouth. Kissing Malik was unfairly distracting. "Just because you're hot doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"If I concede to the dinner date will you shut up about the fucking petals? Oh my god." Malik growled at him.

Altaïr was tempted to ask Malik to convince him, but knew that was the kind of incentive that would make Malik turn him into a little puddle of goo on the floor. While that was a very appealing prospect, he did have a point to make. "Depends, will you let me be romantic or will you bitch about it the whole time?"

"I can multitask."

"Malik."

"Yes, fine," Malik huffed. "I will let you be as sappy as you like on this hypothetical dinner date that would require being out in public."

Altaïr watched Malik wince as his conscience caught up with his mouth. It happened more often than people thought; Altaïr did wonder sometimes whether Malik's instinct to poke and prod and needle was actually stronger than his instinct to breathe. The criticism wasn't completely out of line, though. If Altaïr had been frustrated with how the day went, it must have been eight times worse for Malik. He shrugged. "That's why it's next year," he said quietly.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry,"

Altaïr scattered kisses on his cheeks. "Don't worry about it."

"You really don't need-"

Altaïr cradled his face in both palms, looking him dead in the eyes. "Malik, I want to," he said. "I just... I can't. Right now."

Malik's gaze was so fond it made his teeth ache. "I don't want to rush you, is all."

Altaïr had no way to put it into words, that the tightrope he was fumbling across was in no way Malik's fault. That it was his own fear and chagrin that had him stuck like this, and he was so sick of being stuck. He desperately wanted to wake up one morning, forward in time to where it was all out in the open and whatever chaos that caused had blown over. "You're not," he said, glancing away, but it seemed deeply inadequate. "Besides, where would we even go right now?"

"If you take me to that awful cafe that is allegedly the height of romance, I will break up with you on the spot."

Altaïr laughed. "No, no way. I can still smell the incense in my nightmares."

"Eugh, I had forgotten about that part. Why is everything magicside like this."

"Yeah... it might have to be somewhere over the line," he admitted. Malik had been thoroughly right about it being less terrifying over there, where no one knew his name or his family or what he had done. Where he could just be Malik's boyfriend Altaïr, one person in a sea of strangers. "But I'll get there, by next year. Promise."

Malik smiled at him so softly, brushed his fingers over Altaïr's cheek. If he kept looking at Altaïr like that he was going to break in half. He looked like he was about to say something, was deliberately choosing how to say it best, which with Malik usually only took milliseconds.

Altaïr had a pretty strong suspicion of what it could be, and headed it off at the pass the second Malik opened his mouth. "If you say 'I don't have to' one more time I swear to Merlin I'll-"

Malik's snort of laughter cut him off. "I was going to say I love you, birdbrain."

"Oh." Altaïr could feel the heat flood his cheeks.

"Yeah, oh." Malik pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another. "You going to finish that threat?"

Altaïr, who hadn't really planned the end of that sentence even as it was coming out of his own mouth, shrugged.

"I mean... you don't have to finish it..." Malik said.

At which point Altaïr had no choice but bodily picking him up - ignoring Malik's startled squawk and flailing of limbs - and crossing the room to toss him onto the bed.

"I feel very discouraged, bravo." Malik's tone was undercut by his barely suppressed giddy laughter. "Get over here."

And when he tugged Altaïr down on the bed with him, Altaïr couldn't say he minded in the slightest.

[chirabella]

Just now, I was attempting to write the word “insurance,” and the program tried to autofill “insurrectionist.” My autocorrect is getting into politics, apparently.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune

* * * *

Trump’s Thanksgiving rant was not normal.

As most of the nation was blissfully preparing for Thanksgiving, Donald Trump posted a Thanksgiving “greeting” at 2:00 AM on Thursday that is a sign of a disordered mind filled with hate and rage. We shouldn’t dwell on what Trump says, but this post is important, as explained below. I have removed a racial slur and omitted some rambling passages, but here is the gist:

Happy Thanksgiving to ALL, including the Racist & Incompetent Attorney General of New York State, Letitia James, who has let Murder & Violent Crime FLOURISH, & Businesses FLEE; the Radical Left Trump Hating Judge, a “Psycho,” Arthur Engoron, [and] Crooked Joe Biden, who has WEAPONIZED his Department of Injustice against his Political Opponent, & allowed our Country to go to HELL; & all of the other Radical Left Lunatics, Communists, Fascists, Marxists, Democrats, & RINOS, who are seriously looking to DESTROY OUR COUNTRY.

