#signal vs noise

[processzine-org]

// the process sigil — a compass, a contradiction, a map to home.

This is the sigil of Process Zine. A personal index card. A schematic. A lived philosophy.

At first glance, it’s simple: arrows, type, glyphs. But every part of this diagram holds something deeper — a system of opposites, a soft machine for navigating art, deafness, glitch, memory, and meaning.

At the centre: a dot. A node. A self. From this, four currents flow:

[ PARADOX ] — the source field. Every project, every word, every misheard caption begins here. Light vs dark. Deaf vs hearing. Analogue vs digital. Not problems to solve, but tensions to live inside.

[ ELSEWISE ] ← • → [ GLITCH LAB ] Home and work. Found and broken. A lived-in collection of objects and memory (Elsewise) meets the mechanised distortion of signal and sense (Glitch Lab). One curates decay. The other manufactures it.

[ PROCESS ZINE ] The publishing vessel. A zine, a community, a map of miscommunication. What flows in from paradox, Elsewise, and glitch emerges here as black and white pages, captioned images, stories, noise.

[ SIGNAL // NOISE ] The debut frequency. Edition zero. The first test transmission. A theme, an album, a glitchy breath in the space between signal and silence.

n# = analogue memory meets grid logic. d/p = Deaf Process / Digital Paradox. d.s.p = my initials — but also: Digital Signal Processing. // = the liminal divide. Two I’s in parallel. Signal and noise. Self and other. A caption caught mid-render.

Together, they form a quadrature of tension — a typographic mythology. A name. A concept. A framework built from static and story.

This is not a brand. It’s not even a diagram. It’s a sigil — drawn to remind myself what I’m doing, and why it matters.

[kizziahblog]

Echo Chambers and Truth Loops: Rescuing Recursion from the Noise

From noise to structure—Bitcoin anchors recursive thought beyond the chaos of unmoored echoes. Echo Chambers and Truth Loops: Rescuing Recursion from the Noise A common critique of social media and modern news environments is that they function as echo chambers—self-reinforcing loops of opinion that amplify bias and suppress dissent. While valid, this critique often misses a deeper truth:…

[firstoccupier]

MY ESSAY ABOUT HOW I BECAME A PROFESSIONAL INTERNET TROLL

By Brayden “SkullZ4Lyfe” M.8th Grade Social Studies (Mr. D says I’m “concerning”)Due: Technically last week So one day I was just sitting there eating Hot Cheetos and losing badly at Fortnite when I saw this post about “Occupy 2.5.” And I was like, “OMG what even is that, a parking lot protest?” 🤡 But then I did some serious investigative journalism (a.k.a. 6 minutes on a Reddit thread), and I…

[vortexofadigitalkind]

We don’t lack information. We lack filtering. In a world flooded with digital input, learning to separate signal vs noise is essential. What you let in shapes how you think. Choose your inputs carefully. 🔗 https://vortexofadigitalkind.com/signal-vs-noise

[nomadman108]

Flee, Be Silent, Pray Always Part 2

Welcome friends Thank you for bearing with me as I chose to post a short story before I got onto this post, the next part in our small series. Actually, I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you missed it, then please feel free to have a look. You will find it here. Anyway, welcome to Part 2 in our little series of contemplations on the answer that Abba Arsenius received to his question: How can…

[sysig]

What is it that draws me to you (Patreon)

[planet4546b]

essentially the closest ive ever gotten to a literal visualization of how i want the mar to look/feel

[bsahely]

Regenerative Discernment: Restoring Coherence Across Body, Meaning, and Civilization | ChatGPT4o

[Download Full Document (PDF)] We live in a time of layered crises — ecological, institutional, psychological, and civilizational — but beneath these lies a deeper dysfunction: the failure of discernment. Across scales, systems have lost the capacity to accurately filter signal from noise, truth from illusion, value from profit, and novelty from threat. This collapse of discernment is not just…

[patscorner]

could u write kate martin x reader where they’re huge basketball rivals who end up falling in love?? maybe it starts out as like a secret relationship and then the media finds out and goes crazy abt it!!

also i love love love ur writing sm

Absolutely! Love you!

Rivals

Summary: The Gophers and Iowa have a generational rivalry with each other, tensions dating back years. What happens when one of Iowa's top players injures you?

wc: 3,248

Contains: slightly suggestive, mentions of blood, insta posts at the bottom, not proofread well, hella long

______________________________

The Minnesota Gophers vs. the Iowa Hawkeyes was one of the oldest rivalries in women’s college basketball history. Whether it’s overly aggressive plays, double technicals every couple minutes, and shoves being exchanged. It’s tradition at this point to have one or two chippy moments at one of these games.

So it’s no surprise when tonight is no different. It’s tied, 83-83 in the third quarter with two minutes and thirty-six seconds left. The air is so filled with tension, it was like a heavy cloud of negativity loomed over both teams. Patience was thin on both benches, and everyone, even the people watching from home could feel it.

You’d been guarding Kate all night, and to say it was a challenge would be an understatement. She was agile and quick on her feet, and in some cases, she just managed to slip through your defensive skills. But, you were able to keep up with her, following and predicting her moves closely. She got a couple shots on you, but you didn’t let that stir your determination.

You were on your A game offensively tonight, too. Whether it was weaving through players with ease, calling good screens, or taking risky threes, you were doing it all.

It was paying off, too. Until the beginning of the fourth quarter. The game had just resumed, you guarding Kate once more. She’d been more physical, which you weren’t expecting, but you adapted, quickly matching her energy.

You had gotten the offensive rebound, running back to the Iowa basket, Kate hot on your tail. You get into position to make a layup, but Kate is right there to block your shot. She smacks the ball, but her momentum sends her body into yours, sending you flying to the ground.

You crash into the base of the basketball hoop, back hitting the floor first, followed by your head smacking into the stanchion. You squeal loudly, but the crowd's deafening cheers drowned out any noises you could’ve made. You’d made the layup, but that was the least of your concerns.

You’re grabbing your head, rolling over on your side, trying to find a position that relieves some of the pounding that has started in your head. Kate immediately goes to check on you, but that doesn’t last long when your teammates push her out of the way to get to you. One of your teammates starts yelling at Kate, who yells back, and the referee's whistle pierces through the air, signaling technicals for both players.

You’re still curled up under the basketball hoop, holding the back of your head, when you feel a warm liquid. You pull your hand away, and your eyes widen as you stare at your crimson cover palm.

Everyone who knows you, knows you hate blood. The red liquid sends a wave of nausea to your already banged up head, and you close your eyes to avoid the tears falling, and to relieve some of the tension that the lights were causing. The crowd silences as the camera shows you looking at your hand in horror.

Your breathing picks up as you continue to look at your hand. Tears fall from your eyes as you start to hyperventilate, unaware that eventually the lack of oxygen would cause you to lose consciousness.

You're only out for about 30 seconds, but that was more than enough time for you to be surrounded. You wake up to the athletic training staff, your teammates, and the coaching staff around you. You're running on autopilot, so the first thing you try to do is sit up, which doesn’t end too well for you. You attempt to lift your head off the ground, but a sharp pain shoots down your back, causing you to gasp loudly.

“Shh-stay still, honey.” one staff member assures you. You groan in response, feeling multiple hands on you at once. You don’t say anything as you try to roll over on your stomach and attempt to relieve the pain in your back. You have a pounding headache and have no idea what’s going on or what happened.

“You gotta stop moving. The ambulance is on the way.” You freeze at these words.

Ambulance?

You have no idea what happened but all you know is that you have a basketball game to play. "W-we gotta play.” You croak out, looking at your teammates, tears brimming your eyes. You watch through blurry eyes as they shake their heads.

“No, kid, I think you're done for the night."

"No, no, n-no we gotta play- we're so close." You whimper out shakily. A couple of your teammates turn their heads, your statement making an already emotional moment even more heart-wrecking.

You feel someone grab your hand and rub it soothingly, attempting to distract you from the increasing pain in your spine. The Iowa bench was kneeling out of respect, because rivals or not, they weren't fucking monsters.

You sigh, accepting that you were done for the night and probably a while after. “What happened?” You whispered to no one in particular. You felt someone adjust the towels that you didn’t realize were under your head. The once white towels were colored now, and you felt sympathy for whoever had to clean them after.

“You fell kid, but you’re gonna be okay.” one of your teammates says. You hum in response.

All you could do is pray that she was right.

The crowd gave you a standing ovation as you were put on the stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance. Despite their attempts to keep you awake, the loss of blood made it hard for you to keep your eyes open.

