#general forensic science

[forensicfield]

General Forensic Science: A Comprehensive Book

Welcome to 'General Forensic Science: A Comprehensive Book,' meticulously curated to be your ultimate exam preparation companion. Crafted with precision by seasoned practitioner advocate and forensic book writer Archana Singh, this guide is tailored to cover the essentials of basic forensic science. Designed with the exam-taker in mind, this book encompasses a diverse range of content, offering a comprehensive overview of various forensic disciplines. From fundamental principles to advanced techniques, each chapter is meticulously structured to aid in your exam preparation journey. Whether you're a student venturing into the world of forensic science or a seasoned professional seeking to brush up on the basics, this book is your definitive resource for mastering the essentials of forensic science. Additionally, rest assured that this book has been meticulously prepared according to the syllabus of FACT & FACT Plus Section A, ensuring alignment with your exam preparation needs.

Continue reading General Forensic Science: A Comprehensive Book

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing References: World-Building

20 Questions ⚜ 100 Words for World-building

Basics: World-building ⚜ Places ⚜ Imagery ⚜ Setting

Exploring your Setting ⚜ Habitats ⚜ Kinds of Fantasy Worlds

Fantasy World-building ⚜ World-building Vocabulary

Worksheets: Magic & Rituals ⚜ Geography; World History; City; Fictional Plant ⚜ A General Template

Editing

Setting & Pacing Issues ⚜ Editing Your Own Novel

Writing Notes

Animal Culture ⚜ Autopsy ⚜ Alchemy ⚜ Ancient Wonders

Art: Elements ⚜ Principles ⚜ Photographs ⚜ Watercolour

Creating: Fictional Items ⚜ Fictional Poisons ⚜ Magic Systems

Cruise Ships ⚜ Dystopian World ⚜ Parts of a Castle

Culture ⚜ Culture Shock ⚜ Ethnocentrism & Cultural Relativism

Food: How to Describe ⚜ Lists ⚜ Cooking Basics ⚜ Herbs & Spices ⚜ Sauces ⚜ Wine-tasting ⚜ Aphrodisiacs ⚜ List of Aphrodisiacs ⚜ Food History ⚜ Cocktails ⚜ Literary Cocktails ⚜ Liqueurs ⚜ Uncommon Fruits & Vegetables

Greek Vases ⚜ Sapphire ⚜ Relics ⚜ Types of Castles

Hate ⚜ Love ⚜ Kinds of Love ⚜ The Physiology of Love

Mystical Objects ⚜ Talisman ⚜ Uncommon Magic Systems

Moon: Part 1 2 ⚜ Seasons: Autumn ⚜ Spring ⚜ Summer

Shapes of Symbols ⚜ Symbolism ⚜ Slang: 1930s

Symbolism: Of Colors Part 1 2 ⚜ Of Food ⚜ Of Storms

Topics List ⚜ Write Room Syndrome

Vocabulary

Agrostology ⚜ Allergy ⚜ Architecture ⚜ Baking ⚜ Biochemistry

Ecology ⚜ Esoteric ⚜ Gemology ⚜ Geology ⚜ Weather ⚜ Art

Editorial ⚜ Fashion ⚜ Latin Forensic ⚜ Law ⚜ Medieval

Psychology ⚜ Phylogenetics ⚜ Science ⚜ Zoology

More References: Plot ⚜ Character Development ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[ethan-elliott]

you are absolutely correct on the bands, sadly my memory does not keep up with my knowledge so I may know things but if you ask me I will forget everything I’ve ever learned 😔 but absolutely I am a knowledge and merch collector limited only by time and money, certain bands strike something deep in my soul I can’t describe and I am absolutely always trying to give people recommendations so I can spread the hive mind that exists in my own brain-

I love that you mentioned p!atd and fob specifically because I was a major emo trinity kid and now I’ve got really into tøp I’ve got the whole quartet going on XD

I can be casual about bands (I think I listen to like 1000 different artists so I have to be) but I low-key can’t fathom not having at least one artist to be insane about :p

see I feel it would have to be a very specific pub quiz because my general and pop culture knowledge is abysmal. like, I could easily quote every Sam and Lucifer scene from S7 of Supernatural or the entire scene where Alex confronts Henry in RWRB, I could talk for three hours on the circumstances of Black Veil Brides’ Vale era or how I think the amyloid clearance hypothesis of Alzheimer’s is a waste of time, and I could tell you a brief history of the lobotomy, but sadly that is where my niches come to an end 😔 perhaps we need more insane pub quizzes who knows

yes, i am doing this again.

mutuals + other people, rb this with a hyper-specific “headcanon” of the person who tagged you

idk who to do so i’ll just tag some people to get it started

@arijaiscool, @glitch-studios, @microraptorhours, @sykatz, @4rielle, @frankiefridayyy

all tags are no pressure ofc

[sciencesolutions]

[mindboogling]

can we get some solace siblings headcanons??

Sure! :]

Rio Solace

Like her name implies, she's usually the chill one - like a calm river.

After Sebastian's trial, she pursued forensic science in her career field.

She was a major theatre fan in high school and even as an adult. When you hand her the AUX chord, she plays show tunes. Notable favorite musicals: Six, Wicked, Fun Home, Moulin Rouge, Prom, and In The Heights. But there's a multitude of more. (Sebastian missed all of the 4 Horses of the Apocalypse: Hamilton, Heathers, Dear Evan Hansen, and Be More Chill while he was gone and that is crazy to her.)

She's married to her wife, who is also a lawyer! (Possibly had helped the Solace family gain a larger settlement for Sebastian's innocence post-death sentence?)

Speaking of her wife, Sebastian was gone when gay marriage was legalized, but since his sister came out to him way early on, he's more surprised that gay marriage is legal than his sister being gay herself.

She doesn't live with her mom anymore, but when Sebastian was brought up, she knew she had to be there for her family.

She knows the most Spanish among her siblings since she had to help their mom translate. She and her siblings are the second generation of a Chilean-American immigrant family.

Gabriel Solace

He appears much more normal next to his siblings, but if you look in his room, his special interests are A LOT more apparent.

As a kid, he always liked to build things - He enjoys taking things apart and putting them back together. That being said, he loves Legos, Beyblades, Transformers, Gundam, model planes, etc.

He is the casual anime fan of the house. He likes mecha, but he can appreciate a good show he can put on in the background while he assembles what he's building.

His music taste is much more diverse than his siblings, but his taste includes more Alternative/Indie and Electronic Dance Music. Notable artists: Mitski, The Living Tombstone, Chappell Roan.

He does introduce his music, shows, and movies to Sebastian.

When his name is shortened, it's "Gabri" (pronounced "GAHB-RI") over "Gabe".

Thanks to the settlement they acquired from Sebastian's revised trial, he goes to engineering school! His side project is making a body for p.AI.nter.