          Trump was not content to allow our nation to have a moment of peace. Instead, he tried to stir up feelings of resentment and hatred against imaginary enemies on Thanksgiving. Heather Cox Richardson highlighted another dictator who employed similar tactics in her book, Democracy Awakening.

          Reader Jay M. sent me the following passage from HCR’s book with a prefatory note. Jay M. explains that HCR cites a report written after World War II for the OSS (precursor of today’s CIA) that was finally declassified in 1999. Professor Richardson writes:

The U.S. Office of Strategic Services had picked up on Hitler’s manipulation of his followers when it described Hitler’s psychological profile. It said, “His primary rules were: never allow the public to cool off; never admit a fault or wrong; never concede that there may be some good in your enemy; never leave room for alternatives; never accept blame; concentrate on one enemy at a time and blame him for everything that goes wrong; people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it.”

          The similarity between the OSS assessment of Hitler’s psychological warfare tactic of keeping his followers in a constant state of anger and Trump’s rage-filled Thanksgiving “greeting” is stunning.

          Trump’s Thanksgiving greeting deserved front-page treatment. His post is a sign of mental illness and fascist intent—a dangerous combination. But most media outlets did not bother to report on Trump’s post. Instead, on Thanksgiving Day, Frank Bruni penned a very respectful, very supportive op-ed to the Biden family suggesting that they stage a loving intervention with Joe at the Thanksgiving table:

Does he have a plan for the pace of the next 11-plus months? When he’s brutally honest in his self-assessment, does he feel the same vim that he did in the past? If he doesn’t, there’s no shame in that — in fact, there’s honor in the acceptance of it.

          A very soft touch, but the message is unmistakable: Biden is too old to run. Would that Bruni devote his talent to describing the danger bristling in Trump’s Thanksgiving greeting. Or at least give it equal time. Maybe Bruni will get around to it after the Thanksgiving weekend. We can only hope.

Concluding Thoughts.

Ugh. That was a rough newsletter, especially as a re-entry into the news after a long Thanksgiving weekend (for some). I wish it were otherwise, but there were tough topics that needed to be addressed.

          I am going to take this opportunity to make a direct plea to journalists, producers, and editors in the news media who read this newsletter. I know you are out there because I hear from you when you feel that I unfairly bash the news media. I occasionally receive mistaken “reply-to-all” or forwarded emails to your colleagues that inadvertently include me. (Don’t worry; I delete them immediately.) (Hint: Do a Google search for “How to remove a name from autofill in an email address field.”)

          Let me start with an olive branch. There are exceptional journalists doing great work every day. I cite them every day. They can’t please everyone all the time. They deserve our support and thanks—and forbearance for the occasional mistake. So here it is: Thank you to every journalist who is doing a tough job well in a news environment that is the equivalent of a war zone of disinformation.

          Ignore my whining and carping; dismiss me as a crank if you want. But please ask yourselves whether the news reporting and editorial stances at your outlet are rising to this perilous moment in American history. Everyone—including you—knows in their bones that Trump is a unique threat to democracy. He is consciously emulating the worst dictators of the last century. His aides are leaking their plans to undermine democracy. That existential threat must be in every story you write. If you must, report on polls or horse races or political infighting but do so while acknowledging that one candidate seeks to destroy democracy while the other candidate seeks to operate within its confines.

          I believe that Americans will prevail against the threat of MAGA extremism with or without the support of a free press rising to the challenge of this moment. But it would be easier—and victory would be more assured—if major media outlets did not treat Trump as just another candidate after his failed coup and incitement to insurrection.