On the way to the hospital, they check your memory, which is pretty good, all except the moments leading up to the incident. All you remember is the girl that ran into you. When they get you to the hospital, they run their tests and find out that you had a pretty bad concussion, along with a crack in your spine. It’s safe to say you were done for the season.

Eventually, you were released, immediately starting physical therapy and, put in crutches and given a body wrap. You finally check your phone, and you see thousands of overwhelming messages from friends, family, and teammates. You respond to a couple of them, informing them that you were okay before going to instagram. Normally, you’d stay off of social media, but you needed something to distract yourself.

You’ve got hundreds of notifications on there, too, but one stands out the most.

A message from @katemartin

Just wanted to sincerely apologize for knocking you down the other night, I hope you know it wasn’t intentional. I don’t know if you’ll even read this, but you’re in my thoughts and prayers. Opponents or not, you’re a good player, and it’s devastating to see you injured. Get well soon.

Your heart swells at the message, as tears start to brim your eyes. You don’t know what to say, because this has never happened to you before. Usually, when someone gets injured, they get a pat on the back, and that’s it. But she went out of her way to message you.

You heart her message before typing a message back to her.

Thank you for the prayers, I know it wasn’t intentional, I watched the playback. I appreciate the message.

After you click send, you decide to leave it and begin scrolling through your feed. Nothing interesting comes up until you see Kate doing a post-game press conference. She’s asked her thoughts on the collision between you two.

“It was a basketball play. I had no intention of slamming into her like that. She’s an amazing player, like I seriously look up to her. The way she carries herself and the way she plays, that’s an example I think a lot of people should learn from.” she takes a deep, shaky breath, clearly trying to keep her composure. It breaks your heart to see her this shaken up about you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for being a part of the reason she’s not playing. Everyone deserves to do the things they love, and it’s not fair that I took that from her. Our teams may be hella competitive rivals, but despite that, this is a sisterhood. We aren't friends, but never would I ever wanna hurt her like that. It was an accident.” Kate’s voice cracks at the end, and her teammate rubs her back as she looks down.

“It was an honor to play with her, and I wish her the best.” she finishes, before the clip ends.

You’re in tears by the end of it, and you just want to give her a giant hug, tell her that you forgive her, and that you’ll be back on the court in no time. But instead, you stick with responding to her message she had just sent you.

How are you doing?

It’s been 4 months since your injury, and you’ve been talking to Kate non-stop. You and her had been texting back and forth, calling, and falling asleep on facetime. A lot of the time was talking about nothing in particular, with a couple updates as to where you are in your recovery.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart tighten when you talk to her. It’s like a breath of fresh air. Even though you were barely around her, you felt like you were missing something whenever you two weren’t having a conversation. You knew you were falling and falling hard. Little did you know, Kate was falling just the same.

Kate couldn't sleep well to begin with, but now she definitely couldn't sleep without talking to you. She couldn't go a minute without thinking about what you were doing, what you were wearing, what you were thinking. It got so bad that her teammates were practically begging her to ask this mystery girl out. Her daydreams were distracting her from her practices, the way she played in games, and her schoolwork.

Finally, (after Caitlin went on a ten minute rant about how painfully in love she was), Kate found the confidence to ask you out on a phone call. She was nervous and stuttering over her words, her face painted a beautiful pink.

"Maybe we could hang out sometime, like by ourselves. Like we could go to like the movies-or maybe out to eat somewhere. Or-or not, y'know we could hang out with other people, like our teammates, like not together because I don't think they like each other very much, but we could like not tell them, or we could tell them b-"

You cut off her rambling with a laugh, finding her anxiousness adorable. "Kate 'Money' Martin are you asking me out?" You ask, raising your eyebrows teasingly.

You watch as her face reddens even more, her teeth capturing her bottom as she playfully rolls her eyes at your mocking tone. "Y'know what, never mind. I take it back." She smiles at you.

"Oh, no, no, you got me locked in now." You say smiling softly back at her.

"Is that a yes…?" Kate asked in a joking manner, but you could sense a serious undertone to it.

You bite your lip lightly, staring at the blonde on your phone screen.

"Whatcha got in mind?"

Kate made the six hour drive to Minnesota that Saturday after booking a hotel room not far from campus. As much as you would've liked her to stay with you, you knew your dorm mates wouldn't approve of having her in your shared space. They knew you were talking to someone, but you were very cautious about when you talked to Kate, often doing it fairly late into the night when they were asleep or not home. You thought you were doing a good job, as they never brought up anything about it.

Either way, to not draw attention, you both decided it'd be best if you went super late at night, knowing that the second the public finds out Kate was in Minnesota, rumors would fly, and the media would go crazy. So, you came up with a shifty excuse to be out of the house at three a.m. on a random Saturday morning. You had no idea what Kate had set up, you just knew that you were meeting her at a random park near campus.

Turns out Kate had the date very planned out, from how long it would take to get from point A to point B, to where'd you'd be sitting. She took you to the beach, and even though it was dark, the sounds of the water crashing onto shore was enough for you.

Then she paid, against your will, for sushi. You went into the restaurant and you both sat in the car and ate your meal. Conversations flow smoothly all night, without a single moment of uncomfortable silence. The evening was filled with laughter and lighthearted banter, the both of you losing track of time until the sun started to bleed into the night sky.

You both were tired, tangled in the bed of Kate's truck, basking in each other's company. You were so comfortable, and you never wanted this moment to end. Kate was different from anybody else you'd ever met before. Even though this was the first time you'd even hung out with her, you wanted nothing more than to hold her forever. And to make her yours.

"What're you thinkin' about?" She asked, breaking the silence and pulling you from your thoughts. You're laying on her chest, her arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close.

You look up at her and find her gaze already in you. "The sun's coming up." You whispered, licking your lips. Her eyes trail down to them before finding their way back to your eyes. The way she looks at you almost makes you fold right then and there.

"Hmm." Kate responded as her eyes made their way back down to your lips and stayed there. After a moment, you brought your hand up to her cheek to direct her eyes back to yours. You smile as her face turns a bright shade of red.

"You're so pretty." She whispers as she seemingly examines your face. Now it's your turn to blush.

It almost makes you angry, the urge to kiss her lips. You want nothing more than to pour all your words into one kiss.

Fuck it.

You push your lips to hers, passionately expressing your feelings for her wordlessly. It takes her a second to process what's going on, but as soon as she does, she's melting under your touch. She's like putty in the palm of your hand at this point.

You adjust your body, lifting yourself so that the both of you are facing each other. You wrap your arm around her waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Your moment catches Kate off guard, causing her to moan lightly. You smile before pulling away.

Pants fill the air as you both attempt to catch your breath, letting the tension linger in the air. "Holy shit." Kate lets out a breathy laugh.

You chuckle with her, rubbing her waist absent-mindedly.

She rolls over back on her back, staring at the sky, you mimic her actions, sighing deeply. You can sense that the end of your date is near as the sun rises.

"I have to go." Kate whispers. You nod, reaching down and intertwining your fingers. You were right.

Over the next five months, you and Kate took turns seeing each other in the same way, at night, mostly ending up with you two touching each other (in more than one way). It was starting to get exhausting to hide it from your teammates, so eventually, Kate let it slip, and they weren't surprised. They already had their suspicions since the injury.

You weren't too pleased when she told you she'd revealed your secrets, but you were relieved that they didn't hate you. It gave you enough confidence to comfortably tell your team, who, like the Iowa team, wasn't surprised or upset at the idea of you and Kate being together.

It lifted a huge weight off your guys' chest, feeling better about leaving at two or three in the morning. The longer your relationship went on, the more comfortable you both got.

This was both good and bad, as you fell more in love with each other every day. But it also came with the desire to see each other more, which led to you both growing impatient and making sloppy mistakes. It started with you accidentally posting a picture of you holding Kate's hand on your public story instead of your close friends, like you had intended. Even though you couldn't see her face, you knew some people would be able to figure who it was, plus, at that point, it was an early relationship, and neither of you were ready for that kind of attention. Luckily, you deleted it before anyone could see it, but it was too close of a call for your liking.

Another slip-up happened a month later, where you posted a picture in Kate's hoodie, but you were able to pretend that you both happened to have the same hoodie.

The last straw, though, was Kate being recognized by a fan while pumping gas. You ducked down in the trunk as you watched the fan approach her and ask for an autograph and picture, which she agreed to.

The fan had a short conversation with her, which you later found out they had asked about why Kate was in Minnesota. The best Kate could come up with was that she was 'visiting a friend', which you teased her about her lack of an answer.