[a-very-tired-jew]

The forensic analysis for the Bibas children has been completed and according to news outlets Yarden himself wants people to know how they died.

Now, if you're not someone who can handle this type of stuff I strongly suggest you do not read further. Edit: The Bibas family has asked that the details of Shiri and the boys' deaths not be discussed. They want the world to know they have been murdered, but not in extreme detail. While Hagari has stated that Yarden told him to tell the world, it is likely that Yarden and the rest of the family did not understand what that entailed. I've run into this problem when having to do press releases myself where we go into what we believe is a proper amount of detail regarding a victim(s)'s murder, what was done, and what the public should know. This is not always in line with the family's intent and that can change after the information is already out there.

For their sake I am reducing the amount of detail in this post and removing the article. However, the information is already out there and if you so desire you can find articles about it on many news sites.

They were killed and then mutilated post mortem in an attempt to cover up what had been done. The mutilation was done to simulate a building collapse to try and falsify that they'd be killed in an airstrike.

This is what forensic science does. It can determine peri and post mortem injuries and provide us a timeline of what likely occurred due to the evidence, rather than listening to the terrorists who have lied repeatedly.

Post mortem mutilation typically falls into three general categories; One is done to obfuscate forensics and hide what was done to the victim(s). Another is done in crime of passion scenarios where the perpetrator is not completely unaware of what they are doing and simply go above and beyond the act of killing. And the third is done to cause psychological distress to the victim(s), victim families, and community.

Regardless, it is one of the few things that will get you the death penalty here in the USA and I have been part of a number of cases where the accused will vehemently deny the mutilation and openly confess to the killing because it is such a heinous thing to do. Forensic pathology can determine what wounds were caused peri and post mortem, and determine how much time likely passed in the interim.

This means that even if the crime itself was one of passion there can be a cool down period before post mortem mutilation occurs. Meaning that regardless of emotional highs during the initial crime, the secondary act was done with one of the other two intentions. For all we know it could likely be that it was done to obfuscate and cause psychological distress.

Consider that Hamas has previously stated that the Bibas children were killed in Israeli airstrikes, I don't think either intention is out of the picture. Furthermore, there are a number of "anti-Zionist" accounts on here that range from neo-Bundists, to tankies, to Jew fakers who repeated the Hamas lie that Israel killed the children during an airstrike. They are going to goalpost, and actually are right now as I am typing this, that Israel is now lying about the forensic science.

Repeatedly these accounts and persons have had to goalpost and mental gymnastic their positions in order to maintain that Israel and (((Zionists))) are the worst thing ever and Hamas and its affiliates are just innocent freedom fighters.

This is conspiracy thinking. We saw this with Sandy Hook Truthers and, I guess, you can label these accounts/persons as Bibas Family Truthers. Another person on jumblr said we were going to see this behavior and it hasn't even been 24 hours before the usual suspects started.

And I give credit where credit is due to Israel because they knew this type of conspiracy thinking would come out about their forensics, so they've shared their results and evidence with international labs. While it may be some time before it gets further verified, we will likely see these same accounts move the goalpost again to try and blame Israel for the death of the Bibas children, take the onus of responsibility off of Hamas and affiliates, and accuse Zionists of being Nazis once again. And remember, if you're doing any one of these things (or a combination of them) then you're not a good person.

You're an antisemitic bigot (even if you're one of us, and especially if you're pretending to be).

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a pile : Somethings that matches your vibe or the vibes people get from you

masterlist\pick a piles feedbacks

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3 pile 4

If you like my work you can tip me on kofi or you can book paid readings as it'll help me a lot aand! Don't forget to check out free readings offers ✨

exchanges and collabs : open

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 🩷 . Thank you for stopping by choose the pile\s which attracts you most 🫶🏻 also lemme know which pile you chose . I'd love to interact with all of you :)

Disclaimer: this is a general reading and it may or may not resonate. Take what resonates and leave the rest as nothing is set on stone until you believe so <33

this is a intuitive reading

pile एक :

lemon, lily, carrot cake , air , lavender, chocolate, pink , white , fruit salad , jupiter, green ,husky , black berry , breakfast , blueberry, leo, waffle, almond milk, perfume , fettuccine , korean food , shawarma, choclate and pistachios covered strawberries, bangladeshi food.

get your personalized reading

pile दो :

caramel, coloured chalks , tea, cotton candy, star burst candy , fried rice , sage green , pink aura , rain , sour and sweet candy , fox beauty, salty food , strawberry, cinnamon roll, earphones , sun, Wattpad, america , marshmallow gahram crackers, chai , Macaroni

get your personalized reading

pile तीन :

blueberry, coral reef , oranges , steel bluel , pink hour, june , penne pasta, yellow aura , jane , Jeanette, brown cat , tulip , angel food cake , watermelon, smoothie bowl , chocolate milk, le sserafim , plant shop , the therapist , science.

get your personalized reading

pile चार :

k-pop, chill kill nails , tomford lost cherry, forensic scientist, international relations, city girl , nerd, english, august , jasmine from Aladdin , fashion designing, mess, gemini, forbidden love , july, cooking , introvert, ambivert, harry potter .

get your personalized reading

Thank you so much for reading and letting me read for you loves. Bless you all . I hope you have an amazing day\night ahead 💗

loads of love ! ,jam

[astrobiscuits]

Astrocartography notes

🌍 Do you want to study abroad? Work abroad? Your MC lines show what domain to pursue:

Sun MC: photographer, actor; check the planet ruling your Sun's zodiac sign for more details

Moon MC: nurse, preschool/elementary teacher, childcare worker/nanny, doula, housekeeper

Mercury MC: librarian, language teacher, speech language pathologist, translator, working in academia, journalist, PR agent, receptionist, secretary, architect, economist, comedian

Venus MC: modelling, artist, fashion designer, hairstylist, makeup artist, art director, interior designer, garden designer, florist, wedding planner

Mars MC: surgeon, firefighter, working at the police, sportsman (the type of sport depends on the zodiac sign Mars is in your birth chart, for ex. Mars in Pisces = football, swimming; Mars in Libra = gymnastics); fitness instructor

Jupiter MC: international driver (driving to your Jupiter MC line brings bonusess💰💰), flight attendant, hotel manager, tour guide, philosopher

Saturn MC: general practitioner, dentist, law, working in the Parliament, working in public institutions, business (CEO), historian, construction worker

Uranus MC: STEM (engineering, ecology sciences, biology), electrician, weather presenter, astronomer/astrophysicist, astrologer, sociology, social worker, advocate for human rights/activist

Neptune MC: choreographer, scenographer, film/theater director, actor, ballet dancer, music composer, rehabilitation worker, bartender, yoga instructor, meditation teacher, reiki practitioner