          Imagine if Hitler had survived WWII and then ran for re-election as Chancellor of Germany from a prison cell. Would any story be written that merely reported on polls discussing the level of voter support for Hitler versus his opponent? Or would every story include discussion of his fascist takeover of Germany, his war on Europe, and his attempt to exterminate the Jewish people? Why does Trump get a free pass in hundreds of articles a day that treat him as the legitimate political opponent of Joe Biden? How can any story be written that asks, “Is Biden too old,” without asking the more urgent question, “Will Trump end democracy in America.”

          I have slipped back into offense when I meant to invite you to reflect on the balance and editorial position of your news organization. Tens of millions of Americans are hoping that you will get it right. You don’t have to defend Democrats or Joe Biden. But defending the Constitution and democracy is not partisan. The future of our democracy is partly in your hands. It should be a part of every story you write.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[bedlamsbard]

285 words written today -- I am still working on (and now rewriting) this stupid knife fight scene, and I just want it over with so I can move on with my life. I did not make word count this month by like...a lot. Granted, I had actual IRL stuff going on that was a pretty serious impact -- I have been so tried for the past couple weeks that not only was I not writing, but I was barely reblogging either because I just did not have the mental energy to like...process all of that. (I do resent that Tumblr getting rid of autofill on personal tags means that now I have to REMEMBER what they are every time, and that eats up a tiny amount of brainpower that could be going anywhere else.)

Made cinnamon rolls today, trying out a new recipe with sourdough discard; it is fine but more persnickety than I was hoping for, and ultimately I think I prefer a yeast dough for cinnamon rolls. I've got a couple of perfectly good ones. But, you know, you try things. (I think I said this same thing the last time I tried a sourdough cinnamon roll recipe.)

[theradicalace]

rambly post about splendid, splendont, and moral codes under the cut

thinking So hard abt these fuck up superheros you don't GET it.

okay, so like, splendid has been shown to be very single minded and tunnel visiony, to the detriment of other people, right? like, exploding handy's plane, setting petunia and giggles on fire, vaporising cub, and boiling a whole lake just to catch two thieves. he has ALSO been shown to disregard the well being of others to get what he wants. turning back time and letting a bunch of people die to save his bread, half assing a bunch of rescues to try and do his laundry, half assing a DIFFERENT bunch of rescues to read a romance novel, getting a bunch of people killed trying to track down mole and his camera, etc. AND he's been shown to react disproportionately to small slights. blowing up mole's car for honking at him.

all this paints a very interesting and.. frankly unflattering view of his morals. the kindest possible way to read it is just him being incompetent. the way i interpret him as a character goes heavy into headcanon territory and is only loosely based in canon.

to me, splendid has a very shallow and somewhat warped view of "good" and "evil". he's got a strong obsession with being "the good guy" and "the hero", but he doesn't really understand what that means, and he's mostly just repeating talking points without really thinking about them. thieves are criminals, criminals are bad, etc etc etc.

he falls into the trap of thinking he's a good person, and so everything he does is correct and justified. he would not be afraid to let someone he views as "evil" or "a criminal" come to serious harm or even death, for "the greater good" even if their crimes were just like, robberies or being a public nuisance. (do you see which characters i'm mentally autofilling here. there's a fic i want to write about this but that's a project for another day.) i do think he generally has good intentions, though! he's just got a lot of cognitive distortions going on up there that he should probably unpack with a therapist sometime.

now let's delve even further into headcanon territory, and talk about splendont, who's characterization i have entirely made up!

splendont, i think, frequently falls into the trap of getting too caught up in his rivalry with splendid. however, i think, if and when he's given a chance to work entirely independently, he would develop a more complex moral code.

i think he wouldn't put much focus, if any, on stopping crime specifically for the sake of stopping crime. not important to him. i think the core of his beliefs would be "i don't waste my time catching petty criminals when there's lives on the line". he's definitely not afraid to get his hands dirty and resort to violence, and he doesn't always consider the full ramifications of his actions, but he definitely tries to keep civilians out of harms way, and has a more public safety oriented mindset than splendid does. to him, being seen as "the hero" is not important, and if asked, he won't actually ever call himself a superhero, or anything of that nature. superpowered, sure, but he doesn't care for titles. i also think he's a very "ends justify the means" type of person, and can often be seen spouting off about "i did what i had to do." and all that good cliche stuff. could maybe be classed as an anti-hero? rough around the edges for sure

in conclusion: i want to study them both in a lab and my head is full of argumentative dialogue for them that i may never write

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Makin' HTML

So for the Site Generator app we're supposed to make for Boot.dev, the one place where I diverged heavily from their solution was that I'm using Enums for tags where they're using strings.