The fan posted about Kate being in Minnesota and why, and it shocked the internet. Some fans had done a deep dive and found dots that connected you to Kate, such as the hoodie picture. At this point, you both were tired of hiding, tired of not being able to go out during the daylight or support each other during games.

So you both decided it was time to let the people know.

Yourusername

liked by katemartin and 294,210 others

yourusername: Find your person. They make life worth living

user| oh??

user| mystery woman?

user| I knew it

-> user| I feel like we all know who this is at this point

katemartin

liked by yourusername and 968,148 others

katemartin: You're my end and my beginning, even when I lose, I'm winning

user| no wait a minute

user| pov: the dots are connecting

user| my fav enemies to lovers story

caitlinclark22| took you long enough 🙄

-> yourusername| something you'd like to share with the class Martin??

-> katemartin| @caitlinclark22 I hate you.

->katemartin| @yourusername … no…

-> caitlinclark22| @katemartin you should be thanking me 🤗(pay up)

-> user| Caitlin in the comments has me cackling

user| Caitlin instigated is something I didn't know I needed

-> caitlinclark22| I did not instigate… just gave a gentle shove

-> katemartin| @caitlinclark22 I will gently shove you off a cliff 😍😄

->caitlinclark22| awww ur so cute😗

______________________________

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @breeloveschris

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 10: Under Pressure

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: don't piss Paige off...she becomes a beast

Welcome to the chapter 10 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Y/N’s POV

The whirlwind of paige and I being in a private to public eye relationship, my final project, and rumors building up. It was hard but we'd managed to keep it together, now at out next away game the pressure was buliding up.

The stsdium where the Marquette vs Uconn game was held was loud—so loud I could feel the vibrations in my chest as the Marquette fans cheered on their team. I stood courtside, camera poised and ready, capturing KK as she lined up for a three-point shot. She released the ball, and I clicked the shutter at the perfect moment, already picturing how the shot would look when edited.

“Why’s she even here? She doesn’t belong with them!”

I stiffened as the words cut through the crowd noise.

“She’s just a leech! Following Paige like a lost puppy!”

"Yeah, she's such a clingy bitch!"

My hands tightened around my camera, my heart sinking as the cruel words continued. I glanced over my shoulder, spotting a group of fans pointing at me, their laughter grating against my ears.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard something like this, but today, it hit differently.

“Y/N!” KK’s voice jolted me from my thoughts, and I turned to see her smiling at me, oblivious to the taunts. “Did you get the shot?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “It’s perfect.”

But my voice wavered, and I knew she caught it.

Paige did too.

From across the court, I saw her eyes narrow as she glanced in my direction, her jaw clenching when she followed my gaze to the group of fans. She couldn’t do anything, though—not during the game.

When a timeout was called just before halftime, I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest felt tight, my breaths coming shorter with each second. With the overwhelming and over stimulating noises, I quickly slipped through the tunnels, camera clutched to my chest as I found my way to the locker room.

Paige’s POV

The second-quarter buzzer blared, signaling halftime. I jogged off the court with the team, my mind half on the game and half on Y/N.

“Where’s Y/N?” KK asked as we entered the locker room, her brows furrowing when she didn’t see her.

“I’ll find her,” I said quickly, brushing past the team and heading further into the back.

I found her in the corner, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. Her camera lay beside her, forgotten. Her hands trembled as she tried to catch her breath, and the sight of her like this broke something inside me.

“Y/N, baby,” I said softly, crouching down in front of her.

She looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. “Paige… I-I couldn’t—”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” I interrupted, taking her hands in mine. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, okay?”

I inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly. She mimicked my breathing, her trembling gradually subsiding.

“They called me a leech,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Said I didn’t belong here, even called me a clingy bitch.”

My blood boiled, but I pushed the anger aside for now. Y/N needed me to be present. “Listen to me,” I said firmly, cupping her face. “You belong here. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Those people don’t know you, and they sure as hell don’t know how incredible you are. You're my photographer extraordinaire, definitely not a bitch.”

She sniffled, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, P.”

“Always,” I said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Now, let’s get through this game, okay? I’ll handle the rest.”

Y/N’s POV

I stayed in the locker room gathering myself, Paige went back out with the team. My chest still felt heavy, but her words lingered in my mind, grounding me.

I could hear the game from the hallway, the crowd roaring as the second half began. Paige was on fire. She moved across the court with a ferocity I hadn’t seen before, sinking shots with ease and making impossible passes.

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the score was neck and neck.

Paige’s POV

I had one chance to end this. With .8 seconds left on the clock and the score tied at 87, Azzi passed me the ball just outside the arc. The crowd roared as I squared up and released the shot.

Swish.

The buzzer sounded, and the scoreboard lit up: 90-87. We won.

The team rushed the court, and I found myself in the middle of a celebratory huddle. But my eyes searched the sidelines for one person.

The reporter smiled as she held the mic out to me. “Paige, you dominated the second half. What sparked that performance?”

I still thinking of an answer opened my mouth, but Azzi leaned forward to the mic, her arm slinging around my shoulders. “Let’s just say Paige had determination, and adrenaline in her.”

The team erupted in laughter, knowing the truth was cause of y/n and I couldn’t help but smile slightly, even as I felt my cheeks heat up.

Once back in the locker room the team was buzzing with energy as we filed into the locker room. Y/N was sitting on one of the benches, her camera back in her hands. She looked up as I approached, a shy smile on her lips.

“Nice shot, superstar” she said softly.

“Thanks, ma” I replied, sitting beside her. “You okay?”

She nodded, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

I wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Always.”

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 ,.... (more to be added)

[starryjkoo]

Kinda wanna remind everyone too, when Tae dropped that Hawaii pic of him and Jk with staff right before the AYS trailer and how it sent shippers into a frenzy and they started hammering on Jikook and AYS, saying it proved it was a fanservice show, blah, blah, tk real private yada yada, Tae sending us signals, claiming his man, you know the usual. And pretty much the entire fandom was at each others throats, like it was bad. Shippers vs shippers, solos vs solos. The harassment and targeting Jikook's relationship. Guess who came online immediately after? Jimin. Jimin who had been very quiet pretty much for a long time, came to say he was doing well, not to worry, but he said something very important, that he is now a soldier and careful of what he posts online. I think his message was clear and not only a subtle message to Tae, but the fans, considering Jikook were being attacked so bad & their show being called a fraud And that is exactly what JK did, this time coming online not even 24 hours after a hell storm. So they do both defend their relationship, the best way they can without just flat out saying back off. So yes, Jimin has come online in the middle of chaos, like JK. Maybe not as much, but he and Jk are the only ones who do it when a mess is made and fans start acting up bad. That should tell you something. That they clearly don't like it, but trying to remain professional.

JK has for sure swooped in with his lives a few times to try and calm fans down (I’ll never forget that post-FESTA dinner live 😭). I think he was probably already planning on doing a live during his break, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the recent situation was also a motivator.

With JM’s comment, I’m not sure if it was intentional or not tbh, but the timing was definitely pretty funny lol so it does make you wonder. I also just appreciate his letters, they’re always so sincere and you can tell he really puts a lot of thought and care into them (I’ll never forget the first letter he wrote to us post-training, handwritten and the little creases 🥺)

But you know what I also think is super cool about Jikook? The way they also just ignore all the noise and stay unbothered.

in CH2 alone there’s Jikook going to Japan together in the middle of the situation with JJKs tagging the military, JM posting JK’s hot100 #1 while PJMs were attacking JK during Seven era, JK doing that whole Jimin live while JJKs were attacking JM during FACE era, now JK sharing several military stories that include JM right after that whole mess. I think it’s amazing that they’ve never let antis make them change the way they behave together or stop them from hanging out, making content, enlisting together, mentioning each other, or toning down their dynamic (teasing, roughhousing, or just being weird as hell lol).

I think that’s what makes tkkrs (and some other antis) so mad sometimes because they’re constantly trying to control/demand things with vmnkook - canceling orders and threatening to boycott, tried to get GCF Tokyo taken down, trending hashtags to cancel AYS, trending hashtags for all sorts of things tbh, emailing BH to stop the gay etc. They're constantly trying to demand things from the company, which is why it’s always been so ironic to me that they call Jikook the “company pushed ship” when they’re literally the ones trying to use money and other means to manipulate BH into giving them the ship content they want 😭 (as well as force them to “hide” jkk lol) so talk about projection. But yeah, none of that has ever stopped Jikook from doing their thing.