Pluto MC: adult actor, therapist, psychiatrist, any job regarding forensics (detective, toxicologist, forensic accountant etc.), embalmer, funeral director, loan officer, research analyst

🌍 If you have no astrocartography lines passing through the country you lived for most of your life, you probably don't feel at home in that country and have always wanted to relocate to another country

🌍 When you have atleast 2 lines "conjuncting" each other through a certain country, the planet that is more dominant in your birth chart will have a higher effect in astrocartography

🌍 Mercury IC line can show where one of your siblings or cousins relocate at some point during their life

🌍 If you're a girl and you have daddy issues (hey, we don't judge here!!), travelling to Saturn DSC line will likely bring you lots of opportunities of meeting your perfect partner, but also harsh lessons regarding control in a relationship (this is a good line for you to heal your daddy issues)

🌍 If you want to meet your future spouse and you (personally) find international guys attractive, travelling to Jupiter DSC line is a very good idea. Your future spouse might also be a foreigner in that country, just like you :)

🌍 Sun ASC line shows you where you can find your life's purpose. Also your depression:📉📉 0%, while your happiness:📈📈 100% (unless your Sun is in your 8th or 12th house, then the mental health effect is the complete opposite)

🌍 You could give birth on your Moon IC line😳 or your mom could have given birth to you on that line

🌍 Venus ASC line shows you where you could take lots of pictures (of yourself, of the sightseeings). Also, where you could get diabetes where you will want to try every type of sweets you find there

🌍 You will either get very drunk, consume drugs or smoke some weird shit on your Neptune ASC line (pls take care of your health)

🌍 You could randomly meet an ex or someone who resembles your ex while travelling to your Chiron DSC line

[gf2bellamy]

part five: opportunity synchronicity

— ★ opportunity knocked softly this time, dressed in shared music, fortune cookies, and a bookstore on a rainy afternoon—and for once, spencer didn’t hesitate to answer.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing!

masterlist - part one ✦ part two ✦ part three ✦ part four

Spencer's mind had been spinning for months—a whirlwind of unsaid words and aborted confessions, each one dying on his tongue before it could take flight.

He was staring at the polaroid on his desk—the one from Garcia's apartment, now framed and positioned just so—when Hotch's voice cut through his daydreaming.

"Reid. My office."

The conference invitation should have been routine. But then Hotch mentioned Delaware, which was three hours away.

"You’ve been asked to speak at a conference," Hotch said, sliding a folder across his desk.

Spencer’s interest piqued. "Really? Where? What about?"

"Delaware. Forensic advancements in cold case resolution."

"Three hours," Spencer murmured automatically, his mind already cataloging potential references, studies, case studies—

"Who else is invited?" The last conference he’d attended had been with Emily, her dry commentary balancing his tendency to ramble.

Hotch steepled his fingers. "Just you."

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up. "No one?" 

He didn’t mind presenting alone—he could talk for hours about his work—but the idea of driving three hours in silence, of spending the night in some generic hotel without the familiar buffer of a teammate…

"You can invite someone." Hotch's tone was carefully neutral, but the implication hung between them like a held breath.

It was as close to interference as Aaron Hotchner would ever allow himself. But even he—a man who treated office gossip like a biohazard—had limits. And watching the two of you orbit each other for so long, caught in some agonizing gravitational pull, had apparently reached them.

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it. The decision was already made. Had been made, really, the moment the words left Hotch's lips.

There was only ever one choice. Only one person he wanted beside him.

Only ever you.

The invitation had tumbled out before he could overthink it—and of course you'd said yes. Of course you'd grinned that sunrise-bright grin and declared, "God, yes, I need a break from work."

Now, an hour into the drive, your fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against your thigh as the countryside blurred past your window.

"Is it my turn yet?"

Spencer didn't need to check the dashboard clock. He knew exactly how long it had been since you'd last controlled the radio—twenty-seven minutes. The rules of your road trip playlist rotation had been established with near-constitutional precision after your third bickering match outside Baltimore.

Technically, he still had three minutes left with his science podcast.

He took one look at your pout—the one that always made your nose scrunch adorably—and surrendered. "Sure. It's your time."

Your triumphant sound filled the car as you lunged for the dial, scrolling through stations. When the opening chords of that song spilled from the speakers, your entire body lit up.

"My favorite song!" you crowed, already humming along.

The opening chords punched through the speakers, and Spencer's grip on the wheel turned white-knuckled.

Your song.

The one that had played the morning of the grocery run. The anthem of his awakening, the soundtrack to every synchronicity that had led him here—to you, to this car, to this moment.

The drive could have lasted days and Spencer wouldn't have minded—not with you in the passenger seat, humming along to the radio and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn't looking.

Two hours later, Delaware welcomed you with a barely lit hotel lobby and an elderly receptionist who peered over her glasses with knowing eyes.

"One room or two?"

Spencer's throat went dry. His fingers twitched at his sides as he turned to you—only to find you already answering, your voice steady despite the way your thumb worried at the ring he'd given you.

"One."

You didn't look at him. Didn't explain. Just gave him a look with a nonchalance that would've been convincing if not for the way your ring almost slid off your finger.

The receptionist's smile deepened as she took in Spencer's flushed ears, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Here are your keys," she said, handing them over with a wink you pretended not to see.

The elevator ride up was silent. Tense. Electric.

You broke it the moment the door clicked shut behind you, flopping onto the nearest bed with a dramatic sigh. "Finally," you groaned into the duvet, kicking off your shoes as Spencer hovered near the desk, suddenly hyper aware of every inch of space between you.

He busied himself with the room service menu, if only to stop imagining how your hair looked fanned out against the pillows. "What do you want to eat?"

What followed was a familiar routine—Chinese takeout containers spread between you, the scent of sesame oil and sweet-and-sour sauce thick in the air as Spencer outlined his conference talk. You listened with that focus of yours, the one that made him feel like the only person in the world, interjecting with questions that proved you'd been paying attention.

And if your feet occasionally brushed his under the table, if his hand lingered when passing you the soy sauce—well.

The room might've had two beds, but the distance between you had never felt smaller.

"Catch."

The fortune cookie arced through the air, landing neatly in Spencer's palm. You were already cracking yours open, the snap of plastic wrapper loud in the quiet hotel room.

Spencer watched as you unfolded the tiny slip of paper, your lips moving soundlessly as you read:

"Your patience will soon be rewarded."

A beat. Then two. 

Your fingers stilled around the paper, knuckles whitening just slightly. The silence stretched long enough that Spencer's chest tightened—until you finally looked up, offering a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Maybe I'll get the raise I asked for," you joked. Your voice was slightly shaky and so was your smile. 

Spencer knew deflection when he heard it.

"What does yours say?" You nudged his foot, the contact sending a jolt up his spine.