I totally get where their method saves time on the programming end, since mine requires my Enum list includes all the HTML tags my target user might use. Mine also has kind of clunky writing for clarity - Where their tag is "p" mine is NodeTag.PARAGRAPH, which is more writing, albeit not much more because in a development environment I press n and it autofills NodeTag and then I hit .pa and it autofills PARAGRAPH. So I'm actually pressing 6 buttons instead of 3 (n-tab-.-p-a-tab) which isn't bad.

Mine meanwhile refuses to process illegal tags. If something tries to go <banana>text</banana> it'll reject that. Besides that, my understanding is we'll be taking a list of expected tags and making methods that convert the stuff the user does into tagged nodes, which means, again, that we're working off of a list anyway. It also means that while it takes a few more keystrokes to code it's not that the user will be typing in the tags, meaning having them be longer isn't any kind of usability issue.

Anyway the core structure of the latest bit is that we're recursively making tagged nodes, some of which might have children and others not, into properly HTMLified strings.

child = LeafNode(NodeTag.ITALIC, "Emphasized text") child2 = LeafNode(NodeTag.BOLD, " or even more emphasized.") parent = ParentNode(NodeTag.PARAGRAPH, [child, child2])

This should spit out

<p><i>Emphasized text</i><b> or even more emphasized.</b></p>

The recursion I'm using here is pretty simple: There's a segment in my .toHTML() method for a parent node that does this:

for child in children: if child.children: output += child.toHTML()

This is what makes it finish all the interior stuff before it moves on to putting in the closing section.

The phrase "if child.children" is shorthand for "if child.children != None," aka "if this object has a 'children' parameter with some data in it." ParentNodes, by definition, have children, while LeafNodes by definition do not. The reason we call 'em leaf nodes and not just child nodes is that there's nothing stopping a child node from having a child node of its own.

Once we get down to the LeafNode area, the .toHTML() method changes in purpose (because it's using LeafNode's .toHTML() instead of ParentNode's) to actually spitting out data, which essentially means the structure of the nodes itself is giving the recursion its base case, which is pretty slick!

[bytemee]

ANYTHING BUT girl wait you’ve been gone too long I forgot the names this is so embarassing uhm uhm uhm

ANYTHING BUT dude I can’t get where do you sleep out of my head, my brain keeps autofilling it with where do you sleep

ANYTHING BUT LOVE IS EMBARRASSING AND RENDEZVOUS 😭😭

these sound amazing though!!! stunner, i thought you wanted to dance, things i wish you said, diamond girl, and a dream with a WAIT LOSER RINA IN THIS ECONOMY????? 2 months in the making 😭😭💔💔 but anyways those were the ones the peaked my interest, but I’m sure they’re all amazing cause you’re literally the next shakespeare

also exclusively smut writers are on a different level, I don’t understand how they can write that much.

I just got home from work, I am going to BED

IT WAS ONLY A WEEK.

i reread wdys and omg… that’s my baby.

STOP I CANT TEASE THOSE THEY HAVE TO COME OUT ON THEIR OWN ESPECIALLY LOVE IS EMBARRASSING

thank u 😛😛 (if i was gonna have a comeback it was going to be w loser rina)

IM SAYING. i tried to drag out diamond girl but i just couldn’t..

GOODNIGHT don’t let the bed bugs bite ha

[daily-magolor]

cat

[foxgloveinspace]

Ed doesn't get sick very often, so when Roy comes down with the flu, Ed doesn't even think about worrying about getting sick, he just worries about how freaking sick Roy gets. Like, its probably the first time hes seen Roy sick, and he doesn't like, he can't fix this, what's he going to do! He kinda keeps his cool about it, making sure Roy drinks lots and rests and he only freaks out on the phone to Al once while hes asleep. And when Roy is feeling better and tells him how glad he is Ed is here to take care of him, Ed feels like it's all worth it.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Trump's Thanksgiving rant was not normal.