Also your ask makes me think back on JK’s JM live. I’ve always sort of thought that JK may have intentionally hyped SMFpt2 the way he did because of the ridiculous hate it was receiving. Especially because he really emphasized how much he loved the specific part antis were trying to drag. iirc he said that it was his taste or his style or something like that. I just really loved that moment, it was super vindicating lol. I remember even non-jkkr ARMYs commenting about it too, talking about it being a slap to the haters, or karma or whatever (I definitely also just think he really liked SMFpt2 tho!).

Anyways yeah, I’ve always just assumed that it’s probably a collective group decision to not address solos/shippers. Some people think it would be so simple but it really wouldn’t. If JK said something it would just be a domino effect of extreme responses (re: his NewJean’s comment). It would also drag the other members into it, expecting them to make similar statements or risk being attacked. I think that’s why it’s easier for him to address situations that only involve himself. Maybe they'll try to address it as a team one day, but imo it definitely won’t be happening while half of them are in the military with limited phone access, having to watch what they say and do more than ever.

[panlight]

Okay, so we know that vampires in Twilight don't get sick. But what about mental disorders, like autism, ADHD, OCD, etc.? Do they keep those from their human lives? Can they develop them in vampire 'lives'? Or is it like with physical sicknesses, vampires are immune to them? What do you think?

I think that anything related to neurodiversity probably carries over. Becoming a vampire in the Twilight universe heightens everything, it makes you more 'you.' In some cases certain kinds of neurodiversity might even help? Say if in your human life you were really sensitive to light/noise/touch, but you developed coping mechanisms for that. Well, when someone becomes a vampire, all their senses are heightened. If you're already used to dealing with that kind of thing, it might make your newborn period easier vs someone more neurotypical who is dealing with these kind of overwhelming sensations for the first time.

In some cases, I could see certain traits even being enhanced to the point of superpower. If you're very good at masking, maybe you develop some sort of illusionary shape-shifting power -- that is, make people see you differently. You don't actually change how you look, just how you look to other people (so it probably wouldn't work on Bella's mind shield). So you could maybe go out in the daylight because you can make people 'see' you as not sparkling and with normal colored eyes or whatever. If you were really attentive to details that other people miss, maybe you get a kind of ESP where you just 'know' things because you're picking up on subtle signals to an even more enhanced degree.

I think conditions caused by chemical imbalances (vs things caused by personality/life experience) might be 'fixed' in the transformation though, since the vampire body works differently.

And I think we see from the books that vampires can develop some kinds of mental illness; we've got Marcus who is eternally depressed after the death of his mate. Jasper was depressed for awhile in his backstory. Edward clearly suffered from depression during New Moon and arguably anxiety throughout the whole series. Other characters are still dealing with trauma in various ways. But the lore is that it takes more to change a vampire -- something big like the death of a mate -- and so it would also take more to 'cure' them of whatever the problem was and that human medications would not work.

[tumblingxelian]

Chloe & Heroism

Chloe Bourgeois as a hero early on is a premise that often evokes either questions, like "How" and "Why". Or expectations that she is either already on a path to self improvement, or will be forced onto within a short timeframe.

These are not bad questions and the former definitely are necessary to consider for a story. However the expectations I tend to feel a bit murkier and while I have no issue with how some authors handle this topic.

I want to outline why I think you could do a good "Hero Chloe" story before she gets character development, but first, house cleaning!

1: I have not watched and largely ignore everything post season 3, so don't bother bringing up Derision. Remember, season 1 Kim was afraid of spiders.

2: In canon. Chloe only revealed her ID publicly because her abusive mother she is obsessed with pleasing (who killed her the day before) chose a girl other than her to take to New York & then tore her to shreds in front of everyone. 

With all that in mind let's examine where Chloe's values and understanding of the world comes from and how she perceives them! 

1 - Media/Social Media 

This would be a mixed bag, because on one hand they have Mighty Majesta comics that try to instill good values, but also shows built around lying to and humiliating people are evidently popular television and the internet seems similar in regards to pranking VS trying not to be terrible. So she's gonna get mixed signals at best. 

2 - Her family & Circle 

This is where 90% of the problems come from. Of the important adults in her life, her father, mother, Gabriel and Nathalie are all varying shades of corrupt, abusive, cruel and ruthless, while the lesser evils like Jean and Emilie are largely consigned to the role of enablers. 

Worse still, even if we ignore the emotional abuse, neglect and other elements that led to her both having trauma and her trauma response manifesting in aggression. We still have issues like Andre, during the brief periods he bothered to parent, explicitly teaching Chloe that, Stealing, extortion and threats are all appropriate ways to succeed in life.

IE, she isn't compromising her morality when she does these things, she is very much doing what she is taught was right at least consciously. This isn't helped by a 24/7 Audrey impression as Audrey deems being in her vicinity as reason enough to hurt people unless she deems them useful. 

Long story short, the values and people she was brought up around are all explicitly some shade of bad, or enabler, or outright teaching her to harm others. 

3 - Societies & Class 

However, we know from season 2 that Chloe is not entirely unaware that there are issues with this. Because while she spends much time boasting of how she's beloved and brilliant, when stripped of that and exposed to someone she trusts she is entirely willing to confess that she knows everyone hates her and that she feels she has no worth. She may not be able to articulate why or how this came about but she knows something is wrong. 

Despite this, school is not the best place to figure this out, especially for someone who obviously struggles with social cues and the like. The teachers run the gamut from indifferent and unpleasant, to extremely gentle and accommodating, to simply not wanting any form of drama and usually caving to whoever makes the most noise and none of them have the authority to do much outside of class hours. 

The class is not significantly better, because students like Kim and Alix can and do casually throw around snark or do pranks and at worst only get brief bursts of anger while Chloe's garner a more intense response. This is because her relationship with the class and motives are varying shades of different, but for someone with issues reading social cues, it's just going to seem like a confusing double standard. 

We can also see all this demonstrated in her relationship with Adrien, as Chloe clearly takes the lead in their relationship in Origins and outlines her logic behind the pranks, but is then surprised when Adrien seems to turn against her. What's more, it seems Chloe is aware that Adrien is more gentle/naive than her given she tried to educate him on these matters & turns to him for comfort and protection at times, while seeing no inherent contradiction between her expectations for their relationship and how she treats others.

Adrien does not help matters with seeming indifference to how she treats staff. 

Thus, while she knows 'something' is terribly wrong, actually being able to understand it and work through it is another matter. 

4 - Chloe's Conclusion 

So, what is the conclusion Chloe comes to in order to square all of these circles when she isn't just in full denial mode? The answer is quite simple and even demonstrated in the show itself, playing one's role. 

IE, Chloe the mayor and style queen's daughter is different to Chloe the hotel owner's daughter and we see this in her being able to stamp down on her usual instincts and slap on a customer service role when Jagged Stone enters the hotel and guide her father into doing the same. VS how she conducts herself during a class election, IE explicitly threatening and extorting people, to how she conducts herself day by day with her Audrey impersonation. 

A separate example and way she'd view this for others would be that Marinette the baker's daughter of course has to be nice and sweet and giving because that is how customer service roles work, while Marinette the aspiring fashion designer or would be class president is sneakier and will lay traps so people trying to steal from her are sabotaged. This isn't wrong, this is how she expects people to behave when in these circumstances and roles. 

Final Conclusion 

Which is why Chloe could easily play the role of a successful hero, because she would not be "Chloe Bourgeois, mayor's daughter, hotel heiress and Style Queen's daughter" as Queen Bee, she would just be Queen Bee, a superhero.

They have wonderfully defined roles that would be easy for her to pick up & follow through on: assure the public, save people from danger, protect allies, defeat monsters, all things Chloe was shown doing very well when chosen as a Miraculous Holder. 

I think that eventually the contrast in how she is received as Queen Bee VS Chloe Bourgeois would start grinding on each other and bleeding through both sides of the mask. 

But the infectious nature of empathy and a larger support network that don't have the worst impression of her would give Chloe the room she needs to explore and grow.

If she is too snippy as a hero, or shows a ruthless side, these won't be taken in the context of "Chloe that person I dislike" but "Queen Bee my ally" and can allow for more honest and even handed reactions that give her the necessary breathing room to grow and change. 

So yeah, I think season 1 Chloe could have, under the right circumstances, done a great job as a hero be it Queen Bee or another hero even before any outside circumstances or internal changes might have forced her to chart a new course in life.

Provided the role of Chloe and the role of hero do not intersect and become one almost immediately, because in that case it gets a lot harder for her. 

[luxaofhesperides]

You know how Spiderman has 'canon events'? And how Gwen would always die? How about in every universe Duke exists in, there would always be Danny. And every time they fall in love! But whenever Duke tells/hints at him being The Signal, Danny suffers an accident or dies.