With careful fingers, he pried his cookie apart. The paper inside was crisp against his skin as he smoothed it out:

"What you seek is seeking you — watch for the signs."

The air left his lungs in a rush. When he dared to meet your gaze, he found you already staring—both of you wearing identical, awkward smiles.

"Sounds like a threat," you giggled, the sound slightly strained.

A threat from the universe, Spencer thought.

Or perhaps a promise.

The night stretched endlessly, the space between your two beds feeling both infinite and insufficient. Sheets tangled around restless limbs, pillows were punched into submission—neither of you slept, though neither spoke of it. 

Morning came too soon.

You watched from your perch on the edge of the bed as Spencer paced, reciting his presentation under his breath for what must have been the twentieth time. His fingers danced along an invisible keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The nervous energy radiating off him was palpable.

Seizing the moment, you reached across the chasm between beds, your fingers brushing his restless hand. "Spence," you murmured, your thumb tracing idle circles over his knuckles, "you'll do great."

His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his palm up to meet yours, squeezing gently as he shot you a grateful smile—the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your stomach flip.

A glance at his watch shattered the moment.

 "We should go," he mumbled, though his fingers lingered against yours a heartbeat too long.

The conference hall was mercifully close. As you stepped inside, you turned to him with a raised brow. "Where do you want me to sit?"

Spencer's gaze swept the growing crowd before landing on the front row. "Maybe first row?" The request came out softer than intended, barely more than a whisper.

He didn't say why. Didn't need to.

The thought of looking up from his notes and immediately meeting your eyes—your encouraging, loving eyes—was the only anchor he needed.

The conference was a triumph.

Spencer knew his material cold, but it wasn't the crowd that had his pulse racing—it was you. Sitting front and center, your gaze never wavered from him. He caught himself seeking you out between points, not for reassurance, but for the way your eyes lit up each time they met his. That particular smile—the one that started slow before blooming across your face—was becoming his new addiction.

You'd always looked at him like that.

He just hasn't understood why.

The moment he stepped off the podium, you were there, arms wrapping around him before the applause even faded.

"You did so so good, Spencer," you murmured against his shoulder, your breath warm through his dress shirt. When you pulled back, your hands lingered—palms cradling his jaw, thumbs brushing the apples of his cheeks—before reluctantly letting go.

Spencer barely had time to smile at you before others approached with questions, but Spencer felt your presence like a physical thing.

Through every technical discussion, every eager handshake, he was hyper aware of you standing off to the side, smiling that private smile reserved only for him.

As an elderly man with kind eyes approached Spencer, Spencer replied to the questions with his carefully thought out answers. But he couldn’t help himself. His eyes kept darting to you. 

The way you were watching the crowd. The way you smiled proudly when you saw an elderly couple loudly compliment the conference. The way your eyes met his eyes more than once, and the way they would sparkle in ways that no one could cause but Spencer.

Spencer smiled softly as he finished his sentence, realizing he’d probably been rambling distracted for way too long now. He finally looked at the man, who had seemingly followed Spencer’s eyes.

"I remember those times," the man said wistfully, patting Spencer's shoulder. His wedding band glinted in the fluorescent lights. "Don't wait too long."

Spencer opened his mouth—to protest, to explain, to something—but the man just smiled and walked away, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and your name on his tongue.

Across the room, you looked up as if sensing his stare, your eyes crinkling in that way that made his chest ache.

The universe had given him signs. Strangers had given him warnings.

"You're not paying," Spencer insisted for the third time as you dragged him toward the diner, your fingers curled around the crook of his elbow.

"Look how cute it is!" you beamed, ignoring his protest as the neon sign cast pink halos around your silhouette. The booths and checkerboard floors looked straight out of a 1950s postcard—the kind of place Garcia would call "romantic" with that knowing lilt in her voice.

Then the bell above the door jingled, and the universe delivered its coup de grâce.

Your song.

The same one from the car, from the grocery store, from every pivotal moment of his awakening—now piping through the diner's crackling speakers as you chatted animatedly with the hostess.

You didn't even notice, too busy confirming the reservation you'd made the second his conference ended.

Spencer stood frozen in the threshold, the scent of sizzling bacon and maple syrup wrapping around him as Jung's words echoed in his skull: "Synchronicity is an ever-present reality for those who have eyes to see."

He'd analyzed the concept a hundred times since the dream—poring over texts until his eyes burned, tracing the threads that connected every "coincidence." 

The Buddhist proverb he'd stumbled upon last week floated back to him now: When soulmates meet, it's the culmination of five centuries of cosmic preparation.

Five hundred years of atoms rearranging, of stars collapsing and reforming, all to bring him here—to this chrome-and-vinyl booth where you were currently stealing his fries with that smirk he'd loved across lifetimes.

Rain began pattering against the diner windows as you split the last chocolate chip cookie—because of course you’d ordered them, because the universe seemed determined to weaponize every memory he cherished.

You gazed out at the storm, then back at him with that grin that always made his ribs ache. 

“Drip drop,” you said, crunching into the cookie with relish.

Spencer's stomach flipped. The words—your words, from that rain-soaked night—hung between you.

“Drip drop,” he echoed, the words tasting like nostalgia and longing. His smile faltered—until your ankle hooked around his beneath the table, just as he’d done to you countless times in cafes and briefing rooms. The contact burned through his sock like a brand.

“These are so good,” you mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs.

Spencer hummed, reaching for another cookie just to have something to do with his hands.

“I do hope you won’t start preferring these over mine, though.” You waved a half-eaten cookie in his face, your eyes glinting with mock severity. “I put a lot of work and love into my cookies, you know.”

"Never," he said immediately, plucking the treat from your fingers with deliberate slowness. His lips brushed your fingertips as he took it, and the sharp inhale you tried—and failed—to hide didn't escape him. "I love your cookies."

Then you grinned, kicking his ankle playfully under the table, and the moment passed—but not the promise thrumming in his chest.

The storm raged through the night—rain splashing against the windows that faded into white noise while you played chess with Spencer's travel set, your knees pressed together beneath the coffee table. 

He let you win. You pretended not to notice.

Morning brought no reprieve. Rain still splashed against the glass when Spencer appeared at your shoulder, close enough that his breath stirred your hair.

"I don't think it's safe to drive home," he murmured.

You hummed in agreement, watching water cascade down the pane.

"There was a bookstore next to the conference building," he added casually—too casually, the way he always did when trying to sound spontaneous about things he'd clearly researched in advance.

"Of course you noticed that," you laughed, already reaching for your jacket. When you tossed him his scarf—the one he'd worn religiously since that fateful morning—his hands fumbled to catch it, the wool soft and familiar between his fingers.

The walk was a disaster. Within minutes, the downpour had soaked through your coats, your hair plastered to your foreheads as you splashed through ankle-deep puddles. The bookstore owner glared when you dripped across her threshold.