          As most of the nation was blissfully preparing for Thanksgiving, Donald Trump posted a Thanksgiving “greeting” at 2:00 AM on Thursday that is a sign of a disordered mind filled with hate and rage. We shouldn’t dwell on what Trump says, but this post is important, as explained below. I have removed a racial slur and omitted some rambling passages, but here is the gist:

Happy Thanksgiving to ALL, including the Racist & Incompetent Attorney General of New York State, Letitia James, who has let Murder & Violent Crime FLOURISH, & Businesses FLEE; the Radical Left Trump Hating Judge, a “Psycho,” Arthur Engoron, [and] Crooked Joe Biden, who has WEAPONIZED his Department of Injustice against his Political Opponent, & allowed our Country to go to HELL; & all of the other Radical Left Lunatics, Communists, Fascists, Marxists, Democrats, & RINOS, who are seriously looking to DESTROY OUR COUNTRY.

          Trump was not content to allow our nation to have a moment of peace. Instead, he tried to stir up feelings of resentment and hatred against imaginary enemies on Thanksgiving. Heather Cox Richardson highlighted another dictator who employed similar tactics in her book, Democracy Awakening.

          Reader Jay M. sent me the following passage from HCR’s book with a prefatory note. Jay M. explains that HCR cites a report written after World War II for the OSS (precursor of today's CIA) that was finally declassified in 1999. Professor Richardson writes:

The U.S. Office of Strategic Services had picked up on Hitler’s manipulation of his followers when it described Hitler’s psychological profile. It said, “His primary rules were: never allow the public to cool off; never admit a fault or wrong; never concede that there may be some good in your enemy; never leave room for alternatives; never accept blame; concentrate on one enemy at a time and blame him for everything that goes wrong; people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it.”

          The similarity between the OSS assessment of Hitler’s psychological warfare tactic of keeping his followers in a constant state of anger and Trump's rage-filled Thanksgiving “greeting” is stunning.

          Trump's Thanksgiving greeting deserved front-page treatment. His post is a sign of mental illness and fascist intent—a dangerous combination. But most media outlets did not bother to report on Trump's post. Instead, on Thanksgiving Day, Frank Bruni penned a very respectful, very supportive op-ed to the Biden family suggesting that they stage a loving intervention with Joe at the Thanksgiving table:

Does he have a plan for the pace of the next 11-plus months? When he’s brutally honest in his self-assessment, does he feel the same vim that he did in the past? If he doesn’t, there’s no shame in that — in fact, there’s honor in the acceptance of it.

          A very soft touch, but the message is unmistakable: Biden is too old to run. Would that Bruni devote his talent to describing the danger bristling in Trump's Thanksgiving greeting. Or at least give it equal time. Maybe Bruni will get around to it after the Thanksgiving weekend. We can only hope.

Concluding Thoughts.

          Ugh. That was a rough newsletter, especially as a re-entry into the news after a long Thanksgiving weekend (for some). I wish it were otherwise, but there were tough topics that needed to be addressed.

          I am going to take this opportunity to make a direct plea to journalists, producers, and editors in the news media who read this newsletter. I know you are out there because I hear from you when you feel that I unfairly bash the news media. I occasionally receive mistaken “reply-to-all” or forwarded emails to your colleagues that inadvertently include me. (Don’t worry; I delete them immediately.) (Hint: Do a Google search for “How to remove a name from autofill in an email address field.”)

          Let me start with an olive branch. There are exceptional journalists doing great work every day. I cite them every day. They can’t please everyone all the time. They deserve our support and thanks—and forbearance for the occasional mistake. So here it is: Thank you to every journalist who is doing a tough job well in a news environment that is the equivalent of a war zone of disinformation.

          Ignore my whining and carping; dismiss me as a crank if you want. But please ask yourselves whether the news reporting and editorial stances at your outlet are rising to this perilous moment in American history. Everyone—including you—knows in their bones that Trump is a unique threat to democracy. He is consciously emulating the worst dictators of the last century. His aides are leaking their plans to undermine democracy. That existential threat must be in every story you write. If you must, report on polls or horse races or political infighting but do so while acknowledging that one candidate seeks to destroy democracy while the other candidate seeks to operate within its confines.