Like let's say in the DC vs Vampires universe, Duke tells Danny he's Signal and then a few days later he gets turned into a vampire and Duke has no choice but to kill him.

Or something like that yknow?

Earth 26.

The undercity is full of life. People from above refuse to understand it, staunch in their beliefs that the undercity is full of crime and sickness, drugs and filth. But the people down there are more human than any of the ones Duke has met up top.

Though Bruce Wayne can try to bring Duke in all he likes, there’s no denying that Duke doesn’t belong. His heart will always be in the undercity, where he was born and grew up and lived and lost so much. 

The undercity is where Danny is.

Away from the blue skies filled with blimps, tucked beneath the towering buildings and clocktowers and elevated rails for trains leaving trails of smoke through the city, there in the cramped spaces and dark alleys, is Danny. 

He ducks through familiar alleys, cutting across perilously stacked homes and hopping over railings to get to the Fenton Lab faster. 

He’s been excited all day, heart thrumming with anticipation, as he returns to his roots and seeks out Danny. Today is the day he’s going to come clean, tell Danny everything: his feelings, his powers, his identity as The Signal, fighting crime in all parts of the city to keep Gotham safe. He’s sure Danny suspects something is going on with him, likely has already guessed at everything he wants to talk about, but Danny deserves the truth.

It is his inventions that help Duke save people, after all. 

Finding the front door of the Fenton lab is always a challenge. Metal scraps and materials stripped from vehicles litter the front of the building from people leaving all their unwanted things with the Fentons. Miscellaneous inventions and tools are left scattered around as well, creating a labyrinth that Duke has to traverse every time he wants to see Danny while he’s working with his parents.

It takes a few minutes, but Duke manages it, pushing open the door after a quick knock.

“Danny? Are you there?”

He can hear something from the lower floor, a strange, high pitched whirring noise. His powers kick in and suddenly he can see people rushing around the room, shouting in voices that he won’t be able to hear until the time comes. He can see himself, crying.

Duke’s heart drops.

“Danny? Danny!”

He runs down the stairs, suddenly terrified that he’s too late. Something is going to happen to Danny. It has to be Danny, because no one else is home with him; that’s why Duke asked to meet in the Lab, to have some privacy while the other Fentons were out.

The noise is louder, too loud to hear over, and Duke rushes into the Lab just in time to see some strange circle of metal spark with electricity. Danny stands right before, staring up at it.

“Danny!” Duke shouts as loud as he can, and Danny startles, then turns around.

Their eyes meet just as the machine finishes turning on, the metal circle ripping open with a thunderous noise, and Duke can do nothing but watch as it sends electricity and some other energy racing through Danny’s body.

It lasts just a brief moment, and then Danny is crumpling to the ground, eyes closed as the machine settles. The swirling pit of white and green stares out at him and Duke knows without a doubt that Danny is dead. . . .

Earth 41.

Duke’s been acting strange. Well, stranger than usual.

Danny’s not one to go around poking at people’s secrets, especially not his boyfriend’s, but he knows something big is going on. He’s not worried that Duke is cheating on him, but he can see the injuries he comes back with some days, citing all the unrest and the resurgence in crimes following Batman’s death.

He wonders if Duke is going out each night for street fighting, forcing all his emotions into his fists until they’re beaten bloody. Batman’s death hit him hard, and Danny has no idea what to do to help him.

They���re both stressed, on edge and scared, but they don’t fight as much as he expected. Admittedly, it’s hard to fight where they’re always spending time apart. 

No longer. Tonight, Danny is determined to get to the bottom of things so he can help Duke with whatever he’s going through. He even texted Jazz to get some tips about communication and helping someone through grief. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be. 

Right at 3AM, the window slides open. 

“Welcome back, Duke,” Danny says, watching as Duke flinches, then sighs as he closes the window. 

“What are you doing here, Danny?”

“Well, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, I decided to hang out here and wait for you. But you’ve been gone for a long time.”

“Sorry, Danny, but I’m really tired. Can this wait?”

Anger bubbles in his gut and Danny takes a deep breath to force it down. “I’ve been waiting. If you keep pushing this conversation off, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

Duke slumps against the window, rubbing a hand against his face, looking exhausted. “Look, Danny, things have been getting real bad, and I don’t want you to get hurt because of it.”

“What’s going on, Duke? What are you so worried about?”

“It’s… The guy who killed Batman. His name is Karma, and I’ve been going after him.”

“You’ve been what?!” Danny shouts, shooting to his feet. “Duke, are you insane? Anyone who can kill Batman is bad news, there’s no way anyone short of like, Superman, can stop him! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Someone has to stop him! And I can do something to help, okay? I’ve been helping the other bats fight him. I can do this.”

Danny clenches his fists, feeling frost crack against his skin. “You could have told me,” he says. “You know I can help, too. You’re not the only one with powers.”

“I can’t endanger you like that, Danny.”

“So you leave me in the dark instead? You would have rather I wait for you forever while you never come back because you got yourself killed running into a situation you can’t get out of? You think I would have been any safer not knowing? Then clearly you haven’t been paying attention!” He’s shouting by the end of it, shaking with fear and rage and so many things it all becomes a tangled mess in his head. 

“I really think we should have this conversation in the morning,” Duke says, eyeing Danny warily. It’s probably just because he’s been out all night hunting Karma, so used to being attacked while he goes out to try to save a city that even Batman couldn’t lift from the darkness, but that doesn’t stop the stab of hurt from going through his heart. Danny has done his best to be safe for Duke, to be human and comforting and strong enough to protect him. 

And Duke is looking at him like he could be at threat.

“Whatever,” Danny mutters, shaking his head. “You’ll talk to me in the morning by saying nothing but how you need to do whatever this is and then you’ll leave and we’ll both be unhappy. Great. Can’t wait.”

“Danny—”

“Bye, Duke.”

Danny’s up and out of the apartment before Duke can take more than a few steps towards him. He zips up his jacket and pulls the hood over his head, taking the steps two at a time to get to street level. It’s dark and quiet outside, save for the distant police sirens, and Danny barely spares a glance around him before he’s making his own way home, sure that no one would still be out at that time.

He should have been more careful. More vigilant. Not so lost in his hurt feelings.

But there’s no time for that when he’s pulled into an alleyway, knife at his throat.

A man in a black helmet, face fully covered, stares down at him. “Well, well, well,” he purrs, digging the knife in a little deeper, “What’s the Signal’s little lover doing out so late at night?”

Signal?

��Duke. His boyfriend who always disappears in late hours, blows off dates when something big is going down in Gotham, who is trying to pick up the pieces following Batman’s death. 

And here is Karma, the very man Duke is searching for, pulling Danny away into the dark.

He only has a brief moment to regret storming off, for not being more patient with Duke, for not paying attention and avoiding Karma, before the knife is pulled away, tossed into the air, and the hilt comes down hard on his temple, and it is a long, long time before he is seen again.

The Signal does not find him alive. . . .

Earth 53.

The apocalypse isn’t kind even on the best of days. But today it might be coming close to something resembling kindness as Duke approaches the skeletal remains of Gotham. It’s been years since he’s been back here, moving with the Robins across the United States just trying to survive. They’d constantly been moving, searching for other survivors and food and shelter and any sign of hope they could get. 

There hadn’t been much anywhere, too much devastation across the country for anyone to even think of rebuilding. Even now, nature is just starting to recover, little green shoots pushing up through concrete rubble. 

This world isn’t one for superheroes anymore. Supervillains aren’t around either. Everyone is either dead or barely getting themselves through each day; but humanity is still around and wildlife is beginning to recover. 

Duke doesn’t know who’s left in Gotham these days. He suspects Oracle is still there, somewhere, helping reconnect telephone wires and setting up internet and electricity. Lights have been flickering on steadily as the Robins made their way into New Jersey and the sight lifted their spirits so much they decided to keep traveling through the night. 

No one in his group has a working phone any more, but the possibility of getting that piece of the old world back excites them all. 

By the time they reach the outskirts of the ruined city, the entire group is nearly buzzing with energy, speaking in hushes whispers that do nothing to hide the elation in their voices. Gotham was everyone’s home, once. They’re all happy to be back, regardless of what they’re walking into.

Duke volunteers to go scouting with a few others to find a good place to settle in for a bit as they reacquaint themselves with the city. Even before the end of the world, it was never a good idea to go blind into Gotham. 

Much of the city is still abandoned, and concrete rubble carry faded graffiti that show the remains of a gang long gone. The few people he see in the distance are quick to hide and disappear and Duke himself is too wary to approach them. But as he gets closer to the heart of Gotham, picking his way through destroyed streets, he sees more and more signs of life, people who don’t hide, weak lights in hastily constructed shelters.