"As if it's our fault it's raining," you muttered under your breath, wringing out your sleeve.

Spencer shot you that boyish grin that always made your stomach flip—the one reserved for moments when you were being "adorably incorrigible"—before offering the owner a sheepish apology.

You drifted apart naturally, pulled toward your respective genres like planets orbiting the same sun.

From the philosophy section, Spencer watched you trail fingers along fantasy spines, your lips moving silently as you read titles. Yet every few minutes, one of you would glance up—searching, always searching—until your eyes met across the stacks.

The rain drummed its approval against the roof.

And for the first time, Spencer wondered if storms had souls—if this one had waited centuries just to strand you here, together.

Time slipped through the bookstore's aisles like sand through fingers. Spencer found himself in the classics section, fingers trailing over worn spines until they caught on a rare edition of The Importance of Being Earnest.

The discovery sent a jolt through him—the same play whose quote you'd scribbled on his cookie note what felt like lifetimes ago. His thumb traced the gilded title with reverence, the memory of your looping handwriting surfacing.

"Hello." Your voice at his shoulder startled him. 

Before he could turn, your cheek came to rest against his upper arm, warm even through his damp sweater. The contact sparked a dizzying sense of déjà vu—your weight against him in the dream-library, your breath ghosting over the same spot as you handed him that fateful blank book.

"Whatcha looking at?" you murmured, tilting your head to peer at his find.

Spencer swallowed hard before raising the book for your inspection. "Oscar Wilde," he managed, voice thick. His gaze dropped to the volume in your hands. "What did you get?"

When his gaze dropped to the notebook in your hands, his breath hitched. Gold filigree curled across its cover in the exact same pattern as the book from his dream library—the one you'd handed him with that devastating promise: "This one gets filled after you admit it to me."

You lifted your head slowly—too slowly. "Just a pretty notebook," you said, cracking it open with deliberate care.

Blank pages.

Just like before. Just like always.

"It's pretty," he managed, though the words weren't about the book at all.

You went very still, your smile faltering nervously when you saw the affectionate look in his eyes . "Yeah," you agreed softly, your gaze locking with his. "It is."

The moment stretched, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

And Spencer was suddenly, terrifyingly certain that if he didn't speak now, he might never find the courage again.

But then your gaze darted nervously past his shoulder—then froze.

"Oh my god."

Spencer turned just as you reached toward the shelf, your fingertips hovering near a weathered copy of Pride and Prejudice. There, perched on the spine like a punctuation mark, sat a single ladybug.

"It must be hiding from the rain," you murmured, gently coaxing it onto your finger with the same care you reserved for his favorite books and Garcia's trinkets.

Spencer's breath caught.

The ladybug from your hair clip.

The ladybug from Garcia's book.

The ladybug that had been haunting him for so long now.

"It's so cute," you whispered, returning it to its perch with a tenderness that shattered his last thread of restraint.

When you turned back to him, a smile still playing on your lips, you found Spencer staring at you with raw, unfiltered wonder—like you'd hung the moon and every star in your wake.

Then the words burst forth like a dam breaking:

"I'm in love with you." The confession tumbled out in a rush. "And I think I have been for—for forever, and the universe keeps screaming at me about it, and at first I thought they were coincidences but there are too many, and—"

Your lips silenced his.

For one heart-stopping moment, Spencer stood frozen—every synapse short-circuiting at the warmth of your mouth against his. Then instinct overrode shock, and his hands cradled your face like something precious, kissing you back with all the tenderness of a man who'd waited lifetimes for this.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, the ladybug spread its wings and took flight—as if its work here was done.

Spencer stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless, his lips still tingling from the kiss. You met his gaze with a smile that could power cities, your fingers curled tight in the fabric of his vest.

Then you remembered the fortune cookie's promise.

"Guess my patience has been rewarded," you murmured against his mouth, feeling his breath hitch.

Spencer made a soft, questioning noise, his dazed eyes dropping back to your lips like he couldn't quite believe they'd been there moments before.

"I've been in love with you forever, you dummy," you confessed, tugging him closer by his lapels. "I've been waiting ages for you to do this."

"Really?" The word came out strangled, hopeful.

"Really."

That was all the confirmation he needed. Spencer surged forward, capturing your lips in a series of breathless, giddy pecks between stumbling words:

“I have—” kiss “—been so—” kiss “—scared—” kiss “—to do this.” kiss “But also—” kiss “—I never want to stop.”

You were giggling now, your fingers in his hair, and he was smiling so much he could barely kiss you properly, but neither of you cared.

Each press of his lips felt like a promise, each aborted sentence a love letter years in the making. The ladybug had long since flown away, but its message lingered in the space between your shared breaths.

A thousand kisses later—or perhaps only thirty, though Spencer had lost count somewhere between the philosophy section and the hotel elevator—you lay tangled together in bed as he recounted every cosmic sign.

"I was wearing a pink version of your sweater in your dream?" you asked, chin propped on his chest as you studied him. The lamplight caught the flecks of gold in his eyes, turning them molten. "Why?"

Spencer's cheeks flushed that endearing shade of pink you'd come to adore. "Well, chromatology suggests pink symbolizes affection and love in dreams," he began, fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. "There was a 1978 study where—"

You pressed a fingertip to his nose, silencing the impending lecture. He blinked, then huffed a laugh.

"I think I still need to get used to this," he admitted, his breath catching as your fingers wandered across his collarbone.

You sat up abruptly. "In a good or bad way?"

"Good," he said too quickly, scrambling upright. The headboard creaked as he leaned against it, watching you. "Obviously good."

A beat of silence. 

"What?" you grinned, crossing your legs beneath you.

Spencer's blush deepened. "When did you—" He stopped. His eyes darting to the wall behind you. You grinned.

"—start liking you?" you finished, scooting closer until your knees brushed his. At his nod, you pretended to consider. "Probably at Garcia's apartment."

His eyebrows shot up. "The Polaroid?" The realization lit up his face like sunrise. "You're telling me your descent into lov—mmph!"

Your finger against his lips cut him off, though his triumphant grin remained. He caught your wrist, turning your hand to press a kiss to your palm before intertwining your fingers.

"Yes," you admitted, suddenly shy under his gaze. "You have me falling in love with you captured on a Polaroid."

Spencer's smile could have powered entire cities—that brilliant, boyish grin now shining just for you.

In the quiet that followed, you both stared at your joined hands—his long fingers slotting between yours like they'd been made to fit.

"Seems like ladybugs are our thing," you murmured, thinking of the photograph, the book, all the tiny moments that had led you here.

Spencer brought your knuckles to his lips again. "Yeah," he agreed softly, the word a vow against your skin.

The old Buddhist saying floated back to Spencer as he watched you trace idle patterns across his palm—when you meet your soulmate, remember the act to bring you together was five hundred years in the making.