          I believe that Americans will prevail against the threat of MAGA extremism with or without the support of a free press rising to the challenge of this moment. But it would be easier—and victory would be more assured—if major media outlets did not treat Trump as just another candidate after his failed coup and incitement to insurrection.

          Imagine if Hitler had survived WWII and then ran for re-election as Chancellor of Germany from a prison cell. Would any story be written that merely reported on polls discussing the level of voter support for Hitler versus his opponent? Or would every story include discussion of his fascist takeover of Germany, his war on Europe, and his attempt to exterminate the Jewish people? Why does Trump get a free pass in hundreds of articles a day that treat him as the legitimate political opponent of Joe Biden? How can any story be written that asks, “Is Biden too old,” without asking the more urgent question, “Will Trump end democracy in America.”

          I have slipped back into offense when I meant to invite you to reflect on the balance and editorial position of your news organization. Tens of millions of Americans are hoping that you will get it right. You don’t have to defend Democrats or Joe Biden. But defending the Constitution and democracy is not partisan. The future of our democracy is partly in your hands. It should be a part of every story you write.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[doctorbunny]

The mission to track down (most of) the locations in Ai Nan Desu Yo!

Firstly, I want to thank @archivalofsins /Gunsli-01, this whole thing started because of us DMing, wondering if we could use the background images in Mahiru's first MV to guess which university she went to, that started this whole adventure. By the end of this saga, the process truly was a collaboration too and i would've given up much sooner (sorry for taking so long to write this up!)

It started here. The caption says Mahiru is sat on the 大学のテラス (University terrace). So we figured this was the best shot to find her uni. Gunsli tried reverse image search but it just kept throwing milgram back at us. So I got an idea:

The magic of photo editing! it worked too and I got this back:

That's right! This isn't a university but a pizza place! Specifically one called 800 ディグリーズ ナポリタン ピッツェリア (800 degrees Neapolitan pizzeria) It is right next to two universities however:

Of these two, I speculate Aoyama Gakuin University is more likely to be Mahiru's as they have a large humanities department and an option to take Chinese language classes (interestingly, it is also a Very Christian university and we know from question 19 of Mahiru's trial 1 interrogation, she believes people go to Heaven when they die. There is also a lot of focus on international students and the campus nearest the pizza resturant has a 'statue of Love' in the Majima Archives building)

Inspired by this fruitful discovery I decided to try my method on other photos:

I jumped all the way over to day 13 because I felt like the sign would aid in my search. Before I bothered with any photo editing I just did some google searches "Tokyo Marun-" I got the autofill result 'Tokyo Marunouchi hotel' after investigating it wasn't the right place but we had a location name "Marunouchi" Trying again I typed "Tokyo Marunouchi Street" Autofill gave me "Marunouchi Street Park": Bingo!

This must be some kind of iconic sign because there were a ton of results for it. The bad news is that the sign was portable and only placed out for special events. So I introduce the next weapon in my arsenal: Google Streetview With a street to work with I walked up and down Morunouchi Naka-doori avenue until I got to a building with similar square pillars to the one behind Mahiru

This place is the MyPlaza, it's got a couple different shops, but importantly there is a function room you can rent out for events just like the wedding reception Mahiru attended here. This one turns out to be further away than some of the other discoveries but it makes sense because Mahiru is travelling to an event, not on a date.

Back to photo editing! This is one of two shrines I'll identify, they become important as they get special icons on google maps, becoming landmarks to search around later.

This is the Meiji Jingu Shrine

I was on a roll so quickly moved to day 14, however, my editing trick wouldn't work here so it would only be later that I uncovered the location of the park

Searching for day 11 was much more fruitful

I was really excited to track this one as Mahiru mentions it being the filming location for her favourite movie. So I thought if we could discover that, then we may unlock more clues about her as a person

I got about this far before realising I could try a different tactic. If this was a well known spot, surely in my broken Japanese I could google it right? So with a little help of my dictionary I spat out "Tokyo red hand railing movie". Somehow this barely worked

The movie? Your Name

At this point I was rolling on the floor laughing because I had been expecting some Japanese cult classic romance movie or a domestically popular but internationally obscure rom com meanwhile Your Name was a massive box office smash hit in many places. One of the few anime movies that even non-anime fans will be aware of.