No one attacks him as he wanders closer. In fact, a few exchange nervous glances then approach him, quietly asking if he’s coming from outside Gotham and what news he brings of the outside world.

Duke tells them about how Chicago is gone completely, unable to be saved at all, but there are settlements all along the shores of the Great Lakes. He tells them of the traveling groups he’s met who rotate through a few chosen states and are willing to take in new members. He tells them of someone who has an entire farm up and running again, full of chickens and cows and sheep and goat and horses, on top of all the crop they can grow. The location of the farm is kept secret and carefully protected, but they give away seeds and young animals for anyone wanting to raise their own.

The news gathers more and more people around Duke, eager to listen, and they’re more than happy to update Duke on what’s happened in Gotham. 

The Bats aren’t around as much anymore, but at least two of them are still in Gotham, helping people from the shadows. They’re fixing everything up as best they can, and most people live in or around Robinson Park where Ivy, who survived, grows food and shelter for everyone in exchange for protection and companionship. The Riddler turned from making death traps and taking hostages to creating new technology and inventions to make life a little easier, taking in a crew of assistants to learn from him.

That is to say nothing of the ghosts.

Gotham is full of them now, walking among the living as if they never died. They help people and stick with loved ones who lost them and fly through the air to deliver things with ease. It’s nothing that Duke has ever seen before, and he wonders how many people who died in the apocalypse chose to stay in such a ruined world. 

He begins to head back to the Robins, mind racing with everything he’s learned, when he sees Danny.

Danny, his friend once, who he loved dearly and didn’t quite realize it was deeper than friendship until after the world ended. Danny, who was always sleepy and soft and smiling, cracking bad jokes and lifting Duke’s spirits whenever he felt down. Danny, who was lively and dreamed of going to space to sit among the stars.

Danny, who is dead.

He never got the chance to tell Danny he was the Signal, but he thinks Danny knew anyways. He could ask now, put that lingering thought to rest, but it was one of the few things left unsaid between them, the only thing he had of Danny for all these years, and he doesn’t want to let go of it yet.

Danny hasn’t seen him yet. Duke could go to him, speak to his ghost, have some part of him back in his life.

But it wouldn’t be the same. It certainly wouldn’t be fair to tie Danny, who is free from the pain and misery of the living, to Duke, who is never going to stay in Gotham permanently. 

He misses Danny so much he feels hollowed out and empty, but he knows this is for the best.

Duke turns, pretending not to see him, and walks away. . . .

Earth 78.

Duke was…

Duke was important to him, Danny thinks. He can’t remember much, not after everything (electricity, screaming, pain pain pain, heavy darkness, a spark, hist chest cut open, where is ___? Why won’t he save—) but without any memory of what his life was like back then, his feelings are without context and easily ignored.

Wraith follows Shrike from a distance, watching as he drops into an alley to kill a rapist. Wraith feels nothing about this, for caring is not in his duties. He is instructed to simply keep Shrike alive and assist in his plans, whatever they may be. Wraith does not care about killing.

Danny, tucked away deep inside the mask, shivers and cries, wishing to hide away and say enough, please, that’s enough, just stop please stop stop stop stop—

Batman crosses the rooftops, a figure of darkness across the city’s skies. The Signal, his second oldest companion, travels through the shadows by his side until they land on the building Wraith stands on. 

The yellow of Signal’s armor is familiar and it feels safe but Wraith knows better. Talia and Ra’s have taught him to see past his emotions, to force away any sentiment and grapple with the cold hard truth. This is the truth: they are here to hurt him and Shrike, because they are dangerous killers and dangerous killers are dealt with swiftly and painfully in Gotham. 

They can do as they please to him. They will not take Shrike.

He engages Batman in battle first, easily slipping past his defense by going intangible, freezing his boots to the ground and icing his fists together. The Signal slips away at first, leaving Batman behind to try to get around Wraith, sending shadows towards Shrike who leaps away deftly, dodging them with ease as he leaves the beheaded body behind. 

Wraith grabs Signal before he can fully sink into a shadow and tosses him back, then flies to Shrike, picking him up and getting them away as quickly as possible.

“They found us faster than I thought,” Shrike says. His voice carries something in it that Wraith doesn’t recognize, but it makes his heart feel heavy. 

“We’re done for the night,” Wraith returns, voice low and hoarse. He died screaming and even the Lazarus Pits weren’t able to fix the damage done to his vocal chords. 

He lets his invisibility wash over them both, and they disappear into the night. The safehouse they set up, far away from the one Talia prepared for them, is small but comfortable. It’s secure, everything created and coded by Tim, which means Danny can relax inside the walls of the small apartment. 

Shrike helps him shed his gear, putting it away carefully. Wraith becomes Danny and he watches as Shrike becomes Tim. 

Gone is the ruthless efficiency, the quickness to cut down the scum of Gotham without remorse. Instead, he’s pale and tired, eyes still a faint green from the linger remains of the Lazarus Pit that brought him back from the dead, but there is no madness in him. Only a coldness that came long before his death, unwanted by Damian, the first of Batman’s vigilante partners, who refused to see him as part of the family or even as a hero at all. Duke had already gone to work with other teams since then and never met Tim properly for more than a few minutes.

But he knew Danny. They must have been close. If seeing The Signal sends such a sharp stab of pain in his heart, it must be for a reason. But the memories are long gone, and with them, any desire to be close to him again. 

They never do well after a run in with the Bats. Though they have won every fight they’ve had, Tim often retreats to bed in order to hide his tears and Danny is left alone, lost, and wishing he had stayed dead. 

Tonight is no different. Tim is making a difference as Shrike, striking fear in the hearts of Gotham’s criminals. Crime has gone down in Crime Alley, his chosen territory of the city, killing as many people as needed before they finally get the message to be better people. Tim is also still only eighteen and had spent three years with the League of Assassins before returning to Gotham and seeing that his place in the Bats is erased and forgotten and replaced by the well-loved Jason.

He only stays in Gotham to kill the people who sold him off to the Joker and laughed as he died slowly and painfully. Once the Joker is dead, he’ll leave Gotham and disappear for good. 

Danny will follow him. He has no life now and no other direction. And with Tim hiding under the covers, Danny can do nothing but feel his own skin crawl at the need to get away from everything that connects him to his life Before.

It’s a terrible idea, but he goes out again, heading into Otisberg, where he once lived. Only a raised hood conceals his face; the expressionless mask he usually wears is gone, and Wraith feels far away from him.

He hears the Signal land behind him some time later. It could be minutes or hours; time slips by Danny easily these days no matter how hard he tries to hold onto the minutes passing by. 

“Wraith,” Signal says, and his voice is hard. “Where’s Shrike? Out terrorizing the rest of Gotham?”

Danny doesn’t reply. He stares out into the city lights, a cold emptiness growing inside his chest. 

“Well, if you’re going to just sit there, then I suppose you don’t mind if I take you in to let Batman interrogate you. You’ve been causing a lot of trouble around here, and we don’t take kindly to murderous masks in Gotham.”

He doesn't resist as Signal grabs his wrists, hauling him up from where he was sitting on the ledge. Danny allows Signal to turn him around, shadows binding his wrists together and pulling down his hood.

The Signal sucks in a sharp breath, hands falling limp to his side. “Danny?”

Danny doesn’t respond.

“This better not be a joke, I swear to God. If you’re just wearing his face to fuck with me, I’m going to kill you, Batman’s rules be damned. Say something already!”

Danny looks up into the visor of Signal’s helmet. He opens his mouth and a hoarse whine slips out. “I knew you,” he manages to whispers. “I knew you. And then I died.”

The Signal flinches, then reaches up and pulls his helmet off. “Tell me something only we would know. Anything.”

“I don’t… remember. I wanted you to save me. I don’t think you did.”

“If this isn’t really you, Danny,” Duke says, voice thick with tears, “Then it’s a really fucked up joke.”

Danny looks at Duke, helpless. He doesn’t know what to do. What to say. Wraith only knows how to follow and protect and take orders. Danny doesn’t know how to live anymore. There is nothing he can do.

And then, as he stares as Duke, a memory slides into place, fuzzy but there.

“Arcade on eighth street,” he whispers, and Duke’s eyes go wide. “That was going to be our first date.”

“It was,” Duke says. There’s a light in his eyes now, something that looks like hope and the sight of it makes Danny sick to his stomach.

“I’m dead, Duke. Danny is dead. There is only Wraith now. Let the dead go, and stay away so we don’t have to kill you. I… want you to live.”