Five centuries of atoms rearranging.

Of stars collapsing and reforming.

Of every seemingly random choice and chance encounter conspiring across lifetimes to deliver you here—to this moment, this bed, this perfect alignment of souls.

Your fingers stilled against his skin as if sensing his revelation. When you glanced up, Spencer saw eternity in your gaze—the same timeless connection he'd felt when you kissed him in the bookstore, when you laughed over chess, when you wore his sweater like it belonged to you all along.

He cradled your face, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek with reverence. No equations could quantify this. No textbook could explain how every synapse in his brain now burned with the certainty that you'd been written into his DNA long before either of you took your first breath.

You were his.

He was yours.

And five hundred years from now, some version of you would still be finding each other across crowded bookstores and rainy diners and ladybug-kissed moments, because this love wasn't made for just one lifetime.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Brave Little Toaster

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The AI bubble is the new crypto bubble: you can tell because the same people are behind it, and they're doing the same thing with AI as they did with crypto – trying desperately to find a use case to cram it into, despite the yawning indifference and outright hostility of the users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

This week on the excellent Trashfuture podcast, the regulars – joined by 404 Media's Jason Koebler – have a hilarious – as in, I was wheezing with laughter! – riff on this year's CES, where companies are demoing home appliances with LLMs built in:

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-hgi6c-179b908

Why would you need a chatbot in your dishwasher? As it turns out, there's a credulous, Poe's-law-grade Forbes article that lays out the (incredibly stupid) case for this (incredibly stupid) idea:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bernardmarr/2024/03/29/generative-ai-is-coming-to-your-home-appliances/

As the Trashfuturians mapped out this new apex of the AI hype cycle, I found myself thinking of a short story I wrote 15 years ago, satirizing the "Internet of Things" hype we were mired in. It's called "The Brave Little Toaster", and it was published in MIT Tech Review's TRSF anthology in 2011:

http://bestsf.net/trsf-the-best-new-science-fiction-technology-review-2011/

The story was meant to poke fun at the preposterous IoT hype of the day, and I recall thinking that creating a world of talking appliance was the height of Philip K Dickist absurdism. Little did I dream that a decade and a half later, the story would be even more relevant, thanks to AI pump-and-dumpers who sweatily jammed chatbots into kitchen appliances.

So I figured I'd republish The Brave Little Toaster; it's been reprinted here and there since (there's a high school English textbook that included it, along with a bunch of pretty fun exercises for students), and I podcasted it back in the day:

https://ia803103.us.archive.org/35/items/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212_Brave_Little_Toaster.mp3

A word about the title of this story. It should sound familiar – I nicked it from a brilliant story by Tom Disch that was made into a very weird cartoon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8C_JaT8Lvg

My story is one of several I wrote by stealing the titles of other stories and riffing on them; they were very successful, winning several awards, getting widely translated and reprinted, and so on:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

All right, on to the story!

One day, Mister Toussaint came home to find an extra 300 euros' worth of groceries on his doorstep. So he called up Miz Rousseau, the grocer, and said, "Why have you sent me all this food? My fridge is already full of delicious things. I don't need this stuff and besides, I can't pay for it."

But Miz Rousseau told him that he had ordered the food. His refrigerator had sent in the list, and she had the signed order to prove it.

Furious, Mister Toussaint confronted his refrigerator. It was mysteriously empty, even though it had been full that morning. Or rather, it was almost empty: there was a single pouch of energy drink sitting on a shelf in the back. He'd gotten it from an enthusiastically smiling young woman on the metro platform the day before. She'd been giving them to everyone.

"Why did you throw away all my food?" he demanded. The refrigerator hummed smugly at him.

"It was spoiled," it said.

#

But the food hadn't been spoiled. Mister Toussaint pored over his refrigerator's diagnostics and logfiles, and soon enough, he had the answer. It was the energy beverage, of course.

"Row, row, row your boat," it sang. "Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I'm offgassing ethelyne." Mister Toussaint sniffed the pouch suspiciously.

"No you're not," he said. The label said that the drink was called LOONY GOONY and it promised ONE TRILLION TIMES MORE POWERFUL THAN ESPRESSO!!!!!ONE11! Mister Toussaint began to suspect that the pouch was some kind of stupid Internet of Things prank. He hated those.

He chucked the pouch in the rubbish can and put his new groceries away.

#

The next day, Mister Toussaint came home and discovered that the overflowing rubbish was still sitting in its little bag under the sink. The can had not cycled it through the trapdoor to the chute that ran to the big collection-point at ground level, 104 storeys below.

"Why haven't you emptied yourself?" he demanded. The trashcan told him that toxic substances had to be manually sorted. "What toxic substances?"

So he took out everything in the bin, one piece at a time. You've probably guessed what the trouble was.

"Excuse me if I'm chattery, I do not mean to nattery, but I'm a mercury battery!" LOONY GOONY's singing voice really got on Mister Toussaint's nerves.

"No you're not," Mister Toussaint said.

#

Mister Toussaint tried the microwave. Even the cleverest squeezy-pouch couldn't survive a good nuking. But the microwave wouldn't switch on. "I'm no drink and I'm no meal," LOONY GOONY sang. "I'm a ferrous lump of steel!"

The dishwasher wouldn't wash it ("I don't mean to annoy or chafe, but I'm simply not dishwasher safe!"). The toilet wouldn't flush it ("I don't belong in the bog, because down there I'm sure to clog!"). The windows wouldn't retract their safety screen to let it drop, but that wasn't much of a surprise.

"I hate you," Mister Toussaint said to LOONY GOONY, and he stuck it in his coat pocket. He'd throw it out in a trash-can on the way to work.

#

They arrested Mister Toussaint at the 678th Street station. They were waiting for him on the platform, and they cuffed him just as soon as he stepped off the train. The entire station had been evacuated and the police wore full biohazard containment gear. They'd even shrinkwrapped their machine-guns.

"You'd better wear a breather and you'd better wear a hat, I'm a vial of terrible deadly hazmat," LOONY GOONY sang.

When they released Mister Toussaint the next day, they made him take LOONY GOONY home with him. There were lots more people with LOONY GOONYs to process.

#

Mister Toussaint paid the rush-rush fee that the storage depot charged to send over his container. They forklifted it out of the giant warehouse under the desert and zipped it straight to the cargo-bay in Mister Toussaint's building. He put on old, stupid clothes and clipped some lights to his glasses and started sorting.

Most of the things in container were stupid. He'd been throwing away stupid stuff all his life, because the smart stuff was just so much easier. But then his grandpa had died and they'd cleaned out his little room at the pensioner's ward and he'd just shoved it all in the container and sent it out the desert.