Despite this, I hadn't actually seen it myself and wasn't really in the mood to watch it (I had more locations to track down, dammit) but fortunately Gunsli came in clutch, having previously seen the movie and also in the mood to rewatch it for clues about Mahiru.

These stairs are actually at a place called Suga Shrine, making this our second landmark. (Fun fact: if you look it up you'll find pictures of movie fans recreating photos of the place)

We were starting to build up an idea of Where Mahiru's world was, the border between Shibuya and Shinjuku ward. There were several parks in the area, so I figured I'd set out to find the day 14 park location by searching through each one. I was worried this would take a while but when I started with the biggest park, Yoyogi, I basically hit jackpot right away. Immediately upon seaching it, google recommended me results for images of the park at night. It turns out that Yoyogi had a large area used for concerts (that also may have been used for movie nights). By chance, I found this image from the park at night

which looks awfully similar to the lamp/benches seen in the background of day 14... According to Gunsli, the nearby yoyogi station is featured in an important scene in Your Name, so that's another thing pointing towards them being in this park. It's not solid evidence but we'll come back to this later.

At this point I'm both hyped up and bored, so to amuse myself and just to see if I can, I decide to search for the place Mahiru's boyfriend is working at in day 8

At first I had written it off as pointless to even try searching, but Gunsli noticed that in the top left corner you can see a hint of the store's sign. It is the same colours as a Seven Eleven (a chain that exists both in the US and Japan) This greatly narrowed down my search, as it ruled out the many Family Marts and Lawsons in the area (I cannot stress how many convenience stores there are in Tokyo) Unfortunately, there were still many 7/11s to search through and thus leads to the several hours I spent on google maps, individually going to each 7/11 in Shibuya and trying to look for those bike racks, floor tiles and old security camera. It was demoralising. But when hope was nearly lost and I almost gave up (there was a heat wave outside so my brain was melting during this). Gunsli reminded me of something very important. On day 8 we get two images, the above of Mahiru waiting outside the 7/11, and one of her sat on a park bench. If we were right about the day 14 park being Yoyogi, then surely our 7/11 would be in walking distance? The search began again. The third 7/11 I found near the park was it.

In one fell swoop I had confirmed both day 8 and 14. In celebration I made a tumblr post

Now, at this point I'm running out of images to search for because a lot of the locations in Ainan are indoors, meaning they could be taken from a studio or even one of the milgram crew's homes (which isn't actually uncommon) and thus, not a relavent location. I did half heartedly attempt to look for the day 9 bar, but as you can imagine, without any external landmarks it was even more of a goose chase than the 7/11...

The last location I decided to look for was all the way back in day 5

This edit was pretty tough to make so i was very annoyed when it didn't work. By this time it was late at night, but Gunsli had a hunch that this would be a well known running route, so started looking for those. By the time I'd woken up, she got it down to a route called the Imperial Palace Running Route, which is very popular (especially with tourists, it is recommended to give it a go if you're in the area)

I found it on streetview by following road signs seen in a video of someone running the route Gunsli found (the part in Mahiru's video appears at about 1:35)

It's an area called Takebashi and here is a screenshot both of what we saw in ainan, as well as what Mahiru would've seen in the direction she ran (the route loops back on itself)

Ok I'm tired it's 1 am, finally here's a really rough map of everywhere in relation to each other

An interesting thread throughout is that many of these places are sort of tourist-y, suggesting Mahiru's boyfriend may not be from Tokyo either. The university (assuming I'm guessing the right place) taking in lots of international students and Mahiru's boyfriend working at a 7/11 (which Japanese people can do but is also Stereotypically the part time job of choice for people from outside Japan while studying) could perhaps even hint to him not being Japanese, but it's all speculation right now

I hope you enjoyed this long rambly mess, I'm so sorry it took me so long to write it all up....