The shadows have loosened, still wrapped around his wrists but as a caress instead of a restraint. It doesn’t take any strength to pull out of them and drop off the roof, falling towards the ground. Danny lets gravity take hold of him for a few moments, then goes invisible and flies away just as Duke grapples down and searches for him desperately. 

He can hear Duke calling his name, then calling in Batman and Nightwing, but his voice fades away before Danny can make out what they’re saying.

Not that it matters. Whether tomorrow or further down the line, he and Tim will leave Gotham and disappear for good.

The dead cannot stay with the living, and so they will go.

There’s nothing left for them here, anyways. . . .

Earth 0.

Duke has had his fair share of strange dreams. It comes with the trauma and the powers, a terrible mix that leave him shaken and rattled when he wakes up, gasping for breath.

But instead of fear, his latest series of dreams leave him with a deep-seated feeling of grief. The details fade away quickly once he’s awake, but he can remember bits and pieces of worlds that looks so different from the one he lives in, and all of them have a single constant: Danny.

Danny, whose face he never remembers when he wakes. Danny, whose name is permanently etched into his mind. Danny, who he loves and loses every single night.

Danny, someone he’s never met.

Dick asks him if he’s alright the next time he’s in Gotham, eating breakfast in the manor with him and Tim. He considers lying, then tells him about the dreams and how frequent they are, snapshots of other lives where there is someone important to him that he can never save. Tim, who he thought was sleeping with his eyes half open, looks up and mumbles that it might be another universe.

After a few cups of coffee, Tim is awake enough to ramble on about the multiverse, pulling up reports from the Batcomputer on his phone to show Duke how many of them have had run ins with alternate universes. 

“So you’re saying that Danny might be here? In this world?”

Tim shrugs. “Well, maybe. If he’s the only constant, then I wouldn’t be surprised. If you’re here, so is he.”

“But he always dies!”

“Don’t worry, Duke,” Dick says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, “If you do find him, then you’ve got all of his to help keep him safe.”

“Do you want me to find him? If you give me a description, I can probably narrow it down to a few people in the United States. One of them might be him.”

Duke considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah, thanks though. If we’re supposed to meet, then we will. No point in rushing it.”

“Alright. Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that had been that. Nothing to really worry about, but the dreams continue and Duke keeps waking up grieving and so love with Danny, carrying the feelings of his alternates over to his own reality. At some point, he wishes that he and Danny would never cross paths in this world, if only so he doesn’t have to lose him.

But he wants to meet him. The universe says Danny is important to him; why else would he be part of his life in every world?

The thought never leaves him. It’s always in the back of his mind as he goes about his life, going to school and fighting crime. He finds himself lingering in the streets, trying to see everyone’s faces, listening for that familiar voice.

It takes over a year before he hears someone say, “Danny!” as he’s patrolling as Signal. 

He bends the light around him, going invisible, and searches for the people shouting the name of the person he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind. It takes some time, but his eyes land on a tall, red haired woman fussing over a boy with black hair and blue eyes, leaning down some so she could reach his face.

He can’t hear what they say with the distance between them, but he knows with absolute clarity that he’s looking at Danny.

His Danny.

Duke takes a step forward, ready to drop his invisibility, letting the light escape his grasp, the pauses when he sees the bright smile on his face. 

This Danny is safe. He is alive and laughing and is with someone he cares about. 

This Danny has a life and a future and as much as Duke wants to know why his alternate selves love Danny so much, it isn’t worth Danny’s life.

Heart breaking, Duke steps back and watches as they walk away, disappearing into the crowded streets. 

He stares after them long after they’ve disappeared from sight, then grapples to a rooftop and releases his hold on the light. He sinks to his knees, trying to breathe through the grief that runs through him, and taps a pattern into his comms to signal that he’s ending his patrol early. 

It’s fine, he tells himself. This is for the best. This will keep Danny alive.

Danny always dies because of Duke. Someway, somehow, whenever they meet, the bell tolls and Danny’s death quickly approaches. It happens in every world, in the many, many dreams he’s had looking into a moment of their lives. 

But not this one.

In this one, Duke will save Danny by doing the only thing he can: making sure they never meet. 

It’s for the best. It has to be. . . .

[send me ghostlights prompts!]

[julianalvarez9]

SOMETHING UNHOLY / CHRISTIAN PULISIC

SUMMARY: When you realize this friends with benefits relationship you had going on with him is hurting you more than its benefitting, you cut contact. When Christian realizes, six months later, that the only thing missing from the celebrations after winning the CONCACAF, is you, knocking on your door is the only answer.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k words

WARNINGS: smut, unestablished relationship (although both have feelings for the other!), unprotected sex, not proofread enough (started it so long ago i just wanted to finish it)

The kiss is heated, messy, but when he breaks it to get a breather, you’re pulling him in again by the cross necklace hanging over your head. The noises coming out of your mouth are filthy, something unholy, and his lips are the only way of sealing them in; keep them into his mouth, and hopefully, out of your neighbors ears.

The only sound that can’t be silenced is the one coming from your skin clashing with his, his hips rutting into yours in an unrelenting pace. You’re close to the edge, and he can feel it by the way your cunt wraps around him so tightly. His voice is husky, and you moan at the feeling of his lips so close to your ear when he whispers “you’re a greedy, little girl, aren’t you? all mine to ruin”.

Recognizing Christian’s voice is what wakes you up in a cold sweat.

It’s obvious he’s not here, by your side, in your bed, and you curse your brain for tricking yourself that he was. It's been months of not thinking about him -at least, in that way-, and you curse yourself for even tuning in on the broadcast of the match earlier tonight. Where else would you get those ideas in your head if it weren't for the damned USA vs Canada match you watched earlier?

You realize soon enough that you won’t be able to sleep with how hot it is -is it you, or it’s the Las Vegas heat?-, so you get up to find a glass of water, and hopefully, some peace of mind.

The knocks on the door beg to differ, though.

At first, you’re suspicious: phone in hand, and ready to call the police. But then, looking through the peephole, you have to take a deep breath and rub your still-sleep-filled eyes to confirm you’ve woken up from your dream.

“Christian, what are you doing here?”.

The fact that you're seeing him, in bone and flesh, shocks you. You don't know if it is because you've just dreamt about him, or if it's the results of six months without seeing the american: still, it makes you freeze in your place, blocking the way in, until he points inside, with sympathetic eyes, and you realize you have to let him in.

"You're alone?" he asks, once he was standing still in the middle of your living room. All lights were turned off, meaning that you could barely see him, but he was looking curiously at his surroundings. "Would you think I would have let you in otherwise?".

He doesn't wait a second longer, striding right towards you until he's taking your head into his hands and smashing his lips with yours in a passionate kiss. In the heat of the moment, you find yourself cornered against the wall, and Christian taps your bare leg with his hand to signal you to jump. You do so, contently, and moan against his mouth when you feel his hardened length against your heated center.

The man knows the path to your bedroom all too well, the memories of your last encounters during the summer not once leaving his mind, even if he tried during these last six months you’ve spent apart.

You find yourself underneath him in your bed, and you moan at the feel of his lips against your hot skin after he takes your shirt off. His mouth trails from your cheek, to your neck, leaving messy, desperate kisses on its way. He pays special attention to your boobs, taking one nipple into his mouth and rolling the other one with his hands, making you arch your back and press against his chest.

"I thought I had lost you," he mutters slowly, leaving kisses against your abdomen and nearing your hip bones, and you whine at his words. "I thought I had lost my chance with you".

You try not to think about how much you missed this, and instead, focusing on the moment with him. His lips are back against yours making it all feel too heated. He's still all dressed while you're only in your underwear, so you take the ends of his shirt to take it off him. Christian gets the message, and he begrudgingly parts ways just to take it over his head, the flexed muscles on his abdomen on show, making you almost salivate. You can't help the finger that trails from his Adam’s apple to his sternum, and he shivers at the contact, before crashing his lips against yours again.

The remaining of your clothes graces the floor soon enough, with both of you too eager to be careful about not tearing apart the fabrics. It seems like he can’t keep his hands out of your frame for long enough. He’s making his way towards where you need him most with sloppy kisses, and you let out a cry when you feel his hot breath against your cunt.

Christian yelps in surprise when you drag him by his cross chain, all the way up until he’s facing your face, again, and if you would’ve been in your right mind, you would have been more careful of not ripping it in half, but at the moment, you couldn't’ care less. A simple look lets him know that, while you would gladly enjoy the laps of his skilled tongue against your center, you need him inside of you now, and, who’s he to deny what you’re craving?