From time to time, he'd thought of the eight cubic meters of stupidity he'd inherited and sighed a put-upon sigh. He'd loved Grandpa, but he wished the old man had used some of the ample spare time from the tail end of his life to replace his junk with stuff that could more gracefully reintegrate with the materials stream.

How inconsiderate!

#

The house chattered enthusiastically at the toaster when he plugged it in, but the toaster said nothing back. It couldn't. It was stupid. Its bread-slots were crusted over with carbon residue and it dribbled crumbs from the ill-fitting tray beneath it. It had been designed and built by cavemen who hadn't ever considered the advantages of networked environments.

It was stupid, but it was brave. It would do anything Mister Toussaint asked it to do.

"It's getting hot and sticky and I'm not playing any games, you'd better get me out before I burst into flames!" LOONY GOONY sang loudly, but the toaster ignored it.

"I don't mean to endanger your abode, but if you don't let me out, I'm going to explode!" The smart appliances chattered nervously at one another, but the brave little toaster said nothing as Mister Toussaint depressed its lever again.

"You'd better get out and save your ass, before I start leaking poison gas!" LOONY GOONY's voice was panicky. Mister Toussaint smiled and depressed the lever.

Just as he did, he thought to check in with the flat's diagnostics. Just in time, too! Its quorum-sensors were redlining as it listened in on the appliances' consternation. Mister Toussaint unplugged the fridge and the microwave and the dishwasher.

The cooker and trash-can were hard-wired, but they didn't represent a quorum.

#

The fire department took away the melted toaster and used their axes to knock huge, vindictive holes in Mister Toussaint's walls. "Just looking for embers," they claimed. But he knew that they were pissed off because there was simply no good excuse for sticking a pouch of independently powered computation and sensors and transmitters into an antique toaster and pushing down the lever until oily, toxic smoke filled the whole 104th floor.

Mister Toussaint's neighbors weren't happy about it either.

But Mister Toussaint didn't mind. It had all been worth it, just to hear LOONY GOONY beg and weep for its life as its edges curled up and blackened.

He argued mightily, but the firefighters refused to let him keep the toaster.

#

If you enjoyed that and would like to read more of my fiction, may I suggest that you pre-order my next novel as a print book, ebook or audiobook, via the Kickstarter I launched yesterday?

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification?ref=created_projects

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/08/sirius-cybernetics-corporation/#chatterbox

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[forensicfield]

Preview of 'General Forensic Science: For Competitive Exams' by @archanasinghadv.

Aligned with Fact/Fact Plus exam syllabus for comprehensive preparation.

DM for purchasing details at a special rate.

https://forensicfield.blog/general-forensic-science-a-comprehensive-book/

[magical-girl-trucy]

Sorry my brain is being silly and it just went "how would the aa characters use a youtube channel" so now here's your list of that

Phoenix: you would think he wouldn't have one, but he does and the only thing on it is the ad he and Maya made in the anime Maya: Runs a Steel Samurai analysis/review channel called Real Pink Princess that has over 100k subs. The most popular video is one that features Will Powers as a guest. Sometimes there will be unexpected breaks and when she gets back she's like "sorry guys I got arrested!" and at this point none of her subs know if she's joking or not. Pearl: Does not have a youtube channel but likes to help Maya and Trucy with editing. Ema: Her youtube channel is only a mirror for her tiktoks. Those tiktoks being incredibly ridiculous, sometimes dangerous science experiments and also explaining how forensics stuff work. Trucy: Posts her magic acts on her channel and has some videos teaching people how to do some more basic tricks to try to get people more interested in magic. Generally good vibes

Edgeworth: Does not have a youtube channel but is a frequent guest on Maya's channel. The fans love him. Kay: Makes clickbait videos called stuff like "BREAKING INTO THE CHIEF PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE!!!!" and has millions of subs. Was notorious during the prank era of youtube despite never doing anything harmful. Also has a gaming channel. Apollo: Only has a channel in name. Nothing is posted on it, but he is subbed to a lot of law-based content and an astrology channel. By nature of being Trucy's magic assistant, it goes without saying that he is in a lot of Trucy's videos. Klavier: Ran the official Gavinners youtube channel up until Turnabout Serenade happens. Afterwards made a new channel for his own music but has kept it very lowkey. Athena: Has a vlogging channel that she started when she was 14. She has a small but supportive fanbase of people who are rooting for her in her lawyer/psychology endeavors. In the DD and beyond era she makes more videos about law and psychology but never full out stops with the vlogs (those Khura'in videos must've been wild) Simon: Makes a channel after getting out of prison. It's low quality videos of Taka and nothing else. It goes viral and someone tries to get him "cancelled" by exposing his criminal history but it fails spectacularly Bonus: Once out of prison, Godot also makes a youtube channel, which is how to make every single Godot Blend. It's not popular but the people who come across them are concerned for his health

[usafphantom2]

After more than 80 years, the remains of Second Lieutenant Allan W. Knepper, a U.S. Air Force pilot who went missing during World War II, have finally been recovered and identified. This significant discovery was made near Caltagirone, a town in Sicily, Italy, where his plane crashed during the Allied invasion of Sicily in 1943—a major operation aimed at liberating Italy from Axis control.

Knepper’s aircraft went down in combat, and he had long been listed as missing in action. The site of the crash remained unexplored for decades until a team from the Cranfield Forensic Institute, working with the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA), began investigating and recovering remains from the area. Their work involved careful excavation, forensic analysis, and comparison of DNA samples to positively identify Knepper’s remains.

This recovery brings closure not only to the historical record but also to the family and descendants of Lieutenant Knepper, who had spent generations without answers. It is a reminder of the lasting impact of war and the ongoing efforts to honor and remember those who sacrificed their lives. The discovery also shows how modern science and international cooperation can help solve decades-old mysteries and give long-lost heroes a proper return home.

@VoicesofWW2 via X

[hwedhel]

Day 9 - Gender Swap

for @honeysylvan's AU April.

Dr. Brianna Wraight walks the thin line between science and shadow. By day—or more often, by long and sleepless night—she is a Forensic Pathologist, summoned to sterile morgues and bloodstained crime scenes to coax secrets from the dead. But her expertise doesn’t end with the corporeal. When curses curdle the air and hexes twist fate, it is Brianna they call. Witch. Medium. Reluctant savior. She is always on call—by badge, by blood, or by the whisper of the beyond. They say you’ll sleep when you’re dead, but Brie knows better. The dead do not rest. They stir. They speak. And they seek her out. Nor is there rest for the wicked. Especially not for one who serves both justice and the arcane. There’s little room in her life for pleasantries, less still for rest. Hers is a world of autopsies and apparitions, of midnight rituals and unsolved mysteries. She is a woman of purpose, sharpened by solitude. Busy? That’s one word for it. Haunted? That’s closer to the truth.