"Fuck, you're so wet" he mumbles, while sliding the head of his cock slowly between your folds, covering himself in your juices. Your hips buck against him to try and get what you want, but his cocky smile tells you this is exactly what he’s looking for: to drive you mad. "Please, stop teasing," you whine, but Christian still isn’t satisfied with your begging. "You aren't asking properly, pretty girl"

The eye roll is, partly because of how annoyed you are, and partly due to his actions; first, teasing your clit with his tip, and then, circling your entrance. "Fuck me, Christian, please".

That seems to do it for him, because he’s humming approvingly before pushing into you, slow, until he’s bottoming out. He stops there, and looks intently into your eyes, which are currently closed due to the overwhelming pleasure that his intrusion brings.

A few seconds pass before you’re asking him to move again once your eyes open, and you find his nose tipping against yours due to how close he is: his right forearm rests against your head, making him be impossibly closer to you, and, somehow, this feels more intimate than the last couple of times you two spent together.

He starts moving then, once you nod at him to signal you’re okay to keep going. Christian begins with deep, slow strokes that have you tilting your head back in pleasure, and he takes advantage of the newly conquered territory over your neck to kiss everywhere feverishly. 

Once he finds your lips again, the kiss is heated, messy, meanwhile his hips don’t stop moving against yours. Eventually, the air in his lungs grows thin, and he breaks the kiss to get a breather, but you’re pulling him in again by the cross necklace hanging over your head. The noises coming out of your mouth are filthy, something unholy, and his lips are the only way of sealing them in; keep them into his mouth, and hopefully, out of your neighbors ears.

The only sound that can’t be silenced is the one coming from your skin clashing with his, his hips rutting into yours in an unrelenting pace. You’re close to the edge, and he can feel it by the way your cunt wraps around him so tightly. His voice is husky, and you moan at the feeling of his lips so close to your ear when he whispers “you’re a greedy, little girl, aren’t you? all mine to ruin”.

The filthy praise has you gasping for air, and, when he lifts your leg a bit higher over where it previously rested, circling over his hip bone, Christian hits a deeper spot that sends your mind into a frenzy, shaking with pleasure once your orgasm starts traveling all over your body.

He drops the pendant to his back, so it’s resting against his muscular back when he dips his head down to kiss your lips. With his free left hand, the one that isn’t supporting all his weight above you, he cups your face lovingly, angling your head just right to deepen the kiss, making it passionate enough to trap inside the moans and whimpers that are leaving his throat once his thrusts start to get sloppy, signaling that he’s about to cum, too.

You’re trying to keep grounded in any way you can, while feeling his hot seed filling you impossibly fuller. Your hands travel across the tanned skin of his back, feeling then the cold cross necklace resting between his shoulder blades, and you know you could cum again just by the sight alone of his tanned skin marked by your nails, with the red scratches adorning his back like it was the most beautiful canvas. The picture painted in your head is as beautiful as unholy, and you like it like that.

Both of you hiss at the loss of contact once he slips out of you, and through your tired eyelashes you see him slipping into the blue joggings he had on when he arrived, before making his way to your bathroom with a naturality that would have anyone believing this was his house. Once he comes back, wet cloth in hand, he’s careful to clean you up, and once he’s done, he pulls the covers over you both. 

The silence isn’t loud: you were accustomed to this with Christian, but still, you feel the need to fill it with words, somehow.

“Congrats for the match. I mean, the win. The trophy, too”.

He seems surprised when he asks, “did you watch it?”, and you sheepishly nod. The air feels tainted with too much sentimentality, and you’re afraid this could drive him away, again; after all, you were sure, in your mind, that he didn’t return the feelings you had confessed to have before parting ways with the American. So, a joke seems like the best way to clear the air. “Well, yeah. somebody had to cheer for little boy Gio, right?”. 

Your relationship with the Dortmund player isn’t quite as difficult as the one you have with Christian -with Gio, you’ve never passed the line, although there were moments where you could have; not that’s something that the man beside you knows -that you haven’t crossed the line.

Christian, occupying the space beside you now, but with his head resting against the bed frame, isn’t too thrilled with the mention of his teammate, hearing him in his voice when he growls “oh, shut up,” before drawing you in to rest on his chest, and pressing a little kiss to your forehead that you try to ignore, although the butterflies in your stomach seem to disagree.

A few minutes pass before any of you mutter a word more. You’re entirely too caught up in his chain, playing with it, and with every second passing you confirm that it’s the same one from your wet dream -the one you had earlier, before Christian came, and made it a reality-, and you really don’t know what to think about it all. Whether you manifested it, or it was just the funny ways the universe works, you don’t really know.

“You really like it, don’t you?” the american says, pulling you out of your train of thoughts, and making you confused in the act. Seeing your confused face, he’s quick to clarify what he meant. “The chain, I mean”.

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrug, trying to keep a straight face and turning your focus elsewhere: traveling your finger back and forth across his sternum. “You can keep it if you want,” he suggests, but you’re quick in turning it down. “Absolutely not”. Christian, who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, pushes forward. “Oh, c'mon. It'll look better on you anyways,” he says, unclasping it and urging you to sit down and turn around, so he can lock it again; now, on your neck. The feeling against your clammy skin is cold, and you wonder if it looks half as good on you as it does on him. 

A sudden realization dawns on your face once you see how proud he looks of the fact that you’re wearing something that’s so clearly his. You squint your eyes suspiciously, before accusing him of what you already knows it’s the intention behind the seemingly loving gesture. “And Gio will know it’s yours”.

Christian smiles devilishly before muttering, “and Gio will know you are mine”.

[noise-vs-signal]

“The author types the words ‘the author types the words’. Stand, and feel the energy that crowds the room, a current siphoned back through time from all those future readings, all those other people and the varying degrees of their absorption, their awareness half-submerged within the text and half-detached from moment, from continuum, and therefore reachable.

Lacking any territory that is not subjective, we can only live upon the map. All that remains in question is whose map we choose, whether we live within the world’s insistent texts or else replace them with a stronger language of our own.

The task is not unthinkable. There are those weak points on the borderline of fact and fabrication, crossings where the veil between what is and what is not rends easily.

Go to the crossroads, and draw up the necessary lines. Make evocations and recite barbaric names; the Gorgo and the Mormo. Call the dogs, the spirit animals, and light imaginary fires.

Walk through the walls into the landscape of the words, become one more first-person character within the narrative’s bitter procession. Make the real a story and the story real, the portrait struggling to devour the sitter.

Obviously, this is a course of action not without its dangers, this attempted wedding of the language and the life; this ju-ju shit. Always the risk of a surprise twist ending ….

When Odin asked for wisdom from the head of Mimir, he paid with an eye: this knowledge carries with it a curtailment of perception, or at least a narrowing. The depth-vision is forfeit.

The time has come to end and seal this working; to complete the story-path with absolute immersion of the teller, a commitment and a sacrifice.

The rite is simple, of its kind, intended only as a point of focus, a conceptual platform on which to stand amid the swirl and shift of this delusory terrain: imaginary serpents are placed at the compass points to guard against the mental snares those cardinal directions symbolize, while at the same time an appeal is made to equally symbolic virtues.

Idea is the only currency in this domain, and all ideas are real ideas. A heavy language is engendered and employed to fix these images as marker buoys within the mind.

This incantation and the novel both progress towards the pregnant, hanging silence of their culmination. This is how we do things here, and always have done.

Wine and passionflower and other substances of earth. Shapes painted with contorted fingers on to empty space. Deranged, of course, but then derangement is the point.

Speak the desire in terms both lucid and transparent. Write it down lest it should be forgotten when the spasm hits.

…

These are the times we dread and hunger for. The mutter of our furnace past grows louder at our backs, with cadence more distinct. Almost intelligible now, its syllables reveal themselves. Our world ignites.

The song wells up, from a consuming light.”

Text from the final chapter of “Voice of the Fire’ by Alan Moore (1996).

Images (in order) are:

”Drawing Hands“ by M. C. Escher (1948).

"A Map of Days” by Grayson Perry. (2013)

“Hecate” by Jane Estelle Trombley.

“The Hanged Man” by Lakandiwa (2013).

Page from “The Horrorist” by Jamie Delano and David Lloyd (1995).

Collage image of Austin Osman Spare by Kenneth Grant.

Photo of Brion Gysin and William S. Burroughs with the Dream Machine.

“I Am That I Am” permutations by Gysin & Burroughs (“The Third Mind”).

“Holy Fire” (Left panel) by Alex Grey (1987).

For more on art, magic & ritual, please visit “Noise vs. Signal”.