CC ↓

General

hair ● all eyeshadow ● all eyeliner ● all blush ● all lipstick

Everyday

outfit ● tights ● shoes ● earrings ● nails ● backpack

Formal

dress ● sleeves ● earrings ● nails ● shoes

Athletic

top ● trousers ● shoes ● hat ● glasses ● gloves ● nails

Sleep

top ● bottoms ● socks

Party

outfit ● shoes ● earrings ● socks ● bag ● nails

Swimming

swimwear ● glasses

Hot Weather

top ● skirt ● shoes ● necklace ● earrings ● nails ● bracelet

Cold Weather

outfit ● hat ● shoes ● earrings

Thank you to all the CC creators!

@grafity-cc @sentate @pralinesims @rusty-cc @joliebean @madlensims @sforzcc @caio-cc @belaloallure3 @simstrouble @thatonegreenleaf @saurusness @aithsims4 @aharris00britney @ellone-andreea @bluecravingcc @jius-sims @huiernxoxo @satterlly @dissiasims @helgatisha @clumsyalienn @arltos

[matchalovertrait]

Alegría v Caruso: Day 2, Pt. 1

Everybody was seated, waiting for the trial to resume after what seemed like a never-ending weekend. Seriously, it felt like 4 months (and 7 days, if we want to be exact).

While Erick and Ángel felt a little uneasy after how Day 1 ended, Noemí was rather optimistic. She would feel comforted knowing Dulce was on the right side, even if the jury made a decision against her.

Lewis, however, felt pretty guilty for not sharing his suspicions regarding Caruso. In his defense, most people probably wouldn't like being told, "Your partner is a shady, lying jerk. And he squeezed my hand too hard."

When Lewis confessed this to Dulce, she forgave him. It didn't matter anymore. Yeah, maybe she wouldn't have believed Lewis, and that thought was unsettling.

On the other side of the room, Isabela was silently scolding Caruso for... reasons.

Hold on, were they trying to match outfits like Dulce and Antonio? The audacity when their claim was Caruso's "originality"...

It didn't take long for Caruso to be spared from the continuous bickering. The judge walked into the courtroom and took a seat, making Isabela settle down.

"This court is now in session," he announced. It was showtime.

Antonio stood up from his seat and walked over to the judge's bench.

“Your Honor, today we present a crucial piece of evidence: Ms. Alegría’s personal notebook, containing years’ worth of handwritten notes and original recipes.”

Chatter was heard around the room. What an interesting development.

Isabela shot up from her seat. “Objection! The notebook could have been fabricated over the weekend.”

A valid concern, but the judge was much too intrigued. “Overruled. We will hear the evidence first.”

Isabela remained firm, determined to cast doubt. “But, Your Honor. The defense was not made aware of this evidence before today.”

“Ms. Alegría could not find it, and we were unsure it would be found on time," Antonio explained.

That is technically the truth. Dulce was impressed with Antonio's ability to say just enough.

Antonio added, "Given that it contains important material to this case, we ask for it to be admitted."

“I will allow it.” His nod signaled for Antonio to continue.

“This notebook contains the ingredient lists and handwritten revisions. Momentarily, the ink analysis expert will verify when these entries were made.”

The screens behind him showed photographs of the pages from the notebook. The jurors nodded listened attentively.

Dr. Nadia Galecki, a forensic document analyst, was called to the stand.

Antonio began. "Dr. Galecki, can you explain how you determined the authenticity of this piece of evidence?"

"Using chemical testing, we conducted an ink dating analysis to determine when the ink was applied to the pages. The compounds in ink change over time, and by measuring these changes, we can estimate how long ago something was written."

"And what conclusions did you draw?"

"Based on our tests, the majority of the entries predate Ms. Alegría's relationship with Mr. Caruso by several years—some, nearly a decade."

The people in the courtroom whispered, and Caruso could not believe what was happening. How is he so good at this? He can't be real.

"Thank you, Dr. Galecki. No further questions." Checkmate.

It was Isabela's turn. "Dr. Galecki, ink dating analysis is not an exact science. How precise are these results, really? Could there be a margin of error of weeks? Months? ...Years?"

The analyst seemed to take offense to that. "It is a highly reliable method. Science is never absolute, but our tests can generally determine whether the ink was applied within a certain time frame. We use multiple techniques to ensure accuracy."

"But you also found that some entries were written after Ms. Alegría met Mr. Caruso, right?"

Dr. Galecki did not falter. "Yes, but it does not change the fact that the majority of the notebook is older than their relationship."

Isabela frowned.

Meanwhile, Dulce was pleased with how things were going. She hoped her joy wasn't too obvious. Winning was always fun.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

[airytaurus]

my unpopular astrology opinions/observations to ig🍄🤗

y’all wanna talk about scorpios being very sexual and promiscuous/horny etc. but those fire and air signs thooo especially air signs they will literally tell everyone every detail about who they hooked up with or just their sex life in general

libra moons are way more out of toned with their emotions than gemini and aquarius moons sometimes

speaking of moon signs earth signs are also I noticed are more detached and stoic when it comes too other peoples emotions or just emotions

I feel like sagittarius is the funniest out of the other two fire signs but they also take things too far so can’t say to much about them lmaoo

scorpio moons are more likely to have deeper and intense emotions than any other moon sign

I think someone with a taurus 5th house could express their creativity and art through food mainly baking and just aesthetics

having a air/water 10H/midheaven could have a career in psychology , therapy , forensic science etc. something that helps the community or people as a whole basically

someone with a scorpio/pluto influenced 11th house could be very interested in dark stuff like true crime , or just anything that has to do with investigation/detective work

moon-venus aspects could be someone very intuitive , emotional and sensitive in relationships and may date someone off of how they would emotionally pursue you

virgo/scorpio/aries/libra mercury people are the main ones who dish what they can’t take

mars-ascendant/mars 1st house people look mad or angry I definitely think it’s because of the prominent brows but regardless they just look pissed off

air mercury people like too do and talk about multiple things at once and even write/talk about their every thought because they need something to do always or just to feel heard

anytime I see a person who is trending for doing some weird shit or saying something outta of pocket even very odd I just know they have either aquarius or sagittarius placements maybe even gemini

scorpioplacements can be into the more darker aesthetics, style and cancer could be into more cottage/softcore style and with Pisces definitely a style they think matches the vibe/energy that day

moon-mercury people may base their opinions and judgments off of feelings and intuition and not real facts

every person I’ve seen who is really pretty/handsome is or has libra placements

people I’ve noticed have relatively larger 🍒 have some type of cancer placements

having someone who has a lot of Venusian energy in their chart are the ones who will have perfume , extra makeup and accessories in their purse/car and I love ittttt

saturn- mercury people could be obsessed with talking/knowing about history or knows a lot of things that are old plus they have a very mature mind and a way of thinking